SON OF ZEUS

by Glyn Iliffe

  At first he could not see her. Then a pale figure emerged from the shadow of the trees. He crossed the dew-damp grass to where she waited for him, the only sounds the wind rustling the leaves of the wood and the slight movements of the goats inside the stone pen. Nesaia held her hand out for him and silently led him beneath the eaves of the wood, following a narrow path until the cottage was lost from sight. The light from the half-moon cast long shadows and, for a moment, he watched for a glimpse of the white hind among the black boles of the trees. But they were alone.

  They reached a space beneath a large tree. Turning, she reached her hands up to his face and ran her fingers through his beard. Wordless, she looked into his eyes, as if feeling for his thoughts. Then she placed her mouth against his. Her lips were cool and soft at first, but as their tongues met, he felt her passion quicken. His large hands slipped around her waist, drawing her body close to his own. She slid her arms around his neck and kissed him harder, surrendering to her passions.

  Their lips parted and she placed her hands against his chest, pushing him away. She was breathing faster now and there was almost a look of desperation in her eyes. Then she reached down for the hem of her dress and pulled it up over her head. Glancing down, he saw the lines of her ribs and the dash of hair beneath her armpits as her arms were extended upwards. Then she threw the dress aside and laid her hands on his shoulders, leaning back a little to let his gaze explore her nakedness. He reached up to cup one of her breasts, running his thumb over the hard nipple before letting his hand slide down her ribs to rest on her hip.

  ‘You’re beautiful,’ he told her.

  ‘I want you,’ she replied. ‘I wanted you the first moment I saw you, that day on Mount Parnassus. It shamed me then, because my husband had died only the day before. It still does, but I don’t care any more.’

  And what of himself, he thought? His wife still lived, and as he looked at Nesaia standing naked before him, he knew that he still loved her. But as he thought of Megara, he remembered her anger, her fierce rejection of him and the terrible pain of it.

  Nesaia reached down and touched him through the wool of his tunic. He let his memories of Megara fade, giving in to his desire to feel a woman’s passion again. He pulled the tunic over his head and threw it aside. For a moment, he enjoyed the feel of her eyes roaming across his chest and arms, taking pleasure in the caress of her imagination. Then he leaned down and scooped her up by her buttocks, kissing her hard as she wrapped her legs around his lower back. Soon they were lying in the dew-damp grass, forgetting the scars of their past and succumbing to the needs of their flesh.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Temple of Artemis

  Nesaia and her family lived on the foothills of Mount Artemisius, named for the goddess whom some said could be seen hunting in the woods when the moon was full. As Heracles walked with Myrine and her goats to the river where she had seen the sacred hind, he saw a grove of plane trees on the hillside above, from which a column of pale smoke was rising up into the clear morning sky. Myrine saw the direction of his gaze and told him it was a temple of Artemis, where a strange old woman served as priestess. Her grandfather, she said, thought the woman was insane, that she had too often sought the goddess by drinking strange potions of her own making, which had left her mind more in the realm of the gods than in the world of the living.

  Before long, they crested a ridge and saw the River Ladon at the bottom of the opposite slope. It was choked with rocks that had tumbled down from the mountain above, and the sound of the water rushing over them filled the valley. Both banks were lined by belts of tall pines, except at a bulge in the river where the trees had been cleared. This, Heracles assumed, was the ford where Myrine had seen the animal. He looked, but there was no sign of its white fur or golden antlers flitting through the shaded undergrowth on either side of the Ladon.

  ‘Give me a little time to hide myself,’ he said to Myrine.

  She looked at him uncertainly and nodded. After a last look along the valley, he ran down the hill to the ford. He had left his lion-skin at the cottage and instead wore a cloak made from the pelt of the deer he had slain the day before. The rope net that he had carried the logs back from the wood with, was clutched in his hand. It was big enough to cover the hind, and he had taken the precaution of weighting the corners with blocks of wood. He also carried his bow and arrows, though he could not use them on the animal. He had felt naked without them, though, and despite an admonishing voice in his head had decided to bring them anyway.

  He reached the edge of the ford and knelt in the soft mud. Scooping up large handfuls, he rubbed the damp black earth over his naked legs and arms, before smearing it on his face and ears. He stood and looked at his reflection in the gently rippling water: the face that stared back at him was black, but for the white ovals of his eyes. Next, he tore several of the lower limbs from the nearby trees, then, lying down in a bed of ochre pine needles close to the riverbank, he covered himself with the branches. With the net by his side, ready to snatch up when the opportunity came, he rested his chin on his hands and waited.

  Once he was hidden, Myrine whistled to her goats and chivvied them on before her. They shambled down the slope, bells ringing and voices bleating querulously, then stopped by the river and began chewing at the grass. None ventured near to Heracles, as the falls of pine needles beneath the trees had killed off any edible vegetation. Last of all, Myrine came and pulled herself up onto a large boulder, dangling her legs over the edge and taking up the light-hearted tune she had been singing when he had met her the day before.

  As he watched her, he found himself thinking of her mother. His liaison with Nesaia had been a release of suppressed emotions for both of them. She had needed the touch of a man again, though whether her thoughts were on him as they had made love or still lingered on her husband, he could not tell. For him, Nesaia had provided a vent for some of his inner turmoil. After Megara, he needed the reassurance of someone’s affections. But his wife had not been far from his thoughts, and the guilt of betraying his marriage bed stayed with him afterwards.

  A movement on the other side of the river caught his attention. Hugging the ground as closely as he could, he saw a flash of white in the dappled shade of the trees opposite. Myrine had seen it too, for her song faltered for a moment, before quickly picking up again. Heracles found his heart thudding in his chest as the hind stepped out onto the opposite bank of the river. She stood with her head high, listening to the child’s voice and at the same time testing the breeze for the scent of enemies. Myrine glanced in Heracles’s direction, a look of guilt and uncertainty on her face. Then the hind stepped into the water and began to ford the river. Her steps were slow and graceful, and her head moved this way and that, as if she suspected a trap. But she did not stop, eventually reaching the bank only a stone’s throw from where Heracles lay in wait.

  His fingers tightened around the net, anticipating the moment when he would spring his trap. The hind was oblivious to him, despite Myrine’s frequent glances, and as the little girl continued to sing her song she edged slowly closer to her, while the ring of goats moved further away. But then she was too close. The deer stood in front of the boulder, eye to eye with Myrine so that the child could have reached out and touched her. If he stood and threw the net now, it would almost certainly fall over the child as well and risk tangling her up with the panicking animal.

  He waited. To his dismay, Myrine reached towards the hind and stroked her nose. Then, to his amazement, she turned her flank, as if inviting the girl to climb on her back. Myrine, too, understood the gesture and succumbed to the temptation, pulling her feet up onto the rock and reaching out for the golden antlers.

  Heracles sucked in air through his teeth. He had expected too much of the child, and now, if she climbed on the animal’s back, the slightest movement from himself would startle the creature and send her fleeing back across the ford with Myrine hanging on for her life.

  He threw as
ide the branches, jumped to his feet and ran towards the hind.

  ‘Myrine, get down!’

  The child threw her hands over her head and crouched down into a ball on top of the boulder. The hind turned, her black eyes wide and her mouth open. A heartbeat later, she was springing from the bank into the fast-flowing water. In the same instant, Heracles let the net drag out behind him, then threw it towards her. The wooden blocks pulled it open, so that as it span through the air it looked like an enormous spider’s web. But the hind’s reaction had been too quick. She gave another bound, raising herself above the water as she jumped, and almost slipped free of the rapidly descending net. One corner snagged on a horn of her right antler, but a flick of her head threw it off again. It fell with a splash in the river.

  Heracles dashed into the water after the hind. He knew his only hope was to catch her there in the ford, before she reached land and could use her speed to escape beyond any hope of capture. The water exploded around him, and for a moment he could see he was gaining on her. Then his foot slipped on a rock and he felt his ankle give beneath him. He fell onto his knees in the river, and though the waters were shallow, they swept over him. He sprang back up, spitting out cold liquid and gasping for air. But the hind was already nearing the far bank and showed no signs of slowing.

  ‘No!’ he shouted, his voice torn with anguish.

  Then he remembered the bow on his shoulder and the arrows in the quiver at his side. This was his last chance; he knew it in his heart, and yet as he drew the bow and fitted an arrow, he quailed at the thought of spilling the creature’s blood.

  Then an idea struck him. Its execution would be near impossible, but it was his only hope. He raised the bow and pulled the string back to his cheek, lining the shaft of the arrow with the hind.

  ‘Don’t hurt it!’ Myrine called desperately from behind him, her words almost drowned out by the rush of the river. ‘You promised.’

  He could hear the tears in her voice, but forced her anguish from his mind. The deer had reached the opposite bank. Ignoring the pain in his ankle, he spread his feet apart on the stony riverbed and steadied his aim. The hind threw a last glance over her shoulder, looking to see how close her pursuer was before she sprang away and left him far behind. As she prepared to leap up the slope and disappear into the trees, he focused on his mark and released the arrow.

  The instant it left the string, he lowered the bow and looked towards his target. The hind stumbled forward and collapsed.

  ‘You’ve killed it!’ Myrine cried out.

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ he said.

  As he spoke, the hind lifted its head from the ground. It tried to regain its feet, but though its back legs remained strong, its forelegs were locked together and it slumped back down again. Heracles limped across the ford towards it, using his bow as a staff. The hind saw his approach and began to struggle, crying like a child as it did so. The pitiful sound struck him hard. He paused at the river’s edge, wondering whether he had the right to lay his hands – which had committed so much evil – on a creature of such innocence and purity. Yet the labour had been set by the gods, and only a god could have guided his arrow to its mark. The hind was his to take, however much his conscience might object.

  He climbed the bank and knelt by the animal’s side. Her flanks were rising and falling with nervous rapidity. Slowly, he laid his hands on her ribs, then her long neck, stroking the white fur in awe. She lifted her head to look at him, her eyes wide with fear.

  ‘Peace. I won’t harm you.’

  She kicked at the earth with her back legs, the bronze hooves throwing up a shower of mud and pebbles. He stroked her neck and side again until she lay calm once more. Then he looked at his arrow, which had passed between the bone and sinew of both forelegs. It had been an incredible shot, the only one that could have stopped her escaping without causing her harm. But as he watched, he saw a scarlet bead roll down the shaft of the arrow and drip onto the stones below. It was not a serious wound, and if he removed the arrow the hind would be able to regain her feet and run as quickly and easily as she had done before. But he had harmed her nonetheless, and was answerable to Artemis for what he had done.

  He delved into his satchel and pulled out his rope, cutting off two lengths with his hunting knife. The first he used to tie the hind’s back legs together. He wrapped the second more gently around the ankles of her forelegs, careful not to aggravate the wound. Then he snapped off the fletched end of the arrow and pulled the remainder through the wound, tossing the two halves away into the grass. The hind flinched, but seemed resigned to her capture.

  Carefully, he lifted her onto his shoulders and returned to the water, hobbling slightly on his sprained ankle. The slimed stones were treacherous underfoot and the fast current pulled constantly at his legs, but he soon reached the other side where Myrine and her goats were waiting for him. She reached up to touch the hind’s back.

  ‘She’s bleeding,’ she said, a note of shock in her high voice.

  ‘It’s just a flesh wound,’ he said. ‘It will heal quickly.’

  ‘What will you do with her?’

  ‘Take her to the man who told me to capture her.’

  ‘Then will you come back to us?’

  He looked down at her.

  ‘I can’t. I have other labours to complete before I’m free to do as I wish.’

  ‘But there’s something you don’t know—’

  ‘I’m sorry, Myrine. Thank you for helping me catch the hind.’

  He shifted the animal on his shoulders and turned to leave. She protested a little, but soon lay still again.

  ‘Artemis will be angry that you’ve harmed her deer,’ Myrine said after him. ‘But if you sacrifice one of my goats at her temple on your way back, she might forgive you.’

  Before he could reply, she ran off and caught one of her flock by the horns. Tying a piece of rope around its neck, she reached up and slipped the other end into his hand.

  ‘Thank you again,’ he said.

  She threw her arms about him and held him tight. He laid his hand on her head and stroked her hair, until she finally pulled away. Her eyes were damp, making the parting more difficult.

  ‘Goodbye, Myrine.’

  ‘Goodbye, my lord.’

  He limped up the slope towards the ridge. At the top, he turned and waved to her, then carried on down into the next valley. The hind remained placid until they came into view of the temple on the hill, when she began to struggle against his hold.

  ‘Be still,’ he commanded. ‘We will be in the presence of your mistress soon enough. And then we’ll find out if a goat’s life is worth a few drops of your precious blood.’

  He climbed the slope towards the grove of plane trees. Smoke still trailed up from their midst and the air carried the smell of burning wood and incense. Picking up a well-worn track, he followed it into the grove to a small clearing. The sun was still low in the east, leaving the glade mostly in shadow, though a few beams of light found their way in through the surrounding ring of trees. At the far end of the clearing was an outcrop of rock, from which a spring flowed into a small pool. A crude altar of whitewashed stone stood before the pool, though the whitewash was stained with age and the dried blood of many animals. A modest fire burned beside it. Looking around, Heracles saw an awning strung between two trees on the right-hand side of the clearing, with a mattress and a woollen blanket beneath it. But there was no sign of the priestess.

  He laid the hind down in the thick grass, then – after washing his hands in the pool – gathered up the goat in his arms and placed it on the altar. Drawing his knife, he cut a lock of the animal’s hair and tossed it into the fire.

  ‘Mistress Artemis,’ he began, pinning the goat against the altar with one hand and lifting his knife with the other. ‘I have offended you. I have harmed an animal under your protection, though it was not my wish to do so. Please accept this goat’s blood in place of my own, for—’

  ‘Your
sacrifices are not wanted here.’

  Heracles felt a jolt of pain shoot through his right hand, as if the knife it held was burning hot. He released it at once and it fell into the grass. Turning, he saw an old woman standing in the clearing behind him. Her white robes were patched and worn, and her grey hair hung down over her shoulders in lank, bedraggled locks. She was painfully thin and the leathery skin of her arms and legs was spotted with sores. Her face was deeply lined and the deep-set eyes that stared out of it seemed to look right through him.

  ‘I’ve come to—’

  ‘I know what you seek – forgiveness for the shedding of innocent blood. Poor fool! Do you think a goat’s life will atone for what you’ve done?’

  ‘I never intended to harm the animal,’ Heracles replied, glancing at the hind as she lay in the grass. ‘The gods know the last thing I want is more blameless blood on my hands! But I was given no choice.’

  ‘There is always a choice.’

  Heracles gave a bitter laugh.

  ‘Not for me. The gods commanded me to serve King Eurystheus of Tiryns, and he ordered me to capture the hind. But the wound is light and will heal quickly.’

  The priestess walked to the stricken hind and knelt by its side. Her fingers hovered over the wound for a moment, then she turned her gaze on Heracles.

  ‘Do you think the goddess is concerned about this ?’ she asked. ‘Why, the wound has already healed.’

  Heracles looked at the hind’s back legs, and to his amazement there was no sign of an injury. Then the priestess touched the leather ropes about the animal’s ankles and they fell away. Heracles ran to stop the hind escaping, but the old woman thrust out her hand and in an instant he was thrown back against the altar. Despite the power in his muscles, he was unable to move.

  ‘She will not run while I am here,’ the priestess told him.

  The hind rose to her feet and, showing no fear, lowered her head and began cropping the grass. The priestess let her hand drop to her side and the unseen force that had held Heracles back disappeared. He fell forward and had to seize hold of the altar behind him to keep his balance. Taking the chance of freedom, the goat jumped down and ran off to the edge of the glade, where it began nonchalantly tearing at the grass.