by Glyn Iliffe
‘Tell me about Megara.’
He did not look at Iolaus as he asked the question he had wanted to ask since they had met two days ago. There was a sigh and then silence as his nephew gathered his thoughts.
‘She seemed to have improved before I left Thebes. If she hadn’t, I would have stayed by her side for longer.’
‘I’m glad you’ve been with her. I can only imagine how difficult it’s been, but to have you there must have been a great comfort for her. I only wish… But then my presence would just have made it worse.’
He bit at his bottom lip and clenched his fists, frustrated at his fumbling words and feeling the return of his self-loathing.
‘I suppose so,’ Iolaus said. ‘And yet I think you were the one she needed the most.’
Heracles shook his head.
‘Needed? I took her children from her .’
‘That wasn’t the real you. It was a temporary insanity, a curse from the gods.’
‘That fed on something inside me! If the gods had chosen to send you mad, Iolaus, you wouldn’t have caused so much destruction. You wouldn’t have killed the ones you loved the most. Megara hates me for what I did, and the gods know I deserve it.’
‘She doesn’t hate you,’ Iolaus protested. ‘She’s filled with anger and despair, for certain, but not hate. I don’t think the love she felt for you could disappear that quickly, even after what happened. That’s why I say she needed you the most. That and the fact you’re still the only one who can tell her why.’
‘But I don’t know why. Not yet.’
He did not mention that the oracle had told him he would find the answer after he killed the Hydra. He was not sure he wanted Iolaus to be there when he found out.
‘You will,’ Iolaus said. ‘For now, though, I think she’s finding her answers elsewhere.’
Heracles stopped wading through the mist-covered water and turned to face his nephew.
‘What do you mean?’
Iolaus halted and leaned on his stave.
‘For a long time she was distraught. I stayed as close to her as I could, because I feared she might…she might find herself a dagger or a rope. Then I persuaded her to return to the house, to confront what had happened. After that, something in her changed. She seemed less distant, more interested in the world again. It’s as if she’d rediscovered a purpose for living.’
A loud cry broke the stillness of the swamp. It sounded like several rams’ horns blown all at once, rending the silence horribly before falling suddenly quiet again. Iolaus took shelter behind the nearest tree, drawing the sword clumsily from the scabbard on his back.
‘It’s found us,’ he said, staring through the thick mist. ‘What do we do?’
Heracles shook his head.
‘No, the cry came from deep within the swamp. But we know where it is now. Follow me, Iolaus – and stay close.’
Abandoning caution, he waded out in the direction of the cry. The roots of the trees had spread wide through the slime underfoot, making the surface firm and springy. But unseen obstacles still caught at his feet and threatened to trip him up. The dense mist also hampered his progress. Heracles could sense the position of the sun and used it to guide him in the direction of the monster’s cry, but he could see little more than a stone’s throw ahead of himself and nearly collided with several trees as they rose up suddenly before him.
No further calls broke the silence of the swamp, so he could not tell whether he was getting closer to the Hydra or becoming hopelessly lost. More worryingly, he only had a scant notion of how he would fight the beast when he found it. His arrows could wound it from a distance, but since one of its heads was immortal they would not kill it. That meant he would have to engage it up close and sever or crush each head in turn, until he found which one was immortal. At the same time, he would have to avoid the creature’s poisonous breath, or he would perish before he could strike a blow.
And somehow he had to convince Iolaus to stay out of the battle. Despite his scrawny beard, he was still a boy and he had never experienced the confusion and fear of a fight to the death. He recalled his nephew’s face as the Hydra’s roar had broken the silence of the swamp – a mask of terror and bewilderment. He would be a burden and a distraction, and it would be a mercy to them both if he told the lad to go back to the edge of the swamp and wait for him until it was over.
He turned about and looked back into the swirling fog. But Iolaus was nowhere to be seen.
‘Iolaus!’ he said, his deep voice resonant in the still air. ‘Are you there?’
There was no response. He listened for a while, but heard nothing.
‘Damn it, lad, where are you?’
He waded back the way he had come, unable to see much further than his outstretched arm in the fog.
‘Iolaus!’ he called, raising his voice. ‘Iolaus!’
The words sounded excessively loud as they broke the eerie silence, but there was no response. He began to fear for him, wondering if he had snagged his foot in one of the roots and broken his ankle, or worse still, fallen in some unseen hole and not re-emerged.
Then he heard a sound, like a pebble dropping into the water. He span round, and through the thick mist thought he saw something large slipping under the surface of the swamp. A series of large ripples lapped against his thighs.
‘Iolaus?’ he said, his voice lower and more cautious now. ‘Is that you?’
But as he forged his way through the mist, he saw nothing but more trees. He continued on, occasionally speaking Iolaus’s name as he tried to find his way back to the last place that he had seen him. But he saw none of the stranger-shaped trees he had remembered on the way, to act as markers should they need to retrace their route. He was lost. And so was Iolaus.
Now, more than ever, he regretted agreeing to his nephew accompanying him. Climbing up onto some protruding tree roots, he remained there for a while, looking out over the slowly thinning layer of mist. Occasionally, he would see movements out of the corner of his eye, as something large surfaced briefly and disappeared again. He remembered the merchant telling him about the other creatures that had dwelled in the swamp long before the Hydra had made its lair there. But there was still no sign of Iolaus.
The sun was higher now, its heat evaporating all but a few traces of the mist. The water remained black and opaque, and the air under the trees was warm and humid. And with the warmth came the insects. Countless mosquitoes, droning ceaselessly in his ears and settling on his bare arms and neck to drive their proboscises into his skin. He wasted much energy on swatting them away as he waded back through the swamp, searching for Iolaus. Then, somewhere in the skies above the canopy, dense clouds rolled over the face of the sun, turning the light grey and cool. Just as he had decided Iolaus would have to find his own way out of the swamp – and hopefully not into the lair of the Hydra – he smelled the savoury tang of woodsmoke. Looking round himself, he saw a distant light in the gloom and began wading towards it.
‘Damn it, lad,’ he said as he reached the low hump of ground where Iolaus had lit a fire, using a faggot of wood they had collected the previous night. ‘Put that thing out! Do you want to bring the monster down on you?’
Iolaus stretched out a hand and helped him up onto the soft grass.
‘No, I lit it to attract a different monster. Looks like it worked. And you’re covered in leeches.’
Heracles stared at his legs. From the middle of his thighs downwards, at least a dozen glossy black shapes were attached to the bare skin. He gave a shudder and seized hold of one with his finger and thumb, yanking it off and hurling it as far away from him as he could.
‘Don’t do that!’ Iolaus shouted, grabbing his wrist as he reached for another. ‘You’ll leave the suckers in the flesh. Here, sit down; I’ll get rid of them for you.’
Heracles watched in disgust as Iolaus used one hand to stretch the skin beneath each leech, then scrape them off with the thumbnail of the other, before picking them
up and tossing them into the swamp. When the last one was gone, he washed away the blood with water from his goatskin, then dabbed the wounds dry. Wrapping his cloak around his fingers, he reached for the handle of a small iron pot that was suspended over the fire.
‘Here,’ he said, pouring half the contents into a wooden bowl and handing it to his uncle. ‘I thought I’d put the fire to good use before you came along and told me to dowse it.’
Heracles blew over the steaming broth, then raised it to his lips. It was warm and salty, and even the stench of the swamp could not prevent him from savouring the taste of it. He waved away a few mosquitoes, took another sip, then glanced up at Iolaus. His nephew was emptying the rest of the pot’s contents into a bowl for himself.
‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry if I snapped at you earlier. It’s just there’s something unsettling about this swamp. Small noises and movements seen from the corner of my eye; a sense of malice, as if I’m being watched. So will you please put out that fire before we attract some unwanted attention?’
Iolaus raised the bowl to his lower lip, then paused, his eyes fixed on something behind Heracles’s shoulder.
‘I think it’s too late for that,’ he said.
He tossed his bowl aside and reached for his sword, dragging it free from its scabbard with a metallic slither. Hearing movement in the swamp behind him, Heracles turned. Something was emerging from the water. At first it looked as if a half-moon shield had floated up to the surface, sending gentle ripples lapping against the small hillock on which he and Iolaus sat. Then he saw two black eyes rise up on stalks, followed by claws the size of axe blades. As he stared at the crablike creature, two more broke the surface on either side of it.
‘What in Hades are they?’ Iolaus asked.
‘I don’t know,’ Heracles answered, fumbling for his club and unslipping the knot that tied it to his belt. It felt reassuringly heavy in his hand. ‘The merchant I spoke to at the inn said there were other monsters in the swamp long before the Hydra.’
As one, the creatures began moving towards the hillock. The two men retreated up the slope to a large tree that dominated its crown. They backed against its trunk and watched the first of the three crabs reach the foot of the mound. The grey swamp water sluiced from its black shell as it climbed onto the bank, pushing itself up on its eight legs and brandishing its enormous claws. The others followed, moving to its left and right.
Iolaus seized hold of Heracles’s shoulder.
‘There’s more behind us.’
Heracles glanced back and saw two others emerging from the water to their rear.
‘Can you handle them?’ he asked his squire.
Iolaus nodded nervously.
‘Use your height,’ Heracles told him. ‘And keep your distance. Those claws can easily take a man’s arm or leg off.’
He placed his hand on Iolaus’s shoulder, then turned to face the other three crabs. They were already advancing up the slope towards him; not sideways like normal crabs, but forward like giant spiders. Each held a claw before itself like a shield, while keeping the other low, poised to stab at his legs or body. He glanced at the creature to his left, thinking he could kill it before the others came to its aid. But there was too high a risk that the one on the right would ignore him altogether and attack Iolaus from the rear. So with a shout that tore through the silence of the swamp, he charged down the hill at the middle crab.
It ran to meet him, its bony limbs clacking together as they moved. As its companions rushed in with frightening speed on either side, Heracles smashed his club into the first crab’s left pincer. There was a hollow crack as the claw was ripped from its body and sent spinning across the swamp, to fall with a loud splash in the foul waters. The crab stumbled onto its side, waving its remaining claw defensively. Heracles kicked it away, then seeing the others close on him from both flanks, he placed one foot on the first crab’s shell and jumped over it.
He turned and landed, then sprang back up the slope. The three creatures were scuttling round to face him, but their movements were slow and unwieldy. The one to his left lunged at him, but he dodged the pointed tip of its pincer and kicked it hard, sending it stumbling backwards. At the same moment, the crab to his right struck him hard on the hip, but the edge of its claw was turned back by his lion’s skin. He lashed out at it with his club, narrowly missing it as it retreated up the slope.
The first crab attacked again, thrusting at him with its remaining claw. A single swing of his club ripped the limb from its body. He followed with a second blow that crushed the legs on its left side. The monster slumped into the grass and tried to drag itself back down into the swamp. He raised his weapon to finish it off, but a shout of pain from the other side of the hillock stopped him. Fearing for Iolaus, he ran up the hill, only to find his path blocked by the other two creatures. They attacked him simultaneously, jabbing at him with their open pincers. He drove the first back with a swipe of his club, but the second caught him in the ribs with the hard edge of its claw. The blow was powerful, knocking the breath from his body and throwing him off balance. He thrust out a foot to steady himself, just as the first crab renewed its attack, snapping at him with its pincers. He lashed out at it with his club, but his foot slipped in the mud and the blow was weak and poorly aimed. The crab caught his weapon with its claw and tore it from his grip.
Another cry rang out from the other side of the hill. Panicked and desperate, Heracles felt his anger take hold of him. The crab tossed his club aside and dashed at him, scything the air with its claws. With a shout of rage, he kicked the creature in the face. The force of the blow severed one of its eyes and flipped it onto its back. As its limbs flailed helplessly, its companion dashed to its aid. It caught Heracles a dizzying blow on the cheek, the edge of the claw drawing blood and sending a stab of pain through his head. He stumbled backwards and the crab lunged at his stomach with the other claw. He caught it with both hands, and with the strength of his fury he ripped the limb from the creature’s body. As the crab tried to scuttle away, he took hold of its shell and hurled it against the bole of the tree. There was a loud crack and the monster fell into the grass, where it lay still.
Taking the severed claw, Heracles knelt beside the remaining crab as it lay stricken on its back. He pushed the hooked end between the hard plates that protected its innards, prising them open and then stabbing furiously at the greyish-pink matter beneath. Its legs beat at the air for a few moments longer, then stopped. Heracles was on his feet in a moment, sprinting up the grass to the top of the small hill.
He expected to see his nephew’s dismembered body spread across the opposite slope. Instead, one of the crabs lay lifeless at the bottom of the hillock, a grey liquid oozing from a hole in the top of its shell. The other was battling against Iolaus, its claws clattering against his sword as it forced him back to the edge of the swamp. Iolaus’s thigh was red with blood and there was a cut on his upper arm. He was fighting hard, but his face was pale and he was beginning to weaken.
Heracles ran down the slope and slammed his foot down on the crab’s back, flattening it against the grass. He seized hold of its claws and wrenched them from its body. Iolaus stepped forward, and with both hands on the hilt of his sword drove the point down into its shell. Its legs twitched briefly, then slumped against the earth and were still.
Slowly, Iolaus’s fingers slipped from around the hilt of his sword and he fell unconscious to the ground. Heracles knelt beside him. The wound on his thigh was long and deep, but had not severed any arteries. Picking him up in his arms, he ran to the other side of the hill where the fire was still burning. He lay him down beside it and cleaned the wound with fresh water, before tearing off strips of wool from Iolaus’s cloak and binding it. He did the same for the cut on his upper arm, then poured a little water between his open lips. Iolaus’s eyes flickered open.
‘You’re weak from blood loss,’ Heracles told him.
‘I’m fine,’ Iolaus replied, p
ushing himself up on one elbow. ‘I feel fine.’
He slumped down onto his back again and stared groggily up at the dense canopy of leaves above them.
‘Perhaps a little sleep will help,’ he said.
‘Not yet. Eat some food first.’
‘Shouldn’t we put the fire out? What if we attract more of those things?’
Heracles looked around at the shadow-filled swamp. There was no sign of movement in the water, and the feeling of being watched had lessened.
‘I don’t think they’ll attack again,’ he replied, taking off his lion-skin and draping it over his nephew. ‘And we can’t go searching for the Hydra in the dark, so we’ll keep the fire going a little longer and take some rest. You fought well against those crabs.’
Iolaus shook his head and looked at the dead monsters around him.
‘You killed three, and you didn’t need my help.’
‘That’s why I know how hard you must have fought,’ Heracles replied. He reached over to one of the dead creatures and pulled off a leg. ‘And now for the spoils of war. Ever eaten crab, Iolaus?’
Chapter Sixteen
Through the Eyes of the Gods
Heracles woke with a start. Seizing hold of his club, he sat up and looked round himself. Everything was in darkness. Somewhere above, the moon was riding its slow course through a cloudless sky, but there was little evidence of it beneath the dense canopy of leaves that roofed the Lernean Swamp. Here and there, slender columns of silver light had broken through to lend the place a spectral aura, as if the ghosts of the travellers who had lost their lives in the marshes had risen up again from the murky waters.
He cursed himself for having fallen asleep. If more crabs had come in the darkness, he and Iolaus would have been easy prey. Fortunately, there was no sign of movement in the glossy black waters that surrounded the hillock, and no gleam of armoured shell or claw on the grass below. But he knew something had woken him up.
