Monsters of Greek Mythology, Volume Two (6 page)

But the guardsman didn't hear the last sentence. He had wheeled his horse and galloped out of the courtyard. This did not surprise Copreus. He knew that everyone feared the king. He went slowly toward the throne room, trying to prepare himself for the worst. For he fully expected to receive a skull-shattering blow from the king's scepter before he finished his tale.

Eurystheus was staring at him as he approached the throne, bowing deeply. He couldn't read the expression on the king's fat face. “Sire,” he cried. “The people of Nemea are hailing you as their savior.”

“Are they?” asked Eurystheus. “Why?”

“Because of the young hero you sent them. He has slain the Nemean Lion that has been terrorizing the countryside.”

“I warned Hera,” muttered the king. “I advised her to let him fight the Hydra first because it is more deadly by far.”

“What's the Hydra, Sire?”

“A monster that will be Hercules' second task, and should have been his first. Listen carefully now because you are to meet this accursed hero outside the gates and give him his assignment.”

“But, Your Majesty, he'll want to meet you personally. He told me before he left that he wished to receive your thanks when he returned with the lion's hide.”

“I won't see him! I won't,” bellowed the king. “Make some excuse. Tell him anything, I don't care. Meet him outside the walls and dispatch him immediately upon his next task. Be clever now. Try to use your head while it's still on your shoulders. Convey to him my gratitude for his great deed, and assure him that I'll thank him in person when he comes back after killing the Hydra. Which he won't do, of course, if I can believe Hera.”

“What is this Hydra exactly? I'll have to describe it to Hercules.”

“I'll tell you what Hera told me.”

And Eurystheus described the Hydra to Copreus, who felt his bones turning to jelly as he listened. He didn't linger in the throne room. He bowed his way out. By the time he reached his own chambers he was reeling with despair.

“Oh my,” he moaned. “When I try to tell Hercules about this horrible beast, he'll take me between those big hands of his and twist my neck like a chicken. On the other hand, if I don't tell him, I won't have any head for him to twist off, because the king will cut it off. Woe is me … Woe … Woe …”

“Don't be sad, sir,” said a voice.

He whirled around. It was Iole.

“How did you get here?” he cried.

“I followed you from the throne room. I wanted to tell you not to be sad because I'll go tell Hercules about the Hydra.”

“You? What do you know about that monster?”

“I was in the throne room, hiding behind the throne. I heard what the king said to you.”

“What do you mean sneaking around, eavesdropping, you little fool? Do you know what will happen if the king catches you?”

“Oh, he's too full of himself to notice anyone else. Besides, that old throne room is full of shadows. And it's hard to see me when I'm hiding.”

“But Hercules is a very dangerous fellow. He's liable to get furious when he hears what his next task is to be.”

“He won't hurt me. He likes children.”

“How can you possibly know that?”

“I know …”

When Hercules came to Mycenae bearing a huge bundle that was the hide of the Nemean Lion, he found the gates locked against him. He thought about ripping them off their hinges, but decided not to. Instead, he camped outside the city. He thrust his spear into the ground, draped the lion hide over it, making a big tent, and went to sleep.

When he awoke the next morning, he found a child waiting outside his tent—a curious cat-faced girl who stared at him with enormous green eyes. He stared back. He saw that she was trying to look very serious but couldn't quite do it because her face was brimming with glee.

“Good morning, Missy,” he said.

“My name is Iole. And you are Hercules, prince of Thebes, champion of mortal against monster, and vanquisher of the Nemean Lion whose hide now serves as your tent.”

Hercules shook his head in wonder. “How old are you?”

“I'm not sure,” said Iole. “We don't do that kind of counting where I come from. I'm supposed to be quite young though. Not old enough to be married yet, if that's what you mean.”

“I don't mean that at all,” said Hercules.

“But I'm ready to be betrothed.”

“Are you? To whom?”

“To you, of course,” said Iole.

“To me?”

“What you must do is ask me to marry you. And I'd say yes. And you'd tell me you know I'm too young but you'd gladly wait till I'm old enough. That's how you do it.”

“You're an amazing child. Very pretty, and almost too clever. But I'm in no position to ask anyone to wait for me. In this line of work, I don't figure to last too long.”

“Oh, I'll help you with your work.”

“How?”

“That's what I've come to do now.”

“What do you mean?”

“First of all, I'm the one who comes from Eurystheus to tell you what your next task will be.”

“My dear girl, you have a very nimble imagination. The one who assigns me my tasks is the king's doer of dirty jobs, one named Copreus.”

“I know, I know, but not this time. For what you must do next is so dreadful that Copreus was afraid you'd kill him on the spot when he told you about it. So he sent me instead.”

“Sent you? What kind of man is he?”

“Not bad in some ways. A coward, of course. But the king is worse. Don't you want me to tell you about your next task?”

“I take it you're not afraid of me?”

“Not a bit. Should I be?”

“No. Go ahead with your story. I'm prepared for the worst.”

“Oh, it's as bad as can be all right,” said Iole cheerfully. “You are to go to Argos, to a river named Lerna, where dwells the Hydra.”

“And what may that be?”

“The last word in fearsomeness. A kind of dragon basically. Seems to have a hundred heads though, every one of them filled with teeth. And one flail of its spiked tail can mow down a phalanx of armored men. It eats a pastureful of cattle in one meal, plus any herdsmen who happen to be around. It spits out sheep because it doesn't like the taste of wool, but leaves them dead, nevertheless. In fact, the people of Argos are in a very bad way because of this monster and have sent their bravest warriors against it. And not one of them came back.”

“This thing dwells in the river Lerna, you say?”

“It hunts during the day and sleeps in the river at night. And comes out again in the morning.”

“Very well. Thank you. I'm off.”

“So soon?” asked Iole.

“It's my task, you say. The sooner you get to these things, the sooner they're over.”

“No sir,” cried Iole. “You can't go yet.”

“What do you mean? Why not?”

“There's something that must be done first.”

“What?”

“One item I forgot to mention about the Hydra is that each of its hundred heads has a hundred teeth—hollow teeth. And they're hollow because he squirts poison through them, a venom that kills instantly. One scratch from any one of those teeth and you'll be dead before you hit the ground.”

“What do you suggest, that I duck this fight? I don't do that.”

“Oh, no,” said Iole. “I know you don't. That tent you're living in—it
is
the hide of the Nemean Lion, isn't it?”

“Yes, my dear. It is.”

“And it's unpierceable by any weapon, is it not?”

“True. Even my weapons could not pierce it—not arrow, nor spear, nor sword.”

“Well, I want to know all about how you managed to kill it, of course. But you'll have time to tell me as we go.”

“As we go? What do you mean?”

“Never mind that for now. What I want to suggest is that you make that hide into a suit of armor, and wear it when you fight the Hydra. That way his poison teeth won't be able to pierce you.”

“But I never fight in armor. It's too hot. And it doesn't let me move freely.”

“You've never fought a Hydra before either. Don't you see, you
must
wear the armor. Don't you want to kill that monster? Or do you want him to kill you? Do you want all the cattle of Argos to keep on being eaten as all the people starve? You must make a jacket and trousers of the hide, and a pair of boots. Gauntlets, too. Every inch of your skin must be covered. And you can wear its skull as a helmet and look out its eyeholes.”

“That will take a lot of tailoring, little girl.”

“And I know where there's a lot of tailors. A whole cave full. Magical ones, who can make your armor in one day. Roll up that hide and follow me. You'll have your lion-skin armor by tomorrow.”

He looked down at her without moving.

“Don't think I'm bossy,” she cried. “Please don't. I came to Mycenae from a very far place just to save you. And worked as a servant in the palace, mopping a filthy staircase because that fat lazy slob of a king rides his horse up and down it. Please, Hercules, come with me and get your armor made. You've almost promised to marry me someday, and you can't if you're not alive. I may be about to cry.”

“No, no, don't do that!” roared Hercules. “Don't cry.”

He snatched the lion hide off the spear that was its tent pole, rolled it up with the skull inside, hoisted it to his shoulder, scooped Iole up, and set her on his other shoulder. “We'll make better time this way,” he said. “Just show me how to go.”

Hercules was too tall to fit into the cave. So the tailors moved outside. They used their entire work force, and Hercules served as his own dummy. He stood stock-still as the thread-haired, scissor-toothed little folk climbed all over him, measuring, draping. They couldn't do any sewing because no needle would pierce the lion hide. They used an extraordinarily powerful glue, brewed by themselves for tough leather garments.

All this time, Iole prowled about the glade, watching closely to make sure that everything was done the way she wanted—that the suit of armor covered Hercules from head to toe, which included fitting the lion-skull helmet and making lion-hide boots. But the head tailor, who had never forgiven Iole for carrying him off the first time, objected.

“No helmet, no boots,” he hissed. “We're not hatters or cobblers, you know.”

Iole studied the sullen little fellow for a moment and wasted no time arguing. She snatched him up and, holding him upside down by the ankles—the way a butcher holds a goose—walked to where Hercules was standing and asked, “Are you hungry, sir?”

“I could eat something,” said Hercules … “How about you?”

“Your breakfast will be served shortly, sir.”

She bore the head tailor into the cave, took him to the cave end where the tiny folk did their cooking, swung him onto a stone slab, and slowly began to unhook his tunic.

“Help! Help!” he shrieked, but there was no one to hear but Iole. She held him down with the palm of her hand and fixed her green eyes upon him.

“What are you doing?” he screamed.

“Trying to decide how to do you. He's a meat eater, you know. Prefers it roasted, usually, but you look pretty tough and stringy. Probably need boiling. Where do you keep the salt and pepper?”

“Please, please, don't cook me. I don't want to be eaten.”

“Don't want to feed a guest? That's not very polite.”

“Oh, mercy.… Feed him something else. Please!”

“Will you do everything I say?”

“Yes, yes, everything!”

“Helmet and boots?”

“Exactly as you want them, dear girl.”

“All right. But don't make any more mistakes. This is your last chance.”

She lifted her hand then. He squirmed away and scrambled off the slab—rushed out, shouting, “Boots and helmet! Get to work! Quickly, quickly!”

Iole came out of the cave, smiling.

Finally, the work was done. Hercules stood in the glade like a gigantic lion rearing up on its hind legs. Iole stalked about him, inspecting the armor.

“Hurry up,” he said, his voice muffled by the helmet. “I'm sweltering in here.”

“Looks good,” called Iole. “Come on out.”

He doffed the armor, bundled it up, thanked the tailor folk courteously for their labors, and turned to Iole.

“And I thank you, little girl,” he said. “And when I come back from Argos—if I do—I shall tell you all about my fight with the Hydra, and about my fight with the lion before that.”

“Oh, you'll have time to tell me the lion story on our way to Argos,” said Iole. “I'm going with you, you know.”

“No you're not.”

“I am. I want to.”

“Do you think I'd let you go anywhere near that dreadful monster?”

She stamped her foot. “I want to go! I want to go!”

He heard the tears behind her voice. He lifted her then and set her on the branch of a tree so that they could be face to face. Holding her by the shoulders, he said:

“Listen to me, Iole. This Hydra sounds more dangerous than any creature I've ever faced. Which means that I'll have to give every bit of my attention to the fight. And I won't be able to do that if you're there, because I'd be worrying about you. Your presence would put me in more peril than if I were to face the beast without any armor at all. Is that what you want?”

She winked back her tears. “No-o-o.…”

“Very well, then. Wait for me in Mycenae. And if I live, I'll come back to see you. I promise.”

He kissed her gently on the forehead and loped off. She looked after him, trying not to weep because the little folk were still there, looking up at her.

“This is ridiculous,” she said to herself. “I can't bear it. I won't try to. I'll follow him there. He won't even know it.”