Oeneus was king of Calydon in Aetolia, that western reach of mainland Greece. He treated me as a friend and as the famed hero I was. For his part, he was famous for his hospitality, regularly hosting a boar hunt in which great men throughout Greece participated. But what I longed for, and for a short time enjoyed, was peace: days without war, a lack of desire to travel, a contented spirit. But can a man in love with a woman who is wooed by another man ever be at peace?
For the first week or two I lived within Oeneus’ palace, so pleasant was it that I scarcely thought of the better life to come on Olympos. I was well-fed and well-entertained. Oeneus and his wife, Althaea, were all that they should have been in their attentions to my comfort. And yet I detected unhappiness in Althaea.
“Kind queen,” I said one day, “what troubles you? The king is well, is he not?”
“Yes, he is well.”
“And your children, delightful children, sure to be heroes or queens in their time, they are well?”
“Yes, they are well—but one, she who will marry soon, is not happy.”
“Which one of them is to marry, and why is she unhappy?”
“You have not seen her, Hercules. Lovely Deianira has hidden herself away. Her intended husband is Achelous, the god of the swiftly flowing river that divides our country from Acarnania. When he presents himself to her he appears in the form of a river or of a bull or of a snake with gemlike scales or sometimes as a man—but even then his face is bull-like, with a mouth scarcely able to contain the river water within him.—He is a god, Hercules, and no man in Aetolia dares to approach my daughter and ask for her hand. Achelous would surely kill him.”
That, then, was the end of my peace! What emotion ever caused more fights than love? Aphrodite denies it, but I swear that as gentle Althaea led me to the roof of the palace, where I was shown the sight of Deianira weeping in a small garden far below, I felt a prick of my skin—the arrow of reckless Cupid that sent the poison of love coursing through my veins. Hydra’s poison hardly works faster or more painfully than Love’s.
What could I see? A sad but beautiful young woman, her long brown hair piled atop her head and decorated with yellow and blue flowers. The gold bangles on her wrists chimed when she raised her hands to hide those tender weeping eyes.
“Hercules!” exclaimed Althaea, shaking me by the shoulder. “I see Love has transfixed you, but I warn you, do not attempt to fight Achelous for my daughter. Better to allow her to pray for her death before she weds such a terrifying god as Achelous than for you to endanger yourself!”
Even had I not been struck with love for Deianira I could not have allowed her to marry against her will. “When does Achelous pay his next visit?” I asked.
“Why,” said Althaea, “please, Hercules, do not think of challenging him! You came here for peace, not to further your heroic deeds! It does not matter that this is the very day Achelous comes to claim her as his wife.”
As I recall these moments I do not know whether it was Aphrodite’s spell or Althaea’s—she who so easily led me by the nose—that brought on the end of my mortal life.
“I declare myself a suitor for Deianira’s hand in marriage,” I told Althaea. “If Deianira prefers me and Achelous will not accept her choice, then he and I must fight for the right to be her husband.”
“I’m sure I cannot dissuade you from such a noble action, dear Hercules, and so I will not try,” said Althaea.
From where we stood upon the palace roof, we heard the bellowing of a bull. Within moments we heard the rush of a river of water and a tremendous splash against the palace gates.
“It’s Achelous!” cried Althaea.
When we arrived in the main hall below, there slithered an enormous, brilliantly flashing snake, Achelous yet again, his forked tongue hissing words to Oeneus: “Yes, I have come for your sweet daughter. She will be the supreme queen of Aetolia’s greatest river.”
“She does not want to marry you!” cried out Althaea. “She prefers the hero Hercules.”
“Hercules!” spat the snake, transforming before our eyes into a fountain of water. He addressed me, his bubbling voice gushing out, “Son of Zeus, do not interfere. I saw Deianira first, and I want her for my own. If you stand in my way I will be forced to fight you.”
“You would marry this woman against her will?” I said.
He did not reply except to rise in a towering wave and splash down upon me. In a few moments I was washed out of the palace and down into the meadow nearby. There, as a spangled serpent, he sprang out of the grass and wrapped his coils around me, crushing the breath out of me, nearly breaking my ribs. I grabbed for his neck and in return tried squeezing the breath out of him. Suddenly, however, he burst into the shape of a tremendous bull. He pushed me down, snorting steam, and then, thinking to gore me, swung his head.
I grabbed those horns and lifted him off his bullish feet. To my surprise one of the horns broke off, and Achelous fell to the ground, where he now resembled a bull-faced, dribble-mouthed man.
He angrily got up, snatched the horn from me and tried to replant it on his head. When it fell to the ground he snorted and said, “Very well, Hercules, you win. I mean never again to fight for the love of a mortal woman.”
He departed and before the day was through he had resumed his watery way.
I, on the other hand, became the proud husband of lovely Deianira. I had entered, however, the final phase of my life. Why is it that Deianira and I could not live together for decades as happily as we were those first months and years?
I blame myself, for just as some men are made for love, others are made for work or for war. A terrible accident, wherein I killed a lad, led my father-in-law Oeneus to exile me. One evening while I was in the midst of telling of one of my adventures, I swung my hand violently to demonstrate a wrestling move I had tried on Antaeus. I did not know that a serving boy was standing beside me. I knocked him down, and his head hit the stone floor. I leapt out of my chair to comfort him, but he soon died.
Feeling myself to be guilty, I agreed to my father-in-law’s custom of exiling murderers, and with Deianira and our son, Hyllos, moved north to Trachis in Thessaly.
It was during our journey to Trachis that the end of my life occurred. At the river Evenus, where we stood on the bank pondering what course to take, a sly-looking centaur greeted us. “Need a lift?” he asked, winking unpleasantly at Deianira. He knew who I was, for I had done battle with Nessos’ clansmen many years before when he and his brothers had attacked me and Pholos in that centaur’s cave. I did not, to my regret, remember him. He commanded a small raft, which he offered as transportation across the river’s swift currents. There was room enough for Deianira and our child but not for me. I would swim.
I dove into the swift river and stroked hard against the heavy current. Nessos, however, let the raft float quickly downstream. In no time at all he would have kidnapped Deianira and my child, bringing them to his lair in the mountains.
I, meanwhile, having made my way across the river, looked back and could hardly see the centaur’s raft. I called out, “Where are you going with my wife and child?”
In response Nessos cackled and waved good-bye. He was nearly at a bend in the river, after which point I might not have found him among the numerous forks the fast river took. I strung my bow, pulled out an arrow and let it fly!
The hydra-poisoned arrow struck the centaur in the chest, and he fell wounded, and Deianira directed the raft to the river’s edge.
What happened next I learned later, after I arrived on Olympos:
“Forgive me,” said Nessos to Deianira.
“How can I?” said she.
“Listen,” Nessos continued, “and take this wool.” The centaur took from a bag about his neck some wool, which unbeknownst to Deianira, he smeared with his own newly poisoned blood. “Weave from it a robe for your husband. It contains a charm. Once he wears it, he will never leave you for other adventures or wives.”
D
eianira, though doubting the wicked centaur, took the wool and hid it away. I had promised to live with her and our child in peace and comfort, but she knew my nature better than I did, and half-expected me to break my promise. This potion, she thought, would preserve our love.
Nessos died before I reached the raft. Deianira told me nothing of the centaur’s words. We continued on our way.
Not long after we settled in Trachis, I heard of an archery contest in Oechalia, to the west. I could not resist the desire to join in; after all, what man could match my skill with the bow? The thought of men of lesser talent winning a prize that belonged to me preyed on my mind. Deianira noticed my restlessness.
“A spirit is pulling at you, my husband.”
“Not a spirit, my wife, but a contest.”
“Oh?”
“King Eurytos of Oechalia invites the skilled archers of Greece to compete for a prize.”
“You long to go?”
I admitted that I did.
“Then go,” she said. “You will be miserable if you do not.”
Better had she scolded me! I did go, and I did win the prize—the hand of Eurytos’ daughter, lole! I desired no woman but my wife, but how was I to refuse the honor done me? I was gone several weeks. Deianira, poor woman, heard about the results of the contest and grew despondent. She thought she had lost me to the world and to another woman.
I was standing near the fiery altar when the hydra’s poison in the robe melted and began eating away at my flesh.
It was not so; I did not care for Iole. Rather, I was building an altar to my father, lord Zeus. When I sent back a messenger to ask Deianira for a ceremonial robe in which I could perform my prayers, she believed I was coolly preparing for a wedding to Iole. She remembered Nessos’ gift, and after some hesitation, wove the wool into a long, beautiful white garment for me, with which the messenger returned.
As the messenger held the robe up for me to see, I admired Deianira’s fine work. Then, ignorant of the terrors the next moments would hold, I let the messenger drape the garment over my shoulders. I was standing in front of the fiery altar, breathing incense and thanking Zeus for my life on earth, when the hydra’s poison within the robe melted and dripped like hot wax onto my skin! I roared in pain, and yet when I tried to tear off the robe, it dissolved into me, eating away at my flesh. Such agony I would not wish on Eurystheus!
Lord Zeus saw that this was the end of my mortal life and so he gathered dense, purifying clouds over his suffering son. At the sound of a deafening thunderclap, I disappeared off the face of the earth and arrived on Mount Olympos. I became immortal! Even Hera, my old enemy, now admired me. She took me in her arms and kissed me.
“Hercules,” she said, “you are every bit as worthy as I to live on Olympos. Please forgive the trials I put you through. But, after all, you have arrived at your destiny. To prove to you that I mean you no harm and bear love for you, I offer in marriage my daughter Hebe, the goddess of youth.”
“Noble Hera, I forgive you and accept your offer to marry beautiful immortal Hebe. I am honored to be in your presence and among the Olympians.”
Forever after have I lived on Mount Olympos among the gods!
The Story of Hercules Page 8