Hercules (4 page)

“How can you possibly know that?”

“I know.”

When Hercules came to Mycenae, he once again found the city locked against him. Once again, he thought about knocking the gate down and forcing his way into the castle. But then he realized that he really had no wish to see the king, who didn’t want to see him. In fact, there was nothing he wanted here but to work off his curse as soon as possible and go back to Thebes or to the centaurs. But he had to wait where he was until someone came to tell him what he had to do next.

He camped outside the city. He stuck his spear in the ground, hung the lion’s skin over it, and had a fine tent. He sat in his tent and watched the gate. He expected to see soldiers coming through, then Copreus, bearing a message from the king. No one came through. He waited and waited. He dozed off. When he opened his eyes he saw a girl standing near him.

“Are you awake?” she asked.

“Unless I’m dreaming. Who are you?”

“Iole.”

“Hello, Iole.”

“Is that the lion skin you’re using for a tent?”

“It is.”

“I’d like you to tell me all about how you killed it, but I have something to tell you first. Do you remember Copreus?”

“The king’s herald? Of course. I expect him to show up soon.”

“He won’t. I’m here instead.”

“I don’t understand.”

“He’s my uncle. But he’s afraid to tell you what you have to do, so I will.”

“He’s afraid to come himself and sent you? What kind of man is he?”

“A coward. And the king’s worse. But no one sent me exactly. I wanted to come.”

“Well, at least you’re not afraid of me.”

“No sir, I’m not. I have a lot to tell you; shall I start?”

“Please.”

“The thing you have to fight next is called the Hydra. I don’t exactly know what it is, though. The king’s bad at describing things. But it’s very big. And very awful. It has a hundred heads—lizard heads or dragon heads—and each head has a hundred teeth, and every tooth is poison. The way I picture it is a hundred crocodiles joined at the waist.”

“Where is this charming creature to be found?”

“In Argos, in a grove called Lerna, on the bank of a river. I’m coming with you.”

“What?”

“Oh, yes. I watched you when you left to fight the lion, and I wanted to come with you. But we didn’t know each other then. Now we do.”

“Do you really think I’d let you anywhere near that dragon with a hundred heads?”

“I want to come with you.”

“Listen to me, Iona dear …”

“Iole.”

“Iole dear, I like you very much. I’ve enjoyed our conversation. And I thank you for bringing me this message, unwelcome though it is. But forget all about me and the Hydra.”

She didn’t answer. She was gone before he saw her move; she had slipped away like a shadow.

“What a smart brave girl,” he said to himself. “I hope I haven’t hurt her feelings. But I can’t think about that now. I have to prepare for this monster. Yes, this will take a bit of thinking. I wish my brains were as strong as my muscles. Well, I’ll do what I can with what I have. Now, what did that child tell me? The Hydra is very poisonous, she said. So even one tooth breaking my skin will kill me. And a hundred mouths times a hundred teeth. Let’s see: that’s ten thousand deaths coming at me all at once. Hmmmm. Lion skin, you shall be a tent no more; I have a better use for you.”

He whisked the lion’s hide off the spear that was serving as a tent pole, drew one of the lion’s claws from his pouch, and, using it as a knife, cut the skin into a long-sleeved tunic and a pair of trousers reaching down to his ankles. He also made gauntlets and boots—for he wanted not one inch of himself exposed to the Hydra’s poison teeth. “If this hide turned aside my spear and my arrows,” he thought, “it should blunt the Hydra’s bite. I need a helmet, too.” He took the lion’s head and made a helmet of it. It covered his face when he put it on; he could breathe through the mouth and look out the eyeholes.

“It’s very hot in here,” said Hercules to himself. “The Hydra may not have to kill me; I may just roast to death before I get to him.”

All this time, Iole had been watching him from behind a tree. For she hadn’t the slightest notion of going home. She had decided to go wherever Hercules went, and if he wouldn’t take her, she would simply follow him without letting him see her. She was very good at that.

She watched as Hercules took off his lion-skin clothing, wrapped it into a bundle, and slung it on his back. He grasped his spear and set off for the grove at Lerna where the Hydra dwelt. He traveled for three days and never noticed the girl gliding from shadow of tree to shelter of bush as she followed him.

The grove called Lerna is tucked inside an elbow of the river. In this river lurked the monstrous reptile. Every day it crawled out to kill. The trees of the grove grow right down to the river, but stop short at one spot; there grass grows from wood to water. Here in this meadow Hercules waited for the Hydra to crawl out of the river.

It was a summer morning, and the sun was hot. Hercules wore his long-sleeved tunic, and trousers, and boots, and gauntlets, and helmet. He felt himself roasting alive in the heavy lion pelt. “If that Hydra doesn’t come soon,” he thought, “he’ll find a cooked meal all laid out for him.”

And, as Hercules waited near the river, Iole waited in the grove. She was crouched behind a tree, so well hidden that he couldn’t have seen her even if he had turned suddenly. But she had a clear view.

The last monster Hercules had fought was the Nemean Lion, which had roared terribly as it came. And he was expecting the Hydra to announce itself thunderously out of its hundred mouths. So he was taken by surprise when the Hydra came out of the river silently, like a reptile, and had almost reached Hercules before he saw what was coming.

He couldn’t believe what he saw. It was a crocodile, but the size of ten crocodiles. “This can’t be it,” he thought. “It has just one head. But what else can it be? That river can’t hold two monsters.”

But he was very glad that there was only one head to cope with, even if that one head was as big as a dragon’s, full of sharp teeth. He dropped his bow and spear and drew his sword. The Hydra slithered toward him. Weighed down as he was by the heavy lion pelt, Hercules nonetheless leaped into the air and landed on the Hydra’s back. He raised his sword high in both hands, slashed down in a terrific scything blow, saw his blade cut through the knobby hide, and felt it slice through flesh and giant bone—right through the entire neck. The Hydra’s head seemed to leap off its body. Blood poured out of the neck stump, black blood, smoking as it fell, charring the grass, turning the greenness to black dust.

And Hercules was amazed to see the cut-off head sliding toward him. It sprang off the ground, snapping at him. He struck it down with his clenched fist, whirled about, and saw something that almost made him drop his sword and run. The stump of neck had split into two stumps; from each neck sprouted a new head.

He struck again, cutting off both heads with one blow. They fell to the grass, blood hissing. They did not die, but snapped about his legs like mad dogs. They couldn’t bite through his lion-hide trousers, but held on, trying to drag him down. And now, instead of two neck stumps, there were four, and each stump grew a new head. The four heads struck at him with sickening force. Four pairs of jaws clamped onto his body. The teeth couldn’t pierce the pelt, but they closed with crushing power. He felt his bones must break. Jaws held his arms; he couldn’t raise his sword. He tore himself away and tried to run clear, but the cut-off heads were fastened to his legs. They dragged him down.

He forced himself up. His sword whirled in a blur about his head. One after the other, he cut the four heads off. Now these heads fell and joined the pack of heads ravening about. Where the four heads had been, there were now eight heads. They came at him from everywhere now, clamping him from all directions. His arms and legs were locked by jaws. Three pair of jaws held his waist, jaws were locking on his head, blinding him. Inside the lion-hide helmet, he felt his skull being squeezed to a pulp. Calling on his last strength, he whirled and kicked and chopped and stabbed. He tore himself free and tried to run. But all the heads were fastened on his legs now; they pulled him down as a pack of hounds pulls down a deer.

Lying on the ground, he saw a pair of jaws striking down toward his face. Before he could stop himself, he slashed with his sword, slicing off that head—and knew it was the worst thing he could have done. For now two heads would grow, and he knew he couldn’t handle any more.

The pain was too much now; he felt himself going. And just then he saw Iole flash past him, carrying a torch.

“Stop!” he shouted.

But she ran straight toward the Hydra and slashed at it with her fiery torch, searing the neck stump, then seemed to melt into air, she moved so quickly, dodging away. Hercules smelled the stench of burning flesh. The Hydra flopped gigantically; it was in agony. Its mouths were shrieking. Through his fog, Hercules saw that the burned flesh of the stump was not sprouting any new head.

He saw Iole scoop up the torch and run toward him. She whirled the torch, beating back the pack of cut-off heads. She whipped them with flame, beating them away from his legs. Hercules staggered to his feet.

“Cut off the heads!” cried Iole. “I’ll burn the stumps!”

But Iole was clad only in a thin tunic. Hercules realized that one scratch of a poison tooth would kill her on the spot. He snatched the torch from her, with his left hand seized her by the waist, swung her off the ground, and hurled her into the river. Then he picked up his sword and crouched, waiting for the Hydra to come at him again.

In one hand he held the torch, in his other hand, the sword. And strength had returned. The thought of the child risking her life that way drove out all fear, all weakness. The fire of the torch seemed to be burning cleanly in his veins.

The Hydra was upon him. He moved swiftly, dodging, striking, twisting away from the jaws, slashing again. Each sword blow cut off a head. And, as soon as he struck with his sword, he struck with his torch, searing the neck stump, burning the flesh so that no new head could grow.

He was very weary now. He could hardly move. But the monster still had two heads left. Hercules did not wait for the Hydra to attack. Forcing his legs to move, he charged. He whirled his sword, cutting off the last two heads, then struck with his torch, searing the last two stumps.

Now the Hydra was blind. The great leather body was twitching. The spiked tail was flailing. The neck stalks were wriggling like charred worms, but life was going out of the monster. The tail flopped weakly, like a grounded fish. The neck stalks went limp. Then all movement stopped. And when the body died, the heads on the grass died also.

Hercules lifted the heavy helmet from his head, drinking the air. He cast off the tunic and slid out of the heavy trousers. No tooth had pierced his armor; he was unscratched. But the air was scorched and he felt poisoned all the same. He didn’t take his gauntlets off, or his boots. He had one more thing to do before he could bathe in the river. He emptied his quiver of arrows and, one by one, dipped them in the hissing pools of Hydra blood.

“I’ll need special weapons,” he thought, “if each monster I fight is worse than the last one. Now these arrows will kill whatever they touch.”

He dipped the last arrow, then kicked his way through the dead grinning heads as he tramped toward the river.

When he dived in, Iole climbed out. She stood on the bank and watched him swim. The sun was low now, painting the river with fire. It was still warm, and Iole’s tunic was almost dry when Hercules climbed out of the river. He didn’t say anything. He sat on a rock and beckoned to her. She came toward him slowly and stopped a few feet away.

He spoke softly. “You saved my life, you know.”

“And got thrown into the river for it. My, you threw me far. It was like flying.”

“You’re a very brave girl. And a very clever one. And very, very naughty. You’re going straight back home.”

She smiled and came closer, looking up at him with big green eyes. Before he knew what she was doing, she had leaped onto his lap as lightly as a kitten. “But I live with you now,” she purred. “I’ve decided to marry you when I’m older.”

“You’d better pick someone else. I don’t think I’ll last that long.”

“I don’t want anyone else. And you have to last. I’m going wherever you go. You just saw how useful I can be.”

“You’re going back home. You live with your uncle, don’t you? In the castle?”

“With my Uncle Copreus and that mean old king. Do you really want me to live in a place like that? If you take me back there, I’ll run away again. And if I can’t find you, I’ll live in the woods and get eaten by bears.”

“How would you like to live in a cheerful castle with beautiful kind people?”

“With you?”

“With my parents, in Thebes.”

“I want to be with you.”

“Well, I’ll visit you between times.”

“Do you promise?”

“I do.”

“And will you marry me when I grow up.”

“If you still want me then, I’ll be honored.”

And they went off together. But had they stayed a bit longer, they would have seen a wonderful thing. The cut-off Hydra heads sank out of sight, and where each had been, a spring bubbled up. The waters of these springs flowed together and became a river, which swallowed the river Lerna and became a deep swift-running river of crystal waters so pure and beautiful that it gave the name “hydra” to water forever.

T
HE WORLD’S WORST CATTLE
thief lived in a place called Elis. The people there hated him, not only because he stole their cattle, but because of what he did with them afterward. Being a thief himself, he thought everybody else was too, and was always afraid someone would steal the cattle he had stolen. So he built a huge barn and holding pen big enough for a thousand cows and fifty bulls, and he never let them out, nor did he ever bother about cleaning the place. Of course, it grew filthier and filthier. Mountains of muck grew. People called it the biggest dung heap in the world. His neighbors sold their farms and moved to the other side of the wide river because the place stank. And he just laughed. His neighbors were so eager to sell that they took any price offered and soon he owned all the land around. He was a huge fat man. His face was always greasy, and his hair crawled with lice. His name was Augeas. When he bought up the last farm in the country, he called himself “Lord of the Manor.” Others called him “Lord of the Manure,” but not where he could hear them.