The Twelve Labors of Hercules

by Robert Newman

  “It is,” said Copreus. “It attacked a traveler as he passed by the marsh where they live, and he was lucky enough to be able to kill it. Your next labor will be to drive them away.”

  Though Hercules nodded, he knew this would not be a simple task. The birds had appeared in the marsh near Stymphalus many years before. Since then they had increased in both number and ferocity until they were a threat to all who lived in that part of Greece. For they were eaters of meat rather than of fish, and they liked the flesh of man as well as they did that of animals. Taking to the air in great flocks, they would kill both men and beasts with their strong beaks of brass, and then devour them.

  Putting a new string on his bow and collecting several score more arrows, Hercules set off for Stymphalus, which lay less than half a day’s journey west of Mycenae. A dense wood surrounded the marsh, and when he came out of the wood and the birds saw him, several dozen of them rose in the air, circling and diving down to attack him. Shooting with his usual speed and skill, Hercules killed as many as he could until the others flew off and joined the rest of the huge flock in the center of the marsh.

  Now again Athene appeared beside him in her guise of an old crone.

  “Well shot,” she said. “But there are a hundred times as many birds left as you have killed. How will you deal with them?”

  “I do not know,” said Hercules. For the birds were now beyond the range of even his powerful bow, and the marsh was too soft for a man to be able to walk on it.

  “Perhaps these will help you,” said Athene, taking a pair of brass cymbals from under her cloak.

  “What shall I do with them?” asked Hercules.

  “What does one usually do with cymbals?” asked Athene.

  “Strike them together,” said Hercules. And he did so, making such a loud, clashing sound that he was almost deafened himself. Immediately the whole flock of birds rose from the marsh and began circling overhead. They were frightened not merely by the noise, but also by what it did to them. For since their beaks, feathers, and legs were also made of brass, the clanging of the cymbals shook them to their vitals as a struck wine goblet will make other goblets sound in sympathy.

  Dropping the cymbals, Hercules picked up his bow and began shooting the birds. However, when the noise stopped, the flock settled again on the marsh, and there were nearly as many as there had been before. Again Hercules took up the cymbals and clashed them together, but this time he did not stop when the birds rose into the air. He continued until the marsh echoed with the noise, which was like the bellowing of a hundred bulls. A moment longer the birds circled overhead; then, terrified, they flew off toward the east and were never seen in Greece again.

  10

  THE SEVENTH LABOR: THE CRETAN BULL

  After driving off the Stymphalian birds, Hercules went again to Thebes to see his parents, his brother, and, most of all, Megara.

  “Why do you sigh?” he asked her as they sat together in a quiet corner of the great hall.

  “Why should I not?” said Megara. “Though you have completed half your labors, half still remain to be accomplished. And I have told you that I not only miss you but fear for you.”

  “And I have told you that there is naught to fear,” said Hercules. “For no man ever had a greater prize waiting for him than I have in you.”

  She smiled at this and leaned close to him, and that smile, patient and loving, remained with him when he left Thebes and went again to Mycenae to learn what his next task was to be.

  “Your last labors,” said Copreus, looking down at him from the city walls, “were all close to home. For your next one the High King fears you must travel.”

  “Where?” asked Hercules.

  “To the island of Crete,” said the herald. “You must capture and bring back the Cretan bull.”

  Hercules groaned under his breath, not because of the difficulty of the task, but because of the time he would have to spend in journeying to complete it. However, unwilling to let Eurystheus see his dismay, he said to Copreus, “I have never been to Crete. Thank your noble master for giving me a reason for going there.” And he set off for the coast, where he found a ship preparing for a voyage to Crete.

  It sailed south across the dark-blue sea, landing at a port near the great city of Cnossus. Such was Hercules’ fame that when King Minos heard of his arrival in Crete, he came himself to greet him and ask him what he did there.

  “I do not think my mission will displease you, O king,” said Hercules. “I have come to capture your bull and take it back to Greece with me.”

  The king looked at him thoughtfully. When Minos had come to the throne he had vowed that each year he would sacrifice the best bull in his herds to Poseidon. But one year the bull had been so big and so beautiful that Minos had decided to keep it for himself and had sacrificed the next-best bull to the sea-god. To punish him, Poseidon had turned the bull into a destroying fury. It had not only continued to grow until it was half again as big as other bulls, but it began breathing fire. And taught by Poseidon to hate man and all his works, it killed any who came near it, rooted up crops, and even attacked and leveled whole villages.

  “You are right when you say I will not be displeased at your mission,” said Minos. “But I do not think that even you will find it easy. For many of my bravest warriors have tried not to capture, but to kill the bull, and have themselves been killed in the attempt. However, if you can free us of this scourge, I will reward you richly.”

  He offered Hercules as many men as he wanted to help him, but Hercules said that all he wanted was a guide who would lead him to the bull.

  The guide took him to the eastern part of the island, where they found the bull grazing near the banks of a river. When the bull saw Hercules, it lowered its head and charged at him, breathing out smoke and flame. But Hercules had armed himself with a shield of bullock’s hide that was as large as he was, and now he raised this to protect himself from the bull’s scorching breath. Bracing himself, he withstood the monster’s charge, stopping it in its tracks. Then, dropping the shield, he seized the bull by the horns, and putting forth all his strength, threw it to the ground.

  Half dazed, the bull staggered to its feet, and again Hercules threw him. The terrified bull fled to the river and started to swim across. But Hercules went after him, catching him in midstream and turning him so that he was forced to swim down the river.

  In this way, with water quenching the monster’s flaming breath, they came to the coast where Minos had a ship waiting for them. Hercules lashed the bull to the ship’s side, and after Minos had thanked him and given him many rich gifts, they sailed back to Greece.

  Exhausted by the voyage and by his long immersion in the sea, the bull was completely subdued when Hercules led him to the gates of Mycenae.

  “Here is the Cretan bull, O king,” said Hercules. “What would you have me do with him?”

  But even though it stood there quietly for the moment, the bull was so fearsome that Eurystheus said, “Set him free.”

  “I do not think the people of Greece will thank you for that,” said Hercules. “But what happens will be on your head, not mine.”

  He released the bull, slapping it on the rump, and it lumbered off, crossing the Isthmus and wandering north through Attica to Marathon, where it again became as fierce as it had been on Crete, ravaging the whole region until it was killed some years later by Hercules’ kinsman, Theseus.

  11

  THE EIGHTH LABOR: THE MARES OF DIOMEDES

  Angry at the ease with which Hercules had completed the labors he had given him so far, Eurystheus again consulted his herald as to what he should have him do next.

  “Have you heard of the mares of King Diomedes?” asked Copreus.

  “I have heard of Diomedes,” said Eurystheus. “He rules the Bistonians in Thrace. But I have not heard of his mares.”

  “Few have heard of them,” said Copreus. “For though the Bistonians are a fierce and warlike people, they s
peak of the mares in whispers. For they are man-killers and man-eaters, so savage that Diomedes keeps them tethered with iron chains. It is said that he feeds them on the flesh of strangers and unsuspecting guests.” Copreus paused. “Would you not like to see horses such as these?”

  “I would indeed,” said Eurystheus, his eyes suddenly bright. “Thank you, Copreus.”

  And so, when Hercules appeared again before the gates of Mycenae, Copreus said, “Your next labor will be to capture and bring here to the High King the mares of Diomedes.”

  Hercules looked thoughtfully at the herald, for unlike Eurystheus he had heard about Diomedes’ mares.

  “Thrace is a long journey,” he said. “Would the High King mind if I took some companions with me to keep me company?”

  The herald turned to Eurystheus, who nodded. “The High King does not object,” he said. “You may do so.”

  “Thank the High King for me,” said Hercules. And saluting him, he returned to Thebes.

  When he let it be known what his next labor was, all the young men of Thebes volunteered to come with him. Selecting a dozen of the bravest, among them a skilled horse-tamer named Abderus, he set sail for Thrace.

  They sailed north and east through the Aegean Sea, passing close to the island of Samothrace, which was sacred to the Triple Goddess, then turning north and landing on the coast of Thrace near the city of Tirida. The land there was low and marshy, and the Bistonians had built a dike along the shore to keep out the sea.

  Drawing their ship up on the beach, they climbed over the dike and crossed the marshy plain beyond it to Tirida, arriving just before nightfall. The guards at the gate were astonished to see them, for all who traveled in those parts knew how dangerous it was to fall into the hands of Diomedes. But when Hercules asked for the king, they took him and his companions into the great hall of the palace.

  “Hercules,” said Diomedes, studying him. “It seems to me that I have heard of you. But what brings you to Thrace?”

  “I have heard of you also,” said Hercules. “I have also heard of your mares and would like to see them.”

  “What have you heard about them?” asked Diomedes.

  “That they are quite unusual,” said Hercules. “Different from other horses in that they do not graze or eat corn.”

  “That is true,” said Diomedes. “They are different from any other horses anywhere in the world. And see them you shall, but not tonight. Tonight you shall feast with me and in the morning you will see my mares.”

  He gave orders to his steward, and a great feast was served to Hercules and his companions and all the warriors in the hall. There were many courses in the feast—fish and fowl as well as meat—and as Diomedes kept urging his guests to eat more and still more, it was clear to Hercules what was in his mind. He knew that Diomedes was thinking, “Eat well, dear guests. The better you eat tonight, the better my mares will eat tomorrow.”

  Throughout the feast great goblets of wine were served to all in the hall, but Hercules whispered to his comrades that they must not drink so much as a drop. The wine was strong and served unmixed with water. In addition, Hercules feared that the guests’ portions might contain the juice of the poppy, which will make a man sleep so soundly that nothing awakens him. Therefore, though the visitors pretended to drink, they poured the wine out under the table. The result was that by midnight all in the great hall except Hercules and his companions were drunken and snoring.

  When he was satisfied that all the Bistonians were asleep, Hercules rose, and taking a torch, led his comrades to the stables. These were easy to find, since the wall surrounding them was covered with the bones of those the mares had already eaten. Overpowering the grooms, they went inside to the separate stalls where the mares were kept.

  When the mares saw the men, they reared, bared their teeth, and began pulling at the iron chains that held them in their stalls, for they had not been fed that day and were ravenously hungry. Hercules and his men used the chains as halters, binding the mares’ mouths with them so that they could not bite, and led them out of the city, and back across the plain.

  They had almost reached the dike when they heard angry shouts in the distance and saw flaring torches; they realized that the grooms had freed themselves and given the alarm.

  “I fear we shall have to fight,” said Abderus. “And we are greatly outnumbered.”

  “I do not mind fighting if I have to,” said Hercules. “But I do not think it will be necessary.”

  Going to the dike, he tore down a portion of it. The tide was high and the sea came pouring through, flooding the plain and making a vast lake that cut off their pursuers. Feeling safe, they decided to wait until daybreak before setting sail, for the waters in those parts were shallow and dangerous and they were afraid they might run aground. Just before dawn, however, they heard the clash of arms, and there, coming up the beach toward them, was a large party of Bistonians whom Diomedes had led around the lake.

  “Hold, Hercules,” he shouted. “You would not take my mares away without feeding them first, would you?”

  “No,” said Hercules. “That would be cruel. But I think they have grown tired of the flesh of strangers and would like a change.”

  With the help of Abderus, he took off the chains that bound the mares’ mouths and drove them toward the Bistonians. When Diomedes saw them charging toward him, he turned to run, but it was too late. The mares were upon him, and thus he died. Hercules and his companions followed close behind, but they had no need to use their arms, for the mares killed many of the Bistonians and the rest fled.

  Hercules allowed the mares to eat their fill. Then, when their hunger was satisfied, he bound them again with the iron chains, led them onto the ship, and sailed back to Greece, where he delivered them to Eurystheus.

  Eurystheus was, of course, terrified of the mares. And though Abderus offered to tame them for him, he dedicated them to Hera and freed them on Mount Olympus, where, fierce as they were, they were finally killed by wild beasts who were even more savage than they were.

  12

  THE NINTH LABOR: HIPPOLYTE’S BELT

  At about this time Eurystheus was arranging for the marriage of his oldest daughter. And it was because he wanted a wedding gift that would be worthy of her that he selected Hercules’ next labor.

  When Hercules appeared before the gates of Mycenae, Copreus, speaking for his master, said, “Your task this time should not be too difficult, noble Hercules. And since it is said that you will soon be getting married yourself, it is one that you should enjoy.”

  “As always,” said Hercules, “the longer your introduction, the more certain I am that I will not like what follows. So get on with it. What am I to do?”

  “It is the High King’s wish that you bring here as a marriage gift for his daughter the golden belt of Hippolyte, Queen of the Amazons.”

  “No,” said Hercules.

  “Are you refusing to perform this labor?”

  “Yes, I am. I do not mind tasks that are dangerous. But how am I to perform this one? Queen Hippolyte is not likely to give me her belt merely because I ask for it. Does the High King expect me to take it by force?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I do not fight with women!”

  “By all accounts, the Amazons are far fiercer warriors than any men. Are you sure you are not refusing because you are afraid?”

  “I have not yet met anyone, man or woman, of whom I am afraid,” said Hercules hotly.

  “Well, that is your next task,” said Copreus. “What will happen if you refuse it is between you and the gods.” And he followed Eurystheus down from the city walls, both of them pleased that they had at last provoked Hercules.

  Hercules was still furious when he returned to Thebes. He was angry not only because of the difficulty of this particular labor, but because it was another one that would require a long journey and thus further delay his marriage to Megara. However, when he had thought about it, he realized tha
t he had no choice in the matter, so he again recruited a company of young men, took a ship, and set sail for the Black Sea, where the Amazons lived. And this time, as he had before, his brother, Iphicles, went with him.

  They sailed north and east across the Aegean, through the narrow Hellespont, passing by the high stone walls of Troy, and entered the Black Sea by way of the Bosporus. Then they set their course eastward along the southern coast of the Black Sea. All this was familiar to Hercules, for he had come this way before when he went with the Argonauts to fetch the Golden Fleece. But while they had passed by the country of the Amazons on that voyage, they had not landed there, and Hercules had no idea how they would be received when they arrived nor how he would win Hippolyte’s belt.

  The Amazons lived on the southern shore of the Black Sea near the mouth of the river Thermodon. And though they were a nation of women, for they had driven out all their men many years before, they were as fierce and warlike as Copreus had said. They fought on horseback, shooting a short bow and wielding a battle-axe, and they were so skilled in the use of these weapons that they had conquered all the tribes who lived near them.

  Hercules and his company anchored their ship at the mouth of the Thermodon and went ashore to where Hippolyte waited with her bodyguard. She was tall, almost as tall as Hercules, and very beautiful. She wore a short tunic of leopard skin, and the famous belt, two handsbreadths wide and cunningly wrought of shining gold, was clasped about her waist. She studied Hercules, and it was clear that she approved of him.

  “You are a proper man,” she said. “Far more of a man than any I have ever seen before. Who are you and whence do you come?” And when Hercules had told her: “What do you want here, Hercules?”

  “I have come here for your golden belt,” he said.

  She quieted her bodyguard, a group of heavily armed young women, who had stirred angrily at this.

  “Why do you want it?” she asked.

  “It is a task that was set for me by Eurystheus, High King of Mycenae,” he said, and he told her of the crime he had committed in his madness and the penance that had been decreed for him by the gods.