‘What do you want, puny mortal?’ the Titan’s voice boomed.
‘Apples,’ said Hercules.
Atlas grunted. ‘I suppose you mean the apples from my daughters’ garden.’
The Titan pointed with his chin. Hercules hadn’t noticed before, but down the other side of the mountain, in a valley about a mile away, a beautiful garden glowed with reddish-purple light like a perpetual sunset. Tiny figures – women in white – danced among the flowers. At the centre of the garden, a huge apple tree reached towards the sky. Even from this distance, Hercules could see golden fruit glinting in its branches and the serpentine form of Ladon the dragon twisting around its trunk.
Hercules was tempted to march down there, kill the dragon and take the apples himself. It seemed so simple. But he figured Prometheus hadn’t been lying to him. Even if he could kill the dragon, Hera would blast him to dust the moment he plucked the fruit.
‘Yeah,’ Hercules agreed. ‘Those apples.’
‘You’ll never get them yourself.’
‘Prometheus told me.’
Atlas knitted his sweaty eyebrows. ‘You know Prometheus?’
‘I shot the eagle that was feeding on his liver. He gave me directions to find you.’
‘Well, you’re a regular Titan fanboy, aren’t you? Tell you what: since you helped Prometheus, I’ll help you. But it won’t be easy. You’ll have to hold the sky for me while I fetch the apples.’
Hercules had been anticipating this. ‘Fine. But you’ll have to swear on the River Styx that you’ll come back.’
Atlas chuckled. ‘Don’t trust me, eh? I can’t blame you. All right, I swear on the River Styx that I will come back here with the apples. But are you sure you can hold the weight of the sky? You’re pretty small.’
‘Pfft.’ Hercules untied his lion-skin cape and tossed it aside. ‘Hand it over.’
You’re probably thinking: Dude, it’s the sky. How can you hold it, much less hand it over? And, if it was so heavy and painful, why didn’t Atlas just drop it and walk away?
It doesn’t work that way. Take it from me.
If Atlas had dropped the sky and tried to run, it would’ve crashed down and flattened everything in sight, including the Titan and his daughters. As for how you can hold it … well, unless you’ve done it, it’s hard to describe. Imagine a forty-million-ton top spinning on your back, its sharp point digging in between your shoulder blades. It pretty much sucks, but you have to bear the weight as best you can or you’ll get crushed.
Hercules knelt next to Atlas. Slowly and carefully, Atlas shifted the load from his shoulders to Hercules’s. The hero was small, but he didn’t collapse under the burden.
‘I’m impressed,’ Atlas said.
‘Just get the apples,’ Hercules grunted. ‘This is heavy.’
Atlas chuckled. ‘Don’t I know it. Back in a jiffy.’
Atlas’s idea of a jiffy was not the same as Hercules’s. The Titan ambled down to the Garden of the Hesperides, had a nice long chat with his daughters, enjoyed a leisurely picnic, spent some time petting Ladon the dragon, then finally gathered an armload of apples.
Meanwhile, Hercules’s muscles were turning to putty. His limbs shook. Sweat trickled into his eyes. The sky churned, digging into his back so hard it was going to leave a nasty bruise. Hercules had never felt so weak. He wasn’t sure he could hold out.
At long last Atlas returned, whistling. ‘Thank you, my friend! I’d forgotten how good it feels to be free!’
‘Great. Now take back the sky.’
‘Well, here’s the thing. I swore to come back with the apples, which I did. I never promised to take the sky and let you go.’
Hercules muttered some unprintable curses.
‘Now, now,’ Atlas said. ‘Let’s not be rude. You’re doing great! I’m just going to take my daughters, gather an army and go destroy Mount Olympus.’
‘All right,’ Hercules said. ‘You win.’
‘Yes, I do!’
‘But one last favour before you go, please. I helped Prometheus bear his punishment. The least you can do is give me a little more comfort to bear yours.’
Atlas hesitated. ‘What did you have in mind?’
‘That pointy bit on the sky is killing my back.’
‘I hear you, buddy!’
‘I really need a pillow.’
‘I know. I begged the gods for a king-size one with extra filling. They wouldn’t listen.’
‘Well, then, here’s your chance to prove you’re more merciful than the gods. Take the sky again for a second. Let me fold my lion-skin cloak and put it behind my neck. Then I’ll take the sky from you forever. I promise.’
Atlas should’ve just laughed and walked away.
But the Titan general wasn’t completely heartless. He didn’t hate mortals like Hercules. He only hated the gods. Maybe he also felt a teensy bit guilty for inflicting his punishment on a puny demigod. Or maybe he just liked the idea of appearing more generous than Zeus.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘I am way too nice for my own good.’
‘You’re the best,’ Hercules agreed.
Atlas set down the golden apples. He knelt next to the demigod, and Hercules shifted the weight of the sky back onto the Titan’s shoulders. Hercules hobbled over to the golden apples. He gathered them up in his lion-skin cape. ‘Thanks, Atlas. See you.’
‘WHAT?’ Atlas bellowed. ‘You promised –’
‘I didn’t promise on the River Styx. Come on, dude. That’s Trickery 101. Have fun holding the sky forever.’
Hercules could still hear Atlas bellowing curses when he was five hundred miles away.
Time for the last stupid deed!
Are you excited? Hercules was. He was ready to be done with this nonsense. So was the poor schmuck who was writing it all down. Oh, wait … that’s me.
When Hercules got back to Tiryns with the golden apples, High King Eurystheus was pale, sweaty and sleep-deprived. For weeks he’d been worrying about what would happen when Hercules completed his final task. Once he was free, there would be nothing to stop him from throwing Eurystheus into the nearest trash chute and taking over as high king. The whole kingdom would go to the dogs!
Eurystheus had one last chance. He needed a completely impossible task to make sure Hercules died in disgrace and never returned.
A crazy idea came to him. Death. Never return. Go to the dogs …
‘Last quest!’ the king announced. ‘Travel to the Underworld and bring me back Hades’s guard dog, Cerberus.’
‘Very funny,’ Hercules said. ‘What’s my task, really?’
‘That is your task! And don’t come back with some generic three-headed dog. I want the real thing: Cerberus himself. Fetch!’
That last part was just mean, but Hercules wasn’t going to lose his cool so close to the finish line. He turned on his heel and marched out.
First he visited the temple of Hades in Eleusis to get some advice about the Underworld. Then he visited the Doggy Discount Store and stocked up on bacon-flavoured Munchy Bones.
According to some stories, he also took some time off and went sailing with Jason and the Argonauts. I can’t blame him. Compared to invading the Underworld, a dangerous sea voyage probably sounded like a relaxing vacation.
Finally Hercules steeled his nerves, found the nearest fissure in the earth and climbed down to Erebos. Getting across the River Styx turned out to be no problem. The ferryman, Charon, was a huge fan. He agreed to take the hero across in exchange for Hercules recording a voicemail greeting on his iPhone.
Hercules arrived at the black gates and found Cerberus. He was kind of hard to miss, being a massive black three-headed hell beast with a snake for a tail and glowing red eyes.
Hercules had a way with dogs. He told Cerberus to sit. Cerberus sat. Hercules pulled out some bacon-flavoured Munchy Bones and threw one to each of Cerberus’s heads. Cerberus went bonkers for that stuff.
Hercules could’ve just picked him up and
walked away with him, but he wanted to do things politely, if possible. He decided to ask permission from Hades. He knew that was a risk, but he also knew it was wintertime, which meant that Persephone would be in the Underworld. As the daughter of Zeus, Persephone was technically Hercules’s half-sister, so she might cut him some slack. He figured it was worth a try.
‘I’ll be back, boy,’ he told Cerberus. ‘Don’t go anywhere.’
Cerberus thumped his snaky tail against the ground, which gave the snake a headache.
As Hercules travelled through the Fields of Asphodel, he happened to stumble across Theseus, the hero of Athens, who was sitting on a rock, paralysed from the neck down. He hadn’t been able to move in years.
‘Help,’ said Theseus.
Hercules frowned. ‘You’re Theseus, aren’t you? What are you doing here?’
‘Long story. A friend of mine had this stupid idea to kidnap Persephone, and I went along with it. My friend … well, he turned into stone and crumbled. I’m still stuck. Can you get me out of here?’
Hercules tried to pull him up, but Theseus’s butt seemed grafted to the rock. ‘Hmm. Let me talk to Hades and Persephone. See what I can do.’
‘Thanks, man. I’m not going anywhere.’
Hercules ambled into the palace of Hades and found the king and queen of the dead playing Hungry Hungry Hippos on a small table between their thrones.
‘Am I interrupting?’ Hercules asked.
Hades threw his hands in the air. ‘No. She’s killing me at this game!’
‘It’s all in the wrists, my dear.’
Hades faced Hercules. ‘You’re not dead. You’re also not bringing my afternoon-tea cart. Who are you?’
‘I’m Hercules, my lord. I’m here because High King Milk Toast up in Mycenae wants me to bring him your dog, Cerberus.’
A smile tugged at the corners of Hades’s mouth. ‘Wow, that’s funny. I almost laughed.’
‘I wish it was a joke,’ Hercules said. ‘Unfortunately, I have these twelve stupid tasks –’
‘Oh, we know all about them,’ said Hades. ‘My wife here loves your work.’
Persephone beamed. ‘I’ve been following you since the early days! I adored the way you cut off the Minyans’ hands and ears and noses …’
Hercules had to think about it, because that was, like, sixty pages ago. ‘Yeah. I did that, didn’t I?’
‘And the Hydra! That was thrilling. We were watching your fight on the Near Death Channel.’
‘The Near Death Channel?’
‘We were afraid your soul would be paying us a visit, but you survived! I am proud to call you my brother.’
Hades leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘You’re all she talks about these days. “You know Hercules? Well, I’m his sister.” ’
Persephone swatted her husband’s arm. ‘At any rate, we’d be happy to lend you Cerberus, wouldn’t we, dear?’
Hades shrugged. ‘Sure. Just release him when you’re done. He knows the way home.’
‘That’s really cool of you,’ Hercules said. ‘Oh, by the way, there’s another hero, Theseus, stuck in Asphodel. Would it be okay to let him go now? He’s bored.’
Hades scratched his forehead. ‘Theseus is still here? Yeah, sure. Take him.’
And so, after signing some autographs and diplomatically letting Hades win a game of Hungry Hungry Hippos, Hercules walked back through the Fields of Asphodel, freed Theseus and returned to the gates of the Underworld to pick up Cerberus.
‘Heel, boy.’
The dog could smell Munchy Bones in Hercules’s pockets, so he wagged his snaky tail and followed.
When they got to the upper world, Hercules and Theseus parted ways with a handshake. Hercules warned him to be careful, but Theseus was so ADHD he didn’t pay much attention. He was already distracted by how shiny the mortal world was, and he was anxious to get back to Athens.
Hercules faced Cerberus, who was squinting in the sunlight and growling at the trees.
‘Okay, buddy,’ Hercules said. ‘I’m going to pick you up and carry you, just for the sake of appearances. You growl and thrash and act like I dragged you here. Some day, artists are going to make a bunch of pottery pictures about us, and it’ll look stupid if you’re wagging your tail and begging for Munchy Bones.’
Cerberus seemed to understand. Hercules picked him up and hauled him to Tiryns. Cerberus howled and thrashed like a champ. When they got to the city, everybody cleared out of their way. People locked their doors and hid under their beds. Guards dropped their weapons and ran.
Hercules burst into the throne room. ‘Eurystheus, play dead!’
The high king screamed and dived into his bronze pot.
Hercules grinned. He’d been hoping for one more pot dive.
‘Take it away!’ the king yelled. ‘Take that hell beast away!’
‘You sure? You don’t want to check his teeth or read his dog tag or anything?’
‘No! I believe you! Your tasks are finished. You are released from my service. Go in peace, please!’
Hercules wasn’t sure how to feel about that. He’d been working for the king for more than eight years now. He’d travelled the whole world several times over. For a long time, he’d fantasized about killing Eurystheus once his labours were done, but now, looking at the trembling bronze pot next to the throne, he just felt pity and relief, along with something else he hadn’t felt in a long time: happiness.
He turned to Cerberus. ‘Go home, buddy. Here, take my last Munchy Bones.’
Cerberus licked Hercules’s face with three slobbery tongues, then bounded out of the throne room.
Hercules turned to the pot. ‘Thank you, Eurystheus. You’ve helped me atone for my family’s deaths. You’ve tested me in ways I could never have imagined. More than that, you’ve shown me that I would never want your job. Being the high king isn’t for me. You can keep your throne. I’m much happier being a hero.’
He strode out of the palace without looking back.
Happy ending? Gods, you would hope so after all that, right?
But nope.
Hercules decided he wanted to get married again and settle down. He heard about this out-of-the-way little city called Oechalia, ruled by a king named Eurytius. (Of course the guy’s name was Eurytius. That’s not confusing at all after Eurytion the rancher and Eurystheus the high king and Yuri the Russian bear or whoever else was in this story.)
Anyway, King Eurytius was having an archery contest. The grand prize was his daughter Iole, who was very beautiful. Nice dad, right? Oh, honey, you don’t mind if I give you away in my archery contest, do you? It’ll be good advertising for the kingdom. Great. Thanks.
Hercules came to town and easily won the contest, but Eurytius refused to hand over his daughter.
‘Look, Hercules,’ said the king. ‘Nothing personal, but you murdered your last wife and your kids. This is my daughter. I can’t give her to someone like you.’
Really touching how Eurytius developed a conscience after deciding to give away his daughter as a contest prize, but whatever.
Hercules might’ve killed the king, but he was too much in shock. He’d seen Iole. She was really hot. He’d already imagined their beautiful new life together. ‘You’re going back on your word?’ he asked Eurytius. ‘You’ll regret this!’
He stormed out of town.
A few weeks later, all of Eurytius’s cattle went missing. Of course, the king suspected Hercules. ‘That scoundrel! I’ll march against his hometown and destroy it!’
His son Iphitus, who was the only one in the family with any sense, raised his hand. ‘Uh, Dad … I don’t think Hercules did this. I told you to honour your promise and give him Iole. I think the missing cattle is just a punishment from the gods.’
‘Lies!’ screamed the king. ‘War!’
‘Well, the other thing …’ Iphitus said. ‘Hercules is living in Tiryns with his cousin, the high king of Mycenae. Their kingdom is like twenty times more powerful t
han ours. So war would be suicide.’
‘Oh.’ The king hated getting a reality check. ‘Well, what would you suggest?’
‘Let me go talk to Hercules,’ said Iphitus. ‘I’ll clear this up. But, if it turns out he didn’t take the cattle, you really should give him Iole.’
The king agreed.
Iphitus travelled to see Hercules.
The prince tried to be as diplomatic as possible. ‘Listen, man, I’m on your side. I know you didn’t take my dad’s cattle. I’m just trying to prove it so we can clear your name.’
Clear your name.
Hercules fumed. He felt ashamed of being disqualified in the archery competition, and he also felt cheated. He’d spent eight years paying his dues, doing stupid labours to clear his name, and as soon as he tried to make a new life for himself his old crimes got thrown in his face again.
‘Come with me,’ Hercules growled. He took Iphitus to the top of the city wall and showed him the view. ‘You can see the entire countryside from here. Do you spy your cows anywhere?’
Iphitus shook his head. ‘No. They’re not here.’
‘Well, there you go. Goodbye.’ Hercules pushed Iphitus off the wall. The young prince fell to his death, screaming some very undiplomatic things on his way down.
Another bad move for Hercules, but what can I say? There’s his famous anger problem again. The next day, the gods afflicted him with a terrible disease as punishment. He developed a fever. He lost weight. His skin broke out in itchy, running sores and every whitehead zit in the universe migrated to his nose.
‘Oh, great …’ Shivering and nauseous, Hercules pulled his lion-skin cloak around him and stumbled out of town, heading for the Oracle of Delphi.
The Pythian priestess wasn’t excited to see him again. She subtly opened her purse so she could get at her pepper spray in case things escalated.
‘I’m sorry!’ Hercules said. ‘I pushed an innocent guy off the city wall and now I’ve got zits. What do I have to do to get free of this sickness – another twelve labours?’
‘Well … that’s the good news,’ the Oracle said nervously. ‘No more labours! To atone for your sin, all you have to do is sell yourself into slavery for three years. Give the proceeds of the sale to Iphitus’s family as compensation.’