Mythos: A Retelling of the Myths of Ancient Greece

‘Right. Let’s go and meet them then. But know this,’ Apollo said as they neared the stables and the horsey smell grew stronger and sharper in Phaeton’s nostrils. ‘You can change your mind at any time. I won’t think any the less of you. Frankly, I’ll think a great deal the more of you.’

At the god’s approach the four stallions, white with golden manes, stamped and shifted in their stalls.

‘Hey, Pyrois! Whoa there, Phlegon! Hush now, Aeos! Quietly, Aethon!’ Apollo called to each in turn. ‘Alright, come forward, boy, let them get to know you.’

Phaeton had never seen such beautiful horses. Their eyes flashed gold and their hoofs struck sparks on the flagstones. He was filled with awe, but felt too a sudden stab of fear which he tried to play off as thrilled anticipation.

Lined up before the massive gates of dawn was a golden quadriga, the great chariot to which the four stallions would soon be harnessed. A quiet female figure in saffron robes hurried past. Phaeton caught from her a fragrance which he could not name but which made him dizzy with delight.

‘That was Eos,’ said Apollo. ‘It will soon be time for her to open the gates.’

Phaeton knew all about Eos, the goddess of the dawn. She was called rhododaktylos – the ‘rosy-fingered one’ – and admired everywhere for her sweetness and soft beauty.

As he helped his father walk the stallions forward and into position at the head of the chariot, Phaeton suddenly felt himself pushed roughly aside.

‘What is this mortal doing?’

A huge figure dressed in shining buff leather armour had taken the bridle of all four horses at once and was leading them forward.

‘Ah, Helios, there you are,’ said Apollo. ‘This is Phaeton. My son Phaeton.’

‘So?’

Phaeton knew that Helios was the brother of Eos and the moon goddess Selene and assisted Apollo in his daily duties with the chariot. Apollo seemed slightly awkward in the Titan’s presence.

‘Well, the thing is, Phaeton will be driving the chariot today.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Well, he might as well learn now, don’t you think?’

‘You are joking?’

‘I sort of promised.’

‘Well, sort of unpromise then.’

‘Helios, I can’t. You know I can’t.’

Helios stamped his feet and gave a roar that caused the horses to rear and whinny. ‘You’ve never once let me drive, Apollo! Never. How many times have I asked and how many times have you told me I’m not ready? And now you let this … this shrimp take the reins?’

‘Helios, you will do as you’re told,’ said Apollo. ‘I have spoken and so I have … er, spoken.’

Apollo took the four leather traces from Helios and lifted Phaeton up and into the seat of the chariot. Helios gave a shout of laughter as he saw the youth slide back and forth.

‘He rolls in it like a little pea!’ he said with a surprisingly high-pitched giggle.

‘He’ll be fine. Now, Phaeton. These reins – they are your lines of communication with the horses. They know the way, they run this course every day, but you must show them that you are their master, you understand?’

Phaeton nodded eagerly.

Something of his nervous excitement and Helios’s fury seemed to have been picked up by the horses, who bucked and snorted restlessly.

‘The most important thing,’ continued Apollo, ‘is to fly neither too high nor too low. A middle course between the sky and the earth, yes?’

Again Phaeton nodded.

‘Oh, I nearly forgot. Hold out your hands …’ Apollo took a jar and poured oil from it into Phaeton’s outstretched palms. ‘Anoint yourself with that all over. It will protect you from the heat and light generated by the stallions as they gallop through the air. The earth below will be warmed and lit as you go, so keep a straight line westwards towards the Garden of the Hesperides. It’s a twelve-hour drive. Be steady. Remember – the horses know. Call them by name, Aeos and Aethon, Pyrois and Phlegon.’

As Apollo said their names Phaeton saw their ears prick up.

‘But it’s not too late, boy. You’ve seen them, you’ve handled them, I’ll give you gold sculptures of them cast by Hephaestus to take home. That should satisfy your school friends.’

Another high-pitched titter from Helios sent a flush to Phaeton’s cheek.

‘No,’ he said stiffly. ‘You gave a promise and so did I.’

Daybreak

As Phaeton spoke Eos came forward in a bright cloud of pearl and rose. She bowed smilingly to Apollo and Helios, looked a puzzled question at the blushing Phaeton in the chariot and took up her position at the gates of dawn.

To a traveller looking eastwards and upwards at the clouds in which the Palace of the Sun was hidden, the first sign that Eos was at work always came in the form of a flush of coral pink that suffused the sky. As she threw the gates wider, that soft pink hardened into a gleam of gold which grew ever brighter and fiercer.