The Poison In The Blood Read Online Free PDF Page A

was firing arrows at the monster. For now, he was holding it at bay. But for how much longer? Iolus noticed that his hands were shaking. He picked up lighting flints and tried to strike a spark. Nothing. He swore. Still his hands shook. He breathed in deeply and tried again. This time, he had better luck. The spark lit the kindling. The day was hot and the wood was dry. Within a few minutes, the fire was blazing. Heracles glanced round and smiled. “Good lad!” he cried.
    “Watch out!” screamed Iolus.
    Heracles spun on his heel. The open jaws of three of the hydra’s heads were almost on him. With a single movement, Heracles drew his sword, then swung it through the air. The three heads went flying. As they did so, Heracles turned and ran. Not pausing, he reached for a tree trunk that was lying on the ground. Iolus had never even thought to try to move it. The trunk had looked too heavy. But Heracles picked it up easily. His muscles bulged. Sweat glistened on them. He was beside the fire now and shoved the trunk into the flames. As he did so, he looked over his shoulder. The hydra was drawing near. Heracles pulled the flaming tree trunk from the fire. He gripped it in his left hand. With his right, he lifted his sword. The hydra attacked and Heracles swung his sword. A head went flying. No sooner had it done so than Heracles was lifting the burning tree trunk. He laid the tip on the hydra’s stump. The hundred other heads all shook and screamed with the pain. A smell of scorched flesh made Iolus want to vomit. Heracles withdrew the burning tree trunk. The stump was still. No head grew back.
    Now the battle grew truly terrible. The hydra knew for the first time that it was in a struggle to the death. Its necks coiled around Heracles’s legs, his body, his arms. But Heracles was too strong. He trampled the necks underfoot. He slashed and cut with his sword. Whenever he sent a head flying, he would burn the twitching stump. As ever more of its heads were lopped off, the hydra turned and tried to flee. But Heracles followed it. The hunter had become the hunted. Iolus ran in his master’s footsteps and jumped into the boat after Heracles. He pulled on the oars and rowed after the hydra, into the depths of the swamp. At last, in the black poison of its lair, the hydra stopped retreating. The battle began again. But the hydra was weakening fast now. Finally, there was only one head left. Heracles slashed at it. For a long time he kept the burning tree trunk pressed against the severed neck. At last he withdrew it. The neck jerked, then was still.
    Heracles leaned on his sword and inhaled deeply. He pushed back the head of his lion’s skin. He wiped the sweat from his brow.
    “You did it,” said Iolus. “You did it!”
    Heracles smiled. “Of course. Did you ever doubt I would?”
    Iolus blushed.
    Heracles laughed, then paused and angled his head. “What is that?” he said.
    Iolus listened and heard a pulsing, a throbbing. He frowned and looked at the hydra. The noise seemed to be coming from its corpse. Or was it a corpse? Iolus took a nervous step nearer to it and pointed. “Look,” he gasped. “the heart.”
    It was still beating. Heracles stepped up to it and laid his hand on the quivering, jerking scales. He thought for a moment, then he turned. “Row back across the swamp,” he ordered. “Look for my arrows. Find as many as you can. Then bring them to me. I will be waiting here.”
    Iolus did as Heracles had instructed. It was horrible work. The heads of the hydra had already started to rot. Flies attracted by their smell lay dead in piles. The poison of the blood had killed them. Iolus realised he had to be careful with the arrows, so he took his time pulling them free from the stinking flesh and returning them to the quiver. It was late when he rowed back to Heracles: the sun was sinking in the west. A cloud of black smoke, rising from where Heracles stood, hid it from view. It was greasy and smelled of