The Age of Zeus

22. THE GRIFFIN

T he Griffin was loose in Kashmir, prowling that mountainous zone of contention between India and Pakistan. The Olympians had stationed it there to serve as a warning to the subcontinent's two great feuding powers: we are keeping an eye on you. The huge lion/eagle hybrid flew among the peaks of the Himalayas and the Karakoram Range, and every so often, when it was hungry, swooped into the nearest valley community and made off with a calf, a goat or, very occasionally, a small child. Inhabitants on both sides of the line of control could have importuned their nations' rulers to do something about the monster, but never bothered. It wasn't that they were fatalistic. It was just that they knew nothing would come of any efforts made in that direction. The governments in New Delhi and Islamabad, although they could agree on little else, were of one mind when it came to the Olympians: Don't rock the boat. Thus the Griffin was free to roam and raid and kill with impunity, like some deranged policeman, unconstrained by law. Once, a posse of villagers from the Indian-administered part of the region banded together and went after it, armed with rifles. They were never seen again.

The Griffin was known to have several nests in the area, all of them high up above the snowline. Anyone with any sense shunned the locations of these nests. They were places of ill omen.

On a particular day in March, however, a goatherd from a village near the Burzil Pass, in the Pakistani Northern Areas, was searching for a kid which had gone astray from the flock. He had a feeling that the quest would be fruitless. The Griffin had been sighted not far from that spot only yesterday, and the kid was doubtless even now being digested in the beast's stomach. The goatherd went looking anyway, because he was young and dutiful and it was his father's flock and he wanted to be able to tell the old man, who was sick at home with a fever, that he had at least tried to find the lost animal.

And wonder of wonders, he did. The bleating baby goat came trotting into view along a narrow, stony path that led up to a rocky overhang where the Griffin liked to roost when it was in the vicinity. The kid was covered in blood and seemed distressed, but a quick examination showed that it was unhurt. The goatherd thanked God for this small blessing. Curiosity then impelled him to venture a short way further up the path. If the blood was not the kid's own, where could it have possibly come from?

The goatherd, whose name was Asif Abbasi, got to within 500 metres of the overhang. He was trembling, praying to Allah the Compassionate, Allah the Merciful, with every breath. He unslung the telescopic rifle gunsight that hung around his neck on a piece of string. It had been a gift from his uncle in Karachi, a spice merchant who also ran a lucrative sideline in military-surplus goods. The cash-strapped Pakistani army was unburdening itself of as much equipment as it could spare, in order to make ends meet and keep going. Asif put the gunsight to his eye and zeroed in on the Griffin's nest. The monster was certainly there, but it was not moving. It lay on its side, and Asif knew with sudden, startling certainty that it was dead. He crept a little closer and focused the gunsight again on the monster. The Griffin's wings were spread out flat on the ground. There was a huge hole in its tawny-furred belly. Spilled blue and purple entrails steamed in the high-altitude air.

Asif raced home, breathless, to spread the news. No one in his village believed him at first. Asif had a reputation as something of a fantasist. So adamant was he that he wasn't making things up, however, that at last a deputation of headmen went out to check on his story. They returned grim-faced.

The village went into panic. The Griffin was slain, and none of them had done it but the Olympians would nevertheless assume they were to blame. Vengeance would be swift and terrible. The villagers resolved to keep the monster's death a secret.

But the truth would leak out eventually. Truth always did.

Meanwhile the Blue Eros channel was broadcasting a movie about a horny teenager who repeatedly had sex with his middle-aged but still very beddable mother. It was called Oedipussy.