It was raining. Not in the soft, soothing way that rain falls in late summer, washing heat from the air, nor with the fresh, bright impact of spring showers. No, it was raining - a solid sluice of water from lowering sky to earth, covering the world in a dismal curtain that obscured the approaching evening and brought with it the feel of night long before it was due.

The two men who had trudged through that curtain for most of the day were still a long way from their intended destination. The bad weather had done a lot more than delay them. It had soaked into their bones, chafed at their spirits and worn down both stamina and patience until the only thing that had kept them going was sheer stubborn determination. They’d been travelling through wilderness and bad weather for several days and the small town in which they now found themselves had loomed out of the landscape like a gift from the gods - which, in the case of these two, was a suspect recommendation at best.

"Uh - Iolaus?" Hercules’ voice was wary.

"Yeah?"

"Are you suggesting - we stay here for the night?"

"Am I - ?" Iolaus turned to give him a look of bemused astonishment. Heavy droplets of water flicked from his sodden locks - the ones that weren’t currently plastered to his face and scalp by the onslaught of the rain. "Herc - are your ears full of water or something? I said, ‘Hey, this place looks warm, dry and welcoming. Let’s stay here.’ What part of that didn’t you get?"

Hercules heaved a small sigh. "I got it. I just don’t see how you could be serious."

"Serious?" The hunter rolled his eyes with exasperation. "Listen buddy - it’s pouring with rain, right? The same rain that’s been following us ever since we left Thalecia three days ago. I am cold, I am soaked to the skin, and I’m looking straight at a warm fire, a hot meal and a roof over my head. I am not taking another step - unless it’s through that door and out of this miserable weather."

"That door?" The son of Zeus frowned at the item in question; it was a heavy well made barrier, undoubtedly constructed out of oak, studded with huge metal nails, and set in an ornately carved frame. Above it someone had hung a brightly painted sign, which was partially illuminated by the feeble flicker of a torch which stood at one side of the door. The light was somehow still managing to burn fitfully, despite the downpour. The sign announced the place to be ‘The House of Elysium’, a declaration supported by the muffled sounds of music and merriment which were managing to escape through the barred and shuttered windows into the street. "You want us to walk through that door and ask for rooms for the night?"

Iolaus heaved a sigh of his own. A tight one, symptomatic of a man getting a little to close to losing his patience. "Yes," he declared firmly. "Preferably before I catch pneumonia. You got a problem with that?"

"Yes," Hercules shot back, not that far off impatience himself. "I have a problem with that. Iolaus - this isn’t an inn, or a tavern. It’s a - "

"Whorehouse," the hunter completed for him, matter of factly. "Which undoubtedly means its got the most comfortable rooms, the best food - and probably the only hot bath in town. Okay," he acknowledged, as if the thought had only just occurred to him, "that probably also means it’s gonna be more expensive than the average inn, but - "

"Iolaus," his partner interrupted sternly. "I am not spending the night - any night - in a brothel. Rain or no rain." Lightning flickered overhead as he spoke; the soft peal of thunder which followed it heralded a renewal of the weather’s vicious onslaught. Iolaus cursed and leapt for the dubious shelter of the narrow porch - then muttered a second soft oath and reached out to tug his friend in to join him, just as the hail began to hit the street.

"How ‘bout the hail?" he muttered, half under his breath. Hercules frowned at him.

"I know you’re tired," he said, offering the information with tight irritation. "I know you’re cold. And I know you’re hungry. But - " he went on firmly, ignoring the way the bedraggled man beside him had nodded a sarcastic acknowledgement of each pointed statement, "that does not mean that you and I have to seek sanctuary in a - a house of ill-repute!"

House of ill-repute, Iolaus mouthed, parroting the protest with an exasperated glance towards the heavens. Lightning flared across the sky, the rumble of thunder seeming to agree with his dismissive assessment of that argument.

"You stay out of it," Hercules snapped, glancing up to glare at the weather. "Iolaus - "

"Herc - " the hunter interrupted with heartfelt entreaty. "Come on. Hot food. Warm fire. Soft beds ..."

"With softer occupants," the sodden son of Zeus noted pointedly. "Which is not an attraction," he added, his voice sharp. Iolaus was trying to look innocent - a look which wouldn’t fool a stranger, let alone his best friend. "Look - these places are dangerous. They exploit desperate women, they exploit even more desperate men, and once they’ve taken your money, you’re more than likely to get your throat cut in the middle of the night. You walk in there - and you’re practically condoning slavery. Money for company. You ‘come on’, Iolaus. You can’t seriously expect me to approve of places that degrade and defile things that ought to be a gift of the heart. The women that work here should be sent home to their families - allowed decent lives."

"Decent lives, huh?" The hunter’s expression had dropped into an obstinate frown. "With husbands who beat them? Forced into loveless marriages by fathers who see them as no more than a burden on their pockets? Trapped in hum-drum lives of drudgery, or driven out onto the streets ... Herc - you don’t know anything about these places, or the kind of women that work in them. Okay, so some of them do exploit the desperate - but a lot more of them are sanctuaries. Places to escape to, not from. Look - I know Alcmene brought you up well, and in a perfect world nobody would need money and we’d all get by on good will and honest trust. But there’d still be places where people would go to find a little fun, enjoy a little freedom - and not have to worry about the rest of the world. Just - just take a chance here. Step in the door. If it’s the kind of place you’re talking about, then we’ll turn round and walk straight out again. But if it isn’t - then you and I are out of the rain, and we’ll have a good time. I promise you."

Hercules shook his head. "You don’t get it," he said. "I don’t approve of these places and I’m not staying in one just because you want to get out of the rain. There’ll be a perfectly good inn somewhere in town. We won’t get that much wetter finding it."

"Wetter, no," Iolaus agreed, sweeping a hand through his hair and wincing as the gesture sent an ice-cold stream of water down his shoulder and back. "Miserable, yes. You’re right. I’m cold, I’m tired, I’m hungry - and I can smell roast pork and orange sauce - and I am not walking away from that just because you’ve got a prudish streak and have had a sudden fit of morals. Go on," he ordered, waving his hand at the darkened world and the sharp lancing arrows of the torrential rain. "You wanna find a quiet, homely inn, you go ahead. I’m staying right here - or rather, right in there," he corrected, jabbing his finger towards the door. "And if I get my throat cut in the night you can come back tomorrow and say ‘I told you so.’"

"That your final word?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"Okay."

They glared at each other for a moment longer, one with irked impatience, the other with stubborn defiance - then Hercules heaved a tight sigh and strode back out into the rain, hunching his shoulders and muttering a little under his breath as he went. Iolaus watched him pace away, his expression softening a little; a flicker - not of doubt, but wary hesitancy - chased across his features, and then he heaved a sigh of his own, turned and pushed open the door.

Why is he so stubborn sometimes? Hercules wondered irritatedly as he trudged down the hill into what looked like the town square. The hail had painted the street with a coating of white icy cobbles which the rain was now busy dissolving into the mud, while rivers of dirty water were cutting their way into the slope of the hill, gouging channels in front of the few well shuttered houses that made up this side of the town. Why would he possibly think that I’d want to stay in a place like that?

Actually, he knew why. But he was too annoyed to consider the answer with anything other than exasperation. Just because Iolaus enjoyed the kind of indulgent pleasures that the ‘House of Elysium’ might be offering didn’t mean he had to - and the hunter still ought to know better than to walk into an establishment like that without checking it, or its inhabitant’s, reputation. Hercules was weary to the bone; cold, miserable, and crotchety with it. The last thing he needed right then was rowdy company, the unwanted attentions of lascivious women, or the kind of decadent entertainment that his partner seemed to find amusing.

Besides, he never felt comfortable in that sort of place. He was always too aware of what kind of things went on in back rooms and how uneasy the whole arrangement made him feel. The interactions between men and women were - to him - a deeply private and personal matter, not something for semi-public show, and definitely not something for sale. No matter how good the wine, how talented the dancers, how excellent the food, or how enticing a hot bath and a soft bed might be.

Which was, he gritted his teeth and tried hard not to admit, getting more and more enticing the longer he trudged through the mud.

There has to be an inn around here somewhere ...

Fortunately for his temper - and his currently offended sense of moral sensibilities - the sort of place he had in mind was not far away. A sturdy wooden building, some three stories high, with white washed walls and chinks of warm welcoming light escaping through its shutters, loomed out of the dark on the far side of the square. A crudely painted sign offered, board, lodging and stable facilities; the place had a well worn but respectable air.

Now this is more like it, Hercules decided, hurrying the rest of the distance and pushing open the door. Warm air, scented with slightly stale ale, wood smoke, damp leather, and unwashed bodies swirled out to greet him. It wasn’t the sweetest of scents, but it was no worse than most taverns offered in similar weather, and the hint of something cooking made his stomach rumble.

"Come in, stranger," a friendly voice called. "Shut the door, find yourself a place to sit and be welcomed. I’ll be right with you."

Why is he so stubborn sometimes? Iolaus asked himself resignedly, answering the question with a small sigh and a shake of his head. Because he’s Hercules, that’s why.

Hercules - who had a strong sense of moral standards, who’d been brought up to be a perfect gentleman - and who, in so many ways, did not take after his Father at all. Zeus, the hunter decided, pausing in the wood paneled lobby which lay on the other side of the door, would just love the House of Elysium. Lively music was tumbling out of the main room, accompanied by the soft buzz of voices, and a warm swirling scent which was mostly incense, although there were hints of more earthy perfumes underlying it. There were two nubile figures flanking the lattice carving of the inner door, both sculpted from wood, both painted and gilded and both posed with deliberate invitation, beckoning the visitor in with sensual smiles. Then there was the mosaic floor beneath his feet - one onto which his sodden clothing was currently dripping a growing pool of water. At first glance it was a simple pattern of red, white and black tessarae laid close together in a series of flowing lines. But, if you let your eye follow the lines and squinted just so .... Iolaus broke into an amused grin and tilted his head over to one side to take in the full effect; a part of him was admiring the artistry, while the rest of him was busy trying to decide if that particular combination of limbs and other body parts was actually possible.

"She’s double jointed," a deep and sultry voice observed with confident amusement. "And very athletic. You’ve got a good eye. Most people miss the image the first time they see it."

Iolaus looked up. The inner door had been swung back and a woman now stood in the opening. A mature, self-assured woman, well gifted with curves and utterly drenched in dark red silk and glimmers of gold. Her hair - which was thick and lustrous, despite the scattering of silver through its black depths - had been piled high on her head, leaving ornate ringlets hanging down on either side. Her face was painted with admirable expertise; soft white and purple shadows highlighted her dark eyes, while her lips were a deep, glossy cherry red - as tempting as the fruit they imitated.

"Ah - yeah," he agreed, unable to help staring at her. She was worth staring at, for all she was probably old enough to be his mother. His mother had never looked like that. "Uh - it’s a nice piece of work."

"You’re not so bad yourself," the woman noted, running her eyes up and down his bedraggled frame with calculating assessment. "Even if you do look a little like a half drowned rat." She smiled, letting him know she was teasing, and the look warmed him - all the way down to his soul. "Welcome to Elysium, hero," she purred, beckoning him forward. "My name is Helena. This is my place. And - just like Charon, I charge a little silver, just to cross the threshold ..."

She lifted her hand and turned it over, a supple, sensual gesture that presented her palm towards him with expectant certainty. He stared at it for a moment, fascinated by the way the torchlight glimmered off her jewelry, then realised what she meant and grimaced with chagrin. "Oh - yeah. Sure." He hastily dug his hand into his belt pouch and came up with a clatter of coins, several of which immediately slipped though his rain slicked fingers. "Oh - " He caught back the curse which had sprung to mind, threw the woman an apologetic glance and started to dip down, intending to recover his strewn bounty. She reached out and stopped him, her touch lifting him back to his feet.

"Let it lie," she laughed. "It’s been a long time since anyone threw gold at my feet. Consider it a gift to Aphrodite. Perhaps she’ll bless you tonight."

Iolaus swallowed a small snort at the thought. Aphrodite’s ‘blessings’ tended to be double edged at best, and downright hazardous the rest of the time; he didn’t begrudge donating a little gold to propitiate her good will in a place like this - but he rather hoped the gift didn’t draw her personal attention. "Maybe," he allowed with a grin. "But to be honest, what I’m looking for is a good meal, a hot bath - and a comfortable bed. Will uh - that cover it?" His glance towards his scattered riches earned him a knowing smile.

"Maybe," Helena echoed. The smile widened into quiet amusement. "Meal is on the house. Ale and wine you’ll have to pay for as you drink it. That’ll cover a bath - with an attendant if you want one - and - uh - I won’t kick you out tonight if all you want is a roof over your head until sunrise. As for a bed - well, that’s negotiable. With the owners of the beds concerned."

That seems reasonable ...

"Okay," Iolaus nodded affably. He leant sideways a little, peering past her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the swirl of light and colour that filled the room beyond. "Anything else I need to know?"

"House rules?" she noted, sounding impressed. "A few. But not many people ask for them up front. I like your style, hero. What’s your name?"

He hesitated for a moment, briefly wondering if revealing his name was a sensible thing to do - then grinned at his own idiocy. He had no reason for secrecy; he wasn’t in the least bit ashamed about standing where he was - and he certainly wasn’t ashamed of his name.

Or the reputation that went along with it, come to that.

"I’m Iolaus," he announced confidently, backing the admission with a smile.

She tried it out, rolling the syllables around her tongue and savouring them with sensuous lips. He’d never heard his name spoken quite like that before. It sounded good. Almost too good, in fact. "That one’s worth remembering," Helena purred, clearly aware - and amused by - his reaction. "House rules. You leave your sword at the door, your politics at home, and you take your manners in with you. You treat the girls with respect and they’ll return the favour. If they like your approach they’ll let you know - and if the answer’s no, you take it." She paused to rake her eyes up the length of him, not missing an inch, and he coloured a little under his tan. The look had been appreciative - and its directness was decidedly disconcerting. "Although," she concluded confidently, "if you clean up as nicely as I think you will - I might have to get them to draw lots." She laughed and stepped back, waving him into her kingdom with a generous hand. "Come in," she said warmly, "and make yourself at home."

"Sorry to keep you waiting."

The innkeeper was a broad shouldered man, with an open, honest face. There was a sprinkling of gray in his short dark hair, and his face had a weathered, well lived in look to it. For all that, he cut a handsome figure under his rumpled apron; his arms were muscled and brawny and he moved with quiet assurance, projecting an air of confidence. An ex-soldier, Hercules assessed, thoughtfully. He could see there’d be no trouble with rowdy customers while this man was in charge.

"No need to apologise," he said. "I’m just glad to be in out of the rain."

He’d seen as soon as he’d entered the common room that the innkeeper was busy with other customers, and he’d taken the opportunity to find a warm spot, close to the fire. Steam was curling gently from his shirt and jerkin, and - much to his embarrassment - water had been dripping from his leathers to form a small pool at his feet. The innkeeper laughed.

"Aren’t we all," he grinned. "Don’t worry about getting the floor wet. It gets mopped down every morning and a little more water won’t do it any harm. You look like you could do with some dry clothes though ..." He paused to look his customer up and down with a thoughtful frown. "You just here for a drink, or you looking for a room?"

"Room," Hercules replied. "And - uh - something to eat, if that’s possible. It’s been a long day."

"Food and board." The innkeeper nodded agreeably. "Think we can manage that. Tell you what - I’ve probably got a clean shirt somewhere that would keep the chill from your back for a while. How about I show you the room and get the boy to bring up the shirt and bowl of hot water so’s you can clean up a bit? Before supper."

"Sounds good." Hercules decided, backing his nod of acknowledgement with a smile of gratitude. It was a generous offer and one made without conditions or expectations either. "Thanks."

"No problem. The - uh - room’ll be five dinars for the night. Supper’s included, but if you want ale, you’ll have to pay the difference."

"Oh - yeah ..." The sodden hero looked vaguely mortified. He fumbled for the money pouch behind his belt, hoping he’d find enough in it to cover the bill. Truth was, Iolaus usually took care of things like that - but there was no way he was going to trudge back up the hill, just to ask his partner for a loan.

"Excuse me?" A weathered looking man -who was wearing an equally well weathered robe over his sturdy travelling clothes - had paused on his way across the common room to stare at the man warming himself by the fire. "Aren’t you Hercules? Yes - yes, you are! I was in Thalia - when you brought in that warlord ... what was his name? Acrestis. That was it. Acrestis the Plundererer. You waylaid his band, brought him to trial ... He’d razed several villages and you - you took him on single handedly!"

"No - no, not quite," Hercules denied, decidedly embarrassed by the man’s effusiveness. The incident in Thalia had been over a year ago - and he’d hardly brought Acrestis in single handedly. Iolaus had been the one who’d tracked the renegade to his well concealed lair - and he’d been a vital pivot in the plan to bring, not just the warlord, but his entire band to justice. True it had been Hercules who’d dragged Acrestis in front of the King, but only because his friend had been following behind with the rest of the thugs and ruffians in tow. "I had help - my partner ..."

"This is incredible, Nathan!" The merchant completely ignored the protestation, turning towards the innkeeper with enthusiasm. "Hercules himself - standing under your roof - here in Iphrus of all places. Hey - " he realised, giving the open mouthed Nathan an admonitory tap. "You weren’t about to charge him were you? This is Hercules. The son of Zeus? The guy that fought the titans? Sailed on the Argo? Killed the hydra? Turned Xena from evil to good?"

"Ah - " Hercules put up his hands to halt the verbal tide. This was the aspect of the hero business that he really hated. He didn’t do what he did to earn acclaim. Okay, so he’d done a few things of note - but not that many. Besides - none of the things the man had mentioned so far had been entirely his doing. "Look, I - "

"Hercules, huh?" Nathan had got over his initial astonishment and reassumed his quiet gruff composure. "How ‘bout that? Well, of course I wouldn’t dream of charging you. Room, board, all the ale you want - it’s on the house."

"Yeah - umm - " the hero grimaced uncomfortably. He didn’t want the man to be out of pocket - but neither did he want to seem ungrateful for his generosity. "I wouldn’t want to ..."

"That’s settled then," the innkeeper decided, clapping a friendly hand to his guest’s arm. "You feel free to stay as long as you want. Clellus? " he called over his shoulder. "Clellus - my boy - he’ll show you the room, get you whatever you need, okay?"

"Okay," Hercules agreed resignedly, realising the matter was settled whether he wanted to argue or not. "Thanks."

"You’re welcome," Nathan grinned. "Hercules," he muttered at the merchant as he chivvied him away. "In my inn. Whatever next?"

This is the life ...

Iolaus stretched out his legs, sank a little lower into the sweetly perfumed bath water, and heaved a contented sigh. The heat and the steam were soaking the chill out of his bones - and the supple fingers which were busy massaging their way across his shoulders and neck were working subtle miracles all of their own. "Ahhh," he breathed, rolling his head to one side so that attentive hands could reach just the right spot. "That feels good. You wanna take it a little lower?"

"Sure." The woman’s voice was soft and sensual; a voice laced with promise and just a hint of laughter. Her dark fingers slid down the line of his throat and dipped briefly below the waterline, returning to trail lines of moisture up over his shoulders and then down between his shoulder blades. "Down here?"

She pressed in, applying determined pressure to his spine and he arched under the contact, squirming against a sudden shiver that held just a little pain - and a whole lot of something else. "Ah! Hey ..."

"Easy..." she murmured, her lips hovering at his left ear. "Just relax, okay? I know you only paid for the bath. This is - a little extra on the house. Been a while since I had a warrior’s muscles under my thumbs. Most of my clients - well," she laughed, "let’s just say - ah - profitable merchants don’t think much of exercise, tax collectors aren’t much more than bone, and hardworking farmers ... they work too hard. How’s that?"

"Ohhhhh ..." That was better. Much better. "Where did a girl like you pick that little trick up?"

"I wasn’t always a girl like me," she answered knowingly. "There." She gave him a friendly pat on the cheek and rose gracefully to her feet. He watched as she shimmied around the curve of the half sunken bath, admiring the way she moved; an animal slink beneath the soft drape of blue silk that cascaded over her shoulders and down past her hips. It covered everything it should - and yet left very little to the imagination. "I’d better get the towels. You can’t hog the bath all night." She paused, halfway across the room and looked back with a tantalising smile. "Unless you want to pay to do just that, of course ..."

It was tempting. It was very tempting. But the hollow space in his stomach - combined with an acute awareness of just how little coin remained in his money pouch - reminded him that he had dinner waiting. And he hadn’t seen the rest of the delights this place had to offer yet. "Thanks," he smiled. "But no thanks."

"Your loss," she shrugged, not in the least put out by the rejection. She pulled a towel off the pile beside the huge copper boiler which dominated the back of the bath house and began to sort through the jars and vials stacked on the shelves beside it. "Sandalwood or Cedar?"

"Mmm? Oh - ah - sandalwood I guess." The choice was reassuring. The last time he’d done something like this he’d come out smelling of jasmine - and Hercules had teased him about it for days. Thinking of his partner lifted a wry grin to his features. He’d undoubtedly have found a place for the night - and probably a very nice place too, all homespun practicality, family values and homebrewed ale - but he just didn’t know what he was missing.

The grin got a little wider. The trouble was Hercules probably thought he did know - and would be feeling pretty righteous about it right now. Which just showed how wrong he could be sometimes ...

Iolaus laughed and slid back to immerse himself completely in the luxuriant warmth of the bath, reaching a hand to sluice the dankness of three filthy days on the trail out of his hair. He re-emerged with a gasp, shaking his unruly mane and eliciting a squeal of laughter from his attendant, who’d been close enough to be caught by the resulting sprinkle of droplets.

"Hey," she protested. "If I wanted a free shower I’d go for a walk outside."

"No, you wouldn’t," he giggled in return. "Believe me - I’ve been out there."

"Yeah," she acknowledged, her eyes flicking to where he’d left his gear. "I noticed. You want me to put that stuff somewhere it can dry and air? The House can lend you a robe for the evening."

He thought about it. The idea of crawling back into damp leathers was not an appealing one. "Sure. Why not? I wasn’t planning to go anywhere before morning."

"That right?" Her dark eyes sparkled with sudden speculation. "Then you’ll be looking for a bed for the night ..."

The invitation was unmistakable, but he knew better than to leap for the first offer on the table. That look might be genuine attraction - or it could just be a mercenary gleam summoned at the thought of easy cash. Despite what his best friend undoubtedly thought, he preferred his bed partners to return a nights desire with an appetite equal to his own - even if the arrangement was merely a temporary one. He liked to get to know them a little - and if they didn’t want to do the same, he wasn’t really going to be that interested. Which meant it wouldn’t be that much fun, either.

"Maybe," he extemporised, not wanting to reject her out of hand. He rolled over and hoiked himself up, resting his elbows on the each of the bath so that he could get a better look at her. She was worth looking at. "So - whatda they call you around here?"

"Around here?" She threw him a surprised glance, acknowledging the way he’d phrased the question with a nod of amused approval. Even then she hesitated. Names made it personal; even nicknames. "Sapphire." She held his eyes for a beat and then asked, a slight note of challenge in her voice: "How about you?"

He grinned. "I’m Iolaus," he announced, letting the grin widen a little as he added; "Maybe you’ve heard of me ..."

Sapphire shrugged and shook her head. "Name doesn’t ring a bell," she said. "Should it?"

Should it?

He often wondered that, watching the way people reacted to his partner’s name. He wasn’t in the hero business for glory and adulation, but sometimes - just sometimes - it would be nice to find his reputation had proceeded him.

Herc, Jason, Xena - they’re the ones who’ll become legends. Feature in books and get immortalised in song and story . Me? I’ll be lucky to get a footnote somewhere ...

"Doesn’t matter," he decided philosophically. The gods knew his name - and that was a double edged gift no matter which way you looked at it. "I’ve been around, that’s all."

She laughed softly, lifting her hand to dangle the towel just a little out of decent reach. If he wanted it, he was going to have to stand up to get it. "That so?" she teased. "Oh good. I like a man with experience ..."

Now, what could be better than this?

Hercules draped the rough linen towel around his shoulders and strode across to the window, opening the shutters to let in a little air, and taking a look at the world outside. It was still raining, although the heavy downpour had eased into a damp persistence that was probably now set in until morning. Nathan’s inn was the tallest building in the town square, and the room he’d assigned his latest guest lay high up among the eaves; the window looked out across practically the whole of Iphrus - and included a view of the other three story house on the hill at the end of town. Dusk lay heavy behind the clouds and beneath them both the town lay draped in a cloak of miserable gloom. The House of Elysium looked to be no exception to that, although Hercules knew only too well that looks can be deceptive.

He sighed, shook his head, and closed the shutters, banishing both the view and the misery of the day from sight and mind alike. In contrast to the pervading misery of the outside world, his room was bright, cheery and decidedly welcoming. The whitewashed walls threw back the flicker of candlelight . There was a quilted cotton counterpane laid neatly over the bed - which boasted a firm, straw stuffed mattress. No fire - but that only because the room butted up against the inn’s main chimney, so that the tiny room with filled with pleasant warmth without the need for further heat. There was a blanket chest at the end of the bed and a night stand complete with a polished bronze mirror. Quite a luxury in a place like this.

The boy Clellus - actually a young man close to sixteen - had brought up his father’s shirt as promised, along with a steaming bowl of hot water and the towel. He’d stood and shuffled his feet for a couple of minutes before Hercules had taken pity on his embarrassment and dismissed him with a friendly smile. There really wasn’t anything else he wanted - unless it was a good warm helping of the beef stew that he could smell cooking over the common room fire. He’d stripped off once the boy had left, kicking out of sodden boots and peeling his way out of his shirt. The weather really had been atrocious for the past three days; certainly not fit for man or beast to travel in. Heroes don’t have the luxury of choice. They were hoping to be in Mysia before the Winter Festival there; rumor was a couple of warlords hoped to take advantage of the gathering, especially since it was the year the province would host a ceremony to re-dedicate the Temple of Zeus which dominated the town. Such an event would bring in liberal offerings and tempting prospects for plunder. Hercules wasn’t particularly bothered about protecting his Father’s temple from desecration, but it wouldn’t just be the goods and treasures attracting the warlords’ eyes; a number of young men and women would form part of the dedication ceremony, representing the best of their villages and towns. The prospect of valuable slaves and new recruits would bring the greedy like flies - and it had drawn two of the finest heroes in Greece, determined not to let the bad guys get away with it.

If they’ve got any sense, those warlords are holed up somewhere, waiting for the weather to clear ...

Armies - especially mercenary ones - do not march well in the pouring rain. Heroes fare a little better, but Hercules couldn’t really blame his partner for wanting to stop at the first place they’d stumbled on. Their journey so far had been a miserable one; they had at least another four days travel ahead of them, and little prospect of the weather improving either. Even so ...

He sighed, dipping his hands into the steaming water so that he could scrub some of the grime from his face. There were days when Iolaus’ stubborn streak got the better of him - and days when his perception of moral decency became decidedly fuzzy round the edges. Put the two together, and you ended up with a trail weary, hungry hunter spending the night in a rowdy - and probably squalid - brothel when he could have been comfortably ensconced in the room next door.

As if he’ll ever learn ...

Hercules laughed softly to himself, wiped his hands on the towel and then used it to rub the worst of the moisture out of his hair. That done he shrugged into the clean linen shirt Clellus had left on the bed, tucked his boots in against the chimney breast, spread his damp shirt out on the night stand to dry and headed down stairs with a light heart and an eager appetite. Fresh sheets, a warm room, and a little peace and quiet for the night? What else could a man want?

Music - good music - was always a welcome addition over dinner. The musicians at the House of Elysium were excellent, providing a suitably sensual background for the floor show, which was in full swing as Iolaus settled himself down amongst the quilted cushions and waited for service to arrive. The public room was a spacious hall which took up the centre of the first two floors in the building. There was a dining and drinking area on one side, a set of gaming tables on the other, and a clear space in the middle. A sweeping staircase led up to a balcony area which ran round all four sides of the room; a number of doors led off the balcony and a second staircase snaked up in one corner, leading to the upper floors. The room was lit by four huge candle bearing chandeliers, which hung at roughly the same level as the balcony - presumably to limit the risk of fire - and warmth was provided by a similarly huge fireplace which dominated the wall behind the dining tables.

Low dining tables. Iolaus was sitting - very comfortably - on the floor, which had turned out to have a hypercaust laid beneath it. Most of the patrons on his side of the room were seated, or sprawled, Roman style on feather filled cushions, although the hunter had taken one look at the low built tables, grinned, and folded himself into the half lotus position that had practically been the first thing his eastern master had taught him. He could probably stay like that for hours - especially on a heated, tiled floor - although he had no intention of doing so. It was just the most comfortable way to sit when you were facing the prospect of food served at such a low level.

Thinking of his ancient teacher brought a smile to his face. The old man would have liked this place, although he’d have been busy claiming that the dancers were far too wasteful of their own energies. He’d certainly have approved of the house tastes in clothing; Sapphire had found the hunter a pair of loose cord-tied black silk pants and a voluminous over robe made of the same dark fabric. The outfit was the sort he’d got used to wearing during his days in the east; light weight and comfortable. Nothing chafed, nothing inhibited movement and the silk had felt wonderful sliding against damp bare skin.

He took another thoughtful look around, assessing what the architecture contained. The House was clean, well kept and definitely living up to its promise. It seemed to be a fairly quiet evening, which wasn’t surprising, given the weather. There were about a dozen men clustered around the gaming tables, some gambling with dice, others with cards; two or three were lounging at the edge of the dance floor and there were six - no, seven - sprawled among the cushions. The rest of the figures decorating the room and the balcony were women - and he spotted at least three who were probably patrons rather than employees.

Well, well ...

Iolaus grinned, not in the least bit embarrassed to discover that the couple intimately entwined some three feet away from where he sat were both female. Clearly the House catered to a wide range of tastes and pleasures. A safe haven indeed. His estimation of Helena went up another notch

A scarlet clad serving girl shimmied in his direction, her bare feet picking their way through the tumble of cushions with delicate care. Tiny bells jingled at her ankles as she approached, although the sound of them was practically lost among the tumble of notes and drumbeats that dominated the room. Iolaus watched her progress out of the corner of his eye, his attention distracted by the vigor of the floorshow. There were three dancers performing in the centre of the room; a matching set by the look of them, each with long nubile limbs and a cascade of honey blonde hair which tumbled freely around their shoulders as they dipped and undulated across the floor. Their costumes - like Sapphire's - left very little to the imagination, although they were artfully draped and fastened to reveal little more than tantalising glimpses of what lay beneath.

"Enjoying the show?" Helena’s sultry voice questioned, barely inches from his ear. His head whipped round in surprise; she was standing right behind him, although he’d not seen her arrive there.

"Ah - yeah," he admitted, breaking into a warm grin and relaxing again. "You know - it’s a nice place you got here."

"We think so." She reached out a hand to catch the arm of the serving girl. "Just leave the jug Poppy and fetch the man a plate of pork. He’s hungry."

Poppy glanced down at the hunter, smiled a little shyly and deposited the goblet and jug she’d been carrying within easy reach of his hand. He thanked her with a smile of his own and she coloured prettily, hastening away to do as she was bid. She was wearing bells around her wrists as well, Iolaus noted, wondering if that was a fashion around the House or some kind of status mark. Sapphire hadn’t worn bells. Just the stones that matched her name.

"Now how did you know I was hungry?" he wondered half in tease, reaching for the jug and filling the goblet with a splash of rich dark ale. Helena laughed.

"Men are always hungry," she considered with amusement. "For one thing or another. But those who’ve been walking all day in such appalling weather need a little meat in their bellies. Warms them up - restores their strength. Was the bath - to your satisfaction?"

"Absolutely." Iolaus sipped warily at his drink, and then tipped the goblet up to take a decent swallow. The ale was good, with a sweet bite that lingered in the throat. The woman laughed, both at his tentative taste and the expression which followed it.

"Nothing but the best in Elysium," she murmered, reaching a hand to test the dampness in his curls. "I was right. You cleaned up ... very nicely. Enjoy your meal - and everything else," she added, winking at him as she slunk away. He giggled into his goblet, knowing exactly what she meant. This was going to be an interesting evening.

Herc - you really don’t know what you’re missing here...

"More stew?" Nathan reappeared the minute he’d emptied his plate, hovering with hospitable expectation. Hercules looked up and nodded gratefully. The stew was excellent, even if the aftertaste the ale left behind was a little bitter. He hadn’t known how hungry he was until he’d sat down to eat - this was his third helping and he still had appetite to spare.

His host didn’t seem to mind - he re-filled the plate with a generous portion of the hot, beef and onion stew, and added another slice of the dark chewy rye bread to help soak up the gravy. This was extra generosity; Hercules had heard him tell another customer - very firmly - that the price of the stew covered only one slice of bread and if he wanted more he’d have to pay for it. There were several patrons who’d purchased a meal and the snug room, with its many nooks and alcoves, was filled with the sounds of people eating - some of them doing it very noisily.

Among them was a small group of well dressed, affluent looking men seated at a table close to the fire; they were sharing a communal bowl of stew - slice of bread apiece - and currently looking daggers at the man who’d given up on bread, spoon and fingers and was busy guzzling gravy straight off his uplifted plate. He wasn’t bothering Hercules - who’d seen his own partner eat with a lot more gusto and far fewer table manners on more than occasion - but the well-to-do of Iphrus were noticeably disgusted by the man’s hunger. One of them - a portly, grey haired man with several chins and a jaded air - snagged Nathan’s arm as he passed and nodded in the offending customer’s direction. The innkeeper glanced at the problem, heaved a little sigh and went to have a quiet word with the man concerned.

Hercules felt a little uncomfortable for both of them; the man had paid for his meal, he wasn’t annoying anybody else, and the innkeeper clearly wasn’t happy about having to remind him of his manners. For all that, someone had complained, and that meant Nathan had to do something about it.

I guess they have a right to eat in peace ...

He couldn’t hear what innkeeper said, although it provoked an indignant reaction. The raggedly clad farmer made a big show of wiping the crust of his bread around his - by now - mostly empty plate, stuffed the result in his mouth, glared pointedly at the offended group and left, jamming a wide brimmed leather hat onto his head as he did so.

"Aye," he called back over his shoulder, "evict decent men - taxpayers - if you must, Magistrate. But don’t expect me to change my manners just for the likes of you. I earned the dinar that paid for my stew - which is more than you ever did. And where’s your good for nothing son, eh? Up to no good, that’s for certain."

He slammed the door on his way out, which earned Nathan a number of sympathetic looks from his assembled customers. None from the Magistrate’s table though; the men there were all glaring indignantly at the door instead. Hercules heaved a small sigh and went back to his stew; he tried to avoid local politics as a rule and this had the distinct air of being more trouble than he wanted to discover right there and then.

"Sorry about that," the innkeeper murmered, pausing by his guest’s table to replace the now empty ale jug with a full one. "Lucius’ is a good sort but he speaks his mind. Can’t say I blame him," he added, glancing towards the Magistrate and his company. "Some of us prefer to wait until the election. Something tells me that Perelion and his cronies won’t be running this town for long after that." He paused, a frown creasing his weathered features. "If we could just find someone to put themselves up against him ..."

"How ‘bout you?" Hercules suggested, pleased to hear that the people of Iphrus were tackling their problems the legal way. Nathan shook his head, offering a wry smile in response.

"I wish. But I don’t qualify. I wasn’t born here, and I haven’t owned property in the region for long enough to meet the other criteria. In another year, maybe ..." He sighed, then dismissed his mood with a short laugh. "Don’t worry yourself about it. It’s our business, not yours. Now - if we had problems with warlords, or a monster or two in the vicinity ..."

Hercules echoed the man’s laugh, deciding that he liked the burly innkeeper. He liked his attitude even more. The laws of Greece had been made for men like him - by men like him. Knowing that such people existed made a hero’s labours worth all the effort they demanded. "I’m glad you don’t," he grinned, using the last chunk of his bread to mop up the last drop of his gravy. "I don’t get an evening off very often."

Nathan chuckled, putting out his hand for the now empty plate. "Well, you can enjoy this one," he assured him. "We don’t get a lot of trouble around here. We’re a quiet kind of town. And we’d like it to stay that way."