The armies of Tantellus were on the move.

Gloriously.

Flags and standards waved in the wind, and trumpets sounded with martial resonance as they marched out of their city in brave array, armour polished to a high gleam, and leather shining in the spring sunshine. The people of city flocked to see them go, standing on the walls and city terraces and cheering the spectacle with enthusiasm. Their king was at the head of the parade, his war horse stepping out with proud defiance; behind him rode his four generals, all decked out in princely finery. The cavalry came next, the coats of their horses brushed to shining perfection, their spear points sharp and their backs held ramrod proud. After them marched the infantry, each rank five men deep, their helmets and breastplates polished like mirrors.

And after them came the supply wagons, sturdy oxen straining to move the weight while uniformed drivers encouraged them onward.

It was - as the queen was heard to observe to the elderly man beside her - a wonderful sight.

"After all," she decided, waving a silken scarf as she caught sight of her husband looking back up at his city, "it’s not as though they’re going very far away."

She was a young woman; her dress was fashioned from a swirl of sky blue silk, her cloak was a drape of matching velvet and her dark hair was caught back by a delicate diadem in which there sat a shimmering blue jewel.

"No," the old man smiled, nodding to a nearby liveried retainer as the last of the wagons cleared the impressive gateway. "And the manoeuvres are important, your majesty. These are uncertain times. We must be able to defend ourselves should a threat arise." He was clad in a gleam of armour, and the cloak that tumbled from his shoulders was a dark red edged with purple trim. A golden helmet rested in the crook of his left arm - one with a full face plate and a magnificent horse hair plume.

The elderly retainer had understood the message and limped away to pass on the command; within a few moments the handful of men that remained in the gatehouse began to crank shut the heavy doors that guarded the city.

"I know." The queen craned a little to catch that last glimpse of her young king as he led his troops down the winding road towards the woodland that lay below. "I just wish he hadn’t decided to take everybody. The city will seem so empty."

The old man laughed. "You still rule the old men, the women and all the babes in arms, your majesty. Mithias has great faith in your ability to look after them while the warriors are away."

She laughed lightly. "Mithias would name me queen of heaven if he had half a chance, Lysander. I rely on you not to flatter me so much ... Still," she smiled, "it's not as if anything’s going to happen while he’s gone."

Lysander echoed the smile, holding out his unencumbered arm in an offer of gentlemanly escort. She accepted it graciously. "Of course not," he agreed warmly, leading the way along the walkway towards the arching bridge that led up to the next level of the city.

Once they had left a wary figure crept out from behind one of the ornate statues and along the top of the lower city wall. It was a woman; her head was covered with a drape and the sound of tiny bells could be heard jingling as she hurried forward. When she came to where the next statue loomed over the parapet she paused, glancing around in case she might be observed. Then she pulled a small mirror from under her drape and turned it towards the sun.

A single flash.

Two more.

Further along the mountainside, somebody began signalling back.

"So that was the king of Tantellus," Iolaus observed thoughtfully as he and his partner watched the last army wagon pass by. "Doesn’t believe in travelling light, does he?"

Hercules chuckled, brushing some of the dust from his arms as he stepped back out onto the road. They’d been walking since sun-up and they’d still been some distance from the city when the cavalcade had appeared on the road ahead. The king had ridden forward to politely ask if his troops could pass; the son of Zeus had consented with equal politeness while his partner had fought down an impulse to smirk at the exchange. Not because he thought the King was being exceptionally condescending - which he was, albeit unintentionally - but because he’d quickly realised that his majesty had had no idea who the mild mannered warrior was who’d accidentally barred his path. Mithias probably thought he was simply being courteous to a common traveller by suggesting he might have the right of way; Iolaus knew perfectly well that had Hercules had cause to hold back the troop he would have been able to do so easily.

Well, he’d grinned to himself, watching the young king trying to be noble and only succeeding in looking vaguely ridiculous, with a little help from me, of course ...

Once they’d stepped off the road to let the army pass, they’d had to wait and watch it march by. "Spring manoeuvres, I guess" Hercules remarked, watching the last wagon creak away down the steep slope of the hill. "You know, from what he said, he’s practically emptied the city ..."

"Oh good," Iolaus reacted, jumping down from the tree where he’d sought a comfortable observation post. "That means there will be room in a decent inn - and - uh," he grinned, catching up with his partner and falling into step beside him as he resumed his climb up the hill, "just think of all those poor defenceless women, abandoned by their men folk for the glamour of army life ..."

"Iolaus," Hercules interrupted with a reproachful laugh. "Don’t you ever learn?"

The compact warrior merely grinned a little wider, his expression utterly unrepentant. "You’d think I would, wouldn’t you?" he observed with amusement, his voice deliberately innocent and his eyes twinkling with mischief. "But then," he added with a shrug, "I wouldn’t have so much fun."

Hercules shook his head in quiet disbelief, losing his battle to fight down a grin of his own. "Come on," he said, striding forward with long legged confidence. Iolaus laughed and ran after him, taking his usual pace and a bit to every one of the half-god’s measured steps. It was a good day; the sun was shining, the air was sweet, and they were going somewhere they’d never been before - all good reasons to be in a buoyant mood. Some days there was nothing more enticing in life than simply finding out what lay around the next corner of the road ...

Which, in this case, happened to be utterly breathtaking.

They’d been catching site of the ancient ridge which supported the city all morning; a weathered mountainside that dominated the rolling landscape through which they travelled. The road had led them through thick forest and up an ever steepening slope, so it had been hard to glimpse more than a hint of what awaited them at their destination. Now they emerged from the woods to find themselves looking up at a remarkable and quite unexpected sight; the city of Tantellus didn’t stand on the mountainside as might be expected.

It had been built into it.

Wow, Iolaus reacted staring up at the curve of the city walls and the high stepped terraces that rose above them. He’d always thought Mycenae to be impressive, with its Titan built walls and its carved lion gate - but where Agamemnon’s city was a solid fortress stamped into the landscape, this was an ornate construction carved from the rock in a series of tiered layers, each one supporting a complex interlinking of archaic architecture and crowned by an equally impressive wall. The intricate carvings went up and up - until a single tower emerged above the upper lip of the ridge like a sword blade thrust defiantly towards the gods.

"Now that," Hercules observed with feeling, "is a remarkable piece of work."

"Yeah," Iolaus agreed. "How would anyone build a city like that?" He paused and threw a questioning look at his partner. "Why would anyone build a city like that?"

The son of Zeus shrugged. "Beats me," he said. "Let's go take a closer look."

The road that led to the city covered at least three times the distance between the edge of the forest and the outer city wall. It zigzagged back and forth across the mountain slope, taking the arriving travellers on a gentle journey that afforded them a good look at the ancient construction and the land that surrounded it. First impressions can be deceiving; Tantellus was a fantastic piece of architecture, but the mortal - or immortal - hand that had designed it had long since abandoned the city. The road, which had probably once been paved with matching stones butted so tight that the surface would have been completely smooth, was now rutted with cart tracks and worn by long years of traffic. Weeds and moss poked up through cracks, and many of the carved curbstones had been pried loose to be used in the terraced fields that lay on either side of the ancient road.

As they grew closer it was easy to see that the city, like the road, was far more weathered than it had looked at a distance. There were cracks in the outer wall, and carvings that might have once proclaimed great glories were now blurred and un-interpretable images that paraded around its high façade. The place had a well worn, weary air to it, what was once a bold and striking presence had long since been mellowed back into the rock walls by the passage of time.

Hercules paused at the last turn of the road to look up at the city with an intrigued eye, a consideration Iolaus echoed - once he’d caught up, of course. The place really had been carved from the solid rock; it was hard to say where the mountain ended and construction began. The natural ridge curved away on either side, suggesting that it might once have been the lip of some long dead volcano; it formed a perfect defence for a city that looked as if it would be very difficult to take by force of arms.

But anyone could see why King Mithias might have to take his army away to practice their manoeuvres. The streets within those high walls were bound to be both narrow and steep - and most of them were probably steps and slopes rather than level ground.

"Phew," the hunter panted, snatching the opportunity to regain a little of his breath. "Remind me why we came this way again?"

Hercules grinned. "Because Salmoneous suggested it might be worth a visit - and you wanted a hot bath. Remember?"

"Oh." His partner adopted a rueful look. "Yeah. That’s right."

It had been some three days back that they’d turned off the main road and made their way through the narrow pass that divided the lower regions of rural Laconia from its mountainous hinterland. Sparta had been beckoning, but they’d been in no hurry to reach it, and somewhere along the trail Hercules had recalled something their friend Salmoneous had mentioned about an unusual city he’d stumbled on while travelling in the region. Iolaus hadn’t been too sure about visiting a place simply on Salmoneous’ recommendation, but the recommendation itself had been irresistible.

He said it was like a spa, Hercules had recalled. Hot springs and running water everywhere. They worship Hephaestus apparently. And make jewellery - or something like that.

The jewellery would have been what caught the eye of the ever opportunistic salesman of course. That held no specific appeal, although the hunter had never been adverse to acquiring a few trinkets with which he might charm a smile or two. The fact that the city’s inhabitants held Hephaestus in high regard was encouraging though; he happened to be one of the few gods that Iolaus actually held in respect. And the lure of a spa ...

Cold water - the stuff found in rivers and lakes in particular - was just a way to stay clean, a necessity happily welcomed in high summer, grudgingly enjoyed during spring and autumn and endured with gritted teeth whenever winter bit down with jaws of ice. But hot water was another matter entirely. It was a luxury Iolaus had discovered at an early age and had never tired of over the years. Hot water with company was even better - and while the real pleasures that sprang to mind were not ones he’d really consider sharing with his best friend - the chance to simply sit and soak while the two of them kicked back and relaxed was still decidedly appealing.

And then there was always the chance, however small, that in a city of jewellers he might find something special enough to drop on one of Artemis’ altars when the next full moon came round ...

"So what are we standing here for?" he asked, and turned to lope up the rest of the slope with an eager step. Hercules chuckled warmly and followed him.

The road led up to a plaza, a flat paved area a good hundred feet wide that fronted the city gates. Time polished walls marked its boundaries on either side, curving down and round from the main construction so as to cradle the space with protective stone arms. Carved gargolyes with weather smoothed wings and gaping beaked mouths perched along a line of pillars at the back of the plaza. Above them rose the outer ramparts of the city itself; one long sweep of stone that flowed out of the mountainside and back into it again, the battlements a good thirty feet overhead. Iolaus paused at the edge of the paving to look up - and looked up, taking a reflex step backwards as the action conveyed the distinct impression that the entire city was falling straight towards him.

"Whoa!" he exclaimed, looking down again quickly and shaking his head to banish the uncomfortable sensation. "Bad idea." Hercules gave him a puzzled look and took his own curious glance upwards; he held the pose for a deliberated moment, then looked down again, his features creasing into a thoughtful frown.

"It’s not - that intimidating," he decided, lifting his eyes for a second look. Iolaus threw him a pained glare.

Sometimes ...

It was a brief flare of irritation, swiftly forgiven and just as quickly forgotten; the hunter had long ago resigned himself to the fact that his best friend was also half god and as such blessed, or cursed depending on how you looked at it, with gifts and perceptions that marked him out from the everyday average man. In some ways there something decidedly flattering in the fact that, most of the time, Hercules tended to forget that his mortal partner was not as equally gifted. When he did have cause to recall the fact - like now for instance - he never apologised for the oversight, but simply accepted it, often using the rediscovered difference as the basis for a good natured tease.

Which could be a little annoying but, since it was never meant as anything but fun and actually demonstrated the depth of the man’s confidence in their friendship, Iolaus inevitably accepted it in the spirit in which it was intended.

"When you’ve quite finished admiring the view .." he suggested, earning himself a warmly amused smile. He swept his hand towards the waiting gates. "Shall we?"

"After you," his partner grinned, reciprocating the gesture with equal chivalry.

They crossed the plaza at a casual stroll, giving both of them time to admire the entrance to the city. It was marked by another of the ornate statues, this one crouched in determined splendour in front of the high arched gateway. This was another solid statement of the unknown architects art; it stood at least twice Hercules’ height and was unmistakably ugly. So ugly in fact that Iolaus was somewhat relieved to find it really was just carved stone and not some misshapen and mislaid child of Echnida’s sat waiting to challenge them. It had been given three heads which stared out across the plaza with deep empty sockets where eyes ought to have been, and each open mouth was a gaping hollow where a scuttle of spiders had obviously made their home. It was memory rather than a sense of danger which dropped the hunter’s hand to the ivory hilt of the knife that sat tucked into his belt; the brief flicker of small scurrying bodies with too many legs sparked inevitable recollections of recent events and sent a small shiver down his spine.

Some twenty feet behind the statue were the main city gates. They were set back into the wall, with a stone accessway sloping up to meet them and the rock cut into a high arch overhead. The arch was a good fifteen feet wide on the outer side of the barrier - a suitably imposing entrance for such a large city - and it was at least twenty feet high; there were channeled grooves cut into its ceiling so that the huge gates could swing open, although what might have been a matching set on the floor of the accessway had been worn into little more than smooth dips by generations of passing feet. The gates - or rather doors, since they were solid from floor to ceiling - had been constructed from layers of well seasoned timber and then clad with what looked like sheets of metal; the dull grey surfaces appeared to have been riveted into the supporting wood with fist sized studs. The whole effect was somewhat forbidding. They did not look like the gates of a city that welcomed strangers.

They were also shut.

Tightly shut, their edges butted up so close that not even a hint of light escaped between them; the space under the arch had a gloomy cast to it where the arching stone overshadowed the day.

"They - ah - don’t look like they’re open for business," Iolaus observed. Hercules frowned.

"King Mithias said we’d be welcome. It’s probably just a precaution - we did just see his entire army march out away from here ..."

"Yeah", the hunter agreed a little doubtfully. "Never thought we looked that dangerous ... So, do we knock?"

"No need," Hercules decided, gesturing towards a thick rope that dangled down the inside wall of the archway. "There’s a bell."

Iolaus half opened his mouth to react to that - then closed it again, contenting himself with a wry grin and an amused shake of his head.

Trust Herc to spot something like that ...

The son of Zeus strode across and gave the oiled rope a gentle tug. Sure enough the sound of a bell clanged faintly from somewhere within the walls. Hercules grinned. Easy, his expression said; the look he threw his partner was more than a little smug.

Iolaus wasn’t as convinced. He tucked his thumbs in his belt, turned to face the gates and cocked his head slightly to one side, waiting to see - or hear - what happened next. Silence descended under the arch: a long silence, in which the smug expression on one hero’s face faded into wary puzzlement and the expectant I’m waiting on the face of the other became a knowing I’m still waiting instead. Eventually Hercules sighed.

"Maybe I - " he started to say, reaching for the rope a second time. Iolaus shot up one hand to stop him, tutting him into silence. He’d heard what his partner clearly hadn’t: the faintest of sounds from behind the massive gates. "What?" Hercules queried. "You hear something?"

"Uhuh," his partner waved back at him impatiently, tilting his head a little further to better identify the source of those whispered noises. Dragging footsteps - a muttering voice ...

There was a sudden loud bang that echoed around the archway and the hunter jumped back in alarm, startled out of his focused reverie by the explosion of sound. A metal shutter had been jerked open in the upper half of one gate, and a wizened face appeared in the opening, squinting down at the visitors with impatience.

"What? What?" a quavery voice demanded testily. "Who’s there?"

Iolaus straightened up from his reactive stance, took a few quick breaths to calm the sudden pounding of his heart and tried not to look in his friend’s direction. His sense of brief embarrassment was not entirely mollified by the friendly slap Hercules laid on his shoulder, but he rolled his eyes and succumbed to the inevitable grin anyway.

Some days, Iolaus.

There were sometimes days when, no matter what he did, the Fates conspired against him. He suspected that this was going to be one of them. It was developing all the signs ...

"Hi," Hercules was calling up, addressing the old man who’d appeared above them like a Jack-in-the-box. "Are you the gatekeeper?"

"Do I look like a chorus girl?" the old man snapped. "Of course I’m the gatekeeper. I answered the bell didn’t I? Who in Tarterus are you - and whaddya want?"

There was the inevitable hesitation as Hercules considered the wisdom of making his presence public; Iolaus leapt into the gap with accustomed ease. He never quite understood his friend’s reluctance to utilise his reputation - and was always more than happy to do it for him. Although one of these days it might be nice if it were his name that opened the doors and threw the feasts ...

"Well, uh - this is Hercules," he announced, raising his voice a little so that the old man might hear it. "My name is Iolaus and - ah - we’re here for the baths?"

"The bars?" the gatekeeper echoed irritably. "You wanna get drunk, go take your business elsewhere. This is a quiet city. The King took away all you louts." A wrinkled hand waved through the opening to shoo the two of them away. "If you run you might catch up with him."

"Not the bars," Iolaus corrected patiently. "The baths. We’re here to take the waters."

"Our daughters?" The old man’s voice rose in pitch and his face became florid. "Now see here, young man ..."

"Ah - " Hercules stepped forward, raising one hand to catch the indignant gatekeeper’s attention. "Excuse me? I - uh - think you misheard my friend."

Like - duh, Iolaus reacted, rolling his eyes. The son of Zeus ignored him.

"We’ve come to visit your city." He spoke carefully, not exactly raising his voice but enunciating each word as clearly as he could. "We met King Mithias on the road and he said we’d be welcome here. May we come in?"

"Come in?" The old man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What did you say your name was?"

"Hercules," Iolaus repeated as patiently as he could muster in the circumstance. "He’s Hercules. And I’m Iolaus," he added, making it a resigned, throwaway, he’s not going to hear it and won’t remember it if he does kind of remark. Hercules threw him a look of understanding sympathy.

"Well," the gatekeeper hesitated, "I don’t know ... The city’s supposed to be closed while the King’s away. Manoeuvres you know? Down on the plain by the river. Lovely place this time of year. Flowers everywhere ..." He heaved an old man’s sigh, the kind that held weary acceptance of times long gone. "There are only two of you. I don’t suppose you’ll do any harm ... Wait there." And he vanished as rapidly as he’d appeared, the metal shutter slamming back into place with a decided clang.

"Sure," Hercules reacted, a little bemusedly. "We’re not - going anywhere." Are we? his expression asked and Iolaus grinned.

"I don’t think," the hunter considered thoughtfully, "that that old man is going to be able to open this gate. Not all by himself." He glanced up at the roof of the arch and studied the grooves that marked it with a deliberately attentive eye. "Six man job. Easily," he decided. He let the thought linger for a moment, then added: "Or - one - if you happen to be the son of Zeus ..."

Hercules gave him a look.

"I am not about to tear down the city gates just so that you can have a bath," he announced with certainty. Iolaus tried to sound disappointed.

"Spoilsport."

"Well, I’m not. I’m - I’m just not, okay? You’re not that dirty - yet," he added pointedly. Iolaus pantomimed a mock wince.

"Hey," he protested. "You’ve been on the trail as long as I have. And you’re bigger, so you sweat more. There’s more of you to attract dirt. Not that you do," he frowned, sidetracked enough by the thought to consider it more closely. "How do you do that?"

"Clean living," Hercules replied deadpan. For one moment Iolaus actually thought he was being serious ...

There’s just no answer to that, he decided.

Fortunately he didn’t have to find one; the faint echo of shuffling footsteps behind the door had finally descended to ground level and the pause in their conversation was filled by the soft metallic grinding of a bolt being drawn back.

Then another.

And another.

And yet another ...

The gates of Tarterus aren’t that well guarded, the hunter reacted, sharing a look of mild disbelief with his partner. There were sixteen bolts in all - all clearly drawn back with a quavering hand, since it seemed to take forever. At the end of the laborious process there was a painful shriek of metal shifting against metal, and then one of the panels in the gate swung slowly outwards, revealing itself to be a hidden door. The old man stood in the opening, his sparse white hair clinging to his liver spotted skull; he was wearing an ancient battle tunic - which looked at least three sizes too big for him - over a dingy dark blue shirt, and there was a sword firmly belted at his waist, although the end of its scabbard was scraping at the ground.

"Well, come in if you’re coming," he barked, his exclamation ending with a decided wheeze. "I can’t stand here all day, you know."

Half god looked at hero: their eyes met, and the glance between them exchanged a number of unspoken and yet totally comprehensible messages. The conversation started half way between : Are we sure this is such a good idea? and Who’s idea was this again? and ended up with a mutual agreement of: Well, we’ve come this far, so we might as well ...

All in the space of a look, a raised eyebrow and a why not shrug from Iolaus. Hercules heaved a small sigh, let a quiet smile curl onto his face and - since he was nearest - stepped through the door. Actually, he ducked through the door; it was no more than five feet high and barely two foot wide. It took the son of Zeus a moment or two to manoeuvre his broad shoulders through the gap.

Iolaus took one last glance at the open spaces that lurked temptingly beyond the grotesque statue, grinned a little at the fact that - for once - he was going to have to duck too, and followed his partner into the city, stepping through the thickness of the gate and out again into the tunnel formed by the rest of the huge archway.

The first thing that struck him was the smell.

What the ...

It wasn’t outright rankness, but something in the air definitely carried a hint of the stables, a whisper of old boots worn too long, and the scent of stagnant water. The hunter’s nose wrinkled in puzzled reaction. It was only a taint, but whatever it was, it smelt bad. He wasn’t the only one who’d noticed it either; Hercules had a distinct what is that? look on his face.

"Eewuw," was the immediate and obvious comment. Half from mischief - and half just in case - Iolaus lifted his arm and sniffed at his armpit. "Not me," he decided, then - totally from mischief - he bounced the necessary half step and leant in to take a similar sniff in his partner’s direction. Hercules, as usual, smelt warm, musky and faintly of honey. "Not you." He leant back and repeated the courtesy for the old man’s benefit. He reeked with the strong odours of liniment and peppermint. "Not him, either," he concluded, ignoring the disapproving frown that creased his friend’s face. "What is that smell?"

The old man cackled.

"That’s Tantellus. The lower city, at least. It always smells like that down here. Has done since I was a boy. Before that too, I guess. Air’s fresher further up. Some folk," he confided, leaning forward as if sharing a great secret, "say it’s the restless spirits of the builders, trying to drive decent folk from their city. Me," he shrugged, straightening up again, "I think it’s the drains. But I’m only the gatekeeper. What would I know? Did you say your name was Pericles?"

"Uh - no," Iolaus denied, sharing a confused look with an equally confused son of Zeus. Drains?

"I could have sworn ..." the gatekeeper muttered, then shrugged. "Doesn’t matter." He looked puzzled for a moment longer then broke into a broad and knowing grin. "You’re here for the baths aren’t you! ‘Course you are. Everyone comes to Tantellus for the baths. Famous they are. Well," he corrected himself self consciously, "not as famous as the fountains. Or the street lights. Or the plumbing." His grin became a knowing leer. "Did you know we have plumbing? Oh yes, we do! Water on tap in every house, and no need to employ men to collect the night soil, if you know what I mean." And he winked, adding a delighted cackle as if he’d just said something extremely funny.

"Uh - no," Iolaus repeated, glancing at Hercules in the hope that he’d made more sense of this strange conversation. His partner was still looking puzzled - although it now carried a vaguely worried edge that the hunter didn't find at all encouraging. "Umm - if you don’t pay men to collect - well," he asked warily, "what do you do with it? Let it - " His nose wrinkled again as he contemplated a possible explanation for the ever present smell. " - pile up in the street?"

The old man reacted to that with yet another delighted cackle - and half choked on his own amusement. "Let it - ? Oh, that’s a good one. Oh, yeah. Of course we don’t," he declared, giving the hunter a decided you are kidding me look. "We wash it all away of course. The streets of Tantellus are the cleanest streets in the whole of Greece. So there.

"Now," he went on briskly, giving Iolaus a little push to get him moving, "Market’s on third, inns on four and baths are on five. Go up the main avenue, past the lion basins, turn through the lower tunnel, follow the stairs up to two and then repeat to get to three. The zigzag is the fastest way to reach four and then you have to climb the Diamond steps to get to five. If you reach the palace you’ve gone too far, okay? Off you go," he concluded, waving the two of them away with impatient hands. "I have work to do. Can’t stand around chatting all day."

He turned back to the gate, which he’d pulled shut after Iolaus had stepped through it, and began to painstakingly refasten each of the long bolts which secured it in place. Iolaus looked questioningly at his partner. Hercules shrugged.

"That way," he announced, pointing down the tunnel towards the shadowed plaza that lay at its end. A wide flight of shallow steps rose beyond it, although it was hard to see where they might lead since most of the plaza seemed to be occupied by an ornately carved fountain.

That’s probably meant to be Poseidon , Iolaus decided, eyeing the statuary as he followed his partner into the city. All those dolphins kinda give the game away ...

The whole plaza had an oceanic theme. Images of sea shells were cut into the capitals of stone seaweed wrapped pillars, and there was a faded mosaic depicting fish and a many armed octopus laid out around the fountain’s base. The place had an underwater feel to it too - probably the result of being overshadowed on all sides; the air was cool and slightly damp and, if it hadn’t had been for the lingering smell, would have been very pleasant indeed after the warmth of the spring sunshine. There were a small group of children playing on one side of the plaza and a pair of women busy gossiping over baskets of washing on the other. They were wearing practical, homespun clothing and were the motherly sort; well padded and reaching the end of their childbearing years. Both they and the children looked up as the pair of heroes strode into sight; the children stared and the women exchanged a wide eyed look of amused amazement.

They weren’t his type, and they were well past man catching - more probably man eating, Iolaus considered to himself - age, but the hunter was never one to be adverse to an appreciative glance from the opposite sex. He flashed them both a warm grin and they leant into each other, giggling at his bold acknowledgement of their admiration. Hercules, meanwhile, was smiling amicably at the children, who were smiling back, albeit a little shyly.

"Nice place," the son of Zeus observed. Iolaus, who’d caught sight of a far younger and prettier face watching them from behind a curtained doorway, had to agree.

"Yeah. Friendly, too." He smiled at the lurking maiden, who immediately coloured and vanished behind the safety of her curtain. Hercules laughed, draping a casual arm around his friend’s shoulders and steering him around the fountain and towards the steps.

"She’s probably married," he observed, a hint of laughter in his voice.

"Probably." Iolaus couldn’t help glancing backwards anyway.

"With - oh - half a dozen children already."

"Uhuh." The curtain had twitched and he knew she was still watching.

"Some of those may be hers."

"Sure." Third doorway along - got a turtle carved in the lintel ...

"And if one of those two isn’t her mother, the other one almost certainly is."

"Oh." The possibility penetrated; the two older women were wearing the kind of look you usually saw on a hungry wolf as it eyed up a flock of sheep. "You think so?" Iolaus had charmed many a pretty face during his life, but it became hard work when you had to include a protective mother - who usually thought of herself as a potential mother-in-law.

"Come on, Iolaus," Hercules chuckled, laughing at the look that had crossed his best friend’s face. "Let’s go find you a bath. Before you need throwing in a cold lake ..."

Less than a league away, much higher up on the mountain side and outside the city walls, the man who stood looking down on the distant shadowed streets was clearly in no mood to laugh. He was dressed in what some Grecian nobility considered ‘serious’ armour - an ornate and overly decorated outfit which would have amused a genuine Warlord no end - and his face was creased into a decidedly irritated frown.

"Are those catapults in position yet?" he demanded testily. The harassed looking man beside him grimaced unhappily behind his dark beard.

"Not - yet, Lord Petrayus."

"King," the nobleman corrected pointedly.

"My Lord?"

"You will address me as King Petrayus, Feldas. We have discussed this, haven’t we?"

The man named Feldas nodded hastily. "Yes, my Lord - I mean, your majesty. But -"

"Uhuh," Petrayus interrupted silencing the but with a lifted hand. "No buts. Positive thinking. We will make these things happen. Tantellus - and all her treasures - will be mine before the sun sets tomorrow. They are rightfully mine."

The toady was obviously on well trod ground here; he nodded an enthusiastic agreement."Of course - your majesty."

There was a moment of silence while Petrayus continued to stare down at the pattern of sunlight and shadow played across the city, then he sighed, turning to glare at his companion with pantomimed patience. "So?" he demanded expectantly. Feldas - who’d also been staring down, but with a very nervous expression - jumped.

"Oh. Ah. Yes. Catapults. Um - they’re ah - on their way. Really. It’s uh - not easy manoeuvring them in this territory, and ah - the engineers? They, um - wanted ah -" His voice trailed off as he registered the look he was getting. Petrayus was a tall man, his features were cut in lean and angular lines, and the curve of his crested helmet added to his intimidating impression of height. Pale eyes bored out from beneath the ornate raised visor, and the aide visibly shrank into himself under the impact of their displeasure. "I’ll - uh - see to it immediately, my - your majesty."

"Of course you will," his master drawled, dismissing him with a wave of his hand and returning to the contemplation of his goal. Feldas grimaced a mutter of resentful rebellion as he turned away; one hand gathered up the excess fabric of his robes and he began to carefully pick his way down the almost non-existent path that led away from their lofty perch. "And Feldas?"

"Yes, your majesty?"

"Assign another three archers to this overlook, will you? Don’t want anyone trying to escape to warn my diligent cousin, now do we?"

"No, your majesty." The reply ended on a small squeak as the speaker stood on a loose stone and had to hastily scrabble backwards before he completed his descent the fastest way possible. Petrayus laughed

"Watch your step," he advised dryly. "You’re not exactly a mountain goat. Just don’t dawdle. I want those engines in place by midday, understand?"

"Yes - your majesty." Feldas took a deep breath and restarted his downward climb. The man who would be king was left to turn back to his intended conquest with a satisfied smile.

"Oh, Mithais," he murmured. "You looked so brave and bold riding off the way you did. So certain that your precious kingdom was safe. You’re riding to your doom. And then who’ll defend your city when I come to call?"

"Now, this is the life," Iolaus declared, leisurely backstroking to the middle of the steaming, scented bath and flopping out into an indolent float, buoyed up by the warmth and the mineral content of the water. Hercules, who’d settled for sitting sprawled on the shallow steps so that his head and shoulders were out of the water but the rest of him was completely immersed, decided that - for once - he had no reason to argue with his friend’s conclusion. He reached out a lazy hand, snagged up one of the goblets of mulled spiced wine that the bath attendant had brought and took a long indulgent swallow.

"Mmmm," he sighed, carefully placing the goblet back on its tray and leaning back into the warmth of the water. He heard Iolaus giggle softly, a sound of simple unadulterated pleasure, and he smiled, closing his eyes and letting the scent and the steam work their subtle magic. The heat was penetrating trail weary muscle and soothing away aches and pains he hadn’t even realised he’d had. It had been a while since either of them had simply kicked back and relaxed like this, and it felt good. Almost too good somehow; a little skein of guilt began curling its way through the back of his mind and he made himself brush it away with determination.

Sometimes, he admitted to himself ruefully, I forget how important a little down time can be.

It wouldn’t last. It never did. But for a while, at least, he could lie back, forget he was the son of a god and the most famous hero in Greece, and just be plain Hercules ...

"Hey, Herc?" Iolaus called lazily, the sound of his voice echoing in the high vaulted chamber.

"Mmhuh?"

"Next time we see Salmoneous? Remind me to thank him, will ya?"

Hercules chuckled. That would be something to see ... "Sure."

"’Course," his friend continued thoughtfully, "it could be even better."

"Like how?"

"Ohh - like - a few handmaidens worthy of Aphrodite, tastefully draped along the poolside. A little soft music - and a little less jasmine oil ..."

The second chuckle was even warmer than the first. The matronly bath attendant - who’d been most apologetic that none of the usual male attendants were available - had rather liberally dosed the bath waters with the first jar of scented oil that had come to hand. She might have been a little distracted, of course; at that point neither of her new clients had been wearing much more than a towel.

Handmaidens worthy of Aphrodite ...

The attendant had not met that description , that much was sure. Hercules could see the attraction in the idea, but if Iolaus wanted that kind of party, he’d probably leave him too it; he much preferred this undemanding silence and its equally undemanding sense of solitude.

Well, he grinned to himself as his partner ducked under the water with a decided splash and sent waves rippling across the width of the pool, sense of simple comradeship, anyway ...

If he’d been travelling to Sparta on his own then that’s where he undoubtedly would have ended up, taking the direct route and arriving in search of whatever it was that had called him there; it would never have occurred to him to turn aside for a while, especially if it was just to seek a pleasant moment's respite from the labours to which he’d dedicated his life. But they hadn’t been heading for the warrior’s city for any specific reason, beyond a curiosity to find out what was drawing mercenaries from all over Greece, and Iolaus’ enthusiasm for new experiences was always hard to resist.

Of course, it was also one of the things that tended to land both of them into trouble more often than not. This particular occasion actually looked like it might be a not; if the only hot water they got into while they were in Tantellus was the naturally heated springs that fed these ornate bathing pools, then Hercules would be more than content. It seemed to be a quiet enough city, especially with most of its men folk away for the spring manoeuvres, and it looked as if there was every likelihood that it would stay that way.

There was always the chance that - in a city filled with lonely, abandoned women - Iolaus, at least, might get into more hot water than he’d bargained for, but since that was a constant possibility, it wasn’t something Hercules was going to worry about overmuch. When it came to those kind of troubles, his partner tended to bounce into them and bounce out again without taking too much permanent damage.

And after all that business with Artemis, he rather hoped that Iolaus would be a little more circumspect in the future ...

Who am I kidding?

He laughed at the idea of even having that idea, and hoiked himself up so as to reach for another swallow of his wine. His partner was busy working off excess energy by swimming lazy lengths, upending himself like a sleek otter and diving down to touch the coloured tiles that marked the pool’s deepest point whenever he found himself above it. Hercules watched him twist and submerge into the turquoise depths, challenging himself just for the sake of it, and he smiled, amused - as he often was - at his friend’s exuberant and irrepressible spirit. Hero, the goddess had named him, half in jest. But there was no joke about the honour she’d subsequently bestowed on him. The seventh Hound of Artemis. He could almost have been born for the role.

The wine had cooled a little; it held a decided bite beneath its spiced sweetness. The son of Zeus savoured the taste, letting the warmth slide down his throat and into his stomach.. He sighed happily, deciding that he’d better thank Salmoneus next time he saw him; there was a lot to be said for a hot bath and a goblet of good wine, especially when shared with undemanding company.

And then there was Tantellus itself ...

They’d followed the old gatekeeper’s instructions, finding them remarkably succinct and accurate despite their seeming to be little more than confusing words. The main avenue - a wide flight of steps flanked on either side by carved drainage gullies - had lead up to another plaza where more statues and fountains had awaited them. The lion basins had been just as artistically carved as the ocean images in the lower square had been - and just as old and weathered, their once sharp and detailed lines smoothed into mellow shapes by the passage of time and running water.

Tantellus had turned out to be a city filled with faded wonders; every step, every twist and turn of her streets revealed an ancient artistry that very few places could begin to match. The way the city had been cut from the rock, the evidence of painstaking work on carved walls and ornate fountains, the ingenious construction of arching bridges and the constant play of water in the fountains; all spoke eloquently of the master architect that had planned and directed the work. His (or her - Hercules was prepared to consider it either way) handiwork was everywhere - and so was the subsequent work of time, blurring the carvings, roughening the polished marble, fading the tiles and cracking the frescos into tantalising glimpses of a vanished splendor. A few remnants remained; the sun had never touched the vibrant artworks that lined the tunnels between each terrace of the city, although they were darkened with soot from the torches that illuminated them. Then there had been the well - or whatever it was - that they’d passed, set into an alcove cut into the cliff where the second terrace rose from the angled slope of the first; while the huge metalled chain that descended into the shaft on either side had been begrimed with age, the equally massive stone wheel which had supported the loop had shown hardly any sign of wear. And here, at least, the tiles in the bathouse still looked bright and new, as if they’d been glazed only yesterday.

On the whole, though, the place had a washed out, weary look to it. Many of the buildings in the lower levels had looked empty and abandoned and they hadn’t seen much sign of people until they’d reached the third terrace. The ‘market’ had turned out to be a confusion of raised platforms and patterns of pillars amongst which a few cloth drapes had been thrown up to create booths. The traders had been clustered together in clumps - food vendors in one group, household goods in another, artisans separate again - the spaces between them taken up by row upon row of unused stone stages and ranks of carved columns. Hercules had expected the place to be quiet, since half of its population had marched past him on the road, but not that quiet. The people left behind rattled around in their city like coins in a beggar’s purse: few and far between.

They’d looked prosperous enough, though, and healthy with it. They’d seen children playing in the streets, and no-one had looked hungry or unhappy. Smiles had greeted their arrival, and the merchant’s wives minding the stalls had vied with each other to give the visiting strangers appropriate directions. The old men working in the jewellery booths had even been hawking their wares with genuine pleasure in their craftsmanship, rather than with an eye to profit - or even a sale.

Sal must have despaired at their sales techniques, Hercules grinned to himself, picturing the stocky toga salesman hovering by the goldsmith’s booths and agonising over each lost opportunity and generous bargain on offer.

Guiding Iolaus through that maze had been fun; the hunter had been utterly captivated by the place, flitting from stall to stall in delight, charming gifts of apples from the young women selling fruit and vegetables, and lingering over each glitter of gold. It hadn’t helped that they seemed to be practically the only visitors in the city while the army was away; they’d drawn attention, if not a crowd, and his friend had unashamedly milked every minute of it.

And why not, Hercules grinned to himself; it had been entertaining to find himself his partner’s shadow for once, rather than occupying centre stage. He’d strolled along in the man’s wake, occasionally intervening to gently steer him in the appropriate direction, but otherwise letting his enthusiasm have free reign. Iolaus made the perfect tourist, wanting to see everything and doing so with fascinated eyes and genuine curiosity.

There was a lot to be fascinated by in Tantellus; by the time they’d climbed the zigzag - which was a truly descriptive name for the narrow street that climbed up from the third terrace of the city - walked through the fountain filled park that occupied most of the fourth level, and arrived at the foot of the next flight of stairs, they’d both been wide eyed with wonder. It hadn’t seemed possible that the city could top what they’d already seen - and then they’d arrived at the baths, and even Iolaus had been reduced to an amazed and astonished silence.

It wasn’t the intricate mosaics, or even the size of the vast vaulted entrance hall which opened onto the individual bathing areas that had taken their breath away. It was the impossible crystal roof that arched over everything, magnifying the warmth of the spring sunshine and adding it to the steamy heat that lay beneath it. Whoever had built it - and Iolaus, once he’d recovered his tongue, was firmly of the opinion that if Hephaestus hadn’t then he’d certainly inspired who ever had - had wrought miracles. The roof was made up of hundreds of angled facets, each one made from thinly polished crystal and set into an intricate weaving of metalwork. Each piece was a slightly different colour, the whole effect shading from pure white at the centre and out into a rainbow of light that ended with a deep sapphire blue.

Neither of them had ever seen anything like it - although there was something oddly familiar about the style and workmanship that was still nagging at the back of Hercules’ mind. It had been worth the three dinar entrance fee to simply stand there and stare upwards; the attentive attendant had practically had to physically shuffle them both out of the main hall and into the smaller side chamber that they now occupied. ‘I’ll fill the bath,’ she’d said, and had done just that, turning a copper wheel so that steaming hot water had begun to pour out of a wide mouthed pipe and into the sunken tile lined pit that took up most of the room. Then she’d handed then both a huge towel and waved them into the changing room, pointing out the other facilities as she did so.

And the Romans boast about their baths, Hercules laughed to himself, sinking a little lower into the water with a contented sigh. This place was more than a match to any that a Roman architect might conceive, and it had the added benefit of naturally heated water, piped straight out of the earth.

"Phew," Iolaus breathed from close beside him, hauling himself out of the deeper water and onto the support of the wide steps. "That was fun." He shook his head vigorously to get rid of the excess water in his hair and Hercules hastily covered his goblet to protect its contents from the resultant shower.

"Hey," he protested, reaching out one leg to give his partner a friendly shove with his foot. "Dilute your own wine. Just because Missy named you hound doesn’t mean you have to behave like one."

"Yeah, right," the man laughed, totally unrepentant. He reached across and snagged up the other goblet, tipping his head back to take a deep swallow of its contents. "Mmm. Good."

"Yeah," Hercules agreed. "Guess we’ll come here again."

"Mmm - " Iolaus sounded doubtful. "I dunno, Herc. I mean - the bath is wonderful, and the city pretty - amazing really, but - uh - this business about the plumbing. It seems kinda - unnatural to me. I mean - privies - inside buildings? Water and waste and stuff running about in pipes under the city? Piping water in - that I can see, but - piping all the other stuff out? It can’t be hygienic, surely? And where does it all go?"

"I don’t know," the son of Zeus considered thoughtfully. He was a little worried about that himself. The bath attendant had made a proud point of demonstrating the ‘facilities’, although she’d become a little tongue tied when it came to explaining exactly what they were for. "Under the city somewhere at a guess. This is old volcano country. There’s probably a huge cavern or two lying right under us."

"Filled with - umm - ?" Iolaus suggested. "O-kay. But it still seems unnecessarily complicated. What if the pipes get clogged? Or the cavern isn’t as big as they think it is? Hey," he realised with sudden revelation. "You don’t think that - uh - stink that greeted us was - ah ... ?"

"Don’t go there," Hercules advised hastily. "It might - but, like I said, this is old volcano country. Something heated all this water. If there’s still fire down in the deepest pits, that might throw up all sorts of stinks and smells."

His friend shrugged, tipping back his goblet with a flourish. "Maybe. Guess this water’s clean enough. Actually, this is nice. But I wouldn’t want to live here. Too much stone. Not enough trees. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah." The laugh was gentle, and offered with affection. Hercules knew exactly what Iolaus meant. Tantellus was a little too well ordered for his taste too - a nice place to visit but not somewhere either of them would want to call home.

Mother would have filled the place with flowers as well as fountains, he found himself thinking and sighed a little sadly. His mother’s loss was one of those holes in his life that he knew nothing would ever fill, despite knowing that she was safely in Elysium with Deineira and the children. He missed her. He missed her warm smile and her motherly wisdom - and he missed going home, the way he’d always been able to before.

I miss my family, he sighed inwardly, acknowledging his moment of melancholy and the reasons for it. His loss had grown easier to bear as time passed, but it never got any less. There was a little part of him that hoped it never would.

"What did she say about ordering more wine?" Iolaus was asking, frowning into his now empty goblet.

"She didn’t," Hercules recalled, dismissing his mood as quickly as it had arisen. After all, as far as he was concerned, the man currently sat beside him was family too. And he wasn’t about to lose him - not if he had any say in the matter. "Maybe that’s on tap, too."

Iolaus actually took him seriously for a moment. Long enough to glance around the room and frown at the gleaming tiles - then comprehension struck and he grimaced an he got me at the ceiling, swept his hand across the water and swamped his grinning companion with a warm scented wave.

"Hey," Hercules spluttered, emerging from the inundation to retaliate with a wave of his own. Within moments they were engaged in a full scale mock water fight, each attempting to duck the other as they struggled and skirmished across the width of the pool. He had reach and strength on his side, but his opponent was as slippery as a fish and as quick in the water as an otter; the two of them rolled and dived with good-natured enthusiasm, neither of them gaining the upper hand.

"Ahem," someone coughed, halfway between discretion and amusement. The son of Zeus turned in the relevant direction - and was immediately dunked head under as Iolaus seized his chance. The victim jack-knifed over to escape his partner’s grip and swam downwards, reaching out as he did so. His fingers closed on an ankle and he tugged; the man standing by the poolside would have seen the hunter submerge with decided suddenness.

Gotcha ...

Hercules broke the surface with a gasp, trod water and shook the excess moisture from his hair and eyes. His hand went out with an almost casual reach, intercepting a blond head as it bobbed back up; an equally casual push dunked his partner back underwater and kept him there, despite determined squirming.

"Can I help you?" he asked, turning his attention to the man who was staring at him with decided bemusement. He was an elderly man, like most of those that remained in the city, although the armour he was wearing looked to be both good quality and a good fit. His golden breastplate gleamed in the scatter of crystal light from the ceiling and the cloak that dropped from his shoulders was a deep red, edged in purple trim. He had the air and carriage of a seasoned warrior, despite his shock of white hair.

"Erm - are you - Hercules?" he enquired, his eyes flitting from the son of Zeus’ calm and courteous expression to the agitated churn of water beside him.

"Uh - yeah," the man concerned acknowledged, adopting a wry smile. "That’s me. What can I do for you?"

"Well, uh - I am General Lsyander ... Ah - is your friend all right down there?"

Hercules smiled. Iolaus was still kicking. Determinedly, not desperately. "Sure. Swims like a fish. Go on."

"Oh - ah, yes. Erm - I’ve been sent by Queen Amymome to ask if you - are you sure your friend is all right? It looks like he might be drowning ..."

Broad fingers closed on tangled locks and tugged upwards; the hunter’s head and shoulders surged out of the water in a flurry of flailing limbs and foam. Hercules let his friend take one much needed breath and then pushed him under again with a grin. "Not yet. You were saying?"

The General opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it and dismissed what he’d been about to say with a shake of his head. "Her majesty, Queen Amymome," he announced instead, "wishes to meet you. She has asked me to extend an invitation for you - " He paused for the beat of one breath before continuing blithely, "and your friend - to join her for the midday meal. Once you’ve finished bathing, of course."

"Of course," Hercules acknowledged politely. He wasn’t surprised that word of his arrival had reached the queen, nor that she wished to see him; his reputation tended to earn him all sorts of invitations, only some of which he was inclined to accept. This one had been delivered with courtesy and General Lysander seemed honest enough in his presentation of it. He rather liked the look of the man, and he had no reason to suspect the motives of the Queen.

Not yet, in any case.

He lifted his hand a second time, hauling Iolaus up at arms length. The man emerged from the water with a spluttered gasp, his lungs heaving as they fought for air and his eyes glittering with a promise of retribution. "We’ve been invited to lunch," Hercules told him matter-of-factly.

"Really?" Mischievous menace vanished instantly; it was replaced by a look of expectant delight. Blue eyes flicked towards the armoured man at the poolside. "Who by?"

"The queen." The son of Zeus released his grip and kicked back so that he was heading towards the shallow end of the pool. Iolaus grinned.

"Yeah? Cool. I’m starving."

"You’re always starving," Hercules pointed out with a quiet smile. He strode up the steps, shaking the water from his hair and reaching for the nearest towel.. "Tell the queen we’ll be delighted to join her," he assured the General. The old man smiled.

"I have no doubt," Lysander observed with barely concealed amusement, his glance flicking from one moisture slicked, half naked hero to the other, still swimming towards the steps with languid ease, "that the delight will prove to be mutual ..."