Mythos: A Retelling of the Myths of Ancient Greece

The other boys, led by a sneering Epaphus, hooted their disbelief and derision. ‘We all know your father is that boring old fool Merops!’ one of them shouted.

‘He’s just my stepfather!’ cried Phaeton. ‘Apollo is my real father. He is! You’ll see. Just you wait and see. It’ll take me a while to get to his palace, but one day soon – look up at the sky. I’ll wave down at you. That’ll be me driving the day along. You’ll see!’

And off he ran home, jeers, catcalls and the mocking laughter of his schoolfellows ringing in his ears. One of the boys, his friend and lover CYGNUS,fn4 chased after him.

‘Oh Phaeton,’ cried Cygnus, ‘what have you said? It can’t be true. You’ve complained to me so many times that you’ve never even met your real father. Go back and tell them you were joking.’

‘Leave me alone, Cygnus,’ said Phaeton, pushing him away. ‘I’m going to the Palace of the Sun. It’s the only way to silence that pig Epaphus. By the time you see me again everyone will respect me at last and know me for who I really am.’

‘But I know who you are,’ said the unhappy Cygnus. ‘You are Phaeton and I love you.’

Father and Sun

Nor was there anything Clymene could say to make Phaeton change his mind either. She watched in an agony of distress as he gathered up his few belongings.

‘Look up and you’ll see me,’ he said, kissing her farewell. ‘I’ll wave as I ride by.’

The Palace of the Sun lay, of course, due east; in fact as far east as India. How Phaeton got there isn’t agreed upon. I’ve read that magical sun hawks told Apollo of the boy’s slow struggle from mainland Greece across Mesopotamia and the land we would now call Iran, and that the god instructed these splendid birds to bear him up and fly him the rest of the way.

However Phaeton got there, he arrived at night and immediately was summoned to the throne room of the palace, where Apollo sat robed in purple in the glimmer that gleamed from the gold, silver and jewels which decorated the chamber. The throne he sat on, that alone was studded with more than ten thousand rubies and emeralds. The youth fell to his knees, quite overpowered by the magnificence of the palace, the dazzle of the gemstones and above all by the radiant glory of his father the god.

‘So, you are Clymene’s boy, are you? Stand up, let’s have a look at you. Yes, I can see that you might be the fruit of my loins. You have the cast of countenance, the colouring. I’m told you travelled a long way to be here. Why?’

The question was blunt and Phaeton found himself a little flustered. He managed to stammer out some words about Epaphus and ‘the other boys’ and was painfully aware that he sounded more like a spoiled child than the proud son of an Olympian.

‘Yes, yes. Very mean, very disrespectful. And where do I come in?’

‘All my life,’ said Phaeton, burning with the pride and resentment that had smouldered inside him for so very long, ‘all my life my mother has told me about great and glorious Apollo, the golden god, my shining perfect father. B-b-but you’ve never visited us! You’ve never invited us anywhere. You’ve never even acknowledged me.’

‘Well, yes, I’m sorry about that. Remiss of me. I’ve been a terrible father, I wish I could make it up to you.’ Apollo mouthed the words that absent fathers mouth everywhere and every day, but his mind was really on horses, music, drink … anything but this tedious, sulky and complaining child.

‘If you could just grant me one wish. One wish, that’s all.’

‘Of course, of course. Name it.’

‘Really? You mean it?’

‘Of course.’

‘You swear you’ll grant it?’

‘I swear,’ said Apollo, amused by the boy’s extreme earnestness. ‘I swear by my lyre. I swear by the cold flowing waters of Styx herself. Name it, I say.’

‘I want to drive your horses.’

‘My horses?’ said Apollo, not quite understanding. ‘Drive them? What do you mean?’

‘I want to steer the sun-chariot across the sky. Tomorrow.’

‘Oh no,’ said Apollo, a smile spreading across his face. ‘No, no, no! Don’t be silly. No one can do that.’

‘You promised!’

‘Phaeton, Phaeton. It’s brave and splendid even to dream of doing such a thing. But no one, no one drives those animals but me.’

‘You swore by Styx!’

‘Zeus himself couldn’t control them! They are the strongest, wildest, most headstrong and unmanageable stallions ever born. They answer to my touch and mine alone. No, no. You can’t ask such a thing.’

‘I have asked it. And you have sworn!’

‘Phaeton!’ The other eleven gods would have been astonished to hear such a pleading, desperate note in Apollo’s voice. ‘I beg of you! Anything else. Gold, food, power, knowledge, love … You name it, it’s yours in perpetuity. But not this. Never this.’

‘I have asked and you have sworn,’ the stubborn youth replied.

Apollo bowed his golden head and cursed inwardly.

Oh, those gods and their quick tongues. Oh, those mortals and their foolish dreams. Will either ever learn?