An End to Argus

With a sword thrown to him, Art stood ready, watching as Argus arrogantly, foolishly removed his breastplate and helmet. He was that sure of his skill that he didn't even need armour?

When the battle between the Young Gael and the Son of Eurystheus started, it was hardly anything that would have been spoken of in twelvemonths to come. Their swords met only once before Art thrust his sword into Argus' unprotected chest. It was anti-climatic, but that was life.

To say that everyone was shocked by how anti-climatic everything was, would be an understatement. Art could only stare at his fallen foe. He knew this was how it would have happened with Argus removing his armour, but he had not expected it to be this short of a clash… And yet, perhaps that was just how life was. All it took was one strike of the sword and that was it.

Looking to Argus' henchman, Art watched as the man lowered his own sword. His master was dead, the prince who had dragged him and his companions across the mainland and to Crete. They could finally go home.

"Stay here, Gael. You, your family and companions. I'm taking my companions home."

And with that the henchman went on his way to gather his companions and leave. Art was left to stare at the husk of the Son of Eurystheus. Kneeling down, he looked at the shocked expression upon the countenance of his late enemy. What had he expected to happen? If it was some sense of fairness all it did was get him killed. If he was indeed that sure of his skill, then he couldn't have been more arrogant. Skill was nothing without armour and luck.

Looking closer, Art could see more than just shock upon the front of Argus. There was a look of hate as well. It was only natural for one such as him.

Rubbing his forehead with his right hand, Art knew what he would be doing now. He, Thebe and Gann would live, free from Argus, but would they truly be free? Would Eurystheus was revenge for the death of his son? Perhaps not. Eurystheus was plentifully supplied with sons… If one could call the number he did have "plentifully supplied".

How many other sons did the Grandson of Perseus have? Art couldn't remember. Was it four others besides Argus or was it six? Whatever the number was, it was possible that Eurystheus would not seek to avenge just one of his sons… And yet…

Standing up, Art walked over to Thebe, Gann in her arms, and embraced the two of them. It was over… It was over! Perhaps they would be allowed to return to Argolis!

Alas, that was not the case. In the weeks that passed, Minos summoned Art to Knossos. There did the Cretan Monarch inform the Young Gael: "I have been sent word from Eurystheus. He wanted me to inform you, if you are still here, that for the death of Argus you and Thebe are both banished from Argolis as long as he sits upon the throne."

"Both me and Thebe?" asked Art, incredulously. "But I was the one who killed Argus, wherefore are both her and I banished from Argolis? It should be me alone!"

"She fled with you to avoid a marriage with Argus, thus she is considered an accomplice in his death." Stated Minos, in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Accomplice in his death?" Art couldn't believe this. "I slew Argus in the defence of myself, my wife and my child! What mockery of justice is this?"

"It is a king's word, Art."

"Eurystheus is no king! He is a vile mockery of the position!"

"He is also my kinsman!" Minos growled. "As a son of Zeus, Perseus is my paternal half-brother, making Eurystheus my great-nephew. Be careful of how you speak, Art!"

Art fell silent and looked at the Son of Zeus in the eye. Minos seemed both understanding and at the same time angered. Finally, the Young Gael said: "Forgive me, Minos."

Sighing, Minos nodded and said: "You are forgiven, Art. It is true, Eurystheus is not much of a king… Perhaps his cousin Atreus will make for a better king than him."

"I do not doubt it, sir." Stated Art. "Am I free to return to my family?"

Minos nodded once more and thus did Art make his departure from Knossos. Once he had returned to Malia, he informed Thebe of what had happened. Shaking her head as she held their son, Thebe commented: "I should have known Eurystheus would do something such as that. A better king would have acknowledged his son's idiocy."

"Would that there was a better king sitting upon the throne of Argolis." Art uttered, taking a seat next to his wife upon their bed. Niall was nearby, grooming himself without a care in the world. "So, I suppose we are to just stay here on Crete."

"I'm not sure, Art." Thebe said, gently stroking her son's head. "In time, I would like to see Egypt, which Daedalus had intended to send us to. Would you not wish to see where your people originally came from?"

"Now that the edict of expulsion has been lifted?" Art asked, thinking for a moment. "I have thought about it, time and again and now I'm not entirely sure. That edict was made centuries ago. I never knew Egypt and it is entirely possible the land would be so strange to me, perhaps less strange to you. You Achaeans call him 'Zeus', the Egyptians call him 'Amen-Ra', the gods will be familiar to you, but I have little familiarity. Egypt, Kemet, whatever you call it, is a strange land to me and I will be a stranger there."

"You were a stranger here in Achaea." Thebe pointed out, looking her husband in the eye.

Art stared back, looking into his wife's large, brilliant reddish-brown eyes. Nodding in acknowledgement, he said: "Yes, I suppose so and Egypt is full of strangers that are new to that land. What would a few more be?" Laughing, Thebe kissed Art's cheek. The Young Gael could do naught but smile before adding: "I just hope there aren't any abominations that are half man and half bull there."

"You could never know." Thebe commented. "I hear the gods there wear animal heads."

Art couldn't remember if he had ever heard that. It didn't sound terribly familiar and yet at the same time it didn't sound terribly new to him either. The world was a strange place. Gods that looked like people, gods that looked like animals, gods that looked like a combination, the Young Gael could not help but wonder if there were deities whose forms defied description. If so, then how would they be depicted?

Art had no idea. He was familiar with the Hebrews, they who were doomed to oblivion while the future belonged to the Gaels, and their formless god who had appeared once as a burning bush and the Young Gael wondered what they could have done to offend him to take on such a strange form.

A burning bush… Not a living plant but one that was dead or in the process of dying. If it was burning, it was either one or the other. Art did not deny that plants lived, but why would a deity take on such an inanimate form?

And yet… Art thought of the true form of Zeus, which was whispered about: the living embodiment of lightning and tempest… If that was the reason for Zeus appearing human, then what manner of true form did the God of Hebrews have that required him to take on the form of a burning bush?

Art could barely imagine. He was not a priest he did not know such things. Perhaps even in human form, the God of the Hebrews would seem something eldritch, something abominable… Who could say? How many had seen a god in their true form and lived to tell about it? If no one had lived to tell about the true form of a deity then where did the stories come from?

"Yes, I suppose so." Art finally said, watching as Niall walked up to him and Thebe. The lynx tapped his head against the Young Gael's knee and Art stroked his caracal companion's fur. "Do you suppose there are gods that wear the heads of lynxes?"

"Of lions and normal cats perhaps, but I don't think you'd see one wearing that of a lynx." Thebe commented. "I have heard that Artemis wears the head of a cat in Egypt. They call her 'Bast.'"

"Bast." Art repeated with confusion. "In Egypt Zeus has a longer name, but Artemis has a shorter name?"

"Its current king Ramesses has a longer name that both of those gods." Stated Thebe. "Some names are simply longer than others no matter the culture."

Nodding, Art lied back on the bed, at which point Niall jumped up and laid upon his chest. Laughing along with Thebe, the Young Gael scratched the feline's neck and asked: "What do you think, Niall? Do you feel like travelling to Egypt some time?" The caracal meowed and Art replied: "I'm not sure either. The mind is strange with the way it constantly changes." Then turning his head to look at Thebe, he added: "But I know my mind will never change about how I feel about you. My heart and my head are in agreement, Thebe."

Putting Gann down in the nearby cradle, Thebe lay next to her husband and kissed hiss forehead. "I love you, Art."

"I love you too, Thebe."

Art and Thebe both took a moment to rest and while the former rested dreams of gods and monsters filled his head. Asterion the Minotaur, the Lernean Hydra, the Gorgon Medusa and her sisters Euryale and Stheno, they all appeared among divinities such as Zeus or Amen-Ra, Hades or Osiris, Hermes or Thoth, even that strange burning bush. The Young Gael dreamed not of how these gods appeared as depicted by their worshippers, but as they truly might have looked, abominably eldritch things that in some ways were indescribable and then there was one who was not a monster, not a god, merely a man, the man who had come to his aid when Antaeus threatened his life.

Could he have been Heracles? Art could not be sure. Did Gilgamesh not walk the earth as Heracles might have? Was it not possible that there could have been many a man such as Heracles? Again, Art could not be sure.

A son of a god who was also the twice great-grandson of that god… A man whose mother was also his great-niece… It was so strange, so tangled. Tireasias had said that Heracles was a son of Zeus, but was he? Art had thought that if a prophet had said it was so, then it was so, but was it? What were prophets? Could a prophet be trusted? Was prophecy in anyway accurate? How could he know? How could anyone know? Was Heracles truly a son of Zeus?

How long had it been since Art had asked a question such as that? A twelvemonth? Two twelvemonths?

All Art knew was that there was so much mystery… He never would have thought something such as Asterion possible and yet Art had seen him. The Bull of Minos was impossible and yet he existed. If something impossible could exist then could the words of prophets be true? Wherefore these questions now plaguing his dreams? For so long he had accepted things as they were, nevermore questioning them, so wherefore did the questions return?

Alas, he knew not.

The mind was strange. Dreams were strange. Where did the latter come from? From the former? As the Young Gael awoke, he wondered this.

Looking at his sleeping wife, his beloved Thebe, Art wondered if he dreamt still. There had been occasions where he had dreamt that he had awoken only to turn he had never awoken at all. Was this one of these cases? Was all this little more than a dream? Was Thebe the girl he had so often dreamt of? Had he married the girl of his… He was starting to sound like some lovesick fool.

And yet, perhaps he was. Thebe was without a doubt the girl he had dreamt of and he had married. If this was a dream, then it was a great one.

Looking at Niall, standing atop the bed and staring into the cradle where Gann slept, Art smiled. He had done more than marry the girl of his dreams, he had a family, one that he had successfully defended.

This was no dream, it was real.

As a cry from Gann caused Niall to look at Art in alarm, his ears flattened against his skull, the Young Gael chuckled as Thebe awakened. Looking at the feline, the Athenian Girl said: "Oh, you are fine. He didn't mean to scare you."

Scratching the right side of his head as Thebe got up, Art gestured for Niall to come over. The lynx walked over and immediately the Young Gael gave him a pat on the head. "You are a brave creature, Niall, but it is quite astounding a sudden cry from a baby can scare you."

Thebe sat down next to her husband and held their infant son close to Niall. "Everything is alright. He must have just had a bad dream."

While Niall sniffed Gann's head and found himself being pet as gently as a bay could, Art wondered what manner of dreams infants could have as he looked into the eyes of Thebe.