Long ago, in the age of heroes and monsters, a young man named Theseus set out from the city of Troezen to claim his birthright in Athens. He was the son of King Aegeus and Princess Aethra, and he had proven his strength by lifting a massive boulder to retrieve the sword and sandals his father had hidden there years before. While his mother and grandfather urged him to take the safe route across the sea, Theseus was possessed by a burning desire to emulate the great Heracles. He chose the treacherous land path along the Saronic Gulf, a road infested with villains, thieves, and supernatural threats. By the time he reached the borders of Attica, near the slopes of Mount Aigaleo, he had already overcome five legendary terrors, but his final and most insidious challenge awaited him on the Sacred Way.
As Theseus descended the rugged heights of Mount Aigaleo, also known as Poikilon Oros, the air was thick with the scent of wild thyme and the dust of the ancient path. This mountain stood as a silent sentinel over the Eleusinian plain, a place where the gods were said to walk. However, the shadow cast by the mountain was darkened by the reputation of a man named Damastes, though the locals whispered of him by a more descriptive title: Procrustes, 'the Stretcher.' He was a rogue smith and a bandit who lived in a house strategically positioned at a narrow point in the road where travelers were most weary and in need of rest.
Procrustes did not appear at first glance to be a monster. He did not have the many heads of a Hydra or the brute tusks of a wild sow. Instead, he presented himself as a man of hospitality. As Theseus approached, Procrustes stepped out from his dwelling, offering a warm greeting and a place to stay for the night. He boasted of his two magnificent iron beds—one very short and one very long—claiming that he had a special gift: he could ensure that every guest, regardless of their stature, would fit perfectly into one of his beds. This facade of generosity was a trap that had claimed the lives of countless pilgrims journeying toward the mysteries of Eleusis or the markets of Athens.
Theseus, though young, was possessed of a keen intuition sharpened by his recent battles with Sinis the Pine-Bender and Sciron the cliff-bandit. He accepted the invitation but remained vigilant. As they entered the house, the atmosphere was oppressive. Procrustes spoke with a chilling obsession about symmetry and order. He believed that the world was messy and that men were of inconvenient sizes. His 'hospitality' was actually a twisted pursuit of physical perfection through violence. He led Theseus toward the sleeping quarters, where the two iron frames sat bolted to the floor, shimmering with an unnatural, cold light.
Procrustes explained his method with a macabre pride. If a guest was tall, he would be placed in the short bed. Since the guest exceeded the length of the frame, Procrustes would use his smithing tools—heavy hammers and sharp saws—to lop off the victim's legs until they were exactly flush with the iron edges. Conversely, if a traveler was short, they were led to the long bed. There, Procrustes would use a system of pulleys and weights to stretch the person’s limbs until their joints popped and their muscles tore, forcing them to span the full distance of the frame. In the mind of the bandit, he was a craftsman of humanity, correcting the errors of nature.
As Procrustes gestured for Theseus to lie down on the short bed, the hero saw the bloodstains on the floor and the discarded tools of the smith’s trade. Theseus realized that Procrustes was the ultimate hypocrite: a man who demanded that others conform to his rigid standards while he himself stood outside the laws of gods and men. With a sudden, explosive movement, Theseus grabbed the bandit’s wrist. The strength that had moved the boulder at Troezen now pinned Procrustes against his own iron creation. Theseus did not use his sword immediately; he intended to deliver a poetic justice that mirrored the crimes of the criminal.
'You have spent your life forcing the world to fit your narrow vision,' Theseus declared, his voice echoing against the stone walls of the mountain dwelling. 'Now, you shall see how it feels to be the one who does not fit.' A fierce struggle ensued. Procrustes was a powerful man, his muscles hardened by years of hammering at the forge and stretching his victims, but he was no match for a son of Poseidon. Theseus wrestled the bandit onto the very bed Procrustes had prepared for him. In some versions of the tale, it was the short bed, and because Procrustes was a man of significant height, his head and feet overhung the ends.
Keeping the bandit pinned, Theseus took up the heavy axe that Procrustes had used on so many innocent travelers. With the same cold precision the bandit had once employed, Theseus fitted Procrustes to the bed. He struck off the bandit's head and limbs, ensuring that the villain suffered the exact fate he had inflicted upon others. The 'Stretcher' was stretched no more; he was silenced by the very 'perfection' he had sought to impose. The iron bed, once a symbol of terror, became the bandit’s coffin.
After the deed was done, Theseus walked out into the moonlight of Mount Aigaleo. The mountain, which had witnessed so much cruelty, seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Theseus took nothing from the house, for he was a hero of the spirit, not a looter. He continued down the path toward the river Cephissus. There, he met the Phytalidae, the descendants of Phytalus, who purified him of the blood he had shed during his labors. Though his killings were just, the ancient laws required a cleansing before he could enter the sacred city of Athens.