But Copreus knew the king really wanted to hear that Hercules had been killed, not the lion.
And it was Copreus who got the news first. He was in the courtyard when a horseman galloped through the gate. “Good news!” he cried. “Shepherds in Nemea have found vultures feeding on the flesh of a huge carcass. Its hide is gone, and its head, but it must be the lion, for nothing else could be so big.”
“Yes,” said Copreus. “That’s very good news. You deserve a reward for riding here so fast. Why don’t you dismount and take the news to the king yourself?”
But he hadn’t finished the sentence before the messenger had wheeled his horse about and galloped out the gate again. Copreus was not surprised. Everyone feared the king and tried to keep as far away from him as possible. “I’ll have to go tell him myself,” he thought. “And I’ll be lucky if I come out with my head on my shoulders.”
But Copreus was clever. He was the only one who knew how to handle the king at all. He went into the throne room and said, “Oh, king, the people of Nemea are calling you their savior. And they are preparing rich gifts to thank you for sending someone to rid their land of that monster.”
“What monster?” cried the king. “The Nemean Lion?”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“It’s dead?”
“Its flayed body was found on the mountain.”
“So it must have been Hercules who killed it.”
“No one else, your majesty, but the young man you were wise enough to choose for so dangerous a task.”
“He’ll be coming back here!” cried the king, shuddering. “He’ll insist on seeing me this time. I won’t! I won’t! I won’t see him! Copreus, listen to me carefully. I want a big hole dug right into the courtyard, deep as a well, but wider. And I want paving stones so cut that they will fit over this hole and make a lid, hiding it completely. And I want it furnished like a room, you know, very comfortably, and well provided with food and wine. For, if Hercules ever comes through the gate, I shall enter that pit and stay there until he departs. See to it, man! And if everything is not done exactly as I have described, and very quickly, you shall pay with your head.”
“I shall do as you wish, your majesty. But would it not be simpler to lock the gate against him as before and station troops outside?”
“Of course I want that done too, you idiot! Try to use your head while it’s still on your shoulders. If he can kill that monster and take its hide, what’s to stop him from tearing the gate off its hinges and strolling in as he pleases? Do as I say. Dig my pit, furnish it, then go lock the city gate and post troops outside. And be there yourself to meet him when he comes.”
“That won’t be until the day after tomorrow, at the soonest. It’s a two-day trip from Nemea.”
“Good. That will give Hera time to think of something else for him to do. I hope she can come up with something really fatal in two days …”
The next morning, the king summoned Copreus and said, “Hera appeared to me last night and brought a new task for Hercules. You are to meet him beyond the gate and transmit these instructions.”
Copreus listened silently as the king told him of the next labor facing Hercules. As he listened, he felt his bones turning to jelly. “I’m done for,” he thought. “When Hercules hears me describe this next monster, he’ll squash me like an ant. And if I refuse to take the message, the king will call his ax man, and my head will roll. Either way I’m a goner. The king will kill me today, or Hercules will do it tomorrow. Well, I might as well give myself one more day.”
So all he said when the king had finished was, “Yes, your majesty.”
But when he returned to his apartment in the castle, he knelt on the floor and wept. For he did not wish to die—either that day or the next.
“Don’t cry,” said a voice.
He scrambled to his feet. It was his niece, Iole. He hadn’t heard her come. She moved very silently, this child, and seemed to appear without approach, like a cat. In fact, she was quite a bit like a cat: slender, graceful, very quick, with black bangs and big green eyes.
“Don’t cry,” she said. “You’ll be all right. I’ll tell Hercules about the Hydra.”
“How do you know about that?” he shouted.
“I know …”
“You’ve been eavesdropping again!”
“I have to. Nobody tells me anything.”
“You silly little hellcat! Do you know what the king would do to you if he caught you hiding in his throne room listening to secret conversations?”
“He never notices anything; he’s too busy with himself. Anyway, I’m very hard to see if I don’t want to be seen. And that old throne room is full of shadows.”
“But what do you mean, you’ll tell Hercules?”
“Just what I said. I’ll do what the king told you to do. I’ll meet him outside the walls and tell him he has to kill that dreadful thing.”
“I can’t let you do that. He’ll be very angry when he hears what he has to do.”
“I’m not afraid of him.”
“You’ve never seen him.”
“Oh, yes I have. I saw him when he first came. I sneaked after you and was hiding behind the gate.”
“Well then, you know how big he is.”
“Yes … and how kindhearted. He won’t hurt me. He likes children.”
“How can you possibly know that?”
“I know.”
When Hercules came to Mycenae, he once again found the city locked against him. Once again, he thought about knocking the gate down and forcing his way into the castle. But then he realized that he really had no wish to see the king, who didn’t want to see him. In fact, there was nothing he wanted here but to work off his curse as soon as possible and go back to Thebes or to the centaurs. But he had to wait where he was until someone came to tell him what he had to do next.
He camped outside the city. He stuck his spear in the ground, hung the lion’s skin over it, and had a fine tent. He sat in his tent and watched the gate. He expected to see soldiers coming through, then Copreus, bearing a message from the king. No one came through. He waited and waited. He dozed off. When he opened his eyes he saw a girl standing near him.
“Are you awake?” she asked.
“Unless I’m dreaming. Who are you?”
“Iole.”
“Hello, Iole.”
“Is that the lion skin you’re using for a tent?”
“It is.”
“I’d like you to tell me all about how you killed it, but I have something to tell you first. Do you remember Copreus?”
“The king’s herald? Of course. I expect him to show up soon.”
“He won’t. I’m here instead.”
“I don’t understand.”
“He’s my uncle. But he’s afraid to tell you what you have to do, so I will.”
“He’s afraid to come himself and sent you? What kind of man is he?”
“A coward. And the king’s worse. But no one sent me exactly. I wanted to come.”
“Well, at least you’re not afraid of me.”
“No sir, I’m not. I have a lot to tell you; shall I start?”
“Please.”
“The thing you have to fight next is called the Hydra. I don’t exactly know what it is, though. The king’s bad at describing things. But it’s very big. And very awful. It has a hundred heads—lizard heads or dragon heads—and each head has a hundred teeth, and every tooth is poison. The way I picture it is a hundred crocodiles joined at the waist.”
“Where is this charming creature to be found?”
“In Argos, in a grove called Lerna, on the bank of a river. I’m coming with you.”
“What?”
“Oh, yes. I watched you when you left to fight the lion, and I wanted to come with you. But we didn’t know each other then. Now we do.”
“Do you really think I’d let you anywhere near that dragon with a hundred heads?”
“I want to come with y
ou.”
“Listen to me, Iona dear …”
“Iole.”
“Iole dear, I like you very much. I’ve enjoyed our conversation. And I thank you for bringing me this message, unwelcome though it is. But forget all about me and the Hydra.”
She didn’t answer. She was gone before he saw her move; she had slipped away like a shadow.
“What a smart brave girl,” he said to himself. “I hope I haven’t hurt her feelings. But I can’t think about that now. I have to prepare for this monster. Yes, this will take a bit of thinking. I wish my brains were as strong as my muscles. Well, I’ll do what I can with what I have. Now, what did that child tell me? The Hydra is very poisonous, she said. So even one tooth breaking my skin will kill me. And a hundred mouths times a hundred teeth. Let’s see: that’s ten thousand deaths coming at me all at once. Hmmmm. Lion skin, you shall be a tent no more; I have a better use for you.”
He whisked the lion’s hide off the spear that was serving as a tent pole, drew one of the lion’s claws from his pouch, and, using it as a knife, cut the skin into a long-sleeved tunic and a pair of trousers reaching down to his ankles. He also made gauntlets and boots—for he wanted not one inch of himself exposed to the Hydra’s poison teeth. “If this hide turned aside my spear and my arrows,” he thought, “it should blunt the Hydra’s bite. I need a helmet, too.” He took the lion’s head and made a helmet of it. It covered his face when he put it on; he could breathe through the mouth and look out the eyeholes.
“It’s very hot in here,” said Hercules to himself. “The Hydra may not have to kill me; I may just roast to death before I get to him.”
All this time, Iole had been watching him from behind a tree. For she hadn’t the slightest notion of going home. She had decided to go wherever Hercules went, and if he wouldn’t take her, she would simply follow him without letting him see her. She was very good at that.
She watched as Hercules took off his lion-skin clothing, wrapped it into a bundle, and slung it on his back. He grasped his spear and set off for the grove at Lerna where the Hydra dwelt. He traveled for three days and never noticed the girl gliding from shadow of tree to shelter of bush as she followed him.
The grove called Lerna is tucked inside an elbow of the river. In this river lurked the monstrous reptile. Every day it crawled out to kill. The trees of the grove grow right down to the river, but stop short at one spot; there grass grows from wood to water. Here in this meadow Hercules waited for the Hydra to crawl out of the river.
It was a summer morning, and the sun was hot. Hercules wore his long-sleeved tunic, and trousers, and boots, and gauntlets, and helmet. He felt himself roasting alive in the heavy lion pelt. “If that Hydra doesn’t come soon,” he thought, “he’ll find a cooked meal all laid out for him.”
And, as Hercules waited near the river, Iole waited in the grove. She was crouched behind a tree, so well hidden that he couldn’t have seen her even if he had turned suddenly. But she had a clear view.
The last monster Hercules had fought was the Nemean Lion, which had roared terribly as it came. And he was expecting the Hydra to announce itself thunderously out of its hundred mouths. So he was taken by surprise when the Hydra came out of the river silently, like a reptile, and had almost reached Hercules before he saw what was coming.
He couldn’t believe what he saw. It was a crocodile, but the size of ten crocodiles. “This can’t be it,” he thought. “It has just one head. But what else can it be? That river can’t hold two monsters.”
But he was very glad that there was only one head to cope with, even if that one head was as big as a dragon’s, full of sharp teeth. He dropped his bow and spear and drew his sword. The Hydra slithered toward him. Weighed down as he was by the heavy lion pelt, Hercules nonetheless leaped into the air and landed on the Hydra’s back. He raised his sword high in both hands, slashed down in a terrific scything blow, saw his blade cut through the knobby hide, and felt it slice through flesh and giant bone—right through the entire neck. The Hydra’s head seemed to leap off its body. Blood poured out of the neck stump, black blood, smoking as it fell, charring the grass, turning the greenness to black dust.
And Hercules was amazed to see the cut-off head sliding toward him. It sprang off the ground, snapping at him. He struck it down with his clenched fist, whirled about, and saw something that almost made him drop his sword and run. The stump of neck had split into two stumps; from each neck sprouted a new head.
He struck again, cutting off both heads with one blow. They fell to the grass, blood hissing. They did not die, but snapped about his legs like mad dogs. They couldn’t bite through his lion-hide trousers, but held on, trying to drag him down. And now, instead of two neck stumps, there were four, and each stump grew a new head. The four heads struck at him with sickening force. Four pairs of jaws clamped onto his body. The teeth couldn’t pierce the pelt, but they closed with crushing power. He felt his bones must break. Jaws held his arms; he couldn’t raise his sword. He tore himself away and tried to run clear, but the cut-off heads were fastened to his legs. They dragged him down.
He forced himself up. His sword whirled in a blur about his head. One after the other, he cut the four heads off. Now these heads fell and joined the pack of heads ravening about. Where the four heads had been, there were now eight heads. They came at him from everywhere now, clamping him from all directions. His arms and legs were locked by jaws. Three pair of jaws held his waist, jaws were locking on his head, blinding him. Inside the lion-hide helmet, he felt his skull being squeezed to a pulp. Calling on his last strength, he whirled and kicked and chopped and stabbed. He tore himself free and tried to run. But all the heads were fastened on his legs now; they pulled him down as a pack of hounds pulls down a deer.
Lying on the ground, he saw a pair of jaws striking down toward his face. Before he could stop himself, he slashed with his sword, slicing off that head—and knew it was the worst thing he could have done. For now two heads would grow, and he knew he couldn’t handle any more.
The pain was too much now; he felt himself going. And just then he saw Iole flash past him, carrying a torch.
“Stop!” he shouted.
But she ran straight toward the Hydra and slashed at it with her fiery torch, searing the neck stump, then seemed to melt into air, she moved so quickly, dodging away. Hercules smelled the stench of burning flesh. The Hydra flopped gigantically; it was in agony. Its mouths were shrieking. Through his fog, Hercules saw that the burned flesh of the stump was not sprouting any new head.
He saw Iole scoop up the torch and run toward him. She whirled the torch, beating back the pack of cut-off heads. She whipped them with flame, beating them away from his legs. Hercules staggered to his feet.
“Cut off the heads!” cried Iole. “I’ll burn the stumps!”
But Iole was clad only in a thin tunic. Hercules realized that one scratch of a poison tooth would kill her on the spot. He snatched the torch from her, with his left hand seized her by the waist, swung her off the ground, and hurled her into the river. Then he picked up his sword and crouched, waiting for the Hydra to come at him again.
In one hand he held the torch, in his other hand, the sword. And strength had returned. The thought of the child risking her life that way drove out all fear, all weakness. The fire of the torch seemed to be burning cleanly in his veins.
The Hydra was upon him. He moved swiftly, dodging, striking, twisting away from the jaws, slashing again. Each sword blow cut off a head. And, as soon as he struck with his sword, he struck with his torch, searing the neck stump, burning the flesh so that no new head could grow.
He was very weary now. He could hardly move. But the monster still had two heads left. Hercules did not wait for the Hydra to attack. Forcing his legs to move, he charged. He whirled his sword, cutting off the last two heads, then struck with his torch, searing the last two stumps.
Now the Hydra was blind. The great leather body was twitching. The spiked tail
was flailing. The neck stalks were wriggling like charred worms, but life was going out of the monster. The tail flopped weakly, like a grounded fish. The neck stalks went limp. Then all movement stopped. And when the body died, the heads on the grass died also.
Hercules lifted the heavy helmet from his head, drinking the air. He cast off the tunic and slid out of the heavy trousers. No tooth had pierced his armor; he was unscratched. But the air was scorched and he felt poisoned all the same. He didn’t take his gauntlets off, or his boots. He had one more thing to do before he could bathe in the river. He emptied his quiver of arrows and, one by one, dipped them in the hissing pools of Hydra blood.
“I’ll need special weapons,” he thought, “if each monster I fight is worse than the last one. Now these arrows will kill whatever they touch.”
He dipped the last arrow, then kicked his way through the dead grinning heads as he tramped toward the river.
When he dived in, Iole climbed out. She stood on the bank and watched him swim. The sun was low now, painting the river with fire. It was still warm, and Iole’s tunic was almost dry when Hercules climbed out of the river. He didn’t say anything. He sat on a rock and beckoned to her. She came toward him slowly and stopped a few feet away.
He spoke softly. “You saved my life, you know.”
“And got thrown into the river for it. My, you threw me far. It was like flying.”
“You’re a very brave girl. And a very clever one. And very, very naughty. You’re going straight back home.”
She smiled and came closer, looking up at him with big green eyes. Before he knew what she was doing, she had leaped onto his lap as lightly as a kitten. “But I live with you now,” she purred. “I’ve decided to marry you when I’m older.”
“You’d better pick someone else. I don’t think I’ll last that long.”
“I don’t want anyone else. And you have to last. I’m going wherever you go. You just saw how useful I can be.”
Hercules Page 3