Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume One (57 page)

Geryon kept to the forest, teaching himself to hunt. He was able to kill small deer now, and to protect his kill from all but bear and lions. He was completely solitary, but living in triplicate, as it were, needed no other company. His solitude, nevertheless, was soon to be broken.

8

The First Massacre

Hera had been keeping an eye on Geryon since his birth, several eyes in fact. She sent her tattlebirds to observe him and report on his progress.

Then, when Geryon was seven years old, Hera sent for him. She shuddered when the three-bodied child shambled into the palace on Olympus, but she controlled herself and spoke in a calm and friendly way.

“You are old enough now,” she announced, “to start on your life's work.”

“I know I'm a monster,” said Geryon. “And I'm ready to start doing monstrous things.”

“Very good. You shall go to Egypt immediately. Follow the Nile southward to where it flows around a chain of islands near its western bank. On one of these islands pygmies dwell. That place shall be your first killing ground. I want you to wipe out the entire settlement.”

“Any particular way?” asked Geryon.

“Any that appeals to you. If there are too many to dispose of single-handed, you can always feed them to their enemies, the cranes. I'll expect you back here in two weeks' time with a full report on your activities. And I want to hear that the entire little pestilential nation has been wiped off the face of the earth.”

“Thank you, your majesty. Farewell.”

F
or the first few days, Geryon had good sport. He would cut off one pygmy from the rest, run him down, pluck him off the ground, and kill him with a chopping blow to the neck. Then he would stick the body into his bag, and set off after another. When he had taken five or six, he would skin them, spit them, and roast them over an open fire. All the exercise made him hungry.

After three days, however, Geryon wearied of pygmy flesh, and the little creatures were so easy to catch, and so helpless when caught, that hunting them was no longer any fun. So he decided to finish off the entire village in one stroke.

Wading into the river, he ripped a huge net from one of the moored fishing boats and dragged it in to shore. That night he crept up to the pygmy settlement and crouched in the darkness, watching the sentinels make their rounds. Geryon grunted, reached out with his six hands and strangled all six sentries; then he cast his net over the entire village.

He slung the net over his shoulder and bore the struggling, shrieking pygmies—men, women, and children—to a marsh where dwelt their enemies, the cranes. He had broken off a tree as he went, and was using it as a staff. Now he drove the staff into the mud, and hung the net from it; then he squatted in the brackish warm water, waiting for the cranes.

Finally he saw the great birds dipping toward him. They hovered briefly, then dived, stabbing their beaks into the bulging net like wasps attacking rotten fruit. He watched for a while, then left. Slogging away through the marshy ground, he heard the screams of the pygmies mingling with the cries of the hungry birds.

Back on Olympus, Hera praised him for the way he had handled his first assignment. Geryon listened expressionlessly, but he was pleased. It was his first massacre. It gave him a taste for murder which grew as he grew. And he was growing very fast.

9

The River's Ally

Calliroa returned to her father. He tried to kiss her tears, but they flowed even faster.

“Why do you weep, my daughter?” Castelos asked.

“Oh father, I have given birth to a monster.”

“Do not reproach yourself,” he soothed. “Monsters may have very worthy parents. Think of Gaia, the great earth goddess, mother of us all. Did she not bear those primal monsters, the Cyclopes and the Hundred-handed Giants?”

“But Geryon is already full-grown!” cried Calliroa. “And he's a killer. He steals cattle and kills their owners if they resist, and even if they don't. Everywhere he goes, he leaves a wake of corpses in his path. And now, I know, he will come here, and carry out the vengeance of the Hags by slaughtering people on your shores, fouling your waters forever.”

“Unless he's stopped,” said Castelos.

“Who can stop him?”

“Do you know of Hercules?”

“The young hero? He's a son of Zeus, isn't he?”

“But not of his wife, Hera,” said Castelos. “The jealous goddess hates Hercules and has condemned him to twelve labors. He has to fight the world's worst monsters. Hera's hope is that one of them will kill Hercules, but none of them have been able to, at least not yet.”

“But father, what does he have to do with us?”

“I've asked him to challenge your son, Geryon.”

“Will he be able to—with all those other monsters he has to fight?”

“I'm doing him a big favor in exchange.” And the river god proceeded to tell his daughter about his meeting with Hercules.

Some days before, Castelos had recognized the young hero walking along his shore and had risen from the water in his own form.

“Greetings, Hercules,” said Castelos.

“Greetings, whoever you are,” answered Hercules.

“I am Castelos. I rule this river.”

“I commend you, Castelos. Your stream is one of the most beautiful I have ever seen.”

“I mean to keep it that way,” said the river god. “But I need your help. I can help you in return.”

“What do you mean?”

“I've heard about your next labor, which is to clean out the stables of Augeas.”

“Yes,” said Hercules. “That is my next task. And I would prefer to fight any monster you can name than to go within ten miles of that dung heap he calls a farm. Augeas is the supreme slob of the Western world. He keeps two hundred head of cattle tightly penned and hasn't mucked out the place in more than twenty years. There's policy behind all this. He craves his neighbors' property, but he is too lazy to steal; so he simply stinks them out and takes their acreage as they leave. Now the task set before me is to clean the stables in one day, leaving them spotless.”

“And that's what I'm going to help you do,” said Castelos.

“How?”

“I have a reputation for belligerence. I used to drive away my daughter's suitors by turning into other forms—snapping turtle, sickle-fish, whip-snake, and so on. When my enemy was especially strong I would strike as a flood. I would rise and rise, overflow my banks, and rage across the countryside. Now, I can do the same for you, not as an enemy, but as a friend. You shall appear to provoke me, just so we may deceive Hera, and I shall go into flood, hurl my waters after you across the fields, and follow you into the Augean valley. You will race across the barnyard, through the stables, and the waters will sluice through that filthy place, washing everything clean. The flood will then withdraw so swiftly that not a cow shall drown. Yes, I'll shrink back between my banks, and your task will be done.”

“Why, that's brilliant!” cried Hercules. “I accept. Just one thing: give me a day to warn the people of the region so that they may retreat to higher ground.”

“Good,” said the river god. “I'll be ready whenever you are.”

“And what favor do you seek in return?” asked Hercules.

“I am threatened by the three-bodied monster, Geryon, who happens by evil chance to be my own grandson. Carrying out a vengeful edict of the Fates, he means to indulge in murder along my shores, fouling my water with blood and poisoning me forever.”

“And you want me to fight Geryon—stop him, somehow?”

“Yes.”

“It has been foretold that he can be killed by no one else. You are aware of that, aren't you?”

“It will not be an easy task,” said Castelos. “But none of your tasks have been easy, have they?”

“Never mind, I'll try it,” said Hercules. “It has already been decreed that I combat Geryon and take back the cattle he has stolen. Help me clean up the filthy stables, and I'll do what I can against the three-bodied monster.”

And that was our entire conversation,” said Castelos to his daughter. “I help him tomorrow. The very next day he will go after Geryon.”

G
eryon sought Hera and found her in the Garden of the Gods on the sunny slope of Mount Olympus. “Your friend Hercules is after me,” he told her.

“Indeed?” said Hera. “On his own? I meant you to be one of his labors—his last I hoped.”

“Well, he seems to be planning this on his own. My dear grandfather, Castelos, has pleaded with Hercules to slay me before I fulfill the prophecy and turn his proud river into a foul, bloody trickle choked with corpses.”

“You're ready for Hercules, aren't you?” asked Hera. “You're confident of overcoming him, I trust.”

“Confident? The Nemean Lion was confident. And the Hydra too, no doubt. And they're both very dead.”

“But the Fates have assured me that no one can kill you.”

“Perhaps not. But there are no assurances that I can't be severely damaged.”

“Geryon, is it possible that you're afraid of Hercules?” asked Hera.

“I don't know what fear is, majesty. No one ever taught me to be afraid. But I owe my string of victories not to obvious physical advantages but to the fact I weigh every detail before joining battle to make sure that I gain every possible advantage. In other words, goddess, I have begun to put together a plan of attack, and I want your help.”

“Tell me what you need, and I'll do what I can,” said Hera.

10

Send A Storm!

About ten miles off the eastern coast of Thessaly was an island that grew the most succulent grass in that part of the world. Here grazed sleek red cattle that were the envy of herdsmen everywhere.

This island had been ruled for many years by a kindly old man, known as the Old Drover, who was an expert in the ways of animals. One day Geryon had decided that the island would be a good place for him to live, at least for a while. He swam out to the island at night, climbed ashore, made his way to the palace, and slaughtered everyone in it—the Old Drover, his wife, his nine children, and his twenty-two grandchildren. Geryon spared only the servants, whom he meant to enslave and whom he threatened with death if they tried to escape.

Thereafter, Geryon dwelt on the island and increased his herds by a very simple method. He raided the mainland and robbed the coastal farms of their cattle, killing anyone who objected.

H
ercules stood now upon a rocky beach on the eastern coast of Thessaly and stared over the sea, trying to make out the shore of Geryon's island in the gathering dusk. But it was too dark. He still had a decision to make—whether to wear his lion-skin armor and lion-head helmet. This gear could turn aside any blade and was therefore very useful in battle. But it made swimming difficult. And he preferred to swim to the island rather than use a boat because he wanted to slip ashore unseen and take Geryon by surprise.

“Well,” he said to himself. “I'm too tired to swim now in any case. I'll go to sleep right here, and perhaps when morning comes I'll know what to do. Sleep sometimes confers wisdom.”

Using the lion skin as a blanket against the night wind, Hercules curled up and fell asleep. He had no idea that he was being watched.

Hera stood on Olympus gazing down on the darkening coast. Next to her stood her brother Poseidon. The stormy-tempered god of the sea had always held a special affection for Hera and was always ready to do her a favor.

“See down there,” said Hera. “That one, wrapped in a lion skin, sleeping on the headland?”

“I see him,” said Poseidon. “Is he human? No, he can't be. Too big.”

“That's Hercules,” said Hera. “He's the one I loathe most in all the world, for he was spawned by my husband Zeus and his mother was the woman I despise beyond all others. In the morning Hercules means to swim to Geryon's island and challenge the monster.”

“This Hercules has something of a reputation,” said Poseidon. “But I should think Geryon would be able to handle him without too much trouble. Why, each of his three bodies is twice as big as Hercules. No one can stand up against such a beast.”

“That may be. Nevertheless, Geryon himself has asked me to help him by crippling Hercules before the fight.”

“How do you propose to go about that, dear sister?”

“By asking your help, dear brother.”

“Ah, I thought this was no idle conversation. And how do you propose that I go about crippling that stalwart young fellow?”

“He lies now on that spit of land poking into your sea—the sea that you rule so absolutely, and can magnify or diminish at your will. This is what I want you to do. Whip up a storm. Send your waves rolling over that beach. Tear it off the mainland. Sweep it out to sea. Hercules will find himself on a patch of land that is rapidly shrinking. He will be forced to dive off and swim. When he dives, I want him to find himself among a school of hungry sharks, which you will have summoned.”

“Hercules won't be easy prey, even for sharks,” said the sea god.

“He can't possibly fight as well in the water as he does on land,” said Hera. “At the very least they should be able to chew him up enough so that he won't be in any shape to fight a monster like Geryon. Will you do this, dearest brother, dearest friend?”

“Anything for you, my sister. I just hope it works out as well as you think.”

11

The Trial of Hercules

Hercules' lion-skin armor had been an unexpected bonus of his first great victory, slaying the Nemean lion. That lion had been considered invincible, and indeed had devoured everyone who dared to challenge it. It was large as an elephant with teeth like ivory daggers. Its claws were razor-sharp hooks, and its hide could not be pierced by sword, spear, or arrow.