Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two (36 page)

“I have a slave from Egypt who was trained as an acrobat,” said Festus. “I shall change places with him; he shall be the merchant and I the slave. But his moneybags will hold only scrap metal, convincingly heavy and clinking like gold coins, while my actual treasure—diamonds and rubies—will be concealed about my person. Now this is what should happen. We'll be stopped by Bender. The merchant will be told to drop his moneybags and come to the tree—from which, in due course, he will be launched. But, trained aerialist that he is, my man will turn a graceful arc in the air, land safely, and flee as fast as he can. Then, as the furious bandit pursues him, I shall simply vanish into the forest, hoping to be out of earshot by the time Bender catches the poor lout and starts doing things to him. I am very softhearted, you see, and tend to be upset by shrieks of agony.”

“A truly original ruse,” said Theseus. “I am proud to serve so able a tactician—and one so compassionate.”

During the journey, Theseus spent as much time with the slave as he could. The man was not only trained as an acrobat, but could walk a tightrope, juggle twelve apples and a melon, and do tricks with his voice. Without moving his lips he could make sounds come out of a tree stump, make a rock speak, a horse sing baritone. Theseus was especially fascinated by his ventriloquism. And the slave, flowering under the boy's interest, spent hours teaching Theseus to throw his voice. The boy drank up these lessons. Soon he could make his voice come from unlikely places, though he hadn't quite learned to do it without moving his lips, nor was he able to imitate other voices as his teacher could. Theseus became very fond of the talented slave and hoped fervently that the man would be able to escape the bandit's wrath when the time came.

After climbing for half a day, the caravan entered a pine grove. Theseus, riding now at the head of the column, kept watching for the second brother to appear. He saw the bandit's handiwork everywhere. From the boughs of adjoining trees dangled half bodies. He realized what had happened. The bandit had bound the arms of a victim to one bent pine and his legs to another, so that when the trees sprang apart, the man was torn in two.

Before the lad could digest the entire meaning of this horror, he saw a giant figure standing in the grove, bending a tall pine until its top brushed the ground.

“One moment,” said the bandit. He spoke gently, but his voice was so big that it seemed to be rolling off the crags. “Come see this curious bird's nest I've found. It's worth a look.”

The merchant in slave's clothing shrank back among the beasts and bearers, while the richly clad slave walked slowly toward the tree.

Having observed what had happened to Bowl-head for all his fancy plans, Theseus did not have much faith in the merchant's strategy. But for the moment, it seemed to be working. The disguised slave had obeyed Bender's command and was leaning over the bent tree. The huge man was holding the trunk in one hand, pressing it lower and lower. Theseus watched, forgetting to breathe. He wanted desperately to call out, to warn his friend away, but his voice strangled in his throat.

He noted that the slave bowed lower as the tree sank, lower and lower, until he was leaning upon it. And when the bandit released the tree, allowing it to whip up with terrific force, the slave was not struck by the branches but traveled up with the tree and was hurled high in the air.

As Festus had foretold, the man, trained as an acrobat, turned in the air, spread his cloak like bat wings, and slowed his fall. He landed on his feet and raced away. Theseus stole a glance back at Festus. The merchant's face was red as a harvest moon as he tightened his mouth and hooded his eyes, trying to suppress his glee and to escape notice.

But Theseus now heard greater laughter. Bender was gazing after the slave, guffawing and applauding. Theseus saw the blood drain from the face of Festus, leaving it pale and bloated. Reason enough for terror. When violence has begun, an enemy's laughter is a dirge. Bender, it was clear, had not been deceived.

Sure enough, the bandit turned, covered the ground in two long steps, seized Festus, and lifted him with one hand. He held him dangling. “Very clever,” he snarled. “But my father taught me the scent of gemstones. Diamonds I smell, and rubies galore!”

He spun Festus in the air and held him by the ankles, shaking him like a dust cloth. Jewels rained out of his clothing and flashed on the grass. Bender kept shaking Festus until the last stone had dropped, then he whirled the poor wretch over his head and let go. The man flew through the air, over the trees, and down into the valley below, his screams fading as he fell.

Theseus touched the donkey's flanks with his heels. Melissa stepped quietly backward until she was among the pack animals. The screaming had stopped. Theseus heard only the snuffling of horses and the creak of harness. The donkey picked her way through the herd, then whirled into a gallop. Boy and beast vanished like blown leaves.

6

Shady

Theseus let Melissa amble along at her own pace. He was in no hurry now to witness another bandit at his bloody work. Sure enough, though, before the day was over he was hailed by a tall, lean man wearing a bearskin cape and leading a long file of men and pack animals loaded with bales.

Theseus didn't particularly like the look of this unsmiling fellow, but he obeyed his conscience and attempted to warn him. “Sir,” he said, “I'll go with you if you insist on crossing the mountain, but I advise against it. It will be safer to go around and bypass the bandit altogether.”

The merchant looked down from his tall horse and shook his head gravely. “Nothing is more costly than travel,” he said. “Wages for drovers and porters, food for slave and beast … my own time spent this way when I could be buying and selling; every extra day on the road eats into profits. And it will take an extra week to go around the mountain instead of over it.”

“On the other hand, sir, profit profits you little if you're dead,” said Theseus.

“There's nothing worse for commerce, my boy, than the gloomy view.”

“I am optimistic by nature,” replied Theseus. “But I have seen two of the bandit brothers in action, and they have a way of darkening any view. And this third brother, I understand, is the worst of the lot. No traveler has ever survived his attentions.”

“None of them had a plan,” said the stranger, “but I do. I had the wit to conceive it, and I have the courage to carry it out. In preparation I have recruited a strong company of guards, every one of them skilled at rock climbing and weapon handling, and I have rehearsed them thoroughly for what they must do this day.”

“I see no company of guards.”

“They have gone ahead and are taking their positions among the rocks, halfway down the cliff, and directly under where the bandit sits to have his feet washed.”

“Then what?” said Theseus.

“Then I shall lead the rest of the caravan along the road until the giant stops us and demands his usual toll. But I shall do more than wash his feet, lad. I shall attach a chain to his ankle and drop it down the cliff. My men below will seize the chain and pull him over the edge. Thirty strong men on the end of an unbreakable chain—over he'll go! … And feed that turtle with his own larcenous carcass.”

With the years, the bandit Shady had grown more luxurious in his habits and had made himself very comfortable on his perch. He no longer shaded himself with one oversized foot but every once in a while selected two slaves from a caravan—one to hold a parasol over his head, the other to fan him with a palmetto leaf. They did their work very earnestly; lazy slaves were fed to the turtle.

By this time Theseus did not have to guide his donkey by pressure of hand or knee or even by voice; she seemed to read his mind and move to his thoughts. Now, as the caravan straggled toward Shady's lair, she sidestepped off the path and climbed to a rise behind the natural stone shelf, where loomed the rock that was the bandit's throne. There lolled the giant, attended by his slaves. A youth held a parasol over his head; a girl was fanning him with a palmetto leaf. They were full grown, but looked like children next to his great bulk.

Shady himself looked more like a bear than a man, for he was covered by a thick brown pelt. His fur kept him hot no matter how keen the mountain wind, which is why he always insisted on being shaded and fanned. Slaves had occasionally frozen to death at their task, and the turtle had a cold meal that day.

The caravan approached. Theseus watched the deadly ritual begin. Shady's voice shattered the silence. “Halt!”

The caravan stopped.

“You there, in the fur cape, come here and pay the toll, which is to wash my feet. Your people can start unloading those bales.”

Theseus watched as the merchant knelt before the bandit. He began to wash the giant's feet, dipping a cloth into a basin. With the fur-cloaked shape crouched before the hulking bear-pelted one, it all seemed like a legend out of the most ancient days, when bear gods ruled over the earliest man.

“Stand up,” roared the giant. “Why're you clanking? What's under your cloak?”

“My most precious possession,” said the merchant. “A golden chain of enormous size and unbelievable value. Take everything else, but leave me this, I pray.”

“Are you quite mad?” said Shady. “Why in the world would a legitimate bandit leave his victim anything worth having? Produce it, quickly!”

The merchant had wrapped himself in the chain, whose links had been gilded to look like gold. He spun on his heel, unwinding the chain—then swiftly stooped and shackled one end of it to Shady's ankle. He dropped the other end over the edge of the cliff and leaped out of the way crying, “Pull, men, pull!”

Theseus heard the chain clanging against the rock as it fell, heard the shouting of the invisible men below. He saw Shady being pulled from his rock and begin sliding toward the edge as the chain grew taut. “I can't believe it,” said Theseus to himself. “Is this clumsy trick really working? Will they really be able to pull the giant over the cliff?”

Shady braced his legs, reached down for the chain, and snapped it like a thread. Keeping hold of one end, he began to pull. He hauled it up, hand over hand, kept pulling until he had drawn up the entire length. The men came up with it—still clinging to the other end of the chain. They had not dared let go for fear of falling into the sea.

With a great laugh, Shady cast a loop of the chain about them. He swept the men up into his arms, holding them as a child holds an armful of dolls. He walked slowly toward the edge of the cliff and cast them over. Their screaming made a horrid chorus as they fell.

The silence that followed was the most profound that Theseus had ever heard. It was as if the entire deep valley were holding its breath. The great hush was broken by Shady's voice. He spoke to the merchant.

“My feet are dirtier than ever, good sir. You'd better start washing.”

The merchant stooped again and began to wash the giant's feet, but he was trembling so much that he tipped over the basin, spilling the water. He was kicked off the cliff before he could refill the basin.

Theseus and the donkey had climbed away by now and melted into the afternoon mist.

The man-eating turtle dined so well that day that he burst his shell and was himself devoured by a nearby shark, which then took the turtle's place under the cliff and happily fed upon those that Shady sent down.

7

The Inn

Boy and donkey came to a level place along the mountain pass. They were halfway down the eastern slope, and the shadow of the mountain made an early dusk. Theseus passed through the gateway of a sagging fence and walked toward what looked like a house.

He kicked something, stumbled, and recovered. Stumbled again. Slid. He was treading on a kind of slippery shale; it gleamed in the twilight. He stooped to look more closely.… It was not shale he was walking on but bones. The ground was littered with skulls, arm bones, leg bones, great pelvic baskets—whole bones, massive and shapely, and a rubble of broken bones.

In the midst of this boneyard stood a wooden house, looking as though it had been pegged together, room by room, without design. He went to the portal and knocked. It was a lofty, wide door, but the man who appeared had to turn sideways to slide through. He wore a blood-spattered apron. His tangled gray beard was splotched and sticky.

“Please,” said Theseus. “May I speak to the proprietor?”

“You're speaking to him,” growled the man.

“Sir, I …”

“Bloody work sometimes, running an inn. Not all dainty chambermaids and hot dinners, you know.”

“It must be difficult, sir. And I have come to offer my services.”

“Have you now? And where did you hear of me?”

“All the civilized world has heard of the luxurious hostelry run by the gracious Procrustes.”

“Are you jesting with me?”

“You must know, sir, that you do not look like a man to be safely jested with, even by your peers—let alone someone my size, seeking employment.”

“Again I ask, and for the last time, boy, why here?”

“I want to learn the hotel business. I'm willing to start at the bottom.”

“Oh, I'd start you even lower,” said Procrustes. “But you look too scrawny. It's hard work, you know.”

“I'm stronger than I look, sir.”

“That's still not saying much. Do you know what'll happen if you don't suit me?”

“I'll get fired, I guess.”

“You'll get fed to the pigs. That's my policy with rejects. Pigs'll eat anything.”

“Sir, for the privilege of working in this prestigious establishment, I'm willing to adjust to any condition of employment.”

“You're a polite little bugger, I'll give you that. No pay during the trial period, of course.”