Icastus was fretting. Amymome rocked him gently, walking to and fro along the outer balcony and letting him suckle on her thumb.

"You’ll spoil him," Merrine scolded from the archway. "Spending so much time with him. What will the folk in the city think, seeing you up here like this?" The queen laughed.

"That they have a prince whose mother loves him very much," she answered without a moment’s hesitation. Icastus gurgled and then hiccuped a burp; the old nursemaid’s frown immediately vanished behind an indulgent smile.

"Ohh, the lamb," she cooed, lifting her arms and taking an impulsive step towards the child. The sweep of her skirt brushed across the decorative pedestal at the edge of the balcony steps and the ornate vase that stood on it rocked forward alarmingly. Merrine gasped and grabbed, barely able to catch the gilt edge porcelain before it toppled to the floor. Amymome dipped her head to hide a smile behind her son’s head, trying desperately not to laugh.

Oh, Merrine ...

The old woman was a kind, generous, wonderful person, who’d taken care of Mithias right from the day he’d been born, and had served him, his queen, and now his child with absolute loving loyalty. But she was also a walking disaster just waiting to happen. Her rotund, buxom frame was perfect for offering motherly comfort; she had a bosom that worked magic for anyone clasped to it in moments of emotional crisis - and both those attributes conspired against her on a regular basis. Things got knocked over, moved, or broken wherever she went; she wasn’t deliberately clumsy - in fact she was always desperately careful - but somehow the accidents just went on happening.

Amymome had despaired of her in those first anxious days of her marriage, but now she - like her doting husband - found it amusingly endearing. Because Merrine had such a loving heart and was always so sorry for whatever she did that only the blackest of souls would be unable to forgive her for her faults.

Besides, the young queen reminded herself, she’s so good with Icastus ...

"What a day," the nurse declared, gingerly righting the vase and carefully backing away from it. "The army marches out - and the son of Zeus comes to call. Mithias should be here to greet him. Such an honour ..."

"Mithias is attending to his duty," Amymome reminded her, walking up the steps and back across the mosaic floor of the reception room. Sunlight glinted off the ancient shields and weapons that decorated the throne room walls. "And so shall we. Shan’t we Icastus?" she asked her child, who responded to her voice with a smile. "We will greet the son of Zeus, bid him welcome to our city, and offer him hospitality in our King’s name."

"Of course you will, my sweet," Merrine agreed, hurrying after her. She avoided the vase on her way back into the room but nearly tripped up the inner steps in her haste to arrive at the relevant throne before Amymome did. She reached to plump up the pillows and then held out her arms for the child. "Let me take him. It’s almost time for his nap and you’ll not want to greet the mighty Hercules with a baby in your arms."

"Probably not," the queen sighed, seating herself on the smaller throne beside the one Mithias normally occupied on such occasions. Icastus gurgled happily, his podgy fingers closing on the velvet edge of her draped cloak. "What do you say, my prince? Do you want to go with Merrine or stay with Mamma and meet a real hero? Huh?" The child chuckled, reacting to her tone rather than her words. "Well," she compromised, catching the look the older woman was giving her, "maybe you can meet him later. After Mamma makes sure he’s not here for any reason she needs to worry about."

"I should hope not," Merrine remarked a little tartly. "What with the army away and all. There my lamb," she cooed, scooping up the prince and clasping him to her ample bosom. "Let’s go tuck you in, nice and cosy."

"Thanks," Amymome smiled, genuinely grateful for the old woman’s devoted care. She didn’t know how she’d cope without her, especially with Mithias away. Icastus could be a real handful and her duties as queen didn’t give her as much time with him as she’d like.

"There you go," the nurse chided with amusement, rocking the baby and backing down the shallow steps as she smiled at his mother. "Always thanking me. There’s no need for that. It’s a pleasure to take care of such a bonny child - and this sweet thing is never any trouble to me," she added, dimpling a little as she looked down at her charge. "You worry about taking care of Mithias’ kingdom and let me take care of you and his son ..."

She’d reached the bottom of the steps and had crossed half the patterned floor as she been speaking; she turned to leave, her head still down as she made faces at the child - and walked straight into the three men who’d just appeared in the doorway.

Amymome leapt to her feet in alarm, watching the results of the collision unfold in slow motion. Lysander was there, one step in the lead and taking a reactive pace back as Merrine’s portly figure swung towards him. Behind and to his left there was a tall muscular figure, a man with honey dark hair and a square cut, handsome face; he too took an immediate step backwards, this one to avoid the General’s hasty retreat. The startled nurse swung round to avoid them both - and bumped hard into the second stranger, who was a much more compact individual than the first. He lost his balance and sat down involuntarily, landing with a decided oof. Their mutual impact threw the woman backwards and her arms up into the air; the baby went with them, flung towards the ceiling in a sudden flurry of blankets.

"Nooo!" the queen reacted, too far away to do anything but scream. Icastus flew up, describing an elegant curve in the air before gravity took over and he began to hurtle back towards the mosaics. The tall man took in the situation with a single decisive look. His hands went out. He grabbed Lysander and Merrine, tugging them both out of the way, and he extended his right foot, using it to push the now seated man forward, sending him sliding across the tiles. Amymome blinked in disbelief as the blond haired man - quickly realising the reason for his sudden and unexpected forward motion - dug in his heel and steered a course, using the impetus of that initial shove to spin himself round and under the path of the tumbling child. Geometry intersected: Icastus landed in outstretched arms and his saviour slammed to a halt against the bottom step, suppressing a momentary wince of pain.

"Ow," he complained, glancing down - first at the unyielding marble and then at the child. Icastus giggled. So did the man; a warm delighted reaction to finding exactly what it was he’d rescued. "Hey - aren’t you a little young to be learning acrobatics?"

"Oh, Icastus!" Amymome flew down the steps, all thoughts of regal duty forgotten in her mixture of alarm and relief. She was greeted by a pair of charming smiles; one from her son, totally unaffected by his adventure and the other from his rescuer, who looked up to offer a reassuring grin as she reached his side. Since this grin was topped by a pair of startlingly blue eyes and framed by a decidedly handsome, if somewhat roguish, face, the effect was less reassuring and more like staggering. She was a married woman - and a happily married one at that - but her heart still skipped a disconcerted beat.

"He’s fine," the owner of the grin assured her, gathering the baby up and taking an admiring look at him. "Your’s I take it?"

"Yes," she breathed, rather surprised to find that she could breath after all that. "Thank you."

"Anytime," he dismissed with what might have been a modest shrug - if it wasn’t for the twinkle in his eye.

"My lady? Oh, my lady." Merrine appeared beside her, wringing her hands and wearing a totally contrite expression. "Is the lamb all right? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry ..."

"It’s all right, Merrine," Amymome assured her reaching to reclaim her child before any more adventures could happen to him. The blond haired stranger handed him over with a care that spoke of experience and she smiled, thinking that - perhaps - this was something they had in common. "You’ve done that before," she accused softly. His answering smile was suddenly haunted.

"Yeah," he agreed. "But not for a long time." The moment of disquiet was brief; his grin resurfaced brighter than ever. "He’s cute."

So are you, was the somewhat treacherous thought that sprang to mind. Amymome quashed it with self annoyance.

"Has the prince been harmed, your majesty?" Lysander asked from behind her, his voice concerned. She straightened up, cradling Icastus carefully.

"No," she answered, turning to offer him a reassuring - and truth be told - relieved smile. "He’s fine, really he is." She saw the old man answer her smile - and behind him, the tall stranger did much the same, a warm expression wreathing his face with decided relief. Amymome’s heart skipped another treacherous beat.

Whoa!

If the short blond stranger was heart poundingly cute, with his golden smile and his laughing blue eyes, then this stranger was - well - simply breathtaking. He wasn’t just tall, he was statuesque; his figure was carved as if from sculptured marble, and his face held a warm nobility that offered assurance and inspired trust. "You must be - Hercules," she decided, widening her smile into one of welcome and trying hard not to stare. He smiled back and her insides turned to instant jelly.

"And you’re queen Amymome," the son of Zeus acknowledged in a voice like dark honey. "King Mithais is a lucky man."

"You can say that again," the man now behind her laughed - no, he giggled, an effervescent and totally unselfconscious sound of amusement.

"Iolaus," Hercules reacted, his eyes briefly rolling skywards in mock despair. The queen stifled a small giggle of her own. This was not how courteous, respectful visitors were supposed to behave in front of royalty - and she was so grateful for that. She hated all the court talk and the bowing and scraping she had to endure from the men - and women - who had points to score and positions to maintain. Of course, the son of Zeus had nothing to prove and obviously no need for airs or attitude - but his compact friend clearly had no intention of playing the game either.

Maybe the way he’d arrived at her feet, his arms full of Icastus, had had something to do with that ...

"You want a hand?" Hercules was asking, stepping out from behind Lysander’s shoulder to offer his friend assistance in regaining his feet. The man on the ground looked at the hand , then up at its owner, and grinned.

"Thanks," he said, reaching to clasp the proffered forearm in a firm grip. Hercules tugged, and Iolaus was lifted up in one smooth easy motion. He let go of his friend’s arm, straightened up - and immediately grimaced with reactive pain, his hand flying to the seat of his pants. "Oww," he complained, rubbing gingerly at the tender spot. "Feels like that left an impression."

Amymome swallowed the threat of laughter with difficulty. Lysander frowned at him disapprovingly and Merrine’s jaw dropped open. Hercules merely leant forward to take a look.

"Nah," he decided, shaking his head. "The leather isn’t even scuffed."

"Really?" Iolaus took a careful glance of his own, craning over his shoulder at a spot he had no chance of seeing. "Guess this stuff is tougher than it feels. Wonder what it is?"

The son of Zeus shrugged. "Knowing my sister? Dragon skin, probably. But I don’t recommend you try sitting on a fire in order to find out."

Iolaus grimaced at the idea. "No way," he agreed with another giggle.

Lysander cleared his throat, a not too subtle way of trying to remind the two men just where he’d brought them. The queen tightened her lips in a futile attempt to keep her smile at bay; Merrine’s antics had undoubtedly spoiled the General’s intentions to make a grand presentation of his company.

"Oh," Hercules reacted, clearly recalling his manners with a slightly guilty start. "Yeah. Umm ..."

"Oh please," Amymome interrupted. "Don’t let’s stand on ceremony. Not after all that. Merrine - I think you owe - Iolaus is it?" The man concerned nodded affably. "An apology, don’t you?"

"Ah, oh - yes, my lady," the woman agreed, hurriedly redirecting her attention from where it had been focused - which, since she was now standing behind the blond haired warrior, had been right on the spot where he’d been gingerly investigating his bruises. "I’m really sorry I walked into you like that. I don’t know what I was thinking."

"Hey," Iolaus smiled, "I should have been watching where I was going. It’s as much my fault as yours. Really."

Merrine shook her head in embarrassment. "No - it was my fault. And I’d have never forgiven myself if something had happened to my sweet little bundle ... All my years taking care of babies and I’ve never lost hold on one like that before."

"It’s all right," the queen assured her, having already forgiven her her momentary lapse. No harm had come from it - thanks to the son of Zeus and his charming friend. "I’m sure you won’t let it happen again. Here - take Icastus and make sure he gets his nap. He’s had quite enough excitement for today."

"Ooh," the nursemaid cooed, gingerly accepting the prince as his mother handed him over, "my poor, poor little lamb. I’ll take good care of him, my sweet, I promise."

"I know you will." Amymome shooed her away with a flick of her hands and she left, cradling Icastus as if he were the most precious thing in the whole world. Which, of course, he was.

"Well," Hercules said brightly, "now that’s settled - Lysander here said something about - lunch?"

Oh yes...

Suddenly the prospect of a diplomatic lunch - offered as much out of polite propriety as a desire to meet a legendary hero - took on a whole new perspective. She - the queen of Tantellus, and direct descendant of King Phianthes - had formally invited the son of Zeus to break bread with her. She’d expected - well, she hadn’t exactly known what to expect - but it hadn’t been this pair of engaging, unaffected ...characters, she decided, her eyes flicking from one hero to the other in delighted bemusement. They say Hercules is a simple man, Lysander had answered when she’d asked what he knew; she was beginning to understand what they might have meant.

"Lunch," she agreed with a smile, savoring the thought. "Lysander - why don’t you go and tell Jayce to set out a buffet table on the kitchen balcony? No need for anything too formal, I think. Lots of cold cuts and some of that wonderful savoury bread she makes," she went on, forestalling the general’s rather surprised reaction to her suggestion. "Enough for two hungry heroes." She smiled at her guests. "I’m sure all that monster slaying and stuff gives a man a healthy appetite."

"Herc," the smaller of those two men remarked with a note of admiration in his voice, "I think I’m beginning to like this place ..."

"Your majesty - " Lysander managed to find his voice. "Do you really think - "

"I do," she insisted, turning her warmest smile in his direction. "General - if you really want to throw a thirteen course formal banquet - "

"Now that sounds like an even better idea," Iolaus muttered with approval and Amymome fought hard to keep from laughing.

"-then I’m sure we can do all of that once Mithias comes home. But there’s no need to put Jayce to all the trouble just for a little lunch, now is there? Good food and good company was good enough for my grandfather, and it’ll be good enough for me."

The General hesitated for a moment - then smiled and bowed, offering a quiet understanding of her wisdom. "Of course, your majesty. As you wish. Shall I return to escort you?"

"Oh no," Amymome decided, reaching to slip a proprietary hand through - first Hercules’ arm, and then that of his more compact friend. "I’m going to give these gentlemen the grand tour."

Grand was not the word for it. Magnificent sprang to mind. Extraordinary followed immediately afterwards. Iolaus ran out of superlatives pretty quickly after that and then - just when he thought the sights couldn’t possibly get any better - Amymome had laughingly raced the two of them up the tower steps - and showed them the view.

Stunning, the hunter decided, leaning against the inner rail to try and regain a little of his breath. Absolutely stunning.

The tower had been a feature of the city right from the very first, its slender architecture soaring high above all the other works and buildings. Even at ground level - which was a long way down from where he was currently standing - it had looked as if the building rose above the top of the mountain wall from which the city had been cut. Now - having arrived at the very pinnacle of the ancient architect’s art - it was clear to see that that first impression had been true. The top of the tower was a wide platform, encircled by a stone railing - and from it, you could see everything.

On one side it overlooked the descending terraces of the city, beyond which lay a blanket of virgin forest spread out across a panorama of rolling hills and valleys. Since Iolaus had walked across most of that land in the past couple of days it wasn’t difficult to judge just how far that view stretched; somewhere in the misty distance he could just about make out the mountain pass where the two of them had turned aside from the main road. On the other side of the tower the view was more immediate but no less breathtaking; the building overlooked the shimmer of a vast lake, one cradled in a curve of towering rock walls. From that height it was easy to see how the ridge which supported the city was indeed part of an ancient volcanic crater - one that dropped away steeply on its inner face. The weathered cliffs curved away, rising to the north and dropping down towards the south. The water that lay within the resulting basin reflected the sky like an immense mirror; one so smooth that the inverted images of the far rock wall seemed as clear as the stone that they imitated.

"Impressive," Hercules decided, striding to the outer rail and staring out at the view of the distant forest. "Is it always as clear as this?"

"Only in spring and summer," the queen answered, moving to join him. "But I like it up here all through the year. I never get tired of the view."

"I’m not surprised," Iolaus offered, walking in the other direction to get a better look at the lake. There were what looked like odd shreds of mist drifting over the water’s surface - although the distance and unusual perspective made it hard to judge what they might be.

Low cloud?

They were certainly high enough for that to be a possibility. On the other hand ...

"Is that - smoke on the water?" he asked, alarmed by the sudden possibility that the apparently sleeping giant on which he was standing might be more awake than he’d first thought. The queen laughed.

"Oh no," she assured him warmly, catching Hercules’ arm and leading him across to where his partner stood. "It’s steam."

Steam?

Iolaus blinked and took another look. If that were steam, rising from the surface of the water then -

"Hey. How ‘bout that?" he realised. "It’s a Titan’s bathtub. Or - ah - " he added with a delighted grin. "-else it’s the biggest bowl of fish soup I’ve ever seen."

"Trust you to think of your stomach," Hercules noted with a hint of warm exasperation. He leant on the stone rail and stared thoughtfully at the lake below. "That’s a - lot of hot water down there. No wonder the city’s so well supplied."

Amymome smiled. "I can’t imagine life without it," she admitted, turning to rest her hip against the rail so she could consider her guests rather than the view. "Is it true what Lysander tells me? That most places don’t have running water and decent plumbing?" She gave a little theatrical shudder. "Ugh. Not for me, that’s for certain."

Hercules’ smile was warm as well as polite - but the look he threw his partner was a telling one. Iolaus smothered a smirk of his own and made a valiant effort to turn it into a philosophical grin instead. There were very few people in the world who could view such extravagant luxury as the way life ought to be lived. "Guess it’s - whatever you’re used to," he said. "Mind you," he added thoughtfully, "I could get used to having a hot bath more than once or twice a year ..."

"That would be an improvement," his partner murmured quietly. Iolaus shot him a look.

Hey!

It was fortunate that he knew the man well enough to know that he was joking; it was even more fortunate that the queen read the comment in the same way. She giggled - as much at the look as at the remark that had initiated it.

"My grandfather always said that too much hot water sapped a man’s strength." She turned to rest her elbows on the rail, her eyes coming to rest on a distant spot in the landscape with a slightly wistful smile. "That’s one of the reasons for the spring manoeuvres, you know? So that the men can be toughened up a little. A week - maybe two - in the field. Camping out, making do ... Well," she decided. "That’s what they say they do. You know what I think?"

"What?" Hercules queried, beating Iolaus to it by less than a breath. Amymome widened her smile.

"Well - you see that dip in the crater wall over there?" Her hand indicated the relevant spot to the south. "That’s where the builders of the city constructed a dam - we think to keep up the water level in the lake. Beyond that is the plain where Mithias is taking the troops. And," she concluded, turning back towards them both with a knowing grin, "I happen to know that there’s enough water flowing over that dam to create a very picturesque - and warm little river right across that plain ... That’s probably as rough as men from Tantellus like to get."

Iolaus couldn’t help but laugh; her triumphant expression inspired it.

This is one perceptive lady ...

He’d decided he was going to like Queen Amymome right from the start - even if his arrival at the foot of her throne had been a little - unexpected, to say the least. It wasn’t just that she was an attractive woman. She did have the advantage of youth, and it was backed by more than a hint of a decidedly timeless beauty, but underneath that there appeared to be a warm, generous and very genuine soul.

Mithias is one lucky guy.

And if he hadn’t been privileged enough to spend one breathless night in the arms of a goddess, not so long ago, he might even have been a little jealous of that fact.

"We should go down," she was saying. "Jayce will have the lunch ready by now and Lysander will probably be getting worried about me. He does worry," she laughed. "But then - I guess my grandfather told him to take care of me, so I should expect it really. He was the king - my grandfather," she explained, leading the way back down the spiral steps. "Then he went a little strange in the head and Mithias’ father deposed him. He married my mother after that - Filaius, I mean, not my grandfather - and that kind of legitimised his claim to the throne. Then he proclaimed Mithias his heir and betrothed him to me. It was a good job we fell in love, don’t you think?"

You can say that again ...

Iolaus knew all about convoluted family politics when it came to royal lines of succession and the complexity of who was entitled to claim what. After all, had he made a slightly different choice in his life, he might still be King of Attica.

But never a Hound of Artemis, he reminded himself with a wry smile. Kingship was not his style, no matter how capable some people had thought him to be in the role. It, like the novelty of this city, would have palled very quickly; life with Niobe would have been - rewarding - but it wouldn’t have been right. And he knew it.

Orestes would have liked Tantellus though. He might even have approved of plumbing ...

Amymome led them back through the palace, chattering about families and blood lines as they went. Most of it went straight over the hunter’s head; the names meant nothing to him and even Hercules - who was an expert at the polite smile - was looking a little strained by the time they reappeared in the main reception room.

"... so Phianthes was made king after Lydaius died. He was the man that found the city, over a hundred years ago."

"Uhuh," Hercules nodded politely, just as he’d been doing for the past three flights of stairs. Iolaus - who had been admiring the architecture rather than listening to the genealogy - frowned in puzzlement.

Did she just say ‘founded’ or ‘found’?

"There are those," the queen confided with an amused smile, "who say that makes us all the descendants of thieves - but Mithias says there are bound to be skeletons in everybody’s closet if you go back far enough. Besides, who ever it was who’d built Tantellus, they’d been long gone by the time Lydaius discovered it. This place was built to be lived in, don’t you think?"

"Ah - yeah," Hercules agreed a little bemusedly. He glanced at Iolaus, who responded to the unspoken question with a small shrug and a puzzled look of his own. There was clearly a story here; one that might be a little different from the usual tales of divine descent or miraculous omens with which most royal houses justified the existence of their particular kingdom. It was possible that Zeus had fathered as many mortal sons as the nobles of Greece sometimes claimed but - going on the way that Hera had treated his current semi-devine child - Iolaus sincerely doubted that many of them would have survived to adulthood, let alone long enough to found a dynasty. The sons of Ares, maybe - but how many Kings, anxious to keep their neighbours sweet and their subjects in line, would boldly claim descent from the god of War?

Actually, he frowned, thinking about it, probably quite a few ...

"The kitchens are down this way," Amymome announced, leading the way out of the Throne room and into the passages beyond. "We have an official banqueting hall, but - since most of the footmen are out pretending to be foot soldiers and if I threw a feast right now I’d probably end up helping with the washing up - I think we can settle for something a little less formal, don’t you?"

"Sure," was the immediate answer from the both of them. Iolaus’ stomach felt as if it had been empty for days and he could smell the faint whisper of cooked meats and spices drifting on the air. He’d been living on trail food for nearly a week, he hadn’t had any breakfast - and he had every hope that lunch laid out for the queen of such a marvellous city would be decidedly more appetising than the fare most roadside inns had on offer.

His first impressions of the kitchen only served to encourage that line of thinking. He’d dropped back to walk at Hercules’ heels, allowing his friend and the queen to take the lead in the narrow corridor, and was busy enjoying the distracting view this afforded him when Amymome pushed aside a heavy curtain and led the way into a large vaulted room. For the second time that day, he was enveloped by a smell; not the nose closing odour that had greeted them at the gate, but a sweet, rich aroma that had him closing his eyes and breathing in with deep appreciation.

The scents of warm bread, honey, cinnamon and nutmeg danced though his senses, setting his mouth watering and his stomach rumbling with anticipation.

"Mm, mmm," was his immediate reaction. Something sure smells good ...

"Now that sounds like a compliment to me," a melodious voice remarked, the speaker’s words backed by a silvery ringing noise, like the sound of tiny bells. Iolaus hurriedly opened his eyes to find Hercules giving him one of those grins - the one that came filled with indulgent affection at his friend’s impulsive antics. The hunter threw back the expected yeah, I know half frown, more amused than embarrassed at having been caught expressing his reaction out loud. The new voice clearly belonged the woman who was walking towards them; she was a slender thing, as slim as a willow stake, and she moved with a curiously sensuous step, more glide than walk. She was draped in a delicate embroidered shawl that wrapped her hips, swept up over her head and back around her shoulders. It was edged by a row of miniature silver bells that shivered and jingled into subtle music with each step.

"I think it was meant as one," Amymome laughed, running forward to hug the other woman’s shoulders and plant a butterfly kiss on her cheek. "Jayce, you work miracles down here, you know you do. Something smells absolutely wonderful. What are you cooking?"

"This and that," the woman named Jayce answered with a knowing smile. She returned the generous greeting in kind, resting her hands on the queen’s shoulders and pressing her lips against her cheek. It was a studied gesture rather than the spontaneous one it echoed; the woman moved with graceful deliberation, so that the bangles along her arms and the bells on her wrap all chimed in subtle harmony. Her kiss was for the queen, but her dark eyes were fixed on the two men in the doorway as she offered it. The look she gave Iolaus was a penetrating one; he felt a shiver run right through him, although it was hard to tell if it was one born of desire - or unease.

Whoa!

He glanced away, disconcerted by the look, and was in time to catch the echo of his reaction write itself across his partner’s face. It wasn’t that Jayce was beautiful as such - when it came to that, Amymome won the contest with ease - but she was a striking woman and the dusky tone of her skin, along with her dark looks, gave her a decidedly exotic edge.

"Lysander told me we had guests for lunch," she was saying. "Something about heroes, he said. I see he wasn’t exaggerating."

"Absolutely not," Amymome said firmly. "Jayce - this is Hercules - and this is his friend Iolaus. They came for the baths," she added brightly. Jayce’s lips curled into a smile. .

"So this is the mighty Hercules," she breathed, stepping past the queen and lifting her hand in greeting. Hercules took it - and gallantly dipped his lips to brush the back of it, his eyes fixed on her face as he did so. "Is it true what they say? That you are the son of Zeus himself?"

"It’s true," Hercules shrugged the fact away with his usual self effacing modesty. "But we’re not - close."

The woman laughed, a sound as delicate as that of the bells that accompanied it. "Well - maybe that’s for the best," she smiled. "I’d hate to think my poor feast had to compete against the delicacies they serve on Olympus."

Iolaus stifled a snort; as far as he could figure the only food on offer in Olympus was nectar and ambrosia - and, if Missy’s appreciation of fresh roast venison was anything to go by, it wasn’t very substantial fare. Hercules clearly had the same opinion. His answering smile was amused.

"Well," he said, " we’re mortal men with mortal appetites - and I haven’t seen a feast yet that Iolaus didn’t appreciate."

"Crotona," Iolaus immediately reminded him with a wry grin; Hercules frowned for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"Oh yeah. Uh - live worms and - plates of raw pig brains," he offered as explanation to their company. "For starters." Amymome made a face - one which more than summed up Iolaus’s reaction on that particular occasion. Of course they had then had to - politely and manfully - eat the unlikely dishes, which their host had devoured with appetite; they’d both picked and swallowed with difficulty. He’d thrown up afterwards. He suspected Hercules had too.

Jayce smiled. "I didn’t include anything like that on my menu today," she said. "But if you wanted ..."

"No way," Iolaus interjected with decided feeling. "Once was enough."

His fervour sparked a general round of laughter and clearly broke what remained of the ice; Jayce, having appropriated Hercules’ hand, led him deeper into her domain, while Amymome, her previous place usurped, happily stepped back to slip a proprietary arm through the hunter’s own. Thus escorted they made their way to the balcony, where Lysander - and lunch - was waiting for them.

It was, Iolaus decided, working his way through his third helping of spiced meat, pickled fish and peppered barley cake, a very good lunch. One that scarcely needed the benefit of good company and an unbeatable view, although it had both; the kitchen balcony overlooked the upper city wall and the deep crevasse that ran alongside it, and Amymome was the perfect hostess, keeping them all amused with ease.

Jayce hovered attentively, re-filling plates with tempting titbits; she was clearly amused by Iolaus’ demonstration of appetite and dealt him generous portions - which he tackled with enthusiastic pleasure. Hercules ate a little less exuberantly, but with no less enjoyment, savouring the sweet wine that Lysander poured and engaging the queen in conversation. Halfway through the meal, probably recalling her earlier words, he broached the subject of the city’s founding, and the queen launched into the story with pleasure, requiring only the occasional prompt from the elderly General who sat beside her.

It was a pretty interesting story too. Iolaus listened with interest, munching on crisp pickles and dipping chunks of bread in the pots of sauce that Jayce put out for the purpose. Amymome’s tale was well seasoned with yoghurt, herbs, olive oil and something he couldn’t quite recognise but tasted absolutely delicious.

Maybe, he decided, smiling his thanks at the cook as she replenished his pot with the rich dark red sauce, this is turning out to be my day after all ...

" ... so he went looking for a place he could secure; somewhere safe for the wives and families of his men. He was searching for caves, or a fortifiable valley, something like that. What he found was Tantellus. It was well hidden back then; the forest grew right up to the edge of the city walls and the city itself was overgrown with vines and creepers. He had to climb one to get in; the gates were locked and no-one answered his calls. Once he was over the wall, he realised he didn’t need to go back to Megara after all; here was the kingdom he’d been promised by the Oracle - and he didn’t need to make war to claim it."

"It was deserted?" Hercules was fascinated by the tale - or by the queen, it was hard to tell which. He was certainly hanging on her every word.

"Totally. He spent hours wandering the streets, exploring everywhere, but he found no sign of the previous inhabitants. Just what they left behind."

Lysander chuckled softly. "Which made Lydaius a very wealthy man," he observed.

"I’m getting to that," Amymome protested, feigning an indignant pout at his interruption. The general generously gestured for her to continue. "Well, you see - when Lydaius found Tantellus, it was as if the people had just up and left - all on one night. The fountains were still running, there was grain piled up in the granaries, clothing waiting to be worn - just everything there. But no people. Not even - bodies. Even the lights were still on."

The lights?

The old man at the gate had said something about lights. Had he meant the torches that lit the rock cut tunnels? They’d looked a little odd, and - now he came to think about it - Iolaus realised why. There’d been nothing on them to burn: just a length of iron thrusting up from the stone, and the flame, flickering at the end of it.

"Just as well, really," Amymome noted. "They burn the gases that come up from the lower tunnels. It’d be pretty dangerous to put them out. Everyone would suffocate. Anyway - Lydaius made his way all the way up to the palace and his eyes got wider and wider the higher he climbed. Because the streets of the city were - quite literally - paved with gold."

Whoa ...

Iolaus paused in mid bite, his mouth dropping open at the implications of that. Hercules - never taking his eyes off the queen - reached over and closed it again, applying a gentle push upwards with his index finger.

"It was the sign, of course. The one the oracle told him to watch for. When the wealth of the world lies at your feet ... He spent the night in the highest tower - the one right above us here - and in the morning he climbed down and went back to his camp. Then he led his people to the city and told them this would be their new home. And we’ve all lived here happily ever since," she concluded brightly. "Lydaius’ enemies never found him; the forest hid the city for years, and they’re all dead now. Nobody even remembers what the argument was all about."

"Nobody ever does," Hercules remarked softly. Iolaus frowned.

"What happened to all the gold?" he asked, surprised that Salmoneous hadn’t made mention of it. It was the sort of thing that the stocky toga salesman would have latched onto straight away. Amymome smiled.

"You’re eating it," she said. His eyes immediately flicked to the crumbs on his plate and she laughed at his expression. "Not literally, of course. Lydaius had it all taken up and stored in the treasury. Our goldsmiths use it to make jewellery, which we trade for food and other essentials. You know," she added, waving at the craggy hillside, "all of this was wooded once. There’s been so many trees cut down to smelt the gold that we’ve pushed the forest back over half a league in a hundred years. There’s not that much left now - the gold, I mean, not the forest - just enough to tide the city over if difficult times arise."

Hercules nodded thoughtfully. "Tantellus has other treasures," he observed gallantly. Amymome blushed. A knowing look curled across Jayce’s lips and Lysander smiled, reaching out to pick up his goblet.

"More than you know, friend," he murmured over its rim. "More than you know."

"Are we ready?" Petrayus demanded testily, striding into his tent with long legs and a commanding pace. Feldas, bent over a low table and the maps that occupied it, jumped with startled alarm.

"Uh - yes, your majesty. The archers are in position, the catapults have been anchored in place, the demolition squad has been despatched and the men are just waiting for the word."

"Splendid. Wonderful." The nobleman’s aquiline features creased with impatient sarcasm. "So why didn’t you come and tell me?"

"Oh - ah - yes, well I was about to ..."

Petrayus sighed, stalking over to toss his helmet onto the low bed at the back of the tent. "Never mind," he said. "I know now. Listen - another message arrived. It seems Amymome has guests. Those two strangers who went into the city after the army left? Turns out one of them is none other than Hercules himself."

"Hercules?" Feldas squeaked. "What’s he doing here?"

"Getting in my way." The nobleman’s answer was impatient; he dropped his lanky length into a waiting chair and stared moodily at the maps on the table. "This doesn’t change anything, understand? He’s just one man. He doesn’t know the plan - and there’s nothing he could do, even if he did. No-one gets out of the city until I wear its crown. If Hercules tries to stop me, then he’ll just get squashed, like all the rest."

"Of course, your majesty." Feldas didn’t look entirely convinced. Petrayus let out a short sharp bark of laughter at his expression.

"You’d better believe it, fool. He might make things take a little longer but - if need be? My little pigeon will take him out of the picture. He won’t suspect a thing - until its too late. None of them will."

The toady smiled. It wasn’t a very nice smile. "No, your majesty. Do you want to wear your new cloak when you deliver the ultimatum?"

"Yes." Petrayus decided curling a smile of anticipation onto his face. "Yes. I ought to look my best for my future queen ..."

"That was - wonderful," Hercules declared, sitting back in his chair and pushing his plate away with a small sigh of contentment. "I haven’t eaten like that since - " he hesitated, colliding with the truth of what he was about to say. "- since my mother died."

"That’s high praise," Iolaus noted from the far end of the balcony. He’d taken his second helping of desert and gone to look at the ornate birds in the equally ornate cage that overhung the carved wall. Hercules threw him a warm look; they both missed Alcmene’s cooking - along with the lady herself, whose loss had left a hole in both of their lives. Still, he and Iolaus had more than done justice to Jayce’s handiwork and not simply out of politeness either. The woman was a superb cook; it was easy to see why Amymome treasured her so much.

"I’m flattered," Jayce murmered, starting to gather up the now empty plates. "I’m glad you liked it."

"So am I," Amymome smiled. "It’s been fun."

"Yeah," Hercules decided. "It certainly has. Its - ah - nice, you know? To spend time like this, just talking. No monsters, no power hungry warlords, no Olympian politics - or mortal ones either."

"You can say that again." Iolaus came back to add his empty plate to the pile - the one that he lifted out of Jayce’s hands and carried across to the huge sink before she could utter a single protest. Hercules climbed to his feet and leant a hand; within moments the table was cleared and a steaming stream of hot water was filling the sink from the overhead pipework.

"You don’t have to - " Jayce half protested. The son of Zeus smiled at her.

"No - but we want to." Amymome put out a hand and pulled the bemused cook down to the seat beside her.

"Jayce, you usually spend all day clearing up after a banquet. If Hercules and his friend want to help out, then I think you should let them."

"Oh great," Iolaus muttered under his breath, throwing his partner a semi-mock glare. "Now we’re stuck with the washing up."

"You started it," Hercules shot back, unrepentantly. Iolaus never really minded doing a little work for his supper - or lunch in this case - but he did like to grump about it. "Besides," he pointed out, "this is hot water, remember?"

"Oh yeah." The hunter’s face lit up. "I forgot about that." He plunged his hand into the sink and extracted a large plate which he proceeded to rinse under the stream of water from the tap. "I’ll wash - you dry." The plate spun in Hercules’ direction, tossed towards him as if it were a chakram; he caught it with a flourish.

"You’re on."

They set to work with a will, turning what had looked like a daunting chore into an easy task by dint of determination and confident partnership. Within minutes the plates were washed, dried and stacked in gleaming splendour and Iolaus was watching the dirty water swirl away down the built in drain.

"I still don’t think that’s very hygienic," he remarked. "Where does it all go?"

Hercules chuckled softly. He didn’t particularly care. But, since he’d probably have live through his best friend worrying at the problem for days, he might just have to go to the trouble to find out.

On the other hand ...

It was always kind of - fun - listening to Iolaus reason himself through an inconsequential problem. He’d usually start out convinced of one solution and almost inevitably ended up arguing himself out of it. Once he got himself stuck into an issue like that he’d wrestle and worry at it with dogged determination, often coming up with some remarkably inventive ideas on the way. Much of the time the questions he raised were unanswerable either way - although that never stopped him from trying to unravel the perplexities of whatever it was that had struck him as puzzling. Just occasionally, his obsession with a quandary could be irritating, but, on the whole, listening to his partner’s tautological reasoning was one of the more entertaining aspects of Hercules’ life.

He could spend weeks on this one ...

Which - given that, this time, the problem was one of engineering rather than philosophy - might actually be a discussion worth taking part in.

"Who knows?" he questioned with a shrug, and watched as the perfect frown of determined puzzlement began to crease its way across his best friend’s face.

"Oh, well done," Amymome noted brightly, looking up from her discussions with Lysander and finding that they’d finished. "I don’t suppose you’d consider scrubbing the streets and polishing all the mosaics as an encore? No - " she grinned. "Probably not. We could help Jayce feed her pigeons, though. And then - maybe - you’d like to meet Icastus properly? He’ll be waking from his nap soon and - "

"We’d love to," Hercules interrupted with a smile. He meant it too; he loved children, and he loved spending time with them, however bitter sweet the memories such moments stirred. Iolaus threw him a sideways grimace, but he knew it wasn’t serious complaint. The hunter was just as soft as he was when it came to kids - and he was real good with them too. Amymome blushed a little, perhaps embarrassed at her own transparency; it was pretty obvious she was enjoying their company and had been looking for an excuse to go on keeping it. The look that Lysander gave her was an affectionate one, backed with a little patient amusement, and Hercules smiled quietly to himself. He’d realised early on that the old man adored his young queen and was willing to indulge her a little while her husband was away. That the indulgence included chaperoning her while she entertained a pair of good looking, legendary heroes had not escaped him, but he liked Amymome, and besides - he turned the smile into a small grin - it had been an excellent lunch.

"Those birds out there are pigeons?" Iolaus questioned, abstractedly drying his damp hands on his jerkin and breeches as he strolled back onto the balcony and stared bemusedly at the gilded cage. "I’ve never seen a pigeon like that before."

"They’re ornamental birds," Jayce informed him, gliding past to begin sprinkling corn across the bottom of the cage. "And they’re common in southern Persia; their ancestors came from lands as distant as India and Chin, and their voices echo constantly through the streets of Persopolis and Babylon." She half turned to consider the intrigued hunter with an amused look. "Or so my mother always told me. Wherever they come from - they’re beautiful, don’t you think?"

"I think," Iolaus answered, moving forward to take another look at the delicate birds with their white fantails and plumed crests, "that birds belong in trees, not cages. But they are pretty. Aren’t they, Herc?"

"Very," Hercules decided, walking across to join him. The birds were distinctive creatures - and very tame, going by the way they fluttered to snatch corn from their owner’s outstretched hand. Amymome dipped into the bag that Jayce held out to her and matched the gesture, quickly harvesting a whole armful of ethereal plumage.

"Your majesty! Your majesty!"

The breathless voice shattered the peaceful scene and sent the birds whirring in alarm; five heads turned in unison, startled eyes focusing on the unexpected interloper. There was a boy leaning in the doorway, one no more than twelve or thirteen at first guess. He was gulping for breath and his face was florid, as if he’d just run up several flights of stairs.

Which, Hercules quickly realised, was exactly what he had done.

"What is it, Vassilios?" Lysander asked, taking a pace in the boy’s direction. Vassilios struggled to catch his breath.

"The gate - there’s - an - army - at the gate," he gasped. "It’s - it’s - Lord Petrayus. He’s demanding that you - surrender the city ..."

Oh, curse you, Petrayus.

Trust you to do something this idiotic!

Amymome was wrestling between anger and indignation as she strode down the palace steps and onto the first of the arching bridges that led down to the outer walls. Mithias’ cousin Petrayus had been a nuisance for as long as she could remember. He’d bullied her when they were children, he’d clumsily tried to court her as a teenager, and Mithias had finally had to exile him after he made that ridiculous attempt to claim the throne as his own. Something about a promise made by her grandfather to his father, whom he claimed would have been King if Filaius hadn’t pre-empted the whole business by forcing the old man to abdicate in his favour.

Which was plain ridiculous, since she’d always been the legitimate heir - which was why Filaius had insisted on the betrothal almost as soon as he’d put the crown on his head.

The last time she’d seen Petrayus, he’d been riding away from the city with that odious toad Feldas bumping along on a donkey beside him. Good riddance to them both, she’d said, and Mithais had warmly agreed with her.

Now he was back. With an army no less. Probably thinking that having the men away on spring manoeuvres was a perfect opportunity to try bullying her into handing the city over to him. Well, she hadn’t been intimidated by him as a child and she certainly wouldn’t be intimidated by him now. Tantellus was impregnable. There wasn’t an army on earth that could penetrate its walls, and he could hardly threaten to starve them into submission since Mithais and the army would be back long before that became anything like a threat.

Besides ...

She added a small smile to the resolve that occupied her face. If this had happened earlier, then she’d have been a lot less confident in her determined stride; Lysander was a good man and an experienced general, but there were no troops that he could have called on to defend her or the city. That didn’t matter anymore. There was a grim faced, golden haired warrior matching her pace on one side of her - and on the other, the son of Zeus himself was walking with an easy, measured stride.

Let’s see Petrayus try to bully him, the queen considered contemptuously, casting a small glance in Hercules’ direction. He had a thoughtful frown on his face; it was Iolaus who was busy questioning Lysander about what might be going on.

"So this guy - Petrayus? He comes from around here?"

"He used to live here - until the King exiled him for treason. He had ambitions for the throne."

And for me, the queen added angrily to herself.

"Uhuh. So he’s - ah - raised an army and come back to try again?"

"So it would seem."

"While your army is out on manoeuvres?"

Lysander nodded unhappily.

"And there’s no-one left in the city to defend it?"

"Hardly anyone. Just the few veterans that tend the gate - and perhaps some of the older merchants and goldworkers who might be called on to handle a sword."

Iolaus threw his partner a look - one that held both reluctant comprehension and knowing resignation.

"And us," Hercules remarked gently, responding to the look with an apologetic one of his own.

"Oh, great," the blond haired warrior sighed. "I knew this day was turning out too well ..." He held his frown for a moment, then shrugged. "Oh well. We get a hot bath, a good lunch and - now we get to deal with an invading army." He stepped back to let Amymome descend the next set of steps ahead of him, and she strode down them grimly, realising that his assessment was not only succinct but uncomfortably true. She didn’t know how large an armed force Petrayus had brought, and while she sincerely doubted that anyone, short of the gods themselves, could win her city by force of arms, it was still likely that they would have a fight on their hands.

Do I have any right to ask for their help? she wondered anxiously. This isn’t their problem ...

As she turned onto the last bridge, the one that arched over the lower city, Iolaus bounced down the last of the steps behind the son of Zeus and regained his place at her side at exactly the same moment that his partner did, falling back into step with a hasty pace that was half skip and mostly hurry. She automatically glanced in his direction and he broke into a warm grin.

"We didn’t exactly have any other plans," he assured her confidently. "Did we, Herc?"

"Nothing that can’t wait," Hercules confirmed matter-of-factly. The anxious knot that had begun to gather in Amymome’s stomach relaxed a little. She’d much rather face this with their support rather than without it.

I guess I didn’t need to ask ...

Then they arrived at the outer wall - and the knot tightened up again with a savage jerk.

There really was an army at the gate. Not a very large one, true - there were probably no more men in sight than the gallant number that had marched out of the gate that very morning. But it was still an army; ranks of heavy set men were lined up along the edge of the outer plaza, the afternoon sun glinting off polished helmets, chain metal tunics and the gleaming edges of drawn swords. Right in the middle of this threatening array was Petrayus, perched on a white horse and wearing an elaborate set of armour set off with an equally elaborate cloak. No doubt he thought he looked both dashing and noble. From her viewpoint, high on the walls above the impenetrable gate, Amymome decided that he looked more like an idiot.

An idiot with money.

There’d been some discrepancies in the treasury after Petrayus and his flunkie had left under their cloud. Looking at that ornate get-up - and the decidedly business like mercenaries that came with it - it was pretty clear where most of the missing gold had gone.

If we’d known he’d do this ... She let the thought trail away. Mithais had been generous to his cousin by sending him into exile; he’d had no desire to execute or imprison a man purely for misplaced ambition. They should have known that Petrayus wouldn’t see it that way - and that he’d be back, seeking revenge and his ‘rightful due’ one way or another. A sudden shiver of cold terror ran down Amymome’s spine. The man below her knew the city as well as any of its citizens did. What if he’d identified a way it could be taken?

And how safe would Icastus be then?

She fought down a sudden impulse to run back and check on her sleeping child. Merrine would guarding him - and she had the city to think of now.

"By what right do you come here?" Lysander was demanding, pitching his voice to carry down to the mounted man below them. "Making threatening demands and bearing force of arms? Depart this place at once and no harm will befall you."

"Oh, he’s good," the queen heard Iolaus mutter; the compact warrior was leaning over the stone battlements, taking stock of the men arrayed across the plaza. Beside him Hercules was engaged in a similar assessment, looking - not just down, but up and around as well. He tapped his friend’s shoulder and pointed up and to the left. Iolaus looked up at where he was indicating, nodded grimly and went back to counting heads. Amymome glanced in the relevant direction and saw what had caught their attention; the gleam of light reflected off armour, high up on the mountainside.

So what does that mean? There’s no way into the city from up there ...

Petrayus was speaking, responding to Lysander with a derisive shout.

"Pipe down, old man. I don’t want to speak to you. Where’s Amymome? Where’s your precious queen?"

"Right here," she answered, stepping forward to the edge and glaring down at the scene below with what she hoped was regal contempt. "What do you want, Petrayus? Why have you come back?"

"You know why," he called up, doffing his helmet to stare up at her with hungry eyes. "There is a pretender on the Throne of this city - and in your bed, my queen."

What? How dare he!

"I am not, and never will be your queen," Amymome announced angrily, her eyes flashing with indignation. "Mithais is King of Tantellus, as you well know. And as soon as he gets back ..."

"He’s not here?" Petrayus seemed amused by her anger. "Oh what a surprise. Open the gates, Amymome. Let me in now and nobody will get hurt. I promise."

Lysander drew in a breath of anger and reached for his sword, a gesture Hercules stopped with a gentle hand. He indicated the distant figures that were lurking on the mountain side and whispered something in the general’s ear. The old man went a little white. The queen felt the knot get a little bit tighter.

What’s he up to? He knows these walls are impregnable.

"I will not surrender my city to a bully and a coward," she declared hotly. "Your army doesn’t scare me - it's out there with you, not in here with me. And that’s exactly where its going to stay. Because anyone who tries to get in will be dealt with severely." I hope, she added to herself, not daring to look in anybody’s direction for confirmation or support. It would appear to be weakness and Petrayus was the kind of man who would seize any evidence of that and use it against you.

The man below her laughed. "By whom, your majesty? A few old men with rusty swords? The stalwart women on the City improvement council?" A number of his nearby officers chuckled; a few of the men made very coarse comments, most of which she couldn’t hear - which was probably for the best, going by the way Iolaus winced. "I don’t think so, somehow."

"This city and its people are under my protection," Hercules announced, stepping up beside her and looking down with stern authority.

"Yeah - and mine," his partner called down with confidence. Petrayus threw him an irritated look, as if to wonder who’s he? and then he laughed.

"Someone shoot that bantam cock," he requested over his shoulder. A rank of men immediately moved forward and drew their bows; Hercules half stepped in front of the queen - who’d already dodged back in alarm - and Iolaus leapt back and sideways, taking refuge behind the nearest embrasure as a rain of arrows clattered into the stone where he’d just been standing.

"Whoa," he breathed. "Guess this guy means business."

"Guess so," the son of Zeus noted grimly. "You okay?"

The man answered him with a quick nod of reassurance; Hercules stepped back to the parapet and glared down at the men below.

"There was no need for that," he said, his voice resonant with authority. "Can’t we talk this over?"

"Hercules." Petrayus’ voice held a note of contempt. "At a guess. Interfering in other people’s business, as usual. I’ve heard a lot about you - but not even the son of Zeus can hold off an entire army single handed."

"Wanna bet?" Iolaus muttered angrily. Immediately afterwards his faced creased with indignant annoyance. "Hey," he complained, calling over the stone embrasure. "There are two of us here, you know!"

If the situation hadn’t been quite so grim, Amymome might have laughed at the note of affront in his voice. As it was, his protestation was answered by a second shower of arrows, this one a little better aimed than the last. Most still bounced harmlessly off the stonework, but at least three pierced the crenallations and he had to rapidly dodge one that angled down at him from the sky. He snatched it up from the ground and glowered at it. "You want me to start throwing these back?" he demanded. Hercules waved a mollifying hand in his direction.

"Not yet. Let’s find out what he’s up to first." He’d dodged back like the rest of them while the arrows flew; now he returned to the edge and Amymome followed him. Cautiously. Lysander half put a hand to her arm to stop her, but then let it fall away.

I’ll be fine, she assured him with a look that probably lacked the confidence it needed. He smiled anyway, offering her a nod of encouragement, and she reclaimed her place on the wall, trying to look like the queen she was supposed to be.

And not a frightened child ...

She was frightened. Up until the arrows flew it had all seemed like some stupid joke. But suddenly it had all become too horribly real. If Iolaus hadn’t been so quick, he might well have been dead by now.

"You’re not going to scare us with a few arrows," she called down, hoping that Petrayus wouldn’t hear the tremble in her voice. Hercules was right there beside her. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. She knew he wouldn’t.

"Maybe not," the call came back. "But then I’m not going to be frightened away when all you have defending you is one so-called hero - and his pet cockerel," he added condescendingly. The look on Iolaus’ face was rapidly heading towards thunder, and the arrow in his hand snapped with an audible crack as his fingers clenched around its shaft.

Hercules was still trying to be reasonable. "You’re backed by an impressive force," he observed. "But men armed only with swords have no chance of breaching these walls. If you’re intending to lay siege to the city, you must be prepared for a long campaign."

"Hardly," Petrayus replied. "Amymome! I’m going to give you time to think about this. And while you’re thinking about it - " He lifted his hand in what was obviously a pre-arranged signal. Something in the distance answered him; the sound was muffled, but it rumbled across the mountainside as if someone, somewhere had just slammed shut a heavy wooden door. Amymome frowned, looking towards the source of the sound, which was somewhere at the edge of the forest on the right of the city. For what seemed to be a long moment nothing else happened - and then Hercules was grabbing hold of her and pulling her down into the shelter of the stone battlements, wrapping protective arms around her as something vast whistled down from the sky.

What the ...!

Whatever it was, it landed in the lower city with a resounding splat like nothing she had ever heard before. The whole city seemed to shake. Somewhere in the streets below voices cried out in fear and alarm - only to be drowned out by the sound of shifting, falling stone.