‘All our weapons?’ Hercules turned towards King Creon, who stood nearby with his guards. ‘I leave for a few years, and you surrender all our weapons and our cows? Your Majesty, come on!’
The old king blushed and stared at the ground.
‘We have to do something,’ Hercules insisted.
‘It’s too late,’ Iphicles said. ‘Here they come.’
The crowd parted as a dozen big Minyans in full armour marched through the square, kicking old men out of their way, pushing down old ladies and stealing churros from the street vendors.
King Creon did nothing to stop them. Neither did his guards. Even Hercules’s dad, the great general Amphitryon, just stood and watched as the Minyans bullied their way towards the cattle pens.
Finally Hercules couldn’t stand it any more. ‘KNOCK IT OFF!’
The Minyans halted. They watched in dismay as Hercules lumbered over – a big, hairy teenager dressed in the simple leather tunic and cloak of a cattle-herder.
‘You dare speak to us?’ said the Minyan leader. ‘We are your masters, cowherd! Grovel and kiss my feet.’
‘Not happening.’ Hercules cracked his knuckles. ‘Leave now, and we won’t have any bloodshed. You’re not taking any more of our cows.’
The Minyans laughed.
‘Look here, boy,’ said the leader. ‘We have swords. You don’t. We’re taking these hundred cows, just like it says in the peace treaty. Next year, we’ll be back for a hundred more. What are you going to do to stop us?’
Hercules punched the guy in the face, dropping him instantly. The other Minyans reached for their swords, but Hercules was fast. Before their blades could even clear their scabbards, all twelve Minyans were lying on the ground with broken noses, black eyes and fifty percent fewer teeth. Hercules confiscated their weapons.
Then (GROSS-OUT ALERT), using their leader’s own sword, he cut off each Minyan’s nose, ears and hands. He strung the severed parts into disgusting necklaces and hung them around his prisoners’ necks. Amazingly, this didn’t kill them. Once they were conscious and strong enough to walk, Hercules hauled them to their feet.
‘Go back to King Erginus,’ he ordered. ‘Tell him the only tributes he’ll get from Thebes are the grisly bits hanging around your necks!’
He smacked the leader’s butt with the flat of his sword and sent the mutilated Minyans on their way.
The astonished crowd of Thebans awoke from their shock. The younger ones cheered and danced around the newly liberated cows. The older citizens, who had seen too many wars, were less thrilled.
‘My son,’ said Amphitryon, ‘King Erginus will never forgive this. He’ll be back with his entire army.’
‘Good,’ Hercules growled. ‘I’ll kill them all.’
King Creon hobbled over. His face was sickly green. ‘Boy, what have you done? I took in your family from exile. I gave you a home. And you … you have doomed us!’
‘Sire, don’t worry about it,’ said Hercules. ‘I’ll take care of the Minyans.’
‘How?’ the king demanded. ‘You have … what, twelve swords now? You can’t defeat the Minyan army with only that!’
Hercules didn’t remember King Creon being such a wimp, but he decided not to comment.
‘The Temple of Athena,’ Hercules said. ‘Doesn’t it have a bunch of armour and weapons hanging on the walls?’
Amphitryon glanced nervously at the sky, waiting for a divine smiting. ‘My son, those weapons are ceremonial. They were consecrated to the goddess. The Minyans didn’t take them because you’d have to be foolish to use them. You’d be cursed by Athena!’
‘Nah, Athena and I go way back. Besides, she’s the goddess of city defence, isn’t she? She would want us to protect our town!’
Hercules turned and addressed the crowd. ‘We don’t have to live in fear of the Minyans! Anybody who is with me, come to the Temple of Athena and suit up! We will trample our oppressors!’
The younger Thebans cheered and gathered around Hercules. Even Iphicles, who had always been weak, sickly and scared of his own shadow, stepped forward to grab a sword. That shamed a lot of older Thebans into joining.
Amphitryon put his hand on Hercules’s shoulder. ‘My son, you are right. I had forgotten my courage until now. Let us fight for our homeland!’
They raided the Temple of Athena for weapons and armour. The goddess didn’t strike anyone dead, so they took that as a good sign. Hercules led his makeshift force out of town until they found a natural choke point where the road wound between two steep cliffs. The Thebans built barricades and dug pits in the path. Then Hercules arrayed most of his men along the clifftops on either side. In such a narrow passageway, the larger size of the Minyan army wouldn’t do much good.
The next day, King Erginus personally led his army towards Thebes. As soon as they were in the pass, Hercules sprang his trap. The fighting was bloody. Hercules’s stepdad, Amphitryon, was killed in action. So were many other Thebans, but the Minyan army was completely destroyed.
Hercules didn’t rest there. He marched to the city of the Minyans and burned it to the ground.
Hercules returned home in triumph. King Creon was so grateful that he rewarded Hercules with his oldest daughter, Megara. Even the gods were impressed. They descended from Olympus and loaded Hercules down with so much swag, it got embarrassing. Hermes gave him a sword. Hephaestus made him a suit of armour. Apollo presented him with a bow and quiver. Athena gave him a kingly robe and generously agreed not to kill anyone for desecrating her temple. It was a big old Olympian lovefest.
Hercules and Megara got married and had two children. For a while, life was good. Hercules took his dad’s old job as head general and led the Theban army on many successful campaigns. In one of those battles, his brother, Iphicles, fell, leaving behind a widow and an infant son named Iolaus – but hey, at least Iphicles had died bravely. Hercules brought honour and glory to his hometown. Everybody figured that, once Creon passed away, Hercules would be the new king of Thebes.
If the story had ended there, Hercules would have gone down in history as one of the greatest Greek heroes. But nooooo, he was just getting warmed up.
So was Hera. Up on Mount Olympus, the queen of the gods seethed because of Hercules’s successes. She couldn’t allow him a happy ending. She decided to make his life as terrible, tragic and complicated as possible, so that some day Percy Jackson would have a really hard time writing about it.
I hate Hera.
While Hercules was growing up as a cowherd in Thebes, his cousin Eurystheus grew up as the high king of Mycenae. That may sound awesome, people bowing to you and obeying your every command from the time you’re a baby, but it gave Eurystheus a short temper and a big head.
Despite that, Hera thought he was the coolest thing since fresh-pressed olive oil. She blessed his kingdom with peace and prosperity. She sent him twenty drachmas every year on his birthday. Also, she made sure Eurystheus heard all the annoying news about Hercules’s exploits, because she wanted the high king to be good and jealous.
When Eurystheus turned eighteen, Hera whispered in his dreams, encouraging him to knock his famous cousin down a few pegs.
Call Hercules to your palace, said the goddess. Demand that he serve you by doing ten great tasks! Otherwise he will never respect your kingship.
Eurystheus woke. ‘I have a great idea,’ he said to himself. ‘I will call Hercules to my palace and demand that he serve me by doing ten great tasks! Otherwise he will never respect my kingship!’
Eurystheus sent a messenger to Thebes, ordering Hercules to travel to the capital city of Tiryns and serve him.
Hercules showed restraint. He didn’t chop off the messenger’s ears, nose or hands. He just sent back a message that read LOL. NAH.
Eurystheus was not pleased. Unfortunately, Thebes was outside his jurisdiction. He couldn’t do much unless he wanted to declare war, and even Eurystheus wasn’t stupid enough to go to war against Hercules.
That nig
ht, Hera spoke again in the high king’s dreams: Just bide your time. Hercules will bow before you. I will make sure of it.
Over the next few weeks, every time Hercules went to a temple, the priests and priestesses gave him dire warnings. ‘The gods want you to serve your cousin Eurystheus. No, seriously. You’d better get down to Tiryns or bad things are going to happen.’
Hera was behind this, of course. She was the queen of nagging. She made sure Hercules got the message dozens of times a day from dozens of different sources.
At first, Hercules ignored the warnings. He was much too important and powerful to serve a little worm like Eurystheus. But the warnings kept on coming. Random guys began stopping him on the street, speaking in raspy voices like they were possessed. ‘Go to Tiryns. Serve the king!’
Hercules’s wife got nervous.
‘Honey,’ said Megara, ‘it’s never wise to ignore the gods. Maybe you should go to the Oracle of Delphi and, you know, get a second opinion.’
Hercules didn’t want to, but, to make his wife happy, he went to Delphi.
It was a miserable trip. The offerings cost a bundle. Delphi was crawling with merchants hawking cheap souvenirs. Finally Hercules made it to the front of the line to see the Oracle, and she told him the same thing he’d been hearing for weeks. ‘Go to the city of Tiryns. Serve High King Eurystheus by doing ten great tasks of his choosing. Thank you and have a nice day.’
Hercules got so angry that he swiped the Oracle’s three-legged stool and chased her around the room with it.
‘Give me a better prophecy!’ he yelled. ‘I want a better prophecy!’
Apollo had to intervene personally. His divine voice shook the cave. ‘DUDE, NOT COOL. GIVE THE ORACLE BACK HER TRIPOD!’
Hercules took a deep breath. He didn’t feel like getting killed by a golden arrow, so he put down the tripod and stormed off.
When he got back to Thebes, his nerves were frayed. His patience was gone. He walked through the streets, and everybody asked him, ‘Is it true? Ten tasks for the high king? Wow, that sucks.’
At home, Megara asked, ‘How was it, honey? Do you have to go to Tiryns?’
Hercules snapped. He flew into a murderous rage and killed everyone in the house, starting with his wife.
I know. This book is full of crazy, horrible stuff, but that right there? That’s messed up.
Some stories say that Hera inflicted him with madness so he didn’t know what he was doing. Maybe, but I think that’s letting Hercules off too easy. We already know he had an anger-management problem. He killed his music teacher with a harp. He chopped pieces off those Minyan envoys.
Hera didn’t have to drive him crazy. She just had to push him closer to the edge.
Whatever the case, Hercules struck down Megara. He killed the servants who tried to stop him. His two sons screamed and ran, but Hercules took out his bow and shot them, convinced in his twisted mind that they were some kind of enemy.
The only one who escaped was his nephew Iolaus, who’d been living with Hercules since Iphicles died. Iolaus hid behind a couch. When Hercules found him and nocked another arrow in his bow, the boy screamed, ‘Uncle, stop!’
Hercules froze. Maybe Iolaus reminded him of his brother Iphicles, back in the old days when they were kids. Hercules had always protected Iphicles from bullies. When Iphicles died, Hercules had sworn to protect Iolaus like his own son.
His rage evaporated. He stared in horror at the bodies of his children. He looked at the bow in his hands – the bow Apollo had given him, a weapon from the god of prophecies. The message could not have been clearer: We told you something bad would happen if you didn’t listen.
In utter despair, Hercules fled the city of Thebes. His heart shattered, he returned to Delphi and threw himself on the floor in front of the Oracle.
‘Please!’ he begged, his whole body shaking with sobs. ‘What must I do to atone for my sins? Is there any way I can be forgiven?’
The Oracle spoke: ‘Go to the high king as you were told. Serve him well by doing whatever ten tasks he commands. Eurystheus alone may decide when each task is done to his satisfaction. Once all ten are complete, then and only then will you be forgiven.’
Hercules dressed himself in beggar’s rags. He covered himself with ashes then travelled to Tiryns and knelt before the high king’s throne.
‘Sire, I have sinned,’ said Hercules. ‘I did not listen to you or to the gods. In my rage, I murdered my own wife and children. For penance, I am here to do whatever ten tasks you require, no matter how difficult or dangerous or stupid those tasks may be.’
Eurystheus smiled coldly. ‘Cousin, that’s a shame about your family, but I’m glad you finally came to your senses. Ten stupid tasks, you say? Let’s get started!’
Eurystheus was elated. He could assign Hercules any task, no matter how dangerous and, with luck, Hercules would die a painful death! That would eliminate the biggest threat to the throne, since Eurystheus was sure his famous cousin would eventually try to take over Mycenae.
Even if Hercules didn’t die, Eurystheus could get some tough items crossed off his to-do list. It was like having a genie pop out of the bottle and grant you ten wishes … except the genie was a Theban with swole muscles, a beard and no magic.
‘First task!’ Eurystheus announced. ‘In the region of Nemea, just north of here, a massive lion has been wreaking havoc. I want you to kill it.’
‘Does this lion have a name?’ Hercules asked.
‘Since it lives in Nemea, we call it the Nemean Lion.’
‘Wow. Creative.’
‘Just kill it!’ Eurystheus ordered. ‘That is … if you can.’
Creepy organ music started playing in the background, so Hercules figured there was some catch to this task, but he shouldered his bow, strapped on his sword and marched off to Nemea.
It was a lovely day for lion killing.
The hills of Nemea shimmered in the sunlight. A cool breeze rustled through the woods, making patterns of gold and green across the forest floor. In the middle of a meadow carpeted with wildflowers, a huge male lion was feasting on a cow carcass, strewing scraps of bloody meat everywhere.
The lion was bigger than the largest horse. Muscles rippled under his lustrous gold coat. His claws and teeth flashed silver – more like steel than bone. Hercules couldn’t help admiring the majestic predator, but he had a job to do.
‘That thing killed a cow,’ he reminded himself. ‘I like cows.’
He drew his bow and fired.
The arrow hit the lion’s neck. It should’ve severed the beast’s jugular and killed him instantly. Instead, it shattered against the lion’s fur like an icicle thrown at a brick wall.
The lion turned and growled.
Hercules shot until his quiver was empty. He aimed for the eyes, the mouth, the nose, the chest. Each arrow shattered on impact. The lion just stood there, snarling with mild annoyance.
‘Okay, then.’ Hercules drew his sword. ‘Plan B.’
He charged the lion. With enough force to cleave a redwood tree in half, Hercules brought down his blade on the beast’s forehead. The blade snapped. The lion simply shook off the impact.
‘Stupid lion!’ Hercules yelled. ‘That sword was a gift from Hermes!’
‘ROAR!’ The Nemean Lion lashed out with his claws. Hercules jumped back just quickly enough to avoid getting disembowelled. His breastplate was shredded like tissue paper.
‘NO!’ Hercules shouted. ‘That was a gift from Hephaestus!’
The lion roared again. Hercules roared back. He punched the lion between the eyes.
The lion staggered, shaking his head. He wasn’t used to feeling pain. He wasn’t used to retreating, either, but he decided Hercules wasn’t worth messing with. Cows were easier prey. He turned and bounded into the woods.
‘Oh no you don’t.’ Hercules ran after him.
He followed until the lion disappeared into a cave about halfway up the hillside. Instead of plunging in, Herc
ules scanned his surroundings.
If I were that lion, he thought, I’d pick a cave with two exits so I couldn’t get trapped.
He scouted around. Sure enough, a jagged black fissure led into the cave from the other side of the hill. As quietly as possible, Hercules piled up some boulders, blocking the exit.
‘Now you’ve got nowhere to run, kitty cat.’ Hercules circled back to the front entrance and called, ‘Anybody home?’
A snarl echoed from the darkness, like No, this is a recording. Please leave a message.
Hercules marched inside, forcing the Nemean Lion to retreat until his back was against the pile of boulders.
Now, kids, cornering wild animals is usually a bad idea. It tends to make them a wee bit cranky and homicidal. Hercules was an expert on cranky and homicidal. He crouched in a wrestler’s stance.
‘Sorry about this, kitty,’ he said. ‘You’re a beautiful killing machine, but High King Putzface wants you dead.’
The lion growled. Obviously he didn’t think much of High King Putzface. He pounced, but Hercules had been trained by the best wrestlers in Greece. He dodged the claws and slipped onto the lion’s back, locking his legs around the beast’s ribcage and putting that shaggy neck in a chokehold.
‘Nothing seems to get through your hide,’ Hercules grunted in the lion’s ear. ‘But let’s see how you do when no air can get through your throat.’
He squeezed with all his strength. The lion collapsed. Once Hercules was sure the lion was dead, he stood, breathing heavily, and admired the lion’s beautiful fur.
‘That would make a spankin’ awesome cloak,’ he said. ‘But how can I skin it?’
His eyes drifted to the lion’s gleaming claws. ‘Huh, I wonder …’
He used the lion’s own claws to cut the hide. It still took hours of grisly, gruelling work, but in the end Hercules had a new fur coat and enough lion steaks to fill a freezer.
You might think lion fur would be too hot for everyday use, especially in Greece, where the summers can be sweltering. But Hercules’s new cloak was surprisingly light and cool. It was a lot more comfortable than bronze armour. Hercules used the lion’s head as a hood and tied its front paws around his neck.