Hercules (9 page)

“Why?”

She told him about what the Blind Man had seen, about Hercules and the golden apples, and Nereus, and how she had to warn Hercules about the lies that would be told by the Old Man of the Sea.

“But why should he wish to harm Hercules?”

“He has been bribed by the king of Mycenae, who hates Hercules and is always trying to destroy him.”

“I see. And do you know how the king would have bribed the Old Man of the Sea? What he values most is food for his octopus. And that monster’s favorite food is a child. The king would have promised to send Nereus a shipload of slave children to feed the octopus. If you go to that island—that is, if I can get you safely past the octopus—why, then Nereus will catch you and toss you right back into the monster’s jaws. Don’t risk it, I beg you.”

“I must go. Will you take me?”

“If you must go, I suppose I must take you.”

The island of Ner was too far, Hercules thought, to reach by swimming. He chopped down a tree, trimmed it of branches, cut it into logs, and lashed them together with vines. Then he stuck his spear into the raft so that it stood upright, making a tall mast, and hung his lion skin as a sail. He attached a heavy flat piece of wood to the stern of his raft as a steering oar and set sail. An east wind bore him westward, which was the way he wanted to go. In two days he came to the island of Ner. It was girded by rocks, and he sailed around the island looking for a way through.

He heard a curious slithering sound. Before his amazed eyes something grew out of the water. He thought it was a snake, then saw it wasn’t. It groped toward the raft; he saw that it had a rubbery tip that could curl like a hand. It slid onto the raft and tried to grasp a log. He raised his foot and stamped on it with his heel. It whisked away. But then another one came, and then another long snaky arm. In the frothing water he saw a great round thing, and many other wavering arms. The raft began to rock violently, and he realized that he was being attacked by a giant octopus. His raft was long and broad; he had lashed many logs together. It was a huge platform of logs and was very hard to overturn. Had it been a skiff or even a larger ship, the octopus would have tipped it over like a wine cup. But the raft would not capsize; it tilted violently, but held. Hercules kept stamping on the rubbery arms, feeling the logs splinter under his feet as he stamped, but balancing himself on the pitching raft.

He knew he couldn’t keep it up. The raft was tilting too steeply. He knew he would have to slide off and fight in the water where he would be at the monster’s mercy. He leaped to the spear which was his mast, wrenched it out of the log, and jabbed mightily, punching holes in three of the arms. Now the raft was slippery with blood. Now five arms were sweeping over the logs, and to his horror, he saw the poached eyes and horny beak of the octopus, hoisting itself on board. Swiftly, he donned the lion skin. In that moment of utmost peril, his mind went back, back, to when he had been a baby in a bull-hide cradle and the serpents had come at him. These octopus arms hugging him now were like serpents. They could not crush him in his lion skin, but he knew that the octopus would hug him tight, fall into the water with him, hold him under till he drowned, and eat him at its leisure.

But now his big powerful hands were doing what his baby hands had done so long ago. He seized two of the arms and tied them together in a double knot. He stooped suddenly, caught two other arms, and knotted them together. Working swiftly, swiftly, straining every muscle, wrestling the enormous sea beast, falling backward under the hard blubbery mass, he took its full weight on his chest and ribs, bracing himself so that he would not be crushed. He felt the terrible beak hammering against the lion hide; nevertheless, his hands kept working, and two by two he tied the arms together so that they could not move.

He rose suddenly. The beast crashed to the logs, splintering them. Hercules cast off his lion skin, stooped, lifted the huge knotted octopus, holding the beaked mouth away from him, and threw the monster into the sea. He watched it sink. With its legs tied it could not swim. It sank to the bottom. Its brutish little brain could not think with its legs tied. When it grasped something, it always ate. Now all its legs were grasping something. It was grasping itself. Its spark of intelligence turned to utter greed, and it began to eat itself. It ate itself all up until only the mouth was left. Then that swallowed itself.

Hercules was in the water now. His raft was a wreckage of logs. He draped his lion skin over two of the logs that were still bound together, sat astride them, and poled himself toward shore with his spear. He threaded his way through the rocks, fending them off with his spear, poling himself in by main strength until he was in shallow water and could wade ashore.

It was dark now; he knew he had better wait until morning before he hunted for Nereus. He lay down and fell fast asleep, and was still sleeping when dawn began to smolder in the sky. He was unaware that Iole had come to the island riding on the dolphin.

Iole slid off the dolphin’s back, kissed his nose, and said, “Farewell, my friend.”

“You might want to get off this island fast,” said the dolphin. “If you need me, just sing out. I’ll be somewhere offshore.”

“Thank you,” said Iole.

She kissed him again, and he whisked out of sight. She didn’t exactly know what to do now that she was on the island. She couldn’t do anything until Hercules came. Then she had to get to him and warn him to believe nothing the Old Man of the Sea might say.

“But what will I do if that horrid thing finds me first?” she thought. “I’d better hide. Where, though? And I’m so hungry.”

She searched for a berry bush, found one, and began to eat. The berries were very sour, but there was nothing else. She ate a handful and was just finishing when she heard something howl.

She climbed a tree. Then saw something coming that almost made her heart stop beating. Nereus was shambling along the beach. She knew it must be he because the Blind Man had said something about a “lobster-face,” and there couldn’t be two creatures in the world so ugly. Nereus was the only son of the Lobster Queen and a fisherman she had caught, and, unfortunately, he looked more like his mother. His upper body was that of a scaly old man, but he had a lobster face with antennae and stalked eyes. His hands were enormous lobster claws, and he had webbed feet.

As we know, Iole was a very brave girl, but this thing was too gruesome. She opened her eyes and looked at him and quickly closed them again. He was prowling along the beach. Occasionally, he dug in the sand with his claw, plucked out a clam, and crunched it, shell and all. Once in a while, he looked out to sea and howled for his octopus; he liked to see it now and then, just to know it was there.

“Oh my,” thought Iole, “that creepy crawly thing doesn’t even have to try to kill me. If he ever touches me with one of those horrid claws, I’ll curl up and die. But where can I hide? Not here. I’m sure he can climb trees. I’d better find a cave or a cleft in the rocks anyway.”

Suddenly he turned and came toward her. She held her breath. He stopped and listened, his stalked eyes veering and tipping, looking up once, it seemed, into the branches of Iole’s tree. She had to let out her breath but didn’t dare to. He walked away.

She waited for a while after he had disappeared around a bend of the beach, then crept down the tree and went along the shore. It was littered with rocks, large and small, but it was a flat place, and there were no caves as such. She did find a deep cleft in the rocks that looked wide enough for her to get into and deep enough to hide in.

“This will have to do,” she thought. “But I’m liable to wait a long time before Hercules comes; I’d better get some more berries and take them in with me.”

She ran back to the bush, tore a piece off her tunic, and filled the rag with berries. Just as she was tying it into a sack, she heard a howling. She whirled, and saw Nereus scuttling toward her. She flashed away. He came with amazing speed on those webbed feet. He almost caught her. One claw actually did catch a bit of her hair that was whipping behind her as she ran. Her horror became speed. She reached the cleft in the rocks and dived in just as he stretched his arm for her, clacking his claws. She ducked, and the pincers clattered over her head. She shrank deeper into the cleft, as far as she could go. She knew Nereus could see her because she could see him, dancing with rage.

“Come out!” he howled. “Come out immediately! My octopus is very hungry. You’re not fat enough for a real meal but you’ll make a nice snack, so come out.”

“Oh, Hercules,” she said to herself, “how I wish you were here.”

She said it like a prayer, but unlike most prayers, it was answered immediately. She heard a beloved golden voice bawling: “Ho there, old fellow, I need a word with you.” And peering through the rocks, she saw a pair of tall bronzed legs planted on the sand. Through all her grief and fear she hadn’t allowed herself to weep, but now she wept tears of pure joy. She saw Nereus turn away from the cleft, and she crawled up closer to hear what was being said:

“You there,” said Hercules. “Stop that howling. I want to ask you something.”

Nereus turned, snarling. But when he saw a giant youth standing before him, twirling an enormous spear in one hand, he tried to change his snarl into a smile and looked uglier than ever.

“I beg your pardon, young man,” he said, “but I’ve been busy with a very naughty little girl who’s refusing to feed a poor starving octopus.”

“He’s just eaten,” said Hercules. “Tell me, where can I find Nereus, otherwise known as the Old Man of the Sea?”

“You’ve found him. That’s me.”

“Then please tell me how to find the Garden of the Hesperides where grow the golden apples.”

“Gladly shall I tell you how to reach that secret place.”

“And how to pick the apples, and what dangers to avoid?”

“Gladly, gladly.”

“Well, start talking, my fishy friend.”

“You must guide yourself by this verse:

Honey to the snake.

Titan’s burden take …

To prove the giant’s worth,

Stretch him flat on earth …”

“I don’t understand.”

“Well, it’s a magical verse and full of riddles. You’ll have to solve it for yourself.”

Hercules picked up Nereus by the scruff of the neck and dangled him high over the rock. “Riddle me no riddles, lobster-face, or I’ll break you into bite-sized pieces and feed you to the gulls.”

“Gently, dear sir. I was just about to say that in your case, perhaps, plain words are best.”

“Much the best,” growled Hercules.

“Won’t you put me down?”

“When you tell me plainly what I want to know.”

“I could speak much more comfortably if I were on my feet again.”

“You don’t know what discomfort means yet. But you will if you don’t start talking.”

“Well, this is the meaning of the first line. Wrapped about the trunk of Hera’s apple tree is an enormous serpent named Ladon. He is there to keep off thieves and will certainly make a meal of you unless you buy him off.”

“How?”

“With honey. This Ladon has the sweetest tooth ever known, ninety-six of the sweetest teeth, in fact. If you give him enough honeycombs to munch, he’ll be so happy eating them he’ll let you walk away with all the apples you want. That’s the meaning of the first line, ‘Honey to the snake.’ As for the second line, ‘Titan’s burden take …’ you must know that Atlas, eldest of the Titans, once was foolish enough to rebel against Zeus, and as punishment he has to bear that part of the sky on his shoulders. Now he’s been there for many many centuries and is very weary of his task. He may ask you to take his place for a while. If you agree to help him, he’ll let you steal some apples, for part of his duties is to guard them also.”

“What do the other lines mean?”

“Please set me down. I’m getting dizzy.”

Hercules shook him slightly. “Keep talking. There are worse things than dizziness.”

“Yes, yes. Third and fourth lines: ‘To prove the giant’s worth,/stretch him flat on earth.’ Before you return you will have to wrestle the giant, Anteus. Now, he’s an awful creature to have to wrestle. Tall as a cedar he is, ten times your own height. And so wide that he looks squat. But he has one weakness, and if you know what it is, you may save yourself. He hates the memory of his own childhood and can’t bear any contact with his mother.”

Hercules’ fingers tightened around the scaly throat. “More riddles?”

“Aaagh. Loosen your fingers, man! I can’t tell you anything if you strangle me.”

Hercules eased his grip.

“Thank you, thank you,” moaned Nereus. “I meant no riddles, believe me. By ‘his mother,’ I mean Mother Earth. Anteus, mightiest wrestler in the world, has this one weak spot: if you lay him flat on the ground, he loses all his strength and becomes as helpless as an infant. That’s what those lines mean: ‘To prove the giant’s worth,/stretch him flat on earth.’ Lay him flat on the ground, if you can, and he’ll lose all his strength. So that’s the secret. Three secrets, in fact. I’ve unlocked the riddle of the verse and given you the information you need to take the apples and get yourself back alive. So now you owe me something.”

“Well, I like to pay my debts. What can I do?”

“See that selfish girl hiding in there? Please pry her out of those rocks.”

Still holding the Old Man of the Sea, Hercules picked up the huge boulder and tossed it away like a pebble. He lifted the girl and brought her face to face with Nereus.

“Oh, Hercules,” she whispered. “I’m so glad you’ve come …”

“Iole! Dear dear girl, what are you doing here?”

“I came to warn you against him. He’s a liar. He’s been paid to lie to you. Whatever he told you, you’ve got to do the opposite.”

“No, she’s lying,” whimpered Nereus. “She’s lying faster than she can talk. Wicked wicked wicked girl! Are you trying to get me killed? Take it back! Please …”

“Sounds like the truth to me,” said Hercules.

“No, Hercules, no!” cried Nereus. “She’s just trying to get me in trouble.”

“She’s succeeding.”