Heroes: Volume II of Mythos

T HE F OOT RACE Atalanta’s triumphant role in the Calydonian Boar Hunt caused her name to be sounded far and wide. It came to the ears of her father King Schoeneus. He had cruelly left her to die exposed on a mountainside, but now he was only too keen to welcome her back to his palace. He may have been the first cruel, abusive and unfit parent to reclaim a child once they became famous or rich, but he would certainly not be the last. ‘My darling child,’ he said, spreading his arms wide to show the breadth of his kingdom, ‘this will all be yours.’ ‘Really?’ said Atalanta. ‘Well, your husband’s, naturally,’ said Schoeneus. Atalanta shook her head. ‘I will never marry.’ ‘But consider! You are my only child. If you do not marry and have children, the kingdom will go to outsiders.’ Atalanta’s devotion to Artemis and her lifelong objection to marriage had not altered. ‘I will only a marry a man,’ she said, ‘who can …’ She considered. She was a superb shot with a bow, but it was conceivable that the man might live who was better. It was the same with her skill with javelin, discus and on horseback. What was there that no man could ever best her at? Ah! She had it. ‘I will only a marry man who can run faster than me.’ ‘Very well. So let it be.’ Atalanta was safe. Her speed could never be matched.fn14 ‘Oh, and any suitor who takes the challenge and fails must die,’ she added. Schoeneus grunted his assent and arranged for the word to be put out. Great was Atalanta’s fame and beauty, great the value of Schoeneus’s kingdom and great the conviction of many fine, fit and fast young fellows that no woman could ever best them. Many made the journey to Arcadia: all were defeated and all were killed. The crowds loved it. In amongst the spectators one day was a young man called HIPPOMENES. He watched a prince from Thessaly run against Atalanta, lose and be taken off to be beheaded. The crowd cheered as his head rolled in the dust but all Hippomenes could think of was Atalanta. Her impossible swiftness. Those long striding legs. The hair streaming behind. The stern frown on that beautiful face. He was in love and he meant to win her. But how could he do it? He was no runner – the prince who had just lost his head was much faster, and had been nowhere in sight when Atalanta crossed the finish line. Hippomenes made his way to a temple of Aphrodite, knelt before the statue of the goddess and prayed his heart out. The statue seemed to move and he heard a voice whisper in his ear. ‘Look behind the altar and take the things you see. Use them to win the race.’ Hippomenes opened his eyes. Fragrant incense was burning strongly. Had wreaths of its smoke snaked into his head and made him imagine Aphrodite’s voice? He was alone in the temple; surely there was no harm in looking behind the altar. Something gleamed in the shadows. He reached out a hand and pulled out one, two, three golden apples. ‘Thank you, Aphrodite, thank you!’ he whispered. The following day Atalanta looked at the next young man foolish enough to challenge her to a race, the next young lamb to the slaughter. ‘What a pity,’ she thought to himself, ‘he’s rather good-looking. A young Apollo. But he’s stupid enough to have a satchel slung over his shoulder. Doesn’t he know how much that will slow him down? Ah well …’ she crouched and waited for the starting signal. Hippomenes set off after her as fast as he could. His running style was poor at best, but hampered by the bag of apples swinging from his shoulder it was preposterous enough to cause the crowd to hoot with laughter. They howled even louder when he started fumbling with the bag. ‘He’s decided to have his lunch, now!’ Hippomenes took out one of the apples and rolled it along the ground ahead of him. It shot along the track and overtook Atalanta, who sprinted after it and picked it up. How beautiful, she thought, turning it round in her hand. A golden apple! Like the apples Gaia gave Zeus and Hera as a wedding gift. The apples in the Garden of the Hesperides. Or perhaps this one came from Aphrodite’s sacred apple tree in Cyprus? She glanced up to see Hippomenes flailing past her. ‘I’ll soon reel him in,’ she muttered to herself, shooting off again. Indeed, it wasn’t long before she had passed him. She was just feeling the heft of the apple in her hand when another one rolled past her. Once again she stopped to pick it up; once again Hippomenes overtook her; once again she regained her position ahead of him with ease. The third apple Hippomenes deliberately rolled at an angle, so that as it shot past Atalanta it veered off the track. Atalanta saw it flash by and took off in hot pursuit. The damned thing was stuck in an acacia bush. Its thorns scratched her and caught in her hair as she plucked it out. She now had three golden apples. How marvellous. But there was that damned boy racing past her again. She turned and streaked after him. It was too late! Unbelievable, but true. The crowd roared as the exhausted Hippomenes crossed the line arms aloft and staggered, doubled up, hands on hips, sobbing and panting from the exertion. Atalanta came through in a creditable but shocked second place. She was too honourable to go back on her word and she and Hippomenes were soon married. You can say it was the work of Aphrodite, you can say it was love – it amounts to the same thing – but Atalanta found herself growing fonder and fonder of Hippomenes until it could safely be said that she loved him with an ardour equal to his for her. They had a son, PARTHENOPAEUS, who grew up to be one of the Seven against Thebes.fn15 Their married life, though, was to end strangely. It seems that Hippomenes neglected to thank Aphrodite properly for her aid in winning Atalanta. As a punishment, she visited great lust upon the couple while they were visiting a temple sacred to the goddess CYBELE fn16. Unable to resist the urge, they made furious love on the floor of her temple. The outraged Cybele transformed the pair into lions. This might not seem so terrible a punishment, lions being kings of the jungle and high up the food chain; but to the Greeks it was the worst fate that could befall lovers, for they believed that lions and lionesses were unable to mate with each other. Lion cubs, they thought, came exclusively from the union of lions and leopards. And so Atalanta and Hippomenes were doomed to live out their lives drawing Cybele’s chariot, closely harnessed to each other but eternally denied the pleasure of sex.