by Unknown
Heracles at once knocked holes in either end of the great stable-building, and by digging a short channel turned the courses of the rivers Alpheus and Peneus which flowed close by, so that both streams ran in through one gap and out through the other.
The strong current of water cleared out the thirty years’ accumulation of dung in a very short time, and Heracles had turned back the rivers into their normal beds and rebuilt the gaps in the stable walls before the herds were driven home in the evening.
Augeas, however, refused to fulfil his side of the bargain, and Heracles had to return some years later to punish him. He did not reap any reward from Eurystheus either, who said that this Labour did not count, since Heracles had worked for hire, and packed him off to chase away the Stymphalian Birds.
These were the property of Ares: they had brazen claws, wings, and beaks, could moult their feathers at will – which sped down like sharp arrows – and ate human flesh. Athena advised Heracles not to go near them, for, so sharp were their beaks that by flying straight at a man they could pierce even the hardest armour. But she lent him a pair of brazen castanets, which Hephaestus had made specially, and he went up on to a mountain overlooking the deep pool of Stymphalus which was surrounded by dense woods.
When Heracles clashed the castanets the noise, helped by the echo, was so terrible that the Birds flew up in fear, and fled shrieking and clapping their wings to the distant island of Aretias, where Heracles was to meet them again when he went voyaging with the Argonauts.
As they fled he was able to bring down several of the Stymphalian Birds with his deadly arrows, and these he brought back in triumph to Eurystheus.
‘That was a poor exploit!’ he scoffed, kicking the dead birds contemptuously. ‘No one could be afraid of harmless little creatures like this: I wish I’d known before I sent you after them. However, off you go now, and bring me the Cretan Bull.’
Heracles turned without a word, strode down to the harbour at Nauplia, and took ship to the beautiful island of Crete, where King Minos welcomed him warmly and entertained him in his great palace at Cnossus with its many stairs and passages, its strange, short columns with broad tops and narrow bases painted vivid reds and blues, and the running water and sanitation which were not to be surpassed until three thousand years later.
Minos gladly gave Heracles permission to take the Bull. ‘It is causing havoc all over the island,’ he told him. ‘The fault is mine, I’m afraid. Poseidon sent it to me out of the sea so that I might offer up a worthy sacrifice, but, in my greed and folly, I kept it myself and substituted one of my own bulls. After that it went mad, and now no one can do anything with it.’
Heracles, however, was a match for any mad bull. He captured this one without any difficulty and carried it away to Greece. When he reached Tiryns he let the Bull loose, and Eurystheus only just got into his jar in time, and crouched there gibbering with fear for several days.
But the Bull, failing to get hold of Eurystheus, fled away north, crossed the Isthmus of Corinth, and came to Marathon, beyond Athens. Here it found the pastures green and tasty, and decided to stay there, killing anyone who came near it.
Unfortunately one of its first victims was a son of Minos, who happened to be visiting Athens, and Minos would not believe that he had been killed by the Bull. So he invaded Athens, and only made peace when King Aegeus agreed to send an offering of seven youths and seven maidens every year to be devoured by the Minotaur, a monster, half bull and half man, which lived in the Labyrinth, a maze which the clever craftsman Daedalus had made.
For twenty-seven years the Cretan Bull plagued the people of Marathon, and the Athenians regularly sent the tribute of youths and maidens to Minos, until Theseus came to Athens. But meanwhile Heracles was waiting in Tiryns for Eurystheus to recover from his fright; and when at last he did, the new Labour which he had devised for him was to journey north in Thrace and bring back the horses of King Diomedes.
‘Only be sure you tame them before they reach Argolis,’ insisted Eurystheus, ‘for they are terrible creatures, which are fed only on the flesh of men!’
So Heracles set out; but on his way a strange adventure befell him, when he stopped to visit the young Prince Admetus of Pherae in Thessaly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE STORY OF ADMETUS
Oh, a House that loves the stranger,
And a House for ever free!
And Apollo, the Song-changer,
Was a herdsman in thy fee;
Yea, a-piping he was found
Where the upland valleys wound,
To the kine from out the manger
And the sheep from off the lea,
And love was upon Othrys at the sound.
EURIPIDES
Alcestis (Translated by Gilbert Murray)
11
In the days when Heracles was still living happily at Thebes, there was a beautiful Princess called Alcestis who was the daughter of Pelias, King of Iolcus. She was so beautiful that many princes came to ask her hand in marriage and Pelias, who did not wish to anger the rest by choosing one of them, said that he would only give her to the man who could yoke a wild boar and a lion to his chariot and drive safely round the race-course.
Of all the young princes, Admetus of Pherae was the bravest and most handsome, and Alcestis loved him alone. But her father would not let them marry unless Admetus fulfilled the condition which he had made.
Now just before he came to woo Alcestis, a strange herdsman had come to him and begged to serve him for one year without wages. Admetus readily agreed to this, and being a good and amiable prince he treated his servant kindly and well. The herdsman served faithfully, and the herds of Admetus grew and prospered in the most remarkable way: for not one of his livestock died or was killed by wild beasts during that year, and all the cows had twin calves, and gave cream instead of milk.
One day, when the year was nearing its end, Admetus went up on to Mount Othrys to seek his herdsman, and saw a strange sight. In a green valley shaded by pine trees the herdsman sat playing on his pipes more sweetly than any mortal minstrel; and as he played the streaky-golden lynxes and the tawny-coated lions, drawn by his music, came and rubbed their heads against him, while the shy fawns danced and frisked in and out of the shadows, fearing neither the lions nor the man who piped to them so magically.
Admetus stood at the edge of the glade overcome with awe and wonder, and seeing him the herdsman smiled, and said:
‘Prince Admetus, do not be afraid nor surprised at what you see, for now that my servitude is almost ended I can tell you that I am none other than Apollo, the Immortal son of Zeus. Listen, and I will tell you how it comes about that I, an Immortal, am servant to a mortal man.
‘My son Asclepius, whose mother was the mortal woman Coronis, by my will and with the aid of wise Chiron the Centaur, became the greatest healer and the most expert in the knowledge of medicine that the world has known. So skilled did he become that at length he discovered how to bring the dead to life – if only he could use his arts at the very moment of death. But Hades, Lord of the Dead, found that on account of my son’s skill few new subjects were being added to his kingdom, and he accused Zeus of cheating him of his share in the bargain which was made between them at the beginning of the world.
‘Then Zeus bade his servants the Cyclopes forge a thunderbolt, and when it was made he hurled it at Asclepius and struck him dead. In a moment of rage I seized my bow and arrows and slew those of the Cyclopes who had made the thunderbolt. Filled with righteous fury, Zeus would have cast me down into Tartarus; but my mother, the divine Leto, begged for my pardon, and Zeus decreed that I must become the slave of a mortal master for one year.
‘So I came to you, Admetus; and I have not regretted my choice. For you have proved a fair and kindly master, and I will reward you in any way I can.’
When Admetus heard this, he remembered the condition on which Alcestis was to be won, and begged Apollo to help him, for he knew what a power he had over the wild be
asts.
‘I will certainly assist you in this,’ Apollo assured him. ‘But you must journey to Thebes and seek a young man called Heracles who will help in the taming of the lion and the boar.’
Admetus did as he was told; and with such assistance it was not long before he was driving in triumph to Iolcus behind his strange steeds, and bringing Alcestis back to Pherae as his bride.
The wedding was celebrated immediately, but in his excitement Admetus forgot to offer the usual sacrifice to Artemis. To punish him, she hid away Alcestis and in her place left a hissing coil of snakes.
But Apollo made haste to appease his sister, and not only restored Alcestis to her anxious husband, but as a reward to Admetus arranged that when Death came for him he need not obey that fearful summons if any other would consent to die in his place.
This was highly irregular, but Apollo managed it by making the Three Fates drunk with sweet wine. These were the three weird sisters whose task was to spin the thread of a man’s life and cut it off at the proper time.
The time came sooner than was expected: Hades sent his messenger, Death, to the palace at Pherae, and Admetus turned anxiously to the only people likely to help him, his aged father and mother.
‘You are old,’ he said, ‘you have lived long and enjoyed all that life has to offer. There is nothing for you to look forward to now except the pain, illness, and slow death to which old age comes.’
But neither of them was willing to face death in his place, and indeed his father answered angrily: ‘I have no call to die! You say I have not many days to live, whatever happens: all the more reason for taking special care of myself and enjoying them as fully as possible! As for you, I call you a mere coward, seeking for someone else to die instead of you!’
But Death was waiting; and when Alcestis heard how Admetus could be saved, she gave herself up in his place, so great was her love, and nothing he could say would change her determination.
So, while Admetus and the whole household mourned and wept, Alcestis said goodbye to her husband and her children, and feeling herself grow weaker and weaker, lay down on her bed and died.
It was just at this moment that Heracles, on his way north in search of the horses of King Diomedes, arrived at the palace, and being an old friend of Admetus, knocked at the door and asked for hospitality.
Admetus honoured Heracles more highly than any of his friends, and moreover among the Greeks hospitality was one of the most sacred duties of a good man.
So he welcomed Heracles into the palace, saw to it that he had a good meal with plenty of wine, and told him nothing about what was happening.
‘But surely you’re in mourning?’ objected Heracles. ‘Is it your old father? Or your mother who has died?’
‘They both live yet,’ answered Admetus.
‘Is it then some relation?’ asked Heracles, who did not even think that it might be Alcestis.
‘It’s a foreign woman, not related to me in blood,’ said Admetus carefully.
‘Well, if that is all,’ replied Heracles, much relieved, ‘I’ll accept your hospitality, though I know it’s burdensome when guests come to a house of mourning.’
‘Whoever had died,’ said Admetus firmly, ‘you should still find a ready welcome here. The guest chamber is far away from the place of mourning, so we will not distress you with any sounds of grief.’
Only half satisfied, Heracles, who was weary after his long journey, settled down to supper, ate well, and drank a large quantity of wine.
Meanwhile Admetus and the mourners left the palace, carrying the body of Alcestis on a bier towards the burial ground at some distance from the city.
They were hardly out of sight when Heracles came striding out of the guest-room, a wreath round his head, singing lustily. There he met the house steward, an old man who was devoted to Alcestis, and could not restrain his tears.
‘How now!’ cried Heracles jovially. ‘What’s all this about? Some foreign woman dead, and all the household glum and sullen! That’s not the way to welcome a guest, particularly not your master’s old friend and comrade in arms. Your master and mistress are both alive and well, so all this mourning seems rather excessive!’
‘Alive!’ sobbed the old steward. ‘Man, have you not heard?’
‘Why yes, your master told me. A foreign woman, he said.’
‘Oh, foreign by birth, certainly…’
‘What is it? Some real grief which your master has hidden from me?’ Heracles was beginning to grow suspicious. ‘Speak, I command you!’
‘Yes,’ answered the steward, awed by the fierceness of his tone. ‘A real grief indeed: the Princess Alcestis has died.’
‘Alcestis? And he welcomed me in and feasted me?’ Heracles was overcome.
‘He held it shame to turn you away,’ answered the steward.
‘So.’ Heracles stood in deep thought. ‘For my friend, who has treated me so nobly,’ he said at last, ‘I will dare anything… Where lies the tomb? Where shall I find Alcestis now?’
He spoke in a roar of anger, and the steward told, trembling, then fled back into the house while Heracles, flinging his lion-skin about him, strode away over the steep hillside.
Admetus had already returned to the palace by a longer way round when Heracles reached the graveyard, so that he had the place to himself.
But he was not quite alone, for there, standing by the tomb was a dark-robed figure which, being half an Immortal, Heracles was able to see. The tomb was open, and the figure was bending over the body of Alcestis with a drawn sword in his hand, about to cut off a lock of her hair.
‘Stay, Death!’ cried Heracles in his great voice. ‘What do you there?’
The tall, solemn figure rose slowly and turned his dark, baleful eyes upon Heracles.
‘I come for mine own,’ he answered in a cold, hissing voice. ‘Once this grey sword of mine has touched the hair of any mortal, that soul belongs to Hades, my Lord and Master.’
‘Will you not this once release your victim?’ asked Heracles. ‘You know how and why she has come into your power: surely the Lady of your Lord, the Divine Maiden, Persephone, would willingly send back to earth the soul of a wife who has died, so young and so lovely, to save her husband?’
There was some truth in this, and the dark servant of Hades paused in thought. Then, with a grim smile, he laid down his sword:
‘Heracles,’ he said, ‘I know you well, you whose mighty deeds are spoken of even in the dark Land of the Dead. So come now, I will wrestle with you for the soul of Alcestis: many men have fought against Death, but none has ever conquered him!’
Then Heracles flung off his lion-skin and advanced unarmed to grapple with his dark adversary. Then there was such a wrestling match as had never been known before, or is likely to be seen again. To and fro they reeled and struggled, the cold arms of Death locked round Heracles and his icy breath coming in great gasps.
But Heracles had him round the waist, and his mighty arms closed tighter and tighter until he felt Death’s ribs cracking in his grip. At last Death admitted himself beaten and departed to his own place, moaning direfully. But Alcestis sat up in the tomb, and when Heracles took her by the hand she stepped out and followed him, walking like one in a dream.
Casting the veil over her face, Heracles led her back to the palace, and found Admetus plunged in grief, blaming himself most bitterly that he had ever let Alcestis die for him.
‘I have returned,’ said Heracles, ‘to ask a favour of you. I am going on a wild and hazardous adventure: will you guard this woman for me until my return? Let her be a handmaiden in your house.’
But Admetus would not have her: she reminded him too much of Alcestis. So Heracles soon gave up his little trick and told his friend the whole truth.
‘She will not speak for three days,’ he warned Admetus. ‘She has dwelt with Death, and cannot come back to this world all in a moment. But do not fear: she is no ghost but Alcestis herself, and in a little while will be as if s
he had never taken your place when Death came for you.’
Full of gratitude, Admetus begged his friend to stay and feast with them, but Heracles shook his head:
‘I have feasted,’ he said. ‘Now I must be on my way: there is but little rest for me in this world.’
He turned resolutely and went north, ever north, until he came to the wild land of Thrace. There Diomedes welcomed him kindly: but Heracles knew that it was only a pretence, since it was this savage king’s custom to throw his guests to the four terrible horses, who would immediately devour them.
Next day, with the help of a groom belonging to Diomedes, Heracles managed to steal the four horses, and even to harness them to a chariot, though they had never before known bit or bridle.
But the groom then betrayed him to Diomedes, who followed him with a band of men. Heracles, when he saw them coming, left the groom to hold the horses, and broke down a stretch of the sea wall. It was high tide, and the great waves came pouring through, and washed away most of the Thracians.
King Diomedes, however, he captured and carried back to the chariot. There, finding that the horses had already eaten the treacherous groom, he threw the wicked king to them as well, and they devoured him also.
After this Heracles drove off at full speed, and whether it was through eating their master, or whether he managed to tame them on the way, certain it is that when they reached Tiryns, Eurystheus had no need to hide himself in his brass jar.
The horses were quite tame now, and Eurystheus dedicated them to Hera. But they continued to be the strongest and most fearless horses in all Greece; and several of their descendants were used in the war against Troy.
As for Heracles, he was given no rest from labour: for Eurystheus sent him off again immediately – this time to bring back the belt of Hippolyta, the Queen of the Amazons, which his daughter greatly desired to possess. This belt was the gift of Ares, the Lord of War, to the bravest of the Amazons, who were a race of warrior women, trained to the use of arms and skilled particularly in casting the javelin and shooting with the bow.