Dirty Street Trash

The darkness was impenetrable, it surrounded and suffocated him. The air was filled with dirt and debris and dust…heavy, choking dust…and, the air was stale, as if it, too, was trapped in this dark place. There was no sound…there should be some sound. Surely, he would be able to hear them, hear the pounding of the picks and shovels…hear their voices. Why was it silent? How long had he been here…how long had he been unconscious?

He felt around the area…pushed rocks away to give himself room to manoeuver…which way was out? A sharp pain in his left arm claimed his attention…gently exploring the arm with his right hand, he discovered his left arm was broken. Great. Even if he could remember which direction to take toward the entrance, it would take a while to dig himself out with one hand. But, he couldn’t remember the direction and there was no way to orient himself. If he started digging…would he only dig further into the mine, away from help, away from escape…gods, why couldn’t he hear anything? He was not afraid…he rarely, almost never, felt fear on his own behalf…but, he worried about the others…they wouldn’t have abandoned him… something must have happened to them.

He hadn’t been that far inside the mine…if only he had some light. Not being one to wait for the Fates to rescue him, he cautiously came to his feet, feeling the walls around him…it all seemed like just so much tumble down rock and boulders. However, as he felt around, he came upon the burnt out remains of the torch. Now, if he could just create a spark….

After the excitement of Delphi...not to mention the encounter with the Sphinx...Iolaus and Hercules had headed back to the Academy to finish their visit with Jason and Lilith. For once, no one showed up to ask for help defeating a monster or a warlord...and the gods seemed to have run out of reasons to ask for favours. The four friends had spent a relaxing few days bringing one another up to date on their recent escapades. All good things come to an end, and so it came time for Hercules and Iolaus to take their leave to head back in the general direction of home. They both wanted to get back to some serious fishing at the lake near their old fort.

As they neared Corinth, Hercules noticed Iolaus’ feet start to drag and his companion became uncharacteristically quiet.

“Iolaus? Want to tell me what’s wrong?”

“Wrong?”

“You seem to have lost some of your enthusiasm to get back to the lake as soon as possible. Want to tell me why?”

“Well,” Iolaus hesitated. He didn’t want to hurt Herc’s feelings, but there was something he felt he had to do before he went back to the lake.

“Well...?” Herc encouraged.

“Herc...would you mind if I stopped off for a day or two to visit with my mother and Pandion? It’s just that...well, so much has happened in the last few weeks...and I haven’t seen her in a while....It’s not that I don’t want to go fishing with you...but, I...”

Hercules cut into what was turning into a babbling explanation. He understood what Iolaus was saying... ‘so much has happened’ was an oblique way of saying ‘I almost died too many times lately.’ Hercules hastened to reassure his friend, “Whoa! Iolaus! You don’t have to explain wanting to see your mother! Of course I don’t mind.” Iolaus had only relatively recently begun to build a relationship with his mother...one he had never really had as a child. Herc was only too happy to have his friend find some happiness, however belated, with his family.

Iolaus looked up at Herc with a hesitant look of relief. “You’re sure you don’t mind...it’ll only be for a few days....”

Herc smiled warmly at his friend, dispelling any worries Iolaus might have about hurting his feelings. “Iolaus, I don’t mind at all...really! Take as much time as you want!”

“Would you like to come with me...I know they would be glad to see you, too!”

Herc shook his head. “No, it’s okay...it’s good for you to have some time with them...I’ll head on up to the lake and you can find me there when you’re ready...I’ll try to leave a few fish for you to catch!”

Iolaus grinned happily up at Hercules. “Thanks...and, hey, just remember not to throw rocks at the poor fish...give them a sporting chance...use a hook!” Hercules laughed. Their very different ways of catching fish had always been a bit of an annoyance to Iolaus. For years, he kept explaining to Herc that the joy of fishing wasn’t necessarily in catching the fish...it was in enjoying the experience. The peace of the countryside, the quiet...being one with nature. Herc had learned to appreciate Iolaus’ approach to fishing...unless he was hungry, in which case he found a good sized rock and caught dinner with little fuss and no waiting.

Herc always suspected that part of Iolaus’ irritation with his direct method was related to the fact that Iolaus wasn’t as good at catching fish Herc’s way as Herc was at catching fish Iolaus’ way. Oh, Iolaus had finally learned how to hit a fish with a rock...but, his success rate was inconsistent, and Iolaus hated to be less than excellent at anything he tried.

Once in a while, Herc would tease him about this...but, most of the time, he just let it go...there wasn’t much his friend wasn’t good at, and it seemed a bit unfair to tease him about something for which his only lack was not having the reflexes of a demigod. It was like catching arrows...Iolaus could do it...he just couldn’t catch as many as fast. But, most mortals couldn’t catch any at all!

They had resumed walking, Iolaus back again to his usual jaunty pace, half a step or more ahead of Hercules as they headed down the road. Within the hour, they had come to the turnoff toward Corinth. Iolaus’ mother and her husband lived just west of the main town.

“I’ll only be a day or two behind you, Hercules,” Iolaus assured his friend as he turned toward the westward fork.

“No sweat, Iolaus...take your time,” replied Hercules, as he set out, continuing north along the isthmus, towards Thebes.

The rest of the day was uneventful. Hercules had passed the usual travellers during the day...merchants, pilgrims, soldiers…but none he knew. He was always surprised, and a bit unsettled, at how many strangers recognised him. Essentially a humble man at heart, Hercules had never been comfortable with the acclaim and hero worship which was lavished upon him. As far as he was concerned, he only did what needed to be done, what he had the skills and will to do...no more than anyone else would do in similar circumstances. He could see goodness in other people, courage, integrity...he believed anyone could be a hero. It was his gift, or one of them, that he was so often able to help others to see this capacity within themselves. His belief in them made their belief in themselves possible. But...he didn’t understand that it was his own character, his own depth of integrity, which drew this from others, like moths to a flame.

That night, he made a solitary camp high in the hills, between Corinth and Thebes…in a cave he and Iolaus often used as their midpoint in this journey they had made so often. It was the first time he’d had alone, to think, since they had left Delphi. As he sat before the fire, he reflected that their latest adventures had started here, less than two months ago, when his sisters had held his life ransom, to force Iolaus to do their will. Hercules poked the flames with a stick. Iolaus. His best friend, the centre of his life...his foundation. Twice in the past two months, Iolaus had deliberately put his own life at risk to secure Hercules’ own life...once, when Iolaus willingly face a sure death from the effects of the Rainbow Crystal, and again when he gave up one of his free passes out of Elysium to save Hercules from the dying after being entombed in the giant oyster. On top of all that, Iolaus had almost died as a result of Ares’ revenge upon him for having brought the Rainbow Crystal back to Olympus...would have died if not for Aphrodite....

Hercules sighed. And then there was the brutal beating Iolaus had suffered in Delphi...this time for having been sent there as Herc’s best friend by yet another of his relatives, Apollo. Hercules pushed his fingers through his hair. He still had not made peace with himself for the brutality he had shown to the men who had so badly abused his friend. He had been prepared to kill them in cold, heartless anger. He still shuddered when he remembered that complete loss of control, that descent into a kind of madness. He had believed that, this time, Iolaus had willfully put himself in danger, after having promised to be more careful. Finding Iolaus near death, strung up by his arms to that skeleton of a tree, with a ridiculous parody of a crown on his head, had driven Hercules beyond the bounds of reason. He had wanted to shake his friend, rage at him, for being so thoughtless with his life...so careless with what was infinitely precious and irreplaceable. But, he could not rage at the cold, limp, waxen form of his friend...could not assault a body already so near death. So, he had assaulted those who had done this to Iolaus, only realizing afterward that his rage was triggered by his friend, by Iolaus’ own cavalier, irresponsible behaviour, and not by those who had simply taken advantage of, and brutally punished, his irrepressible, unhesitating valour.

Hercules had thought that Iolaus had betrayed his word, had lightly tossed aside his commitment to Hercules...and it was this breach of trust which had enraged him. But, when he had finally blown up at Iolaus, he had learned that he had mistaken his friend, mistaken the situation. Iolaus had had no choice...had done no more, and no less, than Hercules himself would have done in the same situation. But...this did not change the reality that Hercules was losing his capacity to endure the terror of almost losing Iolaus, losing his capacity to absorb the pain, push it aside and carry on. He knew what it was to lose Iolaus, to believe he’d never see him again, never be able to bring him back...and he never, ever wanted to experience that depth of despair, of loss, again. He had found that, when he lost Iolaus, he lost himself. Now, it seemed that the threat alone was enough to cause him to lose his grip on his sanity...on his reason and balance.

Hercules stood away from the fire, walked to the entrance of the cave, where he could look out at the stars, hear the wind in the trees, smell the earth fresh from a light evening shower. He’d forgiven Iolaus for having seemed to have betrayed his word...but, he was having difficulty forgiving himself. Herc stared sightlessly at the night, wondering what to do. He could not envision a life without Iolaus...but, he could not go on with this fear of losing control, of hurting others with his strength in a maddened desire for vengence. And, it was only a matter of time...someday, Iolaus would die...and someone would be responsible...and Hercules would kill them.

Herc tightened his jaw as he fought back this assessment of his probable actions...he had learned from this last experience. He had learned what he was capable of doing...he would remember, wouldn’t he? He would stop himself, recognise the grief and anger, stop the madness from raging...wouldn’t he? Herc sighed as he turned back toward the fire, laid down on the earth beside it. Sometimes... sometimes...he almost wished that he could die first, so that he wouldn’t have to endure this again, would never, ever have to lose Iolaus again. But, he didn’t even know if he could die...and that was the most frightening thought of all...to live forever, losing one beloved after another, until he was afraid to ever love again, knowing that it would only lead, inevitably, to loss.

Hercules struggled with these thoughts until, finally, he pushed them aside. There was no answer, no resolution, to this problem. He could not, would not, push Iolaus away...to do so would only bring about the loss, the loneliness he feared facing when, if, when Iolaus died. Nor could he be certain how he would react when the inevitable happened... whether he would retain his sanity or whether he would plummet into an abyss of madness. He would not know until it happened. Until then, he could only seek to do what they always did...live in accordance with their principles and values, find joy in the present moment, treasure the friendship they shared, be as careful as possible, safeguard Iolaus from danger when he could...and believe that, when the time came, somewhere in the depths of his own soul, he would find the strength to carry on, the strength not to punish others for a pain which would never end. It was these uneasy thoughts which accompanied Hercules into a restless sleep.

The next morning, he awoke stiff and still tired. But, the day was bright and promising, so he summoned up a cheerful perspective as he set off on the second half of his journey to the lake. About two hours later, Hercules came upon a woman standing forlornly beside a handcart which had gotten one wheel stuck in the mud in the ditch beside the road. The woman looked to be middle aged, care worn and not rich. Her ankle length chiton was well patched, the scarf covering her hair faded with many washings. The cart was loaded with early vegetables and apples. Clearly, she had been on her way to the market in the village of Aegosthena, not far ahead.

Herc smiled as he came closer. Women alone could be easily frightened by strange men, especially when they were as big as was Hercules. He stopped far enough away to ensure she would not feel threatened.

“Looks like you could use a hand...” he offered with a gentle, reassuring smile.

She looked at him with a mixture of trepidation and relief. “Yes,” she allowed, a little hesitantly, “I tried to pull it out...but, it’s too heavy for me.”

Herc grinned at her. “I don’t doubt that...looks like you’ve got quite a load there. Here, it will only take me a minute to get it back on the road.”

Herc moved around the cart, gripped it firmly and lifted...only to have the ancient vehicle pull apart in his hands. The damaged cart lurched over on it’s side, the produce tumbling into the ditch.

“Oh no!” cried the woman, close to tears. She needed to get her load to market...her family depended upon the income to survive.

Herc looked at the pieces of cart in his hand with a chagrined expression on his face. “Uh, I’m sorry...but, hey, it’ll only take me a few minutes to repair it. Then, we’ll load it back up and I’ll help you get the cart to the village...it’ll be okay...I promise!” he reassured the woman.

As good as his word, he first put the main portion of the cart securely onto the road. Then, casting about, he spotted what he needed nearby....a tree with a branch sturdy enough to be a hammer, and with smaller branches he could quickly whittle into pegs. There were also vines growing in the trees that grew along one side of the road. Quickly, he fashioned the tools he needed, returned to pick up the broken side pieces of the cart, and with little fuss, he tied the broken pieces together then hammered the broken part onto the base of the cart.

The woman, watching him, marvelled at what she saw. It took incredible strength to drive those primitive pegs into the wood of the cart...especially to do it quickly and cleanly so as not to further damage the old, dry wood of the vehicle. In moments, Hercules was gathering loads of vegetables and fruit into his arms, gently depositing them into the cart, to minimize any bruising.

Finished, he turned to the woman with a grin and a small bow. “There,” he waved at the restored cart, “good as new!”

“Maybe better,” said the woman softly, “thank you for all your help!”

Herc shrugged a little, and grinned, “I’m just glad I was here to help you…besides, if I recall, I’m the one who broke it in the first place! Now, since we seem to be going the same way, why don’t you let me pull this into the village for you?”

“Oh, I couldn’t ask....” the woman objected, flustered.

Herc gave her a soft smile as he bent to take the polls of the cart into either hand. “You didn’t ask...I offered.” He tilted his head in the direction of the village in an invitation for them to set off in that direction.

Tired, grateful, the woman nodded acceptance of his offer. “You are very kind,” she said. “I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t’ve come along when you did!”

“What’s your name,” Hercules enquired, with a warm smile.

“Rhea,” the woman answered. “I live about three miles from here...we’ve a small farm.”

‘We’, Herc thought with a small frown, ‘where was her husband...why was he letting his wife do such heavy work?’

“My children are growing up, but I don’t like to send them into the village alone, yet,” she sighed. “My husband died almost two years ago from the fever.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” murmured Hercules, “it must be hard for you.” He realized that she must be younger than she seemed…the years of toil and worry had not been kind to her.

“Oh, we manage,” she assured him with a determined nod and a brave smile. “You haven’t told me your name.”

“Hercules,” Herc replied, unsurprised at the look of consternation on her face. He wished his name did not, so often, elicit this sort of reaction.

“Oh!” exclaimed Rhea, overcome. She had never met a legendary hero before...had never expected to ever meet one...let alone Hercules himself! Then, she smiled. “Well, that it explains it, then!”

Herc cocked a questioning eyebrow, “Explains it...?”

“Yes...I thought you seemed unusually strong...now, I know why.”

Hercules chuckled as he continued to walk along, towing the cart to the village, which had just come into sight around the bend in the road. “Well, looks like we’re almost there. Where did you want me to take the cart?”

“The market is in the centre of town...I usually sell to one of the fruit and vegetable vendors there...he’ll wonder why I’m so late,” she sighed, hoping this wouldn’t mean she would be paid less for the food she was bringing to sell.

Herc could see the worry on her face. Not a woman to complain, he thought, but one not far from desperate straits. He didn’t say anything as they entered the town, the road around them busier with the folks who had come to the market to buy and sell. The voices of children, high and shrill, could be heard above the bustle of donkey carts, gossiping villagers, haggling merchants and all the busy, bustling sounds of a village on market day. Dust from the road filled the air, mingling with the scent of flowers, fruits, spices and meats on braziers.

He followed the woman through the noisy, joussling crowd, as she led the way to her usual customer. He was a big, redfaced, burly man who scowled when he saw her. “Where have you been, Rhea? I expected you hours ago,” he lectured, impatience making his tone harsh.

“I’m sorry, Mellicus...I had an accident...but, this kind man stopped to help me,” she explained as she turned toward Hercules.

Mellicus’ eyebrows lifted toward his hairline as he contemplated the tall, muscular man towing Rhea’ s cart. “Well, that was lucky,” he said abruptly, as he turned back to Rhea, “but...there’s a penalty for being late, you know. I can’t give you more than fifteen dinars for this lot.”

Rhea’s face fell...she had been hoping for twice that amount...needed it. Hercules frowned. The produce was not the sort that would spoil readily...there was no reason to devalue it just because there had been a small delay getting it to market.

“Rhea,” he intervened firmly, “that’s not a fair price. Why don’t we try some of the other vendors to see if you can do better.”

Rhea looked up at him, worried and uncertain. She had always done business with Mellicus and did not want to alienate him....but, fifteen dinars! She wrung her hands, hesitating. The merchant, unhappy at this unsought for, and unwelcome, intervention on the stranger’s part, scowled, “And, who might you be...and what business is it of your’s, I might ask?”

“I’m a friend of Rhea’s...and my name is Hercules,” Herc responded in a flat, ‘don’t push me’ kind of voice. Looking at the load of produce with a knowledgable air, Herc continued, “I used to help my mother get her garden produce to market...and I’m sure this load must be worth at least seventy dinars.” Herc hated a cheat...especially one who preyed upon someone as much in need as Rhea. The obviously well fed, well clothed merchant could afford to pay a fair price for this food.

Rhea gasped. The merchant had barely recovered from learning who he was confronting when he was staggered by the amount Hercules had suggested. “Seventy!” he squeaked.

Herc levelled a glance at the man. “Why? You think that’s too much?”

The merchant started to bluster. He didn’t want to offend Hercules...who knew what trouble that could cause, with Zeus, let alone King Iphicles, who’s Court granted the market licences. But, seventy dinars! It was outrageous. “I’m sorry, sir, but perhaps you don’t know times have been hard....I couldn’t possibly pay more than thirty dinars and still hope to make a profit!”

Herc smiled at the man. The bargaining had begun. “Sixty-five dinars.”

“Forty.”

“Sixty.”

“Forty-five.”

Herc just shook his head and started to turn away, picking up the handles of the cart.

“Alright, alright,” groused the merchant. “Fifty-five dinars...but, not one dinar more!”

With a grin, Herc released the handles of the cart. “Done! Pay the lady while I begin to unload this lot onto your barrow.”

Rhea had watched the exchange with growing amazement. Fifty-five! Her face was wreathed in smiles as Mellicus grumpily paid her...grumpily, that is, until he caught Herc’s eye and realized he’d better show better grace. As Hercules finished unloading the cart, he turned back to Rhea. “Now, did you want to negotiate a deal with Mellicus for the rest of this season’s produce...or shall we talk with a few of the other vendors to see who will give you the best return for all your hard work in growing, harvesting and carting similar loads to market.”

Mellicus looked at the demigod with dismay. Herc raised one eyebrow, waited. Rhea turned from Hercules to Mellicus...she was getting the hang of this. “So, I would suppose that a similar cartload would be worth the same amount...is that correct?”

Mellicus could not seem to pull his eyes away from Hercules. “Uh, yes...certainly, Rhea,” he stammered.

“Fifty-five dinars a cartload,” Hercules confirmed the specifics.

“Yes...fifty-five dinars a cartload,” Mellicus agreed unhappily. He’d still make a profit, but not such a rich one as he had last year. Rhea’s husband had always taken their goods to market and she’d had no idea of the value of her harvest...at least, not until now.

Hercules gave the merchant a bright smile, clapped him lightly on the shoulder as if he was an old friend, then turned back to Rhea, picking up the handles of the cart as he did so. “So, where to next, Rhea...did you need to do some shopping?” he enquired as he led her away from Mellicus’ stall.

Once they were out of earshot, she caught him by the arm. “Hercules, how can I ever thank you....I had no idea how badly I was being cheated.”

Herc gave her a kind look, hiding the anger he still felt toward the merchant. “Don’t worry about it, Rhea….But, if he doesn’t live up to the deal, send word to me...and I’ll drop by to give him my regards the next time I pass this way.”

She stood a moment looking up at the demigod. “You really are a very kind man, Hercules... When my cart got stuck, I didn’t realize Fortune was smiling upon me. Thank you...I won’t forget what you’ve done for me...for my family. If you ever need a meal or a place to stop for the night...I hope you will let me return your kindness.”

Herc blushed a little under the golden tan, as he nodded in acceptance of her offer, “I would be glad to meet your children...and would be grateful for your hospitality. Now,” he continued briskly, wanting to move her away from her expressions of gratitude, “can I help you with your shopping?”

Rhea assured him he had done enough for her and that she had taken enough of his time. He demurred, but she insisted. “Alright, if you’re certain,” he relented, as his eyes scanned the village around him. “It was nice to meet you, Rhea, be well,” he said as he took her hand to bid her goodbye.

“It was very nice to meet you, Hercules!” she beamed up at him. Herc laid a gentle hand upon her shoulder, gave her a warm smile, then turned toward the tavern he had spotted across the market. Time to get some lunch.

Hercules had just skirted around one of the many carts loaded with wares in the market square when something small barrelled into him.

“Oommph!” he exclaimed, surprised, as he reached down to steady the small whirlwind in front of him...having to tighten his grip a little as the boy twisted sharply, trying to get away. “Whoa! Easy, son! Don’t be afraid.”

“Let me go!” cried the boy, struggling more frantically.

Even as he called out to be let loose, an angry voice called above the crowd, “Stop him! Hold the thief...the little devil! I’ll have him this time!” Mellicus followed his voice through the crowd, puffing as he moved more quickly than was his wont, to catch the young boy. Seeing the lad in Herc’s clutches, Mellicus smiled. Maybe the demigod wasn’t such a bad sort afterall.

“Good,” puffed Mellicus, “I’ll take him from here...it’s to the magistrate with you, boy!”

Herc took half a step forward, to place himself between Mellicus and the boy. “What’s this all about?” he asked mildly.

“The boy is a thief, that’s what...dirty street trash. He deserves to be thrashed!” Mellicus stormed, working himself into a lather. A number of merchants and vendors had gathered around, alerted by the call of ‘thief’. They pressed in now, grumbling…supporting Mellicus in his claim that this boy was a thief…they knew him well…it was past time that he be caught and sent away.

Herc had kept a tight hand on the squirming lad’s shoulder. Now, he turned to take a good look at the boy. He was dirty, that was certain! But, beneath the dirt, Herc saw curls that might be the colour of cornsilk, if they were clean. And, beneath the curls, he saw blue eyes flash...not with fear, but with fury. The child wasn’t afraid...his contempt for Mellicus, and the other angry people surrounding them, was clear. Dressed in rags, barefoot, there was little doubt that the child lived in the streets. In the child’s grubby hand was an apple.

Keeping a thoughtful eye on the boy, Hercules asked, “What did he steal?”

“He stole from my cart!” blustered Mellicus.

Herc cast a cool look back at the merchant. “I presume you mean the apple in his hand?”

Mellicus spluttered. “It’s an apple this time...always something! Little devil is hard as the wind to catch...but, we have him this time...” Growling at the boy, Mellicus threatened, “You know what happens to thieves, boy? They cut your hand off...and throw you into prison, that’s what!” The others added their throaty assurances of this truth, jeering at the boy, some bold enough to reach out to try to grab him away from Hercules.

Disgusted, Herc’s free hand pushed the groping hands away, drawing the child close against him. His eyes flashing, he shouted above the clamour of the crowd. “What is wrong with you people? He’s just a child…look at him…” The voices quietened, took in the shabby, threadbare and torn clothing, the bare feet, the thinness, almost emaciation of the child. No longer shouting, but his voice harsh with his anger toward the people around him, Hercules continued, “This child is no thief…there’s no need to terrorize the him....but your callous indifference to his homelessness has driven him to steal to survive… he’s hungry...would you begrudge a starving child an apple?”

Uncomfortable with the contempt he could hear in Hercules’ voice, Mellicus was still unwilling to simply walk away. “It’s the principle of the thing...thieving is wrong...it’s illegal. I thought you, of all people, were a champion of the law!”

Hercules studied Mellicus for a moment, his face expressionless...but the anger was simmering in his eyes. “I’ve learned to value justice more than the law,” he spoke softly, but with the sound of steel in his voice. Raising his eyes, and his voice, he took in everyone in the crowd around them, “No child should ever be left without shelter…without food. You have failed him…and all like him in this village, by turning your eyes away, by shutting your doors against him and his kind. Those who have no parents to care for them are the responsibility of the village as a whole. Would you have your own children hounded for being helpless…for being hungry?” Hercules dug into the small pouch at his belt, withdrew an obol and flipped it at the merchant, who scrambled and fumbled to catch it. “I’d not like to see you lose your honest profit,” Hercules stated coldly, his contempt for the merchant matching that in the boy’s eyes.

“You’re not just going to let him go!” harrumphed Mellicus, “He’ll just be stealing again tomorrow. The boy’s no good...are you, boy?”

“His name isn’t ‘boy’” Hercules cut in, a dangerous look in his eye…a look that made Mellicus back away. He’d known another child who had been called ‘boy’ rather than his name...and it never failed to rouse the anger in him. “I suggest you go back to your cart...to make sure no one else is stealing from you while you stand here, arguing with me.”

Mellicus’ face paled as he considered this appalling thought. Without another word, he turned and pushed himself back through the crowd, hastening back to his goods. The others who had followed Mellicus melted away, leaving Hercules and the lad alone in the middle of the square. Hercules had watched them go, aware of the still squirming child held by his grip. “Easy, I’m not going to hurt you...calm down,” he instructed quietly. Seeing a bench under a tree, next to the tavern, Herc towed the boy out of the market crowd to the quieter place where they could talk. Hercules sat so that he could be more at eye level with the boy, less intimidating.

“Now, will you tell me your name?” he asked.

“Why should I?” demanded the child, not giving an inch.

Herc grinned. “No reason...just being friendly.” He studied the boy for a moment before asking, quietly, “Do you have to live like this…is there no one who could help you?”

“Oh I have a hundred rich relatives but I like the freedom of the street,” sneered the child with a sarcastic tone of voice. What was this guy talking about...like anyone would choose to live like this...cold at night, wet in the rain, hungry all the time...and itchy from the dirt. If he had someplace else to be, someone to be with, of course he wouldn’t be starving on the street. This guy was an idiot. An idiot and an easy mark...he’d paid for the apple, after all.

Herc tilted his head to the side. He could almost read the thoughts going through the child’s head. “Yeah, well, freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose,” Herc responded dryly, then sighed. How could people leave children to fend for themselves like this...leave innocents in the cold...let them go hungry. Hercules couldn’t understand it. Looking at the lad with a speculative eye, he muttered, almost to himself, “I’ll bet you have dreams of something better, of someday having a different life…” Aloud, Herc asked the urchin, “Would you let me help you?”

The boy narrowed the brilliant blue eyes. Dreams. As if the likes of him could afford dreams. And, if he did have dreams, he sure wasn’t going to spill them to a perfect stranger. The boy remained silent. He had learned no one offered anything for nothing. If this guy was offering help, he wanted something…they always wanted something. Usually, they wanted him to steal for them. Sometimes, though, they wanted to sell him to slavers....or keep him as a personal slave. He’d learned to be wary.

Giving Hercules a sideways look, though, the boy thought, it was too bad, the man had been helpful, and he desperately wished there was someone in the world he could trust, could depend upon. But, such hopes were dangerous. The lad stood still, like a fawn caught in a trap. He trembled a little, shifted his eyes away…he couldn’t fight this huge man…nor was he about to reveal how very much he wished someone, anyone, would take him from this wretched existance…this man had protected him from the crowd…but, still, the boy couldn’t trust him.

Herc nodded to himself. “Okay, tell you what...think about it. If you would like to get off the streets...have a different kind of life, a different future, meet me back at this bench later this afternoon.”

The child rolled his eyes. Yeah, right...as if he would trust a perfect stranger who was bigger than a house and looked stronger than an ox. Stupid jerk. Then, despite himself, he was caught by the warmth of the grin, the candour in the clear blue eyes that gazed at him with what? friendship? Unused to kindness, and unwilling to trust lightly or easily, the child snorted.

Herc looked down at the ground for a moment, a saddened expression drifting across his face. “I won’t force you...but, I hope you’ll let me help you...I promise...no one will hurt you.” Herc looked back up into the blazing eyes confronting him, smiled sadly as he held those eyes for a long moment, then released his grip on the child’s shoulder. As soon as he was free, the child twisted away and darted down the alley next to them. Quick as the wind, indeed.

Herc leaned back against the bench, his eyes wandering over the market crowd. No one had even noticed...no one paid attention to kids like this. It was like they were invisible. Shaking his head, he got to his feet and wandered past the tavern. Somehow, he just wasn’t hungry anymore.

As he walked slowly along the street, Hercules was unaware of the blue eyes that followed his progress. ‘What a weird guy,’ thought the child, taking a thoughtful bite of his apple, ‘weird, but...’ the child’s mind shied away from thoughts like ‘kind’ or ‘nice’... he couldn’t afford words like that. ‘Bet that’s the last I’ll see of him,’ the kid thought cynically, as he turned around and headed into the shadows.

It was late afternoon when Herc found himself back at the bench. He had explored the village, and it’s environs, doing a bit of shopping, arranging for accommodation at the inn. All of that didn’t take very long. Restless, he headed out of town, spending most of the afternoon sitting by a small stream not far from the outskirts of the village, wondering what he would do with the kid if he did come back. And now, here he was, sitting on the bench and waiting, watching the last of the market crowd buy their supplies, and the odd pretty thing...a ribbon, a small pewter medallion.....watching as the crowd thinned, until finally the vendors packed up their carts and headed away through the gathering evening toward their homes and hearths.

The light had faded into dusk, the air was beginning to chill. Herc sighed. The kid wasn’t coming. He had just leaned forward, preparing to stand, when he caught a quick movement out of the corner of his eye. Leaning back, he relaxed again. “Did you want to talk, or are you just going to stare at me?” he asked in a light, curious voice. He heard the characteristic snort, then the boy came toward him, out of the shadows.

“I didn’t think you’d come back,” challenged the boy.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come back, either,” responded Hercules.

The child looked at the man, who looked calmly back.

“What do you want?” asked the boy, suspicious of this stranger, and of his motives.

Herc sighed, looked away into the night for a moment. “I want to pay an old debt,” he said softly, as if to himself, then he turned back to the child, “I just want to help you, if you’ll let me.”

“What’s your name?” demanded the child.

“Hercules,” he responded.

The kid rolled his eyes...this guy was a real comedian. “Yeah, and I’m the King of Corinth!” he replied.

Hercules chuckled warmly. “Well, King Iphicles, I have to say you’ve changed since I last saw you.”

The child snorted. “Like you know the King.”

“Well, as a matter of fact, I do...he’s my brother.”

The child’s eyes narrowed as he studied the huge man in front of him. Gods. Could this really be Hercules? Herc watched the thoughts chase one another across the boy’s expressive face...and had to laugh. “Tell you what,” he said, “Why don’t I buy us some dinner and you can decide if you want to trust me or not. What do you say?”

Dinner. A real dinner...cooked food...served to him. A grin stole across the urchin’s face and the blue eyes started to dance. Why not? He cocked his head toward the tavern, his eyebrow raised in enquiry…daring the stranger to take him, a threadbare, filthy, barefoot imp, into the tavern…knowing that he would not be allowed in the door.

Herc nodded, stood slowly so as not to alarm the child and motioned with his hand toward the door of the tavern. “After you, King Iphicles,” he said.

The kid snickered as he sauntered ahead of the giant of a man behind him. Well, he might be crazy, but, if he was willing to buy dinner, the kid would let him.

Herc pushed the tavern door open as they walked inside. The air was smoky from the fire in the hearth. Herc pointed to a table in the corner and they moved toward it. “Hey there,” called the taverner, “You can’t bring that kid in here!”

Hercules turned slowly. “Were you speaking to me?” he asked, a dangerous glint in his eye as much as saying, ‘do you really want to make an issue of this?’

“I...uh...the kid’s no good,” mumbled the taverner.

“This young man is my guest,” Hercules stated firmly, “and we would both like to have something to eat...will you serve us or should we take our business somewhere else?”

The taverner grumbled, but nodded acquiessance and moved back behind the bar, to scoop out two bowls of stew from the large clay tureen he had there. Throwing two slices of bread on top of the stew, he brought the food to his two newest customers. Placing the bowls, spoons and the bread on the table, he asked, “What’ll you have to drink?”

“We’ll each have a glass of milk, thank you,” responded Hercules, the hint of a smile beginning to light his eyes.

“Milk?” muttered the taverner, “yeah, sure...two glasses of milk coming right up...what? You think I’ve got a goat back there behind the bar!”

Herc hid his grin. “Alright, we’ll have water....” The taverner gave him an abrupt nod and lumbered away, returning moments later with two earthen mugs of water. The other customers had watched all this play out with some amusement...it was the best entertainment they’d seen in some time. One man, across the room, recognized the hero and called out, “Hey, Hercules! Did your partner shrink? Or did you decide it was time to get a new one?” The patrons of the tavern chuckled at his wit. Herc and Iolaus were reasonably well known in these parts, having passed through countless times on their journeys between Thebes and Corinth.

Hercules had taken note that the boy had choked on his mouthful of stew when the fellow had called him by name. Patting the kid on the back, Hercules chuckled as he responded, “He does look a bit like Iolaus, doesn’t he?” Herc flashed a grin across the room, then turned to his own meal, “Maybe a little less scruffy than Iolaus!” The patrons laughed as they went back to their own business.

The urchin stared at him, eyes wide, mouth agape. “You’re really Hercules?” he finally managed to gasp.

Herc shrugged as he nodded. “Uh huh.”

“But...but...if you’re really Hercules...why would you help me?” wondered the child, mystified.

Herc put his spoon down, leaned back in his chair as he studied the boy for a moment. “Why wouldn’t I help you?”

The kid muttered sarcastically, “Oh sure, I bet you do this every day…go around gathering up street kids to save...that’s some hobby…must be real satisfying.”

Herc shook his head, wincing at the bitterness in the child’s voice, then caught the child’s eyes with his own. “No, you’re right...I don’t do this everyday…maybe I should…” he sighed. There were so many displaced people around Greece... so many waifs with no home, no family…impossible for one person to help them all...but, still, maybe he should try harder. Looking back at the child, Herc tightened his jaw. He couldn’t help them all...but he could help this one.

“So,” demanded the child, “what made you decide to help me?”

Herc grinned ruefully. “You remind me of someone else...someone I should have helped a long time ago and didn’t. I guess I wanted to make up for that....I’m sorry...I guess I’m not much better than the rest of that lot who chased you earlier today…If I practiced what I preached, I’d help you, just because you need it, not because of a memory.”

The child looked at Herc with old eyes, eyes that suddenly softened in the tavern’s evening light...this guy was apologizing to him...there’s a first time for everything! As if anyone should apologize for helping, whatever the reason…but, maybe this guy was leading up to the ‘well, I’ll be seeing you line’. “Yeah, well, nobody’s perfect...you kept them from tearing me apart…and you paid for the apple,” the lad said with a smirk, before the light in his face died away and his eyes shifted from Herc’s face. The boy had to fight his desire to trust this man…it was dangerous to trust anyone…there was no one he could depend upon…and he needed to remember that.

Herc watched the play of emotions across the urchin’s face, understood that the boy thought Herc would abandon him...as everyone else in his life had abandoned him....but, the child wasn’t angry...just resigned. “Tomorrow,” Herc began to explain his plan, “if you agree, I thought we might head back toward Corinth...I know my brother would have a place in the palace for you. On the way, you can think about what you’d like to be...what you’d like to learn. Would you like to be a soldier...or a poet? A craftsman or fisherman? Farmer or musician?”

The boy stared at Hercules, hardly able to believe what was happening. The guy was really serious...he was going to take him to the palace. WOW! Then, the eyes shuttered the hope, just has his heart pushed away any belief that this good fortune would last…the experienced veteran of the street warring with the eager, hopeful child within.

“So, do you trust me enough yet to tell me your name?” asked Hercules.

The urchin’s clear blue eyes studied Herc for a moment before responding. “My name’s Hermias,” he replied.

Herc looked at the pale, wary boy across the table, and raised one quizzical eyebrow. ‘Hermias’, named for Hermes, the patron god of thieves. Had the boy made up this name, in which case, he showed a fine wit under all that dirt. Or, had the Fates been amusing themselves when they chose his name, knowing how he would spend part of his young life?

“I’m glad to meet you, Hermias,” was all Herc said.

Hermias was too hungry to waste more time in conversation or worry about how long this largesse would last. The stew in front of him disappeared, as if by magic. When he was finished, he looked mournfully at the empty clay bowl in front of him, but, in no other way did he convey his wish for more. Hercules caught the look and signalled to the taverner for another bowl and more bread. The lad looked up with gratitude…the first that Herc had seen from him. By the time he had finished the second bowl, the boy’s eyes were growing heavy.

“Well, I think it’s time we headed to the inn,” suggested Hercules, getting to his feet. He put sufficient coins on the table to pay for their meal and looked down at the boy, who was staring up at him…uncertain as to his next move. “Hermias…I told you no one would hurt you…I meant that…you are safe with me.”

The boy hesitated a moment longer…then stood to follow Hercules from the tavern and down the street to the inn. After all, it wasn’t likely that Hercules would sell him to slavers…and the demigod did have a reputation for helping people.

When they entered the building, Hercules asked the innkeeper to bring a tub and hot water up to the room he had arranged that afternoon. The innkeeper frowned at the sight of the filthy, rag covered boy, but offered no comment, beyond a tight nod as he headed into the back of the inn.

Herc led the way up the narrow stairs to the rooms above. Turning into the first door on the right, he motioned Hermias in as he set about lighting candles on the mantle from the small flame in the hearth. There was one bed covered with a thin blanket in the room, a table with a candle and nothing else. Hermias positioned himself against the wall, close to the door. In moments, the innkeeper was at the door with the tub and his wife and daughter brought in the jugs of hot water with which they filled the tub. The innkeeper handed Hercules the towel he had carried over his shoulder while his wife pulled a piece of soaproot from her apron pocket and dropped it into the water. “Will you be needing anything else tonight?” he asked.

Herc smiled as he shook his head, “No, thank you…I’ll bring the tub down in the morning, if that’s alright.”

The innkeeper nodded and ushered his family out of the room. Hercules turned to Hermias, took in the wide eyes, the pale face and the slight tremble in the boy’s frame. Herc shook his head…what had this boy experienced to be so wary? “Here,” Herc said, “this bath is for you…make sure you also wash your hair! There are some clean clothes on the bed which you can wear tomorrow…it’s up to you whether you keep the clothes you are wearing.”

Hermias looked up at Hercules, looked at the bath, and then at the clothes which he had not noticed until Herc had pointed them out. Hercules motioned to the door… “There is a bolt on the door…so you can be sure that no one will come in unexpectedly….if you need me, I’ll be in the room across the hall.” Herc opened the door, preparing to leave the boy on his own.

“Wait!” Hermias whispered, overwhelmed…it was the first word he had spoken since he finished eating. Herc turned back to him, an eyebrow raised in enquiry. “I…uh…you…this is my own room?” Hercules nodded. “And you bought me clothes?” Herc smiled, “Well, I hope you don’t mind, but the ones you are wearing have seen better days.” The boy looked at everything again, his eyes suddenly filled with tears. Herc slowly crossed the room, knelt beside the boy…rested a hand lightly on the kid’s shoulder. “Hey…what’s wrong?”

Hermias bit his lip to stop it’s trembling and blinked hard to clear his eyes. Finally, he looked up into Hercules’ eyes. “Nothing…nothing is wrong…it’s just been so long since…since anyone…anyone took care…of me….” And that was it, overcome by what was happening, the child was unable to stop the tears from overflowing, spilling down his cheeks, as he fought to choke back a sob. Herc enfolded the lad in his arms, patted his back softly, as he would any upset child.

“Shhh…Hermias…it’s alright. You’ll feel better when you’re clean and get some sleep….okay?”

The child sniffled and nodded, pulling away…mortified at having revealed such vulnerability, he wouldn’t meet Herc’s eyes. Hercules stood, rested a hand a moment more on the boy’s shoulder, said, “I’ll see you in the morning…remember…bolt the door after I leave.” Herc left the room and waited in the hall until he heard the bolt shift, securing the room.

Hercules let himself into his own room and, without bothering to light any candles, he stretched out on the bed. He felt a deep anger, and sadness, that children could be left so vulnerable, with no one to turn to, no one to help them. Then, he grinned to himself as he imagined Iphicles’ face when Herc showed up with a miniature version of Iolaus in tow!

The next morning, Hercules knocked softly on Hermias’ door, stepping back as he heard the bolt drawn. The door opened a crack, allowing one blue eye to peer suspiciously around it’s edge. Herc grinned cheerfully, “Good morning…ready for some breakfast?”

Hermias nodded uncertainly back, then opened the door more widely, now fully visible in his new finery…a blue cambric shirt, just the colour of his eyes, black cloth pants, a black leather belt…his feet were bare. The clothing was, perhaps, a bit large, but not so much as to make him appear waiflike. All in all, he looked like an ordinary kid, perhaps a little cleaner than most, with cornsilk hair that brightened even the dark upper hallway of the inn.

Herc’s grin widened as he took in the boy’s new appearance. “Excuse me, Hermias…I’ll just come in for the tub, to carry it back downstairs…are the clothes alright? Comfortable?”

Hermias moved aside to let Herc enter the room. “The clothes are better than anything I have ever had, Hercules…thank you,” he responded quietly, politely. He wasn’t about to mention that he was still barefoot…this man had already been generous beyond imagining, and boots were expensive.

Herc shook his head a little as he knelt to take the tub in his arms, then straightened to precede Hermias out of the room and down the stairs. “You don’t need to thank me, Hermias…everyone should have one decent set of clothing…someday, you can do something for someone else, someone who needs a hand. By the way, I waited to get boots because I didn’t want to guess at your size…the fit is too important. We’ll see the leather worker as soon as his stall opens this morning.” Herc didn’t even notice the look of amazement that swept across the boy’s face…new boots…ones’ that fit, not secondhand, too tight or too loose, like every other pair he'd ever had….and even those had been better than nothing, particularly when the season turned cold.

Herc carried the tub into the back of the inn and out the back door, tilted it over the earth to drain it of water, then rested it upside down against the inn wall, as directed by the innkeeper’s wife. He had paid for the rooms and bath the day before, so when he came back into the front of the inn, he led Hermias outside. Stopping by one of the barrows, Herc bought a variety of fruit and led Hermias back to the bench where they had met the afternoon before. Herc dropped onto the bench, indicated Hermias should join him with a sideways nod of the head and handed Hermias half of the fruit. Biting into an apple, Herc leaned back against the bench, with the air of a man contented with the world around him and life in general.

Hermias munched a few grapes, then looked up at Hercules. “You must’a been pretty sure I’d show up…to buy the clothes and have the room booked in advance….what would you have done if I didn’t come back yesterday?”

Herc gazed into the distance as he answered complacently, “I suppose I would have just left the package with the clothes under this bench, or maybe just inside that alley over there….but, I was pretty sure you’d show up.”

Hermias narrowed his eyes as he considered this…. “But, how could you be so sure I’d come back, when I wasn’t even sure myself?”

Herc straightened as he thought about this…why had he been so sure? After a moment, he smiled, nodded a bit to himself, then turned to face Hermias. “I could see it in your eyes, yesterday, when the crowd was after you. I could see the courage, the intelligence …the spirit. You’re not a quitter, Hermias. To have passed up the offer of something different would have been the same as admitting that you belonged on the streets, that you would never know anything else….You’re too curious, too ready for adventure and possibility to just accept your situation. If you decide, at some point, my offer isn’t what you want, well, you’ll take off, disappear….” Herc grinned at the child, “So, I have to make good on the promises I’ve been making.”

Hermias wasn’t sure what to say to that…he was used to grownups calling him trash, thief, and other disparaging terms. No one had talked about courage…or intelligence…in reference to him before. None had ever made any promises to him…certainly none that they had ever felt compelled to keep. Herc smiled at him, not needing the lad to respond. Touching Hermias lightly on the shoulder, Herc tilted his head toward the market, “Come on, let’s see if we can get you some new boots.” Standing, Herc led the way into the square, which was beginning to bustle and hum as more and more stalls opened to the customers waiting to browse and buy.

After they had found a satisfactory pair of black leather boots, they wandered around the market. Stopping at a silver worker’s stall, Herc examined the earrings, finally settling on a small silver hoop etched with the Greek Key design. While he only wanted one earring, they came as a pair. Shrugging, he thought, ‘Oh well, never hurts to have a spare…’ Hermias had been watching quietly, but voiced his curiosity as they wandered away from the stall.

“Who’re the earrings for, Hercules?”

Herc smiled to himself as he responded, “For my partner, Iolaus…he likes to wear an earring or two in his left ear…we’re almost always together, making it hard to buy any kind of surprise gift for him. So, when I get the chance, I pick up something I think he’ll like, and then I’m ready for the next birthday or Solstice, or whatever….” Herc tucked the small package into his belt for safekeeping.

“I guess you must be rich…” mused Hermias.

Hercules burst out laughing. “No, not if you mean rich in silver or possessions…Iolaus and I wander a lot…neither of has much in the way of dinars, drachmas or possessions….Iolaus always says the hero business doesn’t pay all that well!”

“But, ever since I met you, you’ve been spending money,” insisted Hermias, “and all of it has been on stuff for someone else.”

Herc gazed at the lad…wealth was a relative thing. To a child with nothing, a few dinars must seem a fortune. “Well, I’ve spent all I have for now…so, tonight, I’m afraid we’ll be camping out and eating whatever we can catch.” Hermias didn’t seem concerned about this…more reassured if anything. He couldn’t really put his feelings into words, but somehow the idea that if Hercules really wasn’t rich, but that he was still respected, still able to help other people…a hero…somehow, it made it easier for Hermias to think that, maybe, someday, he might be a hero, too.

They had sauntered toward the edge of town. Before they set out toward Corinth, Herc stopped, turned toward Hermias to ask, “Before we leave town, I need to know that there isn’t anyone who will claim I’ve kidnapped you…is there someone we should see to explain where I’m taking you?”

Hermias shook his head. “Nope…my dad died three years ago, during the last conflict between Athens and Sparta…not that he was a soldier…he was just in the wrong place and got caught in a surprise attack….My mom, and my little brother, died of the fever almost two years ago….there isn’t anybody else.”

Hercules’ eyes dropped for a moment, saddened by the story…but Hermias wasn’t looking for sympathy…his voice had been matter-of-fact…nothing more. Herc looked back up toward the horizon, then back at Hermias, “Alright then…I guess there’s nothing else to keep us in this town…you ready to go?”

“Oh yeah,” sighed Hermias, this was it…he was about to head out of town with someone who was little more than a stranger…but, despite himself, he was beginning to trust this man…and he was eager to find a new life, something better than what he had known since he’d lost his family. “I’m ready.”

The two of them set out toward Corinth…it was early afternoon and they were in no rush. Although Corinth wasn’t much more than a day’s walk, Herc didn’t want to rush the lad. To say that Hermias had not been well fed in the last year would be an understatement and Hercules was not sure of the lad’s stamina. Besides, he was enjoying Hermias’ company and there was no need to hurry. As they ambled down the road, Herc looked down at his diminuative companion who seemed to be looking in every direction at once, taking everything in….curious, full of energy and enthusiasm. Herc grinned to himself…the kid was so much like Iolaus, it might be worth checking to see if they had any ancestors in common.

“Hermias,” Herc asked, “how old are you?”

The lad avoided Herc’s eyes, replying, “I’ll be thirteen.”

Hercules chuckled, “I’m sure you will…someday…but, not for a while.”

Hermias looked a bit chagrined, then shrugged, “Alright, I’m eleven…but, I’ll be twelve soon after the summer solstice.”

When Hercules didn’t ask anything more, Hermias turned to him. “So, who’s the kid you wished you had helped?”

Herc looked down at Hermias, not understanding the question, so Hermias elaborated, “You know, the one you talked about last night…the one you wished you had helped and didn’t…you said helping me was like paying an old debt….”

Herc nodded as he remembered their conversation from the evening before. “I was talking about my partner, Iolaus.”

Now, it was Hermias’ turn to look puzzled. “I don’t understand…I thought you were talking about another street kid.”

Herc squinted a bit as he stared into the distance…remembering the past. “I was…when Iolaus was about your age, he had to leave home…it’s more his story to tell than mine…but, it’s pretty common knowledge that he lived on the streets for a couple of years, ran with a gang and stole to live.”

“Your partner was a thief?” Hermias couldn’t believe it…everyone knew that Hercules’ partner, Iolaus, was a hero…how could he have been a thief?

“Uh huh…for awhile. He didn’t have a whole lot of choice. If you’re a kid, and you don’t have any place to go, no one to take care of you…and you have to eat, sometimes it means you need to steal. It’s not a kid’s fault to have no one to turn to…no one to care about them.”

“But…how did he get from being a thief to being your partner?”

Hercules smiled down at Hermias. “Iolaus and I had been friends since we were little kids…but, during that bad time,we sorta drifted apart…I lost track of him, especially when I left home to go to the Academy. But…he couldn’t survive forever as a thief…at some point, every thief gets caught and, well, one day, Iolaus got caught…but it was because he was saving someone from being hurt by older boys in the gang. The person he saved was my mother….” Herc paused for a moment, remembering how grateful he’d been to Iolaus for having been there for his mother…and how guilty he had felt because he wasn’t. “Iolaus was wounded defending my mother and he passed out…when the healer came, they found stolen silver under his shirt. Anyway, my mother, and lots of other people in Thebes who Iolaus had helped in one way or another, persuaded the magistrate that he deserved another chance. It was my mother’s idea to send Iolaus to the same Academy where I was studying …Iolaus and I have been partners almost ever since.”

“Well, if your mother helped him…why do you still feel you owed him something?”

Hercules looked away for a moment, remembering the story Iolaus had told him only a couple of weeks before. “Like I said, Iolaus and I had been best friends ever since we were little. When he ran away from home to live on the streets, I never asked him why he didn’t come to my mother and me for help…I should have asked him why….If I had, he might never have had to live like that….He could have died from illness and neglect…or been killed….I should have asked him why….”

Hermias suspected there was more to this story…but, what he didn’t understand was the guilt he heard in Hercules’ voice. “You sound as if it was your fault that he had to run away from home….”

Hercules came back from the past, looked down at Hermias, “No, I didn’t cause the problems in Iolaus’ family…but, we were friends…best friends….and, friends don’t turn their backs on one another…friends don’t just walk away when one of them needs help. It wasn’t my fault that Iolaus had to leave home…but, in some ways at least, it was my fault that he had to live like that for so long.”

Hermias wondered if Iolaus felt the same way…and that made him wonder where Iolaus was. “So, where is he…Iolaus? Why isn’t he with you now?”

“Iolaus decided to visit his mother, Erythia, and her husband, Pandion. They live on the far west side of Corinth. He’s supposed to meet up with me in a day or two.”

“You said, ‘her husband, Pandion,’ so he isn’t Iolaus’ father?”

“No, Iolaus’ father, Skouros, was a general…he was killed in a war a long time ago.”

“Before your friend ran away from home?”

“No…after.”

Hermias nodded…yep, there was more to this story….he could tell the way Hercules’ face lost all expression, and the way his voice got tight and sharp when he talked about Iolaus’ dad, that there was more. But, he also got the feeling that Hercules wouldn’t tell him the rest…it would be like stealing his friend’s privacy. Maybe, someday, Iolaus would tell the story….if Iolaus could go from being a street thief to being a hero, a famous warrior, then, for sure, Hermias could amount to something, someday, too.

“So, do you have a family…kids?” Hermias caught the haunted look that flickered across Hercules’ face.

“My family died…a long time ago…” was all Hercules said, his voice still tight with remembered grief and anger.

“I’m sorry,” Hermias whispered softly. He couldn’t think of anything else to say…he knew first hand that no words ever made the pain go away, so he decided it was time to change the subject. “Uh…I heard that you’ve hunted monsters…killed some.”

Herc nodded as he walked along.

“So…would you tell me some of the stories?”

Hercules grinned. Kids. They always wanted to hear the monster stories. “Well, let’s see…I guess the first monster we killed was a ghidra…that’s an ugly two headed, fire breathing, huge creature, with hide like armour and a poisoned tale. Iolaus, Jason and I killed it while we were still cadets. Then, there was the hydra…everytime we cut off it’s head, two more would grow in its place! It’s bite was poisonous…and, it was also huge. Anyway, we figured out that we had to burn the neck as soon as we cut off the heads to keep more from growing back. Then, there was….” Hercules recounted the abbreviated version of ‘monsters I have known’ as they walked along the road. When he finished, he turned to Hermias to see if the lad had any more questions.

Hermias had a funny look on his face which Hercules couldn’t read. “Is there something wrong, Hermias?”

“No….” Hermias responded…wondering if he could say what he was thinking without hurting Hercules’ feelings. He looked up at Herc, realized the tall demigod was waiting for more. “It’s just that…well…I thought the stories would be more exciting…but, you make it sound kinda dull….”

Hercules chuckled. “Sorry about that….Iolaus always says I need to work on my delivery…he’s really the storyteller….You’ll need to get him to give you the details…the stories are much more exciting when he tells them!”

“So…I’ll get to meet Iolaus someday?”

“Sure…probably sometime soon…we often stop into Corinth to visit with Iphicles.”

Hermias grinned at this news. Great! He’d get to meet the man who went from thief to hero…great!!! Hermias was hardly even aware that he had stopped thinking of himself in terms of hopelessness and cynicism, and had started to imagine the possibility of wondrous adventures...of living a life of worth and meaning.

As they walked, the afternoon got hotter…and the air was still. No breezes stirred the trees…no birds sang…no squirrels scolded. In the distance, they could hear a dog howl. Hercules gradually became aware of the oppression of the day around them…as if tension was building in the earth itself. He stopped for a moment, looking around, listening…

Hermias looked up at him, then looked around…but, he didn’t see anything of concern…didn’t see much of anything at all. Hills, trees, dusty road…not much. “What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Maybe nothing,” Hercules responded softly, “but, when it gets hot, and quiet, like this, Iolaus says it’s because all other living things are holding their breath, waiting for something to happen....and, it isn’t usually something good. Usually, it’s an earthquake or some other natural disaster like a monstrous storm.”

Hermias shrugged. Earthquakes were nothing special in Greece…people were always having to put houses back up, repair broken possessions. He had just resumed walking along the road when they heard a great roaring sound rushing toward them from the earth below…then, the road lifted and rolled toward them like a wave rolling toward shore, throwing them both flat on the ground, where they held onto the earth as it lurched and trembled around them. Trees swayed, and some came loose from the roots. High in the hills, a landslide started, gathering speed and strength as it flowed to the valley below. The quake was a big one…it would have done some real damage…there would be aftershocks.

Hercules pushed himself to his feet, then leaned over to help Hermias stand. “Are you alright?” Herc asked.

“Yeah…fine. I’ve never seen anything like that!” Hermias exclaimed with the excitement of a child who has survived disaster.

“Believe me, you don’t want to see many like that…” Herc stopped himself as his sharp hearing picked up a scream on the wind. Someone was in trouble. He looked around, taking in the massive scar left by the landslide on the mountainside to their right. Had the sound come from that direction? Then, he heard it again…a wail on the wind.

Hermias heard it, too. “Oh gods,” the boy whispered to himself, “the mine….”

Herc whirled on the boy, “There’s a mine up there? Where? Show me!” Hermias was caught by the urgency in the demigod’s voice. He pointed toward the lower edge of the landslide, then he and Hercules started to climb the hill in that direction. They weren’t making great time…Hermias could not move anywhere near as fast as could Hercules. Finally, feeling the urgency of people needing help, Herc turned to the lad. “Hermias, would you mind riding on my back…we could get up there a lot faster that way.”

Hermias understood the need to hurry and nodded. Herc knelt to allow the boy to climb onto his back, where he held onto Herc’s shoulders, his legs locked around Herc’s waist, as the demigod stood and began running through the forest, up the steep incline toward the site of the mine. In minutes, they had arrived to find a woman scrabbling in the rocks, pulling at them, throwing smaller ones aside, digging with her hands which were already torn and bleeding from the sharp stones and razor like edges of rock sliced from it’s ageold resting place on the mountain’s side. She was not old, having no more than twenty years, her clothing modest, but now stained with dirt. Her hair blew wild around her face which was white, and streaked with tears. Not far away, along the path, was a discarded wicker basket, filled with bread, cheese, hard boiled eggs and a jug of ale. She had been bringing her men their noon day meal.

Herc felt Hermias slide from his back as he knelt to pull the woman to her feet. She struggled against him, hysterically trying to return to the digging. “My husband,” she wailed, “and my brothers…they’re in there…I have to get them out! There’s a mine…it’s entrance was right there…right there…under the rocks. I have to get them out!”

“It’s alright…we’ll help you…but, you need to get others to help, too.” Hercules spoke calmly, steadily, gradually cutting through her frenzied emotions. She finally turned to him, tears streaming down her dirt streaked face. “You’ll help?” she murmured, coming out of the shock of having found the mine opening gone when she’d arrived, bringing food for her men in the mine.

Hercules nodded, then turned to Hermias. “Will you go with her, to the village, find men who can help with the digging?” Hermias nodded, his face pale but resolute. “And, see if there is a healer in the village…if not, have someone send for one. Bring bandages, buckets of water…” Hermias nodded again, as Hercules turned back to the distraught woman. “My friend will go with you…you’ll need to show him the way…alright?” The woman looked at Hermias, pulled away from Hercules’ grip on her shoulders, and led the boy down the road. As they turned to go, Herc called out to Hermias one last instruction, “And, Hermias,” the boy turned back to look at him, “when you get back…promise me, you’ll stay out of the mine.”

For a moment, Hermias looked rebellious…he wanted to help, not be shunted aside like a child. Hercules understood this. “Please…you need to help these people coordinate their efforts out here…most of them will be in shock, having family and friends trapped in there…I need you out here with them…alright?” Hermias knew Herc was really trying to make sure that he stayed safe, but he appreciated that Hercules had found a legitimate reason for him to stay outside, treating him as someone who could help, not a kid who would just be in the way. Appreciated it especially because it had been a very long time since any grownup had been worried about him, and none had ever shown respect for him before…to ask if he would help, not just direct him…to assume he could help. The lad nodded, then turned to follow the woman down to the village.

Hercules turned to the blocked mine entrance and began to move the boulders aside, clearing in minutes what would have taken ten men hours. By the time Hermias and the woman returned with help, he had cleared the entrance and was working on the rockslide inside, where the mine roof had given way. Seven men from the village followed him into the mine, some helping to move rocks and boulders, others using picks to loosen the rock, and still others hastily framed the roof of the passage with timbers, to provide some slight security against falling rubble.

It was hard, hot work. Once, they stopped, waiting tensely for a mild aftershock to pass through the stone around them. All the men were streaked with dirt and sweat, breathing hard from effort, coughing from the chalky, dust filled air, by the time they broke through into a cavern beyond….to the cheering, relieved men gathered there, who had been doing their best to dig out to meet them. It took another half hour to clear enough space to allow anyone to pass in or out of the mine shaft beyond the caved in area. Finally, Hercules and another man were able to slip into the space beyond, carrying torches to light the way for those trapped there, and to determine if there were any so seriously injured that they would need assistance.

Outside, Hermias had tried to live up to Hercules’ expectations. He had organized other kids into a bucket brigade, bringing fresh water to the workers, to satisfy the mighty thirst caused by the hot, heavy work. As the afternoon wore into dusk, he built fires to light the area...and, when the healer arrived, he helped the man set up a small work area to tend the injured when they were rescued. He urged the women to bring food for the men, and for themselves, then made them eat...telling them they had to be strong to care for those who would need help later. He worked tirelessly, cheerfully...winning reluctant smiles from worried kin. Throughout it all, he kept a wary eye on the mine, trying hard not worry himself about what might happen if the mountain collapsed on those struggling to rescue the men who were trapped. Hercules was the son of Zeus...he could not be hurt...or, at least, that’s what Hermias kept telling himself, over and over as the twilight wore into night.

There were fifteen men gathered in that space, ranging in age from sixteen to fifty…men who had heard the rescuers working their way toward them, and who had been digging from their own side toward the entrance. Several carried wounds…cuts and abrasions on heads and limbs. Three seemed to have broken arms, one needed help walking and one was unconscious from a head injury. All were covered with the white, chalky dust of the mine so that they looked like grey spectres in the flickering half light of the torches.

The trapped miners had just started to help their injured colleagues out through the opening the rescuers had made, when the mountain around them began to groan and tremble…in seconds, the moaning stone was grinding fiercely and the earth was pitching…the timbered ceiling cracking under the pressure of the stone above it. Without a moment’s thought, Hercules braced his arms up against the straining timbers, using his strength to hold the roof of the cave in place long enough for the miners to escape through the opening they had made through the thirty feet of rock and rubble between them and the mine entrance. His body trembled with the effort of holding back the mountain as, through gritted teeth, he urged them to hurry.

The roof beyond him, back into the depths of the mine crashed down…but, by then, the others were all out into the passage beyond. Herc gave them a few moments more, to get to the mouth of the mine before he dropped his arms, bending against the rock showering upon him, ducking to get through the passage they had cleared, when it all came down upon him… Boulders rained down from the cavern’s roof, blocking his path to the entrance, shutting out the light from the tunnel…showered down upon him, bruising and pounding upon muscle and bone….until one sizable rock hit his head, knocking him unconscious. Herc fell amid the debris of the ruined mine, rocks cascading down upon him until finally, all was silent in the darkness of the caved in mine.

The last of the miners fled the cleared entrance of the mine, enveloped in a cloud of dust and debris that gusted out of the mine from the latest cave in. The crash of the rock behind them echoed and rumbled for some minutes after the last man staggered out. Hermias watched the men escape…grey, ghostly shapes coated in the dust of the mine...waited for the last person to come out of the cave…waited but Hercules did not appear. He heard the terrible rending of the earth as the mine collapsed upon itself in the aftershock of the earthquake. The men and women outside the cave listened to the last echo in silence. Several shook their heads as if in sorrow, men took women into their arms, then turned with them to walk back to the village, relieved to be alive.

Hermias watched them begin to leave, stunned for a moment into silence. They were just going to leave without trying to dig Hercules out. Horrified, he grabbed the arm of a man passing close to him, “Hey, mister…you have to help Hercules…he’s still in there!” The miner, covered with grey chalk, haggard from the terror of being trapped alive, laid a hand upon the boy’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, son…there’s nothing anyone can do…no one could have survived that last cave in. Hercules is beyond help...he must be dead, lad.”

Stricken, Hermias shouted at the man, “You don’t know that! You have to help him…you’d still be in there if it wasn’t for him…you can’t just walk away…please!!! You can’t just leave him in there! Please!” But, his pleas fell on deaf ears…the miners were convinced that the last rockfall had been complete and fatal. It was pointless to risk more lives to bring out a man already dead...or so they told themselves, to assuage their guilt at leaving the hero within a tomb of rock.

Hermias watched them go…tears streaming down his cheeks. He turned back to the mine entrance, tried to shift boulders on his own…only to realize he did not have the strength. He knelt in the dust, staring at the wall of boulders between him and Hercules. “Hercules!” he screamed, again and again…but only the echo of his own cries answered him. The mine remained silent.

Dusk was falling while Hermias agonized over what to do. He remembered the strength of Hercules…and his kindness. He remembered his words…Hercules had called him friend. Hercules had said that friends don’t turn their backs on one another when one needs help. There had to be something he could do. He needed help to dig out the cave…he needed men who would stop at nothing to free Hercules from the mine’s grip. Where would he find such men? “Corinth…” he breathed. King Iphicles, Hercules’ brother, and Iolaus, Hercules’ friend, were both there. He had to get to Corinth.

Hermias stood, called out to the mine, hoping Hercules could hear him. “I’ll be back…I’m going to Corinth for help…don’t worry, Hercules…I’ll be back, I swear it to you.”

With that, the boy turned and began to run along the forest path, heading back to the main road that wound south across the isthmus to the city state of Corinth. He had not known Hercules for long…but, Herc was, quite simply, his only friend. In a short time, Hercules had shown the boy the possibilities of another kind of life…made the boy believe he could be more than a petty thief, condemned to the impoverished life of the homeless. Hermias would not rest until he got Hercules out of that mine…and he would continue to believe that Hercules was alive until he could see evidence to the contrary.

Hermias ran until he was out of breath, then he walked until he could run again…run, walk, run again...he did not stop all the long night…he would not stop until he had gotten help. Earlier that day, Hercules had worried about pushing the boy too hard…had worried about his stamina. But, Hermias was made strong by his desperate commitment to help a friend who might die if he was not rescued soon.

The darkness was impenetrable, it surrounded and suffocated him. The air was filled with dirt and debris and dust…heavy, choking dust…The air was also stale, as if it, too, was trapped in this dark place. There was no sound…there should be some sound. Surely, he would be able to hear them, hear the pounding of the picks and shovels…hear their voices. Why was it silent? How long had he been here…how long had he been unconscious? He felt around the area…pushed rocks away to give himself room to manoeuver…which way was out? A sharp pain in his left arm claimed his attention…gently exploring the arm with his right hand, he discovered his left arm was broken. Great. Even if he could remember which direction to take toward the entrance, it would take a while to dig himself out with one hand. But, he couldn’t remember the direction and there was no way to orient himself. If he started digging…would he only dig further into the mine, away from help, away from escape…gods, why couldn’t he hear anything? He was not afraid…he rarely, almost never, felt fear on his own behalf…but, he worried about the others…they wouldn’t have abandoned him… something must have happened to them.

He hadn’t been that far inside the mine…if only he had some light. Not being one to wait for the Fates to rescue him, he cautiously came to his feet, feeling the walls around him…it all seemed like just so much tumble down rock and boulders. However, as he felt around, he came upon the burnt out remains of the torch. Now, if he could just create a spark….

Hercules pulled the gauntlet off his injured left arm, knelt beside the burned out torch, steadied the gauntlet with his knee, then brushed one gauntlet against the other, causing a spark to fall onto the dry tinder of the torch. The tinder flared brightly, blinding him for a moment after so long in the endless blackness of the mine. Once he could see clearly, Hercules examined his prison of stone…orientating himself to the direction in which he must dig to get himself out. He replaced the gauntlet on his left arm to give it some support, took off his vest to fashion it into a sling to support the arm to limit the damage to it while he worked with his right arm to shove aside and dig out rocks and boulders. It was hard, slow work…and, as often as he would clear a sizable bit of stone from his path…more would cascade down to refill the space.

Herc was covered in the grey, chalky dust of the mine, wheezing a bit as it clogged his lungs…until he realized it wasn’t just the dust that was creating his difficulty breathing. There was no movement of air…no air getting in or out of the pocket of space in which he found himself. The torch was burning was little oxygen there was…and his exertions were causing him to use more oxygen than he would in a state of rest. He was in a time trap…he had to get out before the oxygen ran out…but, if he kept working, he would use up the air more quickly.

Herc stopped his exertions, blew out the torch to conserve that bit of oxygen at least, listened to the silence around him. Why couldn’t he hear the sounds of picks and shovels vibrating through the rock around him? Someone had to have survived the last cave in…and that meant they had to be working to get him out…didn’t it?

The silence bothered him. He felt entombed in the clammy darkness around him. Had he been abandoned? Had they all assumed he’d been killed in the cave in and had simply left the ruin of the mine? What about Hermias…what had happened to him? He was out there alone…there was no one to help him. With a grim determination, Hercules kept digging… kept working to free himself…it might use up the breathable air more quickly…but he suspected he would die anyway if he could not get himself out…fast or slow, he was doomed unless he could clear a passage to the outside. One rock at a time, Hercules worked to clear a path.

Dawn had already broken by the time Hermias staggered to the gates of Corinth. The palace was an imposing structure which could be seen above the city walls, so Hermias was able to head in its direction without asking anyone’s help in finding it. Finally, finally…he reached the guards at the palace entrance. He ran toward them, out of breath…unaware of his bedraggled, dusty appearance.

“Please…I have to see the King!” he gasped out to the guard nearest him. The soldier looked down at the dirty little boy puffing beside him and laughed. Who did the kid think he was…wants to see the King! Like that would ever happen.

“Move along, boy…don’t be causing a disturbance. You best be going home before you get into trouble,” the guard rumbled, his attention already moving elsewhere.

“Please…you don’t understand…Hercules….” Hermias tried to explain, only to be cut off by the increasingly impatient guard.

“Move along, I said…or you’ll wish you had, boy! The King doesn’t see the likes of you…and Hercules is not here…so you’ll have to seek him elsewhere.” The guard had simply assumed that this was just another peasant with a problem which he hoped Hercules would solve…not the soldier’s concern.

Hermias was about to try once more, when he caught the glint in the soldier’s eye…the promise of trouble if he kept up his demands. Hermias swallowed hard. He did not have time for this…he sure didn’t have time to get into trouble. It had taken too long to get to Corinth…and they still needed to get all the way back, and dig out the cave in before Hercules would be alright. There had to be something else he could do.

Hermias remembered that Iolaus was somewhere in the city…what had Hercules said? That Iolaus was visiting his mother and her husband…they lived past the west gate. As he turned to run to the western side of the city, Hermias struggled to remember their names…Aria? Eritrea? Hestia? Paulus? Petros? He was tired, and frightened. He felt overwhelmed by the responsibility he carried. What were their names? How could he find their house if he didn’t know their names?

As Hermias ran through the city, he could see evidence of the devastating earthquake... buildings had collapsed and were now nothing but rubble littering the streets. It was eerie, unnatural...frightening. By the time he’d crossed the city, the sun was well up and the streets were becoming crowded with people picking up the pieces of yesterday’s disaster. He remembered the excitement he had felt yesterday with a twinge of guilt. He had never seen such destruction. Finally, he had pushed his way out of the west gate, moving against the tide of humanity which was entering the city from the countryside beyond. There was a small village clustered outside the walls of Corinth….the population of the city having grown beyond what could be accommodated within her walls. As he entered the village, he stopped a woman with a basket over her arm, obviously headed to market.

“Please, miss, could you help me? I’m looking for Iolaus, friend of Hercules…he’s visiting his parents here…his mother is Aria or Endia…something like that…her husband is Paulus or Petrus…?”

The young woman was about to push past the disheveled child, but she caught the desperation in his voice and eyes. The child was on the edge of panic…desperate to find Iolaus. As it happened, every young woman in the area knew Iolaus…knew where he could be found.

“Erythia and Pandion are the people you are looking for…you see that house at the end of this lane, set back into the trees as if it was standing alone, apart from the village?” Hermias followed her pointing arm, saw the simple wooden structure, which now lurched a little to the left, as a result of yesterday’s tremors, she was describing and nodded.

“Good, go to the house, turn to your left…there is a hill there which you can’t see from here. At the bottom of the hill, on the edge of the forest is the house where you will find Iolaus.”

“May the gods be good to you!” Hermias called out as he ran down the lane, following her directions. Finally, skidding to a halt at the base of the hill, he found himself in front of the house he sought. It looked like it had escaped the worst of the damage...part of the roof sagged, but otherwise the building was intact. He raced to the door and pounded upon it. In moments, it was opened by a greying, middle aged man…this must be Pandion. “Please,” gasped Hermias, “Please…I have to find Iolaus…Hercules needs him…”

He heard a voice inside the cabin, call out, “Who’s there, Pandion…what did he say about Hercules?” and then a man with unruly blond curls and brilliant blue eyes was standing beside Pandion, looking down at the bedraggled boy on the doorstep.

“Please,” Hermias fought to catch his breath, to explain, “Are you Iolaus?”

The blond nodded, “Who’re you?”

“My name’s Hermias…Hercules needs your help…he’s trapped in a mine cave in… please… he’s been in there all night,” Hermias was close to tears, finding it hard to speak coherently.

Concern flashed into Iolaus’ eyes, his heart clenched. He had been unsettled all night, unable to sleep...worried about Hercules, but dismissing the concern as baseless. Now, now he knew he should have trusted his instincts. Iolaus put a hand on the boy’s shoulder, kneeling in front of him. “Hey, slow down…catch your breath and tell me what’s happened to Hercules...”

Hermias took a deep breath and started again. “Yesterday, after the earthquake, Hercules helped men escape from a mine cave in…but, it all collapsed again before he could get out…they said he was dead…but they didn’t even try to rescue him. I…I didn’t know what else to do…who else to ask to help… please, mister…he said you are his friend....He’s been trapped all night…he might be hurt….” A sob rose in Hermias’ throat and he had trouble forcing it back down. He was terrified for Hercules…had been ever since the mine’s roof had collapsed on his friend.

Iolaus stood, turning to Pandion and a woman Hermias knew must be his mother. “I have to go…I’ll get word back to you.” His mother nodded, and having anticipated this when Hermias began his story, had already gathered Iolaus’ meagre belongings and handed him his bag which he slung over his shoulder. Meanwhile, Pandion had gone for his sword, which Iolaus buckled around his waist. In moments, Iolaus had bent forward to hug his mother and kiss her cheek, clasped arms with Pandion, and then was out the door, turning Hermias back the way he had come.

“Come on, Hermias,” Iolaus said as they walked, his voice tight with anxiety and urgency, “we’re going to get some help…and then you’ll need to lead us to this mine!”

Hermias felt dead on his feet, but he wasn’t about to quit at this point. The two of them headed back across the city to the palace gate. Iolaus marched in, right past the guards, heading for Iphicles’ throne room, knowing the King would be working on the Court’s business, hearing grievances and petitions from subjects. Iolaus kept one hand on Hermias’ shoulder all the way…making sure he didn’t lose the boy in the crowded streets or in the maze of palace hallways.

Finally, they arrived in the throne room. Despite his exhaustion, Hermias stood amazed by the wealth he saw around him…rich tapestries on the wall, gold plated candelabra, Persian carpets on the stone floors, rich carved wooden chairs and tables…and a magnificent throne sculpted from marble upon which was sitting a dark, very imposing man with a crown. This was King Iphicles.

Iphicles had seen Iolaus storm into the throne room, a rather scruffy, dusty looking urchin in tow. Iphicles waved away the man in front of him…the merchant had been droning on about the burden of the taxes upon trade and Iphicles was glad of the interruption. Stepping down from the throne, he went to meet Iolaus. “What is it?” Iphicles knew from the look on Iolaus’ face that something was very wrong.

“It’s Hercules…apparently he’s trapped in a mine cave in.”

“What? How did you hear this?”

Iolaus waved at the boy. “Hermias here has run all night to get to us…he says the people of the village, the miners, assume that Herc was killed in the cave in and haven’t even tried to dig him out…we don’t have any time to lose!” Iolaus’ voice was tight with anxiety…he wanted to be on the way, racing to his friend.

Iphicles looked down at the boy…could they believe him? Was this a prank? Or some kind of trap? The boy looked back up at him with a direct, clear gaze. He was pale, obviously frightened. Iphicles wanted to hear the story for himself. Directing his attention to the boy, he demanded, “What happened? Why are you the only one seeking help?”

Hermias swallowed, in awe of the King and a little frightened by his cold scrutiny. “Yesterday, after the earthquake, Hercules helped dig out a mine that had caved in, and saved all the miners. But, before he could get out, there was another trembling of the earth…and the mine collapsed. The miners said no one could have survived…and they just left. I…I didn’t know where else to get help…please, I’m scared he might be badly hurt.”

Iphicles studied the boy a moment more, then looked back at Iolaus, seeing the fear for Hercules written clearly there. Iphicles nodded, called to his palace guard to saddle their horses, to gather a force of twenty to ride with them…the guard ran ahead to fulfill these commands. Then, he was leading Iolaus and Hermias out of the palace to the royal stables. As they mounted, Iolaus pulled Hermias up to ride in front of him….never having been on a horse before, the boy was grateful to have someone strong holding him in the saddle… exhausted, he slumped back against the support of Iolaus’ chest.

Hercules had no way of knowing how much time was passing in the unchanging darkness of the mine. He was frustrated with the slow progress he was making…debris falling to fill in an area he had just cleared happened far too frequently. His broken arm ached constantly, and the pain sharpened each time he jolted the arm against an obstacle unseen in the dark. His body was bruised by the rockfall, his muscles ached from the strain of having held the mountain back long enough for the others to escape. Everyone tended to think he was invincible…he tended to think the same thing. The only people in his life who ever really remembered he could be hurt were his mother, Deianeara and Iolaus. But, as the hours passed, as his breathing grew ever more ragged, his lungs struggling against the heavy chalky dust and the increasingly thin air, he began to wonder if he was ever going to get out of this mine….

He worked doggedly on…to stop meant being buried alive, entombed within this stone cage. At one point, he became angry, slamming his right fist into the rock in front of him, reducing it to dust. Why had he been abandoned in this mine…he had helped dig out the miners, had held the roof so that they could get out…why had they just left him here to rot? Hercules never expected favours in return for any of the help he gave others…he never sought recognition, never wanted the gratitude, or the fame, that had resulted from his years of helping those in need, of confronting fickle or cruel gods, of defeating monsters and warlords….all he’d ever really wanted was for people to learn to help one another, to support one another when they needed it. But, it was times like this, in the darkness of his own soul, that he wondered why he bothered…ungrateful mob, thankless creatures, cowards…he stormed away to himself as he continued to attack the wall of rock between him and the entrance.

Finally, his anger spent, he slumped against the wall of stone, slid down to the floor, his back against a boulder. He wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his right hand, tried to slow his breathing. His lungs were protesting the lack of air, his chest beginning to ache with the effort of drawing in enough to fire his body. Gods, he was thirsty…and tired.

He thought about the anger he had felt and shrugged against the dark. It didn’t matter what other people did, what other people felt…it never had. Hercules had a well defined sense of what was right and of what was wrong. He also had a bottomless well of courage within his soul. He could no more stop himself from doing the right thing, from helping the weak and vulnerable, from opposing evil than the sun could stop itself from rising at dawn. It was who and what he was…the core of his being…his reason to continue living each time he lost someone who took a piece of his heart and soul with them when they left…his wife and children, his mother, Serena…Iolaus when he’d been lost to Dahak and then to the light. Maybe, maybe this was the answer he had been seeking last night...that there was something within him, some core of decency and commitment, which would never really allow him to completely lose himself...even if the pain was so great he wanted to be lost.

Herc rested his head back against the cold stone, closed his eyes, told himself he would just rest for a minute, then he’d attack the wall again…he thought about Hermias and wondered what would happen to the child, regretted having left him alone...what would happen to him now? He thought about Iolaus…hoped his friend would hear what had happened from someone who cared about him…not in some tavern on the way to the lake. Vaguely realizing he was on the verge of giving up, Herc gathered his remaining strength to keep fighting…to keep trying to free himself. He dragged air into his lungs, only to experience a coughing spasm as a result of the dust and debris that choked him. He shivered. He was getting cold...his body was shutting down.

Herc tried to stand, but found he was too dizzy to do more than lean against the wall as he tugged, pushed and pummelled the stone out of his way. Another coughing fit took him, shaking his weakened body. He braced his broken arm as he leaned against the stone wall, trying to limit the agony the wrenching of the coughing caused as he fought to get his breath. Hercules slipped to his knees, tried to brace himself against the wall with his good arm, but found himself falling, falling…into a blackness deeper than the lightless space around him. He was almost out of air…just before he lost consciousness, Herc thought he might finally learn whether he was immortal…or not…maybe he was about to get his wish...that he die before he lost anyone else that mattered to him...the thought made him laugh weakly at the irony and unpredicability of life. He thought about Iolaus, thought about how sorry he was to leave him...especially after Iolaus had just given up one of his free passes out of Elysium for him...and, again, he laughed weakly...made giddy by the lack of air. “I’m sorry, Iolaus,” he thought, as he lost awareness of the world around him.

The horsemen made good time back to the area of the landslide…but, even so, it took three hours. They had to pass through the miners’ village on the way to the mine. King Iphicles’ voice was harsh as he ordered them to provide shovels and picks to his men, castigating them for having abandoned his brother in the mine. The villagers flinched under his anger, and turned away from the scorn and fury they saw in the eyes of the blond warrior holding a child in front of him...the child who had tried to get them to help Hercules last night. After the King’s party had ridden from the village, they followed up the mountain to see what would happen...to see if, indeed, the hero was still alive.

When they arrived in the clearing, Iolaus was the first one to slip from his mount and race to the mine entrance, only to come up against the mountain of stone not ten feet inside. “Hercules!” he yelled, “can you hear me? Hercules!” There was no answer. Unable to hold the leash on his fear for his friend any longer, Iolaus attacked the stone with his bare hands. By then, Iphicles and those who had come with them, had entered behind him…bringing picks and shovels with them. Iphicles caught Iolaus by the arm, practically dragging him from the rockface. “Let them do the work, Iolaus…there’s no point in exhausting yourself…if Hercules is hurt, he’ll need you to be strong to take care of him.”

Iphicles pulled Iolaus out of the mine, where they both caught sight of the bedraggled, exhausted, frightened child standing by the horses. Hermias’ blazing blue eyes were wide in his white, pinched face. He fought to control the trembling of his body, was determined not to give in to tears. Gods, what if they were too late? Was there something else he should have done? Had he wasted too much time getting help?

When he thought about it, Hermias was surprised he cared this much. He had only known Hercules for a day…but, in that short time, the demigod had shown him more warmth, compassion, kindness and friendship than he had known in the whole of the rest of his life. He didn’t think of Hercules as a hero…or even as the man who was going to take him from his hopeless life on the streets of his village. He thought of Hercules as his friend…he wanted his friend to live…he wanted his friend to be safe…and he was desperately afraid they were too late.

Iolaus saw the fear on the boy’s face. He walked over to the child, put an arm around his shoulders and led the lad to a place under the trees where they could sit and wait for the rock and rubble to be cleared. “So,” he began, “I don’t remember ever having met you before…but you look familiar….” Iolaus scanned the clear blue eyes and the bright golden locks, wondering where he’d seen someone similar… “anyway, how did you and Herc hook up…what was he doing here anyway?” The last Iolaus had heard, Hercules was on his way to the lake…he should have been there by now, not stuck in a collapsed mine.

Hermias looked down at his hands, twisting his fingers together. “It’s my fault, I guess…he was helping me…taking me to Corinth.”

Iolaus frowned, trying to make sense of all this. “Why? Do you have family there?”

Hermias shook his head, but didn’t meet Iolaus’ eyes. “No…he was taking me to his brother…he said the King would have a place for me….” His voice faded out. How did he begin to explain that he was a street thief, homeless, without family…with nowhere to go.

Hermias finally looked up at Iolaus…maybe he would understand. “I…my family is all dead…I’ve been sleeping in the alleys and abandoned buildings for almost two years…and stealing to eat. Hercules said he wanted to help me…he said it was a way of paying back an old debt….” Hermias stopped at the look that crossed Iolaus’ face…a look of sad comprehension as he turned and looked back toward the mine, his soul searching for some sense of the presence of his friend’s soul…then, he looked back at Hermias.

“I think I understand,” Iolaus said quietly. Hermias nodded. “Hercules told me that you had been a street kid, stealing to survive….” He stopped at the sharp look Iolaus gave him. “I…he said most people knew…but, he didn’t tell me much…said it was your story to tell…” Iolaus gave a wry grin and slowly shook his head, “He told you I was a thief….he told you how I got caught?” Hermias nodded. “He told you enough about where my parents live for you to be able to find me…what else did he tell you?”

Hermias gave Iolaus the ghost of a grin. “He said that you tell the stories about the monsters better than he does…he makes it all sound pretty boring.”

Despite his anxiety, Iolaus had to laugh. It wasn’t that Herc couldn’t tell a story properly, it was just that his terminal humility made it impossible for him to give anything but the barest facts about anything he had personally done.

His attention was caught by Iphicles, who had come out of the cave and was calling to him. “Iolaus, I think we may be almost through…we’ve reached an open space and we’re just clearing a hole large enough to get into it.” Iolaus was on his feet, jogging to the cave entrance. “Has he said anything…have you talked to him?” Iolaus voice was full of hope…overlaying painful anxiety. Iphicles just shook his head as he looked away… “There’s no sound from the other side of the stone barrier…no sound at all.”

Iolaus looked at Iphicles for a long moment, then pushed past him into the mine entrance. He could see the space being cleared…and it was big enough for him to squeeze through. Iolaus pushed his way through the laboring soldiers, until he had reached the pile of rock and rubble. “Here, let me crawl in there…once I’m in, pass me a torch.” With that, he clamoured up the boulders and rocks, and pushed his way headfirst through the narrow opening into the black space beyond.

Iolaus used his hands to pull himself forward, twisting around so that he was pulling himself out of the aperture on the other side, rather than just squirming headfirst down the rockfall. He pulled his feet through, then felt cautiously to make sure there was a solid floor to stand on before he let go of the rock he was clinging to. In moments, a torch was being pushed through to him. Taking care to not be burned by the flaming end, he gripped it and turned to examine the small cavern around him. At first, he didn’t see Hercules, so covered was his friend with chalk dust that he blended into the floor and walls…so still, so unmoving, so quiet, that he didn’t draw attention.

Then, Iolaus’ eyes adapted to the murky world of the cavern and he recognised his friend, his heart plummeting to his boots as he took in the stillness of the figure on the ground. “Hercules!” he gasped as he took two quick steps and was kneeling beside his fallen comrade, carefully turning Hercules onto his back, feeling for a pulse. He started to breathe again when he verified that Hercules was still alive. He shouted this news back to the others, who redoubled their efforts to break through. Iolaus swiftly checked his friend’s body for injuries, found the broken arm and various contusions, but nothing serious. He didn’t like the sound of Herc’s breathing…it was raspy and laboured. Taking note of the stale, dust laden air, Iolaus realized that they had almost been out of time. “Hang in there, buddy,” he whispered to Hercules, as he pulled his friends shoulders up to support them against his chest, to help ease his friend’s breathing. “We’ll have you out of here in no time!”

By the time the others had cleared a large enough opening in the rock fall, Hercules had begun to regain consciousness.…the improved quality of air helped ease his breathing, gave him enough oxygen to fight back the darkness. He stirred restlessly in Iolaus’ arms. “Easy, Herc…take it easy…you’re going to be okay,” Iolaus murmured reassuringly.

Hearing Iolaus’ voice, Herc struggled back to full consciousness, coughing against the heavy dust in his lungs, dragging in the blessed air flowing in from the tunnel opened through the rock. Opening his eyes, he stared up at Iolaus for a long moment. His voice dry and harsh from the dust and thirst, he rasped, with mock irritation, “What took you so long?” … and then he grinned weakly, happy to be alive. Iolaus laughed with relief as he hugged his friend to him. They were still laughing when Iphicles entered the cavern through the opening his men had created. He knelt by his brother, a relieved smile on his face, then handed Hercules a waterskin. Gratitude blazed from Herc’s eyes as he lifted the skin and drank…nectar could not have been more welcome or have tasted better than that swallow of clear, cool mountain water.

They helped Herc to his feet and supported him out of the mine. He blinked against the daylight, leaning heavily still upon Iolaus and his brother. Then, his eyes adjusted to the light, he looked around and spotted Hermias standing, quiet and shy, by the horses….his face alight with relief, his eyes suspiciously bright. Iolaus murmured to Hercules, “Hermias came for us…poor kid musta run flat out all night…he’s been worried sick about you…we’d never have known you needed help if not for him….”

Herc straightened and walked over to the boy. He knelt in front of the lad, putting a strong hand on Hermias shoulder as he looked into his eyes. “You saved my life Hermias, thank you.” Hermias blushed in response to the praise and shrugged. “Wasn’t nothing anyone else wouldna done for a friend…” he said softly, as he blinked hard. Hercules smiled into the boy’s eyes, then looked up across the horizon. “Maybe so, Hermias…I guess I’m just very lucky to have had a friend like you out here…a friend who wouldn’t walk away and leave me trapped in there.” Hercules looked back down at the boy. “Not everyone would do what you did…run all the way to Corinth, track down help, bring them back here…fast enough to get me out before I ran out of air…in my books, that makes you a hero, Hermias…and someone I’m proud to know.”

The boy swallowed hard, overcome by the praise. Him…a hero? Hardly. Gods, he was just glad Hercules was okay. Impulsively, the boy threw his arms around the demigod and hugged him tight…and Hercules wrapped his right arm around the boy, pulling him tightly against his chest, smiling softly to himself when he remembered that only two days ago, this boy had been a ragged street thief, afraid to trust, to even share his name… ‘dirty street trash’ Mellicus had called him...they’d come a long way since then.

Herc whispered against the cornsilk hair, “I really am grateful, Hermias…thank you…and, now, do you think you could tell me your real name?” When the boy snickered, Hercules laughed, his eyes dancing as he started to tickle the lad….until the child’s laughter echoed up along the mountain, filling the hearts who heard him with delight.

Finis

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