Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two

by Bernard Evslin

  “So soon?” asked Iole.

  “It’s my task, you say. The sooner you get to these things, the sooner they’re over.”

  “No sir,” cried Iole. “You can’t go yet.”

  “What do you mean? Why not?”

  “There’s something that must be done first.”

  “What?”

  “One item I forgot to mention about the Hydra is that each of its hundred heads has a hundred teeth—hollow teeth. And they’re hollow because he squirts poison through them, a venom that kills instantly. One scratch from any one of those teeth and you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.”

  “What do you suggest, that I duck this fight? I don’t do that.”

  “Oh, no,” said Iole. “I know you don’t. That tent you’re living in—it is the hide of the Nemean Lion, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, my dear. It is.”

  “And it’s unpierceable by any weapon, is it not?”

  “True. Even my weapons could not pierce it—not arrow, nor spear, nor sword.”

  “Well, I want to know all about how you managed to kill it, of course. But you’ll have time to tell me as we go.”

  “As we go? What do you mean?”

  “Never mind that for now. What I want to suggest is that you make that hide into a suit of armor, and wear it when you fight the Hydra. That way his poison teeth won’t be able to pierce you.”

  “But I never fight in armor. It’s too hot. And it doesn’t let me move freely.”

  “You’ve never fought a Hydra before either. Don’t you see, you must wear the armor. Don’t you want to kill that monster? Or do you want him to kill you? Do you want all the cattle of Argos to keep on being eaten as all the people starve? You must make a jacket and trousers of the hide, and a pair of boots. Gauntlets, too. Every inch of your skin must be covered. And you can wear its skull as a helmet and look out its eyeholes.”

  “That will take a lot of tailoring, little girl.”

  “And I know where there’s a lot of tailors. A whole cave full. Magical ones, who can make your armor in one day. Roll up that hide and follow me. You’ll have your lion-skin armor by tomorrow.”

  He looked down at her without moving.

  “Don’t think I’m bossy,” she cried. “Please don’t. I came to Mycenae from a very far place just to save you. And worked as a servant in the palace, mopping a filthy staircase because that fat lazy slob of a king rides his horse up and down it. Please, Hercules, come with me and get your armor made. You’ve almost promised to marry me someday, and you can’t if you’re not alive. I may be about to cry.”

  “No, no, don’t do that!” roared Hercules. “Don’t cry.”

  He snatched the lion hide off the spear that was its tent pole, rolled it up with the skull inside, hoisted it to his shoulder, scooped Iole up, and set her on his other shoulder. “We’ll make better time this way,” he said. “Just show me how to go.”

  Hercules was too tall to fit into the cave. So the tailors moved outside. They used their entire work force, and Hercules served as his own dummy. He stood stock-still as the thread-haired, scissor-toothed little folk climbed all over him, measuring, draping. They couldn’t do any sewing because no needle would pierce the lion hide. They used an extraordinarily powerful glue, brewed by themselves for tough leather garments.

  All this time, Iole prowled about the glade, watching closely to make sure that everything was done the way she wanted—that the suit of armor covered Hercules from head to toe, which included fitting the lion-skull helmet and making lion-hide boots. But the head tailor, who had never forgiven Iole for carrying him off the first time, objected.

  “No helmet, no boots,” he hissed. “We’re not hatters or cobblers, you know.”

  Iole studied the sullen little fellow for a moment and wasted no time arguing. She snatched him up and, holding him upside down by the ankles—the way a butcher holds a goose—walked to where Hercules was standing and asked, “Are you hungry, sir?”

  “I could eat something,” said Hercules … “How about you?”

  “Your breakfast will be served shortly, sir.”

  She bore the head tailor into the cave, took him to the cave end where the tiny folk did their cooking, swung him onto a stone slab, and slowly began to unhook his tunic.

  “Help! Help!” he shrieked, but there was no one to hear but Iole. She held him down with the palm of her hand and fixed her green eyes upon him.

  “What are you doing?” he screamed.

  “Trying to decide how to do you. He’s a meat eater, you know. Prefers it roasted, usually, but you look pretty tough and stringy. Probably need boiling. Where do you keep the salt and pepper?”

  “Please, please, don’t cook me. I don’t want to be eaten.”

  “Don’t want to feed a guest? That’s not very polite.”

  “Oh, mercy.… Feed him something else. Please!”

  “Will you do everything I say?”

  “Yes, yes, everything!”

  “Helmet and boots?”

  “Exactly as you want them, dear girl.”

  “All right. But don’t make any more mistakes. This is your last chance.”

  She lifted her hand then. He squirmed away and scrambled off the slab—rushed out, shouting, “Boots and helmet! Get to work! Quickly, quickly!”

  Iole came out of the cave, smiling.

  Finally, the work was done. Hercules stood in the glade like a gigantic lion rearing up on its hind legs. Iole stalked about him, inspecting the armor.

  “Hurry up,” he said, his voice muffled by the helmet. “I’m sweltering in here.”

  “Looks good,” called Iole. “Come on out.”

  He doffed the armor, bundled it up, thanked the tailor folk courteously for their labors, and turned to Iole.

  “And I thank you, little girl,” he said. “And when I come back from Argos—if I do—I shall tell you all about my fight with the Hydra, and about my fight with the lion before that.”

  “Oh, you’ll have time to tell me the lion story on our way to Argos,” said Iole. “I’m going with you, you know.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “I am. I want to.”

  “Do you think I’d let you go anywhere near that dreadful monster?”

  She stamped her foot. “I want to go! I want to go!”

  He heard the tears behind her voice. He lifted her then and set her on the branch of a tree so that they could be face to face. Holding her by the shoulders, he said:

  “Listen to me, Iole. This Hydra sounds more dangerous than any creature I’ve ever faced. Which means that I’ll have to give every bit of my attention to the fight. And I won’t be able to do that if you’re there, because I’d be worrying about you. Your presence would put me in more peril than if I were to face the beast without any armor at all. Is that what you want?”

  She winked back her tears. “No-o-o.…”

  “Very well, then. Wait for me in Mycenae. And if I live, I’ll come back to see you. I promise.”

  He kissed her gently on the forehead and loped off. She looked after him, trying not to weep because the little folk were still there, looking up at her.

  “This is ridiculous,” she said to herself. “I can’t bear it. I won’t try to. I’ll follow him there. He won’t even know it.”

  She climbed down the tree and raced after Hercules, keeping him in sight but taking care not to be seen herself.

  11

  The Hydra

  Trees run down to the bank of the river Lerna. Water nibbles their roots and the trees lean over to watch their reflection in the shining river. At one point, though, the tree line stops short, and grass grows between river and wood.

  It was in this meadow that Hercules stood. He wanted a clear view of the river. For it was from there that the Hydra would come. It was early upon a summer morning but the sun was already a brass ball, flaming hot. The young man felt himself slowly broiling inside the thick lion hide.

  �
�It better come out soon,” he thought. “Or it won’t find anyone to fight—just a breakfast, all cooked and ready to eat.”

  Now the last monster Hercules had fought, the Nemean Lion, had announced itself by roaring so loudly that the boulders shook. Hercules didn’t know that evil has more variety than goodness, and that monsters differ. So, waiting for some kind of horrid sound, he was almost caught off his guard. For the Hydra came with a faint scraping and was slithering swiftly across the grass before he saw it.

  It was a crocodile, but the size of ten crocodiles. “This can’t be it,” thought Hercules. “It has only one head. But how many monsters that size can dwell in the river?”

  Happy that he had only one head to cope with, big as that one was, he cast aside bow and spear and held only his sword. The Hydra scuttled toward him with astounding speed. Weighed down as he was by the heavy pelt, Hercules leaped straight up, turning in the air, and landed at the Hydra’s shoulder. He raised his sword in a two-handed grip, and struck down in a tremendous shearing blow that cut through hard leather scales, through bone and muscle and flesh, slicing the head off so swiftly that it jumped off the neck. Blood spouted, a black vile broth that scorched the grass where it fell.

  And Hercules was shocked to see the severed head turn and slide back toward him, rising from the ground and snapping its jaws in the air. Hercules struck it down with his clenched fist, whirled to face the Hydra again, and was horrified by what he saw. The stories were true; he had congratulated himself too soon. For the stump of neck had split into two; from each sprouted a new head.

  Two heads now. Hercules charged, struck, cut off the new heads. They fell to the grass, but stayed alive, snapping about his legs like vicious hounds. They could not pierce his lion-skin trousers, but they clamped their jaws on his legs and tried to drag him down. And now, where there had been two heads, there were four.

  Four heads struck at him with sickening force. Four sets of enormous jaws fastened on his arms. The awful teeth could not pierce the pelt, but Hercules felt them slowly crushing his bones. He tried to raise his sword, but could not; his arms were held by the jaws. He tore himself away, staggering, as the cut-off heads pulled at his legs. He fell to his knees, kicked free, and his sword became a glittering blur as he whirled it, cutting the heads off, one after the other.

  But where the four heads had been, there were now eight. They came at him from all sides. Again they closed upon his arms and shoulders. Jaws clamped his midriff. He felt his ribs caving in. Jaws locked his head. They did not pierce the lion skull, but they were crushing it, and crushing his own head inside.

  Worst of all, though, he saw that one of the new heads was spitting fire. The lion skin turned the flame, but he felt himself growing unbearably hot inside his armor. He could hardly breathe. With a desperate effort, he whirled and kicked and struck, hacked and stabbed. The cut-off heads ravened about him, clamping on his legs, pulling him down. The Hydra struck with a single head. In an instinctive counterstroke, which he instantly wished to recall, Hercules swung his sword again, shearing off that head. Two heads sprouted in its place. Now, he knew, there were too many heads for him to combat; he could fight no longer.

  With the last flaring of strength, he caught up a fallen bough from the grass, held it in front of the fire-spitting head. The dead wood kindled immediately. Hercules sprang up with his torch in one hand, his sword in the other. He sliced off a head and seared the neck-stump with his torch. A hideous stench of roasting flesh fouled the air, but no head sprouted from the seared stump. Now, he knew, if he could only keep striking with sword and torch, cutting off heads and searing stumps, he might have a chance. But all the severed heads were upon him, a multitude of them now, fastening their jaws upon his legs, dragging him down.

  Iole, watching from behind a tree, saw him fall. She flashed out, raced across the grass, scooped up the fallen torch. Using it as a club she beat off the severed heads that were fastened to Hercules’ legs. She thrust the sword at him, crying: “Cut off the heads and I’ll burn the stumps! Get up! Get up!”

  He looked up at her. Dazed as he was, he realized that she was clad only in her short tunic. One scratch of a poisoned tooth would kill her on the spot. Her peril filled him with fresh energy. He leaped up, snatched the torch from her; with his other hand seized her about the waist and hurled her across the meadow—into the river. He held torch in one hand, sword in the other, and crouched as the Hydra came at him.

  He was afire now. His veins ran with starry wrath. He whirled and leaped, spun, dodged, weaved—striking as he moved, ducking the jaws, darting in, striking again. Each blow of his sword cut off a head. Then, striking with his torch, he immediately seared the stump so that no new head could sprout.

  A dizzying mist arose from the spilled blood. Hercules peered through and saw that the Hydra had two heads left. He charged the monster and struck again, and again. He thrust twice with his torch, searing the last two stumps. Now the Hydra was blind. Its armored body twitched violently; its neck stumps were great charred worms, still wriggling. But it was dying. The body stopped twitching, the necks stopped wriggling. The spiked tail ceased its flailing. And as the huge body died, its fallen heads died also.

  All this time, Hera had been hovering overhead, watching the battle, rejoicing when Hercules fell, filling with thwarted fury when she saw him arise and kill the Hydra.

  “All the fault of that meddlesome brat,” she hissed to herself. “I’ll teach her a lesson.”

  Hera descended, reached into the river, pulled out a great tangle of drowned tree roots. She breathed life into them and they became a huge crab, big as a chariot wheel. She dropped the crab into the water. It sank swiftly, and began to crawl over the river bottom, hunting its food. Spotting something above, it rose to the surface and fastened its claws on Iole’s leg. She screamed.

  Hercules heard the scream. He charged toward the river, kicking through the litter of dead, grinning heads. He reached the river, dived in, seized the crab, and broke off the claw that held Iole. As she climbed upon the bank, Hercules arose, holding the crab. He dropped it to the grass and stamped on it, crushing it under his foot.

  Iole threw herself into his arms. He hugged her to him, then shoved her away, crying, “Crazy girl! Sweet brave crazy wicked child! I don’t know whether to kiss you or spank you.”

  “Better let me decide,” she purred.

  Catlike, she sprang into his lap and wrapped her arms about his neck. “You have many tasks before you,” she murmured. “Please try to last a few more years—at least until I’m old enough to marry you.”

  “How many years will that be?” he asked.

  “Four, perhaps. Three, if I hurry.… Let’s go swimming before the sun sets. We’re very smoky and bloody.”

  Hera could bear to hear no more. She flew off in a fury, vowing to avenge herself upon both of them, no matter how long it took. And, it is said, she put together the crushed crab, named it Cancer, and stuck it in the sky as a sign of her vengeance.

  But something better happened in another part of the sky. Pieces of Iris’s frozen rainbow still burn above the North Wind’s castle, and are called the Northern Lights. Boreas, when he remembers what happened long ago, flies into a rage again and tries to blow them out … but never can.

  LADON

  For TANYA EVSLIN

  halfway across the world, but very near

  Characters

  Monsters

  Ladon

  (LAY don)

  An enormous serpent, the scourge of the sea and its islands

  Gods

  Hera

  (HEE ruh)

  Queen of the Gods

  Ares

  (AIR eez)

  God of War

  Aphrodite

  (af ruh DY tee)

  Goddess of Love

  Demeter

  (DEM ih tuhr)

  Goddess of Growing Things

  Artemis

  (AHR tuh mihs)

  God
dess of the Moon

  Iris

  (EYE rihs)

  Caster of Rainbows

  Hecate

  (HECK uh tee)

  Queen of the Harpies

  Atlas

  (AT luhs)

  A condemned Titan

  The Hesperides

  (hess PEHR ih deez)

  Daughters of Atlas, now apple nymphs

  Hypnos

  (HIPP nohs)

  God of Sleep, Master of Dreams

  Demigods

  Hercules

  (HER ku leez)

  Son of Zeus, strongest man in the world

  Iole

  (EYE oh lee)

  Daughter of the Rainbow

  Mortals

  Thyone

  (thee OH nee)

  A young Amazon

  Nycippe

  (ny SIH pee)

  Friend of Thyone, another Amazon

  Hippolyte

  (hih PAHL ih tee)

  Queen of the Amazons

  Malo

  (MAH loh)

  A poet

  Nameless

  Poet Nycippe’s captive

  Animals

  Pegasus

  (PEG uh suhs)

  A winged horse

  The Silver Stag

  Contents

  CHAPTER I

  Food that Isn’t Fish

  CHAPTER II

  The Harpy Queen

  CHAPTER III

  Flight of the Rainbow

  CHAPTER IV

  A Suitable Monster

  CHAPTER V

  Another Hunger

  CHAPTER VI

  The War God