by Joe Corcoran
tiny piece, then he knocked down a giant and put some in its mouth. Nothing. He even tried wearing some in his hair. The only thing that changed was that he had less and less of the precious herb left, and there was no way to get more. His patience was exhausted. The gods were fighting in a tight ring around the top of Mount Olympus, and they were tiring. Hercules saw Ares smashed to the ground by one giant, barely scrambling away in time to avoid its clutches. He glowered at a piece of the herb, which he held between his thumb and forefinger, as if it were deliberately trying to trick him.
“What use are you?” he shouted at the small green stalk, “Why was I sent to the ends of the earth for you when you do nothing?”
As Hercules shouted, his knuckles grew white and his hand shook as his tremendous strength was applied to this one tiny thing he held. It was too much, and with a popping sound that seemed too loud for the size of the leaf, the herb was crushed to dust. Hercules recoiled as a thin trail of smoke curled up from between his fingers, where the herb had been moments earlier. Even at arm’s length, the smell of this was overpowering. Hercules felt his head spin and his limbs lock in place. Clamping his mouth shut, he held his breath, watching the smoke waver and dissolve into the air. Now he knew the secret, but there was so little of the herb left – he wondered if it would be enough.
The sound of cruel laughter from nearby made him put these thoughts aside. One of the giants had grabbed the goddess Athene and was crushing her in a bear hug. The other gods would have rushed to her aid, but they were too busy fighting for their own lives. Hercules realised that this was now down to him, that he would have to beat this giant – and many more like it – but not a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. He raced over and, jumping high into the air, landed a terrific blow on the side of the giant’s head. Surprised and dizzy, the giant dropped Athene, who fell to the ground and stood gasping for breath. Now Hercules swept his club at the giant’s legs, catching it just above the ankles and sending it crashing to the ground. Running up the giant’s body, Hercules grasped a morsel of the herb, as before, between his thumb and forefinger. With all his might he squeezed, popping the herb right under the giant’s nose, while being careful to hold his own breath. The giant’s face registered a moment of surprise, then of disgust at the vile stench, then it froze. A milky greyness flowed along its enormous body, from the head to the toes and fingers. When it was finished, Hercules found himself standing, not on a giant, but on a piece of rock. The giant had been turned to stone and would, now and forever, be a part of the mountain.
Athene, who had seen the transformation, directed Hercules to other parts of the fight. One by one, and working with the other gods and goddesses, they disabled the giants long enough for Hercules to use the herb and turn them to stone. With each giant that was defeated the work grew easier, until all the gods together faced just one remaining enemy, the leader of the giants – Alcyoneus. Although he was outnumbered, he was in no mood to give in. Twice as big as any of the other giants, Alcyoneus fought ferociously - sometimes even driving the gods back. Finally Hercules and Artemis, working together, pinned him down with a shower of arrows. Then Zeus blasted Alcyoneus to the ground with a thunderbolt. Victory in sight, Hercules ran up to the giant’s huge head and … nothing. The herb had run out. There was none left, and now there was no way on earth to defeat Alcyoneus.
Working quickly, before the giant could regain his strength, the gods brought heaps and coils of strong chains, wrapping him tightly so that he could not move. Even so, when Alcyoneus awoke, he strained so hard that the metal groaned and some of the links began to bend. The gods stepped back from the writhing mass, readying their weapons. They looked determined enough, but Hercules could see fear in some of the eyes – here was something that the gods themselves could not defeat. Zeus, however, showed no fear, and he had a plan.
“Hephaestus!” he called, and one of the gods stepped forwards. By his appearance, you would have thought little of him. His legs were crooked, and he walked with difficulty. His clothes were shabby, showing burns and singe marks all over. Only his arms looked like they had any strength to them. His arms … and his eyes, which glowed with intelligence, as if they carried in them the very fire from the forges that he loved so much. For Hephaestus was a blacksmith and a worker of metal as skilled as any the world will ever see.
“Hephaestus,” said Zeus again, “we need stronger chains, and quickly. Go to your forge with all speed, and take Hercules. His strength will be needed on the bellows – your fire will have to be at its hottest.”
Then Zeus turned to address the other gods, his voice booming across the mountainside.
“There is a rock at the very centre of the earth, sunk deep in the roots of the world. We will take this giant there and imprison him, in chains, forever. Come, help me carry him.”
While the rest of the gods heaved, dragged and carried the struggling Alcyoneus down into the deepest parts of the earth, Hephaestus led Hercules back to the palace on Olympus, through the grand and elegant rooms and on, until he was greeted by a most unexpected sight. There, in the middle of the palace, was the most amazing workshop, and at its heart, the largest forge Hercules had ever seen. The walls were lined with every kind of tool imaginable, from the very largest hammers to the very smallest tweezers. Indeed, some of the tools looked so small that you would need other tools to use them. Hercules was thinking about what marvellous constructions could be made in a workshop like this, when with a whirring and clanking noise, two golden figures appeared. They stopped in front of Hephaestus and bowed.
“Master, we are ready to assist you,” they said, speaking together as if they were one being with two bodies.
“We need chains,” said Hephaestus, without so much as a ‘hello’ or a ‘please’, “they must be the strongest I have ever made,” then he thought for a second, “and we will need spikes. Spikes that can be driven into the hardest rock and there be capable of holding fast for eternity.”
The two golden people began to move around the workshop, preparing everything that was needed at great speed and with never a word between them.
“You,” Hephaestus now turned to Hercules, “get on that bellows. You need to keep pumping until the fire is white hot.”
Hercules stood his ground.
“I am not one of your slaves to be ordered about in such a manner,” he growled.
Hephaestus gave him a hard look, and the two locked eyes for what seemed like minutes – certainly enough time for Hercules to remember that he was talking to a god. Finally Hephaestus gave a small laugh, like a cough.
“Very well, brother Hercules,” he said, most courteously, “please would you man the bellows, and, if we work together well, then we may forge these new chains in time to save the rest of our family from destruction by that unstoppable giant.”
Hercules felt the sting in these words, but also the honey. Now his mind turned as he pulled on the bellows – ‘brother’, Hephaestus had said and ‘family’. Was he part of the family of the gods? Was he a son of Zeus?
Such thoughts, however, were soon driven out of his mind by sheer exhaustion, because for the next few hours, Hercules worked harder than he had ever done before. The bellows felt light enough, when he first pulled down the enormous handle - driving air into the heart of the forge and making the fire crackle with life - but within an hour, the repetition felt like torture. To make the fire hot enough, Hephaestus had explained, the flow of air must be fast, even and constant. He had made Hercules chant these words to the rhythm of his work, so that the man would become as mechanical and regular in his movements as the golden figures. Hercules watched them buzz around the workshop, as he pulled on the bellows and repeated the words.
‘Fast’ – heave.
‘Even’ – heave.
‘Constant’ – heave.
“That’s right, that’s it!” shouted Hephaestus. Now his face was lit by the brightening fire, he looked just like a demon escaped from the Underworld, “Another hour like
that and it should be hot enough.”
Hercules doubted that he could keep going for more than a minute. He longed to stop this tedious work, which was more suited to a slave than a prince. Then he remembered that Zeus himself had set this task. Surely, if he were successful in this difficult work, on top of everything else he had done that day, surely such exceptional service would be worthy of an exceptional reward. So Hercules kept on until the pain that burned through his arms with every heave on the bellows felt as though it would shatter his whole body and the air in the workshop grew almost too hot to breathe. Then, suddenly, it was over. Hercules did not know how it had been done, but both chains and spikes were finished. If he thought he could rest, however, he was sorely mistaken.
“You must take these chains to the centre of the earth,” said Hephaestus, indicating the still cooling pile of metal links, “and the spikes too … and my largest hammer.”
Hercules despaired of being able to carry such a load, and his anger rose up inside him. Then he thought of the great reward he would be due for all his efforts and managed to control himself. There was one point, however, that Hercules could not resist making.
“And you,” he sneered at
