She indicated the soldier’s body.
‘But I’m weak,’ she conceded with a shake of her head, as if disgusted at her own lack of resolve. ‘When I saw him kiss you, I remembered my love for that little child who used to sweep my temple and light the lamps. Then I realized how much I need you. You’re my voice in Tiryns, Charis, even if you’ve spoken lies in my name. So I decided to show you mercy. But be warned – my anger will not be so easily quenched next time.’
‘Yes, my lady. I won’t fail you again.’
Hera gave a small nod of satisfaction and the sternness in her features softened.
‘Good, because I have work for you. Heracles has succeeded in taking the golden belt of Hippolyte. Yet again, he has achieved the impossible. Worse still, he now hopes to win back Megara’s heart.’
Charis looked down again, not wanting Hera to see her reaction. Heracles deserved happiness, and she hoped he would succeed in restoring his marriage.
‘What will you do, my lady?’
‘A new labour,’ the goddess answered, smiling to herself. ‘I will pit him against a foe even stronger than he is, one so vile and iniquitous that Heracles will despair of victory. But if he should somehow survive and come back with his life, then he’ll return to find his hopes of restoring his marriage dashed by betrayal. And, as ever, Charis, you are to be my messenger.’
She reached out and laid her hand on Charis’s forehead. At the goddess’s touch, a sudden and intense light blinded her. Instinctively, she shielded her eyes with her hand and turned her face away, but the source of the light was inside her head, too powerful to block out, too piercing to hide from. It washed over her and through her and into her, penetrating her flesh and bones until she could feel the heat of it at her core. For a while she stood helpless in its grip, all her deepest thoughts and most corrupt desires exposed. But when all had been burned away, the light began to fade.
After a while, it was gone. She opened her eyes to find herself in an unfamiliar country. It was hilly, with outcrops of weathered rock and a few wind-twisted trees like gnarled fists defying the iron-grey skies above. Everything was covered in long grass – greener than anything she had ever seen – and a howling wind blew across the bleak landscape, whipping the hem of her white robes against her shins and filling her ears with its noise. The air was cold and smelled damp and earthy, and she wondered if the sun ever showed its face in this gloomy place.
There were no signs of civilization anywhere. No roads or farmhouses; no orchards or vineyards; no ditches or walls to grace the monotonous emptiness. Then the wind changed and brought with it the lowing of cattle. It was such a strange sound in that lonely country that she wondered if she was not imagining it. She looked around and saw a cow, standing on a small hill away to her right. It stretched its head forward and mooed, before moving slowly down the slope towards her. Another appeared behind it, and then another, and then several more, silhouetted against the sky as the herd shambled over the brow of the hill. They were the strangest cows Charis had ever witnessed, each the colour of rusted iron and with long horns that stuck out sideways from their heads. They were well fed, too, far fatter than the cattle she had seen in Tiryns.
As they continued their mournful lowing, she heard the sound of barking from the other side of the hill, accompanied by the shouts of a man. Suddenly afraid, she looked around for somewhere to hide. Then she heard another sound that frightened her far more than the unseen herdsman and his dog – a deep, bellowing roar that echoed back from the rocky crags and low cliffs of that desolate place. She turned and looked in the opposite direction to the cattle. On top of another hill stood a towering figure, its six arms raised in the air and its three heads lifted to the skies as it released another terrifying cry. Charis threw herself down in the long grass, holding her arms over her head and screaming.
It was the echo of her own scream that woke her. She was lying on her side in the dirt of the alley, facing the corpse of the man who had attacked her. His eyes and mouth were frozen in the same expression of shock, and she could smell the faint odour of blood beneath the stench of his body sweat. She turned away and pushed herself back to her feet. Everything was still dark, and – but for the dead man – she was alone. Retrieving her cloak from the ground, she threw it around her shoulders and ran to the end of the narrow passage.
* * *
‘More wine,’ Copreus barked.
The slave hurried forward and refilled his cup, before slipping back into the shadows. Copreus had already drunk more than he should have, but the knowledge that Heracles would soon be arriving in the square below the palace had given him a greater thirst than normal. He reached for the cup, his hand trembling, and raised it to his lips. The taste of it as it swilled over his tongue refreshed him somewhat and calmed his nerves, and he followed it immediately with a second mouthful. It irked him that he – a formidable warrior in his youth – should be afraid of any man. But Heracles was not just any man. And the fact that Copreus had caused him to murder his own children was ample reason to be fearful of him.
He took a third mouthful and glanced over the rim of his cup at the others in the great hall. Eurystheus sat in his oversized throne, his golden cup resting on the dome of his stomach as he listened to the excited squealing of his daughter. Admete carried a shield on her left shoulder and held a short sword in her other hand, with which she had been practising manoeuvres against chairs, pillars and slaves all morning. Her current sparring partner was Tydeus, whose patience was thinning noticeably as he tried to teach her a simple defensive move. Watching her efforts, Copreus doubted that even the famed belt of Hippolyte could improve the girl’s skill at arms.
Tydeus’s irritated expression had hardly changed since that morning, when he had learned that one of his guards had been found in a side street of the lower city, stabbed through the back of the neck. The nascent fire of rebellion, which they had all thought had been successfully stamped out, had rekindled itself and found a new victim. And that would oblige the captain of the guard to order a new wave of reprisals. It was a risky tactic, Copreus had told Eurystheus. Since Iphicles’s unexpected departure from Tiryns, he was not only the king’s herald, but also his only counsellor; in this capacity, he had advised him that to kill twenty innocent people for the murder of a single guard risked inflaming rebellion, rather than quenching it. But Eurystheus only understood fear and brutality. On his orders, Tydeus’s men were already rounding up a random group of victims for execution.
The other chair around the roaring hearth was occupied by Charis. Earlier, she had told them of her latest dream, about a hideous giant who lived on an island at the ends of the earth. He owned a flock of red cattle, which Heracles was to steal and bring back to Tiryns for his next labour. Copreus’s protests that he first had to return from Themiscyra with the golden belt of Hippolyte were soon silenced when a messenger arrived to say his galley had just sailed into port, and that he was already on his way to the palace.
That he had succeeded in taking the Queen of the Amazons’ prized possession seemed certain. Copreus had questioned the messenger about whether Heracles had any companions with him, and despite the reply that he was alone, he felt certain he would have freed Megara and brought her back with him to Greece. And with his leverage over him lost, Copreus knew that nothing now would prevent Heracles from carrying out his revenge.
His only hope was that Eurystheus would order him to sail at once. But he was not prepared to take any risks in the matter. The moment Heracles left the upper citadel, Copreus would go into hiding. And he knew the perfect place to disappear.
The double doors at the back of the palace swung open and a soldier entered. He walked up to Tydeus, who bowed to Admete and withdrew from their mock fight. The soldier spoke in his ear, then left the hall.
‘He’s here,’ Tydeus announced.
‘Let him wait,’ Eurystheus said, waving his hand dismissively.
It made the king feel superior to let hi
s cousin kick his heels before the palace battlements. It also disguised the fear he had of him. Few who were there would ever forget how he had pissed himself with terror when Heracles had brought the carcass of the fearsome Nemean Lion into the great hall, throwing it on the floor before his master.
‘He’s here?’ Admete said, her eyes lighting up. ‘Heracles is back – with my belt?’
With a squeal of delight she threw down her sword and shield and ran for the doors that led out to the battlements. Before her father could stop her, she had flung them open and run out into the bright sunshine.
‘Bring her back,’ Eurystheus ordered, looking at Tydeus.
But before his captain could run after her, they heard Admete’s voice calling down from the battlements.
‘Did you get it? You did? I knew would! Send it up at once. No, wait – I’ll come and get it.’
‘Not before I’ve shown it to your father,’ came Heracles’s reply.
‘Damn him,’ Eurystheus hissed.
He handed his cup to a slave and jumped down from his throne. Tydeus fell in behind him, his hand resting protectively on the pommel of his sword. Copreus gripped the arms of his chair, but the thought of standing before Heracles seemed suddenly to pin him there. He looked across at Charis, who looked equally reluctant to leave the safety of the hall. At least she only had to give him the news of his next labour, Copreus thought. When he looked into Heracles’s eyes, he would be staring his own death in the face.
A glance from Eurystheus was enough to make the priestess stand and join him. With an effort, Copreus forced himself up from his chair and followed the others as they walked out of the gloomy hall. The sunlight was so bright that he was forced to squint against it and shield his face with his hand. When his eyes had adjusted, he looked around at the wide terrace that led to the battlements. Half a dozen spearmen stood at different points, their faces expressionless beneath their plumed helmets. From this height, he could see the whole of Tiryns sprawling out below him. Its clustered, flat-roofed buildings were hazy beneath the dust raised from the sun-baked streets, kicked up by hundreds of sandaled feet, the hooves of oxen and the wheels of the carts that they pulled. Beyond the walls and the festering sore of the outer city was the wide, fertile Argolid Plain. Here, farmsteads and villages sat nestled between cultivated fields and orchards, the dark foliage of the fruit trees standing in orderly rows like companies of soldiers. It was lovely, he realized, and he wondered why he had never thought so before.
‘Daddy, Heracles has my belt,’ Admete said, embracing her father enthusiastically. ‘I want to go down and try it on.’
Eurystheus was unmoved by her enthusiasm, possibly because it was inspired by his detested cousin.
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ll have it brought up to the palace.’
‘But Daddy—’
‘No,’ he snapped. ‘Now, go and wait in the great hall until I say otherwise.’
‘You spoil everything,’ Admete said, pouting over her shoulder at him as she stomped back into the palace.
Gathering up the hem of his heavy cloak and raising his chin a little, Eurystheus approached the ramparts. Tydeus and Charis followed, standing either side of him. Copreus moved to the king’s left, next to Tydeus, and stared down from between the crenellations to the open space below.
Perhaps fifty guardsmen were standing in rows, blocking the way back to the gates of the citadel. Before them, standing alone in the small square before the palace walls, was the enormous figure of Heracles. He was dressed simply in a tunic, belt and sandals – he had always scorned body armour – with the black lion’s pelt worn over his head and shoulders. Though long dead, the monster’s features were still terrifying to behold, and Eurystheus must have been reminded of his humiliation the first time he had set eyes on it.
Copreus was gripped by his own unnerving fear as he stared down at Heracles, expecting his malevolent eyes to turn and fix upon him at any moment. But he did not look at him at all, almost as if he were unaware of Copreus’s presence. Instead, he reached into his satchel and pulled something out. It hung from his fingers, gleaming in the sunlight.
‘I have Hippolyte’s belt,’ he announced. ‘The labour is complete.’
Eurystheus signalled to an officer in the ranks of spearmen. The man paused to gather his courage, then approached Heracles and held out his hand.
‘The labour is not complete until I say it is,’ Eurystheus said. ‘First, I must examine the belt.’
Heracles let it fall into the officer’s hands. The man looked at the belt, then gave a cry of surprise and stepped back, holding it at arm’s length.
‘What is it, man?’ Eurystheus demanded.
‘My lord,’ the officer replied, ‘The designs on the belt – they move!’
‘An enchantment?’ Tydeus asked the others.
‘No,’ Copreus answered. ‘The belt is the work of Hephaistos. Only a god can instil life in an inanimate object, and only the Smith God can do it to metal. It is the belt of Hippolyte – there can’t be any doubt about it.’
‘Of course there can’t,’ Tydeus snapped. ‘Charis wouldn’t have been told the next labour before this one had been completed.’
‘Very well,’ Eurystheus acknowledged with a scowl, before looking down at the figures below. ‘Very well, send the belt up to me. As for you, cousin, it seems the gods don’t like to see you idle. Hera has already ordained your next task. Tell him, Charis.’
The priestess stepped up to the ramparts and stared down at Heracles. Even Copreus could see the struggle in her expression, making him wonder at the effect Heracles had had on each of them. He had long ago won the grudging respect of Tydeus, who as a warrior could do little else but admire the strength and courage of the man. Even Iphicles – who had despised his brother since their youth – seemed to have seen a new quality in him that had earned his forgiveness. And it was clear that Charis had lost her aloofness towards Heracles many months ago, succumbing to an admiration for him that was not merely physical.
‘You are to go to the island of Erytheia,’ she began, ‘close to the River Ocean that encircles the earth. There you will find a herd of red cows shepherded by Eurytion, a son of Ares, whose dog, Orthrus, is a brother of the great Cerberus. The cattle belong to Geryon, a winged giant twice your height and twice your strength, who cannot be killed. You must take the cows from him – without payment – and bring them back to Tiryns.’
‘I’ll need a galley,’ Heracles said, staring at Eurystheus.
‘Then take the one you sailed to Themiscyra in, for all the good it will do you,’ the king replied, irritated by Heracles’s composure. ‘Are you not dismayed? You’ve been told to sail to the end of the world, to find a place no man has ever been to, and fight a monster more powerful than yourself, with no hope of being able to kill him. Yet all you ask for is a galley?’
‘It’s all I need. And why should I be dismayed? Each labour brings me another step closer to my redemption. The deaths of my sons hang heavily on me; I will do anything to be free from that burden.’
Though he still refused to look at Copreus, he had made his desire for revenge clear enough. But did he intend to have it before he sailed for Erytheia, Copreus wondered, or on his return? With a curt bow, Heracles turned on his heel and walked to the gates.
‘He’ll never find the place,’ Eurystheus said. ‘It’ll take him months to reach the streams of Ocean, and even then he’ll be lucky to find this island, whatever it’s called.’
‘Erytheia,’ Charis reminded him, her eyes still on the street below. ‘And if he does, he’ll wish he hadn’t. No one – not even Heracles – can defeat the monster I saw in my dream. I pity him.’
Eurystheus smiled.
‘Good. Maybe, at last, we will be rid of him. And now I must receive this belt and give it to my daughter.’
‘With your permission, my lord,’ Copreus said as the king turned towards the palace. ‘I have some urgent business to attend to.’<
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The king nodded and Copreus returned to the great hall, limping as fast as he could. His eyes took a few moments to adjust back to the gloom, time in which he half expected Heracles to come running at him from the shadows. But the only person present was Admete, sitting on her father’s throne and swinging her legs. Their eyes met for a moment, and then he hobbled across to the entrance on the other side of the room. Stepping out into the courtyard beyond, he called to a passing slave and gave him his black, fur-lined cloak.
‘Take this to my quarters,’ he told him. ‘And give me your cloak.’
The man looked at him in momentary confusion, then began unclasping the simple pin at his neck.
‘You’ll get it back,’ Copreus said, throwing it around his shoulders.
It was grubby and threadbare, but was ideal for his needs. He only wished he could cover his head and hide his painfully obvious limp. Fearing Heracles might already be waiting for him in his room, he made his way directly to the battlements at the side of the palace.
Reaching the steps where the palace ramparts met the walls of the upper city, he looked across at the square where Heracles had received the news of his next labour. The ranks of soldiers had gone and the street was already filling with slaves and merchants, free to go about their business once more. Seeing no sign of Heracles’s lion skin among them, he took the steps down and passed along the battlements as quickly as his stiff left leg would allow. It was a route he had taken many times, and descending a flight of stairs to the streets below, he slipped into the shadows of a narrow passageway.
Even the citadel – with its temples and two-storey houses belonging to the wealthy and powerful – had its network of dark alleys and back entrances. Here, slaves and artisans would pass back and forth on errands for the nobility of Tiryns, while prostitutes would enter houses unseen, to bring pleasure to their paying masters. Copreus weaved his way through the maze of seedy arteries until he reached a warped, ill-fitting door, which yielded easily to his fingertips.
Hero of Olympus Page 9
