In Ancient Greece there lived a young demi-God called Heracles. He was strong and quick and clever and he wanted to be a hero. There was only one problem. The Queen of the Gods, Hera, didn’t like him.
“Heracles is cruel and violent,” she told the other Goddesses. “He uses his power to hurt defenseless creatures, he will never be a hero.”
The defenseless creatures Hera spoke about were, more often that not, monsters that rampaged through villages killing and scaring people - but that wasn’t the point.
“A true hero kills only as a last resort,” Athena the Goddess of Wisdom, advised Heracles. “You must prove you are a true hero,” she told him. “You must complete tasks set by the King.”
“Oh, no! Not King Eurystheus?” Everyone knew King Eurystheus loathed Heracles. When Heracles arrived at the Palace to learn his latest task, King Eurystheus was grinning from ear to ear. This was not a good sign.
“I have a great task for you,” Eurystheus said. “I would like you to fetch me Diomedes’ horses.”
Oh dear. Diomedes’ horses were famous. People said they came from hell itself. Three times the size of a normal horse, even the God of the Underworld, Hades, was afraid of them.
But heroes weren’t scared of anything. “No problem,” Heracles said to Eurystheus and set off. The stories are probably exaggerated, he thought as he made his way to the stables. Horses are kind and gentle creatures. They only become angry when they’re mistreated.
When Heracles got to the stables, he paused outside. Was that screaming he could hear? Suddenly a stable-boy ran from the barn, wailing in pain. There was blood sprouting from his arm, which was hanging off.
Heracles eyed the boy. I’m sure that was just an unfortunate accident. He crept up to a window and peered in. “Zeus’ beard!” he exclaimed. “The stories are true!”
Four huge black horses writhed and thrashed and lashed out at anything that came near them. Eyes like hot coals and steam venting from flared nostrils, the horses looked as though they could breathe fire. Perhaps they were the crazed monsters everyone said they were, after all.
Then, Heracles looked a little closer.
He saw chains cutting into their legs. He saw whips striking their hinds. He saw sticks beating their backs. No wonder the horses were thrashing and chomping, rearing and spooking. Someone had put a tiger in their stable! The poor horses were shying away from it, only to be flogged with the sticks and whips.
What kind of stable is this? Heracles had never seen anything like it. The stable door opened and in strode Diomedes, the King that owned the horses.
“Dinner time!” he said, with a cruel smile.
The horses snorted and stamped their hooves, impatient to get their food. Heracles had seen horses eat grass, hay, straw and carrots but he had never seen a horse eat what Diomedes presented to them: human flesh.
“No wonder they’re mad,” Heracles muttered. The King had turned them into monsters with a diet of cruelty and violence. Perhaps it would be best to kill them and end their suffering, Heracles thought. But that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t the horses fault. They were products of their environment. If I change their environment, maybe I can change them. Heracles set off to see the King. It’s time somebody did something.
The King saw Heracles coming and called his army. “Stop him!” he ordered.
The army marched out in front of Heracles. But Heracles was a demi-God on a mission.
“Out of my way!” He battered the soldiers away like nats from a fire. “Diomedes!” he shouted as he neared the King’s palace. “Come out here and face me.”
With no army to hide behind, Diomedes had to face Heracles. To his credit, Diomedes put up a good fight - but it didn’t help. Heracles had the strength of the Gods, he had been trained to fight by Greece’s greatest warriors and he was fired up with anger at what Diomedes had done to those horses. He squashed the King like a bug.
“Please,” Diomedes sobbed, when Heracles had him in his grip. “I don’t want to die.”
“You deserve to be punished for what you did to those horses,” Heracles declared, he was just about to deliver a fatal blow, when he got a better idea. He threw the King over his shoulder and ran. It took a day and a night to get where he was going.
“Heracles?” The Queen of the Gods, Hera, was sitting on her throne on Mount Olympus. “To what do I owe this displeasure?” she said, looking down at her least favourite wannabe hero.
Heracles deposited Diomedes on the golden floor at her feet. “A gift for you,” he said.
Hera looked down at the King and a small smile crept onto her lips. “King Diomedes, what a pleasant surprise.” The king had mistreated animals for years, he was at the top of her most hated humans list. “Put him in a cell, until I decide what to do with him,” she said, then turned her big brown eyes on Heracles. For once her gaze was soft. “Thank you, Heracles,” she said “Perhaps I misjudged you.”
Heracles bowed. “I just wish I could help the horses.”
Standing up, Hera took the three steps down from her throne to join Heracles. “Let me deal with that,” she said and took his arm. By the power of the Gods, they returned to the stables, where the horses were as riled and raging as ever.
But the moment Hera appeared before them, they calmed. “Shh,” she said, laying her hands on the first horse. She looked into its eyes. “Give me your pain,” she whispered. “Give me your fear, give me your suffering.” Heracles was amazed as the horse’s black coat turned white, its red eyes turned brown. The pain that tormented the horses seeped away, one after another, after another, until they were as tame and beautiful as any horse Heracles had ever seen.
Heracles took the horses to Eurystheus.
“I have no use for four sane horses, take them away,” King Eurystheus said, shooing Heracles out of his palace. Heracles knew just where to take them.
He returned to Mount Olympus and knelt before Hera’s throne. “I offer them to you,” he said. “Their beauty and newfound peacefulness is a testament to your greatness.”
Hera was delighted to receive the horses and hear such nice words. As Heracles left, she said, “Heracles, I think you might make a great hero after all.”
Heracles bounced home from Mount Olympus, for the first time in a long time he thought that maybe, just maybe he would become the hero he had always wanted to be.
The End
“Heracles is cruel and violent,” she told the other Goddesses. “He uses his power to hurt defenseless creatures, he will never be a hero.”
The defenseless creatures Hera spoke about were, more often that not, monsters that rampaged through villages killing and scaring people - but that wasn’t the point.
“A true hero kills only as a last resort,” Athena the Goddess of Wisdom, advised Heracles. “You must prove you are a true hero,” she told him. “You must complete tasks set by the King.”
“Oh, no! Not King Eurystheus?” Everyone knew King Eurystheus loathed Heracles. When Heracles arrived at the Palace to learn his latest task, King Eurystheus was grinning from ear to ear. This was not a good sign.
“I have a great task for you,” Eurystheus said. “I would like you to fetch me Diomedes’ horses.”
Oh dear. Diomedes’ horses were famous. People said they came from hell itself. Three times the size of a normal horse, even the God of the Underworld, Hades, was afraid of them.
But heroes weren’t scared of anything. “No problem,” Heracles said to Eurystheus and set off. The stories are probably exaggerated, he thought as he made his way to the stables. Horses are kind and gentle creatures. They only become angry when they’re mistreated.
When Heracles got to the stables, he paused outside. Was that screaming he could hear? Suddenly a stable-boy ran from the barn, wailing in pain. There was blood sprouting from his arm, which was hanging off.
Heracles eyed the boy. I’m sure that was just an unfortunate accident. He crept up to a window and peered in. “Zeus’ beard!” he exclaimed. “The stories are true!”
Four huge black horses writhed and thrashed and lashed out at anything that came near them. Eyes like hot coals and steam venting from flared nostrils, the horses looked as though they could breathe fire. Perhaps they were the crazed monsters everyone said they were, after all.
Then, Heracles looked a little closer.
He saw chains cutting into their legs. He saw whips striking their hinds. He saw sticks beating their backs. No wonder the horses were thrashing and chomping, rearing and spooking. Someone had put a tiger in their stable! The poor horses were shying away from it, only to be flogged with the sticks and whips.
What kind of stable is this? Heracles had never seen anything like it. The stable door opened and in strode Diomedes, the King that owned the horses.
“Dinner time!” he said, with a cruel smile.
The horses snorted and stamped their hooves, impatient to get their food. Heracles had seen horses eat grass, hay, straw and carrots but he had never seen a horse eat what Diomedes presented to them: human flesh.
“No wonder they’re mad,” Heracles muttered. The King had turned them into monsters with a diet of cruelty and violence. Perhaps it would be best to kill them and end their suffering, Heracles thought. But that wasn’t fair. It wasn’t the horses fault. They were products of their environment. If I change their environment, maybe I can change them. Heracles set off to see the King. It’s time somebody did something.
The King saw Heracles coming and called his army. “Stop him!” he ordered.
The army marched out in front of Heracles. But Heracles was a demi-God on a mission.
“Out of my way!” He battered the soldiers away like nats from a fire. “Diomedes!” he shouted as he neared the King’s palace. “Come out here and face me.”
With no army to hide behind, Diomedes had to face Heracles. To his credit, Diomedes put up a good fight - but it didn’t help. Heracles had the strength of the Gods, he had been trained to fight by Greece’s greatest warriors and he was fired up with anger at what Diomedes had done to those horses. He squashed the King like a bug.
“Please,” Diomedes sobbed, when Heracles had him in his grip. “I don’t want to die.”
“You deserve to be punished for what you did to those horses,” Heracles declared, he was just about to deliver a fatal blow, when he got a better idea. He threw the King over his shoulder and ran. It took a day and a night to get where he was going.
“Heracles?” The Queen of the Gods, Hera, was sitting on her throne on Mount Olympus. “To what do I owe this displeasure?” she said, looking down at her least favourite wannabe hero.
Heracles deposited Diomedes on the golden floor at her feet. “A gift for you,” he said.
Hera looked down at the King and a small smile crept onto her lips. “King Diomedes, what a pleasant surprise.” The king had mistreated animals for years, he was at the top of her most hated humans list. “Put him in a cell, until I decide what to do with him,” she said, then turned her big brown eyes on Heracles. For once her gaze was soft. “Thank you, Heracles,” she said “Perhaps I misjudged you.”
Heracles bowed. “I just wish I could help the horses.”
Standing up, Hera took the three steps down from her throne to join Heracles. “Let me deal with that,” she said and took his arm. By the power of the Gods, they returned to the stables, where the horses were as riled and raging as ever.
But the moment Hera appeared before them, they calmed. “Shh,” she said, laying her hands on the first horse. She looked into its eyes. “Give me your pain,” she whispered. “Give me your fear, give me your suffering.” Heracles was amazed as the horse’s black coat turned white, its red eyes turned brown. The pain that tormented the horses seeped away, one after another, after another, until they were as tame and beautiful as any horse Heracles had ever seen.
Heracles took the horses to Eurystheus.
“I have no use for four sane horses, take them away,” King Eurystheus said, shooing Heracles out of his palace. Heracles knew just where to take them.
He returned to Mount Olympus and knelt before Hera’s throne. “I offer them to you,” he said. “Their beauty and newfound peacefulness is a testament to your greatness.”
Hera was delighted to receive the horses and hear such nice words. As Heracles left, she said, “Heracles, I think you might make a great hero after all.”
Heracles bounced home from Mount Olympus, for the first time in a long time he thought that maybe, just maybe he would become the hero he had always wanted to be.
The End
The twelve labours of Heracles (aka Hercules) is an epic from Ancient Greece. My version has been created from various sources and many years telling this story. This particular version was written for open source education for onebillion.org. If you want to republish or tell this version, I'd appreciate a link back to this site of credit given. Many thanks.
