Hercules: The Legendary Journeys Two Book Collection (Juvenile) (2 page)

“What?” Salmoneus asked, amazed.

Hercules shook his head. “I didn't do anything. Captain, this doesn't make any sense,” he insisted. “There's only one way I could commit treason and that's if I was a citizen of your country and went over to your enemy's side. I'm not a citizen. As I told you, I've never been here in my life.”

The captain was silent for a moment. “My city-state,” he began, “is Mercantilius. Our people are traders, always have been.”

The tale he went on to tell was simple. Several months ago, trade had started to die away. Someone was spreading lies: that Mercantilians never paid their bills, that they overpriced goods, that they were always late making deliveries.

The largest town on the island, Mercantilius dropped from being one of the richest to one of the poorest. Businesses that had flourished for generations were forced to close down. Families went hungry. Ebon Ferocius, chief of the city-state's small police force, tracked down the source of the rumours. They came from Pastoralis, Peloponnesus' second-largest city-state, a town of shepherds and herdsmen.

“It didn't make sense,” Honorius said. “We'd been trading with Pastoralis for years. Oh, there had been disputes—my father was once mayor of our city and he had a terrible fight with Slaughterius, the Pastoralian mayor, over the exchange rate between our two currencies. But nothing like this. They'd never spread lies about us before.”

The Pastoralians had, of course, denied the charge. What's more, they then accused the Mercantilians of spreading lies in return.

“They said terrible things,” Honorius explained as they marched on. “That we told other towns that Pastoralian sheep were diseased. That their cows' milk would cause children to stop growing. And they said they had proof! Letters, sworn testimonies—all forgeries, but we couldn't prove that. To deflect attention from themselves, the Pastoralians had obviously started to spread similar stories about us.”

A meeting had been held to try and resolve the problems, but arguments became heated and demands for apologies were refused. The Mercantilians went home in a huff. The Pastoralians seemed hungry, angry and desperate enough to do anything. The Mercantilians turned their police force into an army with Ferocius at its head. Patrols were sent to circle the city and its surrounding forests.

“Begging the captain's pardon,” a young cadet interrupted. “My father was on one of the night patrols, when suddenly all these things came shooting at them from the forest. He gave me this.”

The boy pulled a thick club out of his backpack and handed it to Hercules. It was heavy and sharpened to a point, with a dagger blade sticking out of the top.

“The Pastors use them,” the cadet continued. “Every soldier fixes his own special attachments. I saw one shaped like a giant bear's claw, another with a big net attached—”

“And another with an axe blade in the side,” the squeaky-voiced Sycophantius interrupted. “And there was—”

“An unprovoked attack,” Captain Honorius summarized. “The clubs came flying over the city walls. Many were injured. At dawn, a whole platoon or Pastors attacked us, howling for revenge.”

“Revenge?” Salmoneus asked. “For a few rumours?”

“No,” Honorius said. “They claimed that we had stolen their clubs and attacked their people. They found our spears near the bodies. Or so said our prisoners. Our men may have left spears in the forest while hunting or training, so someone could have gathered them and attacked the Pastoralians— but we didn't. Anyway, we drove the Pastors off—but our spies in their city say they'll be back, and in greater numbers. It's war now.”

“Fine,” Salmoneus sighed, “but what's this got to do with Hercules? He didn't start it.”

“He did worse than that!” Peuris cried, starting forward from the marching boys. “He was terrible!”

“Quiet, son,” the captain said softly. “Get back in line. I'll tell the story.”

Hercules, Honorius said, had entered the scene when General Ferocius was leading a platoon to find and destroy a Pastoralian patrol that (rumour had it) was lurking in the forests near Mercantilius. The patrol had just stumbled across the queen of the dryads and her court of nymphs, when Hercules arrived. Ferocius persuaded the hero to come back to the city-state and join the Mercantilian side.

“That's when the trouble started,” Honorius said. “We gave you food, ale, our softest beds and our most attentive servants—but you know all this. We didn't mind because we knew that you could help us win. For years, travellers have told tales of your great deeds, your mighty powers. All you had to do was march against the Pastoralians and they were as good as dead. While you ate and drank and rested, we drilled day and night. We were on short rations while you ate the best, but we didn't mind because it would bring us victory.”

“But you ran away!” Peuris shouted suddenly.

“Are you crazy?” Salmoneus cried. “Hercules wouldn't do that. Tell 'em, Herc.”

“Let him finish,” Hercules said. Something was wrong here, but there was no point in arguing until he had all the facts.

“Those Pastor ‘prisoners' were really spies,” the captain went on. “They sent you a message that the Pastors would offer you better luxuries if you fought for them. Three days after you had arrived, you were gone.”

“So General Ferocius ordered you to kill me,” Hercules concluded thoughtfully. “From your viewpoint, it makes sense.”

Salmoneus gasped. “Are you agreeing with the yokels?” he complained. A sword poked his ribs. “Ouch. No offence . . .”

It does make sense, Hercules was thinking. But how can there be another me running around? I can't have a twin, or I'd have heard. Probably.

“There,” Honorius announced.

Up ahead stood a long, rough wall of logs. A section angled open and a cadet dashed out, stopped and saluted before Honorius. It was one of the advance scouts Peuris had sent on ahead.

A tall, burly man marched out through the city door, attended by an honour guard of a dozen adult soldiers. Like Honorius, he wore a breastplate and plumed helmet, but of silver. The feathers on his helmet were shiny and black, like a raven's wing.

The man's dark gaze locked on to Hercules. He then strode past Honorius and looked Hercules up and down.

“I'm Ferocius,” he growled. “I run this city.”

“I'm Hercules,” the hero answered, extending a friendly hand which went unshaken. “I thought this city had a mayor, not a general.”

Ferocius snorted. “When you threw your lot in with our enemy, I declared a state of emergency and placed us under martial law. As the highest-ranking military man here, that means I make the law. And according to my law, you should be dead.”

Salmoneus piped up. “Look, whoever you had here earlier, it wasn't him. There are a lot of people who claim that they're Hercules. But I know this big hunk. He really is Hercules and I'll prove it. Show 'em, Herc. Do a miraculous feat of strength.”

“Fine,” Hercules grumbled.

Through the open gateway, a large object caught his attention—a massive boulder in the town square, as wide as an elephant. It seemed an odd thing to have stuck there, when it meant that everyone had to go around it, but perhaps it had proved too heavy to shift.

He crossed to it, squatted and gripped the boulder, his fingers grasping the surface. The rock felt too soft and strangely lightweight, but with everyone watching Hercules couldn't back off now. He sprang forward, swinging the boulder towards the star-filled sky and let it go. The rock shot upwards as if it were no more than a child's toy.

It shouldn't have gone that high, he thought. I didn't throw it that hard.

There was a strange silence for a while, then nervous Mercantilians scattered in all directions. Hercules shifted left, placing himself directly beneath the plummeting rock. The dark shape grew larger and larger, like a bird of prey swooping down on a mouse. He stretched out his arms, ready to catch it. Easy, he thought, bend with the—

The rock hit him and shattered, exploding into slivers and chunks of dry wood.

Hercules coughed a cloud of dust out of his throat and brushed himself down. “Now do you believe I'm Hercules?” he asked Ferocius.

“No,” the general snapped. “Anyone could have thrown that boulder. It was a fake, made of wood and rags, completely hollow. What's more, you've just destroyed our secret weapon. Honorius, tell our visitor what that boulder was.”

Honorius stood to attention and looked at Hercules. “We had heard a tale about the Greeks giving a giant wooden horse to the Trojans in the course of their war. The Trojans took the horse into Troy, not realizing it was full of soldiers, who burst out in the night and captured the city. That rock was the first in a new series of secret weapons. We built it to hold a soldier, plus food and drink and weapons. We would place dozens of boulders in various places near the enemy camp. During a battle, we could use the soldiers as reinforcements, ambushers, spies—”

“That'll do,” Ferocius snarled. “That rock was an experiment, the first of the series. We sneaked it into the town square to see if it would fool our people—and it did. Good thing too—it took weeks to build a fake that looked convincing. Now you've destroyed it.”

Behind Hercules, leaves crunched under the paws of forest wolves running in the night. Crickets chirped and a stray dog howled at the moon. And someone laughed—a high, fast cackle, like dry wood snapping and popping in a fireplace. The laughter stopped abruptly, as if the laugher suddenly realized that someone would hear.

Uh-oh. I know that laugh, Hercules thought, looking about him.

Ferocius fixed Hercules with a steady glare. “Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you.”

“I'll give you a very good reason,” Hercules said calmly. “You're in danger and you need my help. A god is following us.”

“And
he's planning something dangerous,” Hercules finished. “Just now, someone out there laughed at the idea of my being under your authority. The gods laugh at the idea of humans having any authority. They look at us the way little boys look at worms, as something fun to step on and crush.”

Ferocius was skeptical. He folded his hands over his belly and smiled, shaking his head like a father who's caught his son telling a harmless but blatant lie. “Tell me, which god did you hear?”

The men of his honour guard chuckled.

Hercules did not smile. “It sounded like Hermes, but it could have been Ares. They're half-brothers and their voices are similar. Or it could have been one of Hermes' sons, like Pan. Or maybe—”

“Shut up,” Ferocius commanded. He did not move. Everyone followed his lead and kept quiet. Listening.

Tense, silent minutes passed.

At last Ferocius made his decision. “Well. We've stood out here in the open, waiting for Hermes or Ares or whoever to attack, as you've predicted. I don't see any divine beings firing down lightning bolts or a rain of blood. If they're out there, why haven't they turned us into tree toads by now?”

“Maybe they're trying to make me look stupid,” Hercules replied. Even as he said it, he knew that this made him seem weak or even deceitful. “I don't have an answer,” he said. And this made him seem even worse.

Out in the darkness, someone sniffled.

“Who's that?” Hercules said. He whirled around. “Who's crying?”

“Nobody,” a young voice said. “Leave me alone!”

General Ferocius' guards rushed forward and poked their swords at Hercules' stomach. He slapped the weapons away. “For Zeus' sake, you can kill me later if you want. Some kid's upset. I don't mind if you don't like me, but kids matter.” He called into the darkness. “Come out, wherever you are. I won't hurt you.”

“Shut up, you fraud!” shouted a pained voice.

Hercules took off fast, following the sound, and grabbed a boy by the shoulders. He spun him around. It was Peuris, his face streaked with the muddy trail of tears.

“Don't talk to me, you fake!” the boy shouted. He tried to wriggle free, but Hercules held firm.

“I'm not a fake, Peuris,” Hercules said calmly.

“You are, you liar!” Peuris screeched. “Get your hands off me!” The boy ran back to his father's side.

“Stop it, Peuris,” Honorius said. “You're acting like a baby.”

“Don't care! I only joined the army to fight alongside him!” the boy snivelled.

“What in Hades is going on?” Ferocius roared, marching over.

“My fault, sir,” Honorius said. “My wife and I used to tell our son tales of brave Hercules. My boy, well, he believed them all. He practically worshipped Hercules. When he came along—” Honorius cocked a thumb at Hercules—“it was a dream come true. And now—”

“Now that he's seen what a lying fraud Hercules is, not once but over and over, it's too much for him,” Ferocius finished. “I don't blame him.”

He walked over to Peuris and wrapped an arm around him. “Look at this boy, Hercules. How can you do this to him? They say I'm a hard man, and I am, but I wouldn't destroy a boy's trust like this.” He patted Peuris' shoulder gently. “It's all right, lad. This man, this fraud, was impersonating a hero I believed in too. But it's true. There is no Hercules.”

“No!” Hercules shouted. Dropping to a crouch before Peuris, he looked up into his tear-streaked face. “Look, I'll prove it. Name a feat and I'll do it. I promise.”

The boy looked doubtful. “Well . . . Fly to the moon and bring me back a crater.”

Salmoneus groaned. “He's got you there, Herc.”

“Hush, Peuris, believe me, no one can do that except a god.”

“But I heard you could!” the boy protested. “Everyone says you can. Travellers said—”

“They exaggerated. Try another one,” Hercules said. All of the soldiers and cadets had closed in, along with, a growing number of curious townsfolk. All eyes were on him.

“Okay,”
the boy said. “Can you read minds?”

“Well, no.”

“Walk through walls?”

“Um . . .”

“Turn invisible?”

A man spoke up. “Breathe fire?”

“Summon spirits?” a cadet suggested.

“Speak the language of animals?” Sycophantius added.

More voices joined in. “Command the winds?”

“See through mountains?”

“Raise the dead?”

“No,” Hercules admitted. “I can't do any of those things.”

“Then forget it,” Ferocius said. “We've all heard of Hercules. We know what he can do. If he had been here, he would have been our friend. You, sir, are no Hercules.”

Several soldiers pulled out daggers.

“Besides which,” added Ferocius, “no matter who you are, you're still the one who betrayed this city and went over to our enemies.” He turned to his soldiers.

A light dawned behind Hercules' eyes. That's it!

“Kill him!” Ferocius ordered.