Myths and Legends from Around the World

by Robin Brockman

  The loud gasp which greeted his appearance was followed by a silence as the group outside the cave stared at him in wonder and horror. His clothes were in tatters, and he was covered in blood – both his own and that of the vanquished beast. With his numerous injuries, Hercules looked almost as bad as the lion. Then the spell broke and everyone ran up to congratulate him and to tend his wounds. The women were solicitous and the men deeply impressed. The young hero instantly recognized the utter sincerity of the gratitude and respect these people showed him. This victory was a turning point for Hercules, who took from it the knowledge that this kind of action was what he was born for. He had discovered his true destiny.

  One of the scratches was high up on his thigh and only great consideration would have made it possible for the hero to continue his pleasuring of any of the king's daughters. The ones who might have been careful enough were too shy to try it and the others were certain to become too rambunctious if allowed, so in the end he limited the amount of nursing he received at their hands. In any case, by this time he was more than anxious to go home.

  Word was sent to the herdsman in the high pastures of his father when Hercules set off from Thespiae for Thebes. With fine new clothes, a chariot and horses – all gifts from Thespius – Hercules neared his home. Word of his exploit had gone ahead of him and he was looking forward to his triumphant return with mounting excitement.

  He had only a few miles left to journey when he stopped to rest his horses in a little glade. There was good grazing and a brook beside it where he could water his animals and freshen up. As he sat in the shade of a tree, another chariot, headed out of Thebes, arrived and behind it a loaded cart. The man in the chariot jumped down and harshly ordered his servants about their tasks.

  “Good day, friend,” the man said to Hercules. “Are you bound for Thebes?”

  “Yes,” the young hero replied.

  “I see you are a Thespiaen by your dress,” the other man laughed. “My advice is when in Thebes, kick the men hard and watch your purse around the women. They are a cowardly and dishonest race.”

  “And who might you be to say so?” Hercules asked, more astonished than angered by the stranger's outburst. “It was not so when I was last there.”

  “You are young, a mere puppy who would not notice. I am the representative of King Erginus of Orchomenus and I have been collecting tribute from Thebes. We get very rich pickings from the dogs, I can tell you, boy. Rich pickings.”

  “How so?”

  “Why, we threaten war and the cowards pay. Creon, the Theban king, is a helpless fool. Thebes lacks men, too, like Thespiae. Unlike you Thespiaens, though, they have not fought in ages and have become soft.”

  “Even Amphitryon?”

  “As timid as the rest, I imagine,” the herald said with a laugh. “I do not know him personally.”

  Hercules seized the man by his neck and a mere look from his fiery eyes was enough to warn off the servants, who backed away openly smiling.

  “I am the son of Amphitryon,” Hercules hissed in the herald's face, “who is not a coward and whose country pays no tribute.”

  Drawing a dagger, Hercules whipped off the man's nose and ears and with a kick to his insolent backside, sent him on his way, without his men or the cartload of booty.

  In Thebes everyone's joy at his return and the story of his success in Thespiae turned to trepidation when they saw the cart and heard the story of what he had done to the herald of Orchomenus. War would be the certain result.

  “Good,” said Hercules. “Good.”

  The Thebans waited until the enemy came to them. This gave them more time to prepare, to stir their men's hearts in defence of their homes and to encourage the troops of Orchomenus to think them afraid. In the meantime the spirit of Hercules was gradually infused into the Theban army. The men under his command admired his enthusiasm and his confidence, though many an untried youth has those, but most of all they were in awe of his great strength. If this was matched by the courage indicated by his slaying of the lion in Thespiae, then Thebes would have a tremendous advantage.

  So it was that when the fighting men of Orchomenus neared the city of Thebes they were confronted by an army arrayed for war and on ground of their own choosing. The confidence shown by the Thebans and the personal taunts shouted across the field displayed their eagerness for battle. When the Theban king, Creon, called for the surrender, on good terms, of the forces of King Erginus, the laughter from the latter's ranks rang a little hollow. What, the men wondered, had got into the Thebans? First the mutilation of the king's herald and tribute collector, now this display of confidence. The men of Orchomenus had set off for battle outraged at the Thebans’ effrontery, determined to teach them a short, sharp lesson. Facing the massed ranks of the enemy, standing firm, they stirred uneasily and with not a little trepidation. Something had happened to embolden the Thebans. Wise heads among the Orchomenians knew that it was going to be a straightforward, stand-up infantry fight dictated by the ground, which didn't suit their chariots. Normally they could call on finesse, archery and driving skills, but these were found wanting in the conditions and when faced with the Thebans’ methods, which consisted of brute strength coupled with a passionate desire for retribution. The bullied were calling the bully's bluff, with interest.

  With no delay, no posturing, no reconsideration or parley, the Thebans launched their first attack. Hercules, with his father Amphitryon and twin-brother to the fore, headed right for the royal party in the centre of the enemy line. They hit with ferocious energy, tearing a hole in the enemy line through which the Theban foot soldiers poured. In a short vicious fight Hercules slew King Erginus. The Thebans swept along behind the bewildered men of Orchomenus, driving them like cattle, slaughtering hundreds. Everywhere the soldiers of the invading army dropped their weapons and took to their heels, or fell to their knees to beg for mercy.

  The Thebans did not let up but kept going, killing, capturing and pursuing their enemies all the way to their own city, which fell easily. Creon was crowned the king of Orchomenus that same day. Hercules was the hero of the hour, feted for his valour by both king and country. The one sadness on this otherwise perfect day for him was the death of Amphitryon, his father in every respect but one, who had been killed while fighting bravely in that first bitter and crucial contact with the enemy. His body was taken back to Thebes where it was buried with honour.

  As reward for his exemplary courage and leadership, Creon gave Hercules his own daughter, Megara, in marriage. They were young, alas, not in love and deep inside both were unhappy with the arrangement. As a king's favourite daughter, Megara was not an easy woman to get along with at the best of times and while she knew Hercules was a good catch and a good man, he was not her choice. Nor was parenthood something either of them was prepared for, and the three children they had together did not bring them any closer. None of this was any secret at Creon's court, and it was not a particular worry to anyone, including the couple themselves, who simply led separate lives. Hercules would go his own way, taking off on his adventures whenever it suited. The state of their relationship did not make either of them particularly miserable. Most of their contemporaries would have been more than pleased to trade places with them.

  The goddess Hera, though, did not look upon the situation at all favourably. Still harbouring a grudge against Hercules, she decided that, as he was now married and thus legitimately within her area of responsibility – or interference, depending upon your point of view –, something must be done to render his life intolerable. The inspiration for her punishment she took from his unsatisfactory marriage and the common knowledge among gods and men that Eurystheus of Tiryns had been given his birthright.

  At first Hera plagued Hercules with images of Eurystheus living in splendour, enjoying the adoration of lovely women, never wanting for anything, ruling Greece as he pleased. These were never out of the hero's mind for long and when they were, some other thing vexed him. He could
find no rest, no comfort. He began to drink wine in great quantities, which only made matters with Megara worse. And then, he went mad. Hera sent the visions. The delusion and the rage in him did the rest.

  One day Hercules fell into the first deep sleep he had had in months. As he slept he dreamed that he killed Eurystheus and his offspring. The peacefulness he felt on waking was in marked contrast to the violence of the dream, which Hercules remembered vividly and he hoped it had some deeper significance, and would resolve the terrible conflicts he had been struggling with. He looked around him. Even as he tried to focus his eyes he noted the unusual silence in the house. Slowly he took in the room and wondered at the destruction he saw. Nothing was whole. Not a stick of furniture and no decoration, no container, no oil lamp was intact. In the corner lay a heap of dirty, stained clothing, so rank the flies already buzzed around it. How could the servants let things come to such a pass?

  That is when he saw a little hand poking out of the pile, then the foot of a woman. Stumbling over to the grizzly ruin he saw that it was Megara, not a bundle of cloths. She lay on top of the children and none of them moved. Quickly, fighting confusion and panic he pulled her off the children, but she was limp and cold. So were the children and all of them bled from their eyes, noses, ears and mouths. Cuts and bruises abounded on each body; legs and arms were contorted in odd directions.

  A scream of anguish and fury welled up in his throat, stifled by the sudden certain knowledge that he, not another, had beaten his family to death. He ran around the room pounding on the walls, banging his head against them, recalling the dream in which he had gleefully destroyed his enemy and his heirs. Cursing himself and all creation he ran from the house, left Thebes and wandered the countryside in abject despair.

  For a time he was hidden and cared for by his fellow hero Theseus, then he went to Thespiae where the king purified him, and his own happy progeny abounded. Here he recovered his sanity but knew that he must seek advice from the Oracle at Delphi if he was ever to live with himself again.

  Journeying to Delphi, Hercules climbed the slopes of Mount Parnassus and took the traditional offering of an expensive cake to the Priestess of Apollo. He also had the customary goat to sacrifice. He was met by an attendant who was there to take down what the Oracle said, translating from the often odd sounds and words or mystical references.

  His coming to Delphi had been foreseen and so he did not have to wait for an audience. After making the sacrifice of the goat, he was conducted into the presence of the Oracle. She sat near the edge of the mountainside on a tripod above a subterranean fissure out of which emitted noxious fumes. Having taken her seat just before the arrival of Hercules, she was only just beginning to feel the effects of what she inhaled. For the moment her body writhed and strained as she tore at her garments, crying out and involuntarily resisting the trance state that would allow the god to speak through her.

  Then at last she calmed down and her body went limp, her facial features relaxed and took on a mild and almost amused expression. Instead of the usually cryptic answers to questions put by the visitor, the Oracle spoke directly, as if the god wanted no misunderstanding.

  “Listen well if you would be redeemed from the actions of your madness, which you know was part of you. The violence you showed to those you loved was not all from outside yourself. Pride and anger are your failings, constant service your destiny and only hope. If you succeed in the task that you will be given, you may receive immortality and dwell among the gods you partly sprang from, but know that it will be more difficult than anything you have yet done. It will be a long and nearly impossible process.”

  “Tell me what I am to do,” Hercules asked humbly in a hushed voice.

  “A series of labours.”

  “Only name them,” he cried with a swelling heart, “and they shall be done, unless I die in the attempt.”

  “You will not be directed by me or my priestess,” said the Oracle. “But by thine enemy, Eurystheus. You shall be his slave and do his bidding. Only he shall select the labours, only he shall judge them to be completed or not.”

  The priestess then slumped in her seat and seemed to go into a faint. Hercules was gently led away by attendants who had been taking careful notes, as was the custom. All were impressed with the unambiguous nature of the message.

  Hercules was shaking with fear and the horror of what was to come. The utter humiliation of subjecting himself to Eurytheus was beyond anything he could have imagined. Weak at the knees for the first time in his life, he took a seat on a nearby rock.

  “Think of it,” said the note-taker, handing him a copy of his reading. “Immortality. A seat among the gods.”

  “But Eurystheus,” muttered Hercules in misery and despair. “Eurystheus.”

  Slowly Hercules made his reluctant way to Tiryns to serve his most implacable mortal enemy.

  Over the years, Eurystheus had made no secret of his contempt for Hercules. Wishing to win favour with Hera, and being of a cruel disposition, he revelled in his circumstances and his mortal superiority to the dispossessed son of Zeus. Also Hercules was a hero, a breed Eurystheus could not abide. Being timid and indolent by nature, he saw himself as a far more refined and intellectual sort of man. In fact he liked to have salacious tales read to him by others, indulged in rare foods and wines and dallied with women and boys in the odder sort of ways. The idea of travelling or risking his life for anything was anathema to him.

  Word of what the Oracle had told Hercules moved a good deal faster than the hero did himself, and by the time he arrived in Tiryns, Eurystheus was already rubbing his hands together with excitement. For weeks he had been walking around with a secretary carrying a tablet at his elbow, adding or scratching out items on an ever-revised list of impossible tasks he would gleefully put Hercules to.

  Their first meeting was suitably short and brusque, with neither man wishing to prolong it. Hercules was dispatched at once to kill a particularly dangerous lion, and at Eurystheus’ insistance, told to bring back its skin as proof that the deed had been done.

  Now, the Nemean Lion was no ordinary animal; not only was it killing untold numbers of cattle, sheep and people but its hide was so thick as to render the beast impervious to the sharpest arrowhead. Hercules dismissed this notion. He tethered a lamb beneath a tree and sat down to wait for his quarry. When the lion came, Hercules took careful aim and loosed a series of arrows. Each one bounced harmlessly off and the creature escaped with the lamb, which it took away as though it were an offering.

  Gritting his teeth in determination, Hercules then cut an enormous branch from a tree and fashioned it into the largest, deadliest club imaginable. Again he put out a lamb as bait, and waited. A few days later the Nemean Lion came.

  This time Hercules waited until the huge beast had pounced on its prey before leaping down on it from the tree. For a split second they stood face to face, then the lion leaped towards him, its claws reaching out for his eyes. Hercules swung the club ferociously at the lion's head. The noise could be heard miles off as the hard yet supple wood made contact with the lion's furry head.

  Stopped in mid-air, the lion crumpled in front of Hercules, where it remained momentarily, eyes rolling. It shook its great mained head before coming at him once more, growling furiously. Again Hercules clubbed it and again it paused. A third time it shook off the shock of the blow and resumed its attack. Mightily Hercules struck it once again. This time it stopped, grunted, and then started to trot away a little dizzily.

  Hercules knew that if the lion was allowed to get away it would recover and start killing again. He ran after it, leaped onto its back and got an arm around its neck. Galvanized into action by this new threat the dazed lion fought tremendously to turn its claws and teeth on to the man. It seemed hours to Hercules before the cat's strength began to wane and finally the struggle ceased. He made certain the animal was dead before he addressed the problem of how to skin it. No blade would penetrate its hide. Inspired, he used t
he claws of the animal itself and only these proved sharp enough.

  Back in Tiryns, Eurystheus seemed almost disappointed to see Hercules return alive and with the lion's skin, which he disdainfully told Hercules he could keep. Of course, if Hercules died it would shorten the fun, but on the other hand he would be safely out of the way. At any rate, Eurystheus reckoned, the odds were overwhelmingly stacked in his own favour, so why shouldn't he enjoy himself into the bargain?

  “Apparently there is a rather tiresome serpent of some sort in the swamp of Lerna, near Argos,” Eurystheus said, affecting a yawn. “It's known locally as the Hydra, of all things. Go and kill it like a good fellow.” He ordered, languidly waving a hand by way of dismissal.

  The Lernaean Hydra was a serpent like no other. It had nine heads, eight of which were mortal, the other, immortal. As he neared where the Hydra dwelt, Hercules heard more about it. Some people living near the swamp told him that a giant crab had lately appeared to keep company with the monster.

  On the road Hercules had noticed a youth several times in all the places he stopped. The lad kept near him but never spoke and shied away when he approached. There was something familiar about the boy. At last Hercules cornered him by doubling back on his trail and coming up on the youth from behind.

  “Hello, friend,” Hercules said, suddenly appearing behind the boy, who jumped into the air. “We seem to be going always in the same direction.”

  “Yes,” the lad said, looking at the ground.