Hercules (2 page)

Indeed, when Hera learned what had happened to the serpents she had sent, she was more certain than ever that the Theban gossip was true: that Hercules was the son of a god and that that god was Zeus. And her jealous fury grew and grew.

“How could a baby do that?” she said to herself. “Is Zeus shielding him in some magical way? Yes. He must be. But I’ve outwitted Zeus before, and I’ll do it again. I’ll get rid of that overgrown brat if it’s the last thing I do.”

T
HE GODS GO BY
a different time. Everything is larger for them. Their days are our years. So, while Hera did not forget Hercules, she had other grudges to settle. And when she turned her attention to him again a few weeks later—in her time—he was almost sixteen years old, an enormous youth, bigger and stronger than any man in Thebes and still growing.

He did not live at home with his parents and his brother but in the wild hills of Thessaly where he was being tutored by a very wise creature named Chiron, who was only half man, the other half being horse. That is, he had a horse’s body up to the neck, but from that body sprouted the chest, head, and arms of a man. The tribe he belonged to was called the centaurs. They too were hated by Hera, who, indeed, had made them become the way they were.

Long before, Zeus had happened to admire a beautiful maiden of Thessaly and had been unwise enough to let Hera know. “Look at her,” he said one day. “Down there in Thessaly—that girl running through the fields. Isn’t she lovely? So long-legged and graceful, just like a filly …”

Whereupon Hera cast a curse, saying, “Miserable girl, you shall become more like a filly than you wish.” She said it under her breath so Zeus wouldn’t hear. But curses, like prayers, don’t have to be said loudly if you mean them, and as soon as Hera had said this, the girl found herself running through the fields more swiftly than ever because she now had the body of a filly. Later, she became the mother of the tribe called centaurs.

But Zeus, pitying her and angry at what Hera had done, tried to turn the curse into a blessing. He gave the centaurs happy reckless natures, filling them with a love of wild places, and a special wisdom about trees and plants and animals.

And it was Chiron, wisest of all the centaurs, who became tutor to the young Hercules. The boy spent happy years with him in the hills of Thessaly.

Chiron taught him the ways of birds and beasts and of all the creatures who dwell in the mountain lakes and the swift little rivers. Taught him to read the weather in the dance of leaves and the flight of birds, and how to sniff the wind for rain. Taught him how to take honey from the hive without offending the bees, where to find nuts and berries, and which mushrooms were good to eat and which were poison. Wandering the woods and fields with Chiron, young Hercules learned how certain herbs cure fever and how to crush wild oregano leaves to make a paste that will stop bleeding. And how to pack a wound with spider web and moldy bread to make it heal clean. All very useful lore for someone who is going to have to do a great deal of fighting.

For sport, Hercules raced and wrestled the young centaurs. He lost the races, for they could run more swiftly than horses, but he always won the wrestling matches and finally had to give them up because he had become too strong even for the powerful young centaurs. But he loved to wrestle and roamed the woods looking for bears. He grew very fond of the big furry animals because they enjoyed wrestling as much as he did, and he didn’t have to worry about hurting them. But he kept growing and got stronger every day; he realized that the time was coming when he wouldn’t even be able to wrestle bears. He had no way of knowing that this magically happy time in the hills of Thessaly was to end so suddenly.

For Hera had been thinking again about Hercules and was planning what to do. But this time, she planned more carefully.

“I
’LL HAVE TO GO SLOWLY
,” said Hera to herself. “Zeus has made me promise not to harm any of his sons or daughters. I mean to break that promise, of course, but I don’t want to be caught. So, I can’t simply kill Hercules—who’s very hard to kill, anyway. I’ll have to trick him into arranging his own doom. Yes-s-s … I’ll make him use his powers against himself. He’s warmhearted, hot-tempered, blazing with energy. And if I can’t use his own heat to burn him out, my name’s not Hera.”

One hot afternoon in May, Hercules lay in a field of flowering clover. The clover smell hung sweet as honey, and bees were among the blossoms; their humming made the world’s drowsiest sound. Hera appeared. She stood looking down at him. She seemed tall as a tree and was clad in purple, a golden crown on her head.

“Are you a goddess?” he murmured.

“I am Hera, queen of the gods.”

“Am I dreaming?”

“It doesn’t matter. I am real.”

He stared at her.

“Hercules, behold—”

She faded, and a picture branded itself on the golden air where she had stood. The people in the picture moved and had voices, and everything they did and said was terribly important. If it was a dream, it was the kind that seems realer than life. Hercules saw himself standing. He was a man now, with a golden beard. He wore a lion skin and carried a club and was much bigger than the youth lying on the grass. And this man, whom Hercules recognized as himself grown-up, was waiting for someone.

A woman walked toward him; it was his wife, and she held the hands of two children, a boy and a girl. Hercules knew that they were his children because they looked like him. Then the youth on the grass was horrified to see the man lift his club and smash it down on the woman’s head. She fell. The children screamed and ran away. The man caught them in two strides, dropped his club, lifted a child in each hand, and knocked their heads together. The heads split like eggs. He dropped the dead children on their dead mother, raised his face to the sky, and howled like a wolf. Then he rushed off among the trees.

The bodies disappeared. Hera stood there looking down at him. There was such a tearing grief in the youth’s heart that he couldn’t look at the goddess. He knelt on the grass covering his face with his hands.

“Look at me.”

He dropped his hands. Her face was very stern.

“I have come to do you a great service, to show you the man you will be,” said Hera. “You know now what he will do.”

“Why did he kill them?”

“Not
he,
you. That was
you
. You recognized yourself.”

“Yes …”

“You have seen yourself married, with two lovely innocent children. In a fit of madness, you shall kill them. All, all.”

“Why?”

“In madness there is no ‘why.’ ”

“I don’t believe it. It’s a false vision. It won’t happen.

“Hercules, the matter is too important for you to lie to yourself. You know there is truth in that vision. Search your heart, and you will find wrath and evil at the bottom of it.”

“It won’t happen.”

“Oh, yes it will.”

“It won’t! I’ll kill myself now, and it can’t happen.”

“I have come to save you. I am your friend. You don’t have to kill yourself. I shall show you a way you can cleanse your soul of these wicked impulses. You can so purify yourself that it will become impossible for you to commit such a murder.”

“How? How? Tell me!”

“There is only one way, and you must follow my instructions exactly. You must go to the king of Mycenae, King Eurystheus, and put yourself under his orders. Twelve years you must serve him, and whatever he tells you to do, you must do. If you faithfully carry out his wishes, without argument and without hesitation, you shall cleanse yourself of evil, and the foul vision you have seen today shall remain a dream.”

“Must I go to Mycenae now?”

“Now. Don’t wait to say farewell to Chiron. Do not go back to Thebes to bid your mother and father good-by, nor to see your brother. Leave this place immediately and go straight to Mycenae. The king is waiting.”

She vanished.

Hercules arose from the grass and looked about. He couldn’t believe that this was the same sunny slope, that this was the same bed of clover, and these the same bees. Everything was changed. The grass was charred; the bees were tiny demons; and the flowers stank of blood. He couldn’t bear to leave without embracing Chiron once more. But he didn’t dare disobey Hera. Weeping bitterly, he left that place where he had been so happy. He didn’t exactly know where Mycenae was, but he was sure he would find it before he wanted to.

H
ERA HAD SEARCHED ALL
the lands of the Middle Sea for a king stupid enough and cowardly enough to carry out her evil wishes and enjoy doing it. She found him in Mycenae. King Eurystheus was a brutal, pig-faced man who took great pleasure in causing pain, especially if he could do it without any risk.

Hera appeared to him and told him that he was to be given the gift of a young slave, who was the world’s strongest man and would obey all the king’s commands.

“If he’s so strong, why should he do what anyone tells him?” said Eurystheus.

“He is under a curse, and this is the way he must work it off. He will try to do any task you set him. If he fails, he dies, and I shall reward you for causing his death.”

“Suppose he succeeds?”

“He won’t. But if he does, you will get the credit for his deeds, and everyone will say you are a wise and powerful king.”

“I am! I am!” cried Eurystheus. “I must be very wise and powerful, because soon I am to have the strongest man in the world to serve me. What’s his first task?”

“He is to hunt the Nemean Lion and bring you its hide.”

“The Nemean Lion! Nobody can kill that monster. The best hunters in the world have gone against him and been devoured.”

“Yes,” said Hera. “I know.”

And vanished.

A
S THE KING WAITED
for Hercules to come to his castle, he grew more and more frightened. Despite what Hera had said, he couldn’t imagine the strongest man in the world taking orders from anyone. He kept thinking what this young giant might do if he got angry, what might happen when Hercules heard him say, “Go hunt the Nemean Lion. Bring me its hide.” He pictured how a huge hand would come down at him, grab him by the back of the neck, snatch him off the throne, and hold him dangling like a kitten.
Himself,
Eurystheus, the king! Perhaps the hand would slap him a few times as he dangled there. Maybe do worse. And all the people would know him for what he was: not a stern powerful ruler, but a coward. And the more he thought about Hercules, the more frightened he grew.

Finally, the day came.

The king had posted lookouts beyond the city walls. Now a messenger rushed into the throne room, crying, “He’s coming! He’s coming! And oh, your majesty, he’s a giant!”

Although it was a hot day, the king crouched on his throne, shaking and quaking as though he were sitting in a tub of ice water.

“No,” he said to himself. “I’m not going to meet that brute. Why should I? What’s the use of being a king if I can’t make somebody else do dangerous things for me? I’ll send Copreus to meet him. Let Copreus tell him about the lion. And if Hera is right, the lion will eat him up, and I’ll never have to worry again.”

Mycenae was a walled city. Its walls were tall and thick, made of heavy stone slabs. The only way in was through an enormous iron gate. But when Hercules reached the city, this gate was closed. He didn’t know what to do. Hera had said he must report to the king, and the king would be expecting him. But the gate was bolted.

He felt himself growing angry. He felt his hands opening and closing, and the muscles of his back and shoulders filling with wild strength. The city was locked against him, but chains and bolts wouldn’t mean much if he simply tore the iron gate from its hinges and hurled it away. But before he could touch it, he heard voices shouting, “In the name of the king! In the name of the king!” He dropped his arms. Through the gate he saw guards trotting toward the wall. They wore brass armor and brass helmets and carried spears. They reached the gate, unbolted it, and came through. They stood in double file facing him. Hercules started toward the open gate.

“Halt!” said a voice.

A little plump man came through the file of soldiers. He wore a white tunic and bore a white herald’s staff.

“Close it!”

Hercules saw six soldiers swing the gate shut. The little man turned to face him. “Are you Hercules?”

“I am. Why do you close the gate against me?”

“King’s orders.”

“But it is him I have come to see.”

“I speak for the king. Your business is with me.”

“What is your name, good herald?”

“I am Copreus.”

Hercules shouted with laughter, for the word means “dung man,” or someone who does dirty jobs. He saw the man flush bright red, and he stopped laughing because he knew it was rude, and Chiron had taught him always to be courteous.

“I am proud of my name,” said the herald stiffly. “It means that I serve the king by doing things he finds unpleasant.”

“Good sir, I apologize. I did not mean to hurt your feelings. But why should the king find it so unpleasant to speak to me?”

“Because he is tenderhearted. It makes him sad to send a young man to his death.”

“Am I being sent to my death?”

“To hunt the Nemean Lion. It comes to the same thing.”

“Will you take a message back to the king?”

“Yes.”

“Tell him that I shall take every care not to sadden him with the news of my death. Tell him that I go to hunt the lion and that I shall return with its hide. And when I do, I hope to be able to thank him personally for giving me the chance to perform so splendid a deed.”

“Brave words, my lad. Do you know anything about this beast whose hide you mean to take?”

“No, sir. It’s a lion like any other, I presume.”

“It’s a lion
unlike
any other. Its parents were Typhon and Ekidne. Typhon, you know, was a monster out of the First Days, so huge and fierce that no one could believe such a creature could exist. But he did, he did … He was as tall as a cedar; his head was a donkey’s head. His legs were enormous serpents. Instead of hands, a dragon head sprouted from each wrist, belching flame. His strength was the strength of an avalanche, a hurricane, a tidal wave. The gods themselves, they say, were afraid of Typhon; they shuddered on Olympus when he passed below, and hid in a cave until he went away. He, Typhon, was the father of your Nemean Lion. And the lion’s mother was a female monster named Ekidne. She was half woman, half snake, and the halves changed places. That is, sometimes her body was a woman’s and her head was a snake’s, and when she got tired of herself that way, she put on a snake’s body and a woman’s head … and was equally ugly both ways. In fact, Typhon was the ugliest male in the first days of the world, and Ekidne was the ugliest female. They were so hideous that every other creature fled them, and they were left with each other. So they married, and Ekidne had a litter of monsters. And the youngest of the litter, and some say the worst, was the Nemean Lion. A lion, yes, but bigger than an elephant, its teeth like ivory daggers, its claws like brass hooks, and its hide like armor, which no weapon can pierce. That is the Nemean Lion, which keeps the whole country between Corinth and Argos in utter terror and has killed and eaten a generation of fighting men.”