by Glyn Iliffe
‘Fearing some crazed animal was on the loose, several guards and huntsmen were sent up from Cleonae that afternoon to find it and kill it. They went off into the forest, but were never seen again. No more guards were sent after that, and that’s when the flight began. Many families packed everything they had into wagons and headed to Cleonae. But many stayed, too, not wanting to abandon everything they owned. Some of us were loath to leave so close to harvest. And for that, many of us paid a terrible price.’
‘Did anybody see the monster?’
‘Yes. I was the first to see it and live. I’d taken my wife and daughter up onto the roof. Somehow they managed to sleep – the exhaustion of fear, I expect – but I remained awake with my old spear to hand. There was a half-moon that night, and by its light I saw it moving across the fields by the river. At first I thought it was a lion. I’ve seen them before, so I know what they look like. But it was bigger, more like a bear in size. It was black too. Even though it was night, I could see that its mane and fur were as black as ship’s tar. And its eyes shone green in the darkness. They looked straight at me! It was as if it had sensed me watching it.
‘I was filled with terror, thinking that at any moment it would come up the stairs and eat us all. If it had, there would have been little I could have done with just my spear. But it was then I saw something hanging from its jaws. It was a child. A child, but…’
Tears came to Molorchus’s eyes, and Heracles comforted him with a hand on his shoulder.
‘Tell me.’
‘She was still alive! I saw her moving, heard her groans. May the gods help me, Heracles. I will never forget it. I can’t. She was held in the lion’s great jaws, but there was no blood. The monster had taken her alive, deliberately. To eat later, I thought then. I know better now.
‘But suddenly the gods filled me with reckless courage. I stood and I hurled my spear at it. Or maybe I aimed at the child, hoping to save her from an unimaginable death. In my youth I was known for my skill with a spear. And my aim returned to me that night. The point found the monster’s flank. I saw it strike – and I saw it bounce off again. As truly as I sit before you now, I know that I hit the lion. And yet its green eyes fixed me with a cold stare, as if remembering my face for another time, and then it strolled off, disappearing into the crops.’
Heracles looked intently at the farmer. It was difficult enough for a soldier trained and experienced in war to dare take on an enemy, so for an old man whose life had been spent growing crops to do so was worthy of respect.
‘A while later my neighbour appeared,’ Molorchus continued, ‘calling his child’s name through his tears, his spear clutched loosely in his fingers. I ran to him and told him what I had seen, though I wish now I had not.’
‘You had no choice. His daughter was still alive…’
‘And it was that knowledge that sent him to his death. Him and seven others,’ Molorchus said. ‘Instead of killing whole families, that night the lion came three times, smashing its way into farms and taking a young girl each time. The next day the fathers and older brothers of the taken went into the forest, intent on finding the beast’s lair and saving their daughters, if they could. And find it they did, just as the monster had planned. But only one came back – and he died of his wounds within a day.’
‘And the children?’ Heracles demanded.
‘Leonteus, the man who returned, was an older brother of one of the girls. How he made it back I can’t begin to guess – sheer grit and determination on his part, and the consent of the monster, of course. If it had gone after him he wouldn’t have stood a chance, and that can only mean it wanted him to return and tell his awful tale. Even then, his wounds were horrific. The beast had struck him – a single swipe from face to stomach, four deep gouges that parted the flesh like the edge of a sword. One eye and half his nose had gone, the base of his throat and his chest were hung with ribbons of skin and muscle, through which you could see the gleam of his bones. And yet he could speak.
‘They followed the lion to its lair, even saw it enter the mouth of the cave – and that was when they heard the pitiful whimpering of the girls. It had kept them alive all that time with the deliberate intent of drawing their menfolk to its den. They entered the cave with their spears and nets ready, terrified and yet drawing courage from each other, and knowing that their daughters and sisters’ lives depended on them. But as they neared the heart of the monster’s lair, they realized to their horror that somehow it had slipped in behind them, blocking their escape.
‘They turned and threw their nets at it, but its claws sliced through them as if they were spiders’ webs. Two or three launched their spears, but like mine they simply bounced off the creature’s hide. Even when it leaped on the first of them, tearing him limb from limb, the others tried to stab it, but their weapons were merely blunted or broken. After that, they didn’t stand a chance. And as Leonteus crawled from the cave and into the forest, he heard further shrieks from deeper within the cave. The girls, it seemed, had served their purpose.’
Molorchus ended his story, and Heracles saw the gleam of tears running down his cheeks. He looked around the farmhouse’s single room again, noting the destruction that had been caused there. He saw the bloodstains on the walls – almost black now in the darkness – and the remains of the child’s mattress. And then he understood Molorchus’s tears. He laid a hand on his shoulder.
‘And now the lion has taken your own child.’
‘My daughter, yes,’ he said, his voice breaking with grief. ‘Our only child, born to us in our old age. An unlooked-for gift from the gods, and loved all the more for it.’
‘And the blood on the walls?’ Heracles asked, knowing what the answer would be.
Molorchus brushed the tears angrily from his cheeks.
‘After Leonteus’s death, we knew we could not afford to stay another night. Even the most stubborn and earth-rooted farmer accepted he had to leave and seek shelter in Cleonae. Knowing the beast only came after dark, we used the time to load our wagons and prepare the animals to be herded off to the city. But I’ve never done anything without calling on the gods first. So I went up into the foothills, to a spring where we worship Demeter. I took a suckling pig and sacrificed it, intending to call on all the gods to protect my family. Then, even as I was cutting the animal’s throat, I heard cries from the valley below. I left the carcass where it was and ran down the hill as fast as my old legs would carry me. Near the bottom, I was met by one of my neighbours. By the look on his face I knew what had happened. I had known the moment I heard that first cry.
‘When I reached my home, it was like you see it now. My wife, or what…or what remained of her was in that corner. And my daughter, my beautiful Thaleia, was gone. I had been stupid enough to leave them, stupid enough to believe the monster would not attack by daylight, simply because it had not done so before. I should have remembered the look it gave me when I threw my spear at it that night – a look of vengeful hatred. That was just yesterday, though it feels like a lifetime ago. So I buried my wife, using what little energy my grief had left me, and as my neighbours set off towards Cleonae, I resolved to get my daughter back.’
He pointed to a spear propped against a wall, and an old half-moon shield lying at its foot.
‘I’ve already wasted a day, a whole day trembling like a coward before my own sorrow, while Thaleia suffers unspeakable horror in that monster’s lair. So I will leave at dawn to face the lion, and may the gods show me its weakness.’
Heracles took the skin and filled their cups again. He did not think the old man was brave. His hand shook as he reached for his cup, and there was such terror in his eyes that what little strength he had would melt as soon as he faced the monster. He had witnessed the same look on the faces of too many men before the start of a battle, and had watched them fall under the spears of their enemies, too frozen by fear to remember their training or put up a fight. But he also knew Molorchus would go into the forest anyw
ay, if only because his love of his daughter was greater than his dread of the monster.
‘You should not go,’ he said. ‘You haven’t the strength, and what courage you have has already been drained to the dregs.’
‘Do you have children, my friend? If you did, you would know that I have to go. I have to go, and what is more, I have to find a way to succeed and save my daughter.’
‘I will go for you, and I will save your daughter from the beast.’
Molorchus looked at him, his mournful eyes filling with fresh tears. He gave a weak smile and shook his head.
‘You are bigger and stronger than me, and I don’t doubt your courage. But you do not love my daughter as I do. You don’t even know her. When you see the monster face to face, as I have done, what’s to stop you turning and running? But I know the horror that I have to face, and because I love my child I will face it anyway.’
‘I, too, had children – three boys – so I understand your fear. But my children are dead. They died because…because I was unable to save them. The grief is like a knife in my heart, an indescribable pain that cuts deeper still every time I think of them – and they are never out of my thoughts. The oracle told me there were tasks I must do to release myself from the pain, and the first task is to kill this lion. That is why I am here. And if by saving your daughter I can ease my grief – even if only by a little – then believe me, I will kill that lion.’
The old farmer held his gaze a moment longer, then, bursting into tears again, he seized Heracles’s hand and kissed it repeatedly.
‘Thank you, my friend. Thank you, thank you. Then the gods have answered my prayers! If anyone can help me save my Thaleia, I believe you can.’
‘Help you? Molorchus, you are old and weak, and you will be a hindrance. No, you must entrust the task to me alone.’
‘But you don’t know where the monster’s lair is.’
‘Neither do you. Besides, I have been on many hunts – tracking a creature the size of this lion will not be difficult for me.’
‘What about Thaleia? She doesn’t know you…’
Heracles put his hands on Molorchus’s shoulders and fixed him with his eyes.
‘I said you must entrust the task to me. Will you do that?’
The old man nodded.
‘Of course, I must. You are a good man, I can see that. And I will pay you what little I have.’
‘You already know why I’m doing this, so keep what meagre wealth you have.’
‘Then I will trade what I have to buy a boar and sacrifice it to your name, Heracles. Whether you succeed or fail, you are worthy of the honour. But how do you intend to defeat such a monster? Its hide is impenetrable to the weapons of men, so your bow and arrows will be useless. You have the size and physique of a god, but the lion’s claws are like sharpened bronze – even muscles as thickly layered as yours will be torn to shreds by them.’
‘And yet the creature is mortal, or so I’ve heard,’ Heracles replied. ‘It may have been spawned by Echidna herself, but even if its hide can resist sharpened bronze, can its skull withstand the blow of a club or a fist? If there’s a way to kill it, I will find it.’
‘Don’t forget its cunning and malice. What lion kidnaps children to act as bait? What animal destroys and kills for the pleasure of satisfying its spite? Remember, too, that it drew eight men into its lair, only to use some other exit to go around behind them and block off their only escape. You are not pitting yourself against a dull-witted beast.’
‘I won’t forget. But a beast it is, nonetheless, and I will defeat it and bring back your daughter. You have my word.’
He slipped the bow over his shoulder and adjusted the strap on his quiver, then pushed himself to his feet. Molorchus stood also, taking him by the elbow.
‘You aren’t going now, in the dark?’
‘I will not leave your child in that monster’s lair a moment longer than I have to.’
Molorchus shook his head.
‘But you must rest first and be ready for the hunt. You might miss its tracks at night and only end up wasting more time. Besides, Thaleia is asleep now; I can sense it in my heart. Perhaps the monster is hiding among the shadows of the forest paths, waiting to ambush anyone foolish enough to go looking for it at night.’
‘Very well,’ Heracles said. ‘I will sleep first and leave at dawn.’
Chapter Nine
Into the Forest
Heracles woke to bright sunshine. It pierced his eyelids and seemed to drive into his brain, filling his senses with its brilliance. He groaned and pressed his fingers against his aching forehead, which felt like an anvil that was being repeatedly and ferociously beaten by a hammer. He opened his eyes a crack, but the light was too intense and he was immediately forced to close them again.
Groaning, he rolled onto his side and put out an arm, hoping to find Megara’s warm, naked body beside him. But she was not there, and the mattress was cold. He opened his eyes again, holding them open despite the screaming protests of his brain. For some reason, the curtains had been removed – taken down for cleaning by an intrusive slave, he guessed. He grunted, threw off the furs and stood.
The bedroom reeled around him and the hammer beating his forehead intensified its blows. He covered his eyes and lurched towards the open bedroom door.
‘Megara!’ he called.
The sound of his own voice boomed inside his skull. He winced and reached out to steady himself against the doorjamb. Surely he had not drunk that much last night? A couple of drafts of wine, weakened by another two parts of water, that was all.
‘Megara?’ he said again, his voice little more than a whisper now.
There was no reply. In fact, there were no sounds at all. The whole house was strangely quiet, when there should at least have been the usual clatter from the kitchen or the inevitable voices of the household slaves from the floor below, shouting at each other in their different dialects or pidgin Greek, or else laughing, or singing some tune from their homelands. He could not even hear the boys, who would normally have been hollering as they chased each other through the corridors or in the orchards outside.
As he thought about them, he felt a strange compulsion to go to their room. A nervousness settled on him, as if something was wrong, though he could not think what. Perhaps it was the strange silence, the absence of Megara, or his mysterious hangover, but he felt a growing urgency to find his three children.
Drowsily, he looked through half-lidded eyes for something to cover his nakedness, only to realize he had slept in his tunic. He left the bedroom and walked barefoot along the corridor, pausing at one of the windows to look down into the courtyard below. It was empty, though some of the plants had been trampled and a piece of clothing had been left in one corner.
‘Megara?’ he called, raising his voice as much as he could endure. ‘Theri?’
Therimachus was his oldest son, mature even for a five-year-old. But there was no answer. He pushed himself away from the windowsill and continued along the corridor, reaching the top of the steps that led down to the lower level. He listened again for sounds of others, but the house remained silent. He wondered whether to go downstairs and look for his wife and their slaves, or whether to take the bend in the corridor that led to the boys’ bedroom.
It was then he saw the mark on the wall. A long red streak, as if a hand had been dipped in paint and smeared along the white plaster. But it was not paint. And on the floor were bloody footprints, coming from the direction of the children’s bedroom. He felt his heart sink and the sudden terror of helpless panic seizing hold of him.
‘Theri?’ he shouted, ignoring the persistent thumping in his head. ‘Therimachus? Creontiades? Boys, are you awake?’
He walked to the end of the corridor, desperately praying that a slave had cut him or herself and run off to the kitchens in a panic. The footprints did not belong to a child. But he knew before he turned the corner that his prayers would not be answered. That what was
waiting for him was horrific and would change his life forever.
The passageway was short and windowless. The stump of a burned-out torch hung in its bracket, another indicator that the slaves were not in the house, as it should have been replaced during their normal morning duties. But its light was not needed. At the end of the corridor, the door to the boys’ bedroom had been ripped from its hinges and lay at an angle on the floor. White curtains were being blown into the room on a light breeze, allowing the brilliant late-morning sunshine to bathe everything in a golden glow. A small bed lay on its side, the straw of its mattress torn and scattered, its blankets strewn across the floor. And though Heracles could only glimpse the chaos within, he saw something that turned his flesh cold. A small arm lay across the floor, its fingers curled up into a fist, the rest of the body hidden by the wall.
‘NO!’
Heracles sat up, his scream still ringing from the walls. Everything was in darkness, and sensing a presence close by he turned to see Molorchus lying under a rough woollen blanket. The old man stirred, but soon lay still again, his gentle snores filling the air.
Heracles wiped the sweat from his brow and stood. The dream had left him feeling uneasy. Had the recollection of that morning been sent by the gods to unsettle him and make him lose heart? If so, it must have been the work of his old enemy, Hera. Or perhaps it was meant to goad him into action – an inspiration from Olympian Zeus to remind him of the words of the oracle: that if he could kill the spawn of Echidna then he would learn why he had murdered his own children. But as he recalled the riddle, he wondered what the Pythoness had meant by the immortal head . Was the lion unkillable? He considered waking Molorchus and asking his thoughts, but decided against it. If he woke the old man, it would only delay his start.