FOUR

The throng of armed villagers hurried into the meadow.

They were just in time to see young Epaphus, bending his bow, taking aim at his winged quarry.

The feathered monster let out a wordless, piercing challenge just as an arrow lanced into the sky. The arrow caught the sunlight, glinting as it arced upward. The griffin tried to time its flight to avoid this menace – and it succeeded, fluttering its great wings.

But a second bolt immediately followed the first.

This new shaft buried itself in the griffin’s throat, and the creature let out a breathy scream. The monster wheeled awkwardly, trailing feathers. It struggled to remain aloft, but at last plunged downward, unable to break its fall, and landed hard on the grassy field.

“Come see!” called Epaphus, brandishing the bow, a bristling quiver of arrows at his hip.

He gave his chest a pat. Come see what I’ve just done.

The young hunter propped one booted foot on the flank of the bloody, barely moving griffin as the villagers gathered around, giving cries of congratulations and thanksgiving.

The arrow thrust from the throat of the monster, where the eagle-like plumage of the head and neck mingled with the tawny, lionlike body. The creature’s eyes were half-open, a black tongue darting from its metallic beak.

The griffin snapped at the air, and Phaeton joined others in taking a step back. As much as he hated and feared the creature, it gave the young man no pleasure to see it suffer.

Epaphus gave Phaeton a bold glance and laughed.

“While one of our neighbors ran as fast as he was able,” said the young archer, “another planted his feet and bent his bow.”

“Well done, Epaphus,” said Merops. He put his hand on the suntanned hunter’s shoulder.

“Oh, very well indeed, Epaphus!” sang out Ino.

Phaeton was fleet of foot, and he knew how to ride a spirited horse. But he had no training in the art of archery – it was not considered a seemly skill for the stepson of a gentleman. Now as so often before Phaeton bitterly resented his stepfather’s quiet household, with its thoughtful-looking marble ancestors lined up in the hall. His father should be a war hero, his walls lined with battle trophies.

“And thanks to quick-footed Phaeton, too,” said Merops, “for alerting us to danger.”

The gathered folk gave a cheer for both young men.

A youth less blinded by feeling would have seen that Merops was merely proper toward the prideful archer, but that he reserved a warm smile for his stepson. And he would have seen that Ino, while dazzled by Epaphus’s prowess, put her hand to her throat, dismayed at the way the young hunter kicked the dying griffin, and kicked again, causing the creature further agony.

When he kicked the monster once more the black beak parted, and released an airy groan. The griffin’s head fell back into the dust, but even now the beast was not dead, panting, red eyes searching. A more merciful hunter would use a knife, now, to bring this suffering to an end.

Ino turned away, but Epaphus for the moment had no eyes for her.

“Apollo is the god of the bow and arrow,” continued Epaphus, “as everyone knows.”

“Phoebus Apollo in his chariot admires archery,” admitted Old Aristander, his voice muffled by the helmet he loved to wear, “almost as much as he approves a good song.”

“So, Phaeton,” said Epaphus, radiant in the bright noon. “I’ve heard you bragging about your divine father.”

Phaeton had mentioned his parentage in quiet moments, believing his mother’s word. Now he regretted ever opening his mouth around the young hunter.

“Tell me truthfully now, Phaeton,” Epaphus was continuing, “who among us is the son of a god? A mild-hearted dreamer?”

Phaeton seethed inwardly. The young archer was blessed with a rooster’s voice as well as an archer’s eye. Besides, good-humored tradition allowed a successful hunter, like a victorious athlete, to boast of his triumph.

But the sound of Epaphus’s voice stung Phaeton, as the archer added, “Or somone like me?” He laughed and continued, “Phaeton, you have to admit it’s possible. Maybe I’m the offspring of Jupiter himself!”