The Twelve Labors of Hercules

by Robert Newman

  “I have dealt with the Hydra,” said Hercules. “I should be able to deal with a dragon.”

  “Perhaps,” said Nereus. “But how will you deal with the Hesperides, the daughters of the giant Atlas, who also watch the apples? Will you slay them too?”

  “No, I cannot do that,” said Hercules. “But there must be some way I can accomplish this labor.”

  “It may be that there is,” said Nereus. “Atlas, who carries the heavens on his shoulders, holding earth and sky apart, is stationed on the peak of the tallest mountain nearby. His burden is a heavy one, and if you offer to take it from him he might be willing to get the apples for you.”

  “I thank you, Nereus,” said Hercules, releasing him.

  “Wait,” said the sea-god. “Since I have told you so much, I will tell you one thing more. If Atlas should give you his burden, he will not be anxious to take it back again and he will probably offer to deliver the apples for you. You must not agree to this, for once he has tasted freedom it is unlikely that he will ever return.”

  Again Hercules thanked him and set off on his journey. He went west through Gaul and then down through Spain till he stood on the huge rock that looked across the strait toward Africa. He erected a tall column here; then, descending the rock, he plunged into the sea, swam across the strait, and erected another column on the African side. And from that time on men have called this place where the waters of the Mediterranean mingle with the ocean stream the Pillars of Hercules.

  Now Hercules went west until he came to the mountain peak where the Titan Atlas stood, his shoulders bowed under the weight of the heavens.

  Hercules greeted him, and said, “I am Hercules. And I am here because I thought you might help me with a task that was set for me by Eurystheus, King of Mycenae.”

  “What is the task?”

  “I am to bring him some of the golden apples that grow in the garden of your daughters, the Hesperides.”

  Atlas looked at him thoughtfully. “If anyone can help you, it is I. But there are two difficulties. The first is the dragon Ladon, who guards the tree and will allow no one near it except my daughters.”

  “I can deal with him,” said Hercules, showing Atlas his bow. “My arrows never miss.”

  “The second difficulty is my burden, a punishment laid on me by Zeus for joining my brothers in the revolt against him. By his commandment, it can never be put down.”

  “There is no difficulty about that either,” said Hercules. “I will take it on my shoulders if you will get the apples for me.”

  A cunning look came into Atlas’ eyes.

  “Deal with the dragon,” he said, “and then we will see.”

  Walking to the far side of the peak, Hercules looked down into the walled garden. The tree with its golden fruit gleamed in the center, and coiled about the tree was the dragon. Hercules whistled shrilly, and when the dragon raised his head he loosed the arrow that he had ready on the string. It flew straight and true, and the dragon fell dead.

  “Well done,” said Atlas. “Now let us see if you can take this burden from me.”

  Standing beside him, Hercules spread his powerful legs and bent his back; slowly Atlas lowered the heavenly vault until it was resting on his shoulders. Zeus strengthened his limbs and Hercules straightened up again.

  “That is well done also,” said Atlas. “I did not think there was another on earth who could hold up the sky as I have been doing even for a moment.” He sighed happily, stretching and flexing his mighty muscles. “Now I will fulfill my part of the bargain.”

  He strode down the mountain to the garden, talked to his daughters, and a short while later returned with three of the golden apples.

  “You have done me a great favor,” he said, “in giving me my freedom after all these centuries. To show my gratitude, I will do something for you. If you will hold up the heavens for a few months longer, I will take these apples to Eurystheus for you.”

  Though Hercules had been expecting this, he shifted uneasily.

  “Be careful!” said Atlas anxiously as the heavens shook and a few stars fell.

  “I will,” said Hercules. “And if you’re sure you won’t be gone for longer than that, I might well consider it. But first I’d like you to take back the heavens for a moment while I make a pad of my lion skin and put in on my shoulders.”

  “Of course,” said Atlas. And laying down the golden apples, he took the heavenly vault back from Hercules. Now it was Hercules’ turn to sigh with relief and stretch.

  “You said that I had done you a favor,” he said. “But it is the other way round. It is you who did me one by getting me the apples. And since this is so, I would not dream of imposing on you further by letting you deliver them for me. So please accept my thanks for your great kindness.” And saluting Atlas ironically, he picked up the apples and went off with them.

  Hercules did not return to Mycenae the way he had come, but went east through Libya. Antaeus, King of Libya, was the son of Poseidon and Mother Earth, and it was his custom to make all strangers wrestle with him. He was not only a huge and powerful man and a skilled wrestler, but every time he touched the earth his strength was increased so that he always won. However, he was not content with merely winning. He ended the contest not by pinning his opponent or forcing him to yield, but by killing him and adding his skull to those of his other unhappy victims on the roof of the temple of Poseidon.

  He met Hercules near the cave in which he lived, sleeping on the bare ground so as to preserve and increase his already prodigious strength. He told Hercules of the custom and challenged him. Somewhat reluctantly Hercules accepted his challenge, set down his club and the golden apples, and stepped forward for the contest.

  He noticed that in preparing for the wrestling, Antaeus took up handfuls of sand and rubbed them over his body, but he did not know why the king did so.

  The match began, and for several minutes neither had the advantage. Finally Hercules got the hold he had been seeking, tripped Antaeus, and threw him full length to the ground. Antaeus lay there for a moment and Hercules thought it was because he had been hurt. But when he rose and they closed again, Hercules found that he was stronger than before, rather than weaker. Again they strained at one another, again Hercules finally got a grip and threw him. And again when Antaeus rose he was stronger than before.

  Then, at last, Hercules remembered who the mother of his opponent was, and guessed Antaeus’ secret. And knowing that, he realized that he was in sore straits. For how could he win against someone whose strength was not only restored but increased every time he touched the ground? In that dark moment, however, Hercules knew what he must do. Instead of trying to throw Antaeus again, he raised him high in the air, and holding him there, away from all contact with the earth, he strangled him.

  Hercules went on through Egypt, where he founded a city that he named Thebes in honor of his birthplace, and then took a ship home to Greece.

  He brought the golden apples to Mycenae and gave them to Eurystheus. But fearing Hera’s wrath, Eurystheus dared not keep them and returned them to him. Hercules then took them to the temple of Athene and laid them on the altar as an offering for the help she had given him. But even Athene was unwilling to risk the anger of Hera, and now that the labor was completed, she gave the apples back to the Hesperides and they were seen among men no more.

  15

  THE TWELFTH LABOR: THE CAPTURE OF CERBERUS

  “Now I must go,” said Hercules to Megara. “For the sooner I do, the sooner I will return.” Then: “My dear, why do you cling to me so?”

  “Because I am afraid,” she said. “More afraid than ever.”

  “Do you doubt that I will come back to you?”

  “I do not know what I am afraid of,” she said. “But I am. I told you I feared the gods might be jealous of us.”

  “None of the gods would be so heartless as to keep us apart when we have waited for so long to marry,” said Hercules. “I asked you to be patien
t before, but this is my last labor. When I have completed it, we will never be separated again.” And kissing her tenderly, he started out of the courtyard.

  He paused at the doorway and looked back at her, and as she had before, Megara tried hard to smile bravely at him. Somehow that smile—which could not hide her distress—touched him as deeply as the memory of her beauty and remained with him even longer. Waving to her, he set off for Mycenae for the last time.

  Eurystheus, meanwhile, was conferring again with his herald Copreus.

  “Since this is his twelfth labor, it should be the most difficult of all,” said the High King. “But what task can I set him that will be harder for him to accomplish than what he has already done? There are few places on earth to which he has not been. And I do not think there is any place in the world to which he could not go.”

  “Perhaps you should be concerned,” said Copreus, “not about where he goes but about whether he can come back. What if, for this labor, you sent him to a place from which no man has ever returned?”

  “What place is that?” asked Eurystheus.

  “Tartarus,” said Copreus. “The Underworld.”

  Eurystheus looked at him thoughtfully. “I have already given you a ring as a token of my esteem. Take now this bracelet. The Underworld. Why not? If he can go there and return he will deserve to be called the greatest hero Greece has ever known.”

  And so when Hercules appeared before the Lion Gate at Mycenae, Copreus said to him, “Your last labor, Hercules, will be to bring back from Tartarus the watchdog, Cerberus.”

  Though Hercules had expected his final labor to be the most difficult of all, he paled at this. As Copreus had told the king, no man had been to the Underworld, the realm of Hades, and returned. And even if he arrived there and was able to come back, how would he be able to bring Cerberus with him? This watchdog who guarded the gate of Tartarus was a frightening monster. He had three heads, a mane of serpents, and a tail with a poisoned barb at the end of it like that of a scorpion. Hercules’ only comfort was the knowledge that if he accomplished this task he would be free of Eurystheus and free to marry Megara. This strengthened his resolve to complete the labor, in spite of its hazards, and complete it as quickly as possible.

  Before he set out for the Underworld, however, he went to Eleusis and asked to be initiated into the sacred rites that were called the Mysteries. He did this because the Eleusinians claimed to know the secrets of the Underworld, and those who were initiated into the Mysteries were taught how to deal with the dangers they would face there.

  After he had learned all that the Eleusinians could teach him, and been accepted as an initiate, Hercules journeyed to the southern part of the Peloponnese, where there was an entrance to Tartarus. Here he was met by Hermes, the messenger of the gods who was also the guide of the souls of the dead, and he led Hercules into the cleft in the earth. Down they went into the darkness, lit now by the glow of Hermes’ staff, ever down until they reached the river Styx—the wide, dark, underground river that separates the living from the dead. They roused Charon, the old man who ferries souls across the Styx, and Hercules paid him his fare with a silver coin. But when Hercules stepped into the boat it sank down almost to the gunwales.

  “What’s this?” said Charon. “In all the centuries that I have been ferryman no shade ever weighed so much. And if you are not a shade, I cannot take you over.”

  “You will take me over,” said Hercules, scowling at him, “or it is you who will become a shade.”

  Charon drew back from him, but when Hermes reassured him, he picked up his oars and ferried Hercules and his guide across the dark, slow-moving river.

  A crowd of shades had gathered on the far side of the Styx, anxious to see if the new arrival was one they knew. When they realized that Hercules was not a ghost as they were, all fled except two. One of these was Medusa, the Gorgon who had been slain by Hercules’ ancestor Perseus. When Hercules saw her, with her frightening face and snake-crowned head, he raised his club, but Hermes restrained him.

  “Hold, Hercules,” he said. “She is already a shade and you have nothing to fear from the dead.”

  “When has Hercules had anything to fear from either the living or the dead?” said the other specter who had remained. And looking at him, Hercules saw that it was Meleager of Calydon, one of the Argonauts, who had been his shipmate on the quest for the Golden Fleece.

  “Meleager!” he cried happily. “We are well met. I have not seen you since we parted company at Iolchos.” And he tried to embrace him, but his hands met in the empty air.

  “You can see me and we can talk,” said Meleager, “but you cannot touch me, for I am but a shadow, insubstantial. What do you here in the Underworld?”

  Hercules told him he had come to get Cerberus as one of his labors and Meleager nodded and said that if there was any man who could accomplish this it was Hercules. Then Hercules asked him if there was anything he could do for him when he returned to earth.

  “Yes,” replied Meleager. “Take my greeting to my sister, Deianeira. Tell her that you have seen me and that I am as happy as a shade may be.”

  Hercules said he would do so, and noticed that Hermes looked at him strangely and smiled. Then he asked Meleager if there was anything else he could do for him, and Meleager said, “Well, we are hungry. We are always hungry.”

  “That is easily taken care of,” said Hercules.

  Some of Hades’ cattle were grazing nearby. Selecting the largest and finest, Hercules killed it and cut its throat so that the ghosts could drink its blood. For this is the only food that ghosts can take and the reason for the sacrifices that men make to their memories.

  At this Menoetes, Hades’ herdsman, came hurrying up and said, “How dare you touch the king’s cattle? You shall pay for it with your own life!” He threw himself on Hercules, gripping him with an iron grip.

  Dropping his bow and club, Hercules broke the grip and they began to wrestle. Though Menoetes was tall as a Titan and almost as strong, Hercules took him around the middle, cracking his ribs. He picked him up and was about to dash him to the ground when a soft voice said, “The Underworld is full of ghosts, Hercules. We need no more of them. But we do need a herdsman to tend our cattle.”

  Turning, Hercules saw that the goddess Persephone, daughter of Demeter, had come out of the palace, accompanied by her husband, Hades, ruler of the Underworld.

  “Are you asking for his life, O Queen?” asked Hercules.

  “I am,” she said.

  “I will spare him if you will let me take your watchdog, Cerberus, to Eurystheus,” said Hercules. “Since Eurystheus has a very tender heart, I do not think he will keep him long, but will let him return here to you.”

  Persephone glanced at her husband and Hades said, “If you can master him without your weapons, you can take him.”

  Hercules thanked him, set Menoetes down, and let him go. Then he and Hermes went over to the gate where Cerberus was chained. When the huge hound saw Hercules he began growling, and the serpents that formed his mane raised themselves up menacingly, and his tail with the poisoned sting curved over his back, prepared to strike.

  “Release him,” said Hercules. Hermes unchained him, and as the dog leaped at him, Hercules seized him by the throat—just below the point where it branched into three to support his three heads—and held him fast. Cerberus struck at Hercules with his poisoned sting, but the lion’s skin protected him and he choked the huge hound until his growls turned to whines. When Hercules let him go, he slumped to the ground.

  Saying goodbye to Persephone, Hades, and Meleager, Hercules half dragged, half carried Cerberus back to the river Styx. Charon was now more frightened of Hercules than ever, but he could not refuse Hermes, so he ferried both of them and the watchdog across to the other side, and they started up the long tunnel that led to the light of day.

  They had gone some distance when they heard footsteps approaching and Hermes said, “Turn to the wall. Do not loo
k.”

  Hercules obeyed, but as the shade passed by on its way to Tartarus, he caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of his eye. It seemed to be a woman, and though there was something familiar about her, her face was veiled and he could not tell who she was.

  When she was gone they went on again and soon reached the upper world. Hercules thanked Hermes for his help and then set off for Mycenae, sometimes dragging Cerberus behind him and sometimes carrying him.

  Hercules was right about Eurystheus. When the High King saw Cerberus he was terrified, even though he stood high above him on the city wall, and he told Hercules to turn him loose. Hercules did so, and the huge watchdog ran southward through the Peloponnese, barking furiously, and returned to his master in the Underworld. But the saliva that dripped from his three mouths as he ran gave rise to the poisonous plant called aconite.

  “Do you agree,” said Hercules as the barking of Cerberus died in the distance, “that I have completed all my twelve labors?”

  “I do,” said Eurystheus. “Go in peace.”

  “Thank you, great king,” said Hercules, and raising his club in salute to him for the last time, he set off for Thebes.

  He arrived there late in the afternoon when the streets were crowded. But instead of greeting him as they usually did with cheers and wreaths of flowers, the citizens of Thebes avoided him, turning away from him and hurrying into their houses.

  Puzzled, Hercules went to the palace. Here too all drew back from him, dropping their eyes, until his brother, Iphicles, came into the great hall.

  “Greetings, Iphicles,” said Hercules. “Is the smell of the Underworld still so strong on me that all men avoid me?”

  “That is not why they do so,” said Iphicles gravely.

  “If that is not why and you know the reason, tell me,” said Hercules.

  “I will,” said Iphicles. “You have always been the bravest of men as well as the strongest. You will need all your courage and all your strength to endure the news I have for you. Your betrothed, Megara, is dead.”