Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two (39 page)

Melissa made good speed, considering the steep climbs and descents. Her pace was so gentle that Theseus could sleep while riding. Dreams thronged his sleep, ugly ones and happy ones. In the last dream before waking, he was not himself but Evander, being carried off by the Great Sow.

Theseus awoke in such a fury that he was eager to meet Basher. Despite his rage, though, he proceeded cautiously, reining Melissa up when he saw the bandit standing in the middle of the road, twirling his great glittering club.

The lad knew that Basher robbed first and killed afterward. And his plan, which he had rehearsed with Melissa, was based on this sequence. Basher growled at him, “Don't sit there gawking. Dismount!”

Theseus swung off the donkey's back. “Why do you carry that club, good sir?” he said.

“To hit people with.”

“Why do you hit them?”

“Policy. No witnesses. Better that way.”

“Then you mean to hit me, no doubt.”

“No doubt at all. But I'll take your money first so it doesn't get spattered with brains. What's in that sack—gold?”

“Yes, sir. Diamonds too.”

“Bring it here.”

Theseus untied the heavy bag from Melissa's saddle and walked slowly toward Basher, keeping his head lowered so that the hat brim hid his face. Basher snatched the bag and upended it. Out tumbled a head; his brother's face lay in the dust, staring up at him out of glassy eyes. A low howl broke from Basher's lips. He stood there, stunned.

He did not see the donkey circle around and come up behind him. She backed up to him, curled forward, cocking her back hooves, then kicked him in the hinges of his knees. His legs folded. He fell. He tried to pull himself up. But Melissa stood above him, rearing up now on her hind legs.

She let fly with her forehooves, one after the other, striking with such precise force that she drove two hoof-shaped dents into his forehead. He collapsed.

Immediately, Theseus was upon him, hatchet flashing. And the blade that had cut off Bender's head did the same to his brother. Theseus took both heads and stuffed them into separate bags. Both of them swung at Melissa's saddle as she carried her master toward Shady's cliff.

14

The Edge of the Cliff

Having killed two of the bandits, Theseus was full of confidence as he rode to meet the third brother. Had he been more experienced, he would have known, perhaps, that the gods are like hunters who scorn to shoot sitting ducks but aim at those in full flight. When the Olympians wish to humble a man or woman, they prefer to strike at those celebrating a triumph. Theseus, of course, was being aided by Poseidon and harassed by Zeus. While the sea god gloated over his son's victories, Zeus was prodded into activity. Looking down from Olympus, he was tempted to hurl his thunderbolt and incinerate Theseus on the spot. “No,” he muttered. “I must not. I'm bound by my own law not to kill anyone I've wagered against. But I must do something about that pesky donkey that helps him so much.”

Theseus, who still had everything to learn about divine whim and human fate, pressed forward toward the shoulder-shaped peak over Shady's perch.

He rode Melissa to the ridge where he had previously balanced the boulder. From there, they looked down upon the bandit, lolling on his throne, waiting for travelers.

“Let's do it now,” said Theseus, “before the clouds blow away and he calls back his slaves to shade him and fan him. We don't want to send them over the cliff too.”

He dismounted, planted his feet, and braced his hands against the rock. Melissa stood next to him, pushing with her shoulder. “Now!” cried Theseus. They pushed … the rock began to move. They pushed harder.

Off the ridge the boulder went, bowling down the slope, crushing bushes, leaping cracks, going faster and faster, heading straight for Shady's perch. A cloud of dust arose as it crashed into the three rocks forming Shady's throne.

The giant was hurled off his seat toward the edge of the cliff. He whirled his great arms, scrabbled with his feet, trying to keep his balance. But Theseus came charging down the slope, riding his donkey at full gallop. He yelled with joy as Shady slid over the edge.

Theseus leaped out of the saddle and ran to the edge. He wanted to see his enemy falling—see him hit the water, see the shark fin cutting toward him. But he saw nothing.

To his horror, a hand came crawling back over the edge of stone shelf like a huge crab. Another hand joined it. Both hands clutched the ledge. Theseus saw the muscles bunch and the tendons swell as, with incredible strength, the giant pulled himself up again.

Theseus reached for his dagger, but it stuck in his belt. He felt himself being pushed aside violently; it was Melissa, shoving him out of harm's way. Sprawling on the ground, he saw his donkey rise up on her hind legs and balance there, waiting for Shady's head to rise high enough so that she might strike downward and drive her forehooves into his head with the same lethal double kick that had dented Basher's skull.

The head rose. The donkey struck. But a huge hand shot out and caught her hoof. Shady howled, arched backward, and fell toward the sea, taking Melissa with him. Feeling herself fall, she rolled her eyes toward Theseus in a last pleading look.

Frozen with horror, Theseus watched her fall. He saw the double splash, saw the black fin cutting through the water. And his heart was seared with a bitterness that was to last him the rest of his life as he realized that vengeance achieved can be as treacherous as any other hope fulfilled.

He could not weep. He was ice inside. The hot tears would come, but not now. Not yet, not until he finished his task.

He climbed back to the shoulder ridge and collected the bags that held the cut-off heads. Then he set off toward Procrustes' inn. He could not stop to mourn. He had a long way to go and had to go on foot.

15

The Procrustean Bed

A full day passed before Theseus reached Procrustes' inn. He stood knocking at the great oaken door once more. His cloak muffled him, hiding the newly sharpened hatchet at his belt. His hat brim was pulled down over his face. In each hand he held a heavy moneybag.

The door opened. Procrustes stood there—huge and blood-spattered, his eyes glaring out of the great gray tangle that was his hair.

“A night's lodging?” said Theseus.

“That's what we offer, good sir,” said Procrustes. “Come in.”

Theseus followed him into the dining hall, so loathing the sight of the hulking figure that he was tempted to abandon all his careful planning—to pull the hatchet from under his cloak and attack Procrustes on the spot.

But rage hardened to prudence.

“Would you like a hot drink, sir?” said Procrustes. “My waiter quit suddenly, the ungrateful little rat, but I'll pour you some wine myself.”

“Thank you,” said Theseus. “But I'd just as soon go to bed immediately.”

“Of course,” said Procrustes. “You've had a long journey, haven't you, sir? Just follow me. I'll show you to your room. And to a bed that is the envy of all my competitors, if I say so myself.”

“I'll take my moneybags with me, if I may,” said Theseus.

“Certainly,” said Procrustes. “You're a man of business, and will sleep more comfortably knowing your money's right there with you. Heavy, they look, those bags. Appears you have enough for a night's lodging.”

“Yes, I'm glad to say I can afford even these luxury accommodations,” said Theseus.

They entered the bedchamber. Procrustes stood there, grinning savagely, waiting to be questioned about the leather straps and the shackles hanging from the bed frame.

“No mattress?” asked Theseus.

“You'll never miss it.”

“Let me see if I understand the design of this interesting bed,” said Theseus. “The straps and shackles, I imagine, are to bind the guest in place. And the double chain at the foot of the bed with those things that look like bolted anklets … what are they?”

“Exactly that, anklets. To bolt around the ankles. They're for the too-short guest. I pull the chains and he stretches until he conforms to the ideal length of the bed.”

“And the ax in the corner—that, I assume, would be to shorten the guest who is too tall?”

“What we call a chop job, sir. But don't worry about it. You're too short for the ax. You're for the stretch.”

“I do hope I've brought enough money with me to pay for such special service,” said Theseus. “Count it for yourself, my good man.”

He handed the bags to Procrustes, who immediately turned them upside down. Out tumbled two heads. The innkeeper rec ognized the faces of his sons and, in pure shock, lifted the heads by the hair. Theseus threw his voice. Basher's head seemed to speak:

Father, father,

I am dead.

Father, father,

heed my head.

Bender's head said:

Father, father,

we are dead.

Father, father,

go to bed.

Procrustes dropped the heads. He staggered, then lunged at Theseus, who ducked, seized Procrustes' arm, and pulled. The innkeeper, impelled by his own weight and the force of his blow, flew through the air and landed on the bed. And Theseus, moving with the magical celerity of a spider wrapping its prey, shackled Procrustes hand and foot.

The innkeeper lay on the bed he had made, bound and helpless. Theseus glared at him. Ignoring the hatchet at his own belt, he chopped Procrustes' head off with the giant's ax. Leaving the headless body shackled to the bed frame, he gathered up the three heads of his enemies, and crossed the boneyard to the pigsty. Swinging each head by the hair, he tossed them over the fence. The pigs ate them like melons.

Theseus felt he had to speak to someone or howl like a wolf. Raising his head to the indifferent stars, he called, “You up there, who play such deadly games with me, know this. I am a poor loser. Evander, I have killed every member of the family that sold you to the Great Sow. One day, when I come into my full strength, I shall rescue you. And you, Melissa—dear, dear beast, faithful, loving heart—I shall follow you into Tartarus before my course is run, and will ride you out through all the legions of hell.”

No one was listening up there. But these words were heard by a god below. In his coral castle under the sea, Poseidon was chuckling. His son had not only managed to defeat the enemies that Zeus had thrown in his path but had learned from his ordeal the great lessons that every young warrior must know: that loss is the price of love, that nightmares are the penalty for dreams, and that the chief reward of victory is the chance to fight again.

Theseus's triumph made his father very proud. At the next council of the gods, he could not refrain from teasing Zeus—a very dangerous thing for anyone to do. “Hail brother,” he said. “Remember our wager about young Theseus and your royal son Minos?”

“What about it?” growled Zeus. “Do you want to back out?”

“Not exactly,” said Poseidon. “The boy's been doing pretty well on the road, as you have surely seen.”

“I haven't been watching his career that closely,” said Zeus.

“A pity. You've missed some exciting moments. What I'd like to do, actually, is triple our stakes. How about it?”

Those crowding the great council chamber trembled as they heard Poseidon's challenge and saw their king's knuckles whitening on the thunderbolt that was his scepter. For his wrath was catastrophe.

Zeus kept his temper, however, and only glared at his brother, who had sense enough to stop his baiting. But the mischief had been done. Zeus was boiling with spiteful ideas now—one of which was to sprout into monstrous form, and bring great hardship to Theseus when he finally did challenge Minos, king of Crete.

SCYLLA AND CHARYBDIS

For my youngest grandson,

Luke Evslin,

who has learned too soon about rocks and hard places,

but will be piloted safely through

Characters

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