Heroes: Mortals and Monsters, Quests and Adventures

by Stephen Fry

It was here, in Elis, that Heracles now established athletic competitions to be held every four years, in honour of his father Zeus. He called them, after the name of his father’s mountaintop abode, the Olympic Games.

‘We’re supposed to be searching for a Golden Fleece,’ he grumbled. ‘Not rutting like bloody stags.’

The tender beauty of the Sirens’ music was inversely proportional to the vicious cruelty of their purpose. They sang to entice sailors – birds and wildlife too – and draw them onto the rocky cliffs of their home. They would hop from their crags to the wrecked ships and feast on their transfixed crewmen.

‘Forgive me. Hard to tell. I can’t even be sure which is your face and which your arse.’

Theseus ducked between Cercyon’s legs and felt the giant’s balls brushing the top of his head. ‘Revolting,’ he said to himself. ‘But they do present a good target.’