As you advised, I traveled out from Crete to the north, keeping my back to the mountains. I arrived in the town you told me of after three days, yet I fear I arrived too late. The man you spoke of so adamantly has definitely been here.
The town is abuzz with talk of his deeds. I quickly found a small hostel to stay the night and asked the landlady to tell me if she had heard of him. Scarce had I given her the description of a man in fine red robes and golden jewelry, then words fled from her in excitement. “Yes, stranger,” she told me, “the man has been to town. But sadly, he didn’t stay here in my humble hostelry; oh, but to imagine if he had! I could say my humble place had been blessed by the gods themselves!”
She was not the only one. Venturing into the marketplace, I met people replete with tales of the man. Truly, the people are left astonished by him and the miracles he provided. One man, a store owner, told me the traveler stopped by his stall, flocked with a crowd of admirers. “Do you believe in the might of the gods, shop keeper?” the man asked. When the store owner shook his head, the traveler smiled and lifted his entire cart, crates and barrels and all, above his head. “Be blessed,” he told the store owner, “for now you may believe.”
The traveler didn’t stay long, but when he left, the purses of the town’s inhabitants were significantly lightened. I speak not only of fine foods and wine, which was given to him aplenty. With discretion, I asked to be shown where he had lingered and was brought to a central square. Here, the traveler had set down a small sack, and asked that any who doubted his divinity might bring forth a challenge. Until the sun set, he broke the hardiest bricks asunder, wrestled any challenger to the ground, hurled the heaviest rocks beyond the town limits, and bent the strongest steel. For each, he asked a donation from the people, that his temple may be built.
He left town, sack heavy with money. It is as you told me, Theremis. For eight months, in towns across Greece, tales of this traveler in red robes circulate. In towns such as these he arrives, one after the other, this finely-dressed man bedecked in luxurious garb. He impresses the inhabitants with his powers, leaving them astonished and eager to part with their hard-earned coin in reverence. Then he leaves, journeying to the next town and repeating the same performance.
Worst, I fear, is not merely the use of the gifts we share since imbibing the gods’ nectar; that he uses it to line his own pockets is dubious enough. What truly strikes at me, my friend, is the tales the man tells. Every person he fleeces tells the same tale: That they gave their money to Ares himself!
The Society’s suspicions are doubtless correct. From the tales I’ve heard, he’s been empowered by nectar. How he came into possession of this is a mystery; we’ve done all we can to preserve the sanctity of the fluid to prevent unscrupulous or nefarious minds from abusing its gifts.
Since the discovery of nectar, I’ve put significant effort into preventing the substance getting to the hands of those who’d use it to pursue their own ends. For many of my colleagues who pursue this same goal, it’s a matter of ensuring the people’s safety. Were nectar to find its way to warmongers, brigands, or worse, its latent power could tip the balance of warfare forever. The resulting chaos would surely be devastating. But more insidious is the risk this man poses — one who uses the nectar’s blessing to sway the people’s faith.
Theremis, you know me well. I’m not a pious man, and I’ve scarce ever set foot in a temple. The gods have done little for me, yet others dedicate their lives to their worship. Some among our Society believe this nectar to be a gift from them, sent to elevate us. I don’t; instead, I recognize its danger, and the danger of those who’d desire it. Theremis, understand me well. Men like this traveler seek power in any way they can and use it to dominate others. This I won’t allow.
Make this my pledge, my friend, to all the gods you may believe in: I’ll find this man and make him pay for his abuses.
I stayed in the town for another day before journeying on, asking the townspeople which road the traveler took. I followed him. His path led me through two more towns, never venturing near a busy city. I followed his route close to Attica, then ventured north into Thebes. In each place, the same story unfolded: people left bereft of their belongings, having sold their life’s comforts to fill the coffers of a man masquerading as a god. This same tale repeated again and again. Farmers struggled to feed their families, living in the hope of the traveler’s blessings would somehow fill their hungry stomachs.
My anger boiled, and I set my mind to finding a suitable punishment for his crimes. I couldn’t slay him. My nectar’s blessing didn’t grant me strength in that manner. Even if it had, I refused to let myself resort to simple murder. Instead, I schemed a great plan.
On the eighth day, I came to the town of Enbir, on the shores of a great river. It was here in this small fishing village where I finally caught up with him, and set about enacting my plan.
I rested at a hostelry, and in the morning I ate my breakfast and ventured out to find the traveler. This proved to be little challenge, as he drew a large crowd wherever he went. Among the throng of townsfolk he stood, in the midst of the market as he’d done before, surrounded by his audience. I joined the crowd and watched him as he wrestled.
The man he fought was the town’s blacksmith — a towering man with heavy muscles honed from decades of working the toughest iron. Despite this, the traveler held the blacksmith’s brawny arms locked in his own. The gathered crowd stood agape at this feat; the stranger shucked his red silks aside to reveal a physique less akin to man and more befitting an Olympian.
With a grunt, the blacksmith folded, his knees buckling. Even so he refused to admit defeat; sweat poured from his brow as he strained against the stranger’s grasp. His struggle was in vain. The traveler pushed down relentlessly with a mountainous might, barely a flicker of effort marring his rugged features. The blacksmith fell to the sands, nursing his strained arms.
A laugh broke from the traveler. “You did well!” he jeered. “Very well, for a mortal. Few can hold their own against Ares himself for as long as you did!” With a sweeping gesture, the man waved his arms to the crowd. “Who else here would try their best? Please, place your coins in the sack and see if you can stand against the might of a god!”
Murmurs rose from the crowd. It was clear the traveler’s performance was soon to end; he’d bested most of the strongest in town and there were few left willing to face him. I stepped forward. “I’ll challenge you, great Ares!”
The traveler looked me over, a confident smile etched on his bearded face. For a moment, I feared he’d sense our commonality, as though the nectar within us both would beckon to him. If he sensed any familiarity, he didn’t show it. “You wish to wrestle, then?”
I shook my head. “Clearly I’m no match for you in might,” I explained, “but as I traveled to town, I noticed a bull feasting in a field nearby. The beast is vast, twice the size of any man. Even you.”
A ripple of amusement passed through the crowd, and a twitch of irritation flickered in the traveler’s brow.
My barb had hit home. “Would that I could see you steer the brute out of the farmer’s wheat field. Drag it by the horns, if you can. That would be a feat worthy of an Olympian!”
The traveler sneered. “Well,” he said, mockingly, “if you fear facing me yourself, I’ll certainly meet your challenge! Throw your coin in the sack.” I did so, and the traveler headed to the field, the crowd following eagerly in his wake. I hurried past and threw open the gate to where the bull sat, lazily chewing on the farmer’s wheat-stalks. The traveler strode confidently toward his foe while onlookers watched from behind the wooden fence. Gradually the bull rose, easily the height of the traveler and twice as broad.
The bull spat out its half-chewed cud and dug its hooves against the ground. With an angry snort that caused the crowd to step back in awe, the beast rushed the stranger. He met it head-on, clasping its horns in his brawny arms. His sandals dug into the muddied ground as he clenched his teeth, refusing to give an inch. The two powerful beings pressed against one another, pushing with all their considerable might. Then, with a grunt, the traveler twisted the bull’s horns, forcing it to the side. It staggered, its powerful legs scrambling. Clutching on its neck, the traveler pulled the bull, inch by inch. He shouted a warning, demanding the crowd make way for him.
He dragged the huge beast into the empty countryside where he turned it loose and then returned, head held high in triumph, to the cheering crowd. He sought me out with a grin. “Well, have I met your challenge?” he bellowed.
At this, I canted my head and hummed. “It was impressive, doubtless,” I said. “But I swear, it looked as though you struggled. Surely such a lowly beast is beneath such considerable efforts for a god?”
The man snorted with contempt and glowered. “You still doubt me?”
“Oh no, not at all!” I said. “Only...”
“Only what?”
“Only ... it would be better if you had a test truly deserving of your divinity. One which was worthy of Ares, and not these paltry slights you are left with now.”
At this, the traveler blustered. “If you have a feat worthy of me, name it now and I will best it!”
A smile spread across my lips. “Then hear this: I know of a beast. A large hound, its fur as crimson as flame and eyes like stoked embers. It bears three large heads, each of which gnashes jaws filled with teeth as large as your leg. Recover one of the hound’s teeth, that you may wear it around your neck as a sign of your prowess in battle, for it won’t relinquish them willingly.”
The traveler threw back his head. “Very well! Tell me, how will I find this beast?”
“Travel to the west from here for four days” I said. “You’ll arrive at a river. In the hours before sunset, it’ll be shrouded by mist. Wait at the bank, and a ferryman will arrive. He’s an old friend, and if you place this gold coin in his hand he will take you on your way.”
The man who claimed to be Ares plucked the coin from my hand and tucked it into his robes. He offered no hesitation, and strode confidently onward.
Ah Theremis, would that I could tell you some humorous conclusion of this fraud’s epic and recount his shameful return to the town. Yet six weeks have passed and not a word of his escapades has reached me. I’ve traveled from town to town, and none have seen him since he set out, unwittingly, for Hades’ realm.
Perhaps one day, he’ll return. But between you and me, my friend, I doubt it. Even though I’ve no belief in the gods, the traveler certainly did. I wonder if, perhaps, he believed himself truly a hero of his own tale.
