"I have," Petrayus called up into the silence that followed, " a few more of those. And you will be gifted with another every hour, on the hour - until you decide to open the gates and let me in." He laughed, and kicked at his horse, riding away down the access road and leaving his men to take up defensive positions around the gate. Hercules paused to check that the queen was still in one piece - she was, but she was trembling from head to foot - before he risked putting his head over the parapet to see where he went. His appearance over the embrasure was acknowledged by a third flurry of arrows, so he quickly ducked back again. Iolaus crabbed across to join him and the others, keeping below the lip of the stonework all the way.

"Catapaults," he cursed angrily once he’d arrived. "The bastard brought catapults. Big ones too." He paused to catch his partner’s eye. "Remember the one at Naxos?"

The son of Zeus nodded. He remembered only too well - including the way that a certain hot head hunter, not two feet away from him, had tried to sabotage the ponderous war machine and had come pretty close to getting himself killed for his impetuousness. "I think this one’s bigger," he noted grimly. "And with a higher arc. He’s not aiming for the walls. That was meant to come down in the city."

"That’s typical," Lysander growled from the other side of him. "If he can’t have something he’ll break it so no-one else can. He always was a bully."

"Let’s get off these walls," Hercules advised. "Those archers probably have orders to shoot anything that moves up here."

"We must go see where that came down," Amymome announced determinedly. "Someone might have been hurt."

"Yeah. Good idea." He took a look at the distance between where they were and the steps that led down into the city. The angle the archers had was awkward, but even a lucky shot could be dangerous. He could probably cross the exposed area easily - but he doubted the queen, or Lysander, come to that, would be able to move that fast. He threw his friend an apologetic glance. "You mind - ?"

Iolaus grinned. "Give me five," he requested, holding up the relevant number of fingers. Hercules nodded, and the queen watched in bemusement as the agile hunter scuttled away down the battlements, practically on his hands and knees.

... two, three ...

"What’s he doing?" Amymome asked.

... four ...

"Get ready," Lysander advised.

... five!

"Hey!" Iolaus’ shout was laced with scorn. "Call yourselves archers? You couldn’t hit Mt Olympus with the wind behind you!" He sprang to his feet and made faces over the wall. He was immediately the focal point for a rain of angry arrows, which he ducked with alacrity.

"Go," Hercules ordered, pushing the queen in the relevant direction. She hesitated only a moment - and then was running for the steps, Lysander barely a pace behind her. The old man deliberately kept himself between her and the possibility of attack, but the diversion had been exemplary; they crossed the distance without a single arrow being aimed in their direction.

Okay ...

Iolaus had sought shelter behind one of the ornate abutments further down the wall; he was pressed up against the stone, watching his partner and counting down a second time. Both of them knew roughly how long it would take the mercenaries below to reload their weapons. They had to time this just right.

... four, five ...

"Ya missed!" Iolaus jeered, jumping out from the shelter of the abutment to stand in full view a second time. "My mother shoots straighter than you do!"

Hercules was off and running, trusting his friend to move fast enough to avoid the deadly rain that hammered in his direction. He reached the top of the stairs and turned in time to see the hunter complete a headlong dive and forward roll; as the last arrow clattered to the stone beside him the man sprang back to his feet and headed for the steps as if his life depended on it.

Which, of course, it did.

"Whoa," Iolaus gasped, barely skidding to a halt just before he plunged headlong over the parapet. "That was fun. So what’s next?"

Next was the steep descent into the lower city, following the queen and her general as they hurried to find out how much damage had been done to their city. The place wasn’t hard to find. For one thing, it was where the crowd were gathering. And for another, it was the source of an absolutely overpowering stench.

"Yeech," was Iolaus’ reaction as they reached the small square where the catapult’s load had landed. He reined back almost as if he’d run into something solid. Hercules didn’t blame him; the air was swimming with a scent so thick you could have cut it with a sword.

Petrayus’ gift was equally impossible to miss. The catapult had delivered a huge and sticky mound of clay; the kind of thing that could have been loaded into the launching platform piecemeal, but which had arrived in one unwieldy lump. It had collided with the roof and side of a building, most of which had now collapsed, and then dispersed itself across the stone work, ejecting the innumerable stones with which it had been packed. There had clearly been a number of people in the square when it came down; there were women with blood on their arms and faces, and at least two old men having broken bones attended to. As soon as it became known that Lysander and the Queen had arrived they were besieged by anxious citizens, some demanding to know what was happening, others asking for help or else offering it.

"Please," one young woman begged, catching at Hercules’ arm. "My daughter. She was in the house - I can’t find her. Can you help me?"

In the house ... Hercules looked over at the building she was indicating and his heart sank. It was the one next door to where the payload had hit; its walls were twisted sideways and the doorway had collapsed in on itself. If there was anyone still alive in there, it would be a miracle to say the least.

"Please," she begged again, a desperate, anxious plea. The hero’s heart went out to her. He had to try, at least.

"I’ll see what I can do," he promised, and strode over to take a look.

Close up the situation looked even worse. He judged that he could probably lift the twisted lintel high enough to let someone slide inside - but it wouldn’t be him, since he’d have to keep hold of the stone to stop the whole thing collapsing completely ...

"Need a hand, Herc?" Iolaus asked, appearing beside him almost as if on cue. The hunter was breathing through cupped fingers, his face creased with distaste. The smell was particularly thick by the damaged buildings. Hercules had no time to wonder if the clay, or something else was the source of it. Just as his friend asked his question the sound of sobbing could be clearly heard coming from somewhere inside the ruined house.

All it took was a look; in that instant of exchange Iolaus had his partner’s response along with the question that went with it - and Hercules had his answer in return. He stepped across to the tumbled doorway, hooked both hands under the fallen lintel and heaved upwards, carefully judging just how much strength to apply. Too much and he knew he could bring the place down; too little and the stone would never budge.

It budged. There was a deep, savage grinding noise as the twisted stone shifted under his hands, and a piece of broken carving tumbled off the angled roof to shatter on the paving behind him. He set his shoulders, moved his feet a little further apart and lifted the lintel a little further. Darkness gaped where there had only been rubble a moment before; Iolaus immediately hit the ground and squirmed into the gap, twisting between his friend’s legs and disappearing into the darkness like a ferret down a rabbit hole.

Another piece of carving fell, scattering the crowd backwards in alarm. It was followed by a much larger block that cracked the paving stones where it landed.

"Make it quick, buddy!" Hercules called, his arm muscles bulging under the strain of holding steady an entire building.

"Right with you!" came back, muffled behind the stone. The sound of crying gulped into startled silence - and a moment later a very dazed child was crawling out through the hole, covered in dust and dirt.

Thank the fates, Hercules breathed to himself. The stone in his arms shifted so that he half staggered, and had to fight to correct the sudden movement. The child screamed and took to her heels, running straight into her mother’s waiting arms. From somewhere just inside the house there came a loud and ominous crack.. It was followed almost immediately by a startled yell and a muffled sploosh that made no sense at all.

"Iolaus?" the son of Zeus called in alarm. The weight of the building was unstable; he couldn’t hold it much longer. "Iolaus!"

Silence stretched into forever - and then a mud caked hand appeared through the hole, groping for something to hold onto to. It found a booted ankle, and grabbed, desperate fingers sinking into the leather and applying a decided tug. Hercules pressed his foot to the ground with all his might, anchoring himself against that sudden pull; it felt as if his friend’s entire weight lay behind it.

Come on, buddy. You can make it ...

He had no breath to voice the thought. The house was collapsing inward, the structure shifting around him with a painful groan. He tightened every muscle, setting his shoulder to the lintel and holding it in place almost by sheer willpower alone. Behind him the crowd was holding their breath; all they could see was the son of a god supporting an avalanche of stone - and no sign whatsoever of the man who’d vanished into the dark.

Come on. Come on ...

The hunter was holding on with a grip of steel; his weight flailed behind it as if he were fighting for a foothold above an abyss. Hercules was uncomfortably reminded of a similar moment only a couple of weeks before; back then the drop had been into forever, and he too far away to prevent it. He gritted his teeth and held on with determination. There was no way he was going to let the wall collapse before Iolaus was safely out of the way. And if he just ...

He shuffled. Somehow. With what felt like the weight of the world on his shoulders he still managed to twist sideways, sliding his other foot closer to the doorstep, placing it, he hoped, within reach of the man’s free hand.

The hope was a slender one, but it still bore fruit. He felt fingers close around his ankle - and then an almost unrecognisable Iolaus was heaving himself out of the dark, sliding into the light the way a colt was birthed, slick, slippery and covered in muck.

Just in time too; the wall moved one final time and then gave way completely, tumbling in and down in a thunderous rush. Hercules leapt back, watching as the stone collapsed in itself, then turned to greet his friend with a relieved grin as the man climbed unsteadily to his feet.

Oh - yuk!

The reaction was involuntary; now he had time to look, it was pretty obvious as to just what Iolaus was now sporting as decoration. And he was thick with it, liberally coated from head to toe, carefully wiping the stuff from his eyes and mouth and making the most abominable of faces while doing so. His eyes seemed to be the only bits of him that weren’t a uniformly murky dark brown in colour; his hair was plastered flat around his face, he was dripping wet, and detritus was slowly sliding off him to splat stickily onto the stone paving. "One word," he growled through clamped lips, favouring his partner with a look filled with daggers. "You say one word - and I will come over there and hug you ..."

Temptation hovered for a moment - but the threat was sincere, and the man more than capable of carrying it out. Hercules filed away the quip that had sprung to mind and decided to take the diplomatic approach. "Well," he observed, taking half a pace backwards for the sake of his health, and trying very hard not to laugh "at least we now know where it all goes."

The daggers became a pained roll of azure eyes; the hunter half opened his mouth to speak -

- and the square ignited into an explosion of pale blue flame.

The effect flared out with a woomph of sound, racing across the open space as if it were a thunderbolt tossed from Zeus’s hand. Hercules was thrown backwards, lifted clean off his feet and sent sprawling by the impact. Iolaus was pushed forward and then bowled away, tumbling over and over like an autumn leaf until he collided with the steps of a building on the far side of the square. There were a lot of startled screams which were followed by a decidedly stunned silence.

What the ...!

Hercules picked himself up very carefully. His ears were ringing with the force of the explosion and there was a hot metallic taste in his mouth. The first thing he focused on was the collapsed house and he stared at it in horrified bewilderment. It was burning. The stone was burning.

Gods.

The entire structure was wreathed in a barely visible cloak of blue fire - one which flickered and hissed as it consumed the remnants of fabric and wood that lay buried beneath it. Even as he watched the awning of the slumped building beside it caught and was consumed by eager flames.

"Water - " was his first thought and he turned, looking for a possible source. Elsewhere in the plaza stunned citizens were climbing unsteadily to their feet, all of them staring at the conflagration with wide and distraught eyes. There was a carved fountain in one corner of the space, but it was no longer running; its bowl was clogged with clay and the fountainhead had been cracked off at the base.

Curse it, he grimaced. It looked as if Tantellus’s inexhaustible water supply had let its people down just when they needed it the most.

"Hercules!" Amymome appeared beside him, her hair dishevelled and her dress spattered with dirt. "Are you all right?"

"Fine," he assured her, dusting himself down. His initial alarm had subsided a little; the fire was burning fiercely, but it didn’t appear to be spreading any further. "You okay?"

She nodded a firm affirmation , looking decidedly relieved. "Just a little bruised. When the gas ignited I ... "

"Gas?" His query was distracted. He was scanning the crowd, looking for his partner. She responded with a wry smile.

"Gas," she repeated. "Remember - I told you about the torches? The tunnels under the city are filled with gas - among other things."

Hercules smothered an involuntary laugh, having finally spotted his friend - who was sitting on the steps where the explosion had thrown him and was busy trying to wipe away some of the muck that coated him. Without too much success, it had to be said. "I noticed." Amymome frowned, turning to follow the line of his gaze, and then she too stifled a semi-hysterical laugh.

"Oh - poor Iolaus," she exclaimed. She reached across to catch at the arm of a nearby matronly woman, who was busy staring at the fire with angry eyes. "Lucina," she requested, "you see that man on the steps over there? Well, under all that there’s a real hero. Escort him up to the baths - and find him a change of clothes, will you? "

A decided she wants me to do what? expression chased across the woman’s face as she turned to identify who her queen might be referring too. Hercules smiled. "Don’t worry," he assured her, "My sister says he cleans up nicely. For a hound," he added, half under his breath. Lucina gave him a thoughtful look, clearly assessing him with appreciation, then glanced back towards his partner with a more speculative gleam in her eye. The son of Zeus grinned to himself as she gathered her skirts and her determination and marched across to carry out her queen’s orders.

Okay buddy. Let’s see how you deal with this ...

Lucina was the motherly type, well rounded by age and experience and obviously not the sort to put up with any nonsense. On the other hand, Iolaus’ boyish charm always seemed to have a special magic when it came to world weary mothers - which had come in very useful over the years, especially on the days he’d been caught paying too much attention to their daughters. Hercules watched his partner scramble to his feet as the woman advanced on him, suppressed a decided smirk as she reacted to his current condition, and then found himself shaking his head in amused wonderment. The hunter hadn’t actually said anything. But he’d sighed and slumped his shoulders, and looked down at the ground - and in doing so had managed to adopt a perfect ‘dejected puppy’ look, which, Hercules suspected, even the hardest female heart would have had difficulty resisting.

Well, I guess that’ll work.

And thinking of which ...

"Shouldn’t we - ah? " he asked the queen, returning his attention to the crisis and tipping his head towards the still burning building. She sighed.

"Well we could," she agreed, "but it takes cartloads of sand to kill a fire like that. You have to cut off the source of the gas," she explained. "Throwing buckets of water on it won’t be enough. I remember when I was a child there was a fire down here that lasted for an entire month. It’ll burn out eventually. And we have more important things to worry about ..."

It was probably the most hastily assembled council meeting in the history of the city. Amymome couldn’t be sure that Petrayus had meant what he’d said - but she was working to the chance that he had and that they had less than half an hour before he dispatched another of his little ‘gifts’. Decisions had to be made and plans put into action before that happened, or there was a good chance that - this time - her people wouldn’t be so lucky.

Lucky for us, he was on hand, she thought, glancing in Hercules’ direction with gratitude. That first attack had resulted in a few broken bones, a number of cuts and bruises and some very shocked and dazed people, but no deaths - thanks to the strength of the son of Zeus and the agility of his partner. It hadn’t occurred to her until afterwards that neither of them would have known about the dangers of cracked sewers in the lower city, but that didn’t make what they’d done any less heroic. She suspected it wouldn’t have made any difference anyway.

"Is everyone here, Lysander?" she asked, looking around the assembly to identify the presence of key players. They’d called the meeting in the main square of the market rather than in the palace - it would have taken too long for everyone to climb up to the upper level and right then time was at a decided premium.

"I think so," the general decided, taking his own careful look around. Even at a time of crisis the various factions that made up the city’s women’s council could be easily distinguished; there was the formidable Doridea and her supporters jostling for the best places, Milone and her sisters clustered together, and Euguine surrounded by her clique of hanger’s on. Only Cystalia sat in isolated splendour, none of the rest of the council being willing to publicly ally themselves with her causes. Amymome always thought this to be a pity, since the leading light among the city courtesans was also a very shrewd and intelligent woman.

On this particular occasion the council’s politics had backfired a little; since practically the only empty seats in the assembly were those on either side of the platinum blonde courtesan. Hercules had politely asked her if she minded his company. She of course had been quick to agree, and the rest of the good women of Tantellus were now quietly seething because the despised Cystalia was monopolising the hero and - they probably thought - giving him the wrong impression entirely.

The queen had no time for those kind of politics at the best of times. She rather liked Cystalia and the son of Zeus was probably a lot safer in her company than he would be exposed to the social climbers, the man hungry widows, and the ambitious schemers that made up the rest of the council. A number of them were eyeing him with decided speculation - and some of them had very eligible daughters in tow.

"There’s a few of the washerwomen’s guild not arrived yet," Lysander was reporting with puzzlement. "Lucina - and Yvanis and - well, that crowd."

Amymome grinned to herself. It had been sheer chance that it had been Lucina she’d picked to send to Iolaus’ aid, but as political moves go it had been brilliant. Some of the more wealthy members of the council looked down on the members of guild almost as much as they did on Cystalia - so when they did appear, escorting the other hero of the hour, it would make a decided point about the trust she placed in them.

Not to mention putting all those snobbish noses out of joint ...

That’s if they made an appearance at all, of course. After all, Lucina and her cronies were a self determined, forthright bunch - and she’d she sent them off to clean up a fit and muscular hero who also happened to be one of the cutest, most engaging men she’d met in a long time. Mithais excepted of course.

Oh, bother Petrayus!

He’d turned up and spoiled everything, just the way he’d always done as a child. Of course Lucina and her daughter wouldn’t be lingering over the pleasure of the task they’d been set: their very lives were at stake. They’d be here soon enough, demanding - as everyone else was demanding - to know what she was going to do about the situation.

She just wished she knew.

"Ladies," she sighed, raising her voice to draw their attention to business. "- and - gentlemen," she added warmly, smiling - first at Hercules, and then at Lysander. "We have little time for our business and none at all for niceties. So I’ll be brief. Tantellus is under siege, and our lives are in danger. Lord Petrayus is camped at our gates, demanding that we open them and surrender the city into his care."

"Over my dead body," one worthy interjected with indignation. Cystalia threw her a knowing look.

"I believe that’s partly the idea," she drawled ironically. The worthy - a merchant’s wife by the name of Gynesta - bristled.

"Well, really," she huffed. Amymome held up a hand to forstall any argument.

"Ladies, please," she requested firmly. "We don’t have time to discuss this. In a very few minutes another of those - missiles - will be heading for the city. And we must decide what to do about it."

"We must send word to the army at once!" Doridea announced, earning herself a murmur of approval from the women around her. "Mithias and our city’s heroes will show this upstart what we think of his silly siege."

Now why didn’t I think of that? the queen considered ironically. Actually, she had -and she looked across at Hercules, who was shaking his head.

"I’m afraid that’s not a very good idea," he said, garnering a number of frowns and even more puzzled looks.

"And why not, young man?" Doridea demanded. The son of Zeus favoured her with a charming smile.

"Because," he explained, "Petrayus has positioned archers at vantage points all around the city. Anyone trying to leave will almost certainly be killed - or captured," he added with a frown.

"But we must get word!"

"We’re all going to get killed if we don’t do something!"

"Can’t we - ?"

"Ladies!" Amymome called them all sharply to order. "Lysander has checked the perimeter and Hercules is right. I will not ask anyone to take such a risk. We may get someone out tonight - if we’re lucky. But we have six or seven hours before sunset, and we must take steps to protect the people. I am open to suggestions."

Everyone looked at everyone else. A worried silence fell - a silence which saw Lucina and Yvanis arrive to take their places, escorted by a grim faced warrior, who quickly slipped into the empty seat beside Cystalia. Amymome smiled an anxious greeting at all three arrivals, only one of whom smiled back. Iolaus had - as Hercules had suggested - ‘cleaned up nicely’, although his hair was still damp and straggled, and his skin had a decidedly pink tinge - as if he’d been very thoroughly scrubbed. He looked wonderful though; Lucina had undoubtedly raided her washing baskets to find him a change of clothes, and he was now kitted out in a pair of tight black breeches, and a rich crimson silk shirt which he’d simply clinched in place with a borrowed sword belt rather than bothering with the lacings.

I wonder who’s shirt that is? the queen found herself wondering distractedly. Because I bet they never looked that good in it ... His arrival had distracted a few others in the council too; there were nods and nudges rippling right round the assembly.

"May I make a suggestion, you majesty?" Hercules said, having acknowledged his partner’s arrival with a welcoming nod. Cystalia was looking from one to the other as if she didn’t quite believe her eyes.

"Of course you may." Amymome returned her attention to business with determination. "Any advice would be gladly welcomed at this point. Especially yours."

He smiled a little self-effacingly. "Ah - right. Umm - I think the first thing you should do is evacuate the lower city. And probably the level above that as well. We don’t know how steep a trajectory those catapults can achieve."

"Good thinking, Herc," Iolaus noted, throwing Cystalia an abstracted smile as he did so.

Amymome thought so too.

"Of course," she realised, annoyed she hadn’t already considered it. "Lysander, can you organise that? There’s plenty of space up here - and we can erect awnings for shelter. Thank you, Hercules. That’s a good place to start."

"And what then?" Lucina demanded as Lysander left to do as he was ordered. "We can’t just sit here and have those idiots throw mud at us all day. Those are our homes, Amymome. We don’t all have treasuries of gold to call on."

The queen sighed. "I know," she assured them. "And I promise - when this is over, I will use that gold to help rebuild any damage to the city. But right now lives are more important than property. Go - gather your families and anything valuable that you can carry. Bring them up here where it’s safe. Hercules? Do you think you and Iolaus could help the stablemaster? There are horses quartered down by the gate. They’ll need to be made safe too."

"No problem," the son of Zeus smiled.

"Good - then I’ll call this council to a close. We will reconvene in - three hours. In the palace. And we will see if Petrayus keeps his word - along with his threats."

He did.

Precisely on the hour another stone packed sticky missile hurtled over the walls and landed in among the buildings of the lower city. Fortunately, by then nobody was home. Iolaus heard it hit - actually he felt it hit. The entire city seemed to shake under the impact.

And shook again, when another of those flaring explosion followed shortly afterwards.

An hour later, it all happened for the third time.

Gods, the hunter breathed, wrestling to calm the nervous horse he was leading through the narrow streets. It was the last one. In the first hour, he and Hercules had helped the elderly stablemaster take seven horses up to the market area, each of them taking one at a time. But after that second missile had hit, Lysander had asked Hercules to help with moving some of the more elderly citizens, and the stablemaster had stayed with his charges to make sure they were both safe and secure. That had left Iolaus to cope with the four horses that remained, and by now he was so certain of the route from stable to market place that he suspected he could do it with his eyes shut. This last animal was both highly strung and decidedly stubborn. It shied at fountains, it shied at its own shadow and it did not like the rumbling shudder which had resulted from the attack.

Iolaus wasn’t too happy about it either.

For one thing, the lower city, which previously had simply smelt of - well, it had just smelt - now stunk of smoke. For another, the streets were filling with a swirl of drifting vapours, as if some strange mist were creeping out of the sewers along with the stench and the invisible gas that burned with such force. The afternoon was well advanced by now, and the sun with it, which meant that the light now favoured the upper city and the lower streets were soaked in shadow. He was leading the animal through gloomy, empty, alleyways, with a haze of unpleasantly coloured fog lapping around his ankles. Hardly the way he’d expected to spend the afternoon.

I knew this wasn’t going to be my day, he sighed, tugging the scarf he’d borrowed from Lucina out of his belt and using it to blindfold the horse so that he could safely lead it into the tunnel that connected the lower city with the second terrace. He could still taste - well, he could still taste the result of his unexpected encounter with the city’s sewer system, despite several mouthfuls of wine and a couple of hours chewing on mint leaves. He just hoped Yvanis could do what she’d promised and get the stink of the stuff out of his clothes when this was all over.

Cos Missy’s gonna kill me if I’ve ruined her good gear ...

He grinned at the thought, wondering if Hercules was right about his new breeches being made of dragon skin. There were certainly the most comfortable pair of leggings he’d ever worn - not like the ones he’d had to borrow, which were proving to be a little tight in places he didn’t like to think about.

"Come on," he sighed, tugging the animal forward and into the looming tunnel. It was as black as pitch inside the arch of stone, and he frowned, recalling that the last trip hadn’t been quite so dark.

Now what?

A few cautious steps into the gloom gave him his answer. The torches were no longer burning. Instead the air was thick with a suffocating haze, one that scorched his throat and set his eyes streaming.

Gods!

Iolaus took a step back, turning his head to gulp down what little air still lurked in the tunnel mouth, then tugged the animal forward, urging it into a hasty trot. Turning back was not an option. This was the only way he knew up into the higher levels of the city; besides, while there probably were other tunnels, they’d undoubtedly be just as bad.

And getting worse by the second ...

Petrayus’ attack was unquestionably intended to intimidate the city’s inhabitants into giving him what he wanted. But it seemed that his plans were having an unexpected side effect; with only a few well aimed missiles, he was making the whole of the lower city uninhabitable.

The sound of the horse’s hooves were muffled by the thickness of the atmosphere. The animal skittered on the wide shallow steps, unsure of its footing and picking up speed as it sought escape from the lung choking air. Iolaus held his breath and ran alongside it, following the line of the tunnel more by instinct than anything else. He hoped that the rest of the evacuation was complete, since the gas seemed to be getting thicker with every step.

Just a little further ...

Light loomed ahead and he and the horse pounded up the steepening stairs, emerging into the soft mellow sunshine of the spring afternoon.

"Hchuh," he gasped, gulping in a welcome lungful of more breathable air. The horse did much the same, hacking and coughing with decided feeling. "Sorry, fella," Iolaus huffed, staggering over to unhook the blindfold and rub a reassuring hand across the creature’s sweated neck. "We won’t do that again, I promise."

After that, the rest of the journey was restfully uneventful. The streets on the second level were now as deserted as the first, and the horse’s steps echoed among the empty stone houses. Iolaus stopped at the first fountain they came across, letting the animal drink while he rubbed warm water over his stinging face and washed the fire out of his eyes. After that he gulped a few mouthfuls himself; it seemed that he’d finally managed to get that taste out of his mouth, but the acrid, bitter one that had replaced it was scarcely any better.

"Isn’t there any cold water around here?" he half complained to the skittish animal, risking his fingers to dribble a little of the pure liquid into its eyes. The horse merely snorted and nipped at his borrowed shirt. "Guess not, huh?"

They walked up the twisting streets and angled steps, passing the peculiar well shaped construction with its massive chains and vast supporting wheel. Iolaus paused to take another look at it, first glancing up at the polished granite rod that pierced the centre of the huge carved disk, then down at the narrow shaft through which the chains descended. It undoubtedly had a purpose - but he had no idea what that might possibly be. "Weird," he decided, shaking his head and leading the horse onward. After all, he had a lot more important things to worry about than deciphering the architecture.

The second tunnel was a lot easier than the first, although the torches were burning very low and gave out very little light. The stable master was waiting at the top.

"I was beginning to think that last one had got ya, young man," the grey beard wheezed affably.

Iolaus grinned. "Hardly," he laughed. "But you’d better tell people to stay up here - or get higher. The lower tunnels are filling with gas."

"Arh," the old man acknowledged sagely. "It’s a bad business all of this. Ya friend said to meet him up at the palace. He and the General went up there ‘bout half an hour ago."

"Thanks," the hunter said, giving the horse one final pat as it was lead away. "You’d better give him a rub down. He’s had quite a fright."

"Will do," the stablemaster called back before he vanished in among the pillars and platforms that made up the market place.

The Market had been transformed. Where there had been carefully laid out booths interspersed with imposing structures, there was now a riot of drapery and awnings hastily thrown up to construct a tented city within the city. Children scurried everywhere, some helping, some hindering their harassed mothers as they worked to set up shelter and safety for the coming night. Iolaus picked his way through the crowd, helping out as he went; one young mother needed a hand putting up a curtain; an elderly woman was struggling with a recalcitrant mattress, and one old man just could not light his fire. The hunter earned thanks, grateful smiles and even a kiss or two as he made his way towards the zigzag and the steps at the end of it. It also slowed his progress considerably; by the time he reached the ornate staircase he was bracing himself for the arrival of Petrayus’ next ‘gift’. The howling whistle that heralded its arrival was unmistakable, and he planted his feet firmly on the steps and turned to see where it was going to hit.

Further over, little further up, he judged critically as the sticky mass spewed its way across the roofs of the lower city. He put out a hand to hold onto the stone railing as the rumble of the impact shuddered through the stone. The shaking wasn’t so bad at this distance, but he winced all the same. Plaster cracked from the frescoes beside him and dust shimmered down to paint the stone steps with colour.

If we don’t find a way to stop this, he’s going to shake the city to pieces ...

He waited. After a count of seven, there came the soft ommph as yet another of the trapped gas pockets exploded into surface flame.

That’s if it doesn’t burn down first!

Smoke was drifting upwards from the lower city, tainting the air with a dark haze. Iolaus shivered. He didn’t have many nightmares, but the prospect of being trapped in a burning city - of either being suffocated or slowly roasted to death - ranked pretty high in his experiences I’d rather not have list.

"Iolaus?" The voice came from behind him, and he turned to find Cystalia hurrying down the steps, an anxious look on her face.

"Hi," he smiled. It wasn’t all politeness either; Iolaus was always of the option that, while only exceptional women were gifted with outstanding natural beauty, there were a great many more in the world who could look stunning, if only they knew how to make the most of what they had. Cystalia knew exactly how, and had used it to perfection.

Which meant that - while her platinum blonde hair was vaguely dishevelled, and her dress, such as it was, showed signs of wear - she still looked as if she’d just got out of bed. Or else was just ready to get into one ...

"Oh," she breathed, clutching his arm with decided relief, "I’m so glad you’re here. Nobody knows what to do. And poor Lucina ..."

"Lucina?" Iolaus lifted his eyes from her more prominent assets to consider her worried face with alarm. "Something happened to Lucina?"

"This way." He followed her up the steps, his stomach knotting itself with decided anxiety. He’d taken a shine to the blunt speaking, practical washerwoman - even if she had dunked him head under in the bath before hauling him out and scrubbing him to within an inch of his life. All that, and she’d offered nothing more than a mildly raised eyebrow as comment on his hastily covered dignity.

Pity we can’t take our time over this, she’d said to Yvanis, who’d laughed and offered to up-end a slop bucket over his head once the war was over. At which he’d hastily assured them both that that wouldn’t be necessary, although they were both welcome to come and scrub his back at anytime ...

Yvanis was one of the group of women gathered at the top of the steps. She was kneeling down, her hand clasped around that of her mother, who lay prone in the middle of the group.

"Lucina!" Iolaus covered the rest of the distance like the hound Artemis had named him, skidding to a halt at the injured woman’s side and dropping to his knees beside her. "What happened?"

"The archers," Cystalia said from behind him. "The ones up on the ridge. They started shooting at us as we tried to cross the park. Lucina was hit."

"They stuck me good," the wounded woman growled, as much from annoyance as from pain. "If I ever get my hands on that no-good bastard Petrayus, I’ll show him what I think of his ambitions, believe me ..."

"I do," Iolaus grinned, relieved that things weren’t quite as bad as he’d first thought. "Let me see the damage."

"Getting your own back, huh?" Lucina suggested, finding him a pale smile. He returned the smile, although it froze in place a little as Yvanis lifted the woman’s cloak to show him the wound. The arrow had angled deep into its victim’s side, cutting downwards towards her hip and leaving the fletched shaft pressed up against her right breast. Not an immediately mortal wound, but pretty nasty all the same.

"Is she going to die?" her daughter asked, a note of desperation in her voice. Iolaus looked up to meet her anxious eyes and hastily shook his head.

"No- – no, not from this," he assured her, tentatively reaching to test how deeply the arrow was embedded. Lucina drew in a hiss of pain and he pulled his hand away, his expression dropping into a thoughtful frown. "But she needs a healer."

"Well, duh," Cystalia reacted. "Honey - all the healers are over there." And she pointed across the fountained park, towards the buildings cut into the rock wall beneath the next terrace. "And if we try and carry her the distance we’ll all be perfect pincushions by the time we get there."

The hunter glanced up at her, his hand resting reassuringly on the wounded woman’s arm. She was right, of course. The open park held very little cover, and the archers had a perfect vantage point from which to pick their targets. But they had to cross - and not just because Lucina needed the services of the healer; these women would have been on their way to join Amymome in council, and when they didn’t turn up, someone was likely to come looking for them.

Like Hercules.

Who would also risk becoming a perfect pincushion if he walked out into the park without knowing the danger it represented ...

Okay, Iolaus.

Think for a minute, huh?

There must be a way.

His eyes darted around his surroundings, assessing his resources. Six women, one wounded, one teenage girl, who was looking at him wide eyed, and two small boys, both of whom had even wider eyes. Behind them steaming water gurgled out of the mouth of a stone turtle, on top of which was perched a carved water nymph who looked a lot like Aphrodite ...

Whoa! Rewind. Turtle. Something about turtles.

The solution dawned with blinding obviousness. The grin that went with the realisation was a dazzling one - and probably did far more to reassure his audience than any amount of carefully thought out words would have done.

"Okay," he announced with determination, climbing back to his feet. "You two." He beckoned to the boys who came closer with questioning eyes. "I want you to run down into the market place and collect as many of those big jewellery trays as you can find. You know? The big ones they were displaying the gold chains on this morning?"

Two eager nods answered him and he waved the boys off on their errand with dispatch.

"Now," he went on, turning to the rest of them with an apologetic smile, "I’d like you all to take off your - ah - cloaks and overskirts. Those that have them, that is," he added, throwing Cystalia a sideways glance. She smirked.

"What?" one of the women reacted. "You want us to do what?"

"He said strip, sugar," the courtesan announced with amusement, reaching to unbuckle the belt at her waist. "Hey, don’t panic. I think I know what he’s up to. You can use this, right?"

Iolaus accepted the belt gingerly, wondering exactly what it had been holding up, then nodded because it would help. "We’re - ah - going to make a carrying sling," he explained. "Ah - Yvanis? Just your cloak and overskirt will do. Okay. Umm - we need to knot this stuff together. Like this ..."

It didn’t take long to explain what he had in mind. Nor did it take long for the women to complete the task once they’d realised what he meant. After the construction was finished he had them lay it out on the ground so that he could lift Lucina into its folds as gently as he could manage. She grimaced and clasped his arm with pain and panic, but relaxed again once she was safely settled. He hadn’t dared to try removing the arrow, especially since he had nothing with which to stem the bleeding, and he carefully used the courtesan’s belt to strap the shaft in place, padding the wound with his borrowed shirt, which he stripped off without a moment’s thought.

"Hey," the washerwoman smiled wanly, catching at his arm as he bent over her, "do you know how hard it is to get blood stains out of good silk?"

"Yeah," he answered lightly, "but it’s not my shirt."

"Then we’ll find you a - a sackcloth next time," she scolded. "Men."

"What about them - whoa, nice view," Cystalia reacted, coming over to see what was going on. "Ladies - I can see why you two took your time earlier."

Iolaus grinned. "They didn’t," he pointed out, getting back to his feet. "But - knowing my luck today, I’ll probably end up needing another bath before all this is over."

"Oh, honey," the courtesan drawled, eyeing him up and down, "I’d pay for that."

"I don’t charge," he shot back, moving across to the top of the steps to see if there was any sign of the two boys. She laughed.

"You should."

Fortunately he was saved from having to answer that by the breathless arrival of the youngsters, each burdened with half a dozen of the big tin trays. Iolaus took one and hefted it, tilting it this way and that as he considered its balance. "Perfect," he decided. "Okay, ladies! Gather round. I’m gonna teach you all to be Romans for the day."

It was simple really. They needed to cross the park. They couldn’t cross without being shot at - so the solution was to cross it under cover. Just like a turtle retreating into his shell to avoid a fisherman’s spear. The trays weren’t quite the solid heavy shields that Roman Legionaries used for such manoeuvres, but they’d provide sufficient protection for a one way trip. If the women under them moved quickly enough - and if they had someone walking point to draw the worst of the fire.

Playing at decoy target twice in one day? Iolaus - this is starting to become a habit ...

He didn’t have a lot of choice. Not if Lucina was to reach the help she needed. Besides - he glanced across the open space of the park, measuring the distance they had to cross - this was going to be a real challenge. And he just loved a challenge.

"Are you crazy?" Cystalia asked him once he’d explained his plan. He shrugged.

"Probably. You got a better idea?"

"No. But - look, you be careful, okay? When I get that chance to scrub your back - I’d rather it wasn’t full of holes."

He grinned. "That makes two of us - hey," he realised, "did we just make a date?"

"You’d better believe it, honey," she drawled, stepping forward to plant a dynamite kiss firmly on his lips. The tray slid out of his hands to clang unnoticed onto the stone paving. "For luck," she breathed as she stepped away again. He stood staring at her for a moment, then gave himself a hasty little shake.

"Yeah," he agreed. "Yeah. For luck. Right. Okay."

"Do I get one of those?" Yvanis asked, stepping up with a hopeful look. "I mean - if this doesn’t work, I might not get another chance."

"Uh - " Iolaus thought about it for less than a second. "Well ... Ummf ..." The rest of what he might have said was lost as she grabbed hold of him and dragged him into an ardent smooch.

Whoa ...

She finally let him surface for air and he hastily disentangled himself, feeling decidedly dazed. The young woman lacked the courtesan’s undoubted experience, but she’d more than made up for it with enthusiasm. What he needed after all that was probably a dip in a cold lake. A very cold lake, he decided, desperately trying to refocus his energies back to the matter in hand. The women were laughing at his expression. All except Lucina, who was staring at him with a very odd look in her eye.

Oh-oh ...

He should know better than to kiss a girl like that in front of her mother - but then, it hadn’t exactly been his idea. He glanced at Cystalia, who grinned at him and winked. Knowingly.

Iolaus rolled his eyes and hurriedly bent down to recover his dropped tray. "Let’s - uh - do this, shall we?" he suggested, motioning the nominated carriers into place. The three women crouched down, slipped the knotted loops over their shoulders and then rose to their feet together, carefully lifting Lucina off the ground. She drew in a breath of pain, but nodded determinedly to show she was all right. Iolaus nodded back and beckoned the second bunch into place, making sure that each tray they held aloft overlapped the one next to it. With the boys huddled in on either side, each carrying a tray apiece, the final grouping more or less resembled the turtle effect he’d been aiming for. With him as its exposed head. "All right," he breathed, glancing back for one last look. "See you ladies on the other side - one way or another," he added, half under his breath.

His heart was racing as he boldly lead the way out into the open space. He knew where the archers had been posted, and he also knew the risk he was taking; the park was silent except for the soft constant of falling water and, since the women were now mostly hidden behind the gleam of tin, the only obvious target on show was him.

Come on, he encouraged, strolling casually as he could towards the centre of the first terrace. You guys have got bored up there. Let’s see you make something of an easy target ...

The softest of whistling sounds was the only warning he got. He spun towards it, lifting the tray in time to deflect the on-coming arrow. Another followed it, and then another. He danced across the paving stones, dipping and ducking and knocking aside the swift messengers of death as they whispered down from the sky. With its head detached and drawing fire, the turtle broke into a run.

Go, girls. Go.

He risked the barest glance to assure himself that they’d stayed together, then cursed and dove for cover as a whole flurry of barbed points showered down around him. He lay in the shadow of a low fountain bowl for a second or two, regaining his breath.

That was close.

He allowed himself a beat before leaping back up; metal points immediately hammered into the tin, some simply dropping down by his feet, others deflected up and away. He had no time to be scared. No time to think about the damage even one of those deadly points might do. It was a game, a contest, between him and the distant archers. A game of tag, where he was it, and all they had to do to win was score one little hit. He let out a wild whoop and dodged with alacrity, zigging this way and that, sidestepping with a hop and a skip, swinging the heavy tray to knock the incoming missiles out of the air.

Oh, yeah.

The archers were good - but they were also getting angry, and angry men take less care with their aim and their timing. Every miss meant that the next arrow was shot more hastily than the last, and Iolaus was counting on that to give him the edge he needed. The tray was growing heavier and each breath was becoming more of an effort. He couldn’t let up the pace until they did; nor could he leave the field of play until the hastily moving group had passed beyond the point where they would cease to be vulnerable.

He dove for the suspect shelter of a statute and snatched a moment’s respite there. The speeding turtle had crossed over half the danger zone. He just hoped that, burdened as they were with Lucina’s weight, they could maintain their rapid pace. An arrow glanced off their makeshift armour and the whole construction quivered under the impact.

"Hey!" he yelled, dancing out from behind the stone gladiator to wave audaciously in the archers’ direction. Another downpour of directed death whistled in his direction. "Wha- hoo." He tumbled into a hasty forward roll and held up his makeshift shield, feeling the barbed points rattle and bounce off the metal surface. Somewhere close by there was a startled squawk - which was followed by a thud as a white plumed bird landed on the stone less than a yard away, its body skewered by one of the deflected arrows.

"Oops," he registered, recognising it as one of the ornamental pigeons he’d been admiring over lunch. Another volley whistled in with deadly intent and he spun to intercept their flight with the now battered tray. Most of them simply dented the tin - but one of them punched right through it, its point dragged to a halt less than two inches from his face. The archers had started to use armour piercing points. "Whoa," he reacted, hastily pushing the tray out to the full length of his reach.

The game was over. Iolaus tossed the damaged tray away and took to his heels. Something made him dip to snatch up the fallen bird as he passed, although it was almost certainly beyond saving. It fluttered a little in his hands as he picked it up, but after that it just went completely limp. Cradling it, he vaulted over the rim of the last fountain, splashed through the warm water and hurtled towards safety, arrows rattling on the stone behind him.The women were waiting for him, protected by the shadow of the upper terrace. They all looked shaken, but none of them had sustained further damage; they dropped their trays, lowered Lucina carefully to the ground, and then rushed over to hug him, en masse.

"Hey," he protested breathlessly, a little overwhelmed by the attention. "Everybody okay?"

"Fine," he was assured from several directions. Yvanis planted a grateful kiss on his cheek and then chivvied several of her friends away to get Lucina to the healer. Iolaus was left to sink thankfully onto the lip of a gurgling fountain while Cystalia moved over to perch next to him.

"You are crazy," the courtesan noted with amused admiration, then wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Whatever’s that?" He opened his fingers and stared at the now dead creature with decided regret.

"Pigeon," he sighed. It was one of the exotic cook’s ornamental birds, its brilliant plumage crumpled and stained with blood. "I think I hit it with a re-bound."

"A messenger pigeon?" she questioned. He shook his head.

"Hardly. This is one of Jayce’s birds. It must have escaped from the cages up in the palace."

"Well," Cystalia asked doubtfully, "if it isn’t a messenger pigeon, then why has it got a message tied to its leg?"

Good question ...

Iolaus frowned, reaching down to disentangle the delicate piece of parchment that had been strapped to the bird’s leg. It was tied on with silk thread and after a moments struggle he pulled out Orion’s ivory knife so that he could cut it free.

"Nice knife," the woman remarked. He threw her a sideways grin and tucked it away again without comment. There was a whole story attached to why he now owned that particular blade, but right then was not the time to tell it.

The paper was a tiny scrap, less than a finger length wide in any direction. He put the dead bird down on the ground, washed the worst of the blood off his fingers in the fountain and then carefully unrolled the message onto his knee, holding it open with his thumbs. The writing was small and hard to make out.

"Beloved," Cystalia began to read, over his shoulder. "Fear nothing. Your plan will prevail. When the council meet again I will ..."

"Gods!"

Iolaus was on his feet and running for the steps, everything else forgotten in the sudden sick urgency that seized his soul. In all the excitement he’d almost forgotten where he’d been headed, but now it all came back with a horrified rush. He was late for the council meeting.

And he was praying desperately as he raced up the steps and across the mosaic plaza in front of the bath house. Praying to every god that might be possibly be within hearing distance that someone, somewhere, not let him be too late to prevent the treachery that the message had revealed.