by Joe Corcoran
didn’t matter as the ambassador now started to talk.
“Hercules, you are greatly honoured,” began the ambassador. He spoke in a proud voice, and everything about him showed the distaste that he felt in having to speak to a man he viewed as no better than a barbarian. He barely even glanced at Hercules as he continued, preferring to stare into the distance as he spoke.
“King Minos, the immortal and all powerful ruler of Crete, has decided to provide you with the opportunity of displaying your reverence for him by completing a challenge.”
Hercules opened his mouth to object, but Iolaus kicked him under the table again, allowing the ambassador to continue uninterrupted.
“For some weeks now the countryside of Crete has been subject to attack and devastation by a bull of unnatural size, strength and abilities. The bull is pure white, as ferocious as Ares, the god of war, and capable of breathing fire. Of course, Minos could easily defeat even such a fearsome beast. Such a task would use only a fraction of his awesome power. But by extreme good fortune - on your part - the immortal king was brought word of your brave deeds, and he has decided to help you fulfil your quest by providing you with a challenge.”
At this point Pittheus chose to assert his rights as king and agent of Zeus.
“Your seventh challenge,” said the king, looking Hercules firmly in the eye, “is to kill the Cretan Bull and so spare the Minoans from further devastation.”
Hercules was almost sure that Pittheus winked as he said these last words, but it was so quick that he might have been mistaken. In any case, he was now seized by the excitement of his latest mission and was keen to be away.
“How do we get there? When do we start?” he asked.
“You will have the honour of travelling in one of the mighty ships of the Minoan Navy,” answered the ambassador, “and we will set sail on the morning tide.”
“Well, Iolaus,” said Hercules, looking to his friend, “we had better start our preparations, there is no time to lose.”
At this the ambassador coughed a little.
“King Minos has extended the invitation only to Hercules,” he said, “I have instructions only to take one passenger.”
Hearing this Hercules controlled his anger only with a great and visible effort, his face turning from red to beetroot purple.
“It would be an unbearable dishonour if I were to undertake this challenge without my loyal and faithful -”
“- servant,” cut in Iolaus, getting to his feet and moving round the table to fill Hercules’ cup.
“You have been too generous, master, in allowing me to sit at table with you. The ambassador has misunderstood our relationship. I’m sure he would have no objection to a hero travelling with his manservant.” Hercules looked up sharply, but Iolaus silenced him with a glance before continuing, “Pray, continue your meal, master. I will make all the necessary arrangements and will come to wake you at first light.”
With this he walked out of the throne room, leaving Hercules to enjoy the rest of his food in an uncomfortable atmosphere. After what seemed like an age, Pittheus rose and wished them a good night, which was the sign that they could all leave, and Hercules made his way back to the room he shared with Iolaus. There was his friend, busy with preparing the few things that they would take with them on their voyage.
“What do you mean by pretending to be my servant. I am honoured that you are my friend.” said Hercules angrily. But, as usual, Iolaus had wise words of council to give.
“Where we are going,” he explained, “they have no time for honour or friendship. They believe that some men are better than others, that some men should serve masters. Let’s pretend that we believe the same, so that they accept us more easily. It may be something to use to our advantage before the challenge is complete.”
Although not happy with the situation, Hercules saw the reason in it. Together they finished the preparation and then retired to bed, where they both slept the deep and dreamless sleep of the truly exhausted.
The next morning passed in a whirl of hustle and bustle as everything was loaded aboard the Cretan ship, final preparations were made and the vessel set sail on the first leg of its voyage. To begin with the sailors kept close to the land, making sure that they were within reach of shore for as long as possible. The wind was favourable during this time, and they made good progress. Soon it was time to change course and make a straight heading for Crete, leaving the shores of Greece to fade into the hazy air behind them.
Hercules found that he enjoyed travelling by sea, the swaying of the deck beneath his feet was relaxing, and the sweep of the sky over his head seemed wider and grander than it did on the land. Iolaus, however, was having a different experience. Although the wind was mild and the sun shone above them, he stood white faced, as if glued to the ship’s rail, a look of stern concentration on his face. Every so often the lurching in his stomach would become too much, and he would have to lean over the side of the ship to be sick into the sea. This caused much amusement for the sailors, who whooped and cheered every time. They did not mean to be unkind, for them this was a rite of passage, the test to see if a new member of the crew would be able to bear the hardships of a life on the sea.
“Don’t worry, lad,” said one, patting Iolaus on the shoulder, “I was the same myself when I was a boy and took my first sea voyage. Now look at me, only five years later and already the pride of the Minoan Navy,” and he thumped himself proudly on the chest to show how sturdy he had become. Iolaus looked at him, seeing his wrinkled skin, rough hands and thinning hair, thinking how old this man looked, and how hard his life must have been in those five years.
“I’m sure I’ll be fine soon,” was all he said in reply, “in fact I feel better already. Is there anything I can do to help?” This was met with a chorus of cheers, which made Iolaus grin with pride before his churning stomach forced him back to ship’s rail.
As it was, by that afternoon Iolaus had only just recovered enough to eat a few bites of food, and that was only because the wind had dropped to almost nothing, and the sailors were considering turning to the oars. It was fortunate that they were already preparing to drop the sail, because at that moment the lookout gave a frantic cry.
“Squall! Squall coming on fast, off the port side! Lower that sail!”
Iolaus now looked out on the left hand side of the ship, and sure enough, he could see a white smudge on the horizon that showed where the sea was being whipped up into crashing waves. The patch of rough water was moving fast towards them, and it was a race against time for the sailors to make the ship safe before it hit. Already it had closed half the space between them, and now Iolaus could see a remarkable thing. There, in the middle of the foam, he was sure there was a horse’s head, then the flash of metal in the sunlight, now a pair of hooves trampling the sea, then the head and shoulders of a man. After only a few more moments it became clear what was approaching through the waves, and Iolaus forgot all about seasickness as he stared out at Poseidon, god of the sea, riding his chariot towards the ship, the two horses at the lead pushing through the waves and sending fountains of water high into the air. The chariot circled the ship three times before coming to a halt just in front of the bows, the sea all around now boiling with turbulent water and unseen monsters. The ship, this mighty vessel of the Minoan Navy, now seemed no better than a toy, held as it was under the power of the sea.
“Where is that slinking worm, Minos?” bellowed Poseidon, staring down from his chariot at the sailors on the deck. His eyes flashed with fire, and his beard seemed to be made of the very foam of the waves that surrounded him. For a long while no-one answered, until Hercules found the ambassador, skulking below decks, and dragged him to the bows.
“You are the messenger of King Minos, aren’t you?” asked Hercules, “What do you think he would say if he knew you had dishonoured him before a god?”
Reminded of his duty in so direct a way, the ambassador managed to pull himself together enough to give an answer,
although he was clearly shaking inside his fine robes and could not tear his eyes away from his own feet.
“King Minos is on the island of Crete,” he stuttered, “I am merely his humble ambassador, sent to Greece on a very minor matter of state.”
“Liar!” shouted back Poseidon, and the waves lashed at the boat more ferociously, making the wooden timbers creak.
“I am an ambassador,” came the trembling reply, “you cannot hurt me, it would not be honourable.”
“Now you speak of honour,” said the sea god, his voice rumbling with hollow laughter that rolled like thunder over the ship, “but what honour is there in your minor matter of state? You would fetch my nephew, in my own brother’s name, in order that he may kill my ambassador!” Hercules heard Iolaus gasp as these words were spoken, and although he did not understand what was being said, he now stepped forward and knelt, facing Poseidon.
“Uncle,” he said, “I have no intention of harming any of your subjects, I –“
“Yes, yes, yes,” Poseidon cut him short, “of course I understand that you were all too easily tricked into this journey. Come, join me on my chariot, and I will try to explain things to you in a way that you will understand.”
With this the horses moved forward, so that the chariot came alongside the ship, and