Without his mother Antaeus was just another man! I crushed the murderer of innocent strangers in my arms. Then I left him on the ground, where his mother, I presume, covered him and gave him proper burial.
I continued through Libya until I reached the end of the world. There at the world’s edge stands mighty Atlas, that Titan who has the weight of the sky on his shoulders. Without him the sky would fall upon us all! This task he must perform because long ago he fought in league with the other Titans against Zeus and the Olympians.
Beside him lay the walled gardens of the lovely Hesperides. I greeted the Titan, and said, “I am Hercules.”
Atlas nodded but did not otherwise reply.
“I have come in quest of the golden apples.”
Atlas, his voice deep and rough with strain, said, “They’re just over there in the lovely nymphs’ garden. (Grunt!) Go look.”
I peeked over the high wall of the paradise and saw a snake the size of a dragon guarding the apple tree, above which the Hesperides were lightly dancing. I have never passed up a challenge, but if by my wits I was able to avoid death or injury, I tried to use them. I said, gazing up at the blue sky, “You bear a large weight, Titan.”
“Tremendous,” he said, “a tremendous weight.”
“Perhaps, mighty Atlas, you would like a rest from your duty? Say, what if I held up the sky for you while you went in and picked me some apples?”
Atlas frowned, and said, “Is this a trick?”
“I? How could I trick you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t wholly trust you, Hercules, but all right, a few moments of rest would do me well. Yes, I agree (grunt!), I’ll do you a service as you do me one.”
I stood beside Atlas as he stooped and lowered the sky onto my shoulders.
I stood beside him as he stooped and lowered the sky onto my shoulders, though I must give thanks to Athene, who, at the last instant, invisibly took some of the weight upon her upraised right hand.
Atlas, relieved of his chore, let out a deep breath, stretched his arms out, straightened his back and said, “Thank you, Hercules. I needed a break.”
“The apples,” I muttered, my jaw clenched with strain.
Atlas laughed. “The dragon’s no problem for me,” he said. He picked off a flower that grew outside the wall and hopped over. This flower, I learned, was a charm that lulled the snake to sleep. Not very much later, Atlas hopped back over the wall. He was carrying an armful of apples.
“See?” he said. “If you know how to do things, they’re easy.” He set the apples down and was at my side, about to take back his burden, when an idea came to him. He straightened up and clapped me on the shoulder. “My friend, my mighty little friend Hercules,” he said, “you are bearing up very well!”
“Very well!” I repeated, but my shoulders were very strained.
“You are doing such a good job in my stead,” he went on, “what if we trade places for a year or two?”
Invisible Athene’s wisdom, whispered into my ear, kept me calm, and I replied, “Very well, Titan. It’s no trouble to me. The exercise will do me good, in fact. But, please, wait a moment. Before you go away, would you mind holding the sky for two moments while I find a pillow to lay across my head and shoulders?”
Atlas laughed, saying proudly, “I myself have never needed a cushion! It’s not strictly proper, but I pity you, so, all right, go get yourself a thick pad of some sort.” Atlas reshouldered the burden and I stepped out from under the sky.
I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Atlas,” I said. I bent over and began to collect the apples he had picked.
“But you’re staying here!” cried Atlas. “You won’t need those.”
“Farewell!” I said.
Atlas stamped his foot at me, but without another to shoulder his burden he could not chase me. Athene flew off to Olympos, and I began the long journey back to Tiryns.
Those apples were so glorious Eurystheus was almost pleased I returned.
The final labor, however, was meant to do away with me. Few men have ever gone to Hades, home of the dead, and returned alive. That was the destination Eurystheus gave me, with the task of fetching the hideous three-headed watchdog of the underworld, Cerberos.
Without the guidance of goddess Athene I could not have sailed across the distant seas and found the secret underworld entrance. She commanded the ship and we had the best of weather and winds. How many long weeks was it that we sailed? We came to a rocky island that resembled so many others and landed. Not far ashore there was a wide-mouthed cave, from which we heard terrible twitterings; these were the voices, she told me, of the newly dead. She led me by the hand to the entrance, where fearsome Cerberos was about to raise a din with his triple-tongued barking. Instead, seeing Athene’s owlish divine eyes, he cowered and let us pass.
With us safely within the outer reaches of Hades, Athene stopped and touched my right shoulder. “Here it is that I must stop. Clever Hercules, you must convince Hades, lord of the underworld, of your need to borrow Cerberos.”
I wandered down the winding cave into the dusky land of the dead, where I saw the smoky spirits of those who had lived; they were squeaking like bats, and twitchily flitting about. I shuddered, then proceeded until I found my way to the throne room of Lord Hades himself.
“Well, well, well,” laughed Hades, who did not have a warm laugh at all. “My brother Zeus’s son has come to pay his respects to his uncle.”
“All respect the dead, Hades. For though we all fear death, it gives our bodies peace.”
“Yes, yes, so it is said,” Hades answered impatiently. “What is it you want of me?”
“I ask permission to take your dog to Tiryns.”
Again Hades laughed his cold, unfriendly laugh. “Go right ahead, nephew, by all means. But the rules are these: use no club or other weapon to make him follow you.”
That, of course, left me with my hands. I pulled my lion-skin cloak tight over my body and when I finished the long and winding way to the entrance, I got down on all fours and crept up on the keen-eyed dog. He had never seen such a strange beast! Just as his heads began to bark in warning, I sprang like the lion in whose skin I was wrapped. Cerberos could not bite through my Nemean cloak, and we wrestled for some time. Finally, he grew tired, and as with any dog that knows it has been conquered, he rolled over, showing his belly. I laughed, and when I petted him, the gentle monster, he licked my masterful hands. Cerberos followed me away from the gloomy underworld and onto the ship. Athene was not with us, but her guidance seemed to fill my head. It did not seem long before we had crossed the seas and returned to Tiryns. To keep Cerberos from tearing after the men of the city, I leashed him before walking into the king’s court.
Cerberos followed me onto the ship, and I leashed him before walking into the king’s court.
At the sight of him, Eurystheus cried, “Take him away!” So frightened was he that he jumped again into the tall jar beside his throne. How keenly Hades’ dog and I longed for Eurystheus’ death! He popped out his head for an instant and screamed, “Leave me alone, cousin! You have performed your labors. Now go, and never let me see you again!”
Oh, how I laughed. I led Cerberos over to the throne, and we peeked into the jar. “Farewell, wicked man!” I called. “May Cerberos soon enjoy the sight of you in his own home.” Then I led Hades’ dog away with a simple “Here, boy!” We were on the seas for only a night. The gods must have seen to our passage. When I awoke, the ship had landed and Cerberos was hopping over the side to sniff at the entrance of his cave.
I slept on the anchored boat that night, but when I awoke, Dawn had come with her rosy fingers, and I was lying under a blanket on the ship, which was docked now outside Eurystheus’ palace.
12. My Revenge on Troy and My Fight Alongside the Gods
“I S LABOR its own reward?” I wondered. I had successfully performed twelve tasks, but no thunder, no shouts of triumph sprang from the gods. I was greeted, instead
, by the sounds of the world: creaky carts passing by, common birds chirping and fluttering. “Zeus, my father?” I prayed, gazing upward. “Am I to continue living on earth?” There was no sign, no reply, and I spent my first day walking through the countryside. What was to come of my hard-earned divinity? It was not in the haystack in which I tucked myself that night, and from which I was cautiously roused in the morning by a poor farmer’s young son.
“Big man,” I heard as if in a dream.
I opened one eye, the straw poking into my face, and saw a curly-haired little child. His curly hair was blond, his eyes the swirling green of the shallow sea off Thessaly. “Wake up,” the boy said.
“Athene?” I asked, for she so liked to disguise herself as beautiful children or youths.
“Me not Tina,” he said. “Me Maxion.”
“Fetch me water, then, Maxie.”
The boy left and returned with his father, who brandished a hoe, while trying to keep his boy far behind him. The man was shaking, his knees knocking, and his voice trembled as he said, “Are you a god—or the thief who steals my hens?”
Extending my hand in friendship, I laughed. “I’m not one or the other, I’m only a man like yourself.”
“In that case,” he said, glancing nervously over his shoulder, “let me offer you a portion of bread and cheese, and as much water as you need.”
“Thank you, kind farmer, but tell me of your thief.”
“I would if I could, but I can’t, so I shan’t. We’ve not seen him, or heard him, only found little piles of bones on cold pits of burned wood.”
“In return for your hospitality, I’ll catch your thief, farmer. If it takes me a day or two, I hope you won’t mind.”
“Not at all—and should you succeed, kind prince (for you must be the son of a great king), I’ll offer you the best eggs you’ve ever tasted.”
I caught the thief that night, a neighbor it turned out, who had been jealous of the farmer’s very modest success. In my grasp the thief confessed all and turned over to his victim a fat pig, more than recompense, in my mind, for the crime, yet hardly fair enough, thought the farmer. In truth, the farmer’s eggs were hardly better than any others I have tasted, but I thanked him well and told him Zeus, god of goodwill toward strangers, would bless his home.
Now I itched to take care of my own business. A servant performs chores all day for his master, then, if he is lucky, returns to his hovel and prepares his own supper, and with a spare moment stares at the dancing flames of his little fire. Just so was I left to my own tasks now that I was free of Eurystheus’ ill will.
I wished to settle scores with the king of Troy, Laomedon. I visited the kingdoms of several friends, declaring my intentions of revenge. I repeat now what I told the king of Salamis, Telamon, one of my former mates on the Argo.
“You honor me, Telamon, by celebrating my fabulous labors. I thank you for your gifts and abundant praises. You may be surprised to hear that I beg a favor of you—I’ll go straight to the point—I ask for fifty of your finest men and the best ship. I’ll keep no secrets; I mean to attack and burn Troy.” I went on to tell him what you already know, about how Laomedon refused to pay what he promised when I saved his daughter Hesione from Poseidon’s sea dragon.
Telamon readily agreed to help me, and he became my second-in-command over six ships of three hundred fierce and hardy warriors, volunteers from his and the other kingdoms friendly to my mission.
We sailed for Troy in early spring. Upon arrival I assembled the forces on the beach, and then decided to give Laomedon one more chance to fulfill his promise. I walked alone to the walls of Troy, at the base of which I called up to the cowering soldiers and said, “Hand over my reward for saving Hesione, that golden vine designed by Hephaestos, godly master of fire, and I’ll leave you in peace.”
Laomedon, peeking over the wall, and then hurling a long spear in my direction, cried out, “There’s your reward, Muscle-Man!”
I reached out and caught the spear in midair, and then broke it over my knee. I walked back to the ships, and Telemon and I directed the attack.
When you hear how, in the generation after mine, it took the armies of great Achilles, Agamemnon and Odysseus ten years to defeat Troy, marvel at our deed! It took us one day! Laomedon attacked us on the plains with thousands of his men. They knew they were fighting for their lives, but the gods gave us victory. We turned them back, and they retreated into the city. Then we smashed at their walls with battering rams.
Brave Telamon’s crew broke through before mine had and, I admit, this caused me envy—a serpent whose poison is more dangerous than the hydra’s. Telamon climbed into the breach in the wall and was about to take the honor of being the first enemy within the city. He turned and saw me, my face hard with anger and resentment. He quickly jumped back and fell to his knees and began piling rocks in a mound.
“What do you mean by this?” I roared at him, my temper flashing lightning from my eyes.
“I mean,” he said, wise diplomat, “to make an altar to Troy’s conquerer—you, great Hercules!”
My rage evaporating like steam, I laughed at his cleverness. “Thank you, Telamon, for granting me this honor.” I climbed through the breach and other soldiers followed.
Once our army was within the walls, Laomedon stood no chance. We defeated him and his soldiers. Telamon, as a reward from me, was allowed to marry beautiful Hesione.
Remember Hera’s hatred? Though I had succeeded in my labors, she still wanted trouble for me. As I sailed with my mates from our successful devastation of Troy, she sent terrible storms down upon us, which would have buried us in watery graves had not Zeus punished her and given us sudden fine weather.
When we were safe again, and had celebrated our victory over Troy and the storms, I lay upon the deck of the ship one evening. The warm breeze soothed me; the stars were blinking high above. Then, mysteriously, it was not stars blinking above me but the divine face of Athene.
Her eyes glowed, but no other sailor could see her. She spoke, but no other sailor could hear her.
“Hercules, so wondrous are you, even the gods admire you. I come this time not to give aid but to ask for it. We gods on Olympos face an attack from the terrible, monstrous Giants, those enormous children of Earth and Sky. We know from signs we have read in the stars that without your help we will be conquered. Help us, as many of us have helped you.”
“I will do all in my power, wise Athene, for the Olympians are my friends and protectors.” After I had gathered my weapons, we ascended in her chariot, flying west to the plains near Phlegra’s volcanos. It was pitch dark there, unlit, on Zeus’s orders, by the sun, moon or stars.
The battle which followed, so important to the continued sovereignty of the Olympian gods, was hardly witnessed, even by its participants. Here and there, of course, the flash of Zeus’s lightning brought the scene of destruction to our eyes.
With steady light the Giants might have found the earthly plant that would give them their sought-after immortality—a state of being which would have meant everlasting war, or, at best, an unhappy compromise of power.
In the darkness we saw with our other senses. When Athene, great warrior, set out after the Giant Enceladus, she pursued the sound of his heavy footsteps, which must have caused earthquakes throughout Europe. She then mustered all her colossal strength and lifted a mountain range that one of Zeus’s thunderbolts had loosened, and hurled it end over end in Enceladus’ direction. Sharp-eared, she had heard his frantic splashing in the southern sea. The mountain range found its mark, crushing the Giant into the sea depths. Do you know the island of Sicily? It sits even today atop the brutal Giant.
For my part, I assisted in several killings, shooting an arrow through one eye of a Giant while Apollo, master of archery, fixed the other eye with a winged dart. Were we shooting blindly? No, even in the darkness, the light of life shone in the Giants’ eyes, while we, more clever, narrowed our eyes.
My proudes
t moment in the war with the Giants was dispatching Alcyoneus, the strongest of them all. In the land where he was born, Pallene in Chaldice, where we were fighting, he was immortal. Beast! He must have been as tall as an ancient tree. I took aim at the glint of his right eye, and when he fell, shaking the earth, his hands busily covering his wound, I pounced. Lions will drag their prey for miles until they find a peaceful place to eat it. I dragged Alcyoneus a dozen miles, until we were beyond the confines of life-giving Pallene.
What is it about our homelands that gives us life? I do not know, but within moments of his transplantation from Pallene, Alcyoneus’ torturing wound killed him.
My great father Zeus disposed of many Giants with his thunderbolts, but let me give credit as well to the huntress Artemis, swift Hermes, crooked-legged Hephaestos and Poseidon, lord of the seas. Notice that I do not mention Hera, for she, though willing enough to fight alongside her fellow Olympians, was being punished by Zeus for her attack on me.
The war with the Giants done with, I was returned to my life of suffering, of which I shall tell more in the following chapter.
13. My Marriage, Death and Immortal Life
AFTER THE fight with the Giants I decided to retire and live in peace until such time as the gods would have me live with them on Olympos. Why is it that what we most desire is the last thing we obtain?
The Story of Hercules Page 7