by Glyn Iliffe
The younger slave glared back at her, then leaving her sponge to float up from between Heracles’s legs, she stood and stormed from the room. The other two slaves looked up briefly, before returning their attentions to Iolaus, who was either asleep or enjoying himself too much to be distracted.
‘I’m sorry, my lord. The child is young and eager to please. I will finish washing you.’
If her thorough scrubbing of his travel-grimed body put an end to the stirrings in his groin, he at least stepped from the bath with his skin and hair clean and fresh. While the other slave girls continued to pamper Iolaus – who was singing quietly to himself – Heracles’s attendant seated him on a stool and towelled him dry. Next, she rubbed oil into his skin, massaging the knots from his muscles with her strong fingers as she did so.
Placing a hand on his upper back, she slowly eased him forward until his elbows rested on his knees and his head hung between his shoulders. As she began kneading the sheets of muscle in his upper back, his mind returned to the events of a short while before. After his defeat of the bull, he had rejoined Minos at the table. The king welcomed him back with loud praise and another demonstrative embrace, which only helped to reinforce the place his great strength had won him among the hearts of the nobles. While the bull-leaping youths left the arena to half-hearted applause – eyeing Heracles with thinly veiled resentment for stealing their glory – every tongue was discussing how the newcomer and his squire might deliver Crete from the menace of the Great Bull. But Heracles’s mind had not turned to that task, yet.
‘Tell me, Brother,’ he had said, taking a skin of wine from a slave and refilling Minos’s golden goblet, ‘is it true that you know more about herb lore than any man in the whole of Greece?’
‘A strange question,’ Minos replied. ‘I wouldn’t have considered a man of your reputation to be interested in plants. Warfare, perhaps, and women – but herb lore ?’
‘Forgive me, I was misinformed. Perhaps there are men of knowledge on the mainland who can help me.’
‘Oh, you weren’t misinformed, Brother. Indeed, you won’t find anyone more learned than I am about the varieties, origins and uses of every kind of plant life in Greece, from the lowliest flower to the mightiest tree. It has been a passion of mine since I was a boy, growing up poor and fatherless on the shores of Crete. And now that I’m a king, the pursuit provides me with relief from the weight and boredom of my duties. I was simply intrigued by your query.’
‘You say you know the origin of every plant,’ Heracles said, reaching into his leather satchel, ‘then what about this?’
He held up the dried mushroom that Megara had given him. Minos’s eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed again as he took the mushroom from his fingers.
‘How did this come into your possession?’ he asked.
He glanced briefly at Heracles, before raising the mushroom first to his nose and then to his lips. Poking out his tongue, he touched the tip against the dried skin.
‘Then you recognize it?’
‘Of course I recognize it. Do you have more?’
‘Just that one. I want you to tell me where it came from.’
‘Do you realize how rare this species is?’ Minos said, a hint of disdain in his tone, as if Heracles was not worthy to own such a precious item. ‘But of course you don’t – bows and clubs are more your speciality. These are much sought after by the wise, and they don’t just turn up out of nowhere. Where did you find it?’
Heracles looked at Minos, whose display of brotherly love was beginning to slip. He wondered if he could trust him with the truth, but decided he had no choice.
‘A man sold them to our housekeeper and they were cooked in a soup for me––’
‘And you ate this soup?’ Minos exclaimed.
‘It was the cause of my madness – the madness that led me to kill my own children.’
Minos leaned back and took a swallow of his wine.
‘Yes, I’d heard about that. Then it’s no wonder you did what you did, Brother. These mushrooms can give the adept visions and prophecies, but to the unsuspecting… Well, at least you can no longer be entirely blamed for your crimes.’
‘The blame lies with the man who gave this to my housekeeper,’ Heracles said, taking the mushroom from Minos’s fingers and returning it to his satchel. ‘And it might help me to identify him, Brother, if you tell me where the mushrooms are found.’
Minos drummed his fingers thoughtfully on the arm of his throne, then drained his goblet and placed it back down on the table.
‘Don’t be angry with me, Heracles. As much as you want to know the origin of those mushrooms – which I can tell you – I want to be rid of the Great Bull. Not because of the destruction it has caused – after all, what are a few farms and herds of goats to me? My reasons are more personal than that. So I will make a pact with you: capture the Bull and take it to Tiryns, where Eurystheus can sacrifice it to Hera or whatever god he favours, and I will tell you the one place where your mushroom can be found.’
Heracles’s expression darkened.
‘I’ve already committed to ridding you of the monster. Do you disbelieve me?’
‘All I know is that many men have set off to destroy the beast. Most took a single look and ran away. A few had the courage of their promises and at least tried to fight it, though it cost every one of them their lives. You’re our best hope, Heracles. My best hope. I can’t afford for you to give up. When you have the Bull bound in chains and ready to sail to the mainland, I will tell you what you need to know. And not before.’
The maid finished her massage and handed Heracles a towel to wipe the sweat from his face. His muscles felt refreshed and alive again and his skin gleamed with oil. Taking the towel back, she motioned for him to stand and raise his arms. Producing a fresh tunic, she stood on tiptoe to pass it over his arms and head and down over his body. It was a perfect fit and the wool felt soft and warm against his skin. She knelt before him and placed new sandals on his feet.
‘Come with me, my lord,’ she said, rising to her feet.
‘What about my lion-skin and belt?’
‘They’ll be taken to your room.’
‘And Iolaus?’ he asked, glancing across at his nephew, who was still singing gently in the bath while one of the slave girls ran her fingers through his hair.
‘He will be there also, after his bath is finished.’
The girl walked to a door on the opposite side of the room from which he had entered. It opened into a dimly lit passageway. He followed her along it, from one sputtering torch to the next, round several corners and past many closed doors until they reached a small antechamber, where they ascended a narrow stone stair. They had not seen another person since leaving the room with the baths, and Heracles’s instincts told him something was amiss. Despite sharing the same divine father with Minos, and the king’s over-friendly habit of referring to him as Brother , Heracles did not trust him. But he was not afraid. He would take the bait and see where it led.
The passage at the top of the stairs was wide and short, amply lit by three torches on each wall. At the end was a large door, beside which was a stone bench. The slave turned and looked Heracles up and down, then with a nod of satisfaction continued to the door. She knocked sharply and waited.
‘Enter,’ a woman’s voice replied.
‘You can go in,’ the maid informed Heracles, stepping aside and sitting on the bench.
He entered, closing the door behind him. The room was lit by a single oil lamp on a low table. Its light wavered with the same faint breeze that teased a pair of tall curtains, hanging over a window on the right hand side of the chamber. The walls were richly decorated with friezes of naked men and women, coupled in acts of lust. But the lovemaking did not just involve men. One woman was being ravished by an oversized ant, another by a dove, and yet another by a bull, reminding Heracles of Minos’s mother, Europa – and also of Pasiphaë’s perverse love.
The floor w
as laid with thick furs and at the far end was a sprawling bed. A woman in a white robe lay on the bed. It was Pasiphaë.
‘Come, sit beside me, Heracles.’
He scanned the room, but there were no signs of hidden assassins behind the curtains or in the shadows.
‘What do you want with me, my lady?’
‘To talk.’
‘We spoke at the feast, where you made your opinion of me clear.’
She folded her legs over the bed and stood.
‘You must forgive me,’ she said, walking barefoot towards him. ‘My husband is a fiercely proud and jealous man. If he’d suspected for a moment my true feelings for you, he could have made things very difficult. For me, and for you.’
She stopped a few paces away. Her dress was Greek in style, hanging from the shoulders and covering her breasts, rather than the more open Cretan style. Yet the material was thin, a mere veil, intended to reveal more than it hid. With the light from the oil lamp behind her, it showed a perfect silhouette of her otherwise naked body – her long legs and the swell of her hips, the narrowing of her waist and the thrust of her chest. Though her dress at the feast had left her breasts openly exposed, the effect of their being hidden by a layer of gossamer-thin material excited more of a reaction in him.
‘I forgive you,’ he said.
‘Good. Are you thirsty?’
Without waiting for an answer, she walked to the table with the oil lamp and poured wine into two cups, taking them over to the bed. She was in the light of the lamp now, and he could see the pale skin of her back and buttocks through the dress.
‘Please, join me,’ she said, sitting down. ‘I didn’t expect a man of your courage to be so… reticent.’
He crossed the room and sat beside her, taking the cup she offered him and drinking deeply.
‘What do you want to talk with me about?’
She did not answer, but leaned across and placed her lips against his. Their tongues met and he felt her passion rising. Then she withdrew and stood, walking back across the room to the table. She drained her cup and set it down.
‘Do you want me?’ she asked.
He looked at her dark eyes, simmering with urgency and possessed by a keen intelligence. If Aphrodite herself was stood before him, she could not be more beautiful. His gaze fell to the broad circles of her nipples, clearly seen through the material, and to the alluring triangle of her pubic hair. Yes, he wanted her. He emptied his cup and wiped his lips with the back of his hand.
‘What’s the price?’
‘Astute,’ she said, returning to the bed. ‘Of course there’s a price. A small one.’
She sat astride his thighs, the palms of her hands resting against his chest as she leaned forward.
‘I want you to go home and leave the bull alone,’ she whispered as their lips met.
‘No.’
‘Why ?’
She pushed him angrily onto the bed, then rose to her knees above him and pulled off the dress, tossing it to one side. There was a fire in her eyes now as she stared at him. He reached up and stroked her bared breasts. She closed her eyes, enjoying his touch.
‘Why must you capture it?’ she repeated.
‘Because the gods commanded me to.’
‘The gods,’ she scoffed, seizing his wrist and staring at him. ‘Why would the gods want you to take the bull from me. To spite me?’
‘No – to spite me , as a penance for murder. Why are you so keen to stop me?’
‘Because I was cursed to love the beast, and the beast loves me! I can’t bear to see it harmed.’
‘Then it’s true.’
She pulled herself away and sat at the edge of the bed, her back turned to him.
‘Of course it is. Is it any worse a crime than murdering your own children? Yes, I’ve heard about you, too. A madness sent by the gods, they said. Well, they did the same to me, in a manner. Do you think I asked to fall in love with a bull?’
He moved up beside her.
‘Perhaps when the animal has been sacrificed, the curse will end.’
‘But I don’t want the curse to end, Heracles. Even if I never see it again, I don’t want it to be harmed. Yet you said you would shoot it with arrows, and cut off its horns and hoofs. I can’t let you. I won’t.’
He thought then of Minos’s refusal to tell him about the mushroom. Had he anticipated the lengths his wife would go to, to stop him capturing the bull? She turned and placed her hand on his cheek, pulling him into another kiss. A moment later, she was astride him once more, wrapping her legs behind his back and draping her arms over his shoulders as their tongues met. Feeling his own passions rise, he rolled her onto the bed and lay on top of her. She looked up into his eyes.
‘The gods didn’t ask you to capture the Great Bull for nothing,’ she said. ‘It’s a fearsome animal. Even if your strength is enough to subdue it – which I doubt – it won’t let you get near enough to try. It breathes flames that can consume a man entirely, turning even his bones to dust. Many have died that way. But I can help you capture it.’
She reached down and pulled up the hem of his tunic, so that his manhood pressed against her.
‘A moment ago you were asking me to leave the bull alone; now you want to help me capture it.’
‘Yes, if you promise not to harm it, and if you swear to let it go when you reach Tiryns.’
‘That isn’t for me to decide, Pasiphaë. It’s for Eurystheus, the man the gods commanded me to serve and who set me this task. Besides, I don’t need your help. The labour is for me alone.’
Pasiphaë pushed him away, a fierce look in her eyes. Then she twisted over and reached for the cushions at the top of the bed, throwing them aside. Heracles looked up, just in time to see the dagger in her hand. With a scream, she lunged at his chest. He grabbed her wrist and wrenched the weapon from her hand, tossing it across the room. She tried to claw his face with the nails of her free hand, but he took her arm and pushed her back against the bed. There were tears of frustration and rage in her eyes as she stared up at him.
‘I’m going,’ he said, releasing her hands and sitting up.
To his surprise, she took hold of his wrist and shook her head.
‘Don’t go. Stay and make love to me. Maybe a man like you can cure me of this curse.’
He looked at her with her red, tear-dampened cheeks and her chest rising and falling rapidly. Passion still gripped her, and she did not care whether it was sated in his blood or through the animal pleasure of having him inside her. But he had fallen into her trap once; he would not let it happen again.
‘No, Pasiphaë. You are beautiful and dangerous, but I will not violate your husband’s hospitality any more than I already have.’
He crossed the bedchamber and opened the door. The slave girl stood and looked at him quizzically.
‘Take me to my room, at once,’ he ordered.
Chapter Thirteen
THE GREAT BULL
The crash of water was the first indication that they were approaching the head of the gorge. Iolaus had been woken by his uncle before dawn, and after collecting their weapons and eating a frugal breakfast they left the palace as the first insipid light was diluting the darkness in the east. At first, their journey took them up from the valley and onto a fertile plain of small farmsteads, vineyards and orchards of fruit and olive trees. As on their approach to Cnossus the day before, the farmers and shepherds beginning their day’s chores regarded them with silent suspicion. The eastern mountains came steadily closer, though, and by noon they crossed a bridge over what a local grudgingly confirmed was the River Tethris. Leaving the dirt track, they followed the stony bank of the river as it headed south.
Little had been said by either man since leaving the palace. Heracles had kept his thoughts to himself, while Iolaus was in no mood to speak. While the two slave girls had kept him occupied in his bath the day before – with their teasing looks and wandering hands – Heracles had disappeared without a wo
rd. When he finally noticed the empty bath and the lion-skin cloak on a stool, the maids assured him he was waiting in the room that had been prepared for them. Then they began touching him in ways that distracted his thoughts from his missing uncle.
He did not see Heracles again until later. After his bath was over, the girls escorted him to the room where he and Heracles were to sleep. But the room was empty, except for a pair of beds, two chairs and a table set with fresh bread and wine. By the time Heracles returned, he had already guessed where his uncle had been. Pasiphaë’s apparent hostility to him at the feast had not convinced Iolaus. Indeed, much of his conversation with the queen had been spent answering her questions about him: questions that revealed more than a passing interest in the man. The fact that he smelled of her distinctive perfume when he returned from his absence only confirmed Iolaus’s suspicions. And, strangely, it irked him.
At first, he did not know why. Despite Pasiphaë’s beauty, it was not jealousy. When he asked where Heracles had been, he received the blunt answer that the queen had offered herself to him if he promised to leave the Great Bull alone. He claimed to have refused her. But as his uncle slipped beneath his furs and fell into an immediate sleep, Iolaus felt certain the queen’s attempts at seduction had not failed, but that Heracles had freely enjoyed the pleasures of her body.
That was when he realized what bothered him about the fact – it was disappointment. Before the night of his madness, he had only ever known Heracles to be a faithful husband. Even if the stories of his many lovers before his marriage to Megara were right, there was never any suggestion he had been untrue to her. Until now. Even with the terrible events that had torn them apart, they were still man and wife, and in his admiration for his uncle, Iolaus had naively expected him to remain faithful.
Hypocrite, he told himself, expecting a man of Heracles’s nature to remain celibate, while he had made love to both the slave girls who had bathed him.
The sound of rushing water became louder. The river was wide and filled with boulders that had rolled down from the surrounding hills. Both banks were wooded now, shading the two men from the midday sun and making their walk almost pleasant, were it not for the knowledge of what lay at the end of it. Iolaus had tried to think how they might capture a fire-breathing bull, but had failed to come up with any plan that did not result in them being incinerated. Heracles had talked of wounding the beast with his arrows and draining its strength, but somehow Iolaus did not think the matter would be that simple. Ultimately, he would still have to get close enough to bring the animal down with his brute strength; and though the lion-skin cloak was impervious to bronze weapons, it was not against fire.
