Percy Jackson and the Greek Heroes

  Then he set off for the royal palace.

  He could barely get through the throne-room doors, because the place was so jammed with junk. A few bewildered guards wandered around in hand-me-down uniforms, navigating through canyons of old newspapers, broken furniture, mouldy clothes and pallets of expired pet food.

  Hercules held his nose. He made his way towards the dais, where King Augeas sat on a rickety metal folding chair as his throne. His robes might have once been blue, but they were so stained that it was impossible to be sure. His beard was full of breadcrumbs and small creatures. Next to him stood a younger man, maybe his son, whose expression seemed permanently frozen in the act of throwing up. Hercules couldn’t blame the kid. The palace reeked like the inside of a carton of spoiled milk.

  ‘Hello, King Augeas.’ Hercules bowed. ‘I heard you might need some help cleaning your cowsheds.’

  Next to the king, the young man yelped, ‘Thank the gods!’

  Augeus scowled. ‘Be quiet, Phyleus!’ The king turned to Hercules. ‘My son doesn’t know what he’s talking about, stranger. We need no help with cleaning.’

  ‘Dad!’ Phyleus protested.

  ‘Silence, boy! I am not paying anyone to do that work. It would cost far too much. Besides, my cattle are perfectly healthy.’

  ‘Your people are not,’ muttered the prince. ‘They’re dying from the stench.’

  ‘Sire,’ Hercules interrupted, ‘I can do the job, and I’ll charge a very reasonable rate.’

  Hercules hadn’t planned on asking for payment, but now he figured he might as well. The job was disgusting, and the king deserved to pay for keeping his cows in such shoddy conditions. ‘It will only cost you one quarter of your herd.’

  The king lurched out of his seat, raining crumbs and gerbils from his beard. ‘Outrageous! I wouldn’t give you even a hundredth of my herd!’

  ‘One tenth,’ Hercules countered. ‘And I’ll do the entire job in one day.’

  King Augeas was about to shout insults, or possibly have a heart attack, when Phyleus grabbed his arm.

  ‘Dad, this is a golden opportunity! It’s a small price for so much work, and how could he possibly finish in one day? Just tell him he’ll get no pay if he can’t do it within the time limit. Then, if he fails, it costs you nothing and we still get the barns partially cleaned.’

  Hercules smiled. ‘Your son is shrewd. Do we have a deal?’

  Augeas grunted. ‘Very well. Guards, bring me some parchment so I can write a contract. And not the good stuff. I have reams of used parchment over there, under those bags of kitty litter.’

  ‘Kitty litter?’ Hercules asked.

  ‘You never know when you might need it!’

  Hercules and Augeas signed the contract. Prince Phyleus served as witness.

  The next morning, with Phyleus tagging along, Hercules took his shovel down to the cowsheds.

  The prince surveyed the mountains of poop. ‘You, my friend, made a bad deal. There’s no way you can clean all this by sunset.’

  Hercules just smiled. He strolled to the north of the pens and began to dig a hole.

  ‘What are you doing?’ asked Phyleus. ‘All the poop is over there.’

  ‘Watch and learn, Prince.’

  Hercules was strong and tireless. By noon, he had dug a deep trench from the north end of the sheds to the upper bank of the river, leaving only a thin retaining wall to keep the water from flowing in. He spent the rest of the day digging another trench from the south end of the sheds to the bottom of Alpheus’s C-shaped curve, where the river flowed out of town. Again Hercules left just enough earth in place to keep the water from seeping into the trench.

  By late afternoon, Phyleus was getting impatient. Hercules was about to fail at the job without having moved a single shovelful of poop.

  ‘So you’ve dug two trenches,’ said the prince. ‘How does that help?’

  ‘What will happen,’ Hercules asked him, ‘when I knock out the northern retaining wall and let in the river?’

  ‘The water … Oh! I get it!’

  Phyleus followed, jumping up and down with excitement, as Hercules walked to the northern bank. With a single stroke of his shovel, Hercules broke the retaining wall. The river flooded the trench, racing towards the pens. Hercules had been careful with his measurements. The grade and elevation were just right. Water raged through the cowsheds, breaking up the mountains of dung, pushing the waste through the southern trench into the lower bend of the river, where it was swept downstream.

  Hercules had invented the world’s largest toilet. With a single flush, he’d cleaned thirty years’ worth of excrement from the sheds, leaving only a gleaming field of mud and a thousand very confused, power-washed cows.

  Phyleus whooped with delight. He escorted Hercules back to the throne room, anxious to share the good news. ‘Father, he did it! The cowsheds are clean! The city no longer smells like a sewage processing plant!’

  King Augeas looked up from the dented cans of lima beans he’d been stacking. ‘Eh? I don’t believe it.’

  ‘I was there!’ Phyleus insisted. ‘I’m your witness. You have to pay this man – one tenth of your herd, as you promised in the contract.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ said the king. ‘I signed no contract. I never promised this man anything.’

  Phyleus turned as green as a Hydra’s eye. ‘But –’

  ‘You’re no son of mine!’ the king screeched. ‘You’re taking this stranger’s side against me? I’ll banish you both for treason. Guards!’

  The guards didn’t appear, probably because they were lost in the throne room’s rubbish piles.

  Hercules turned to Phyleus. ‘You seem like a sensible young man. If you were king, would you clean up this palace?’

  ‘In a heartbeat.’

  ‘Would you be a good ruler?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And honour your contracts?’

  ‘You bet.’

  ‘Well, that’s all I need to hear.’

  ‘This is outrageous!’ cried King Augeas. ‘Guards! Someone!’

  Hercules climbed the dais. He punched King Augeas in the face, killing him instantly and shaking several undiscovered species of rodents from his facial hair.

  Hercules looked at Phyleus. ‘Sorry. He was getting on my nerves.’

  Phyleus became the king. He immediately ordered all expired pet food, kitty litter, old newspapers and rusty armour to be removed from the throne room. He declared hoarding a capital offence. The city of Elis got a good scrub-down, and Hercules received one-tenth of the royal herd.

  When Hercules returned to Tiryns with a million drachmas’ worth of cattle and not a spot of manure on him, Eurystheus was furious.

  ‘What happened?’ he demanded.

  Hercules told him the story. ‘I cleaned up the cowsheds. I got rich. Everybody’s happy.’

  ‘I’m not happy! That labour doesn’t count. You received compensation!’

  Hercules swallowed back his rage. ‘You never said I couldn’t take payment.’

  ‘Even so, you didn’t do the job by yourself. The river did it for you!’

  ‘How is using a river any different than using a shovel? It’s a tool.’

  The high king stomped his feet. ‘I said the labour doesn’t count, and I’m the high king! Since you like cattle so much, I’ll give you another cow-related task. Go to King Minos in Crete. Convince him to give up his prize bull. That should keep you busy for a while!’

  Hercules’s rage pushed against his sternum. Sure, he’d agreed to do penance for murdering his family. Sure, he’d been a naughty demigod. But now his ten stupid tasks had ballooned into twelve stupid tasks, and he was only halfway through the list. He wanted to kill his cousin. With great effort he took his hand off the hilt of his sword.

  ‘One Cretan Bull,’ he grunted. ‘Coming right up.’

  King Minos had a vicious reputation and a powerful army, so Eurystheus hoped he would kill Her
cules on the spot for daring to ask for his prized bull. As it turned out, the bull mission was a piece of cake.

  Hercules arrived in Knossos, strolled into the throne room and explained his quest to King Minos. ‘Long story short, Your Majesty, I’m supposed to bring back your prized bull for High King Hide-in-Pot.’

  ‘Take it,’ Minos said.

  Hercules blinked. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘Yes! Take the bull! Good riddance!’

  It was all about timing. The white bull had been a gift from Poseidon, but Hercules arrived after Queen Pasiphaë fell in love with the beast and gave birth to the Minotaur, so now the prized bull was a constant reminder of King Minos’s shame and disgrace. He was anxious to get rid of it. He also might have had a premonition of what would happen if that bull ever got loose on the Grecian mainland. Eurystheus would get more than he bargained for.

  Hercules sailed back to Mycenae with the white bull tied up in the cargo hold. When he reached the docks, he picked up the bull, propped it on his head like a sack of flour and carried it into the palace. ‘Where do you want this?’

  This time the high king was determined not to panic. He sat on his throne, pretending to read a magazine. ‘Hmm?’

  ‘The Cretan Bull,’ Hercules said. ‘Where do you want it?’

  ‘Oh.’ Eurystheus stifled a yawn. ‘Put it over there, next to the window.’

  Hercules lumbered over to the window.

  ‘I’ve changed my mind,’ said the king. ‘It would look better next to the sofa.’

  ‘Here?’

  ‘A little to the left.’

  ‘Here.’

  ‘No, I liked it better by the window.’

  Hercules resisted the urge to hurl the bull at the throne. ‘Here, then?’

  ‘You know, the bull doesn’t go with my decor. Take it outside the city and release it.’

  ‘You want it to roam free? This is a wild animal with sharp horns. It will destroy things and kill people.’

  ‘Do as I say,’ the king ordered. ‘Then come back for your next assignment.’

  Hercules didn’t like it, but he released the Cretan Bull into the Greek countryside. Sure enough, it rampaged around and caused all kinds of damage. Eventually it wandered up to Marathon and became known as the Marathonian Bull, killing and destroying with impunity until Theseus finally tracked it down, but that was much later.

  Hercules returned to the throne room. ‘Next stupid task, Your Highness?’

  Eurystheus smiled. Recently he’d heard rumours of a Thracian king named Diomedes who raised man-eating horses, feeding them the flesh of his guests. Ever since, Eurystheus had been having pleasant dreams about Hercules getting torn apart.

  ‘I understand that Diomedes, the king of Thrace, has excellent horses,’ he said. ‘Go there and bring me back four of his best mares.’

  Hercules pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt a migraine coming on. ‘You couldn’t have thought of this earlier, when I was up in Thrace chasing the Ceryneian Hind?’

  ‘Nope!’

  ‘Fine. Thracian mares. Whatever.’

  Hercules headed off again, wishing somebody would invent aeroplanes or bullet trains, because his shoes were getting worn out from walking all over Greece.

  He decided to try his luck sailing this time. He hired a trireme and a crew of volunteers, promising them adventure and treasure on the way to Thrace. He brought his nephew along too, because Iolaus had turned into a skilled commander of troops. Hercules was worried that Eurystheus would declare the quest invalid if the crew helped to capture the horses, so he decided that, once they arrived in Thrace, he would leave them aboard the ship and meet with Diomedes on his own.

  Along the way, Hercules had a few small side adventures. He founded the Olympic games. He invaded some countries. He helped the gods defeat an army of immortal giants. I guess I could tell you about that if I had a few hundred extra pages, but I recently had to fight some giants myself, and I’m not quite ready to tackle that subject.

  When Hercules finally reached Thrace, he left his crew aboard ship as planned and marched alone into Diomedes’s palace. Since the direct approach had worked so well with King Minos in Crete, Hercules decided to try it again.

  ‘Hey, Diomedes,’ said Hercules, ‘can I have your horses?’

  Diomedes grinned. The psychotic gleam in his eyes made him look about as friendly as a jack-o’-lantern. ‘You’ve heard about my horses, eh?’

  ‘Uh, just that they’re supposed to be the best. High King Mouthbreather of Mycenae sent me up here to get four of your mares.’

  ‘Oh, no problem! Come with me!’

  Hercules couldn’t believe his luck. Two easy quests in a row? Sweet!

  As he followed Diomedes, he noticed more and more guards falling into line behind them. By the time they reached the stables, he had an escort of fifty Thracian warriors.

  ‘Here we are!’ Diomedes spread his arms proudly. ‘My horses!’

  ‘Wow,’ said Hercules.

  Diomedes’s stables made King Augeas’s cowsheds look like Disneyland. The floor was covered with grisly bits of meat and bone. The horses’ hooves and legs were splattered with blood. Their eyes were wild, smart and malevolent. When they saw Hercules, they whinnied, snapping at him with sharp, red-stained teeth. The nearest mares strained to break out of their stalls. Only the thick bronze chains around their necks kept them back, leashing them to a row of iron posts.

  ‘My babies are strong,’ said Diomedes. ‘That’s why I have to keep them chained. They love human flesh.’

  ‘Charming,’ Hercules muttered. ‘And I suppose I’m tonight’s main course?’

  ‘It’s nothing personal,’ said the king. ‘I do this with all my prisoners and my guests and most of my relatives. Guards! Throw him in!’

  It was fifty-to-one. The guards never stood a chance. Hercules tossed them one by one into the stables, giving the horses a fifty-course meal of Thracian warriors.

  Finally, the only people left were Hercules and Diomedes. The king backed into the corner. ‘Hold on, now! Let’s talk about this.’

  ‘Talk to your horses,’ said Hercules. ‘ ’Cause I ain’t listening.’

  He picked up the king and hurled him into the stables. The horses were really full, but they somehow found room for dessert.

  After so much good food, the horses were sleepy and tame. Hercules picked the four best mares, harnessed them up and led them to the docks where his ship was waiting.

  As they made their way back down the coast, Hercules and his sailors got into some skirmishes with the Thracians. Of course Hercules won them all, but a few of his volunteers were killed. One guy, Abderus, fought so bravely that Hercules built him a huge tomb and founded a city in his honour. The place, Abdera, became a major port on the Thracian coast. The Greek town is still there today – just in case, you know, you find yourself in Diomedes Country with an afternoon to kill.

  Hercules brought the flesh-eating mares back to Eurystheus, but the High King was too scared to use them. He released them into the wild near Mount Olympus. Some stories say the horses were eaten by even bigger predators. Other stories say the horses’ descendants were still there centuries later when Alexander the Great came along and harnessed them. All I know from personal experience: you can still find flesh-eating horses if you go to the wrong neighbourhoods. My advice: Don’t.

  At this point, Eurystheus was starting to panic. He was running out of problems for Hercules to solve. The countryside had been cleared of monsters. All of the evil kings had either been punched to death or fed to their own horses. Hercules just kept getting more and more famous and staying annoyingly alive.

  Another source of annoyance for the high king: his super-spoiled teenage daughter Admete had been whining for weeks about how she wanted a sash of real gold to go with her new dress. ‘I want the best belt in the world, Daddy! Please?’

  So, as Hercules stood before him, waiting for his next task, Eurystheus had these random tho
ughts swirling in his head: Kill Hercules. A golden belt. A dangerous task.

  Suddenly he had a wonderful, evil idea. Who had the best golden belt in the world? And who loved killing male heroes?

  ‘Hercules,’ said Eurystheus, ‘I want you to go to the Land of the Amazons. Take their queen’s golden belt and bring it to me for my daughter.’

  Behind the throne, Admete clapped and jumped up and down.

  Hercules’s fierce expression matched his lion hood. ‘Your daughter wants to be queen of the Amazons?’

  ‘No. She just wants a shiny belt to go with her dress.’

  Hercules sighed. ‘You realize I could’ve stopped in Amazonia on my way back from Thrace, right? I could’ve saved time and mileage and – Never mind. Golden belt. Fine. Would you like fries with that, Your Majesty?’

  ‘What are fries?’

  ‘Forget it.’

  Hercules set off again. The only good news: Eurystheus hadn’t complained about the shipload of volunteers Hercules had hired to help with the Thracian quest, so he figured he could do it again. He got the gang back together, along with his sidekick, nephew Iolaus, and he sailed for Amazonia on the southern coast of the Black Sea.

  Hercules wanted to avoid a fight. He was tired of people dying to accommodate Eurystheus’s wishes. He especially didn’t want to start a war over a fashion accessory for a spoiled princess.

  On the other hand, he knew that the Amazons respected strength, so, when his ship moored off their coast, his men rowed ashore in force. They formed ranks on the beach with their shields and spears.

  Amazon scouts had been watching them for a while. Queen Hippolyta and her army were ready. The queen’s sister Penthesilea thought they should just charge in and start killing, but Hippolyta was wary. She’d heard stories about Hercules. She wanted to know what the Greek hero had to say. She took a few of her bodyguards and rode towards the Greek lines under a flag of truce. Hercules and a few of his guys rode out to meet her.

  ‘Hola,’ said Hercules. ‘Look, I know this is dumb, but there’s this teenage princess in Greece who wants your belt.’

  He explained the situation. At first Hippolyta was outraged. Then, when it became clear that Hercules hated the high king and his quests, she became amused. When Hercules called Eurystheus ‘High King Cow Patty’, Hippolyta even laughed aloud.