The Story of Hercules

by Bob Blaisdell

  Admetus then tried to convince me to stay and feast, but I preferred to let them celebrate their reunion alone. Gathering my goods I set out for distant Thrace.

  From Diomedes’ four horses I anticipated no special dangers but their kicking hooves. From Diomedes, son of the fiercesome god of war Ares, I expected courtesy, and that he would kindly allow me to run his horses back to Tiryns to show Eurystheus. How mistaken I was!

  Diomedes, I learned, was as unnatural a beast as his horses. When I came to him in his palace and requested the favor of allowing me to borrow his herd, he called to a servant and said, “Elerion, take Hercules to the stables and feed the mares.”

  The young servant turned pale, and begged on his knees to be let off such an errand. Diomedes grew angry and shouted, “Go!”

  I followed Elerion scarcely knowing what to expect.

  We walked out of the palace and across the courtyard to the stables and corral. I saw piles of white bones in one corner of the corral. Elerion’s knees were knocking, and he was sobbing.

  “Horrible!” he muttered, tears in his eyes.

  “Why are you troubled?”

  “The blood! Poor men! It’s shameless! It’s wicked, horrid!”

  He went behind the stables and returned with a basket of—I can scarcely bring myself to say it—limbs, arms and legs of men!

  I was angry at him. I held him and cried, “What is this you are doing?”

  “Wicked Diomedes!” he moaned. “He has raised these horses to feast on the flesh of men!”

  “Impossible!” I protested.

  “No!” he answered. “You must let me do as I was ordered.”

  I released him and he flung the basket of human limbs over the railings of the corral. The four horses charged over and began to eat, tearing at the flesh.

  I could not bring myself to watch any more. Upon my return to the palace, Diomedes mocked me: “Help yourself to my mares, hero! Neither you nor any other man will dare drive such horses across Greece.”

  “It is wicked and unnatural to alter the god-given tastes of animals,” I told him.

  “Do not try to frighten me with such claims. The gods have created more monsters than I have done. I have trained my mares as other kings train dogs or birds. They are mine! So just you try to take them with you! They’ll eat you alive, son of Zeus!”

  My bad temper has never been useful to me. It has destroyed friendships, it has provoked my enemies into harshness. Yet when in response to Diomedes my temper flowed like fire through my blood and into my brain, I did not try to control it. I ran at him and lifted him off his throne. He struck at me with his jeweled staff, but after the first blow I knocked it from his hands. Remember, I had carried boars and lions over my shoulder, a measly king was hardly trouble—espe—cially with the awesome, terrible power my temper seemed to give me.

  Diomedes called for his servants, and they all hurried to see what he desired.

  “Help me,” he cried to the servant Elerion, who was of two minds—duty to the king versus duty to the everlasting gods. He sided with the gods, sensible fellow, and stepped out of my way as I strode out of the palace and crossed the courtyard to the corral. What was I thinking? Perhaps nothing—for a bad temper takes one’s mind away.

  I arrived at the mares’ corral, where they were snorting with a lusty hunger, even after that earlier meal. I raised Diomedes over my head and asked him if he would repent of his brutalization of the horses. He cried out a curse on my head, so I tossed him over the railing into the corral. He screamed for mercy, but I walked away, leaving him to the unnatural appetites of his mares.

  I walked back into the palace and called to Elerion, “Where are the bridles? Come with me or not, as you like, as I lead the mares to Tiryns in the Peloponnesus.”

  “But what of Diomedes?”

  “Perhaps he has retrained his mares to be peaceful!” I said grimly. “If not, he is dead, and the mares have had their fill for the day.”

  The mares, having feasted on bitter-blooded Diomedes, seemed to have lost their strange taste for human flesh. Elerion and I had no trouble driving the gentled horses to Tiryns, though it took several weeks.

  9. I Bring Back Hippolyte’s Belt and Fight Poseidon’s Dragon

  EURYSTHEUS WAS as usual distressed to see me alive and well, and the sight of Diomedes’ prize horses did not give him joy. They were released and began their long trot back to Thrace.

  The king now demanded Hippolyte’s belt. You have heard of the Amazons, that tribe of women warriors, the greatest fighters in the world? Hippolyte was their chief, and never had she passed up a chance for a fight. My request for her belt, Eurystheus believed, would bring Amazonian wrath upon my head.

  I sailed north for the distant Black Sea, near which the warrior women lived. I did not desire a fight with such difficult opponents, for I was weary of violence and longed for a labor of peace. Had it not been for Hera’s hatred of me this labor would have been an easy one.

  Upon my arrival on the shore of the Amazons’ capital city, Themiscyra, Hippolyte herself came to greet me. I was flattered and greatly pleased and so lay aside all my weaponry in the ship. She was beautiful and as tall as I. Her bearing was that of a dancer, yet she was robed in the skins of wolves and armed with knives, spears and bow and arrows. Her warriors accompanied her to the beach but remained at a respectful distance.

  “Hercules,” she said, “you honor us by your visit.” I knelt before her and bowed my head. “Tell me your purpose,” she continued, “so that I might dismiss my warriors or call them to your aid.”

  “I do have a purpose,” I said. “I have come to ask a favor.”

  “What favor can we offer the greatest hero of the world?”

  “Eurystheus, cruel king In distant Tiryns, requires me in the course of my famous labors to bring him your belt, a prize you collected through warfare.”

  She did. not hesitate. She smiled! Think of a bright sun suddenly breaking through gray clouds. She unfastened her belt, telling me, “Because I so admire your bravery, I give it to you as a gift.”

  Angry Hera, disguised as one of the Amazonian warriors, shouted, “It’s a trick! Look! He means to kill our queen!”

  The women, already jealous of Hippolyte’s peaceable and tender reception of me, rushed at us just as Hippolyte placed her belt in my hands.

  Hippolyte turned to her tribe and commanded them to halt. But Hera raised such a battle cry that no one could hear the queen. She stepped forward, shielding me. She called again to them, but an instant later she cried out in agony, for an arrow meant for me found its mark in her stomach. Her warriors, aghast at this event, ceased their attack and took her from me and tried to revive her. But it was too late—Hera had provoked them into a terrible mistake. Even so, they were angry with me and would have liked to sacrifice me on the funeral pyre of their queen.

  From here I sailed away, south through the Bosporus, that strait from the Black Sea which would lead me to the Hellespont, the gate to the Aegean Sea, and my destination of Troy.

  I desired to view the newly constructed walls around the city. Troy sat proudly on the plains of Ilium, on the peninsula of Asia, facing the great continent of Europe and the home of Greeks.

  Better for me and for that city that I had not come. Listen to how King Laomedon of Troy, betrayer of men and gods alike, cheated divine Apollo and Poseidon out of their pay when, as an amusement, they joined Laomedon’s workers as bricklayers in the building of the famous walls. Imagine those great gods laughing to themselves as they played at the rough chores of common men.

  After all, Laomedon had prayed to these very gods for their help, and in disguise they did help him, brick by brick, as if they were men. But at the end of their labor, Laomedon, not knowing them for gods, threatened to whip them like dogs should they insist on their wages.

  Outraged, they flew off to Olympos. From there, when the wall was completed, Apollo hurled a plague down upon the city while Poseidon, lord o
f the sea, smacked the walls with a tremendous tidal wave and then left a dragon at the beach. Priests of Apollo and Poseidon came to Laomedon, telling him that the plague would stop and the dragon go away only if he would sacrifice his darling, beautiful daughter, Hesione, to Poseidon’s monster.

  This Laomedon agreed to do, and on a rock just out into the sea he left her—she weeping, yet a willing sacrifice for her father’s crime. On the very day she was delivered and bound to the rock, I came to Troy. Told of the events, I declared my intentions of saving blameless Hesione. Conniving Laomedon, seeing another chance to gain in spite of his folly, encouraged me, assuring me that should I kill the dragon and rescue Hesione, he would award me a golden vine, shaped and created by the fire god Hephaestos himself.

  I rushed to the shore and saw in the distance Poseidon’s immense dragon making its way through the waters toward Hesione. Although I was fully dressed and outfitted with my sword, I leapt into the water, swimming toward the rock where Hesione was bound. With one hand grasping the sword, I was swimming hardly fast enough. So, just as a sailor will grip his knife between his teeth to keep his hands free, I clamped the sword between my teeth as I swam the final length, arriving an instant before the dragon.

  I clamped the sword between my teeth as I swam to Hesione, arriving an instant before the dragon.

  This monster breathed fire, but its swimming and the splashing waves had momentarily doused his flame. I had little time to lose before he struck, so I cut the ropes that bound lovely Hesione and shouted to her, “Swim for the shore, maiden—and do not look back.”

  She gave me one sweet look of gratitude before she dove in. The dragon was about to give chase or rear its head and send a burst of fire after her when, in a surprisingly reckless turn of mind, even for me, I leaped into the dragon’s mouth. The Augean stables were sweeter to me than the rank, burning smell within the dragon’s belly. For two days or three I attacked the dragon from within, while it desperately swam through the oceans. I must have destroyed his will or ability to swim, because he beached himself near Ilium. My sword, that gleaming gift from Hermes, finally cut through the dragon’s scaly thick skin, and I found myself on the very shore of Troy. The hair on my head and face were gone, but I was not too much the worse for wear. I marched across the plains of Ilium to Troy’s walls. Who greeted me? Who raised a shout in my honor? No one!

  The guards at one gate called out to me, “Please, Hercules, do not kill us for refusing you entrance. King Laomedon does not want to see you again. He says you are to go away.”

  “What of my reward?”

  “He changed his mind. He said the golden vine is worth a dozen of his daughters.”

  “I’ll go,” I said to the guards, “but tell your master I’ll be back before long to destroy Troy.”

  That same day I left for Tiryns to deliver up Hippolyte’s belt to Eurystheus.

  10. The Monster Geryon and His Beautiful Cattle

  AFTER HE took one admiring look at Hippolyte’s belt, A Eurystheus cursed me and tossed it aside. His darling daughter, Odetia, spotted the belt and in the way of little girls dressed herself in it. Eurystheus, on seeing the girl imitating an Amazon, smiled. For one moment he seemed to have the feelings that make a man decent. Then he turned away, put her out of his mind and let his usual severity take over.

  “Hercules, I return you to your capture of animals, since such tasks seem to suit you. Go to the western ocean, the edge of the world, and bring me the monster Geryon’s cattle, those lovely grazers in the land of sunsets, and bring them safely back.”

  I was not tired of traveling and enjoying adventures. And so if Eurystheus wanted me at the greatest distance he knew of on earth, I would make the best of it. Had I sailed from Tiryns to Erytheia, the southern point of Europe, this labor would not have taken more than a half-year. As it was I set out sailing westward, but on an impulse landed on the southern side of the Mediterranean, in Libya. It was there, on the northern tip of Africa, so close to Europe, that I borrowed a stone-cutter’s tools and spent a week or two shaping a boulder into a massive pillar. It was not an artful job. However, I was content with its size, a towering monument to myself and the farthest reach so far of my journeys. I hired a team of oxen to drag it with me to the cliffs that overlook the sea’s passage from the Mediterranean to the unknown western ocean beyond. With all the strength the oxen and I could muster, we upraised the massive pillar of stone.

  For two or three moments I gazed in admiration at it, but when I glanced across the straits to Europe I understood that one pillar would hardly do. I dismissed the hardworking oxen and rushed down to the straits, where I plunged into the water and swam for the other side. The ocean beyond seemed to desire me, pulling on my arms and legs, but I would not relent and swam with hard strokes until I arrived at land.

  As on the African side I borrowed a stone-cutter’s tools and carved myself a similar tower of stone. This time, however, the stone I elected to carve was lying on the very spot where I wished to post it. Raising it, however, was difficult, causing even me to strain and almost despair. Let me thank the god Apollo who, without my knowing at the time, put his shoulder into my effort. In a matter of moments, after hours of my pushing and grunting, the pillar rose, a companion to the one on the opposite side. The Pillars of Hercules, marking the edge of the western world, could be seen for many miles, from land and sea.

  From the straits it was a short distance to the land of Geryon, the odd monster who resembled three men joined at one waist. So many arms, so many legs! With such a supply I could scarcely have kept myself from tripping, but Geryon made the most of his extra limbs. He owned thousands of cattle and was king of this western land. But king of what? There were few people and for them he scarcely cared. He loved only his cattle, tended by a servant named Eurytion and the monstrous two-headed dog Orthros.

  I climbed the low mountains where I saw the cattle grazing and sat there awaiting Geryon, hoping he would allow me to take one of his many herds. Instead, Orthros found me. I stood up while Eurytion, that vicious man, ordered the dog to attack me. I had no intention of harming the dog, but its snapping jaws left me no choice. I swung my club at him, and the dog yelped but refused to give up the fight. When Eurytion sent a spear at me, I returned fire with my bow and arrow, killing him and the monstrous dog.

  I now decided to take the cattle without asking leave of Geryon. After all, his own man and dog had attacked me without cause. But I had no sooner crossed a river with a herd of his finest bulls and cows when Geryon set out after me. He was not in the mood to make a deal or talk. He sent a half-dozen spears flying after me. I raised my shield just in time to deflect the death they intended.

  I hardly knew where to let loose an arrow in return, there were so many of him! I aimed left, then right, then center, wondering which part of him to dispose of first. Then I saw the folly of attacking the edges of a one-man army. I aimed at his center, his vulnerable waist, and my shot hit its mark.

  One arrow and Geryon sprawled dead in a heap of arms and legs!

  After I had driven the cattle through the Iberian peninsula, Iolaos met me and we ventured on a long trek through the strange wild lands of Europe. I joined in many contests against arrogant men who thought they could outfight or outwrestle me and I outwitted countless robbers and bandits.

  11. The End of My Labors

  AS MUCH as Eurystheus dreaded me, he had come to expect my successful return. In the long stretch I had been away he had come up with the most taxing of all my labors.

  “Very well,” he greeted me, seeing Geryon’s cattle in the courtyard, “I wish you to make another long journey. Fetch me, if you are able, a few of the apples of the Hesperides.”

  “As you like,” I said. “But where are they?”

  Eurystheus smiled, saying, “I have no idea. Part of your task will be to find out.”

  So I set out, aimless, and praying to the gods for guidance. Athene herself descended from Olympos and told me, �
��The Hesperides are known as the Daughters of Evening, they are lovely nymphs who tend the golden apple tree. At night, look to the west, where you can see the Hesperides shining as stars. Below them you will find the tree. Beware, brave Hercules, this tree is guarded from intruders by a loathsome, lava-spouting snake.”

  “So again I am off to the edge of the western world!” I laughed. At night I watched the stars and by day I sailed by their guidance for western Libya.

  It was in Libya that I met King Antaeus, that unfriendly son of Gaia, our great Mother Earth. What a cruel man! Where other kings greet strangers with food and drink and engage them in conversation, Antaeus would challenge his would-be guests to a wrestling match.

  This match, win or lose, did not end with a feast but always with death, the death of the stranger, for Antaeus would kill the weary man at first opportunity. That I was the son of Zeus and famed throughout the world for my strength made no impression on him. “Out here,” he said, “we do not receive much news. I’ve never heard of you, and I don’t care a hoot who your father is. Let us wrestle, Hermeles, or whatever your name is.”

  “Hercules!” I shouted. He laughed, and my anger stormed within me.

  The keys to wrestling are strength and balance, and Antaeus seemed to have a full complement of both. I could not understand, however, why after I managed to throw him to the ground he would regain his strength—indeed, find more strength than he had had!

  I am not a watchful man, but I noticed, once, as he and I circled each other, grabbing out at the other’s arms, that he pretended to slip. He fell to the ground and suddenly bounded up rejuvenated! He ran at me and knocked me off my feet.

  The hard ground hardly lifted my spirits, but when I looked with shame at the dirt on my hands, an idea dawned on me. I got to my feet and planned my next move. Antaeus rushed again at me, but this time instead of tumbling into the dirt with him, I pulled his waist close against my chest and lifted him off the ground. Take the air from a flame and watch the fire disappear. Just so, taking Antaeus away from contact with his mother made his strength disappear. It was Earth who gave him renewed vigor. I wrapped my arms around Antaeus, finally even crossing my forearms behind his back, while Antaeus, desperate man, pushed against my face with his right hand and pushed against my shoulder with the other. His feet stretched and strained to touch Mother Earth.