The Arms Of Hercules

by Fred Saberhagen

Amphitryon formally welcomed me home, and I thought he was actually pleased to see me, but as usual we had little to say to each other. I no longer called him "Father," but I remained respectful, and thought he did not notice. Nor did he ever ask me what had happened to the bow, his parting gift to me when I went off to be a herdsman. Possibly he had forgotten it.

  * * *

  Iphicles, my elder half brother, who was now more than thirty years of age, met Enkidu and me on the day of our return and marveled at how his son had grown.

  "Another year or two and the lad will be ready for some military service," the proud father proclaimed, thumping him heartily on the shoulder.

  Enkidu offered no open argument against that statement, but it was plain to me that he had a different future for himself in mind.

  "We've heard some interesting stories about you," my brother observed when he decided my turn had come to be evaluated.

  "Some of them may even be true," I answered carelessly, and did not bother to ask what any of the stories were. And I thought that he was bothered by my indifference, which was mostly genuine.

  I had been home now for a full day, and one of our neighbors was giving me a reasoned explanation, full of clever deductions, as to why the accounts of my miraculous victories over incredible monsters could not possibly be true. "Now, the lion, for instance . . ."

  I listened in polite silence for a little while, then walked away, no doubt leaving the arguer with the conviction that he had shown me up as a fraud.

  In fact my account of how I had killed the lion, though basically true, was widely disbelieved. Later, I heard that many of the gods themselves had doubted the report at first—though I doubted whether those who told me that had ever seen a god.

  "You look different, too, Hercules," said another old acquaintance on seeing me again.

  "I suppose I do." I was a few inches taller than when I had lived at home—certain homely benchmarks, in the form of scars on tree trunks and on doorposts, provided confirmation of that fact—and definitely more mature. And my beard was starting to grow in nicely. Critically studying my arms, I decided that I really did look stronger now than I had when I went off to herd cattle. Perhaps I actually was more powerful; offhand I could think of no way to make an accurate test.

  Weighing myself on a familiar balance scale, in one of the familiar barns of the estate, showed that I had gained some ten pounds, though my body still showed very little fat. But certainly no sculptor would have chosen me as a model of the ideal.

  While I was on that visit home, I took part in my first crocodile hunt, joining my stepfather and my older brother, by invitation, in an expedition they had been planning for some time. It was a dangerous kind of game that warriors played on occasion, to enliven their intervals of peace.

  The three of us were in a rowboat of shallow draft, and I was leaning over, trying to see the bottom, while my two companions were busy catching fish. The fish were going to be useful in our hunt, as bait.

  "The best bait for crocodile, Hercules, is something bigger," Iphicles was explaining. "Like a sheep or goat. But fish are cheaper."

  "You try to lure the creature into the shallows and then surround it with men armed with sturdy spears," Amphitryon added.

  I nodded my understanding, and father and son took turns adding explanations.

  "We won't use the boat for the actual hunt."

  "When the croc's in shallow water, we'll get five or six men and come at it from all sides at once."

  "You've got to watch out for the tail, as well as for the head."

  The experts had judged that we had enough fish on the string, and the servant rowing the boat had us almost back to shore, when I heard the last bit of advice, this delivered in tones of some urgency. "Don't lean over there, Hercules. Watch out!"

  The sight of what I thought was a large fish, moving underwater, had captured my curiosity. I had no more than an instant's warning, in the form of a swirl beneath the surface, before the enormous gray-green shape came lunging up out of the muddy shallows, jaws spread to clamp my shoulder and neck. My startled, instinctive withdrawal was a forceful move that dragged the big croc with me; the boat overturned, and I was standing hip-deep in water.

  While my companions screamed and splashed, waving their barbed spears ineffectually, I got my feet solidly planted, then brought both hands up, forcing my fingers in between the large teeth that were vainly trying to puncture the skin of my face and shoulder. There was no odylic magic about this creature, but mere nature could sometimes be quite monstrous enough.

  The people in the water around me were still thrashing uselessly. Meanwhile the servant, who had already reached the shore, was running for help. Ignoring them all, I found the grip I needed and peeled the beast's jaws loose—it was no more trouble than folding back a tough fruit rind. Flipping the crocodile lightly in the air, I caught it by its thick tail, called out a warning for onlookers to stand back, and swung the great mass forcefully, sending the head end hard against a massive rock that happened to be standing conveniently near.

  I made my relatives a present of the valuable hide. From then on I heard no more doubts expressed about my other feats as they had been reported. And the subject of crocodile hunting was dropped for the duration of my visit.

  In the course of my visit I naturally kept encountering familiar faces. Yet one face in particular, the very one I had come looking for, was not to be seen anywhere.

  "Where is Megan?" I finally inquired, making a conscious effort to be casual. I chose to ask the question when I was away from my close relatives.

  The people who were with me at the time exchanged glances that I could not read. Someone finally told me that they thought the young woman I asked about had been seen at the palace.

  "But what would she be doing there?" I wondered aloud. In response, people hesitated, coughed, and changed the subject.

  It seemed it would be easier to go and see for myself than to get anyone to give me a plain answer.

  The palace grounds were busy with a casual flow of people coming and going on all kinds of business, and no one challenged me as I wandered about. At the moment when I laid eyes on Megan, she was seated in a kind of arbor in a garden behind the servants' quarters. In her arms she was holding an infant, some two or three months of age, while it nursed at her breast. My mind began automatically counting up the months of my absence from home; and in the space of a few heartbeats, before a word had passed between us, I felt certain that her child was mine.

  Megan was clad in a simple, familiar garment, of a type commonly worn by female servants, loosened from one arm and shoulder to enable her comfortably to nurse. Her wide brown eyes were fastened on me, but at first, neither of us said a word as I approached. The infant's hair was scanty, but in color much the same as mine. A diaper concealed its sex. I put out a careful hand and turned back the blanket from the tiny face, which stayed nuzzled against Megan's tender breast.

  "Our child." I did not make the words a question.

  "Yes." She looked at me, as I thought, reproachfully. "I have lain with no one else."

  I shook my head; that had not been what I was concerned about. Somehow it had hardly occurred to me that she might have done so.

  "Is the baby—?"

  Now she knew what I meant to ask, before I had decided just how to put the question. "He's a fine healthy boy, Hercules. If there is anything strange about him, I haven't found it out yet."

  "All the good gods be thanked for that," I said sincerely. "What is his name?"

  Megan told me that the baby's name was Hyllus. She had to spell it out for me.

  I thought about it. "I know of no one else called by that name," I commented at last.

  "It means 'a woodsman.' And it was my father's name. If my lord Hercules wishes to change it—"

  I had stuck out a finger where Hyllus could grasp it, and now he clamped his tiny hand on with surprising strength. Only later did I realize that this was not very c
onvincing proof of our relationship, that all babies could exert a powerful grip. I said, "No, no, let his name stay as it is. His mother gave it to him, and I like the way it sounds."

  I must have been with Megan for almost a full minute before my mind fully registered something that my eyes could hardly have failed to see at once—the fact that she was wearing a slave's metal collar. It was a simple ring of iron, such as the lowest of the low would wear, rather than decorative silver, or even gold.

  "But what in all the hells is this?" I suddenly demanded, touching the offending object with one finger.

  "Just what it looks like, lord."

  " 'Lord' is not my name. Let there be no use of titles between you and me."

  "As my lord wishes." And she smiled in a way that let me know that she was teasing me.

  "Now, tell me who in the Underworld has put this thing around your neck. You were never a slave, and you are not going to become one."

  "I had no intention of becoming one."

  "Then tell me, whose hands put this on?"

  Now she looked at me with something like alarm. "They were a slave's hands, Hercules, those of a simple blacksmith, and he liked the business no more than I did. I hope you don't hold him responsible."

  "All right. By whose orders, then?"

  "It was done, they told me, by order of His Majesty the king. Although the king himself has never had anything to say to me. So far they have only given me easy tasks to do here, sewing and taking inventory."

  "But why?"

  "No one has bothered to give me an explanation. But it seems that servants, like me, whose agreements with their masters are not perfectly in order, as mine with the lord Amphitryon perhaps was not, may sometimes be forfeit—"

  "Hush! Never mind. The laws can be a greater labyrinth than Corycus has ever seen. But whatever the laws say, or the king, either, you are not going to be forfeit to anyone."

  "It may have had something to do with the lord general Amphitryon's failure to pay taxes."

  "Hush."

  I wanted very much to kiss her, but even before doing that I reached with both hands and with gentle fingers cleanly, safely tore the iron collar from her neck. It seemed to me that the spot where, as I saw now, the royal seal had been stamped in, was likely to be the weakest, and so I chose that place to rip it right across. Somehow my hands, that had doubted their skill to do as much for Hesione on her seaside cliff, were certain in their power now. I crumpled the heavy scrap of metal into a ball and threw it on the ground, and in the same motion turned at the sound of footsteps to confront whoever was approaching. In that moment I hoped it might be the very one who claimed to have made slaves of my son and his mother.

  Instead, I found myself looking into the blank face of blind Tiresias. The prophet looked more infirm than when I had seen him last, and he was walking with a cane in one hand and his other arm around the shoulders of a young girl, who I supposed served him as a guide around obstacles so small and practical that they fell below the scope of his inward vision.

  "Hail, Hercules," he greeted me, coming to a stop at a few paces' distance. "I see that you are healthy."

  "Hail, Lord Tiresias. I hope that you are the same."

  "I am not healthy, young man, and in fact I will soon be dead. You stand in danger of death from a centaur."

  That was something of a surprise, and I felt Megan grow tense beside me. "Do I indeed?"

  The blind man smiled his faintly horrible smile and offered no explanation.

  When I saw he did not mean to speak, I said: "I thank you for your concern, prophet. But it has been shown over and over that no point or blade can pierce my skin. I doubt that any hoof can kick me hard enough to do me harm. Besides, centaurs have had their shot at me already."

  "Not everything that does harm, Hercules, is hard and sharp. Beware the soft and subtle."

  "Again I thank you for the warning, Lord Tiresias. . . . Speaking of the soft and subtle, whose idea was it to make a slave of this woman who nurses my son?"

  "She has already told you almost as much about that as I could tell you." The blind man paused. "What will you do now, Hercules?"

  "Do you need to ask? Are there some things you can't foresee?"

  "There is much."

  "This is my woman," I said, putting my arm around her shoulders. "And I mean to have her for my wife." And as I said that I turned and met her eyes and kissed her.

  Tiresias offered no comment. His girl was staring at me in evident fascination. Turning back to him, I asked: "Do you think the king will want to exact some kind of purchase price? If he does, tell him he may deduct it from my share of the estate of Amphitryon, of which I assume some part will come to me."

  Tiresias was smiling in amusement now, silently laughing, which made his blind face truly hideous. "You may tell Eurystheus that yourself," he said. "He has sent me to tell you that he wants to see you."

  An hour later, I was standing before the young king in the great hall of his palace, the very room in which my trial had taken place a year earlier. This time Eurystheus received me in the oddest way. In place of the throne I had seen in this room before, there stood an enormous vessel of bronze, approximately rectangular in shape, all of its outer surfaces decorated with gods and humans in high relief. This casket, or box, was the size of a large sarcophagus or bathtub, and was topped by a hinged lid, also of heavy bronze. The opening of the lid was in my direction, and it was propped up several inches with wooden wedges. Peering out at me through the small gap thus created were a pair of human eyes that I soon recognized as those of King Eurystheus. On each side of the box stood an attendant, holding one end of a cord whose other end was tied to one of the wooden wedges. The arrangement allowed these to be yanked away at a moment's notice, removing the last chink from the king's brazen fortress—and dropping the lid resoundingly on his head if he failed to duck in time. When, in the course of our conversation, one of the guards' spears accidentally bumped the lid of the great casket, it vibrated softly but richly, like a huge gong.

  Of course the box in which the king seemed to be trying to hide was flanked by ranks of armed warriors, a dozen spear-carrying men who eyed me nervously. Those I had more or less expected.

  So absorbed was I in attempting to guess whether the king had gone completely mad, or what the meaning of his strange behavior might be, that now I can hardly remember exactly what words I addressed to the king, or he to me. But our conversation went something like this:

  "Your Majesty has sent for me."

  "We would like to hear the story of your adventures, Hercules, from your own lips." The young king's voice had an odd metallic echo to it, coming out of his cave of bronze. "But first, is there anything we can do for you?"

  I wasted no time in raising the subject of Megan.

  The result of our talk was that the king, with an air of graciousness, granted me the girl and her baby as a free gift.

  Politely I expressed my gratitude. The audience did not last long after that. When it was over, and I encountered Tiresias while on my way out of the palace, I asked him if I might briefly speak to him alone.

  The seer motioned with his head, and I fell into step beside him. This time his arm was draped around the shoulders of a different girl.

  He said to me: "Someone, a certain prophet of great reputation, fell into a trance. And while in a trance he prophesied, in the king's hearing, that 'Bronze is protection for the most powerful.' And the young king, in his natural arrogance, assumed that the phrase 'most powerful' must refer to him."

  "I see. That might begin to explain the bronze casket. Is it safe to assume that the prophet was yourself?" Tiresias did not contradict me, and I went on: "Would it do me any good to ask who the prophecy does refer to? Well, never mind. But tell me this, Tiresias. Why should the king think he needs protection when I'm around? Why should he think he's in any danger from me?"

  "Many people fear you, Hercules. And are jealous of you."

  Slo
wly I nodded. "At the moment I can't think of anyone who has cause to be afraid. But you are right, I do sometimes see the dread in people's faces, though they try to hide it with a smile of friendship. Still, it seems to me that the king must feel some special terror, to cause him to go to such lengths to fortify himself." I shook my head and made vague gestures.

  "Hercules, your strength does not extend to your perceptions. The king only hides in his bronze box when you are present. He believes that you are determined to have revenge on him."

  "Revenge? For what?"

  My face must have shown my stupefaction, but I don't know whether the blind man could read my face. Probably my voice gave the same evidence; and now I think it equally likely that Tiresias was past dreading or even caring for anything that anyone might do to him.

  This time he answered me directly enough. "For having cheated you out of the throne."

  My feet unconsciously slowed to a stop, while I tried, without success, to sort that out. "But what have I to do with thrones?"

  "Some eighteen or twenty years ago there was, or may have been, yet another prophecy, to the effect that the next descendant of Zeus born in the land would rule all Cadmia. Eurystheus believes himself to be, like you, a descendant of the Thunderer. Also the king believes his own development in his mother's womb was somehow magically accelerated, and yours possibly retarded, to move him ahead of you in the line of succession. And that you are fully aware of this course of strange events, and must resent him for it."

  Again it took me a little while to digest the information. "That last, about my resenting him, is wrong, now that the business regarding Megan has been settled. Totally wrong! Is there any truth in the rest of it?"

  "Very probably."

  "Then some god or goddess is my enemy?"

  "Rumor says Hera."

  That was bad news, if true. "Is there any use in my asking why the consort of Zeus should have taken a dislike to me?"

  "No use in asking me."

  I shook my head. Here were more questions that I could put to Zeus, someday. Or to Hera, if I should ever meet her face-to-face. I could try Hermes when I saw him next, but I had no real hope that the Messenger would be of help.