The Song of Orpheus (6 page)

Anyway, kings who rule by military might usually want to make sure that their daughters marry men who are good fighters. Perhaps that’s why so many myths and fairy tales are about a young man who has to perform a valiant deed in order to gain a princess’s hand in marriage. Winning a challenge would show both strength and courage, proving that the man was worthy of his bride and could protect her and their children.

In these stories, the woman doesn’t usually get involved in the challenge, but in this one, a girl changed the outcome of the contest.

King Sithon of Thrace had two daughters, Pallene and Rhoeteia. He was determined that his girls should marry men who were strong and brave, so when Pallene, the older girl, reached marriageable age, Sithon declared that he would give her only to a man who could beat him in a swordfight. That way, he would be assured that his daughter’s husband was strong enough to protect her, their family, and their kingdom.

Potential grooms came to Thrace from all over the Greek world. Some of these men were eager to marry this intelligent, beautiful girl from a powerful family, while others were more interested in showing off what great swordsmen they were. One after another, all of them died at the king’s hands.

Pallene grew more and more eager to leave home and start her own life. She couldn’t inherit the kingdom; women weren’t allowed to rule countries in those days. She was frightened of her stern father, and she hardly knew her mother, who was a nymph and spent most of her time in the woods. Her closest companions were her sister and the palace guard who had taken care of the princesses since they were small. He loved them as if they were his own daughters, and they loved and trusted him.

King Sithon eventually became too old for combat, and suitors stopped coming to the palace. No warrior wanted to win a fight only to hear people say that if Sithon had been younger, the contender would certainly have lost. So despite the attraction of the princesses and the large kingdom, potential husbands stayed away.

But one day, two suitors, Dryas and Kleitos, unexpectedly appeared at the palace and presented themselves to fight for Pallene’s hand. King Sithon felt he was nearing the end of his days, and besides, he could use a young man in the family to help control his kingdom. So he was finally ready to allow someone to become his son-in-law.

“Never fear,” he told the two men. “You won’t have to feel the shame of fighting an old man. I have a new plan, one that will give honor to the victor. I will unveil it at dinner tonight.”

Pallene and her sister, who had given up on ever marrying, were thrilled at the news of the arrival of these suitors. Rhoeteia helped Pallene dress for dinner with particular care—twining fresh flowers in her dark hair, using the burnt end of a twig to line her eyes with charcoal—as they tried to guess their father’s plan.

That night, they entered the banquet hall under the watchful eyes of their parents and their beloved guard. Quietly, they took their places at the women’s table. As musicians played pipes and stringed instruments, a juggler and an acrobat performed, and dogs yipped and fought over scraps, the girls discussed the strangers.

“They’re both handsome,” Rhoeteia said.

Pallene agreed, but her eye had been caught by Kleitos. He
was
good-looking, but more than that, he listened courteously when others spoke, and when the performers circulated among the diners with their bowls, he generously gave them large helpings off his plate.

“I like that one,” Pallene said. “The shorter one, with the light hair.”

Eros, the god of love, happened to be there with a quiver full of the golden arrows he used to make people fall in love. Being in a good mood, he decided to help the princess, so he shot two of his golden arrows: one into Pallene’s heart and the other into the heart of Kleitos, just as he glanced at Pallene. Both fell instantly in love.

When King Sithon stood, the room fell silent. “Honored guests,” he began, “here we have two suitors for the hand of my daughter Pallene. I am an old man—” He waited modestly until the cries of “No, no!” and “You’re still in your prime!” died down. “It’s time for the girl to be married, but her husband must be worthy of her.” He turned to Dryas and Kleitos. “In three days, the two of you will fight one another from chariots. Whoever wins will become my son-in-law. Whoever loses,” he looked around the room, “will die.” The king sat down as low murmurs and buzzing conversation rose around him.

Pallene had lost her appetite. A strong, tall man would stand the best chance of winning such a swordfight, and Kleitos was smaller than Dryas. She knew that she could not change her father’s mind once he had made a decision. All she could do was pray that somehow Kleitos would be victorious. And over the next few days, the more Pallene saw of the two, the more she liked Kleitos—and the less she liked Dryas.

The night before the chariot race, Pallene didn’t sleep at all. How could she bear it if Dryas won the fight? Toward morning, she wandered into the garden. The stars moved overhead, and when dawn broke in the east, she sat on a stone bench and sobbed quietly.

“What’s wrong, princess?” The familiar voice of her old guard broke in on Pallene’s thoughts. At first, she was reluctant to confide in him, but he managed to coax the truth from her. “You’re sure you wish to marry this man?” he asked.

“Oh, yes.” She started to cry again.

The guard stood up. “I’ll see to it.” His voice was firm. “Don’t worry. If this is the man you want to marry, you will marry him. Just leave it to me.” He hesitated. “It will take a little money.”

“Whatever you need.” Pallene handed him the pouch of coins she wore around her waist. She didn’t care what his plan was, as long as Kleitos won. “If it’s not enough, just tell me.”

The guard hurried away, and Pallene went to the field of combat. People had been gathering since the night before to get a good view of the contest, and now they were shouting and cheering. The princess climbed up to the royal seats, where her mother and sister awaited her. She was eager to learn what the guard’s plan was, but frightened at the same time. What if it didn’t work? How could she bear to see Kleitos killed?

When King Sithon strode onto the sandy field, leading a white bull, the crowd fell silent. The king recited a prayer to the gods, dedicating this fight to them and begging them to let the more worthy man win. Then he drew his gleaming knife across the bull’s throat, spilling its blood over the high stone altar and onto the sand as an offering to the gods.

Pallene looked around anxiously but didn’t see the guard anywhere. Had he failed her? She shuddered. “What is it, sister?” Rhoeteia asked. Pallene shook her head. She wished no harm to Dryas, but she couldn’t stand the thought that Kleitos’s blood would probably be spilled on that sand in a few short minutes.

Sithon joined his wife and daughters in the stands, and the spectators rose to their feet, cheering wildly, as two chariots appeared at opposite ends of the field. The opponents climbed in behind their drivers, each clutching his sword in one hand and his shield in the other. Then the crowd fell silent. Their bronze helmets covered most of the fighters’ faces, but everyone could sense their grim determination.

When Sithon shouted, “Go!” the drivers slapped their reins on the horses’ backs, and the animals took off. The spectators shouted themselves hoarse with excitement as the horses picked up speed, tearing across the field.

All of a sudden, one of the huge wheels on Dryas’s chariot began wobbling dangerously. But Dryas’s driver, instead of trying to slow the horses, dropped the reins and held onto the edge of the vehicle with both hands, as though aware that something terrible was about to happen. Then he jumped out, leaving Dryas alone in the chariot. Dryas flung his sword and shield away and grabbed desperately at the reins to try to stop the horses.

Pallene leaped to her feet in horror, her hand at her throat. Kleitos shouted at his own driver to stop, but before the man could react, Dryas’s chariot crashed onto its side, flinging its passenger onto the ground. Kleitos instantly jumped down and stabbed his rival, killing him.

It all happened so fast that Pallene was bewildered. Kleitos had won and that thrilled her, but why hadn’t Dryas’s driver checked his chariot to make sure it was sound before they climbed into it? Why had he jumped out instead of reining in the horses as soon as the wheel started to wobble?

The crowd ran to congratulate Kleitos and to carry Dryas’s corpse off the field. Preparing to burn his body in a magnificent ceremony, they built a huge funeral pyre. A man who had fallen in such a contest should be honored.

Pallene tried to rejoice at Kleitos’s victory, but she couldn’t. Her feeling of dread grew when she saw two men walk over to the broken chariot and crouch down next to the wheel. They pointed at something and spoke in excited tones.

Then one of the men ran to where Pallene stood with her family and knelt before her father. “Sir,” he said, “someone has tampered with that chariot.”

“Tampered?” Sithon asked sharply. “What do you mean?”

“The pins that were supposed to hold the wheel to the axle—they’re not there. Someone took them out. The wheel jolted loose as soon as the chariot hit a stone.”

“Bring Kleitos and both drivers to me,” the king ordered.

Soon the three men stood before Sithon, Dryas’s charioteer looking terrified, Kleitos and his own charioteer looking bewildered. “Tell them what you told me,” Sithon barked.

After hearing the man’s suspicions about the wheels and the axle, Dryas’s driver said, “You can’t blame
me
if the chariot fell apart. I didn’t make it happen. I only jumped off to save my life. If anyone is to blame, it’s the man who was supposed to attach the wheels to the chariots. Why—”

“Search him,” the king ordered, cutting short his excuses. In a moment, the pouch that Pallene had given the guard was found tucked into the charioteer’s robe. People murmured as the king spilled a small heap of gold coins out of the pouch.

“That’s—that’s not mine,” the driver babbled. “I was just holding it for a friend.”

The king ignored him and turned to Kleitos, whose mouth gaped open in astonishment. “What do you know about this?”

“Who, me?” Kleitos looked even more confused than before.

“A charioteer wouldn’t earn this much money in a lifetime,” Sithon said. “Someone must have bribed Dryas’s driver to take the pins out of the wheel to cause this accident. Who else but you would pay him to kill your rival?”

Kleitos had no answer. Pallene tried to speak, but her father hushed her.

“Take Kleitos to the altar and slit his throat,” the king commanded.

Then a voice spoke from the crowd. It was Pallene’s guard. “Kleitos had nothing to do with it,” his deep voice boomed. “I was the one who paid Dryas’s driver to loosen the pins that held the wheels to the axle. It’s my fault Dryas died.”

“And where did
you
get the money?” the king demanded. He knew how little he paid his servants. The guard fell silent, but the king saw him glance at Pallene.

The king turned to her in fury. “From
you
? From my first-born daughter, my favorite, the girl I loved so deeply that I fought off every man who tried to take her away from me?”

The guard tried to protest that the money was his, that Pallene had had nothing to do with the accident, but the king was too furious to listen. “Bring my older daughter to the funeral pyre,” he ordered. “There I will sacrifice her to appease the shade of Dryas.”

In vain did the guard protest that Pallene had not known what he was planning to do with her money. In vain did Rhoeteia beg for her sister’s life. The king wouldn’t listen. No matter who had paid the bribe, his daughter and her love for Kleitos had caused the death of a brave man. Both justice and the king’s honor demanded her death in return.

Without another word, Sithon strode off to the beach, where dry wood had been piled high, ready to set alight. Dryas’s pale, lifeless body lay on top of it.

Pallene shook off the hands of the men who tried to drag her to the pyre and walked toward it as serenely as if she were taking a stroll in the palace garden. She tried to calm her terror, despite the wailing and sobbing of her sister. “It will all be over soon,” she told herself. When she saw her father, a grim expression on his face and a blazing torch in his hand, she hesitated. Then she swallowed, held her head high, and approached him.

But Pallene never reached the king. The heavens, which all day had been a lovely pure blue, darkened. The wind rose into a roar, and as the crowd scurried for shelter, rain fell so heavily that no one could see the person standing next to him.

The strange storm ended as suddenly as it had begun, and when the bewildered people moved out of their shelters, wringing out their soggy robes and slipping in the mud that just minutes before had been firm ground, they saw a woman standing in front of the pyre, which was, of course, soaked through. It would be impossible to light it for days. The woman was so lovely—and so dry—that everybody knew instantly that she was no mere mortal.

“I am Aphrodite, goddess of love,” she informed them. “And if you are looking for someone to blame for this death, look no further than my own son, for it is due to him that Pallene and Kleitos fell in love. Put away your knife, Sithon, and give your daughter to this man. I myself will see to it that Dryas’s shade rests easily in the realm of the dead.” With those words, she disappeared.

Sithon was relieved that he wouldn’t have to burn his daughter alive. He wasted no time in following the goddess’s orders, and within a day, Pallene and Kleitos were married. Sithon died soon after, leaving Kleitos to rule, and Kleitos renamed both his country and its capital city Pallene in honor of his beloved wife.