Bellerophon: Son of Poseidon

By Cathleen Townsend

A single mistake can change a life forever.

Lero once had everything a man could want. The son of Poseidon, he was a gift from the gods to the queen of Corinth. But in one moment of foolish pride he lost everything—his family, his home, and the city he'd grown up expecting to rule.

Banished, Lero flees to Ethra, his betrothed, but the plans they'd made for a life together lay in ruins. With the coffers of Corinth no longer at his disposal, Lero now needs enough wealth to provide a home—and to hire warriors to defend it. His only option is to use his skills in the bloody art of war, selling his sword for the hope of a future.

King Proteus of Tiryns offers Lero that chance, but it doesn't come free. Proteus maintains power with fear, and the intrigue in his court soon has Lero firmly in his grasp. Lero spends his days killing men he doesn't hate for a king he can't respect. And if he doesn't find a way to escape soon, it's likely the next life Proteus claims will be Lero's own.

But trying to fight his way free may cost Lero everything he's been fighting for…

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cathleen Townsend
• Release date: Mar 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781540181473

Book preview

Prologue

Perseus strode from the cave into the autumn sunlight at the cliff’s edge, the head of Medusa clutched in his hand. A grim smile lit his face, but none dared gaze upon him—even the gods could be turned to stone by the gorgon’s glassy stare. The snakes that formed Medusa’s hair had ceased their hissing, but their venom still dripped onto the ground. Each drop landed with a splat, like fat falling onto a hot fire.

Two hooded figures slipped behind him and threaded their way through the twisted passages with urgent steps. Now that the caverns were no longer deadly, they had an errand that would not wait.

A lone sunbeam beat down on Medusa’s monstrous corpse and brought their progress to a halt. The gory remains showed no sign of the woman it had once been—Athena’s curse had seen to that. It was now bigger than five men, and its scaly belly swelled huge with pregnancy.

He would never have caught her otherwise, Poseidon murmured with mingled regret and admiration.

Athena flashed him a warning glance as she dropped her hood and threw back her cloak, her gray eyes narrowing with sudden anger. Mortals prayed to her for wisdom, not mercy, and those who trifled with her regretted it—to which the mute corpse on the ground gave eloquent testimony.

This day’s errand with the sea god was a temporary truce, nothing more.

She dropped her journey sack and drew her sword, the bronze blade scraping against the scabbard. Her breastplate speckled with blood as she cut into the body—just enough to part the walls of the monster’s womb and no more. Then she wiped the blade before sheathing it and pulled an elegant woven blanket from her pack.

Will you deliver your sons, great Poseidon? she asked, one eyebrow raised in challenge.

The god’s sea-green eyes betrayed a flicker of distaste, but he reached inside the slain monster and withdrew a wriggling babe whose head was covered in brown curls. Poseidon blew a gentle breath into his face, and the child gasped. He opened his eyes, a mirror image of his father’s.

Are you still determined to have this one, Athena? the sea god asked. The baby’s hands grasped his father’s dark beard, and Poseidon ran a finger along the child’s cheek.

The Queen of Corinth has offered prayer and sacrifice these last ten years, begging for a son. A smile without mirth came and went on Athena’s face as she held out the blanket. Such piety should be rewarded. If the seas continue to be kind to my mariners, this will settle your debt.

Poseidon lay the child carefully in her arms and raised a hand in blessing. The seas will be kind to him as well.

Then he reached into the monster again and pulled forth not a child, but a foal. The father of horses gazed in approval at the white colt and stood him on his legs. They wobbled, but every line of his body was perfect. Even Athena was moved, and she reached into her pack for a cloth so Poseidon could dry the colt’s silvery mane and tail.

The foal took an eager step forward, looking into his father’s face, as his unfledged wings flapped in joy.

Chapter One

Prince Bellerophon, I ask a boon.

Lero, standing to the left of the king’s throne, nodded and resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder at his father, King Glaucas.

The supplicant swept a bow and drew himself to his full height, refusing to be dwarfed by the limestone pillars of the throne room. He was a faithful follower of the king, although rarely seen in court. His linen chiton was of good quality and draped to fall elegantly to the floor, but his only adornment was a pair of copper bracelets.

Prince, I ask for wheat from the king’s stores. If we can sow another crop in time, the ransom we paid the Athenians will not devastate my people. Though his bearing was proud, the noble kept his eyes down, paying a great deal of attention to the patterns in the floor mosaics.

Lero strove to keep his pity from his face. The man had probably never needed to ask for anything before, yet his livelihood had been taken through no fault of his own. Warfare, with its frequent ransom demands, was making beggars of even careful men.

Lero glanced over his shoulder, mouthing, Yes?

King Glaucas nodded, and Lero motioned the scribe over. I am pressing my seal to a tablet allowing you one hundred kyathoi of grain.

My grateful thanks, Prince Bellerophon. The noble bowed and left, the last in the day’s audience.

Lero’s gaze followed the man as he strode over the interweaving vines of the floor mosaics, past the frescoes of gods and goddesses that ornamented the throne room. Shorn of its visitors, the chamber echoed every small noise, and when Lero cleared his throat, the room magnified the sound and thrust it back at him.

He turned, and his eyes sought the king’s. I know you don’t like to disperse stores, but this seemed like a way to avoid distributing even more of them later.

King Glaucas shifted on the carved throne and adjusted a fold in his rich cloak of purple and indigo. I agree. And we may be able to increase his tax later to compensate.

Lero exhaled in relief. I’ve been wanting to talk to you, Father, about the possibility of adding more wells to the city.

But his father’s attention shifted as Prince Dexios strode into the throne room. He stood as tall as Lero, for all that his twenty summers were one shy of his elder brother’s, and he wore a casual tunic rather than the floor-length chiton appropriate for court. Lero fixed his gaze on the fresco of Athena on the wall opposite. Why did Dex have to come here? He had no interest in running the city.

Dex’s eyes flickered briefly over Lero before he turned his charming smile to the king. Finished with all the deadly dull business, Father? I want you to see my new horse. You paid for him, after all, and he’s a real beauty.

King Glaucas shrugged off his cloak and stood. Excellent. Is it by chance a bay? I’ve been looking for another stallion for my bay mare.

Dex swept a florid bow. Would I choose anything else? Come see, Father. It’ll be good for you to get outside and feel the wind on your face.

Glaucas threw an arm around Dex’s shoulders, and they headed for the door, Dex praising the fine points of his new stallion. Lero turned to the scribe. Is there any other business to deal with today?

Only a few more items which require your seal, Prince, he replied. We’ll have you out on the practice field in no time.

Lero stretched his arms over his head and ran a weary eye over the stack of account tablets. Was it merely his unknown parentage that caused his father to keep his distance? Lero had asked about that numerous times, but he’d received only a curt reply that he was a gift from Athena. As far as King Glaucas was concerned, the subject was closed.

***

Lero! Theron’s voice held no deference whatsoever; the grizzled warrior’s word was law in the training yard.

Lero snapped his attention to the weapons master, taking in the circle of warriors that had formed around the dirt practice ring. He laid down his bow and strode to take his place among them.

Now that Lero has been kind enough to join us, will he also step forward to meet his challenger? Theron indicated a youth of perhaps fifteen, clad in the short tunic they all wore for training.

Lero glanced at the rangy figure and suppressed a smile when he caught a tell-tale shiver. It was no small thing to declare yourself ready to set aside a boy’s wooden weapons and practice with the men. If nothing else, it meant the new warrior was in for a demanding day. There was no way he could face all thirty-odd opponents without bruises and training cuts—Lero’s arm still bore a scar from his own welcome. Their bronze practice swords were not sharpened for battle, but a determined warrior could still damage his opponent.

Lero scanned the surrounding warriors—his current adversary was hardly the only threat. The men were all watching eagerly, and there were many opportunities for them to hinder or help. Their jeering comments alone would likely intimidate the would-be warrior in front of him. And they would all enjoy watching their prince fall to the new lad, through mischance or overconfidence. It would take weeks to live it down.

Lero stabbed toward the lad’s chest, an easy enough blow for his opponent to catch on the ox-hide shield. He drew the youngster out, keeping up a respectable pace, but not the true ferocity of combat. His sword smacked away the lad’s cut toward his face, and Lero grinned as he shifted his shield to give the youth an opening. If the young warrior had spirit, he’d be sure to take it. The lad’s thrust came in low, a simple enough blow to deflect to the ground. Then Lero shoved with his shield and the boy stumbled, thrown off-balance. Lero stepped forward and spun, delivering a stinging slap to the lad’s buttocks with the flat of the bronze sword. There, nothing damaged except the stripling’s pride. Lero swept a grand bow.

Theron rolled his eyes at the resulting laughter. Now that Lero has reduced training to a farce... He gestured to the next warrior in the circle to take Lero’s place.

Prince Dexios stepped forward, an easy grin creasing his handsome face and laughter in his dark eyes. The lad gulped and shifted his grip.

Lero bent and scooped up a handful of sand as a potential distraction, to give the youth a chance if he could. Besides, getting taken down a notch would be good for Dex. It would be a service to all humanity.

Let’s not make a game of this, Dexios, Theron barked.

Dex’s attack was furious, enough to make any other potential warriors think twice before picking up a bronze sword. The poor lad was barely holding up.

Lero waited for an opening and threw his sand. It caught Dex’s right eye, and as Dex blinked it away, the youth got a lucky cut through to Dex’s arm.

Dexios bellowed in rage and plunged his bronze sword into the boy’s thigh.

"Prince Dexios, that is not a training cut," snapped Theron as he rushed to the stricken lad’s side.

Another boy ran up with the basket of linen scraps, and Theron pressed one into the stripling’s thigh. The wound wasn’t spurting enough to bleed him out, but garbled moans escaped the wounded youth’s clenched jaws. Dex had gone too far this time.

Theron seemed to agree. "I’ll talk to you when I get back, Prince. Unless you do me a favor and leave Corinth before I return."  He and another warrior supported the wounded lad between them, to carry him to the healers.

Lero picked up his shield. Well, Dex, since Theron isn’t here to do it, I suppose it falls to me. Come, take your lesson like a warrior. He drew his sword and stood in the training circle.

Dexios laughed as he advanced, his sword still bloody. You, give me lessons? You can’t even figure out who your mother is.

Lero’s eyes narrowed. Oh, so witty, little brother. That won’t help you here. He’d put Dex on the ground more times than he could count. Wordplay counted for nothing in training.

Father regrets naming you as his heir, you know. Dex’s cut toward Lero’s face was fast, but not fast enough. Lero knocked it aside and countered with a scratch to Dex’s sword arm.

You’ll pay for that, Dex growled as he slashed at Lero’s face again.

Lero feinted upward, and then he sliced Dex a shallow cut on his thigh. Let him feel some of the pain he’d given that boy.

Dex screamed and struck out with his shield. Lero danced back from the blow. Good. Dex got sloppy when he was mad. Lero followed with a punishing series, sword and shield working together to force his brother to the edge of the training circle. Then he stopped to let Dex get his wind back. No point in making his punishment short.

One of Dex’s cronies tossed him a linen bandage, and the younger prince wrapped it tightly around his thigh. When he straightened, animosity glittered in his eyes. Do you really believe anyone’s fooled by that stupid story that you came from the gods? A brothel is more likely.

Lero’s smile was a flash of bared teeth. Well, it was good enough for Father. And when I’m king, you might just find yourself going on impossible quests to prove your valor. There are still plenty of monsters left in the world.

Why don’t you go instead? Dex countered. Save us all from your pompous presence and prove you’re worthy of the throne in one fell swoop.

And then you can finally make it through a day without getting beaten by me. Lero shook his head. If Dex could talk, he could fight. Lero charged forward, feinted left, and then brought his sword down on Dex’s helm, hard enough to set his ears ringing.

Prince Dexios staggered back. He caught his balance, teetering on his heels, and then rushed forward like a maddened bull. Lero sidestepped and punched Dex in the jaw with the hilt of his sword.

Dex spat blood. That’s not good enough to save you from this. He raised his sword for an overhand cut.

That was foolish—Dex’s shield was too far from center. Lero flung his own shield up to absorb the blow before it had any power, and then he rammed his shield into his brother’s face. Dex staggered back, gasping, and Lero leaped to the side and spun again. The slap with the flat of the sword was harder this time. The watching circle roared with laughter.

Lero swept into another bow, but the collective gasp had him spinning with his sword out before he’d even finished standing up.

And Prince Dexios, his sword raised high above his head, ran straight onto the blade.

Chapter Two

Lero’s gaze wandered dully over the paved market square. A line of women waited by the well, gossiping. Possibly about him.

Every stall was familiar. The two old sisters who sold fish, right next to the potter who decorated his wares with exquisite figures of heroes. And now Lero didn’t know if he’d ever see them again. He was exiled from the city that only this morning he was destined to rule.

He’d wanted to plead with his father, ask him to try to understand what had happened. What he’d wanted most was for some sign that the king still loved him as a son. But the man who’d faced him from the throne had put fatherhood aside. Donned in formal robes, King Glaucas’s gaze was icy as he regarded his son’s killer. He toyed with a jeweled dagger.

Father, it was an accident, Lero pleaded. I didn’t mean─

Didn’t mean to slay your own brother? The king’s voice was distant, as if coming from a mountaintop rather than a throne. So, your sword ended up in him by mistake?

The betrayed shock on Dex’s face would haunt Lero’s dreams. Father, if you would just listen─

I have listened, the king replied. "Listened to your mother’s pleas for mercy, mercy which you did not show her own son. Listened to her fears that we would displease the gods by giving their gift the execution he so justly deserves. Listened and heard only silence, where this morning there was the voice of my son.

Go. I will not risk Kadmos, my only remaining son. Take your belongings and leave. None will hinder you if you are gone by nightfall. But do not show yourself in Corinth again, not unless you can prove that you truly come from the gods. If you stay, I will strike your head from your shoulders myself.

Lero bowed his head. What right did he have to ask anything of the king? Dex was dead, and by Lero’s hand. He bowed low, taking in the pillars of stone, the frescoes on the walls, and the exquisite floor mosaics for the last time. His eyes filled with tears as he turned away.

His mother had been waiting for him in his quarters. Her hair was dressed with silver and she wore rich robes, but her eyes were red and swollen from weeping. She gestured to a servant, who handed him a heavy purse. The stable master has orders to give you any horses you wish, she said. More servants entered, bearing filled packs. I had your clothing readied as well. It is not wise to linger until nightfall, Lero.

Lero kissed his mother’s cheek before meeting her gaze. I did not mean any harm to Dex, Mother. I swear it.

Tears spilled down her cheek as she nodded, and he reached forward and smoothed one away with his thumb. Then he bowed low, the formal homage of a subject to his monarch, to give her enough pride to leave the room without more weeping.

He’d taken his mother at her word and had three of the best horses readied in addition to his own stallion. He’d also brought food from the kitchens, but he halted at the old women’s stall anyway. Seeing they had his favorite fried squid wrapped in grape leaves, he bought enough to fill the best jar the potter had for sale.

He hadn’t expected that riding out of the city would hurt as much as leaving the palace. But as he passed through Corinth’s gates, the helmeted warriors might as well have slammed them shut behind him. He could never come home again.

Lero rode five miles northeast, keeping within sight of the waves crashing onto the rocky beach. Apollo’s sun sank beneath the waves, gilding the scrubby bushes and grasses that grew near to the sand. Lero’s supper was eaten silently, his only companion the crackling fire.

Only this morning he had a life filled with purpose. He was the heir to the throne of Corinth, a proud city that guarded the narrow neck of land connecting the Peloponnesus peninsula to the mainland. This evening, he was nothing. No one. He had no home or significance. No family—and he would never see Dex again, not this side of Hades.

Lady Athena, what should I do? he cried out. I did not mean to slay my brother.

The goddess made no answer, not that he expected one. Although if there were ever a time when he could have used help from Olympus, it was now.

He forced himself to take stock of his situation. He had his armor, although he had left his chariot behind. It would be useless on the narrow mountain roads. His horse, Tarchon, was the finest he’d ever seen, and his pack horses were the best chargers in the stable, other than the king’s own. He had food for several days and fine garments worthy of a prince. He must find a way to turn this into a future worth living.

He knew where he wanted to go—Megara, to plead his case to his betrothed. Ethra with all her dainty grace—surely she had meant the love she’d professed for him. Her blue eyes had been shining with joy when he’d reached for her hands during their betrothal. And those kisses in the garden afterward, those could not have been feigned. Nor all her letters since, full of how she and her women had been weaving rugs and blankets for their home. But that was when he’d been a prince, one who would inherit a city. Before he was a kinslayer. And even if Ethra still wanted him, her father would not view Lero’s changed circumstances with favor.

He told himself sternly that he was a warrior, trained to face fear. He would face this as well. If his life were to be reduced to nothing but survival, it was better not to hold onto false hope.

But as he fell asleep, he allowed himself to picture Ethra’s face, softened by love and kissed by moonlight. It might be the last night he could enjoy such thoughts.

Chapter Three

The inn at Megara was shabby around the edges, but Lero didn’t plan to stay long. He bathed and checked his clothing carefully. He’d paid a woman to iron the wrinkles from his linen chiton, and it was pinned at the shoulder with a golden brooch. His sandals had been cleaned and his hair combed. Ethra had replied to his messenger with an invitation to meet at her father’s palace, and now that the time had come, fear threatened to unman him. Ethra could no longer look forward to being queen in Corinth. Many women would not wish to honor a betrothal to a man who no longer had a title or even a home to offer. But he didn’t want her forced only by her sworn word—it would be a hollow travesty unless she still wanted him.

He was greeted by a servant and shown to the women’s work chamber. Frescoes of garden scenes graced the walls, and the mosaic floor held simple patterns in muted colors. Six other women wove threads on looms in the center.

Lero! Ethra rose from her stool and hastened to greet him, her floor-length chiton sweeping gracefully behind her. Her brunette hair was carefully dressed, with golden bands sweeping it up off her neck, and her warm brown eyes shone in welcome as she took his hands. It is an unexpected pleasure to see you so soon.

The corners of Lero’s mouth turned up. Enjoy the moment. Indeed. No man would count such a journey wasted. A sight as lovely as you is worth a much longer one.

Ethra’s answering smile looked delighted, and she pulled him off to the side, to a stone table laid with olives, wine, and bread.