The group of boys around the old man was silent as the words flowing from his lips stopped, his tale abruptly ended. The sun was only just beginning to rise, for they had listened intently all through the night.
“What happened next, Daskale?” the eldest boy asked from where he sat at the bottom of the spear on which he had impaled the head of the serpent they had slain the day before.
“You cannot end the story just like that!” protested another.
The old man listened to their entreaties, and tried to rally himself to tell the rest. It had been emotional, revisiting those memories, remembering that time when the sun shone brightest.
“Please, Daskale,” the youngest, Daxeos, said at his side. He had been awake all of the night, most interested in the tale. “Tell us what happened to Bellerophon and Philonoe.”
“Did the king take revenge on Bellerophon?” another of the boys asked.
“Tell us!” the rest whined in concert.
The old man put up his gnarled hands for peace and when they fell silent again, he cleared his throat.
“Very well. I shall tell you,” he said. “After Iobates left the megaron of the palace, with the court and soldiers cheering their rightful queen, he went back to his chambers. He did not seek vengeance, or attempt to kill Bellerophon. He did not want to harm his daughter any more than he already had done.”
“Then what did he do?” ask the eldest.
“Iobates prayed to the Gods and the shade of his wife for forgiveness. He got into a hot bath, and he cut his wrists before going to eternal sleep.”
The boys all gasped.
“But why?” the eldest asked, disappointed.
“Because he could not live with the guilt of his actions. The Gods accepted his sacrifice in recompense for all that he had done.” The old man hung his head at that, leaning low upon his staff.
“What about Queen Philonoe?” asked another of the boys. “What happened to her?”
The old man raised his head and smiled. “The land of Lykia thrived under her rule. There was peace and good harvest. She reestablished the connection with her mother’s people, and they became her staunchest allies. The people all across the land loved her and would have died for her, as she would have for them.”
“And Bellerophon?” Daxeos asked again, patiently waiting to hear what had happened to the Corinthian who had been shunned by all others until he met Philonoe.
“Bellerophon supported Queen Philonoe in all things. He was her most loyal subject and, for a long time, he never left her side. They loved each other, and they had three beautiful children - two sons named Hippolochus and Isander, and a daughter which they named Laodameia, who was sent to learn the ways of the Daughters of Ares.”
“Were they a happy family?” Daxeos asked, saddened when he saw the downcast look upon the old man’s face.
“For a long time, they were happy. Yes. But a hero, after his trials, is ever restless, and even for the best among them, hubris is a dangerous companion.”
“Was Bellerophon guilty of this?” the eldest boy asked.
“One has to remember, that Bellerophon was just a man. But he was a mortal who had achieved the impossible. He was, and remained, friends with Pegasus, a winged god. Ask yourselves this… How does a man, after such feats, come back into the world? What is considered normal for him? You have all slain a great beast in your minds. Will you see the world, or yourselves for that matter, the same as you did before your deed? Or has your perspective been changed by your experience?”
“Everything is different!” the eldest boy said, and the others nodded.
“And so it was for Bellerophon. He had achieved great deeds, though they were forced upon him. He had flown through the skies! Can you imagine such a thing? It is no wonder Bellerophon yearned for more, not out of arrogance or boredom, but rather out of wonder and an urgent, never-ending need to push the limits of his existence.”
“He left the queen and their children?” Daxeos asked.
“He never truly left them, Daxeos, for they were ever in his heart. But he did leave often with Pegasus to explore the world. Some say he took vengeance upon the queen of Tiryns for the lies she had told about him, but I do not believe that. Others say that, having been so near the Gods, he decided he would try to fly up to Mount Olympus itself with Pegasus.”
“And did he, Daskale?” another boy asked.
The old man shook his head. “He tried, but the Gods would not allow it. Zeus sent a gadfly to sting Pegasus as they climbed the long pathways of the sky to Olympus, and Bellerophon fell back to the earth.”
They all gasped.
“No!” Daxeos cried. “But why? After all that he did! After his loyalty to the Gods and the queen?”
“One should not try to explain the ways of the Gods, Daxeos. Some things are better left a mystery, and Bellerophon discovered that. We all have our place in the world, our role to play, be we noble or servant, coward or hero.”
“Did Queen Philonoe and their children mourn his death?” the eldest boy asked, moved at last by the tale.
“Oh, he is not dead…not yet anyway. But he did mourn the passing of his wife, for she died in battle, fighting the Hittites alongside the Daughters of Ares.” The old man wiped a tear away at the thought. “They say she died most bravely in battle, and that the people of Lykia mourned her for many moons. Her children rule the kingdom now, and Bellerophon…”
The words died in his throat, but young Daxeos reached out to give him courage, squeezing his hand firmly. The old man smiled down at the young boy, though he could not see him. “Bellerophon still wanders the world, mourning his beloved queen, searching for a trial that will end his life once and for all so that he might join her.”
“And has he found it yet? His trial?” Daxeos asked, his voice hoarse.
“I do not know,” the old man said, sad at the silence he had blanketed over the young boys. He could feel their hopes for themselves teetering on the edge of doubt and despair, and knew that he needed to make things right once more. “But there is hope, boys. There is always hope, and you must find it within yourselves.” He stood slowly and stiffly and turned on the spot so that they could all hear him. “Your destiny is yours, for the Gods will lay many choices before you. Remember… There is a hero in everyone of you. The question you have to ask yourself is this: what kind of hero will you be, and what kind of world will you leave behind when you are gone from it?”
The boy, Daxeos stood and held fast to the old man’s hand. “Thank you for the story, Daskale,” he said.
“You’re very welcome, my boy,” the old man said.
“Thank you, Daskale!” the others muttered as they began to leave separately, back to their homes.
“Daskale,” said the oldest among them. “We will come back later and bury the serpent. We will make offerings to the Gods for it.”
“I’m glad to hear it, lad,” the old man said.
When they had all gone, the old man picked up his staff and shuffled his way onto the beach to go to the silent seashore where he felt the water upon his aged feet. He bent over to splash his face and felt the rising sun upon it.
“Still telling tall tales, Polyidus?” a voice said from down the beach.
The old man turned in the direction of the voice, and recognized the limp, always accompanied by the easy trot and cool breeze of the winged stallion at the man’s side. “My friend,” he said, reaching out to grasp his hands in greeting. “Where have you been?”
“Wandering… Mourning…”
“She died bravely, I hear,” the old man said, his voice breaking.
Bellerophon looked upon Polyidus then, how old he looked, how old they had both become. He looked at the rising sun over the sea and sighed. “She did…and I was not with her.”
Polyidus grabbed him and pulled hard. “You were always with her, and she knew it. You each had your battles which you fought alone, but you were both with each other… In here!” he said, poking his heart.
Bellerophon nodded, and the tears fell from his cheeks into the surf at their feet.
They stood silent for a time before Polyidus spoke.
“I have food at my home. It isn’t much, but I would like for you to join me.” He placed his hand gently upon Bellerophon’s shoulder. “Please come.”
Bellerophon nodded, his long grey hair falling about his shoulders and face. “I’ll be along shortly,” he answered.
“Good. I’ll see you soon,” Polyidus said, and he set off slowly along the path up from the beach, his staff clicking on the rocks as he climbed slowly over them.
Bellerophon then turned to face the sea and lean against his long-time friend’s thick neck.
“I miss her, Pegasus,” he said as he gazed upon the brilliance of that enormous sun, his eyes alight with memory. “She was the only one who was every truly kind to me and believed in me,” he said.
The stallion neighed and nudged Bellerophon.
“And you, my friend,” he said, smiling, even as his tears fell. “And you.” Bellerophon then stood back. “Go now…fly. I will see you later. I mustn’t let Polyidus down. He needs me, it seems.”
With a great flap of his wondrous wings, Pegasus reared and charged down the beach to take flight in the wake of the sun’s chariot.
Bellerophon watched him soar across the blue canvas of the heavens. “Farewell, my friend.” He then closed his eyes as the heat of that sun fell upon him, and remembered the face of his beloved queen as she was when he first met her.
I love you, Philonoe… he said to the sky and air that his thoughts might reach her in the Underworld. I will see you soon, my love…
THE END