The Trials of Hercules (11 page)

She shakes her head. “I won’t believe that.”

She takes both my hands in hers, lifting them and turning them over as if inspecting them for something. I expect her to see crevices filled with the dried blood of my children and to recoil from me, but either she sees nothing or ignores what she does find. She bends her head and places a light kiss on each of my palms.

I yank my hands away and step into the room.

“Thank you for your words, Highness, but I am what they say. Do not hold to an ideal you formed of me when you were a girl.”

I close the door on her and lean my forehead against it until I hear her light steps moving away from my room and the sound of door at the end of the corridor closing behind her.

8

E
URY

The knocking at the bedchamber door distracts me from my moment of release. Adneta grunts and shoves me aside.

“You could at least satisfy me if you’re going to wake me at this hour.”

“Next time, my dear,” I say as I give the tip of her nose a kiss before dragging myself away from her.

Without bothering to grab my robe, I march from the bed to the door and yank it open. Baruch’s dark eyes dart to me, past my shoulder to the bed, and back to me as I hear Adneta pacing around the room. Under his gaze in the harsh morning light, I wish I had covered my half-erect state.

“Yes?” I demand.

“It’s time, Excellency.”

“Time?”

“You said to inform you when it was time to go to the House of Hera. They will have finished their morning devotions by now.”

“Yes, fine, prepare my clothes.” I shut the door.

“Must you go?” Adneta asks me as she sprawls back into bed and begins touching herself. “I hate leaving business unfinished.”

Damn the gods. My cousins can wait. The Herenes can wait. Baruch can wait. I cannot. I’m to the bed in two paces pleased with myself for making the wise decision to wake Adneta this morning with whispers that she can have a gift of her choosing rather than keeping the news a surprise.

“I’ve had my eye on a diamond necklace.” She moans as I enter her. “With an emerald pendant.” Another moan and then she is panting her words. “I want it. Give it to me.”

It makes no difference if she means me or the necklace. I swell inside her. The bed cries in rapid squeaks with my thrusts. “It’s yours. All yours.”

She writhes and clenches me to her sending me over the edge of passion. Once I stop, she slips out from under me and gives a satisfied grin. Dear gods, what if Herc fails Hera’s ridiculous task and I can’t get the necklace? Will my wife still want me?

As Adneta gets up to clean herself—giving me teasing glances as she does so—I chide myself for my foolish insecurity. Of course this woman loves me and she deserves everything I can give her. I had hoped the reward from ridding the people of the Nemea District of their lion problem would have stretched a bit further than one necklace, but I can’t fault my wife for having exquisite tastes.

After lingering a while to watch Adneta, I slide off the silk sheets and head to my dressing chamber. Baruch dresses me in curt silence. His quietude isn’t unusual. He rarely speaks to me unless asking or responding to a question, but his tugs at my tunic this morning seem harder, his belt cinching feels rougher, and his final brush down comes more like slaps than whisks. I ignore the harsh treatment, but remind myself if it continues into another day, he will have to be let go.

Being gentler on the horses than he had been with me, Baruch drives the carriage down the hill to the House of Hera. I leave the curtains open, letting the people see me, letting them view their Solon. A few bow or curtsy as I roll by, some turn away with faces snarled in disgust, others jut fingers at collapsed walls as if I have masonry tools in my carriage and will stop to make repairs right then and there. But the most obnoxious people are those cheering me. Any other time I would have rejoiced at this, but they don’t cheer me for my greatness or my status. No, they cheer that I have shown mercy to Herc.

My skin burns at their words. My hand grips the curtains, ready to whip them shut, but I realize that cheers are cheers. They see me as someone even greater than Herc because I have shown their hero mercy. And if he dies in these trials, it will have been I who gave him a second chance. Instead of hiding, I release my grip on the fabric to reach out of the window, wave, and brush the hands of my admirers.

By the time the carriage stops outside the House of Hera’s gate, I glow with the satisfaction of the morning. The smile pushing up my cheeks droops only the slightest when I step through the Peacock Gate to see Iolalus and the high priestess perched on a bench together as Herc stands rigidly behind them wearing what appears to be a freshly laundered tunic.

A blonde boy with a horrid cowlick holds the reins of two horses, talking to them and ignoring the adults. Iolalus chatters as Herc looks away and shifts on his feet whenever the Herene turns to him. When they see me, Herc stands even straighter and Iolalus rises to attention. The Herene takes her time, setting down the cup in her hands and smoothing her dress before standing and nodding her head to greet me.

I give the House a cursory look. I force my face to maintain its unimpressed expression as I evaluate the complex, but my blood pulses with envy at the House’s immense grandeur. Gods, the place has possibility. It would make a wonderfully spacious brothel. Much better than the cramped confines of Portaceae’s current whorehouse where I found Adneta. Plus, this location would be so convenient to the heart of the city. It’s not to say the trek beyond the city walls isn’t worth what the ladies have to offer, but it does cause problems when a man wants some pleasure once the city gates close at dark.

Such possibility. All these women puttering about could really give something back to Portaceae rather than living off the Herenes.  Well, maybe not all, I think as I observe a hob-legged crone dragging a rake over the gravel paths.

“Cousins,” I say greeting them cheerfully. “You’re ready for your first task, I see. Rested? Fed?”

“Yes,” Herc says, then catches himself. “No, I mean, our things haven’t arrived.”

“And when will they?” I ask Iole. I give her my most charming smile and concerned gaze, but her face remains impassive.

“Later today. The House has been busy tending to injuries from another building collapse. Truly, Eury, you need to put money into the treasury so we can get these repairs done.”

With only a few sentences from her pert little mouth, the Herene brings a storm cloud over my sunny mood. How can someone so delicious be so serious? Perhaps if my brothel idea ever pans out, I can auction her off. A romp with one of Portaceae’s wealthy men could truly do her and my pocketbook wonders.

I could never understand why Portaceae’s founders had left overseeing the treasury to the Herenes. Every evening the accounts have to be reported to the House, and every month I have to meet with the priestess to go over the state of the treasury and budget—dull topics indeed. Did the founders not see the hassle this caused? So much running around with reporting to them income, detailing my expenses—with some creative embellishments to make Adneta’s clothes and jewels read more like stones for walls and cloth for ships’ sails. It would be so much easier to take the books out from under this little busybody’s nose.

“I’m sorry to hear that, but if you two wait, you won’t have time. The first task, one set out by Hera herself, must be completed by the end of the day and it’s an hour’s journey to where the lion was last seen.”

“Lion?” Herc asks.

“Yes, the Nemean Lion. The governor of the district says the beast has been perusing the hills of Eastern Portaceae making snacks of livestock. And children.”

Herc flinches at the mention of children at risk. Hera is right—it is enjoyable to watch him suffer.

“But we have no weapons. How do you expect us to succeed?” Iolalus asks.

“You’ll find a way. Perhaps the Herenes keep a stock of weapons.” I give a questioning glance to the priestess.

“You know we don’t,” Iole says.

“Pity.”

Just then a man on horseback canters into the courtyard causing quite a commotion as the hobbling old woman brandishes a rake and yells at him to get off her paths. His long, black hair tied back with a strip of leather emphasizes his beak-like nose and angular face. The man reminds me so much of a bird that if he took off his tunic I wouldn’t be surprised to see wings sticking out of his back. His dusky brown horse, loaded down with equipment, stops beside us.

“Greetings, Altair,” I say.

“Gods be with you, Excellency.”

“Herc, Iolalus, meet your film crew, Altair Athos.”

“And why do we need a film crew?” Iolalus asks.

“Clearly, because I want to watch you. Altair can send a live stream that will go straight to my villa. And don’t ask me how, I’m no engineer.”

“It’s to do with the signals we can pick up from—”

“Do you know how much electricity costs?” Iole demands, cutting off Altair’s explanation. “You want to use electricity for your entertainment when it could be used to power equipment to build stronger buildings, pump water, bake bread. This is ridiculous. Electricity should be for everyone, not just the Solon.”

“Calm yourself, priestess. It’s not my fault the people placed electricity in the hands of the Osterian Council. They’re the ones that charge so much. They’re the ones that only allot a small quantity of electrical power to each polis. Not me. I’m as much a victim as everyone else in Portaceae. Now, if you’re worried about the cost, I promise to only turn on the screen during the good parts.”

I smile at my own cleverness, but the Herene’s scowl deepens enough to form a furrow between her eyes.

“Let everyone watch,” she says. “Since you won’t give them safe conditions, good jobs, or food, at least give your people some entertainment.”

I have to admit, I like this idea. A show at the arena will be just like the games we once presented. Games always get people into the arena and, once in the stands and watching a riveting show, they spend their drachars to satiate their hunger and thirst. Since thirty percent of the arena vendors’ take goes straight into my coffers—

“A brilliant idea, Priestess. I’m sure we can dig up some engineers who can get the arena screen working.”

“That’s another thing, Excellency.” How skillful she is at making my title sound like filth she needs to scrape off her shoe. “You need to hire engineers to shore up some of these buildings. If another earthquake hits, the hospital will be overwhelmed with injuries. We can barely handle the ones coming in from—”

“My dear, we should cover this when we go over the budget next. You wouldn’t want these men to fail because you’re worried about a few bumps and bruises.”

She opens her mouth as if to argue, but then shoots a fretful look to Herc. He meets her eyes briefly before becoming interested in a pebble in his sandal, but the glance is enough to make her face soften.

Dear gods, could the Herene be lusting for my cousin?

“No, of course not,” she mutters.

“Then let us wish my cousins good luck.”

Iole gives Iolalus a brief hug before he swings up onto his horse. When she approaches Herc, he sticks out his hand before she can embrace him. She grabs it in both of hers and holds it a few moments before letting go and walking away. The curve of her ass dances under her linen gown and I wonder again how much she could be auctioned off for. From the height of a massive dappled mare, Herc clears his throat to take my attention off the Herene’s parting view. I smile at his scowl. “The gods do bless us, don’t they?” I say before strolling back to my carriage.

9

S
TAVROS

“We found work for you, thief,” the guard says as he clangs open my cell door.

I move off the bunk, my back protesting the change in position. “The accommodations here could use some updating,” I say. I twist right to left trying to ease the tension that has crept up on me after another night on the book-thin mattress, but my back refuses to relax.

The guard ignores my review and leads me to a horse-drawn cart. Both the cart and the horse look as if they might crumble apart on the wretched roads of this city, but, by the thin threads of the gods’ robes, I’m delivered safely to a monstrous arena.

We have our own amphitheaters in Athenos, but nothing of this scale. I remember seeing this gargantuan when I visited Portaceae as a child, but when you barely reach your mother’s hip, everything looks huge. Before my trial I’d only caught glimpses of the arena from my daughter’s area of town, but even from half a mile away, the thing dwarfed any building I’d seen before. And during my trial, I’d been too irritated with myself for getting caught stealing a stale hunk of bread to pay much notice to the impressive building.

Now, as the cart makes its way around to the rear of the structure, I size up the three tiers of arches that comprise the outside walls and make a rough guess that it can hold at least five thousand people.

“He’s yours now,” the guard says to the lanky, bow-legged man—barely twenty years old by the look of him—who greets us. The guard shoves me hard enough to twist my torso. My spine calls out in a series of pops that sends the cramps fleeing from my back. Relieved of my aches for the first time in days, I slide out of the cart to stand by my new boss. “Make sure he puts in a full day. If he don’t work, trip a call box and the vigiles’ll bring him back to our fine establishment.” The guard throws me a snide look that tells me my next stay will make the first seem like the finest Portaceae had to offer.

“Thank you, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” The cart clatters away and the boy sticks out his hand. “I’m Orpheus Keros. I hear you’re an engineer.”

I shake his hand and introduce myself.

“I was, but I haven’t done any work for several months.”

“You’re from Athenos, though?
Gods, I can’t imagine it. Mother wants me to become a musician – natural talent, she says. But much to her disappointment I’m fascinated by engineering.
I’d love a chance to apprentice in Athenos someday. I hear they have electricity throughout the polis.”