Heroes: Volume II of Mythos

T HE T WO S TRANGERS IN THE O AK G ROVE Perseus was confounded and confused by the cosmopolitan clamour of the mainland. No one seemed to care who he was, unless it was to try and con him out of his few pieces of silver. It did not take him very long to that Dictys was right: if he was going to return to Polydectes with the head of Medusa he would need guidance. The oracle of Apollo at Delphi was a long way to walk, but at least it was free to all.fn8 He joined the long queue of petitioners and after two long days found himself at last standing before the priestess.fn9 ‘What does Perseus wish to know?’ Perseus gave a little gasp. She knew who he was! ‘I, well, I … I want to know how I can find and kill Medusa, the Gorgon.’ ‘Perseus must travel to a land where people subsist not on Demeter’s golden corn but on the fruit of the oak tree.’ He stayed there hoping for further information, but not a word more was forthcoming. A priest pulled him away. ‘Come along, come along, the Pythia has spoken. You’re holding up the others.’ ‘I don’t suppose you know what she meant?’ ‘I’ve got better things to do than listen to every pronouncement that comes from her mouth. You can be sure that it was wise and truthful.’ ‘But where do people subsist on the fruit of the oak?’ ‘Fruit of the oak? There’s no such thing. Now please, move along.’ ‘I know what she meant,’ said an old lady, who was one of the many regulars who came daily to sit on the grass and watch the line of supplicants shuffling along to hear their fortune. ‘It was her way of telling you to visit the oracle at Dodona.’ ‘Another oracle?’ Perseus’s heart sank. ‘The people there make flour from acorns that drop from oaks sacred to Zeus. I’ve heard tell the trees can speak. Dodona is a long way north, my love,’ she wheezed. ‘A very long way!’ A long way it was. His small supply of coins had gone and Perseus slept under hedgerows and subsisted on little more than wild figs and nuts as he travelled north. He must have presented a forlorn figure by the time he arrived, for the women of Dodona were kind. They ruffled his hair and served him delicious acorn-flour bread spread thick with sharp goats’ curd and sweetened with honey. ‘Go early in the morning,’ they advised. ‘The oaks are more talkative in the cool hours before the noontide sun.’ A mist hung over the countryside like a veil when Perseus set out for the grove at dawn the next day. ‘Er, hello?’ he called out to the trees, feeling remarkably stupid. The oaks were tall, stately and impressive enough, but they did not have mouths or faces with recognisable expressions. ‘Who calls?’ Perseus started. Unquestionably a voice. Calm, soft, female, but strong and deeply authoritative. ‘Here to help.’ Another voice! This one seemed to contain a hint of scorn. ‘My name is Perseus. I have come …’ ‘Oh, we know who you are,’ said a young man stepping forward from the shadows. He was young, startlingly handsome and most unusually dressed. Aside from the loincloth around his waist, a narrow-brimmed hat that circled his brow and winged sandals at his ankles, he was quite naked.fn10 Perseus noticed that two live snakes writhed about the staff that he was carrying. A woman holding a shield emerged behind him. She was tall, grave and beautiful. When she raised her shining grey eyes to his, Perseus felt an extraordinary surge of something he could not quite define. He decided the quality was majesty and bowed his head accordingly. ‘Don’t be afraid, Perseus,’ she said. ‘Your father has sent us to help you.’ ‘My father?’ ‘He’s our father too,’ said the young man. ‘The Cloud Gatherer and Bringer of Storms.’ ‘The Sky Father and King of Heaven,’ said the shining woman. ‘Z-Z-Zeus?’ ‘The same.’ ‘You mean it’s really true, then? Zeus is my father?’ Perseus had never believed his mother’s wild story about Zeus coming to her as a shower of golden rain. He had taken it for granted that his real father was some itinerant musician or tinker whose name she had never discovered. ‘Quite true, brother Perseus,’ said the tall woman. ‘Brother?’ ‘I am Athena, daughter of Zeus and Metis.’ ‘Hermes, son of Zeus and Maia,’ said the young man, bowing. It was a lot for a youth of sheltered upbringing to take in. The two Olympians now told him that Zeus had been keeping an eye on him since his birth. He had guided the wooden chest into the net of Dictys. He had watched Perseus grow up into young manhood. He had seen him rise to Polydectes’ challenge. He admired his boldness and had sent his two favourite children to assist their half-brother in his quest for the head of Medusa. ‘You’re going to help me?’ said Perseus. This was so much more than he could have hoped for. ‘We can’t slay the Gorgon for you,’ said Hermes, ‘but we can help tilt the odds a little in your favour. You might find these useful.’ He looked down and addressed the sandals at his feet. ‘To my brother Perseus,’ he commanded. The sandals unwrapped themselves from the god’s ankles and flew to Perseus. ‘Take your own off, first.’ Perseus did so and at once the sandals attached themselves to his feet. ‘You’ll have plenty of time to get used to them,’ said Athena, watching in some amusement as Perseus leapt in the air like a dancer. ‘You’re confusing them,’ said Hermes. ‘You don’t have to flap your feet to fly. Just think.’ Perseus closed his eyes and strained. ‘Not like you’re taking a crap. Just picture yourself in the air. That’s it! You’ve got it now.’ Perseus opened his eyes to discover that he had risen up into the air. He dropped down again with a jarring bump. ‘Practice. That’s the key. Now here is a hood from our uncle hades. Wear this and no one will be able to see you.’ Perseus took the hood in his hands. ‘I have something for you too,’ said Athena. ‘Oh,’ said Perseus, putting the hood down and taking the object she was offering to him. ‘A satchel?’ ‘You might find it useful.’ After flying sandals and a cap of invisibility, a plain brown leather satchel seemed something of a disappointment, but Perseus tried not to show it. ‘That’s very kind of you, I’m sure it will come in useful.’ ‘It will,’ said Athena, ‘but I have more for you. Take this …’ She passed him a short-bladed weapon, curved like a scythe. ‘Be very careful, the blade is very sharp.’ ‘You’re not wrong!’ said Perseus, sucking blood from his thumb. ‘It is called a harpe and can cut through anything.’ ‘It is forged from adamantine,’ Hermes added. ‘A perfect replica of the great sickle Gaia made for Kronos.’ ‘And this shield is like no other,’ said Athena. ‘Its name is AEGIS. You must make sure its surface is always kept to a mirror shine like this.’ Perseus shaded his eyes from the flashing light of the rising sun that was reflecting from the polished bronze. ‘Is the idea to dazzle Medusa with its glare?’ ‘You must work out for yourself how best to use it, but believe me, without this shield you will surely fail.’ ‘And die,’ said Hermes. ‘Which would be a pity.’ Perseus could hardly contain his excitement. The wings at his heels fluttered and he found himself rising up. He made some swishes with the harpe. ‘This is all just amazing. So what do I do next?’ ‘There are limits to how much we can help. If you’re to be a hero you must make your own moves and take your own –’ ‘I’m a hero?’ ‘You can be.’ Hermes and Athena were so fine. They shone. Everything they did was performed without any seeming effort. They made Perseus feel hot and clumsy. As if reading his mind, Athena said, ‘You will get used to Aegis, to the scythe, the sandals, the hood and the satchel. They are outwards things. If your mind and spirit are directed to your task, everything else will follow. Relax.’ ‘But focus,’ said Hermes. ‘Relaxation without focus leads to failure.’ ‘Focus without relaxation leads to failure just as surely,’ said Athena. ‘So concentrate …’ said Perseus. ‘Exactly.’ ‘… but calmly?’ ‘Concentrate calmly. You have it.’ Perseus stood for a while inhaling and exhaling in a manner that he hoped was relaxed, yet focussed, concentrated, yet calm. Hermes nodded. ‘I think this young man has an excellent chance of success.’ ‘But the one thing these – wonderful – gifts can’t help me with is finding the Gorgons. I have asked all over but no one seems to agree where they live. On an island somewhere, far out to sea, that’s all I have been told. Which island? Which sea?’ ‘We cannot tell you that,’ said Hermes, ‘but have you heard of the PHORCIDES?’ ‘Never.’ ‘They are sometimes called the GRAEAE, or Grey Ones,’ said Athena. ‘Like their sisters, the Gorgons Stheno and Euryale, they are daughters of Phorcys and Ceto.’ ‘They’re old,’ said Hermes. ‘So old they have only one eye and one tooth between them.’ ‘Seek them out,’ said Athena. ‘They know everything but tell nothing.’ ‘If they don’t say anything,’ said Perseus, ‘what use are they? Do I threaten them with the sickle?’ ‘Oh no, you’ll have to think of something subtler than that.’ ‘Something much craftier,’ said Hermes. ‘But what?’ ‘I’m sure it’ll come to you. They can be found in a cave on the wild shores of Kisthene, that much is common knowledge.’ ‘We wish you good fortune, brother Perseus,’ said Athena. ‘Relaxed but focussed, that’s the key,’ said Hermes. ‘Goodbye …’ ‘Good luck …’ ‘Wait, wait!’ cried Perseus, but the figures and forms of the gods had already begun to fade into the bright morning light and soon they had vanished entirely. Perseus stood alone in the grove of sacred oaks. ‘This sickle is real at least,’ said Perseus, looking at the cut on his thumb. ‘This satchel is real, these sandals are real. Aegis is real …’ ‘Are you trying to blind me?’ Perseus swung round. ‘Just watch how you flash that shield about,’ came an irritated voice. It seemed to be coming from the very heart of the oak tree closest to him. ‘So you trees can talk after all,’ said Perseus. ‘Of course we can talk.’ ‘We usually choose not to.’ ‘There’s so little worth saying.’ Voices came now from all parts of the wood. ‘I understand,’ said Perseus. ‘But perhaps you wouldn’t mind pointing me in the direction of Kisthene?’ ‘Kisthene? That’s Aeolia.’ ‘More Phrygia, really,’ another voice put in. ‘I’d call it Lydia.’ ‘Well, it’s certainly east.’ ‘North of Ionia but south of the Propontis.’ ‘Ignore them, young man,’ boomed an older oak, rustling his leaves. ‘They don’t know what they’re talking about. Fly over the isle of Lesbos and then up along the coast of Mysia. You can’t miss the cave of the Grey Sisters. It’s under a rock shaped like a weasel.’ ‘Like a stoat, you mean,’ squeaked a young sapling. ‘An otter, surely?’ ‘I’d’ve said a pine marten.’ ‘The rock resembles a polecat and nothing else.’ ‘I said weasel and I meant weasel,’ said the old one, quivering all over so that his leaves shook. ‘Thanks,’ said Perseus. ‘I really must be going.’ Throwing his satchel over his shoulder, attaching the scythe to his belt and settling the shield firmly in his grip, Perseus frowned in on himself to awaken the sandals and with a great shout of triumph shot up into the blue of the sky. ‘Good luck,’ cried the oaks. ‘Look out for a rock in the shape of a marmoset …’