The Reluctant Hero

4. Queen of Spite-1

Chapter 4

Queen of Spite

“AHHH!”

Bellerophon sat bolt upright in his bed. Sweat dripped from his brow and his body shook.

The pounding upon his chamber door echoed in his head and, disoriented, he looked about the room which was already filling with morning sunlight. On the floor, he could see his spears and shield, the blood still caked upon them where they lay beside his bloody and torn tunic.

“Open up, Bellerophon!” his brother Deliades said from beyond the olive wood door.

“What is it?” Bellerophon answered, though he knew in his heart what it was.

“You know what!”

Bellerophon stood and went slowly to the basin of water that stood upon a tripod near the window. His brother continued to pound upon the door, but he did not rush, did not care. He splashed his face with water and looked up at the risen sun through the refracted light of his wet eyes. “Gods…do with me what you will. I no longer care.”

He dried his face and turned to dress, his ribs sore from the fight the day before. He pulled a clean, crimson tunic over his head, belted it, and strapped on his sandals. For a moment, he thought to take his dagger, but then he knew it was pointless, that Deliades would not have come alone.

He walked to the door and unbolted it.

Deliades, his older brother, stood there scowling at him with two armed palace guards beyond his shoulder. “What have you done?”

“They attacked me, Brother,” Bellerophon answered.

“Four men are dead, and one of them our royal cousin! They city is in an uproar!”

“What are you doing here?”

“You’re summoned to the bouleuterion. The council has assembled. I’m to bring you before them.”

Bellerophon looked at the two guards behind. They gripped their long spears tightly, and stared at him from beneath the brims of their boar’s tusk helmets.

“Don’t make this difficult,” Deliades said. “Please. Let’s get this over with.”

“Of course,” Bellerophon answered. “We wouldn’t want you to be late for your hunting.” And with that, he pushed past his brother and the guards, and marched down the fire-lit corridor to go to the council house outside the palace walls.

Deliades and the guards followed closely behind him, their weapons pointed at his back.

The morning was clear, clean, and bright after the storms the previous night. The air smelled of damp earth and juniper.

As Bellerophon marched out of the palace toward the bouleuterion, stray dogs ran across his path, barking at him in passing. Silent citizens stared at him with dismay, some with hate, from the dark doorways of their dwellings.

He ignored them all as he went, numb to the outside world, and yet, he marvelled at the brilliance of colour and light around him. It was as though he walked through a dream.

But his dream ceased the moment he passed beneath the soaring columns of the council house and into the crowded chamber. The seats were packed with faces, including his other brothers and sister, his cousins, the scowling, aged men of the council, and even his mother, the only one who would not meet his eyes.

Bellerophon stood in their midst, the guards at his back as Deliades took his seat beside their mother.

Then, his cousin Thoas, Belleros’ father, stood.

If there had been hatred in Belleros’ eyes when they had fought, there was now purest malice in the eyes of his father as he gazed upon his son’s killer.

“Bellerophon…” Thoas began, “you are accused of…of the murder of my son, your own cousin…Belleros.”

Bellerophon did not speak immediately. He stared into his Thoas’ eyes. “I did kill him.”

There were gasps and accusations from the seats.

“So you admit it?” Thoas said, his feigned tears quickly drying up.

“I admit that I defended myself against attack. Belleros and his three friends attacked me.”

“Lies,” Thoas said.

“At your order, Cousin.” Bellerophon pointed at Thoas.

But Thoas was unfazed. “More lies!”

Bellerophon looked from his cousin to his own family, his brothers, sister, and his mother, and none of them met his gaze. None of them wanted to be there. None of them cared. He shrugged. “It seems that there is no justice in this chamber.”

“There is always justice,” Thoas said.

“What is the council’s decision?” Bellerophon asked plainly.

“Death!” someone barked from behind Thoas.

“Death!” cried another.

In that moment, Eurymede jumped to her feet. “No!” Her eyes at last met her son’s. Then, she turned to face the council. “Please, wise elders. You cannot execute Bellerophon, the grandson of Sisyphus.”

“He is a murderer!” Thoas’ voice echoed over the chamber, the lengths of his long grey hair shuddering like his jowls.

“Please,” Eurymede said. “Not death. Let it be banishment for all time from Corinthos. The Gods will smile on you for it, for your just decision. It was well-known that Belleros hated my son.”

“But he killed them all!” Thoas said.

“Yes,” Eurymede conceded. “So let him be banished, never to return here.”

Thoas continued to stare at Eurymede before turning his eyes on Bellerophon. He could see his cousin had no ambition, that he did not care for Corinthos, nor care for the throne like his older brother Deliades did. I can deal with Deliades later, he told himself.

“The council must vote!” Thoas proclaimed. “All those in favour of execution?”

Several hands went up behind him.

“And those in favour of banishment?” Thoas asked.

Even more hands were raised, including those of Bellerophon’s own brothers.

“Banishment it is!” Thoas declared, stepping forward to face Bellerophon. “Bellerophon… You are hereby banished from Corinthos and all its lands for the remainder of your lifetime. Return here only on pain of death. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Bellerophon answered. “You’ve got your wish, Cousin.”

“My wish was to see you dead,” Thoas whispered. “But this is a fine alternative.” Thoas cleared his throat and spoke once again so all could hear. “You must be gone from Corinthos by nightfall!”

Bellerophon looked at his family then, and only his mother met his eyes. He nodded resignedly, turned, and left the chamber.

“Follow him!” Thoas said to the guards. “Make sure he leaves.”

The guards nodded, and went after Bellerophon.

That afternoon, Bellerophon stood in the courtyard with his newly-cleaned spears and shield slung over his shoulders, and his sword and dagger hanging from his belt. He carried a satchel filled with his few possessions - a cloak, some food, and a tinder box - and stood waiting to see if his family would come to bid him farewell under the watchful eyes of the guards.

None but his mother came.

Eurymede emerged from the shadows of one of the corridors off of the courtyard. She was cowled, but her eyes were dry and unfeeling.

Bellerophon looked upon her, the woman who had born him, and he felt little besides a long-simmering resentment, and a void between them that had stretched wider and wider over the years since his father’s death. He forced himself to be calm, however, for he knew that he would not see her again in that lifetime. And he could accept that.

“Thank you for staying the execution, Mother,” Bellerophon said.

She stopped a few feet from him and pushed back her cowl. “Whatever distance there may be between us, you are still my son. You are still the child whom I bore for many moons.”

“What have I ever done to you?”

She looked confused by his question, but she knew she had never been affectionate with him. In truth, she did not know why exactly, only that, unlike her other children, she had a constant feeling that he was not entirely hers to mother.

“You never did anything.”

The answer confounded him, but he simply shrugged. He had stopped trying to win her favour long ago.

“Be careful of Thoas, Mother,” Bellerophon warned. “He will stop at nothing to eliminate my brothers, as he tried to eliminate me.”

“I know,” she said, looking at the weapons he held in his hands and on his person. Then, she looked up. “My son. I know not what the Gods have in store for you, but know that you are a man of great strength and skill, and the battle upon the mountain yesterday only proves it. Wherever you go, I pray that the Gods protect you better than I have.”

“They will do with me what they will,” he answered, and he found that he cared less and less. He shrugged. “I only have to pick a road.”

“There, I can help you,” she said, stepping closer to him. She reached inside her cloak and pulled out a small bee’s wax tablet which she handed to him discreetly. “Put this in your satchel now.”

Bellerophon wanted to look at it, but he saw the guards eyeing them. “What is it?”

“A letter of introduction to King Proetus of Tiryns. I had the scribe write it out for me. Proetus knew your father, and though they were not great friends, they were not enemies either. Go there. Take the road southwest, past high-walled Mycenae, and then go south into the kingdom of Argos.”

“You are sure that is the way?” he asked, never having travelled beyond the confines of Corinthos’ borders.

“Yes. Your father and I travelled that way long ago. But do not stop at Mycenae. There are rumours of the harshness of the new Atreidai kings who rule there.”

That was it. She had nothing more to say.

Bellerophon nodded and stared at her for a few, uncomfortable moments, waiting to see if she would step closer to kiss his brow, or even lay a hand upon him in farewell, but she did nothing.

“Thank you for the letter,” he said, hoisting his shield and spears. “May the Gods give you what you want, Mother, you and my brothers and sister.”

“And may the Gods protect and guide you better than I have, my son.”

For a moment, he thought she might embrace him tightly, for once in his lifetime, but she only backed away a step as she pulled up her hood, and turned to go quietly back into the darkness of the palace.

Bellerophon glanced at the guards who had stepped closer. “I’m going,” he said as he turned. He then walked beneath the great stone lintel of the palace to join the track that led around the Acrocorinthos to the main road.

The days grew increasingly hot as time and the road wore on. It seemed to Bellerophon that the road constantly sloped downward as he went, though he knew that was not the case. The arid mountains sloped up to either side of him and the sky, a radiant and pulsing blue accented by occasional clouds, seemed to stretch into infinity all around.

In some ways, Bellerophon felt that he could breathe at last, and he wondered how it was that he had never left Corinthos, never thought of wanting more, of wanting a family of his own, of seeing the wonders he had only heard of. Truthfully, he was not sure he cared anyway, for he felt still that he was a spinning leaf on the wind. But the brief glimpse that had already been captured by his eyes had sparked a minor curiosity.

After some days upon the road in which he spotted only a few scattered shepherds upon the stark mountainsides, Bellerophon passed into the rich lands of Mycenae.

Groves of olive and orange stretched out before him, and soon patrolling groups of warriors in bronze began to appear. They were pulled by teams of stomping stallions harnessed to sharp-wheeled chariots which hovered around the fortress’ high walls like bees about a hive.

The men of Mycenae had always been lions and, if Bellerophon was honest, he was curious to meet them. But he did not need to add further accusations of murder to his deeds, and so when the patrols appeared, he hid himself deep in the olive groves until they passed.

From a distance, he could see the high, thick and warlike walls of Mycenae’s citadel, but that was enough. And so, he carried on his course, turning south toward the kingdom of Argos.

At night, he lay beneath a canopy of brilliant stars and wondered at the glittering forms those heavenly lights created. It was a script of the Gods’ making, and if anything made him feel small in his life, it was the vastness of those heavens.