five, six - seven.

An exasperated grin slid onto Iolaus' face as he completed his hasty assessment of both the ambush and the ambushers. After a long week spent dealing with hostile mercenaries in a disputed border town while surly princes scored points off each other at the peace negotiations, Demeter's request had seemed like the perfect excuse for a holiday. He'd been looking forward to a leisurely walk, followed by an even more leisurely camp out at the lake, facing nothing more demanding than a fat fish dancing at the end of a line. He should have known better. Trouble - with a big or a little T - was never far away when you were running errands for the gods. Even if seven armed bandits - unkempt, poorly disciplined bandits at that - didn't exactly count as a challenge.

Just a necessary irritation …

Hercules' exclamation of alarm had spun him round in time to see the net snatch up its victim; the men had surged out from their hiding places barely a breath later, clearly thinking that they had the advantage of numbers. The hunter's first concern was his comrade's safety, but a quick glance was enough to reassure him that the son of Zeus had taken no harm from his unexpected moment of flight. The net was a crude one, knotted together from coarse rope, and it had come to rest barely seven or eight feet above the road; its victim dangled in its mesh, looking more embarrassed than anything else, the carved wooden chest tucked in awkwardly beside him.

Oh - bother it.

Iolaus' grin grew a little more exasperated; while the net had very little chance of holding his partner for long, it was abundantly obvious that Hercules was in no position to just rip the thing apart and leap immediately to his own defence. For one thing the very fact that it was badly made had meant he was now thoroughly entangled rather than merely contained - and for another, a wrong move, or a thoughtless rip to the fabric was going to result in the precious container hurtling straight towards the ground. Which might result in a bandit with bruised toes, but was far more likely to end up scattering its practically priceless contents to the four winds.

Look like I'm gonna have to help the big guy out …

The hunter breathed a small sigh of resignation, bounced down off the tangle of tree roots he'd been using as a perch and reached out to tap the bandit leader on the shoulder with the end of his fishing poles.

"Erm - excuse me," he said brightly, interrupting the man's launch into the 'if you don't struggle we won't hurt you speech' which would have been about as believable as Ares proclaiming his support for a peace treaty. "This is the Hebris valley, yeah? Is this the right road for the lake? I hear the fishing's very good this time of year."

The bandit spun round, his lip lifted in a snarl - which then lapsed into a sneer as he made the usual mistake of measuring the compact warrior's potential for menace against his height and build. Iolaus went on favouring him with a dazzling smile, although the eyes above it narrowed slightly as he reacted to the obvious contempt that the man made no effort to conceal.

"Hey, boys," the bandit laughed. "Short stuff here's looking for directions. What'daya say we show him where he can go?"

The hunter's smile tightened; Iolaus ignored the amused nods and chuckles that the question spawned and took a determined step forward, staring up at the brigand with deliberate belligerence. He'd suspected that he'd have to teach this motley band a lesson in manners; all of a sudden he was looking forward to doing it. "What did you call me?" he demanded tightly, his eyes flashing

The bandit grinned down at him with amused confidence. "Short stuff," he drawled, sharing the grin with his company, who'd turned their attention from their captive to watch this apparently uneven confrontation instead. "As in - runt, half pint, dwarf. Get the picture, shorty?"

Somewhere above them both, the son of Zeus winced with decided feeling. "Bad idea," he might have been heard to mutter - had anyone been listening to him.

"Oh yeah," his partner breathed, measuring up the brigand with an experienced - and now irate - eye. "I get it. You're not just ugly - you're stupid too."

The man in the net winced a second time, shifting a little to get a better view of events. The comeback had elicited further amusement from the ragged band, which probably added to the annoyed frown which creased their leader's lumpish features. "Hey," he growled, making a lunge for the hunter's waistcoat. His fingers closed on empty air; Iolaus danced back with an agile step, swinging his right hand up and across, intending to deliver a quick right cross which would at least stagger the recipient, if not take him down completely. He'd forgotten - if only for a moment - that that was the hand currently clenched around the handle of the heavy pottery jug. Hardened clay hit home with directed force and the jug cracked open, spilling its contents across the bandit's face. The man screamed and staggered backwards, his hands clawing at the sudden flurry of fat maggots with which he'd been inundated.

"Oh - " Iolaus registered, pausing to give the remnants of the jug handle a look of irritated regret. He heaved a heavy sigh, shrugged - and then slammed the broken handle into the stomach of the nearest brigand as he and his fellows charged into the attack.

Mayhem erupted. The kind of mayhem that the hunter loved, even when - or perhaps especially when - he happened to be in the thick of it. Men swarmed around him with murderous intent, swinging swords and other assorted weaponry with gusto. Iolaus dropped the remains of the broken pot, hastily swung the fishing poles up so that he could catch their free ends with his other hand, and used their slender length to intercept the downswing of a blade. At the same time, he launched a sideways kick that cracked an exposed knee and tipped its owner to the floor - and then he completed the manouvre by leaping into a forward somersault, tumbling up over the poles and landing high on the shoulders of the startled swordsman. From there he had height to strike with enthusiasm; his first move was to slam the pair of poles straight down - which sent his uncooperative supporter's eyes spinning in his skull. Unfortunately the result was to crack both poles neatly in the middle, so he paused to grimace with brief annoyance, then struck out left and right at once, felling two charging bandits simultaneously.

Another leap and a twist landed him back on the ground; he'd clenched his knees and twisted the befuddled brigand over with him as he went, leaving the man sprawling in a dazed heap. The three remaining bandits closed with confidence, either too arrogant or too stupid to register how quickly their fellows had gone down. The hunter threw the broken poles away and dropped into a semi-crouch - his arms and body both swaying slightly as he found both balance and focus - before exploding into action with a whoop of delight.

Twist, kick, duck, strike; he danced through the conflict with a speed and agility that left his opponents dazzled and confused. The first never saw the upward scissor kick that jerked his head back and tipped him into oblivion. The second dodged a forearm strike, lunged in with a dagger in either hand - and was taken down as Iolaus spun himself out of the way, kicked the man's feet out from under him, and followed through with knee, elbow and boot. The third got in a lucky strike from behind; his sword hilt slammed into the hunter's side and momentarily sent him sprawling. The bandit grinned, charging after his opponent's forward tumble, only to hastily dodge back as the agile warrior recovered into a controlled forward roll and bounced back to his feet.

The blow had hurt; Iolaus came up with his eyes glittering and his teeth bared in a feral grin. He deliberately brought his hands together and then drew them out again, his hands arching into claws as he completed the stylised manoeuvre. Mantis poised to strike, the move was called; the brigand took one look, dropped his sword and turned to run, hastily vaulting one of his groaning companions - only to be poleaxed from above by a casual flick from a half god's hand.

"You let one get away," Hercules remarked warmly as his partner carefully unwound from his formal stance and gave himself a little shake to redistribute the energy the move had generated. Iolaus threw him a wry grimace.

"I didn't see you rushing to help," he noted, striding over to retrieve a shard of broken pottery and use it to start scooping up a few wriggling maggots from the ground. The bandit leader was sat in a distraught heap, quivering from head to foot and whimpering each time a fat maggot crawled out of his hair and tumbled down his face. The hunter frowned at him, reaching to sweep what remained of his precious bait off shaking shoulders and into the broken base of the jug.

"You seemed to be doing all right on your own." The son of Zeus had been carefully disentangling himself; he heaved the chest over the edge of the net and then vaulted free of the mesh, somersaulting back to his feet with easy grace. "What's up with him?"

Iolaus shrugged. "Just a little bowled over by events." He followed the thought with a grin. "Guess he didn't expect me to rise to the bait."

Hercules threw him a pained look and the hunter giggled unrepentantly, reaching to snatch the leather cap from the nearest groaning bandit's head. He'd recovered nearly a quarter of his lost prize and he carefully tipped the pile of squirming bodies into the depths of the cap before tying it off with a strip of leather and tucking it into his belt. It wasn't as bad as he'd feared. The fervour of the fight had more than made up for his initial annoyance at the loss - and he still had enough of the maggots left to give him a decent day’s fishing.

The son of Zeus set about rounding up the brigands, hustling the bunch of dazed and defeated men into a reluctant group before using their own net to secure them safely. He gave them a lecture while he did it, one of those ' you need to led decent and honest lives' speeches which sometimes worked, although not as often as he thought, and certainly not as often as he would have liked. Iolaus found himself a perch on the wooden chest and watched his friend at work, happy to leave the task in capable hands.

"Well," Hercules said at last, moving over to offer up the end of the securing rope so that his partner could take charge of it. "since you landed them, you can deliver them."

Iolaus grinned. "Wasn't quite what I had in mind for the catch of the day," he laughed. "Okay - you take the grain to the temple and I'll drop this sorry bunch off with whatever the law is around here. Meet you down at the lake?"

"Sounds good to me." Hercules reached down and scooped the chest up off the ground, heaving it back to his shoulder almost without effort. "Just try not to get into any more trouble, huh?"

"Huh!" the hunter responded, well aware he was being teased. "You're the one that needs to keep out of trouble. I don't wanna have to rescue you twice in one day."

As if …

Hercules was still grinning over his partner's parting shot as he turned off the road and onto the track that was signposted for Demeter's temple. It was fair to say that - on the whole - there'd been very few occasions in his life when he'd been the one in need of rescuing. Of course, it was equally true that, on those few occasions when he had been in such need, it generally had been Iolaus who'd been on hand to haul him out of trouble. Even if that usually meant getting himself into it - although that had never stopped him, and the son of Zeus doubted that it ever would.

I don't think today counts …

He'd never really been in any danger - although, had he been on his own, he might have had to risk damaging Demeter's gift in order to extricate himself from the situation. Since Iolaus was perfectly capable of handling a half dozen brigands without help, he'd left him too it - albeit remaining poised to intervene had the need arisen. He didn't often get a chance to observe the finer points of his partner's fighting style since he was usually in the thick of things himself, and it had been a pleasure to watch the man in action.

But hopefully, that's the last fight either of us will see for a while.

The peace negotiations in Ionia had been fraught with complex politics and frustrated tensions. They'd spent a week walking around on proverbial eggshells, defusing potential trouble and trying to stop an entire town from erupting into bitter conflict. This trip into the countryside had promised to be the perfect antidote to all that - a quiet, unexciting, visit to a quiet, unexciting province, as far removed from warlords and land disputes and devious politics as anyone could manage within the constantly shifting borders of Greece. It was the sort of opportunity which had become all too rare in his life, and he'd seized it with gratitude, even if he did still nurse a vague suspicion as to Demeter's motives in asking him to deliver her gift.

His grin grew a little wider as he recalled how enthusiastic Iolaus had been in agreeing to the journey. Like a puppy offered a new toy … Not that he blamed the man; the son of Zeus had found the peace talks wearing enough - but the situation had wound the hot headed hunter right up to his limits, and it was a mark of his personal qualities that he'd somehow managed to avoid sparking that powder keg into an unquenchable flame. No doubt the prospect of spending a blissful couple of days lazing at the edge of a lake had been irresistible.

Hercules was rather looking forward to it himself.

The softly rutted track led over a shallow hill and down into the Hebris valley behind it. The temple lay tucked into the valley's side, overlooking a stretch of cultivated fields, a reach of woodland, and - beyond that - the lake, which glimmered softly in the sun. It served a community of seven villages, of which both the largest and the nearest was Ytarsia. That lay a little to the south, further along the main road and was the settlement into which Iolaus would shortly be leading his captives.

Looks like I got the shorter walk …

The village lay some distance from the lake, which curved away to the north east, so, once the hunter had disposed of his charges, he'd have to make his way across the fields and pick up the road through the wood. Which gave Hercules plenty of time to deliver Demeter's gift, get down to the water, and identify a comfortable spot in which to waste the next few days. It wasn't that he didn't trust his friend's judgement - the hunter actually had an uncanny eye for picking just the right place to make camp - but it was good to occasionally exercise his own wisdom in such matters. He might even have time to catch a fish or two his way, and have something sizzling on the fire by the time Iolaus turned up.

The thought made his mouth water; it had been a while since breakfast and it was getting pretty close to lunch time. He set off down the slope with a determined stride, eager to complete his business and get on with the rest of the day.

I wonder what Demeter meant when she mentioned there might be a little 'trouble'?

The valley seemed peaceful enough; the fields ahead of him were rippling with ripening grain and there were a number of hay meadows curving alongside the glimmer of a small stream. Three or four rustic houses were scattered in among the patchwork of cultivation, and there were a few figures, working out in the fields or bustling in the farm yards. It all looked extremely idyllic. If there was any trouble, it wasn't making much show of itself.

Monster, maybe?

Hercules frowned over that one as he arrived at the low wall which encircled the temple enclave. Demeter didn't go in for the sort of massive, brooding fortresses that Hera and Ares loved; her temples were open, airy places, and this one was no exception. A wide platform of stone stood at the very centre of the space, elevated above the common ground by six shallow stepped terraces. Elegant pillars marched around the inner edge, supporting a low angled roof with an open space in the centre. That was the temple; behind it there were a sprawl of more common buildings, stables and living quarters for the priest and his household.

It was a mellowed, lived in kind of place, settled into the landscape with the confidence of permanency. Chickens skritted freely in the walled yard. Goats were tethered in a small group, contentedly munching on a pile of hay, and a plump and elderly man was sitting on the middle terrace of the temple, munching equally contentedly on a piece of meat pie.

"Well, hello," the old man called cheerily as he spotted his visitor approaching. "Welcome!"

"Hi," Hercules smiled in return, coming to a halt at the foot of the steps and watching as the man clambered creakily to his feet. This had to be the priest he'd been sent to see; the corn gold robe and the heavy medallion he wore were rather obvious clues to his identity. "You must Ocmon. I'm Hercules." He heaved the wooden chest off his shoulder and set it down carefully on the bottom step. "My aunt sent me."

"Herc- Oh!." Understanding dawned; the man's briefly puzzled frown blossomed into a beatific grin. "Of course. Bless my sweet snookums, she remembered."

Snookums? Hercules blinked in astonishment. He'd heard innumerable titles and epithets for the various divine members of his family, but he'd never, ever heard anyone refer to Demeter like that before. "Ah - yeah, I guess. Uh - remembered what exactly?"

"Her promise." Ocmon puffed down the steps and sat down again, one level above the chest. Even that short distance had appeared to take great effort. His hand reached out to pat at the wood with proprietary pride while he struggled to regain his breath. "My people will never go hungry. What's she sent this time?"

The son of Zeus assayed a brief frown of his own as he registered the soft wheeze of labouring lungs that delivered the words. The priest was unquestionably old; his hair was white and straggly and his flesh hung in wrinkled folds, turning his plump face into a craggy contour map. He was also unwell by the sound of it, having to struggle for air even on such a bright sunny day. "Grain," Hercules reported, adopting a sympathetic smile and finding a seat of his own on the well worn steps. The man's problem was his age, and possibly his weight, neither of which an itinerant hero could do much about, other than feel for him. Which he did. Ocmon was clearly a warm and cheery soul who deserved to be cared about.

Although it didn't look as if the bit about going hungry was something he'd ever been familiar with.

"Grain. Good. That's good." The old man nodded happily, his eyes beaming with pleasure. "Easier to hand out, too. That last gift …" He heaved a theatrical sigh - which invoked a momentary cough after it - and then laughed, a gasping chuckle that had him clutching at his chest while he recovered from it. "That was more trouble than it was worth. But don't tell her, huh? It was very generous, and I'd hate to sound ungrateful."

"I'm sure you're not," Hercules assured him, warming to this genial character and his familiar affection for his goddess. If this was the spiritual guidance that the people of the Hebris valley received, then they could consider themselves truly blessed. "She spoke very fondly of you."

"Hah!" Ocmon quivered with laughter. "So she should. You may not believe this, young man, but - when I was your age, I was thought to be a very handsome figure. Handsome enough to catch the eye of a goddess."

Ah. The son of Zeus smiled to himself, an ironic acknowledgement of the way his divine relatives used and abused mortals - as if they were playthings, to be picked up, played with, and then discarded in favour of someone or something new. Then he let the smile surface, giving it a warmer, more sympathetic shape. Perhaps he was being unfair. Demeter had certainly mentioned this man with warmth in her voice, and she'd arranged for him to be sent this precious gift. Maybe there'd been more to their relationship than mere physical attraction. Besides, Ocmon didn't exactly look like a man who'd been badly done by.

"Oh, you smile," the preist chortled, reading the look on his face, "but that was a good time in my life. And she's ensured that this valley has prospered ever since. Our fruit is sweet, our flocks grow plump - and we have the best fresh water fishing lake in the whole of Mesinia."

"So I hear," Hercules laughed. "Actually, I've been hearing that for days. My partner and I - we thought we might spend a little while seeing if it's true."

"All you'll catch at the lake is Charon's ferryboat," a new voice announced sourly. Hercules glanced back over his shoulder to find another man in corn gold robes standing on the temple terrace. He was younger than Ocmon, although still a mature figure; his face was tanned and weathered and his dark hair was peppered with streaks of grey. "Only a fool goes there these days."

"Nonsense," Ocmon protested, also turning to look at the new arrival. "I go there all the time."

"Grandfather," the younger priest said, a little impatiently, "you haven't been fishing for years. There's - something - living down by the lake now. People that go there don't come back." He walked down the steps to join them both, frowning at the temple's visitor with decided suspicion.

Grandfather? Hercules looked from one man to the other, seeing the similarities in the shape of their features. If this was Ocmon's grandson, then the old priest was much older than he appeared to be - and if that were true, then it was clear that Demeter had blessed her one time lover with much more than a prosperous valley and the occasional chest full of grain.

The old man was also frowning - with confusion, not anger. "Don't come back?" he queried puzzeledly. "You sure?"

"I'm sure." His grandson's eyes had fallen on the chest of grain; the suspicious look gave way to angry irritation. "Is that the gift we were promised? What is it this time?"

Hercules blinked at him, a little taken aback by the man's tone. Whatever he might think of the gods and their inevitably double edged gifts, most people would welcome divine generosity - and to hear such bitterness voiced by a priest of the self-same goddess who had bestowed the gift was startling to say the least.

"Don't be like that, Ettian." Ocmon reached down to stroke the polished surface of the carved chest. "You know she meant well, sending us the elixir. Some things are - just not meant for mortal hands, that's all. This is different. This is grain from her fields. No harm in that, is there?"

Ettian sighed. "I suppose not," he agreed, although he didn't sound too convinced about it. "You'll want me to figure some way to distribute it, no doubt?"

The old priest smiled at his martyred expression. "Well," he started to say genially, "I could always - "

"No, no," his grandson interrupted wearily. "I'll do it. You get in a muddle just remembering people's names these days." He looked down at the chest, and then up at the man who'd brought it. "We'd better put that somewhere safe. You think - ?"

"No problem," Hercules smiled, getting to his feet and lifting the chest back to his shoulder. "Just lead the way."

It was Ettian's turn to blink, registering the way his visitor handled what had to be a heavy chest as if it had practically no weight at all. Ocmon broke into a wheezy laugh. "Ettian," he grinned, around a struggle for air, "meet Hercules."