The Trials of Hercules (39 page)

“What's that grin?” Iolalus asks.

“I was just thinking we're free of Portaceae's laws and that if a mermaid appears I’ll haul her up and ravish her until she sings my name for the rest of her days. And Hera can do nothing about it.”

“Not a bad idea, if you can get to the mermaids before I do.”

“Let's just hope they travel in pods.”

Iolalus watches the sea, scanning the surface as if he might be the first of us to sight a mermaid.

“There,” he shouts and grabs my arm shaking me and pointing to the water. “Did you see them? It’s our mermaids.”

A moment later, an array of tall black fins break the water’s surface. Shiny dark backs arc up from the water and then curve back down. They aren’t mermaids, or at least none from any stories I’ve heard. Suddenly, the water surface explodes as one of the beasts, black on the back with a pure white belly, leaps from the water, twists, and crashes back down on its back. Three others follow suit as the rest continue arcing their way along.

“
Orkahs
,” Pirro shouts. After a brief period on deck, he’s scurried back up the mast. He beams a smile and Perseus cheers, shouting the word back to his mate.

“Will they attack?” Iolalus asks Perseus.

“No,” he replies through a laugh. “They are the
orkahs
. Good luck if you see them.”

Perseus returns to his duty of guiding the ship and Pirro slides down the mast to tend to the rudder. Iolalus and I watch the
orkahs
until they dive under and disappear. We keep our eyes trained on the water until they ache, but eventually give up hope of seeing the creatures again. Perseus instructs us to work on tidying up the ropes that are no longer needed now that we’ve cleared the majority of the islands. He sits with us, tying a length of rope in complex arrays of knots as we work.

“What will we do when we get to the island?” Iolalus asks. “I hear the women aren't exactly fond of guests.”

“There's an understatement,” Perseus says. “The last crew that approached their shores pulled into dock with too much haste and was downed by arrows before they could even holler a greeting. Your best approach is to wait. Once they realize you don't mean to attack, they'll send someone out to see what we want.”

“And we're just going to tell them we want their queen's symbol of power, a belt worth more than all the boats of the Dock Lands?” Iolalus asks.

“I hope to be a bit more subtle than that, but essentially, yes,” I reply.

We’re nearly done with the chore, when Pirro begins shouting to Perseus in their rapid-fire dialect. I can’t tell what he’s saying, but his gesture is clear: He’s spotted something.

I look beyond the spiral prow. Not far in the distance, a large island floats on the water looking lush and green with an off-center hill that slopes down to a village of stone houses. The place would appear inviting except for the fifty or so lookout towers dotting the shore and the hills surrounding the village. My vision is sharp enough to observe the arrows pointing through the jagged crenellations at the top of the structures. No doubt we’ve been seen long before Pirro’s shout alerted us to the island.

“Amazonia,” Perseus announces. “We’ll need to lower the sails to ease into the dock. The tide will allow us to approach as slowly as possible. That’ll help prevent us from being decorated by a storm of arrows fired from a thousand bows by well-trained, defense-minded women.” He pauses, then adds, “I hope.”

30

H
ERA

“Now, what’s that look?” Poseidon asks as he comes upon me sitting on a bench in one of the gardens on Mount Olympus. Zeus and I used to walk through this garden hand in hand admiring the passionflower vines, plucking daisies for one another, and lounging in the grass able to spend hours just kissing and chatting and enjoying one another. Gods, how long ago had that been?

Although the place should make my skin crawl knowing my husband has probably brought countless nymphs, goddesses, and—worst of all—mortal women here, I still find the garden the best place on Olympus to be with my thoughts. And oh, the thoughts that have been racing through my head of late.

“Has someone been planting poppies in the garden?” I ask.

“Not that I’m aware of,” my brother says looking at me with his turquoise eyes that change color depending on his mood. When foul, they turn to stormy grey, but for now the warm and inviting color reflects he’s feeling jovial, curious even. “Why?”

“My head is completely fuddled. It has to be drugs.”

“Come.” He offers his hand. “Walk with me. Walking always straightens a befuddled mind. Move your feet and move your mouth. That’s the only way to get your head right.”

I take his calloused hand that I normally refuse to touch saying it irritates my skin, but somehow this time his callouses comfort me. They feel solid and true, and help ground my muddled and foggy mind.

We head up a path that wraps around the western face of Olympus. With the sun rising, the sky is filled with reds and oranges that glint off the ocean making it look as if it’s on fire.

“I’m stuck,” I begin. “I don’t know which is worse, Eury as the leader of my polis or the thought that Zeus's bastard may indeed have been the better man for the job.” Poseidon remains quiet allowing me to vent everything that has been running circles around my head for days. “But Eury lately is beyond control, something must be done to reign in that pompous, arrogant attitude he's developed. Iole threatened him with instituting the neglect charge and made her point well, but I fear if she allows a vote among the Herenes they will pick Herc. Then where would I be?”

I pause and we continue strolling. The path curves slightly north, and the view from Olympus takes in the array of islands, both large and small, that dot the sea off the coast of Seattica. Amazonia dwarfs them all.

“Is he truly that bad?” Poseidon asks, breaking the silence and giving me a start. “Certainly all his work these past weeks has been in honor of you and he has never spoken ill of you.”

“Zeus's bastard,” I scoff as I yank my hand away from my brother. “Zeus's favorite bastard made with the oh-so wonderful Alcmena. Turns my stomach.” I rip a rose from its bramble and fling it down to the flagstone pathway.

“Sister, stop and think. Are you and Herc so different? Zeus betrays him as much as he betrays you. I have no reason to speak ill of my brother, but has Zeus ever protected his son at any point in his life? Has he done anything to make the boy’s world any less dangerous? Zeus gives this so-called favorite about as much attention as a girl gives a doll she's grown tired of.”

Being compared to the bastard makes my skin bristle as if I’ve rolled in a patch of poison ivy, but I have to allow that Poseidon has a point. Zeus has done nothing for his son but spew his seed into his mother and try to bestow on him the gift of the gods.

The gift!

“Iole loves him,” I blurt.

“Well, now there’s something. Would a being made solely of you give her love away to anyone who wasn’t worthy?” He hands me a freshly picked rose, but I ignore the gesture.

“You’re forgetting my love for Zeus has been betrayed infinite times. Love means little.”

“Still, she does love him and he her, staying faithful to her even in the bonds of marriage.”

We curve away from the garden’s cliffside path and turn into the jasmine garden. In the mornings, the small courtyard surrounded by white-flowered vines fills with floral perfume. I can almost look past the fact that the bastard is, in the true meaning of adultery, cheating on his wife by sending his love elsewhere. But he loved Iole before this marriage—a marriage he’d been forced into, not a marriage like mine where Zeus pursued me for ages before I gave into him. Why wouldn't the bastard love my daughter still? Zeus? No, he claimed to have loved me and perhaps he did for a time. But then came the women. Parades of women. Mortals and immortals he bedded and bred with like a mongrel loose amongst a pack of bitches in heat.

“If only he hadn't loved Alcmena,” I say, plucking a jasmine flower from its deep green vine. “He was a fool for her, forgetting all his duties, all his other women, and of course me to bed her.”

“Is that what all this is? Your jealousy over Alcmena? Why punish the son for the father’s indiscretion?”

“Because had he not loved Alcmena so much, had that love not made him foolish enough to grant the gods' gift upon the son in her womb, had he just once apologized to me for calling her name when he finally returned to my bed, I may not have hated the boy with such passion.” I throw down the flower and crush it under my sandal. “Certainly I hate all Zeus's bastards but this one especially because this one represents all I will never be to Zeus. And each time the bastard defends my polis or honors me, I hate him even more for his loyalty.”

I stand for a while taking in deep, angry breaths as Poseidon watches at me. When I turn from him, he paces around the courtyard brushing his hands along the vines as he passes, causing the flowers to release even more of their heady fragrance. Once my breathing calms, he stops in front of me, looking at me with eyes that are so much like Zeus’s I don’t know whether to slap him or hug him.

“But now so much has changed,” he says as he places his hands on my shoulders. I can hold his gaze no longer and look to the red tiles of the courtyard’s floor. “He is proving himself worthy of the gods' gift. More worthy in fact than some gods themselves. His strength and courage in the face of danger, his respect of the gods, his loyalty to you and your polis, and his faithful love of your daughter. His worthiness far exceeds that of Eury.”

My brother is right. I’m punishing the wrong man. Eury, while not disrespectful of me, does nothing to improve my polis. And his attempts at seduction are so transparent as to be pathetic. I admit it. I made a mistake. I meddled in mortal affairs only to worsen my polis and leave it exposed to danger and ruin. I know all these things. I knew them long before I caused the bastard to kill his children, but it’s something I hate to acknowledge. I meet my brother’s eyes. He hands me the rose again. This time I take it.

“I hate your wisdom,” I say peevishly.

“Of course you do.”

“It is time for Portaceae to see a new face, a face she can be proud of, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Poseidon says grinning at me like I’m a child who has just figured out a rather simple puzzle.

“These tasks will be ended. The bast—” I cut myself off. “Hercules Dion is heading to Amazonia. I’ll meet him there to explain matters to him. Will you ensure him safe passage over the seas?”

Poseidon nods. “And then what?”

“Then he will be Solon, he may dissolve his marriage to Deianira, and, if my daughter chooses to do so, I will release Iole from our bargain.”

“And Herc will be immortal?”

I roll my eyes. I am still not certain of granting him this gift of gifts. Poseidon stares at me, expecting a positive reply. I release a deep sigh.

“Yes,” I concede.

31

H
ERC

The prospect of what we’re heading into should drive fear into any sailor, but Pirro and Perseus chatter back and forth in a jovial tone and their lips show nothing but smiles.

“You two sail with us from now on. We never have such easy passage,” Pirro says in his thick accent once he’s finished rolling up the sail. As the wind dies down, he works the rudder. The ship gently bobs to the dock where Perseus lashes the boat to a pylon. “And look there,” Pirro points to the village. Although a group of women watch us, none have an arrow trained on our chests. “The gods truly favor you.”

“That would be a change,” I say.

I stand at the bow of the boat looking at the village and the stern-faced women as Iolalus and the crew remain at mid-ship watching over the railing.

With the stillness of the tethered boat and the protection of the harbor, the chilling wind has disappeared and the afternoon sun is roasting me under my cloak and pelt. I can't say how long I wait scanning the crowd for some sign of welcome or danger, but it’s long enough to see my shadow shift at least a hand’s breadth.

Just as I’m about to remove the pelt, a horn blasts two times and the voices of hundreds of women bellow out a
whoop
. Their call doesn't come from just one location but echoes throughout the village and across the hillside. Like the lion’s roar and the hydra’s screech, the sound goes straight to my gut and unnerves me as I'm sure it is meant to do.

Down from the central street of the village marches a retinue of women. They’re dressed much as vigiles in tunics, knee-high leather boots, and chest armor, but rather than the vigiles’ linen colored cloth, the Amazonian tunics are died deep black and their chest armor curves to highlight their feminine figures. They march in silence, even their footsteps seem muffled compared to those of the men I marched with during vigile training. With a single
Hup
they halt at the edge of the dock. After another
Hup
the group splits in two forming a channel between them.

Striding down the valley created by the warriors, a woman with long black hair appears from the hoard. She carries herself tall and proud as those she passes bow their heads in reverent greeting. Around her head she wears a circlet of gold and from this dangles tiny chains the same length as her hair. A small bell at the end of each chain delivers a melodic sound with each of her confident and graceful steps.

She too wears a vigile's tunic of deep red, but instead of armor, she has decorated her torso with a golden corset. The garment pushes up her breasts that ripple in time with the bells as she walks. On her feet she wears a type of boot, but instead of fully covering her calves, straps of leather crisscross in an intricate pattern from toe to knee. Circling her waist is a belt of white and yellow gold braided together. A golden brooch with the arrow symbol of the Amazonians embedded in diamonds clasps the belt. Like a drop of enemy blood, a single ruby glitters at the tip of the brooch’s arrow.