Not cutting it … well, that’s a whole other thing. What say you, sisters?’ Apollo refilled their cups. ‘Have another drink while you think about it.’ The Moirai put their heads together. ‘Because we love you,’ said Clotho at last. ‘Lots …’ added Lachesis. ‘Because we love you lots, we will allow it. Just this one time. If your friend … What was his name?’ ‘Admetus. Admetus, King of Pherae.’ ‘If Admetus, King of Pherae, can find someone else willing to die in his place …’ ‘… then we don’t see any reason why we need to thread his cut …’ ‘Cut his thread …’ ‘What she said.’ This then was the bargain Apollo explained to Admetus. ‘You will never be taken down to the underworld so long as you can find someone, anyone, who’ll agree to take your place.’ Admetus went to his parents. They’ve already seen the best of life, he reasoned, and one of them will surely agree to be taken early if it means my immortality. ‘You begot me,’ he said to his father PHERES, ‘it must be your duty then to ensure that I keep living.’ To Admetus’s surprise and mortification, Pheres was entirely unwilling to cooperate. ‘Yes, I begot you, and I raised you to rule over this land, but I don’t see that I’m bound to die for you. There’s no law of our ancestors and no Greek law that says fathers should die for their children. You were born to live your own life, whether it’s a happy one or a wretched one. I have given you all I need give you. I don’t expect you to die for me, and you shouldn’t expect me to die for you. So, you love the light of day. What makes you think your father hates it? Know this: we are a long time dead. Life may be short, but it is sweet.’fn17 ‘Yes, but you’ve lived your life and I …’ ‘I have lived my life when my life comes naturally to its end, not when you say so.’ Rebuffed by his own flesh and blood, Admetus cast the net wider. He had never considered immortality before, but once Apollo had told him how it was possible, the idea became an obsession with him. He now believed it was his right. He had thought that it would be a simple matter to find someone, anyone, to do this simple thing for him and die. It turned out that everybody seemed, like his father, unreasonably anxious to hang on to their lives. Eventually it was his loyal and loving wife Alcestis who came to his rescue. She announced that she would be content to die in her husband’s place. ‘You mean it?’ ‘Yes, my darling,’ she said, calmly patting his hand. ‘You’re honestly happy to do this for me?’ ‘Quite happy, if it makes you happy.’ A fine marble tomb was constructed and Alcestis prepared herself for the allotted time of Admetus’s decease, which would now mark her own. But when the day came, Admetus had a radical change of heart. He realised how much he loved Alcestis and how much less of a life he would have without her. In fact, he now saw that a long and endless existence alone would be worse than death. He begged her not to go. But her declaration of intent to take his place had been heard and recorded by the Fates. Die she must – and die she did. It was at exactly this moment, with a devastated Admetus trying to come to terms with what he had done, that Heracles called in at the palace. So mindful of his obligations as a host was Admetus that he could not countenance turning a guest away. He did his best to hide his sorrow and entertain his guest with all the warmth and generosity for which he was famous. Nonetheless, Heracles couldn’t but notice that his old friend was dressed in black. ‘Well, as a matter of fact, we have had a death in the palace.’ ‘I’ll leave you then. I can always come another time.’ ‘No, no. Please, come in. I insist.’ Heracles was still unsure. Hosts have obligations, but so do guests. ‘Who died? No one close to you?’ Admetus had no wish to burden his friend with his woes. ‘No blood relation, I promise …’ which was technically true. ‘A woman of the household, that’s all.’ ‘Oh well, in that case …’ Heracles came through into the great hall. His eyes fell greedily on the table where the funeral banquet had been laid out. ‘Always said you served the best wine and cakes,’ he said, helping himself to lavish quantities of both. ‘You are too kind,’ said Admetus. ‘I’ll leave you for a moment but please, make yourself entirely at home.’ Heracles tucked cheerfully in. He finished all the wine on the table and yelled out for more. The chief steward of the household came, grim faced. He was a servant of the old school. Not even the risk of igniting the notorious temper of the strongest man in the world would make him swerve from his duty. ‘Have you no shame?’ he hissed. ‘How can you eat and drink like this with the house in such bitter mourning?’ ‘Why the hell shouldn’t I? Who’s dead? Only some serving woman or other.’ ‘Listen to him, gods! Our dear queen has been taken from us and you dare call her “some serving woman”?’ ‘Alcestis? But Admetus told me …’ ‘His majesty is even now in the garden sobbing his noble heart out.’ ‘Oh, what a fool I am!’ Heracles now succumbed to one of his periodic bouts of guilt and violent self-abasement. He beat his breast and called himself the most insensitive buffoon that ever lived, unworthy to be a guest in any man’s house, an arse, a clown an oaf and the lowest of the low. Then he came to his senses and realised what he had to do. ‘I shall go down to the underworld,’ he said to himself, ‘and I shall fight anyone who stops me from bringing Alcestis back up. I swear I shall.’ As luck would have it, such a drastic course was not necessary. Before setting off, Heracles went to pay his respects at Alcestis’s brand-new tomb. There he found THANATOS, the god of death, just as he was taking her soul. ‘Let go!’ bellowed Heracles. ‘You have no business here,’ said Thanatos. ‘I command you to –’ With a roar Heracles was on him, wrestling the helpless Thanatos to the ground and pounding him with his fists. Some time later Admetus left off his weeping in the garden and went back into the palace. ‘Where’s Heracles?’ he asked. ‘Oh, him,’ sniffed the steward. ‘He left as soon as he found out that the queen was dead. Good riddance, I say.’ Just then Heracles burst in. ‘I’m back,’ he said, slapping Admetus on the shoulder, ‘and I’ve brought a friend.’ He turned to the doorway and called. ‘You can come in now.’ Alcestis entered the room and stood before her disbelieving husband, a shy smile on her lips. ‘I wrestled Death himself to the ground to bring her back to you,’ said Heracles, ‘so make sure you bloody well keep her this time.’ Admetus did not seem to hear him. He had eyes only for his wife. ‘Yes. Well. I’ll leave you to it, then. Due in Thrace. Got to fetch some horses.’ In sending Heracles for the four mares of Diomedes, Eurystheus had neglected to furnish him with any further details. However, the horses’ names are known to us. They were PODARGOS, the ‘flashing-footed’; XANTHIPPE, the ‘yellow horse’;fn18 LAMPON, the ‘shining one’; and DINOS, the ‘terrible’.fn19 More pertinently, Heracles was unaware that, due to the depraved king’s habit of feeding them human flesh, all four had turned quite untameably mad and were kept chained with iron shackles to bronze mangers, a danger to all who approached.fn20 When Heracles arrived at Diomedes’ palace in Thrace, he was accompanied by his young friend and lover ABDERUS, a son of Hermes.fn21 Leaving Abderus to watch over the horses, Heracles set off to negotiate with the king. His curiosity getting the better of him, the boy drew too close to the mares. One of them caught his hand between her teeth dragged him into the stalls. He was torn apart and devoured in minutes. Heracles buried the mangled remains and founded a city around the tomb, which he called Abdera in honour of his lost beloved.fn22 The distraught and maddened hero now turned the full force of his wrath on Diomedes, slaughtering his palace guard, snatching up the king and throwing him to his own horses. The unpleasant taste of their one-time master caused the mares to lose their appetite for human flesh so that Heracles was able safely to harness them to a chariot and drive them all the way back to Mycenae. Eurystheus, who must surely have been getting used to the disappointment of seeing Heracles return unscathed by now, dedicated the mares to Hera and bred them for his own thoroughbreds. Later Greeks believed that it was from this line that Alexander the Great’s famous mount, Bucephalus, was descended.