The victorious couple slept under the watchful eyes of the Gods and mountain-dwelling nymphs and satyrs for the rest of that day and the entirety of the next. So great was their exhaustion, their elation, and Hippodameia’s grief, that it was as though they could not wake from a tortuous dream in which they relived every moment of that race. The cries of horses and crushing of rock, the splintering of trees and the spinning of wheels, all of it went round again, and again in their minds, even as they lay upon the soft ground with their arms clasped about each other.
On the second morning, Pelops awoke to the soft nuzzling of one of the stallions, the beast’s hot breath blowing on his face to awaken him. He opened his eyes slowly to see the tree above him, whistling softly in the sea’s breeze, the long altar stretched out before him, and the other horses gathered about it, drinking from buckets of water brought to them by the wary nymphs hiding among the sanctuary trees.
The stallion’s large eyes looked over Pelops before turning to go back to cropping at the late spring grass about the altar.
Pelops sat up and turned to look at Hippodameia who yet slept beside him. He could see the tear stains upon her face, that she had wept in her deep sleep, and he knew why. She had won her freedom, but she had also lost her father, the only family she had had left in the world.
“I love you,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss her cheek and stroke her hair.
Hippodameia’s eyes flickered slowly open, and as she awoke from the terrible dreams in which she had been dwelling, she looked up at him, the morning sun full upon her face. Her eyes revealed the dawning of her new life, and the contrasting emotions that now harassed her, and would do so from that moment on.
Her tears now fell in the waking light, and she shut them against the image of her father raising a spear against her, of him plummeting over the edge of the cliff to his death. But then she felt Pelops’ strong, gentle arms about her, lifting her off the ground to stand beside him.
“You are free,” he said softly, uncertainly too, for the reality of his victory was but new-born.
Hippodameia wrapped her arms about him, pressed her lips to his, and buried her face in the crook of his neck. “I love you,” she said. “Will you heal this land with me, Pelops? Do you promise me that?”
He looked back at her, and he felt his heart swell at her broken beauty. “We will heal it together, my love.”
In that moment, Hippodameia knew that she had made the right choice, that the Fates had smiled upon them and handed them victory, though at great cost. “My father was cruel, I know,” she said hoarsely as she looked to the blue skies above, “but he was driven mad by grief. It was not always like that.” She looked back at Pelops. “I would build a monument to him back in Elis.”
“Of course,” Pelops said. “But first, let us honour Poseidon for our victory.”
Together, Pelops and Hippodameia walked over to the broad, ancient stone altar that faced the distant sea. There they paused, filling their hearts with gratitude, as they had also filled the clay bowl with water from a nearby spring.
Pelops raised his arms to the skies. “Oh, Horse-Taming Poseidon…Lord…we thank you with all of our hearts for this victory. I thank you for my life, which you gave back to me so long ago.” With the thoughts of his new life before him, Pelops then took the dagger from his belt, reached up, and cut a lock of his own hair. He then placed it upon the altar and took up the bowl. “Accept my humble offering…my gratitude… In Elis, I will build a hippodrome in honour of you and the team that you gave to me, who drove us to victory.”
Hippodameia looked to see the four horses lined up behind them, their ears bent forward as if to listen to the words offered to their divine father. She then looked back to Pelops and, when he was finished, took the dagger from him, and cut a long strand of her own hair.
“Divine Mother, Hera…please also accept my own offering for this victory, and bless our future union…” She poured the water over her hair which lay upon the stone surface like golden filament in the sunshine. “Gods…we honour you…”
Pelops and Hippodameia, clasped hands and looked from that altar, beyond the trees to the sea. The Fates had been kind to them, and an entirely new world had now opened up before them.
It was to be a long journey back to Elis, but before they departed, Pelops and Hippodameia led the horses to the sea’s edge to wash and bathe upon the white-pebbled shore.
There, the horses splashed in the surf and charged happily back and forth at the border of Poseidon’s realm while Pelops and Hippodameia swam and washed and held each other close in the light of another day.
The sun was dipping away to the red West when they put their clothes back on and sat watching the glittering night emerge on the still surface of the water. Both of them wished that moment in time to be frozen, that they could spend their lives laying together by the sunlit sea, free from fear and pain, from the grasping hands of others.
But such is not the way of the world of men.
Dark thoughts began to invade Pelops’ mind, and he began to wonder how he would govern his new kingdom. He felt the weight of his new rule, even before it had really begun. I will not rule as Tantalus did, nor as Oinomaos… I will be different.
“What is it, my love?” Hippodameia asked as she stood beside him, looking out to the darkening expanse.
“I have never ruled before.”
She smiled and laced her arm through his. “Nor have I,” she said. “But we will find our way together. And we will love and cherish our sons and daughters.”
That made him smile. “We will,” he agreed, before taking up a one of the clay bowls they had brought from the sanctuary. “I’ll be right back. I will get us some water to drink from the spring at the end of the beach.”
“And I will be waiting,” she replied, kissing him softly upon the lips she had already come to love.
Hippodameia watched Pelops’ shadow move down the dusky beach as the waves lapped gently about her feet. She sighed, finally feeling the joy begin to bloom within her.
There were steps upon the pebbles behind her, and she turned, expecting to see one of the horses coming to her, but as she looked, she saw the form of a man emerge from out of the shadows at the back of the beach.
Hippodameia stood, her heart beginning to pound, but then she relaxed. “Myrtilos?”
“Yes. It’s me, lady.” He did not smile. His limbs were badly scratched, and there was dried blood upon the side of his head, matting his hair.
“Are you hurt?” she asked, stepping closer to look at him.
“The king is dead,” Myrtilos stated. “I stayed true to my word.”
“I did not want my father dead,” Hippodameia answered, her joy rushing out like the sea’s waves before the earth shakes, her sadness returning. “You didn’t have to kill him.”
“But I didn’t,” Myrtilos said, shaking his head. “You did.” He stared at her then in a way he had never done before. In fact, Myrtilos had been staring at her the whole of that day, watching her bathe and frolic naked in the sea, make love with the man she had chosen over him, the son of a god.
“Don’t say that,” Hippodameia replied, backing away.
But Myrtilos grabbed her wrist in his strong hands, and pulled her back to him. “I want my reward for all that I’ve done!”
“And you shall have it, Myrtilos, I promise! You shall have lands of your own, horses, riches…anything you desire.”
“I don’t want any of that!” he hissed. “I risked everything for you. I want what was promised! Your gentle touch, your kisses…” He moved closer to her, his grip getting tighter about her wrist, and his other hand moving to her waist.
“Myrtilos, stop!” Hippodameia cried, but even as she slapped him across his blood-encrusted face, he pressed his body to hers, his lips violently seeking hers as she turned her head to either side.
A moment later, Myrtilos pushed her backward onto the pebbles and fell upon her. His hands groped at her peplos, his breath heaved in her ears and face as she struggled and struck him, backing away.
At last, she found her voice and screamed. Her hand found the dagger that lay upon the ground with their cloaks and she gripped it, slashing him across the shoulder.
Myrtilos roared in anger and slammed his fist into her stomach, winding her, giving him a chance to rip at her clothing to see her body laid before him. “I want my reward, lady!” he hissed.
In his mind, he heard the rushing of the sea and the galloping of hooves to which he was so accustomed, and as he was about to take what he had always dreamed about, he felt himself knocked away from Hippodameia so that he flew through the air to land hard upon the beach. “Ahh!” he yelled.
Strong hands pounded into Myrtilos’ gut and face, and his flailing hand found a large rock which he swung. There was a loud grunt, and he turned to see Pelops upon the ground beside him. Clumsily, and in his dazed state, Myrtilos drew the dagger that was tucked in his belt and lunged at Pelops.
“Look out!” Hippodameia shouted to Pelops, but Myrtilos’ blade struck his right shoulder blade, its point stopping in the ivory of Demeter’s gift.
Pelops swung his right arm and the blade fell to the ground. A second later, he was running after Myrtilos who now turned to flee.
“I’ll kill you!” Pelops roared, and even as Myrtilos stumbled away, he fell upon him, driving his fist into the charioteer’s side and stomach, flipping him over in the silver surf to straddle him with his hands about his neck.
Pelops felt the rage and anger pulsing through his arms and hands, the strong will to take Myrtilos’ life. “You will never touch her again!” he said, squeezing harder as the waves fell about the prostrate man’s face, choking him.
“I…I curse…” Myrtilos gagged. “I curse you and your bastard children! For…for all time. I curse you and your line, Pelops!”
Myrtilos’ wild eyes and gaping mouth stared at Pelops from beneath the waves, like an eel writhing in the deep.
Pelops felt he was close to ending that pitiful life, and would have done so but for the voice in his head.
Let him go! Poseidon commanded. He is the son of Hermes!
Pelops’ grip loosened right away, and he picked Myrtilos up, and shoved him back into the water.
The charioteer gasped and choked. “I curse you!” he shrieked, seeing Hippodameia come to Pelops’ side. “I curse you!”
But even as he raged and repeated his curse, he fell to his knees once more, the tentacles of some great beast wrapped about his legs.
“NO!” Myrtilos yelled, choking on sea water as he was pulled out to sea, and lifted into the air, only to be slammed bodily on the rocks over and over again until his lifeless body was dragged into the dark deep.
Pelops held Hippodameia close to his side, both of them breathing wildly at the violent shattering of the peace they had been enjoying.
“It’s finished,” he told her, when he caught his breath. “He won’t bother you anymore,” he said, even as he saw the silver and black fins of sharks tearing Myrtilos’ sad body to bits in the reddening water beneath the moonlight.
Hippodameia turned her head away from the horror of Poseidon’s wrath then, and Pelops watched, shivering with cold and Myrtilos’ echoing last words.