Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume One (46 page)

“I have come to kill it. Tell me where to find it, O river god, that I may cleanse your waters.”

“I do not know where the dragon is,” said Asopus. “I break into many streams at this point. For this is where Zeus broke my body with boulders.”

“Can't you give me any idea where to find the monster?” asked Cadmus.

Follow a cow

She'll show you how.

The grating voice dwindled away. The mist cleared. Cadmus moaned and fell into a deeper sleep. When he awoke he saw a cow grazing nearby. She lifted her head, lowered it again to wrench out another mouthful of grass, and then ambled over to the youth. She was a pretty brown heifer with large amber eyes and small horns. She mooed musically, then moved off. Cadmus followed. He understood nothing. He knew only that he must do as the river god had bidden him.

For the rest of that day Cadmus followed the cow. She kept to the shore of a stream that branched northwest. Her ambling pace was swifter than it looked, and Cadmus found it hard to keep up. He could not stop to eat or drink. Night came. Surely, Cadmus thought, she'll rest now. But she did not. The stars hung low and it was still easy to see her.

The heifer climbed a low hill and went down the other side. Cadmus followed. His legs were weary. The shield and sword seemed to weigh more with every step. They dragged him toward the ground. “Heavy, heavy, these gifts of the gods,” he murmured. “But if their favor is such a burden, how weighty must be their displeasure.” He stumbled on. He could not cast off his weapons, nor could he rest while the heifer moved forward.

All night Cadmus followed her. His legs turned to bladders. He staggered and sank to the ground.

“Am I to fail before I even reach the dragon? Simply because I am weary? No! This shall not be.”

He pulled himself to his hands and knees but could rise no farther. The cow was moving out of sight. He crawled after her. He tried to encourage himself by thinking that she too was tiring. She was climbing the steep slope of another hill. Cadmus struggled up the hill, dragging himself along on his knees, pulling himself by the strength of his arms. Finally, the cow reached the top of the hill and began to go down the other side. Now Cadmus simply let himself roll. When she started across the plain, he again crawled after her. His hands were scraped, his knees, bleeding. He could see the river glinting in the afternoon sun, and realized they had worked their way back to the main branch.

“I will go on even if my flesh is torn away and I have to creep on my bones,” he said to himself.

Then, to his delight, he saw the cow suddenly fold herself into a low shadow and lie down. As he watched, she lowered her head and slept. Cadmus drew in a deep breath of fresh air. He took off his helmet, laid down his shield, and placed his sword carefully upon it. His eyelids sagged, but he kept them open a moment to savor the marvelous idea that he could close them when he wished, and sleep.

To his horror he saw the cow's shadow grow tall again as she arose and moved on. He tried to get up but was nailed to the ground. Groaning, he took his sword, stuck it in the ground, and then, holding the hilt, dragged himself up. He clapped the helmet on his aching head, then took a great breath, and lifted his shield. He couldn't hold it but had to drag it behind him as he limped after the cow. He knew he couldn't walk far. He knew also that he dared not sink to his knees again and crawl because his legs were raw meat now. He would never be able to bear the pain of crawling over the rocky ground.

The moon had risen. The stars flared. The meadow was flooded with brown light. Now the cow seemed to be walking on her hind legs. He blinked and looked again. The cow danced before him, shaking one raised forehoof at the moon.

That sight finished him. Sword and shield slipped from his grasp and fell clanking. He dropped to the ground. His helmet rolled away. He lay on his back looking at the moon. It was a curdled yellow that seemed to pulse in the sky as he watched. His throat was so dry that he couldn't swallow. He moved his tongue but could work up no spittle. He had not eaten all day, but thirst made him ignore his hunger. His thirst was unbearable, but he hadn't the strength to drag himself across the field to the river.

Cadmus swiveled his neck painfully to look at the cow. If she had been dancing, she had stopped. She was cropping grass again. He tried to call to her, heard himself croaking feebly. He gathered up the last tatters of his strength and sent a thought toward her. “Come here!” She raised her head, swung her tail, and loped toward him. Her swollen bag swung above him. He grasped it, pulled himself up, and tried to drink from her udder.

The cow pulled away. She was skittish. She was moving off. Cadmus fell back onto the grass. “If I don't drink, I'll die,” he thought. He flung himself on his helmet and rolled to his knees. It was agony. He forced himself to bear the pain, and crawled toward the cow. He grasped her. She did not skitter. She stood. Cadmus milked her into his helmet. Twin jets tinkled in. The sound gave him strength enough to keep milking until the helmet was half full. He tried to lift it in both hands, but they were shaking so much that he had to put it down. He stretched himself on the ground and drank from the helmet like a snake out of a trough. Every swallow of the warm rich milk was the taste of life itself. He drank every drop. The cow had ambled off again, but stood closer than before, wrenching grass. His belly full, his thirst quenched, Cadmus didn't move, didn't want to. He felt deliciously drowsy and closed his eyes.

S
creams woke him, terrible, hoarse, bellowing screams. The cow was screaming. Brass tinkled strangely. Great brass claws were digging into her. The moon was covered by clouds; it was hard to see. The cow was rising slowly into the air, bellowing horribly—a dreadful, clotted, phlegmy sound. Metal wings clanked. Cadmus smelled sulfur and dung. He saw a gout of red fire, and, by its light, a huge lizard shape. It disappeared into the blackness above, taking the cow with it.

12

Fighting the Dragon

Cadmus was dizzy with horror. He didn't know whether he was awake or asleep, but he feared he was awake. “It took the cow,” he thought. “It'll be back for me.” But he could not move. Fatigue was stronger than fear. He fell into a suffocated sleep.

The cow danced in his sleep. She frisked on hind legs and beckoned him with one forefoot, crying, “Moon! moon!” He arose and danced with her. One brisket was torn away; the raw meat bulged. But it did not sicken him; he pitied her too much. He danced with her in the moonlight—dim brown light; the moon swam in a chink of clouds; it was brown as an old bloodstain. The cow's eyes were pits of amber light; her white horns glistened. Her breath was heavy and sweet with the smell of cropped grass.

They danced down to the river. The moon flared, casting a yellow light, turning the river into a mirror. The cow gazed at herself in the water. Her head swayed. She mooed at her reflection.

In the clarity of his stunned, moonstruck sleep, Cadmus knew that this play of cow and mirrored cow held great meaning for him somehow, that this was why he had been commanded to follow her. But what the meaning was he did not know. The cow bellowed and disappeared.

Cadmus awoke at dawn. His weapons lay on the grass; the cow was gone. He looked about. He lay in a circle of trampled grass. He tried to remember what had happened. Suddenly, the air was filled with a hideous clanking sound. The sun was blotted by an enormous shadow. He smelled fire.

“It's here,” he said to himself. “I'm about to die.”

Shuddering, he looked up. It was worse than he had thought; it was the most dreadful sight imaginable. A crocodile as big as a ship, a flying crocodile with brass wings. The monster's hide was made of sliding brass scales; its long, thick tail bristled with iron spikes. Its feet wore brass claws. And, from its jaws, spurted hot, red fire.

The dragon was still a mile away, but Cadmus could feel the awful heat as he stood there on the plain. “Well,” he said to himself. “I understand that the waters of the Styx are very cold. So my first sensation of death should be refreshing.”

But he could not hearten himself. He almost swooned in the stinking blasts of heat. There was no way under the morning sun that he could fight this flaming spiked beast. Now the heat had become unbearable. Clutching sword and shield, with helmet firmly planted on his head, he rushed to the river.

All this time, the black goat had been following Cadmus, but she had found it no easy task. For the beasts of the forest, never having encountered a giant goat, considered anything with horns their natural prey. She had fought off a lion, goring it severely, but had herself been raked by its claws before it had slunk away. Then a pack of wolves had caught the scent of her blood and hunted her over the fields. She outran them eventually, but was forced to make a great circle back to the river. She had lost time, but had finally caught up with Cadmus. As she entered the meadow, she saw the dragon hovering and Cadmus diving into the river. She positioned herself on the shore as close as possible to where he had dived, keeping her hooves on a flat rock.

Cadmus had dived as deep as he could, holding his breath. The water grew warm as the dragon passed overhead, but the flames could not reach him. He waited, crouching on the bottom of the river until he heard the clanging fade. Then he kicked against the bottom, heading for the surface. But he could not move. His weapons were too heavy.

He struggled. He could not surface. Iron bands tightened around his chest. Pain spiked him. He began to gag. One instant more and he would have to take a breath, even of water. He opened his right hand and let the shield go. Then he shot to the surface and floated there, panting. The dragon, wheeling above, saw him surface. It folded its brass wings like a giant pelican and plunged toward the water.

Down, down, straight at the floating Cadmus, hurtled the monster. The goat sprang up at the dragon, just as it had sprung at the vultures tormenting Prometheus. She hurled herself between monster and prey. The brass beast struck the goat with the full weight of its dive, breaking every bone in her body.

Cadmus was not aware that the goat had come. But he saw the dragon swerve suddenly and fly off carrying a dark mass in its claws. It dropped what it was carrying, rose high, flew a distance, but did not vanish. Cadmus threw his sword onto the bank. He dived down to the river bottom, found his shield, and hauled it to the surface. Then he climbed out and retrieved his sword. The dragon was a speck in the sky. It was growing larger.

Cadmus heard a hoarse moaning sound. He dropped his weapons and ran back to the riverbank. He fell to his knees and embraced the dying goat. He kissed her face, weeping, pleading, “Don't die. Please don't.”

But the hard, graceful body was broken and bleeding, all power fled. She twitched piteously, moaning. Only her eyes were alive, golden, more sentient than ever. She looked at Cadmus, and he read the plea in her eyes. He arose, walked away, picked up his sword, and came slowly back.

He stooped beside her and gently closed her eyes; for he knew he could not do what he must do if they were open. Then he kissed her. “I'll see you in Hades,” he said. He raised his sword over his head with both hands and struck down, point first. He stabbed through the body, driving a last sound out of it, and all tension. The body flopped loosely. The goat was dead.

Cadmus had forgotten about the dragon. Now he turned and looked up. He was ready to be killed. A notion half formed itself. He would drop his weapons, let the dragon strike as it would. Then his soul would join the goat's, and they would enter Hades together. He was slimy with mud, exhausted, sick of living, afraid of dying. But he did not drop his sword. Once again the cruel pattern had asserted itself—brutality assuming more power, more purpose than innocence and playfulness. Snuffing aspiration, nullifying questions, imposing a doomed certainty.

If only the pattern could be challenged at just one point it might alter the whole. If just once, he thought, size could be overcome by wit, foulness by fair intent.

The dragon was overhead, hovering. Cadmus, holding his sword, felt a nausea of fear. For all his fancy thoughts, he knew he was afraid of pain, afraid of dying, and terror held every priority.

“No wonder evil always wins,” he said to himself. “We fatten it with our fear.”

Cadmus looked up at the dragon. “What's it waiting for?” he asked himself. “Bigger game? A worthier foe? Look at it. It's only an oversized lizard after all, winged and armored, to be sure, and bristling with iron spikes and shooting fire. Still, this formidable apparatus is directed by a brain the size of a hazelnut. Or is it? It seems to be making a decision. Does it really find me too small to bother with? Do I hope so? Then why have I come all this way? I warned Prometheus I was miscast in this role. One needs to be a bit monstrous to vanquish monsters. I'm too light for this work, not ruthless enough. I have the impulse, though, I just lack the equipment.

“Still hovering.… If I possessed an ounce of heroism, I'd beat sword on shield until it dived. Heroes need dragons. Who needs heroes? Men do. And the gods need men for their entertainment. Yes, but this entertainment will fail. I warn you, gods, if evil continues to be so successful, success will lose its prestige. Losers will inherit your earth, and you'll grow so bored with them you'll send another flood.”

A cleft of lightning stood weirdly on the blue sky. Cadmus heard thunder; it rumbled like the voice of Prometheus.

To make the dragon yield,

let him dread his head

upon your shield.

Then silence. Cadmus tried to puzzle out the message. He knew it was of the utmost importance and that he did not have much time. He heard the brass scales clanking. The dragon was still directly overhead, wheeling. “These rhymes and riddles have proved useful,” he said to himself. “And I dare not ignore this one. But what does it mean? I have a shield, true enough, but what does it have to do with the dragon's head?”