Phaeton had divine parentage, but was brought up by his stepfather MEROPS, a disappointingly mortal man. Whenever Merops was away Phaeton’s mother CLYMENE, who may or may not have been immortal,fn2 would delight the boy with stories of his divine father, the glorious sun god Phoebus Apollo.fn3
When Phaeton was old enough he went to school alongside other mortal boys, some of whom were fully human and others of whom, like him, could claim divine ancestry on one side or another. One such was Epaphus, the son of Zeus and Io. With such illustrious parents Epaphus felt entitled to lord it over his schoolmates. Phaeton, who was a proud and passionate youth, hated being bossed around by Epaphus and was constantly irritated by the other’s arrogance and air of superiority.
Epaphus was always so maddeningly blasé about his pedigree. He would say things like: ‘Yes, next weekend dad – Zeus, don’t you know – is inviting me up to Olympus for supper. He said he might let me sit on his throne, maybe take a sip or two of nectar. Had it before, of course. There’ll just be a few of us. Uncle Ares, my half-sister Athena, a few nymphs perhaps to round up the numbers. Should be a laugh.’
Phaeton would always return home in a fury after enduring this oh-so-casual name-dropping. ‘How come,’ he would complain to his mother, ‘Epaphus gets to see his father every weekend when I have never even met mine?’
Clymene would hug her son tightly and try to explain. ‘Apollo is so busy, darling. Every day he has to drive his chariot of the sun across the sky. And when that duty is done he has shrines at Delos and Delphi and goodness knows where else to attend. Prophecies, music, archery … he is quite the busiest of all the gods. But I’m sure he’ll come and visit us soon. When you were born he left this for you – I was going to wait to give it to you when you were a little older, but you might as well have it now …’
Clymene went to a cupboard and took out an exquisite golden flute which she handed to him. The boy at once brought it to his mouth and blew, producing a breathy and far from musical hiss.
‘What is it supposed to do?’
‘Do? What do you mean, darling?’
‘Zeus gave Epaphus a magic leather whip which makes dogs obey his every command. What does this do?’
‘It’s a flute, my love. It makes music. Beautiful, charming music.’
‘How?’
‘Well, you learn how to shape the notes and then you … well, you play it.’
‘Where’s the magic in that?’
‘Have you never heard flute music? It’s the most magical sound there is. It does take rather a lot of practice though.’
Phaeton threw the instrument down in disgust and stormed off to his bedroom, where he sulked for the rest of the day and night.
A week or so later, on the last day of term before the long summer holidays, he found himself being approached by the exasperatingly condescending Epaphus.
‘Hi there, Phaeton,’ he drawled. ‘Wondered if you wanted to join me at the family villa on the North African coast next week? Small enough house party. Just dad, maybe Hermes, Demeter and a few fauns. We sail tomorrow. Could be a laugh. What do you say?’
‘Oh, what a shame,’ cried Phaeton. ‘My father, Phoebus Apollo you know, has invited me to … to drive the sun-chariot across the sky next week. Can’t let him down.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Yes, didn’t I mention it? He’s always going on at me to help take the load off his shoulders, do a bit of the old sun-driving for him.’
‘You’re seriously telling me … Bullshit. Guys, you’ve got to come and listen to this!’ Epaphus called the other boys over to where he and Phaeton stood facing each other. ‘Tell them,’ he demanded.
Phaeton was caught in the lie now. Pride, fury and frustration drove him on. He was damned if he was going to back down and let this insufferable snob win the day.
‘It’s really nothing,’ he said. ‘Just that my dad Apollo is insisting I learn to drive the horses of the sun. No big deal.’
The other boys, led by a sneering Epaphus, hooted their disbelief and derision. ‘We all know your father is that boring old fool Merops!’ one of them shouted.
‘He’s just my stepfather!’ cried Phaeton. ‘Apollo is my real father. He is! You’ll see. Just you wait and see. It’ll take me a while to get to his palace, but one day soon – look up at the sky. I’ll wave down at you. That’ll be me driving the day along. You’ll see!’
And off he ran home, jeers, catcalls and the mocking laughter of his schoolfellows ringing in his ears. One of the boys, his friend and lover CYGNUS,fn4 chased after him.
‘Oh Phaeton,’ cried Cygnus, ‘what have you said? It can’t be true. You’ve complained to me so many times that you’ve never even met your real father. Go back and tell them you were joking.’
‘Leave me alone, Cygnus,’ said Phaeton, pushing him away. ‘I’m going to the Palace of the Sun. It’s the only way to silence that pig Epaphus. By the time you see me again everyone will respect me at last and know me for who I really am.’
‘But I know who you are,’ said the unhappy Cygnus. ‘You are Phaeton and I love you.’
Father and Sun
Nor was there anything Clymene could say to make Phaeton change his mind either. She watched in an agony of distress as he gathered up his few belongings.
‘Look up and you’ll see me,’ he said, kissing her farewell. ‘I’ll wave as I ride by.’
The Palace of the Sun lay, of course, due east; in fact as far east as India. How Phaeton got there isn’t agreed upon. I’ve read that magical sun hawks told Apollo of the boy’s slow struggle from mainland Greece across Mesopotamia and the land we would now call Iran, and that the god instructed these splendid birds to bear him up and fly him the rest of the way.
However Phaeton got there, he arrived at night and immediately was summoned to the throne room of the palace, where Apollo sat robed in purple in the glimmer that gleamed from the gold, silver and jewels which decorated the chamber. The throne he sat on, that alone was studded with more than ten thousand rubies and emeralds. The youth fell to his knees, quite overpowered by the magnificence of the palace, the dazzle of the gemstones and above all by the radiant glory of his father the god.
‘So, you are Clymene’s boy, are you? Stand up, let’s have a look at you. Yes, I can see that you might be the fruit of my loins. You have the cast of countenance, the colouring. I’m told you travelled a long way to be here. Why?’
The question was blunt and Phaeton found himself a little flustered. He managed to stammer out some words about Epaphus and ‘the other boys’ and was painfully aware that he sounded more like a spoiled child than the proud son of an Olympian.
‘Yes, yes. Very mean, very disrespectful. And where do I come in?’
‘All my life,’ said Phaeton, burning with the pride and resentment that had smouldered inside him for so very long, ‘all my life my mother has told me about great and glorious Apollo, the golden god, my shining perfect father. B-b-but you’ve never visited us! You’ve never invited us anywhere. You’ve never even acknowledged me.’
‘Well, yes, I’m sorry about that. Remiss of me. I’ve been a terrible father, I wish I could make it up to you.’ Apollo mouthed the words that absent fathers mouth everywhere and every day, but his mind was really on horses, music, drink … anything but this tedious, sulky and complaining child.
‘If you could just grant me one wish. One wish, that’s all.’
‘Of course, of course. Name it.’
‘Really? You mean it?’
‘Of course.’
‘You swear you’ll grant it?’
‘I swear,’ said Apollo, amused by the boy’s extreme earnestness. ‘I swear by my lyre. I swear by the cold flowing waters of Styx herself. Name it, I say.’
‘I want to drive your horses.’
‘My horses?’ said Apollo, not quite understanding. ‘Drive them? What do you mean?’
‘I want to steer the sun-chariot across the sky. Tomorrow.’
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‘Oh no,’ said Apollo, a smile spreading across his face. ‘No, no, no! Don’t be silly. No one can do that.’
‘You promised!’
‘Phaeton, Phaeton. It’s brave and splendid even to dream of doing such a thing. But no one, no one drives those animals but me.’
‘You swore by Styx!’
‘Zeus himself couldn’t control them! They are the strongest, wildest, most headstrong and unmanageable stallions ever born. They answer to my touch and mine alone. No, no. You can’t ask such a thing.’
‘I have asked it. And you have sworn!’
‘Phaeton!’ The other eleven gods would have been astonished to hear such a pleading, desperate note in Apollo’s voice. ‘I beg of you! Anything else. Gold, food, power, knowledge, love … You name it, it’s yours in perpetuity. But not this. Never this.’
‘I have asked and you have sworn,’ the stubborn youth replied.
Apollo bowed his golden head and cursed inwardly.
Oh, those gods and their quick tongues. Oh, those mortals and their foolish dreams. Will either ever learn?
‘Right. Let’s go and meet them then. But know this,’ Apollo said as they neared the stables and the horsey smell grew stronger and sharper in Phaeton’s nostrils. ‘You can change your mind at any time. I won’t think any the less of you. Frankly, I’ll think a great deal the more of you.’
At the god’s approach the four stallions, white with golden manes, stamped and shifted in their stalls.
‘Hey, Pyrois! Whoa there, Phlegon! Hush now, Aeos! Quietly, Aethon!’ Apollo called to each in turn. ‘Alright, come forward, boy, let them get to know you.’
Phaeton had never seen such beautiful horses. Their eyes flashed gold and their hoofs struck sparks on the flagstones. He was filled with awe, but felt too a sudden stab of fear which he tried to play off as thrilled anticipation.
Lined up before the massive gates of dawn was a golden quadriga, the great chariot to which the four stallions would soon be harnessed. A quiet female figure in saffron robes hurried past. Phaeton caught from her a fragrance which he could not name but which made him dizzy with delight.
‘That was Eos,’ said Apollo. ‘It will soon be time for her to open the gates.’
Phaeton knew all about Eos, the goddess of the dawn. She was called rhododaktylos – the ‘rosy-fingered one’ – and admired everywhere for her sweetness and soft beauty.
As he helped his father walk the stallions forward and into position at the head of the chariot, Phaeton suddenly felt himself pushed roughly aside.
‘What is this mortal doing?’
A huge figure dressed in shining buff leather armour had taken the bridle of all four horses at once and was leading them forward.
‘Ah, Helios, there you are,’ said Apollo. ‘This is Phaeton. My son Phaeton.’
‘So?’
Phaeton knew that Helios was the brother of Eos and the moon goddess Selene and assisted Apollo in his daily duties with the chariot. Apollo seemed slightly awkward in the Titan’s presence.
‘Well, the thing is, Phaeton will be driving the chariot today.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Well, he might as well learn now, don’t you think?’
‘You are joking?’
‘I sort of promised.’
‘Well, sort of unpromise then.’
‘Helios, I can’t. You know I can’t.’
Helios stamped his feet and gave a roar that caused the horses to rear and whinny. ‘You’ve never once let me drive, Apollo! Never. How many times have I asked and how many times have you told me I’m not ready? And now you let this … this shrimp take the reins?’
‘Helios, you will do as you’re told,’ said Apollo. ‘I have spoken and so I have … er, spoken.’
Apollo took the four leather traces from Helios and lifted Phaeton up and into the seat of the chariot. Helios gave a shout of laughter as he saw the youth slide back and forth.
‘He rolls in it like a little pea!’ he said with a surprisingly high-pitched giggle.
‘He’ll be fine. Now, Phaeton. These reins – they are your lines of communication with the horses. They know the way, they run this course every day, but you must show them that you are their master, you understand?’
Phaeton nodded eagerly.
Something of his nervous excitement and Helios’s fury seemed to have been picked up by the horses, who bucked and snorted restlessly.
‘The most important thing,’ continued Apollo, ‘is to fly neither too high nor too low. A middle course between the sky and the earth, yes?’
Again Phaeton nodded.
‘Oh, I nearly forgot. Hold out your hands …’ Apollo took a jar and poured oil from it into Phaeton’s outstretched palms. ‘Anoint yourself with that all over. It will protect you from the heat and light generated by the stallions as they gallop through the air. The earth below will be warmed and lit as you go, so keep a straight line westwards towards the Garden of the Hesperides. It’s a twelve-hour drive. Be steady. Remember – the horses know. Call them by name, Aeos and Aethon, Pyrois and Phlegon.’
As Apollo said their names Phaeton saw their ears prick up.
‘But it’s not too late, boy. You’ve seen them, you’ve handled them, I’ll give you gold sculptures of them cast by Hephaestus to take home. That should satisfy your school friends.’
Another high-pitched titter from Helios sent a flush to Phaeton’s cheek.
‘No,’ he said stiffly. ‘You gave a promise and so did I.’
Daybreak
As Phaeton spoke Eos came forward in a bright cloud of pearl and rose. She bowed smilingly to Apollo and Helios, looked a puzzled question at the blushing Phaeton in the chariot and took up her position at the gates of dawn.
To a traveller looking eastwards and upwards at the clouds in which the Palace of the Sun was hidden, the first sign that Eos was at work always came in the form of a flush of coral pink that suffused the sky. As she threw the gates wider, that soft pink hardened into a gleam of gold which grew ever brighter and fiercer.
To Phaeton, inside the palace, the effect was reversed: the doors opened to reveal the dark world beyond, illumined only by the silver gleam from Eos and Helios’s sister, the moon goddess Selene, reaching the end of her nightly course. As Eos pushed the gates further open Phaeton saw pink and gold light radiate outwards, drowning the darkness of the night. As if that were a signal the four horses pricked their ears, shuddered and reared. Phaeton was jerked back and the chariot beneath him began to roll forward.
‘Remember, boy,’ shouted Apollo, ‘don’t panic. A firm hand. Don’t snatch at the reins. Just let the horses know you’re in control. Everything will be fine.’
‘After all,’ cried Helios as the chariot began to lift from the ground, ‘what can possibly go wrong?’ His squeals of falsetto laughter stung Phaeton like a lash.
Switching points of view again to the traveller looking eastwards from the road below, the gold gleam is now a great ball of fire that is becoming harder and harder to observe without squinting. The short flush of dawn is over and the day has begun.
The Drive
Apollo’s horses charged upwards, pawing the air. All was well. They knew what they were doing. They reached a certain height, levelled out and charged forward. This was easy.
Phaeton pulled himself upright, careful not to strain the traces, and looked around. He could see the curve that marked the separation of blue sky and star-filled darkness. He could see the effect of the light blazing out from the chariot. He was insulated, somehow magically safe from its heat and glare, but great clouds melted and fizzed into vapour as they approached. He looked down and saw the long shadows of mountains and trees contract as they flew forward. He saw the wrinkled sea send back a million scintillations of light, and he saw the sparkle of dew rising into a shimmering mist as they neared the coast of Africa. Somewhere, just west of Nilus, Epaphus would be holidaying on the beach. Oh, this was going to be the greate
st triumph ever!
As the coastline swung more clearly into view Phaeton pulled at the reins, trying to nose down Aeos, the lead horse on his left hand side. Aeos had perhaps been thinking of other things, of golden straw or pretty mares, he had certainly not been imagining a tug to pull him off course. In a panic he shied and dived, pulling the other horses with him. The chariot bucked in the air and plummeted straight for the earth. In vain Phaeton tugged the reins, which had somehow become tangled in his hands. The green earth screamed towards him and he saw his certain death. He took one final desperate yank at the reins, and at the very last minute – either in response to that pull or as an instinctive move to save themselves – the four steeds swooped upwards and galloped blindly north. But not before Phaeton saw with terror and dismay that the terrible heat of the sun-chariot had set the earth on fire.
As they flew on, a raging curtain of flame swept across the land below, burning everything and everyone upon it to a crisp. The whole strip of Africa below the northern coast was laid waste. To this day most of the land is a great parched desert, which we call the Sahara, but which to the Greeks was the Land that Phaeton Scorched.
He was now terribly out of control. The horses knew for certain that the familiar firm hand of Apollo was not there to guide them. Was it wild joy at their freedom or panic at the lack of control that maddened the four? Having plunged down close enough to make the earth catch fire now they leapt up so far towards the purple curve that separated the sky from the stars that the world below grew cold and dark. The sea itself froze and the land turned to ice.
Thrashing, swaying, swooping and careering onwards, without any control or sense of direction, the chariot bounced and bucketed in the air like a leaf in a storm. Far below, the people of the earth looked up in wonder and alarm. Phaeton was screaming at the horses, begging them, threatening them, jerking at the reins … but all in vain.