by Glyn Iliffe
‘I tried. Iolaus saved me from that folly.’
Pholus looked at the young man.
‘I can see why your uncle places so much value in you. Now, please, your cup.’
Iolaus finished the water and handed his cup to the centaur, who trotted over to the amphora. With a sigh, he opened the wax seal, lifted the jar from the hole in the ground and tipped it so that the wine glugged out of the narrow neck into the two cups. The smell of spices was powerful, making Heracles’s mouth water at the thought of drinking it. While his friend replaced the amphora, he stood and cut more meat for himself and Iolaus.
‘One thing I don’t know,’ Pholus said, as he added water to the cups, ‘is what King Eurystheus has set you for your fourth labour.’
‘Can you not guess?’ Heracles asked, accepting the wine from Pholus’s hand. ‘It’s the reason I came to Arcadia.’
‘Our land has many problems, but judging by the Nemean Lion and the Hydra it seems Zeus is using you to destroy the creatures of chaos that interfere with his rule. Which can only mean one thing: you’ve been ordered to slay the Erymanthian Boar.’
Heracles took a mouthful of wine and closed his eyes, savouring the taste. Then he shook his head.
‘Not slay it, Pholus. I’ve been sent to capture it alive.’
Pholus frowned.
‘But that’s impossible,’ he said. ‘I suspect Eurystheus is being guided by Hera in setting these labours. She has always hated you.’
‘But there must be a way to snare it. A net, perhaps, or a pit.’
‘No. By all accounts, the creature is a brute, but it isn’t stupid. Even if you could dig a large enough pit that it wouldn’t detect, how would you get it out again and carry it back to Tiryns? As for a net, you couldn’t make one strong enough to contain the boar’s strength, not even if it were made of chains. My advice to you is forget this quest and save your own lives.’
‘I can’t,’ Heracles said. ‘You know I can’t.’
‘Then at least let the boy go back home.’
‘I’m his squire,’ Iolaus protested. ‘I’m not abandoning you now, Heracles. I thought you said he could help us, that he was old and wise!’
The centaur stamped his back hoof in frustration, the first sign of anger they had seen him display.
‘I have lived for more than three hundred years!’ he said. ‘I am old and wise.’
‘Then help us,’ Iolaus pleaded.
Pholus retreated to a corner of the cave and sat down in silence. Iolaus looked at Heracles, who raised his hand slightly and gave him a reassuring nod. He ate another piece of venison, enjoying its warmth in his mouth as he chewed and swallowed. He followed it with another gulp of wine. Then Pholus stirred.
‘Perhaps there is a way,’ he said. He looked at them from over his shoulder. ‘You’ve heard the story of Aphrodite’s adulterous love for Ares, and how Hephaistos took his revenge on them? Knowing that his wife despised him for being lame, and lusted after the God of War, he set them a trap. He applied all his craft to making a net from the finest links of gold – light enough to hang unnoticed above the bed he shared with Aphrodite, and strong enough to withstand the great strength of Ares. After laying his trap, he set off for Lemnos. The moment he was gone, Ares entered his home and went with Aphrodite to her marital bed. No sooner were they lying naked in each other’s arms, than the trap was sprung. The net fell and they were caught, unable to break free from the bonds that held them. Then Hephaistos returned and called on all the gods to witness his wife’s infidelity.’
‘A nice tale,’ Iolaus said, listlessly. ‘But I don’t think Hephaistos will make us a similar net to catch the boar, if that’s the point of your story.’
‘He doesn’t need to,’ Pholus said. ‘The legend makes no mention of what happened to the net that caught the infamous lovers – but it still exists, and I know where it is.’
‘Where?’ Heracles and Iolaus asked simultaneously.
‘Not far from here is the city of Thelpusa. In a grove outside its walls is a temple to Hephaistos. It was built by the Cyclopes at the command of the Smith God, though it has few visitors for its size. The net is hidden within the temple, for those that have the wit to find it. If you do, it will be strong enough to hold the boar.’
‘I will find it,’ Heracles said. ‘But how do we hold the animal long enough in one place to cast the net over it? By all accounts, the creature is too fast to catch.’
‘Then you must find a way to slow it down, Heracles,’ Pholus replied. He stood and joined them by the fire. ‘But that isn’t the only reason you came here, is it? You were never the kind to seek the advice of others. Far too proud and self-confident, if I remember right.’
‘If I’ve learned anything from my previous labours, it’s that some things can’t be done alone. Even a son of Zeus needs help from time to time, and I came to seek your wisdom. Yet you’re right, there is something else.’
‘Another task?’
Heracles shook his head. He stood and walked away from the fire to the bend in the tunnel. At its far end, he could see the snow falling thickly in the darkness. A gale was blowing outside, and it seemed as if he could hear the screams of his children carried on the wind. He turned to Pholus.
‘A few days ago, my wife visited me in Tiryns. I hadn’t expected ever to see her again, not after what I’d done to her, but there she was. She told me I wasn’t to blame for the deaths of our children – that someone had provoked my madness with these.’
He reached into the pouch at his waist and produced the mushroom that Megara had given him, handing it to Pholus. The centaur studied the dried husk and sniffed at it.
‘This type is very potent and extremely rare,’ he said. ‘Only found in one place in the whole of Greece, though the secret of their whereabouts is closely guarded. Minos of Crete is wise in herb lore – he would know. But it’s easy now to see why you did what you did, Heracles, especially if you ate more than one of these.’
‘Someone gave those to my housekeeper, knowing they would send me out of my mind and make me murder my family. I want to know who did that to me – who wanted my wife and sons dead. You have the power of divination, Pholus. Tell me who is responsible.’
‘Yes, I have the power,’ his host replied. ‘I used it often before the war with the Lapiths, when men still had dealings with centaurs. They no longer come to Pholoë to seek my wisdom, but I have maintained the practice for my own sake – to stay informed about the world beyond this cave. This prison . How else would I know about what happened to your family, or about the tasks you were commanded to perform? How else would I know you were coming to visit me, and the question that was in your heart?’
‘Then you’ve foreseen everything we were going to ask you?’ Iolaus asked.
‘I have foreseen nothing, my friend. My abilities only allow me to see the present and the past, not the future. I saw that you were coming, but I did not divine what the fourth labour was, or I might have given more thought to the problem. As for the question of who gave you those mushrooms, Heracles, it was obvious you’d want to know the moment Megara told you about them. And so I have already divined the identity of the one who did it.’
‘What?’ Heracles exclaimed. ‘Why didn’t you tell me the moment I arrived?’
‘Would it have made any difference, or brought their death a day closer? At least permit a lonely centaur the chance of some civil company before he reveals all his secrets.’
‘Of course,’ Heracles said. ‘Forgive me, my friend. And I promise you, if I capture the boar then Iolaus and I will gladly return and stay with you. Then you can question us for as long as you like about the world of men – if there’s anything left to tell someone like you. But first, tell me who brought those mushrooms to my house.’
‘Pholus!’ came a harsh voice from the mouth of the cave. ‘Who’s in there with you?’
‘We smell wine,’ said a deeper, slower voice. ‘You’ve opened the communal
jar to share with men. That’s forbidden under our law.’
‘Send the men out to us.’
Pholus’s eyes were suddenly wide with fear.
‘My kinsmen,’ he said. ‘I knew I shouldn’t have opened the wine.’
Chapter Three
THE FURY OF THE CENTAURS
Heracles grabbed two brands from the fire and tossed one to Iolaus. He could not yet see the centaurs that had called to Pholus, but did not intend to let them trap him inside the cave. Then Pholus stepped in front of him, blocking his way with his huge body.
‘Leave them to me. Just the sight of men will inflame their tempers further. And if you have any wine left in your cups, throw it into the fire. The last thing we want is for them to drink any of it.’
He trotted forward to the bend in the tunnel and held up his hand, palm outward.
‘Wait, my friends!’ he called. ‘Don’t rush to judgement. These men are my guests and are under my protection.’
‘Your protection,’ one of the voices scoffed. ‘They’d be better off hiding behind a bush. Bring them out now and we’ll spare your life.’
‘Have you no respect for the rules of xenia, Agrius? The gods will not tolerate a centaur attacking another centaur’s guests.’
‘Them rules don’t apply to men!’
‘What about the wine?’ asked the deep, slow voice. ‘Let us have some of the wine, Pholus, and we won’t tell anyone you opened the jar. We might even let your friends leave unharmed.’
‘I know you, Anchius. The moment a drop of wine passes your lips, you’ll lose what little self-control you have. I can’t allow that.’
‘Then we’ll kill your guests and take the wine by force!’
Heracles heard the sound of hooves echoing down the tunnel. Pholus’s attempts at diplomacy had failed. He shouldered his quiver and arrows and dashed forward with the flaming brand held over his head. As he barged past Pholus and into the tunnel, he saw Agrius and Anchius in front of him. They were even taller than Pholus, with broad chests and muscular arms. Their dark skin was matted with thick black hair, which ran from the base of their bearded throats to the point where their stomachs met their equine lower bodies. Like Pholus, their eyes were entirely black, but unlike their kinsman, they displayed none of the higher qualities of intelligence or kindness, only anger and lust for the wine that would release their wild natures.
‘Leave at once or I will kill you,’ Heracles warned them.
Neither centaur was armed, and a hint of doubt entered their eyes as they stared at the huge man before them. They were further discouraged by the fact that he and Iolaus were wielding flaming brands, for few of their kind could tolerate fire – Pholus being the only exception on Pholoë. But their hatred of men and the call of the wine made them reckless. Agrius trotted forward.
‘Give me your name, fool, so I can boast of tearing you limb from limb and mixing your blood with my wine.’
‘I am Heracles, son of Zeus, though you’ll have little to boast about if you attack me or my friends. For the last time, leave this cave and return to whatever slime-filled hole you emerged from.’
Agrius scowled.
‘I remember you. Pholus taught you the lyre when you were a boy, before the war between centaurs and men. So what will you do, bastard of Zeus? Sing us to sleep?’
He laughed at his own joke, and was joined by the slow chortle of Anchius. Then, without warning, he leaped towards Heracles and raised himself up on his hind legs, beating at him with his front hooves. Heracles was thrown back by a hoof to the chest, but did not fall. Recovering quickly, he darted forward and seized one of the flailing forelegs. With his other hand, he thrust the brand into Agrius’s chest. At once, the flames caught in the thick hair and spread over his torso. He roared in fear and pain and galloped back down the tunnel, diving into the thick snow. Anchius turned and launched a kick with his hind legs, missing Heracles narrowly before retreating in the wake of his comrade.
Iolaus joined his uncle.
‘Have they gone?’
Heracles walked to the mouth of the cave and strained his eyes against the blizzard that was now falling. The fresh snow was churned up where Agrius had thrown himself onto the ground to douse the flames, and there were two trails of fresh hoof-prints trailing off into the trees at the edge of the clearing; but there was no other sign of the centaurs.
‘They have for now,’ he told Iolaus, who had followed him. ‘But they’ll be back, and in greater numbers.’
‘Then we should find our way down to the chariot before they return.’
‘We’d get lost before we’d gone more than a few steps. Besides, the centaurs will be able to follow our trail in the snow – they’d have us surrounded before we could get halfway down the mountain. And then there’s Pholus. I got him into this trouble: I won’t just leave him to face the wrath of his kinsmen.’
‘So what do we do?’ Iolaus asked, looking back down the tunnel at the outlandish figure of the centaur in the firelight.
‘I will speak with them when they return – tell them I opened the wine out of ignorance, and promise to bring them ten jars after I’ve caught the boar.’
‘If we catch it,’ Iolaus corrected. ‘But you know they won’t listen. They’re centaurs, after all, and their blood is up.’
‘Watch out !’
Snow exploded from the tops of the pine trees and a huge lump of rock hurtled towards them. Heracles leaped at his squire, pushing him into a deep drift of snow. The boulder fell into the mouth of the cave where they had been standing, colliding with the inner wall of the tunnel and bringing down a shower of white from the cliff face above. Heracles jumped to his feet and glared at the edge of the clearing. Over a dozen centaurs were emerging from the trees, their black eyes fierce with anger and lusting for a fight.
Though they spoke like men and acknowledged the gods as men did, their society was primitive and brutal, with few laws and no conscience with which to temper their actions. Their animal nature was always simmering beneath the surface, ready to explode and take them with it, and it was this aspect of their temperament Heracles saw in their eyes as they approached through the snowstorm. There would be no negotiating with them now. Only death would resolve their differences.
The centaurs clutched a variety of weapons. Some had meat cleavers, which they had traded with men – or plundered from them – as centaurs do not understand metalworking and make little themselves. Two or three had bows and arrows; others carried boulders or had ripped up small pine trees to throw or act as clubs. Agrius trotted forward and raised a rock over his head, launching it with an angry shout at the man who had set fire to him. It hit the ground a few paces away and bounced through the snow towards Heracles, who stopped it with his foot. Stooping, he picked it up with a grunt and threw it back. It crashed into the trees far behind the centaurs; a demonstration of his strength, rather than an attempt to kill any of them.
They did not take the warning. Another rock span through the air towards the two men, hitting the cliff above the cave and breaking into pieces that pitted the snow around them. A pine tree followed, then another, both poorly aimed, and yet launched with terrifying strength. Iolaus drew his sword and withdrew into the mouth of the cave.
‘Let me talk to them,’ Pholus called from the back of the cave. ‘I might be able to calm them down.’
‘Yes, come out and speak with us, Cousin,’ snarled a centaur, trotting out from the rest of the herd. His lower body was black, from hocks to tail, and he had long hair that flowed down over his back and shoulders. In his hand was a large cleaver that gleamed white with the reflection of the snow. ‘Explain to us why you broke our laws – why you’ve allowed men to drink our wine.’
The other centaurs shouted for Pholus to show himself, some beating their chests, others stamping their hooves. It seemed to Heracles that a long-smouldering hatred for their lyre-playing, mankind-loving kinsman had been fanned into an angry blaze. And he doubted anything P
holus could say would quench their thirst for blood.
He heard hooves behind him.
‘No, Pholus,’ he implored his friend. ‘They won’t listen to you––’
The centaur ignored him and stepped out into the deep snow. His face was pale and his brow furrowed with concern as he held up his hand in sign of parley.
‘Nessus,’ he began, addressing the cousin who had spoken to him, ‘I know you have long despised me, and that many of the tribe share your scorn. You think me strange because I have adopted the ways of outsiders – of men – and many among you have long sought an excuse to murder me. Now you have it: I opened the communal wine to welcome my guests with. I broke the law. And if there is another who can guard the wine without drinking it, or who can act as priest between our tribe and the gods, then carry out the sentence. I am as much a centaur as any of you are – though you detest me – and I am subject to our laws. But let these men go free. They do not know our law, or they would not have accepted the wine. They have done nothing to you, other than singed Agrius’s chest in self-defence. Kill me, if you must, but let them go.’
‘No,’ Heracles interjected. ‘Exile him, Nessus. Let Pholus come back to Tiryns with me. He will be accepted there and held in high honour. It would be wrong for you to kill one of your own kind, one so much older and wiser than yourselves.’
‘What do you know of it, bastard of Zeus?’ Nessus retorted. ‘You are not a centaur, and you and your companion were fools to come to Pholoë. For that you will die. But Pholus will die first.’
He raised his hand and flicked his fingers. Somewhere in the darkness, a bowstring twanged and an arrow shot out of the blizzard. Heracles threw himself before Pholus and the flint-headed dart bounced off his lion-skin cloak and fell into the snow.
‘Get back!’ he shouted, pushing the centaur into the mouth of the cave.
He hurled his flaming brand at Nessus, who smashed it aside with his cleaver and launched himself into the attack. Slipping the bow from his shoulder, Heracles plucked the arrow out of the snow and fitted it to the string. He aimed quickly and fired. The flint sank into Nessus’s shoulder and he reared up, roaring with pain, before withdrawing into the shadows. A second arrow flew out from the thickening blizzard and thumped into Heracles’s leather quiver. In the same instant, a towering silhouette galloped out of the snowstorm to his left, where Iolaus was standing with his sword clutched nervously in both hands. The centaur wielded a young pine tree, holding it by the crown as he swung the roots in an arc towards Iolaus’s head. The squire ducked low and it crashed into the opening of the cave, sending a shower of earth and rock falling around him.