Hercules

by Bernard Evslin

  “Look at me.”

  He dropped his hands. Her face was very stern.

  “I have come to do you a great service, to show you the man you will be,” said Hera. “You know now what he will do.”

  “Why did he kill them?”

  “Not he, you. That was you. You recognized yourself.”

  “Yes …”

  “You have seen yourself married, with two lovely innocent children. In a fit of madness, you shall kill them. All, all.”

  “Why?”

  “In madness there is no ‘why.’ ”

  “I don’t believe it. It’s a false vision. It won’t happen.

  “Hercules, the matter is too important for you to lie to yourself. You know there is truth in that vision. Search your heart, and you will find wrath and evil at the bottom of it.”

  “It won’t happen.”

  “Oh, yes it will.”

  “It won’t! I’ll kill myself now, and it can’t happen.”

  “I have come to save you. I am your friend. You don’t have to kill yourself. I shall show you a way you can cleanse your soul of these wicked impulses. You can so purify yourself that it will become impossible for you to commit such a murder.”

  “How? How? Tell me!”

  “There is only one way, and you must follow my instructions exactly. You must go to the king of Mycenae, King Eurystheus, and put yourself under his orders. Twelve years you must serve him, and whatever he tells you to do, you must do. If you faithfully carry out his wishes, without argument and without hesitation, you shall cleanse yourself of evil, and the foul vision you have seen today shall remain a dream.”

  “Must I go to Mycenae now?”

  “Now. Don’t wait to say farewell to Chiron. Do not go back to Thebes to bid your mother and father good-by, nor to see your brother. Leave this place immediately and go straight to Mycenae. The king is waiting.”

  She vanished.

  Hercules arose from the grass and looked about. He couldn’t believe that this was the same sunny slope, that this was the same bed of clover, and these the same bees. Everything was changed. The grass was charred; the bees were tiny demons; and the flowers stank of blood. He couldn’t bear to leave without embracing Chiron once more. But he didn’t dare disobey Hera. Weeping bitterly, he left that place where he had been so happy. He didn’t exactly know where Mycenae was, but he was sure he would find it before he wanted to.

  THE TASKMASTER

  HERA HAD SEARCHED ALL the lands of the Middle Sea for a king stupid enough and cowardly enough to carry out her evil wishes and enjoy doing it. She found him in Mycenae. King Eurystheus was a brutal, pig-faced man who took great pleasure in causing pain, especially if he could do it without any risk.

  Hera appeared to him and told him that he was to be given the gift of a young slave, who was the world’s strongest man and would obey all the king’s commands.

  “If he’s so strong, why should he do what anyone tells him?” said Eurystheus.

  “He is under a curse, and this is the way he must work it off. He will try to do any task you set him. If he fails, he dies, and I shall reward you for causing his death.”

  “Suppose he succeeds?”

  “He won’t. But if he does, you will get the credit for his deeds, and everyone will say you are a wise and powerful king.”

  “I am! I am!” cried Eurystheus. “I must be very wise and powerful, because soon I am to have the strongest man in the world to serve me. What’s his first task?”

  “He is to hunt the Nemean Lion and bring you its hide.”

  “The Nemean Lion! Nobody can kill that monster. The best hunters in the world have gone against him and been devoured.”

  “Yes,” said Hera. “I know.”

  And vanished.

  THE NEMEAN LION

  AS THE KING WAITED for Hercules to come to his castle, he grew more and more frightened. Despite what Hera had said, he couldn’t imagine the strongest man in the world taking orders from anyone. He kept thinking what this young giant might do if he got angry, what might happen when Hercules heard him say, “Go hunt the Nemean Lion. Bring me its hide.” He pictured how a huge hand would come down at him, grab him by the back of the neck, snatch him off the throne, and hold him dangling like a kitten. Himself, Eurystheus, the king! Perhaps the hand would slap him a few times as he dangled there. Maybe do worse. And all the people would know him for what he was: not a stern powerful ruler, but a coward. And the more he thought about Hercules, the more frightened he grew.

  Finally, the day came.

  The king had posted lookouts beyond the city walls. Now a messenger rushed into the throne room, crying, “He’s coming! He’s coming! And oh, your majesty, he’s a giant!”

  Although it was a hot day, the king crouched on his throne, shaking and quaking as though he were sitting in a tub of ice water.

  “No,” he said to himself. “I’m not going to meet that brute. Why should I? What’s the use of being a king if I can’t make somebody else do dangerous things for me? I’ll send Copreus to meet him. Let Copreus tell him about the lion. And if Hera is right, the lion will eat him up, and I’ll never have to worry again.”

  Mycenae was a walled city. Its walls were tall and thick, made of heavy stone slabs. The only way in was through an enormous iron gate. But when Hercules reached the city, this gate was closed. He didn’t know what to do. Hera had said he must report to the king, and the king would be expecting him. But the gate was bolted.

  He felt himself growing angry. He felt his hands opening and closing, and the muscles of his back and shoulders filling with wild strength. The city was locked against him, but chains and bolts wouldn’t mean much if he simply tore the iron gate from its hinges and hurled it away. But before he could touch it, he heard voices shouting, “In the name of the king! In the name of the king!” He dropped his arms. Through the gate he saw guards trotting toward the wall. They wore brass armor and brass helmets and carried spears. They reached the gate, unbolted it, and came through. They stood in double file facing him. Hercules started toward the open gate.

  “Halt!” said a voice.

  A little plump man came through the file of soldiers. He wore a white tunic and bore a white herald’s staff.

  “Close it!”

  Hercules saw six soldiers swing the gate shut. The little man turned to face him. “Are you Hercules?”

  “I am. Why do you close the gate against me?”

  “King’s orders.”

  “But it is him I have come to see.”

  “I speak for the king. Your business is with me.”

  “What is your name, good herald?”

  “I am Copreus.”

  Hercules shouted with laughter, for the word means “dung man,” or someone who does dirty jobs. He saw the man flush bright red, and he stopped laughing because he knew it was rude, and Chiron had taught him always to be courteous.

  “I am proud of my name,” said the herald stiffly. “It means that I serve the king by doing things he finds unpleasant.”

  “Good sir, I apologize. I did not mean to hurt your feelings. But why should the king find it so unpleasant to speak to me?”

  “Because he is tenderhearted. It makes him sad to send a young man to his death.”

  “Am I being sent to my death?”

  “To hunt the Nemean Lion. It comes to the same thing.”

  “Will you take a message back to the king?”

  “Yes.”

  “Tell him that I shall take every care not to sadden him with the news of my death. Tell him that I go to hunt the lion and that I shall return with its hide. And when I do, I hope to be able to thank him personally for giving me the chance to perform so splendid a deed.”

  “Brave words, my lad. Do you know anything about this beast whose hide you mean to take?”

  “No, sir. It’s a lion like any other, I presume.”

  “It’s a lion unlike any other. Its parents were Typhon and Ekidne. Typh
on, you know, was a monster out of the First Days, so huge and fierce that no one could believe such a creature could exist. But he did, he did … He was as tall as a cedar; his head was a donkey’s head. His legs were enormous serpents. Instead of hands, a dragon head sprouted from each wrist, belching flame. His strength was the strength of an avalanche, a hurricane, a tidal wave. The gods themselves, they say, were afraid of Typhon; they shuddered on Olympus when he passed below, and hid in a cave until he went away. He, Typhon, was the father of your Nemean Lion. And the lion’s mother was a female monster named Ekidne. She was half woman, half snake, and the halves changed places. That is, sometimes her body was a woman’s and her head was a snake’s, and when she got tired of herself that way, she put on a snake’s body and a woman’s head … and was equally ugly both ways. In fact, Typhon was the ugliest male in the first days of the world, and Ekidne was the ugliest female. They were so hideous that every other creature fled them, and they were left with each other. So they married, and Ekidne had a litter of monsters. And the youngest of the litter, and some say the worst, was the Nemean Lion. A lion, yes, but bigger than an elephant, its teeth like ivory daggers, its claws like brass hooks, and its hide like armor, which no weapon can pierce. That is the Nemean Lion, which keeps the whole country between Corinth and Argos in utter terror and has killed and eaten a generation of fighting men.”

  “Well, gentle Copreus, I thank you for the information. It’s always good to know the worst about your enemy; then you won’t have any unpleasant surprises.”

  “Good hunting,” said Copreus.

  “Thank you again. And my best wishes to your royal master.”

  Hercules turned and loped off. Everyone stared after him in amazement.

  Hercules had learned archery from the centaurs, who did it differently from ordinary men. Bowmen of the time used short bows and drew the string only to their chest. But the centaurs were so long-armed and powerful that they were able to use an enormous bow made of ash strengthened by stag horn; their arrows were as long as spears. When a centaur notched an arrow, he drew the bowstring back past his shoulder, bending the bow almost double, shooting the arrow with terrific force. And the young Hercules was soon outshooting his teachers. He was able to send his bolts through a stone wall three feet thick.

  He carried that bow now as he started for Nemea to hunt the lion. But he had no spear. He knew he would have to make his own, for ordinary spears were too small for him. He searched the river shore until he found an old boat, half-covered by reeds. Its hull was smashed in, but its mast was still good. He broke the mast off; that was his spear shaft. He didn’t want to use a leaf-shaped spearhead, which made a large wound. He needed something with a needle point if he was to have any chance of piercing the lion’s armor hide. He found an old iron spike and drove it into the end of the mast. Then he sharpened the spike against a rock, flaking the rust away, until it was needle-sharp. As he went along, he practiced throwing the spear at trees and didn’t stop until he split an oak with a single cast.

  But he wasn’t satisfied even then. “With my centaur bow, I can shoot an arrow through a stone wall,” he said to himself. “And split an oak tree with my new spear. But it seems I’m to meet some very terrible creatures, beginning with this lion, and, if I’m not lucky, ending with this lion. I’m quite large for a person, it’s true, but these monsters make me seem the size of a mouse. So I can’t depend on strength alone. No, I’ll need cleverness and speed.” And thinking about how swift he would have to become, he began to run. He ran as fast as he could, then faster yet. He found himself running so fast, and enjoying the speed so much, that he didn’t want to stop even when he saw the wall of a ruined temple looming up before him. He rushed at the wall, planted the butt of his huge spear on the ground, and vaulted. He hurled himself up, up. The mast bent under his weight, then sprang up. He stretched his arms and flattened his body and rode the springing shaft over the wall.

  Once he discovered vaulting, he couldn’t stop. He kept running. He vaulted rivers and huts. He loved it. It was like flying. He was enjoying himself so much that he was surprised when he saw a river, and beyond the river, a mountain and knew that it must be Mount Nemea, where the lion hunted.

  The sun was sinking. The mountain threw a blue shadow. “This is the right time of day,” he thought. “Lions hunt early and kill before evening. He will be heavy with food now, and perhaps a little slower. Who knows?”

  He heard something roar. A savage deafening roar. “I was wrong,” thought Hercules. “He still sounds hungry.” He crouched behind a rock, waiting for the lion.

  Then he saw it come. Smoothly, heavily, it came. Its hide was yellow and its mane was black; its teeth were a deadly white grin. He couldn’t believe its size. It was as big as an elephant. It roared again, and the shattering sound was like being hit by a club. It came on and on: pure yellow murder.

  Hercules took an arrow from his quiver and put it to his bowstring. The huge bow bent double as he drew the arrow back past his ear, past his shoulder. He held the bow bent, waiting for the lion to come closer, then loosed the arrow. It sang through the air, struck the lion’s shoulder, and glanced off, without leaving a scratch. Fast as he could move, he snatched arrows from his quiver and shot them. One by one he saw them skid off the beast. The lion shook its great head and yawned. Hercules could see its ivory teeth glinting and between them the black hole of its gullet looking like the mouth of a cave big enough to swallow him, his bow and arrows, and the rock he was hiding behind.

  He tossed his bow away, drew back his spear, and hurled it with all his might. It skidded off the lion’s head and split a tree. The lion looked after the spear, swiveled its head, and looked toward the man. It prowled closer, so close that Hercules gagged on the rotten-meat stench of its breath.

  Hercules was weaponless. He leaped away and ran toward an oak tree, grasped its trunk near the base, and pulled. Up came the tree, roots and all. The lion was coming too. Hercules raised the uprooted tree like a club and smashed it down on the lion’s head. The tree broke to splinters.

  The lion struck. Hercules sprang away, but not in time. One claw touched his tunic, ripped it to tatters, and ripped the flesh underneath. Unarmed, naked, bleeding, Hercules ran toward his spear. The lion sniffed at the bloody cloth, then raised its head and calmly watched as Hercules ran uphill. The man knew that as fast as he was running, the beast could catch him any time it wanted. But he kept running, for he couldn’t do anything else.

  Now the lion was following. The spear grew heavier and heavier as Hercules ran, and he wanted to throw it away, but he didn’t; it was his only weapon. The lion was gaining ground at every step. Hercules dodged behind a huge rock and drove his spear deep into the earth behind. Then he planted himself and pulled back on the shaft, trying to lever the enormous boulder out of the ground. The spear bent, but the rock did not budge. And the lion was getting very close. Hercules pulled on the spear; the muscles of back and shoulders writhed like serpents under his bronze flesh. He was breathing red-hot needles; he could hardly see; the rock grew misty. The shaft tried to pull out of his hands as he bent it, but he wouldn’t let go. Down, down, he pressed. The spear was bent like a bow now; his hands almost touched the ground. Blackness swarmed in his head; he could do no more. “Zeus help me,” he gasped. He made himself draw one more breath, thrusting with his arms, pressing the end of the shaft into the earth, and finally, not quite believing it, felt the rock move.

  This tiny movement was joy. The joy became strength. Strength fought with pain, and pain was winning. Now he lay on the spear, flattening it against the earth with his body, using his hands to push the rock. The huge rock leaped out of its hole like a cork out of a bottle and began to roll downhill, flattening bushes, going faster and faster, straight for the lion.

  The lion saw it coming. It leaped away but not quite fast enough. The rock hit the beast, bowling it over. Hercules, seeing the lion on the ground, was filled with new energy. He became a
blur of motion. He pulled the spear out of the earth and charged downhill. Holding his spear like a vaulting pole and running full speed, he planted the butt of the spear and leaped. The springy wood bent, then sprang up terrifically, flinging him into the air. This time, he didn’t let the pole drop. He held on to it and turned it at the top of his leap, then fell holding it point-first.

  The lion crouched on its haunches, forepaws raised, ready to rend the falling man with its talons. Hercules struck as he fell. With all his strength, all his joy, and all his fear, he drove the spear down as he fell toward the lion’s face. And drove the spike into the only part of the beast not covered by its armorlike hide—the eye. Deep, deep, the spike pierced into the murky brain.

  Writhing in agony, the beast flailed with its paws. And Hercules, dodging, felt his back being raked again by the razor claws. But he didn’t care, because he could watch the monster, snarling, frothing, dying.

  He climbed to his feet and stood over the lion. He was panting. He had fallen heavily; his whole body felt like one bruise. And now he bled from many wounds. But he felt no pain, just a great singing joy.

  His task, however, wasn’t quite done. He had been commanded to bring the lion’s hide to the king. But the hide was armor; it couldn’t be cut by any blade—or, perhaps, only by one. Hercules lifted one of the great paws and studied it. Then he snapped off a claw. It was as big as a hunting knife and sharper than any knife. Using it as a knife, he flayed the lion, rolled the hide into a bloody bundle, hoisted it to his shoulder, and limped downhill toward the river.

  He was so tired now that he was dizzy and could hardly make it to the river. But he kept on because he had to cleanse himself before he slept, wash away his own blood and the lion’s and treat his wounds with the herbs as Chiron had taught him.

  THE HYDRA

  THE KING HAD ORDERED THAT relays of horsemen be posted every twenty miles to the border of Nemea. “Because,” he told Copreus, “I want to know without delay how Hercules fares against the lion … so if the monster is slain, we can thank the gods for a great victory.”