THE LABOURS OF THESEUS
1. P ERIPHETES Theseus had hardly been travelling more than an hour before he found his path blocked by a lumbering, shuffling one-eyed giant wielding an enormous club. Theseus knew exactly who this must be: PERIPHETES, a.k.a. CORYNETES, the ‘club man’. ‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ wheezed the Cyclops. ‘A nice soft head for Crusher, my club. He’s made of bronze, you know. My father is a smith. The smith of smiths my father is.’ ‘Yes, we all know you claim to be a son of Hephaestus,’ said Theseus, affecting boredom. ‘People have fallen for your story because you are ugly and lame. But I cannot believe that an Olympian god would ever have so stupid a child.’ ‘Oh, stupid am I?’ ‘Incredibly so. Claiming that your club is bronze. Who sold it to you? Anyone can see that it’s oak.’ ‘I made him myself!’ hooted Periphetes in outrage. ‘He is not oak! Would an oaken club be so heavy?’ ‘You say it’s heavy, but I can see you swinging it from one hand to the other as easily as if it were made of feathers.’ ‘That’s because I’m strong, cretin! You try. I bet you can’t even hold it.’ ‘Oh my, yes, it is heavy,’ said Theseus, taking it. His hand dropped down almost to the ground, as if unable to take the weight. ‘And I can feel the cold hardness of the bronze.’ ‘See!’ ‘Nice … balance … to it!’ said Theseus suddenly lifting it high and sweeping it round. On the word ‘balance’ it met Periphetes’ thigh-bone with a satisfying crunch. The giant fell with a howl of pain. ‘I … think … I … like … this … club!’ said Theseus, crashing it down on Periphetes’ skull with six splintering blows. In the rocks to the side of the road Theseus found the robber’s hideout. A hoard of gold, silver and stolen valuables had been laid neatly and carefully on the ground in a perfect semicircle around a towering shrine of crushed skulls. Theseus unearthed a leather bag and filled it with the treasure. He felt he had to keep the club too. Heracles always carried a club, so should he.
2. S INIS Further north, the road swung east along the Isthmus of Corinth. As Theseus walked, enjoying the sun on his face and the sea glittering to his right, he encountered plenty of friendly travellers. To those in need he gave coins and precious objects from his satchel. Perhaps the talk of terrifying brigands on this road is exaggerated, he thought to himself. And just as he had decided that this must be the case, he came to a rise in the ground where he saw a man standing between two trees. ‘What’s in that bag, boy?’ ‘That is my affair,’ said Theseus. ‘Oh! Oh, it’s “your affair”, is it? Well, well. I have a special way of dealing with snotty little runts of the litter like you. See these two trees?’ Theseus knew at once this must be SINIS PITYOCAMPTES, Sinis the Pine Bender. Stories of this strange and terrible man were told all around the Peloponnese. He would tie travellers between two pine trees that, with his great strength, he could bend down. After tormenting his victims for a while, Sinis would release his hold on the trees which would would straighten up, pulling the poor travellers apart. A cruel, horrible death. A cruel horrible man. ‘I’ll put down my club,’ said Theseus. ‘I’ll put down my sword and I’ll put down my satchel. Because I want to kneel before your greatness.’ ‘How’s that?’ ‘I’ve been travelling four days on this road and I hear nothing but tales of the marvellous Sinis Pityocamptes.’ ‘Yes, well, that’s fine, but don’t go weird on me.’ ‘Oh gods, I am not worthy to meet so fine a man, so pure a hero.’ Theseus prostrated himself on the grass. ‘Look, just come here, will you!’ ‘I cannot move, I am awestruck. Sinis the Great. Sinis the Marvellous. Sinis the Magnificent. Bender of Pines. Mender of Men.’ ‘You’re soft in the head, you are,’ said Sinis, advancing. ‘Come on, get up.’ But somehow, in the ensuing confusion Theseus and Sinis managed to swap positions. Now Sinis was spread-eagled out on the ground, with Theseus above him, pinning him down. ‘Come, great Sinis. It is not fair that you have given so much pleasure to so many, but received none yourself.’ ‘Let me go!’ ‘No, my lord,’ said Theseus, dragging Sinis by his wrist through the grass, like a child pulling a toy cart. ‘You have done such kindness to so many strangers without any thought for yourself. Now, if I attach your arm to this tree and pull it down like so …’ Sinis sobbed, blubbed and begged as Theseus set to work. ‘Your modesty does you nothing but credit, Sinis,’ he said, reaching for a second pine, ‘but surely it is only right the world should have not one of you, but two.’ ‘I beg you, I beg you. There is treasure buried beneath those bushes. Take it, take it all.’ Theseus now held both pine trees firmly in his grip. ‘You squeal and gibber like a pig, and I note that you wet yourself like a frightened child,’ he said, suddenly very stern. ‘But what mercy did you ever show your terrified victims?’ ‘I’m sorry, truly sorry.’ Theseus thought for a while. ‘Hm. I can see that you truly are. I’ll just go and see if you are telling the truth about your treasure and if you are I’ll spare you.’ ‘Yes, yes! But don’t let go, don’t …’ ‘Let’s see, your treasure if over here, you say?’ Theseus stepped back, releasing his hold. The pines whipped apart, tearing Sinis in two as they shot upright, releasing a shower of needles from their shivering branches. ‘Oops. Clumsy me,’ said Theseus. Theseus only left the place after he had unearthed the treasure and chopped down both the trees with his sword. He lit a fire of pinewood and sent the sweet-smelling smoke in gratitude up to the gods.
3. T HE C ROMMYONIAN S OW Theseus resumed his journey along the Isthmus road as it hugged the coast. Before long he was approaching the village of Crommyon, midway between Corinth and the city of Megara. He was already nearer Athens than Troezen. Increasingly travellers hurrying south, or farmers labouring nervously in the fields, paused briefly to warn Theseus of a fearsome creature ravaging the land, which they called the CROMMYONIAN SOW. From the stories he was told, Theseus wasn’t sure whether the Crommyonian Sow was a real snorting, squealing, snuffling, living pig, or a malicious and murderous old woman going by the name of PHAEA. Some swore they had seen a grey hag transform herself into a pig. Others maintained that Phaea was simply the pig’s keeper. Theseus never saw any grey old hag, but he did encounter a large and aggressive wild pig. The great bronze club was more than a match for it and it was not long before the gods were treated to something even more delicious than fragrant pine smoke – the aroma of freshly roast bacon.fn1
4. S CIRON Further along the coast road, between Megara and Eleusis, there lurked a notorious outlaw called SCIRON or Sceiron. He had been there so long that the cliffs over the bay at that point were known as the Scironian Rocks. Far below them, in the blue waters of the Saronic Gulf, a giant turtle swam about in impatient circles. Sciron and the turtle had an interesting and disturbing relationship. Sciron’s modus operandi was to force travellers to wash his feet, right on the cliff’s edge. The unwitting victims would have their backs to the sea and, when they knelt down to start washing, he would give a great kick and they would tumble down into the waters below, where the greedy turtle was waiting for them, jaws open. ‘No, no, no, no, no!’ said Theseus, after Sciron had leapt out from behind a tree and, at swordpoint, told him to wash his feet. ‘They’re disgusting. I’m not touching those.’ ‘Would you rather be run through with a sword?’ said Sciron. ‘Well, no,’ conceded Theseus. ‘But where’s the bowl of hot water? Where are the scented oils? Where’s the goatskin flannel? If I’m going to clean your feet, I may as well do it properly.’ With a sigh of impatience, Sciron – his sword pointing at Theseus all the time – showed him where he kept all the implements and artefacts necessary for the perfect footbath. Theseus insisted on boiling water in a copper bowl that he found. ‘After all,’ he said cheerfully, ‘if a thing’s worth doing, it’s worth doing properly.’ ‘Now go over yonder,’ growled Sciron, when Theseus at last pronounced that he was satisfied. ‘I’ll sit on this stool, you squat down there.’ ‘It’s very close to the edge,’ said Theseus doubtfully. ‘I like to look out to sea when I’m having my feet washed. No more talking, let’s just get on, shall we?’ Theseus carried the bowl of steaming water carefully towards the spot. He could feel Sciron’s swordpoint in the small of his back, urging him on. ‘Right, so … here?’ ‘Closer to the edge.’ ‘Here?’ ‘Closer still.’ ‘Goodness, that’s steep – whoah!’ Theseus tripped and stumbled forward. Free of the swordpoint against his skin, he turned in an instant and hurled the scalding contents of the bowl into Sciron’s face. The outlaw gave one short scream from the pain and shock, then – after a sudden shove from Theseus – he gave a second longer scream as he tottered wildly on the cliff edge before tumbling down into the blue, blue sea. Theseus looked down and saw the creamy wake of a giant turtle closing in on the thrashing form.