The Trials of Hercules (34 page)

25

E
URY

I’m in the agora when I learn of the treason. In a pointless attempt to win favor with the people, I decided to mingle in the marketplace. But when I arrive, hardly a soul can be found. A few beggars, some vendors closing up their carts, and a young couple locked in a kiss—probably taking advantage of the absence of parental onlookers. I’m about to head back to the carriage waiting for me around the corner when my ears are assaulted by shouts coming from the arena.

A vendor pushes his cart of roasting nuts past me without even acknowledging his Solon. I clutch his arm, jerking him to a stop and sending a pile of hazelnuts spilling to the ground.

“You son of a—” He cuts off his curse with a bow. “Solon, my apologies.”

“What’s going on? Where is everyone?” His plump jowls shake as his mouth dribbles out hesitant sounds. “Out with it. Where is everyone?”

“In the arena. Herc’s being shown again. I didn’t go. I honor the ban. I wouldn’t—”

“Shut up,” I say and release his arm with a hard shove.

The outrage. Haven't I ordered the feed to be cut off? Haven't I expressly commanded no more of Herc on the screen, no more celebrating him, no more of their hero worship. To take control of the feed without my permission, to call a gathering at the arena without informing me. An outrage. Who summoned them? How did they know to be there? It's as if they insist on defying me. To Hades with winning over these peoples’ hearts.

No more. If they want a ruler, I will give them a ruler. One with a fist of stone. And the first order of business is to do away with the rebels.

“Guards!” In a heartbeat, four of my royal guards appear out of the shadows of the arcade around the agora. The vendor shuffles away as fast as possible. Crows and jays swoop down to fight over the hazelnuts, chestnuts, and peanuts that drop from his cart in his haste. “When you next see Altair Athos he is to be executed as a traitor. Is that understood?”

In unison, the men grunt a hearty assent and two of them march off to give orders to their comrades back at my villa. I beckon the remaining two to follow me to the arena. One goes in front and one takes up the rear as we march our way through the arena’s back entrance and to the control room. Each step brings a rush of exhilaration and an invigorating sense of true power.

I pause at the door to speak to my guards.

“Stay on the alert inside, but let me handle the situation. I won’t have it said I set armed guards on the men in here.”

I indicate the door to one of the guards and he throws it open to reveal a room crammed with wires and panels filled with knobs and buttons. The guards rush in with me, shut the door behind, then spread out to block the exit. Orpheus Keros, a lanky man I recognize from his failed attempts at reconnecting the electricity to my villa, throws up his hands. He instantly steps back from the machinery, but another man, older and somewhat familiar begins yelling at me to leave.

“Turn it off,” I shout over his rant. I step in closer, my hands already forming into tight fists.

“The people want to see it. They deserve—”

An Athenian. How dare an Athenian interfere in my polis? Without a thought, my fist crashes into his face. The connection sends a jolt of pain through my hand and up my arm. Soft bones crush under my punch and blood spurts from his nose. The man staggers back clutching his face.

“Turn it off,” I command.

“Yes, Excellency.” The thrill of hearing the tremble in Orpheus’s voice erases any pain in my hand. I grab the older man by his tunic as Orpheus fumbles with switches.

“And you.” I land another jab in the center of the man’s face. He groans and his eyes flare with defiance, but he says nothing. “Treason to disobey me.” Another fist to his face and his head swoons. “Open the windows,” I shout to my guards. “Traitors need to be dealt with.”

I drag the Athenian to the window and, seeing that the screen has gone black, give a satisfied snort. I hold the man at the window’s ledge, teetering him over as I grip his tunic tighter.

“Excellency, no, he’s a good—” Orpheus begs, but it’s too late. The traitor’s body is flying through the air over the arena. My feeling of power also soars. I turn to Orpheus. The guards have restrained him but he makes no effort to struggle against their hold. I step over to the bow-legged man and stare at him, evaluating him. His chin shakes and large tears fall over his red cheeks. I should have tossed Orpheus from that window as well, but even in my rage I know the limits of what I can get away with.

“Please don’t—” His plea is cut off by pounding at the door.

I brush back my hair with my hand and straighten the silk robe I wear over my tunic before opening the door. A group of vigiles with Iolalus at their head looms before me. Iole joins their ranks, her face marred with irritation. My hand clenches back into a fist and an urge wells up in me to strike a blow into her face as I did with the Athenian. I can almost feel the crack of her teeth under my fist and it makes my head swim with giddiness.

But this is not the time. I release my fist.

“What is it?” I demand.

“Excellency, you are arrested for blood crime.” The microphone must still be on because Iolalus's words echo across the arena.

“No, I'm not.” The sound system sends my words reverberating back on me. “Would someone turn that microphone off?” The guards release Orpheus who presses a button with a shaky finger.

“Half the city witnessed what you’ve done,” Iole says jutting her arm to indicate the scene outside the window. The stands are in mayhem. People are scrambling over one another in a panic to get out. If they know what’s best for them, they will not want to be identified by me.

“Blood crimes are a peacetime law held to protect the citizens of a polis,” I say. “Surely the head priestess and protector of Hera's laws knows that.”

“You killed a man,” Iolalus says.

“I killed an Athenian. We are at war. We must protect ourselves from foreigners. He may have been an enemy. He may have been working for the Areans. Have you considered that? I killed a potential enemy, not a citizen.”

“He was working for us. His name was Stavros Paulos. He was employed by that man.” She points to Orpheus who is wiping his eyes with a cloth. “Orpheus hired the man after his day of tribute service which he completed for the good of Portaceae.”

“I was only protecting Portaceae as you asked me to do,” I say with mock sincerity. I can see her working this out. Had I thrown Orpheus out the window I would indeed be facing a blood crime trial and possible execution, although my insistence that he was a traitor could go far. Luckily, a foreigner and one who has already been convicted for a crime does not count in the blood crime law during war time. I thank the gods for the Areans' blood and land lust. It does make killing anyone who gets in my way quite convenient. “Now, if you don't mind, I must think further of what is best for Portaceae with our hero's next adventure.”

I move to leave the control room, but the vigiles block my way. I look to Iole. She glares at me a moment longer before stepping aside.

“He has the truth of the law. Let him go.” The vigiles part before me and my guards, but before I make it past their hulking hall of muscle, Iole speaks again. “You have yet to meet with me, Your Excellency. I must insist on a meeting. Soon.”

“I'll check my schedule.”

I can feel her eyes boring holes into my back as I brush past the vigiles.

Three days later Herc arrives at my villa with the horses. With their mouths bound, they look pathetic, but Herc and Altair are patting their necks as if they’re ordinary steeds. One nudges Herc forward as he faces me.

“They need to be contained and kept away from people,” he says.

“Yes, yes, now hand them over.”

Herc slaps the four leads into my palm. One of the horses, a pinto, nuzzles into my shoulder. I slap him across the nose not wanting his deadly mouth near me. The horse snorts and rears back. As if his anger is contagious, the other three animals begin rearing and snorting as well. Hooves and forelegs flail around my head as fetid horse breath envelopes me in its cloying humidity. When I raise my arms in defense, a roan comes down, nicking my forearm with his hoof.

“No beast touches me. No beast harms the Solon.” I throw down the reins.

“Guards, kill these traitorous things.”

“No, they only need—”

My cousin’s words are cut off as my guards slash at the horses' necks. One guard is downed by a hoof that cracks his skull, but steel proves tougher than flesh and in only moments, the four beasts sprawl on the ground, their necks pulsing dark blood onto the grass.

“And him as well.” I point to Altair who looks behind him as if I’m referring to a ghost hovering at his back. Before he can move, before he can even piss himself, one of the guards flings a dagger that spins end over end in rapid somersaults until its blade sinks into the cameraman's throat. He slumps down, gurgling out thick bubbles of blood. Herc drops to his knees, cradling the man like a lover, telling him over and over it will be alright. The man's eyes are a mix of wide fear and contented gratitude. After a final shudder, his eyes close.

Herc shakes with rage as he slowly pushes himself to his feet. Every muscle tenses and a vein in the center of his forehead looks about to burst. He holds his jaw clenched so tight it would be impossible for him to scream all the vile things I’m sure he wants to hurl at me. He looks to the horses then to his dead companion. My cousin leans over resting his hands on his thighs. He looks about to vomit, but instead he heaves out a heavy sob that seems to pull all air from his lungs. Another choking sound escapes him before he grips the camera then scoops up Altair’s body in his arms. Without looking to me, Herc storms off in long heavy strides.

“Thank you,” I call after him. “I'll be in touch.”

A sudden sensation of being sucked through a narrow tube overwhelms me. Have I fainted? My vision blurs to the point I think I’ve gone blind. Is this death? I scream but no sounds escape my mouth. The sickening feeling slams to a halt as my body crashes onto a hard surface. I worry if I open my eyes, I will find myself in Hades’s Chasm.

“What have you done?” A woman’s angry voice demands. “You needed these animals. How dare you waste them?”

I risk a peek. I’m in the Gods’ Room. I wobble slightly on shaky legs, but refuse to show any sign of weakness to Hera. She would enjoy it too much. I smooth my tunic and brush a hand over my hair forcing myself not to wince at the pain in my arm from the horse’s attack.

“You could do that all along? You could have saved me a lot of stair climbing over the years, you know.”

“What have you done, Eury?”

“The horses? Sacrifices. To you my goddess.” I drop into a swift and deep bow.

“Unacceptable. I do not accept it.”

“That's hardly gracious, is it?”

“You are making poor use of these tasks. He is not being shamed. He is not being humiliated. Despite your commands to the people, they aren’t going to forget him. He is receiving cheers and support from all of Portaceae and completing each of these so-called challenges with ease. No more. We end this now. Send him from my House and to his wife.”

As much as I know Herc will be miserable with his wife, I’m not about to give him up just yet. He will not escape these tasks, not when there are still treasures to be had and torments for him to face.

“We said ten labors. One didn't count, so he still has three to go. By your law, he must complete them,” I argue.

“Continue defying me and you will not win.”

“I? Defy you? I am merely upholding the agreement we put forth. You wouldn't want to be seen as a goddess who can't uphold her own promises, would you?”

Her eyes blaze and her brow furrows as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“There will be no more innocent deaths,” she concedes before disappearing in a crackling flash of light.

“Thank the gods that war always brings innocent deaths.” I mutter to myself.

26

H
ERC

I storm away from the sight of Eury and rest Altair’s body over the back of his horse. The animal shies, but my chestnut nickers quietly then nuzzles his nose against the other’s cheek. I grasp the reins of both horses in one hand and the camera in the other as I move blindly forward. My head reels in shock and I have to trust the horses to guide me to keep from wandering off the road and plunging straight off the side of the Solonian Hill.

Diomedes’s horses, why the horses? And Altair? If I’d only just ordered him to go home instead of following me. With his children still in his mother’s care, he had met me at the city gates and begged me to take him along insisting he needed to be away from his home where every scrap of furniture, every piece of cloth, and even the remains of a hunk of bread flooded him with misery over the loss of his wife. Remembering how it was after Meg died, I took pity on him and let him go with me. My pity has killed him.

His children have no father because of me. Gods, his children. What will they do now? The polis is certainly in no financial state to care for orphans. With every step down the hill I feel as if I’m treading on my own heart, crushing it under the hard leather of my sandals. I've gotten him and four fine horses killed. Gods curse me.

The journey back to Portaceae City had been a quiet one, except for a small incident about a mile outside of Diomedes’s holdings. A group of bandits, perhaps five, surrounded us. They were nothing to fear. Each of the men looked as if they hadn’t had a hearty meal for months and the cutlasses they rattled at us were spattered with rust. The weapons couldn’t slice a pat of butter and the men wielding them wouldn’t have the strength to drive the blades through wet bread.

I was certain they would try to take Altair’s camera—besides the horses, it was the only thing of worth we carried. Whether they had no idea what the contraption was or whether they were too focused on the potential meals the horses might offer, they settled on demanding we hand over the beasts.