The night in Xanthos felt deep and quiet, especially in the guarded corridors of the palace of King Iobates.
Philonoe had tried to prevail upon her father to reverse his decision to send Bellerophon against the entire Solymi tribe, but whenever she approached his rooms in his wing of the palace, she was turned away by the guards.
“The king wishes to be alone, Princess,” they told her. “He has commanded that none - not even yourself - should be allowed entry.”
Frustrated, Philonoe had stormed off to find Polyidus where he sat upon a bench in the great courtyard, leaning against his walking stick. He was quiet, his eyes still and blank, but he knew when she approached.
“My lady…I tried to prevail upon the king-“
“How hard did you try, Polyidus?” she said angrily, standing over him. “Do you believe the charges laid against Bellerophon?”
Polyidus was quiet for a moment. He could tell that there was a sliver of doubt in her voice, but that she wanted more than anything to believe that the Corinthian was innocent. “My lady…it does not matter whether I believe it or not. The accusation was made, and publicly. It required a delicate decision, one that would seek justice, while at the same time not completely defy the laws of Xenia.”
“Is my father not defying Zeus’ laws by sending our guest to his death?”
Polyidus cocked his head to listen if there was anyone else nearby.
“We are alone,” she whispered to him.
“Sit with me, my lady…” he answered, taking her hand. “You are correct. The king would have slain Bellerophon outright had I not told him what the Gods had told me.”
“Which is what, Polyidus? Tell me!” Philonoe grasped his hand tightly.
He continued. “As always, the Gods are vague in their messages. It is for us to decipher them and understand their meaning and purpose… Before Bellerophon ever arrived in Xanthos, the Gods told me to expect him, a dark, lonely stranger from across the sea. This man was to help Lykia and its people in some way, and ensure the future of this kingdom.”
“But how do you know it is Bellerophon they spoke of?”
“I don’t know for certain. But, I know that he communes with the Gods. You have met him and spoken with him often, I know.”
She lowered her head, but he did not see.
“There is no pretence in him. He is honest and true.”
“Yes. He is,” Philonoe said softly.
“And such men are often taken advantage of by those who are selfish and cunning.”
“People like my sister,” she added.
“I did not say that,” Polyidus added quickly. “But I do say that the Gods know the truth of it. If Bellerophon should succeed in this task, it means that the Gods are protecting him, that he is the one I saw in their divine messages.”
Philonoe shook her head. “But how can one man defeat an entire people? It’s impossible!” Only then did she feel like crying, now that her anger had ebbed away and the thought of the outcome of the following day appeared in brightly-painted strokes of crimson across her mind. She felt like running away with Bellerophon to fight at his side, no matter the cost.
“Have faith, my princess,” Polyidus said gently. “For behind the curtain of fear and doubt, I feel that there is a beacon of hope that will burn away the clouds surrounding us all.”
For much of the day, after King Iobates’ declaration, Bellerophon sat upon the terrace of his prison suite, drinking and gazing up at the cloudy sky. He felt betrayed yet again, and wondered for a time why he carried on as a victim of the whims of others. He dozed in wine-soaked hopelessness for a time, but as night began to fall and the sun burned red in the distance before him, he felt a change inside.
Anger had its uses and, if harnessed, could give one strength in desperate situations.
Bellerophon began to look beyond his already-imagined death the next day. He stood in the setting sunlight and removed his tunic. He looked upon his arms, broad chest and thick legs and realized that the Gods had blessed him with strength and vitality, more so than any of his family.
For what purpose if not for this? he wondered. I am no king, no leader of armies. He lit a large chunk of incense and placed it upon the altar where he knelt and raised his hands to the heavens.
“Oh, Goddess Athena…” he whispered, his eyes closed as he tilted his head to the sky. “I know that you have been watching over me, and for that I am ever grateful. The time I believe you spoke of, has come, and tomorrow I go either to my death, or to victory.” He paused and breathed deeply, pushing down the panic that threatened to rise in his gut and fill his chest. “Let it be victory, oh Goddess. Fill me with strength and the wits to overcome this enemy so that I may prove my innocence.”
His eyes remained closed as he breathed slowly, in and out, upon his knees.
Be strong, Bellerophon. You have felt alone all of your life, but you are not alone now. Seek the bear’s head, and see your trial blown to the winds…
Bellerophon’s eyes fluttered open in time to see the goddess’ helmeted head bending over to kiss his brow. Then, she was gone with the setting sun.
The next morning at dawn, Captain Milyas appeared at Bellerophon’s rooms.
“Did you sleep at all?” Milyas asked. He was dressed in full armour, his helmet tucked beneath his left arm, his right resting on his sword hilt.
Bellerophon nodded. “Yes.”
“Good,” the captain said. It was obvious he did not relish the day’s task, but he was careful not to gainsay his king, especially within the palace corridors.
“Do not worry, Captain,” Bellerophon said. “I will not run or cause trouble. I am ready.”
“Are you sure? This tribe…the Solymi…they have caused us nothing but grief.”
“What good is it to bewail the situation? The Gods have decreed it.”
“Do you wish to go to the temple and make offerings to them?”
“I have already made my offerings to the Gods, and They have received them.” Bellerophon stepped out of the room. “Let’s go.”
“You need armour,” Milyas said. “Come with me.”
They walked along the corridors of the palace through the megaron and out of the propylon to the great courtyard, and as they went, Bellerophon looked about for a glimpse of Philonoe. When he saw no sign of her, he felt a pang of regret that he was not able to see her one last time.
“We have an array of weapons and armour down here,” Milyas said as he unlocked a thick door on the south side of the courtyard. He then took a torch and led Bellerophon down a staircase. Once they were at the bottom, Milyas lit a tripod filled with oil and as the fire took hold, a vast room filled with swords, spears, shields and other weapons of war appeared like a mirage out of the darkness.
“The king said that you may take your pick of whatever you want.” He pointed to the rows of armaments. “Choose.”
Bellerophon took the torch and walked slowly along the rows of weapons and armour. He had never seen so much, and wondered if he had stepped into Ares’ very own chamber. There were spears of varying lengths of shaft and blade, swords and daggers whose edges had never seen battle but whose oiled blades glistened in the firelight.
He wandered through the rows with Milyas following closely behind him. “Tell me, Captain. How do the Solymi fight? What is their home terrain like?”
“The Solymi are animals!” Milyas growled. As I told you before, they do not fight with honour. They rely on surprise, and attack from afar. The only thing that makes them strong is their numbers. They are many, like wasps in a hive.”
“Do they wear armour?”
“No. They dress like goatherds, in skins and pelts. Like the one you slew.”
“So they are not invulnerable to arrows, spears, or even rocks?”
“Well…no,” Milyas said, as if the answer were obvious. But he then realized that Bellerophon was working out the best way to prepare and attack.
“What weapons do they use?”
“Mostly sling stones and bows, which they use with great accuracy. They have no swordsmen, but they do carry daggers, as shepherds are wont to do.”
Bellerophon nodded as he took down a bow and a quiver with several long-shafted arrows. He also took a quiver of relatively short spears. “I’ll also need a few amphorae of oil. Will your men help carry all of this to the place of battle?”
“We have mules ready to go,” Milyas said “But there is no one place of battle where we are going.”
“What do you mean?” Bellerophon asked, turning to face him. “They have no capital?”
“It is not like Xanthos. Their kingdom is a scattering of small villages each with a head shepherd who leads fighting men.”
“And their king?”
“Solimos. We have not seen him ever. They say he is a giant of a man, armoured in bear fur. All the shepherds bow down to him. They offer up their wives and daughters to him as he commands. They live in fear of him, and in return he sends them out to harass us and die. They do his bidding without question.”
“I see…” Bellerophon said, but his words stopped short as he came to the end of another row. There before him was a gleaming panoply of armour. He stepped forward to look more closely at the set.
“Where did that come from?” Milyas gasped. “I’ve never seen it before!”
The armour gleamed in the torchlight in hues of black bull’s hide and bronze. There were matching greaves and arm guards, lined with bronze over the leather, and upon the breastplate, a great gorgon’s head stared out menacingly at them.
Bellerophon peered closely at it and the face seemed to move, the mouth opening and closing, the serpents upon it writhing. He shook his head as if he were dizzy, and stood up to look upon the helmet which was unlike any other in the armoury. It was of the Corinthian style, with gorgon heads upon the cheek pieces and a great blue horsehair crest rising from the top.
“By the Gods, I don’t now how this got here,” Milyas said, “but it seems that this is meant for you. The king did say you could take anything from the armoury.”
“Well,” Bellerophon said, smiling. “We don’t want to disobey the king.”
Philonoe stood in the great courtyard as the morning sun was beginning to break through the clouds and heat the paving slabs at her feet. She had feared that she had missed Bellerophon’s departure, but when she arrived to see Milyas’ ten armed men and three mules, she knew she had not.
Her father had not made an appearance, but there was no way she was not going to see Bellerophon before he departed. As she waited, she ran a long silk sash she had brought through her hands, her fingers playing with the golden suns and moons that had been woven into the fabric. It was one of her favourites, and she poured her prayers and hopes into it as she waited.
“Attention!” one of the soldiers called as Captain Milyas came out of the armoury doorway, followed by Bellerophon.
Silence fell over the courtyard as the son of Glaucus emerged, resplendent in his armour, carrying the weapons he would use against the enemy.
The armour came to life, catching the sunlight in a way that none of them had seen before. The bronze glimmered like fire, and the bull’s hide shifted from deep blue to black. Some men even turned away at the sight of the gorgon’s head upon Bellerophon’s chest.
Bellerophon saw that his own weapons and shield were already on the back of one of the waiting mules, but when he saw that Philonoe was standing on the other side of the courtyard, he set down the new weapons he had obtained and turned to Milyas. “May I greet the princess?”
Milyas looked around for any sign of the king, and nodded when he saw that he was not there. “Go ahead. The men say she has been waiting for some time.”
Bellerophon turned away from them and walked across the courtyard to meet Philonoe. “I am happy to see you,” he said, unsure of how she felt about seeing him.
But she smiled, though sadly.
“I want you to know that-“
Philonoe put up her hand to stop him. “You don’t need to proclaim your innocence to me. I know the truth, and I have prayed that you come through this ordeal. I believe you, Bellerophon.”
He breathed deeply, and a sense of peace washed through him. “That is all I need to know.”
She stepped forward and held out the sash. “Here. Wear this into battle. It will remind you of me and my belief in you.”
She stood close to him, almost as tall, certainly as strong of will, and tied the dark sash tightly about his waist. “May the Gods protect you and grant you strength.” She glanced at the soldiers waiting to accompany him. Each of them carried a bow and quiver of arrows, which was unlike what they normally used. “Are they going to help you?”
He smiled sadly, and looked at them. “No. The bows are if I decide to run.”
“It’s not fair!” she growled.
“It’s the Gods’ will, Philonoe. Do not worry, for I have never run from what the Gods determine for me.”
“Come back to Xanthos, Bellerophon. Let all see that you are innocent, as I know you are.”
She leaned in and kissed his cheek before he could answer, turned and disappeared through the propylon into the palace.
“Son of Glaucus!” Milyas called from the other side of the court. “Are you ready to march?”
Bellerophon put the helmet upon his head and turned to face the awaiting soldiers. “Let’s go!”
The march was long and arduous, and the only thing to guide Bellerophon and the troops was the increasing feeling of being watched as they plodded over the rocky hills to the East of Xanthos and then down toward the rolling, forested lands of the Solymi in the distance.
It was quiet as they went, and none but Milyas spoke to Bellerophon, and even he said little. The Lykian troops’ eyes scanned the rocks and trees constantly, their ears cocked for a sound of goats and hence their attendant shepherds.
But there was not a sound except for the stirrings of cicadas as they shot from tree to tree like sling stones ahead of them.
The whole time, as the men looked out for the enemy, Bellerophon found himself falling deeper and deeper into the darkness of his thoughts. At first, he had just accepted King Iobates’ decision, but now, the more he thought about it, how easily his word was dismissed, the more it made him angry.
The only thing that kept him from fully giving in to the resentment and rage that had begun to fill him was the memory of Philonoe’s touch. He looked down at his waist to see the sash that she had tied about him. He touched it gently with his fingers and knew that there were better things in that world than the spite of others.
Goddess Athena, please get me through this day… he prayed as the sun beat down on them. He turned aside to look at Captain Milyas who marched beside him. “Tell me of the crimes these Solymi have committed against your people.”
Milyas looked at him strangely. “Why? I do not wish to revisit them, for they are horrible and numerous.”
“Tell me. I need to know,” Bellerophon insisted.
Milyas sighed. “They regularly burn out crops, or raid our grain stores in the more remote areas. They are constantly attacking our people, slaying their sons and raping their wives and daughters. They do not take slaves, but rather leave them for dead, or to bear the bastards they leave them with.”
Bellerophon could not help but remember the faces of the women and children in the streets of Xanthos then. True, he had grown up with little kindness in his life, but he had never been the victim of such acts. No matter the person that King Iobates was, his people were innocent. “What else?”
“Last year, they tied an entire farmer’s family up in an oak tree and set it alight. As the family burned, the Solymi shepherds and their own families roasted meats in the very same fire, even as the farmer and his wife and children screamed.”
“They make their children do such things?” Bellerophon asked, incredulous now.
Milyas nodded. “Yes. They train them to heartless cruelty from a young age. Earlier this year, they also burned down a temple dedicated to the goddess Athena which lay on our northeastern border. They say Solimos took the effigy of the goddess and now keeps it in his den so that the goddess can watch him abuse the women he takes.”
“That’s enough…” Bellerophon growled. The hate he began to feel then was acute. “How can they have gotten away with this for so long? The king has an army and they are shepherds!”
Milyas shook his head. “The Solymi are numerous and do not fight like an army.” He looked up at the rising hills about them, beyond the soaring pine trees. “They will start a rock slide to wipe out an entire regiment.”
Bellerophon could feel the other soldiers behind them growing skittish now. The feeling was palpable, and he scanned the trees. There was a hot wind blowing at their backs, and pine cones popped in the heat, making some men jump.
“King Iobates sent an entire army against them just once in the past - before my time - and apparently it ended in disaster.”
“What happened?” Bellerophon asked.
Milyas shook his head. “No one knows, and those who are old enough to remember never speak of it by order of the king.”
Something caught Bellerophon’s eye in that very second and he reached out with his left arm and pushed Milyas back so that he stumbled into his men just as a spear whistled by and planted itself in a tree at the side of the road. “Attack!”
The men who had levelled their spears at Bellerophon now turned to the trees, only to see the shadow of a lone shepherd running for the road ahead as fast as he could go.
Before Milyas could rally his men, Bellerophon had grabbed his quiver of spears from the nearest mule and charged after the shepherd.
His legs carried him more quickly than he could ever have imagined, despite the armour he wore. He sighted the shepherd in the middle of the road far ahead of him, making for the hills, and he knew that if the young man reached his fellows they would be overrun.
The shepherd glanced back at his pursuer, and his eyes widened in fright at the sight of the brightly armoured warrior pursuing him and raising a spear above his head. He swerved to head for the trees to his right and just before he made it into the trees, he felt something tear through the back of his knee with such force that he crashed into the next tree over.
Bellerophon heard the crack of the man’s skull as he ran, and when he arrived, he found the twisted body up against a tall pine tree, blood pouring from the head and knee to be sopped up by the bed of pine needles. He might have felt pity then for the shepherd, but for the stories that Milyas had just told him.
The others arrived just then and spread out to search for others.
“There will be more nearby,” Milyas said. “They mute their flocks’ bells with tufts of wool when they get near to the Lykian border.
Bellerophon pushed the helmet back on his head and looked around. “Is the terrain like this the entire way?”
“The hills get bigger and steeper, but yes, it is forested much of the way. Why?”
“Do you know where Solimos’ dwelling is?” Bellerophon asked.
Milyas shook his head. “You can’t be serious. It is madness!”
“This is the task your king has set for me. You can follow me if you like.” Bellerophon bent down again to pick up a handful of dry pine needles and crushed them easily in his hands. He smiled to himself. “Captain… Do you have a tinder box in your supplies?”
“Several. Why?”
“We must get as close as possible to Solimos’ dwelling.”
They continued their march, but this time they left the narrow pathway and cut through the forest, making their way along a narrow ridgeback that gave them a view of the valleys to either side. The trees provided some cover, but still, they were exposed.
Which is how Bellerophon wanted it.
“We need them to see us as we approach, to come out of their hiding places. From this ridge, we have the high ground,” he said, remembering the fight on the Acrocorinthos.
And he was correct, for as they went, they encountered lone shepherds all the way, taking some by surprise, and meeting others head-on. The Solymi were everywhere, and every time they rushed the lone warrior who marched ahead of the others, it was to meet the same fate, skewered on the end of a soaring spear.
It was as if a lion was clearing rats from the land, one after another without end. But the rats became more numerous and as angry as if they were cornered in an alleyway. Horns began to blow in the distant trees, and there were angry voices in the valleys to either side.
“We’re done for!” one of the men yelled behind Bellerophon. “You’ve brought them down on us, Corinthian!”
Bellerophon jumped up on a boulder that stood on the narrow ridge and looked to either side. They like fire? he thought, thinking of the story of the farmer and his family. I’ll give them fire!
“Captain! Bring me a tinder box, and one amphora of oil!” Bellerophon then went to one of the mules and took a recurve bow and two quivers of long-shafted arrows. “Quickly!”
“The king ordered that we not help you, Bellerophon!” Milyas said after a moment’s pause.
Bellerophon turned and looked down him, the screams all about them growing louder and angrier. “I’m not asking you to fight! I’m asking you to light a fire!”
Milyas nodded and grabbed a tinder box, while another of the men brought the small amphora of oil.
“Light a small fire on the rock now!” Bellerophon ordered. “And open the oil jar and hold it for me!”
They did so, and the fire caught quickly with the dried brush that was all about. Another soldier held up the oil jar.
Immediately Bellerophon drew an arrow from the quiver he had, dipped it in the oil, and lit the point on fire. He then nocked the arrow to his bowstring and drew back.
The arrow soared to their left until it was lost in the wooded slopes of the ridge. Nothing happened for a few moments, but then the angry cries that were rushing up the slopes changed.
There was terror now, and rage.
Bellerophon fired again and again to each side of the ridge. A loud crackling could be heard everywhere, and thick black smoke rose up into the sky as the pine forest lit up. He fired arrows farther along the ridge that led in the direction of the main village, and then jumped down from his rock to take up his throwing spears and more arrows. “Stand back!” he said as he pulled an arrow back and loosed.
The barb took the first Solymi shepherd in the neck, sending his body back down the flaming slope. Another arrow pinned two together as they rushed directly for Bellerophon.
He drew again and again, and every time his arrows found a mark, for the Solymi were everywhere as he turned, fleeing the flames in a panic, unaware of the warrior awaiting them upon the ridge they thought was their only hope.
There were screams all around them as men burned or had their throats torn out by Bellerophon’s arrows, but they kept coming.
Seek the bear’s head!
Athena’s voice echoed in Bellerophon’s mind, and he remembered the goddess’ words, his eyes searching down the long ridge and the Solymi warriors gathering far ahead of them, blackened from the flaming forest.
After loosing several more arrows ahead and to the rear, Bellerophon tossed the bow and empty quiver to one of the soldiers and slipped the quiver of throwing spears over his shoulder. He took up his great gorgon-headed shield and drew his sword.
Breathe! He told himself. Goddess, protect me!
With one last glance at Milyas and the men, their eyes wide and panicked, Bellerophon charged down the ridge.
One of the men drew his bow to shoot at Bellerophon, but Milyas pushed his arrow aside, “Wait!” the captain said. “He’s not running away! He’s going for Solimos!” They watched as Bellerophon ran and slashed at every warrior that came up the slope at him, leaving their writhing or dead forms in his wake like so many piece of wheat beneath a scythe. “My gods,” Milyas said. He turned to his men. “Come on! After him!”
Bellerophon felt blade after blade, and numerous arrows seek his death as he ran, but each time, they glanced off of the armour protecting his body. He ran and slashed, leaving death in his wake as he cut a swathe along the ridge and down the slope to the thatched rooftops of the distant village which was now in view.
Screams echoed down the valley and horns blew in the village as he and the fires he had lit sped toward Solimos’ home. When Solymi shepherds rushed him from the flaming brush, their eyes shot wide at the sight of the warrior who bore down on them like an angry god, his blue crest and angry eyes wild and unmerciful.
Flocks of goats ran screaming and aflame, setting more of the forest alight as they went, bleating to their masters’ homes, setting more villages aflame. Soon, smoke began to rise from the main village, and the blue of the sky became veiled with black smoke.
Bellerophon stopped, his breathing fast and deep. He coughed, the smoke now swirling about him, and looked back to see if the others were coming, but he could see nothing.
He then began to climb down the rocky slope where he spied a path through the flames. Men came at him from different directions but not with purpose, for most were running away from the raging fires Bellerophon had brought with him.
At last he came to the part where the road emerged from the fires and led up a slope into the village. Bellerophon sheathed his blade and drew one of his throwing spears. With his shield raised on his left arm, he walked forward into the chaos ahead where Solymi men and women scattered in every direction, carrying children and ushering their animals away from the flames and the god they believed had just stepped into their midst.
“Solimos!” Bellerophon yelled, throwing a killing spear at a warrior who waited in the road ahead of him, and then drawing another. “Solimos! Come out and meet your death!”
As he walked, he clung to the images of slain Lykian women and children, of young boys robbed of youth and their families, and as the rage inside him peaked, he began to run.
Men came at him, half-heartedly or like crazed hyenas around a lion, but he cut them down, uncaring of the cuts he received as he went.
“Solimos!” he yelled again as he came before what appeared to be the largest round house where skulls adorned the threshold. Bear skulls! Bellerophon noticed. “Solimos! Come out here!”
There was a great bellow from somewhere around the smoking hovels and Bellerophon turned around to see Solymi shepherds in the skins, holding out daggers, spears, and staffs at him, but not making a move to attack. “Solimos, you coward! How many people must die for you?”
A sudden, heavy and fast crunching came at Bellerophon from the right, and he turned quickly with his shield out only to feel the full impact of the man running at him. He felt himself flying backward until he landed against one of the burning walls of a nearby hovel, and then fall to the ground.
He rolled to one side, slashing out with the spear he had been holding onto, and cut the throat of another Solymi man who had dared to attack.
But the giant of a man who had hit him was upon him again, grasping at Bellerophon with thick hands and throwing him back the way he had come.
Bellerophon rolled away and found his feet again before throwing his spear and taking the rushing man on the side of the cheek, sending a bear skin helmet falling to the ground.
It was then that Solimos stopped and rose to his full height, his great shoulders rising and falling with his angry breathing. His eyes were wild and white in the middle of the charcoal that had been spread over his face. Bear pelts fell from his shoulders and he drew a long, double-headed axe and pointed it at Bellerophon’s arm. “You bleed!” He laughed, shaking his head. “You are no god,” he growled, crouching into a fighting stance.
Bellerophon could see the shepherds closing in around him, waiting to see what their chieftain would do next.
Solimos straightened again for a moment, but then rushed with surprising speed, his great axe in a horizontal death blow that skimmed Bellerophon’s crest as he ducked beneath it.
Bellerophon emerged behind Solimos, one spear loosed to plant itself in his bare thigh.
Solimos bellowed in pain, but ripped out the spear as if it were only a bee sting, and charged again, his battle-axe in a great sweeping motion from the ground up at Bellerophon’s jaw.
The blow glanced off of the angled shield as Bellerophon leapt backward, and the gorgon head then pushed forward quickly to slam into Solimos’ face making him stumble back a step before another spear planted itself in his axe arm.
The axe fell to the ground with a thud as blood poured from Solimos’ bicep, but the chieftain picked it up with his other hand and swung again and again, pushing Bellerophon back until he was almost with his back against the Solymi shepherds awaiting with their blades drawn.
Bellerophon slashed behind him, taking two in the throat before spinning toward Solimos’ wounded arm and slashing with his last spear behind the knee.
“Arrggg!” Solimos screamed to the sky and he fell to one knee, turning his black head to Bellerophon and spitting in his direction.
It was in that moment that Bellerophon felt all of the anger and rage and resentment of the years come to a head, all of it focussed on that one barbarian who had caused so much suffering to Philonoe’s people.
In that tiny lull of thought, Solimos launched himself from his good leg, his axe out. Bellerophon side-stepped it quickly, feeling the wind on his cheek, and drew his sword so that it swept down and took Solimos on the back of the neck.
The bear fell in the dust and his black head rolled away from his twitching corpse to be lost in the smoke that was closing in.
The shepherds were aghast, but they did not run. They growled and crouched and began to close in on Bellerophon, slowly but with purpose.
Bellerophon looked up at the sky and spread his arms wide. Oh, Goddess Athena… I have tried, he prayed, and in that moment barbed arrows came out of the fire and smoke to knock a dozen shepherds off of their feet.
A great silence fell over the Solymi then and, though they were many, they fell to their knees with their hands up for mercy, pleading to the sky and the bronze-clad god standing in their midst.
Bellerophon lowered his arms and turned slowly, looking at the people who lay prostrate before him. The blood of their chieftain dripped from the blade which he pointed at each of them.
“The Gods have punished Solimos for his crimes!” Bellerophon said to them. “If you do not stop attacking Lykia, the same fate awaits every one of you!”
The Solymi bent lower, unmoving, despite the burning homes at their backs, their faces in the dirt.
Bellerophon bent to pick up Solimos’ head and the bear skull helmet the chieftain had worn. He held them aloft so that the shepherds could see clearly and then raised his face to the sky.
“Ahhhhhh!” he yelled, as if releasing all of his anger and pent-up rage. “Ahhhhhh!” he cried again, and this time thunder cracked in the sky above.
A moment later, it began to rain.
Bellerophon watched as the Solymi turned and ran from him, disappearing into the smoking forests about their village, eager to get away from the angry god in their midst. He, however, stood there for a moment, staring at the body of the man he had slain. More death, he thought, and with that thought came anger at King Iobates for sending him to do it. He held up Solimos’ head and looked at the surprised eyes set deep in that heavy skull. But you deserved it for all you have done.
The Solymi had disappeared and Bellerophon walked out of the village, alone and un-harassed, as it rained and the fires were doused.
When he emerged from the smoking village, he found Milyas and his men standing there with their bows drawn.
Bellerophon stopped and held up the head and bear pelt. “A gift for King Iobates,” he said, tossing them at Milyas’ feet.
Milyas looked at the head and pelt, and back at Bellerophon.
Bellerophon smiled. “I thought you weren’t here to help me?” he said, nodding at the bows in the soldiers’ hands.
Milyas shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bellerophon of Corinthos.” He smiled. “We’re only here to make sure you don’t run away.”