by Joe Corcoran
the townspeople while they said farewell to their departed king. They built a huge bonfire, and sat out in the open swapping stories of the great deeds that Geryon had performed. Then, as the night wore on and the fire began to burn low, they agreed that the boulder where Geryon had died should be turned into a monument to him, and that an inscription would be carved into the rock. Finally they drifted off to their beds, leaving Hercules and Iolaus to unroll their blankets and sleep under the stars near the embers of the fire.
The next morning Hercules rose early, eager to get on with the challenge. He instructed Iolaus to stay behind and tend to the cattle, as Zeus had commanded. Iolaus was unhappy to be missing out on the adventure, but having so recently seen the consequences of displeasing a god, he did not argue. This settled, Hercules went to ready the chariot and harness the hind, only to find a small group of townsfolk coming out to meet him. They stopped a little way in front of him, and shuffled their feet uneasily, until one of their number was pushed forward. Finding himself nominated as the spokesman of the group, he began as follows.
“Mighty Hercules. After saying farewell to our king last night, there was one more point to be decided. Geryon had no son, and he had appointed no successor. We need a new king and everyone in the town would like it to be you. You defeated Geryon in battle, yet you defied Zeus and showed him mercy.” There was a long pause until, finally, the spokesman cleared his throat and asked more directly, “Mighty Hercules, will you be our king?”
Well, Hercules was very flattered by this. He liked the idea of ruling this town by the sea at the edge of the known world, but he knew he had his challenges to complete and could not stay. He thought for a long time, making the little group of townspeople very nervous because he was so still and so silent and looked so fierce. Then, finally, Hercules lifted his head and called for Iolaus.
“I have decided to accept your offer,” he said to the townspeople, who started clapping and cheering until Hercules held up his hand to silence them, “however I have been given a great challenge to complete, and I must depart immediately in order to fulfil this duty. I will leave Iolaus with you. He is wise beyond his years, and will rule in my place as my Steward. If I should not return then you should accept him as your king, although his reign will be short as an evil giant will then come and destroy the world.”
The townspeople nodded, their faces showing a mix of emotions as they weren’t sure whether Hercules was joking about the giant. Before there could be any more questions, Hercules drew Iolaus to one side.
“I have a plan,” he said, “while I am away you should observe the townspeople and find the worthiest, wisest and best person from among their number. When I return I will make that person Steward in your place, and we can go to complete the final challenge together.”
Then Hercules harnessed the hind to the chariot, whispered his destination to the shadow compass – ‘Atlas Mountains’ – and drove off into the Underworld.
Now that he was used to the tunnels of Hades, Hercules found it easier to resist the temptation to look to the side. He also remembered to stop and dust off the wheels of the chariot, just as Iolaus had done, before driving out into the daylight. When he did emerge it was into a very different landscape from the one he had left. The cave opened onto the side of a gigantic mountain. Above him rose a steep rock slope, where patches of snow were visible here and there, growing more frequent higher up, until a dense layer of cloud seemed to lay as a barrier, blocking his sight of the mountain summit. Below was a winding trail that led to a narrow valley. The bottom of the valley was more sheltered and tall meadow grass grew there, interspersed with one or two stunted trees. At the far end of the valley, Hercules could see a large circular area that had been enclosed by a high wall, and he knew that this was his destination. Unharnessing the hind from the chariot, he led her down the trail, releasing her to graze in the meadow before walking with determined steps towards the walled garden.
The wall, which had seemed quite normal from a distance, began to look more intimidating as Hercules approached. The massive stones were so well fitted together that they almost seemed to melt into one another, and they reached high into the sky - higher than even a Titan could reach. The gate was also formidable, constructed of thick wooden planks bound with metal and studded with iron spikes. Here Hercules saw an opportunity. The sheer face of the wall might not present any handhold, but the spikes on the gate were as good as a ladder to a strong man. In any case, his experience taught him that the entrance was the weakest part of any fortress – if he could not climb the gate, how long would it take for him to crack it open with his club? So he headed directly for this weak spot, emerging from the long meadow grass onto an area of shorter grass and moss that surrounded the wall. There was nothing now to stop him as he strode forward, and Hercules was beginning to think that the challenge would be easy, when he suddenly found himself walking away from the gate.
“How on earth did that happen,” he mumbled to himself, then turned round and headed for the gate again … only to end up, a few seconds later, facing back the way he had come. It must be the sorcery of the Hesperides, he thought, I shall have to be clever. So he tried approaching the gate by walking backwards, or with his eyes closed, or by hopping – but none of these things worked. With his anger rising, Hercules picked up a stone and flung it at the gate, only to find it flying back towards him, catching him smartly on the forehead. Rubbing this new bruise, Hercules worked his way towards the side of the gate, maybe hoping to sneak up on it from an unexpected direction. He found that the magic did not stop him from reaching the wall, only that it was impossible to get within touching distance of the gate itself.
“Very well,” he growled, “I shall have to do this the hard way.”
He went to climb the stone wall. However smooth and even the surface had looked from a distance, it was twice as sheer from close up. Hercules did manage to find some tiny handholds with which to pull himself up until he had reached about head height, then the rock itself seemed to shimmer, and it was as if it had turned to glass - landing Hercules back down on the ground on his bottom. Now he was sure, as he fell, that he had heard the sound of giggling coming from the other side of the wall. This made him more determined than ever. He took two arrows from his quiver, and used one in each hand - ramming the points into any small gap he could find between the stones. In this way he made better progress until he was about half way up the wall, then when he was certain he would make the top, the strangest thing happened. One of the stone blocks slid part way out from the sheer face of the wall, and went crash into his tummy, making him lose his grip. He grabbed onto the top of the block to stop himself from falling, but then it slid back into the wall leaving him with no handhold, and sending him plummeting to the ground. This time there was no mistaking the chorus of girlish giggles coming from the far side of the wall, and Hercules was so enraged he grabbed his club, smashing it again and again against the unyielding stones until splinters started to fly. His rage could have kept him going at this until there was nothing left of the club, but Hercules forced himself to stop. He sat down on the short grass and counted to ten, clearing his mind so that he could think properly. There had been something in Zeus’ story that was important, something that could help if he could only remember. The Hesperides were Atlas’ daughters, and they’d built this wall to protect the golden apples. What had they said?
‘If we can’t take the apples then no-one else shall have them’ … ‘except maybe father’.
That was it! Atlas would be able to enter the garden. The daughters would not refuse their father. It was not the direct approach that he would have preferred, but Hercules turned his back on the garden, and began to scan the mountainside for the easiest path up to the top of the world.
It was a long and difficult climb, taking Hercules through the clouds, up steep slopes and along narrow ledges, until finally he arrived at his destination. There, at the top of the highest mountain, stood the Titan Atlas.
He was huge, as tall as a house, except that now he was bent low by the weight of the sky. One knee was placed on the ground, and his head was bowed so that the main load was on his shoulders and hands. All he wore was a loin cloth, so that after all this time under the sun, his skin had turned almost entirely black. At first he did not seem to notice Hercules, who stood silently staring up at him, until with a terrible creaking sound, he turned his head and fixed the hero with a sad but defiant gaze.
“What do you want, little man?” boomed Atlas.
Hercules did not answer at once, he looked up at Atlas a little while longer, studying him, then said, “It seems to me that the best way to support a heavy load would be on your head,” Atlas raised one eyebrow and made no reply, so Hercules continued, “then your spine would be straight, and you could stretch more easily.” Atlas still made no reply, so Hercules tried a different approach, “It must give you quite a pain in your neck to be bent like that for five thousand years. You could probably do with a break.”
“Has Zeus sent you to torment me, little man?” Atlas asked finally.
“Quite the opposite,” replied Hercules, “in fact I’m here to offer you the chance of a short holiday.”
This made Atlas listen, and the sky seemed to move slightly as he shifted his body to get a better look at this tiny man. Having held up the sky for so long, all his muscles were knotted and twisted, and he was in terrible pain. Atlas would have done almost anything to be free of his burden, even for five minutes, but he also knew the gods and how tricky they could be, so he tried not to show any excitement or enthusiasm.
“Go on,” was all Atlas said, but this was enough for Hercules to know that he had succeeded.
“All you need to do is to fetch me a golden apple from Hera’s tree and I will grant you a whole hour’s respite from your labour.”
“And who will hold the sky while I am gone?” asked Atlas.
“I will,” said Hercules, and he was surprised to suddenly hear thunder, although the sky was clear. Then he felt the ground shaking, which caused a few loose rocks to start rolling down the mountainside. Looking up at the Titan, he realised Atlas was laughing. His great body shook so that the sky wobbled on his shoulders, and tears of mirth forced themselves from the corners of his tightly closed eyes.
“You?” he said, when he had recovered, “the sky would crush you as flat as a pancake in less than a second.”
Now, Hercules was not the boastful man that he had once been, but he realised that this was not the time for false modesty.
“I am not some ordinary mortal, to be addressed in such a way by the likes of you, Atlas. My name is Hercules, son of Zeus, and I am the strongest man that has or will ever live. I defeated the giants, I wear the cloak of an invincible lion, I have travelled the Underworld, and I demand your respect.”
Now the Titan looked at Hercules in a different way, with acceptance, and it seemed like he would agree to the proposition, then his eyes clouded over and the moment was gone.
“I will fetch the apple for you,” said the Titan slowly, “but first you must kill the serpent.”
Hercules had no idea how he would achieve this, given that he could not even enter the garden, but he nodded nevertheless. He told Atlas that he would return once the serpent was dead, and then headed back down the steep slope to the hidden valley. However, rather than heading directly down to the valley floor, Hercules instead made his way along the slope, to a point where he could look down over the wall and see the tree itself at the centre of the garden. It was a great distance away, but even so Hercules could make out the coils of the serpent around the trunk, and even, here and there, a head poking out from amongst the leaves. He readied his bow, drawing the string back as far as it would go, took careful aim and released the arrow. It flew straight and true, but the distance was just too great and the arrow fell short, clattering against the wall. Next Hercules picked his way down the mountainside until he was sure that he was in range of the tree, only to find that from here his line of sight was blocked by the wall. Then he had an idea. He went down to the floor of the valley and walked up to the gate in the wall, or at least as close as he could get.
“Dear ladies,” he shouted.
There was no answer except for a little giggling. Nevertheless, Hercules continued.
“Dear ladies, how difficult it must be for you to see those golden apples every day and never to be able to pick one,” this time only silence answered his shouts, “wouldn’t it be marvellous if a brave hero could rid you of the vile serpent, Ladon?”
Now there were distinct noises of rustling and shuffling, and the muted sounds of a whispered argument.
“No man shall ever enter our garden!” came the firm reply once the argument had finished, followed by a smaller voice adding, “except father.”
“I will not need to enter your garden,” said Hercules, “if you will give me your assistance.”
There was more shuffling and muttering from the other side of the wall, then silence.
“Dear ladies, will you give me your assistance, PLEASE?” asked Hercules, politely.
To this came the immediate answer ‘yes’ followed by some giggles, so he explained his plan to the daughters of Atlas, and they agreed to put it into immediate effect. Hercules moved a short distance away from the wall, and notched an arrow to his bow. He took aim and fired high into the sky, sending the arrow curving up and then down over the top of the wall - to land in the middle of the garden.
“Too long,” came a chorus of voices from inside the garden, so Hercules notched another arrow, shooting this one on the same path but slightly more softly. This time when the arrow landed the shout came, “too short.” Now, sure of his range, Hercules selected one of the arrows dipped in the Hydra’s poison, and having taken careful aim, he fired. The arrow seemed to pause at the very top of its flight, then plummeted back down towards the earth, striking home with a thud.
“A hit,” came the shout. Then the small voice again, sounding quite scared, “oh dear, he seems quite angry.”
From the garden came a loud and ferocious hissing sound followed by some girlish shrieks and the sound of running. Hercules hurried up the mountainside to his previous vantage point, worried that his arrow would not do its work. He saw a scene of chaos inside the garden, with Ladon chasing the Hesperides round and round in its pain and fury. Fortunately the daughters were nimble, and were able to stay away from the many heads until the poison first slowed and then halted the enormous serpent. With a last quiver of its tail, it fell to the ground and lay dead.
One part of his plan completed, Hercules started to make his way up the mountainside one more time, but before he had gone far the sun dipped below the horizon and night fell. In the darkness it was impossible to continue without risking a fall down some unseen precipice, so Hercules decided to rest for the night. He made the best camp he could, clearing stones to make a flat space on which to lie down, and settled to sleep under the stars. His mind, however, was fully awake, and his thoughts kept returning to the time he had left for the last challenge. Was it one week or two? How long had they spent travelling through the Underworld? There was no sun underground so it was impossible to count the days. Maybe if he could work out the distance they had travelled and the speed of the chariot he could calculate how long had passed, but that sounded like a job for Iolaus.
Eventually Hercules must have drifted off to sleep, for his dreams were filled with the giant Alcyoneus. Alcyoneus breaking his chains. Alcyoneus climbing to the surface. Alcyoneus roaring with rage, before beginning his reign of destruction … roaring … roaring?
Hercules woke to find that the roaring was real. It bounced off the sides of the mountains and around the rocks, filling the air. Scrambling to his feet, Hercules started running up the mountain as the first rays of the sun hit the tops of the taller rocks. The roaring could only be coming from Atlas, and if Atlas was hurt he might not be able to retrieve the apple. Hercules ran all the fas
ter as the sun rose, until he reached the summit of the mountain and skidded to a halt in front of the roaring Titan.
“Where have you been?” asked Atlas, stopping his roaring, “what took you so long?”
Hercules ignored the question.
“Never mind that, are you injured? Why do you roar?” he asked anxiously.
“Oh that,” Atlas said, looking a little embarrassed, “I didn’t think anyone would hear,” then he shook his huge head and explained, “the pain is always greater with the cold air of morning. I get terrible cramps in my muscles and roaring makes me feel better.”
On hearing this, Hercules felt more sorry for him than ever, and suggested that now would be a good time to complete their bargain. The serpent was dead, he explained, and his daughters were safe. Hercules then found a good level place to stand, readied himself, and told Atlas to lower the sky onto his head. The weight was tremendous, and he felt his feet being pushed into the ground. Despite what Atlas had thought, however, he was able to bear it, and once the Titan saw that the sky was in safe hands he turned to head down the mountain.
“Don’t fail to be back in one hour,” called Hercules after him. Then, to be sure he wouldn’t just run off, “if you are not, I shall summon Zeus and tell him that you have escaped. I can’t imagine how bad your punishment would be for that crime.”
Now Hercules could only wait and hope that Atlas would be successful. The sky felt like it was crushing him, and he thought that every minute he supported it must be making him shorter and shorter. What was worse, was that he now wished he had gone for a pee before taking the sky from Atlas. He really needed to go to the toilet, and he wasn’t sure whether the ache in his arms was worse, or the ache in his bladder. The sun slowly crept higher in the sky, marking the passage of time, and although it already seemed like several hours had passed, the shadows still showed it was early morning. Hercules mustered every last scrap of his strength, courage and determination to keep the sky aloft. Then he began to think about how Atlas carried the sky on his shoulders rather than his head. Maybe that would make it easier. Slowly Hercules began to go down on one knee, bending his head forward until … screeeeech. Hercules was not as tall as Atlas, and he had brought the sky so low that it was now touching the top of a large rock away to his left. He tried to stand back up, but had gone too far, and instead he fell