I know I've already presented some Greek mythological characters as being quite obscure, but no one takes the cake for being an obscure mythological figure more than Korythos, son of Alexander and Oinone.
Alexander (better known as Paris) of Troy, son of King Priam and Queen Hecabe, actually already had a wife before he went off to make Helen of Sparta his own. Her name was Oinone (also spelled Oenone), and she was a nymph, daughter of the River Cebren. Oinone comes up periodically in the ancient literature--Ovid wrote about her a couple of times--but their son Korythos is a particularly infrequently mentioned figure. (He is so obscure he doesn't even have his own Wikipedia page, instead being on one of those list pages that talks about multiple minor characters who share a name.)
His limited mentions in myth are rare, and follow a basic formula: he's sent to Troy during the war by his mother (either to help his father or to break up his relationship with Helen) where he falls in love with Helen (or she with him) and is killed by his jealous father, who doesn't even know who he is. That's the extent of it. No impact on anything else, he just goes to town and dies, ceasing to be relevant. (Or rather, he was never relevant to begin with.)
What that means, of course, is that if you take a version of the myth where he didn't show up in Troy to be killed by his own father, then he's still out there somewhere when the war is over! (Or that he never existed, but that's boring.)
So, when I was writing the first draft of what is now titled Scions of Troy, I decided who better to put on the Trojan throne than Korythos? He's a blank slate for me to work with! 😆
Of course, I had to explain how it was that this all-but-unknown son of Alexander, the man whose lust was responsible for the destruction of the old city, could be sitting on the throne now. It took me a while to get a version I liked: earlier drafts had other explanations that didn't work very well, but I think in the end I settled on something that works.
“Hasn’t he been on the throne for—well, since the city was rebuilt?”
“No. The current king has only ruled for about ten years.”
“Really?” Ariadne bit her lip, wondering how she had never heard about that. She’d have only been a little girl when the change happened, so of course she didn’t hear at the time, but she was surprised that no one had mentioned it at the king’s court since she had begun singing to entertain at the feasts.
Eutychos nodded. “When we sailed away, we left Aineias, the son of Aphrodite, in charge of the few survivors of his people.”
“Wait, why would you have been dictating anything?” Ariadne demanded. “The people who destroy a city don’t get to determine who’s in charge of the survivors!”
He coughed uncomfortably. “I gather that was one of the arguments made against his reign, yes.” Eutychos sighed sadly. “You must understand that by the final months of the war, everything was…rather nightmarish. Shortly after Achilles’ death, we captured Aineias, and Odysseus convinced him to cooperate with us. He knew—we all knew—that Aineias chafed at being viewed as lesser than Priam’s sons, even though he was a better man than all of them other than Hector, and Odysseus promised that if Aineias helped us bring the war to an end, then he and a certain percentage of his people would be spared slavery, so that the city could be rebuilt under Aineias’ rule.” He shook his head. “My dedication to the sons of Telamon forbids me from speaking kindly of Odysseus, but I doubt any other man could have coaxed a soul as stalwart as Aineias’ to turn on his own people like that.”
Ariadne was deeply curious to find out just what Odysseus had done—though she suspected it had to do with the mysterious circumstances of Aias’ death—but she didn’t think this was the right time to broach the subject. But she could also feel Atalanta struggling to find a way to ask, which was sure to turn into a disaster if Ariadne allowed it. “And you think the Trojans rebelled against this Aineias because of that, even though his mother was a goddess?”
“I don’t think it was a rebellion, precisely,” Eutychos said. “Rumors reached Cypros of the usurper threatening to raise an army to drive him out, but according to those rumors there was no violence.”
Eurysakes nodded. “My uncle mentions that often,” he told them. “That is why he will not treat with him. Because Aineias proved himself the true king. Because only he refused to set Trojans against Trojans.”
(That bit about Aineias at the time of the fall of Troy is a genuine version of the myth. Not as well-known or popular, but it is real.) Obviously, part of what I was trying to get properly established was that I wanted to balance the earlier Greek version, wherein Aineias became king in the rebuilt Troy (as was implied by Poseidon during the Iliad), and the later Roman version, wherein Aeneas traveled to Italy and...well, versions varied as to what his role (if any) was in ultimate foundation of Rome, but the one that bulked up his role the most is also the most famous, so... 🤷🏻♀️
As is kind of a theme in this series, my version of Korythos looks remarkably like his father.
The four of them entered the megaron together, and found that an impressive feast had been laid out to one side of the room, and the king and his court were apparently waiting only on them to begin their meal. (There was no sign of the other sailors off of Eurysakes’ ship; they must have all been commoners.) They had hardly entered the room before Eutychos stopped with a gasp, and his hand went towards his hip, as if he was trying to draw a sword. Following his gaze, Ariadne saw only the throne where King Korythos awaited them.
Though he looked surprisingly young for a man who was supposedly born before the Queen of Laconia eloped with Prince Alexander, Korythos was certainly every bit as beautiful as Alexander was said to have been. His hair was golden, and hung down to his shoulders in slightly curled locks. His eyes were a deep blue, like the waters of a placidly moving river on a sunny day, and they looked surprisingly kind and friendly, despite the open hostility being shown to him by one of his guests. “Is something amiss?” he asked, in Achaian that had only the faintest trace of an accent.
“Forgive me, sire,” Eutychos bowed slightly. “Your resemblance to your father made me forget myself momentarily.”
“Then you were one of the men who destroyed my grandfather’s city?” Korythos asked, causing several of the court to turn hate-filled stares in Eutychos’ direction.
“As a warrior of Salamis, I accompanied the sons of Telamon to the war against Troy, yes,” Eutychos said. “None of us bore any malice towards your people. Prince Aias was bound by his oath to Tyndareos to fight to restore Helen.” He set a hand on Eurysakes’ shoulder. “And as he found love on these shores, I do not think he ever repented his oath, despite that it cost him his life.” There was a momentary, very awkward silence, in which Eutychos released Eurysakes’ shoulder. “If it is any consolation,” Eutychos went on, “I personally contributed very little to the devastation of either the city or its surrounding lands. As part of the honor guard for the prince, I rarely added anything to the combat, as the enemies we faced invariably wanted to test themselves against him, and he never needed the aid of his guards.”
Surprisingly, that made Korythos laugh. “What folly, to attack the most dangerous foe present! I am sure none here will contest it when I say that war is the most vile of all human inventions.”
“As one who has experienced all too much of it, I certainly will not argue against that,” Eutychos agreed, bowing again. “Your wisdom is unassailable.”
Further insight on how Korythos became king is later provided by one of the locals...
After the tale—such as it was—was over, all too much of the conversation was suddenly dominated by Althaia’s insistence that Ariadne was the finest mortal archer ever to live, and that her skills obviously dwarfed even those of Prince Alexander himself. Ariadne was clearly displeased with being compared to the lecherous prince of Troy who had caused the war, but Atalanta found the comparison even more odious considering that—divine assistance notwithstanding—he was the one who had loosed the arrow that had taken the life of her father.
“Is Prince Alexander really so highly regarded in Troy these days?” Ariadne asked, after the comparison had been made far too many times. “We’ve heard of the war, of course, even in the far northern lands of Hyperborea, but we had heard that his lechery had been the sole cause of the destruction of his home and his people. Wouldn’t he be reviled for such a thing?”
Althaia looked horrified at the very concept, but Ariadne’s words made Chryseis laugh. “There were times, during the war, when the people wanted to see him and his strumpet both stoned to death, or thrown screaming off the walls of the city. Their names were cursed for years after the war ended, too, while Aineias was ruling over the Troad. But then there was an earthquake—it was mild, but it was enough for Korythos to claim that the gods were offended to see a traitor like Aineias, who had capitulated with the Ahhiyawa enemy, sitting upon the throne of holy Ilios. Once Aineias was driven away and Korythos took over ruling the city…as it began to be renewed, and trade opened up in a way it hadn’t under Aineias, people started to think more kindly upon his father than they used to. It’s been years now since anyone in town openly said anything unkind about Prince Alexander. Most of the young people don’t even remember the days when he was hated and cursed,” she added, setting a hand on her daughter’s head.
“Why did people believe his tale?” Eurysakes asked. “Why didn’t they doubt his parentage? His claims of a nymph as a mother…they would not be believed in Hellas. Not so readily.”
Chryseis shook her head. “No one who looks on him can doubt it. Not if they ever saw Alexander in their lives. He is the picture of his father.” Eutychos’ reaction to him in court certainly agreed with that. “No, perhaps he’s even more beautiful,” Chryseis added thoughtfully.
Of course, there are signs that maybe the new Troy is far from being a bed of roses...
While they were waiting, Korythos looked at Atalanta curiously. “I take it from your earlier eagerness to fight that you believe you would be capable of taking on the bandits?”
“My father was the greatest warrior of our people,” Atalanta said, nodding solemnly. “I will not allow myself to fail to live up to his reputation, or he will not rest quietly in death.”
Korythos smiled. “Perhaps you should start with a less dangerous task, then,” he suggested. “Say a sparring match with your enormous friend here?” he said, gesturing towards Eurysakes. “As a young man, I once witnessed his father on the field of battle, and I have to admit to being curious if the resemblance between them goes further than just the physical.”
“Sounds good to me,” Atalanta agreed, smiling. It sounded rather disastrous to Ariadne, but perhaps if she lost badly enough it would encourage her to stop believing herself to be the daughter of Achilles…
“Me, too,” Eurysakes agreed. “I will not disappoint my father’s shade by losing.”
“Excellent!” Korythos applauded as though a child watching the spectacle of dogs tearing apart a hare. “Let that be our entertainment tomorrow morning, then! A friendly match between our two honored guests!”
The court agreed so obsequiously that it made Ariadne sick to her stomach, and entirely turned her off her food. For all his pretense at being a wise ruler, Korythos was no better than his father, was he? No truly wise king would surround himself exclusively with sycophants…
Of course, not quite all of Korythos' court are sycophants, but that only makes things even more awkward...
The conversations were mostly light and pleasant, until Ganymede turned one of his perpetual frowns in the direction of King Korythos.
“We really must discuss the bandit situation,” he insisted. “You have been avoiding the matter all day, but the fact is that if we wait even one more day, it may be too late. You simply must send troops to deal with them.”
Korythos frowned, and let out a miserable sigh. “I wish it were that simple, Ganymede,” he replied, “but we cannot spare the men.”
“You must be joking!”
The king shook his head. “I have had numerous reports of an army gathering on the other side of the Dardanelles. Until we know if they are enemies planning to invade and take away the prosperity that is finally beginning to return, I dare not spare a single soldier.”
Ganymede frowned. “I have heard no such reports, sire.”
“That is because I am the king, and you are merely an advisor!” Korythos snapped in the Hatti tongue. “You would do well to remember that more often.”
“I have never forgotten it, my liege.” Ganymede’s tone was flat, and his eyes narrowed to a thin glare. Ariadne felt a cold shiver at the expression; it was the look of a man ready to commit murder.
After the trio deal with the bandits, Korythos is naturally impressed by their prowess, and expresses his praise for Eurysakes in ways that make the youthful trio a little uncomfortable.
“Such a pity that so great-hearted a warrior as yourself has no inheritance to call his own!” the king lamented. “Such things should really be based on merit, don’t you agree?”
“I have no desire to rule, your majesty,” Eurysakes assured him.
Korythos did not seem to believe that claim, or at least he didn’t understand it, and he began a speech of considerable length, all about the responsibilities of rulership, and the delights that follow upon proper completion of those responsibilities. Given what Doran had to say about King Korythos and kings in general, Atalanta wondered if he really had any right to talk about how great monarchy was, and how any man should naturally want to strive for kingship, especially not when he’d been willing to drive his subjects into a civil war in order to wrest the throne away from Aineias. None of it seemed the least bit right to Atalanta, anyway.
There's more to say about Korythos than this, obviously, but not without spoiling the novel completely. 😉 So there's not much else to say other than...
Scions of Troy is available in interactive form on itch.io, and in text-only form on AO3. (Technically, the text-only form is also on itch.io...though the AO3 text is technically slightly more up-to-date because in finding quotes for an earlier post I noticed a missing quotation mark and added it there but didn't bother adding it anywhere else. But it's a single quotation mark, so that's not much of anything.) I recommend the interactive form, because you can also lead the three youths to horrible deaths. Uh, I mean, because it's interactive. Also because the picture of Aias' gravestone didn't load properly onto AO3 and I haven't had time to fix it yet. 😰
Oh, no, there is one other thing I wanted to say. I wanted to give a shout-out to another K-named character, one in a Velvet Goldmine fanfic I never finished. A talk show host named Kevin, who is only memorable because I couldn't think of a last name for him, so he was therefore introduced as "Kevin Needsaname" which honestly is such a great name that I was kind of glad I didn't finish the fic, because then I would have had to find him a real name. 🤣
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