Was Eurystheus pleased to see me? Perhaps I should have warned him of my return. Seeing a man wrapped in a cloak of lion skin, he leaped out of his throne and into a large jar.
“Guards!” he shouted. “Oh, guards! The lion I sent Hercules to kill has killed and eaten him!”
I stood, arms folded, peering out at him from between the jaws of the Nemean lion. “As you bid, king, I have done,” I said.
The guards had not dared to approach me, though none of them were silly enough to take me for the lion. They saw me and knew me as the hero Hercules.
Eurystheus got up the courage to take a long look at me from the lip of the jar. Then he climbed out, brushed the dust from his knees and elbows and reseated himself on the throne. “I knew it was you all along, Hercules. But I had been napping, and I was confused, thinking I saw a live lion.”
“The Nemean lion is dead, and I wear his skin as my trophy,” I declared.
“Yes,” said Eurystheus, “though it’s not at all becoming on you. That labor must have been easier than I imagined. In fact, I should have done it myself. But this next one, I promise, won’t be so easy! I command you, you brute, to do away with the most horrible monster that has ever plagued mankind, the hydra of Lerna, that famous nine-headed snake monster!”
I thought Eurystheus “the most horrible monster that has ever plagued mankind,” but I said nothing, only nodded and left the palace.
4. I Meet Iolaos, and Do Two Labors, but Get Credit for Only One
BEFORE I ventured to Lerna, I visited with my half-brother, Iphicles, who, wretched man, had come willingly, even on his knees, to Eurystheus’ service and lived in his palace. There was a young, handsome boy in Iphicles’ charge, the brother of his wife, Automedusa. There was a boldness and seeming fearlessness in the eyes of twelve-year-old Iolaos. My brother disliked him, thought him trouble, and kept trying to drive him from the room as we talked.
“Let him be, Iphicles. I like the lad,” I said. Sometimes a first impression tells all—and I owe my life to this first impression, as Iolaos became my greatest mortal ally.
Iphicles said, “Very well! Like him as much as you want. Though Eurystheus would have me killed for saying so, I advise you to give up this path you are on. Immortality is not for mortals—Eurystheus’ labors will kill you. How do you expect, in any case, to defeat such a monster as the hydra?”
“Uncle Hercules!” cried Iolaos, “let me go fight the hydra with you! To die fighting beside you would be honorable and glorious!”
I laughed! This from a mere boy, while men twice his size and age quaked in their shoes at the mention of the hydra. Seeing his eyes grow misty at my laughter, however, I patted Iolaos on the head and told him, “You do me honor, lad. In fact, you remind me of myself when I was your age—I was also eager to face danger.”
“Let me come with you!” the boy pleaded. Iphicles, irritated at this request, grabbed at the boy’s cloak in order to fling him from the room.
Iolaos jumped away, as if a snake had struck at him, and he stared defiantly at his sister’s husband.
Before a fight could occur, I stood up and escorted Iolaos from the room. Iphicles was shouting after us that we were knuckleheads, both of us, and that he didn’t care if we ended up being supper for the hydra. I had no intention, however, of taking lolaos along with me.
But as we stood outside, under the night sky, we watched a star streak across the blue dome of the heavens, and yet it did not disappear, as other shooting stars do. We saw its sparkling light drop toward us. There was a blinding flash before us, and in the next instant, when our eyes cleared, there stood the god Hermes. From his shiny gold cloak he pulled out a huge, gleaming shield and a long sword, and he presented them to me as a fisherman would offer another man a prize fish—two hands outstretched, nodding and smiling. I thanked him and accepted the divine shield and sword while Iolaos stared with eyes wide.
A moment later, without saying a word, Hermes ascended, not as a star but as an eagle.
I prayed my thanks to the gods, and then Iolaos and I sat down by the light of a torch to admire these divinely handcrafted items of warfare. They were forged, I learned later, by wondrous Hephaestos, the god of fire. On the shield were inscribed scenes of the origins of the gods—how Earth gave birth to Sky, and how they mated to produce Mountains and Ocean. In the beautifully etched scenes we seemed to witness how Zeus, son of Rhea and wicked Cronos, had led Cronos’ children in their fight against their father, and how my father had seized power, splitting the dominion of the universe into three, with his brother Hades ruling the underworld, Poseidon the sea, and himself the heavens. The whole story flashed into our eyes from the brilliant shield. But then our eyes were taken with the sword: the hilt was studded with gems, and enameled pictures showed the birth of great Athene, who entered life from the brow of Zeus; and on the reverse side Hephaestos had depicted the birth of the bewitching goddess of love, his wife Aphrodite, from the sea foam.
I remarked to Iolaos, “Remember your encounter with Hermes, lad, for the appearance of a god on earth—undisguised, plain to see—is very rare.” With that, I bid him goodnight, and told him that I would visit him again after I returned from Lerna.
He scowled and would not look at me; he was disappointed that after all I would not rescue him from his disagreeable guardian. Meanwhile, I lay down content, and slept well, full of confidence that my venture into Lerna was blessed by the gods and destined for success.
I set out before dawn, before anyone was awake. I noticed but did not think anything of a bundle on the floorboard of the chariot; I assumed that it was a gift from a well-wisher. As morning light poured over my horses and me, however, I heard a groan at my feet.
Then I saw a rustling within the bundle. I laughed and said with a sigh, “Oh, how I wish Iolaos were here to accompany me!”
“Uncle Hercules!” came a voice, and then out popped Iolaos’ head from the bundle. “Here I am!”
We were too far along for me to return him home, and, besides, I liked the boy’s pluck, only wishing that I at his age had had an uncle going off on dangerous expeditions.
“Stand up beside me, lolaos, and take charge of the horses!”
I sat on the floor in his place and let him drive the horses over the curving roads from Tiryns. We would have a long journey, and the sooner he gained confidence of his control over the chariot the better. I hummed to myself and looked off in a casual way to the left and right, pretending I was easy about every turn he made. That night we slept under the stars.
In the morning we started early and arrived in Lerna before noon. There, by the shores of the bottomless Alcyonian Lake, we followed the path of destruction through the swamplands toward the nine-headed hydra’s lair. We had to leave the chariot on a dry mound overlooking the lake because the swamp would have sucked down our wheels, and the lake’s monsters would have swallowed our horses alive. Iolaos, reckless boy, followed at my heels as I cut through the tangled vines and called out a challenge to that snaky offspring of hideous monsters: “Hydra! Come on out and meet your fate! Your death has arrived in Hercules!”
“And I, lolaos, shall help him!” he cried out.
“Shh!” I commanded.
“Shhh!” I heard in return. “SHHHHH!”
For a moment I thought the boy was mocking me! But then we heard it—HISSSS!
We saw nothing but the trees and the swampy water at our feet. When lolaos caught up to me, I took his arm and said, “Stay here until I call for you.” There was a darkness in my tone that prevented the boy from questioning me.
“Yesss,” he whispered.
I crept onward as alert as any deer that has heard the footsteps of a lion. Nothing could keep my sandals, however, from their muddy smacking. By the time I reached the flats near the hydra’s lair, its nine heads were hissing a dangerous welcome. The snaky monster’s body was the size of a tree trunk. Eight of its heads branched off in different directions, while the one in the mi
ddle, with sparkling eyes of frosty blue, spat sparks of fire. Never for a moment did I lose my courage, but for the first and last time during my labors I understood faintheartedness.
However, as soon as it raised its necks to strike, I leapt forward with my sword to strike first.
What enemy has ever doubled its dangerousness with every blow it receives? Only the hydra, that monster! In the few heartbeats that passed after each chop of my sword, wherein I sliced off all but the head in the middle, two heads sprang to life on each stump. I could scarcely believe my eyes. Foolishly I swung my sword again and the sixteen new heads flew off—but only heartbeats later they became thirty-two. I am a vain man! What did I do next but swing at those snapping, hissing snake heads and create sixty-four!
As soon as the hydra raised its necks to strike, I leapt forward with my sword to strike first.
The one in the middle—the one I later discovered to be immortal—now hissed a stream of fire, which I blocked with Hephaestos’ shield. The flames bounced away, but caused several branches surrounding us to catch fire. The hydra recoiled for just one moment, and in that instant Athene herself seemed to speak to me; suddenly wisdom filled my mind, and I called out for Iolaos.
Fine boy, he had already crept very close, and was presently at my side, beaming with happiness during one of the most desperate times of my life! I backed away for a moment from the hydra’s poisonous heads and picked off a burning branch from the tree above me. A tremendous crab then crawled over from the swamp to lend assistance to its snake-headed comrade. The crab pinched my sandaled right foot, and I bellowed out in pain.
“Quick!” I called out. “Listen, Iolaos—yow! (the crab pinched me harder)—take the torch—yow!” I paused a moment in my battle with the hydra to give the crab a swift kick; the creature flew, claws and legs akimbo, through the trees and back into the swamp.
I shook my pinched foot to restore feeling to it and said to lolaos, handing him the fiery branch, “Take this, and the moment I slice off one of this monster’s heads, seal the neck with the fire. It’s the flowing blood, I believe, that creates two heads for one.” Just then the monster struck for us and the immortal head spit its fire.
“Quick! Be ready!” I shouted. When the fire from its mouth ceased for a moment, we ran at the hydra, my shield protecting us, and then I swung the sword, clipping off two or three snaky heads at a time. With each strike Iolaos touched the fire to the necks and sealed the blood within. Now that the monster did not redouble its poisonousness I was able to overcome it.
It was the immortal blue-eyed head that I had to deal with alone. When I had sliced the head from its body, I took a leather cord from my sandal and muzzled that fiery mouth. Iolaos provided me with his leather sack, into which I threw the hydra’s head, a head no bigger than a crocodile’s.
The snaky trunk of the body we cut up and cooked till the poison began to flow. Then we collected the poison in a jar, for use on my arrows. Perhaps it would have been better for me had we not done this, for this poison eventually took away my mortal life.
At the time, however, lolaos and I were giddy with our success. We returned through the mucky swamp to the chariot. We hunted, caught some game, cooked and ate. I was as cheerful and happy as the boy. We celebrated, gave thanks to the gods for their aid and called ourselves heroes.
On the chariot drive back to Tiryns I told Iolaos that for a time, perhaps a year, I would have to do without his help, and that in the meantime he should continue his education in the art of archery and swordsmanship.
He was crestfallen, but he did not squawk or make a fuss. After all, he had helped the great Hercules defeat a deadly menace.
When we appeared before Eurystheus, however, and I told of my victory over the hydra and showed him the head, the cunning king said, “Your story surprises me. When I asked you to defeat the hydra, I meant you and no one else! You get no credit for that labor, none at all!”
“There was no rule against a boy aiding me——”
“There is a rule now,” said Eurystheus. “And that labor does not count!”
I had gained nothing by killing the hydra but poison for my arrows!
The king laughed, taunting me, and I wanted to kill him, but Athene came and gripped me by the back of my hair, yanking very hard to get my attention, and told me to nod and obey.
I nodded.
“Very well,” said Eurystheus. “Now bring me the golden horns of the Cerynean hind.”
“That deer belongs to the goddess Artemis,” I reminded him. “What is a god’s is not for men. If I killed such a deer the goddess would certainly kill me.”
“You refuse, then?”
“No,” I said, desperately trying to think of a solution to this dilemma. To myself I said, “I shall not kill that deer. But what am I to do, since unless that deer is dead it will not give up its golden horns.”
After I buried the hydra’s immortal head under a rock on the road to Lerna, I left for Artemis’ forest, which was not very far away. In two or three days I arrived in the valley of Argolis. I erected an altar dedicated to Artemis, the goddess of hunting, and I prayed to her. Where would I be without the friendship and wisdom of Athene? She came to me as if in a dream, and spoke these words: “Think, Hercules, think: did Eurystheus demand that you kill the deer?”
“No!” I replied. “But how do I bring him the horns without harming the deer?”
“Do not harm the deer,” replied Athene, seeming to answer from within my own mind. “Bring to Eurystheus the deer, unharmed, horns and all. If he wishes to murder the deer for its horns, let him do so and let him suffer Artemis’ revenge.”
“Yes!” I answered. “But this deer will not allow me to capture it without a fight, will it?”
“A weary opponent will give himself up to you.”
Weary! How long did I track Artemis’ deer? Almost a year. It was an unhappy and long pursuit. At the end of that year I was so weary I would have given myself up to the deer had he wanted me to. But Athene was right. After those months of chasing him up mountains and through rivers and streams, he finally lay down in front of me, tired of running away.
I picked him up, threw him over my shoulders, and started off on my hike back to Tiryns.
“I will not harm you,” I reassured the gorgeous stag. As with so many beasts before and after, I picked him up and threw him over my shoulders, gripping his slender, hard-hoofed feet in my right hand, my knobby club in my left, and I started off on my hike back to Tiryns.
I released the deer the moment we came within the palace doors. “Here,” I told Eurystheus, “I have brought you the golden horns you so desired.”
“The hind is alive!”
“You have a sharp eye!” I laughed. “But remember, you asked for the horns. So I have brought them to you. It’s now up to you to do what you want about the deer to which they are attached!” I laughed again.
He was furious with me, but no fool. He commanded the priests from Artemis’ temple to come and take the deer back to Artemis’ forest. Had he killed the hind, Artemis in her rage would have hunted him down and killed him and everyone he loved.
Eurystheus sulked and pouted, and spent the rest of the day thinking of another task. He called me to appear before him and said, “For once and for the last time you have outwitted me, Hercules. Your next labor is to capture the Erymanthian boar, that demonish destroyer of the countryside in Arcadia!”
For a moment I thought he was giving me a tiresome but easy task, but then he laughed in a mocking spirit and said, “Because you tricked me with the hind, I punish you with a demand of my own. When I say ‘capture,’ I mean ‘capture alive’!”
“Alive!” I said, outraged at his spiteful request. For as you might know, a boar is easier killed than captured alive, fiercesome wild pig that it is. Think of Odysseus, that hero from Ithaca who followed my generation. As a young lad a long-tusked boar gashed him through the thigh, as no warrior was ever able to do. And those who h
ad seen it said the boar in Arcadia was twice the size of the largest boar ever known, and ten times as destructive and mean.
5. The Centaurs and the Boar
MY FIRST day on the road I came upon the tracks of MY horse and decided to follow them for a distance. Which of us does not have an animal nature? I, for one, think of myself as somewhat lionish, what with my kingly presence, my great bulk, my savagery in fighting and my huge voice. However, even garbed in my lion’s robe, I do not resemble very closely a flesh and blood lion.
But do you know of those men who stand upon the four legs of a horse? Where a horse’s neck would be is the trunk of a man’s body, from belly to arms and hands. His head and face is wild with beard and curls, but all man. His horsiness consists of his four legs and that horsy body. These strange man-horses are known as centaurs. They are mortal but their mother, Nephele, was a cloud, which perhaps accounts for their changeable nature. They are a wise but wild bunch, and Cheiron, great Cheiron, the best of centaurs, was the teacher of such heroes as Achilles and my future comrade Jason. I hesitate to say—oh, shameful admission! —that I took Cheiron’s life.
I must tell a short tale now that does me little credit. A hero’s life, I remind you, contains not only his noble and brave actions but also his follies and errors.
That trail of hooves I was following belonged to the centaur Pholos. He was hunting wild game, not needing a bow and arrow, as I might, but only a spear. I came to a rocky ridge overlooking a valley and watched as what looked like a man on horseback gave chase to a fleet, proud ram. The ram’s horns curled in several wide, thick loops, ending in sharpened points. But for all its nimbleness among the rocky steeps, the ram could not elude the masterful hunter’s spear.
The Story of Hercules Page 3