Heroes: Volume II of Mythos

T HE K HALKOTAUROI At one side of a broad hedged field King Aeëtes and his court were gathered on a platform under a large canopy that shaded them from the heat and glare of the noonday sun. A crowd of excited spectators pressed in around the other three sides of the field. ‘It’s going to be rather bloody,’ Aeëtes warned his wife. ‘I enjoy a good spectacle,’ said Idyia, stifling a yawn. ‘What about you, my dear?’ said Aeëtes, turning to his daughter Chalciope. ‘Think you can take a bit of a gore?’ She nodded listlessly. Still fretting herself about those sons of hers, thought Aeëtes. Good riddance to them. Phrixus was gone, those boys of his were gone and soon this Jason would be gone. All who threatened him would be gone. Now his daughter Medea joined them. ‘Ah, you don’t mind some blood and guts, do you?’ Medea smiled. ‘I am so looking forward to this, papa.’ Absyrtus clambered up onto the dais. ‘No, my darling …’ said Aeëtes firmly, but with a soft affection he reserved only for his youngest child, the ‘consolation for my old age’ as he called him. ‘But papa!’ ‘You’re too young. Tell him, Idyia.’ ‘Obey your father, child,’ said Idyia without turning round. ‘It’s not something fit for a boy of your age to see,’ said Aeëtes. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. We’ll go and see the dragon tomorrow. How’s that?’ Absyrtus swung moodily round and clambered down. Aeëtes clapped his hands and nodded to his steward who signalled to the musicians. Trumpets sounded, the crowd of Colchians cheered and Jason stepped forward, holding a yoke and harness. He presented the most magnificent sight. He was naked but for a shield and sword and his whole body gleamed. ‘Ha! The fool’s rubbed oil all over himself. That’ll only make matters much worse. One blast from the bulls and his skin will catch fire. Oh, this is going to be good!’ Another fanfare and gates at the far end of the field opened. Two enormous bulls trotted out. They stopped for a moment, pawing the ground with their bronze hoofs. Medea gazed at Jason, trying to keep the look of love out of her eyes. Aeëtes glanced across at her. She really is a bloodthirsty little thing, he thought to himself. Quite my favourite daughter. In the centre of the field Jason dropped the yoke and harness and began to beat his sword against his shield. The crowd roared their approval. The bulls looked up and bellowed. With flames bursting from their mouths and smoke pouring from their nostrils, they charged. Jason held his ground. ‘By the gods, this ointment better work,’ he muttered to himself, as the bulls galloped towards him. The flames enveloped him as they approached, but he felt nothing. Leaping to one side he slammed his shield into the first bull, which stumbled. The other turned on him and directed a ball of fire directly into his face. Jason stabbed its side with his sword and its bellow turned to a shriek. The bulls had never had to fight before. Their flames had always been weapon enough. On Jason they had no effect and it demoralised them. They circled him, puffing smoke and jetting out ever more feeble spears of fire. The crowd stood to their feet as Jason picked up the yoke and attached it to the bulls who bowed their heads, humbly submissive to his touch. The royal steward approached Jason with a wooden ploughshare. He skirted the yoked bulls with evident fear, which set the crowd jeering. The ploughing itself was easy enough. The bulls were subdued and obedient and the furrows they ploughed straight and deep. Jason turned towards Aeëtes. ‘One!’ he shouted. ‘One!’ echoed the crowd. Aeëtes swept his hand in a gesture that was supposed to combine impassive acceptance, a modicum of admiration and an air of regal graciousness. It succeeded only in looking petulant. A trumpet sounded and the steward approached Jason again, bearing this time a silver box high above his head. Jason took it and gave it a shake. He heard the rattle of the dragon’s teeth. Aeëtes watched with a frown. How this conceited youth could have withstood the blast of the oxens’ breath was more than he could understand. It was displeasing too that the crowd should be so loudly and unmistakably on his side. Well, it was one thing to tame the bulls, quite another to defeat the armed men that would spring from the soil. Jason walked the furrows, sowing the long, sharp yellow dragon’s teeth in the grooves. When he had finished he stood back and looked for a suitable stone. Medea had told him that the way to defeat the Spartoi, the ‘sown men’ that would rise up fully armed from the earth, would be to throw a large stone into their ranks. He saw a jagged boulder that was big but not too heavy for him to lift and edged round to it. He looked across the field. The eyes of the king and the crowd were on the ploughed earth, from which the tips of spears were beginning to sprout. The green eyes of Medea were on him. He nodded and leaned down to pick up the boulder. The spear tips were followed by helmets, then shoulders, trunks and legs. The field was now filled with row on row of rough, virile soldiers. They roared in unison, grunting out war cries and brandishing their weapons. The sight and sound of them was terrible. Jason raised the boulder above his head and hurled it with all his might. It landed on two of the Spartoi in the middle of the field and bounced off onto the shoulder of another. Immediately they turned on each other with a snarl and started to fight. Others joined in, and soon they were all stabbing, roaring, thrusting and throttling each other. One by one they fell, until only one was standing. The lone soldier staggered groggily about the field of his slain companions. Jason marched smartly up to him and with one sweep of his sword, cut off his head. He held the head high as he turned to Aeëtes and shouted. ‘Two!’ ‘Two!’ yelled the crowd. Aeëtes stood, turned his back on the field and left. The rest of the court went with him, but the crowd stayed to chant Jason’s praises. He knelt down and thanked Hecate, Hera, Athena, Aphrodite and all the gods he could think of for his deliverance. ‘And thank you, Eros,’ he added, ‘for sending me Medea.’