The Mares of Diomedes - Hercules' Eighth Labour
Continuation of the story of The Cretan Bull.
Hercules watched as the bull galloped away into the distance. It had caused havoc in Crete, and he feared it might now do the same within the kingdom. Still, he had followed the king’s orders. If he had managed to capture it once, he could do so again. He returned to the palace to report that the beast had fled far away.
Eurystheus, now out of his hiding place, paced nervously across the throne room. Upon seeing him enter, shoulders broad and gaze unwavering, he tried to recover his regal composure.
“You’ve returned… and you still have strength left. Very well, don’t rest too long: your eighth labour awaits.”
Hercules raised his head, unhurried.
“What do you want me to do this time?”
Eurystheus formed a smile that boded no good.
“In Thrace rules Diomedes, son of Ares—every bit as cruel as his father. He owns mares that are no ordinary beasts: they feed on human flesh, and some say not even the wind can catch them. I want them here, alive, under my command!”
The hero frowned. Rumours about Diomedes had spread to every corner of Greece: a king who fed travellers to his horses and summoned war as others call for rain.
“You realise you’re asking me to journey to the most hostile lands on the northern coast?” asked Hercules.
“I’m asking you,” replied Eurystheus coldly, “to do what you do best: return with victory in hand!”
The hero knew well Diomedes’ reputation and suspected the two kings had conspired to betray him. This time, he would not travel alone. He chose to bring with him Abderus, son of Hermes and a loyal friend—a brave young man with an adventurous spirit.
The Sea of Diomedes
At first light, the two friends set sail from the port of Micale. The ship, small but swift, advanced thanks to an easterly wind that billowed the sails as if urging them towards their fate. The sailors looked on with a mixture of respect and unease: sailing with a son of Zeus could bring divine protection… or divine wrath.
After days of gliding briskly across the sea, thick clouds began to close in overhead. A storm was approaching. A cold wind from the north pulled fiercely and made the rudder shudder. One of the sailors, his voice trembling, whispered:
“This is the Sea of Diomedes… Not even Poseidon dares to smile here.”
Despite the initial fear, the ship pressed on. The resolve of Zeus’s son inspired courage and confidence to face the perilous crossing. When the storm subsided, the Thracian coast unfolded before them: cliffs as sharp as blades of iron, dark forests that devoured the light, and watchtowers that scrutinised every ship drawing near.
Diomedes’ Offer
The port was little more than a jetty shielded by thick stone walls. The workers paused for a moment to watch the two heroes—some with admiration, others with dread. An old fisherman approached, his hands encrusted with salt and his skin burnt by the sun.
“If you’re here for the mares… may the gods protect you. No one comes back from there.”
Hercules merely nodded, and the two of them followed the path that climbed up to the palace.
The palace of Diomedes was an imposing mass of black stone, with towers that rose like fists against the sky. The great gates were adorned with carvings of horses, their mouths frozen in an eternal scream.
Alerted to their arrival, the king awaited them in the central courtyard. Diomedes was tall, his muscular frame clad in a breastplate decorated with wolves’ heads. His steel-grey eyes gleamed with defiance.
“Eurystheus sends me two heroes? Perhaps this way you’ll stand a better chance… of ending up in the bellies of my mares.”
“Why do you keep these savage creatures alive?” Hercules replied. “They are a danger that has gone too far.”
Diomedes stepped closer, eyeing them from head to toe.
“In Thrace, I decide what danger is. Do you want to see them? Follow me. If they let themselves be taken, they’re yours.”
The Mares’ Reaction
With a sly grin, Diomedes led them to the stables. It looked more like a prison: bronze doors, thick chains, and the acrid stench of blood soaked into the wooden beams.
The mares were four massive beasts, with dark coats and eyes glowing red like embers. Their hooves struck the ground with restless force, making the very floor tremble.
“Show me how you calm them, and you can take them,” said Diomedes.
Hercules and Abderus exchanged a wary glance. The king was surrounded by his personal guard, and the air reeked of an ambush. Cautiously, Hercules took a step forward.
Suddenly, the creatures erupted into deafening whinnies that echoed throughout the compound, their chains screeching violently.
“See? Even you know you can’t control them,” sneered Diomedes.
“Perhaps we were too confident… Abderus, it might be best if we leave,” replied Hercules, without taking his eyes off the beasts.
A Fatal Mistake
That night, the wind howled fiercely from the sea, and the moon, hidden behind low clouds, cast a shadow over the entire coast. Hercules and Abderus had been waiting for a moment like this—they planned to steal the mares under cover of darkness. The plan was simple: Hercules would lead them out while his friend kept watch outside.
With silent steps, the hero slipped into the stables. The groan of the chains greeted him like a warning. Wasting no time, he grabbed the reins of one of the mares, enduring a violent jerk that nearly knocked him over. With his superhuman strength, he subdued the beast, tying her with knots no creature could undo. The other three lashed out with bites and powerful kicks, but Hercules, protected by the lion’s pelt wrapped around his body, managed to endure and restrain them one by one.
The noise roused the palace hounds, who began to bark loudly. Without hesitation, Hercules dragged the mares out of the stables. With Abderus’s help, they crossed the outer walls and began leading them towards the coast.
But before they reached the port, the blast of a horn rang out. Diomedes and a score of soldiers were descending a side path, cutting off their escape. The king brandished a spear and shouted in fury:
“My mares will not leave this place, Hercules! And you shall die on my land!”
Hercules handed the reins to Abderus and leapt into battle. The hero, swift and precise in every move, dodged and struck down soldier after soldier at a staggering pace. Abderus, awestruck by his friend’s prowess, failed to hold the mares tightly enough. Because of that mistake, one of them lashed out and tore off his arm with a brutal bite. The young man screamed in agony, and as he lost his grip completely, a second mare seized him by the foot and dragged him to the ground. Once down, they began to devour him.
The Awakening of the Mares
Hercules had slain all of the king’s soldiers, but when he turned around, it was already too late to save his friend. He stood motionless for a moment, stunned, unable to believe what had just happened.
Meanwhile, the king’s anxiety over the fall of his guard turned into a vindictive grin of satisfaction. With a wicked sneer, he wasted no time cursing the two heroes who had dared attempt to steal his mares.
Consumed by rage, Hercules leapt at Diomedes, knocking him from his horse. He seized him by the armour and shook him violently, shouting with all his might. Then, from a distance, noticing the mares growing restless, the hero hurled the king into their midst to bring them down. As the beasts rose, they began to devour their master without mercy. Their red eyes glowed with the bloodlust that had possessed them.
But the moment Diomedes let out his final breath, the mares—almost as if a spell had been lifted—fell silent. Their eyes were no longer red, no longer glowing, and their breathing slowed until they became calm and tame once more.
When Hercules caught his breath and found the strength to move, he bound them again. With his eyes still full of rage and sorrow, he set off towards the ship that would carry them back to Mycenae. The mares followed the hero without resistance.
The Return
The journey back was silent. The sailors, who had seen the look in Hercules’ eyes after losing his friend, did not dare to speak. The mares followed him meekly, but there was no triumph left in that path—only the will to see the task through.
On the Thracian coast, before boarding the ship, Hercules came to a halt. There, on a wind-swept plain, he raised a burial mound in memory of Abderus. On that very spot, he founded the city that would bear his friend’s name: Abdera, so his story would never be forgotten.
When Hercules arrived at Tiryns, Eurystheus looked upon the mares with a mix of awe and fear. He could not understand how they had turned from savage beasts to docile creatures. What had caused the change? Uncomfortable and displeased, he ordered that they be released on a distant plain. He never wished to see them again.
Thus, the eighth labour of Hercules had been completed.
Continues with The Girdle of Hippolyta.
Honour the Legend
The capture of the fearsome Mares of Diomedes by Hercules is a story shaped by courage, sacrifice, and loyalty. To immortalise this feat, we present this striking T-shirt featuring the powerful figure of a great mare, illustrated in an artistic style that evokes her strength and majesty.
As we cannot provide you with a sacred piece, we do not want to sacrifice any animal for a piece of clothing. All our items are 100% cotton and made with the utmost respect for the environment. LũM always aims to respect the flora and fauna of our planet.
Thank you for your trust, and may the adventure continue!
Reading list
- Labours of Hercules. Wikipedia, the Free Encyclopedia.
- Fry, S. (2018). Heroes. Penguin Books.
- Hamiltor, E. (1942). Mythology, Timeless tales of Gods and Heroes. Little, Brown and Company.
- Graves, R. (1955). The Greek Myths. Penguin Books.
