Hercules (6 page)

He saw Augeas running to meet him shaking his fist and yelling something he couldn’t hear. Then the fat man saw the wall of water, turned again, and ran for the barnyard. But too slowly; he was too fat to run fast. Hercules flashed past him and heard a gurgling scream but did not stop to look back.

He ran through the gates, the river tumbling after. He ran straight through, circling the barn, and around to the other side of the fence, not daring to turn lest he should lose a stride, but hearing the roar of the water behind him. He leaped the fence on the other side and kept running.

Now the noise changed, lost its roar, became a gulping sucking sound, fell to a scraping, then to a wet whisper. He stopped, panting, and put Dienera down. He turned and looked back. The river, sweeping through the Augean stables, had choked itself on the mountains of dung, had silted itself almost solid, and was now crawling back toward its own banks.

Back, back, the river shrank, Hercules and Dienera following it slowly. And he marveled at what the waters had done. Where the barn had been, with its towers of manure and its seething carpet of flies, all was clean, muddy but clean. The stench was gone; the air smelled fresh and wet. Cows and bulls milled about, drenched and shiny, mooing in confusion because they had forgotten what they looked like. The barn was down; it was a wreckage of clean boards.

Hercules looked at Dienera. She smiled up at him; it was the first time he had seen her smile.

“I don’t think the river will bother you again,” he said. “It’ll be busy for a while, digesting its last meal.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“What now? Back to Calydon?”

“Where are you going?”

“Back to Mycenae to find out what I have to do next. Something dreadful, no doubt, but it can’t be worse than this job. You were a great help to me, you know, you and your watery wooer. It took a flood to clean this mess.”

“I didn’t do anything—just stood around being frightened. You’re very brave and very strong.”

“Shall I take you back to Calydon?”

“Am I really the first girl you ever kissed?”

“Except my mother.”

“Do you think you’d like to again sometime?”

“It’s possible. But I won’t have much time for kissing and such until I finish my labors.”

“Will you visit me in Calydon between adventures?”

“I’ll try.”

“No, that means you won’t, and I want you to. Don’t you want to?”

“Yes, but—”

He saw her eyes brimming with tears again.

“Please don’t cry.”

“How can I help it when you’re making me sad?”

“All right, I promise to come see you in Calydon.”

“When?”

“Soon.”

She blinked away her tears and smiled at him so sweetly that he bent down again and kissed her wet face.

T
HERE WAS AN OLD
Blind Man who had no home of his own but wandered from place to place and was welcome, at first, wherever he went because he knew what was going to happen before it happened. That kind of person is called an oracle. There were many of them then, but the blind man was the best.

He had never wanted to be an oracle. He didn’t like to look into the future, but he couldn’t help it.

Now, as it happened, this Blind Man came to Thebes and was wandering about the market place when Iole saw him. She marveled at the way he made his way through the crowd without bumping into anyone. She knew he was blind; she had darted up to look into his face and had seen that his large eyes had pupil and iris all one color, a milky blue, staring stonily straight ahead. He used a cane, not tap-tapping, but holding it in front of him like a pointer. He was shopping. He stopped at an oven and bought a loaf of barley bread, stopped at a woman sitting among baskets and bought a bunch of new onions and a wedge of cheese. He asked for things in a deep rolling voice and made the women take money for what he had bought. And Iole, seeing these women trying to refuse his coins and knowing how they would fight each other in the street for a penny, thought that the Blind Man must be some kind of wizard. She decided to follow him.

She followed him through the market, followed him as he made his way through the teeming square into the quieter avenue. She flitted silently after him through the city, through the gates, beyond the walls, and kept with him as he headed toward the open country. He filled his flask at a stream, sat on a rock, and began to eat his bread and cheese and onions. Iole stood silently, watching him.

“Want something to eat?” he called.

Iole didn’t answer.

“You there, girl, are you hungry?”

“How do you know I’m here?” said Iole.

“You’ve been following me since I came to the market.”

“You’re not blind at all; you’re just pretending.”

“Why would anyone pretend that?”

“Can you see me or not?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know I’m a girl? Well, you know now because you’ve heard my voice. But before?”

“I know more than that. I know how old you are. I know that you look like an Egyptian temple cat with black bangs and jade eyes.”

“How? How?”

“Everyone is surrounded by a band of colored light—red, green, blue, purple, all the colors, and every band is different. I feel the colors on my face; they prickle in different ways. Also, my nose is as sharp as a hunting dog’s, and my ears are as keen as a bat’s. The goddess who took my sight sharpened my other senses and gave me some extra ones.”

“Which goddess?”

“The Owl Goddess, Pallas Athena, stern and wise.”

“Why did she take your sight? Why was she so cruel?”

“She wanted me to serve her. She wanted me not to be misled by appearances but to pay perfect attention to signs and clues by which the gods make their meaning known.”

“Will you be my grandfather?”

“What?”

“Be my grandfather.”

“I’ve never had wife or child, certainly no grandchildren.”

“But I’m adopting you as my grandfather. Now you must adopt me as your granddaughter, so it’ll come out even.”

“Do you always go around adopting people?”

“You’re only the second. Hercules was the first.”

“Hercules!”

“I met him at Mycenae, where I used to live. I helped to kill the Hydra. Then I adopted him as my husband for when I grow up. That’s why I’m here. He brought me here to live with his mother and father in the castle. What colors am I?”

“Different shades of green. April green like new grass. Cat’s-eye green. Black green of the sharp spring shadows. And a greenish silvery brown of the new moon.”

“What do I smell like?”

“April leaves. Pebbles picked from the bottom of a stream. New grass.”

“You must stay here and tell me things, and not go away.”

“But that’s what I do: go away. I tell things and go away … because people don’t like what I say.”

“I’ll like whatever you say. I promise.”

“You don’t understand. The goddess blinded me so I could see what is to be. It’s a cruel, cruel gift.”

“Why?”

“People ask me to tell their fortunes. And I say no, because what I see, usually, is misfortune. But they beg. And I tell them. And when it comes true, they blame me, as if I had
made
it happen.”

“Suppose it’s something good?”

“Then they think they did it all themselves.”

“Well, I’ll go where you go. It’ll be a few years before I can marry Hercules, and I’ll come back here then.”

“Do you mean it about marrying Hercules?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Do you love him?”

“Oh, yes.”

“You mustn’t.”

“Why not?”

“Poor child, poor dear child. My blind eyes pierce the darkness of time to come, and I wish they did not. What I see is this: Hercules cannot be killed by living man or god or monster. Painted in fire upon the blackness before my eyes is she who will be his doom, a girl who wants to marry him.”

“Oh, no!”

She began to sob.

“Come here, child.”

She ran into his arms. He stroked her head. “Don’t cry.”

“I love him so. I don’t want anyone to kill him. Why do you say such terrible things?”

“Forgive me. I don’t mean to.”

“Anyway, how do you know? I don’t believe there is such a thing as the future. If you believe that, you think nothing can ever change. Don’t you see?”

“I am blind.”

“Oh, you know what I mean.”

“Perhaps you mean more than I know. Perhaps you can teach me what the goddess didn’t. All the same, I think you’d better be careful about loving Hercules. For my vision of his fate is terrible, and I can tell you only what it is given me to see.”

“Let’s leave this place, Grandfather.”

“Does it matter where we go?”

“No.”

“Come then …”

H
ERCULES’ NEXT TASK CONCERNED
a cattle breeder also, but quite unlike the filthy Augeas. For the herd of bulls belonging to Geryon was the finest in all the world. Blood-red they were, huge and sleek, with coral nostrils and jet-black horns.

Geryon himself was a truly monstrous figure, what might be called a Siamese triplet: three giant bodies joined at the waist. Complete bodies. Three heads, six arms, six legs. In a fight he was complete havoc. He had been known to take on a whole company of warriors single-handed and kill every one. With his six legs he could outrun the fastest horse. For sport, he wrestled three bears at once and always won.

And now, Hercules had been ordered to go to Geryon’s island and steal his herd of bulls. Hercules stood listening as Copreus told him of this new task. As usual, they stood outside the city walls, because the king was still afraid to let Hercules anywhere near him.

“Well,” said Hercules. “I haven’t used my poison arrows against anyone yet, but I may have to start now. This three-bodied monster sounds dangerous.”

“I should tell you something else,” said Copreus. “There is a prophecy concerning Geryon—that he can be killed by no one else—so you may have to steal his cattle without fighting him.”

“Is that possible?”

“I don’t think so. He has three enormous bulldogs watching them by day. And at night, he watches them himself. And since he has three heads, one of them always stays awake. Others have tried to steal those handsome red bulls and have been torn to pieces by Geryon before they went three paces into the pasture.”

“Sounds worse and worse,” said Hercules. “But I’ve done things before that no one thought I could do. Maybe I’ll get lucky again.”

He turned, and once again began a journey to where he didn’t want to go.

Geryon’s island lay about ten miles offshore. Hercules stood at the edge of the beach and squinted, trying to make it out in the distance. He saw something, but couldn’t tell whether it was an island or a cloud bank. He walked into the surf, then let the tide take him out. He dived, swam underwater, kicked to the surface, then floated, taking great breaths of salt air. Then he began to stroke toward the island. Ten miles was just a refreshing swim for Hercules, and swimming was the best way to get to the island without anyone seeing him.

It was dark when he reached the island. For all his size, Hercules could move through the woods without making a sound. He had learned this from the centaurs. Nevertheless, when he reached a clearing in the forest which was the bulls’ pasture, he heard a terrific racket of howling and barking. Three enormous bulldogs were racing about, circling the herd, ready to mangle anyone who came into the pasture. He faded back into the woods, searched for a hollow tree, took out a honeycomb, then searched for a blackberry bush. He ate honey and blackberries, drank water from a stream, and lay down to sleep.

In the morning, he went silently through the woods until he came to the edge of a field where stood a large stone tower which was Geryon’s home. He stayed there all day, watching Geryon as he came and went, studying his habits. The monster dined outdoors. His table was a massive slab of wood laid upon four tree stumps. Hercules had never seen a creature eat the way Geryon did. Every two hours, three cooks laid out three meals on the great table, for each of the bodies favored a different food. The right-hand body liked pork, the middle body liked mutton, and the left-hand body ate barbecued goat meat.

“None of him eats beef,” thought Hercules. “I suppose that’s because of those beautiful bulls; he likes to think of them as alive, not as meat.”

Every two hours on the dot the three meals came out on loaded trays, and the three-bodied monster devoured his pork, his mutton, and his barbecued goat. And when he left the tower and went down to the pasture to visit his herds, if two hours had passed, then the cooks would bring his meals down to the pasture and set them out on the grass, which made the bulldogs happy, because he tossed them the marrow bones.

That afternoon, Hercules had a chance to see Geryon in action. As the monster shambled through the forest, he was attacked by a panther which leaped from a tree straight at his throat. It was like a kitten attacking a bear. Geryon’s huge powerful hands grasped each of the panther’s paws, holding them in a grip of iron, allowing it no chance to use its claws. And the third pair of hands fastened upon the great cat’s neck and strangled it to death.

“Impressive,” said Hercules to himself, “but I’ve handled beasts even bigger. Let me really test that prophecy.”

Geryon was sprawled at his table taking an afternoon nap. He did not bother to keep one head awake because he was not watching his herd. Now all six eyes were closed, and the monster was snoring hoarsely. Hercules notched an arrow and drew the bowstring back, back, bending the bow almost double, in the long-armed pull that could send the shaft through a stone wall three feet thick. The arrow whistled through the air. Hercules was amazed to see the air thicken around the flying arrow. The bright air jelled, became murky, a quivering semisolid mass, like a beached jellyfish. The arrow slowed, stopped, and was held one inch from the sleeping Geryon’s head. Then the air cleared as suddenly as it had thickened. The jellied murk faded into sunlight. The arrow fell to the ground. And not one of Geryon’s eyes opened.