Myths of the Ancient Greeks by Richard P. Martin

Author:Richard P. Martin [Martin, Richard P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Ancient, Fairy Tales, Folk Tales, Folklore, Greece, History, Legends, Mythology, Non-Fiction, Social Science
ISBN: 9780451206855
Google: CCYRAQAAIAAJ
Amazon: 0451206851
Publisher: New American Library
Published: 2003-04-01T23:00:00+00:00

Deianeira was already learning what it was to be the companion of this obsessed, god-driven man. So she meekly consented when Herakles, now established in their new home, one day revealed that he was heading off again on the path of war. She never quite understood the details—something about a distant city whose king had once insulted Herakles, calling him all sorts of names and not even giving him some contest prize he really deserved—though Herakles had not said what the reward was supposed to have been. Frankly, Deianeira did not pay much heed. All the stories her husband used to tell her swirled together: talk of monsters and foemen, punishments and prizes. She sometimes wondered if he was altogether sane. She would nod, at those times, and smile and tend the children. And yet she loved him deeply, and when he was gone, pined for him.

This absence was a long one, more than a year. Then one day word came that Herakles was coming home. A few days later, Likhas, the loyal attendant of Herakles, arrived. His master was near, at Kenaion, he said, preparing a magnificent sacrifice of thanks to his father Zeus at the god’s great sanctuary in that place, at the northwest tip of Euboia. But who were these women that trailed behind Likhas, herded like slaves by an escort of soldiers? “The first fruits of Herakles’ victory,” he replied. “He fulfilled his vow. He crushed his old enemy Eurytos, the root of all his troubles, and he took the city Oikhalia. When he had burned it to the ground and killed the menfolk, these women remained—a sign of conquest. They’re ours now, for fetching water and grinding grain.” As he spoke, Deianeira’s eye was caught by one young woman, taller than the rest, who had a regal look. “And this one? She’s so different—who were her parents?” But Likhas said only that this girl was sad and shy, had never spoken the whole way back.

When Likhas had gone inside the palace, one of the soldiers approached Deianeira. “That one there, the girl you asked about? Either Likhas lied to you, or he lied before to the whole town, just this morning, passing through the marketplace. He was talking to a big crowd—I heard him—going on about his master’s glory, and how Herakles had done in Eurytos. Killed him and wrecked his town, and all for Eros. I think it made Likhas happy that even a hero could be overcome. It wasn’t Iphitos, he told them, that son who got killed, or Omphalê and the slavery Herakles had to go through for the crime, that drove your husband to it, but a passion for this girl. Her name is lole—the dead king’s daughter.”

Her intuition had not betrayed her. Iole, poor girl. No wonder she was sad. Her beauty was her curse—her people slain, just because she was so fair! Deianeira felt more pity than anger. She knew that Herakles was a slave of passions, and here

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