Hercules and the Nemean Lion, part 1 (Patreon)

 His godly heritage and his wealth has isolated Hercules from certain truths.  Now he is having to give all that up to learn to live within the constraints of the oracle's punishment.  Hercules would endure ten or a hundred years of slavery to protect his children, and so he learns humility. However, when the chance to fight gives him the opportunity to once again take up the mantle of hero, he finds that some chains are harder to shake off. 

 

 

Hercules finished his meal. He disliked eating from the hand of the stable boy, but the alternative was to root for his food like an animal, so he didn’t complain. He sat and allowed the boy to feed him pieces of bread, cheese and fruit. If Eurystheus were here, Hercules would point out that he was learning patience. He endured being chained hand and foot, although the stable master had finally unchained his feet to allow him to stretch. He endured being locked in a stable, his bed a pile of straw and blankets. He endured the loss of his freedom, all to maintain the illusion that he had killed his children while under Hera’s spell. He would serve Hera’s punishment, and he would try very hard to ignore Eurystheus’ words.

When his cousin had forced Hercules to admit that he had hurt the innocent in his ignorance, that had struck deeply at his own image of himself. He was a hero—his mother had said as much. His brother and step-father and wife all believed it. Athena herself had taken him to Mount Olympus to trick Hera into feeding him.

But as Eurystheus pointed out, he had killed in anger, and that was long before Hera’s spell. His temper had cost innocent lives, and Hercules did not like the world as Eurystheus described it—a world where Zeus and Athena manipulated him to hurt the innocent. He could not believe that was true; after all, Zeus had learned of Hera’s spell and had spirited Hercules’ children away so they would not die when the madness descended. But then again, he had not saved Hercules from the spell, and after the massacre, he had allowed Hercules to believe that he had killed his own children for days.

The pain had been unendurable. When Hercules had finally seen his beautiful children, he had vowed to endure any punishment to protect them by maintaining the illusion that they had died. He had gone to the oracle to ask for his proper punishment for being the killer of his own children. Ten years of slavery to King Eurystheus was a small price to pay.

“I don’t like this next part,” the stable boy said.

Hercules frowned. The stable master had already kept him an extra day, feeding him and letting him sleep before agreeing that Hercules was ready to take on his first quest today. “What do you not like, boy?”

The stable boy cringed, but he reached down to his feet to pick up a tangle of leather and iron. “They say you need this.”

Hercules could well imagine what it was. Eurystheus had threatened to have him bridled if he couldn’t control his mouth, but Hercules had avoided calling anyone a name since arriving in the stables. Part of that was that the stable master, a man by the name of Sarpiden, was fair. Like all the people of Tiryns, he had heard the stories from the oracle—Hercules had killed his own children, but he had done so when hallucinations had led him to believe that he was killing the sons of Eurystheus. These people saw him as a monster ready to kill their princes, but the stable master had not abused his power over Hercules. There was a goodness to him that Hercules respected.

“Are you going to fight?” The stable boy squirmed uncomfortably.

Hercules sighed, but he would not make life difficult for a child, and this one was younger than his own boy. “For another I might, but you have no more choice in this than I do,” Hercules said.

The boy’s face lit with relief. “You’re not nearly as unpleasant as people say.” 

Hercules had no response to such a statement, and before he could devise some defense of his character, the boy was standing at his side, lifting the bridle over his head. The bit was two pieces of flattened iron covered in leather. They met in the center in intertwining rings that pressed into his mouth. As the boy fastened the straps, Hercules explored this new torment. If he pushed out on the knot of rings, the edges of the bit pressed cruelly into the sides of his mouth. However, if he took the center deep into his mouth, the edges of the bit eased and he had no pain.

It was a clever device.

The boy finished and threaded a rope through the part that hung below his chin. Hercules permitted himself to be led down the central aisle and out the doors. Unfortunately, instead of Sarpiden, Bythios waited for him. The soldier had never hidden his hatred and distrust, and Hercules disliked being helpless around the man, but he was a slave and he had no choice. However, now he did know who had ordered him bridled. If Bythios had his way, Hercules would be dead.

"I'm here to escort you out of the city," Bythios said. He held out his hand and the stable boy gave him the rope. Bythios jerked the rope hard, but Hercules had expected as much and he took a step forward to ease the strain on his neck. Bythios clenched his jaw and turned away. He tied the rope to the back of a cart and then climbed onto the seat.

Hercules could only follow, grateful that Sarpiden had removed the ankle chain because he did not trust Bythios to drive slowly enough to accommodate the shackles. He would be more likely to drag Hercules by the neck. Bythios called to the horse, and then Hercules had to focus on keeping up. With his hands bound behind his back, running was awkward, and much of the town had turned out to watch him. Hercules kept his gaze forward and tried not to think about the stable boy's words. These were not Thebans who looked to him as a hero.

Soon they crossed the gates and followed the path down the hill. The air was brisk, and Hercules coughed as the cart threw up dust that clung to him. Bythios turned the cart off the trail and headed for a rocky hill to the east. The cart bounced, and a half dozen times, the rope grew taut and Hercules was pulled forward by his head. A man who lacked his divine bloodlines would have suffered a broken neck.

The horse struggled on the rocky ground, and Bythios leaped from the cart and caught the animals bridle, urging him up the hill and toward a stone ruin with only half the roof still standing. Three of the walls were stone, but the fourth had a section that had crumbled, and someone had replaced it with saplings that had been stripped of their branches and woven into a loose screen. It had dried gray so that it blended into the stone.

Bythios stopped the cart and came around to untie Hercules’ lead. “If you complete your quest, you will return here. You will not come to Tiryns without an escort. You will not appear before my king unless you are in chains, and you will never look upon the princes or I will gut you myself and endure King Eurystheus punishment happily. Am I clear?”

Hercules gave a nod. Bythios yanked on the lead, forcing Hercules to hurry after him. They walked into the ruined hut.

“Others avoid this place, but as you are a bringer of death, the deaths of others or the fact that men lay unburied in the grass near here should not bother you. If you want entrance to the city, you light a fire here, and I will come and fetch you when I feel I have time.” Bythios pointed at a corner of the shelter where a smith’s block waited along with tools to remove the shackles.

Hercules moved to the corner and knelt down with his back to the block so Bythios could remove his wrist chains.

“Had I known King Eurystheus planned to show mercy, I would have killed you on the hillside and begged forgiveness later,” Bythios complained as he moved around to Hercules’ back. 

Hercules began to wonder how close Bythios was to the family. After Hercules had killed Linus, his parents had sent him to Chiron because the centaur had learned to overcome his more base instinct. Like all centaurs, Chiron had the lust and savagery of the animal in his breast, but he conquered it. He had been Hercules’ teacher and his first weapons master. To this day, Hercules did not know if he would have learned to control his rage if not for Chiron, and he felt a son’s love for his teacher. He had always thought Chiron had returned that emotion. Perhaps Bythios had been a teacher or weapons master for the young princes. It would explain his rage.

And his fear of having Hercules in the city. 

Bythios set to work forcing the pin out of place, and each strike of the hammer caused Hercules’ bones to throb. Eventually Bythios’ work was done and the last shackle fell from Hercules’ wrist. He reached up to remove the bridle.

“If you will break your word and kill me, do it now.” Bythios raised his chin. “I ordered the bridle made, and each time I come here to shackle you, I will force you to wear it again.

Hercules frowned. It almost sounded as if Bythios wished for a death by Hercules’ hands. Hercules worked the straps free and put the bridle to the side. “I will obey the oracle, and it has given my freedom to King Eurystheus. If Eurystheus gives control of me to you, I will not dispute your claim over me. You may do as you like, as long as your king approves.” Hercules watched Bythios carefully. Surprise crossed Bythios’s features. Then confusion.

“Why?” he finally asked.

“I will atone for what I have done.” Hercules shifted his gaze to the crosshatched sticks used to close in the one broken wall. 

“You may lie to King Eurystheus and the others, but I do not believe that, for not even a monster like you could kill your children and walk to the oracle the following week.”

Hercules looked up. “Do not think to tell me what I feel,” he warned.

Bythios pulled his whip from his belt and looped it around Hercules’ neck, pulling him close. “The men who lay here unburied, whose souls were denied the afterworld—they killed my children. When I saw my babies’ small and broken bodies, I cared not for atonement or justice or even food and water. I wanted to destroy the men who had taken my life from me, and beyond that, I had no thought for weeks—for months. And now you come and say that you have killed your children and you seek redemption? The others may believe, but I do not.” Bythios leaned close enough that Hercules could feel Bythios’ breath across his face. “I will die before I allow you to hurt the royal family. They may believe you a fool led by the nose as an ox, but I know you are a liar, Hercules.”

Bythios shoved him away, and Hercules fell to the ground next to the smith’s block. The cold hand of fear caught hold of Hercules. He might have the strength to kill Bythios where he stood, but he could not make that action square with his story. If he were a grieving father, these words would not strike such fear into him. Worse, Hercules did not know with whom Bythios might have shared his beliefs.

He pushed himself to his feet and gathered his righteous indignation. “Do not tell me how I must grieve or what price I must pay. I would do anything for my children. Anything. I would pay any ransom, either in gold or blood. But now I can do nothing but endure Hera’s rage before she seeks to take her displeasure out on more of my family. Should I stay at home in the dark and grieve and allow her to go after my wife, my brother, my mother, the mortal man who raised me as a son? Perhaps Hera would punish my first weapons master or some bastard child I fathered without knowing it. Should I wallow in my own pain while everyone else is destroyed as well?” 

Hercules had locked down his pain and anger for so long that allowing even a small crack in his defenses led to a flood of emotions. For a brief second, rage gripped him as strongly as it had under Hera’s spell, and he could envision himself ripping Bythios apart with his hands. He wanted the feel of flesh yielding and warm blood running across his skin, and that frightened him.

So he whirled away and took his anger out on the nearest stone. He punched it so hard that a great cracking sound followed and the two halves crashed to the ground outside. Hercules stood and stared at the hole where once the wall had been solid.

“Build a fire and I will return to collect you,” Bythios said, and then his footsteps retreated. Hercules kept his back to the door until he was sure the man was gone because he distrusted his own temper.

Hercules and the Nemean Lion

Part One 

Part Two 

Part Three 

Part Four 

Part Five 

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