WRATH OF THE GODS

by Glyn Iliffe

  The ground began to slope downward. The worn path they were following twisted this way and that as it led down between rocky outcrops and thrusting tree roots, while to their right the river descended in a series of short weirs. Yet the roar that filled the still air of the woods indicated a larger waterfall to come. They pushed on, until the trees ahead of them became thinner and ended at a shelf of rock. Beside them, the fast-flowing waters tumbled out of sight into a deep gorge. Its sloping sides were covered in trees and shrubs, and at the bottom Iolaus could see the river continue on along a winding course, until it disappeared beyond a fold in the walls of the gorge.

  The path that had led them there now steered around to the left and disappeared between a cleft in a rocky outcrop. Heracles paused to look down into the ravine, then turned and stared back down the path by which they had come.

  ‘Do you think he’s still with us?’

  ‘Who?’ Iolaus asked, staring back through the trees.

  ‘The horseman who’s been following us since we left the palace. Brother Minos is a suspicious man. I doubt there’s much that goes on in his kingdom that he isn’t aware of. And the last thing he wants is someone like me roaming free across Crete.’

  ‘I don’t see anyone. Perhaps we’ve lost him.’

  ‘If we have, it won’t be for long. All he’ll have to do is stand on this ledge and look down into the gorge – we’ll be as obvious as a white bull.’

  They ate a piece of bread and a strip of dried meat each from their satchels, then followed the path through the cleft in the rock. A crude stair had been cut in the scree-strewn hillside, descending rapidly before turning back on itself so they were looking across at the mighty cataract as they continued downwards. The crash of cascading water drowned out all other sound, the fine spray producing a shifting rainbow in the sunlight that was pouring down into the gorge. At the bottom, they skirted the wide pool made by the waterfall and followed the course of the river as it flowed out from it.

  At this point, the bottom of the gorge was wide and flat. A few trees grew on either bank, and though the waters were deep and the current fast, there were crossing points where falls of rock had left stepping stones between the banks. Occasionally, they came across abandoned shepherds’ huts and empty animal pens. Many had had their walls thrown down and their gates and doors burned to blackened stumps. As they passed by the ominous ruins, they listened for sounds of the bull over the trickle of the river and the stony rattle of pebbles beneath their sandals, but heard nothing. They eyed the shadows cast by overhanging cliffs and the mouths of caves, expecting to see the bull come rushing out at them, belching flames and levelling its horns for the charge. Yet they saw no sign of the creature.

  The farther he wandered into the gorge, the more desperate Iolaus was for the wait to end. He did not like the gradual narrowing of the ravine, which gave little room for manoeuvre and only one route of escape. Even in the bright sunlight, his fear of the beast was beginning to master him. Heracles, though, seemed unconcerned. His bow had been ready – with arrow notched – since the descent from the top of the waterfall, but he showed no signs of fear or nervousness. Unless it was to cast an occasional glance over this shoulder at the track behind them.

  After a while, the sides of the gorge grew steeper, and the gap between them became so narrow that only the river and one rocky bank remained, the other giving way to sheer cliffs. The sun had passed over the hills above, leaving the two men in cool shadow. Then Heracles held his hand out behind him, motioning for Iolaus to stop. Iolaus peered ahead into the shadowy chasm, but at first he could see nothing. Heracles turned and signalled urgently for him to go back.

  Iolaus did not wait. This was Heracles’s task, and if they had been followed by one of Minos’s spies, then they could not risk a report returning to Tiryns that he had helped his uncle. He hurried back to a large boulder – the pebbles clacking noisily beneath his feet – and knelt under its shadow. Ahead of him, Heracles was stooped low, his bowstring bent back to his cheekbone and the arrow ready to fly. What instinct had alerted him, Iolaus did not know, for his eyes could see little in the gloom, and his ears could hear nothing over the flow of the river.

  And then he saw it: a huge grey shape emerging from a hidden fold in the cliff face, half-wreathed in the smoke billowing out from its nostrils. As it advanced – slowly and menacingly – Iolaus was overwhelmed with a sense of abject horror that turned his flesh cold. The beast was enormous, dwarfing the bull Heracles had brought down in the arena the day before. Its horns ran out straight from either side of its head, each the length and thickness of a man’s arm, before curving up into points that would tear through flesh as if it was bread: a creature produced not by nature, but by the gods themselves, with the sole purpose of bringing misery and suffering to mankind. Heracles staggered back before it, daunted by the size and power of the brute. And as Iolaus watched it towering over him, he knew that even his uncle could not hope to defeat such a colossus and drag it back with him to Tiryns.

  The beast moved out from the shadow of the cliff, snorting and shaking its head at the man who had dared to face it. His foe at last in sight, Heracles took aim and released the arrow. A sudden jet of orange flame erupted from the Great Bull’s nostrils, consuming the dart in an instant. Iolaus fell back in shock. He had expected the monster’s fiery breath to extend no more than a pace or two from its snout – deadly close up, perhaps, but not at a distance. Instead, it was able to project fire as far as a man might throw a rock.

  Even from the boulder that he was hiding behind, Iolaus could feel the heat of the beast’s breath and smell the burnt air. He shrank farther behind the rock, though not so far that he lost sight of the bull and his uncle. Heedless of the danger, Heracles fitted a second arrow and shot it, reaching for a third the moment it left the string. Again, the shadowy chasm was lit by a burst of bright flame that consumed the second missile in an instant. The third shared the same fate. Undeterred, Heracles loosened the club from his belt and advanced.

  ‘No!’ Iolaus shouted after him. ‘It’ll roast you alive.’

  But Heracles could not hear him, or was not listening. He ran along the bank of the river towards the monster, his arms pumping as he gained speed. The bull let out a booming roar that shook the walls of the ravine, bringing rocks tumbling down from the cliffs above. As Heracles came closer, the bull released a torrent of fire at him. A moment before it scorched his flesh from his bones, Heracles dived into the fast-flowing river. The flames exploded against the cliff on the other side, blackening the stone and bringing several more large rocks crashing into the water.

  No longer afraid, and heedless of Heracles’s orders to stay back, Iolaus slipped the sword from its scabbard and ran to help his uncle. He scrambled up onto a high boulder and looked for him in the river. As he watched, the bull discharged another jet of flame directly into the water. It hit the surface with a hiss, making it explode in a cloud of white steam. Crying out in dismay, Iolaus jumped down and sprinted towards the Great Bull, which now had its flank turned to him as it eyed the water for its attacker.

  Then Heracles burst from the surface, several paces farther on from where the beast was standing. He threw his club onto the rocky bank and pulled himself up. But the bull saw him and launched a pillar of flame in his direction. Heracles threw himself back into the water, just as the fire burst over the rock. It incinerated his club and swept across the river behind, sending up a great fog of steam that billowed out across the gorge. A moment later, Heracles hauled himself onto the bank again, roaring with pain from the boiling water. He pushed himself to his feet and ran for the cover of the nearest boulder. Though shrouded by the steam, the bull saw him and gave a furious roar, intent on burning his enemy alive before he could reach safety.

  Iolaus shouted at the top of his voice as he ran, desperately hoping to distract the bull before it could emit another jet of flame. Then he heard a cry and the clatter of hooves on stone. He turned, just in
time to jump out of the horse’s way.

  ‘Stop!’ the rider shouted, and to Iolaus’s surprise the voice belonged to a woman. ‘Stop! Don’t harm him!’

  She leaped from her horse and dashed forward, waving her arms over her head. Her hood fell back as she ran, and Iolaus was shocked to recognize Pasiphaë. The bull turned at the sound of her voice, its features contorted with rage, and for a moment Iolaus feared it would burn her to ashes. Then it turned back and launched a stream of fire at Heracles, who threw himself behind the cover of the boulder an instant before the flames exploded against it.

  ‘No!’ Pasiphaë called. ‘No, my darling, please. Do not kill him.’

  The bull snorted furiously and beat its hooves on the rock, but it withheld its fiery breath. Turning from the boulder where Heracles was crouching, it bowed its horns towards the queen.

  ‘Come to me, my love,’ she said, opening her arms. ‘Come and embrace me.’

  Iolaus was shocked by her words. Though he had heard the stories about her from the helmsman who had brought them to Crete, he had not really believed a woman of her nobility and intelligence could make love to a bull – and never to a creature of such size. Despite her pleas, the beast shook its head and stared back at the boulder, knowing it could not give its affections to Pasiphaë until its tormentor had been killed. It seemed not to care about Iolaus’s presence.

  ‘Pasiphaë, what are you doing here?’ Heracles called out.

  ‘I’ve come to save your life.’

  ‘I don’t want your help.’

  ‘Don’t be a stubborn fool. Even you can’t defeat the bull alone.’

  ‘Listen to her,’ Iolaus added. ‘She might be able to help us.’

  Heracles glanced out from behind the boulder.

  ‘If you’re so confident I can’t defeat it, why interfere? Why not let your lover kill me?’

  Pasiphaë looked at the bull, and the anger in its black eyes softened as it stared back at her.

  ‘Because you’re the best hope I have, Heracles,’ she said. ‘I can’t continue like this, stealing away from the palace whenever a chance shows itself; riding out here to… to lie with an animal. I love the beast, but I know this is wrong – that it’s a perversion of nature. You’re my only hope of being freed from this madness. Yet I can’t tolerate the thought of the bull being killed, or even harmed. If I help you, you must swear to release him once you reach the mainland.’

  The bull stamped its hooves against the rock again. Whatever hold her presence had over its fierce nature, was becoming strained.

  ‘What do you want me to do?’ Heracles said.

  ‘I’ll distract the bull while you try to capture him. If you have the strength the rumours say you do, then you might just be able to hold him long enough for me to tie his legs. I’ve brought rope.’

  ‘I have something better than rope. But how can you be sure the beast will listen to you? It hasn’t forgotten I’m here, and the moment I show myself it’ll burn me up. How do I know that’s not what you’re planning anyway?’

  ‘Because I wouldn’t have intervened in the first place. Besides, if I help you in your task – if I help you overcome your sin – perhaps the gods will have mercy on me for my wicked passions. Do you swear to release the beast?’

  ‘I swear I’ll let it go when I reach Tiryns. That was the task given to me – to deliver it to Eurystheus.’

  Suddenly, the Great Bull gave a roar and sent a spurt of flame at Heracles. He ducked behind the boulder, but the monster continued to pour fire against it until the stone began to crack.

  ‘No, my love,’ Pasiphaë said. ‘Stop this, I beg you!’

  But the bull refused to listen. Another blast of flame poured over the blackened boulder, which glowed red as lumps of rock flaked off. Iolaus ran forward, clutching his heavy sword in both hands and hoping he could reach the monster before it noticed his approach. If he killed it, it would mean the failure of the labour and Heracles’s hopes of absolution; but if he did not, his uncle was certain to die.

  ‘Stay back,’ Pasiphaë ordered him, holding out the palm of her hand.

  With the other, she unclasped the brooch over her left shoulder and let her cloak fall to the ground. She wore a short woollen skirt beneath it, which she pulled down to her ankles. Stepping free of the small pile of clothing, she walked naked towards the Great Bull, opening her arms wide.

  ‘Come to me, my love,’ she called out. ‘Take pleasure in my body, as you’ve done so often before. And know that I love you. Whatever happens, I love you.’

  There were tears in her eyes, though she kept her head high. The hiss of flames ceased and the bull turned to look at her. The rage in its dark eyes was quenched at last and it moved towards her. The queen raised her hand, laying her palm on the monster’s broad forehead. As it lowered its enormous head, Heracles dashed from behind the boulder and seized it by the horns, wrenching its head backwards.

  The bull gave a roar and ejected a line of fire up into the air, which fell in an arc towards Iolaus. He jumped aside as hissing gobbets of flame splattered over the rocky shelf where he had been standing. Pasiphaë gave an anguished scream, holding her hands against her cheeks as she watched the struggle between Heracles and the Great Bull. The monster tossed its head from side to side, trying to loosen its assailant’s grip and throw him to the ground. Heracles hung on grimly, his arm muscles straining and his teeth gritted as he tried to bring the animal down to the ground.

  But this was not the creature he had subjugated before Minos and his nobles. When Poseidon created the Great Bull, he had endowed it with the strength of many men and an indomitable spirit that would bow to no one. As Heracles leaned his weight against its flank and tried to force it onto its side, it pushed back against him, raising its horns and lifting him from the ground. Heracles hung on grimly as the bull tried to shake him off. Then, bawling with rage, it lowered its massive head and charged, dragging Heracles beneath it.

  ‘No!’ the queen wailed, running towards the monster.

  Iolaus threw his arms around her naked waist and pulled her back. Somehow, Heracles retained his grip on the bull’s horns, keeping its head to one side as he was pulled along beneath its thundering hooves. Then, with a shout that echoed back from the narrow walls of the gorge, he jerked the beast’s head around and brought its vast bulk crashing down on top of himself. It released another blast of flame as it fell, and then both Heracles and the bull rolled across the bank and into the river.

  Iolaus released his hold on Pasiphaë and sprinted to the water’s edge. The bull was twisting and thrashing, with Heracles locked around its neck. Heracles pulled back his arm and smashed the heel of his fist against the beast’s broad forehead. It bellowed with pain and fury, the sound deafening as it echoed from the surrounding cliffs. Then it charged towards a large boulder in the middle of the river, and turning, hurled itself and its tormenter against the rock. Heracles cried out, releasing his hold on the monster, and slipped beneath the surface of the water.

  For a moment, Iolaus could see nothing of his uncle. Then, as Pasiphaë joined him on the bank – her cloak thrown around her shoulders again – he saw Heracles’s head and shoulders appear through the tumult of water further downstream, gasping for air. Seeing his struggling form, the bull lowered its horns and launched itself at him. Heracles pushed himself up to his full height, the water rushing about his waist, and fixed his eyes on the charging monster. Balling his hand into a fist, he gave a shout and ran to meet his attacker.

  The bull dipped its head to one side, aiming the tip of its horn at his chest. Heracles twisted aside and threw a punch, catching the monster on the jaw. It crashed back into the river, and Heracles leapt in after it. For a moment, they disappeared beneath the frothing waters and were lost from sight.

  ‘He’s trying to drown it!’ Pasiphaë cried.

  ‘He won’t do that,’ Iolaus said, desperately scanning the river. ‘Not unless his own life depends on it.’

&n
bsp; Suddenly, the white froth from the churned up water turned pink. The river exploded and the bull broke free. Its eyes were wide with panic as it swam towards a dip in the bank. Iolaus looked for a sign of Heracles, fearing the worst. Then he saw a dark shape beneath the surface, darting after the white beast as it dragged itself up onto the rock. Heracles emerged a moment later, breathing heavily as he reached for the bull and seized hold of its hind leg.

  The monster turned and spewed a jet of flame at its attacker, narrowly missing him as the water behind was turned to steam. Heracles threw up a hand and grabbed hold of a horn, pulling the bull’s head down onto the rock. Releasing his grip on its hind leg, he took hold of the other horn and dragged himself out of the river. Blood was pouring from the outside of his right thigh, but if the wound had weakened him, then the bull was weaker still. It rolled its eyes and grunted helplessly as he pinned its head against the bank. Then, throwing his shoulder against the animal’s flank, he pushed it onto its side. It kicked out and tried to push up against his hold, then with a loud snort, collapsed back onto the stone shelf.

  Leaning his weight on top of it, Heracles reached into the satchel at his side and pulled out Hephaistos’s golden net. Within moments, the Great Bull was held fast within its grip. Pasiphaë ran to its side and threw herself across its huge head, weeping uncontrollably. Wearied and bleeding heavily, Heracles dragged himself towards a large boulder and leaned back against it. His great chest heaved as he struggled for breath, and his eyes squinted against the pain that was wracking his body. Iolaus knelt beside him and tore a strip from his cloak, using it to dress the gash in his uncle’s leg where the bull’s horn had torn a hole in the flesh. A moment later, Heracles’s eyes closed and his head rolled back against the rock.