A Swallow in the North (Greek Mythology) - Chapter 5

Upon hearing the call, the elder princess finally halted her retreat. She turned around and offered Yan Beibei a smile.

Despite the surrounding carnage and rising dust, and no matter how beautiful this strange yet familiar sister’s smile was intended to be as comfort, Yan Beibei could still glimpse the bitterness hidden within the sorrow of a woman who knew she could not control her own destiny.

“Philomela, you are the youngest among us siblings.”

“Our brother Erechtheus is the confirmed crown prince. If anything happens to our father, he will be the next King of Athens. Butes is a brave warrior and a far-ranging voyager; he has already set sail with Jason aboard the Argo.”

“But you. only you, the youngest of my own flesh and blood, remain unsettled, your future uncertain. When I am no longer here, Philomela you are so small who will be left to care for you?”

Yan Beibei’s heart filled with growing unease. This war, which had nearly destroyed the kingdom, had been won thanks to outside intervention. Why then, as the princess of the victorious side, was her sister speaking as if she were embarking on a journey of no return?

She asked, “Sister, didn’t we win the war? Why are you speaking like this, as if you’ll never come back? I don’t want to be apart from you!”

“Silly girl.” Her elder sister let out a soft laugh and walked back to stroke Yan Beibei’s long hair. “When a King travels a thousand miles to help us win a war that was surely lost, we, as the protected party, cannot simply offer nothing in return.”

It is human nature to seek profit. What could a weakened nation, lacking even a decent army, offer a King who had marched across a continent to their rescue?

“Father’s injuries are so severe he cannot leave his bed. Therefore, I must go with our brother Erechtheus to meet the invincible, all-conquering Tereus,” the elder princess sighed. “To preserve my country, I fear no price.”

Tereus.

That name, seemingly soaked in infinite blood, struck Yan Beibei like a flash of lightning illuminating a somber sky, or a thousand meteors trailing fire across a black firmament.

Erichthonius, Pasithea, Erechtheus, Butes, Tereus of Thrace, Philomela of Athens… Every name and place finally merged in Yan Beibei’s mind, revealing the cruel fate of this ancient myth.

Her heart jolted as her thoughts cleared. She finally realized which story this was, and she finally found the name of this gentle, beautiful, and resolute elder sister:

“Procne, do not go!”

This was an obscure tale so obscure that few knew it. But those who had read it could never quite shake it off: The Legend of the Hoopoe, the Nightingale, and the Swallow.

The story was unforgettable because Tereus of Thrace was not a man; he was a beast. By his hand alone, a story with such a literary, refreshing name was forcibly twisted into a revenge saga reeking of blood and sorrow.

Pandion, the King of Athens, had two sons, Erechtheus and Butes, and two daughters, Procne and Philomela. When Labdacus of Thebes waged war against them, Pandion sought help from the warlike Tereus of Thrace. Tereus, the son of Ares, was a conqueror who swiftly drove the Thebans out. To show his gratitude and cement a political alliance, Pandion decided to give his elder daughter, Procne, to him in marriage. Procne was gentle and virtuous, and since Tereus had not yet seen the peerless beauty of Philomela, he agreed.

Procne married far away to Thrace and bore a son named Itys. Five years later, consumed by homesickness and a longing for her sister, she begged Tereus to bring Philomela to visit. Tereus agreed and travelled to Athens.

However, upon seeing the radiant, incomparable Philomela, he immediately betrayed his oath to his wife, determined to possess her for himself.

He tricked Pandion into entrusting Philomela to him, swearing to protect her and return her soon. The elderly Pandion believed his silver-tongued lies and watched through tears as their ship sailed away.

Philomela never saw her sister. Once they made landfall, Tereus dragged her into the depths of a forest and locked her in a cabin. When she realized tears and pleas were useless, she cursed him, vowing that if he did not let her go, she would make the forest and the heavens ring with her grievances until the gods took notice.

But she underestimated Tereus. He was not a man of wisdom, but of rage and brutality. Furious, he drew his sword and cut out Philomela’s tongue. The “Singer of Athens” lost her beautiful voice. Believing her silenced and trapped, Tereus lied to Pandion and Procne, claiming Philomela had died at sea.

Yet he underestimated the sisters’ bond and brilliance. During her imprisonment, Philomela wove a magnificent tapestry, depicting her tragic ordeal in purple-red threads. She bribed a servant to deliver it to Procne. Upon seeing the tapestry and reading the message woven into the borders, Procne’s grief turned into an unquenchable fire of hatred.

In a frenzy of revenge during the festival of Bacchus, Procne rescued her sister, killed her own son Itys, and served his flesh to Tereus for dinner. When Tereus called for his son to join the feast, Procne laughed: “Search no more; your son is within you!”

Philomela then appeared, throwing the severed head of Itys at the King. As Tereus drew his sword to kill them, the gods intervened. The three were transformed: Procne into a swallow, Philomela into a nightingale forever bearing the red mark of blood on her breast and Tereus into a hoopoe, destined to eternally chase them.

Yan Beibei’s confusion had lasted from the moment she first read the myth until now: Why did the monstrous Tereus receive a fate no worse than the Athenian princesses who only sought justice?

The sounds of battle had faded. In the distance, a loud, high-pitched horn blew. The flags rising were not those of Athens, but of Tereus of Thrace.

Yan Beibei knew she had to act now. “This is not a good thing! Tereus is cruel and prone to rage. His victories rely on brute force and savagery, not wisdom or mercy. Such a man is not a good match; you cannot rely on him.”

“Sister, do not marry him. There are many ways to repay a King. We can. we can.”

She stopped. Every modern concept she knew “reparations,” “talent exchange,” “land concessions” was useless. Athens was weak. She had a thousand plans, but without power, they were like morning dew on a leaf or a candle in the wind, easily extinguished.

Procne looked at her youngest sister with relief. She didn’t answer directly but kissed her hair. “It seems you have realized the truth. That is good.”

“I was worried you were too young to understand the games of nations, that you couldn’t look after yourself, let alone the kingdom. Now that you understand, I can leave in peace.”

Yan Beibei was horrified. Her attempt to stop Procne had only served as the motivation for her sister’s self-sacrifice! If Procne married Tereus, Yan Beibei would be the indirect cause of the future infanticide and her own tragic fate.

That night, the banquet was extravagant. Athens spent every resource to entertain Tereus. Amidst the clashing of goblets, only Yan Beibei was ordered to stay in her room.

But she wasn’t that obedient. She climbed out of her window and ran barefoot across the damp grass toward the Great Hall.

She arrived just as her father, King Pandion, was speaking to the warrior in shimmering armour:

“Brave Tereus, I am deeply grateful. Without you, my city would belong to another. You have protected my nation and my dignity. My eldest daughter, Procne, is young and beautiful. I give her to you as your wife. Will you take her to distant Thrace?”

A King’s decree was absolute, especially at such a grand feast. To everyone else, it seemed a perfect match: a hero paired with a beauty. No one expected any objection, nor the ridiculous tragedy it would spawn.

But just as Tereus looked at Procne with a satisfied smile, a clear, sharp voice like the cry of a nightingale swept into the hall with the cold night wind.

My elder sister shall never marry far away to Thrace!

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