Hercules and the Nemean Lion, part 5 (Patreon)

The cold water the stable boy had thrown on Hercules had done nothing to alleviate his odor. Perhaps the rough bag tied over Hercules’ head intensified the smell, but he could not imagine King Eurystheus wanting something so sweaty in his throne room.

Two days without sleep, pulling rocks from distant farms to Bythios’ hut had driven him to the brink of exhaustion. The two guards spent more time trying to keep Hercules from falling on his face than they spent threatening him, and they threatened him constantly.

His knees were raw and bloody and when he was finally brought into Tiryns, they had taken his boots and shackled his ankles.

“No, don’t make him kneel,” a voice said. Hercules hung his head in gratitude. “Oh cousin, look at you.” 

Hercules raised his head and turned his face in the general direction of Eurystheus. No doubt he looked a mess.

“Sire, here is the pelt to prove his first quest was successful,” Damas said. The keeper of the king’s schedule had taken down every word as Hercules described his quest. He explained how he had shot arrows only to find he could not pierce the lion’s hide. He told how he had strangled the beast and then used its own claws to saw off the skin. He hadn’t talked about the desperation in Cleonae or the hunger in a little girl who watched a supposed hero eat her food.

Those were his burdens to carry and he would not allow anyone else to touch them.

But Damas had copied down every word of Hercules’ description, reading them back to him as Hercules pulled a heavy boulder toward the distant hill where Bythios waited and probably slept. Instead two soldiers guarded him in his work.

If Hercules had expected praise or admiration, he was doomed to be disappointed. As soon as Damas had the last word down on his scroll, he nodded, and one of the soldiers fitted the bridle back over Hercules’ head.

And now he was sweaty, exhausted, hobbled and chained and bridled, all to reassure King Eurystheus, a man Hercules had no intention of harming. The irony would amuse Hercules if he had any energy to care. Someone pulled the bag from his head, and Hercules blinked and squinted from the light.

“At least the bridle is better than a stick. Bythios’s idea?” Eurystheus asked.

Damas nodded. “He spat at the name of Hera and accused her of doing him no favors.”

Eurystheus looked at Hercules with horror, but that was the truth of it. Hercules would give thanks to Zeus or Athena, but Hera had never done a single favor for him. Eurystheus headed for his throne. “Cousin, you are a great fool. And now you have killed the Nemean Lion.”

Hercules frowned. Eurystheus made it sound as though he should have ignored the oracle’s quest.

“The lion had the blood of gods, and now you’ve spilled it.” Eurystheus rubbed his forehead. “I had thought you would either leave for some place where the gods are not worshipped or die in this insane quest of yours, but no, you attack the child of Echidna, the son of Typhon and grandson of Tartarus himself. How many enemies will you make with that strength of yours?”

The guards on either side of Hercules tightened their holds on his arms.

“Sire, what should we do with him?” Damas asked.

Hercules strained against the leather and steel that held him, but he knew he was too weak to defend himself. If Eurystheus decided that his fate was to die here, Hercules could not even speak against his judgment.

Perhaps Eurystheus recognized Hercules’ fear. “I can’t kill you for fear of bringing down the wrath of Zeus and Athena, so you are safe enough, cousin. I suspect you are safer than the rest of us who don’t have claims to the gods’ loyalties.

With the bit in his mouth, Hercules couldn’t point out that Hera had always taken Eurystheus’ side. She would defend him from Zeus. Hercules had no doubt that the oracle had chosen Eurystheus as Hercules’s master for that very reason.

“Not every problem can be solved by killing something,” Eurystheus said wearily.

“Sire?” Damas asked. “What shall we do?”

Hercules wanted to know the answer to that too.

“I don’t want him to set foot in Tiryns ever again,” Eurystheus said firmly. He stood and moved to a spot right in front of Hercules. “This is the last time we will ever see each other, cousin. This is how I will remember you forever because you are banished from this place. You will never again come near me, my queen, or my children. Are we clear?”

Hercules hesitated. He didn’t want to disobey the oracle and undo the work he’d done to protect his family, but he could read the determination and danger in Eurystheus’ face. He gave a single nod.

Eurystheus turned to Damas. “Have him stabled at the ruined hut until the oracle sends word of his next quest. If he even steps foot on the roads to Tiryns, order our archers to kill him. And remind them that he has the strength of gods, so they are to assume that killing him will require his head be separated from his body.”

“Who shall be in charge of him, sire?” Damas almost looked to be shrinking back as though afraid of Eurystheus’ answer.

Eurystheus turned and looked at Hercules. “Bythios is the only one of us that seems to take his strength seriously and use bindings appropriate for his abilities.” With a cruel smile, Eurystheus grabbed the strap over Hercules’ stomach and yanked hard. Hercules was so tired that he couldn’t keep his feet under him, and the soldiers had to bear most of his weight as he struggled to regain his balance.

“I had thought Bythios overly concerned, but it turns out that he understood the danger better than I did. A true leader doesn’t always have the answer, Hercules, but he listens to the ones who do. So, since killing you would be the same sort of folly you would engage in, I will take a more moderate approach and give you to the one who knows how best to use you.”

Eurystheus headed for his throne. “Hitch him to a cart and tell Bythios that I am making a gift of one headstrong ox. He may break the animal to the harness however he likes.” Eurystheus waved his hand. “Go, remove him. Get him out of my city.”

The guards yanked on Hercules, and he was practically dragged out of the room. He’d never had a chance to say even one word to his cousin, never had a chance to promise that he intended no harm. The unfairness of it rankled, but Hercules was too tired and too closely bound to do anything but follow as he was hurried down the stairs. Halfway down the corridor, one of the guards stopped him before pulling the bag over his head again.

Hercules closed his eyes and allowed the guards to move him down more stairs and through cold corridors. Eventually they pulled him to a stop, and he could feel ropes being attached to the harness he still wore. No one had returned his boots, and Hercules suspected that his feet would soon be as damaged as his knees if they forced him to pull a cart across the hard ground. 

Then they left him to stand. His reins were tied to something with so little slack that he couldn’t move, so he rested his forehead against the cold stone and closed his eyes. It was a poor sleep, but it was more than he’d been allowed for two days.

He didn’t know how long he’d half-slumbered when someone slapped his hip and Hercules stumbled so badly he nearly broke his own neck by falling. A hand grabbed his arm and righted him.

“The gift of a king is like the gift of a god—rarely pleasant.”

Hercules recognized Bythios’ voice. 

“So now I am exiled from my home and condemned to keep you in the haunted hut I vowed to never return to. I lose my friends and I break my vow—you will pay for both of those, slave.” Bythios slapped Hercules’ hip again.

“I have the bare necessities, but I hesitate to ask him to pull them.” That was Sarpiden, the stable master. 

Bythios answered. “He’s stronger than he looks, and it seems that King Eurystheus has finally realized that. He’ll pull the load.”

“Not with bare feet, I assume.” Sarpiden sounded disapproving now, and Hercules wished he could see what the men were doing. The bag was a greater nuisance than the bit in his mouth ever had been.

“I brought him sandals.”

“Sandals? For heavy work? An animal lives or dies by the care taken with its feet.”

Someone pulled back on Hercules’ leg, and he lifted his foot as far as he could with the chains. “I will return his boots at the hut, but they will not go on over the shackles, and he is not to be unchained or given his sight back until we reach his new home.” Bythios snorted as he fitted rough sandal over Hercules’ foot. “My new home until the oracle offers a new quest and relieves me of this gift.”

“You are serving your king,” Sarpiden said in a voice full of horror.

“And I serve him with a good heart, which is why I am returning to that place. Do not pretend that you fail to see the irony in forcing me to return to that hut in order to care for this beast.” Bythios pulled on Hercules’ other leg, and he shifted his weight so Bythios could put the second sandal on.

“You cannot run from ghosts of the dead,” Sarpiden said softly.

“No, but I can make sure this slave and I are too busy to spend any time at that house unless we are sleeping. Before I am done, there will not be so much as a pebble left in any farmer’s field. Isn’t that right, slave?” Bythios let go of Hercules’ second foot and then patted him on the ass. “I know exactly how to wear this animal out. Now load the gear so we can leave. I want to get the hut set up the best I can before dark. It will be cold up there.”

Hercules didn’t understand half of that conversation, but then no one had spoken to him.  He could only stand and listen as men grunted and objects were dropped. Some thunked heavily, others had the soft thump of soft bags being thrown. 

After some time, someone untied Hercules reins and began to pull him around. The second the harness grew tight, Hercules could feel how much weight he had behind him, but he was pulling a cart with wheels, not dragging an unyielding rock across uneven ground. He pushed forward, struggling until the cart started to roll, and then it became easier.

“I told you he could handle the weight,” Bythios said, and Hercules was ashamed to feel the small flare of pride at that statement. If Eurystheus had condemned him to five months of being an ox, he would be the best one he could.

“Come on, boy, pick up the pace,” Bythios said, and he slapped the back of Hercules leg with a leather switch or whip. Hercules walked faster, trusting Bythios’ lead since no one had removed the bag over his head. Hercules would pay any price to keep his children safe, but he truly wished he did not find such small moments of pride and pleasure while doing so. Pain would be kinder.

Hercules and the Nemean Lion

Part One 

Part Two 

Part Three 

Part Four 

Part Five 

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