The Arms Of Hercules

by Fred Saberhagen

  He did ask me some questions, though. Some of them I do not remember, but some I do.

  "Hercules, tell me, have the sun and moon yet fallen from their places? Is the end of the Universe at hand?"

  "Not according to Atlas."

  "Have you seen the stars, at bloody wars, in the wounded welkin weeping?" Again the terrifying whisper.

  "I do not understand you," I protested.

  "You are no poet, then."

  "I never claimed to be."

  And then the Lord of the Underworld wondered aloud if I was the first intruder of many who were going to seek shelter in his domain, when that of sun and stars and sea was falling and burning up around them.

  Rather than stand tongue-tied, I continued to do my best to answer Hades. I gave him what reassurances I could about the stability of the world above. Also I reminded him about the war.

  "Zeus fights the Giants, does he? Well, I could tell him a thing or two about that. I myself went out fighting Giants once . . . yes, I was a true god once, though you might not believe it to look at me."

  "Oh, I believe it, Dark One. You are not the only deity who is sometimes called insane."

  Hades thought no more of receiving the insult than I, in my current state, of giving it. Perhaps he did not even hear it. He went on rambling, and playing with the god-Face in his hands, while I looked around me for any evidence that Thanatos might be going to appear. Alas, I found none.

  When the Lord of the Underworld had babbled on a little longer, I suddenly pricked up my ears. He seemed to be claiming that he was now allied with Zeus, Apollo, and other gods of the Upper World. And in later days I was able to verify the fact: he had signed with them a pact of mutual toleration and nonviolence, until their common enemies, the Giants, should be disposed of.

  But there was still no sign of the one I had come here seeking. I supposed it might be possible that when Hades learned that I was coming into his domain, he had warned Thanatos, either the old avatar or the new, and sent him to hide somewhere else. But that would require some other explanation of the Face my host was twirling.

  At last I said: "I have no quarrel with you just now, Master of the Underworld." Raising an arm, I pointed off to my right. In that direction a different quality in the light, or in the dimness rather, strongly suggested some kind of a broad doorway, at only a moderate distance. "What is there?" I demanded.

  "What is anywhere, bold mortal? And why should you care? For a dead man, Hercules, you display an inordinate amount of energy."

  "If you think that I am dead, Lord of Hell, watch closely and learn better. Now tell me, is Death hiding in that room?" Once again I jabbed the air with my finger. "Do you fear to give me a plain answer?"

  "I fear nothing, dead man!" And he hammered the right arm of his great chair with his clenched fist, so hard that the floor of Hell quivered beneath my feet. "The Thrones of Lethe are in that room. Go see for yourself. Now go away, bother me no longer, I have work to do. Can't you see? A tremendous amount of important work!" And he sank back on this throne and closed his eyes and resumed his twiddling, twirling of the Face of Death.

  I turned my back on His Dark Majesty and moved away. But when I had gone only a few paces, he called after me: "What else you find in there may surprise you, Hercules!" And suddenly the laughter of Hades boomed forth again.

  Turning my back again on the mad god, I walked steadily away. Ahead of me the outline of a large doorway loomed more clearly through the dimness with every step. And in the same direction I thought I could now hear the sound of men's voices, raised as if in drunken song.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The Harrowing

  Now I heard the drunken singing, in two voices, from close ahead. The louder and clearer voice was rather deep, and it seemed to me strangely familiar.

  On passing through the arched doorway I found myself in another chamber of the Underworld, this one fully as long and wide as the throne room, though not as high. Frozen drops of rock, looking as if they had once been molten, hung from a ceiling that was in places low enough for a tall man to bang his head. I was not tall enough to need to worry. The vast space, mostly empty, was strangely lighted by wall-mounted torches that burned with flames of evil red, flames that shot up to play against the lowering overhead rock without doing very much to relieve the surrounding blackness—and here, as Hades had predicted, I came upon a sight which brought me to a halt in sheer surprise.

  Clouds of shadow or dank fog—I suppose there were some of each—filled much of the huge chamber. But when I had walked half its length, I could observe a pair of men occupying two of a long row of low chairs, or perches; knee-high, stumplike projections rising from the ebony floor. It seemed to me at first glance that all the other chairs were empty.

  Hades had said something about this room containing the Thrones of Lethe, which sounded to me like seats named for the legendary River of Forgetfulness.

  For some reason the two men were arrayed in festive garments, creating a totally incongruous effect in this buried dungeon. They were sitting in slumped positions, the one on the more distant chair looking almost comatose, his bearded jaw moving intermittently as he tried to sing. The other was turning his head from side to side as I approached, but at first he paid me no attention. Their faces remained almost entirely in shadow.

  In the gloom, it took me a few moments to determine that the pair were bound in place on their stumps, with shackles around their waists and ankles. They also wore strange-looking caps or helmets, each headpiece connected by a thin cable to the Throne below.

  The relatively active man, he who was sitting nearest to the door where I had entered, had somehow managed to get his head almost free of this restraint, so his metal cap had slid far down over his left ear. But his limbs were still firmly bound by chains, much like those Prometheus had endured, and there seemed no possibility that he could ever free himself entirely.

  As I drew near, this one stopped turning his head from side to side and focused his gaze on me. "Are you real?" the familiar voice inquired of me as I approached.

  "Of course I am," I said.

  A well-remembered figure put out a human hand, large and muscular yet trembling, to try to touch my arm. A shaky whisper asked me: "Have you solid human flesh and bone?"

  "I have, and I intend to keep them."

  After a shocked pause, there came a one-word question: "Hercules?"

  My amazement at this encounter was at least as great as his. I had last seen Theseus well aboveground and apparently in good health, in the company of the lovely Antiope, when we parted following our escape from the land of the Amazons. His companion in this grotesque dungeon I could not recognize, but even semiconscious he, too, had a piratic look about him.

  Seeing my evident uncertainty, Theseus introduced me to his comrade, naming him Pirithous. It was hard to estimate sizes when both men were sitting down, but I thought Pirithous was nearly as big as Theseus, and more thickly built.

  Theseus seemed to think it important to tell me more about his companion. "He was a Lapith chieftain—Hercules, this damned fool once tried to steal some sheep from me, did you know that?"

  "No," I said.

  When Pirithous would not respond to verbal urgings, Theseus kicked him and swore at him and finally managed to rouse him a little from his stupor.

  Meanwhile I was asking: "So how in hell did the two of you ever find your way down into the Underworld? And how long have you been here?"

  Theseus frowned and shook his head. His lips moved as if he were making an effort to count something.

  "Just got here," said Pirithous, his bass voice full of misplaced confidence, as he added a string of blasphemies against a formidable array of gods. Though he now gave the impression of being more or less aware of his surroundings, it was obvious that neither he nor Theseus had any real idea of how much time had passed.

  As I have already mentioned, the row of stumps, or Thrones of Lethe, extended into the dis
tance. A hint of shadowed movement, yards away, suggested that not all the Thrones were empty in that direction.

  I was more perturbed, and fascinated, by the prisoners' unique surroundings than they themselves seemed to be.

  "Is there no decent light down here?" I demanded. "No torches, candles, a simple oil lamp even?" I still could not identify the source of the faint illumination that suggested more than it revealed, and rendered hideous the few details that it did make clear.

  Theseus strained against his bonds as if he had suddenly just noticed them, his mighty muscles quivering for a long moment before he slumped back. In an ordinary man, his posture would have suggested something like despair.

  "Hercules, can you get us out?"

  His voice now sounded muted, and that was the least arrogant thing I had ever heard him say.

  "It's possible," I told him. "I have yet to see the bond I couldn't break."

  I bent to make a closer examination of the links and clamps that held the pirates to their stumps. The material of the Thrones strongly resembled that of other ancient odylic devices I had encountered recently. Each consisted of a flat seat attached to the top of a short pillar of white stone, smooth as marble, with odd devices connected to it, things that I supposed must have some magical import. The confining chains, like those that had bound Prometheus, were of brass or bronze or iron (it was hard to be sure in the dimness), fastened with clasps of what looked like ebony and ivory to hold the captive's wrists and ankles.

  I took some links between my fingers.

  "Slain in some sea fight at last, were you?" I demanded of the master pirate. Not that I really thought him or his companion dead—there was too much breath and sweat and profanity about them. At the same time, the shackle holding the right arm of Theseus let go with a ringing snap. Seconds later I heard a metal fragment land on hard rock in the distance.

  "No. No, nothing like that." His handsome eyes were clearing now, with activity and the prospect of freedom. "Hercules, it is really you? Damnation, but I think it is. Who else could break these things? So, Thanatos has collected you after all."

  "Like hell he has! I'll collect him if he comes within my grasp. I'm very much alive."

  But there was no use trying to explain my situation to Theseus now, or obtain any useful information from him. Suddenly he was almost comatose again. I pulled his tilted helmet entirely off his head, but that seemed to make little difference. As long as he remained sitting on a Throne of Lethe, it seemed impossible to rouse the Prince of Pirates from his trancelike state for more than a few moments at a stretch. He could only respond feebly when I shook him and called his name.

  Exerting my strength against one after another of the material bonds that held him—the chains were tougher than I had expected, but in the end I had my way—I managed to free Theseus entirely, and pulled him to is feet.

  He staggered but did not fall. As soon as he had broken contact with the Throne of Lethe, the master pirate gazed at me like a man freshly awakened from some hideous dream, and I saw the sweat break out on his living, breathing face. In the next moment he tore off the festive garments in which he had been dressed, and stood in the noxious darkness naked, his whole body trembling.

  Casting another glance down the row of chairs, noting again that there was a third one, in the distance, that also seemed to be occupied, I asked what had happened to the Amazon princess, Antiope, who had been with him when we last met.

  Theseus answered shortly that she was not here.

  Meanwhile I was methodically working to free Pirithous, who let his festive garments stay on when he got up. He, like his captain, gave every indication of being still actively alive.

  I remarked on this, and they emphatically agreed.

  "We're no more dead than you are, by the balls of Zeus!" growled Theseus.

  "I'd say a lot closer to it, though. Well, if the pair of you were not killed in some sea fight, how did you get into this situation?"

  "We were hunting Persephone," Pirithous admitted in a mumble.

  For a moment I was sure that my ears had betrayed me. "You were hunting who?"

  "You know, Hades's queen."

  "I know who Persephone is; the queen of this place, consort of Hades, or call him Dis or Pluto if you like." Planting my fists on my hips, I shook my head. "What I find hard to believe is that anyone could be stupid enough to try a trick like that."

  Theseus shrugged and seemed to revel in the freedom of movement he had now regained. Somehow he was not angered by my harsh words; looking back, I think he was actually pleased to find himself in the company of someone strong enough to assume a kind of authority, for this allowed him to play his favorite role of carefree rebel.

  He went on: "My friend Pirithous here had taken a fancy to her. And, well, when that happens, what can a man do? We were going to carry her away. I thought that once we got back to our ship . . ." He shrugged again and let the idea die away.

  "You thought? That you would simply carry away a goddess? I wouldn't call that thinking. And how did you manage to get in here, anyway? And where's your ship?"

  "There's a river, called Acheron, that has it source in the Upper World but drains into a cave. We took that route. But I'm afraid the ship is gone."

  I nodded. "It did seem to me that there had to be more than one entrance," I remarked. "Maybe there are many."

  Slowly Theseus shook his head. "Not such a good idea, was it?" he admitted. "Well, we were both a little drunk at the time."

  "I wouldn't call that an idea at all, kidnapping the consort of Hades! Even a pair of stupid pirates should have known better."

  Pirithous groaned something inarticulate. I supposed that Hades, even in his craziness, must have been impressed by their audacity, but certainly not amused by it. When he caught these intruders, the mad Lord of the Underworld had told them they were invited to a banquet, and had dressed them in festive garments. But then Hades had placed them on the Thrones of Lethe, and they were fortunate indeed that he had not yet got around to doing worse.

  Theseus had now recovered enough of his wits to feel deeply shaken by the experience. "Were you ever caught up in the hands of a god, Hercules? You may be strong, but . . . just grabbed up, like a child, and then tied down like a laced shoe? There's not much a man can do when that happens to him. Not even a man as powerful as you are."

  "No, not much. Let me ask you again, now that you're fully awake: I don't suppose you've seen Thanatos anywhere around here?" Hades had shown me what looked to me like the Face of Death, and told me a story to go with it; but the urge for revenge would not let go of me that easily.

  Pirithous shook his head. Theseus said: "No, we've seen no one like that." And now his tone, for once, became suddenly plaintive. "Hercules? Get us out of here?" And Pirithous, with a kind of inarticulate groan, seconded the plea.

  "I'll try. But first, I think there's someone else, down that way. Let me see who it is." And I turned away and began to walk along the line of Thrones.

  Before I had taken many steps, I heard another strained and strangely familiar voice call my name from that direction.

  In another moment I was close enough to get a clear look at the face of Meleager, Danni's brother, who sat chained to another stone tree stump.

  I had no surprise left in me.

  This third prisoner, dressed in an ordinary tunic that he might have worn while on his Argosy adventure, was more fully conscious than either of the buccaneers had been when on their Thrones.

  "Hercules?" he croaked.

  "It's me. Hold still, and I'll have you loose in a moment." And I set down my club again.

  "I died foolishly, Hercules!" Meleager was plainly in a mood for agonized repentance. "Wickedly abandoning my responsibilities to my family in the Upper World."

  "You haven't died at all, not yet," I counseled him. "Not entirely." Spang went a chain. Again the spray of fragments, making a fine pattern on distant stone.

  "I am dead." Mel cont
radicted me flatly, speaking in the solemn tone of one who wanted to be finished with all mortal life. "I couldn't be here otherwise. I'm dead and undergoing a just punishment for the evil I have done. For all the good I have failed to do." He paused, wrinkling his brow. "Whereas you're really still alive, aren't you?"

  "My body is as solid and hale as ever," I assured him. Spang.

  Now he was trying to wrench the helmet off his head, but not having any success. "Hercules, if you ever do manage to return to the Upper World alive—"

  "I suppose that might happen." I really believe that until that moment I had not thought about it, one way or the other.

  "—I entreat you to marry my sister, Deianeira."

  His words struck me speechless, and my hands ceased their work for a long moment.

  "Hercules, she is an innocent young girl. As yet she knows nothing of the ways of Aphrodite, charmer of men."

  Remembering our meeting at the court of King Admetus, I was not totally sure about that, but in any case it seemed irrelevant.

  "How do you know that you were killed?" I demanded of Meleager, changing the subject. Meanwhile, every time I looked at him or touched him my conviction was reaffirmed that this was indeed a living man. I could watch him breathe, and feel the solidity of his limbs as I peeled away their bonds.

  In another moment he was completely free, but seemed unable to give my question a clear answer. "Something hit me in the head. Then there was another fight, and it seemed to me I drowned . . ."

  * * *

  As far as I could tell, there were no other captives in the great prison room; hasty introductions were performed, and the four of us began to look for some way out. I felt reluctant to go back through Hades's throne room; and I got the impression, trying to see through fog and shadow, that the door in that direction was now closed.

  Meanwhile, Meleager was not yet fully satisfied that he still breathed. "How could I be here if I wasn't dead?" he insisted, after a few moments of thick-witted attempt at thought.