Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume One (10 page)

Green robed, green bearded, Poseidon coasted in on a wave and strode toward the huts—immense, dripping, eyes full of stormy light. He spoke, and his voice was like the surf battering the cliffs.

“Good folk,” he roared softly, “I am Poseidon, earth-shaker, lord of the sea. It is I who have given you an ocean to harvest, taming the wild fathoms for your sake, stocking them with fat fish. Therefore, I ask, when you come to name this place, as soon you must, call it, please, after me, and I shall be your patron and protector forever.”

He whistled up a great wave, which curled over him and drew him from the beach to the sea.

As soon as he had vanished, Athene appeared, shining so brightly in the dust of the little street that it hurt to look at her. She was clad in blue. An owl sat on her shoulder, and she bore spear and shield.

“Good folk,” she said, and her voice was like the west wind making a harp of the trees, “I am Athene, daughter of Zeus, goddess of wisdom, and I am prepared to look upon you with great favor. Name this little village after me and you shall see it grow into the most worthy city in the world, home of sage and warrior, yes … and of a prophetess who will decipher the scroll of stars and read what is to come. These rude huts will grow into marble mansions; temples will gleam upon the hills, and thousands of years from now the very syllables of your name shall be a chime of glory.…

“And to prove my power, I give you this gift. Behold!”

She raised her spear high and stabbed it into the earth. It stood, quivering. Before the amazed eyes of the villagers, it began to sprout green branches. Fruit hung upon the boughs. Athene plucked a naked child from the street and lifted him so that he could reach into the tree. He snatched the fruit, stuffed his mouth, and gobbled happily. She kissed him and put him down.

“This tree is called the olive,” she said. “Its fruit will feed you, and what is not used for food will be turned into wealth. For you will press the fruit of the olive, and its clear oil will be coveted by the tribes of earth and they will trade for it, sending you what is most precious to them—silks and amber, copper, spice, horses, slaves. And you shall grow rich and strong. All for giving your village my name.”

The people fell on their knees and thanked the goddess, and named the village Athens. And the goddess departed.

All she had promised came true. But other things happened too.

For Poseidon was very angry. He took great pleasure in whipping up winds to sink the Athenian ships, sending great waves to wash away beaches and bury houses under tons of water, and drown the cattle in the fields.

Nor did all this satisfy him, for the Athenians were a stubborn tribe. They built their homes again, and built new boats, and launched them right into his sea to hunt for fish before the next storm hit.

So Poseidon called up a huge serpent from the depths. It was a hundred feet long and could swallow a fishing vessel in one gulp, nets and crew and all.… It appeared offshore one sunny afternoon and swallowed a whole little fleet. It devoured half the village before nightfall.

Poseidon trod the swell, capering and chortling as he watched the fleet being destroyed. The mighty jaws of the sea serpent gaped and crunched down on a vessel, crushing it between gigantic teeth. As the beast held one ship in his jaws, he smashed another with his flailing tail. And the only reason there were any Athenians left to rebuild their village was that Poseidon realized he was using up his entire stock of this particular entertainment in a single afternoon, and decided to save some for later. So he called off his serpent, who swallowed a final fisherman and sank to the bottom.

Now the other gods had observed Poseidon's vengeance and saw that it was a good idea to use monsters in that way. It allowed them to punish those they had taken a dislike to while still remaining within the law. Even Athene, who was furious at Poseidon for tormenting her favorite villagers, nevertheless called up monsters from time to time, and sent them to devour those who had offended her.

And the custom grew.

3

Gaia's Spell

The ancient earth-mother observed all this, and made certain plans.

“My youngest son, Anteus, is terrible in battle,” she said to herself. “And will certainly be persuaded by one vengeful god or other to embroil himself in some dangerous feud.… Now, he's the most powerful of my offspring, the beautiful brute, and should be able to exterminate any pesky hero who dares challenge him. Nevertheless, I intend to take no chances with that precious life.… I shall concoct a spell that will assure him victory in all encounters.”

Thereupon, she descended into the deepest cavern where an outlicking of the earth's core-fire smoldered in a natural stone basin. A spring of pure water ran through this basin and was kept at a boil.… This was Mother Earth's own cauldron where she brewed her most potent spells.

Muttering, she dropped herbs in the boiling water. As the steam wrapped her in a fragrant veil, she began to chant:

“Oh, you who decree

whatever must be,

I call to you

from my deepest core…

If my son, Anteus

is ever thrown,

let him touch earth

who gave him birth …

I shall staunch his gore,

his strength restore …

He shall rise from me,

as mighty as before …”

At this very moment, as it happened, Anteus was being threatened by an enemy more deadly than any he had ever met. They were the
Amaleki
, a warlike tribe of mountaineers—huge wild-bearded hot-eyed men; their women were just as big and just as fierce. This tribe had evolved a battle plan which always worked. During the short intervals of peace, they spent their time collecting the largest, roundest boulders they could find. These they lined up and balanced on a ridge at the top of the mountain. They had built this ridge strategically, laying logs in a trench to form a long mound just high enough to hold the great boulders teetering, emplaced against the mountain wind, but so balanced that a strong shove would send them thundering down the slope.

The boulders were always in place. When some were used in battle, the tribesmen would gather a fresh supply. Then, when an invading force approached, the Amaleki would send out a small patrol whose duty was not to fight, but to retreat. This force was made up of half-grown youths, boys and girls, who considered it the greatest honor to be able to risk their lives in this way. For it was dangerous duty. These youngsters were mounted on purebred racing camels, the most valued stock in all the northern rim of Africa.

The patrol would ride out to meet the enemy, allow itself to be spotted, then turn tail and pretend to flee. The invaders would immediately charge after them. The youths, expert riders all, would pretend to be racing their camels at full stride; in reality, they would be reining them in, traveling only at half-speed, allowing the enemy to catch up … almost, not quite.

Retreating in this fashion, the patrol would lure the enemy into the valley. When the invaders filled the pass, the mountaineers, stationed at both peaks, would launch their boulders.

Now, fate had decreed that Mother Earth's new spell was to be tested at the very moment of its brewing. As Gaia, lodged in her deepest cavern, was muttering over her cauldron, and the magic vapors were steaming out of the cave—up, up, through seams of coal and iron, through sapphire bed and fertile muck—just at that moment, Anteus was racing ahead of his army, charging after the Amaleki patrol.… The white camels were running before him, carrying their young riders toward the mountain pass, but running as fast as they could; for Anteus could cover fifty yards at a stride and was gaining on them.

The patrol rode into the fatal valley, Anteus rushing after them. His giants were nowhere in sight; he had left them far behind. And the mountaineers, seeing the gigantic figure enter the trap, assumed that the rest of his army was on his heels, and began to roll their boulders.

A huge rock hit Anteus, knocking him off his feet. Other boulders rained down; rock fell on rock, chipping each other, filling the air with flying shale. Anteus was buried deep. And the mountaineers cheered as they saw the monster vanish under the rockfall.

They cheered too soon. For the first wisps of vapor from the magic cauldron drifted up through the valley bed and touched Anteus as the rocks fell. Dimly, he heard a voice chanting:

“… let him touch earth

who gave him birth …

I shall staunch his gore,

his strength restore …

He shall rise from me,

as mighty as before …”

The massive weight of rock had driven him to the floor of the valley, deep into the lap of his mother. Half crushed as he was, bones shattered, ripped open, bleeding from a hundred wounds, he touched the primal energy that had made him be. He drank of her strength. He felt a strange force surging through him. A marvelous elation sang through his veins … a joyous power.

He arose, shrugging off shale. He climbed to his feet, rocks cascading off his shoulders like water off a breaching whale. The mountaineers, staring from above, were amazed to see the entire valley shudder. The enormous rock pile was heaving as though the earth were quaking beneath. Before their astounded gaze a giant arose, holding a boulder in each huge hand.

He hurled the boulders, first at one peak, then at the other, crushing dozens of the Amaleki with each throw. By this time, his own troops had arrived. He motioned them up one slope; he, himself, charged up the other. The brave mountaineers, who had never been defeated, streamed down to meet the giants.

They were massacred. Clubbed, stomped, hurled bodily off the mountain, or simply had their necks wrung like chickens. Some few were able to flee, and hide in caves. All the rest were slaughtered.

The giants were too heavy to ride camels. So they skinned the prize beasts like rabbits and roasted them over their camp-fires. Camel meat is tough and stringy, but the giants were very hungry.

From that day on, Anteus knew himself to be invincible. Earth's magic never failed. Stricken to the ground, he would rise again, stronger than before, and destroy whoever had felled him.

And it was this magical endowment that served him so well when he finally battled Hercules.

4

Bowman, Banger, Butcher

Anteus had picked giants for his Royal Guard—not simply outsized mortals but the offspring of monsters who had abducted nymphs and spawned gigantic, shaggy humanoid creatures. When he had recruited the largest and most savage of these, he trained them in the use of weapons. And although the weakest of them was capable of finishing off an armed warrior with his bare hands, they were kept hard at work until they were expert with bow, sword, spear, and battle-axe.

Now, Anteus was not the kind of war chief who stood on a hill well behind the front line, looking at maps. He led his men into battle. He charged like a bull, leaping over ditches, crashing through walls, battering to death anyone who couldn't scurry out of his way … leaving his men to mop up after him. Which meant cutting the throat of anyone left alive.

If the enemy were strong enough to field an army against him—which seldom happened—the Royal Guard dogged the king's footsteps as he rushed into the hottest part of the battle, forming a hedge of blades about him.

After leading his troops through several campaigns, and studying each man's performance, Anteus selected three of his Guardsmen as his personal escorts, who would accompany him everywhere, on and off the field, and might be called upon for special tasks. They were the three most ferocious fighters, of course; their names were Gobi, Mordo, and Kell.

Gobi was a bowman, but with too powerful a pull for any wooden bow. He had to make himself a special weapon. After a successful mammoth hunt, when a beast had been killed with the loss of only thirty beaters, Gobi claimed a tusk for himself. The slain animal had been exceptionally big, even for a mammoth—whose size is calculated as having been at least twice that of our own elephant—and its tusk was more than fifteen feet long.

Gobi split that tusk. And the shaft of ivory, cut and polished and bound at each tapered end with copper wire, became his bow. A cured strand of mammoth gut was his bowstring. His arrows, plumed with an eagle's tailfeathers and tipped with razor-sharp bronze points, were longer than ordinary spears.

When he bent that bow almost double and let his arrow fly, the enormous shaft could split an oak tree and pass through an armored man standing behind it.

Only Gobi himself could use that bow. Anteus was even stronger than Gobi and could bend it easily, but the bow was too refined a weapon for him; he preferred a club or his great mallet fists.

Mordo worshiped Anteus and copied everything he did. The club became his favorite weapon, and he had a collection of the most massive bludgeons ever used. Most of them were hardwood, carved to a perfect balance, but he also had one cudgel of glittering brass for ceremonial slaughter. And, in one battle, it was said, having shattered his club while squashing a chariot, he had raced to a nearby olive grove, uprooted a full-grown tree and used that as a club—roots, branches, and all—flailing an entire enemy patrol to bloody gobbets of flesh.

Modeling himself further on Anteus, Mordo sometimes cast aside his club and waded into battle armed only with his fists. He toughened his hands by soaking them in salt water. And when he clenched those huge paws into fists, planted his legs, thick as trees, and swung his oxbow shoulders, whipping his long arms about, then, indeed, those fists became weapons as deadly as any ever forged in a smithy.

As for Kell, he was a man of blades. He liked to cut and thrust. His dagger was as long as the usual sword, his sword longer than a lance. The shaft of his spear was tall as a mast. When he went into battle with these blades stabbing and slicing, he wrought such carnage that he chose to clothe himself not in armor but in a long one-piece leather apron such as butchers wear. Indeed, he was known as “the butcher,” and was perhaps the most feared of Anteus's band of killers.