The Twelve Labours of Hercules Read online

Hephaestus, “will you be taking your leisure here in the palace whilst I do all the work?”

  The god of the forge made no reply. He simply gave Hercules a weary look, as if he were quite used to such cruel words. Now Hercules looked at Hephaestus properly for the first time. They had both been working hard for hours, but Hephaestus had been in front of the forge, facing the full heat of the fire. His face was blackened and his hair singed. His body looked as wilted as an un-watered plant. At some point he had changed from his robes into a tough leather apron, for protection against flying sparks, so now his legs were bare. Hercules saw that they were all twisted and mangled. The only thing that allowed Hephaestus to stand at all was a mechanism of golden rods, attached to the damaged limbs at ankle, knee and hip. Hercules lowered his eyes, but could not bring himself to apologise.

  “You would only slow me down,” he muttered, trudging over to gather the chains, stakes and hammer. Then a thought struck him.

  “How am I to find the way?” he asked Hephaestus.

  “Only a few hours ago, the gods of Olympus dragged a struggling giant along the path,” Hephaestus answered, “just keep heading downwards, and follow the signs of mayhem.”

  Sure enough, the trail was as easy to follow as that of a herd of stampeding elephants, and Hercules was soon heading down through the dark ways that still survive deep underneath the surface of the earth – going deeper even than the realm of Hades. The path was long, difficult and treacherous, but Hercules had some help. Firstly, the chains made by Hephaestus gave off a ghostly light - evidence of their magical nature – making it possible to see in the underground darkness. Secondly, he still wore the winged sandals of Hermes. Although he could not fly with his heavy load, the sandals at least gave speed to his feet and, when once or twice a chasm blocked the path, they allowed him to leap surprising distances. It was, therefore, not long after the gods had arrived that Hercules reached the centre of the earth.

  Hercules immediately saw the good sense of Zeus’s plan. The rock that stood here was enormous, dwarfing the group of gods and even the mighty figure of Alcyoneus – who lay on the ground, still wrapped in his chains like a caterpillar in its cocoon. Furthermore, the rock was rooted and pressed in on all sides by the earth itself. Anyone who would move this rock would have to have the strength to move the whole world.

  “Hercules,” called Zeus, seeing him approach, “you have brought the chains. Good. Now we must secure them to the rock, ready to imprison the giant. We need them here, here and here to hold his legs, arms and head. Ares, come and exercise your sword arm by hammering in this spike.”

  Ares lifted the hammer, swung it in an easy arc and struck an enormous blow to the head of the spike. The metal quivered and sang, but it did not penetrate the rock – not by the tiniest amount. Ares tried two more times, then threw the hammer to the ground in disgust. All the other gods then took their turn to try and hammer in the spikes, but none was successful - not even Zeus himself. Hades failed right at the start, being unable to lift the hammer, and he shot a furious look at Hercules, who was laughing behind his hand. As the Lord of the Underworld passed by Hercules, he hissed in his ear.

  “You may be the favourite now, but remember that you are mortal - one day you will die. When that day comes your spirit will travel to my realm, and you will be in my power. So, enjoy your laughter. I will pay you back for it soon enough.”

  The sound of that evil, ghostly voice chilled Hercules as much as the words themselves, and he shivered as he stepped forward to try his strength against the spikes and rock. He knew that he would not fail. He felt invincible, and he was not going to be put off by some weakling like Hades. He lifted the hammer and swung it, two handed, at the spike. It made a whooshing sound as it cut through the air, then a clang as it hit the spike, which sank into the rock amid the cheering of the gods. To Hercules it had felt wrong. The spike had gone in as though the rock was butter, and he wondered if it would really hold firm. He gave it a pull, then a heave, but the spike was fixed firmly. If he could get a few more in like that, then no power on earth would dislodge them.

  It was a difficult job to bring Alcyoneus to the rock and to chain him there. More than once, he threatened to break free, and all the gods together were needed to restrain him, but there was never any doubt about how it would end. The leader of the giants was chained at the centre of the earth, and the gods prepared to return, in victory, to Olympus. If only they had returned straight away, and if only Hercules had returned immediately to Thebes, then the rest of this story would not need telling, but Hercules was greedy for his reward.

  “Father Zeus,” he called out, a crafty glint in his eye, “I know that many call you ‘father’, but it seems now – after our great adventure together - to have more meaning to me than ever before. Even when you visited me in disguise, I felt a special love for you, and now I know why.”

  Here, Hercules paused and dropped his head, shaking it sadly.

  “I only wish,” he continued, “that I could serve you, as your devoted champion, forever.”

  Hades stared daggers at Hercules when he spoke these words, knowing very well that he was only looking for a reward, but Zeus was delighted to be addressed in this way by the hero of the hour.

  “Do not be sad, my son,” replied the ruler of the gods, “for you shall have your wish, but not as a simple champion. You shall call me father, and I shall call you son, and you shall have your own place in the great banqueting hall of Olympus.”

  Now as he spoke these words, Zeus seemed to see the spikes that held Alcyoneus shiver in the rock, and the voice of Cronus seemed to sound in his ears: ‘Only one with the heart of a man can conquer the giants’. Seeing that his hasty words might have broken the prophesy, Zeus thought quickly. He had made a promise to Hercules, but Hercules would still have to live and die as a man – with the heart of a man.

  “I ask only one thing from you, before you ascend to Olympus,” Zeus added quickly. Hercules nodded eagerly, so Zeus continued, “Return to the world of men and live your mortal life in such a way as will bring glory to my name. When your mortal part is dead, then I will lift you up as a god.”

  Even though he would have to wait for his reward, to be made a god was more than Hercules could have expected in his wildest dreams. He knelt before Zeus and pledged his eternal loyalty. Zeus, in his turn, was touched by the devotion of his new son and congratulated himself on having chosen the right baby – all those years ago. The only one who did not join the celebrations was Hades. He slunk back to his underground palace, muttering foul curses and plotting his revenge on the upstart Hercules.

  The Madness of Hercules

  Hercules returned triumphant from his adventures with Zeus and their defeat of the giants. Everything might still have been alright if only Hercules had been wise and humble, but instead he was boastful and proud. Because he would one day be a god, he thought that he was better than everyone else and destined to be king of the world. This was confirmed, as far as Hercules was concerned, when he was made King of Thebes. He went to war with his neighbours again and again, creating a huge empire, but causing great suffering in the process. He sat in his palace in Thebes, his capital city, and plotted ever larger conquests.

  As time went by, Hercules began to think of himself more and more as a god and less and less as a man. He started to be suspicious of everyone around him, even his own family. Then, one night, a terrible madness came over him. He dreamt that he was Cronos, king of the Titans. He believed that his own children were plotting to kill him and take his throne. With all reason gone, Hercules took his sword and hunted through the palace for his twelve sons. Warned by their mother, the boys ran or hid, as best they were able, while Hercules stalked the corridors, intent on their murder. The eleven older boys were fast or crafty enough to avoid their father, but the youngest didn’t realise the terrible danger. With a smile on his face and his little arms open wide he walked towards his beloved father, blind to the murderous look tha
t was in those familiar eyes. Hercules raised his sword to strike down his son, but before he could deal the fatal blow there was a terrible earthquake that knocked him off his feet and almost brought the palace tumbling down. Now Hercules regained his senses. He remembered what he was about to do and threw his sword to the ground. Overcome with remorse for his crimes, he left the palace, his city and his empire, and wandered into the wilderness with only an old lion skin cloak to cover him.

  For almost a year Hercules wandered alone, trying to understand what had happened to him. He had had everything, but he had been foolish and had lost it all. Now the idea of becoming a god seemed like a curse, endless years in which to regret what he had done and to torture himself with thoughts of how easily he could have kept the things that he had lost. After suffering much hardship, and spending weeks alone with his thoughts, Hercules realised that his new life was all that he deserved. In fact, he decided, it was better than he deserved, and he should never hope for anything more. The next day, as soon as he was awake, he decided that he would devote the rest of his life to good deeds. Immediately he felt better and set off with a new purpose. Before