by Joe Corcoran
time of year, they stayed in a place where there were plenty of caves to shelter them, because it was winter and the snows were coming. So, on the third day, he entered their camp, with his club and bow slung on his back and his arms outstretched, to show he meant no harm. Nevertheless, the centaurs did not seem pleased to see him. They quickly surrounded him, with spears pointed at his body from all directions, and they prodded him in the direction of the largest cave. From that cave emerged a centaur so large that he had to bend his head to stop it scraping the ceiling. He had a well-kept beard that was flecked with grey, and the other centaurs bowed slightly when they saw him, but he smiled when he saw Hercules.
“My old friend,” he said, “I know you’ve only come to visit because you need a favour, but I’m none the less glad to see you.”
“Cheiron, king of the centaurs,” replied Hercules, bowing low, “you are as direct and as wise as you always were. I do have a favour to ask, but I will take pleasure from your company even if the favour is not granted.”
“Then you had better join me in my cave,” said Cheiron, “the night will soon be here and there is a fire inside. Tonight you shall be my guest.”
The two friends sat by the fire, sharing a meal and swapping stories of their glorious adventures, sadly agreeing that the world had changed from the days that mortals now remembered only through myths and legends. Cheiron, of course, knew every detail of the Erymanthian Boar and told Hercules exactly where it could be found at this time of year. He said that wild boar seldom move far from their wallow, which is where they spend the daytime, and that every animal had its favourite spots. Everything was going as well as it could possibly be, until Hercules noticed a large jar in the corner of the cave. It was old and covered in dust, but from its shape and size the hero knew exactly what it would contain.
“This food is excellent, the company is better.” he said, licking his lips and eyeing the jar, “what would really make the evening complete is a cup of wine.” Cheiron followed Hercules’ gaze and shuddered. His friend knew very well that the centaurs were forbidden from drinking wine. Long ago they had been invited to a wedding feast, a spectacular affair that it was rumoured even the gods had attended. This was the first time that any centaur had been offered wine, and they had no idea of the effect it had on both senses and reason. Before long all the centaurs were drunk, at first it just made them playful, then they became quarrelsome, finally they turned the wedding into a pitched battle and many were killed. Since that day, no centaur had touched wine again.
“You know very well that it’s not allowed,” said Cheiron, annoyed at Hercules, “I don’t know why you would suggest such a thing.”
“I only mentioned it,” replied Hercules, “because you have a jar of wine in your cave. I thought that maybe the rules had changed.”
“No, the rules are the same and always will be,” explained Cheiron, “that single jar is allowed to remain here only because it was given to the centaurs by Dionysus himself, when he was our guest four years ago.” Hercules’ eyes widened at the thought that this jar had been given as a gift by the god of wine himself, the quality of the wine it contained must be beyond compare.
“Dionysus did not leave this as a gift,” continued the centaur, seeming to read his thoughts, “he left it because he foresaw a time when a king and a hero would drink from it together.”
“Well, that settles it,” roared Hercules, getting to his feet and striding over to the jar, “for you are a king, and I am a hero. The god of wine has left this here for our enjoyment and in honour of my father, Zeus. It would be an insult to leave it untasted.” So saying, he lifted the lid off the jar and drew two cups, one for himself and one for his host, who had been persuaded by the hero’s logic and accepted his cup graciously. The two were soon settled comfortably by the fire again, but Hercules had forgotten to seal the jar and the fragrance of the fine wine filled the cave, spilling out into the centaurs’ camp beyond. Smelling the wine, they understood at once that Hercules had broken their most sacred law, and soon there was uproar as they argued over what should be done. This argument was quickly settled when, hearing the commotion outside, Hercules appeared at the mouth of the cave, the cup of wine still held in his hand.
“Sacrilege,” cried one of the younger centaurs and charged towards the hero, intending to do him great harm. The other centaurs had also decided that this stranger should not be forgiven for breaking their rules and, while some began to charge at the cave, others started to gather weapons. Hercules retreated back into the cave, causing the centaurs to shout and jeer, thinking he was afraid, but then he returned and began to throw firebrands at the attackers. Soon all was confusion and smoke, and it became clear that the centaurs could not get near to the cave without being badly burnt. Hercules might have won the day, although he himself was still trapped in the cave, except that among the centaurs was a wise old female. She had lived so long that she had learnt a little magic. Just enough that now she merely had to raise her hands to the sky, mutter a few mystic words, pledge a sacrifice and suddenly rain was falling all around, putting out the firebrands and leaving Hercules in terrible peril.
Magic, as everyone knows, is fickle. It does not only serve one master, and it often has effects that even the wisest wizard cannot predict. The old female meant that the sacrifice she pledged would be Hercules, but there were two other players in the game, of which she was unaware. Firstly, Cheiron, having seen what was happening, had also come out of the cave. Now he was desperately trying to calm the situation, as he did not want either his friend or his subjects to be harmed. Secondly, there was Iolaus, who had tracked Hercules to the centaurs’ camp and lay hidden behind a bush in the darkness. His joy at seeing these mythical beasts so close to him was now turning to fear and distress, as the battle turned against his friend. He saw that Hercules was readying his bow in order to drive off the centaurs for a second time. He also saw that the rain had turned the ground to mud, and that the downpour had soaked the bow, making the string loose. Knowing that he had to do something, Iolaus jumped from his hiding place.
“STOP!” he shouted. Everyone turned to see what hero or army had come to the rescue of Hercules, but seeing only a single young man with no weapons they quickly lost interest. Except for one centaur who turned and began to advance on Iolaus, who now stood rooted to the spot, undecided about what to do. Ignoring the others, Hercules grabbed for an arrow, in his haste picking one that had been dipped in the Hydra’s poisonous blood. His intention was only to graze the centaur, and so distract him from Iolaus, but the loose bowstring made the arrow fly wildly. High up into the air it went. When it came down - thunk - it went into the knee of Cheiron. Immediately the king fell to the ground, bellowing with pain. Forgetting their differences, the centaurs, Hercules and Iolaus went to help him. Any other centaur would have been killed outright, but Cheiron was immortal and could not be stopped so easily. Nevertheless, the wound caused terrible agony to the king and, though they worked through the night to try and find a cure for the poison, nothing that anyone could do made it any better. In the morning the old centaur announced that he could not stand the pain. He said that he would travel to find the Titan Prometheus, who was said to have created men back in the times when the Titans still ruled. He was also said to have the power to take away immortality, and this is what Cheiron would ask for, so that he could die and escape the endless pain.
“Don’t be too sad for me,” he told Hercules, “I have lived thousands and thousands of years. I have seen all the foolishness of men and gods repeated through the ages, and I have grown tired of it all. Now I will welcome a rest that has been too long delayed. For you however,” and here his eyes were suddenly sharp and clear, “there will be no rest and no forgiveness. Although I don’t blame you for what happened, from now on you will be the enemy of my subjects. You must leave the lands of the centaurs and never return. Go now, while they are still mourning, and go quickly.” Sadly, Iolaus and Hercules left the camp of the cen
taurs, treading through the forest in silence and with heavy hearts. Only when they reached the Erymanthus road and recovered the chariot did they start to talk about their plans for capturing the boar.
Snow was falling heavily when they arrived at the place outside Erymanthus where Cheiron had told Hercules that the boar could be found. Sure enough, without too much searching, they found the beast rooting up food from an open patch of ground. It had been a pleasant, grassy space once, but now it had been ploughed more thoroughly than any farmer’s field by a pair of enormous tusks. It might have been covered in a blanket of white snow by now, but the snow was trampled into mud by powerful hooves. The animal lived up to all the descriptions given by the frightened huntsmen who had survived to tell their tales, but Hercules was not worried in the least. Having spent far too long chasing the Ceryneian Hind, because he had been too proud to ask for help, this time he had discussed plans and strategies almost non-stop with Iolaus. He felt well prepared and he knew that they would succeed.
“I think this snow might make things even easier,” said
