The Poison In The Blood

by Tom Holland

  He rowed around to the far side of the island. The boat’s prow rested on a mud bank and Iolus lowered his oars. He caught his breath and looked again at the fight. This time he felt a surge of relief. Heracles was fighting as well as ever while the hydra was slowing. Heads were still spitting and snapping, but they were outnumbered now by stumps. Slice, slice, slice. More heads dropped among the reeds. Iolus counted those that were left: no more than twenty. Still Heracles fought. Fifteen heads left. Then ten.

  Suddenly Iolus frowned. Something strange was happening. He rubbed his eyes. There seemed to be more heads than there had been a moment before. He counted them again.

  Fifteen. Twenty. Iolus rose to his feet and stared at the hydra’s bleeding stumps. They were all twitching and growing before his eyes. The bleeding flesh of the stumps was healing. From one, a pair of eyes appeared. Then a set of jaws. The mouth opened. A hissing. A scarlet frill opened out behind the head. A slice of Heracles’s sword and it was sent flying, but in the meantime, more heads were reappearing. No matter how fast Heracles beheaded them, more grew back to take their place.

  Iolus shouted out what he had seen. He heard Heracles swear loudly. The heads were growing back faster and faster. Heracles began to retreat. Iolus picked up the oars. As Heracles withdrew across the island, the hydra heaved itself on to the dry land. This slowed it down and Heracles took his chance. He turned and ran across the island. He jumped into the boat. “Pull away,” he yelled. “Get us out of this swamp!” He reached for his bow and shot arrows at the hydra, which cried out in pain. But it still kept following them. As Iolus rowed, he despaired. The hydra could not be beaten. Heracles had failed.

  SEVEN

  Or had he?

  Jumping out of the boat as it reached dry land, Heracles did not seem like a beaten man. “Quick,” he ordered. “Find dry wood. Anything that will burn. Make a fire.”

  Iolus wanted to ask why, but he knew there was no time. He did as Heracles had instructed. Minutes passed. From the swamp, Iolus heard the hissing of the hydra’s heads. He looked round. The monster was getting nearer. Iolus grabbed branches, pulled up bushes and gathered grass. He made a pile of the wood. Behind him, he heard the twang of Heracles’s bow. The hydra shrieked. Iolus looked round again. Heracles was firing arrows at the monster. For now, he was holding it at bay. But for how much longer? Iolus noticed that his hands were shaking. He picked up lighting flints and tried to strike a spark. Nothing. He swore. Still his hands shook. He breathed in deeply and tried again. This time, he had better luck. The spark lit the kindling. The day was hot and the wood was dry. Within a few minutes, the fire was blazing. Heracles glanced round and smiled. “Good lad!” he cried.

  “Watch out!” screamed Iolus.

  Heracles spun on his heel. The open jaws of three of the hydra’s heads were almost on him. With a single movement, Heracles drew his sword, then swung it through the air. The three heads went flying. As they did so, Heracles turned and ran. Not pausing, he reached for a tree trunk that was lying on the ground. Iolus had never even thought to try to move it. The trunk had looked too heavy. But Heracles picked it up easily. His muscles bulged. Sweat glistened on them. He was beside the fire now and shoved the trunk into the flames. As he did so, he looked over his shoulder. The hydra was drawing near. Heracles pulled the flaming tree trunk from the fire. He gripped it in his left hand. With his right, he lifted his sword. The hydra attacked and Heracles swung his sword. A head went flying. No sooner had it done so than Heracles was lifting the burning tree trunk. He laid the tip on the hydra’s stump. The hundred other heads all shook and screamed with the pain. A smell of scorched flesh made Iolus want to vomit. Heracles withdrew the burning tree trunk. The stump was still. No head grew back.

  Now the battle grew truly terrible. The hydra knew for the first time that it was in a struggle to the death. Its necks coiled around Heracles’s legs, his body, his arms. But Heracles was too strong. He trampled the necks underfoot. He slashed and cut with his sword. Whenever he sent a head flying, he would burn the twitching stump. As ever more of its heads were lopped off, the hydra turned and tried to flee. But Heracles followed it. The hunter had become the hunted. Iolus ran in his master’s footsteps and jumped into the boat after Heracles. He pulled on the oars and rowed after the hydra, into the depths of the swamp. At last, in the black poison of its lair, the hydra stopped retreating. The battle began again. But the hydra was weakening fast now. Finally, there was only one head left. Heracles slashed at it. For a long time he kept the burning tree trunk pressed against the severed neck. At last he withdrew it. The neck jerked, then was still.

  Heracles leaned on his sword and inhaled deeply. He pushed back the head of his lion’s skin. He wiped the sweat from his brow.

  “You did it,” said Iolus. “You did it!”

  Heracles smiled. “Of course. Did you ever doubt I would?”

  Iolus blushed.

  Heracles laughed, then paused and angled his head. “What is that?” he said.

  Iolus listened and heard a pulsing, a throbbing. He frowned and looked at the hydra. The noise seemed to be coming from its corpse. Or was it a corpse? Iolus took a nervous step nearer to it and pointed. “Look,” he gasped. “the heart.”

  It was still beating. Heracles stepped up to it and laid his hand on the quivering, jerking scales. He thought for a moment, then he turned. “Row back across the swamp,” he ordered. “Look for my arrows. Find as many as you can. Then bring them to me. I will be waiting here.”

  Iolus did as Heracles had instructed. It was horrible work. The heads of the hydra had already started to rot. Flies attracted by their smell lay dead in piles. The poison of the blood had killed them. Iolus realised he had to be careful with the arrows, so he took his time pulling them free from the stinking flesh and returning them to the quiver. It was late when he rowed back to Heracles: the sun was sinking in the west. A cloud of black smoke, rising from where Heracles stood, hid it from view. It was greasy and smelled of flesh. As Iolus reached the hydra’s lair, he realised that his master had made a bonfire of the monster’s heads. He handed Heracles the arrows.

  Heracles thanked him, then crossed to the hydra’s corpse. He drew his sword. “stand well back,” he said.

  “What are you doing?” asked Iolus, Heracles answered by raising his sword above his head. He aimed at the hydra’s pulsing heart and brought the sword down hard. Heracles drove the blade deep into the heart and black blood began to froth out in a flood. Iolus shrunk back. The blood was burning whatever it touched. Heracles waited for the pulsing to subside, then he pulled his arrows from the quiver. He knelt down and, one by one, dipped the tips of the arrows into the hydra’s blood. When he had finished, he carefully returned them to the quiver.

  “A deadly weapon,” said Iolus.

  Heracles nodded as he climbed into the boat. Iolus joined him. Together, they made their way back across the swamp.

  And so ended the adventure of the hydra.

  EIGHT

  But Heracles’s monster-killing would continue. The hero roamed the world and fought with giant birds that had beaks and claws of bronze. He fought with giant bulls that breathed out fire. He fought with the three-headed dog that guarded the gates of the Underworld. Nothing could defeat him. He became what Zeus, his father, had promised he would be: the greatest hero who had ever lived.

  But he would always return to Argos. When he came back, he would stay with Iolus since he had no home of his own. As he grew older, he became increasingly sad about this. Iolus had a wife and children. When Heracles saw them, it reminded him that he had none of his own. It reminded him of his madness. It reminded him of his crime.

  Iolus had a young sister called Dianeera. She was extremely beautiful and Heracles was very fond of her. She lived with Iolus as she had no husband. One day, Heracles asked Iolus why she had never married. Iolus laughed. “Haven’t you guessed?” he asked.

  Heracles frowned. He was puzzled.

  “A
sk her,” said Iolus.

  Heracles did so. Dianeera blushed and covered her face with a veil before running away. Heracles watched her go. He thought how pretty her ankles were. He remembered how lovely she had looked as she had blushed. Suddenly he understood.

  They were married a month later. For a year, Heracles lived with his new bride and did not go on any adventures. Then a message came for him. It told of a monster in a country far away. Heracles was needed so he picked up his club, tied on his lion’s skin, and slung his bow and poisoned arrows over his shoulders. He kissed Dianeera goodbye, then he left.

  He was away for a while year. When he finally returned to Argos, he stayed for a couple of months, but then he left again. This time he was away for ten months. And so it went on. Dianeera grew desperate. She begged Heracles not to leave. She begged him to spend more time with her. But Heracles always shook his head. He was needed, he explained. It was his duty. “But why?” asked Dianeera. Heracles fell silent. Dianeera pressed him. Finally, Heracles told her about his first family, about how he had killed them all in his madness, about the order that the oracle had given him. Dianeera had not known any of this. She walked to their bedroom, lay down on their bed and sobbed.

  Later that night, she told Heracles that she wanted to go with him on his next adventure. At first, Heracles laughed, but when he saw that she was serious, he shook his head. Dianeera insisted but still Heracles refused. They argued. The next day, when Dianeera was at the market, Heracles left Argos. Dianeera returned home to find the house empty. She called for Heracles but there was only silence. She quickly packed, loaded her bags on to a horse, then led the horse round to Iolus’s house. She asked him where Heracles had gone. Iolus was surprised that she did not know. He told her: Heracles was heading for Thessaly.

  “Where is Thessaly?” asked Dianeera.

  “It is far to the north,” replied her brother.

  “What is it like?”

  “It is wild and savage, full of strange monsters. Just be thankful you will never visit it.”

  Dianeera smiled a twisted smile. Without another word, she turned and left. She climbed back on to her horse and squeezed her thighs against its sides. The horse clattered down the street that led to the city gates. Dianeera asked the way to Thessaly and a guard pointed. Dianeera rode hard for three days.

  On the fourth day, she saw steep and rugged mountains ahead of her. Thessaly. She rode through the night on the empty road. Only in the morning did she see someone ahead of her, striding fast. He carried a club. He had a bow and arrows slung over his shoulder. He wore a lion’s skin on his back.

  It was Heracles, of course. He was furious. He would not talk to his wife. But nor did he send her back. Instead, the two of them continued on their way together into the mountains. Soon they heard a crashing and a roaring coming from ahead of them. Heracles laid a hand on his wife’s thigh and looked up at her. For the first time he spoke. “Now we have a problem,” he said. He helped her down from the horse and led her round a curve of the mountain road.

  Then he pointed. Ahead of them was a river. Spray boiled. The current surged. The opposite bank was in the far distance. “Your horse will never make it,” said Heracles. “And I am nervous, if I carry you, that I might lose my footing. One slip, and you would be swept away, dashed to pieces on the rocks. You cannot go on. You must make your way back to Argos.”

  Dianeera stared at the river helplessly. She twisted a curl of hair around her finger. She did not know what to say. At that very moment, she heard a clopping of hooves behind her.

  “Perhaps”, said a voice, “I might be of some help.”

  NINE

  Dianeera spun round and gasped in amazement. The voice had come from only half a man. From his hips upwards he was human: he had a curling beard, pointed ears and hair all over his body. Below his hips, however, he was a horse: black and glossy, with a swishing tail. He bowed, and as he did so his front hooves clopped again on the rocks. “I am Nessus,” said the horse-man. “I am the keeper of this ford. I help anyone who wishes to cross the river.”

  Dianeera thanked him, then she saw that her husband was staring at Nessus with narrowed eyes. She wondered why.

  “Very well,” said Heracles, after a long pause. “If you could take my wife on your back, I would be very grateful.”

  Nessus bowed again and gave a polite sweep with his hand. “After you.”

  “No.” Heracles reached for Dianeera. “After you.” He lifted up his wife and placed her on Nessus’s back.

  Dianeera wrapped her arms tightly around the horse-man’s body and looked down nervously at Heracles.

  “I am watching you,” he said. As he did so, he reached for his bow and unslung it from his back. He leaned on it, still staring at Nessus. “I am watching you both.”

  Nessus flared his nostrils, and tossed his head. With a clattering of hooves he was away. He hurried over the rocks that led down to the river and plunged into the water. Dianeera gasped. The water was freezing and she could feel the currents tugging at her. She clung to Nessus for dear life, and she looked over her shoulder to see Heracles starting to cross the river. He was holding his bow high above him. He did not slip, but it was slow going for him. Nessus was much faster. Soon he had reached midway across the river. The noise was deafening. The spray shimmered and formed rainbows. The currents eddied and swirled. Dianeera clung even more tightly to Nessus, threading her fingers through the curling hair on his chest. Suddenly she felt him move even faster. He was now past the worst and began to canter through the shallows. He clattered up on to dry land but did not slow down.

  “Wait,” cried Dianeera. “We must wait for Heracles!”

  Nessus laughed. His canter turned into a gallop.

  “Stop!” shouted Dianeera. She looked over her shoulder: Heracles was still only halfway across the river. She screamed and let go of Nessus, ready to jump off his back. But as she prepared to leap, Nessus reached for her. She felt his strong arm squeeze her. He pulled her off his back and his long nails dug deep into her flesh as she struggled. He wrapped his arms around her. She tried to break free, but he only laughed again. “Heracles!” she screamed, but Nessus silenced her with a kiss. His rough lips bruised hers. The bristles of his beard scratched her chin. Still he galloped.

  Dianeera screamed. Her eyes wide, she stared over Nessus’s shoulder. Heracles was far away now, still in the middle of the river. But he was drawing back his bowstring. Then the arrow flew. Dianeera tried to cry out again, but Nessus was still kissing her, even as the arrow ripped into his back. Now it was Nessus’s turn to scream. He stumbled and let go of Dianeera. She fell to the ground. As Nessus fell too, she rolled over and over. From behind her, she heard a crash and looked round. Nessus lay twitching in the dusk. He was pulling at his skin with his long nails. It was as though he wanted to rip it off. He roared in agony.

  Dianeera rose to her feet and dusted herself down. She felt so bruised and dazed that she did not know what to do next.

  “Dianeera.” Nessus’s voice was hoarse and rattling. “Dianeera, I am dying.”

  She looked at him. “Am I meant to feel sorry for you? You would have raped me. Death is all you deserve.”

  Nessus wheezed and choked. He nodded his head. “And I am sorry for it,” he gasped. “Please, before I die, accept my apologies.”

  Dianeera stared at him helplessly. She looked around. A mountain spring was bubbling nearby. She crossed to it, crouched down and cupped her hands. She brought Nessus some water. He drank it greedily. When he had finished, he looked up at her with gratitude.

  “Come closer,” he whispered, beckoning feebly. “there is something I must tell you.”

  Dianeera frowned at him with suspicion.

  “Please. It is for your own good.”

  Dianeera knelt down beside him.

  “Listen,” wheezed Nessus. “I have seen ... your husband . . .If you ever . . .” He gasped for breath and swallowed. He tried again. “If you ev
er . . .”

  “What?” demanded Dianeera. “What are you talking about?”

  “If you ever feel . . . your husband . . . that his love for you . . . that his love for you is fading . . .”

  Dianeera wanted to ask why that would ever happen, but she did not. She kept silent. She kept listening.

  “Take a bottle . . . fill it with my blood ... I tried to rape you for love . . . Now I die for love . . . My blood ... is magical.”

  “How? How?”

  “A love charm.” Nessus smiled feebly. His breath was fading. “smear it on a robe ... give it to your husband . . .” His eyelids fluttered, then closed. “He will love you again.” A long, rattling gasp, then silence.

  Dianeera laid her hand on Nessus’s heart. It was still. She rose to her feet and looked to the river. Heracles had reached the shallows. He was almost on dry land. Quickly, Dianeera took a water bottle that was hanging from her belt and crouched down beside Nessus again. She held up his hand, slit his wrist with the arrow point and decanted his blood into the bottle. Then she stoppered it and hung it again from her belt.

  Heracles walked up behind Dianeera, who turned. He took her in his arms and kissed her. Dianeera wrapped her arms around his shoulders. For a long while they embraced in silence. When Heracles finally let her go, Dianeera still held her tongue.

  TEN

  She hugged her secret to herself.

  Over the years that followed, she gave Heracles many children, and she lived happily with them in Argos. But she did not travel with her husband again - and he was away more and more. Sometimes, he would be gone for years at a time. Dianeera, left alone in Argos, would remember Nessus’s words. “If you ever feel that your husband’s love for you is fading . . .” She could hear it ringing in her ears: Nessus’s dying promise. At such moments, Dianeera would go to the cabinet where she kept the bottle filled with his blood. She would take it out, cup it in her hands, press it to her breasts. The love-charm.