No. 12 was the most terrible labour of all. That beastly man Eurystheus ordered Hercules to go down into Hades and bring back its guardian, Cerberus, the three-headed hound of hell with fangs that dripped poison. Hercules had himself purified at Eleusis, then Hermes took him to Cape Tainarom, the southernmost point of Greece, where there was a cave leading down into the Underworld.
Most people would have been scared stiff at the thought of entering Hades, but he does not seem to have minded a bit and barged in as if he owned the place. Coming upon an old friend chained to a rock he released him, then he killed one of King Pluto's bulls so that by lapping up its blood some of the poor ghosts down there could get a taste of life. When the herdsman tried to interfere, Hercules seized him and would have crushed his ribs in if Queen Persephone had not come oil the scene in time and begged him to let the poor chap go.
Soon afterwards he found himself face to face with Pluto, the dread lord of this grim domain; but far from getting cold feet he fitted an arrow to his bow and shot the King of Hades in the shoulder. God though Pluto was, he roared with rage and pain; yet so impressed was he with the courage of Hercules that he told him that he could take Cerberus aw7ay provided he used no weapon. Our hero then seized the terrible mastiff by the -throat, threw it over his shoulder and carried it off in triumph.
When he cast the monster at Eurystheus's feet, his horrid cousin was so terrified that he freed him from all further obligation on condition that he returned Cerberus to his kennel.
Anyone would have thought that after completing his twelve labours Hercules would have been only too happy to settle down to a quiet life. But not a bit of it; he continued to roam the world doing mighty deeds as the champion of mankind against every sort of horror. He sailed with the Argonauts in search of the Golden Fleece, and had many other adventures too numerous to recount. During them the good Athene always sought to aid and protect him, but Hera's malice continued unabated.
Fie fell in love with a young woman named Iole, the daughter of King Eurytus, and by triumphing over the King in an archery contest won the right to marry her. But her papa got the wind up that Hercules would treat her as he had his first wife, so as a get-out accused him of having stolen some cattle. lole's brother, Iphitus, had become frightfully pally with Hercules and set out with him to try to run the real thief to earth. Hoping to spot the stolen herd, they climbed a high tower and while they were up there that hateful Hera caused Hercules to go mad again. Not knowing what he did, he picked up his friend and threw him from the tower-top to die smashed to pieces a hundred feet below.
When Hercules got his wits back he was most terribly upset, and for months on end hiked from one temple to another, seeking pardon for his act; but no high-priest would give it, and the Pythoness at Delphi refused even to listen to him. By then he was so fed up that he snatched from under her the sacred tripod on which she sat to prophesy and made off with it.
When Apollo heard about this he became absolutely livid with rage. Hurtling down from Olympus, he demanded his property back. Hercules refused to give the tripod up unless he was pardoned for Iphitus's death, upon which the beautiful god and the stalwart hero came to blows. Zeus had to be fetched—no doubt from demonstrating the facts of life to some pretty popsie.
Having separated the combatants he decreed that Hercules should be cleansed if he sold himself into slavery for three years and gave the money he got for this to Iphitus's children.
Hermes then led Hercules into Asia, where he let himself be sold for three talents to Omphale, Queen of Lydia. The sight of his mighty limbs soon gave this lady ideas, and she decided that she could find a much better use for him than chasing monsters and cattle thieves. Perhaps, too, Hercules had at last become a bit bored by that sort of thing. Anyhow, he let Omphale take his lion skin and club away from him and dress him up in silks and satins as though he were a court Eunuch, which he certainly was not. To please the Queen he even took up knitting socks and jumpers for himself; so his three years as a slave were passed in ease and luxury, and he might have fared far worse. But at the end of them he suddenly felt a revulsion for that sort of life and rather ungratefully walked out on Omphale without so much as a 'thank you', to seek fresh deeds of daring-do.
While in Hades, he had been given a message by the shade of Meleager for his beautiful sister Deianira, the daughter of King Oineus. Now, somewhat belatedly, our Hero went to Calydon and, having delivered the message to Deianira, fell in love with her. As the gentle reader may guess, he did not win her without a struggle; but he triumphed over his rival, a river god named Achelous, and carried Deianira off as his wife.
He then spent some time going round to even up the score with the numerous kings who from time to time during his long career had done him dirt. Among them was King Eurytus, the father of his former love lole; and having killed the king, he made her into a slave girl.
Knowing what chaps usually did with slave girls, when Deianira heard about this she naturally refused to believe that lole's job was simply to mix Hercules's drinks or wash his undies, and her jealousy led her to take a step that ended in the most ghastly tragedy.
Soon after she and Hercules were married they had had to cross a river that was in flood. The Centaur Nessus was standing on the bank offering to carry wayfarers across on his broad back. Hercules scorned his offer and swam the river, but he let Nessus carry Deianira over. The Centaur gave her one look and decided that she was just his dish, so on reaching the far bank he attempted to take her by force.
Hercules heard her shout: 'Help, Hercie, help! This big bum's trying to do you-know-what to me,' or words to that effect; and being a marvellous marksman Hercules shot the lecherous Centaur from a distance with an arrow that he had dipped in the poisoned blood of the Hydra. Nessus, writhing in his death agony, determined to get his own back on his slayer, so he gasped out to Deianira: 'Dip a shirt in my blood, sweetie. If ever you get a hunch that your old man's going off the rails persuade him to wear it. It'll act as a charm. He'll take a run-out powder on the other dame and come back with a present for you.'
Now that Deianira was having kittens about Hercules being up to no good with his old flame Iole, she sent it to him with a message that it was the very latest thing in gents' shirting and she thought he would look fine in it. All unsuspecting, Hercules put it on when about to do his 'thank you' sacrifice to the gods for having helped him put paid to King Eurytus. But the blood of Nessus had been envenomed from the poisoned arrow, and as soon as the shirt became warmed through by the sacrificial fire before which Hercules was standing it began to burn him. Next moment agonizing pains shot through all his limbs. In vain he tried to tear the terrible garment off. It stuck to his skin and became a white-hot shroud that caused his blood to boil.
Realizing that there could be no escape from death, he tore down the nearest trees and stacked them up into a funeral pyre. Then he flung himself upon it and persuaded his armour-bearer, Philoctetes, to light it beneath him. His last words were: 'Hera, thou art avenged. Give me a stepmother's gift of death.'