Several years after, Hercules made prisoner a maiden named Iole, in Lydia, after gaining a great victory.  Landing in the island of Eubœa, he was going to make a great sacrifice to Jupiter, and sent home to Deianira for a festal garment to wear at it.  She was afraid he was falling in love with Iole, and steeped the garment in the preparation she had made from Nessus’ blood.  No sooner did Hercules put it on, than his veins were filled with agony, which nothing could assuage.  He tried to tear off the robe, but the skin and flesh came with it, and his blood was poisoned beyond relief.  He sailed home, and when Deianira saw the state he was in she hung herself for grief, while he charged Hylas, his eldest son, to take care of Iole, and marry her as soon as he grew up.  Then, unable to bear the pain any longer, and knowing that by his twelve tasks he had earned the prize of endless life, he went to Mount Œta, crying aloud with the pain, so that the rocks rang again with the sound.  He gave his quiver of arrows to his friend Philoctetes, charging him to collect his ashes and bury them, but never to make known the spot; and then he tore up, with his mighty strength, trees by the roots enough to form a funeral pile, lay down on it, and called on his friend to set fire to it; but no one could bear to do so, till a shepherd consented to thrust in a torch.  Then thunder was heard, a cloud came down, and he was borne away to Olympus, while Philoctetes collected and buried the ashes.