Herakles and the Twelve Labours: The City of Greed - First Day of the Worst Grief of Mythology's Greatest Hero

And much more

Quite why it was that he acquiesced to this punishment, none were destined to know for quite some time, though it must be said that he confided in his nephew that he was far too numb in spirit, to consider defiance. This was confided long after what he termed his ‘surrender’, or what others called the ‘Submission to the Oracle’, and that he considered his most humiliating moment in life. It was a moment when joy, when defeat was made absolute and he was made to suffer as never before.

Seated atop the mountain where the Temple of Apollo was to be found, surrounded by lush green grass, a great stoned stairway made of marble that led down to the foot of the mountain. It was at the foot of this place that the road stretched out towards the lands of Doria, with the village of Pythia to be found also at the foot of the mountain. That village had begun to blossom into a proper city some decades ago, and had been founded more than several millennia ago, in honour of Apollo. The beauteous forest that had once dominated the landscape had long ago given way to lumbers, mills and forges and other artisan and mercantile buildings and ‘temples’ as men turned away from the woodlands, and nature to industry and the favourite of the Oracle’s words; progress.

It was as he turned to leave with his family that the newly dubbed Herakles, stopped and turned to face the Oracle once more.

“If I may ask, O Oracle,” He asked as he turned to leave, “Is this pronouncement one that stems from she whom I have ‘insulted’ with my mere existence? Or does this decree come from my father?”

The Oracle studied him. She chose her words with care, knowing as all did that within him lay a strength that was untold of, and that had never before been seen in the history of Man. The Oracle knew as all her predecessors did; none were quite half as dangerous as a good man. “Your father, though it pains him to cast judgement upon one who has him for a father.”

At those words Herakles snorted. Others may judge him harshly, do not be too quick to cast judgement upon him. None however could quite understand the depths of the scorn and fury that lay hidden within him behind that snort. Only the likes of Iphicles and Alcmene felt hatred to compare with that of his own, for the likes of Zeus.

Creon never one to let slide the slightest of insults declared as he departed for the west, “Well satisfied I am by this decree, if it means your humiliation and enslavement! For why should a man, who might lay hands upon his loving wife and children, be treated as a man? Though, others may protest thy innocence ‘Herakles’, I know you to be a foul murderer and to merit nothing less than this humiliation!”

Lo! It is thus that Creon departs from this tale if only for a time, his heart full of bitterness and spirit filled to the brim with the sort of grief, few men could possibly understand. It was only after he had left the road behind him, had set his back to the city-walls and that the Oracle had long disappeared in the distance behind him that he gave himself over to his sorrow. It was only thence that he allowed himself to drink and to give himself over to the worst demonstration of grief his family ever bore witness to.

Though, he did not see it in his great hurry to be away from the Oracle and Herakles. Herakles looked on him not with hatred, or anger but rather with longing and grief. Only Creon, he felt might well understand his grief at the loss of Megara and the children. Yet that same man who had loved them now hated him. The force of his emotions tore from him in the years to come a great many demonstrations of the utmost grief, with the youth as he walked with his family refusing to show to them how affected he was.

Alcmene did not wish to leave him; fond as she was of her son the thought seemed utterly abhorrent in particular given her own sense of loss at her grandchildren. Stricken she was to fall into his arms and weep for what were hours, ere Iphicles took her away. Though, it was the wish of Herakles to care for his mother, to stay by her side duty and the commandment of the gods called him thence, so that he could not enjoy the comfort of his family.

“Stay strong, Alcides,” Iphicles told him, his tone fierce and almost defiant just as his father’s had always been even on the day he had met his end.

Herakles could not meet his gaze, or that of his young nephew who looked on the cusp of tears himself, so that he turned away and began to make for the Kingdom of Argyles. It was as he made his way down the road that stretched on, not knowing when it might end only that it could never wash away the grief and blood on his hands.

As he strode away, Iphicles looked on after him, full of sorrow for his half-brother, it was at this time that he saw tears begin to fall away from his son’s eyes so that he reprimanded him. “Iolaus, do not weep! Now is not the time for such womanly emotions on your part! If you weep now while your grandmother is beside herself with such pain, what will thy grandfather think? Men’s tears are a privilege to be earned, where women’s tears are her right. Now help me, with your grandmother and then you may well weep.”

Iolaus nodded, wiped away his tears and though it pained him he was to do as his father bade him, and began to attempt to soothe Alcmene. He never forgot the words Iphicles passed on to him, nor did he forget the pain of his grandmother. Yet most of all he was to always bear in his memory the weight his uncle now carried, so that it was in that hour that he swore his own oath. If his family had been broken, he would be the one someday to put it back together and to carry the burden. He would be the sort of man his father and grandfather were.

*****

Herakles as Alcides had been dubbed, was sent south-west to answer to King Eurystheus who when news arrived before him, of the punishment that the gods had in mind for the half-god at first disbelieved it. Since decades ago, he had come to believe that the gods bore him little favour, this in spite of his continuous prayers to certain of their ranks, such as Ares and Athena. It happened that in the years since the death of his father, in the great battle of the Prásinos Mountains, the kingdom of Argyles had changed. No longer, was she the junior kingdom to the likes of Lacedaemon and Minervra and had flourished.

This he had accomplished not by arms, nor by religious rights but by commerce. Eurystheus, relying upon the safety provided by his neighbours to all merchants, to build up his wealth, with these mercantile elements traveling along the Dorian roads that snaked up and down the lands of Doria. As his realm lay between several intersecting roads, and as he had bent his military-force towards the quashing of local brigands he had profited from the efforts of others.

At the time of the arrival of Herakles, Eurystheus greeted him as one might a returning hero… of Hera.

Accompanied by no one, he entered the city to discover the emblem of Hera; the symbol of the peacock held high by every hand, and sewn onto every tapestry and nailed to every wall. The sight of the badge of the Queen of Olympos was a sore blow to the son of Zeus. By this time, his sense of loss so all-devouring had departed so that he was left with a sense of outrage and fury, so that his cheeks burnt with the humiliation of having to endure this celebration of his kinsmen’s murderer. Others might have raged, some might have complained at some length regarding the injustice or about the humiliation cast down upon him. Herakles though did none of these things.

The walls of the city were more than fifteen meters high, and five meters thick and had been built by the founders of the city. The walls had since that time, been expanded thrice over the millennia, if only to ensure that the city’s growing population might continue in several decades continue to enjoy their protection. These walls were surrounded themselves by a great deal of farmland that stretched out west towards an endless forest, while to the south they stretched out towards yonder sea. East was where one might find the great road that stretched south even as the north saw a great road stretching out to the north-east and the south-west through the local woods. In the distance one could see to the west and south-west a great many hills and mountains, yet these were not where the eyes of most men turned for the sea lay to the south. Outstretched it led far, far away to the island kingdom of Kretia and beyond its shores there was across the waves the lands of Deshret and Kemet.

The vast majority of the houses were built of timber and local wood, and of such fine construction that many of the houses had not been refurbished in many years. Most though had necessitated in recent times some measure of renovation, with the city’s people quite proud of the oak, ash, elm and other sorts of trees that they had utilized in the construction of their homes. These homes were sparsely decorated in most respects, with beds of hay and with few belongings and yet there was a pride taken in the neatness, in the sense of community each of them had. Not one house was better than the other save for those of the wealthiest of nobles and the King’s home. The nobility or at least those who were among the wealthiest of their lot, lived in large stone and wood houses with the foundations being stone and the roofing being solid wood. Their homes were considerably larger than those of the peasants (which were only about three to five meters long and wide), at twelve meters long, wide and in regards to height about fifteen meters high. These great homes dominated the heart of the city and were themselves dominated by the great temple of Hera that was a rectangular building set next to the palace, and which cast a shadow over the city. Built purely of stone, with great columns that were built purely of marble and housing a great statue to the goddess it was next to the great palace.

The temple was fifteen meters long, twelve wide and twenty meters high even as the palace was double its grandeur in all respects and also built purely of stone. The city was one that had in the time of the father of Eurystheus begun a great transformation, one that he had somehow halted and stalled.

The knowledge of Herakles’ arrival was presaged by a great many dreams, most of which ended in his submission, with the goddess Hera who had sent the dreams to Eurystheus and his women warning him. “Herakles or Alcides as he was once known shall arrive soon before thee therefore array thyself and thy women in all your glory and finest silk that you might properly receive him. This day will become the grandest of my festivals, failure to do so will result in the destruction of the whole of thy line. Herakles has been punished for his hubris and defiance towards myself, the Queen of Olympos and therefore must be well received yet severely punished, put him to work for the city of Argyles.”

Heeding her words, for fear that he might incur her displeasure and find his lineage hewed apart, Eurystheus called for his steward and all the great officials of his realm and city. A festival was rapidly organized, and news soon spread that Alcides the hero of the previous war was en route to pay homage to Argyles and submit himself to her. It happened that though at first incredible, the dreams that had visited themselves upon their king soon spread to each of the most powerful men of the city, and all those involved with the shrines of the gods.

It was thus that when disbelief had faded a great wave of joy and excitement swept over the city so that the people awaited the arrival of their sworn enemy with bated breath. When at last he did arrive, it was shortly after high-noon when the suns’ were at their zenith and with a strong breeze blowing through the fields and city.

The gates were thrown open shortly after dawn, and guards were posted there so that by the time that Herakles appeared on the horizon he was spotted. Though, he had not known what to expect and had hoped to appear quietly with nary anyone to pay him any mind or to take notice of him, he was however soon disappointed. The whole of the city had not only expected him, but the vast majority had been waiting for some time.

Somewhere deep within him, the man took stock of the disrespect shown him; sullen-eyed he looked, from one jeering member of the crowd to another. So that he took note of those who mocked him, those who sneered at him and those who chortled, for none cheered for him swept up as they were by urban madness. The sort of madness that those focused together and pressed to live closely to one another without proper air to breathe are oft-prone towards. The man’s eyes were still red, and his heart still aching. The man with his thick mop of brown-blonde hair was to come to a halt before the Bronze Throne of Argyles.

Against his will, he met the gaze of that of Eurystheus who startled and bewildered slowly allowed his uncertainty to melt away. In place of these emotions there grew a sense of triumph and joy.

Slowly against his will Herakles did as he had been instructed by the Oracle and knelt before the man his father had once opposed in war, just as he had many years prior.

Dressed in his finest blue silk tunics, with slippers made of the same material and with the bronze crown of his city with its bronze-crafted peacock plumes Eurystheus cut a majestic figure. No shrinking violet was this ruler. He cut a particularly fine figure with his two wives standing to either side of him, his daughters (for he had yet to have a son), to either side of his throne which had been placed atop the twenty steps that led up to just outside his palace.

Pleased, Eurystheus raised up his hands to usher forth silence throughout his maddened city, “Here kneels the proud son of Zeus, the mightiest of the heirs of Perseus! Well might he have boasted, of finer blood and finer deeds than a great many others. Even he it must be said, has been brought to shame for his hubris and made to kneel before the might of our city. Such is the destiny of all those who oppose the might, of our mightiest of cities and greatest of kingdoms.”

The proud boasts of that most fortuitous of monarchs was such that at any other time the lords and ladies of Olympos, might well have paid heed and punished him for them. The whole of the city might have suffered for their hubris. But few were those who paid them the slightest attention, and even fewer were those who paid the remotest attention to this oration. Those that did, had no wish to displease her so that they simply did nothing at all. It was by her grace after all, the people in the city for their part told themselves that they could now boast the son of Zeus among the slaves of the city.

It was at this time that Eurystheus struggled for a suitable punishment for the man before him. It was true that he had humiliated him, he had laid him low and now he had the responsibility to think of some suitable task to have him done away with. It was in this hour that his eye fell upon the toy of one of the sons of one of his noblemen. The toy in question was that of a small wooden toy lion.

Inspired he addressed Herakles, with this moment of divine realisation, “Herakles, glory-bringer of the Queen of Olympos,” He relished in the young man’s wince and glower, “For thy first task, you shall hunt down the lion that has come to torment Neméa.”A moment of silence followed, where Herakles met the gaze of the monarch, so that the people of the city stared in confusion, unsure if they were waiting for some great event. “Why do you hesitate? Go now!”

Herakles, who had sought to meet and match the gaze of the ruler, had done so in the most primordial of ways. It was as much in his blood, the blood of the most ancient of beings, blood that burnt with the passion of the wild not simply through the King of Olympos but the line that attached Alcmene to noble Perseus. Himself son of Zeus, Perseus had dared to defy the odds, dared to challenge the wild and the dark that lay just beyond the edges of man’s vision.

Finding his feet once more, so that he no longer knelt before the man who deemed himself his most ardent enemy, Herakles turned his back upon him. It had annoyed and angered him to have to kneel before such an unworthy man, to show deference to such a measly being as that which had seated himself before him.

The anger this inspired in Eurystheus was such that it left him blind to the joys of having thus humiliated and enslaved his rival from the battle of Prásinos. Vengeance he promised himself, no matter if Herakles survived would be his.