Atalanta’s heart stumbled against her ribs. She’d never been complimented in a way that felt so genuine.
‘What is your name?’ she asked.
‘Hippomenes.’
‘Do you go by Hippo?’
‘I do not.’
‘That’s good. Listen, Hippomenes, I appreciate the sentiment, but I’m not worth the risk. I’m sure a hundred girls in this city would be thrilled to marry you. Do yourself a favour. Pick one of them. Turn around, leave and forget you ever saw me. I’d hate to have to kill the one courteous man in Greece.’
Hippomenes knelt at her feet. ‘It’s too late, princess. I’ve seen you now. I can’t forget you.’ He took her hand. ‘I can only pray that my love is as powerful and uncontainable as you are. When do we race?’
An electric current raced through Atalanta’s body. What was she feeling … sadness? Pity? She’d never been in love before. She didn’t know how to recognize the emotion.
She wanted to deny Hippomenes the race, but her father stood nearby, watching like a falcon. His expression was clear: You made the rules. Now you have to follow them.
Atalanta sighed. ‘Poor Hippomenes. I wish I could spare your life, but, if you are determined to die, meet me here next week, same day and time, and we will see who is faster.’
Hippomenes kissed her blood-speckled hand. ‘Next week, then.’
As he left the stadium, the crowd parted around him in awe. No man had ever got that close to Atalanta and lived. Certainly nobody had ever dared to kiss her hand without having his face surgically removed.
Hippomenes’s mind was racing. He knew he couldn’t win Atalanta without divine help. His grandfather Poseidon was awesome in many ways, but Hippomenes doubted he could assist him in winning a foot race or a woman’s heart. Maybe Poseidon could disrupt the race by causing an earthquake or a tidal wave, but that would kill thousands of people, which wasn’t the sort of collateral damage Hippomenes wanted on his wedding day.
He asked around until he got directions to the nearest shrine to Aphrodite. It sat unused and neglected at the edge of town, I suppose because the folks in Arcadia were more interested in betting on death matches than in romance.
Hippomenes tidied up the shrine. He cleaned the altar, then prayed to the goddess of love.
‘Help me, Aphrodite!’ he cried. ‘Love is the strongest force in the world. Let me prove it! I’m sure Atalanta loves me. I love her, but she worships the maiden goddess, Artemis. Show the world that you are the most powerful goddess! Help me win Atalanta’s heart by winning this race!’
A breeze swirled through the shrine, filling the air with the scent of apple blossoms. A female voice whispered in the wind. Hippomenes, my dear young man …
‘Aphrodite?’ he asked.
No, it’s Ares, chided the voice. Of course it’s Aphrodite. You’re praying in my shrine, aren’t you?
‘Right, sorry.’
I will help you win the love of Atalanta, but it will not be easy. I cannot increase your running speed. I have no control over sporting contests. Nike oversees that sort of thing, and she is such a bore.
‘I am a fast runner,’ Hippomenes promised. ‘But Atalanta is faster. Unless there is some way to slow her down –’
I have just the thing. Three pieces of baseball-sized golden fruit floated into the shrine and settled on the altar.
‘Apples?’ Hippomenes asked.
Not just any apples. These are from my sacred tree in Cyprus. I flew them here especially for you!
‘Wow, thanks.’
Shipping is free on your first order.
‘So I’m supposed to get Atalanta to eat these?’
No, no. She’ll give you a head start in the race, correct?
‘Yeah. Like twenty paces.’
As you run, whenever Atalanta gets too close, drop one of these apples in her path. She’ll stop to pick it up, which will buy you a few seconds. You’ll have three chances to slow her down. If you time it just right, you might make it across the finish line before she kills you.
Hippomenes stared at the apples. They might’ve been from a sacred tree, but they didn’t look magical. They looked like regular Golden Delicious apples, $1.29/lb. at Safeway.
‘Why would Atalanta stop to pick these up?’ he asked. ‘Does she need more fibre in her diet?’
The apples are impossible to resist, said the goddess. Just like love. Just like me. Have faith, Hippomenes.
‘I will, goddess. I will do exactly as you say.’
One more thing: when you win Atalanta’s heart, come back here and give me a proper sacrifice. Don’t forget to give me the credit.
‘Of course! Thank you!’
Hippomenes scooped up the apples and ran back to town. He had a lot of training to do before the race.
The next week, crowds packed the stadium again. The betting was heavy. King Iasus offered five-to-one odds that Hippomenes would make it halfway around the track; a thousand-to-one that he would actually win the race. The townsfolk couldn’t wait to see how far this handsome, brave young man would get before he was slaughtered.
Atalanta hadn’t slept well all week. She’d been tossing and turning, thinking about the Oracle’s prophecy, remembering how Hippomenes had held her hand. Now she paced nervously on the track. Her knives felt heavier than usual.
Hippomenes, on the other hand, looked cheerful and confident. He strode up to Atalanta with a cloth bag hanging from his belt.
‘Good morning, my princess!’
Atalanta frowned. ‘What’s in the bag?’
‘Just some fresh fruit, in case I get hungry.’
‘You can’t run with that.’
‘You run with knives. Why can’t I run with a packed lunch?’
Atalanta suspected a trick, but she’d never made any rules about what the suitors could or couldn’t carry. ‘Very well. Run with your lunch. You’ll die regardless.’
‘Oh, no,’ Hippomenes promised. ‘By the end of the day, you and I will be married. I can’t wait.’
Atalanta grunted and turned away. She was afraid she might be blushing. She walked to her starting position, twenty paces back.
King Iasus raised his arms. The crowd fell silent.
‘Ready …’ shouted the king. ‘Set … go!’
Hippomenes shot from the starting post. He’d always been a fast runner. Now his life was at stake. More than that: his true love needed him. Atalanta was trapped in this race just as much as he was. He could tell she didn’t want to kill him. He had to win for both of them.
He was a quarter of the way around the track, further than any other suitor had ever got, when he sensed Atalanta behind him.
He heard the hiss of a knife blade drawn from a leather sheath.
He thrust his hand into his pouch, grabbed the first apple and tossed it over his shoulder.
Atalanta dodged instinctively. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of gold as the apple sailed past.
What the Hades? she thought. Did Hippomenes just throw a piece of fruit at me?
She was so surprised she glanced behind her. Sure enough, a golden apple was rolling across the track. She knew she should keep running, but something about that apple lying in the dust seemed wasteful and sad. As the crowd roared in disbelief, Atalanta turned back and snatched it up.
Hippomenes was now a third of the way around the track.
Atalanta snarled in frustration. She didn’t understand what had made her grab the fruit, but she wasn’t about to lose the race because of a cheap trick. Apple in one hand, knife in the other, she poured on the speed, her feet ripping across the clay at the speed of whirring helicopter blades.
Hippomenes had just passed the halfway mark. The crowd was going wild. He couldn’t hear Atalanta, and he didn’t dare look behind him, but judging from the cheering and the chants of KILL! KILL! KILL! he guessed she was about to stab him in the back.
He tossed the second apple over his head.
Atalanta ve
ered to avoid the fruit. But the sweet smell caught her nose, pulling her off course like she’d been hooked on a fishing line. She grabbed the apple before it hit the ground, but managing two apples and a knife while running wasn’t easy, even for the world’s best hunter. She lost valuable time.
Why do I need these apples? Atalanta wondered as she raced after Hippomenes. This is stupid. I should just drop them!
But she couldn’t. The apples’ smell and warm golden colour reminded her of her happiest days – eating honeycombs with Mama Bear in the forest, watching daffodils bloom near her cave by the waterfall, chasing the Kalydonian Boar with Meleager at her side. The apples also made her wistful for something she’d never known. Watching Hippomenes run in front of her, she fell into a sort of trance, admiring his strength and speed. It wouldn’t be so bad spending her life with such a man.
Stop it! she scolded herself. Run!
She pushed herself like never before. Her feet barely touched the ground as she flew after Hippomenes. He was only fifty feet from the marker now, but she could still close the gap.
She was within striking distance when Hippomenes threw his last apple.
Atalanta had anticipated that. She told herself not to get distracted.
But as the golden fruit sped by her ear a voice seemed to whisper, Last chance. This apple is everything you are losing: companionship, joy, true love. How can you simply run past and leave it lying in the dust?
Atalanta lunged sideways. She grabbed the last apple as Hippomenes crossed the finish line.
The spectators surged to their feet, cheering with jubilation – especially those who had bet on Hippomenes at a thousand to one. Atalanta staggered up to him with three apples and a clean knife gathered in her skirt.
‘Trickery!’ she grumbled. ‘Magic!’
‘Love,’ Hippomenes corrected. ‘And I promise you my love is genuine.’
‘I don’t even like apples.’ Atalanta dumped the golden fruit on the ground. She threw her arms around Hippomenes. His kisses tasted even better than honeycombs.
That night they got married at the palace. King Iasus wasn’t in the best spirits, since the day’s betting had nearly bankrupted him, but Atalanta and Hippomenes were deliriously happy.
They spent a blissful year together. Atalanta gave birth to a son, Parthenopaeus, who later became a great warrior. (Some folks whispered that the boy’s father was actually Meleager, or maybe even the war god, Ares, but I don’t like to gossip.)
Atalanta and Hippomenes deserved to live happily ever after, don’t you think?
They didn’t.
Hippomenes was so head-over-heels in love with Atalanta that he forgot one teensy little detail: to make a sacrifice at the shrine of Aphrodite.
Sure, that was stupid. But come on! The guy was in love. He was distracted. You’d think Aphrodite of all people would understand.
But you don’t short-change the gods without paying a price.
One spring afternoon, Hippomenes and Atalanta were riding back to town after a wonderful day of hunting. They happened to stop at a small shrine to Zeus and decided to have lunch there. They were just finishing their sandwiches when their eyes met. They were suddenly overwhelmed with how much they loved one another. Up on Mount Olympus, Aphrodite was working her magic – inflaming their emotions and taking away their common sense.
‘Kiss me, you fool!’ Atalanta cried.
‘But this is a shrine to Zeus,’ Hippomenes protested weakly. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t –’
‘Who cares!’ Atalanta tackled her husband. They started rolling around and smooching right in front of the altar.
Not such a good idea.
Zeus looked down from Mount Olympus and saw two mortals desecrating his shrine with their public display of affection. ‘GROSS! THEY CAN’T DO THAT IN MY SHRINE! ONLY I CAN DO THAT IN MY SHRINE!’
He snapped his fingers. The two lovers instantly changed form. Golden fur covered their bodies. A shaggy mane ringed Hippomenes’s neck. Their nails grew into claws. Their teeth became fangs. Atalanta and Hippomenes slunk off into the woods as a pair of lions.
According to some stories, a goddess named Cybele eventually harnessed those lions to pull her chariot, but most of the time Atalanta and Hippomenes prowled the wilderness, untamable and impossible to hunt, because as former hunters they knew all the tricks.
Some of their children are still out there: lions that can out-think humans … but I wouldn’t recommend hunting them, unless you want to end up as a serving of demigod tartare.
And so the Oracle’s prophecy came true: Atalanta did lose her identity after she got married. But at least she got to go back to the Great Outdoors, and she got to stay with her husband.
It could’ve been worse.
She could’ve ended up like the hero Bellerophon.
When that guy fell, he fell hard.
Whatever It Is, Bellerophon Didn’t Do It
The Ancient Greeks called this guy Bellerophon the Blameless, which is funny, since he was always in trouble.
His real name wasn’t even Bellerophon. He got that name after his first murder … but maybe I should back up.
In the old days, every Greek city wanted its own hero. Athens had Theseus. Argos had Perseus.
The city of Corinth didn’t have jack. Their most famous native son was Sisyphus, who’d once tied up Death and got himself condemned to eternal punishment. That didn’t make him a very good poster boy for the city.
After Sisyphus got dragged to the Underworld, his son Glaucus became the king of the city. He did his best to improve its reputation. He built a new palace. He sponsored a pro soccer team. He hung colourful banners along Main Street that read CORINTH: YOUR GATEWAY TO FUN!
Glaucus also married a beautiful princess named Eurynome. He hoped to have noble sons who would some day become great heroes and put Corinth on the map.
Only problem: the gods were still angry about Sisyphus. Zeus decreed that Sisyphus’s children would never have sons of their own to carry on the family name. Zeus didn’t want any more little Sisyphuses (Sisyphi?) running around Greece trying to cheat Death.
Because of that, Glaucus was unable to sire male children. Eurynome and he tried for years with no luck. The king was always fretting about it.
One night he paced the royal bedroom, wringing his hands. ‘What can we do?’ he asked his wife. ‘How can I have an heir to the throne?’
‘Well, we could have a daughter,’ his wife suggested. ‘Let her become queen.’
‘Oh, please,’ Glaucus said. ‘I’m in no mood for jokes.’
Eurynome rolled her eyes. ‘All right, then. What if we adopted a son?’
‘The people would never accept an adopted king!’
‘Hmm.’ She gazed out of the bedroom window at the moonlit sea. ‘In that case, perhaps I should seek divine help.’
‘What do you mean?’
Eurynome smiled. ‘Leave it to me, dear.’
The queen had always been a fan of the sea god, Poseidon. Clearly, she had good taste. The next evening, she went down to the beach and prayed. ‘O great Poseidon! I have a problem! My husband cannot sire sons, but he really wants an heir. I could use your help, if you catch my meaning …’
Poseidon heard the beautiful queen asking for his assistance. He rose from the waves in all his glory, wearing only his swim trunks.
‘Greetings, Eurynome,’ said the lord of the sea. ‘You want to have a son? Sure. I can help you out.’
That’s my dad. Always thinking of the greater good.
Nine months later, Eurynome gave birth to a healthy baby boy. She named him Hipponous, because we don’t already have enough people named Hippo in this book.
King Glaucus was delighted! He was sure the boy was his. The queen had prayed for a miracle. The gods had answered. Glaucus wasn’t going to question his good fortune. The fact that his new son looked exactly like the mosaic portraits of Poseidon in the local temple was simply a coincidence.
&nbs
p; As Hipponous grew, he got a reputation for being reckless. He was always in the wrong place at the wrong time. Once, he and his friends were roasting marshmallows at the royal hearth when he spilled too much oil on the fire and burned down the dining hall.
‘It was an accident!’ the prince wailed.
Another time he inadvertently goosed a sacrificial bull with his dagger and caused a stampede through the temple.
‘It wasn’t my fault!’ he cried.
A few weeks later he was sitting on the royal docks, absently sawing on a rope because he was bored, when the rope snapped and his father’s finest ship sailed out to sea with no crew.
‘I didn’t do it!’ he said.
The prince’s most famous oopsie: one year at his parents’ New Year’s Eve party he and his friends were throwing daggers at a bale of hay, trying to hit a bull’s-eye, when somebody yelled, ‘Hey, Hipponous!’
The prince turned and threw his dagger at the same time, because he wasn’t very coordinated. His dagger hit a guy named Belleros in the chest, killing him instantly.
‘It was an accident!’ Hipponous sobbed.
Everybody agreed the death was not intentional. Nobody had liked Belleros very much anyway, so Hipponous didn’t get into trouble. But people began calling the prince Bellerophon, which means the killer of Belleros. The nickname stuck.
Imagine living like that. You kill some dude named Joe. For the rest of your life, you have to answer to ‘I Killed Joe’. Then you earn a title like ‘the Blameless’, so your name is basically ‘I Killed Joe, But It Wasn’t My Fault’.
The final straw came when Bellerophon was a teenager. By that time he had a little brother named Deliades. How did the royal couple have another son? Maybe Zeus decided to lift the curse. Or maybe Poseidon was still visiting the queen out of a sense of civic duty. Whatever the case, Bellerophon was teaching Deliades how to fight with a sword one afternoon. (I know. Terrible idea.)
In the middle of combat, Bellerophon said, ‘Okay, Deliades, I’m going to attack on your right. Block the strike!’