The Twelve Labors of Hercules Page 3

  It was spring now, and, still fresh and unwearied, the hind continued on: through Illyria, which lies alongside the Adriatic Sea, then north through the vast grasslands where the nomads roamed in their carts that were covered with bullock hides, then turning west again into the land of the Hyperboreans, the men who live at the back of the North Wind.

  Summer was over now; the days were getting shorter and the weather colder. But guided by Zeus, Hercules still followed the hind. Rising at dawn, he would climb to some high point and wait till he saw the sun gleaming on her golden antlers. Then, doggedly, he would set off again on her track.

  Now, anxious for the first time, the hind turned south again, thinking to find safety in the groves of Artemis. And so they retraced their steps, the hind leading and Hercules following, ever southward: back through the grasslands and along the high cliffs of Illyria, past the shrine of Zeus in Epirus and the oracle of Apollo at Delphi, through Boeotia and back across the Isthmus. And finally, a full year after the chase had begun, the hind fell exhausted on the bank of a river in the heart of Arcadia.

  Slowly and quietly Hercules came up to her. Stroking her soothingly, he picked her up and slung her across his shoulders.

  “Hold, Hercules,” said a clear and commanding voice, and the bushes parted and the goddess Artemis herself appeared before him. Slim and beautiful, clad in skins and with her bow over her shoulder, she frowned angrily at him.

  “Surely you know what beast this is,” she said. “How dare you touch her?”

  “Indeed I know who she is, O Artemis,” said Hercules. “For I have hunted her for a full year—not through choice, but by order of Eurystheus.”

  “And do his commandments mean more to you than mine?”

  “By no means, O goddess. Though he is the High King and ruler of the House of Perseus, I scorn him. But in performing the labors he has set for me I am obeying the commandment of your brother Apollo, given to me by his oracle at Delphi. And he, I have always believed, spoke for all the gods. If you are angry, be not angry at me but at Eurystheus. I warned him that you would not like this.”

  “I do not like it,” she said, “nor him. I have never liked him, and now I like him less than ever. But what will you do with my poor hind now that you have caught her?”

  “I was told I must bring her alive to Mycenae. Once I have shown her to Eurystheus, I will set her free and she can return here. I give you my word that no harm will come to her.”

  She studied him for a moment, then nodded. “In that case, you have my leave to take her.”

  “Thank you, Artemis,” said Hercules, and with the hind on his shoulders he set off for Mycenae.

  It was almost dusk when Hercules reached the city gates and saw the High King standing on the wall waiting for him.

  “Here is the Ceryneian hind, Eurystheus,” he said. “What shall I do with her?”

  “I will send men down to take her from you,” said Eurystheus.

  “You intend to keep her?”

  “Of course,” said Eurystheus. “I will put her in the enclosed court of my palace with my other captive beasts.”

  “I think Artemis will like that even less than my pursuing her.”

  “Nevertheless, that is my will.”

  The hind still on his shoulders, Hercules looked up at the king. Then he grinned. “As you say, Eurystheus. But first, I want my weapons back. And second, I will give her only to you.”

  Eurystheus hesitated. “Very well,” he said finally.

  Accompanied by Copreus and his armed guard, he went down from the wall, had the city gates opened, and came out to where Hercules waited. The captain of his guard went before him, carrying Hercules’ club, bow, and sword. He put them down beside the hero, then went back to wait with his men.

  “Come and get the hind, Eurystheus,” said Hercules. And lifting her from his shoulders, he set her on her feet, stroking her gently and whispering to her.

  Slowly and somewhat anxiously, Eurystheus came toward them. But as he reached out for the hind, Hercules released her. Like an arrow from Hercules’ own bow she fled, brass hoofs spurning the earth, golden antlers flashing in the sun. In an instant she was out of sight.

  As Eurystheus gazed after her, mocking laughter was heard—the laughter of the goddess.

  “I am afraid you forgot how quick she was,” said Hercules, shaking his head in pretended distress. “Too bad.” He picked up his weapons. “It was a long, hard chase she led me. When I am rested from it I will come back and you can tell me what my next task is to be.” And raising his club in salute, he set off for Thebes.

  7

  THE FOURTH LABOR: THE ERYMANTHIAN BOAR

  “The High King is surprised,” said Copreus when Hercules again stood before the gates of Mycenae, “that it took you so long to recover from your last labor.”

  “It was a long chase,” said Hercules, “and a lonely one. But the delay has given the High King that much more time to decide on my next task. What is it to be?”

  “Because your last labor was rather difficult, the king has decided to give you one that almost anyone could accomplish. You are to capture and bring back alive the Erymanthian boar.”

  “I appreciate the High King’s thoughtfulness,” said Hercules dryly, “and I will try to complete this task more quickly than the last one.” And bowing to Eurystheus, who stood beside his herald on the city walls, he set out, going west into Arcadia.

  Like the hind, the Erymanthian boar was a famous beast. And like the Nemean lion and the Hydra, it was a dangerous and destructive one—larger and fiercer than any other boar in Greece. It lived on Mount Erymanthus, which was sacred to Artemis, and had for some years ravaged the countryside nearby, rooting up crops with its huge, curved tusks and killing all those who had tried to deal with it.

  When Hercules reached Pholoe, he had a blacksmith make him a long, strong chain, testing each link himself for any hidden weakness. When he was satisfied with it, he paid the smith well for his work.

  “Which way do you go?” asked the smith as Hercules shouldered the chain.

  “North,” said Hercules.

  “I would not if I were you,” said the smith. And he told him that a bandit named Saurus kept watch on the road, not only robbing all who came that way, but forcing them to wrestle with him and killing them.

  “Thank you for your warning,” said Hercules. “But since it is the shortest way to where I am going, I am afraid that I must take it.” And leaving the smith shaking his head sadly—for he had liked this tall young stranger—he set off along the narrow track that led up into the hills.

  At about noon, when he was high up in the hills, a hulking, black-bearded man stepped out from behind a rock, blocking his path.

  “You are either very brave or very foolish to have come this way,” he said. “Surely you must have heard that any who do must wrestle with me.”

  Hercules looked at him and at the band of ruffians who had appeared also and now stood behind him.

  “If you are Saurus, I did hear that,” he said mildly. “But since I am on an urgent mission, I thought I would chance it.”

  “Your mission will have to wait,” said Saurus. “In fact, I fear it will never be completed.”

  “That, of course, is for the gods to decide,” said Hercules. “But since you are many and I am only one, I suppose I must do as you wish.” And putting down his weapons and the chain: “How many falls must we wrestle?”

  “One is usually enough,” said Saurus. “But I must tell you that I like to have something to show for my wrestling. I have nine and ninety skulls outside my cave, the skulls of those who have come this way before you. Yours will be the hundredth.”

  “And there is so much I still hoped to accomplish,” said Hercules with a sigh. “Ah, well. Let us get it over with.”

  He stepped forward, hands raised in a defensive position, and Saurus rushed at him, hooking a leg behind him and trying to trip and throw him. But he might as well have tr
ied to uproot a sturdy oak. Hold after hold he tried, but Hercules broke each one until, mad with rage, Saurus clawed at his eyes, thinking to blind him. With a roar Hercules went over to the attack. Seizing Saurus, he lifted him high over his head and dashed him to the ground with such force that every bone in his body was shattered.

  For a moment Saurus’ men looked down at the body of their dead chieftain. Then, with angry shouts, they came at Hercules with raised weapons. Taking up his club, Hercules fought back with such deadly effect that within a few moments more than half the bandits lay dead beside Saurus and the rest fled.

  Shouldering the chain again, Hercules continued on and the next day reached Mount Erymanthus, where he began his hunt for the boar. He found its track with little trouble, and as he started to follow it the goddess Artemis again appeared before him.

  “Greetings, Hercules,” she said. “Why do you come here this time?”

  “I hunt the Erymanthian boar,” he said.

  “That should not be too difficult,” she replied. “I hear that your arrows are almost as deadly as mine.”

  “Killing it would not be difficult,” he agreed. “But by Eurystheus’ orders I must capture it and bring it alive to Mycenae.”

  “That is not quite so easy,” said Artemis. “But you kept your word about my hind so I will help you.”

  Together they followed the boar’s trail, finally coming upon the beast in a dense thicket. Seeing Hercules, the boar—large as an ox and with long, gleaming tusks—charged at him. Swinging his club deftly, Hercules struck the boar on the snout. With a squeal of pain and fear the huge beast turned and fled. Guided by Artemis, Hercules drove the boar up the mountain, the top of which was covered with snow. As the boar floundered in a deep snowdrift, Hercules leaped upon its back and bound it with his chain. Then, thanking Artemis for her help, he slung the beast over his shoulders and carried it back to Mycenae.

  “Here is your boar, Eurystheus,” he called to the king, dropping it before the city gates. “What you do with it is your affair. As to my next labor, that will have to wait for a while.” And he set off for Pagasae in Thessaly, for he had heard that the Argonauts were gathering there for the expedition in search of the Golden Fleece and he wished to join them.

  8

  THE FIFTH LABOR: THE AUGEAN STABLES

  “Well?” said Eurystheus as his herald came into the great hall.

  “The news you received is true,” said Copreus. “Hercules has returned to Greece. He is now at Thebes and should be coming here in the next day or so to continue his labors.”

  “Continue to win glory for himself, you mean,” said Eurystheus bitterly. “So far I have given him four tasks that should have been impossible. And he has not only accomplished them, but, in doing so, has become more famous and admired than ever.”

  “That is because you have given him tasks that required strength and courage,” said Copreus. “What if you gave him one of a different sort?”

  “What sort?”

  “One that would not only be difficult and unpleasant, but would make him ridiculous. For instance, my brother has just come from the west. He tells me that though he did not pass within miles of Elis, the stench from King Augeias’ stables is now so great that even at a distance it made him ill. What if Hercules’ next task was to cleanse the stables in one day?”

  For a moment Eurystheus looked at Copreus. Then, slipping a gold ring from his finger, he gave it to him. “You are a jewel among heralds. Take this as a token of my love.” And chuckling gleefully: “Hercules carrying baskets of dung on his shoulders—that will be a sight to see! Let me know when he arrives here.”

  Late the next afternoon Hercules arrived at Mycenae. As before, he found the Lion Gate closed and Eurystheus and his herald standing on the wall above it.

  “Greetings, Hercules,” said Copreus. “The High King wishes to know if you had a successful voyage.”

  “Very successful,” said Hercules. “We brought back the Golden Fleece and also Medea, daughter of the King of Colchis. Now I am ready to continue my labors.”

  “The High King has thought long about it,” said Copreus. “And your next task will again be different from the last in that there will be no danger in it. In fact, it will require nothing but strength, patience—and perhaps a strong stomach.”

  “Somehow I do not like the sound of it,” said Hercules. “What am I to do?”

  “You are to clean the stables of King Augeias in one day.”

  “What?” roared Hercules. “Do you take me for a stableboy, a sweep, a handler of filth?”

  “Nevertheless, that is your next labor,” said Copreus, and fearing the wrath of Hercules even at a distance, he followed his master, who was already hurrying from the wall.

  Hercules had reason to be furious, not only at the unpleasantness of the task that had been set for him, but at its enormity. For Augeias, King of Elis, had more cattle and sheep than any other man in Greece. He had been blessed by the gods in that his cows and ewes all brought forth many young, none of which ever became ill and died. But it was a mixed blessing, because several years ago his herds had become so large that it became impossible to clear away their droppings. And now the stables, cattleyard, and fields were so deep in filth that it was beginning to breed a pestilence that affected the whole region of Elis.

  As Hercules raged outside the gate at Mycenae, his father, Zeus, came to his aid as he had before, again sending the goddess Athene to him in the shape of an old crone.

  “Why this temper, Hercules?” she asked. “Has the High King given you a task that is too much for you?”

  “Too much for anyone!” he said. “It is to clean the stables of King Augeias in one day!”

  “That does sound difficult and rather unpleasant. But it is not impossible.”

  “How, then, shall I do it?” he asked more quietly, for he now knew that he was speaking to one of the Immortals.

  “Fire was your friend when you killed the Lernean Hydra. This time your best friend would be water.” And she told him what he should do.

  Smiling broadly, he thanked her and set off west for Elis. Luckily, when he arrived the wind was at his back and he was able to approach to within a short distance of the royal cattleyard without being sickened by the stench. There, on the crest of a hill, he found King Augeias himself, brooding over the trick the gods had played on him in turning his good fortune into a disaster.

  “Why so gloomy, O king?” asked Hercules. “You do not have the look of a man on whom the gods have smiled.”

  “If the wind changed or you went closer to my stables you would know why I look this way,” said Augeias.

  “They could stand a good cleaning,” said Hercules. “If I did it for you—and did it in one day—would you give me a tenth of all your cattle?”

  “Are you mocking me?” asked Augeias. “No one could do it in a day or even in a hundred days! Who are you that you even suggest such a thing?”

  At that moment the largest of Augeias’ bulls saw Hercules. Since he was wearing his lion skin, the bull took him for a lion and charged at him. Meeting the charge head-on, Hercules caught the bull by the horns and wrestled him to the ground.

  “There is only one man in Greece who could have done that,” said Augeias. “You must be Hercules.”

  “I am,” said Hercules, releasing the bull and letting him run off—which he was glad to do.

  “Well, well,” said Augeias. “That puts the matter in a different light. You are proposing to clean my stables in a single day?”

  “In a single day and by myself.”

  “Then I agree,” said Augeias. “If you can do it, I will give you a tenth of all my cattle.”

  He called up his oldest son to be a witness to their bargain, and they watched as Hercules set about his task. Picking his way carefully across the field, Hercules went to the wall that surrounded the stableyard and pulled it down in two places. Then, as Athene had suggested, he went to the nearby River Alp
heus, which was swollen with spring rain. Uprooting a huge tree that grew beside the river, Hercules dropped it across the stream so that it formed a dam. The river rose quickly behind the tree trunk, overflowed its banks, and poured across the fields, through one gap in the stableyard wall and out the other, washing the yard and all the pasture about it clean. In this way, without dirtying so much as a finger, Hercules not only accomplished his labor but once again made the Kingdom of Elis a place in which men could live without fear of pestilence.

  Though King Augeias should have been as grateful for this as were his subjects, when he learned that Hercules had cleansed his stables as one of the tasks set for him by Eurystheus, he refused to give him the promised cattle. And so Hercules gained nothing from this labor but greater fame.

  9

  THE SIXTH LABOR: THE STYMPHALIAN BIRDS

  “Those who come from the west,” said Copreus, “say that they can now pass quite close to Elis. The High King trusts that King Augeias appreciated what you did for him.”

  “I did not do it for him,” said Hercules. “I did it because it was a task set for me by your master.”

  “Still it was a great service to Augeias,” said the herald. Then, slyly: “It is too bad you couldn’t collect the cattle he promised you.”

  “If the High King is so concerned about that, why doesn’t he reward me himself?” asked Hercules. For he knew that it was Eurystheus who had told Augeias not to give him the cattle. When Copreus did not answer, he said, “Let us get on with our affairs. What is my next task to be?”

  “Show him,” said Eurystheus, and the herald threw the body of a huge bird down from the wall so that it fell at Hercules’ feet.

  “Do you know what this is?” asked Copreus.

  Hercules studied the bird. It was as large as a crane, with a crane’s stiltlike legs and a long, straight beak. However, its beak, claws, and feathers were all made of brass, and even in death it looked menacing.

  “I have not seen one before,” said Hercules, “but I suspect that it is one of the Stymphalian birds.”