Percy Jackson and the Greek Heroes by Rick Riordan
ALCMENE: Um, okay. A heads-up would’ve been nice.
ELECTRYON: Don’t be so glum. He’s going to be the high king soon! He paid a good price for you! Also he loves you. You love her, right?
AMPHITRYON: Uh-huh.
ALCMENE: You just met me.
AMPHITRYON: Uh-huh.
ALCMENE: Can you say anything other than ‘Uh-huh’?
AMPHITRYON: Uh-huh.
ALCMENE: Dad, this guy is a moron.
AMPHITRYON: But I love you! I love you THIS MUCH! (Spreads his hands. Accidentally whacks Electryon in the face and kills him.)
AMPHITRYON: Oops.
ALCMENE: You’re a moron.
When the news got out, the other royal contender, Sthenelus, saw an opportunity to seize the high kingship. He publicly accused Amphitryon of murder. He ran a big smear campaign with posters and town criers and TV ads: THIS MORON MURDERED HIS FATHER-IN-LAW. CAN YOU TRUST HIM TO RUN OUR COUNTRY? Ultimately the heat got so bad that Amphitryon had to flee Mycenae. He dragged along his new wife, Alcmene, who wasn’t too happy about it.
They settled in Thebes, a town northwest of Athens, outside the Mycenae power zone. Amphitryon became the city’s most important general, but that wasn’t saying much, since the Theban army was about as powerful as a squad of mall cops.
Alcmene was totally not into her husband. Technically they were married, but the fool had killed her father and got them both exiled.
‘There is no way we are having children,’ Alcmene told him. ‘It would bring down the IQ of the entire Greek civilization.’
‘I will prove myself to you!’ Amphitryon promised. ‘What must I do?’
Alcmene pondered that. ‘Go conquer a bunch of cities. Show me you’re a good leader. You can start by destroying the island of Taphos. My brothers attacked that place a few years back and got slaughtered. Avenge my brothers.’
Amphitryon lost track of what she was saying after the first few words. ‘What?’
Alcmene pointed. ‘Taphos. Go kill!’
‘Okay.’
Amphitryon took his army and had a bunch of adventures that I won’t go into. There was a fox that couldn’t be caught. There was a dude with long blond hair who couldn’t be killed. There was blood and maiming and pillaging. You know, pretty much the average weekend in Ancient Greece.
Amphitryon killed people and destroyed things until he figured he had proven himself to be worthy of Alcmene. Then he turned his army around and marched for Thebes. He was anxious to get home and have his honeymoon. He’d been married to his wife for over a year now, and they hadn’t even kissed yet.
Too bad for him, someone else also wanted a honeymoon with his wife. Our old friend Zeus, the god of the sky and cute señoritas, had been watching Alcmene. He liked what he saw.
Zeus had promised Hera (for the thirtieth time) that he’d stop fooling around with mortal women. Of course, he had no intention of keeping his promise, but still he figured he’d better try to stay off the radar when he visited Alcmene. He decided the simplest way would be to show up looking like her husband. Zeus transformed himself into an Amphitryon clone and flew down to Thebes.
‘Honey, I’m home!’ he announced.
Alcmene walked into the living room. ‘What are you doing here? The messengers said you were still with the army. I wasn’t expecting you for another three days.’
Three days? Zeus thought. Excellent!
‘I’m home early!’ he announced. ‘Let’s celebrate!’
Zeus ordered pizza. He opened a bottle of champagne and put on some Justin Timberlake. At first, Alcmene was suspicious. Her husband didn’t seem as moronic as he had been before. But she had to admit she preferred this version of him. Maybe he had learned something from his adventures.
They had a wonderful romantic night together. In fact it was so wonderful that at one point Zeus excused himself, took his phone into the bathroom and texted Helios, the sun god: Bro, take a few days off. I need this night to last!
Helios texted back: R U w/Alcmene?
Zeus: Totes.
Helios: OMG she’s hawt.
Zeus: IKR?
Helios left the sun chariot in the garage for the next seventy-two hours. By the time dawn finally rolled around, Alcmene was suffering from sleep deprivation and a Justin Timberlake overdose.
Zeus kissed her good morning. ‘Well, that was great, babe! I should get going. Got to check on … army stuff.’
He strolled out of the front door.
Ten minutes later, the real Amphitryon walked in. ‘Honey, I’m home!’
Alcmene gave him a blurry look. ‘So soon? Did you forget something?’
Amphitryon had been hoping for a slightly more enthusiastic welcome. ‘Um … no. I just got home from the war. Can we … celebrate?’
‘Are you kidding? You got home yesterday! We spent all last night together!’
Amphitryon wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, but he realized something was wrong. He and Alcmene visited a local priest who did some fortune-telling and determined that the first Amphitryon had actually been Zeus.
Roman storytellers thought this mistaken identity situation was hilarious. They wrote entire comedies about it. You can imagine how that went. Alcmene looks at the audience like, THAT WASN’T MY HUSBAND? WHOOPS! And a bunch of dudes in togas roll on the floor laughing.
Anyway, there wasn’t much Amphitryon could do about it. He and Alcmene had their own honeymoon celebration. By the time Alcmene was in the second trimester of her pregnancy, she knew, the way moms sometimes do, that she was carrying twins. She had a feeling one baby would be Zeus’s and the other would be Amphitryon’s. And the Zeus baby would mean big trouble for her.
Meanwhile, back in Mycenae, Cousin Sthenelus was still trying to become the high king. He thought he’d be a shoo-in with Amphitryon in exile, but nobody liked Sthenelus. He was cruel and cowardly. Besides, his name was super hard to pronounce. The nobles refused to endorse him. The commoners jeered at him. Sthenelus tried to settle the matter with a public vote, but he came in third after two write-in candidates: Mickey Mouse and Fluffy the town cat.
Sthenelus’s only good news: his wife Nicippe was about to give birth to their first child. If the baby was a boy, he would be the oldest son of the oldest descendant of Perseus (not counting Amphitryon, of course), which meant the kid had a shot at becoming high king even if Sthenelus couldn’t.
Up on Mount Olympus, Queen Hera was thinking along the same lines. She’d found out about Zeus’s affair with Alcmene. Instead of going into a raging snit about it, she decided to play things cold and stealthy.
‘Zeus probably wants Alcmene’s bastard child to become high king of Mycenae,’ she grumbled to herself. ‘Well, that’s not going to happen.’
The next night, she did everything she could to put Zeus in a good mood. She played his favourite Timberlake album. She cooked his favourite meal – ambrosia crepes with ambrosia sauce and a side of sautéed ambrosia. She massaged his shoulders and whispered in his ear, ‘Honey Muffin?’
‘Hmm?’ Zeus’s eyes crossed in bliss.
‘Could you make a teensy divine decree for me?’
‘A divine decree … about what?’
She popped an ambrosia-covered strawberry into his mouth. ‘Oh, I just thought the kingdom of Mycenae should have some peace and prosperity. Wouldn’t that be nice?’
‘Mmph-hmm.’ Zeus swallowed the strawberry.
‘What if you decreed that the very next descendant of Perseus to be born will become the high king? Wouldn’t that make things simpler?’
Zeus suppressed a smile. He knew Alcmene’s twins were due any minute. Sthenelus’s kid wasn’t going to be born for at least another week. He just didn’t know that Hera knew. ‘Yeah, sure, hon. No problem!’
That same night, divine oracles throughout Mycenae announced the latest news from Zeus: the next-born male descendant of Perseus would become the high king! And, no, the public would not be allowed to vote for Fluffy
After dinner, Hera sped down to the earth, where her daughter Eileithyia, the goddess of childbirth, had just arrived at Alcmene’s house.
‘Stop!’ Hera cried. ‘Don’t let Alcmene give birth!’
Eileithyia stepped back, clutching her medical bag. ‘But she’s already in labour. You do remember how painful that is?’
‘I don’t care!’ Hera said. ‘She cannot give birth – at least not until after Sthenelus’s son is born.’
‘But I don’t have that on my schedule until next week.’
‘Just come with me to Tiryns. NOW!’
Eileithyia was used to handling the drama of childbirth. The drama of Hera? Not so much. Leaving Alcmene in bed, groaning and sweating and cursing, the two goddesses flew to the city of Tiryns.
Once there, Eileithyia waved her magic Lamaze pillow and Sthenelus’s wife Nicippe immediately went into labour. BOOM! Five minutes later she was holding a baby boy in her arms. Easiest delivery in history.
They named the child Eurystheus, because that was the most unpronounceable name they could think of on short notice. He was, in fact, the next-born male descendant of Perseus, so the little guy was crowned high king immediately, though it was hard to find a tiara small enough for his newborn head.
As for Alcmene, Hera would have let her suffer in labour forever. That’s just the kind of loving person she was. But Eileithyia took pity on her. Once it was clear that Hera had got her way on the high-kingship issue, Eileithyia granted Alcmene a safe and easy childbirth.
The first twin born was Hercules (though at the time he was called Al), followed by his baby brother, Iphicles.
Proud papa Amphitryon looked at the newborns. He immediately felt attached to both of them, though Alcmene had warned him in advance that one of the kids was probably Zeus’s.
Which one is mine and which one is Zeus’s? he wondered.
Iphicles cried. Al/Hercules flexed his newborn muscles and smacked his brother in the face, like, Shaddup.
‘I’m guessing the muscular one is Zeus’s,’ Alcmene said.
Amphitryon sighed. ‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’
The next day, word arrived from Tiryns: a new high king, Eurystheus, had been born just a few hours before Hercules.
‘Hera must be messing with me,’ Alcmene guessed. ‘That’s why my labour lasted so long.’
In her arms, baby Hercules shouted, ‘RARRR!’ and promptly pooped his diaper.
Alcmene reeled back from the smell. ‘Was that an editorial comment?’ she asked the baby. ‘You don’t like Hera?’
‘RARRR!’ More poop.
That worried Alcmene – and not just because she had no idea what her kid had been eating. She’d heard all the stories about Hera torturing Zeus’s mortal lovers. Her difficult labour was proof that Hera was out to get her. Her new baby Al/Hercules might get her killed.
In her moment of fear and weakness, Alcmene did what too many parents did back then with unwanted children. She sneaked out of the house, took the baby to the conveniently located wilderness and left him exposed on a rock to die.
Little baby Hercules was mightily annoyed. He squirmed on the rock for hours, yelling, cursing in baby language and punching any wild animal that dared to come close.
Fortunately, Zeus was looking out for the little guy. Zeus had got wise to Hera’s little shell game with the high king babies. He muttered to himself, ‘Oh, you want a fight? Okay, Honey Muffin, it’s on.’ He sent Athena, goddess of wisdom, down to the earth to retrieve the baby.
Hercules looked up at Athena and cooed, but his stomach was growling. Athena, not being a motherly type, didn’t know what to do with him.
‘I need a wet nurse,’ she murmured. ‘Someone who likes babies. Hmm …’
She had a very twisted idea. She took the kid to Hera.
‘Oh, my queen!’ said Athena. ‘I just found this poor random baby abandoned in the wilderness. Isn’t that terrible? I don’t know how to feed him, and he’s so hungry!’
Hera didn’t know who the baby was. She took one look at the little guy and her motherly instincts kicked in. ‘Aw, poor thing. Give him here. I will suckle him.’
Back then they didn’t do baby bottles and formula. When a baby got hungry, you breastfed him. End of story. Usually the mom did it, but if the mom wasn’t around another woman might do the job.
Hera, being the goddess of moms, figured she was up to the task. She held Hercules to her bosom and let him take a few drinks from the divine milk dispenser. The baby was going at it with gusto until Athena said, ‘Thank you, Hera!’
It was the first time she’d said Hera’s name in the baby’s presence. Hercules bit down hard on Hera’s sensitive flesh, screamed ‘RARR!’ and pooped, all at the same time, causing Hera to scream and hurl the kid.
Fortunately, Athena was a good catch.
Some legends say that Hera’s breast milk sprayed across the sky and created the Milky Way. I don’t know. That seems like a whole lot of solar systems from just one squirt. What is for sure: those few sips of the good stuff instilled Hercules with divine strength and health, compliments of the goddess who hated him the most.
Athena whisked the baby back to his mother’s house. She set him on the doorstep, rang the bell and flew away. Alcmene opened the door. Baby Hercules grinned up at her, his face covered with milk.
‘Um, okay …’ Alcmene figured this was a sign from the gods. She took the kid inside and never tried to get rid of him again.
The next few months were relatively uneventful. Hercules learned to crawl. He learned to punch through brick walls. He teethed his way through several horse saddles, got put in time-out for breaking his babysitter’s arms and even spoke his first word: mangle.
One night, when he and his brother, Iphicles, were asleep, Hera decided to get rid of her least favourite toddler once and for all.
If I allow this child to grow up, she thought, he’ll be nothing but trouble. Zeus is watching over him, so I can’t just blast the boy to ashes. Hmm. I know! I’ll arrange a believable accident – a couple of poisonous snakes in the nursery. That happens all the time, I’m sure!
Two nasty vipers slithered through a crack in the wall and made straight for the children’s beds.
Iphicles woke first. He felt something gliding over his blanket, and he screamed.
Down the hall, Alcmene heard him. She bolted out of bed and shook her husband awake. ‘Amphitryon, something is wrong in the nursery!’
The parents rushed in, but they were too late.
Hercules had taken care of business. With his super-fast toddler reflexes, he had grabbed both snakes by their necks and strangled them to death.
By the time his parents arrived, Hercules was standing up in bed, grinning and waving the dead vipers. ‘Bye-bye!’
As for Iphicles, he was huddled in the corner, under a blanket, screaming and sobbing.
Amphitryon sighed. ‘Come on, Iphicles. I’ve got you. Sorry, little dude. You’re stuck with my DNA.’
After that night, our snake-strangling hero got a new name. He was no longer Alcides, Alcaeus or any other flavour of Al. He became known as Heracles (Roman: Hercules), which means Glory from Hera. Thanks to Hera, he was famous before he even graduated preschool. Hera must have loved that.
As he grew, Hercules had some really good teachers. His dad, Amphitryon, taught him to drive a chariot. The generals of Thebes taught him sword fighting, archery and wrestling.
His only weak subject was music. His parents hired the best lyre player in town, Linus, who was the half-brother of Orpheus, but Hercules had zero musical skill. His fingers were just too big and clumsy to manipulate the strings. Eventually Linus lost his patience and screamed, ‘No, no, no! That’s a C scale!’
Linus ripped the lyre out of the boy’s hands. He smacked Hercules across the face with it. (FYI, being hit in the face with a lyre hurts.)
Hercules yanked the lyre back from his teacher. ‘SEE THIS SCALE!’
He smashed Linus over the head repeatedly until the lyre was in pieces and the music teacher was dead.
Hercules was twelve. He was put on trial for capital murder. If that’s not straight-up hard core, I don’t know what is. Fortunately, Hercules was smart. He pleaded self-defence, since Linus had hit him first, and got off easy with six years of community service at a cattle ranch outside of town.
The ranch wasn’t so bad. Hercules liked working outdoors. He got lots of fresh air and never had to take music lessons. His parents also appreciated having him safely tucked away where he couldn’t attract poisonous vipers into the house, commit teacher-cide or accidentally destroy the city.
Hercules was released from the ranch at age eighteen. By then, he was the biggest, tallest, strongest, baddest Theban in the history of Thebes. He’d been away for a long time and wasn’t really tuned in to what was going on, so when he got home he was shocked to see the townsfolk weeping in the public square, gathering all their cattle like they were about to have an auction. Hercules recognized a lot of the cows he’d raised during his years of community service.
Hercules found his family in the crowd. ‘Dad!’ he called to Amphitryon. ‘What’s up with the cows?’
His stepfather winced. ‘Son, while you were away, we had a war with the Minyans. You know those folks who live in that city over yonder – King Erginus’s people?’
‘Yeah? So?’
‘We lost. Badly. To stop the Minyans from destroying our whole city, King Creon agreed to pay them a yearly tribute of one hundred cows.’
‘What? That’s crazy! I raised those cows. There’s Spot, right there. And that’s Buttercup. You can’t give away Buttercup!’
A hundred cows may not sound like a big deal, but back then that was like a hundred houses or a hundred Ferraris. Cows were big money. They were some of the most important investments you could make. Besides – Buttercup! Dude, you can’t give away a cow that Hercules had bothered to name.
‘We must fight!’ Hercules said. ‘This time we will beat the evil Minyans!’
His sickly brother, Iphicles, spoke up. ‘But they took all our weapons. That was also part of the peace treaty.’