by Glyn Iliffe
Heracles dropped his bow in the grass, threw off his quiver and untied the loop that fastened his club to his belt. Pulling the damp scarf up over his mouth and nose, he waded into the water. The Hydra stood its ground before the cave, its heads fanning out in readiness to meet his attack. Taking a deep breath, Heracles rushed forward. One of the heads swooped down, its jaws opening wide as it spewed a cloud of yellow gas at him. He squinted and swung his club with both hands. The blow caught the head beneath the chin, knocking it backwards with a crack. Several teeth flew into the air and the broken jaw hung loose, dripping green blood into the waters below, where it hissed and sent up a spray of steam. The head hung for a moment, then dropped down into the water with a huge splash. Ducking beneath the darting attack of another head, Heracles dashed forward and brought his club down on the fallen skull. The blow smashed through the bone and popped the blood-red eyeballs from their sockets.
With a triumphant snarl, he sucked in another lungful of air and turned to face an attack from his left. The Hydra sent a jet of gas into his face and, even as he held his breath against it, he felt a sudden dizziness dimming his vision. With a grunt, he lashed out with the club and caught the head on the cheekbone, caving it in so that it dropped lifeless into the swamp.
Two more heads swooped down at him, spewing their venomous breath so that he was forced to hold the damp scarf tightly over his mouth and nose. He swung at them, but the monster had already learned to respect the gnarled club – and the arm that wielded it – and pulled away before the blow could connect.
Light-headed, he staggered back and snatched another lungful of bitter air. But as he waded forward again, the first slain head began to twitch. Suddenly it drew itself up, thrashing violently from side to side. The shattered jaw flew off into the water, followed by the rest of the head. As Heracles stared at the stump of the neck, a long snout emerged from the raw flesh. A moment later, the rest of the new head forced itself fully formed from the remnants of the old.
It snapped its jaws at the air and released a muted cry, which was joined by the others. Momentarily ignoring Heracles, they moved in to rub their muzzles against its scaly cheeks, welcoming it with a monstrous display of affection. Was this, then, the immortal head spoken of by the oracle, Heracles wondered? But as the thought entered his mind, the other head that he had killed also began to move. The neck rose up from the swamp, shedding the dead skull as it did so. Within moments, a new head was squeezing its way out of the bloody remains, assuming the place of the old as if nothing had happened. It threw open its jaws and roared triumphantly, its voice shaking the boles of the trees around the clearing. The others raised their heads towards the broken canopy above and echoed the deafening cry. Then, as one, they turned their gaze on Heracles.
He knew then that the labour was beyond him. Hera had won. He would never understand why he had killed his own children, and he would never be free of the guilt of their murder. His spirit sank, and for a moment he considered throwing away his club and letting the heads of the Hydra fight over which would have the pleasure of killing him. Then he thought of Hera and her satisfaction at finally destroying him, and how much more she would enjoy the knowledge that he had simply given up. No mortal could frustrate the will of the gods, he reminded himself, but he could at least spoil their enjoyment of it. He gripped his club and advanced to meet his enemy.
Three heads attacked him simultaneously. One sprayed him with its venomous breath while the others darted at him from both sides. Holding the scarf tightly over his face, he swung at the nearest, shattering its teeth and sending it reeling backwards. The second dived on him with frightening speed, locking its jaws around his ribs and lifting him out of the water. Though the lion’s hide prevented the fangs from penetrating his flesh, the pain as its jaws crushed his body was excruciating. He pushed the heel of his hand against its snout, relieving some of the pressure, and brought his club down on top of the monster’s skull. It gave an anguished cry and released its hold on him.
There was an instant of darkness as he fell back into the swamp and his face sank beneath the fetid waters. Then he was free again, gulping down a lungful of foul-tasting air as he staggered back to his feet. The traces of the Hydra’s poisonous breath made his vision blur and his head spin. He clutched the wet scarf over his mouth, then realized his club was no longer in his hand.
A shadow fell over him. Looking up, he saw another head plunging down towards him, its mouth wide and its teeth dripping saliva. He seized hold of its jaws, forcing them apart before they could bite his head from his shoulders. The monster’s power was incredible and it took all his might to prevent its long fangs from closing on him. Then he glimpsed a second head darting towards him, its mouth open wide.
Summoning all his reserves of strength, he prised the jaws apart and snapped the joint. The Hydra cried out hideously, its lower jaw flapping uselessly as it pulled away. In the same instant, Heracles heard a twang and saw the second head twist aside, a black-feathered arrow protruding from its red eye. The other heads pulled back, shaking the air with a rage-filled blast.
Heracles turned and saw Iolaus standing on the small knoll, empty bow in hand. In that place of darkness and despair, faced by an enemy more terrible than he could ever have imagined, the sight of his squire renewed his hope and strength. Iolaus gave a nervous smile, then pulled his sword from the scabbard on his back and tossed it through the air towards him. Heracles reached up and caught it.
‘Watch out!’ Iolaus called, pointing behind him.
Heracles turned, just as two of the heads darted towards him. Seeing that one still had Iolaus’s arrow sticking out of its left eye, he ran to his right and out of its field of vision. As he had hoped, the creature veered blindly towards him, colliding with the other head. They roared and snapped at each other, momentarily forgetting their enemy. Heracles swung his sword down upon the neck of the nearest and the blade passed clean through the flesh. The head fell into the swamp with a loud splash, sending up jets of steam as its poisonous blood reacted with the water. As the neck pulled away, the second head lunged at Heracles, while a third swooped down behind him. He thrust the point of his sword into the forehead of the first, dropping it lifeless into the water. Jerking it free again, he swung it in a wide arc to meet the open mouth of the other. The blade cleaved through the bottom jaw, smashing several teeth and severing the tongue. The head pulled back, raining blood over the swamp
Heracles turned to look at the two he had killed. A fanged snout was already emerging from the stump of the first. The second had risen up from the water, its lifeless jaws being prised apart from within as a new head forced its way from the ruin of the old. He clenched his fist in frustration. How was he supposed to kill the Hydra if every time he crushed or hewed off a head, a new one grew back in its place? But that was the point of the labour – he was not supposed to succeed. Hera gave tasks through Eurystheus that were meant to be impossible, because she wanted her husband’s child by another woman to be destroyed – whether by the teeth and claws of some foul monster, or by his own hand because of the guilt of what he had done. Guilt that could only be washed away by completing the tasks set for him.
It seemed there was nothing he could do except to die fighting, or admit defeat and run back into the swamp. And yet, though he felt his muscles tiring and his mind beginning to fog because of the traces of the Hydra’s breath he had inhaled, he refused to face the ignominy of retreat. He clutched the sword and looked up at the beast. Its seven heads flailed in anguished fury, preparing to renew the attack.
He heard splashing behind him and turned to see Iolaus wading through the scum-covered water. He carried Heracles’s torch above his head.
‘Get back!’ Heracles shouted. ‘It’s too dangerous.’
But it was too late. The Hydra let out an ear-splitting blast and sent a head darting towards him.
‘Use the torch,’ Iolaus shouted, tossing it to his uncle.
Heracles caught i
t deftly, only to see the serpent-like snout crash into Iolaus and hurl him into the trees. With a bellow of rage, Heracles leaped towards the lone head, swinging the blade down before it could recoil and hacking through its scaled neck. The head plunged into the swamp and green blood oozed from the open neck, steaming as it hit the water.
And then he understood what Iolaus had meant.
Use the torch to cauterize the wound .
He plunged the flames into the exposed flesh. It hissed loudly and the stench of charred meat and heated blood was awful, but he held the torch against it until the stump was blackened. The neck jerked backwards, writhing blindly and beating itself in a frenzy against the other heads. Heracles glanced into the trees, wanting to go back and find his nephew. Then two of the Hydra’s heads threw themselves at him, belching clouds of their venomous breath.
He snatched a lungful of air and pulled the scarf back over his mouth and nose, just as the yellow fog enveloped him. Unable to see, he ducked down so that he was kneeling up to his chest in the swamp. A moment later, one of the huge heads plunged through the mist, snapping its jaws blindly. As it rushed past him, he stood and brought his sword down, decapitating it instantly. The neck pulled away, trembling as it waved back and forth.
Sensing a movement behind him, Heracles turned to see the second head nosing through what remained of the mist. Again his vision began to blur and his senses fade, but mustering his strength he staggered forward and plunged the sword into the monster’s eye. It shrieked horribly and almost twisted the weapon from its hand. He yanked it free and ducked aside as the Hydra lunged forward, snapping at the air where he had been standing. With an upward sweep of the sword, he lopped off the head and a length of the neck, then held the flames to the wound. It cauterized quickly, allowing him to return to the stump of the first, which was still waving around blindly. The blood was frothing and the nostrils and front teeth of the new head were beginning to form as he pressed the torch against it. The flames caught in the exposed flesh, turning it black.
The neck withdrew and Heracles fell back from the dissipating yellow cloud, his lungs burning. He gulped in the clean air as soon as he was free, though it did little to clear his vision or lessen the fierce headache that was pounding the inside of his skull. He stared into the trees, but could see nothing of Iolaus in the gloom. Then he felt the ground shake beneath him and looked back to see the Hydra moving across the clearing. It raised its four remaining heads and let out a loud cry. But it was not like the angry blasts that had sent shock waves around the swamp earlier. It was a call.
Sword in hand, he turned to face the next attack. But it did not come. Instead, the Hydra raised its gaze to the swamp behind him, and in the same moment Heracles heard the creak and splash of falling trees. Daring to avert his eyes from the towering monster, he glanced over his shoulder. Something big and powerful was tearing a path through the swamp, though its form was lost in the shadows. Then the trees nearest the water’s edge were torn from their roots and thrown aside. A black crab emerged from the gloom, many times bigger than the creatures Heracles and Iolaus had killed the day before. It raised it claws and lurched forward on its skeletal legs.
For a heartbeat, Heracles hoped it might overlook him and attack the Hydra, leaving him to fight whatever remained of the survivor. But the crab seemed unconcerned with the monster at the other end of the clearing, and turned its attention on Heracles.
Knowing his only hope of defeating the Hydra depended on keeping the torch burning, he waded across the water towards the knoll where his bow and arrows lay. The Hydra called out, and as if acting on its instructions the crab moved to intercept him. Its eight legs took it across the swamp in moments, thwarting his hopes of reaching the knoll. Then he felt the earth shudder beneath his feet and heard the trumpet-like blast of the Hydra as it moved up behind him.
The crab opened its pincers and advanced. He ran to meet it, at the same time throwing the torch so that it soared over the monster’s back and landed among the roots of the tree. A claw larger than himself swept towards him, forcing him to dive into the shallow water to avoid the blow. Staggering back to his feet – his sandals slipping in the thick slime – he brought the sword up and swung at the armoured pincer. It bounced off, the force of the impact almost tearing the sword from his grip. The crab swept its claw back, catching Heracles full in the body and sending him flying across the swamp. The filthy waters swept over him and he felt his spine jar against an outflung tree root. Despite the pain, he pushed himself back up in time to see the crab rushing towards him, its pincer angled to drive down into his prostrate body. He rolled aside as it struck the water, narrowly missing him.
Jumping to his feet, he seized hold of the claw. The crab tried to wrench it free, almost lifting him from the ground as it did so. Heracles responded with a mighty shout and pulled with all his strength. There was a loud crack as the limb parted from the crab’s body. Seemingly oblivious to its loss, the monster struck him with its remaining claw. He flew across the swamp and was swallowed up by the foul water.
As he dragged himself free, gasping for air, he was aware of a bright light in the corner of his vision. For a moment he was confused as to what it was. Then his focus returned and he saw that the tree on the knoll had caught fire, transforming itself into a giant torch. Fiery flakes were floating across the clearing, and at first all he could think of was his bow and quiver, fearing they would be consumed by the inferno. He heard the call of the Hydra and saw its remaining heads swaying angrily in the column of dark smoke billowing out from the fire. Then he felt the shadow of the crab looming over him.
Somehow, Iolaus’s sword was still in his hand. Dazed and sick, he forced himself to his knees, holding the weapon before him. The crab knocked it from his hand with a sweep of its claw and it fell into the water several arms’ lengths away. But the monster did not risk its remaining claw against him a second time. Instead, it pushed itself up on its eight legs to reveal the armoured plates beneath its body. Realizing its intent, he staggered towards the sword. He had taken no more than three steps before he lost his grip in the slime and fell.
He twisted as he fell, landing on his back as the water washed over him and clouded his vision. He saw the bubbles of air as they left his lungs, and was aware of the orange glow from the burning tree. Then everything went black. The water swirled in a tumult around him and he felt the immense weight of the crab pressing down on him, grinding him into the floor of the swamp with its hard underbelly.
Most of the air had already been pushed from his lungs; what remained was sufficient for a few more moments of life only. Fighting back the sense of panic that was clawing at his nerves, he flattened the palms of his hands against the broad plate that was pinning him to the slime and pushed. Slowly, he felt the weight above him begin to shift. But the crab felt it too. From the gloomy edges of his vision – through the shadows and the swirling filth – he glimpsed the pale underside of its skeletal legs, twisting and pushing as they burrowed into the depths of the swamp, purchasing a grip with which it could pull its body down upon him. He felt the pressure increase, just as the burning inside his lungs became unbearable.
Then he felt a strange peace drive the fear from his mind. Was death so bad, he thought? Would it not be a release from the horror of his daily existence, from the pain and the guilt? All he had to do was relax. Let go of the life he had been clinging on to so desperately and for so long.
No, Daddy. It is not a release. It is true horror, true pain, and it never goes away .
The voice belonged to Therimachus, as clear in his head as if his son had been lying next to him. The shock of it jolted him back to his senses. He felt the weight of the crab bearing down on him again, felt the burning in his tired limbs and the thumping pain inside his skull. And through it all he heard the echo of his son’s voice. It never goes away .
He flattened his hands against the underbelly of the crab and tensed his muscles.
Zeus , he p
rayed. Father, don’t let Hera have the victory. Give me the strength I need .
The cold, calm peace of death was lifted from him. He felt fresh vigour coursing through his body, stiffening every nerve and sinew and filling him with renewed power. His arms shook and the muscles hardened as he pushed up against the crushing mass above him. Slowly, he felt the crab’s legs lose their grip in the slimy floor of the swamp. And then the terrible load began to give way to the strength in his arms. Yet he could not push his head and upper body above the water, and the air in his lungs had all but emptied.
Taking the weight of the crab on a single arm, he tore the hunting knife from his belt and sank it into a gap between the crab’s armour. A thick cloud of grey liquid sluiced out into the waters around him. The monster jerked upwards and the pressure was gone.
Heracles burst free of the water. Every nerve in his body was screaming with pain. He was barely able to snatch a lungful of air before the water he had swallowed rose up from his stomach and was vomited back into the swamp. Forcing himself to glance up, he saw the crab’s underbelly slipping away above him. Knowing he could not allow it to escape, he staggered to his feet and seized hold of its underbelly. Shouting against the pain, he pushed his feet apart and lifted the creature from the ground. Its legs beat at the air and somewhere above him he could hear the snapping of its single claw, but the crab was suddenly powerless.
From beneath the shadow of its belly, he could see the Hydra at the centre of the clearing, only a spear’s throw away. It opened its mouths and split the air with a series of blasts, venting its hatred at him. Feeling his own fury rising in response, he concentrated the strength in his arms and hurled the crab towards it. The monster landed on its back, sending up a wall of water against the Hydra. Sensing it was being attacked, it doused the upturned crab with a cloud of yellow mist. The stricken creature clawed at the air for a few moments longer, then folded up its limbs and remained still.
