Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume One (7 page)

“I seem to have lasted this long. Why is one more day so important?”

“Because someone is coming to kill you. The king knows where you are and has sent an assassin—who is to wring your neck like a chicken, then twist your head off and bring it to Peleus to prove that you are dead.”

“What's he like, this assassin?”

“Extremely beautiful, and even more deadly. One of a pair of twins, Spartan princes, so tall and strong and handsome it is as if whoever made the eldest took one look and immediately decided that there had to be another of his kind.”

“Are they both coming after me?”

“Just one. That's all I can tell you. Take care.”

The seal slid into the sea and vanished.

9

The Assassin

Bears do not howl. They rumble, they snarl, they chuckle; when in pain they utter a kind of sobbing roar. And it was this agonized roaring that awakened Jason just before dawn. He snatched up bow and arrows and rushed toward the sound. He knew it must be a bear, bitten by a viper, and clawing itself in a foaming fit. He sped through the wood into a clearing, and saw not one bear but two, a brown one and a black one, both huge, both maddened by pain and foaming at the mouth, and trying to tear each other to pieces before turning on themselves.

They were a whirling, furry mass. Jason notched an arrow, but hesitated. He was afraid that if he put one to sleep, the other would kill it before he could shoot a second arrow. He hesitated too long; the black bear flung the brown one halfway across the clearing. It landed next to Jason and swung its paw, knocking the bow from his hands.

He sprawled on the ground, groping for his bow. But the beast was upon him. Hot, meaty breath gusted against his face, choking him. He felt claws of fire raking his shoulder, then a coolness of blood. He knew he was about to feel a final crunching pain as the bear crushed his head between its jaws.

Swooning, he was dazzled by gold. Weight was lifted from him. “I'm dead,” he thought. “This is the inlaid floor of heaven. Why was I not taken to Tartarus? Or is hell paved with gold also?”

When his vision cleared he saw a tall, yellow-haired youth fighting the brown bear. The beast stood erect, clawing at the youth—who was punching so fast that his fists were one streak of motion. Jason heard the bear's rib cage crack. The animal fell, spitting blood, then lay still. But the victorious youth was suddenly encircled by two enormous furry arms as the black bear attacked from behind, taking him into a hug that was certain death.

Jason had scooped up his bow. He notched an arrow now, and knowing how difficult it was for him to hit the bear without grazing the youth, thought a swift prayer. “Poseidon, guide my arrow!” And let fly. The shaft whizzed past the youth's head, passing so close that its feathers brushed the yellow hair before burying itself in the bear's shoulder. The furry arms loosened; the bear fell.

Instantaneously, the youth whirled, drawing a knife, and kneeling. Jason, astounded, saw that the stranger, absolutely unruffled by killing one beast and almost being killed by the other, was preparing to skin the black bear.

“Don't!” shouted Jason.

The youth swiveled his head. Jason saw that his eyes were not blue but gray, glinting now like frost. “Don't what?” he said. “I want its hide.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It isn't dead. It's asleep.”

“Looks dead.”

“It's not. My arrows are dipped in sleep.”

“Well, I know mine is dead. I hit it square. So I'll just cut this one's throat and skin 'em both. Make a couple of bearskin cloaks for my brother and me. It gets cold in Sparta.”

“Are you Spartan?”

“I am. Pollux is my name.”

“Are you a prince by any chance?”

Pollux nodded.

“A twin?”

“All three.”

“Then you've come to kill me, haven't you?”

“Are you Jason?”

“Yes.”

“Whatever I've come to do, I can't. You saved my life.”

“You saved mine first.”

“Well, we saved each other. Killing you is out of the question, worse luck. I was promised a fat fee.” Jason saw the prince cocking his golden head and staring down at him, studying his face intently.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do something for me. Wash the dirt and blood off.”

Jason went to a stream, dipped his head in, and swabbed his face with a handful of dry grass. He came back to the Spartan.

“Yes …” said Pollux. “It grows more and more curious.”

“What does?”

“You're the lad we saw in the stump water, my twin and I. We are to go voyaging with you. We shared a vision at the stump and saw you captaining a ship that was sailing toward strange encounters.”

“I don't know what all that means, but it sounds marvelous.”

“Are you saying you don't know anything about an expedition you're supposed to lead? How can that be?”

“I
was
told that if I survived your visit I would be seeking adventure to train me for kingship.”

“Who told you?”

“A seal.”

“Do you usually hold conversations with seals?”

“This one serves Poseidon. Why do you look so doubtful? Talking seals are as believable as stump-water visions.”

“Well, I can tell you what your first adventure will be. We're going to Bebrycos, you and I, to help my brother fight a brass-headed giant.”

“Oh joy! I haven't done much fighting, but I'm a pretty good archer.”

“We'll teach you whatever you need to know,” said Pollux. “You're our little brother now.” He drew Jason to him and pressed his bleeding knuckles to the boy's clawed shoulder. “Our blood has mingled,” he said. “We're brothers. Which means you're Castor's brother, too.”

“I couldn't ask for anything better.”

“Gather your sleepy arrows, Little Brother. Fill your quiver. We're off to Bebrycos at the turning of the tide!”

10

The Scorching

When Castor landed on Bebrycos he spent a few days scouting the island before challenging its ruler. His only knowledge of the giant and of those he ruled was what Peleus had told him, and he decided to see for himself what the situation was.

He pretended to be an old crippled man, a beggar. Donning a ragged black cloak, he stooped to half his height, hid his face in the cowl, and went limping about the island, occasionally thrusting a bowl at people, begging for food in a high quavering voice.

He learned that Amycus ruled by terror, that even his courtiers were not safe because he would be taken by gusts of rage, seize the nearest person, and pound him to a pulp. Only the Royal Guard, who were the twenty wingless dragons, was safe from his furies. He would kill anyone who displeased him. Some offenders were chained to a rock at a low tide and would spend hours waiting for the rising tide to cover them. But since sharks prowled very close to shore, only the lucky ones drowned.

A prime offender, anyone who dared look too long at any girl Amycus was interested in, was given to the guard for special treatment. The dragons would take the man to the beach, shackle him to a massive iron ring sunk into an enormous charred boulder, and stand in a circle blowing flame at him, one dragon at a time—roasting him inch by inch until his screams were heard in the castle, making Amycus smile. Some victims tried to shorten their agony by beating their head against the rock, but only a few had wit enough to do that.

These torture sessions drew big crowds, and the old beggar sidled among them, unnoticed, observing everything. He felt an idea forming. He tried to fend it off, because it was unspeakably perilous, but the idea kept coming back, and he knew he would have to think it through.

Upon this day, the spectators were disappointed. The man being burned was inconsiderate enough to die quickly. The crowd drifted away. The old beggar stayed on the beach watching the gulls. Attracted by the smell of burned flesh, they were diving, screeching, waiting for the body to cool so that they could feast. In the meantime, they ate the big black crabs that had also come to dine. It was an unpleasant sight, but Castor had come to do something, and had to stay until it was done.

He waited until the bones were stripped clean and the gulls had departed. He went to the rock, took hold of the iron ring, braced his legs, and began to pull. The rock seemed as though it were rooted to the center of the earth; he could not budge it. He exerted all his strength—which, he realized now, he had never really used to its fullest. “Things have been too easy for me,” he said to himself. “Nothing I've ever wrestled, man or beast, has lasted two minutes against me. Now, let's see what I'm really made of.” He pulled with all his might, and more than his might. Every particle of him fused into a wild surge of energy.

He thought he felt the rock move. “Father Zeus, help me,” he muttered. The gigantic rock seemed to loosen in its socket of earth. He grunted and let go. “If I can do this much now,” he thought, “a few licks of fire should really inspire me.”

He wandered off then. He felt dizzy from the strain, but had done enough to know that he could do more. He left that place, for the smell of burned flesh still hung heavy, and walked a mile or so along the shore, thinking hard.

“It's definite then,” he said to himself. “I've got to do it and try to get it done before Pollux comes … which means he'll be the one to challenge Amycus. Because even if I succeed against the dragons—which is a very big
if
indeed—I'll probably be too scorched to fight the giant. I wish we could trade jobs, Pollux and I, but he doesn't have the temperament to handle the dragons. When faced by an enemy he lowers his head and charges. He hates tactics and trickery; he trusts only his fists. But these damned lizards must be taken care of or neither of us will get out of here alive, no matter what happens to Amycus. As for those slithering flamethrowers, there's only one thing to do, and only me to do it.”

He had come now to where he had hidden his own clothes. He stripped himself of the stinking beggar rags and plunged into the sea, and swam until he felt clean again. Then he donned his tunic and went to find the girl he had seen with Amycus.

He went to the castle grounds and lurked in the orchard, watching the great portal until he saw the girl come out. He waited again until he saw three dragons emerge from the castle, one of them carrying a big net. This was the girl's escort, he knew, assigned by Amycus to follow her and discourage any other suitors. They followed very slowly.

Castor hurried after her with long strides. He wanted some time alone with her before the dragons arrived. He followed her up a hill. Looking back, he saw that the dragons were far behind. He guessed that they were giving her plenty of space, hoping that she was really going to meet someone. Then they could catch him, and begin the scorching. They enjoyed their work.

When he reached her she was sitting on a rock, sobbing.

“What's the matter?” he asked.

She choked back her sobs and looked at him. Her wet face was very beautiful.

“Why are you crying?”

“It's that beast, the king, my brother-in-law. He's tired of my sister and wants to marry me.”

“I take it that doesn't appeal to you?”

“Oh no, sir. I hate, loathe and despise him.”

“How about your sister?”

“She has nothing to say about it. When he gets tired of a wife he throws her away and gets a new one. My sister's his eighth.”

“And you'll be the ninth?”

“And my little sister will probably be the tenth. He'll be ready to throw me away when she's big enough. But I won't be the ninth, I won't marry him, I won't! I came here to jump off this hill.”

“Don't do that,” said Castor. “You're too beautiful. It would be too much of a waste. There must be many young men who love you.”

“There was one I loved, but he's gone. The king's lizards caught him in a net and did dreadful things to him. You'd better go away, sir, or they'll catch you, too. They follow me everywhere.”

Castor saw her eyes widen in terror, and knew that she saw dragons coming up behind him. He stepped closer, whispering, “May I kiss you?” And felt the net fall over him.

He didn't resist as the three dragons dragged him to the beach. He drew deep into himself as he had trained himself to do before a fight. He let all anxiety drain away, and tried to draw upon all the sources of his strength, some of which were mysterious even to himself.

He let them take him to the rock and chain him to its iron ring. He saw the crowd gather, watched the gulls thronging above in preparation for their feast. He made himself be absolutely passive because he wanted all the dragons to form their close circle around him. And he wanted them to be without suspicion.

When the green monsters closed their circle about the rock, one of them opened crocodile jaws and spat flame. A narrow jet. Castor braced his legs and began to pull, trying to lift the rock. It did not budge. He strained harder. His tunic had burned away and the crowd saw his back muscles writhing like serpents. Another dragon spat flame, then another.

Castor was prepared for pain, but he had been unable to imagine this kind of agony. “Father Zeus,” he groaned. “Help me—please …”

Another dragon shot flame, aiming at his middle.

Castor smelled flesh burning—his own, he knew—and the odor of it filled him with fury such as he had never known. Fury became strength. The crowd saw him sink toward the ground, then arise mightily, pulling the enormous rock out of the earth as a cork is drawn from a bottle. Astounded, they watched him pivot, swinging the boulder at the end of his chain. Saw him spin, faster and faster, and the tethered rock whirled in a murderous circuit, crushing dragons as it went.