Hero of Olympus

by Glyn Iliffe

Overview

Surpass all odds, break the chains, defeat a God—the thrilling, triumphant final installment in The Heracles Trilogy that began with Son of Zeus.
 
Heracles’ trials are far from over. Carrying the weight of the heavens, accompanied only by his most loyal friend, Iolaus, he will do anything to atone for his crimes. But all is not as it seems. Gods and men alike plot against him . . .
 
First Heracles must obtain the girdle of the Amazonian Queen, Hippolyta, steal cattle from the monstrous Geryon, and take apples from the Garden of Hesperides.
 
Through it all Heracles will come to realize his betrayal is more complete than he could ever have imagined. Ultimately, to release himself from his suffering, he must journey deep into Hades, and face death itself . . .

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781788630290
Publisher:	Canelo
Publication date:	11/04/2022
Series:	The Heracles Trilogy , #3
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	331
File size:	796 KB

About the Author

Glyn Iliffe studied English and Classics at Reading University, where he developed a passion for the stories of ancient Greek mythology. Well travelled, Glyn has visited nearly forty countries, trekked in the Himalayas, spent six weeks hitchhiking across North America and had his collarbone broken by a bull in Pamplona. He is married with two daughters and lives in Leicestershire.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

THE NINTH LABOUR

Heracles stood before the high battlements that separated the citadel of Tiryns from the palace of the king. The head of the Nemean Lion sat atop his forehead like a helmet, casting its shadow over his stern features. Its tangled mane flowed to his shoulders and its black hide hung down his back to his ankles, making him look even more massive than he already was. His broad chest rose and fell slowly and his muscular arms hung still at his sides, the balled fists the only sign of the tension within.

Birds were singing in the trees beyond the city walls and the first light of dawn had crept into the heavens, forcing back the darkness and extinguishing all but the brightest stars. His escort fidgeted nervously as they waited for the arrival of Eurystheus and his advisers. And despite their numbers – a dozen archers and twice as many spearmen – they had every reason to be uneasy. Heracles was a full head taller than any of his guards, and had more strength in his enormous frame than all of them put together. What was more, he was itching for a fight.

Iolaus stood beside him with his hands behind his back, the slow tapping of his foot the only sign of the impatience that was eating at him. He threw an occasional sidelong glance at his uncle, but Heracles said nothing. He was used to being summoned by Eurystheus and left to wait. It was the king's way of reminding him that he was his slave, by order of the gods themselves. Yet his patience was stretching thinner and thinner, and if he was ignored for much longer, he knew the desire to find a target for his smouldering fury would overwhelm him.

At last, the tension was relieved by the sound of voices. Heracles raised his eyes to the ramparts, where slaves were slotting torches into the iron brackets in the walls. Moments later, he heard footsteps and the swish of heavy robes dragging over stone. Eurystheus's fleshy face, with its bulbous eyes and dribbling lips, appeared at one of the crenellations. He attempted to hide his fear behind an imperious glare, which fooled no one.

Iphicles – Heracles's brother and Iolaus's father – stood beside the king, whom he served as a counsellor. His aloof expression masked the emotions that must have been churning inside him as he stared down at the elder brother he had hated for so long. Yet three days ago he had sought Heracles out to express his regret for the animosity he had harboured against him all their lives. He had seen for himself how Heracles's sufferings had changed him, making him less arrogant and more compassionate – a man worthy of his respect. And as the blinding fog of Iphicles's jealous hatred had dissipated, he had also come to realize that Heracles had not stolen his son from him, but that Iolaus had been driven away by his own selfishness. It was a bitter truth to swallow, but one that he intended to deal with. As their eyes met, Iphicles nodded discreetly, a sign that he still intended to fulfil his promise.

At Eurystheus's other shoulder were Tydeus, the captain of the royal guard, and Charis, the high priestess of Hera. Tydeus stared hard at Heracles from beneath the rim of his black-plumed helmet, while Charis seemed to be avoiding his gaze altogether. Had the goddess visited her in another dream, Heracles wondered, revealing the next of the labours that he was to perform? Yet this did not feel like the other times he had been summoned to hear his newest task. Eurystheus lacked his usual gloating pleasure at being able to send his cousin on a task from which he did not expect him to return, while Tydeus seemed ready to explode with rage.

Then a fifth figure appeared, making Heracles forget all the others. Copreus wore a black cloak with a thick fur collar that almost swallowed his neck, making him seem shorter than he actually was. He held his herald's staff in his maimed right hand, the gap where the third finger should have been obvious as he gripped the polished wood. His grizzled hair was held back by the bandage around his forehead, revealing the face that Heracles had come to loathe with a burning intensity.

Other marks from Heracles's attack were still visible: a swollen cheek, bruising beneath both eyes, and a cut on his lower lip. Copreus had been moments from death when he revealed that Megara was being held hostage, and that she would die if any harm came to him.

'Did he offer you any resistance?' Eurystheus said, addressing the officer in charge of the escort.

'No, my lord.'

'I wouldn't be here if I had,' Heracles said, his tone taut with menace.

'I did not give you permission to speak!' Eurystheus shot back. 'You forget you are a slave, Heracles, and that I am your king. Consider yourself fortunate I didn't have my men drag you here in chains. I haven't forgotten you tried to kill me.'

'I threw the spear at the wall!'

'And three days ago, you tried to murder Copreus!' Eurystheus retorted. 'You are too much of a risk, Heracles. Not only have you threatened my life and that of my herald, you've fought my soldiers on more than one occasion. And now, it seems, you are fomenting rebellion.'

'That's ridiculous.'

'Is it? Do you deny you've been currying favour with the scum of this city? Repairing their pathetic dwellings, building a duct to bring them fresh water, feeding their old and widowed with food stolen from farms —'

'I stole nothing.'

'Silence before the king!' Tydeus roared.

'All to win them over to your cause,' Eurystheus continued. 'A cause you've gnawed at since childhood – to steal my throne. Iphicles told me the tales your mother used to spin, that Hera stopped up her womb so that I would be born first and inherit what should have been yours. All lies!' Heracles moved towards the battlements, as if ready to scale them and throw his cousin from the ramparts. Bows creaked behind him, and he heard the rattle of shields and spears being readied. Then he felt a hand on his wrist.

'Heracles has no designs on the throne,' Iolaus said, turning his eyes on Iphicles. 'You know that, Father. All he wants is his life back. Freedom from slavery and freedom from his guilt.'

'Tell that to the people of the outer city,' Tydeus said. 'Only last night, two of my men were murdered while they patrolled the streets. Before he arrived, they respected the rule of law. Now they're restless, ready to throw the city into anarchy because of your uncle.'

'Is it any surprise?' Heracles said. 'They've lived too long in fear: fear of heavy-handed men like you, following the orders of a weak king. A king who despises the people under his rule and treats them like animals.'

'What do you know of being a king?' Eurystheus asked. 'Nothing! You are a slave, and like a slave, you will do as you are ordered. Tell the rabble you've stirred up that I will not tolerate rebellion. For every guard of mine they kill, I will take ten of them from the slums and put them to death. Do you understand?'

Heracles stared up at his cousin and felt nothing but loathing. He had not spoken a word about revolt to those he had helped. Rather, he had seen people in desperate need, despised by the wealthy and forgotten by the gods; people whose suffering he had come to understand, and could do something to ease. He had never known poverty, hunger, weakness or fear himself, but he had endured enough misery of his own to empathize with those who had. Yet he could not allow them to rise up against their masters, only to be slaughtered in droves by well-trained and heavily armed soldiers.

'I will speak to them, if they'll listen.'

'Some sense, at last,' said Iphicles, moving to the ramparts and staring down at his brother. 'Or that's what he would have you believe, my lord. But if you'll listen to me, Heracles shouldn't be trusted to speak to the people at all. If he's been inciting them against you, then letting him return to the outer city will only encourage him to accelerate his plans for an uprising. Better he leave Tiryns at once, sent to a place where he can't cause you any more trouble – to his next labour.'

'His next labour?' Eurystheus asked. 'I don't even know what the next labour will be.'

He looked expectantly at Charis, but the priestess refused to meet his gaze.

'A labour so difficult that Heracles will not return from it victorious,' Iphicles continued, signalling to a nearby servant, who nodded and ran back towards the palace. 'If he returns at all.'

What was his brother up to, Heracles wondered? Then he heard a door slam, followed by the sound of footsteps running across flagstones.

'Daddy!'

'Admete, my child,' Eurystheus said, opening his arms to embrace his daughter.

'Will you do it? Will you send Heracles to fetch me the golden belt? You simply must say yes!'

Heracles looked up at the squealing girl on the battlements – the image of her father, with thick lips and bulging eyes. She was squeezing him tightly in a show of affection that would have embarrassed any man of rank except Eurystheus, who doted on his only daughter.

'What golden belt, my love? What are you talking about?'

'The golden belt of Hippolyte, Queen of the Amazons,' Iphicles said.

'It was given to her by Ares,' Admete added. 'Iphicles says whoever wears the belt becomes invincible in battle. You have to say yes, Daddy. I want that belt!'

'No!' Copreus announced, stumping forward with his staff to face the king. 'No, my lord. This is foolish in the extreme.'

Eurystheus looked slowly from Admete to Iphicles, and then to his herald.

'Why is it foolish?' he asked. 'If I understand correctly, Iphicles wants me to send Heracles several days' voyage north to Themiscyra, to fight an army of Amazons and take their queen's most powerful heirloom. These women may be aberrations of nature, but it's said they can outride and outshoot anyone, and that a single Amazon is worth three men in battle. By all the gods, Iphicles may have found the answer to our problem!'

He looked at his herald, a smile spreading across his face as he realized the difficulty of the labour Iphicles was proposing. The same thought was crossing Heracles's mind, though it brought him less joy. When Iphicles had reconciled his differences with his brother and agreed to help him save Megara from the Amazons – hoping Iolaus might see him in a kinder light – he had warned him that his plan would be dangerous and offer little chance of survival. Now Heracles realized just how difficult it would be. Yet there was no other way to rescue the woman he still loved and free himself to avenge the deaths of their sons.

'But that is exactly the problem, my lord,' Copreus replied. 'The gods. Every other labour has been decided by Hera. Will you risk inciting her wrath just to satisfy your daughter's whims?'

If the herald had not already guessed what was behind Iphicles's suggestion, then he knew that, in Themiscyra, Heracles would learn of Megara's imprisonment there and do everything in his power to release her. His words left Eurystheus uncertain.

'Copreus is right,' the king said, glancing at his daughter. 'I can't decide on the next labour without the agreement of the gods. I can't simply ignore the will of Hera.'

'Then doesn't my will count for anything?' Admete demanded, backing away from him. 'I want that belt. Besides, you're always saying you want Heracles dead, so why not send him to Themiscyra? It's your best chance to be rid of him, and you don't even have the courage to take it!'

Iphicles stepped forward.

'Of course, Copreus is right,' he said. 'I would never presume to know the minds of the gods. But the labour did not come from me; it came from Charis.'

The priestess lifted her face, as if caught unawares.

'Is this true?' Eurystheus asked her.

She looked at Iphicles, and then at the king and his herald.

'Yes. The labour was revealed to me last night, in a dream. I mentioned it to my lord Iphicles this morning, and —'

'Then what more is there to argue about?' Eurystheus said, enthusiastically. 'Copreus, arrange for a ship and a crew. Heracles will go as soon as they are ready.'

He did not look at Heracles, but the order had been given – the labour was to start at once. Admete gave a squeal of delight and hugged her father, while Copreus scowled and turned on his heel, striking the flagstones hard with his staff as he limped away.

'What of your son, Iphicles?' Eurystheus asked. 'I can command Iolaus to stay here, if you wish it. If he goes, he's unlikely to return.'

Iphicles looked down at Iolaus, then shook his head.

'My son is a man now. He can make his own decisions.'

'I have already chosen, Father,' Iolaus replied, bowing his head. 'I will accompany Heracles. I'm still his squire, and my place is at his side, though I am grateful that you did not order me to stay.'

Iphicles's expression was wistful as he watched his son turn and walk between the escorting spearmen, who parted before him. Heracles looked up at his brother and gave a small nod of gratitude, then followed his nephew to the gates, where he retrieved his club from the guards.

Beyond the walls of the citadel, Tiryns seemed as it always did. Merchants were setting out their stalls and several women were already haggling over their goods. Bands of soldiers marched through the narrow streets, barging people aside with impunity. The mingled aroma of fish, bread and manure filled Heracles's nostrils, while the growing cacophony of voices, squealing cartwheels and distressed animals assailed his ears.

Yet something was different. The soldiers were more watchful and angry than usual, and the people more afraid and sullen. They looked at Heracles and his squire as they passed. Some seemed to resent his presence, though others nodded or bowed before the giant warrior. A few whispered blessings on him, or reached out to touch his lion's cloak, as if to do so would impart some of its supernatural protection upon themselves.

They reached the city walls and were watched closely as they passed through the gates, into the ramshackle streets and alleys of the outer city. There were no soldiers beyond the walls, and the gates were closed and barred behind them. The main road leading out of Tiryns was strangely empty and quiet. Then Iolaus grabbed Heracles's arm.

'Look!' he said, pointing further down the road. 'In the names of all the gods, how can they do such a thing?'

Heracles stared at the rows of poorly made homes ahead of them. In each doorway was a figure. Some were kneeling and some were standing, but every one had its hands crossed above its head. His mind fumbled briefly to understand why they were in such curious poses; and then he realized they had been nailed to the doors by their wrists, and protruding from each corpse were two or three arrows. There were twenty bodies in all, their heads lolling on their chests and their hair hanging down over their faces. Most were men – some of them greybeards – but seven were women. Most sickeningly, two were young children, one a girl of no more than five years old, and the other a boy of perhaps eleven. The bloodied corpses of his own sons flashed before his eyes. For a moment his thoughts and emotions were too shocked to engage with the scene before him.

Strangely, anger was not the first sentiment to break through the numbness. He walked towards the girl. Ignoring the flies clustered around her wounds, he placed his hand gently under her chin and raised her head. Brushing the hair away from her pale, begrimed face, he could see at once that the child was dead. Slowly, as if afraid to wake her, he drew the arrows from her chest. Then, with finger and thumb, he grasped the nail that had been driven through her crossed wrists and pulled it from the wood. The girl slumped into his arms, and he carried her carefully to the middle of the road and laid her in the dirt, placing her arms at her side.

Looking up, he saw Iolaus by the body of the boy, trying to work free the nail that held him to the door. There were tears in his eyes and his teeth were gritted in frustration. Crossing to his side, Heracles took his nephew's hands away.

'I'll do this,' he said. 'Go fetch some water to clean their wounds and wash the blood from the doors. These are people's homes, after all.'

Once he had removed the boy's body and laid him out beside the girl, he moved to the corpse of a man. He recognized him as a blacksmith he had once bought several arrowheads from. Had the man done anything to deserve his fate, he wondered? Or had he just been selected at random by Tydeus, to be made an example of for the death of two of his soldiers?

Before he had laid out a fifth body, Iolaus returned with several women carrying bowls of water and cloths. As they knelt beside the dead and began to bathe their wounds, the city gates were thrown open and four soldiers in full armour emerged, led by an officer in a black-plumed helmet. Half a dozen archers appeared at the battlements.

'Those bodies are to be kept where they are, by order of the king!' the officer shouted.

(Continues…)

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Excerpted from "Hero of Olympus"
by .
Copyright © 2019 Glyn Iliffe.
Excerpted by permission of Canelo Digital Publishing.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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