Percy Jackson and the Greek Heroes by Rick Riordan
If Hercules had had a big enough cardboard box and some parcel tape, he could’ve just shipped the boar to Eurystheus via Federal Express. Since he didn’t, he spent a lot of time carefully digging around the boar, tying up its legs and its snout. Then, using all his great strength, he hauled the monster out of the snowdrift and dragged it back to Mycenae.
The merchants of Tiryns were excited to see Hercules coming to town, hauling a huge pig. First he’d brought them lion steaks. Next he’d filled the stores with premium crabmeat. Now pork would be on the menu for weeks!
Eurystheus was not as pleased. He was in the middle of breakfast when Hercules burst into the throne room and tossed the Erymanthian Boar like a bowling ball right towards the royal dais.
The boar slid to a stop at Eurystheus’s feet, its red eyes level with the king’s face, its razor-sharp tusks a few inches from his groin. Eurystheus screamed and dived for safety – right into his big bronze pot.
‘Wh-what is the meaning of this?’ he demanded, his voice echoing from inside the pot.
‘It’s the Erymanthian Boar,’ Hercules said. ‘Alive, as requested.’
‘Yes! Fine! Take it away!’
‘And for my next task?’ Hercules asked.
Eurystheus closed his eyes and whimpered. He hated heroes. They were so annoyingly … heroic. He wondered if he could just order Hercules to kill himself. No, the gods probably wouldn’t like that.
Unless … Eurystheus had a brilliant idea. What if he asked Hercules to do something that would get him killed by the gods?
‘The Ceryneian Hind!’ cried the king. ‘Bring it to me.’
‘The what, now?’ Hercules asked.
‘Just go! Figure it out! Google it! I don’t care! Bring me that hind, dead or alive!’
Hercules had never been good at looking up things on the Internet, so he asked around town what a Ceryneian Hind was.
His nephew Iolaus gave him the answer. ‘Oh, yeah, I’ve heard that story. The hind is a doe.’
‘Doe,’ Hercules said. ‘A deer. A female deer.’
‘Right,’ Iolaus said. ‘She lives in Ceryneia. That’s why she’s called –’
‘The Ceryneian Hind.’ Hercules sighed. ‘These people, always naming their animals after places with really difficult names. Just once, I want to go capture a monster named Joe or Timothy.’
‘Anyway,’ Iolaus continued, ‘the hind is supposed to be really fast, like fast enough to outrun an arrow. She’s got golden antlers –’
‘Female deer don’t have antlers, do they?’
‘This one does. And bronze hooves. Also, the hind is sacred to the goddess Artemis.’
‘So, if I kill the deer –’
‘Artemis will kill you,’ Iolaus confirmed.
‘Eurystheus is trying to trick me. I hate that guy.’
‘You sure you don’t want me come with you?’
‘Nah. I don’t want to get disqualified again. Thanks anyway, kid.’
So Hercules set out alone to find the magical doe that was not named Timothy.
The task wasn’t so much dangerous as it was long, hard and aggravating. Hercules chased the deer for an entire year all across Greece, way up into the frozen lands of the Hyperborean giants and back to the southern Peloponnese again. He got a great workout, but he couldn’t get close to the hind. His nets and traps and Acme deer-catching kits didn’t work. He tried the old boar-in-the-snow trick, but the deer ran nimbly over the icy crust without falling through.
The only time the deer ever slowed down was when she crossed rivers. Maybe she didn’t want to get her shiny bronze hooves wet, because she would always hesitate a few seconds before jumping in. That might have given Hercules an opportunity to shoot the animal, but since he couldn’t kill her it didn’t help.
Unless … Hercules thought, I could disable her without killing her.
This wasn’t the easiest or safest plan, but Hercules decided he had to give it a shot (so to speak). He rummaged through his supplies until he found some good fishing line – the strongest, lightest cord he had. He tied one end to the fletching of an arrow. Then he ran after the deer.
Getting the timing right took days. Hercules had to scout the terrain so he knew it perfectly. He had to anticipate which way the deer would run. Then he had to beat her to the nearest river in time to set up a shot.
Finally he managed to get in position. He stood a hundred yards downstream, his bow ready, just as the deer reached the water.
For a few heartbeats, she hesitated. Even for the best archer, this was a ridiculously hard shot, but Hercules had no choice. He let his arrow fly.
The point passed cleanly through the membrane of both shanks, tangling the hind’s back legs in fishing line. She stumbled. Before she could regain her balance, Hercules sprinted up the riverbank and grabbed the animal’s bronze hooves. He examined the wounds and breathed a sigh of relief. He’d drawn a little blood, but the hind would suffer no permanent damage.
Hercules slung the deer over his shoulders and started back towards Tiryns.
He’d only gone half a mile when a voice behind him said, ‘Where are you going with my hind?’
Hercules turned. Behind him stood a young maiden in a silvery tunic, a bow at her side. Next to her stood a dashing young man in golden robes. He was also armed with a bow.
‘Artemis,’ Hercules said, resisting the urge to scream and run. ‘And Apollo. Look, guys, I’m sorry I had to capture this deer, but –’
‘ “But.” ’ Artemis glanced at her brother. ‘Don’t you love it when mortals say “I’m sorry, but –”? As if they can excuse their offences!’ She fixed her cold silver eyes on Hercules. ‘Very well, hero. Explain to me why I shouldn’t kill you where you stand.’
‘Eurystheus gave me ten stupid jobs,’ Hercules said. ‘I mean, ten great labours. Whatever. He told me to bring him the Ceryneian Hind, dead or alive. Of course I knew she was sacred to you. I would never kill her. But I was caught between fulfilling my ten tasks like Apollo’s prophecy commanded –’
‘That’s true,’ Apollo admitted.
‘– and offending the great goddess Artemis. Eurystheus set me up. He wanted me to kill the hind so you would kill me. But, if you let me take the hind to him and complete my task, I promise no further harm will come to her. I will let her go immediately after I present her to the king.’
Artemis’s knuckles whitened on her bow. ‘I hate it when mortals use us for their dirty work.’
‘Death by god,’ Apollo grumbled. ‘We’re not hitmen. We can’t be told whom to kill or not kill!’
Artemis waved in a gesture of dismissal. ‘Hercules, take the hind. Keep your promise and we will have no further problems. But this Eurystheus … I hope I never catch him hunting in the woods. I will not be so merciful.’
The gods disappeared in a shimmer of light. Hercules continued on his way, but it was a while before his knees stopped shaking. Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid of Artemis and Apollo, and, for all his faults, Hercules was no fool. Well, most of the time, anyway.
When Hercules carried the Ceryneian Hind into the throne room, he was hoping Eurystheus would hide in his pot, because that would’ve been entertaining.
Instead, the high king just shrugged. ‘So you have completed this task adequately. I’ll keep the hind in my menagerie.’
‘Your what?’ asked Hercules.
‘My private royal zoo, you dolt! Every king needs a menagerie.’
‘Nuh-uh. I promised Artemis I would release the hind. If you want this deer in a zoo, you’ll have to put her there yourself.’
‘It’s part of your task!’
‘No, it isn’t. You just said I completed the task.’
‘Oh, fine! I’ll take the deer.’
The king rose from his throne. He was halfway down the steps when Hercules set the deer on her hooves and cut the cords binding her legs.
‘Here you go, Eurystheus. Be careful. She’s –’
The hind fl
‘– fast.’
The king screamed and stomped his feet, which was almost as funny as watching him jump into a pot. The hind raced back to the wilderness, which made Artemis happy.
Eurystheus snarled. ‘You deceitful hero! I’ll make your next task impossible!’
‘I thought the last four were impossible.’
‘This will be even more impossible! Near the city of Stymphalia is a lake overrun by a flock of demonic birds –’
‘If they’re called the Stymphalian birds –’
‘They are called the Stymphalian birds!’
‘I’m going to puke.’
‘You will not puke! You will rid the lake of every single bird. Ha, ha! Copreus, my herald …’
The king’s herald scuttled over. ‘Yes, my lord?’
‘What do people say when they wish someone luck, but they mean it in a sarcastic way?’
‘Um, good luck with that?’
‘Yes! Good luck with that, Hercules! Ha, ha!’
Hercules left, muttering under his breath.
As he got close to Stymphalia, he noticed that all the farmland had been picked clean of crops. Not a single tree had any fruit.
Then he started finding corpses – squirrels, deer, cows, people. They’d been clawed and pecked to bits. Some had feathers sticking out of their necks. Hercules plucked one of the feathers. It was as hard and sharp as a dart.
When he arrived at the lake, his spirits sank. The valley was like a mile-wide cereal bowl, rimmed with wooded hills and filled with a shallow layer of green water. Islands of marsh grass writhed with black stippling – millions and millions of raven-sized birds. The trees along the shore swayed and shivered under the weight of the flocks. Their screeching echoed back and forth like sonar across the water.
Hercules edged towards the nearest tree. The birds’ beaks and claws glinted like polished bronze. One of the little demons fixed him with its yellow eyes. It squawked, puffing up its body, and a barrage of feathers hurtled towards him. Were it not for his lion-skin cape, Hercules would’ve been skewered.
‘This really is impossible,’ Hercules said. ‘There aren’t enough arrows in the world to kill this many birds.’
‘Then use your wits,’ said a female voice.
Hercules turned. Next to him stood a woman with long, dark hair and storm-grey eyes. She held a shield and spear, as if ready to fight, but her smile was warm and familiar.
Hercules bowed. ‘Athena. It’s been a while.’
‘Hello, there,’ said the goddess. ‘I see you traded the kingly robe I made you for a lion skin.’
‘Oh, um, no offence.’
‘None taken, my hero. You were wise to use the cloak for armour. Besides, you’d have to work very hard to upset me. I still chuckle about that time Hera tried to suckle you.’ The goddess hesitated. ‘Oh, dear … you don’t still, er, poop your pants when you hear her name, do you?’
Hercules blushed. ‘No. I got over that when I was a baby.’
‘Good, good. At any rate, the incident was very amusing. I’m here today because Zeus thought you might need some guidance.’
‘That’s awesome! So what’s the secret with these birds?’
Athena wagged her finger. ‘I said guidance. I didn’t say I would hand you the answer. You’ll have to use your wits.’
‘Bah.’
‘Think, Hercules. What could make these birds go away?’
Hercules twiddled with his lion-paw necktie. ‘Larger birds?’
‘No.’
‘Thousands of cats?’
‘No.’
‘A lack of food?’
Athena paused. ‘That’s interesting. Perhaps, eventually, the birds would migrate on their own once all their food sources ran out. But you can’t depend on that, and you need them to leave now. So what can you do?’
Hercules thought back to his days on the cattle ranch. He’d spent a lot of time watching flocks of birds in the pastures.
‘Once, during a storm,’ he recalled, ‘thunder boomed, and thousands of crows took off from a wheat field and flew away. Birds hate loud noises.’
‘Excellent.’
‘But … how can I make a noise that awful?’ Hercules cast his mind back to his childhood. He’d been accused of making some pretty horrible sounds back then. ‘My old music teacher said I played so badly I could scare away any audience. I wish I still had my lyre, but I broke it over Linus’s head.’
‘Well, I don’t have a lyre,’ said Athena, ‘but I do have something that might serve.’
From the folds of her robes, the goddess pulled a rod studded with rows of small cowbells – like an oversize snake rattle cast in bronze. ‘Hephaestus made this. It’s quite possibly the worst musical instrument ever invented. Even Apollo didn’t want it, but I had a feeling it might prove useful some day.’
She handed the rattle to Hercules. When he shook it, his eardrums curled up inside his skull and begged to die. Each cowbell made a tone that was perfectly dissonant with the rest. If five junkyard car crushers got together and formed a band, their debut album might sound like that rattle.
All of the birds within a hundred-yard radius freaked out and scattered, but as soon as Hercules stopped making noise they settled back into the trees.
Hercules frowned. ‘That worked temporarily, but to get rid of all these birds I’ll need more cowbell.’
Athena shuddered. ‘No mortal should ever use the words “more cowbell”. But perhaps the rattle is only part of the answer. What if you shot the birds as they fled?’
‘I can’t shoot all of them! There are too many.’
‘You don’t need to shoot all of them. If you can just convince the birds that this isn’t a good roosting place …’
‘Ha! Got it. Thanks, Athena!’ He ran towards the lake, shaking his rattle and screaming ‘MORE COWBELL!’
‘And that’s my cue to leave.’ Athena disappeared in a cloud of grey smoke.
Hercules spent days sprinting around the lake with his rattle and his bow. When the Stymphalian birds lifted into the air, terrified by his god-awful music, he shot as many as he could with his poisonous arrows.
After a week of cowbell and poison, the entire flock lifted off in a black cloud and flew towards the horizon.
Hercules hung around for a few more days, just to make sure the feathery demons didn’t return. Then he collected a lovely necklace of bird carcasses and headed back to Tiryns.
‘High King!’ Hercules announced as he burst into the throne room. ‘I am delighted to give you the bird – I mean, birds, plural. The Stymphalian lake is safe for swimming season!’
Before the king could respond, the audience chamber erupted in applause and cheers. Court officials crowded the hero with autograph pens and glossy Hercules photos. Many of the royal guards showed off their TEAM HERCULES T-shirts, even though Eurystheus had specifically banned them as a dress-code violation.
The king gritted his teeth. With every stupid task Hercules completed, he got more famous and became more of a threat. The people of Mycenae worshipped him.
Perhaps Eurystheus had been going about this the wrong way. Instead of trying to kill Hercules, perhaps he should assign Hercules a task so disgusting and degrading the hero would become an object of ridicule.
The high king smiled. ‘Well done, Hercules. Now for your next assignment!’
The crowd hushed. They couldn’t wait to hear what kind of monster Hercules would fight next, and what sort of exotic meat they might soon expect on their dinner tables.
‘My friend Augeas, the king of Elis, is famous for his cattle,’ said Eurystheus, ‘but I’m afraid his cowsheds have got a little … messy over the years. Since you have experience as a rancher, I want you to go clean his sheds. By yourself. With no help.’
Some of the crowd moved away from Hercules as if he was already covered in cow mess.
Hercules’s eyes could’ve burned a hole in the hig
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Is doing an honest day’s work beneath you?’ Eurystheus wouldn’t have known an honest day’s work if it ran around him banging a cowbell, but the crowd muttered, ‘Ooooooo, burn.’
‘Fine,’ Hercules grumbled. ‘I will clean the cowsheds.’
He signed a few more autographs, gave away his dead Stymphalian birds as souvenirs, then left to purchase some waders and a shovel.
Here’s irony for you: King Augeas, whose name means bright, was the grubbiest, grungiest, un-brightest king in all of Greece. He’d been raising cattle for thirty years and never once bothered to have his barns cleaned.
That was partly because the cattle didn’t need it. They were descended from the divine cows of Augeas’s father, the sun Titan Helios, so they could live in any conditions, clean or dirty, and they never got sick.
But mostly, Augeas didn’t clean his sheds because he was cheap and lazy. He didn’t want to pay anybody to do the job. And, as the job got worse, fewer people were willing to take it on. Because of the cows’ heavenly health, they pooped a lot, so after thirty years the sheds looked like a range of cow-patty mountains with swarms of flies so thick you couldn’t see the animals.
Hercules smelled Augeas’s kingdom fifteen miles before he got there. When he arrived in the city of Elis, all the locals were scurrying around with scarves over their noses and mouths to block out the stink. Business in the marketplace was terrible, because nobody wanted to visit or travel through Poop Town.
Hercules decided to scout the barns before talking to the king. He quickly realized his waders and shovel weren’t going to be enough. The pens occupied more square acreage than the rest of the city. They were situated at the western edge of town, on a sort of peninsula where the River Alpheus curved in a giant C-shape.
Hercules felt awful for the cattle. No animals, divine or not, should have to live in conditions like that. He’d spent six years ranching, so he knew something about how cowsheds were laid out, even if he couldn’t see them under the moonscape of poop. He took measurements along the riverbanks, did some engineering calculations and used the spirit-level app on his smartphone until a solution started to form in his mind.