Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two (52 page)

While it seemed shapeless at first sight, he recognized that it had a definite physique, although blurred. The center of the creature was slightly sunken, and seemed softer than the edges. That hollow served as mouth and gullet. The edges of the blob gripped its prey and folded it toward the middle, where the mouth sucked it down toward pink intestines.

“I have a plan,” he yelled to Ligiea over the wind. “But it's dangerous. May I ask you to share the risk with me?”

“You
are
asking,” answered the Siren.

“If my plan works, it will rid your waters of this horror.”

“What must I do?” asked Ligiea.

“Hold me by the ankles. Circle away and come flying back, dipping low enough so that my hand may just skim the surface.”

Hearing the steely ring of the lad's voice, seeing the set of his jaw and the frosty gleam of his eye, she asked no further questions, but shifted her grip so that she held both ankles in one set of talons. Then she circled in the air, and flew back, dipping low, so that his hand just brushed the water.

That hand held a curved scaling knife. And when Ligiea flew over the jellyfish which was devouring the last of the sailors, Butes stabbed his hand down, and hooked his knife into the edge of the blob.

Ligiea felt a great weight dragging her. She beat her wings with all her strength. The edge of the jellyfish, impaled by the knife, began to fold over onto itself—toward its own center. Butes pulled as hard as he could, helping the Siren drag the ruffled edge of the monster into its mouth.

That mouth went into its blind senseless suck, drawing the edge of itself into its own intestines. Butes managed to pull his arm away just in time, and Ligiea flew off with the lad dangling from her claws.

Tighter and tighter curled the jellyfish as it gorged upon itself. It became one long scroll of slime, growing narrower and narrower until it had swallowed itself completely—all but its mouth, which became a brief whirlpool, a spool of bubbles, then vanished.

Butes nestled on the rock between the two Sirens. “Now,” he said, “sing to me. I'm the only one here who can listen, and be safe, listening. Sing me to sleep, and do not wake me until I've finished my dream.”

9

A Taste of Nectar

By this time, changeable Proteus had decided to change sides again. He left Athena's service and re-entered the employ of Poseidon. The sea god, who was very experienced in the ways of the world, viewed treachery as a natural form of self-interest, and was willing to accept Proteus's vows of renewed loyalty.

“Your first assignment,” said Poseidon, “is to do something for the young man who's being so tormented by Athena. That vicious shrew turned the nymph he loved into some kind of sticky stinging bug. See if you can change her back. I'd like to do a good turn for so brave a lad. Besides, the quality of the nectar has fallen off terribly. The stuff we're being served on Olympus now doesn't compare to what we were getting before Athena cursed the nymphs.”

Proteus swam off and returned shortly thereafter. “It's no use, master,” he said to Poseidon. “Athena used a specially adhesive curse. I've tried my most powerful spells and still can't restore the bee to nymphhood.”

“Well, think of something,” said Poseidon. “The nectar's getting worse and worse. I think those stupid bees have been nibbling garlic. I'll have to stop dining at Olympus unless things improve.”

Proteus swam away again and found Butes on the Sirens' isle. The bird-women were cooing over him gently. Proteus returned to Poseidon's cave and told the sea god that he had consulted with the youth—who, when told that Cora could never be a nymph again, had asked to be transformed into a bee himself.

“I obliged him,” said Proteus. “I changed him into a handsome young drone, and he flew off to join the swarm.”

Some weeks later, a beaming Poseidon informed Proteus that the quality of the nectar was indeed improved.

10

Ulysses and the Sirens

Ageneration later, the fabulous voyager, Ulysses, was sailing away from Circe's island and heading westward. It is told that a bee flew aboard his vessel and surprised Ulysses by addressing him in fluent Greek.

“Disregard my appearance and heed my words, O captain,” said the bee. “I was once a man like you, hunted by the gods over land and sea. Having long admired your career, I wish to help you now.”

“What makes you think I need help?” asked Ulysses.

“Having escaped Circe's vile enchantments, you are now headed toward an even greater peril. Ignore my words and be shipwrecked, watch your crew drown, and be drowned yourself. But accept this gift and use it well, and you may be able to save yourselves.”

“What gift?”

“This ball of wax. It is pure beeswax, drawn out of the finest combs in all the world.”

“And how can this ball of wax do all the wonderful things you have promised?”

“Very soon,” said the bee, “if you keep on this course, you will hear the sound of singing, borne by the wind. That sound is utter enchantment, irresistible. Whoever hears it must follow it. But if you follow it, if you steer your ship toward where the Sirens sing, you will hit a hidden reef that will tear your ship apart. Nor is there any use trying to steer clear, for when your men hear the song they will dive overboard and swim to their destruction. The Sirens' rock is white with the bones of sailors.”

“You seem to know what you're about,” said Ulysses. “Speak on.”

Butes told him what to do, and flew away. Whereupon, Ulysses called his crew together and issued his commands. They grumbled, but no one on this ship ever disobeyed their captain.

Knowing this, Ulysses told the men to listen well for he was about to give them unusual instructions. “You must obey me,” he said, “until I am bound to the mast. Then, no matter what I do, no matter what signals I make for you to release me, you must ignore them, and keep me tied to the mast. For I shall have lost my senses, and shall be issuing crazed commands.”

He took the ball of wax that the bee had given him, broke off bits of it, and stuffed the ears of each man so that he could hear nothing but the pounding of his own blood. Then, as they had been instructed, two of the men bound Ulysses to the mast—bound him very tightly. For Ulysses did not dare deafen himself. In those days, sailing the high seas in such small ships, a captain had to hear the changing sounds of wind and sea, or he would endanger ship and crew.

The sailors finished lashing Ulysses to the mast just in time. For now he heard the sound of singing. The song was faint at first and Ulysses was able to keep his wits about him sufficiently to signal the men to drop the sail and unship the long oars. For the wind was off the reef now, and the small square sail of the vessel would not have allowed it to skirt the deadly reef.

The men could not hear the Sirens' song, and bent strongly to their oars. But Ulysses heard the voices clearly now, and wished he had plugged his own ears with wax. Every drop of his blood surged toward the sound of those voices. Every pore and muscle ached with the song—yearned to reach it. He felt his hair trying to pull itself out of his head, felt his eyeballs trying to fly out of their sockets. Bound to the mast, it seemed to him that the sun was charring him where he stood—that he could actually
see
the Sirens' voices, pouring in a crystal flood through the burning air.

Ulysses moaned and yelled and gibbered but the crew, obeying his orders, ignored him. The voices formed a silver noose that fell about his neck and began to pull at him. He knew that he would have to break loose from the mast or choke to death. His mighty muscles swelled. He burst the rawhide bonds and dashed toward the edge of the deck.

But two of his strongest men were standing guard, as he had instructed. They seized him before he could dive overboard. He struck them down, but they had stopped him long enough to give the crew time to leap out of their rowing seats, and seize him.

They crushed him under their weight, then dragged him back to the mast, and bound him with the huge hawser that was the anchor-line. Again, Ulysses strained at his bonds, howling to be released. He knew he could not break the hawser, but he was trying nevertheless to force himself upward from bended legs, using all his furious strength to uproot the mast, rip it out of its hole.

The men heard the wood of the mast groaning under the strain. But it held. Ulysses could not uproot it. One of the sailors who had held Ulysses, however, had lost the wax out of his ears and been knocked to the deck unconscious. Now, as he came to, he heard the Sirens singing. He rushed to the rail and dived overboard.

Ulysses saw the sharp triangular fin of a shark cutting the water toward the swimmer—heard the man scream, saw him sink in a bloody froth. The other men, their ears still plugged, kept rowing.

The voices grew fainter and fainter, and finally died away. Ulysses felt the madness ebb slowly out of his body. He signalled to his men to unplug their ears and unbind him.

The captain stood at the stern, looking back toward the Sirens. They were too far away now. All he saw was what looked like two enormous birds in the distance.

Thousands of years have passed since then. But the Sirens have not quite gone. When the gods declared themselves immortal, what they meant was that nothing in nature really dies; it only changes form.

So it is that we can still hear the Sirens sometimes when we're out on the water—not in a motorboat, but in a sailboat or some other craft that slips silently through the chop. At times, we can hear the wind change pitch, bearing the sound of women singing.

We may hear them, but we do not see them. Nor do their voices linger long on the air. For they are smothered by the din of motorboats, rumbling barges, steam-whistles, helicopters, and low-flying airplanes.

“Sister, sister, take heart,” one whispers to the other. “Those who swarm so noisily must soon drive themselves off the earth. Their foul vapors will blow away, the waters will clear. A pure primal hush will fall again upon the sea—and we Sirens shall be heard once more. We shall again raise our voices to mingle with the wind, sending a crystal coolness to those who thirst for adventure.”

THE SPHINX

In that ancient lovely tongue, Dorothy means

gift of the Goddess
. And I thank her.

Contents

CHAPTER I

Enter the Sphinx

CHAPTER II

An Unlikely Match

CHAPTER III

The Ferryman

CHAPTER IV

Menthe

CHAPTER V

The Barley Mother

CHAPTER VI

Infernal Plans

CHAPTER VII

Advice Underseas

CHAPTER VIII

Dream-Trinkering

CHAPTER IX

An Unwilling Bride

CHAPTER X

Instructing the Sphinx

CHAPTER XI

Another Abduction

CHAPTER XII

Demeter Strikes

CHAPTER XIII

Chaining a Poet

CHAPTER XIV

Before the Battle

CHAPTER XV

The Battle, and After

Characters

Monsters

Gods

Mortals

Others