Heroes, Gods and Monsters of the Greek Myths

by Bernard Evslin

  “As you have done by travelers, so are you done by,” said Theseus. “You have made your bed, old man. Now lie on it.”

  He put down the ax, picked up his club, and resumed his journey, deciding to sleep in the open because he found the inn unpleasant.

  ATHENS

  Athens was not yet a great city in those days, but it was far more splendid than any Theseus had seen. He found it quite beautiful with arbors and terraces and marble temples. After the adventures of the road, however, he found it strangely dull. He suffered too from humiliation for, although he was the king’s son, his father was in a very weak position so he could not be a real prince. It was his father’s powerful cousin, the tall black-browed Pallas with his fifty fierce sons, who actually ran things. Their estate was much larger and finer than the castle, their private army stronger than the Royal Guard, and Theseus could not bear it.

  “Why was I given the sign?” he stormed. “Why did I pull the sword from the stone and come here to Athens? To skulk in the castle like a runaway slave? What difference does it make, Father, how many there are? After we fight them, there will be many less. Let’s fight! Right now!”

  “No,” said Aegeus, “we cannot. Not yet. It would not be a battle, it would be suicide. They must not know you are here. I am sorry now I had you come all the way to Athens. It is too dangerous. I should have kept you in some little village somewhere, outside of town, where we could have seen each other every day, but where you would not be in such danger.”

  “Well, if I am no use here let me go to Crete!” cried Theseus. “If I can’t fight our enemies at home, let me try my hand abroad.”

  “Crete…Oh, my dear boy, no, no…” and the old man fell to lamenting for it was in these days that Athens, defeated in a war with Crete, was forced by King Minos to pay a terrible tribute. He demanded that each year the Athenians send him seven of their most beautiful maidens, seven of their strongest young men. These were taken to the Labyrinth and offered to the monster who lived there—the dread Minotaur, half man and half bull—son of Pasiphae and the bull she had fallen in love with. Year after year they were taken from their parents, these seven maidens and seven youths, and were never heard of again. Now the day of tribute was approaching again.

  Theseus offered to go himself as one of the seven young men and take his chances with the monster. He kept hammering at his father, kept producing so many arguments, was so electric with impatience and rage, that finally his father consented, and the name Theseus was entered among those who were to be selected for tribute. The night before he left, he embraced Aegeus and said, “Be of good heart, dear sire. I traveled a road that was supposed to be fatal before and came out alive. I met quite a few unpleasant characters on my journey and had a few anxious moments, but I learned from them that the best weapon you can give an enemy is your own fear. So…who can tell. I may emerge victorious from the Labyrinth and lead my companions home safely. Then I will be known to the people of Athens and will be able to rouse them against your tyrant cousins and make you a real king.”

  “May the gods protect you, son,” said Aegeus. “I shall sacrifice to Zeus and to Ares, and to our own Athene, every day, and pray for your safety.”

  “Don’t forget Poseidon,” said Theseus.

  “Oh, yes, Poseidon too,” said Aegeus. “Now do this for me, son. Each day I shall climb the Hill of the Temple, and from there watch over the sea…watching for your ship to return. It will depart wearing black sails, as all the sad ships of tribute do; but if you should overcome the Minotaur, please, I pray you, raise a white sail. This will tell me that you are alive and save a day’s vigil.”

  “That I will do,” said Theseus. “Watch for the white sail…”

  CRETE

  All Athens was at the pier to see the black-sailed ship depart. The parents of the victims were weeping and tearing their clothing. The maidens and the young men, chosen for their beauty and courage, stood on the deck trying to look proud; but the sound of lamentation reached them, and they wept to see their parents weep. Then Theseus felt the cords of his throat tighten with rage. He stamped his foot on the deck and shouted, “Up anchor, and away!” as though he were the captain of the vessel. The startled crew obeyed, and the ship moved out of the harbor.

  Theseus immediately called the others to him.

  “Listen to me,” he said. “You are not to look upon yourselves as victims, or victims you will surely be. The time of tribute has ended. You are to regard this voyage not as a submission but as a military expedition. Everything will change, but first you must change your own way of looking at things. Place your faith in my hands, place yourselves under my command. Will you?”

  “We will!” they shouted.

  “Good. Now I want every man to instruct every girl in the use of the sword and the battle-ax. We may have to cut our way to freedom. I shall also train you to respond to my signals—whistles, hand-movements—for if we work as a team, we may be able to defeat the Minotaur and confound our enemies.”

  They agreed eagerly. They were too young to live without hope, and Theseus’ words filled them with courage. Every day he drilled them, man and maiden alike, as though they were a company of soldiers. He taught them to wrestle in the way he had invented. And this wild young activity, this sparring and fencing, so excited the crew, that they were eager to place themselves under the young man’s command.

  “Yes,” he said. “I will take your pledges. You are Athenians. Right now that means you are poor, defeated, living in fear. But one day ‘Athenian’ will be the proudest name in the world, a word to make warriors quake in their armor, kings shiver upon their thrones!”

  Now Minos of Crete was the most powerful king in all the world. His capital, Knossos, was the gayest, richest, proudest city in the world; and the day, each year, when the victims of the Minotaur arrived from Athens, was always a huge feast-day. People mobbed me streets—warriors with shaven heads and gorgeous feathered cloaks, women in jewels and topless dresses, children, farmers, great swaggering bullherders, lithe bullfighters, dwarfs, peacocks, elephants, and slaves, slaves, slaves from every country known to man. The streets were so jammed no one could walk freely, but the King’s Guard kept a lane open from quayside to Palace. And here, each year, the fourteen victims were marched so that the whole city could see them—marched past the crowds to the Palace to be presented to the king to have their beauty approved before giving them to the Minotaur.

  On this day of arrival, the excited harbormaster came puffing to the castle, fell on his knees before the throne, and gasped, “Pity, great king, pity…”

  And then in a voice strangled with fright the harbormaster told the king that one of the intended victims, a young man named Theseus, demanded a private audience with Minos before he would allow the Athenians to disembark.

  “My warships!” thundered Minos. “The harbor is full of triremes. Let the ship be seized, and this Theseus and his friends dragged here through the streets.”

  “It cannot be, your majesty. Their vessel stands over the narrow neck of the harbor. And he swears to scuttle it right there, blocking the harbor, if any of our ships approach.”

  “Awkward…very awkward,” murmured Minos. “Quite resourceful for an Athenian, this young man. Worth taking a look at. Let him be brought to me.”

  Thereupon Theseus was informed that the king agreed to see him privately. He was led to the Palace, looking about eagerly as he was ushered down the lane past the enormous crowd. He had never seen a city like this. It made Athens look like a little fishing village. He was excited and he walked proudly, head high, eyes flashing. When he came to the Palace, he was introduced to the king’s daughters, two lovely young princesses, Ariadne and Phaedra.

  “I regret that my queen is not here to greet you,” said Minos. “But she has become attached to her summer house in the Labyrinth and spends most of her time there.”

  The princesses were silent, but they never took their eyes off Theseus. He could not
decide which one he preferred. Ariadne he supposed—the other was really still a little girl. But she had a curious cat-faced look about her that intrigued him. However, he could not give much thought to this; his business was with the king.

  Finally, Minos signaled the girls to leave the room, and motioned Theseus toward his throne. “You wanted to see me alone,” he said. “Here I am. Speak.”

  “I have a request, your majesty. As the son of my father, Aegeus, King of Athens, and his representative in this court, I ask you formally to stop demanding your yearly tribute.”

  “Oh, heavens,” said Minos. “I thought you would have something original to say. And you come with this threadbare old petition. I have heard it a thousand times and refused it a thousand times.”

  “I know nothing of what has been done before,” said Theseus. “But only of what I must do. You laid this tribute upon Athens to punish the city, to show the world that you were the master. But it serves only to degrade you and show the world that you are a fool.”

  “Feeding you to the Minotaur is much too pleasant a finale for such an insolent rascal,” said Minos. “I shall think of a much more interesting way for you to die—perhaps several ways.”

  “Let me explain what I mean,” said Theseus. “Strange as it seems, I do not hate you. I admire you. You’re the most powerful king in the world and I admire power. In fact, I intend to imitate your career. So what I say, I say in all friendliness, and it is this: when you take our young men and women and shut them in the Labyrinth to be devoured by the Minotaur, you are making the whole world forget Minos, the great general Minos, the wise king. What you are forcing upon their attention is Minos, the betrayed husband, the man whose wife disliked him so much she eloped with a bull. And this image of you is what people remember. Drop the tribute, I say, and you will once again live in man’s mind as warrior, law-giver, and king.”

  “You are an agile debater,” said Minos, “as well as a very reckless young man, saying these things to me. But there is a flaw in your argument. If I were to drop the tribute, my subjects would construe this as an act of weakness. They would be encouraged to launch conspiracies against me. Other countries under my sway would be encouraged to rebel. It cannot be done.”

  “I can show you a graceful way to let the tribute lapse. One that will not be seen as a sign of weakness. Just tell me how to kill the monster.”

  “Kill the monster, eh? And return to Athens a hero? And wipe out your enemies there? And then subdue the other cities of Greece until you become leader of a great alliance? And then come visit me again with a huge fleet and an enormous army, and topple old Minos from his throne…? Do I describe your ambitions correctly?”

  “The future does not concern me,” said Theseus. “I take one thing at a time. And the thing that interests me now is killing the Minotaur.”

  “Oh, forget the Minotaur,” said Minos. “How do you know there is one? How do you know it’s not some maniac there who ties sticks to his head? Whatever it is, let him rot there in the Labyrinth with his mad mother. I have a better plan for you. My sons are dead. My daughter Ariadne, I notice, looks upon you with favor. Marry her, and become my heir. One day you will rule Crete and Athens both…and all the cities of the sea.”

  “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your offer. But I came here to fight a monster.”

  “You are mad.”

  “Perhaps. But this is the only way I know how to be. When I am your age, when the years have thinned my blood, when rage has cooled into judgment, then I will go in for treaties, compromises. Now, I must fight.”

  “Why is the young fool so confident?” thought Minos to himself. “He acts like a man who knows he is protected by the gods. Can it be true what they say? Is he really the son of Poseidon? Do I have that kind of enemy on my hands? If so, I will make doubly sure to get rid of him.”

  Then he said aloud, “You are wrong to refuse my offer. I suppose you are made so wildly rash by some old wives’ gossip in your little village that you are the son of this god or that. Those mountain villages of yours, they’re ridiculous. Every time a child does something out of the way, all the crones and hags get together and whisper, ‘He’s the son of a god, really the son of a god.’ Is that the way of it? Tell the truth now.”

  “My truth,” said Theseus, “is that I am the son of Poseidon.”

  “Poseidon, eh? No less. Well, how would you like to prove it?”

  “Why should I care to prove it? I know. That’s enough for me. The whole world has heard that you are the son of Zeus, who courted your mother, Europa, in the guise of a white bull. Everyone has heard this tale; few disbelieve it. But can you prove it?”

  “Come with me,” said Minos.

  He led him out of the Palace, beyond the wall, to a cliff overlooking the sea. He stood tall, raised his arms, and said, “Father Zeus, make me a sign.”

  Lightning flashed so furiously that the night became brighter than day, and the sky spoke in thunder. Then Minos dropped his arms; the light stopped pulsing in the sky, and the thunder was still.

  “Well,” said Minos. “Have I proved my parentage?”

  “It’s an impressive display. I suppose it proves something.”

  ‘Then show me you are the son of Poseidon.”

  Minos took the crown from his head and threw it over the cliff into the sea. They heard the tiny splash far below.

  “If you are his son, the sea holds no terror for you. Get me my crown,” said Minos.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Theseus stepped to the edge of the cliff and leaped off. As he fell, he murmured, “Father, help me now.”

  Down he plunged, struck the black water and went under, shearing his way through until he felt his lungs bursting. But he did not kick toward the surface. He let out the air in his chest in a long tortured gasp, and then, breathed in. No strangling rush of water, but a great lung-full of sweet cool air…and he felt himself breathing as naturally as a fish. He swam down, down, and as he swam his eyes became accustomed to the color of the night sea; he moved in a deep green light. And the first thing he saw was the crown gleaming on the bottom. He swam down and picked it up.

  Theseus stood on the ocean bottom holding the crown in his hand and said, “All thanks, Father Poseidon.”

  He waited there for the god to answer him, but all he saw were dark gliding shapes, creatures of the sea passing like shadows. He swam slowly to the surface, climbed the cliff, and walked to where Minos was waiting.

  “Your crown, sir.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Are you convinced now that Poseidon is my father?”

  “I am convinced that the water is more shallow here than I thought. Convinced that you are lucky.”

  “Luck? Is that not another word for divine favor?”

  “Perhaps. At any rate, I am also convinced that you are a dangerous young man. So dangerous that I am forced to strip you of certain advantages allowed those who face the Minotaur. You will carry neither sword nor ax, but only your bare hands…And your luck, of course. I think we will not meet again. So farewell.” He whistled sharply. His Royal Guard appeared, surrounded Theseus, and marched him off to a stone tower at the edge of the Labyrinth. There they locked him up for the night.

  An hour before dawn Ariadne appeared in his cell and said, “I love you, Theseus. I will save you from death if you promise to take me back to Athens with you.”

  “And how do you propose to save me, lovely princess?”

  “Do you know what the Labyrinth is? It is a hedge of a thousand lanes, all leading in, and only one leading out. And this one is so concealed, has so many twists and turns and secret windings that no one can possibly find his way out. Only I can travel the Labyrinth freely. I will lead you in and hide you. I will also lead you around the central chamber where the Minotaur is and lead you out again. You will not even see the monster. Since no one has ever found his way out of the maze, Minos will assume that you have killed the Minotaur, and you will have a chan
ce to get to your ship and escape before the trick is discovered. But you must take me with you.”

  “It cannot be,” said Theseus.

  “Don’t you believe me? It’s all true. Look…”

  She took from her tunic a ball of yellow silk thread and dropped it on the floor. The ball swiftly rolled across the room, unwinding itself as it went. It rolled around the bench, wrapped itself around one of Theseus’ ankles, rolled up the wall, across the ceiling and down again. Then Ariadne tugged sharply on her end of the thread, and the ball reversed itself, rolling back the way it had come, reeling in its thread as it rolled. Back to Ariadne it rolled and leaped into her hand.

  “This was made for me by old Daedalus,” said Ariadne. “It was he who built the Labyrinth, you know. And my father shut him up in it too. I used to go visit him there. He made me this magic ball of thread so that I would always be able to find my way to him, and find my way back. He was very fond of me.”

  “I’m getting very fond of you too,” said Theseus.

  “Do you agree?” cried Ariadne. “Will you let me guide you in the Labyrinth and teach you how to avoid the monster, and fool my father. Say you will. Please…”

  “I’ll let you guide me through the maze,” said Theseus. “Right to where the monster dwells. You can stay there and watch the fight. And when it’s over, you can lead me back.”

  “No, no, I won’t be able to. You’ll be dead! It’s impossible for you to fight the Minotaur.”

  “It is impossible for me not to.”

  “You won’t even be armed.”

  “I have always traveled light, sweet princess, and taken my weapons from the enemy. I see no reason to change my habits now. Are you the kind of girl who seeks to change a man’s habits? If you are, I don’t think I will take you back to Athens.”