The sun rose with golden magnificence, pouring a swathe of pure light across the valley which slowly pooled upwards until it brushed the feet of ancient walls, embedded into the mountainside. Amymome stood on the palace balcony and watched it rise, her eyes narrowing as it revealed the pall of murk that cloaked her city. The darkness of smoke slowly replaced the flicker of flame that had illuminated the night; its rolling billows filled every street and ally in the lower city and sent wispy tendrils wreathing over the ramparts of the lower walls.
It’s not going to be very pleasant down there …
She made a mental note to make sure that the old men who had volunteered to open the gates were issued with water soaked cloths to help keep the smoke from their lungs. Its scent would taint Tantellus for months to come; she’d had the taste of it in her mouth since sundown and no amount of honeyed wine could get rid of it.
A piece of Jayce’s mint cake would help right now, she sighed, rocking Icastus with distracted gentleness. She’d never taste that particular confection again. Even if she and Mithias decided to show the traitorous cook more mercy than she deserved, she'd never again be able to trust the woman enough to actually eat what she might choose to prepare. Her friend’s betrayal had not only hurt her deeply; it had shaken her self confidence to the core.
Had Hercules and his friend not been around to demonstrate that some loyalties could – and did - run far deeper than mere oaths and promises, she might have been inclined never to trust anyone ever again.
"As you grow up, little one," she murmured, pressing her cheek against the silk of her son’s hair, "you find yourself a friend like that. Someone who doesn’t care who or what you are – just cares about you. Of course," she added, a weary smile lifting to her lips as she saw the sunlight begin to pick out the silver sparkle of falling water on the plaza below, "if they also happens to be the child of a god – I’m not going to complain."
She’d been able to exchange a few hasty words with the son of Zeus before he and Lysander had left to complete the tasks assigned to them. Her’s had been anxious, his reassuring. You can do this, he’d said, expressing his confidence with a smile. Trust your heart. It’ll know what to say.
She wished she had his self-assurance. She hadn’t been able to sleep, and her stomach was fluttering with apprehension at the mere thought of having to deal with Petrayus again. But she had no choice – and at least the reappearance of the fountains signalled that their plans were still on track. Lysander had told her that, once the pressure had reached the required level, they’d reseal the valve and reset the pump. That way Petrayus would have no reason to suspect that he was walking into a trap.
And provided Hercules kept his head down and himself out of sight, he’d have no reason to suspect anything at all.
"There you are, my lady." Merrine’s voice was a welcome interruption to her thoughts. "And the lamb too. I thought he’d be with you."
"He was fretting," Amymome sighed, turning to greet the older woman with a weary smile. "Another tooth I think."
"All the better to bite Petrayus," the nurse considered briskly, holding out her arms for the child. The queen passed him over with decided reluctance. "If he were here right now – well, we’d show him." Merrine lifted the boy high in the air and gave him a playful shake. "Wouldn’t we, my lamb? Yes we would. Oh yes we would."
Icastus gurgled with pleasure, his starfish hands beating together with delight at the woman’s antics. His mother laughed warmly at the sight – and then her smile froze, her mind suddenly picturing what Petrayus might do if he were there. "Merrine?" she asked, struggling to still the sudden tremble in her voice. "If anyone threatened Icastus? What would you do?"
The old nurse brought the baby down and cradled him in against her ample breast. "Threaten your lamb, my lady?" Her eyes flashed with indignation. "Who’d want to do a thing like that? He’s just a helpless child."
"He’s the heir to the throne." Amymome reached out to stroke her child’s cheek. "Who might grow up to revenge the death of his father."
"Mithais isn’t dead," Merrine protested firmly. "Lysander told me. Mummy sent a warning to your daddy," she told Icastus. "Clever mummy."
"I know that," the queen sighed. "And you know that. But Petrayus doesn’t."
I hope, she added anxiously to herself. She had worried about that for most of the night. Not that Iolaus would fail in his mission, since she had the reassurance of Hercules’ faith in his friend – and her own assessment of the golden haired hunter’s ability and his determination to succeed; but there was always the possibility that Petrayus might somehow get to find out about it.
How many men did he send to the dam?
Too many, Hercules had assured her, and Iolaus won’t bother trying to stop them. He’ll just sneak by and run straight to Mithais.
But there was still a chance he might have been seen. Might even have been caught – which was a possibility she didn’t even want to think about.
The nurse had frowned at her words. "Well, now," she considered. "I hadn’t thought of it like that. He’ll be thinking he’s drowned our poppet deeper than deep, won’t he? He’s not to know that you sent someone to warn everyone about the plan. You’re not even supposed to know about the plan." She hugged Icastus into her bosom, heaving a heartfelt sigh. "There’s nothing but snake and treachery in all this business," she said. "That Jayce – listening to flattery and empty promises. What was she thinking? You really think Lord Petrayus might harm the lamb, my lady?"
Amymome nodded. "He was willing to kill every able bodied man in the city," she pointed out. "Why would he hesitate over the life of a child?"
"He’ll not have this one," Merrine declared. "I’d give the last breath in my body to keep him safe."
"I know you would." The queen smiled, reassured by that determined reaction. "Well, if all goes well – and with Hercules’ help – there’ll be no need for that."
"No need at all." The nurse lead the way into the throne room, rocking the child with practised skill. Amymome automatically reached out to steady the ornamental vase that threatened to topple as the heavy sweep of the old woman’s skirts disturbed it. "Such a nice young man, that Hercules. So polite. And as for his partner - " She half turned, sharing a decidedly wicked grin that completed the thought without any need for further words. "Well, I wouldn’t kick either of them out of my bed on a cold night, if you know what I mean."
"Merrine!" The reaction was half indignation, half startled laughter. "That’s no way to talk about …" The woman was grinning at her with knowing amusement. "Actually," Amymome allowed, slowly succumbing to an equally knowing smile, "I know exactly what you mean. But you shouldn’t be thinking it. Let alone saying it."
"Oh tosh, my lady." Merrine bustled up to the throne and set about settling Icastus into its yielding contours. "We’ve all been thinking it. And why not? If you’re going to have your lives saved by heroes, they’re the kind of heroes you want to have do it. Old women can dream just as much as young ones, you know."
"I suppose so," the queen sighed, then frowned, finally paying attention to what the woman was up to. "What are you doing?" she asked. "Icastus doesn’t belong there …"
"Oh, yes he does," the nurse replied briskly, tucking the last of the blankets into place. She’d constructed a cosy nest with the child in its centre; he sat there with innocent confidence, playing with his ivory teething rattle. "Where else would he be when his father’s throne is threatened and his father not here to defend it? Besides," she added, turning to study the ancient weapons racked along the walls, "it never hurts to take precautions and maybe even Petrayus will think twice about hurting an innocent child if there’s someone here to protect him. You think I could lift one of those swords ...?"
"Ahh - " Amymome went a little white. The thought of Merrine wielding a sword – with how ever many good intentions – was a decidedly scary one. The old woman was as likely to fall over it as she was to make any sensible use of it. "I’m not sure I could," she answered hastily. "But – how about one of the cross bows? You only have to point and shoot with one of those."
"That’s a much better idea," Merrine decided, hurrying across to lift the suggested weapon off the wall. "I can sit right there, " she pointed at the foot of the throne, "keep an eye on the lamb, do a little knitting - and still shoot the first unwanted guest to poke his nose in where its not wanted."
Amymome wasn’t exactly planning to receive any uninvited guests into the city, let alone allow them to reach the palace and the throne room, but there was something reassuring about the old nurse’s matter-of-fact determination to protect her charge. Besides – she’d do a lot less damage sitting by the throne with a crossbow on her knees than she would trying to wave a sword about.
It wouldn’t hurt to humour her.
"I’m sure it won’t come to that," she smiled, dipping to kiss the boy’s dark locks. "But if it does – I know you’ll do your best to protect him."
"Oh I will," Merrine affirmed, coming back with the heavy weapon tucked under her arm. "Now you go and get ready for what you have to do. Icastus and I have everything under control here."
Petrayus emerged from his tent with the sun, his polished armour gleaming with splendour in the morning light. Feldas bustled up, looking a little bleary eyed; he was the sort to sleep past noon if he could and the early start clearly did not agree with him. The nobleman smiled, his mood more than forgiving of such an obvious lack of enthusiasm. This was his dawn, the one that signalled the completion of his long held ambitions.
Today was the day.
"Is everything ready?" he asked, striding down the slope towards the centre of the camp. His aide nodded, hastily falling into step beside him.
"The troops are ready to enter the city," the man reported. "And the engineers have reset the catapults in case we need to send in another reminder."
"We won’t." Petrayus smiled with confidence. "Amymome will be desperate to open those gates, you’ll see. Before noon today I will be sitting on the throne that is rightfully mine. And she will be crawling at my feet begging me to be merciful. Any word from the men at the dam?"
"No, your majesty. But it’s early yet. They’ll have only just finished the task you set them."
The nobleman nodded, pausing in his stride to admire the ranks of men that were arrayed before him. "Of course they will," he realised. "Well – no matter. Their report will wait until I’m sitting on the city’s throne." He smiled smugly. "It may even sound better delivered there. Don’t you think?"
Feldas nodded doubtfully. Petrayus gave him a sharp look.
"We are about to triumph – and you’re standing there as if the worst is about to happen. What is it with you? Come on. Spit it out. I command you."
Thin lips creased behind the toady’s dark beard; he clearly didn’t want to broach the matter, but he took a deep breath and did it anyway. "It’s – Hercules," he said, his eyes suggesting that he knew this would the wrong time to discuss this. His master adopted a puzzled frown.
"He’s dead," he shrugged, not getting the point.
"Exactly." Feldas winced. "Uh – I know he might have stopped us – you – but, do you really think it was a good idea to have him killed? The son of Zeus and all that? Might not the gods …"
"Oh, forget the gods," Petrayus reacted, striding down the hill towards his waiting horse. "Feldas, really, you have no idea how this all works. I’ve made sacrifices to all the right people, and – if I’ve upset any of them, I just have to make a few more. Besides," he threw back a smug grin, "I didn’t kill him. And practically my first act after taking the throne will be to bring his murderer to justice. That ought to mollify Zeus, don’t you think?" He paused with one foot in the stirrup and glanced thoughtfully up at the sky. "I’ll offer him a sacrificial pigeon. My gift as King to the King of the Gods. Perfect," he smiled, completing his mount and looking down at his aide with decided self satisfaction. Feldas didn’t look convinced but he smiled anyway, dipping his head with subservient acknowledgement.
"Of course, your majesty," he agreed supportively, then, as he turned away to start giving orders, he rolled his eyes and muttered a quiet "Idiot," under his breath. Fortunately for him, Petrayus didn’t hear it.
"We go," the nobleman who would be king proclaimed to his troops, "to claim our rightful place upon the throne of Tantellus. Those of you who have served me well will be equally well rewarded. The riches of the city will be mine to dispense – along with its women, so many of whom will have been widowed today. You will show them respect as we enter the city. Once we’re in," he added with a knowing smile, "you’ll be free to do whatever you like with them."
A ragged cheer rose from the ranks of the assembled mercenaries. Petrayus laughed and kicked his horse into a forward canter, leading the way towards the waiting city gates.
Okay, Hercules considered, striding up the shallow steps and staring up at the construction of rods, chains, and supporting stone wheels that occupied the top half of the ornate alcove. This had better all be in working order …
He half turned to wave in Lysander’s direction, indicating that he was as ready as he’d ever be, and the General waved back, turning to make his way to the upper galleries. He clapped the shoulder of the boy who’d been walking with him as he passed, and Vassilios smiled and nodded, running to take his place as the last link in the chain that would be transmitting the queen’s signal to act. Hercules nodded satisfaction as the youth found himself a perch on the rim of a nearby fountain and waved to the next member of their message relay team. They were ready; as soon as Lysander joined Amymome on the city walls, the trap would be set and waiting to be sprung.
Providing I can make this work, the son of Zeus reminded himself, turning to frown at the ponderous chain and the mechanism from which it was suspended. The chain was made from the same dark metal as the spinning pump wheel in the chamber below the city; it had a dull lustre to it, overlaid by several centuries of accumulated grime. Hercules carefully reached out and gave the thing an experimental tug.
It didn’t budge an inch.
Okay …
He let go of the metal and paced thoughtfully around the shaft into which it descended, trying to decide which way the chain was supposed to feed. Looking down gave him no clues at all. Looking up, he found himself studying the ornately decorated wheel over which the heavy links were draped. Despite initial impressions the carving was weathered, the images smoothed into the stone by the passage of time; this part of the system was obviously beyond the influence of the fragment of the staff that helped power the pump below. A frown creased across his features.
What do I do if this doesn’t work?
He stared down into the darkness a second time, wondering if the chain was merely anchored on the city’s water gates, or if the mechanism was far more complicated than that. The drape of the chain and the design of the wheel suggested that the metal was actually one long continuous loop, but maybe – if he had to – he could pull the whole thing up rather than down.
If Iolaus were here I’d ask him to climb down and take a look …
He’d never comfortably fit his broad shoulders into that gap, but the agile hunter would have been able to shimmy down the shaft and back up again without a breaking a sweat. Hercules sighed and went back to staring at the carvings on the wheel. Ifs never solved anything – and right now his partner should be making his way back to the city with an entire army in tow; a far more vital utilisation of his talents than simply being on hand to solve an ancient Atlantean riddle.
Which really wouldn’t be a riddle, if he could just figure out …
Wait a minute!
Hercules broke into a chagrined grin. The blurred shapes on the side of the wheel had just resolved themselves into comprehensible symbols. They were curved arrows; they all pointed the same way and they spiralled down from the outer edge of the wheel through three complete turns before they reached the central boss.
The ancient architect couldn’t have made it any more clearer, short of carving pull here at the appropriate edge of the shaft.
Which – when Hercules thought to move across and look - was more or less what he had done. He could just about make out a weathered arrow cut into the stone at the edge of the shaft and pointing imperiously at the chain.
"Okay." He took up his stance right at that point, a foot firmly planted on either side of the time blurred arrow. Both hands closed around the weight of metal and he gave the assembly another experimental tug. This time he felt something shift, and a satisfied grin curled its way onto his face. "All right." He signalled his readiness to Vassilos, and the boy quickly relayed the message with enthusiasm.
He was set. Everything was up to Amymome now.
The smoke was heavy above the lower city, a thick, greasy smoke that coiled around the walkways and towers almost as if it were a living thing. The queen pressed her dampened cloth to her face and hurried down to take her place on the outer walls. She passed one of the messenger boys, who whispered that the men were ready at the gate. She nodded her thanks and half ran the remaining distance. She didn’t want anyone to linger in this any longer than they had to.
The air on the outer wall was a little sweeter. The smoke was mostly gathered in the narrow streets behind the ramparts and only a little of it trickled over the weathered stone, pouring down the outside wall like a slow waterfall that vanished before it hit the ground. That was all to the good. Petrayus might have had reports from his archers, but it was unlikely that he had any concept of how bad the lower levels had become. Only a fool marches into a burning building – but then her cousin in law always had been a little slow to recognise a bad idea.
She had to wait for her General to join her and she rehearsed her speech inside her head while she did so, hoping that she wasn’t going to sound too false or raise too many suspicions.
At least I don’t have to pretend I’ve been crying.
Her eyes were streaming from the smoke; no doubt they were also red and puffy, complementing the dark circles that a sleepless night had given her. Not exactly a regal look, but hopefully one that would convince Petrayus that she was ready to accept his terms.
"We’re all set." Lysander emerged from the swirling smog, his normally gleaming armour dulled by its insidious cling. "Are you ready?"
Amymome nodded with grim determination. "The sooner we do this, the better. I don’t want any more of the city to burn than has to." She paused to lift her eyes and stare out, over the city wall and towards the haze of morning mist that cloaked the forest. "If Mithias comes – " she began to say.
"When Mithias comes," the old man corrected firmly, and she glanced back at him with a sheepish smile.
"When Mithias comes," she echoed, grateful for his confidence, "do you think he’ll see the smoke?"
"The gods could see this smoke from Mount Olympus," Lysander pointed out with amusement. "Let’s go put out the fires that make it, shall we?"
They walked to the outer edge of the wall, Lysander dropping back a little so that he was positioned to signal for the opening of the gate. The queen took those last few steps alone, moving to stand in the very same place she’d occupied only the day before. It felt as if she’d not been there for centuries.
"Petrayus!" She made the call sound like a plea for help. "Petrayus! I – I need to speak to you!"
"Think that’s my cue," Petrayus laughed, spurring his horse forward with a well placed kick and leaving his aide to follow the best he could. The gathered ranks of mercenaries parted to let him through, surging back in behind him, their voices muttering eager expectations of loot and other, more entertaining, rewards. Most of them were gathered in the plaza, just as he’d ordered. Those few that were left – like the archers still holding vigil on the mountainside and the half dozen he’d sent to work on the damn – would need a little compensation for not being among the first to enter and plunder the city. He’d given strict instructions though. Tantellus would be fair game only as far as the fourth tier. Everything above that was his and he’d promised to deal severely with any man found looting from the upper levels.
It wasn’t that big an army. Once he’d hired the engineers and their massive catapult he’d not had much left to offer mercenaries as payment, although the promise of a entire city to pillage had lured a few more to join the ranks. He’d been certain, however, that it would quite big enough to intimidate Amymome and her band of women; where Mithias might have been foolish enough to risk battle, Petrayus had known his queen would have no heart to risk anybody.
Not even the so called mighty Hercules …
He grinned as he reined his horse to a halt beside the grotesque statue that squatted in front of the gates. He even let the high strung animal prance and paw at the ground for a moment because he knew it would make him look good. He had to admit that he’d had a moment of doubt – just one – when he’d found Jacye’s first anxious message about the presence of the son of Zeus to be true. But he had an army at his back, and one man – okay, two, if you counted that annoying little cockerel who seemed to have been tagging at Hercules’ heels – would hardly have proved a threat to that.
Jayce had dealt with the problem anyway. And as soon as he were sitting on his throne, he’d deal with her and the matter would be over.
Might even make this place an attraction.
The last resting place of a hero always became a place of pilgrimage. He could build a shrine or something to house the body and charge a fortune for people to come and look at it. Once he had Mithias’ brat in his hands, he could persuade Amymome to keep her mouth shut.
Right now, though, he needed her giving orders …
"You summoned me, my queen?" he called up, getting the horse to step back a little so that he could better see the figures on the walls above him. The city loomed over them with its usual menace, which he determinedly ignored. He was focused on the people anyway, rather than the towering walls. One of them was Lysander, which didn’t surprise him very much. The old general always did like interfering in everything, despite the fact that he’d been past it years ago. The other one was Amymome herself, draped in black and wearing a mourner’s veil.
Very appropriate, Petrayus decided, casting a quick glance along the wall in either direction. There was no sign of anyone else, not even that irritating blond fellow he’d tried to have shot the day before. Sulking somewhere, no doubt.
It didn’t matter. If Jayce hadn’t managed to deal with the bantam cock, he could be sacrificed along with her when the time came. Her to Zeus and him to Hera perhaps. Just to help keep his options open …
"I have come to ask for your mercy." Amymome had stepped forward and lifted her veil. Beneath it her face was stark and her eyes were swollen with tears. Petrayus’ lips tightened with a smug smile; he’d spent half his life trying to get her to take him seriously.
So who’s laughing now?
"Tantellus is filled with smoke and flame." The queen’s voice held a desperate noted. "My people are afraid for their lives. We can’t live through another day of your ‘gifts’. Send no more. You’ve made your point, Petrayus."
"I have, my queen?" His mocking tone made her wince, and his smile got a little wider. He let her wait for a moment, then spoke again, adding a hint of anger to his words "So why are the gates still shut? Let me in, and we can settle this amicably. Come on, Amymome," he commanded, unable to suppress his irritation at being kept waiting. "Your city is burning, your heroic defender is dead – and so’s you’re so-called King by now. Drowned or scalded – maybe both. I can wait out here forever. But the longer I wait, the more we both lose. So open the damn gates!"
Amymome leaned forward, staring down at him with a sudden flare of hate in her eyes. "You bastard," she spat. "All right. I’ll let you into the city. Take what you can of Tantellus. But I swear - you’ll never lay your hands on me."
Petrayus tugged back on his horse’s reins; for one startled moment he actually thought she was going to jump – except that the old general was there, pulling her back from the wall with hasty hands. She collapsed into his arms, sobbing hysterically.
"Just words," the nobleman called up, fighting to calm his skittish mount. "You heard her old man. Give the order to open the gates and my men will be merciful. Just don’t keep us waiting too long!"
"Amymome!" Lysander sounded decidedly scandalised. "What were you thinking? Surely you didn’t mean to …"
"Of course not," the queen muttered, pressed into his sculptured breastplate and fighting down an attack of hysterical laughter. "I knew you’d pull me back. Oh but – did you see his face? He has no idea …"
"Mmm," the old man was not amused. "Very convincing, I’m sure."
"I’m waiting!" The words drifted up over the wall, backed with decided impatience. Amymome pulled herself together with a decided effort. Hercules had been right. The moment she’d looked her enemy in the eye she’d known exactly how to deal with him.
And – gods – it felt good, knowing that she was the one who held all the aces, no matter what Petrayus believed.
"It’s time," she decided, taking a careful breath to calm herself down. Lysander stared at her for a moment, then let a slow smile curl onto his face.
"Now, my queen?"
"Now."
The signals flashed along the line of eager volunteers; one to start the opening of the gates, the other to trigger the trap. Vassilos leapt to his feet as soon as he saw his best friend waving in his direction.
"Now!" he called, waving his own arms with enthusiasm. Hercules had been staring out into the city, his eyes seemingly focused on nothing at all, but the call galvanised him into instant action. His hands went up and out, closing around the heavy metal links. His muscles bulged as he applied weight to the chain, tugging downwards with all his might. For a long moment, nothing happened. The boy held his breath.
Finally, the chain began to move.
Slowly at first, then faster and faster, pulled hand over hand as the huge wheel turned in response to the demand. Somewhere, deep beneath the city, something groaned, like the voice of a Titan bemoaning the agonies of Tarterus. Other sounds joined it; the noise of ancient mechanisms grinding into action. The ground shook. The walls shuddered.
And Tantellus gurgled.
"That’s more like it." Petrayus sat up in the saddle as the massive gates began to swing open. His enduring memory of the city was of hearing those gates slam shut behind him; now, at last, he was going to get his rightful due. A billow of thick smoke rolled out towards him, but he ignored it. Tantellus was made of stone. It could hardly be burning that badly. "Ready men?" he questioned, turning to signal the advance.
Distantly, something rumbled inside the city. And the statue beside him made an incredibly rude noise.
"What the …" Petrayus questioned, turning to stare at the stone with decided annoyance.
It belched.
So did the stone gargoyles that lined the plaza. Something splattered onto the stone. Something thick and gooey that made the men shuffle back in alarm. The distant rumbling grew louder. The mercenaries exchanged wary looks.
Their leader frowned.
The rumbling became a roaring. More detritus spattered down. Those few men with shields raised them hastily. Others backed away coughing as thick clouds of smoke poured out of the now open gates.
And before anyone could quite place the noise, or issue another order, the stone gargoyles unleashed a stream of vile rain, vomiting liquid from the depths and covering the gathered troops within seconds. The white horse reared in fright, depositing its rider right at the foot of the grotesque gate guardian. Petrayus landed with a painful thud, looking up just in time to get a faceful of muck as the statue joined in and began to spew out the same unsavoury slop.
He struggled to regain his feet, hopelessly slipping and sliding in the thick, slimy mess. He was swiftly coated from head to foot, blinded by the abominable rain and choking in the fumes. The detritus of centuries spewed out across the plaza, drowning the angry cries of men taken totally by surprise. Petrayus cursed, spitting filth from his lips as he struggled to escape the intolerable assault. His hands closed on carved stone and he hauled himself upright, turning to glower in through the deceptive promise of the gates.
"I’ll kill them," he growled through gritted teeth, taking half a step forward and reaching down for his sword. "I’ll kill them all …"
Just then, the rest of the flood surged along the streets, filled Posideon’s square and boiled out of the city through the only available escape route.
The city gates.
The wave of stinking, steaming water swept everything before it.
Smoke.
Muck.
And mercenaries …
When the roaring, rushing, punishing assault finally ended, Petryaus was the only figure left on the water scoured plaza. He’d been pushed up against the statue and held there by the force of the flood. Everyone else had been washed down the mountainside, leaving the stone swept clean and practically gleaming in the early sun. As the last of the water drained away he slid downwards, too exhausted to stay upright, and rolled over, to blink dazedly at the sky.
The sound of running footsteps resounded though the gate tunnel.
He turned his head, staring at the pair of leather booted feet that came to a halt beside him. Above them were a pair of intricately woven pants, and above that –
"Well," Hercules considered, looking down at him with a thoughtful look on his face, "you look a little flushed. I’m afraid your siege is all washed up. But – look on the bright side. At least you got a hot bath."
"I’ll – kill – you…" Petrayus gasped, half struggling to his feet and groping for his sword. Hercules smiled apologetically and casually kicked it out of his hand. The blow spun the soaked nobleman round, landing him back on his hands and knees. Hooves skittered on the stone beside him and he looked up for the second time, hoping to see his own horse and a possible avenue of escape.
No such luck.
Mithias was there, staring down at him with a look like thunder painted across his face.
And sat right behind him, with a grin that stretched from ear to ear, was that annoying blond little bantam cock …
"Oh sh…" Petrayus choked, and spat a mouthful of the stuff, just to emphasise the point.
"… you should have seen him," Mithais was saying, one arm tight around his wife’s waist, the other waving excitedly to make his point. "He ran straight into camp, yelling fit to wake the dead. Men were spilling out of their tents, half dressed, swords in hand … He had to fight his way through half of them, because they thought we were under attack. Nothing stopped him. He came hurtling towards my tent like a whirlwind, shouting something about the dam and the river, and the fact that there were six of my best guardsman stood between him and me didn’t phase him for an instant. He leapt clean up into the air, somersaulted over the drawn swords using Macareon’s shoulders as a spring board, and landed right in front of me.
"Of course," the King explained, leading the way up the steps, "He was immediately surrounded by half a dozen swords points, but by then I’d recognised what he was wearing. Not to mention the fact that he was holding our your ring, my love. He could barely speak, he was that exhausted, but he kept babbling on and on about the dam and danger and we finally got the message.
"We evacuated the camp just in time. He’d stopped them from destroying the whole damn, which would have been total disaster, but it had been cracking open ever since he’d left it, and it spilled out enough water to flood half the valley. We were well away by then." Mithais turned to flash the man he was talking about a knowing - and grateful grin. "Even if I did have to ride back and haul him up behind me at the last minute." The King laughed, as much at Iolaus’ expression as anything else. "Just swimming under the mountain would have killed me," he concluded warmly, "let alone the rest of it. To be honest," he added with another laugh, "I’m surprised you can so much as walk even now."
"I’m not walking, I’m limping," the hunter admitted, throwing a tired grin at his partner, who’d been the one to catch him as he’d slid from the King’s horse down by the gate. Hercules grinned back. Iolaus did look a little worse for wear after his adventure, but most of that was five o’clock shadow and the need for a good night’s rest. The skin tight suit still hugged the contours of his body although he’d abandoned most of its accoutrements; his feet were bare and only the intricately wrought weighted belt remained to suggest the archaic nature of his costume. The dark green fabric shimmered a little in the morning sun, making it look as if he were clad in weathered bronze, or perhaps – given the closeness of its fit – as if he were made of bronze.
The son of Zeus reached out and cuffed the man lightly on the shoulder, intending it to be a welcome back and well done kind of gesture. It resulted in a decided wince and a pained look. The look became even more pained when Amymome turned to offer him an impulsive hug of thanks.
"Uh – " Iolaus protested, fending her off with apologetic hands, "’preciate the thought, your majesty, but – I’m – uh – little black and blue under here. Too many eels," he added as if that explained everything.
"Really," Hercules acknowledged, making a mental note to get every detail out of him, once he was rested enough to manage a coherent story. "Eels, huh?"
"Yeah." The hunter affirmed abstractedly. "How ‘bout you? You manage everything okay?"
"No problem." The son of Zeus shrugged. "Amymome sent the signal, I pulled the chain. It was a little rusty, but – everything worked."
"It worked perfectly," the queen laughed. "All the fires are out in the lower city, all the fight’s gone out of the mercenaries, and Tantellus is safe. Thanks to you two," she added, favouring the both of them with decided gratitude. Hercules grimaced a little uncomfortably. He really didn’t like being showered with thanks and praise however much he might deserved it. At least Iolaus might get appropriate recognition for his contribution this time round. Which wouldn’t be a first, but uncommon enough an occurrence to make it worth noting.
Of course, it also meant that his partner would probably be insufferable for days, but he could live with that. The hunter had risked his life to help save this city and its people; it was something he had a habit of doing, despite the fact that he rarely got credit for it.
About time someone noticed.
Other than me, of course.
Oh – and Missy, I guess …
Artemis, he decided, amused by the fact that Iolaus had also reacted to the queens gratitude with a vaguely embarrassed grin, ought to be very proud of her hound right now …
"It’s – what we do," the hunter offered with an attempt at a nonchalant shrug that he clearly regretted. The words were probably meant to sound nonchalant too, but there was a little bit of self satisfied pride lurking behind them. Not that Hercules could blame him for that. "Right, Herc?"
"Right." The son of Zeus smiled knowingly at Amymome and she chuckled softly.
"So I’ve been told. I doubt that they’ll take it so lightly," she observed, nodding at the stream of people who made up the rest of their procession. The entire womens’ council – with the exception of Lucina of course – had formed an enthusiastic escort for their king and queen. They, in turn, had been swamped by their menfolk – husbands, brothers, sons – who clung to them with heartfelt relief. Milone had her arm firmly linked to a good looking young man. He held on to her just as tightly, although it was noticeable that his eyes kept drifting towards Cystalia and her escort, a gaggle of the city’s bachelors all determined to make sure that she – and her apprentices – had all survived their experience unscathed.
"Absolutely not," Mithais grinned, gesturing his wife and their honoured guests ahead of him into the spacious throne room. "The entire city owe you two their lives. We shall have to think of an appropriate way to repay you."
"You know," Hercules started to protest, "that really won’t be necessary …"
Their arrival was a noisy one; they were accompanied by an excited hubbub of multiple voices which swept into the room with almost forceful resonance. It woke the baby, who let out a wail of protest and it disturbed the semi-doze of the old woman sitting at the foot of the throne. She – alerted by the child’s cry more than anything – immediately leapt to her feet in alarm. The ancient crossbow, which had been lying across her lap, slipped to the floor, bounced on the steps – and went off with a decided twang.
The crowd fell into a sudden, horrified silence.
It all happened in the blink of an eye; the bolt whizzed up towards the ceiling, ricocheted off a carved moulding, flew out towards the left hand wall, hit a hanging shield, hurtled across a number of heads (the people concerned ducking in alarm), was deflected by a supporting pillar, stuck polished marble, and recoiled upwards with barely diminished speed. Iolaus made an odd sound; a gurgled, half grunt of alarm that he caught back with a gulp of surprise. His eyes went wide. A look of total astonishment crossed his face –
- and Hercules was just in time to turn and catch him as one knee buckled under him, spilling him straight into his partner’s waiting arms.
"Ow," the hunter complained, leaning into his friend’s anxious support. "Ow, wow, wow, wow, wow!"
What the –
Hercules’ initial alarm gave way to a frown of concern that, just as quickly, became an involuntary smirk. The son of Zeus tried to smothered a snort of laughter and failed miserably. It earned him a very wounded look from the man in arms, but that just triggered another half strangled chortle that bubbled up despite all efforts to stop it. It wasn’t funny, not by any stretch of the imagination, but all the same …
"Iolaus!" Amymome and a number of others had reacted with equal alarm. They, like Hercules, had lost sight of the missile’s trajectory and now hastily converged on its victim’s location with anxious speed. The queen orientated herself first, quickly registering the sight that awaited her. Her hand flew to her mouth and she too desperately tried to smother a reactive giggle. "Oh – my," she managed, "you poor thing …"
The ripple of amusement ran around the assembled court, a reaction born as much from shared relief as it was from the momentary humour of the situation. Mithais’ face twisted in a regal attempt to subdue a grin and Lysander choked down a decided chuckle, turning it into a hasty cough.
"Smoke," he excused himself, struggling for air. Iolaus, clinging to Hercules’ muscled arms with a tight clench of pain, threw him a thunderous look.
"When you’ve all finished laughing," he requested though clenched teeth, "maybe one of you would be so good as to – get this thing outta my butt. Ahh – " His wince of agony spoke volumes; Hercules sobered immediately.
"Easy," he advised, reaching to intercept his friend’s hand as it groped to locate the source of his distress. "I think those bolts are barbed. We’re going to have to cut it out."
"Oh gr-reat," Iolaus groaned, resting his forehead against a muscular chest and heaving a weary sigh. "That’s all I needed."
"You’ll be okay." Hercules assured him, taking another quick look at the damage. It was clear that the tough fabric of the suit had prevented any major damage. The bolt hadn’t sunk nearly as deep as it should have done, and, since the point was buried in the fleshiest part of the man’s anatomy, the result, while undoubtedly painful, was hardly life threatening. "But," the grin came back involuntarily, "you won’t be walking very far for a while."
Iolaus balled his fist and punched his amused supporter in the stomach, a blow his friend took in the spirit it was intended. It didn’t have a lot of strength behind it in any case.
"Someone send for a healer," Mithias was commanding imperiously. Merrine was pushing through the gathered crowd, her amenable face creased with apology and concern.
"Oh my," the old woman gasped, looking decidedly contrite. "I never – I mean, I didn’t – I, oh – I am so sorry. Please say you forgive me. Oh, please – I was just trying to protect Icastus …"
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," the hunter assured her, grimacing as his friend carefully lifted him back to his feet. "Its okay. Really."
"We’ll make sure it is," Amymome announced, sharing the thought with the people around her. Eager hands were reaching out to offer support. Female hands; it seemed as if every woman in the room had converged to come to their hero’s rescue, leaving their menfolk to stare at them with bewilderment. Cystalia was there, and Yvanis, and Milone among others, all competing to offer their care and concern. Hercules widened his smile and stepped back, leaving the hunter to their tender mercies. Iolaus’ first reaction to his abandonment was bemusement. His second was wary realisation – and after that he surrendered himself to the women’s solicitous care, the martyred look he painted onto his face totally at odds with the light that had begun to dance in his eyes.
"Something tells me," Mithais remarked, watching the attentive group practically carry the wounded man away, "that he’s going to be in need of rescue before the day is out."
Hercules grinned. The siege was over, the city was safe – and his best friend, wounded by friendly fire, was in way over his head. Again.
"You may be right, your majesty" he breathed. "You may well be right …"
Disclaimer: No carnivorous eels or stunt pigeons were harmed during the production of this tale. Tours of the Tantellus sewers and waterworks are available on request; the bathhouse welcomes visitors all year round. Book early to avoid disappointment.
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