Back on Olympus, Hera praised him for the way he had handled his first assignment. Geryon listened expressionlessly, but he was pleased. It was his first massacre. It gave him a taste for murder which grew as he grew. And he was growing very fast.
9
The River’s Ally
Calliroa returned to her father. He tried to kiss her tears, but they flowed even faster.
“Why do you weep, my daughter?” Castelos asked.
“Oh father, I have given birth to a monster.”
“Do not reproach yourself,” he soothed. “Monsters may have very worthy parents. Think of Gaia, the great earth goddess, mother of us all. Did she not bear those primal monsters, the Cyclopes and the Hundred-handed Giants?”
“But Geryon is already full-grown!” cried Calliroa. “And he’s a killer. He steals cattle and kills their owners if they resist, and even if they don’t. Everywhere he goes, he leaves a wake of corpses in his path. And now, I know, he will come here, and carry out the vengeance of the Hags by slaughtering people on your shores, fouling your waters forever.”
“Unless he’s stopped,” said Castelos.
“Who can stop him?”
“Do you know of Hercules?”
“The young hero? He’s a son of Zeus, isn’t he?”
“But not of his wife, Hera,” said Castelos. “The jealous goddess hates Hercules and has condemned him to twelve labors. He has to fight the world’s worst monsters. Hera’s hope is that one of them will kill Hercules, but none of them have been able to, at least not yet.”
“But father, what does he have to do with us?”
“I’ve asked him to challenge your son, Geryon.”
“Will he be able to—with all those other monsters he has to fight?”
“I’m doing him a big favor in exchange.” And the river god proceeded to tell his daughter about his meeting with Hercules.
Some days before, Castelos had recognized the young hero walking along his shore and had risen from the water in his own form.
“Greetings, Hercules,” said Castelos.
“Greetings, whoever you are,” answered Hercules.
“I am Castelos. I rule this river.”
“I commend you, Castelos. Your stream is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen.”
“I mean to keep it that way,” said the river god. “But I need your help. I can help you in return.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve heard about your next labor, which is to clean out the stables of Augeas.”
“Yes,” said Hercules. “That is my next task. And I would prefer to fight any monster you can name than to go within ten miles of that dung heap he calls a farm. Augeas is the supreme slob of the Western world. He keeps two hundred head of cattle tightly penned and hasn’t mucked out the place in more than twenty years. There’s policy behind all this. He craves his neighbors’ property, but he is too lazy to steal; so he simply stinks them out and takes their acreage as they leave. Now the task set before me is to clean the stables in one day, leaving them spotless.”
“And that’s what I’m going to help you do,” said Castelos.
“How?”
“I have a reputation for belligerence. I used to drive away my daughter’s suitors by turning into other forms—snapping turtle, sickle-fish, whip-snake, and so on. When my enemy was especially strong I would strike as a flood. I would rise and rise, overflow my banks, and rage across the countryside. Now, I can do the same for you, not as an enemy, but as a friend. You shall appear to provoke me, just so we may deceive Hera, and I shall go into flood, hurl my waters after you across the fields, and follow you into the Augean valley. You will race across the barnyard, through the stables, and the waters will sluice through that filthy place, washing everything clean. The flood will then withdraw so swiftly that not a cow shall drown. Yes, I’ll shrink back between my banks, and your task will be done.”
“Why, that’s brilliant!” cried Hercules. “I accept. Just one thing: give me a day to warn the people of the region so that they may retreat to higher ground.”
“Good,” said the river god. “I’ll be ready whenever you are.”
“And what favor do you seek in return?” asked Hercules.
“I am threatened by the three-bodied monster, Geryon, who happens by evil chance to be my own grandson. Carrying out a vengeful edict of the Fates, he means to indulge in murder along my shores, fouling my water with blood and poisoning me forever.”
“And you want me to fight Geryon—stop him, somehow?”
“Yes.”
“It has been foretold that he can be killed by no one else. You are aware of that, aren’t you?”
“It will not be an easy task,” said Castelos. “But none of your tasks have been easy, have they?”
“Never mind, I’ll try it,” said Hercules. “It has already been decreed that I combat Geryon and take back the cattle he has stolen. Help me clean up the filthy stables, and I’ll do what I can against the three-bodied monster.”
And that was our entire conversation,” said Castelos to his daughter. “I help him tomorrow. The very next day he will go after Geryon.”
Geryon sought Hera and found her in the Garden of the Gods on the sunny slope of Mount Olympus. “Your friend Hercules is after me,” he told her.
“Indeed?” said Hera. “On his own? I meant you to be one of his labors—his last I hoped.”
“Well, he seems to be planning this on his own. My dear grandfather, Castelos, has pleaded with Hercules to slay me before I fulfill the prophecy and turn his proud river into a foul, bloody trickle choked with corpses.”
“You’re ready for Hercules, aren’t you?” asked Hera. “You’re confident of overcoming him, I trust.”
“Confident? The Nemean Lion was confident. And the Hydra too, no doubt. And they’re both very dead.”
“But the Fates have assured me that no one can kill you.”
“Perhaps not. But there are no assurances that I can’t be severely damaged.”
“Geryon, is it possible that you’re afraid of Hercules?” asked Hera.
“I don’t know what fear is, majesty. No one ever taught me to be afraid. But I owe my string of victories not to obvious physical advantages but to the fact I weigh every detail before joining battle to make sure that I gain every possible advantage. In other words, goddess, I have begun to put together a plan of attack, and I want your help.”
“Tell me what you need, and I’ll do what I can,” said Hera.
10
Send A Storm!
About ten miles off the eastern coast of Thessaly was an island that grew the most succulent grass in that part of the world. Here grazed sleek red cattle that were the envy of herdsmen everywhere.
This island had been ruled for many years by a kindly old man, known as the Old Drover, who was an expert in the ways of animals. One day Geryon had decided that the island would be a good place for him to live, at least for a while. He swam out to the island at night, climbed ashore, made his way to the palace, and slaughtered everyone in it—the Old Drover, his wife, his nine children, and his twenty-two grandchildren. Geryon spared only the servants, whom he meant to enslave and whom he threatened with death if they tried to escape.
Thereafter, Geryon dwelt on the island and increased his herds by a very simple method. He raided the mainland and robbed the coastal farms of their cattle, killing anyone who objected.
Hercules stood now upon a rocky beach on the eastern coast of Thessaly and stared over the sea, trying to make out the shore of Geryon’s island in the gathering dusk. But it was too dark. He still had a decision to make—whether to wear his lion-skin armor and lion-head helmet. This gear could turn aside any blade and was therefore very useful in battle. But it made swimming difficult. And he preferred to swim to the island rather than use a boat because he wanted to slip ashore unseen and take Geryon by surprise.
“Well,” he said to himself. “I’m too tired to swim
now in any case. I’ll go to sleep right here, and perhaps when morning comes I’ll know what to do. Sleep sometimes confers wisdom.”
Using the lion skin as a blanket against the night wind, Hercules curled up and fell asleep. He had no idea that he was being watched.
Hera stood on Olympus gazing down on the darkening coast. Next to her stood her brother Poseidon. The stormy-tempered god of the sea had always held a special affection for Hera and was always ready to do her a favor.
“See down there,” said Hera. “That one, wrapped in a lion skin, sleeping on the headland?”
“I see him,” said Poseidon. “Is he human? No, he can’t be. Too big.”
“That’s Hercules,” said Hera. “He’s the one I loathe most in all the world, for he was spawned by my husband Zeus and his mother was the woman I despise beyond all others. In the morning Hercules means to swim to Geryon’s island and challenge the monster.”
“This Hercules has something of a reputation,” said Poseidon. “But I should think Geryon would be able to handle him without too much trouble. Why, each of his three bodies is twice as big as Hercules. No one can stand up against such a beast.”
“That may be. Nevertheless, Geryon himself has asked me to help him by crippling Hercules before the fight.”
“How do you propose to go about that, dear sister?”
“By asking your help, dear brother.”
“Ah, I thought this was no idle conversation. And how do you propose that I go about crippling that stalwart young fellow?”
“He lies now on that spit of land poking into your sea—the sea that you rule so absolutely, and can magnify or diminish at your will. This is what I want you to do. Whip up a storm. Send your waves rolling over that beach. Tear it off the mainland. Sweep it out to sea. Hercules will find himself on a patch of land that is rapidly shrinking. He will be forced to dive off and swim. When he dives, I want him to find himself among a school of hungry sharks, which you will have summoned.”
“Hercules won’t be easy prey, even for sharks,” said the sea god.
“He can’t possibly fight as well in the water as he does on land,” said Hera. “At the very least they should be able to chew him up enough so that he won’t be in any shape to fight a monster like Geryon. Will you do this, dearest brother, dearest friend?”
“Anything for you, my sister. I just hope it works out as well as you think.”
11
The Trial of Hercules
Hercules’ lion-skin armor had been an unexpected bonus of his first great victory, slaying the Nemean lion. That lion had been considered invincible, and indeed had devoured everyone who dared to challenge it. It was large as an elephant with teeth like ivory daggers. Its claws were razor-sharp hooks, and its hide could not be pierced by sword, spear, or arrow.
After a great struggle, however, Hercules had managed to kill the beast, and had helped himself to its skin, which he first used as a weatherproof tent. Upon the occasion of his second labor, which was to kill the Hydra, he had decided to cut up the skin. A complete suit of armor was necessary to protect him, for Hydra poison was much more deadly than the strongest snake venom. So he had fashioned himself garments of lion’s hide—rough trousers that covered the lower part of his body, a jacket with long sleeves, boots, and gauntlets. His helmet was the lion’s head.
This armor immediately proved its worth. In his battle with the hundred-headed Hydra it had turned aside every one of a thousand vicious bites, and had enabled Hercules to slay his second monster.
Now, asleep upon the headland, Hercules was awakened by a terrible windstorm, which he had no way of knowing was aimed especially at him. He donned his armor. The lion skin kept him dry in the lashing rain, and its weight helped anchor him against the savage gusts. The rain turned to hail. Stones of ice pelted down at him. Any one of them could have shattered a man’s skull, but they bounced harmlessly off the lion’s head that was his helmet.
He watched the trees sway around him, heard them crack, saw them fall. The sea had risen so fast that it was impossible for him to race back over the neck of beach that led to the mainland. Waves were already dashing over it. Hercules was forced to stay where he was.
The headland where he had camped for the night was actually a low hill overlooking the sea. Then, suddenly, it was at sea. To please the vengeful Hera, Poseidon had packed three winds into a whirling cyclone and sent it spinning toward Hercules. It tore the spit of land away from the mainland and sent it scudding out into the ocean.
There was nothing Hercules could do. He planted himself there in his lion skin, trying to hold his footing and beginning to understand that such a storm was no freak of the weather but a god’s spite—and he knew whose.
The wind dropped as suddenly as it had risen. The moon swam in a rift of cloud. Stars appeared. But the island was still rocking. He saw that the water was churning though there was no wind.
Then, something gigantic rose to the surface. Up, up it came—the huge glistening oval of a fish head—a fish of unbelievable size. It was a shark as big as a whale. It slid out of the water and towered above Hercules.
The terrible jaws gaped; the triple rows of teeth gleamed in the moonlight. Hercules retreated toward the center of his earth raft. The shark slid back into the water and began to circle him, whipping the surface to a froth.
Now, sharks—however large—can slip through the water without making a ripple if they wish. But this one was swimming untypically, and Hercules wondered why it was beating its tail and making such a froth. Then he realized that the churning water was making his island dwindle. Great clumps of soil were slipping off the edge and dissolving in the sea.
“This will never do,” thought Hercules. “If the island goes and I end up in the water with that fellow, he’ll have every advantage. I won’t stand a chance. I don’t exactly relish the prospect of meeting him out of the water, but it’s definitely preferable. Of course, it would be best to get away from him completely. But how? Maybe I can move this patch of earth through the water and get back to the mainland. I can’t have blown far.”
Hercules picked up a fallen tree and swiftly broke off its smaller branches. He then took the entire tree to the edge of the water and began to use it as an oar, paddling what was left of his island back toward the mainland.
The water had become still. “Where’s the shark?” he thought. “Have I lost him?” Then he knew he had not. His oar snapped in his hand. The shark’s jaws closed on the thick trunk and broke it as if it were a twig. Hercules hurled the stump of the tree at the shark and retreated hastily from the water’s edge.
“This will get me exactly nowhere,” he said to himself. “I’ll have to fight the brute. But I’m determined not to fight him in the water.”
Thereupon, he knelt and thrust his arm into the sea. That arm, of course, was encased in a lion-skin sleeve, and the hand wore a gauntlet. He felt the great jaws close upon it. He had expected this. But he knew that the shark’s teeth, sharp as they were, could not pierce his sleeve. What he had not counted on was the enormous strength of the jaws. While the teeth were unable to pierce through the lion skin, the jaws could crush. Hercules felt the incredible pressure on his arm; it was being crushed to jelly inside the armored sleeve.
He swelled his bicep and tried to will every small muscle—in arm, and wrist, and hand—to strain against the viselike grip. Bracing himself on his knees and exerting the last tatters of his strength, he swung his arm out of the water, pulling the shark with it.
With his other hand, encased in its lion-skin gauntlet, Hercules smashed at the shark’s face. Struck again and again, great blows of the fist that had once knocked down a stone wall and then smashed the helmeted heads of the warriors hiding behind the wall. That fist was now pounding at the shark, breaking every bone in its rubbery head. Its eyes began to bleed. Its jaws slackened. It was dying. Hercules pulled his arm from the loose jaws, and swept the shark into the water. It turned belly up and floated a
way. Hercules picked up the tree that had been his oar and started paddling again, pushing his patch of earth, much shrunken now, toward a dark place looming upon the moonlit sea. It was an island, he knew, but he wasn’t sure which one. This gulf was dotted with islands. He hoped it was not the one where Geryon dwelt. After fighting the shark, he felt he needed a few hours’ sleep before meeting the three-bodied monster.
His clump of earth was dwindling rapidly now as Hercules poled it forward with mighty thrusts of the tree trunk. Finally, he reached shallow waters. But he didn’t want to swim the remaining distance; there might be another gigantic shark lurking nearby.
Now he felt the last bit of earth crumbling under his feet. He flexed his knees and jumped off with all the power of his mighty thighs. The lion-skin armor was heavy upon him, and he carried spear and sword, bow and arrows. Nevertheless, he leaped through the air and skimmed over the offshore rocks, landing in the tidal pools.
Swiftly he waded onto the beach. Fatigue overwhelmed him. He sank to his knees. But he could not allow himself to stop here. The tide was coming in. With the last dregs of his will he forced himself to crawl up on the beach beyond the tide line and then fell into an exhausted sleep.
12
Clam and Gull
Hercules awoke at dawn, fully refreshed. For no matter how drained of strength he was, this son of Zeus could always replenish himself with a current of his father’s energy, that magical voltage that branded the sky with blue lightning.
With strength restored, Hercules took stock of his surroundings. He had landed on a small islet, he saw. A hot, red tab of sun was pushing up over the eastern rim of the earth. It was going to be a brilliant summer day. Looking south, he saw another, larger island some miles away. As the sun climbed, he could see hills upon this island, low hills, thickly wooded, running down into grassy meadows and then to the sea.
Shapes moved upon the meadow; their slow, smooth pace and bulk told Hercules they were cattle. “That must be Geryon’s island,” he said to himself. “And those are his cattle grazing. But how am I to get there? I’m not going to swim. One giant shark is enough to last me for a while. My arm still feels half crushed.… But what strangeness is this? All creatures are magnified here, just as the shark was. Those birds up there; they fly like gulls, and their cry is a gull’s cry, but they are larger than eagles!”
Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume One Page 44