The Arms Of Hercules

by Fred Saberhagen

  No one who observed our entrance into the town would have mistaken me for one of those summoned—at least, not until they saw what freight was carried on the cart that I was driving (our borrowed driver, unnerved by the constant red-eyed, bristly presence of the Boar, had defected before we were halfway to the port). One look at the creature in my cart was enough to assure any observer that I was probably no ordinary teamster.

  The crowd that had begun to gather around us and our cargo was growing larger, minute by minute.

  Once within the city walls, I drove on to the city square, in part simply because I wished to avoid blocking the narrow street. On the edge of the square I reined my team of droms to a halt, not exactly sure where to go or what to do next.

  I was only slightly surprised when, true to his promise, Hermes materialized, seeming to come from nowhere. One moment I was unaware of his presence, and the next he was standing right beside me. The god was wearing the same winged hat and long cloak in which he had appeared to us in the swamp, and bearing in one hand his caduceus, the staff with the twined serpents.

  Before I could decide for myself the proper degree of respect to offer him, Hermes announced that he was ready to take delivery of his fresh, live monster.

  Traffic in the crowded square flowed by us without pause; and I soon realized that the other people must see a totally different image than Enkidu and I did when they looked at the god Mercury. Perhaps they also heard different words, if they could hear his speech at all. Not that the Messenger was totally invisible in their eyes; they walked around him instead of bumping into him, while they continued to marvel at our captive pig. But it was as if some spell prevented them from paying him much attention.

  What really surprised me about Hermes/Mercury was that this time he had a mortal man as his companion. This fellow was middle-aged and of impressive bearing, though garbed in the clothing of a common workman, a mere loincloth, cheap vest, and sandals. He stood close beside the god, and the two were in earnest conversation.

  I was about to ask the Messenger who his associate might be, but before I could do so, the man himself turned to me and extended a hand in greeting.

  "I am called Daedalus," he announced in a brisk voice. His hand felt callused, hard as wood, against the permanent softness of my palm and fingers.

  It was a name that I had heard before, while still living at home. Indeed, who in the world had never heard it? The name seemed to me to belong to some legendary character and was vaguely associated in my mind with feats of great skill and wisdom; I could not at the moment recall the details of what Daedalus was supposed to have done, but I was sure he had accomplished marvels. Was this indeed the same, the legendary Daedalus? But why should this man not be of legendary fame, if he consorted on friendly terms with Hermes?

  No doubt my surprise showed in my face. "The master Artisan?" I asked.

  Daedalus smiled faintly, like one who found it gratifying to be recognized. "There are those who call me that," he said. And he promptly shook hands with Enkidu as well, having evidently determined quickly that my companion was no mere servant—or, perhaps, his attitude suggested, not caring whether he was or not. And then he turned his attention to the Boar, which obviously interested him more than either of us mere humans.

  The name of Daedalus, if shouted in the marketplace, would not have created nearly as much excitement as that of Jason, but was perhaps just as widely known. Trying to recall everything that I had heard about the Artisan, I finally remembered hearing that he was a widower. I saw before me a lean man of about forty and of no more than average height, with a large nose and brownish, gray-streaked hair tied behind him with utilitarian string. His fingers were ringless as a slave's, though there was no reason to believe his corded neck had ever worn a collar. Both hands were scarred, as if from the use of every kind of common tool.

  As soon as Hermes and Daedalus got their first look at the Boar, they put their heads together and began what was obviously an intense discussion concerning the monstrous beast. They poked and prodded its legs and ribs, and tugged at handfuls of its hair. Meanwhile, as its flanks rose and fell in great, shuddering breaths, my living trophy glared back at them with its red eyes and seemed to yearn to get its huge tusks into their flesh.

  Presently the Messenger turned back to me. He inclined his head toward me very slightly; and I understood that, from a god, this was an impressive mark of favor indeed.

  When Hermes began our serious discussion, he was standing closer to me than on his previous appearances, so I was able to get a better look at his face. I understood that what I saw was not, of course, the actual Face, the indestructible object of transcendent power that conferred all the powers of a god upon the human who happened to put it on. The Face of Hermes, like that of any other god, had to be inside his head, where it must have been ever since the day this avatar slid it over his eyes and nose, and where it was certainly going to remain until the day he died.

  But what I was able to see at close range helped me to fully realize what I had known in theory, that he who was now Mercury had begun life as a mere human being. Naturally it must be the same for all gods and goddesses. As usual, I found myself wondering particularly about the case of Zeus.

  He said: "Congratulations, Hercules, on your success. This beast should be of considerable value to our cause."

  "Thank you, Lord Hermes." I drew a deep breath and was about to inquire regarding my payment, but Mercury was already speaking again and paid no attention to what I was trying to say.

  "Having accomplished this," the Messenger informed me, "you must be considered worthy to undertake another assignment for the one we both serve. This new task is of an importance that would be difficult to overestimate."

  When he paused for my reply, I said: "Before we talk of new assignments, what about our reward for struggling to bring in this huge pig? The last time we met, you assured me that it would be marvelous, beyond the range of my imagination. Your exact words, as I recall, were: 'Your payment, for accepting and performing this new task, will be something more magnificent than you can imagine.' "

  The god stared at me with divine hauteur—or maybe the look that I interpreted as such was no more than godly indifference. "What reward would you consider fitting?" he inquired.

  "I think, Lord Messenger, that I have already made this clear. To begin with, I want to see my father, and speak to him, face-to-face."

  Mercury seemed not to have been expecting any such demand. He was silent for so long that I began to wonder whether he meant to ignore my request altogether, or was perhaps trying to devise some ingenious punishment for insolence. But then at last he only said: "You do not know what you are asking."

  "It seems simple enough to me."

  "But it is not. Is there any alternative reward that would please you?"

  "Not until my father agrees to see me and to let me have a talk with him."

  "I see." The god sighed and shook his head. "Meanwhile, I am prepared to offer you a reward anyway, for what you have done already. The gift of Zeus is one that I think you will not refuse."

  "Perhaps. How soon will I be allowed to see this different gift, and know whether I will refuse it or not?"

  "You will see a portion of it very soon. Be patient."

  Few people in the great world knew the name of Hercules as yet. But it did not hurt my local reputation any when I lifted crate and boar and all from cart to ground unaided.

  Once Hermes and Daedalus had officially taken possession of the Boar, the God of Thieves magically whisked the animal away, crate and all, by some means that I could not detect. Still no one else in the square seemed aware that anything out of the ordinary was happening. In the process, the Messenger and Artisan disappeared as well, along with the cart and draft animals.

  "I don't understand," I brooded, when my nephew and I were once more alone. "Why couldn't the mighty Hermes have laced up his winged Sandals, and flown up there onto the snowy mountain, and plu
cked the Boar out of its cave himself? And I wonder what plan it is that requires the presence of Daedalus as well?"

  When my nephew wondered aloud who Daedalus might be, I did my best to enlighten his ignorance. By then I had begun to remember a few details of the Artisan's career.

  Then I added: "Who knows why gods do what they do?"

  The boy shrugged. "I don't. This one never even seems to notice that I'm around. But maybe that's just as well." Enkidu continued to puzzle over it all for a moment, then asked: "And what was all that about giving you another assignment? It sounded like he thought he was doing you a great favor."

  "It sounded that way to me, too. Well, I don't doubt we'll find out before long what the great Messenger had in mind."

  "And what was all that about giving us a reward? Do you think he will?"

  "I suppose. He said it would come 'very soon.' All right. But maybe to a god, 'very soon' means something like a hundred years. Damn him, anyway. Why can't he just give me some straight answers?"

  Enkidu looked around nervously. "Hercules, be careful. He might hear you."

  "Let him hear. That's all right with me. Gods are only people wearing Faces. Anyway, you were complaining only a minute ago that he never pays you any attention."

  "Yes, but . . ."

  The more I thought about my situation, the more annoyed I became. "I tell you, Enk, I'm not going to stand around and wait to be given a handout, like some attendant at a stable. If Zeus is really my father, that ought to count for something. I'm fed up with this crawling and climbing through all the swamps and brambles and useless places of the earth. I've had it with endlessly digging and chasing after monsters."

  Enkidu sighed. "All right, Uncle, whatever you say. But what are we going to do instead?" Then he brightened. "I know what I'd like to do, if we could choose. If only we could join the Argosy! That's what Jason calls his expedition."

  The same idea had already begun to take root in the back of my own mind. One alternative of course would be to go home; but I never seriously considered returning to Cadmia, where I thought I would certainly be ordered into a marriage I did not want to make, or into the army, now that I was sixteen and old enough. Probably both.

  What few scraps of news we heard from our homeland indicated that the war—I supposed it was the same one—was still on, afflicting the land like some lingering skin disease. And we learned also that everyone was getting so tired of unending struggle, endless lists of casualties, that some kind of an arranged peace might soon be possible. I was now well into my seventeenth year, and were I to go home, no one would object to putting weapons into my hands when the army faced real enemies.

  But I had no wish to subject myself again to the authority of my foster father, or even of my mother. Having come this far, I meant to take whatever further steps were necessary to dig out the truth of my relationship with Zeus. Whatever that truth might be, the gods were evidently taking a special interest in my affairs. Hermes was an impressive presence, to say the least, but still I was not awed, and I wanted him to stop ordering me about, so I could get on with some kind of life of my own.

  Mercury had seemed to assume that I would not be able to do this even if I tried. And in this case Mercury was proven right.

  Entering a prosperous-looking, busy tavern, with Enkidu tagging along behind me, I put a couple of the Lizard's smaller coins down on a table. Immediately a well-dressed young man nearby, whose size, confident attitude, and youthful vigor made me assume he was probably one of the heroes, announced that he was buying this round of drinks and I should save my money. When I had saluted him with thanks, he presently came walking over, his arm carelessly around one of the giggling tavern girls, so that he dragged her with him, apparently without really noticing the fact.

  When he stood beside me, he introduced himself as Meleager.

  "Those who know me well call me Mel." His great hand swallowed mine.

  For a moment there seemed something familiar about his greenish eyes, and I tried to remember whether I might ever have met him before. But that seemed unlikely, as he had never been to Cadmia, or so he said, while I in my early years had rarely been anywhere else.

  He went on to explain that I had been pointed out to him as the lad who had carted a gigantic, somehow magical Boar into town, and he wondered if this were really so.

  When I admitted that it was, Meleager proclaimed himself an experienced boar hunter, too, and one of some renown. He had some technical questions about the feat I was supposed to have accomplished, queries about ropes and knots and so on that I tried to answer. His accent seemed to me strange, but with a little effort I could make out everything he said. I did my best to explain what I could about the Boar, but in the general din (the tavern was becoming crowded) I could not be sure that I was being heard or understood.

  We had been talking for several minutes when he suddenly paused, a hand to his forehead as if it ached. "Hercules, Hercules—it seems to me I've heard that name before."

  "Really? Was it in connection with a beast called the Hydra? Or maybe with a lion?"

  Mel seemed to have no idea what I was talking about. "Are you coming with us on our little trip?" he demanded. "I mean the one that Jason's cooking up. Maybe your name's familiar because I saw it on one of his lists."

  "I don't know if I'm coming with you or not. Tell me about the trip." But now another huge young man, Meleager's equal in heroic stature, was bellowing something at him from his other side, and he had turned away again and in the noisy tavern failed to hear me.

  Meanwhile, strong drink of an unfamiliar kind had been set before me, in a foaming tankard. I was young, but looking around I could see that I was not the very youngest being served. Tasting the beverage cautiously, I reminded myself that what had happened when I drank wine among the centaurs must not be allowed to happen again here.

  Two women were dancing on a kind of platform at the far end of the room, stripping off their clothes one garment at a time, while patrons shouted and whistled encouragement at them. Even I could see that they were not good dancers, nor was the music pleasing, but their bodies were young and taut and healthy, and the sight threatened to distract me from everything else. In only a few of the farmhouses where we had slept on our long walk had any female company been available.

  Meleager had turned back to me again, and soon I learned that he was the son of a noble family who lived very close to Iolcus. Again he went out of his way to point out that he was something of a famous boar hunter in his own right.

  That, I thought, would explain his continued curiosity, while leaving unexplained the strange sense of familiarity evoked by his green eyes. Meanwhile, he was still asking questions.

  "What happened to the creature, by the way? I mean, where is it now? I spoke to several people who were there in the town square when you brought the animal in, but no two of them could agree on who took it away or where. One said you sold it to a butcher."

  "I doubt you'll find it in a stew pot anytime soon." I took another long pull at my foaming tankard. My eyes kept turning back to the wiggling women.

  "Then where?"

  "I sold it, got a good price." Later, a time came when I realized that curious ears other than Meleager's must have heard me say those words.

  "Wish I could remember where we've met before," said Mel. Then, as if in professional curiosity, he began to question me again on the technical details of hunting and capturing the Boar. Distracted by the dancers, I responded to his queries as truthfully as I could, but I could see that he was having trouble understanding. Naturally his mind was working on the assumption that no mortal man could be strong enough to handle such a beast in the way I seemed to be describing.

  When Meleager, letting the matter of the Boar drop for the time being, kindly asked me how things were going in my life in general, I tried to express my dissatisfaction. "One of my parents is a god. And one of my gods is a parent. What a combination!" Well, it seemed a profound statement
at the time. Meleager must have thought so, too, for he frowned and appeared to be giving it serious thought.

  Though I ignored the fact at the time, others were observing both of us. Anyone, even an insignificant-looking outlander like me, who was engaged in such a serious conversation with a hero must be someone worth knowing, too.

  The performance at the far end of the room was over now, the musicians devoting themselves to drink. One of the girls who had been dancing on the platform came up to me and commented on how nicely my beard was beginning to grow in. Something about it must have caught her eye from clear across the room. Her hair was yellow and thin, her face sharp-featured, and in the warm room she had not bothered to resume even a single stitch of clothing following her dance. As she stood near me the tip of one of her small breasts brushed my arm, as if by accident. And brushed again.

  I rubbed my cheeks and chin, feeling the scratchy, bristly patches that had recently developed. "It's been a long time since I've seen a mirror," I admitted.

  Enkidu, having been given no tankard of his own, had sipped more than was wise at mine. Now he was tugging at my tunic and telling me that his stomach felt queer, and he would wait for me outside. I nodded and brushed him away.

  Meanwhile my very latest acquaintance was still speaking to me in her soft, eager voice. "Ah, but you must look in one, for you are very handsome."

  "Look in one what?"

  Her laughter tinkled pleasantly. "A mirror, you silly man! I can show you a room upstairs, in this very house, where there are many mirrors, all clear as air—big ones, on the walls and ceiling."

  My head was whirling, dancing. I saw, as in a vision, a centaur dancing on a stage, then coupling with a mare. "So, you think I'm handsome, hey?"

  "Oh yes," she said, and added: "They say you are also a strong man, and I can see that they are right." She reached out and squeezed the modest-looking muscle of my arm.

  "No, you can't. See it, I mean. But I am. Even stronger than I am handsome."