A voyage upon the sea has a way of playing with the mind, of cleansing, and of helping to forget the past. However, for Bellerophon, as he sat near the prow of the foam-cutting ship bound for Lykia, the last thing he could do was forget.
As the mountains of the Argolida faded into the hazy distance behind him, he still clung to the thought that no matter what he did, nor where he went, he would still find betrayal. He decided that mortals were inherently dishonest, and that wherever the road led him, he would not be caught unawares again.
He knew that he could not trust the welcome that awaited him in Lykia. He would have been a fool to do so. He decided to trust in the Gods, and though the pressure of the unknown weighed heavily upon his heart and mind, he gave himself over to their will.
Do with me what you will, divine Olympians. I will let myself drift upon the sea, for I do not care anymore what fate befalls me!
Hopelessness is a poor travel companion, upon the road, and upon the trial of this mortal life, but it was Bellerophon’s and not even the cleansing sea could remove it from his side.
For three nights, Bellerophon slept upon the deck of that bobbing ship, gazing up at the stars’ lights until he drifted into a sleep made deeper by his resignation and lack of care.
It was between the islands of Crete and Rhodos, with the dark outline of Carpathos’ mountains far to the port side, that Bellerophon finally felt a measure of wonder at the world about him. The deep dark of the sea at night, mingled with the soaring songs of Poseidon’s subjects, rose up out of the deep to surround Bellerophon and touch the stars.
In the sky above, the great Herdsman laboured in the heavens, and Orion drew his bow on the hunt. The Pleiades sang in the great echoing chamber of the heavens, and the Hyades turned and danced together, mesmerizing Bellerophon where he lay upon his back on the deck. Over them all, Sirius, the Dog Star, illuminated the eyes of the beholder, a beacon for all.
The ship’s rigging creaked and the waves gave way easily to the prow with its great, painted eyes watching the way ahead. In the distance, from the shores of the rocky island, a conch shell sounded in the night and a deep silence fell upon the ship and its crew.
“Beautiful, is it not?”
Bellerophon turned quickly to see a woman sitting upon the railing of the ship. She was dressed in a long peplos that shimmered in the moonlight, and her long, dark hair poured out and down her back from beneath a finely wrought helmet with moving scenes of battle, which rested upon her noble crown. But it was her light-infused eyes, all-knowing, all-seeing, stern and yet caring, that drew his attention.
He turned immediately onto his knees and bent before her.
“Divine Goddess Athena!” he said, his voice but a whisper, filled with awe. “Forgive me. I did not see you there.” He dared to look up then, and she smiled.
“You see me when I wish you to see me, Bellerophon, son of Glaucus.”
Bellerophon looked at the scattered crewmen about the deck of the ship.
“Do no worry. They are all deep in Morpheus’ spell. Only we two are truly here.” She looked up to the sky once more and then back at Bellerophon. “Stand now.”
He stood, as did the goddess, and he found himself looking up at her, his heart calm, his soul still as her light touched him.
“Divine and Wise Athena…” he began, “…why do you come to me? Am I to be punished at last?”
The goddess shook her head slowly. “Punished? For what? For defending yourself? For speaking truth? No. There is no punishment coming to you from the halls of Olympus. But it does come from those whose envy of you is like a poison in their veins, and in their minds. No, Bellerophon. I do not come to punish you, but rather to warn you of the danger into which you now go, and of the trials ahead.”
“What trials?” he asked, wondering what awaited him in Lykia such that the goddess saw the need to warn him.
“As you know, King Proetus and Queen Stheneboea cannot be trusted. As such, the intent of the letter you carry is dire.”
“I guessed as much,” he nodded gravely.
“But this letter, which you must give into the hands of King Iobates, will set you on the proper path to your destiny.”
In the distance, the conch horn sounded again, and Bellerophon thought he could hear the distant, deep breathing of another god upon the shore of the island.
Athena held his gaze and reached out to take him by the shoulders. “It is important that you let events play out as they will, and that you know that I am with you. You are not alone upon this road, Bellerophon.”
The goddess’ beauty and strength filled Bellerophon’s eyes, his heart, his mind, and he felt her strength reinforce his defences, make him aware of his own power and skill.
Athena smiled. “You are ready.” She lowered her hands but her eyes remained locked upon his. “You must remember that you are a guest in Lykia, and that you continue to be protected under the laws of Xenia by Zeus. Invoke this protection at the court of King Iobates in Xanthos when you arrive.”
“I will do all that you say, Divine Goddess,” Bellerophon said, bowing his head.
“I know you will.” Her smile was fleeting, however, and there was concern now upon her heavenly features. “You will need all of your strength and skill in the time to come, Bellerophon. Make no mistake. And there are things you must do without the aid of Olympus. Such is the way of things.”
“I understand,” he said.
She observed him for a long moment, and in his mind, he could hear the roar of lions, and the deafening cries of horses. The clash of great battles was added to the chorus of terror then too, and Bellerophon shut his eyes against all of it.
“I am not afraid,” he told himself.
“You will be,” Athena said, “but such is the way of the trials that fear is an ever-present possibility. However, I have no doubt that you will meet the coming challenges with honour.” She leaned forward then, and kissed his brow. “Go now…sleep…rest…”
Bellerophon did as the goddess bid, and laid himself down upon the deck beside his weapons and few possessions.
The conch horn sounded a third, lingering note, and Athena turned upon the deck to look to the distant shore where a rock jut out into the sea.
From that rocky seat, Poseidon looked to his niece and nodded.
The Wheel of Fate is in full motion now, the God of the Sea thought.
Yes, it is, Athena replied.
You must be ready for Death to take him, he said, the tip of his trident aglow in the darkness, reflecting upon the still surface of the sleeping sea.
I am ready for that…as is he… And with a flash of light, Athena departed Bellerophon’s side for the heights of Olympus while Poseidon watched the ship coast by on its way to Helios’ island, and thence to Lykia.
A couple of days later, the ship finally came within sight of the broad Lykian coast. A long, sandy beach stretched into the hazy distance, its water-lapped dunes soft and pale in the early morning sunshine.
Bellerophon stood at the prow observing the terrain of this new land, and wondered what beauty or terrors he might find therein. The turquoise sea and sand were welcoming, but beyond that initial greeting, the land and sky fell away to a world of green groves and dry mountains beyond. It was not dissimilar to his homeland, but the unfamiliarity of the place, and the uncertainty of the greeting he should receive, lent it a sense of menace.
It was peaceful, however, until a great roar echoed in the distance, unlike anything Bellerophon had ever heard. The crew on the deck froze momentarily in the midst of their anchoring tasks.
The captain appeared at Bellerophon’s side, staring out at the landscape.
“What was that?” Bellerophon asked.
The captain looked at him for a quick moment, his eyes wide, but then he looked away to where a pillar of smoke was rising in the distant mountains. “It is nothing,” he said.
“It didn’t sound like ’nothing’,” Bellerophon said.
“It is nothing,” the captain repeated.
Bellerophon shrugged, and turned to see some of the crewmen lowering a skiff into the water beside the ship. “Where is the king’s palace?”
“King Iobates is in Xanthos, just upriver from here.” He pointed to where a river poured into the sea.
“How long will it take to get there?” Bellerophon asked.
“Not long,” the captain replied before shouting to some of the men. “Careful with those amphorae! That’s the king’s Nemean wine!”
The crewmen looked up, sweating as they bent their backs to their work.
The captain turned back to Bellerophon. “You can walk with the wagon train,” he nodded toward a few gathered wagons just cresting the ridge behind the beach, “or a couple of my men can take you upriver in the skiff to the palace walls.”
Bellerophon shrugged. “I’ll walk with the wagons,” he answered. “After so many days at sea, I could use it.”
“Very well,” the captain said, nodding. “Gather your things and get into the skiff to go ashore.”
Bellerophon belted on his sword and dagger and then bent to pick up his satchel and quiver of throwing spears. Once his cloak was on, he picked up his shield and made his way to the edge of the ship where he lowered himself carefully into the waiting skiff beside a few amphorae.
It was a short distance to the beach, and the water below was clear and blue until the waves gathered the skiff in the white surf and sent it skidding onto the sandy shore.
It felt strange to set foot in a new land, but as Bellerophon climbed the dunes to where the wagons were gathered and being loaded, he felt that he was where he was meant to be.
He remembered his dream of the goddess Athena, and threw up a silent prayer to her, and to Earth-Shaking Poseidon for bringing him safely to the shores of Lykia.
It was like a dream, his journey, and now his arrival in that strange land. What had the Gods warned him of? What awaited him in the halls of bitter Queen Stheneboea’s father?
For a moment, his mind began to race, but then he slowed it, resigned to his current situation. He trusted in wise Athena’s words, the image of that goddess still lingering in his mind, behind the lids of his eyes.
I will trust in you, Goddess…
After some time unloading the ship, the crew settled for a rest upon the beach while the wagon train departed.
The armed men around Bellerophon who marched alongside the wagons and their cargo to protect it from marauders, observed the stranger in their midst in silent distrust. The captain had told them Bellerophon was to be a guest of King Iobates at the palace and that he would travel alongside them. They observed the armed, dark and long-haired Corinthian from beneath the brims of their broad rimmed hats, their fingers playing upon the shafts of the long spears they carried.
Bellerophon could see that he made them all nervous, that if he made a wrong move, they would not hesitate to run him through, and so he minded his own business as they wove their way up from the coast to King Iobates’ Xanthian capital.
The plain grew hot very quickly as they travelled in parallel to the river on their left. The cicadas whirred deafeningly among the swaying field grasses and bitter laurels that sprang up in splashes of white and pink. Farmers toiled in their groves, and slaves heaved dirt as they dug new irrigation ditches for the crops that no doubt went to feed the palace of the king.
It was a rich land, there was no doubt, but there was something troubling in the eyes of every person that Bellerophon looked at closely. It was as if they could not rest, as if they were expecting something at any moment that caused them a permanent discomfort.
He wondered if the Lykians were at war, and thought about asking one of the soldiers guarding the wagons. But he decided against it, that he would wait to ask the king himself. He walked on, his eyes scanning the distant mountains, and taking in the dry-smelling air of that increasingly mesmerizing land, despite the hidden dangers he suspected lurked in the distance.
The Lykian capital of Xanthos was located on a high acropolis, overlooking the river below, and was visible from all directions. It was a jewel set in the crown of Lykia, surrounded by low, rocky hills covered with scrub and olive groves, sweet-scented pine, and towering cypresses.
As they travelled the road toward the hazy acropolis, the river reached to its walls, tree-shaded, and lithe like a serpent stretched out in the sun.
To the northeast of the acropolis, among a scattering of small hills, various monuments of the necropolis dotted the landscape, some carved out of the very rock. Before the city gates, outside the great, layered cyclopean walls, altars and monuments to the Gods stood sentry, offerings from that morning still smouldering silently to scent the air.
The flow of traffic increased all around them as farmers and traders came in from the surrounding countryside to set up shop in the agora. There was everything from olives, wine and cheese, to weapons, linens, and even colourful birds, the likes of which Bellerophon had never seen in Corinthos.
The wagon train eventually came to a stop before the broad-linteled gate of Xanthos where several soldiers approached the confer with the train’s head guard.
One of the soldiers, a man with a high, crested helmet of bronze and a breastplate with a lion upon it, spoke with the captain leading the wagons. They whispered for a few moments before turning their eyes upon Bellerophon.
The Xanthian soldier then approached the newcomer.
“State your business, stranger,” he said.
“My name is Bellerophon, son of Glaucus of Corinthos. I have been sent here to accept King Iobates’ hospitality at the request of his son-in-law, King Proetus of Tiryns.”
“King Proetus sent you?” the guard asked.
“Yes. And I have a letter of introduction from him,” Bellerophon said, suddenly distrusting the contents of the letter.
“May I see the letter?” the guard asked.
“I would hand it directly to the king, as instructed by King Proetus.”
The guard looked doubtful, but he would not dare question the king’s son-in-law. “Very well, Bellerophon, son of Glaucus.” He relaxed and glanced at the wagons passing through the gate. “My name is Milyas. I’m captain of King Iobates’ palace guard. Welcome to Xanthos.”
Bellerophon inclined his head. He liked the man, but he reminded himself that had also been the case with Ampyx in Tiryns, who had no trouble turning on him, despite his innocence. Trust no one, he told himself.
“Come. I’ll take you to the king,” Milyas said before giving instructions to his men, and then leading Bellerophon through the gates into the city.
The streets were crowded, and the sound of the marketplace buzzed everywhere one went. The flow of traffic was certainly headed toward the agora on the acropolis, but there were also smaller laneways where humble dwellings were located, their occupants standing upon their thresholds, speaking with neighbours, or watching children play. They all glanced at the strange Corinthian as he passed, led by the captain of the guard.
People were everywhere, right up to the walls of the palace, which was located on the southwestern corner of the acropolis and abutted the steep cliffs that rose up from the river far below.
Captain Milyas greeted locals as he passed, and Bellerophon noted that he seemed respected, though not through fear.
But the air seemed to grow more serious once they passed through the great cedar and enamelled gate of the palace. It was quiet as the sound of the marketing crowds without died away and their footsteps echoed off of the high, rampart-crowned walls.
Soldiers in thick, linen armour with long spears watched from above as their captain led the strange, armed Corinthian through the streets, past a temple, to the king’s megaron and residence.
The courtyard where they stopped was floored with stone, broad and hot in the midday sun. There was a scent of frankincense coming from an altar in the middle of the courtyard which was surrounded by a portico where guards stood at equal intervals.
Captain Milyas turned to Bellerophon and removed his helmet. His smile was gone now, as if he were relieved to have stopped forcing it as they had plied their way through the crowds, and his green eyes settled on Bellerophon.
“The markets are busy today,” he said, sighing and wiping his brow before tucking his helmet beneath his left arm. “I don’t know why you are here, son of Glaucus, but I suppose that letter you hold will explain everything to the king.”
“I have not read it,” Bellerophon said, “but that is what King Proetus told me. I am to hand it directly to King Iobates.”
Milyas looked a little suspicious. “Very well. But… As you are a stranger here, I am going to have to ask you to leave all of your weapons behind. They will be safe. No one will touch them.”
Bellerophon nodded, and felt the presence of the guards behind him grow nearer. “I understand, of course.” First, he set his shield down to lean against the wall, the gorgon head staring up at him, and he prayed silently to Athena that she stay with him. He then laid down his quiver of throwing spears, and his belt with his sword and dagger.
“The satchel?” Milyas pointed.
Bellerophon dug inside to remove the tablet from King Proetus, and then set the satchel with his belongings beside his shield.
“Thank you,” the captain said. “Follow me.” Without another word, he turned and walked across the courtyard to the propylon on the other side which led into the megaron of King Iobates.
They passed through a wide corridor, the walls of which were covered in reliefs of battle between gods and beasts, including the battle between Apollo and Python. There were also images of great lion hunts, but the image that struck Bellerophon most as he passed was one of a strange-looking lion whose giant claws tore through fallen warriors and seemed to set all ablaze.
Captain Milyas saw Bellerophon slow down to look. “Come. The king is within.”
Bellerophon caught up and was just behind Milyas when he rapped upon the tall wooden doors of the megaron. The doors swung open and they entered a great square hall, much larger than that of King Proetus in Tiryns.
Thick columns rose up like trees to support a cedar roof painted with stars about an opening where rays of sunlight and moonbeams could reach into the megaron at any time. There were painted reliefs everywhere, of charioteers and dancers, and of what appeared to be harpies over them all, as if to ensure their good behaviour with constant menace. Eyes watched from every wall and corner, such that if one were the only person in the throne room, one would not feel alone.
There were small groups of people gathered in various quarters of the megaron, some quite official-looking, dressed in plain robes and carrying armloads of tablets. Several scribes waited nearby too. Other groups appeared to be nobles, dressed in colourful silk gowns that clashed with their long, curled and oiled, black beards. Their dark eyes locked onto Bellerophon as he was brought before the king.
King Iobates sat upon his raised throne and was busy speaking with one of his courtiers. This gave Bellerophon a chance to observe him more closely. He was close in age to King Proetus, but not a warrior himself, though he was tall and might have been formidable if armed. His eyes were shaded with kohl, almost the same as some women, but it did not detract from his masculine look. His hair was also dark and oiled, and held in place by a golden circlet about his brow; it fell to his waist and was knotted with tiny golden lions, as if he carried protectors wherever he went. A great gold and lapis eye hung about his neck as if to observe all before him.
Then, the king’s grey eyes turned upon Bellerophon, and he smiled.
“Welcome to Lykia…” the king began, looking to his captain.
“My king,” Milyas said, stepping forward. “May I present Bellerophon of Corinthos, son of Glaucus. He arrived here by way of Tiryns at the behest of King Proetus and Queen Stheneboea. He was with the ship when it arrived this morning from Argolida.”
The king’s smile faded at that, but he regained his composure as he stood to welcome Bellerophon. “You are most welcome to Xanthos, and by the laws of Xenia I welcome you with open arms.” The king descended the steps to stand before Bellerophon, took him by the shoulders, and kissed him upon both cheeks. “I remember your father, Glaucus. He was most skilled in horsemanship, and a fine warrior.”
“Thank you, King Iobates,” Bellerophon answered.
“Such an early and tragic end to what could have been a magnificent life.” The king sighed, his eyes locked onto Bellerophon’s, such that it was disconcerting for the newcomer.
“Sire, I bring a letter from your daughter and son-in-law in Tiryns.” Bellerophon held out the sealed tablet to the king who looked at it with some disdain, though he did accept it.
King Iobates turned to one of his scribes and handed it to him. “I will read this missive of King Proetus’ later.” He leaned closer to Bellerophon and whispered. “My daughter, Queen Stheneboea, depresses me, and I do not want to cast a shadow over your timely visit.” He then returned to his throne and sat again.
“Timely, King Iobates?” Bellerophon could not help but ask.
“Yes,” the king smiled. “The seers told me just this morning that Apollo declared that a great warrior would join us this very day from across the sea.”
There was silence around the throne room, and Bellerophon looked around him, confused.
“Forgive me, sire, but I am no warrior. Perhaps some other man has landed in Lykia this day?”
“Perhaps,” the king said, looking over Bellerophon. “Do you not have weapons? Rarely have I seen an unarmed Corinthian.”
“I do.”
“My king,” Milyas stepped forward, “I had him leave his weapons in the courtyard.”
“You may return them to him immediately. No one in Xanthos goes about unarmed.”
The words were ominous, and as another silence fell on those gathered, Bellerophon looked around to see that every man there carried a dagger in his belt, and some swords or spears, even if they were courtiers. He thought that King Iobates must trust his people a great deal to allow such a thing.
The king suddenly stood up and cast his eyes over everyone in the megaron. “I declare that we shall have ten days of feasting in honour of Bellerophon, the son of mighty Glaucus!” He turned then to Bellerophon. “After that, I shall read my daughter and son-in-law’s no doubt spiteful and demanding letter.” He smiled. “In the meantime, you may roam about Xanthos as you wish. I only warn you that there are dangers in the surrounding countryside, and so you should not wander far from the city walls.”
“I…I understand, King Iobates. I thank you for your hospitality to a weary traveller, which is pleasing to the eyes and ears of Zeus Xenios.”
“Hail Zeus!” King Iobates said, and the words were echoed around the megaron. “Captain Milyas.”
“Yes, my king?”
“You shall be Bellerophon’s escort wherever he should choose to go. I want him given a suite of rooms in the west wing of the palace, and servants to attend upon him.”
“It shall be done, my king.” Milyas bowed low and backed away.
“I will see you this night for the feast, son of Glaucus.”
“I thank you for welcoming me,” Bellerophon said before turning and going to follow Captain Milyas out of the megaron.
When they were gone, one of the young priests of Apollo approached the king slowly, his long white robes swirling about him as a breeze swept through the throne room. His staff, which helped him with his failed eyesight, found the edge of the king’s throne.
“Is he the one you spoke of? He is not a warrior,” the king said, disappointment in his voice.
The priest bent low so that only the king could hear him. His prematurely-rheumy eyes sought his lord. “My king. I feel certain that he is, though he be not a warrior. Apollo was not a warrior when he first slew the great Python. But I shall make offerings and consult the Gods again on your behalf.”
“Yes. Do that, Polyidus, and tell me what the Gods say.”
Milyas led Bellerophon through the brightly-lit corridors of the palace to the aforementioned suite of rooms in the west wing. As they walked, having first gathered Bellerophon’s things, Bellerophon noted more carvings upon the walls depicting great hunts, and he remembered what the king had said about carrying weapons. He decided to question Milyas about it.
“Captain, what did the king mean when he said that no one goes about Xanthos unarmed? Is that not dangerous for him?”
Milyas’ step slowed noticeably, but he carried on without turning. “King Iobates does not need to worry about a threat from his own people… But all people worry about threats from without.”
That was all he said for the moment and before long they were entering a suite of rooms through a pair of polished cedar doors at the end of the corridor. The three servants who had prepared the rooms came filing out, each of them dressed in acanthus-embroidered tunics, their heads bowed as the two men stood before them.
“These three boys will serve you while you are here, son of Glaucus,” Milyas said, pausing before them.
“I really don’t require servants,” Bellerophon answered preferring not to have someone looking over his shoulder at all times
“It is the king’s wish. They can bathe you, if you like, or just bring you food when you are hungry. They sleep in the servants’ quarters on the other side of the palace.” He turned to the older of the three servants. “Are the rooms prepared for the king’s guest?”
“Yes, Captain Milyas. All is prepared,” the young man said.
“Good. Remain here should our guest require anything. The king is throwing a banquet tonight in his honour. See that he has clean clothes and a basin for washing.”
The servant nodded, and Milyas led Bellerophon through the rooms which were painted in hues of red and blue that echoed the sky. Except for a wide bed, a cedar chest at the foot, and an olive wood table and stools, there was little else in the way of furniture. At the far end, another set of double doors led onto a broad terrace where a tripod stood open to the sky. In the middle of the room, beneath a high vent, a round hearth fire burned, the flames like tiny Bacchae in a ritual dance.
“Is everything to your liking?” Milyas turned and asked Bellerophon.
“Of course. It’s more than enough for me. My tastes are quite simple. But you did not answer my question, Captain. Why must everyone go about armed?”
“Xanthos is surrounded by enemies who pose a constant threat to the kingdom.”
“Other tribes?” Bellerophon asked.
Milyas did not answer right away. “In part. The Solymi for one.”
“Who are the others?”
Milyas began to walk toward the door. “I must get back to my post, son of Glaucus. A guest should not worry about such things.”
“But I should go armed to the banquet?”
“You should go armed everywhere.”
Before Bellerophon could utter another word, the captain was gone, his crested helmet cutting its way down the long corridor.
“What is your name?” he asked the older of the servants.
The young man entered the room, his head still bowed. “I am Phoebos.”
“Can you bring water for washing?”
Phoebos looked up and walked to a far corner of the room where a table sat with a basin upon it and sea sponges beside. Rose petals floated in the water.
“I see,” Bellerophon said. “What else do you have to show me?”
Phoebos turned to point at another room where there were tunics hanging, cloaks, various belts and sizes of sandals.
“The king is very hospitable,” Bellerophon said. He was, admittedly, a little suspicious of the welcome after his experience in Tiryns, but he would just deal with things as they came. “And food?”
“On the terrace, there is fruit, water and wine. There is also incense and sacred herbs should you wish to make offerings to the Gods.” The slave pointed to the tripod at the end of the terrace.
“Good.” Bellerophon eyed the servant. “Tell me something, Phoebos… What is the great threat that requires everyone to carry weapons?”
The slave’s head bent lower, as if he were trying to hide himself to avoid questioning. Bellerophon noticed he began to shake, and that his fists were clenched together before him, whether in prayer or restraint, he could not tell.
“No matter. You may go now,” Bellerophon said, and the slave quickly made his exit, closing the doors behind him.
Alone now, and trying to set aside his discomfort at the reaction his questions had elicited, Bellerophon set his weapons down and roamed about the room, his eyes searching the walls for any holes from which he might be observed. There were none that he could see.
Perhaps King Iobates pays more honour to Zeus Xenios than King Proetus did?
He looked at himself and saw how dirty he was from his travels. He knew he could not attend the banquet in such a state, and so he removed his tunic and sandals and went to that corner of the room where the basin of water was. In the ground at his feet were holes where the water could drain away, and as he splashed his face and washed with the sponges and scented water, the filth drifted away beneath the stone floor. Once he was clean and oiled, Bellerophon tied his long dark hair back and went to the dressing room where he chose a long red tunic bordered with a painted black meander pattern, and a thick, black leather belt to match. He put his own sandals back on and walked out onto the terrace.
The air outside was dry and hot, and smelled sweetly with a faint hint of perfume. Bellerophon could see the terraces of the palace rising up above him, designed such that none were visible from the lower vantage point, offering privacy to those higher up. At the highest level, he thought he spied a head of reddish hair peering over the edge, but whoever it was quickly disappeared.
He turned to see a woven basket of offerings and bent to pick up the tinder box and a heavy chunk of incense.
The bronze tripod, at the end of the terrace which jutted out over the river far below like the prow of a ship at sea, was thick and heavy, its broad bowl supported by three muscular lion’s legs. Inside were newly-placed wood shavings which Bellerophon set alight and then placed the incense atop.
Soon, the scented smoke was rising into the air and he raised his hands to the sky.
Father Zeus, Protector of Travellers… Thank you for bringing me safely to this far off land… Lord Poseidon, I thank you for granting me passage upon your great kingdom that I may arrive here in Lykia. He breathed deeply, in and out, feeling the calm wash over him now that he was alone. Goddess Athena, I hold your words to my heart, and will be prepared for whatever lies upon the road ahead of me. Guide me and protect me, Divine Goddess…
It was then, for the first time in a long while, that Bellerophon began to hold to some form of hope for himself and his life, to believe that perhaps all was not lost for him, that he had some purpose. Only what that purpose was, he could not tell. He still felt adrift, and wondered at the strange lurking danger he could sense all around him.
Certainly, the letter he knew the king would eventually read was a matter of concern, but there was nothing he could do about that. All he could do was deal openly and honestly with King Iobates, and then speak truth when he was questioned about the no-doubt damning contents of that letter.
He decided not to think on that any longer, and sat beneath the silk awning on the terrace to eat, drink, and then doze in the shade.
Some hours later, still sleeping off the exhaustion that he had felt from his journey, Bellerophon woke suddenly to hesitant hands upon his thick shoulder.
He opened his eyes quickly, his hand upon his dagger only to be faced by the terrified visage of the servant, Phoebos, staring at him.
“F…for…forgive me, Lord, but I was sent to rouse you for the banquet which has already begun.”
Bellerophon set the dagger back in his belt and rubbed his eyes, unsure of how long he had slept. He felt more rested than he had in a long while. He looked up at the servant. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I was having a bad dream.”
This made the slave look more concerned.
“Will you show me the way back to the megaron?” Bellerophon asked.
“Captain Milyas will take you. He is waiting in the corridor outside.”
Bellerophon stood and stretched and saw that the sky was darkening into deeper blues and purples, the sun having already dipped into the West. He went back into the room to a clay pot set behind a curtain to relieve himself, and then emerged to splash water upon his face once more. He looked to his weapons and thought about taking them, but decided the dagger was enough. “Will you wash my travel clothes?” he asked Phoebos.
“It is already done,” the servant answered, bowing.
“Very well. I will see you later.” Bellerophon turned and went out the double doors to find Captain Milyas standing there waiting with his helmet tucked beneath his arm.
“Ah, there you are, son of Glaucus!” Milyas said, his smile returned. “You must have been tired from your voyage.”
They began to walk together. “Yes. I was, but I am rested now. This land casts a spell.”
The captain said nothing to that. After a few moments, as they turned down another corridor that led to the court before the megaron, he spoke again. “The king has commanded ten days of feasting in your honour.”
“Why such generosity?” Bellerophon asked. “I am no king. I am of no importance, really.”
“King Iobates takes the laws of Xenia very seriously, and he hopes that-“ Milyas stopped himself quickly.
“Hopes that what?” Bellerophon asked.
“He hopes that your visit will secure trade ties between Corinthos and Lykia.”
Bellerophon laughed. “I think the king will be disappointed, Captain. I have no ties to Corinthos any longer. I have been banished.”
The captain stopped and turned toward Bellerophon. “Why?”
Bellerophon thought about lying, but then decided against it. “For murder.”
“Murder?” Milyas’ hand went slowly to the handle of his sword.
“My own cousin sent his son and others to slay me whilst I trained. I defended myself. They lost.”
Milyas relaxed visibly. “So you defended yourself in battle?”
“Yes. That is how I see it.”
“Then you are falsely accused,” Milyas said matter-of-factly.
“I’m glad that you see it that way too,” Bellerophon said as they continued to walk. “But have no fear, I shall relay this to the king myself.”
“He appreciates honesty, to be sure.” They arrived at the propylon before the megaron. “So you train?”
“Yes, but I have never been to war.”
“You have seen battle though, else you would not be here.” Milyas smiled. “Perhaps we can train together in the coming days?”
“I would like that.” Bellerophon looked through the open doors of the megaron and his eyes were met with a scene of light and colour, his nostrils with the sweet scent of spiced and roasted meats.
“Come,” Milyas said. “Let me take you to the king.”
They entered the megaron and immediately all eyes turned to them.
Musicians played upon the cythara and aulos from one corner, and in the middle of the megaron, tumblers performed acrobatics for the men and women of the king’s court.
The king himself sat at a wide table with his attendants behind him. To his right was an empty seat with the seer, Polyidus, on the other side, and to the king’s left was another empty seat, this one ornately decorated in a fashion after the king’s own throne.
“Ah! Bellerophon, son of Glaucus! Join us!” King Iobates said aloud, and there was a general murmur around the diners as Bellerophon took his seat to the king’s right.
“Please forgive my tardiness, King Iobates. I was overtired from my journey.”
“There is nothing to forgive. It is a long way from Tiryns to Lykia. Sit with me, drink of the Nemean wine that accompanied you on your journey.”
Bellerophon accepted a golden cup from a servant behind him and spilled some to the Gods before drinking with the king.
Almost immediately, fresh platters of roasted boar and goat were set before him, along with steaming flat breads, bowls of olives and plates of cheese.
They ate for a time without speaking, the king wanting his guest to eat his fill before they spoke.
When it appeared that Bellerophon’s appetite was sated, and he settled into his cup of watered wine, King Iobates turned to speak with him. The rest of the guests continued their conversations and their laughter, and enjoyed the entertainment.
“So, tell me, Bellerophon, son of Glaucus. What brings you to the shores of Lykia? Why are you not in Corinthos, helping manage your family’s kingdom? Should you not be leading Corinthos’ armies while your older brother rules?”
Bellerophon’s eyes stopped looking about the room, and he turned in his seat to look upon the king. There was genuine curiosity in the man’s eyes, perhaps even a little concern, but Bellerophon knew better than to fully trust anyone, especially a king. However, he decided to tell the truth of what happened in Corinthos. Goddess Athena, grant me wise words…
“I was never given much of a role to play at court in Corinthos, King Iobates.”
“That is certainly strange, especially for someone as fit and strong as yourself. Certainly, even though you were not a first son, you should have been given some responsibility, especially after your father’s passing?”
Bellerophon shook his head. “I asked my mother and older brother if there was anything, and was constantly put off until years passed.” He shrugged. “I saw to myself, training every day to pass the time.”
“And yet, you have not seen war?” the king asked.
“No. At least, not war involving armies. But in Corinthos’ streets and goat paths, I often encountered men who sought to harm me, men sent by my cousin.”
“Your cousin?” The king shook his head and sipped his wine. “I have never understood family turning on each other in such a way, especially when there are so many threats from neighbouring kingdoms. This is why I was reluctant at first to aid Proetus against Acrisius. Were it not for my daughter…”
Bellerophon pressed on, wishing to avoid talk of Stheneboea. “In Corinthos, perhaps it was because we were not under threat for so long that things began to go awry inside?” Bellerophon emptied his cup and a slave immediately refilled it. “My cousin seeks the throne. He always has. And he knew that if he made a move upon my brother or mother, I would be a problem for him. So, one day, while I was training upon the mountain, he sent his son and three others to kill me.”
Understanding began to dawn upon the king’s face, and something of relief. “They tried and failed, I assume.”
Bellerophon was quiet. He could still see Belleros falling through the air, so far, to his death. He felt the king’s hand upon his arm.
“It is no easy thing for a good man to kill, Bellerophon. I can see that what happened distresses you. But you defended yourself, correct?”
“I did.” Bellerophon nodded.
“And you slew them all? On your own?”
“Yes.”
King Iobates sat straight and nodded. “You did nothing wrong. And you proved yourself a strong warrior. Some men do not even kill one enemy in a pitched battle, but you slew four with your own hands.”
“And I am not proud of it.”
“The more honour to you for saying so,” the king added, and before Bellerophon could say more, King Iobates stood and raised his cup.
The room grew silent immediately as all the other guests turned their attention to their king.
“I drink to Bellerophon, son of Glaucus, a man of great courage, honesty, and honour. By Zeus Xenios, we are honoured to welcome him to our halls for as long as he need stay! Bellerophon!”
“Bellerophon!” the guests echoed and drank with the king.
Bellerophon felt his face grow hot, but found the grace to incline his head in humility and drink along with them. To his right, he felt the seer, Polyidus, lean in to speak to him for the first time.
The seer’s eyes were veiled with white cataracts, but Bellerophon got the sense that the man - who was not as old as one might expect - could see more than he let on. In truth, seers made Bellerophon uncomfortable, for they had communion with the Gods on a completely different level to most men.
Polyidus’ blue robes rustled as he made to speak. “I could not help but hear your story, son of Glaucus. Truly, I think the Gods have a different purpose for you. They have protected you thus for so long.”
“I honour the Gods, as is fit and right,” Bellerophon answered, leaning away from the seer in his chair.
Polyidus smiled kindly and nodded. “Have they approached you of late? Especially she of the Bright Eyes?” He whispered this so low that Bellerophon wondered if he had even spoken, but then he realized Polyidus’ meaning.
“A man’s converse with the Gods is his own,” Bellerophon answered.
Polyidus nodded. “True enough, unless you are a king’s seer.” He winked with his pale eyes and went back to his meal, his hands finding things upon his platter with precision.
Bellerophon noticed King Iobates listening to them as well, and then looked beyond the king to the empty seat on his left.
“King Iobates, I see an empty seat to your left. Is your queen not joining us?”
King Iobates’ face darkened and he looked down. “My wife was taken from me many years ago, in an attack by the Solymi tribe. They slew her and many others she was trying to protect.”
“How terrible for you.”
King Iobates said nothing, but the dark look that overtook his features said much. “I will never forgive those people, and I will not rest until they are wiped out.” They drank again. “My people lost their queen that day, a queen they loved. I lost my wife, and my young daughters their mother.”
“You have more than one daughter?”
“All I have left here is my younger daughter, Philonoe. The Gods never sought to give me sons.” King Iobates seemed to retreat at that moment, his mind elsewhere. “Philonoe was not feeling well this night, else she would have been here to receive you as our guest. Tomorrow, you shall meet her.”
Bellerophon nodded. He understood why the seat beside the king was empty, but he suspected there was more to what the king had said about his lost queen. Another daughter? he worried. If she is at all like Queen Stheneboea, I will leave Lykia as soon as I can.
Bellerophon slept deeply that night, more so than he had in a long time, and when he awoke the next morning, it was to warm breeze coming in at the curtained doorway to the terrace of his rooms. The scent of dew-covered jasmine tickled his senses, and he could hear mourning doves cooing on the terraces of the palace above him. When he opened his eyes, it was to the sun’s faint light where it cast a soft glow onto the altar that jut out over the river far below.
Bellerophon rose from his bed and rubbed his eyes before going to relieve himself and wash in the basin of fresh water which, apparently, the slaves had refreshed while he still slept. When he finished, he went outside to find the table filled once more with fresh fruit, cheeses, and honeyed breads. The sight made him hungry, but first he took up the tinder box and a sprig of herbs from the basket near the doorway and went directly to the altar.
Bellerophon knelt upon the stone floor, lit the herbs which began to smoulder and burn, and raised his hands to the sky.
Goddess Athena, thank you for protecting me and guiding my words…
He felt a breeze upon his face and opened his eyes to see the goddess standing on the other side of the altar. Her eyes pierced him and he struggled not to look away.
Do not fall under the spell of this palace or of King Iobates, the goddess commanded. Remember what I told you, son of Glaucus.
I do, oh Goddess, Bellerophon responded in his mind.
There is a rot in Lykia, Athena warned, but there is also a great goodness. Seek it out and protect it.
Bellerophon looked up from the smoking offering again, but the goddess was gone once more. He stood, suddenly feeling quite cold, and stepped around the altar to look at the spot where the goddess had stood. He gazed down the cliffs to the swift-flowing river far below and stepped quickly back from the edge, recoiling from the great height. When he turned however, he was made more uncomfortable by the sight of the seer, Polyidus, looking in his direction from one of the higher terraces.
Beyond the seer also was the outline of another whose clothing was only just set alight by the sun’s rising rays.
Bellerophon could not tear his eyes away for a few moments, and then the apparition was gone, leaving only the seer looking down on him. Bellerophon waved back, though he doubted the man saw the gesture, and went immediately to sit beneath the awning to eat.
The palace was quiet in the west wing, but he had the impression that there were indeed eyes everywhere, and he did not enjoy the feeling.
Bellerophon remained in his rooms the whole of that day, preferring to keep to himself and rest as the king was apparently busy with his advisors and the business of running the kingdom.
King Iobates had sent word to him by way of Captain Milyas that he would see him at the banquet that night.
The day passed quickly enough as Bellerophon rested and trained on his own with sword and shield in the spacious rooms where he dwelled. A part of him wanted to explore the city, but something inside him said he should not venture out just yet. But the time he had alone was accented with moments of worry, for he wondered if the king had decided to open the letter from King Proetus. He half expected the guards to burst into his rooms to arrest him at any moment, but they never came.
When the sun set that evening, and the braziers were lit around the palace, Captain Milyas arrived to bring Bellerophon to the feast once more. He was in a jovial mood, and gave no hint of anger or aggression.
“You must be tired from your journey to Lykia?” Milyas asked as they walked. “Did you sleep the whole day?”
Bellerophon shook his head. “I am well rested now. I spent some time training in my rooms.”
“Training?” Milyas said. “There is not the space to train in there!”
“There is enough,” Bellerophon answered.
“Perhaps tomorrow you may wish to accompany me to the training grounds outside the eastern wall? I would like to see how you use your throwing spears.”
Bellerophon looked at the captain and saw no hint of malice there. “We can do that,” he said cautiously.
“That is, if we don’t drink too much this night!” Milyas laughed and slapped him on the back as the two of them entered the megaron.
There were fewer guests that night, and when Bellerophon looked, he could see the same empty seats to either side of King Iobates. There were no tumblers or acrobats this time, as the gathering was more civilized and sedate. A single musician played the aulos whilst a young woman in flowing, sheer robes danced, moving about the hearth fire like a nymph at a midsummer celebration.
The other guests acknowledged Bellerophon as he made his way to his seat between the king and Polyidus once more.
“I trust you had a restful day, Bellerophon?” the king asked, smiling at him.
“I did. Thank you, King Iobates. The mornings here are most peaceful.”
“I am glad to hear it, but you should venture out into the markets at some point. You will be amazed by the wares you see. I wonder if our markets outdo those of Corinthos?” the king smiled.
“I can tell you now, Lord, they do. From what little I saw when I arrived, you have trade from far and wide.” Bellerophon poured some of his wine onto the floor and drank before taking food from the platters of vegetables, cheeses and breads that had just been set out before them. “I will accompany your captain to the training grounds tomorrow,” he added.
King Iobates did not answer for a moment. “Excellent. I should like to see your skills for myself. Would you not also, Polyidus?”
“Yes, my king,” the seer answered as he picked at a hunk of bread.
They ate in silence for a time, but after a while, Bellerophon could not wait any longer. “King Iobates…”
“Yes, Bellerophon?” the king responded, still smiling.
“Have you read the letter from King Proetus yet?”
King Iobates set his food on his plate and wiped his fingers on a cloth napkin which lay to the side. He turned to look at Bellerophon.
This is it, Bellerophon thought. I will not be welcome for long.
“From what you have told me of your life in Corinthos, of your family after your father’s passing, they are not trustworthy. Indeed, they seem to have used you, put you out as bait for your cousin to take. Perhaps as a gauge of his loyalty?”
“I…I have never thought of it in that way. I thought they simply did not care.” The realization hit Bellerophon hard in the moment.
“I am only guessing, but from what you told me last night, they certainly did care, only it was for themselves and not for you.”
The feeling of loneliness in that moment was supreme and overwhelming, but the king’s hand upon Bellerophon’s arm brought him back.
“Forgive me. I do not mean to upset you after all that you have been through. Kings have ways of seeing things where more innocent men do not. But I say this because it is the same with my daughter, Queen Stheneboea, and King Proetus. They do not care for me or Lykia. They care for themselves. My daughter pulled me into a war - a family squabble - in which I should not have been involved. True, we gained some trade from the agreement, but let us be frank. There is not much in Argolida which we cannot get from our own lands and allies to the East.” The king sat back in his chair and held his cup up to Bellerophon. “As I said when you arrived, my eldest daughter depresses me with her Stygian moods, and I have no wish to taint my duties as host with her news. You have told me the reasons you left Corinthos, and I believe you. That is enough for me, Bellerophon. I will read her missive at a later date, when I am ready.”
“I thank you for your confidence, King Iobates,” Bellerophon said.
“Think nothing of it,” the king said waving his hand.
It was in that moment that the room grew silent and all stood, except for the king, Polyidus, and Bellerophon, for behind the three, Princess Philonoe had entered the megaron and approached her seat to her father’s left.
“Good evening, Father,” she said with a voice as soft and clear as the aulos being played on the other side of the hall.
Bellerophon stood up immediately and turned to greet the princess who stepped to her seat beside her father, but not before turning and smiling at the other guests for them to take their seats.
She also smiled shyly at Bellerophon, and that simple, slightly curious look gave the Corinthian pause.
Princess Philonoe was not at all what Bellerophon had expected as a daughter of King Iobates and sister of Stheneboea, for they were both dark of complexion and hair. The princess who stood before Bellerophon was pale-skinned, though not at all sickly. In fact, her face had a scattering of faint freckles that came with time in the sunshine. These orbited her green eyes in a way that was mesmerizing and drew one in. Her hair was of a fiery red in the light cast by the hearth, and it was tied back in a long single tress with golden ribbons. She wore a thin golden circlet about her crown to match her father’s. Her body, from what one could see, was unexpectedly athletic, with long, lithe and muscular limbs. She too carried a dagger, but she carried it in a way that was more natural to her, not with the required awkwardness with which most of the courtiers carried theirs.
When Princess Philonoe sat, Bellerophon retook his own seat.
“Bellerophon of Corinthos, I present my younger daughter, Princess Philonoe,” King Iobates said, looking from his daughter to Bellerophon.
“Princess,” Bellerophon said, inclining his head.
“Son of Glaucus, you are most welcome to Xanthos,” she said graciously, with a smile that made one want to study her more.
Careful, Bellerophon told himself. Remember the beast her sister was.
The truth was, however, that his initial feeling from Philonoe was in no way similar to how he had felt upon meeting her older sister. Still, Bellerophon decided he would be slightly distant, though not uncouth. He needed to exercise caution in his precarious position.
“Thank you, Princess Philonoe,” he said, trying not to lock onto her eyes.
“My father has told me about your journeys and the reasons you left Corinthos-“
“Daughter!” the king protested at the breach of confidence.
“It is all right, my lord,” Bellerophon said. “I accept the trials the Gods have put before me.”
He did not see the king glance across at Polyidus.
Bellerophon looked to the princess again. “I am grateful that my path has led me to Xanthos, no matter the torment I endured in my homeland. Your father truly does honour to Zeus Xenios.”
“My father is true to the Gods and their laws,” Philonoe said, placing her hand upon her father’s arm and making him smile.
But the king frowned when he looked at her face. “You have been too much in the sun, Daughter. It mars your features.”
Rather than be silenced or angry, Philonoe smiled and kissed her father’s cheek. “Oh, Father. Helios’ rays bless us every day and bring health and vitality to mortals as well as to crops. Worry not.”
Bellerophon tried not to smile at the way this young girl dismissed a king’s chiding with such kindness.
Philonoe leaned forward to see Bellerophon as she took a sip of her watered wine from a golden cup. “Tell me, Bellerophon of Corinthos… What do you think of our kingdom thus far?”
Bellerophon set down his cup and turned in his seat to look at her across the king. “In all honesty, lady, I have seen only the road from the sea, and the interior of this palace. But from the little I have seen, it is most striking and beautiful.”
She smiled at that, though he was not sure he had meant the words to come out of his mouth in such a way. “Then you must see more of it. I can accompany you if the king allows it.”
King Iobates was not happy, and turned to his daughter with silent displeasure. “I’m afraid that is out of the question.” He turned to Bellerophon. “Not because of you, son of Glaucus, but rather because of the dangers posed to the princess.” He turned back to his daughter. “You know of what I speak, Daughter.”
Bellerophon could see that Philonoe wanted to challenge her father’s decision, but she chose not to. The eyes of several people about the megaron were also on the princess and king, evidently straining to hear what the king would say, or what she would say.
“Then perhaps Captain Milyas will show you the city?” She looked down the table to her left to see the captain in his seat where he had been granted occasion to eat with them. “Captain? Will you show the son of Glaucus our fair city tomorrow. He must go beyond the palace walls at some point, devout as he is in his offerings to the Gods.” She smiled at Bellerophon then, and he knew that it was she whom he had seen looking down on him from the higher terrace of the palace.
“Of course, my lady!” Milyas said. “In fact, we have plans to train together on the morrow.”
“Excellent!” King Iobates said, clapping his hands once before the next course of food was brought out.
The rest of the evening was spent in polite conversation, but Bellerophon found that he had to constantly restrain himself from looking across the king at Philonoe, especially as the king wanted to know more about his weapons of choice, and the seer on his other side about the customs in Corinthos.
The entire time, however, the flame of Philonoe’s strength, her kindness toward the other guests with whom she conversed most eloquently, drew Bellerophon in like a moth. Despite every warning in his mind, he hoped for just one glance from her direction.
Over the next few days, Captain Milyas took Bellerophon to the training grounds to the southeast of the city walls where the palace guard underwent a strict regimen of strength training and weapons practice.
At first, Bellerophon expected the men of Lykia to see him as an upstart outsider, and that they would want nothing more than to throw him down in the dust. In fact, some did try, but he made short work of them, earning more respect with each small victory.
Milyas was, by far, the most skilled among the warriors of Xanthos, and it took Bellerophon several bouts to prove that they were a match for each other, each one coming to a close draw whether in wrestling, boxing, or running.
The troops watching cheered the two men when they were finished.
“Come,” Milyas said, breathing heavily after their exertions. “Are you sure you’ve not been to war, Bellerophon? By the Gods, you’re a strong man!”
“I had nothing to do with my days growing up but train. I suppose it paid off,” Bellerophon laughed, also breathing heavily as he poured a ladle of water over his face from a bucket beside them.
“One thing you’ve not shown me yet is how you use those throwing spears of yours. Do you mind?” Milyas asked. “I can have the men set a target up over there.”
“Why not? I need the practice anyway,” Bellerophon said.
Milyas nodded to two of the men who ran to take up one of the straw targets and set it somewhere over fifty paces away. “I’ll go first,” Milyas said, stepping onto the dirt of the stadium and taking aim with his doru, the long spear used by their hoplites in battle. After sighting along the shaft, he took a running start and hurled it.
The spear flew in a high arc, soaring against the blue of the sky before landing in the middle of the target with a distant thump.
“By Ares, that was a great throw!” Bellerophon said.
Milyas turned to him, smiling as his men cheered. “Your turn. Show us what you can do with those throwing spears.”
Bellerophon stood and picked up his quiver of throwing spears which were less than half the length of Milyas’ doru. He took six of them out of the quiver and gripped them in his left hand, with one in his right. “Ready?” he asked, looking at Milyas.
Milyas nodded expectantly. “Go!”
Bellerophon threw one spear and it struck the bullseye beside the doru, but then he began to run zig zagging back and forth, throwing from every which angle at the target until each one of his spears was thrown.
It happened quickly, and when he stopped to look at the Lykians watching him, he saw their blank, awed expressions.
“Was that not good?” he asked.
There was a moment of stunned silence, and then Milyas jumped into the air, yipping like a giddy child.
“By the Gods! That was incredible!” Milyas yelled and he and the other men ran to the target to get a close look.
Bellerophon’s spears had grouped tightly all around the point of Milyas’ doru, and the men gathered around to marvel at it.
“How did you manage to do that?” one of the soldiers asked Bellerophon.
“Constant practice. In Corinthos, I would set up various targets and run in every direction, throwing as I went. I eventually got good at it.”
“Good?” Milyas said, turning to face Bellerophon. “Outstanding! I’ve never seen anything like it!”
It was at that moment that the soldier who had just praised Bellerophon, all smiles and awe, pitched forward in an explosion of blood, a spear through his neck.
“What in Hades?” Bellerophon said, but before he realized what had happened, the soldiers all around were rushing to their weapons.
After a stunned second, Bellerophon’s eyes saw that it was not an attack by many men but rather by a single warrior perched on the rocks in the distance.
As Milyas and his men gathered their weapons, Bellerophon ripped three of his spears from the target and bolted after the attacker, his bare feet padding across the stadium.
“Bellerophon! Wait!” Milyas called after him.
Bellerophon had no idea what had got into him as he ran. He only saw the image of the friendly soldier’s neck being blown out, and only thought of planting a spear in the attacker’s back.
The attacker - a man seemingly dressed as a shepherd, was climbing the steep rock formations in an attempt to get away, and this gave Bellerophon time to reach the bottom, following him so as to get a clear shot. He threw one spear and it missed, and then a second and that missed too.
When the man reached the peak and was about to get disappear, Bellerophon hurled his last spear and it soared into the sky to take the man in the lower back.
There was a garbled cry from on high, and then the man fell backward through the air to slam with a deafening crack in the dirt near to where Bellerophon stood.
Meanwhile, Milyas’ men had reached him and were scrambling up the rocks to search for more attackers.
“Excellent throw!” Milyas said as he watched his men go up, and then he turned to look at the body of the man Bellerophon had slain. “Damned Solymi!”
“Is he from that neighbouring tribe?” Bellerophon asked.
“Yes,” Milyas nodded gravely. “And he just sent one of my best new recruits to the Underworld!”
“I am sorry,” Bellerophon said, bending to rip his spear out of the attacker’s body. “He doesn’t look like a warrior. More like a goatherd.”
Milyas spat at the corpse. “They are bandits. Not warriors. But they are many.”
“A scout?” Bellerophon asked.
“Perhaps, but more likely a lone rogue looking for target practice. They do this often, the cowards.”
Bellerophon looked up to see the Lykian warriors combing the rocks for any more attackers before they climbed back down.
One man approached him and handed him back his two spears.
Bellerophon thanked him, and watched as they dragged the body of the man he had slain back to the middle of the stadium.
“Put his body on a spike as a warning!” Milyas said. “Anything to dissuade the bastards from trying that again. “Back to the city. We must lock down the palace!”
“Yes, sir!” the men said as they took up their things and put the body of their fallen brother upon a cart.
“I will have to visit his parents tomorrow. Good people. Olive growers on the other side of the river.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Bellerophon asked.
Milyas shook his head. “No. This happens more often than you would think. Come. You’ll be late for the night’s banquet.”
On that fifth night of feasting, the air in the megaron was more somber, for word had spread of the attack at the stadium, and the people were wary of another offensive by the neighbouring Solymi.
“Captain Milyas told me how you slew the attacker at the stadium, Bellerophon. It was impressive work,” King Iobates said.
“I only wish I had seen him before he slew the young recruit,” Bellerophon said.
“It happens frequently,” Polyidus added on Bellerophon’s other side.
“Will you attack them?” Bellerophon asked the king.
King Iobates shook his head. “No. For one slain man, the cost would be too great. We would lose far more trying to attack them in their rocky home. They do not fight with honour, but like animals from trees, hiding behind rocks in secret. I regret the death of the young soldier, of course, but I cannot risk the lives of so many. You slew the attacker, and that is sufficient punishment. He was obviously a skilled killer, so that will hurt them.”
Bellerophon could see the sadness in Princess Philonoe’s face. “I am sorry to discuss this before you, lady.”
She turned to him and shook her head. “It is not that. I am used to such talk. I was just thinking of how it was not always like this. From what I have been told, in the days before my father ruled, such attacks did not happen. They choose to burden him with this aggression.”
“What was different then?” Bellerophon asked.
“Much,” the king said, cutting him off.
“It is not only the danger from the Solymi, but from others as well,” Philonoe said. “And then there is the constant threat from the Chi-“
“That’s enough!” the king shouted, his composure cracking.
Philonoe grew silent, her eyes staring directly into her father’s as the entire megaron grew silent.
“I do not wish to speak of this any longer,” the king said, more calmly, before taking a gulp of his wine.
“My apologies, King Iobates,” Bellerophon said. “I ask too many questions.”
“It is not you, Bellerophon. My daughter knows better than to discuss such things.”
Philonoe sat back in her chair then and ate in silence for the rest of the feast, as did the other guests there present.
The next day, Bellerophon remained within the palace walls as much of the city was locked down in case of another attack. But another attack did not come.
That night, at the next feast, Bellerophon arrived to find the king absent but Philonoe already seated and speaking in hushed tones with Polyidus. They both looked to Bellerophon when he entered the megaron on his own.
“Is the king unwell?” Bellerophon asked them when he arrived.
“The king is meeting with representatives from the trade guild about the dangers they face in the kingdom,” Polyidus said. “He will be along shortly.”
Bellerophon smiled at Philonoe and sat in his usual seat. “The danger posed by the Solymi, you mean?” he asked Polyidus.
The seer shook his head. “A more serious and constant threat.”
“More serious?” Bellerophon asked, surprised. He could not imagine living in such a way. “I had not realized how peaceful life was in Corinthos until now.” He could see that Polyidus did not want to speak more of the dangers they faced, and so he let it be.
“Do you miss your homeland?” Philonoe asked on his other side. With the king absent, she had turned fully in her seat to face Bellerophon, and the sight of her stopped his heart.
It took a moment for him to answer, but he came around to it. “No, lady. I do not. I was never wanted or welcome in Corinthos. To my mind, I have no home.”
“How very sad,” she said, and there was true feeling in how she said it. “Your mother did not care for you?”
“No. She did not. For some reason, I was a disappointment, though I shall never know why.” Feeling awkward, Bellerophon took a gulp of his wine and leaned back in his chair, looking sideways at the princess.
“How upsetting to have had your mother, and yet feel so distant from her.” She was quiet a moment. “I never really knew my mother, but from what I have been told, she was extremely brave and kind.”
“Having met you, lady, I can understand that,” Bellerophon said, though he looked away when he did so.
Philonoe’s eyes locked onto him, and she smiled very slightly. “The people of Lykia and the surrounding lands loved her very much.”
“Perhaps that is why there were no troubles then?” Bellerophon ventured. “But your father is a great king. Surely the surrounding lands would welcome such a strong ally?”
“I do not understand it myself,” Philonoe said.
“Nor would the king wish you to, Princess,” Polyidus interrupted, his eyes glancing at the door through which the king could come at any second. “My lady, please leave talk of Queen Pasandra for the moment.”
Bellerophon turned back to Philonoe. “‘Pasandra’? That was your mother’s name?”
“Yes. It was,” Philonoe said.
“Do you remember her at all?” he asked, ignoring the worried looks from the seer beside him.
“I remember feelings of love. I remember her soft but strong voice, and the songs she used to sing to me. But that is all. My father tells me that I look very much like her.”
“I can believe that,” Bellerophon said. “Your sister, Queen Stheneboea, and King Iobates look very similar.”
“It is true,” Philonoe said, then she looked at Bellerophon intently. “You met my sister?”
“Yes…I did,” he answered cautiously.
“Was she kind and welcoming to you in Tiryns?”
“King Proetus and Queen Stheneboea welcomed me for a short time. And they were kind enough to grant me passage here.”
“You do not regret coming here then?” Philonoe asked. “Even after the attack?”
“For one day, I have had to deal with the dangers I hear so much about in Xanthos, lady. For you, it has been a lifetime.”
“It is much easier to endure in the company of friends, Bellerophon.”
There was such tenderness in her look and the lilt of her voice, that Bellerophon was taken aback. He had never experienced such sincerity and good will, and he fought that part of himself which said he should not trust her.
They ate in comfortable silence for at time, and then settled into conversation about Corinthos’ lands and neighbours.
Polyidus too was a part of the conversation, and it became clear to Bellerophon that the seer was quite protective of Philonoe, that he cared for her welfare even above that of the king’s.
King Iobates did not appear that evening.
That night, Bellerophon dreamed of home, of the empty corridors and pitying looks that had haunted his childhood like a recurring dream that left one bereft of joy in the morning.
When he awoke, the sun was already high in the blue canopy of the world. His thoughts lingered sadly on the father he had lost too soon, and the mother who had remained behind, removed, uncaring, and as cold as winter wind down out of the mountains of Arcadia.
Bellerophon had long ago decided the world was not his friend, that he was meant to lead a lonely existence. He had accepted that. He knew that he was not an easy person to love or care for, not like Philonoe.
He had dreamed of her too that night as he tread the pathways of Morpheus’ realm.
He had been surrounded by darkness. The Goddess Athena was behind him, urging him forward into the dark as the terrible sounds of roaring and hissing and rushing flame came at him from out of the deep, sightless distance.
And then she had appeared. Philonoe. Standing still as a statue, tall and strong and radiant. She was not afraid, though menace was all around them. She did not speak, though her eyes held him fast. She simply stood there, the wind playing at her peplos and hair, moving them in a strangely slow motion.
In looking upon her he felt a calm come over him, but the sounds of terror beyond her became louder and Bellerophon rushed to her side, his spears and shield at the ready for an attack. The rush of anger upon the wind was deafening, and then the darkness spoke.
I am waiting for you! Come to die!
Bellerophon did not venture out that morning, though he longed to glimpse the princess, to speak with her and see her smile. However, he did not want to mar her day with the darkness that had beset him the previous night, a darkness that seemed to follow him wherever he or his thoughts wandered.
He heaped offerings upon the altar on the terrace that day, and the smoke rose up into the air in all directions as if the winds were as undecided as he was. Sitting beneath the fluttering canopy on the terrace, hoping Helios’ sunlight would cleanse him of the shadow of his adherent mood, he fought with all of his might against the hopeless feeling of being adrift, not only in the living breathing world, but more so upon that sea of tortured dreams on which the Gods seemed intent he remain.
As his eyes took in the broad landscape, the rising palace behind him, and the distant monuments to past glories, he wondered what it would be like to have such a home. He found himself admiring King Iobates for his courage in the face of so many dangers, so much adversity, and the fact that he still found it in himself to care deeply for his daughter.
By the later afternoon, when most were indoors sleeping off the day’s high heat, Bellerophon finally ventured out of his rooms, along the carved and painted corridors of Xanthos’ palace, until he came to the great court before the megaron.
A couple of guards stood at attention and he greeted them as he passed. They returned the greeting, well aware of who he was and the skills he possessed.
It is strange how slaying one man can earn one such respect, he thought. He knew it was only chance and circumstance that had earned him the respect the troops showed him, and so he did not linger in that adulation.
He made his way up to the northern ramparts where he could glimpse the agora and those parts of Xanthos that lay outside of the high-walled precinct of the palace. In the distance, mountains rose higher and higher, as if they were a sort of staircase to the heavens. Crops of olive radiated around the city, and the silver line of the river was lost among the trees lining its shore to the left. The sky was blue overhead, falling slowly to evening indigo as the sun’s chariot sped away with fire in its wake.
“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”
Bellerophon turned to see Philonoe coming toward him, accompanied by Captain Milyas who remained behind, farther down the ramparts, to speak with the men on duty. He waved to Bellerophon and then turned to his men.
The princess came to stand beside Bellerophon, leaning on the wall with him to gaze out at the undulating and rocky landscape of her father’s Lykian kingdom.
He smiled at her. “It is indeed a beautiful land, Princess. You are fortunate to live in such a place as this.”
“Do you mean Lykia, or the palace?” she asked.
“Both.” He was silent, and she waited for him to say more.
Philonoe could tell that Bellerophon had much on his mind, for the spark that was in his eyes the previous night was slightly dimmed by clouds of worry. She reached out to grip his arm. “What is wrong, Bellerophon?”
It was a simple question, and yet one without a simple answer.
He turned to look upon her, his dark hair falling over his shoulder to be blown by the rising wind. He was not usually wont to trust others, but in her, in Philonoe, he felt there was not an ounce of betrayal. He longed to share, to speak to her, to say what was in his heart and let the Gods, and her, decide if he was worth a spared thought.
“Tell me,” she urged.
He worked his jaw, clearly uncomfortable. “To be honest, Princess… I feel adrift in this life. I have no purpose at all, though I do not shun the idea of having one. The Gods torture me with such dreams - they always have - and there is not a morning in which I do not wake drowning in hopelessness.”
“Perhaps the Gods have been preparing you for something?” she suggested. “I too have had a lifetime of lapses into despair, mostly for the loss of my mother, but also for the dangers that constantly lurk about our kingdom.”
“And yet, you are strong, Princess. I see it in you. You have a strength that few men or women possess, despite the threats you face.” He looked at her and she blushed, but she did not turn away. She was not one to turn away. “I admire you for it, your strength and courage.”
“And I admire you, Bellerophon. I see such courage in you, honour, strength and truth.” She turned to fully face him. “Do not fear or worry, for the Gods often show us the way, and then our hearts confirm it.”
“What if the Gods wish only to torment us, or worse, what if they do not care enough to even look our way?”
She smiled. “The Gods will never look away from a good man, Bellerophon. And you are a good man. I can see that as plainly as I see those mountains in the distance.” Here she gripped his hands, and looked him in the eyes. “No matter what happens, I am glad that the Gods brought you here.”
“My lady!” Captain Milyas called from down the ramparts.
Philonoe let go of Bellerophon’s hands and they both turned to face him.
“Yes, Captain?” she said, unashamed of her closeness to Bellerophon.
“The king is at table. You are both to go in now!” Milyas’ eyes lingered suspiciously on Bellerophon for a moment before he turned back to the soldiers with him.
“Come,” Philonoe said. “Let us go into the feast and enjoy a few moments of music and wine so that you may leave your dreams aside for a time.” She smiled again and went to join the captain.
Bellerophon followed, even more in awe of her than he had already been.
It was well into the deep dark of night, as the stars lit the sky’s ceiling with their light, that Bellerophon stepped onto the terrace of his rooms to make his offerings to the Gods.
Athena… Goddess… I honour you, and I pray to you for wisdom and direction, for I feel I have none. My thoughts are awhirl in this land, and this palace weaves a spell over me. Why could I not have grown to manhood in a place such as this?
The smoke of the offerings rose up thick and scented of cedar and pine, and when the night’s breeze carried it off, the Bright-Eyed Athena stood before Bellerophon.
Because you were not meant to, son of Glaucus, the goddess said.
Bellerophon looked up and saw the brilliance in her Olympian eyes, the absolute certainty. He sighed. I am grateful that you have always helped me, Goddess, even though you were the only one who ever cared.
Careful of your words, Bellerophon. You cannot see it, but there are others who care for you, who have watched you and given you silent aid when you did not suspect it. You are not alone, though you feel storm-tossed every day of your life.
He hung his head in shame, but Athena leaned down and pulled him to his feet. You have been brought to Lykia for a reason. Do not forget that.
For Philonoe?
Your heart betrays you, Athena said, her voice sterner than he would have wished. She shook her head slowly. Not for the princess, though she is the only good in this place.
Why am I here then, oh Goddess? he asked. Is it to help the king?
Athena seemed to grow angry, but her wrath was not directed at Bellerophon. King Iobates is not deserving of your friendship, or much else, let alone such a daughter as Philonoe. Remember my warning about him. Do not be too trusting, and do not let your guard down. From this day on, you must be prepared for whatever may come. Do you hear me?
I do, Goddess, though it fills me with fear to hear you speak in such a way.
You should be afraid, Bellerophon, for the trials that await you are nothing to your past traumas. Athena then bent over and kissed him upon the crown of his head. Prepare, she said softly.
And then, she was gone.
Ten days after his guest arrived in Xanthos, King Iobates sat alone at the broad table in his private chambers by the light of several oil lamps. He had been unable to sleep much, especially since the attack by the Solymi scout several days before.
He had been impressed with Bellerophon, his skills, and his respect of his daughter. The troops respected him as well, and Polyidus seemed more and more certain that the son of Glaucus was the one the Gods had spoken of, the one who had finally come to aid his ravaged and beset kingdom.
Iobates forced himself to look up at the painted walls of his broad chamber. The images of marching warriors haunted him, but not more than the central image of the great beast. His eyes lingered on the creature that tormented him day and night, in his dreams and waking days. That bringer of death to many had caused his people more pain than he could ever have imagined. It kept him from taking his place as the ruler he had always wanted to be.
And it was all his fault.
From the day of his great sin, when he had desecrated the traditions of that ancient land, the beast had appeared in a shower of violence and blood, a punishment that would not end, an enemy which he could not overcome.
He tore his eyes away from that dreaded form upon the wall, and looked at the piles of missives upon his table. There were many, but one in particular he could not put off any longer.
King Iobates sighed and picked up the tablet with the seal of Tiryns upon it. It might be from King Proetus, but he knew that the words belonged to his eldest daughter. They always did.
Iobates broke the seal, leaned toward the nearest lamp, and began to read.