The Twelve Labours of Hercules

by Joe Corcoran

“thank you for letting this simple trader have the honour of meeting you in person. I’m pleased that I have been able to serve you by delivering Hercules and Iolaus from certain death at the hand of King Minos.”

  Hercules bristled slightly at this, and Pittheus raised an eyebrow at the man’s lack of modesty.

  “Although it pains me to raise such a vulgar subject,” continued the captain, “my crew would not forgive me if I didn’t mention the small matter of the agreed payment.”

  Pittheus paused slightly before replying, his eyes resting in turn on Iolaus, Hercules and the captain.

  “Of course, let me summon my exchequer, the man who deals with the kingdom’s money, he will arrange your payment. What was the agreed price?”

  The captain mentioned a large sum of money, causing Pittheus to shoot another, sterner glance at Iolaus.

  “That seems a very steep price for bringing two passengers from Crete,” said the king.

  “Three, sire,” corrected the captain, “there was also a rather large bull.” Now he looked up and held the king’s gaze momentarily, defiance in his eyes, “I’ll have no man saying that I don’t strike a fair bargain. This was the amount agreed, and a small recompense for the loss of my livelihood.” Having spoken so boldly, the captain remembered his place and dropped his eyes.

  “Your livelihood?”

  “Yes, sire,” said the captain, “for fifteen years I’ve traded between Crete and Greece. I know nothing else but that route and the merchants I meet at either end. Now I fear that me and my crew will not be welcomed back as long as King Minos rules.”

  Pittheus nodded. He understood how close many people lived to poverty and ruin. How one event could destroy the work of a lifetime.

  “Let me summon the exchequer,” he said, “and I will have a meal brought, we can discuss your problem while we eat.”

  With this the king left the room, and almost immediately servants arrived to set a table with food and drink. They also brought a second table, which was left mysteriously bare. By the time Pittheus arrived back, the meal was ready and Hercules was gazing hungrily at the plentiful food that had been provided. He did, however, manage to restrain himself until the king had taken his own modest portion before grabbing a plate and heaping it with meats, breads and olives. They had all started eating when the throne room door opened to admit a tall, thin man with his arms full of rolls of paper. He hesitated on the threshold, looking nervous and twitchy, until Pittheus called him forward.

  “Ah, Paradees, come in, come in. Please set your charts on this table. Would you like something to eat?”

  The man shook his head at this invitation, and shuffled forward to stand by the empty table. Clumsily he started to unroll the papers, dropping some on the floor and struggling to keep the rolls flat. The captain set aside his food, and went to help the newcomer. He had recognised the rolls of paper for what they were, nautical charts - maps of the sea – and he was very curious to find out what they showed.

  “T-t-the king has explained y-y-your problem to me,” stuttered Paradees, once the charts had been arranged to his satisfaction, “I h-h-have studied the sea routes around Troezen for s-s-some time now and it seems to be an excellent home port for any trading ship.”

  Iolaus noticed that the man became less nervous as he focused on his subject, and sure enough, his stuttering soon stopped.

  “As well as Crete, from here a ship can sail east to Rhodes, south to Egypt or west to Syracuse. However, I believe the greatest riches could be gained by opening a new route through the Hellespont. It is well known that spices from India fetch a high price in Greece, and that the city of Troy controls this trade. The spices arrive in Troy by land, brought by Persian traders using teams of camels and donkeys, which they call caravans. What I have found,” continued Paradees, reaching out with his long arms to point out the places and routes he mentioned on the charts, “is that these caravans take a long route, following the southern shores of the Black Sea. A trader who could sail to Colchis,” and here he tapped a point on the map near the eastern end of the Black Sea, “could meet the caravans, weeks before they arrived at Troy, and buy the spices at a bargain price.”

  Paradees straightened up, beaming proudly, but the captain did not look so happy.

  “That would be a fine plan,” he said, “if it did not mean certain death.” Paradees and the others looked confused, so the captain continued, “I take it then that you have not heard of King Diomedes, who rules in that part of the world?” Paradees shook his head. “Then let us sit and pour the wine,” said the captain, “and I will tell you a tale so gruesome it will make your hair curl.”

  Diomedes, the captain began, ruled an area on the shores of the Black Sea that stretched inland almost to Armenia. He had grown rich, over many years, by charging a toll to the caravan drivers for safe passage through his land. They knew that this was the quickest way to Troy, and so were willing to pay a good price for the king’s protection, and everyone was happy. To ensure that this situation continued, Diomedes just had to make sure that the caravan drivers had no alternative way of selling their spices - other than making the journey to Troy. So whenever traders landed in his kingdom he would welcome them warmly and invite them to a feast at his palace. After plenty of food and wine, the king always insisted that his guests stay the night, so they would go to their beds and fall fast asleep. This was where things turned nasty. In the depths of the night, the king and his men would creep into the bedroom and slit the traders’ throats, taking their bodies to the stables, where his four favourite horses - his mares - would eat them up. No-one ever returned, and no trace of them was ever seen again. The only evidence of these terrible crimes was that the four mares had been driven completely mad by their unnatural diet.

  The captain sat back, satisfied that his story would finish all this foolish talk of sailing to the Black Sea, but Hercules and Pittheus were looking at one another with a shared determination. Hercules nodded slightly, and Pittheus made his pronouncement.

  “Hercules, your eighth challenge is to stop this barbaric practice and to free the Mares of Diomedes.”

  Hercules said nothing, but looked at the captain, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

  “We’re not heroes, just traders,” he said, “so we’ll go to trade with these spice merchants, as long as you promise to deal with the man-eating horses.”

  “Deal,” said Hercules, holding out his hand for the captain to shake, “now, I have a suggestion for our cargo on the outward voyage …”

  The rest of the crew were easily convinced to join the expedition. After what they had seen in Crete, they believed that there was nothing that could harm them if they were travelling with Hercules and Iolaus. The new cargo was bought and loaded, fresh water and provisions were brought aboard, and before midday the galley had set sail again, this time heading to the north east. However, almost immediately the wind dropped, and then died away altogether. The galley was left floating in the middle of a flat and glassy sea, and the sailors were not happy.

  “They think it’s a bad omen,” said the captain, “a sign that your luck has run out and that this expedition will be a failure.”

  “Luck?” Hercules asked, “What has luck got to do with it? Let me show you how a hero makes his own luck. Iolaus, you take port and I’ll take starboard.”

  With this, Hercules sat down at one of the rowers’ benches on the right hand side of the galley. Seeing what he was about, Iolaus took a seat opposite him, and both readied their oars.

  “We can’t row all the way to Colchis,” jeered one of the sailors.

  Hercules ignored him, and nodded to Iolaus to begin rowing. The first stroke knocked some of the sailors off their feet, so powerfully did Hercules pull at his oar, and the galley shot forward. They were ready for the next stroke, but it still sent a shiver through every timber of the ship. Unfortunately, Iolaus was not so strong. He tried his best to at least do enough to keep them going straight, but with
each stroke it became clear that the galley would just be going in circles, with two such mismatched rowers. Still he kept going, although he could feel the tears of frustration starting to prick at his eyes.

  “Looks like you could do with a hand,” said one of the sailors, settling into the seat beside Iolaus and grabbing the end of the oar. Together they managed to do a little better, and then the benches around Iolaus began to fill up. Three to an oar. Ten oars against Hercules’ one.

  “Let’s see how the big man does against a team,” shouted the sailor beside Iolaus, “captain, give us a rhythm.”

  With the captain beating time on a small drum, the journey really began. The galley seemed to fly across the surface of the water, going straight as an arrow, now that there was equal strength on both sides. After a few hours, Hercules saw how tired the rowers opposite him were beginning to look, and he felt certain that he could keep going for longer. He saw one man droop over his oar, but he was almost immediately replaced by a fresh rower, and Hercules realised that there were more sailors than needed to row. They would have time to rest, while he had to keep going all by himself. Still he was determined and he was strong, and he was not tired yet.

  Time went on and Hercules did begin to tire, but so did the sailors. More needed to