Xanthos had been quiet for days, as if the entire population, having learned of what the son of Glaucus had been sent to do, was holding its collective breath. They had waited in fear, either for the Gods’ wrath, or for the Solymi’s retribution. Never did they expect to see the return of Bellerophon after he was sent alone to slay their kingdom’s long-time enemy.
Philonoe was sitting upon the upper terrace of the palace, in her rooms, as she had been since Bellerophon left, when she heard the raucous cheers in the city streets far below. For days she had been praying to the Gods, fearing for Bellerophon, and as she ran through the corridors of the palace, she thought she might die from the anticipation. Why are the people cheering so wildly?
She burst into the megaron to find her father gathered with several courtiers and Polyidus beside him. She rushed to the latter’s side. “Is it true? Have they returned?”
“Yes, my lady,” the seer whispered. “But we do not know yet if-“
The megaron doors burst open with a loud thud and silence fell on the assembly as Bellerophon, armed and dirty, walked through the propylon with Milyas and the ten men, their weapons stowed.
“Son of Glaucus?” King Iobates said, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. “You have returned!”
“Yes, King Iobates!” Bellerophon said, glancing at the king and then bowing to Philonoe.
She smiled and saw that the sash was still about his waist. That was a comfort, but the look in Bellerophon’s eyes was a source of distress, for in them she could see the detritus of battle and fury, the suffering that accompanies even victory.
“The Solymi will no longer attack Lykia or the city of Xanthos!” Bellerophon declared, and the entire court began to whisper in surprise.
“But how is this possible?” the king said. “I did not expect-“
“You did not expect me to live?” Bellerophon added. “Well, I have, by the Gods who know my innocence!”
The king stared at Bellerophon intently, and then looked to the captain of his guard and the other soldiers there. “Captain Milyas? You and your men look as though you have been through a battle too. Did you fight also? Bellerophon was supposed to do this on his own, without aid.”
Captain Milyas stepped forward and inclined his head, but very little. “My king, the son of Glaucus defeated the Solymi on his own with his wits, skill, and help from the Gods. He defeated the Solymi with fire and sword and wrested from them their oath that they should never again raise arms against Lykia.”
“But what of Solimos?” Iobates demanded, his voice louder. “Did you let him live too?”
Bellerophon turned to one of the soldiers and took a bundled sack which had been tied to one of the mules. Here is Solimos!” Bellerophon said loudly and tossed the bundle at the base of the king’s dais with a loud thud.
King Iobates stared at it for a moment, and then turned to one of the guards beside him.
The guard stepped forward and untied the bundle, and a moment later the face of Solimos was staring up at King Iobates.
The sound of flies became loud all of a sudden, and Philonoe turned, feeling her stomach lurch at the sight of the bloody, decaying head.
“He is dead,” Iobates said to himself, and his fists clenched around the arms of his throne. “Take that out of here and throw it into the river!”
“Yes, sire,” the soldier replied, tying up the bundle again and going out of the megaron.
“You have succeeded, Bellerophon,” the king said. “And so we shall feast to your success tomorrow night. At that time, I will announce your second task.”
Philonoe saw Bellerophon deflate a little at the words as he turned to go, and she felt great pity for him. She also felt anger toward her father, for he had used their guest terribly, no matter the accusations that needed to be addressed. “Why must you continue with this, Father?” she asked, turning to him.
“He has done it,” the king said, more to himself. “By the Gods…what else can he do for me?”
“Father?” Philonoe repeated, but she received no response as the king went out of the megaron with his courtiers in tow. She did not like the greedy glint in her father’s eyes in that moment, and feared for what he might demand of Bellerophon next. “I must go to Bellerophon!” Philonoe said to Polyidus, but the seer reached for her arm, shaking his head.
“Let him be alone for now, Princess. Though I could not see him, I could tell from his voice that he is most weary from his trial. It is no easy thing to kill, and he has no doubt slain more in one day than most men do in a lifetime. He needs time.”
Philonoe’s heart tightened at the thought of what must have been raging through Bellerophon’s mind, but she wondered if Polyidus was right about it. Bellerophon needed time to purify himself, wash, and rest. Then, I will go to him.
In his rooms, alone again, Bellerophon breathed deeply and coughed, still feeling the sting of the smoke in his lungs. He removed his helmet and set it upon the floor, along with the greaves and arm guards. He then untied the sash that the princess had given him. It was torn and dirty, but he set it aside to wash. Then, with some difficulty, he undid the buckles of the cuirass and set it down too.
Thank you, Goddess Athena, for protecting me with this armour, and for granting me victory, he thought before going straight to the altar and making offerings to the goddess.
Exhaustion clawed at him, but he sought first to wash, and after removing his soiled tunic, he went to the basin of fresh water, dipped a sponge in, and set to scrubbing himself clean of blood and the numbness that had beset him so.
Bellerophon could have slept for days. The exhaustion was so complete, he thought he might never awaken. However, when he heard the voices in the corridor outside, he rose sleepily from his bed and went to knock upon the doors.
The voices stopped and the bolt outside was slid back.
Philonoe stood there staring at him in the doorway. The guard she had been arguing with stood back. “They were refusing me entry to see you,” she said, shocked by his exhausted complexion.
“It was your father’s command,” Bellerophon said, but then he smiled. “I am glad to see you.”
“Have you rested?” she asked, following him into the rooms.
“My lady-“ the guard began to protest, but Philonoe turned on him.
“Stay where you are and leave the doors open. I am visiting with our guest, by the laws of Zeus!”
The man backed away.
“Phoebos!” Philonoe called, when she saw the dirty armour and tunic on the floor.
“Yes, mistress?” the slave came running in with the two others.
“I want you to wash Bellerophon’s tunic and clean and polish all of his armour for him.”
The slave bowed low. “Yes, mistress. Right away!” The three slaves hurried in, gathered the items carefully, and brought them into the hallway, leaving the princess alone with Bellerophon, under the watchful eye of the guards in the corridor.
“Have you eaten?” Philonoe asked, turning to him, her voice tender and concerned.
“A little,” he said making his way to the table by the wash basin. He picked up the sash and turned to hand it to her. “I thank you for this. I am sorry it got torn in battle, but I have washed it for you.”
She took it and pressed it to her chest. “I hope it helped you.”
“You have no idea, Princess.” His eyes looked haunted and faraway for a moment. “It gave me hope in that terrible place.”
She stepped forward placed her hands upon his crossed arms. “You need not speak of it. Leave it behind now. It is done.” She thought he might think her too forward or patronizing, but he sighed and nodded, as if he had needed the permission to stop thinking of the horrors he had seen, and the things he had done. “I actually came to accompany you to the feast if you are willing.”
Bellerophon looked outside at the terrace and saw that the sun was setting. “Is it evening already?” he said.
“You have slept for an entire day,” she said.
“I must admit, the thought of feasting is not to my liking right now,” he muttered, but then he looked at her. “But if you are beside me, I can face it.” He managed to smile at her, and she returned it.
“Then we must stay together,” she said.
There was no music in the megaron that night, no celebratory atmosphere to welcome Bellerophon, Milyas and his soldiers back from their mission. There was only the sound of muted conversation, the crackle of the fire in the hearth, and the smell of roasted meats and freshly baked breads.
The smell of the fire made Bellerophon cough as he and Philonoe entered the megaron together and all eyes turned to see them.
King Iobates scowled at his daughter when he saw her accompanying Bellerophon against his wishes. She grows too fond, he thought, and it will only make her pain the greater when Bellerophon dies.
“Come, Slayer of the Solymi!” King Iobates said aloud when Bellerophon and Philonoe took their seats. “Drink and eat your fill. Regain your strength!”
Bellerophon made no reply, but sat in his usual seat.
To the king’s dismay, his daughter whispered to Polyidus, and the seer rose from his own seat beside their guest to yield it to the princess.
Philonoe shot a look as sharp as a barbed arrow at her father, and he decided against chiding her publicly yet again. He had other things on his mind, things which he hoped would bear fruit, one way or another.
“Polyidus,” the king said. “You may sit to my left if you wish.”
“Thank you, my king,” the seer said, moving behind them to the princess’ usual seat.
Conversations picked up again around the megaron and Bellerophon settled into his chair. He felt the exhaustion receding little by little, and when a slave filled his wine cup, he tipped some to the Gods without a word from the king, and drank.
“Captain Milyas has told me of your strategy for rooting out the Solymi, Bellerophon,” the king said eventually, after they had eaten for a time. “It was most ingenious.”
Bellerophon did not answer at first, but then set his cup down and turned to the king. “It was a slaughter.”
The king scoffed. “They deserved it for all they have put our people through.”
“They are mere shepherds,” Bellerophon said, “and though Captain Milyas made me aware of the terrible things they had done to Lykia, I wonder why you have such a personal hatred of them. Solimos, I understand - he was an abomination - but his people? They did not seem so different from others I have seen in my travels.”
“You do not understand,” the king said curtly. “You are a stranger here, and you have not seen how the Solymi have abused my people over the years. You should be happy with your victory, Bellerophon.”
“I might be, if that were an end to it. But, by Zeus Xenios, you have declared that you have another task for me, haven’t you?”
King Iobates stared sidelong at Bellerophon. He was starting to hate the Corinthian, and told himself that he probably did do what his eldest daughter had accused him of. He slammed his fist upon the table and stood. “I was going to wait until later to announce it, but since you press me, since you seem so eager to know your next trial, I will tell you now!”
Everyone around the megaron grew absolutely silent and stared at the king who looked down on his guest, ignoring his daughter’s pleading face behind Bellerophon.
Bellerophon set down the meat he was eating and leaned back in his chair. There were few men he absolutely disliked, but King Iobates was fast-becoming one of the foremost. He had thought him honourable at first, but now he could see that he was the same as any other king - greedy, cruel and selfish. He truly is Stheneboea’s father, he thought. “I am listening, King Iobates,” he said. “With the Gods as witnesses, tell us what my second task is.”
King Iobates cleared his throat and looked around the room. “To the North, on the Phrygian plateau, there is a tribe of Amazons. They constantly harass my men, steal our livestock and burn our crops.”
“What?” Philonoe could not help herself. “I have never heard of this happening.”
“Silence!” King Iobates said. “You are not a part of the decisions. While you embroider, the world tears itself apart and our enemies eat away at our borders.”
Philonoe reached out to touch Bellerophon’s arm but the latter kept his eyes on the king.
“The Amazons are daughters of Ares,” Bellerophon said.
“Yes, and I want you to kill the entire tribe, especially their queen, Otrera.”
“What has this queen done to you, King Iobates, that you would sentence her to death?”
“She has done much. That is all you need to know. Either you do this, or you die on the morrow.” The king’s gaze was cold and hate-filled.
Bellerophon stood. “I will do this, and likely die, King Iobates. This seems to be what you want, though the Gods themselves know my innocence.” He could feel Philonoe pulling at his arm to sit again. He could hear her protestations to her father and the general incredulous murmur of the courtiers, but he was resigned to the hatred of the man before him. It was not new. “I must go and rest now,” Bellerophon said, stepping away from his chair. “I will leave the day after next.”
“You will leave tomorrow,” the king commanded as Bellerophon walked away.
“I never thought you to be such a man, Father,” Philonoe said as she left her seat, pulling away from her father’s grasp, and marched away after Bellerophon.
“She will be greatly disappointed when he is slain, Polyidus,” King Iobates said as he leaned to his other side.
“I do believe a great many people in Xanthos will be, sire,” the seer said. “Are you sure you want to set him this task? It may bring greater pain than you know.”
“I am certain. If Bellerophon is slain, then I will be free of his poisonous presence. And if he succeeds, I will finally be free of my worst enemies.”
“Enemies, sire?” Polyidus said doubtfully. “They have not done the things you have said,” he whispered. “Sending Bellerophon will make the Amazons your enemies for certain.”
“Make no mistake, Polyidus,” Iobates warned. “They are my enemies.”
“Bellerophon, wait!”
Philonoe’s voice echoed in the empty, moonlit court outside of the propylon gate.
Bellerophon stopped to look up at the night sky, his broad shoulders slumped and tired as he breathed.
“You cannot do this thing for my father!” she said.
Bellerophon closed and opened his eyes and looked at her. “I do not do it for him,” he said. “I do it to prove my innocence to you. I do not care for any of the others.”
“But I do believe you!” Philonoe said, gripping him. “I know what my sister is like. I was not so young as that when she left. I could see how she manipulated people. You have nothing to prove to me, can’t you see that?”
Bellerophon looked into her bright eyes and held her hand gently in his, which had been covered in blood just the day before. He looked back up at the sky and sighed. It was a sound of tiredness and exhaustion, and a part of him longed to tap into the anger he had rallied in himself before fighting the Solymi. But he could not. Death is certain this time.
“When I was young,” he said to her, “I had no ambitions for myself or my life. Why would I have, when no one else did for me? I simply existed. Perhaps I should have dreamed of doing something, for now it seems that the Gods have chosen for me.”
“The Gods bless you, Bellerophon,” she whispered. “Polyidus has seen it. Even I can see it. Why can you not simply run away and…and never come back? I fear your death more than never seeing you again.”
He smiled at her, and he wondered that even in the midst of his dark resignation, she could make him do so. However, he knew what awaited him in the days to come. “Philonoe, I do not know what will await me in Phrygia, but I must go. The Amazons are no tribe of armed shepherds. They are the Daughters of Ares, born and bread for war. And me? I am just a Corinthian refugee whom nobody wants.”
“I want you!” Philonoe realized immediately what she had said.
Bellerophon’s eyes were wide and he was about to speak when Captain Milyas approached.
“There you are!” Milyas said. “Forgive me, Princess, but the king commanded me to seek Bellerophon.” He turned to the latter. “I regret that the king has declared that me and my men may not attend you on this task. You must go alone this time.”
“I understand,” Bellerophon said, not at all surprised by this turn of events.
“He cannot march all the way to Phrygia by himself!” Philonoe said, growing more and more angry with every second.
“I’m sorry, my lady. It is the king’s wish,” Milyas said, his head bowed to her.
“I will go alone,” Bellerophon said. But at least tell me which way to go.”
“You must follow the river north for some days until you reach the open plains that are the beginning of the Phrygian lands. From there, you turn northwest keeping the snow-caped mountains to your left. It is dry and rocky terrain, so you will need to bring supplies with you. Ahead, at the end of that long road, you will see a mountain rising up before you in the distance. High on that Phrygian plateau is where you will find the Amazons or, rather, where they will find you.”
“Captain, please,” Philonoe said. “Can you at least prevail upon my father to allow you and your men to go with Bellerophon?”
“I am sorry, my lady. I did try. It seems… Lately, your father is not himself.” He turned back to Bellerophon. “I know you do not like to ride horses, but if you would, the journey would take half as much time.”
Bellerophon shook his head.
“On foot it will take you at least seven days,” Milyas said.
“Then I have a long walk ahead of me,” Bellerophon answered. “I’ll take a mule to carry my provisions though. I don’t mind mules.”
Milyas chuckled. “You are strange, Bellerophon.”
Philonoe looked at the two of them, incredulous. “How can you both laugh?”
“What choice do we have, my lady?” Milyas said.
“You can get Bellerophon out of Xanthos this night,” she said, her voice low.
Milyas shook his head. “Then it would be my head upon the gates, beside that of Solimos.”
“Philonoe,” Bellerophon said. “I will not run. All I have is my truth, and I will not throw that away.”
Philonoe shook her head and walked away, frustrated, angry, and utterly baffled by everyone’s acceptance of her father’s will.
“The princess is fond of you,” Milyas said.
“She is very kind,” Bellerophon answered. “Kinder to me than anyone has ever been.”
“More’s the reason for the king to wish you dead. And now I think he’s picked his method.”
“I thought I would die the other day in Pisidia against the Solymi, and yet… I live.”
“You will need all your skills against the Amazons if you are to survive,” Milyas said darkly. He will certainly die.
“It’s in the Gods hands now.”
When Bellerophon reached his rooms and Milyas set the guard at his door, as commanded, he found his amour and weapons upon a stand in the middle of the main room, before the door onto the terrace. They had been polished to a brilliance he had never seen before, so much so that they cast their own light onto the floor and walls of the room. The horsehair crest fluttered in the evening breeze that came in at the window.
Bellerophon turned and saw that his tunic was also washed and folded upon his bed beside a thick black cloak.
It seemed the slaves had already found out what his next task was, and that they were preparing him for his journey into Phrygia.
Bellerophon walked outside onto the terrace, took the tinder box and a bundle of herbs from the basket and went to the altar where he lit them and raised his hands to the night sky.
“Oh, Goddess Athena… You have brought me through this first task, and for that I am grateful. Guide me in this second task. Guide my weapons, and my mind that I may have even the slimmest chance of success…of coming back to Philonoe…”
You must remain focussed, Bellerophon, the voice said.
Bellerophon looked up to see the goddess’ brilliant and terrifying eyes looking down at him from the other side of the altar.
The princess is not your concern now. The road ahead, and battle are. The Daughters of Ares show no mercy toward their enemies. They are formidable.
“I understand, oh Goddess, and I put myself at the Gods’ mercy. I will go, and I will fight.”
Athena looked down on Bellerophon’s bowed head and, for a moment, she reached out, her luminescent hand hovering above his head. You are not alone, son of Glaucus. You never were.
When Bellerophon looked up, she was gone.
Mourning doves cooed on the rooftops of the palace in the early morning haze. The palace corridors were silent, but in the great court Milyas and his men had gathered to see Bellerophon off on his journey.
When the son of Glaucus arrived, fully armed and brilliant in the dim morning light, he found Milyas and the others gathered around a mule.
Milyas smiled at Bellerophon and nodded toward the person loading up the mule.
Philonoe was busy loading provisions of food, pelts, and weapons onto the wooden frame on the mule’s back while the beast stood placidly by. When she saw Bellerophon approach, she stopped and looked at him. “Forgive me for my harsh words last night. It is not how I wanted to send you off.”
Bellerophon felt his heart lighten at the very sight of her and smiled. “There is nothing to apologize for, Princess.” He stepped closer, the mule between them and the soldiers standing by. “Thank you for coming to see me before I go.”
She shook her head. “It is nothing. I… I just wanted to make sure you have plenty of provisions. It is a long journey and… And I’ve also fastened more spears to the mule for you.” She placed her hand on the animal’s back.
“I thank you,” Bellerophon said. He looked into her brilliant green eyes. They were a little red from sleeplessness, but no less beautiful and kind. Her red hair fell about her shoulders, and the freckles about her face danced when she smiled.
“Here,” she said, reaching up to unclasp something from about her neck. “Take this.” She pulled at a thin rope, and from beneath her peplos rose a golden, double-headed battle-axe. “My father used to tell me this was my mother’s favourite charm, and that she wore it always.” Her voice was sad and longing then, but he could tell that she was proud of the piece. “I’ve been told she preferred this to any set of glittering jewels. I want you to wear it.”
“I couldn’t!” he said. “If I do not return, then it will be lost to you.”
“Please!” she said vehemently. “If there is the slightest chance that it will protect you, I want you to have it.” Without waiting for him to answer again, she reached up and tied it around his neck so that it hung over the edge of his breastplate, above the gorgon’s head. “Come back to Xanthos, Bellerophon. Find a way.”
“I will,” he said, and he took her hand and kissed it. “Thank you, Princess.”
Philonoe looked at him, her eyes glossy in the early morning light, but she did not cry, not yet. “May the Gods protect you on your journey,” she said, her voice a little hoarse.
He nodded and placed the helmet upon his head, his long black hair falling over his shoulders from beneath the edges.
As Philonoe backed away, silent prayers upon her lips, Bellerophon took up the mule’s lead rope and turned to Milyas and the soldiers who had accompanied him into Pisidia.
“Come back to us, son of Glaucus!” Milyas said as Bellerophon went out of the palace gates to find the road that led to the river and north.
Bellerophon looked back one last time at Philonoe, only to see King Iobates standing behind her, his expression grim and determined.
“His guilt will determine his fate in Phrygia,” the king said to his daughter.
She turned quickly, and stepped back from him. Words escaped her, but in her eyes there was no mistaking the utter disappointment she felt in him.
It was in that moment that King Iobates knew that he had lost his daughter’s love, as certainly as Death would soon take the son of Glaucus.
The road north into Phrygia was long and lonely, for Bellerophon felt as if he were back at the beginning of his trials once more. The dejected feeling that he had felt before was back in full force, and if it were not for the memory of Philonoe’s face, her kindness, he might simply have thrown himself into the rushing river to his left.
As it was, however, the charm about his neck gave him comfort, and reminded him that there was kindness in the world. And so he walked, pulling his pack mule along the way.
The creature that accompanied him was docile and calm, and followed without one iota of the stubbornness for which mules were known. With food and weapons upon its back, the mule clipped along the rocky road, always behind the armoured warrior who led it.
At first, Bellerophon kept looking back at the creature, unsure if he wanted such a companion for so long a journey, but the mule seemed quite disinterested, and certainly not hungry for his flesh.
If my father could see me now… Bellerophon wondered as he walked past the olive and citrus groves surrounding Xanthos, and then along the river.
The air smelled of juniper and fig, the fruit of which was only recently ripe. Pink and white oleander swayed in the hot wind, and along the river, brilliant tufts of tamarisk moved as if nymphs were hiding within them.
Indeed, he felt as though he were being watched the entire time, and yet he saw no one, spoke with no one. In the distance to the northeast, smoke began to rise, and Bellerophon wondered what was causing it, for in merely observing the fires, a deep feeling of dread, which he could not help, came over him.
When the road began to rise to a point where he could see farther, he stopped to look at the pluming smoke and listen to what he thought were very distant screams, though it could have been the hawks diving in among the carob groves to sink their talons into their next meal.
The days were long and quiet upon the northern road, but the nights were anything but restful. Wherever Bellerophon chose to sleep, be it beneath the boughs of oak, plane, or pine trees, or against a rock down by the river, every time he closed his eyes he could hear that same, deep growling that had haunted him for so long, see the rearing form of a wild stallion, and hear its own gut-wrenching squeals. More often than not, Bellerophon would sit and gaze up at the star-riddled sky and watch the shifting forms the Gods had placed there, or stare into the flames of his campfire until his eyes were so heavy that he could not help but fall into a tortured sleep.
After a few days, the terrain became inhospitable to any vegetation but the most hearty of scrub. As the land rose up, it became rockier and more windswept, as if anything that attempted to grow was burned for being so much closer to the sun. But mountains did rise up in the distance all around him, snow-capped and menacing.
The Phrygian sky was wide and endless, a pale blue raked with stretches of cloud. The rocky plain over which Bellerophon now travelled, many days after he had left Xanthos, no longer offered cover of any sort. He knew that if anyone was watching him, they would have seen him by then. He also knew that that wild, inhospitable landscape was not as devoid of life as it appeared, for upon the earth he did mark the tracks of horses in many places.
Cavalry… he thought to himself as he bent to look at yet another set of tracks. His eyes followed the general direction of the tracks whenever he found some, and they always seemed to be going to, or orbiting, a distant, rocky plateau overlooking the valley through which he travelled.
It was then, as he bent to look at the tracks, that he heard a deep growl approaching. His mule began to pull violently at the rope he held in his left hand.
Bellerophon turned to see a lion approaching, crouched as if ready to pounce. He could see his shield and helmet hanging from the mule’s pack saddle and knew that he would not reach them in time.
The lion’s tawny face contorted in an aggressive growl as it bared its teeth.
Bellerophon slowly drew his sword from its scabbard, but not before the lion lunged for the mule’s flailing legs.
The mule heaved a great, painful cry as it kicked and spun, ripping the rope from Bellerophon’s hand as he ran directly for the lion.
The mule bolted, but the lion caught up with it and in moments both beasts crashed to the ground in a cloud of dust from which emanated blood-curdling cries.
Bellerophon could hear the mule’s flesh tearing as the lion’s claws and teeth tore into it.
“Stop it!” he yelled, lunging with his blade out to take the lion in the back thigh.
The lion spun on him, swiping at him with its bloodied claws before turning back to the mule and sinking its teeth into the mule’s neck.
Bellerophon kicked out as hard as he could at the lion’s ribs, and it was then that the lion turned to face him fully, now that its prey was no longer able to run. Bellerophon crouched ready for the attack, his heart pounding, his eyes searching for a target.
The lion charged and lunged with both of its thick forelegs out as if to take the man in a death embrace.
Bellerophon screamed as he spun, his thigh caught by a single claw, and swept his blade down into the side of the lion’s neck.
The beast crashed and began to turn quickly, but not so quickly as Bellerophon whose blade stabbed directly into its open jaws and up into its brain. The lion’s eyes shot wide and it fell with a thud in the dust.
“Ahhh!” Bellerophon cried out as he fell to one knee, gripping his torn thigh. Breathing heavily, and blinded by the stinging sun overhead, he turned and crawled over to the mule only to see that its eyes were glazed and lifeless, the flies already massing about them and the blood leaking from its wounds. “I’m sorry,” he said, shaking his head as he leaned over the animal’s body.
Make camp, Bellerophon. Seal your wound.
Athena’s voice was unmistakable, and a part of him felt like weeping for hearing it. But there was no time for softness. The goddess was right. He needed to seal the wound before he fainted.
As quickly as he could, Bellerophon took some of the dried branches he had tied to the mule’s back and made a fire in the shelter from the wind provided by the body. Soon, his dagger blade was in the flames, heating until it was red hot.
Bellerophon cut a piece of leather from the ties on the mule’s back and bit down on it. Then, he leaned against the body and braced himself as he removed the blade from the fire.
He pulled back the armoured skirt to reveal his wounded thigh and hovered the blade over it for a few second before pressing the burning brand to his flesh as hard as he could manage.
His scream echoed over the valley before his ears began to ring and he passed out.
It was dark when Bellerophon began to rouse, his eyes fluttering open very slowly to see the stars in the night sky and the faint embers of the fire he had lit. He groaned, and then felt the searing, stiff pain in his leg. His shaking hand reached for his thigh and he felt the raw, charred skin, but no fresh blood.
“Ahh!” he sighed. “Athena, help me…” he said as his eyes lolled in his head, trying to wake himself.
“Men!” a voice said mockingly. “Such a little wound!”
“But a big lion,” added another voice.
Bellerophon shook his head and opened his eyes to see four shapes standing over him. He grasped wildly for his sword but found only rock.
“Looking for this?” one said, holding up his blade.
Before he could answer, a fist pounded into the side of his head and all went dark once more.
In the darkness, Bellerophon could see Athena walking ahead of him, her helmet tilted back on her head and a long spear in her pale hand. She glanced back at him and smiled occasionally, and he would have spoken but for the loud drumming. He listened more intently and realized it was the blood pounding in his ears, and that he was seeing the goddess from an awkward angle, almost upside down as he bobbed over the rocky earth.
Wind howled, and then the sound of war drums rang out. Dizzy now, Bellerophon vomited and was taken by darkness again.
“We are almost there, lion-slayer,” a voice said.
In the darkness in which he found himself, Bellerophon crouched beneath enormous flailing hooves and a writhing mane that moved like pale wheat in the winter wind. A stallion reared, its jaws opening and closing, snapping as its hooves pounded the earth and wind rushed about him.
He wanted to scream, but then he heard an even more terrible sound and turned to see a great set of fiery eyes coming toward him, accompanied by a deadly hissing and a growl that seemed to shake the earth. Claws gripped and broke stone and flames shot up into the air above his head.
Bellerophon reached for his weapons but his hands grasped only air. No!!!
The terror before him lunged and his voice rang out its last desperate notes…
“No!” he yelled, but death did not come.
Instead, Bellerophon found himself bound to a pole of some sort, and sweaty, staring at a fire in the darkness before him. As his eyes adjusted, he saw his weapons lying on the other side of the fire, out of reach.
A young girl held the enormous shield on its edge and was polishing it with doeskin, while another held up his sword to the firelight.
“You were dreaming,” the one girl said.
Bellerophon looked at them, lost for words as his head spun. They could not have been more than thirteen summers old, and yet they looked like warriors already, the way they handled his weapons comfortably and cared for them. The one had dark hair, and the other blonde, but they looked similar in features, proud, strong and long of limb. Both had their hair tied back tightly with several braids falling down, secured with beads or leather thongs. One had a bruise beneath her eyes, and the other swollen knuckles on one hand.
“Where am I?” Bellerophon asked, his voice hoarse. He coughed, and the dark-haired one got up to press a cup of water to his lips.
“If you flail, I will beat you,” the girl said. “And I will enjoy it.”
“I believe you,” he answered before drinking. He spluttered and coughed again as the girls giggled. “Thank you for the water,” he managed. He then looked down at his thigh and saw the bandage. “Did you bind my wound?”
“Our mother did,” said the blonde-haired girl.
“That lion had been skulking around and hunting our herds for a long time,” added the other girl. “We have not been able to hunt it down. How did you find it and kill it?”
“It found me,” Bellerophon answered.
The girls looked at each other and observed him closely.
“Why am I tied up?” he finally asked.
It was a different voice that answered him.
“Because you are unknown to us, and we do not trust easily.”
At the entrance of the large, round house, a tall, beautiful woman stood looking at him. She was not, however, dressed in a peplos or flowing silks. She was armed for battle with a polished, scale armour shirt that reached down to her thighs, over an armoured skirt. Greaves protected her long shins, and matching arm guards covered her forearms. The metal was strange, and glinted in the firelight. A long sword jutted from her back over her right shoulder, and a helmet with double, red horsehair crests was tucked beneath her left arm. She wore no crown, but the way the other warriors stood behind her, protective and proud, and all of them armed, she was certainly their leader.
“Who are you and why are you here?” the mighty woman asked as she stepped forward, the two young girls going to her side.
“I am Bellerophon, son of Glaucus, of Corinthos.”
“You are a long way from home, Bellerophon of Corinthos,” she said. She did not smile, but stared steadily at him. “Why are you in Phrygia?”
“I’m looking for someone,” he said, finished with pretence.
“Who?”
“The Amazons.”
The woman laughed, as did the others behind her, each one of them utterly confident, each carrying weapons that had seen war many times over. The leader looked back at him. “I think rather that the Amazons have found you.”
“You are the Daughters of Ares?” Bellerophon asked, sitting up now as best he could.
She nodded, her eyes narrowed.
“Queen Otrera?”
“I am,” she said plainly. “And these are my daughters, Hippolyta and Penthesilea. They have been tending you until the poison from the lion’s claws was out of your system.
He looked at the young girls. “Thank you,” he said, but they made no reply. “How long have I been here?”
“Three days,” the queen said, as she came forward and sat upon a fur-covered log across from him, beside his weapons. “Check the food,” she told her dark-haired daughter, Penthesilea. “So, Bellerophon of Corinthos, why do you seek me? Men rarely come to our home and if they do, they rarely leave.”
“I’ve been sent to seek you out. All of you.”
“For what purpose?” Otrera asked.
Bellerophon looked directly at her, meeting her blue-eyed gaze. “To kill you.”
There was a momentary silence. It was uncomfortable, but then the Amazons all burst out laughing, all except the queen who held his gaze and spoke when the laughing had stopped.
“And who asked you to undertake this fool’s errand?” she asked.
“King Iobates of Lykia.”
They were all silent at that, and Queen Otrera’s face hardened. There was no mercy in her eyes then as she stared at Bellerophon. “And why has the king sent a lone assassin?” she asked.
“Because your tribe constantly harasses Lykia, burning crops and taking livestock.”
“That’s a lie!” one of the warriors behind the queen said.
“Quiet, Cyme!” the queen commanded. “Of course it’s a lie.” She looked back at Bellerophon. “You do not strike me as stupid, like most men. What is the real reason Iobates has sent you?”
Bellerophon wanted to collapse in on himself, he was so tired of the world, but he found he could not do so before those proud warriors. He looked up at the queen. “Because he wants me dead.”
Queen Otrera looked at Bellerophon with curiosity then and turned to Hippolyta. “Untie him and give him a bowl of stew.”
“I have just told you I was here to kill you, and you want to untie me?” Bellerophon asked.
“You are my guest,” she said plainly. Besides, I am not that easy to kill.”
Bellerophon felt the bonds that had fastened him to the post slacken and he rubbed his wrists before accepting a wooden bowl filled with steaming stew.
“Come, sit around the fire with us,” the queen said as the others joined them. “Tell me how you came to be at King Iobates’ court.”
It was strange to be sitting around the fire with all of them in such a way, the people he had been sent to kill. He felt welcomed, despite his purpose, and felt comfortable telling them his story from his banishment from Corinthos, to the reasons that brought him there. When Bellerophon had finished, the dwelling was filled with warriors who had come in to listen, to see the guest-assassin in their midst.
“You tell an interesting tale, Bellerophon of Corinthos,” Queen Otrera said.
“I am not offended if you do not believe me,” he said. “I stopped caring long ago.”
“I did not say that I don’t believe you. It is no secret that I hate King Iobates. Neither is it a secret that his spiteful daughter, Stheneboea, is much like him. In truth, your story is much more believable than hers, from what you have told us. But though I hate Iobates, I have never ordered my warriors to raid his lands or harm his people, least of all…” She stopper herself. “But…I am also impressed by your victory over the Solymi.”
“Impressed?” Bellerophon asked, confused. “I slew many men, and some women and children burned in the flames I set alight.”
“They are animals, and have no honour,” she said coldly.
Bellerophon shook his head. “I am no warrior, and I would not have willingly gone into battle to carry out such an act.“
“Though you did for King Iobates!” she said.
“No!” Bellerophon insisted. “Not for him. I did it to prove my innocence…because that is what the goddess, Athena, told me I should do.”
Queen Otrera looked around the faces of her warriors and then back at Bellerophon. “The wise and warlike goddess speaks to you?”
Bellerophon did not answer, but stared into the flames.
Queen Otrera had met a few great men in her lifetime, and many more pitiful ones, but as she looked upon the Corinthian before her, she saw something different. He was a man without greed, though he was strong and capable of leading. He was also, strangely, a man who leaned toward kindness, but whose path led him to violence. He was being used by lesser men, and that upset her greatly.
“You say King Iobates has set you three tasks to prove your innocence?” she asked.
“Yes,” Bellerophon answered. “Though slaying you is the second.”
“I cannot allow you to harm my people, Bellerophon. You know this.”
“Yes, Queen Otrera.”
“Do you know what Iobates’ third task is?” she asked.
“No. He waits to see if I return to tell me.”
“Because he believes you will not return,” she added.
“No doubt.”
“He is correct,” she said. “But, as the Gods demanded that you undertake this quest, you must be given a fair chance. We could kill you right now, if we wanted…drag you outside and cut you into myriad pieces.”
“Yes, Queen Otrera. You could do that, I am aware, and I would fight as long as I could.” Bellerophon felt saddened at this prospect, but not for the pitiful and painful end, but that he would not see Philonoe again. I am sorry, Princess, he thought. I will not be leaving this place.
“You will not fight all of us,” the queen said. “You will fight one of us, and if you win, which you will not, you will carry back with you an olive bough of peace, in honour of Athena herself.”
“I do not ask for fairness, Queen Otrera. That is something I am not accustomed to. I will fight as many as you send against me.” He looked around the fire at the faces of the warriors, at those at the back of the room, and saw a strength and vitality in each of their eyes that he had rarely seen in any man’s. They were all ready to fight and to die for each other at a moment’s notice. They truly are the Daughters of Warlike Ares, he thought. I don’t think I could die at the hands of a greater enemy.
The queen shook her head but stopped short of smiling at his courage, for in the shadows behind Bellerophon, there she spied the glimmer of Athena Parthenos with her spear and aegis. Were it not for all those around her, Otrera would have fallen to her knees and offered winged words to the goddess. As it were, however, there was only one thing she could offer.
“You will not fight all of us, Bellerophon of Corinthos, though you display great courage - or foolhardiness - in offering to do so. No.” She stood and looked down at him and the warriors all around her. “Tomorrow, when the sun reaches its zenith, you shall fight me to the death.”
“Mother, no!” Penthesilea burst out, but Queen Otrera put her hand up to stop her and the others’ protests. “It is my command. Bellerophon has come a long way, and we must honour the Gods’ will and our divine father’s love of combat.”
Bellerophon stood to face Queen Otrera, his leg burning as he did so. “I thank you,” he said, placing his hand on the gorgon upon his chest which resembled Athena’s aegis.
“Rest now, for tomorrow, we fight…and you will die.”
Bellerophon slept peacefully that night. There was a peace that came with certainty, and he embraced it, even though it pertained to his own death. When he awoke, it was to find both Penthesilea and Hippolyta sitting across the fire again, stirring porridge in a pot above the fire.
“Good morning,” Hippolyta said when she saw his eyes open. “Did you sleep well?”
“Yes,” Bellerophon answered.
“Why are you speaking to him?” Penthesilea demanded of her sister. “He is going to try and kill our mother and queen!”
Bellerophon found it strange that he was more trusted in the Amazon camp than he had ever been anywhere else. He had fully admitted to coming to kill them all - or rather, being sent to - and yet the queen’s very own daughters were alone with him, sent to tend to him. He smiled sadly at them.
“Have no fear. I know that your mother is a great warrior and that I will not last long against her. I am grateful to you all for your kindness. Truly.”
“You’re a strange man, Corinthian,” Penthesilea said, picking up her own dagger and sharpening it.
“Pay her no mind,” Hippolyta added, smiling. “Our mother asked us to feed you so that you are strong for the coming fight.” She then ladled some of the porridge into a wooden bowl and handed it to him, along with a cup of water. “Eat and drink.”
As Bellerophon ate, Penthesilea observed him closely. “Is it true that you defeated all of the Solymi?”
Bellerophon shook his head. “Only some of them. Their warriors, and their chief, Solimos.”
“Hmph!” Penthesilea scoffed brushing a dark strand of hair away from her eyes. “They do not have warriors. But I have heard that Solimos was a giant.”
Bellerophon smiled at that. “No. Not a giant. But a bear of a man.”
“How did you fight him? How did you win?” Penthesilea asked.
“Stop it sister!” Hippolyta said.
“What?”
“You are trying to divine his strategy so that you can tell our mother. It is dishonourable,” Hippolyta chided.
“You are too soft,” her sister bit back. But she did turn to Bellerophon and smiled. “I should have liked to see that battle.”
He did not respond, but finished eating and drinking. When he was done, he stood and stretched.
“Are you ready?” Hippolyta asked.
“Yes, though I do need to relieve myself,” he said shyly.
“Over there, behind that curtain,” Penthesilea said. “There is a pot. We will wait outside while you do whatever men do.” With that, the two girls turned and went out of the roundhouse.
When he was finished, Bellerophon looked around the vast, round structure and wondered that he had been given this all to himself. It was not a prison, but rather a gathering place. The walls were hung with weapons which had been taken in battle, and they glinted dully in the firelight.
He looked for his things and found them piled behind the post to which he had been tied the day before. He was going to pick them up, but he decided against it. What’s the point? he thought. I only need my weapons. Philonoe, I would have liked to see you again, he thought as he pulled the double-headed axe from beneath the rim of his breastplate, kissed it gently, and then tucked it back again.
Bellerophon placed his crested helmet on his head, and then strapped on his sword and dagger. He then bent to pick up his great shield, and slung the quiver of throwing spears over his shoulder.
It had been peaceful in the roundhouse, homely even, but he did not know what to expect when he went outside. He stopped just shy of the threshold and closed his eyes.
“Goddess Athena…I honour you now, as I always have. I do not know what fate awaits me out there, but please, if it is my time to die, stand by me so that I do not do so alone. And protect Philonoe, whatever should happen.”
He then opened his eyes and stepped outside, only to be blinded by the brilliant sunlight.
Immediately, a deep, steady drumming began and when Bellerophon was able to open his eyes properly and adjust to the light, he was shocked by the sight before him.
The Amazon settlement was enormous, made up of a great gathering of roundhouses of similar size for every warrior. This was no tribe, but rather a nation. Beneath the enormous blue expanse of the Phrygian sky, the settlement stretched away to white cliffs that fell like a steady waterfall, the waters there glistening in the sunlight where their warriors bathed.
Red banners - the colour of Ares - snapped in the wind from the rooftops of every dwelling, and beneath them, upon poles, were the grisly trophies of defeated enemies slain by the individual warriors.
However, the size of the settlement was not what was most surprising, but rather it was the long avenue down which he was urged to walk, for it was lined with every warrior of the Amazon nation under Queen Otrera.
Each warrior was tall, muscled and proud, and many were more beautiful than any woman Bellerophon had seen in either Corinthos or Tiryns. He did not make the mistake of thinking he was in a paradise, however, for in each of their eyes there was a slight amount of hatred. He had come to kill them, and they all knew it.
Every Amazon was armed and armoured, and they lived that way always. There was not a peplos in sight. Some sat atop champing horses, while others stood variously dressed in leather jerkins, scale armour, or gleaming bronze breastplates. Many had bows, and all had spears, and swords or daggers. Every warrior was individual and terrifying.
Bellerophon, his armour glinting in the bright sun, followed Penthesilea and Hippolyta down the avenue as the drums beat steadily. Eventually, they arrived at a sort of arena which was a large circle of packed earth. They led him onto the arena floor to where Queen Otrera stood, calm as could be. The drumming stopped.
The queen was dressed in her scale armour and armoured skirt, but she wore no sandals or boots. In her left hand she held a long, thick spear with a long leaf-shaped blade, and in her right hand she carried a half-moon shield with a horse upon it. Her long sword jut up from behind her shoulders. Her double-crested helmet rose high above and gave her the look of a goddess of battle which indeed she was, for along her arms were the criss cross patterns of scars from many battles. She was her father’s daughter, and to Bellerophon’s surprise, the God of War appeared at her shoulder.
Ares stared down at the Corinthian who was Athena’s favourite, and smirked, his dark visage a terror to behold.
For a moment, Bellerophon felt that fear might overtake him, but then a cool breeze arrived at his shoulder and he felt Athena’s presence rally his courage.
Queen Otrera’s eyes widened and she inclined her head.
All around the arena too, the Amazons made signs of obeisance and good omen having glimpsed, ever-so-briefly, the two gods standing beside the champions.
“Die well, Corinthian,” Penthesilea said before she and Hippolyta left to join Otrera’s wary commanders Mytilene, Cyme, Pitane, and Priene.
A moment later, the Gods disappeared, and Bellerophon faced Queen Otrera alone in the middle of the arena.
“Are you rested and able to fight?” the queen asked. Her voice was harder then, but not devoid of concern for her guest.
Bellerophon bowed his head, his blue crest fluttering in the wind. “I am. Thank you. You have treated me…well… I thank you, Queen Otrera.”
She smiled sadly, but her grip on the long spear at her side was easy and strong. “What weapons do you choose?”
“Only what I have.” He spread his arms wide to show his sword and dagger, and the throwing spears.
“Those will encumber you,” she said, nodding at the quiver hanging from his shoulder.
“It is how I am accustomed to fighting,” he said.
“I want you to know that when you die, your remains will be given every honour so that you can make your way through the Underworld without issue.”
The words chilled Bellerophon, and he knew then that it was time. He inclined his head.
Then, the commander, Mytilene, stepped to their sides. She carried a long staff, thick enough to crack a man’s skull in two, and wore a crimson cloak which covered thick, bull’s hide armour. “Are you ready?”
The queen held Bellerophon’s eyes and nodded slowly in answer.
“Yes,” Bellerophon said.
Commander Mytilene put the staff out between them and held it there for a few heartbeats before shouting, “Begin!”
More quickly than Bellerophon could possibly have imagined, the queen’s long, greaved leg struck out and kicked him full force in the chest, sending him several feet backwards where he landed in the dirt.
Suddenly, an explosion of sound reverberated all about the arena as the Amazons roared for their queen and called for her to kill Bellerophon.
Bellerophon heard the rushing footfalls of his opponent and quickly rolled away to gain his feet, just as the queen’s spear plunged into the earth where he had fallen. His shield swept to the left and right, up and down to meet the darting spear shaft which the queen so expertly thrust at him without mercy.
“I see the fear in your eyes,” she said. “Like all men, you’re filled with doubt!”
Then, with a sudden, great cry, Otrera leapt into the air to come down on Bellerophon.
He spun to her shield arm side and hit her in the back as she landed, sending her rolling several feet away, until she landed on her feet.
Bellerophon drew his throwing spears one after another, sending them at the queen as she rushed him for another attack. She darted and dodged with unnatural speed, but a couple of the spears clipped her arm and thigh before she was able to hurl her long spear which ripped through the now-empty quiver and pinned Bellerophon to the ground.
He panicked and flailed where he landed, trying to free himself, but she was on top of him, trying to retrieve her spear which he grabbed and would not let go.
She kicked down in great sweeping arcs, catching him in the shoulder and the side of the head, but he would not relinquish the weapon.
Bellerophon kicked up hard, bracing himself against the planted spear shaft and took the queen on the jaw, sending her helmet into the dirt with a thud as she stumbled. He stood as quickly as he could and ripped through the leather of the quiver to free himself, drawing his sword and taking up his shield again from where it had fallen. He turned back and sliced at the spear shaft, cutting it in half and making the weapon less effective.
The Amazons, including Penthesilea and Hippolyta, cried out for the queen to finish him and as the queen crouched, like a lioness ready to pounce, her long hair fell in dishevelled strands over her shoulders. Her blue eyes sought an opening, and blood dripped from her mouth.
Bellerophon saw the horse upon her shield, the blade weaving as if to strike at any moment, and he crouched too, to meet the attack.
But she was too fast.
Queen Otrera darted left then right and left again before feinting with her long blade and sweeping her half-moon shield across his face to knock the helmet from his head.
Sweat poured down from Bellerophon’s brow, and he squinted as he watched her. He breathed heavily, but she seemed only to have gotten started.
It was then that Otrera unleashed a furious attack upon him with sword and shield, attacking and deflecting his own desperate counter-attacks with her arm guards, greaves and shield. He began to feel desperation then, but not for the fight. Rather he wanted an end to it all. A great weariness came over him, even as he penetrated her defences and cut her again and again.
Then, he felt his legs swept from under him as Otrera dropped beneath her shield, spun her leg, and sent him to the earth. She leapt on top of him, but Bellerophon’s legs caught her and sent her over his head. He scrambled, ripping his dagger free and leapt on top of her.
The dagger’s tip touched the queen’s scale armour but her arms caught his with all of her strength and held them fast as Bellerophon stared down at her wild-eyed.
“Why won’t you kill me?” he screamed at her, even as he pressed the blade down. “KILL ME!” he cried.
Then a glint of gold caught the queen’s eye where it hung beneath his chin. With renewed strength, she pushed him off.
Bellerophon’s body rose up into the air and crashed down again.
Queen Otrera swept the dagger away and straddled him, pounding her fists into this face.
He stopped fighting, and in his eyes, mingled with the sweat and blood upon his face, Queen Otrera saw that there were tears.
But he wept not for fear, but for a weariness greater than anything else. A weariness of life.
“Kill him, my queen!” Commander Pitane yelled, and more of the Amazons took up the cry.
Bellerophon’s eyes sought hers and a calm came over him. “Please…kill me,” he sputtered from his bleeding mouth.
She hit him again, and again in the side of the head, but he was unresponsive to the pain she inflicted.
Suddenly, Bellerophon’s head struck Otrera in the face and she fell sideways. He was on her then, his blade to her throat. “I don’t want to kill you!” he cried, his blood, sweat and tears dripping onto her chest.
“You must!” she replied.
He shook his head, and threw his dagger away.
Confused cries went around the arena, and angry shouts of disappointment, but Bellerophon ignored them, even as the Amazons closed in around him.
He spat blood, and bent over to extend his hand to Queen Otrera, pulling her to her feet. He then turned, breathing heavily, to address the crowd. “Your queen has beaten me!” he said. “If she will not kill me, one of you must!” He turned back to Otrera and put his fists up to continue the fight.
The queen squared off, and when he swung, she dodged it and brought her elbow to his face.
Bellerophon fell hard and felt the queen poised above him, her hands on his throat.
But she did not squeeze. Instead, she ripped the golden battle-axe from his neck and held it in his face. “Where did you get this?” she demanded.
“Philonoe…” he said before he fell into darkness.
It was night out, for behind the ringing in Bellerophon’s ears, he could hear the faint sound of crickets, the screech of an owl, and the howl of the wind.
Am I upon the plains of the Underworld? he wondered, for he could see the obscure glow of fire around him. “I am in Hades’ realm,” he said through his swollen mouth.
“No. You are not,” said another voice from nearby.
Bellerophon’s eyes flickered open and peered beyond the flames in the direction of the voice. “Goddess…Athena?” he asked.
“No,” Queen Otrera responded.
Bellerophon opened his eyes wider as they adjusted to the light and saw that he was back in the roundhouse, laying before the fire, bandages upon his arms and legs, and a resin upon his battered face.
The queen lay opposite him, likewise bruised and bandaged. She sat up and moved closer to him, grunting as she did so.
He moved to sit up but she laid her hand upon his shoulder.
“Sit still for now,” Otrera said. “I would speak with you, Bellerophon of Corinthos.”
He shook his head and sat up anyway. The pain was great as he did so, but like the rest of his life, he bore it. She handed him a cup of water, and he drank slowly, feeling the blood wash around in his mouth.
“Why are you so keen to die?” she asked.
Bellerophon settled and stared into the fire. He shrugged his shoulders. “What is there to live for?” he said. “More betrayal and distrust?” He sighed. “I am so very tired…”
“And you fought like no other man I have ever seen,” she answered. “You fought like you wanted to live. Tell me for what? There must be something…”
He shook his head and looked at the dirt floor. A glint of reflected light caught his eye and he looked up to see the queen holding up the golden battle-axe charm that had been around his neck.
“And this?” she asked. “Is this worth living for?”
He put out his hand and Otrera gently placed it in his palm. He could see the glint of tears in her eyes, though she allowed none to fall.
“Where did you get it?” she asked.
“Philonoe…the daughter of King-“
“Iobates and Queen Pasandra…” Otrera finished. There was tenderness in her voice, regret and resentment.
Bellerophon looked up at her. “Yes. Philonoe is the only person to have ever believed me or been truly kind to me.”
“She gets that kindness from her mother,” Queen Otrera said, straightening up and staring into the fire as she sipped from her cup.
It was then that Bellerophon noticed the shadowed faces of the silent Amazons sitting around the wall of the roundhouse, including Hippolyta, Penthesilea, and the generals. They listened and watched as their queen turned to face Bellerophon, to reach out and hang the double-headed axe about his neck for him.
“You knew Queen Pasandra?” he asked.
Otera nodded. “I knew her well. We all did, apart from my daughters. She was once one of us.”
The sound of the flickering flames was loud then as Bellerophon thought of Philonoe’s beautiful, freckled face and fiery hair, similar to so many around him in that moment. Philonoe looked nothing like her father or older sister. In fact, she seemed a world apart from anyone in Lykia. “I don’t understand,” he said, looking the queen in the eyes.
“Pasandra was once my greatest general. She taught all of them…” Queen Otrera motioned to her generals seated not far off and they all nodded in agreement. “She was also my dearest friend. We grew up together and fought many battles side by side. Then, one day, we fought a new foe - the son of the dying queen of Lykia.“
“Iobates,” Bellerophon said.
“Yes,” Otrera answered, her voice tinged with anger now. “It was a bloody battle. We slaughtered most of their forces, and were about to finish off Iobates. But then, from out of the fire and smoke, the Lykian queen appeared. She was regal and commanded respect. She had never bothered us until then, when she was so old that Death already had his hands about her throat. She asked us for a truce…and an alliance, even as her handsome son stood beside her, bloody from battle.”
“Why did you not kill them?” Bellerophon asked.
“I wanted to, but Pasandra urged me to hear them out.”
“She did?”
“Yes. But she had already locked eyes with Iobates. Aphrodite and Eros had already begun to toy with them.”
“What happened?”
“The Lykian queen said that she wished for one of us to rule in her stead after she died, alongside her son, Iobates. She said that she respected us and our ways, our strength, and knew that Lykia would be safer in the hands of an Amazon queen.”
“I don’t understand,” Bellerophon said. “Why would she offer such a thing when Iobates was set to inherit the throne.”
“Because Lykia had always been ruled by a queen. Ascendency had always been matrilineal as far back as anyone can remember.”
“And Pasandra stepped forward?” Bellerophon looked at Otrera.
She nodded sadly. “We argued about it. I did not want her to go, and I did not want her to be the queen of Iobates. I could see he was not honest, that he had not fought with honour on the field that day.” She shook her head. “But Pasandra was adamant. She insisted that if she became queen of Lykia, it would secure our southern border and allow us to focus on fighting the Hittites to the East, and the Trojans to the North.”
“What happened?”
Otrera pursed her lips. “The Lykian queen died six months later, and Pasandra rode to Xanthos to become queen.” Otrera pointed at the golden battle-axe around Bellerophon’s neck. “I gave her that before she left, to remind her of where she came from.”
“And she gave it to Philonoe.” Bellerophon began to understand, and his suspicions of Iobates were confirmed.
“Pasandra’s daughter is an Amazon. She is one of us, but instead of learning our ways, instead of ruling as queen of Lykia, as is her right, she is locked away in a gilded cage within the palace.”
“She is locked away, true,” Bellerophon said. “But she is not weak. She is one of the strongest, most honest and true women I have ever met.”
“Like her mother used to be…” It was then that Queen Otrera did wipe a single tear from her cheek.
“What happened to Queen Pasandra?”
Her jaw tightened. “Iobates decided that he would use her warlike skills to eliminate his enemies and secure his position. Pasandra did as he asked, I suppose because she loved him, and because she loved to do battle. One by one, she conquered Lykia’s enemies, big and small. And then, one day, she moved against the Solymi in Pisidia.” Otrera took another drink of water before continuing. “The Solymi had remained quiet until then, sending herds of livestock as tribute to Xanthos. But they had a new leader then - Solimos.” She looked at Bellerophon. “The man you slew.”
Bellerophon nodded remembering the chieftain draped in bear furs and stinking like an animal.
“The Solymi ambushed Pasandra’s small army in their mountains - I suppose Iobates told her that she didn’t need a large force for that mission - and they picked off her men, one by one. Pasandra never made it home.”
“And Philonoe grew up without her mother,” Bellerophon added, “never knowing who she was or where she came from?”
“Philonoe was very young, and she had no idea what the charm she inherited from her mother symbolized,” Otrera said. “And Iobates? He never spoke of Pasandra to his daughter. He used Pasandra’s death as an opportunity to take the Lykian throne for himself, and the kingdom was no longer ruled by a queen as it always had been.”
Everyone in the roundhouse was silent, but for Hippolyta who went to her mother’s side.
“Mother… Was it then that the beast arrived?”
“Yes, my heart,” Otrera said, kissing her daughter’s blonde head.
“What beast?” Bellerophon asked.
“We call it ‘Iobates’ Bane’,” Otrera answered, and it was then, for the first time, that Bellerophon could see fear in all of the Amazon eyes looking at him. “When Iobates broke the sacred laws of Lykia’s lands, the Gods grew angry and sent a beast to terrorize him and his people-“
“The Lykians did not stand up for their queen!” the general, Priene, burst out, her voice angry.
“No, they did not,” Otrera agreed. “And they have been punished for it.”
“Have you seen this beast?” Bellerophon asked.
She shook her head. “No. But I have seen the fires rising into the sky. All who see it do not live to tell of it. It is a beast of the Gods’ making…and a fitting punishment for such as Iobates.”
“And what of Philonoe?” Bellerophon said. “She too is in danger from this beast!”
“It is no longer our concern,” Otrera said. “I would give succour to my friend’s daughter, but Philonoe is now a creature of Iobates’ making, the same as his bane.”
Bellerophon shook his head. “You’re wrong!” he yelled, so loudly that the generals drew their blades.
Queen Otrera put up her hand to stay her warriors, and then smiled at Bellerophon. “Something worth living and fighting for then?”
Bellerophon was quiet again, shaking his head. “When I go back to him without having slain you, I will be executed. But I can’t leave Philonoe alone in that place.”
“Then you must take back something more valuable than our deaths,” Otrera said, leaning toward him.
“And what is that?”
“An alliance between the Amazon nation and Lykia,”
There were gasps around the large room, but none spoke against the queen’s words.
“An alliance?” Bellerophon thought about it, but he doubted whether Iobates would agree. “I think he would rather see you dead.”
“Perhaps,” Otrera agreed. “But the Trojans and Hittites are growing in strength again, and Lykia’s army is weakened. With the promise of an alliance with us, he has a chance to preserve his kingdom.”
“Why would you do that for Iobates? He doesn’t deserve it.”
“Not for Iobates,” Otrera insisted. “But for my friend’s daughter… For Philonoe.”
The sun and moon rose and set for another fourteen days before Bellerophon was well enough to travel back to Lykia, and during that time, he had mulled over all that he had learned about the death of Queen Pasandra, and how it seemed that Iobates had used her, perhaps even planned her death.
And it made him angry. He was especially enraged at the betrayal that Iobates perpetrated upon his daughter, Philonoe. She was a descendant of the Daughters of Ares, and yet she was kept in ignorance for the greed and vanity of yet another self-serving king.
As the sun rose on his last morning in the Amazon capital, Queen Otrera, her daughters, and her generals accompanied Bellerophon south to the edge of the border, they on horseback and he on foot, leading a pack mule they had gifted him.
Otrera dismounted and stepped forward to bid farewell to Bellerophon. She took him by the shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks as she might a younger brother.
“It has been an honour to fight you and to get to know you, Bellerophon of Corinthos,” she said. “Go with our good will and offer of alliance back to Iobates.”
“I will,” he said, “and I will make him listen.”
A tenderness came into her eyes then. “Be careful of Iobates. He is not an honest man, and he loathes those who are braver than he.”
“I will.”
“And…” She turned to remove a long bundle of linen that was tucked beside her horse’s saddle. “When you see her…when you see Philonoe… Give this to her.” She handed the bundle to Bellerophon.
“What is it?” he asked as he accepted the bundle and drew back one end of the linen. There he spied the leather handle and bronze hilt of a sword, decorated with charging horses and Amazon warriors in battle. He looked up at Otrera.
“It was one of Pasandra’s favourite weapons. She slew many enemies with it and wielded it with honour. She gave it to me when she left here. Now, I would be grateful if you gave it to her daughter.”
Bellerophon covered the hilt again and bowed his head. “I will. And I will tell her the truth when I am able.”
“I believe you,” Otrera said, placing her palm flat upon the golden battle-axe around his neck. “May Athena guide and protect you in the time to come.”
“I thank you,” Bellerophon said, looking at the queen, her daughters, and the faces of her generals, “for everything.”
With that, Bellerophon tucked the sword into the saddlebags on the mule, and set off down the dusty road out of Phrygia toward Lykia once more.
“Will we see him again, Mother?” Penthesilea asked, her voice saddened to see such a warrior go.
“I do not think so,” Otrera said, smiling sadly. “But I don’t think we’ve heard the last of Bellerophon.