The story you are about to read was started THREE years ago, as part of an effort to write a Virtual Season. The story was a joint effort of myself, Stefka, and Cassima - who seems to have vanished in the ensuing years between the story's beginning and its end. (Cassima, if you are out there, please do stand up and wave! We've been looking for you!).
It is presented as a tribute, and in loving memory, for Kevin Smith, who was the soul of Ares and Iphicles, and who will live forever in the hearts of his family, friends and fans.
"Lord, you must do this".
Iphicles, King in Corinth, stood like pale, carven stone. Only the breath hissing from his nostrils showed that he was a man and not a statue - a statue of a man consumed by cold fury.
His ministers watched him with grave, troubled eyes.
There was a long tortured silence. Finally Iphicles nodded once. His dark eyes closed and his full mouth trembled. "You .. are correct." He took a deep breath as if to get himself under control, "I must do this - for Corinth's sake."
The three men standing before their king relaxed just the tiniest bit.
"But ..." Iphicles suddenly took off the golden circlet that confined his deep brown hair and slammed it to the table " - if I were not the King, I would never - "
"But you are the King". The words dropped like stones, abruptly damming the flood of Iphicles' anger.
"Yeah...." The circlet went back on the royal brow. Iphicles cast a bitter glance at the three carefully impassive faces before him. "Very well. Send for my brother Hercules".
"Iph, what's wrong?"
It was the question that Hercules had been dying to ask his brother ever since he had arrived in Corinth in response to the summons that had come by a messenger bearing the royal tokens. The message scrawled on the fine white sheepskin had been brief - "Brother, I need you. Iphicles".
That there was indeed something wrong, Hercules had been sure, as soon as he saw his brother's face. Iphicles had greeted him formally in the anteroom of the palace at Corinth, and then led the way to his private chambers, all the while stubbornly refusing to meet Hercules' eyes.
"What is it?" Hercules asked again.
In answer, Iphicles picked up a scroll with wax seals dangling from it and held it out to his brother.
Hercules took it, unrolled it and read:
" King of Corinth, you can do this the hard way or the easy way. Make it easy - send your champion to meet mine, at noon on the third day after the full moon, on the plain of Enyalios".
It was signed "Acastus".
"Acastus.." muttered Hercules.
Iphicles nodded. "The son of Pelias, from whom Jason won the throne of Corinth."
"Acastus died when the Argo returned to Greece. I was there. I saw his body burned on the pyre," Hercules said stonily.
"I know. But there's someone now calling himself 'Acastus' and claiming the throne of Corinth."
"He's a imposter. Ignore him".
"I'd like to, but he's got an army behind him. Makes it a little difficult to ignore".
"You're right." Hercules nodded. Much was now clear. "I take it you want me to be your champion".
"No!"
"No?"
Abruptly the crown came off and Iphicles ran a hand through his hair as though to erase the mark that the circlet had made.
"No. *I* don't want you to be *my* champion. The King of Corinth needs you. For the sake of his kingdom. That's what my advisors told me -" Iphicles' voice was getting tighter and tighter with restrained rage - "and try as I will, I can't escape that fact."
Hercules looked at his brother in silence, noting the white skin across the knuckles that gripped the crown as if it were a serpent to be strangled.
"Your advisors are right", he said quietly.
"Damn it, don't you think I know that?!" The anger and shame burst forth. "When I accepted this crown from Jason, I was willing to fight for the sake of the kingdom. Now they tell me that I can't risk myself! Even though I'm a better warrior than any soldier in my army! And I'm not afraid to die for Corinth!"
"No one says you are".
"That's what 'they'" - Iphicles spat the word out as though it tasted bad - "told me too. I wish I could believe them. All I can see is that I look like a coward!"
So THAT was what was the matter, thought Hercules to himself. He should have seen it at once - how galling it would be, to Iphicles of all people, to be in a position where he was forced to call on Hercules for help.
Once again Hercules regarded his brother, at heart uncertain as to what to do. Best perhaps, to take the bull by the horns ...
"Look", he said calmly, "you know a hell of a lot more about kingship than I do. Everything you've said to me proves that. And you know what your choices are - ".
"Yeah. My pride or Corinth's welfare".
A careful smile crossed the half-god's face. "I won't even ask you which you've chosen - I just know that Jason picked the right man for the job".
"Don't patronize me!"
"I'm NOT patronizing you!" roared Hercules suddenly. "Look, Iph, credit me with enough brains to appreciate the situation that you're in, huh? You're doing the right thing, even though it bugs the hell out of you! That's your job as king. Now let me go out and take on this champion of Acastus' - that's MY job right now! All right?"
There was a long silence. Iphicles sighed and put the heavy circlet back on his head. "All right.."
"Noon tomorrow on the plain of Enyalios?"
"Yeah."
"OK - I'll be there."
He turned to go.
"Brother...."
He looked back to find Iphicles eyeing him with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.
Iphicles dropped his gaze. "Thanks", he said softly.
Hercules smiled. "No problem".
END of OWLHARP's PART.
CASSIMA'S PART:
Hercules took a big breath and let it out slowly. Gods, he wished this was over. The soldiers kept giving him pitying glances, as if they thought he had no chance of winning whatsoever.
It was extremely discomfiting.
He wished that Iolaus was there with him. Sure, he probably wouldn't be too pleased with Hercules battling a master champion with his bare hands, but at least *someone* would be around who treated Hercules like an actual person.
Shading his eyes with his hand, the demigod looked at the scene of the future battle. Warily, he cast a glance at the sun. "One more hour..."
"What are you doing?" he finally asked the old man next to him.
The old man simply raised his eyebrows and made another tally on his parchment. Holding the string in his other hand against Hercules' shoulders, he made another tally. "Measuring your coffin, of course."
"Look, could you just ... not?" Hercules stepped back from the old man, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "This is a little morbid, don't you think?"
"Inconvenient to do it after the fact. Olive or Cherry wood?" He held two wood samples up next to the frustrated warrior's skin. "Perhaps mahogany?"
"Cut that out!" Hercules cried, slapping the wood away. "You guys have absolutely no faith in me, do you?"
"Perhaps something a bit lighter..."
"Can't you hear me?" Hercules glared at the man, astounded. "Look, just leave me alone!" He couldn't believe this guy!
The old man tsk-tsked and walked away. "Fine," his creaky voice called back. "It's your funeral!"
Hercules watched him go, the disgust evident on his face. Honestly! No one here believed he could do it! Who was this man that inspired such fear into his opponents?
Turning away, he reviewed what he knew. His opponent was Critus, a man who was almost legendary among armies. "They say," one excited youth had told him earlier this morning, "that Critus is as big as an ogre, as strong as an ox, and as fond of battle as Ares! They say Ares is his father, but I think they're just two of a kind. Ares *must* favor him, though, because he's never lost a battle! Isn't that amazing?" The young soldier's eyes had shone in pure admiration. "He's also a real nasty guy. A mean bugger. He lives off people's screams of terror. He's known to draw out deaths for a really, really long time! What a guy!" With a wistful sigh, the young man downed the rest of his ale.
He sounded like a regular charmer, all right. Biting his lip, Hercules once more wondered what in Tartarus he had agreed to.
"Remember," he told himself. "This is for your brother. You're doing his for Iphicles."
Across the plain of Enyalios, a man smiled greedily. Soon... soon Corinth would be his. He chuckled again, picturing the look on that brat Iphicles' face when he learned that his brother had lost. "Honestly. So predictable!"
"Hm?" Cirtus inquired, looking up from his snack. "What now, Acastus?"
The handsome warrior smirked, turning back to his champion. "They've brought you Hercules, the fools."
"Brother?" came a plaintive voice. The fiery-haired man stood and stretched. "When you're King, can we not eat mutton so much?" He poked at their midday meal, already roasting on the spit. "All we ever have is mutton. Can't we have ... I don't know ... rabbit, or boar?"
"Hammond ..." Acastus warned.
"I'd even settle for horse at this point."
"Hammond ..." Acastus started again.
"I mean, we have lots of extra horses --"
"We're not eating the damn horses, so shut up already. Gods, I'm ashamed to call you my brother!" He glared at the older man. "Look, why don't you go find something useful to do?"
"I'm going, I'm going," muttered Hammond, rolling his eyes. "Can I watch Cirtus kill Hercules?"
"Yes! Now go!"
Nodding amiably, Hammond strolled off to bother someone else.
Acastus sighed and sat down next to his champion easily. "I just don't know what to do with him, Cirtus. He's so stupid... but he's my big brother, you know?"
Cirtus found it prudent to simply nod.
The warrior smiled, eyes sparkling wickedly. "But, I'll worry about that after Corinth is mine."
"You don't really think Iphicles is just going to accept this without a fight, do you?"
Acastus laughed. "He's not stupid. When he sees how easily we beat the son of Zeus, he'll realize that we touch a power he can only dream of. We have Corinth wrapped up. Easily." Standing, he gestured out to the battlefield. "Come, Cirtus. It's time to win a kingdom." His smile twisted in humor. "Don't forget your gauntlets."
The other man held up his wrists, displaying that the steel bracelets already adorned his hands. "Not a problem."
The two warriors looked at each other, calm, cold, and calculating.
"Cirtus."
"Hercules."
"Let's get this over with."
Iolaus gave the world a sunny smile. It was proving to be an extraordinarily good day. He had caught two rabbits yesterday, leaving him with enough left over for breakfast this morning, and there were berry bushes all around to supplement the needs of his ever-present appetite. The wind ruffled his blond curls gently, and he grinned at the sun warming his face. The grass was green, and he already knew the spot he was stopping at tonight was within spitting distance of a bountiful secret fishing hole. Tommorrow he was going to be meeting up with Herc up by Corinth, and then the two of them were going to pay a visit to the lovely town of Uruk, where the women were plentiful and eager ....
He crested the top of the hill, exiting the forest, and looked down on the plains of Enyalios with confusion. What was going on down there? "Is that ... Hercules?" He paused to mentally debate the issue with himself. "It can't be," he finally decided. "Herc's in Corinth. Isn't he?"
Hercules' eyes narrowed. "Cirtus."
The other man nodded in acknowledgement. "Son of Zeus. It is an honor to be the one to kill you."
"Yeah, well, we'll just see about that."
The two warriors began to circle each other warily, watching for an opening in the other's defense. Suddenly, Cirtus leaned back and threw a punch, driving the demigod back with the force of his swing. Taking the opening he'd made, he aimed a well-placed kick to Hercules' ribs.
Hercules, though caught by surprise with the first strike, easily dodged the second, catching the man's boot and twisting his leg, wrenching the man off his feet and on to the ground. "Watch your step," he cheerfully advised.
Cirtus conceded the point and kicked the back of his opponent's knees, making Hercules collapse next to him. "Ditto." Catching him in midfall, he slammed his fist into Hercules' eye, following with another to the stomach and a third to his chin.
The hero caught the third punch with his giant fist, grasping the other man's gauntlet-encased wrist. "Your turn!" With his other hand, Hercules began to give back some of what he had got.
For some reason, though, his blows lacked their usual "oomph." Winding up, he was dismayed to find that his blow didn't even shake the giant.
A vicious grin lit up Cirtus' face. "Is that the best you can do?" he cried, delighted.
Bewildered, he once again struck out at the other man.
Cirtus laughed. "This is great! The mighty Hercules hits like a girl!" Leaning over, he swiped at the other's face. "Except, women usually fight better."
Paling, Hercules dared to knee the other in the stomach before jumping up to come up with a new plan. *What's going on?* he frantically racked his brain. *He's like a stone!*
His opponent was up next to him quickly, though, frowning heavily. "That wasn't nice. Or smart." Driving his fist into the demigod's stomach, he proceeded to beat the dickens out of the protestingly confused Hercules.
Unceremoniously, Cirtus heaved his bundle to the ground and stared at Iphicles' unsurprised soldiers. "Are you sure that was Hercules?" he asked with a laugh. "That was embarrassing. Fetch me the real Hercules!" His taunts grew with his humor. "In fact, that was so ridiculous that I'll fight twice more before we crush Corinth! Any takers?"
The lack of forthcoming volunteers surprised him. "No would-be heroes? Maybe just a tad shy .... Well, seeing as I'm a nice guy, I'll give your people two more tries to beat me. Tomorrow at noon and the day after, same time." He not-so-gently nudged his defeated foe with the toe of his boot. "A real hero, he was. A real hero."
Hercules' still form didn't move as Cirtus proudly strode away to his camp.
END of CASSIMA's PART
STEFKA's PART
Just for a moment, from Iolaus' hilltop perspective, the world stopped. The sun halted in its course. Not a bird sang. Not a soul in the demoralized army below moved.
The moment snapped. Before he knew it, the hunter was careening down the hillside, at a top speed that had grown faster through his years of keeping up with the man crumpled on the battlefield below. Focused on his goal, he never noticed the large man with unkempt red hair, sitting befuddled on a stone, a mutton bone hanging limply from one hand.
"Bring me the army's healer, NOW!" Iolaus roared, skidding to a halt beside Hercules' still form. "And two spears, and some blankets."
The command in his voice spurred the soldiers to action; the eager young recruit who had been so enthusiastic about Cirtus earlier that morning hurried to find the healer. A couple of Iphicles' seasoned soldiers laid out blankets and spears, wrapping them to make a litter. They placed it near the fallen champion, then stepped back.
"C'mon, buddy," Iolaus whispered. "Let me know you're in there."
Iolaus had never seen Hercules looking like this. The demigod lay on his back, half-curled protectively around his injured stomach. A quick check with a piece of polished armor held near Hercules' face revealed that he was, at least, breathing. That was something, anyway. Iolaus grabbed a bucket and some cloths and began to clean the worst of the blood from his friend's still form. From what he'd seen, he didn't want to do too much more until the healer arrived. There were definitely bones broken -- lots of them. And Hercules, so far, had neither moved nor made a sound.
An officious little man approached, muttering as he came. "I told him, I did. I told him he should let me get the measurements done BEFORE the fight. He wouldn't listen, and now I have to do it the hard way," he sighed. He man pulled out his string and began measuring Hercules' leg, bending the string to accommodate the demigod's position.
The next thing he knew, he was dangling by the shirt collar in the grip of a very, very angry blond man whose blue eyes had turned to agates.
"What the HELL do you think you're doing?"
"I was just …."
"Well, DON'T. Don't. Get out of here. Stay away from him. He doesn't need your services, and he's not going to need your services. Do you understand me?" Iolaus lowered the man to his feet.
"Yes, yes sir," the undertaker squeaked, taking to his heels.
-
Cirtus and Acastus sat together in the inn the would-be usurper had claimed as his headquarters. The food was passable, the ale, plentiful, and the women, scared. Just the way both of them liked it.
"Did you SEE him?" the champion gloated, waving his gauntleted fists. "He didn't have a CHANCE."
"I saw," Acastus growled. "What were you thinking? Giving them two more chances to come back at us?! I want that throne. It's MINE, you idiot. Mine."
Cirtus shrugged. "And it will be. Who are they going to come up with, who can get through these? You're favored of the gods, man. You'll take the throne, and your halfwit brother will have all the rabbit he can eat." He grabbed the wrist of the girl who had just set a new pitcher of ale on the table. "C'mere, girly. Let's get acquainted."
After what seemed an eternity, the youth reappeared with the healer, both men laden with medical supplies.
"I'm Eutroclus," the healer introduced himself. "Let's take a look at your friend."
Iolaus nodded, and turned briefly to the young soldier. "What's your name?" he asked.
"Dolph," the soldier answered.
"Dolph, I'm Iolaus. Hercules' best friend. Go to your king, and tell him what happened. Then come straight back to me, and tell me what he says." The youth nodded, picked up a waterskin, and left.
In the interim, Eutroclus had made a cursory examination of Hercules. "If we splint his arm and leg and wrap his ribs, I think we can get him to my hospital tent – if we're careful," the healer said. Iolaus nodded.
Carefully, they bound the worst and most obvious of Hercules' injuries. Deeply unconscious, the demigod moaned, a sound Iolaus had never heard from him. It chilled the hunter's heart, but his hands kept working, swift and sure.
Wrapping accomplished, there were plenty of volunteers to help them move Hercules, with more gentleness than might have been expected from such rough men, to the litter, and to clear a path to the healing tent.
The tent was empty, save for this one patient and a couple soldiers who had sunburned themselves standing on the open plain. Eutroclus ordered Hercules placed on the pallet nearest his own sleeping quarters – not that he anticipated getting much sleep, he thought, as the sun slipped down toward the horizon.
A boy too young to be involved in the fighting served Eutroclus as orderly. Iolaus turned to the lad and asked, "Can you bring me some broth, some water, a rag and a spoon?" He nodded and slipped through the tent flap. Within minutes, he returned, and Iolaus dismissed him with the shadow of a smile.
"Well, buddy," he mused, looking down at his friend, "looks like it's my turn to look after you." It had been hours since Hercules had taken anything in, and he'd lost a lot of blood. It was time to replace some of that. Iolaus slid the bowl of broth closer to himself, picked up the spoon, and gently began dribbling broth between Hercules' lips. How many times, he wondered, had this scene been played out in reverse?
The hour was late, but Iphicles still sat on his throne, twirling his crown between his hands. He gazed toward the Fields of Enyalios, wondering why there had been no word of his brother's victory. No triumphal march, with the upstart imposter Acastus brought to the castle in chains. Iphicles brooded.
There came a disturbance in the hall outside. He could hear a young voice: "I must speak with the king! Please! I was sent by Hercules' companion, Iolaus!"
Iphicles yanked the bellpull that hung by his throne. The door opened; a guard bowed and stood to hear his king's order. "Send the young man to me," Iphicles said, softly. "I will hear his message."
Iolaus sat a long vigil by his chosen brother's side. Eutroclus offered to spell him, but Iolaus would not allow it. Hercules was mumbling something, something about "gauntlets." Iolaus gazed at the vambraces they'd removed from Hercules' wrists earlier, picked one up. There was nothing unusual about it. Hercules was sweating now, and trembling. Iolaus poured more water from the skin onto the rag, and dabbed his partner's brow. Hercules moaned again, and his eyes fluttered. "That's it, Herc, hang in there! Come on back to me. I DON'T want to be the one to tell Alcmene you're not coming home for Solstice."
The hours turned slowly.
For what felt like – and probably was -- the hundredth time, Iolaus dribbled water, then broth, down Hercules' throat. He dabbed again at Hercules' brow with the dampened rag. Just for a moment, the demigod's eyes snapped open and his hand caught Iolaus' vest. "The gauntlets. It has to be the gauntlets." His hand fell away as he lapsed into unconsciousness again. To Iolaus' ear, attuned to the slightest change in his partner's breathing, he sounded … better, somehow. He felt Hercules' brow. It was cooler, and the breathing was smoother, less ragged than it had been. The knot in Iolaus' stomach loosened slightly, and he suddenly became aware of outside matters.
Iolaus woke the young orderly, sleeping on an unused cot nearby. "Call me if anything changes," he said. "I need something to eat."
The hunter's nose led him unerringly to the mess tent. It was deserted at this hour, but a keg of ale stood tapped and an army-sized kettle of rabbit stew simmered beside a table laden with bread and cheese. It had been a long, long time since that leftover rabbit he'd eaten this morning. Iolaus scooped up a generous helping of stew, bread and cheese, and filled a tankard brimful of Iphicles' soldiers' best, then betook himself to a campfire not far from the healer's tent, where he could see the flap. There was no movement.
Iolaus leaned back against a rock, and savored his food. It had been … gods, it had been nearly a full turn of the hours since breakfast. He bit a deep arc out of a slice of bread and cheese, and froze as he heard the SNAP of a twig. Listening, he reached for his sheathed dagger, ready to let fly.
A large, ungainly man moved out into the circle of firelight. "Is that rabbit?" he asked wistfully.
"Yessss …" Iolaus answered.
"I'm Hammond. My brother only lets me have mutton. Can I have some?"
END of STEFKA'S PART
"Sure. There's plenty. Dig in". Iolaus raised his eyebrows at the way the man snatched up a bowl, frantically ladled the rabbit stew into it, then sat down and began to gobble huge spoonfuls.
For a while there was nothing but the sound of two hungry men plowing into supper. Iolaus watched his companion curiously, and finally asked, "So .. is your brother one of the cooks, then?"
The bray of laughter that this question brought forth was startling. Around a mouthful of rabbit stew, the big man answered, "Oh no ... my brother isn't a cook. He runs the whole army."
There was something about this man that just didn't fit.
"The whole army, huh? That's pretty impressive. What's your brother's name?'
The man blissfully swallowed another bite of the stew before answering, "Lamus..." Suddenly he stopped and his eyes went wide in terror. "No - I mean - his name is Acastus!"
Iolaus was astonished to see that the big man was visibly trembling. Something was very wrong here. He set his own bowl down deliberately and asked in a soft voice, "Your brother's name is Acastus and he commands the whole army?"
"Yes." The big man nodded feverishly. "Yes. Acastus - that's his name now. You won't tell him I forgot and said the other name, will you?"
The last time that Iolaus had seen pleading eyes like that was on a child of five who had stolen a pastry in the marketplace.
"No. It's OK. I won't tell anyone," he answered reassuringly.
The big man set down the now-empty bowl. "I gotta go now, " he said, looking around nervously. "I'll get in trouble if they find out I've gone. But - but I could smell the rabbit stew - and I was so tired of mutton. You won't tell on me, will you?"
Iolaus shook his head. "No," he said again. "You can count on me. I won't tell anyone".
"Thanks. Goodbye now."
The man disappeared out into the blackness beyond the fire.
Iolaus stared after him a moment, his brow furrowed. Something was very, very strange here. He looked back at the healer's tent. All was quiet. It took but a moment to make up his mind. He set his own bowl down and, loosening his sword in its scabbard, he set out to follow his peculiar dinner companion.
"I'M GOING OUT TO THE PLAIN OF ENYALIOS!!! DO - YOU - UNDERSTAND?!"
Iphicles had had enough of his councillors and advisors. Since the soldier Dolph had brought the news of Hercules' defeat at the hand of Acastus' champion, Critus, there had been discussion and dissension in the council chamber, until finally the King's patience had snapped.
"But Lord - if Hercules could not prevail, what can you do against such a champion?"
This was the wrong question at the wrong time. Iphicles' bellow shook the walls. "I'LL DEFEAT HIM - OR DIE IN THE ATTEMPT!!!" He turned a stormy countenance to the head of his bodyguard. "Bring my armor. You and your company will ride out with me. We leave immediately."
"But - " another royal councillor attempted to intervene but Iphicles was having none of it.
"This council's over" he stated coldly. He turned to Dolph, the young soldier who stood beside him, and said - in a much quieter, but no less determined voice - "Take me to my brother. Now."
"This just keeps getting more and more interesting," thought Iolaus to himself as he crouched in the shadows just beyond the firelight coming from a picket's campfire. It had been a simple matter to follow Hammond through the scrubby pine thickets that dotted the Plain of Enyalios. The big man had made no attempt to hide his trail.
It had led straight back to the encampment of the army that was threatening Corinth.
Hammond had walked right up to the sentries patrolling the outskirts of the camp. Iolaus was within earshot and heard as they hailed him.
"Who goes th - ? Oh - it's you. Your brother's been looking for you."
"I had some rabbit stew".
"You'd better get back to your tent before your brother finds out you've been wandering around. You don't want those guys from Corinth to find you!"
"But they have rabbit stew," Hammond replied in an injured tone. "They gave me some!"
Iolaus cringed when he heard Hammond say this, but the sentries seemed uninterested.
"Get a move on!" One of them gave Hammond a shove, and the big man trudged on into the encampment.
The sentry who had shoved him snickered and said something to his companion about "the half-wit".
Iolaus nodded to himself. That confirmed a lot. He watched as Hammond headed for the largest tent in the camp. Things were starting to fall into place ... Hammond's comment about his brother running the army ... what he'd said about "Acastus - that's his name now" ... and now he was entering what was clearly the command headquarters for the army...
Yeah, this was all definitely very interesting. But in the meantime, he needed to get back to the Corinth encampment and see how Hercules was doing. He slipped back deeper into the shadows and turned for home.
"COME BACK HERE, YOU STUPID BASTARD!"
Iolaus had whirled around, sword drawn and ready, before he realized that he was not the target of the shout.
Instead two men burst out from the flap of the command tent. The first, Iolaus recognized as Hammond. The second, smaller but with equally fiery hair, caught up with him and began to rain blows down on Hammond's back and shoulders.
"YOU GO WANDERING OFF AGAIN AND I'LL PUT YOU IN CHAINS! DO YOU UNDERSTAND, YOU MORON?"
Hammond made no attempt to defend himself, but curled himself into a ball. His whimpering was audible, even to where Iolaus was crouched in the pine thicket at the edge of camp.
Soldiers looked on, some of them with guffaws and half-heard remarks, but no one moved to intervene, until suddenly a third man emerged from the tent.
"Acastus! That's enough!"
The third man grabbed Acastus by the shoulder and shoved him back and away from Hammond. Then he reached down and effortlessly lifted Hammond up and set him down, well out of Acastus' reach.
"Get to your tent!" he commanded the sobbing man curtly.
"Damn you, Cirtus" howled Acastus. "You stay out of this!"
Cirtus had turned away, but abruptly turned back again and laid hold of the front of Acastus' tunic. With one hand he lifted the red-haired warrior high off the ground.
"I'm sick of you and your stupid brother!" he growled.
Iolaus watched all of this in amazement. There was no doubt that Cirtus was incredibly strong. No wonder he'd been able to inflict such injury on Hercules. Iolaus watched as the man lowered Acastus to the ground again and gave him a shove towards the tent.
Without another word, Acastus vanished inside. Cirtus looked around at the surrounding soldiers, most of whom suddenly busied themselves at various tasks.
"That's right! Get back to work," he bellowed in a voice that was slurred, probably with wine. "I shouldn't be the only one working. Though it's me that's gonna save you miserable cowards from having to fight for Corinth, isn't it?" He raised his arms in what might have been a victorious salute. "Yeah, that's what it means to be favored by the gods - I get to do all the work!"
The torchlight glittered on the silver ornaments that decked the vambraces on Cirtus' upraised arms - and Iolaus froze.
Cirtus' strength ... Hercules' words muttered in delirium "It has to be the gauntlets..." .. the flash of the ornaments on the dark leather that adorned Cirtus' forearms ... the unmistakeable workmanship of Hephaestus ...
Iolaus felt the breath go out of him.
"OK," he thought to himself. "Lotta things are clear now".
But what would be the best thing for him to do?
In all the years that Iphicles had been alive, he had never seen such a pathetic sight as his brother, who was lying in the healer's tent, barely breathing. Hercules' face was swollen to the point of unrecognizeability and a livid cut ran from the corner of his mouth towards his ear. Bandages and splints swathed his right arm and left leg. One turned-back corner of the rough-woven woolen blanket over him showed more linen strips binding his bruised ribcage.
"If he were any other man, he'd never have lived to make it off the battlefield," murmurred the healer. "But he's actually looking better now, your Majesty, than he did when they brought him in".
Iphicles nodded silently. Moved by an impulse that suprised himself, he bent and took Hercules' good hand into his own.
The touch seemed to rouse the injured demigod for a moment. The blackened eyelids fluttered and opened slightly, but the blue eyes behind them were cloudy and unfocussed. He muttered something unintelligible and slipped back into unconsciousness.
"What did he say?" asked Iphicles.
Eutroclus shook his head and furrowed his brow. "Same thing he's been saying, on and off now, ever since we brought him here. Something about 'gauntlets'. He's not delirious, but I'm not sure whether his mind may be damaged."
"No. Not Hercules," said the king, once again surprising himself with the swiftness of his own reply.
Eutroclus inclined his head respectfully.
Still holding his brother's battered hand, Iphicles sat down next to the bed. "Leave us for a while," he told the healer.
When the tent was empty except for the two of them, Iphicles bent forward and gently brushed the sweaty hair from Hercules' face. "Brother?" he said quietly. There was no response.
Iphicles sighed and continued anyway. "Well, brother ... Neither of us expected this to happen, did we? I know I sure as hell didn't. ... Big surprise... for both of us, huh? ..." he forced a chuckle. Hercules did not move. "But ... I'm sorry. You did this because I asked you to ... and you got hurt. ... I don't know who that Cirtus is ... maybe Ares in disguise, huh? But brother, I swear to you... I'll kick his ass for both of us. I don't know how I'm gonna do it - but I'm gonna do it. You got my oath on that as King!"
Once again Hercules' swollen eyelids opened, this time a little wider.
"Hercules?"
"... Wha- ...?" Slowly, painfully, the half-god turned his head slightly on the pillow.
"It's Iphicles, brother". The King looked around, snatched up a cup of water standing nearby. "Here. Drink this". He poured a few drops between the cracked lips and watched as Hercules swallowed with an effort. "More?"
"Y...yeah...". Bit by anxious bit, the cup was drained.
"How do you feel?"
For a long time Hercules did not answer. "Hurts..." he finally whispered.
"I'll get the healer in here with the poppy-wine". Iphicles made to rise but a word from the man on the bed stopped him cold.
"Iph'cles ... S...sorry." The eyes closed again, exhausted.
"No," declared the King, softly but firmly. "No. You've got nothing to be sorry for, brother. Do you understand me? Nothing!"
"It ...was... the gauntlets...". The last words came out scarcely louder than a breath, and Hercules' head lolled limply back.
"What do you mean, 'the gauntlets'?" Iphicles demanded, though he knew his brother was unconscious. "Hercules, what are you talking about?" His voice grew louder in frustration. "What gauntlets do you mean?"
"I know what he's talking about."
Iphicles' head whipped up in startlement at the sound of a familiar voice.
Iolaus stood at the opening of the healer's tent, his hair glowing gold in the light of the torches behind him.
"You and I have got a lot of planning to do", he told the King.
"What is it?" Cirtus asked blearily. He raised his head from the rough pillow of his camp bed and squinted into the brilliant sunlight that poured into his tent from where the soldier stood in the open flap.
"General Acastus sent me to fetch you, sir. There's a delegation from the King of Corinth approaching the camp".
"What, can't Acastus handle them by himself? What's he gonna want me to do next - help him pee?" Cirtus hacked and spat on the dirt floor. "All right ... tell him I'll be there in a few minutes".
"Sir - he said that you were to come immediately". The soldier shifted nervously.
"Let him wait!" roared Cirtus, feeling the remnants of last night's jug - or was it two? - of wine sloshing in his belly and thudding dully in his head. "It's me that's going to do his dirty work, isn't it? He can damn well wait! You tell him I said so!"
The sun was another hand-span higher in the sky when Cirtus finally made his way to the center of the camp where the delegation from Corinth waited. Acastus glared at him balefully, but said nothing, and merely turned back to the herald who stood holding a white banner that fluttered in the morning breeze.
"Very well. You said that Iphicles has sent you under a flag of truce to bear a message. We are ready to hear that message now".
The herald - a soldier whose scabbard was conspicuously empty - unrolled the bleached sheepskin and began to read:
" 'Iphicles, King in Corinth and Flagra, to the one called Acastus. Your champion had best enjoy his triumph, for it will be brief. I will meet him on the Plain of Enyalios at noon today. Since it is you who have challenged me, the choice of weapons is mine. [Signed] Iphicles, King.'"
For a heartbeat or two there was silence, but then a bellow of laughter caused all present to start and stare at Cirtus, who was its source.
"A choice of weapons?" he gasped, giggling. "He thinks that's going to make a difference?" Another bout of laughter siezed him and he toppled over onto the ground, rolling about.
Acastus watched him for a moment, an expression of faint disgust on his face, before turning back to the herald.
"By all means, your king can choose his weapons."
"Oh yeah! Oh yeah!" came the voice from the ground. "Let him bring a catapult, if he wants to! He's still toast - just like his half-god brother!"
Acastus kept his calm. "We will meet at noon, on the plain of Enyalios".
The herald nodded, turned and left the camp silently with his companions around him, but the sound of Cirtus' laughter followed them as they went.
"I still think I should do this" whispered Iolaus to Iphicles as they walked to the where the King's Guard waited to march out to the Plain of Enyalios.
"Don't YOU start!" Iphicles replied firmly. "We've hashed this out already. It has to be me."
"Herc's gonna kill me, when he finds out - "
"He's gonna do no such thing. Anyway, he's not in any shape to kill anyone for a while yet. This whole thing will be over and done with before he finds out."
Iolaus sighed and shook his head, but decided that any further argument was pointless. "All right. I'm at your back, if you need me".
Iphicles stretched out his hand and grasped Iolaus'. "Thanks. That's where Hercules would want you to be".
Each time that Hercules would drift back towards consciousness, the first thing that he became aware of was not pain, but rather, the feeling of surprise. Over and over he would see himself in the battle with Cirtus, and each time the sequence was the same.
When Cirtus landed the first blow, he'd thought "Lucky shot!" With the second, his mental comment had been "OK, this guy is good!" After that, he'd had no time to form any coherent thoughts at all, as he fought against the confusion that had increased along with the pain, each time Cirtus had evaded one of his blows and inflicted one of his own. He hadn't expected this. It was different, in the times he had gone up against one of the other gods. Then he had KNOWN it was going to hurt, and the fact that it did was something he could cope with. Not this time. Cirtus was a mortal. He shouldn't have been able to land a single punch, much less beat the crap out of Hercules. Hercules' own astonishment had been a distraction, hampering his timing, slowing his reactions, weakening his own attacks. This was the conclusion that he came to, each time he crawled up out of the darkness to watch his own memories.
This - and one other thing. The sight of Cirtus' gauntlet-covered arm, drawn back to deliver the final blow that had sent Hercules down into the painful dark.... the silver ornaments gleaming in the sun ... so like the ones that adorned his own gauntlets... the unmistakable work of the Hephaestus, the godly metal-worker ...
"It was ... the gauntlets ..." Hercules heard himself say aloud. At least he thought it was his own voice. He had the vague feeling that he might have said this before.
Then a voice that he knew was definitely NOT his answered, "So - you figured that out, did you?"
It was hard work to open his puffy eyelids, but Hercules made the effort, because that particular voice was not one that he particularly wanted to hear at any time, much less when he was lying helpless with various bits of himself broken. When his eyes adjusted to the light, his fears were confirmed.
Ares stood over him, a positively beatific smile lighting his saturnine face. "Have you ever had one of those rare weeks where absolutely everything went right?" he asked. Clearly not expecting an answer, the God of War went on. "I mean, when I got tired of listening to that jerk Acastus' prayers for aid and sent him my old set of gauntlets, I never realized what a great investment it was gonna be! I figured he'd use them himself against Iphicles, and I might get an amusing little battle out of it. But instead he slapped them on Cirtus and sent him up against you - and won! And here you are! I've seen some wonderful sights in my life, but brother, you look SOOO good right now! I think I'll have a picture of you woven into a tapestry by my priestesses, so any time I'm feeling down, I can look at you as you are and it'll cheer me up better than anything! What do you think?"
Hercules' answer was neither coherent nor printable, but Ares just grinned amiably down at him. "And now your mortal brother's going out, himself, to tangle with Cirtus! This just keeps getting better and better! This I've simply GOT to see! And you should, too!" An expression of mock concern crossed the god's face. "Oh - but I forgot! You can't, can you?"
Hercules' reply this time was still unprintable but very, very clear.
"My, you ARE crabby when you're in pain! What do the bards say, about stoicism in the face of adversity? Never mind. Hercules, you've put me in such a really good mood, I'm going to repay the favor! You'll have a ringside seat to watch your brother take on the guy that beat the snot out of YOU!"
Ares waved his hand. They were no longer in the chirurgeon's tent, although Hercules was lying on the same cot that he had occupied. Instead, they were under the noonday sun, on a little hill that overlooked the Plain of Enyalios, and below them were drawn up the ordered ranks of the army of Corinth on one side, and the ragged lines of Acastus' mercernaries on the other.
"Comfy?" asked Ares, conjuring up a carven chair for himself next to Hercules' bedside. Hercules drew breath to make a snotty reply but just then the trumpet sounded.
Now was the time. There could be no further delay.
Iphicles nodded with a faint smile to Iolaus and the others, then turned and walked out onto the windswept Plain of Enyalios. He was wrapped from neck to heels in a cloak of crimson wool, and his dark head was bare of a crown. Nevertheless, he looked every inch a king, and Iolaus thought to himself that Jason's choice of successor had been the right one. He only wished that Hercules could have seen this.
The ranks of Acastus' army parted and Cirtus strolled out into the open space between the two forces.
Iphicles did not allow him the advantage of speaking first. As soon as Cirtus was in earshot, the trumpet - steadier this time - sounded again and Iphicles' voice filled the air.
"Acastus! Your champion has issued a challenge to Corinth. I am answering it. If I beat your champion, you and your forces will withdraw, and never again trouble our kingdom."
Cirtus gave an audible snort, but Acastus answered in a loud voice, "If you beat our champion, we will withdraw!"
Iphicles nodded once, silently. Then he continued, "Since Cirtus was the challenger, I have the right to choose the weapons - "
Cirtus interrupted with a bellow of laughter. "Sure you do, little king! Anything you want! What, are you hiding a ballista under that cloak of yours? Bring it on!"
"Be silent!" shouted Acastus sharply, glaring at his champion furiously. He calmed himself with an effort and replied to Iphicles, "You indeed have that right".
Again Iphicles nodded. "Good. In that case, the weapon that I choose is myself".
"WHAT???"
In a single motion, Iphicles spread his arms wide and the red cloak that had shrouded him slipped from his shoulders.
A murmur of surprise broke from both armies.
Iphicles was naked.
The noonday sun glittered here and there on his oil-slicked skin.
"The form of combat I choose is pankration. Olympic rules. Prepare yourself."
"HOT DAMN!!!!" bellowed Ares. "He's gonna do it! He picked the right tactic!"
By some godly magic or other, they were able to see and hear what was going on in the little knot of people that stood in the bare ground between the two armies.
Hercules' own initial reaction was horror - his brother was going to wrestle the same man who had injured Hercules himself so grievously? It was not until Cirtus began to strip off his armor that he realized what Ares meant by "the right tactic". The rules of pankration were very specific, and nakedness was one of them. In the sight of the gods and everyone, Iphicles had just deprived Acastus of his secret weapon - Cirtus' gauntlet-enhanced powers.
Iolaus breathed a quiet curse. Pankration. It was the most brutal of all the Olympic competitions, a weaponless fight that often ended with the maiming or death of the losing competitor. Ostensibly a wrestling match, it usually moved quickly into simple, savage blood-letting. All parts of the body, except for the hair and the eyes, were legitimate targets. Winning was determined by getting your opponent to yield or to die - and Iolaus had the strong suspicion that under the circumstances, Cirtus was unlikely ever to yield.
There were approving shouts from the Corinth ranks, but the muttering among Acastus' forces grew louder and more hostile.
Cirtus stared, dumbstruck. Finally, in a strangled voice he growled "You're crazy!"
Iphicles shook his dark head calmly. "No. I had the choice of weapons, and I chose."
There was a long silence as Cirtus looked back at Acastus who was glaring at Iphicles with white-hot hatred.
"Acastus? I - "
Iphicles broke in sharply, his voice raised so that all on both sides of the field could hear him. "What are you waiting for? You issued the challenge. I answered it. Fight me - or surrender!"
Cirtus moved from foot to foot. Once again he looked back at Acastus.
Acastus never met his eyes.
There was another long silence, broken only by the sound of the ravens wheeling overhead, drawn by the presence of the armies.
Finally the words came from Acastus' lips. "Do it".
"But I - "...
"DO it!"
"Do you surrender?" Iphicles' question cut through their exchange.
"NO!" roared back Acastus. "My champion will wrestle you!" He gestured to Cirtus. "Strip!"
With a growl audible even to the back ranks, Cirtus began to unbuckle the studded leather armor that he wore. Off came the cuirass and the fighting skirt of leather strips. Off came the greaves that covered his lower legs, and the heavy boots on his feet. Off came the quilted tunic that was beneath his armor. Finally Cirtus stood bare as Iphicles. Only his arms were still covered with the heavy gauntlets whose silver ornaments glittered in the noonday sun.
Iphicles gestured at them. "Those too!"
"No!" Cirtus shook his head.
"Do you see me wearing gauntlets? You know the rules of the Olympiads!" Iphicles'voice rose.
Acastus approached Cirtus. He spoke in a low voice, but Iolaus, who was standing as close as permitted, could still hear him.
"Go ahead, Cirtus. Take off the gauntlets. You won't need them anyway." When Cirtus still hesitated, Acastus added sharply, "Ares' balls, man! You're not afraid of this guy, are you?"
The insult did the trick. With a muttered oath Cirtus peeled off the gauntlets. They landed in the dust with a thud.
Iolaus took a deep breath and let it out silently, and saw the taut muscles of Iphicles' shoulders relax just the tiniest bit.
Cirtus tossed the emptied oil flask behind him and dropped into a crouch. Iphicles did likewise. The two men eyed each other silently, as the entire world seemed to stop and wait.
Between one heartbeat and the next, Iphicles made his move. From his crouch he leaped like a striking snake, towards Cirtus' left side.
Again Iolaus breathed in relief - clearly Iphicles had correctly seen that Cirtus was right-handed. In Pankration you did not want to approach your opponent on his strongest side.
Unfortunately, Cirtus knew this too, and sidled to the left. Iphicles circled for a moment, looking for an opening, while Cirtus, being the larger of the two men, waited to counterattack. Iphicles made several swift feints, more to judge his opponent's reactions - Cirtus, being older and heavier, appeared to be a bit slower, but Iphicles knew that might just be a lure to draw him in.
Ares was genuinely exultant. "You know something - you may be a demi-god, but your brother got the brains in the family!"
In his relief, Hercules didn't even bother to reply to the jibe. It was true. Iphicles had figured out a solution to the problem, and Hercules suddenly felt a lot better about a lot of things. He shifted his position to get a better view of the field, and became aware that the relief was not just emotional.
Something was happening with his injuries.
Hercules was used to the fact that he healed much faster than ordinary mortals - a fact that Iolaus had commented enviously on, upon numerous occasions - but this was unlike anything he had experienced before. Warmth was flowing through his body and he could feel the grinding ache of his broken bones slowly but definitely receding.
Ares shouted "Oh yeah!" as the two combatants came to grips.
The feeling of warmth surged through Hercules.
OK, he thought to himself. This has got to have something to do with the fact that right now I'm sitting in very close proximity to a full god - even if it IS Ares.
The thought that followed immediately on the heels of the first was, no, I'm not going to mention this to Ares just now - or ever.
Another shout from the God of War, and another wave of - of what? Divine effulgence? Good vibes? Hercules wasn't sure, but whatever it was, it was helping him heal at an even faster rate than usual.
He shifted his position so that his shoulder was actually touching his annoying but divine brother's leg. Ares didn't seem to notice.
The contact made the feeling of warmth even more intense.
"Hit 'em again!" bellowed Ares.
The pain had completely disappeared from Hercules' arm, and that in his leg was fading fast .
He shut his eyes and whispered "Keep it up, Iphicles!"
Iphicles suddenly increased his speed and seemed to be trying to get behind Cirtus and get him into a chokehold. But when Cirtus raised his left arm to counter Iphicles' lunge for his neck, Iphicles instead grabbed him by the wrist.
Cirtus, seeing Iphicles off-balance from the lunge, pivoted on his left leg and aimed a vicious right-handed punch for the groin. Iphicles protected his hopes of a future dynasty by letting go and tucking himself into a swift forward roll. He was on his feet again in a a heartbeat, but Cirtus was already upon him.
"Well, maybe he's not all THAT slow" thought Iolaus, frowning, as he watched Cirtus swing a vicious elbow at Iphicles' face. Iphicles just managed to rear back enough, so that the blow almost completely missed him, though it made enough contact to remind him that here was a strong and deadly man.
A quick duck saved Iphicles from the return blow of Cirtus' right elbow and he used his momentum to go for Cirtus' left leg. He grabbed behind the knee and lifted with all his strength, while driving forward with his shoulder into Cirtus' hairy belly.
Cirtus locked his fingers and repeatedly brought the doubled fists down onto Iphicles' exposed back.
From where Iolaus stood, it seemed that the repeated blows to Iphicles's back and shoulders were growing progressively weaker as Cirtus lost his balance and then toppled backwards onto the ground,with Iphicles on top of him.
There was a cheer from the Corinth forces, but Iolaus did not join in. With a sinking feeling in his gut he realized just what danger Iphicles was now in, and he hoped desperately that Iphicles also did.
Iphicles instantly let go of Cirtus' leg, and he pushed himself backwards in an attempt to avoid Cirtus' arms which were trying to encircle his neck. It was only partially successful - Cirtus was able to get his only right arm around Iphicles' neck and start choking him.
Going red in the face, Iphicles grabbed the fingers of Cirtus' left hand and started bending them. Cirtus howled in pain as his little finger snapped but only increased the pressure on Iphicles' throat, as if pouring his pain into his target of opportunity.
Iphicles had too little air left to echo him. He formed his right hand into a spearpoint with the knuckle of his index finger protruding and aimed a blow at his opponent's windpipe - a blow which would most likely be fatal. Cirtus was forced to release his grip on Iphicles' throat in order to block the blow with his right hand, as he was trying to prevent Iphicles from snapping his left index finger.
With a grunt that could be heard in the back ranks, Iphicles heaved himself backwards from his opponent and managed to scramble to his feet.
Iolaus realized that he was nodding in approval. The ground game is a losing game with a heavier opponent.
Cirtus was still on his back, and for just a second, did not seem to realize that Iphicles was no longer atop him. But then, with a howl, he swung his left leg horizontally, like a scythe, to sweep Iphicles' legs out from under him.
He missed.
Iphicles did not.
He launched himself, grabbing Cirtus' left ankle and using the momentum of the failed kick to flip Cirtus over onto his belly. In the same motion he landed with both knees square on the small of Cirtus' back. Air whooshed out from Cirtus' mouth and blood along with it.
Iphicles calmly reached down with both hands, caught Cirtus under the chin, and with a sharp twist, snapped the man's neck.
Cirtus' head flopped limply into the dust.
The ravens were the first to scream, then both armies did.
Painfully, Iphicles got to his feet. Iolaus ran to him and steadied him. Iphicles was panting heavily, and blood was dribbling from his nose, but he looked down at Cirtus and then up at Iolaus and said in a steady, almost apologetic voice, "Hercules would have spared his life".
This was the last thing Iolaus expected to hear, but he answered firmly "Hercules isn't the king. You are. It was well done - your majesty".
A small, tired smile came and went on Iphicles' dirt-streaked face.
"IPH-I-CLES!! IPH-I-CLES!! IPH-I-CLES!!
The sound broke over them like a tidal wave. The entire Corinth army was chanting and beating swords on shields.
Iolaus picked up the red cloak from the ground and laid it over Iphicles' shoulders. "We'd better get you back to the ranks." He cast a glance back at Acastus' forces, who were still standing, stunned. "I don't count on those guys observing the amenities, even if you did win, fair and - DOWN!!!" Before that last word had left his mouth, he slammed Iphicles back to the ground, as a javelin streaked through the air where they had just been standing.
Acastus, it seemed, had not been quite as paralyzed as the rest of his forces.
Many things were suddenly set in motion.
"Shield the King!" came the shout.
Iphicles found himself engulfed by his own Royal Guard, who had taken the javelin cast as the signal to charge the enemy. He was covered by shields and unceremoniously shoved towards the rear ranks, where his clothing and armor awaited him.
Iolaus had promptly bounced back up, drawn his sword, and flung himself towards Acastus, who was headed back to his own ranks, bellowing "CHARGE!!!!" as he ran.
"ACASTUS!!!" howled Iolaus in his own turn. "Stand and fight!"
He had shouted that many times before in fights, but never had anyone listened to him. To Iolaus' amazement, Acastus whirled, faced him, and promptly flung a second javelin. Iolaus caught the motion and hit dirt just in time - almost. The blade ripped a line of fire across his shoulder and back.
"Son of a bitching bloody HELL!!!!" Iolaus rolled to his feet in a red haze of pain-maddened fury. Heedless of the fact that he was outpacing the Corinth shield wall, he tore after Acastus, caught up with him and spun him around.
By now Acastus was out of javelins, but he did have a sword. He got in exactly one cut that Iolaus promptly blocked. The rest of the encounter was short and from Iolaus' point of view, very sweet, and ended with Acastus crumpled on the ground and bleeding. There was no time to cheer - Iolaus whirled around to face the oncoming enemy lines.
There were none.
"Huh?" Iolaus' jaw dropped in amazement.
Acastus' motley army was in full flight back across the Plain of Enyalios. Even as Iolaus stood staring, the Corinth forces passed him, hot in pursuit.
"You know, I was kind of hoping that something like this would happen," came a voice from behind him. Iolaus spun around. Standing there was Iphicles, clothed once again but with blood still oozing from his nose.
Iolaus relaxed and grinned. "That's the thing with mercenaries. Once the paymaster's dead - " he jerked his head towards Acastus' body - "they're not going to stick around".
"Except for one...".
"Huh?"
Iphicles pointed.
A lone, ungainly, red-haired figure was running towards them.
Iphicles drew his sword, but Iolaus stopped him. "No - don't. I know who this guy is, and he's no threat. In fact, it's because of him that you won today. His name is Hammond, and if he handn't sneaked out of Acastus' camp in search of rabbit stew, I never would have realized about Cirtus' gauntlets being the source of his strength. "
Iphicles gave him a puzzled glance, but Iolaus shook his head. "Long story. Later".
Hammond stumbled up, panting, and threw himself on his knees next to Acastus' body. He reached out a trembling hand."Brother?" There was no answer. Hammond lifted his brother in his arms, and began to weep. For a long time all of them stood motionless.
Iolaus felt the battle-rage dying within him, and with every breath, the pain in his back and shoulder grew. He was tired and the exhilaration of their victory was being swallowed up by exhaustion. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He had killed Acastus in a fair fight, but he still felt ashamed in the face of Hammond's grief. After all, none of this had been Hammond's doing. He touched the weeping man on the shoulder.
"Hammond", he said. The big man looked up, tears streaking through the dust on his face. "I'm really sorry about your brother," Iolaus went on softly, "but we'll bury him decently. And I'm going to ask King Iphicles here to give you a job in the kitchen at his palace." He raised an eyebrow at Iphicles who nodded."You'll have a place to live, and you'll help the cooks and you'll get to try all sorts of new things to eat. And you won't ever have to eat mutton again".
For a moment he didn't think Hammond had understood him, but then the red-haired man looked up at Iphicles. "No more mutton, ever again?"
Iphicles nodded again. "I promise. I don't like mutton, either".
And the King and his new scullion exchanged tentative smiles.
Up on the hilltop Hercules was feeling steadily better as Ares' mood grew progressively worse. As he watched Acastus' mercenaries flee the field, the God of War leaped to his feet, roaring. "Cowards! Morons!" he bellowed. "What a bunch of wussies!" He disappeared in a ball of flame.
Hercules felt a final wave of the divine warmth that Ares had so unwittingly been giving off. The last of his pain had disappeared, along with the God of War.
Cautiously Hercules unwrapped the splint from his arm and bent it. Everything felt normal.
The splint came off his leg, and he gingerly stood up. No pain. No weakness. He took a few tentative steps. He was steady on his feet, and nothing hurt.
A big smile crossed his face, and grew bigger as he realized that this didn't hurt either.
"Thanks, brother!" he muttered in the only prayer he'd ever addressed to Ares in his entire life.
He was about to set off down the hill to where he could see Iphicles and Iolaus standing, when he realized that he was naked and barefoot. That wouldn't do, he decided. Wrapping the blanket from his cot around his middle, he set off in the direction of the healer's tent, in search of his clothes.
No one on the Plain of Enyalios saw the God of War materialize in his wrath and snatch up the gauntlets that Cirtus had tossed in the dust. Nor did anyone hear him growl "That's the LAST time I give my hand-me-downs to a mortal! They don't deserve it!" and disappear once again.
Iolaus hadn't realized just how long a hike it was back to the Corinth encampment. It hadn't seemed all that far this morning when he'd walked out with Iphicles. But now, for some reason, the sun seemed to be beating down hotly on his head, and yet the rest of him was cold - so cold he actually began to shiver. And he was very tired, and something warm and wet kept running down his back.
Somewhere along the way Iphicles had turned aside to speak to his troops, taking Hammond with him. At that point, Iolaus had just wanted to be left alone, so he had trudged onward, waving away various offers of assistance. He'd walked out onto the Plain of Enyalios on his own, and he was damn sure going to walk back on his own, thank you very much.
Right now, he was coming to the conclusion that this plan had some drawbacks. For a shallow javelin cut, the slash along his back was hurting and throbbing like crazy. Dimly he realized that his legs were shaking and he was starting to feel sick to his stomach. So much for a triumphal return to camp, he thought to himself, and gave a bitter snort of laughter.
He stumbled. A long arm reached out and caught him by his uninjured shoulder, steadying him. He looked up and gasped. "Hercules?"
"Hey, buddy". His friend grinned down at him.
Iolaus stared in amazement. "Herc - you look.. you look great!"
"And you look awful," Hercules' grin disappeared as he saw Iolaus go ashen.
"Yeah..." whispered the smaller man, and slumped limply into his comrade's arms.
Eutroclus the healer was torn between elation and annoyance, with a side order of total confusion. He had gone out to watch the battle, leaving the son of Zeus in the healer's tent, bandaged, splinted and unconscious. After Acastus' forces were put to flight he had returned to his post to find his patient missing, along with the cot that selfsame patient had been lying on. Scarcely had he digested this fact and bustled out to organize a search party, when he ran into his erstwhile patient - conscious, walking, obviously healed, and perfectly healthy.
"What -? How - ?" Eutroclus stared at Hercules in blank astonishment.
"Not now!" replied the half-god sharply. "You've got another customer here!"
Eutroclus abruptly became aware that Hercules was holding a wounded man in his arms, and with that, his professional instincts kicked in. He motioned to a cot. "Lay him down there, and get his vest off". As Hercules did so, Eutroclus deftly wadded up blankets to keep Iolaus lying on his side. With a shout he summoned his assistant to bring linen, warm water and yarrow salve. "And boil the needle and the silk thread - this will need to be stitched!" he ordered.
Iolaus came to with a curse on his lips as the warm water touched the cut on his back. Hercules swiftly caught him by the arms. "Easy, buddy!' he murmured. Iolaus gave him a woozy grin and then shut his eyes tightly as the healer set to work. .
Hercules watched nervously as the long oozing wound was washed, stitched and bound up with yarrow poultice. "Is he going to be all right?" he demanded of the healer.
"Of course!" replied Eutroclus briskly. "Right now he is suffering from loss of blood and the dregs of battle - a martial hangover, if you will. A day or two and he'll be fine, and ready for a hero's reward. And he deserves one! I saw him go out with King Iphicles, and I saw him shield our King from Acastus' javelin. And then he killed Acastus himself. Fine deeds, all of them! The bards will sing of them!"
He drew a blanket over Iolaus, who gave a sigh and muttered, "Just as long as they get my name right..".
Hercules chuckled. "Don't worry - Iphicles will make sure of that!"
"And now," said Eutroclus, fixing Hercules with what was meant to be a stern glance, "will you PLEASE tell me what happened to YOU?!"
"You took the words right out of my mouth," mumbled Iolaus. "Last time I saw him, he looked like one of those Egyptian mummies - all bandages! And now - !"
Hercules glared at Iolaus, took a breath, started to say something, stopped, started again, ran his hand through his hair, sighed, and finally shook his head. "You're not going to believe this..."
"Try us!" said Iolaus and Eutroclus together.
Hercules knew when he was defeated. "OK," he said . "It was like this ...".
Eutroclus had been right about the hero's reward. For the next two days it seemed that all of Corinth was in the courtyard of Iphicles' palace, feasting, drinking and cheering. To Iolaus' immense embarrassment (and Hercules' secret satisfaction), Iphicles had insisted on acknowledging him officially as a Hero of Corinth, with his image and an account of his deeds carved in bas relief into the wall of the city.
As far as Iolaus was concerned, the only thing that saved it was that the people of Corinth were calling for their city's premiere sculptor to do a heroic statue of Iphicles in battle. "And you know what THAT means," chortled Iolaus. "A lovely life-size marble of you in the public square - butt-naked!"
A chorus of snickering broke out from all three men, who were enjoying a few moments' respite from the festivities in Iphicles' private chamber.
Iphicles blushed. "Yeah, well ... If it makes the people happy, I guess I can live with it. It goes with the job." He took a deep swig from his wine-cup and looked over at Hercules, his face suddenly going grave.
"You know, I said this to you earlier, but I don't think you were hearing much at the time. So I'll say it again - I'm sorry".
"What for?"
"I sent you out against Cirtus!"
Hercules grinned. "Yeah - what did you need ME for? You handled him yourself!"
But Iphicles was in no mood to joke. "You know what I meant!"
"Iph, for the gods' sake, don't feel guilty, huh? You didn't know about the gauntlets - nobody did! Not until this one - " he gestured towards Iolaus - "put it all together!"
"Yeah, but you nearly died!"
Hercules rubbed his ribs reflectively. "Felt like it at the time, I gotta admit. But it'll keep me from getting cocky. I underestimated Cirtus because he wasn't a god. It was a good lesson!" He looked up at his brother. "Iphicles, please don't apologize. It all worked out just fine!" He reached out his hand.
After a heartbeat, Iphicles set down his wine-cup, clasped Hercules' wrist, and pulled him into a long, silent embrace.
And after that, nothing more needed to be said.
The sky was blue, the breeze was lively, and the road smelled pleasantly of sun-warmed dust. It was a pleasure to travel in such weather, and Hercules was enjoying it to the maximum, when he became aware that his partner was giving him a quizzical look.
"What?"
"You've got this huge, shit-eating grin on your face".
Hercules laughed. "I was just thinking about what they were talking about in Corinth ... about Iphicles's statue and everything".
"Oh yeah," chortled Iolaus. "Ten to one, he gets the sculptor to add a little 'extra heroism' to it! I mean, if you're gonna be on display in the city square, you might as well give the girls a thrill".
"That's NOT what I - you've got a dirty mind, you know that?"
"Nope, I got a perfectly normal male mind. It's natural that Iphicles would want to put his best - er, foot - forward, so to speak!"
Hercules gave a martyred sigh, and Iolaus relented. "OK, so what WERE you thinking about?"
"It's kinda hard to put this ... I mean, without sounding ... I dunno ... conceited or something - "
It was Iolaus' turn for the martyred sigh. "Would you cut the crap and get to the point?"
"It's just that ... you know, if it'd been me that beat Cirtus ... well, that would have been just one more story about "the mighty Hercules beat the bad guy".
"True," said Iolaus. "The bards would simply add another four lines to your epic -"
"That's just the point - I've had epics written about me. Iph never has. And I know that,when we were younger, that really bothered him. And I know, too, that it just killed him to have to call on me to be his champion. But he put aside his pride and did it, for the good of his kingdom. That's a true king. Jason was right to choose him."
"Yeah. I thought the same thing, when he went out in his skin, to take on Cirtus. Bravest thing I've ever seen."
"But what's neat is that we're not the only people who think that. That's what I was thinking about, when you asked me. The whole damn kingdom saw what he did, and they'll remember. They'll put up that statue, and the bards will write songs about how King Iphicles saved Corinth by slaying the champion who had beaten the mighty Hercules. And the ones who were there and actually saw it, will tell their kids and their grandkids, and they'll add the little extras, like people do, and the story will go on forever. "
Iolaus grinned. "You're right. Iphicles will have his own legend. That's pretty cool".
"Yeah". Hercules nodded slowly, a rare feeling of satisfaction warming his soul. "He'll have his own legend now".
They walked on down the dusty road, and the breeze brought the sound of cheering from the city they left behind them.
FINIS
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