Heracles could barely believe it. The Titan had returned to fulfil his oath! He strode confidently down the steps, three or four at a time, until he reached the opposite side of the bridge. Raising his torch high over his bald head, he squinted into the gloom.
‘Still here, I see,’ he said, with a laugh. ‘I told you Zeus’s gift of strength wouldn’t let you down.’
‘So, you’ve finally returned. After all these days, I thought you’d forgotten about your oath.’
‘All these days?’ the Titan replied. ‘Has it really been that bad? My friend, I left you yesterday evening, and even now it is only the middle of the afternoon. You’ve been here less than a day.’
‘Less than a—’
The news shocked him. Could it really only have been a day?
‘I have the fruit, as promised,’ Atlas continued. He held up a net made from lengths of reed knotted together, and pulled out four golden apples. They gleamed in the torchlight as he placed them on a flat-topped boulder beside the bridge. ‘And now I will honour the rest of our agreement.’
‘Thank you,’ Heracles said, desperate now to be released from the weight of the mountain. ‘Thank you, Atlas. Now, come across. I’ll hold the pillar up while you crawl underneath.’
‘Do you think me a fool, mortal? I swore to help you complete your labour, and that’s what I intend to do. I will take the apples to Tiryns for you.’
‘I can take the apples myself. You promised to return and take this burden back from me. You swore it by the River Styx.’
‘And I will. At the very least, I will find another to take your place. But not yet. You see, son of Zeus, I’ve rather enjoyed my little taste of freedom. It reminded me of how things were before the war, and how things could be again.’
‘Again?’
‘If I sat on the throne of Olympus. After I had plucked the fruit, I climbed the mountain and looked out across the world. I saw that my vision had come true – that men make constant war upon each other, that they enslave one another and think only of power and wealth. Zeus sits by and lets them run amok, when they should be subdued – or destroyed altogether. But Zeus’s eye has not just wandered from mankind. The Olympians’ watch over the gates of Tartarus has slackened. Now that you’ve released me from my punishment, I can free my fellow Titans and resume the war that we started hundreds of years ago.’
‘Have your years of punishment taught you nothing?’ Heracles asked. ‘Forget this foolishness and honour your oath. If you try to fight Zeus, he’ll defeat you just like he did before.’
‘That’s the reason I came back. Because you know how to defeat him.’
‘Defeat Zeus? That’s not even possible.’
‘He’ll try to deny it,’ Atlas said, looking at Heracles with a knowing grin.
‘What?’
‘That’s what the boy said. The boy who told me you knew your father’s only weakness.’
‘What boy? What weakness?’
‘Don’t fool with me! Your squire. You left him to wait for you in the woods, but he has no loyalty to you. He told me Zeus loved you so much that he revealed his one weakness to you. A weapon that has the power to destroy him, a weapon he gave into your safekeeping. That’s why I came back – not to bring you the fruit, and certainly not to take back my burden. I came for the weapon.’
Iolaus, Heracles thought. He had spoken to Iolaus. But it made no sense. Why was his nephew still on Mount Atlas, when he had ordered him to return to Thebes? Then he began to understand. Through the constant pain, he pictured Iolaus following him into the cave and through the tunnels, even down into the abyss. Why, he would never know – unless he was still pursuing some notion that he might redeem himself for his treachery with Megara. From the top of the stairs, he would have heard his uncle’s conversation with Atlas. Had he then hid himself in the shadows and followed the Titan out of the mountain, guessing that he had no intention of returning to Heracles? Perhaps he had understood all this and intercepted Atlas on his return from the garden, telling him about a weapon in Heracles’s possession that could destroy Atlas’s greatest enemy, Zeus. What other explanation was there?
‘Is this it?’ Atlas asked, picking up the club Heracles had left at the bottom of the steps. ‘Or this bow? Do they have some property that can destroy Zeus?’
‘Take them,’ Heracles replied. ‘Use them against my father and see how effective they are.’
Atlas tossed the club and bow aside and stared at Heracles.
‘A weapon like that is too precious to be left unguarded. Tell me where it is.’
‘Even if I had this weapon my squire told you about, why should I let you have it?’
‘Ah, so you do have it. Give it to me and I promise to relieve you of your burden.’
Heracles gave a scoffing laugh.
‘You’ve already sworn to do that.’
‘I promised to resume my punishment after I’d helped you complete the labour. I did not say when.’
‘The spirit of a solemn oath is binding. You gave the impression—’
‘You heard what you wanted to hear, mortal. I promised exactly what I meant, and if I spend ten years taking the fruit to Tiryns, and another ten coming back here, the promise has still been kept.’ He crossed to the apex of the bridge and held his hand out imploringly. ‘But it doesn’t have to be that way. If you want to be free of the Pillar of the Heavens before then, give me the weapon and I will pass the punishment to another. To Zeus himself. But if you don’t tell me where it is, then I’ll fight him anyway. And if I lose, there’ll be no one else to take your place. You truly will be here for eternity.’
Heracles saw the look in his red eyes, burning with the desire to take revenge for the long years of his punishment. Had Iolaus noticed it, too? Where Heracles had naively trusted the Titan to obey the oath he had taken, his nephew must have seen a monster twisted by his hunger for power and retribution. He had known that Atlas would never willingly return to take up his burden, so he had to be tricked into coming back. And how else to persuade him, but to offer him the prospect to achieve his heart’s desire?
‘Yes, I have the weapon. A simple shard of flint no larger than my hand, taken from the sickle that castrated Ouranos, father of the Titans. It has the power to slice through Zeus’s flesh, just as it did his grandfather’s. It cannot kill him, but it will weaken him severely and allow you to overcome him. I have it here.’
‘Where?’ Atlas asked, looking hungrily at Heracles. ‘Give it to me.’
‘First your oath – to come back the instant you’ve defeated my father and place this load on his shoulders.’
‘You have my word, on the sacred River Styx.’
‘Then the shard is in my satchel,’ Heracles said. ‘I can’t move my hands to reach it. You must take it yourself.’
Atlas looked up at the pillar, reluctant to come near the thing that had held him prisoner for so long.
‘You don’t have to fear it any longer,’ Heracles said. ‘Soon it will be Zeus’s burden to bear. Just hurry. Each moment is agonizing.’
The Titan gathered his courage and rushed forward.
‘Where’s the satchel?’
‘Here, on my other hip.’
Again, Atlas was reluctant to place himself beneath the shadow of the pillar. Knowing he had to do something, Heracles pulled a hand away from under the stone and reached for his side. Immediately, the weight seemed to press down on him with renewed force and a loud crack echoed through the chamber far above him. He made to fumble with the tie that held the satchel shut. At last, seeing him struggle, Atlas stepped up to the pillar and bent underneath, reaching for the leather bag. Gambling on the Titan’s instincts, Heracles raised both hands to the base of the rock and pushed himself out.
‘Watch out!’ he cried as he rolled away.
Atlas gave his own shout of alarm and automatically stepped forward, lifting his hands to support the weight of the column. The Pillar of the Heavens groaned threateningl
y and sent a shower of stones pouring down its sides. Heracles threw his arm across his face and turned away as the cascade washed over him and into the lake. Coughing on the dust, he looked up to see the great shaft of rock still standing, with Atlas straining to support its weight on his outstretched hands. His ruse – or, more correctly, Iolaus’s ruse – had worked. He was free.
‘Help me,’ Atlas grunted. ‘At least hold the column while I climb underneath.’
‘It’s your burden,’ Heracles replied. ‘Deal with it yourself.’
He staggered to his feet, his body incredibly light, yet stiff and painful from the ordeal it had undergone. Seeing the torch Atlas had dropped as he reached for the satchel, he bent down to pick it up. Suddenly, the Titan snatched at him. He leaped aside, falling on the floor as the huge stone hand swept the air where he had been standing. Another stretch of Atlas’s long arm would have caught him, but a rumble of stone and more falling rock forced the Titan to commit all his strength to supporting the column.
Heracles found his feet and ran halfway across the bridge. Turning, he saw Atlas squeeze himself beneath the pillar and resume the curled up position he had been forced to adopt since before the dawning of mankind. Overwhelmed by the realization he was free, Heracles stretched his arms wide and shouted into the darkness above. Joyous echoes filled the chasm, ringing from the walls as they magnified his delight.
He stood there with his eyes closed, listening to the sound of his own voice as it receded and taking pleasure in his new-found liberty. Then he heard Atlas’s voice, almost a hiss as it cut through the dying echoes.
‘Was there ever a weapon – a way to defeat Zeus?’ he asked
‘No,’ Heracles answered.
Except in Iolaus’s mind, he thought as he crossed the bridge to the steps. He was indebted to his nephew for that much, at least.
Chapter Ten
THE GOLDEN APPLE
Heracles threw his lion-skin cloak over his aching shoulders and strapped his weapons about himself. Lastly, he picked up the crude net with the fruit. The four golden orbs glinted enticingly in the torchlight. Turning, he threw a final glance at Atlas – whose face was set in a pitiable grimace – then took the steps up to the tunnel.
Despite the climb, the return to the surface seemed easier and quicker than his descent of the day before. Soon, he was stumbling out of the cave entrance, covering his face against the brilliant light of the evening. Wedging the torch in a cleft of rock, he walked out into the sunlight and lifted his face to the heavens. A gentle breeze tugged at his hair and clothing, bringing with it the sweet aroma of grass and the smells of the forest on the skirts of the mountain far below. The air was cool and invigorating, making him feel alive again, and reminding him of the terrible pain and darkness he had so narrowly escaped.
He dropped to his knees and buried his face in his hands, shuddering at the memory and yet weeping tears of joy at his deliverance. He tensed his exhausted muscles, as if trying to squeeze the horror of it from his veins, then threw himself on his face. Reaching his arms out, he clutched at the long grass, feeling it cool and damp between his fingers. Then he curled his hands into fists and beat at the ground, roaring at the soil as he tried to drive out the anguish of what he had endured, still terrified by the thought that – but for Iolaus’s return – he would have been there for an eternity, each tormented moment stretched out immeasurably so that time no longer held any meaning. He knew it would have turned his mind. That Atlas had withstood the punishment for so long was inconceivable.
He gathered wood from a few trees that sheltered in the lee of the gorge, returning to the cave to make a fire. The sun had set, leaving a golden glow in the west, surrounded by thick spokes of purple cloud. He stood watching it, absorbed in its beauty as he tried to wrestle his mind back from the darkness it had so recently escaped. But to escape darkness, he needed light, and there had been too little light in his life to draw on. He saw again the monsters he had fought, and remembered the injuries his body had borne as he overcame one labour after another, each one extracting its awful price in physical and mental suffering.
The wound that Megara and Iolaus had inflicted upon him was even deeper. That the two people he loved most should betray him was unbearable – and all the more so because it had been so unexpected. But even that paled in comparison to the deaths of his sons, the pain made fresh by the revelation that Copreus had not acted alone.
He returned to the fire and removed the last of the berries from his satchel. But as he raised a handful to his mouth, he caught the gleam of the golden fruit in the net. Replacing the berries, he removed one of the apples and turned it over and over between his fingertips.
He had deliberately asked Atlas for four apples: three for Eurystheus and one for himself. If they gave visions, he would eat one – as Iolaus had suggested – and find out who had conspired with Copreus to send him mad. Climbing back from the heart of the mountain, he had thought it best to sleep and let his mind and body recover first. But as he looked at the fruit, he knew he could not wait any longer to find out.
He took a bite. The juice filled his mouth, surprising him as it spilled out over his lips and beard. But its taste was wonderful, far beyond anything he had ever eaten before. He swallowed the flesh and its juices and raised the apple for another bite. But before his teeth could sink into it, his mind went suddenly dark and he fell back onto the floor of the cave.
* * *
The man looked at the house at the top of the road. It had two storeys, a columned portico and stuccoed walls that were bright in the afternoon sun. There were orchards and vineyards to its left and rear, with scrubland to the right. In the distance, visible above its flat roof, was a line of low mountains. Goats and sheep were bleating behind the house, but the only other person in sight was a young slave girl in the yard between the house and the fruit trees. She was picking up animal dung, to be used as manure or dried for fuel.
Lifting the hood of his fur-lined cloak over his head, the man set off towards the house. He had a noticeable limp, though it did not seem to restrict his pace. The girl paused in her dung-picking and watched him approach.
‘Come here, child,’ he said.
She stood upright and wiped the worst of the dung onto the front of her dress, but stayed where she was.
‘What do you want?’
‘Who buys the food for the household? The lady of the house? The cook?’
‘The housekeeper. But she won’t want nothing from you now. Come back tomorrow, if you have to.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I expect she’ll be in the kitchen.’
‘Go fetch her for me, girl. Do it now.’
There was a command in his tone that would not brook any refusal. The girl hesitated, then wiped her hands a second time on her dress and went towards the house.
‘Come on, then,’ she said.
‘I’ll wait here. Make sure she comes.’
The slave girl returned a while later, accompanied by an older woman, who sent her back to her chores with a brusque wave of her hand.
‘Who are you, coming and worrying my girls? We don’t want beggars around here, and we don’t want to buy anything. Go on your way now, and don’t make me fetch the master.’
She was tall and gaunt, with thin lips, a pointed nose and suspicious eyes. But as she looked at the hooded man and the quality of his cloak and tunic, she realized she may have been too hasty in her judgement.
‘What I mean to say is, we’re too busy for visitors today. You’ll find what you’re looking for in Thebes, if you get there before sundown, when they shut the gates.’
‘Thank you, but I won’t trouble you for long. I was attacked by brigands this morning. They did me no harm, but they took my horse and my food, and now I’m tired and hungry. All I want is some bread, something to stave off my hunger.’
The housekeeper looked at him, then she relented and her expression softe
ned.
‘You were unlucky, sir. There aren’t many brigands left around Thebes – my master killed a good many of them and put the rest to flight, though perhaps a few have plucked up the courage to return. But he’s a good man – he wouldn’t have me turn away anyone in need. Come inside and have some hot broth. You can sleep with us slaves tonight and set off again in the morning, when it’ll be safer for you.’
‘You respect the gods, woman, that’s clear enough. But I have no desire to burden you, and I need to press on with my journey. All I ask is for some bread, and in exchange I will give you these.’
He pulled a small bag out from his cloak and showed her the contents. She looked inside, wrinkling her nose and turning away from the stench.
‘Don’t let the smell discourage you. These mushrooms are a rare delicacy; cooked in a soup, they’re delicious. If you want to earn your master’s favour, serve them to him tonight while they’re still fresh.’
‘The master loves mushrooms, it’s true,’ the housekeeper replied, quietly eyeing the missing finger on the man’s right hand. ‘Though I hope they lose their smell when cooked. Wait here, sir, and I’ll bring your bread.’
She fetched some flatbread from the kitchen and gave it to him, accepting the mushrooms in return. After she had gone back to the house – keeping the bag at arm’s length – he tore off a piece of the bread and folded it into his mouth. Flinging the rest aside, he retraced his steps back down the road and continued for a short way until he was out of sight of the house. Then he sat on a wall at the side of the road and waited.
After darkness had fallen, he rose to his feet and limped back up the road to the house. Standing in the shadows beneath a grove of olive trees, he watched the lights glowing in the upper windows and listened to the sound of voices from within. At one point, a figure appeared in a window and glanced out at the road, before disappearing again. After a while, the voices trailed off into silence and the lights in the windows were extinguished. The only illumination now came from the many stars that filled the night sky. Everything had fallen into silence, but for the ceaseless chirruping of unseen insects in the grass.
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