TOWARDS nightfall of this day Typhon, in no very good temper, began to think of supper and a bed. Dusk had descended, and already fireflies spangled the purple of darkness beneath an olive grove, while through the humped and elbowed trunks there peered white walls, and the ring of metal sounded. A man laboured at his forge, and dim red glow of flame marked the scene of his labours.
Standing in doubt for a moment, the wanderer heard arboreal voices, and perceived that the foremost olive-tree argued with a myrtle that flourished at her feet.
They debated of their relative importance, and the olive indicated a little amusement that her neighbour should feel any doubt on such a subject.
A word from Typhon informed them that he understood their speech, and both revealed much interest.
“Tell me, great olive,” said he, “who dwells within this house, and still works at his forge though the night has fallen?”
“I will do so,” replied the olive; “but you come aptly upon an argument, so to call it, between this myrtle and myself. If you will deign to enlighten it with your human wisdom, I may convince my little friend that she claims unreasonable importance in the great scheme of things.”
“Proceed,” replied Typhon, who was not often invited to declare his views. He sat on the olive’s mossy bole, and the tree spoke:
“In times past you are to know that the divinities chose from among us, each a growing thing that should be under his or her special protection: but from a delicate good taste they selected fruitless trees, that they might not seem to bestow their honours in hope of reward. Zeus took the oak into his keeping; Aphrodite selected the myrtle; the laurel, Apollo; the pine was chosen of Cybele; while Herakles appropriated the lofty poplar. Anon came Pallas Athene and demanded why the deities willed to cherish such only among us as could return them no reward. Their reason awakened her scorn. ‘Fond gods!’ cried she. ‘Then will I adopt the beauteous and bounteous olive, and first value her for her fruit.’ Zeus, albeit a monarch little more renowned for brains than most, applauded the good sense of his daughter. ‘With justice are you called wisest,’ said the Thunderer, ‘for what is glory without usefulness, and why should even Olympus do anything for nothing?’
“Thus,” continued the olive, “you see in me the chosen of that fount of all wisdom we call Athene. Me she took into her divine care and brought me, as a cherished gift, to the sons of men. I am, in a word, the most valuable tree on earth; and for the myrtle to argue greater importance would seem to show a foolish vanity which even her many charms cannot condone.”
“And what does the myrtle say?” inquired Typhon. The clank of the forge now ceased, and the hungry boy doubted not that the smith had gone to his supper.
“I base my claim,” replied the lesser plant, “on one supreme circumstance. That Aphrodite chose me for her own would be enough for any man or woman in love; but I am content to waive that paramount distinction and fall back upon another and even greater fact. Do you forget the device by which Dionysus tempted Pluto to release the soul of his mother from the Place of Forgetfulness?”
“I don’t forget it, because I never heard it,” answered Typhon.
“Then listen. Hades, upon entreaty of the vine-bringer, consented that Semele should return to earth only if her son sent his best beloved to take her place. But the dark warden knew not that of earthly things Dionysus loved plants rather than persons. Many do the like for that matter, and find in our companionship a measure of peace, content and attraction their own kind are quite powerless to create. The god best loved the myrtle, the ivy and the vine; and if between the three of us one enjoyed preference, it was myself. Therefore he sent me to Pluto, and still I adorn the Stygian shore, glimmering sweet and starry through the eternal dusk to welcome the oncoming shadows of dead men with one little smile of remembered things. For this reason, also, all who would be initiated into the rights of Semele’s son bind myrtle on their brows.”
“What crown is that compared to mine?” asked the olive. “Is not the diadem of honour woven from me? Did not Herakles himself bring me from the Hyperboreans as emblem of victory? And am I not for ever the plant of those who pray? What suppliant but throws my branch upon the altar?”
“I have quite decided,” Typhon told them. “One olive is worth all the myrtles on the earth. A myrtle may be precious in its little way, but never to be named beside the oil-bringer. And now tell me what manner of man dwells here.”
But the olive, gratified by this trifling victory, had withdrawn into herself, and paid no more heed to him; while the myrtle, incensed by defeat, did an unkind thing, and bore false witness of the dweller in the white house.
For Melas, the armour-maker, was a ruffian of mighty strength and evil heart. All men hated him, but desired the shields and bucklers and gyves that he forged. He was brutal to his fellow-creatures, and treated his young wife, Ino, with contempt and cruelty.
“A capital fellow is Melas, the smith,” declared the treacherous myrtle. “You shall find him an excellent host, who will give you of his best, and ask no recompense. You are fortunate to have found him.”
Thus unsuspecting Typhon entered with good hope upon most painful experiences.
He knocked at the door of the dwelling, and Ino, the wife of Melas, answered him. Still young, she had been beautiful, with a dark charm of brown eyes and black hair, but she was now grown sad and haggard. Fear lurked upon her face and tension of mind had fretted her beauty.
“If you will give me a bed, with supper to-night and breakfast to-morrow, I will work for you in payment,” said Typhon. “I am hungry and weary, and would eat and sleep.”
Ino was about to answer, when her husband, who had heard the petition, came to his door that he might see what manner of young man made the request. Finding Typhon strong and sturdy, he spoke rough words of welcome and bade him enter.
“You shall feed well and sleep well, and repay me when morning comes,” said the smith; but his wife would fain have signalled in secret to the boy, and directed him to fly. She did not, however, dare to do so.
Melas, a giant of strength, with a grim countenance, fierce, dog’s eyes, and a mouth whose lips could not conceal his teeth, attempted a clumsy friendship; but it was foreign to his nature, and when Typhon had eaten well, and partaken of goat’s flesh and other nourishing food, the armourer rose and bade him follow.
“Here,” said he, “is a cage wherein I was wont to keep a tame wolf. The living rock hangs over and the bars descend into the stone below. You will find the spot warm and snug when I have flung down a truss of withered fern. I have no place within the house where you can repose.”
“This will serve me well enough,” replied Typhon, and entered a cage built against the side of a little cliff. The bars were stout and the enclosure considerable. Melas fetched the fern, and his guest had scarcely flung his weary limbs upon this fragrant bed when he slept; nor did he waken until a ray of the risen sun touched his forehead. Then, restored to native vigour, Typhon leapt up and sought to go forth and wash, where a rill of water ran without his resting-place. “Then,” thought he, “I will proceed on my way and seek breakfast elsewhere.” He found, however, that the door of the stone-and-steel chamber in which he had passed the night was locked from outside, and discovered, to his indignation, that he had been made a prisoner.
“Doubtless,” thought Typhon, “the smith feared that I should depart without keeping my word. He was right. But in future it may be more seemly to treat people as they treat me, and reward such as consider my comfort.”
Then came Melas, and revealed the truth of himself.
“Obey me,” he said, “and you shall live. Resist me, and your life is not worth the yelp of a jackal. The gods, knowing me short-handed, have doubtless sent you to assist me; and while you work, you shall have food and shelter; but oppose me in anything, and I will slay you. You are beyond reach of all succour. None would hear you if you shouted from now till nightfall. Therefore, accept your fate and work as I shall direct; for, if you will not work, you shall die.”
Melas then thrust some coarse bread and a bowl of water into the cage and disappeared.
Strange to say, Typhon was not immediately cast down, for he doubted not that he would swiftly find means to escape the brutal monster who had captured him. But he proved mistaken. The smith had much cunning, and it was not the first time that he had trapped a fellow-creature and made his prisoner toil for him.
Typhon remained in his cage, and was directed to beat exceedingly hard with a hammer and chisel upon the yellow brass. For two days Melas willed to keep him in the closest confinement, and upon the third, he brought chains and fastened the legs of Typhon together, so that he could not take a step longer than twelve inches. Hobbled in this fashion, it was impossible for him to escape, and now, free of his cage, he found labour awaiting him at the forge.
Sometimes he blew the bellows while Melas beat upon the white-hot iron, and made accoutrements for men of war; sometimes Typhon was set to hammer and, finding him exceedingly powerful, Melas steadily drove him harder and harder. But for Ino, the son of Agathion would swiftly have grown thin and lost strength, rather than gained it, under the tremendous toil of the forge; but she pitied the unfortunate captive, and took occasion to minister to him in secret. Discovered once bearing fruit to the boy, Melas whipped his wife. So great was his power of body that, had he beaten her, he must have killed the woman, but he only flicked her ten times with his forefinger, under which punishment she nearly fainted.
As for Typhon, he bided his time, quickly perceiving that craft, courage and, above all, good fortune would be needful before he could escape from his unfortunate plight. He soon discovered that he could not even think about the future during his working hours, for to reflect was to slow his hammer, and when he did that, a blow from Melas swiftly fell upon his back or shoulder.
By night, however, behind his iron bars, the prisoner devoted many sleepless hours to the problem of escape; yet as the days passed and his native vigour was slowly sapped by the nature of his tasks, Typhon gave way sometimes to melancholy. A period of ferocity had passed, together with a determination to slay Melas under his own sledge-hammer. He now grew calm before his peril; and hid what was in him, for he found that his terrible master had skill to perceive the matter of his mind, and could even read his thoughts by looking into his eyes.
Once, while he laboured and itched to get behind the smith’s back and drive a new spear-head through it, Melas addressed him:
“Hope no such thing, whelp,” said he. “I see murder in your face, my lad, and know right well how you feel about your present predicament. Did not I, when your age, do likewise and kill the master-smith for whom I sweated? Yes; with a sword, while he stooped over his anvil, I spitted the rascal and made good my escape afterwards. But even as I slew him, said I to myself: ‘None shall ever have the chance to do so unto me.’ In your steel cage, before my guardian god, Hephæstus, sent you to work for me, I kept a beast. It was the cub of a she-wolf who once in the forest turned upon me and showed her teeth for fear. I beat the wretch to death, took her young and brought it hither and made this cage for it that I might study the growing wolf and so get a useful sidelight on human nature. At last, having learned all that the creature was able to teach me concerning man, I destroyed it. The skin of the thing makes my apron to-day when I beat the red iron. You resemble the wolf, Typhon, and I am not mistaken in you. When you get a chance to slay me, I shall deserve it.”
With that he cuffed the head of the boy and made him work harder than ever, and go without his supper.
Thus passed many sad weeks, and winter approached. By day Typhon laboured ceaselessly; at twilight, guarded by Ino, he was permitted to limp a little for the sake of his health and strength. Good food always awaited him, for Melas knew that he demanded such, being still a growing lad; and unless a man eats he cannot work.
On these occasions of exercise the prisoner sometimes prayed Ino to serve him and assist his escape; but she feared to do so, since the issue for herself could be but death. None came to the smithy, for it was upon a lonely hill-side and all his nearest neighbours hated Melas. The scoundrel’s wife narrated a little of her history to Typhon. She, like himself, was a prisoner. Her husband had found her among a race of wandering folk and won her affection with many false stories. She was a chieftain’s daughter, and where her people passed the winter season, in a distant hollow of the hills, she well knew. But to return to them was impossible, without a friend to shelter her upon the way. Ino had no courage; her heart and spirit were alike broken by her cruel spouse, and though she sometimes called upon death to release her from her sufferings, she lacked the nerve to destroy herself and so pass into peace.
Typhon made a thousand suggestions, but Ino found objections to them all. Yet she felt great compassion for him, wept over the fair lad in secret and did what little she could to render less dreadful his lot.
And then the watching gods, having satisfied themselves that the wanderer had endured enough and must lose, rather than gain, by longer tortures, decreed that he should once more taste the blessing of liberty, smell the fresh, sweet air, and pass unfettered upon the way of destiny, to follow his predestined road and seek Soter at the will of Epicurus.
There came a day when Melas had finished the half of a great commission and must bear his javelins, his shields and his greaves to those for whom he had made them. Civilisation, in the shape of cohorts, demanded these things; therefore he hired three mules, set greater burdens than they could fairly carry upon their innocent backs, locked Typhon into his cage with work to occupy him for three days, put stern commands upon Ino and set forth to a neighbour city, that he might deliver his goods, receive the price of them and enjoy himself a little amid the pleasures that town could offer so base a person.
When he was gone, Typhon had earnest speech with Ino and exhausted his limited store of words upon her. He desired before all things that she should liberate him and with him fly. He promised that he would protect her in the perils of the land and not leave her until her eyes rested once again upon the camp-fires of her own people.
“Then,” said he, “your father, who is a great and powerful chief, will come with his warriors and revenge all that you have suffered, sweep Melas out of life and give his hateful carcass to the wild beasts.”
Ino was much tempted. She knew where Melas hid the key of the cage; but she found herself in many moods and gave Typhon his first serious glimpse into the female mind.
“There is no doubt such an opportunity to escape in safety will never occur again,” she admitted.
“Take it then,” urged Typhon, while she walked up and down outside the cage and regarded him with doubtful eyes. “He would never find us, for we have three whole days before he returns.”
“If he did discover us, he would kill us however.”
“It would be impossible for him to overtake us even if he knew our road. You shall be in safety with your father long before he returns.”
Ino sighed.
“He has wickedly entreated me,” she said, “and yet one cannot forget that, of all our beautiful maidens, he chose me. There was a time when he loved me, Typhon.”
The lad stared in amazement.
“If indeed I fled with you,” she continued, “I cannot forbear to ask myself what Melas would do without me.”
Still Typhon found himself too much astonished to reply.
“The wretch looks to me for everything. If he had not me to whip, veritably I believe he would be miserable. Still, as you say, it is no part of a wife’s duty to be a whipping-post for her lord. It would be a grave lesson to him did I escape; but, on the other hand, such a shock may ruin his character and send him altogether to the bad. I think you are right, Typhon; yet we must look all round the question, for a husband is a husband and one may never get another.”
Typhon listened and wondered.
“Of what are these creatures made?” he asked himself.
“Even leisure to heal my bruises and mend my clothes would be something,” murmured Ino; “and when I think upon the subtlety of his cruelties, his contempt for my sleepless efforts on his behalf, his scorn of my opinions and the general brutality of his ideals in every direction, it would seem, since I can now leave him with tolerable safety, that I am justified in doing so; but when I remember the other side of the man; when I recollect the first four-and-twenty hours of my married life, I cannot but grant that he is capable of kind conduct and genuine human affection. He has, in fact, a good side, and whether I am utterly extinguishing that hopeful glimmer by leaving him — ”
“If you are so torn in half,” suggested Typhon; “if you are made of such wondrous stuff that you imagine a single moment well spent with this swine of a man, then let me turn the scale against him. In the first place, I assure you that you will be wiser to leave him if you desire to prolong your own life, justify your own existence and behave as a chieftain’s daughter should; and in the second place, consider me a little and ask yourself whether I am not a far more promising person that Melas, and more likely to be useful as a free man than bound here, his slave, until I perish of his villainy.”
“I believe you are right,” sighed Ino. “I am really quite a proud woman. I have resented my stripes, and my soul as well as my body has smarted; yet he chose me from a hundred: there was something about me — However, that doesn’t interest you. I see your point of view clearly enough, and my father would do the like. I will pray all this night to Hera, who is my guardian goddess.”
Then she fed Typhon handsomely, but made no attempt to fetch the key.
Next morning he kept his temper and hoped that Hera had made all clear; but the wife of Melas was still in doubt. Hera had indicated in a dream that the marriage bond should not lightly — and so forth.
“One day is lost — don’t forget that,” hinted the boy.
“The same remark applies to you,” returned Ino. “My husband has left you much work, and you have thus far not struck a blow upon the brass. If he returns drunken and finds that you have been idle, he may destroy you on the spot.”
“Do you wish that?” asked Typhon.
“No,” replied the poor woman. “I wish you nothing but well. The situation is most baffling — most baffling. One’s duty — ”
When the second day was past the prisoner gave up all hope, and permitted himself to address Ino with that liberty of language only despair inspires.
“You are a worthless, witless fool!” cried he. “You are so mean that you have not even the courage to put forth your hand and save your own life. To stay is to be a murderess also, since only death awaits me at the hand of this hulking blackguard when he returns. Get out of my sight, and never let me see you again! You are a cow — a sheep — a worm — only worthy to be kicked or trampled to death. I hate the sight of you, and if I were Zeus I would send a thunderbolt and sweep you away, that the earth should be no more cumbered with such a pitiful coward!”
Ino listened to this bitter speech with profound interest. She was not in the least annoyed.
“If you really think that — ” she began. Then she fetched the key, opened the narrow gate of the prison and invited Typhon to step outside.
“When you put the situation in that way,” she continued, “of course one begins to see what you mean.”
“I withdraw every word,” he answered her. “You are most intelligent, Ino; I am sure you can be brave also; but these are not times for bandying compliments. We have yet left some ten hours or more. Collect all that you would wish to take with you and we will be off. But we must travel light and waste not a moment.”
Then it was that Typhon found another side to Ino. Her mind once made up, she did not look back; and when it came to plots and plans, he discovered that he was but a child before her.
“Ten hours are far too few,” she replied. “Since I have now determined to leave Melas, and inflict this terrible blow upon him, I must ensure absolute safety, and I have bethought me of a precaution by which, instead of ten hours, we may enjoy ten clear days of liberty. You will say that is impossible, yet I see a way. We need but courage and subtlety in the matter; and if you supply the pluck, you may count upon me for the cunning.”
He listened, and his respect for the woman grew until he became full of joy. He did not like Ino at all — because he had told himself that he would never like any woman — but he much admired her craft and obeyed her in all things.
Therefore when Melas returned, on the evening of the third day, he found Ino waiting at the threshold of the home. She welcomed him, and he bade her unload the mules, which had returned laden with the raw material of his craft. Then he looked into Typhon’s cage and snorted with fury. For on his bed of fern lay the lad asleep, while of all the work that had been left for him to accomplish not a stroke was struck. Uttering the most frightful language at his command, Melas hastened for the key, and found it in the usual spot. He then entered the cage, advanced upon the motionless figure and lifting his huge leg kicked it with all his might. Whereupon the thing that he thought Typhon caused him great pain, for it proved to be a wedge of iron under the lad’s white tunic, and Melas lamed himself instead of breaking Typhon’s ribs. At the same moment there sounded the rattle of the great lock behind him and, behold! there stood Typhon, outside the cage, while Melas was now hard and fast within it. Ino also appeared, and stretching her hand between the bars rescued the tunic of the lad.
Then appeared a glimpse of that quality in Typhon from which might be drawn hope for his future. It came not of his mother or his father, but was his own gift from the gods; and it guided him so that he wasted not one moment now in hard words or paltry triumph. Melas might have been a rat for all the emotion his capture awakened. Typhon took the key, and when his prisoner leapt against the bars and roared to Hephæstus and the Cyclops, with the fury of a caged lion, the young man only addressed Ino and bade her prepare to depart at once. The steel bands bent under the rage of Melas; but, though a bad man, he was a good smith and his cage would have held an elephant if need be. Neither did Hephæstus come to his rescue.
Then the boy and the woman went their way; but not before Typhon, now armed with a spear and a short axe, had cut down the false myrtle and destroyed it.
“You, at least, shall lie to nobody again,” he said.
Then he spoke words of cheer to the trembling Ino.
“It is a terrible thing to leave your little home,” murmured she. “Hark how my husband roars for me through the gathering darkness.”
“Such as hear will suppose that he has captured another wild beast,” replied Typhon. “Fear not for him. Food and water to last six days are in his cage; and at the end of that time they will send the usual stores — a skin of wine and a jar of oil from the village. Then they may liberate him if they are fools enough.”
“I much fear that my father, when he learns these things, will bring his servants and destroy Melas altogether,” said she.
“See you to that,” replied the lad. “For my part, now that I have escaped from this tyrant, I will think of him no more. Two things he has taught me, Ino: one is never to be angry before my fellows, because a man in a passion is a foul and mean sight; and the other is never to be cruel, because cruelty is a hateful evil.”
“You were exceedingly cruel to the myrtle,” answered Ino; but he denied it.
“I was just to the myrtle. I have to thank the myrtle for all my stripes. Every brutal kick and blow that Melas put upon me came from the myrtle.”
“Your sufferings were great,” admitted Ino, “yet I suppose you have the satisfaction of doing a good deed and saving me from a life of misery.”
For three days they journeyed together; and then, in the evening hour, Ino marked her father’s lodges, where smoke ascended in a valley. She pressed Typhon to come and be commended for his achievement, but since the credit of escape was really hers, and he had but followed her direction, he would take no praise.
Therefore she called on the gods to bless him, and he left her in safety, not expecting to see her face again.