The Trials of Hercules (21 page)

“I could order the workers to deliver a piece of the gift today,” I move closer to her as I speak. This time, she doesn’t step away. “And then each day bring you a portion at a time.” I wrap my arms around my wife, pressing myself against her. “You can watch it grow,” I whisper in her ear as I lift her leg up. She wraps the limb around my hip. I shove my tunic aside as I press her up against the wall for support. Several hours later, I pull myself away from our bed and climb into my carriage.

When I arrive at the House of Hera, a hobbled hag guides me to the stairs that will take me to Iole’s office—an expansive room situated on the top story of the rear of the main building. Three bloody flights of stairs. What is it with these women to make me do so much climbing?

Iole answers my knock with a pinched expression on her face. I can tell she’s on the edge of berating me for being so late. I ignore the look she’s giving me and step through the threshold, not waiting for her to invite me in. I mop my brow as I scan the room. Books and ledgers fill every niche along the walls and sprawl open on tables. Some of these will contain the treasury tallies, others the records of births and marriages, while still others hold contracts and the lists of laws. Each shelf, each leather cover draws a scowl deeper onto my face. If knowledge truly is power, the Herenes keeping so much information on these shelves is an affront to me. It belongs in the hands of the Solon.

A mountain of a woman sits at a table flicking the nuts of an abacus back and forth as she jots down numbers into a book.

“Maxinia,” Iole says, shutting the door behind me, “could you bring me the register we were going over before I left?”

The chair scrapes against the floor as Maxinia backs away from the table to stand.

Gods, she must be half giant.

The woman stands tall enough to reach even the highest shelves of the vaulted room. Without taking a moment to search for what she needs, she pulls a small leather-bound book from a file box.

“I’ll leave you,” she says as she hands over the book. She fires me a harsh look while nodding a curt greeting to me. The Herenes have never bowed to the Solon—yet another thorn in my paw.

“No, please, continue your work. This won’t take long,” Iole says as she strides over to a large oak desk. She gestures to a chair in front of it. “You may sit.”

I lower myself into the chair, glad to be off my feet, but Iole remains standing. She holds the book open resting it on one palm as she flips through the yellowed pages with her other hand. I’m unsure if she’s actually looking for something or if she’s merely wasting time to put me in my place for my tardiness. As I wait for the show to end, I shift in the chair trying to find a comfortable position, but the straight wooden back bites into me regardless of how I arrange myself. The thing creaks under my weight and I can only imagine the delight it would give Iole and her giantess to see the seat collapse under me. I force myself to sit still.

After several moments, she stops her flicking and flipping, and slaps the book down on the desk in front of me. On the page are three columns neatly lined in black with various sums along their length. I carefully lean forward to examine the ledger.

“Numbers, words. What is it I’m supposed to be looking at?”

“That,” she says stabbing the ledger with her finger. I look to where the slim, white digit points. The zero in the ledger means nothing to me.

“You’re the keeper of the treasury. How am I supposed to interpret this?”

“This should read five thousand plus whatever you earned from the sale of Lerna’s blood. Rumor places it around two million drachars. Instead, as you can see, it reads zero.”

Of course it reads zero. Adneta has her lovely new necklace. Some of the two million has gone to restock my wine cellars with the finest Illamos Valley vintages. A good portion is building Adneta her menagerie. And I can’t
not
spend a lavish sum on my celebrations—it would disappoint the people too greatly to not have the promised days of festivities.

“I saw no point in entering the amounts. Busy as you say you are, I thought you’d be happy I saved you the extra work.”

“Tallies of all income and expenses are supposed to be sent to my office by sunset daily so I can manage the books, see where the money is going, and try to get this polis out of its financial hole. Instead, you only dig it in deeper.”

“Perhaps you should talk to your mother about that. You do recall it is the duty of a polis’s patron god to ensure the land remains fertile and productive, don’t you? Hera’s the one who hasn’t seen to our bounty. She’s the one who has neglected the land and populated it with so many vile creatures. So many times I wished I’d been born to another polis, one where the gods cared about more than their own interests.” I cross my arms indignantly over my chest. The motion sends the chair wobbling. I jerk at the movement, which brings a flicker of a smile to the Herene’s face.

“Do not speak ill of Hera in this house. Yes, she has been remiss, but you have, or rather Herc has obtained great sums for Portaceae. They need to be entered. We need to repair—”

“Ugh, I know. I’ll get to it, but tomorrow is my anniversary, my coronation day, my birthday. All those things must be celebrated and you yourself said the people need entertainment.” Just then a loud cheer roars from outside sending a jolt of fear through me. Iole turns to peer out the window behind her. My worry eases as I admire her rear view—the linen dress shows it off much better than her traveling clothes had. “My festivities will be entertaining.”

My words spin her around.

“Two million drachars worth of entertainment?”

“I promise I will see to it the remainder gets into your little book.” I pat the open pages and then close the ledger. “And then all will be well.”

“That money had better find its way there.”

From outside comes the noise of an excited crowd. Cheers and hoots and stamping feet are approaching along the Hera Way. Despite the appetite the Herene has stirred in me, my stomach drops.

This is it. This is the revolt.

My eyes dart to the doorway. How long do I have? I can’t remain in this office blathering about numbers and calculations. If I can dash down the stairs, I’ll be to my carriage in two heartbeats. It’s time I get back to my villa where doors can be barred and guards can defend me.

An image of Iole closing the door flashes through my head. The door to this office, locked and blocking my escape. A trap. The Herene has set a trap. The clever bitch. My heart thuds in my ears, but I refuse to let the priestess see my fear.

“Yes, yes.” I wave my hand dismissively as I ease myself out of the chair that creaks with the change in pressure. “Now, I must be off. Things to plan.” I scuttle toward the door wondering if the giantess will stop me.

Iole hurries to the door. She’s going to block it. But she’s small, I can shove her aside as easily as pushing a child out of my way. It’s the giantess that draws my eye. She remains in her seat, the abacus clacking away. How quick is she? I wonder.

Iole gets to the door just as I do. I’m about ready to lay my hands on her when she turns the knob and holds the door open for me. Seeing the Herenes aren’t the threat, I pause at the threshold.

“You do flatter yourself, you know. Despite his little problem he got into with his children, my cousin is moral to a fault. He wouldn’t dare defile a Herene so you might as well look to other steeds if you want ridden.”

“Yes, your cousin honors the gods, whereas you, I think you would sell Hera to the Middish if it bought your wife a new trinket.”

Just then Iolalus appears at the top of the stairs. Damn, why did I take the time to taunt the Herene?

“Iole—” He pauses when he sees me. “There’s something going on outside.”

Another rumbling roar echoes through the hall. The sound is just outside.

Gods I need out of this place.

“We’re done here,” I say. I shove my way past my red-haired cousin and race to the staircase. Halfway down, the noise of the people roars again so close that they must be just outside the House’s walls. From the top of the stairwell, come the rhythmic sounds of people jogging down the steps after me. My legs tremble and I grip the railing to keep from falling over my own feet.

The stairs spit me out into the central courtyard and several old crones turn away from fussing with the peacocks to look at me with their judgmental eyes. The peacocks, disturbed by the noises in the street, are squawking and flapping their wings in annoyance. I move as fast as I can to the gate hoping Baruch is in his driver’s seat and ready to drive the horses as fast as they can move.

I see Baruch still parked in front of the Peacock Gate. I only need to get to the gate. And then to the safety of my carriage.

In the few steps it takes me to cross the courtyard, people have crowded in front of the complex and block the way to the carriage. I halt, sucking in panicked breaths. From behind me comes the crunching sound of feet on pea gravel. I don’t need to look back. It will be the Herene and Iolalus and who knows how many others closing in on me. From front and back, my escape is barred.

The people cackle with laughter when they see me. The noise sets the peacocks screeching more loudly. Iole and Iolalus run past me, stopping at the edge of the crowd. Iolalus has his hand at his belt ready to draw his short sword. This is it. They will kill me. Why did I not come with my guards?

“Back,” Iole yells. “What is this madness?”

The crowd quiets and draws back several paces. None of them that I can see are carrying weapons. None seems ready to attack. Actually, they look amused. Some of my tension eases, but my hands and legs still shake.

A swarm gathers around my carriage with others peering over their shoulders trying to catch a glimpse of something inside. Baruch sits in the driver’s seat, reins in hand with a bemused expression on his lips. I press through.

“What are they doing to my carriage? Baruch, get them away from there.” I squeeze forward and fling open the carriage door. The sight makes my stomach sink. The door at the far side gapes open. Herc peers through the opening at me. “My carriage. What have you done?”

“Completed my task,” Herc replies and seems unable or unwilling to suppress a satisfied grin.

There, in my carriage, my beautiful carriage, in one of the leather seats that are suppler than Adneta’s breasts sprawls a dead boar. The beast is so big its body sags over the bench. Blood drizzles from its neck onto the floor and one of its tusks pierces the leather upholstery.

“This is an outrage.”

“You said to deliver it to you. Dead. You weren’t home so I came here.”

“How? This is impossible. You took this from a butcher.”

“No, I just knew where to look. Ask Iolalus, the vigiles have been getting reports of a boar in Forested Park for months. We’d narrowed down where his den was and had set up a group to go after it. It was what I was supposed to do the day—” He stops his words abruptly.

“The day you killed your children, you mean to say.” I speak loudly to remind the adoring crowd what a monster they’ve been cheering. “My nieces and nephew are dead because of this blood crimer you find so amusing.”

“Yes,” Herc says through gritted teeth. “I caught the boar off guard. Wounded it. Cut its throat.”

“You’re good at killing, aren’t you? There has been enough of a show from you. From now on there will be no feed, no displays in the arena of your tribute for your despicable crime. Anyone caught celebrating this blood crimer will be tried for crimes against the polis.”

The crowd grumbles. A group to my left boos.

“What’s wrong with you people? We will have festivities starting tomorrow in my honor. Me, your Solon, not some blood crimer. Now, clear out. If you worked instead of loitering around perhaps Portaceae wouldn’t be in the state it’s in.” The crowd drifts back and thins out in little time. “As for you,” I say to Herc, “I don’t want you anywhere near the city tomorrow. I want the people to remember who their leader is and to celebrate me, not a piece of filth like you.”

Herc purses his lips and looks away. After several deep breaths, he focuses his eyes back on me.

“To where?” he asks with steely calm.

To where? I haven’t thought of a labor. I expected him to die before he ever returned from Cedonia. The boar had been a whim brought about by discussing a menu with the chefs who had dared to question my desire to have a roasted pig for the private party that will be held at the villa tomorrow evening for my hand-picked guests.

I rack my brain. I can’t keep giving him things that bring him glory and make him seem even more the hero. He needs a low task, a demeaning task, a task that will keep him out of my sight. I hear a plop from the direction of my carriage horses. A glow washes over me at my cleverness.

“The stables.”

“Stables?” he asks.

“To the south. The stables of the Augean District. The governor is too old or too feeble to clean them himself and the shit has piled up for years. He’s asked for help, but what can I do about the mess? You’ll clean them. I’ll need a written note from Governor Augeus himself stating the task has been completed to his satisfaction. And I hear he is a hard man to please.”

“How long?”

“When I wake the day after tomorrow I expect that note in my hands. Send it by messenger. A human messenger.”

I pull myself up to the driver’s seat next to Baruch. By the time we return to the villa, I’m certain my nostrils will be permanently embedded with the stench of dead boar.

16

H
ERC

Turning away from the sight of Eury rolling away, I leave Iolalus chatting with a group of people and stride into the courtyard heading toward the staircase in the far corner that leads to the guest rooms. A few steps in, a peacock struts up to me. I reach out tentatively, afraid of another bite from the sharp beak. Moving my hand slowly, I stroke the bird’s head, but remain tensed and ready to yank my hand back at the slightest hint of an attack.