The Trials of Hercules: Book One of The Osteria Chronicles

by Tammie Painter

  When the volley ceases, he rises up from the body, faces the shore, and roars with anger from under his lion’s pelt.

  Although the Amazonian queen’s death is not the one I had hoped for, I do earn some satisfaction at watching the bastard suffer for making a fool of me and my daughter. How had both of us been stupid enough to believe in a man’s love? As his agony echoes across the bay, I melt back into the crowd of wailing women, tilting my face away from them to disguise the rueful smile curving across my lips.

  33

  HERC

  My head spins as if the boat has been sucked into a whirlpool. I crash hard on my knees beside Lyta, driving splinters of wood from the deck into my skin.

  Not another one.

  Why? Why hadn't she stayed under the pelt? It could have saved her. I tried to save her. I could have remained in Amazonia, I could have ruled a kingdom, I could have been loved if only I could have protected this one person.

  A strong wind sweeps in heavy clouds and a chilling drizzle. I hear Iolalus rushing about asking someone what to do next, where to tie the jib down, when we will be back to the Dock Lands. But I don't care. I don't care if we capsize, if we lose our course, or if we are dragged to the depths of the sea by krakens. I only want to hold Lyta, to kiss her cheek as long as I can and abandon reality for dreams of the life she offered me.

  From the island, the keening sound of sorrow reaches the boat even when I can no longer see the grieving women. The noise tugs at me, pulls at my throat, makes my stomach queasy. The drizzle changes to a driving rain as the winds whip the sail. I can think of nothing to do but lay down next to my queen and pull the lion pelt over us. Hidden under the protective cover, I weep as tiny bells tinkle when I stroke Lyta’s hair.

  “Herc, wake up,” Iolalus urges. He is nudging my shoulder with his foot. I peer out from under the pelt. The sky has gone dark. Blocked by cloud cover, even the stars don’t shine.

  “Leave me.”

  “Herc, we must take care of her.”

  “No, leave us.” I huddle closer to Lyta. Another life gone because of my failures.

  “Herc, she's taken on the stiffness of death. It’s time to say goodbye.”

  I brush my hand against Lyta's cheek. Iolalus is right. Not only is she as cold as the sea we sail on, but her skin doesn't move under my touch. Her face doesn't turn to call my name and her lips don't form into a passionate kiss. She is gone. Another victim of my vicious crime. Will I ever fully atone for the deed?

  I push myself up to standing. My muscles ache after laying for so long on the hard surface of the deck. The rain and winds have died down, but the air refuses to give up its unseasonable chill.

  “She died on the sea, we must give her back to the sea,” Perseus says. Pirro’s body rests on deck wrapped in a piece of sail cloth, ready to be returned to Poseidon.

  “Are you ready, Herc?” Iolalus asks, not unkindly.

  “I'm ready to be done with these tasks.” I know it isn’t what he means, but it’s the first thought that comes to me. If people are to die for my mistakes, let them be enemies of Portaceae. True enemies, those invading our borders, not those whose possessions Eury wants to claim.

  “As am I. How can we avoid them though? Eury will never allow you to forego your tribute.”

  “I will ask to finish my tribute serving on the eastern boundary. Although I can’t bear the thought of you risking your life in war, I know I can’t stop you from following me. It’s at least a better use of our lives than stealing treasure from—” I break off as my gaze drifts down to the arrow protruding from Lyta’s body.

  Iolalus says nothing. I lift Lyta into my arms. Her hair hangs down and I brush my cheek against it wanting to hear the bells one more time. But the sound is no longer musical, no longer full of life. Without Lyta making them sing, the bells sound like nothing more than metal pinging against metal.

  I kiss her one last time on the lips. Cold and stiff, not the lips of my passion-filled Lyta. She is forever gone. I have killed her.

  “To Poseidon then,” I say as I lower her body over the side of the vessel and let my queen slip into the black depths of the sea.

  34

  IOLE

  I pace my office. I now know how the peacocks feel on the rare times we must cage them. Impatient, frustrated, confined. If I had wings, I would be beating them against the walls. Instead, I pace. Each time I pass by, I earn looks of annoyance from Maxinia whose papers rustle out of order. One thought marches through my mind keeping time with my steps: Herc will be back today.

  Gossip has trickled its way into Portaceae, but slowly and in painfully broken order. The first news had been that two people had died when the Amazonians attacked the ship. My heart plummeted at the thought it might be Herc and Iolalus, and I cursed myself. How could I have sent Herc off like that? If he died his last memory of me would be my cold countenance as I shunned him.

  Before the next round of news came, my mother made a rare appearance in my rooms. I bowed low to her and offered her wine.

  “I did not come here for a tea party,” she scolded. I next offered a seat. “This won’t take long enough to weary my legs.” With this curt reply, I made no further efforts to play the good hostess. “These neglect proceedings you have begun against the Solon must stop.”

  “But why? Eury is ruining the polis. Your polis.”

  “Indeed. It is my polis and I will have the say over who is Solon.” Despite the afternoon sunlight beaming into the chamber, the room’s temperature suddenly became as cold as a winter’s morning. My skin burst out in gooseflesh, but the chill did not freeze my tongue.

  “You fear Herc will be chosen as Solon if Eury is deposed. What would be so wrong about having a true, honest, and loyal man ruling Portaceae?”

  My mother’s eyes flared in anger and, although I’ve seen the look numerous times, it’s never been directed onto me. The effect staggered me back a couple paces.

  “Do not be so certain of any man’s honesty or loyalty. There will be no neglect charges against Eury. End your case now. Is that understood?” I remained silent trying to match her own icy stare, but my efforts didn’t even garner a blink from her eyes. “Is that understood?” she repeated more firmly. I nodded and looked to my feet, feeling like a child ashamed of some minor misdeed. The room warmed slightly, but my skin still prickled as I clutched my arms to my chest. “I’m sorry to be so cold.” My mother reached out to stroke my hair but I flicked my head like a cantankerous cat. “I’ve warned you before, child. Give up your thoughts of him. He is not the man you think he is, nor does he love you.”

  “He does,” I said staring at her defiantly.

  “He may have, but no longer.” She gave me a final look that she may have meant to be kind, but stirred nothing in me but frustration. Seeing I wasn’t going to run into her arms and thank her for her advice, she disappeared in a flash.

  The next round of news came soon after my mother’s visit. The Areans, after lingering long enough in Nemea to build up their forces, had begun to move. They weren’t heading directly west into Portaceae City as I had anticipated, but instead, invaded the south, the Augean District. I then realized they planned to pick off districts until Portaceae City was surrounded, an island in a sea of Areans.

  The following evening brought more news from the Dock Lands. One of the dead was the Amazonian queen, but still nothing else identified the other person and my mood became irritable with the lack of knowledge. Why did I not ask my mother when she was in my rooms if she knew what had happened? Finally this morning, word arrived that the second victim was one of the hired crew, that Iolalus and Herc were safe and on their way home.

  In my excitement over the news, my ability to concentrate turns equal to that of a flea. Whenever I sit down to work, my mind drifts to what I will say to Herc when he returns. I give up on my desk tasks, and give up trying to remain still. Instead, I pace the room, making an occasional circuit into the hall to gape out the window. In
the course of one circuit, one during which I force myself to walk slowly past Maxinia’s table so her papers don’t scatter, someone knocks on the door jamb.

  My face falls from joy to frustration when I see it is only Euphemia. The hurt that flits across her expression makes me want to kick myself especially as I know it takes her a great deal of effort to mount the stairs with her bad leg. I force a warm smile of greeting on my face and her eyes beam at my attention.

  “Your Highness, they have returned. They are heading to the Solon’s villa.”

  My heart surges and then seems to forget its timing until it thuds back into rhythm. I kiss Euphemia on the cheek and dash from the room earning angry shouts from Maxinia as her papers follow in my wake. When I reach the courtyard, a procession of people is moving in the direction of the Solonian Hill.

  I run to the stables. The new stable hand—a shy, dark-haired boy of fourteen—offers his help, but I can’t wait. I hurriedly throw bridle and reins on my white horse and leap onto her back in a single burst. To avoid the crowd along the Hera Way, I urge the mare to race up the back way to the villa, slowing the horse only when I see Herc in front of Eury’s porch facing the wrath of Deianira. Something golden circles his upper arm and, although I can find no logic in it, a sudden revulsion for the thing churns my gut.

  “You will come home,” Deianira is shouting at Herc as he remains astride his chestnut. “You shame me and yourself by not visiting me. It's simply—”

  She continues her rant, but Herc's eyes lift from her and find me. His face carries a mix of frustration and longing that matches my own heart’s stew of emotions. I want to run to him, explain everything, tell him what I feel for him. But his look is not inviting me to do any of these things.

  Deianira is still berating him when Eury steps out onto his curved porch. Unlike his cousin’s, Eury’s face is easy to read—joy under a mask of irritation.

  “Shut up woman,” Eury yells at Deianira. She silences immediately as if someone has clapped a hand over her mouth. “You three,” he says pointing to me, Herc, and Iolalus, “inside.”

  We leave our horses in the hands of Eury’s tall servant who appears put off by the menial task. Once inside, Herc wastes no time. He rips the metal belt from his arm and hurls it to the floor.

  “There, take your damn treasure. And know that it is the last. I'm through with this game of yours. You can send me to the east so I can serve Portaceae by fighting off her enemies, not by collecting you baubles and trinkets.”

  Eury sneers at his cousin. “There is no bargaining. You agreed to these tasks.”

  “They are useless. I will have no part in them any longer.”

  “Then you die.”

  “Do it. What have I to live for?”

  His words cut into my heart. If he sees no point in living, he truly does no longer care for me. But what should I have expected? I pushed him away. He is a man, not a spring that will bounce back at my whim.

  “And Iolalus dies,” Eury adds.

  “He can finish these ridiculous tasks on his own, if he agrees to that you have no reason to execute him. Am I right, Priestess?”

  His refusal to use my name or even speak kindly to me leaves me uncertain of myself.

  “I—I would have to look, but yes, I think the law—” I swallow hard to hold back tears and to control my stammering. “The law does state the volunteer dies only of the tasks aren't completed. If he completes them—”

  “Laws!” Eury kicks the belt. “I’ve had enough of all the loops and twists contained in these laws.” He pulls up so he’s inches from my face. “Or do you just make them up as you go along?” He starts to grab me, but Herc pushes him back. “Oh, I forgot,” Eury says mockingly as he straightens his tunic, “you have feelings for her. Is that why you fucked the Amazonian queen? To show our priestess how much you cared for her? Were you thinking of Iole when the queen's cries made the boat—”

  Eury, so built up in his lewd words, doesn't have time to defend himself. Iolalus's fist lands square on Eury's nose. Certainly not a full strength punch, but enough to send Eury staggering as he clutches his face. Blood dribbles out from between his fingers. He takes deep breaths through his mouth, never once taking his fury-filled eyes off Iolalus.

  “What do you know of what took place on that ship?” Herc demands.

  “Do you forget that I am Hera's direct link to Portaceae?” He looks to me. “Your mother was quite descriptive about what your heroic Herc did with the queen. He even promised to be her husband. Amazing what a good screw can do to you, but you wouldn't know about that would you, Priestess?”

  I refuse to give Eury the satisfaction of reacting to his words. I hold his gloating look with every piece of fortitude I have, but inside my heart feels like it’s being stabbed with a knife pulled straight out of the smith’s forge. Could he truly have wanted to stay with her? Jealousy flares over my self-pity, but who can I blame? I was the one who sent him away.

  “But don’t worry, your mother got rid of your competitor.” He looks to Herc as if hoping for a reaction, but Herc’s face retains its hard scowl. “One hour,” Eury snaps at his cousin. “One hour for you to change your mind about this. In the meantime, I'll be certain the blood crime vault is ready for you.”

  Eury snatches up the belt, then marches toward and up the sweeping staircase leaving the three of us standing in the foyer. I can do nothing but stare at the drops of blood crusting on the marble floor.

  “I'm going to find a good beer and large portion of food,” Iolalus says as if nothing has happened, then quickly darts out the door. Unsure what to say to Herc, I say nothing and turn to exit the oversized villa.

  I gather my horse from Baruch and mount her as Herc, who has followed me out, swings up on his. To avoid the crowd that still mills about the main entry, we ride out together the way I came.

  “I should explain—” Herc begins.

  “No, I'd rather you not. Not now. Just, please, finish the tasks.”

  “Why? What's the point? Each one just brings more trouble, more pain, more death. And I don't see how they benefit Portaceae, do you?”

  “I'm certain they only benefit Eury. I've proof enough of that, but something tells me you need to finish them. That somehow completing them will help Portaceae. Maybe not directly, but somehow. Does that make sense?”

  “No.” He pauses and I don't know what to add. How can I tell him I fear the polis will be left in ruins without his help? Or that I would rather die than live without him?

  “Did you really promise to stay with the queen?” I ask quickly.

  He seems to chew in this question before answering.

  “It seemed the best alternative.”

  “To what?”

  “To coming home and facing your rejection again. To spending my days with Deianira. If Eury had allowed me to go fight the Areans, that would have provided me another alternative. But it now seems I’m out of options.”

  We ride, keeping the horses at a walking pace and saying nothing as we make our way back to the House of Hera. I want to tell him he doesn't need to die, that he can stay with me, bed me, be mine. I would leave the House, lose my immortality to be with him, but before I can speak the words, bells toll announcing a gathering in the arena. The sound makes my heart drop to my feet.

  “What's taking place today?” Herc asks. His voice is tinged with the same worry that fills me.

  “Nothing is planned. I don't like this.”

  “Stay close to me,” he says as we turn the horses away from the House to ride to the arena. We leave the horses tied outside the rear entrance and enter into the underbelly of the arena. As we approach the stairs to the box seats, we catch a glimpse of the arena floor. The sight forces me to cover my eyes.

  “Iolalus,” Herc yells and in a heartbeat he’s racing to the floor of the arena. There, in the sand lays Iolalus with blood covering his face. Bruises have already blossomed their sickly color across his bare torso. His wrists and
ankles are bound with ropes that are tethered to four horses—horses I recognize from the Herene stables, the ones that Eury had taken for his celebration, the ones that Cy used to whisper to and care for. Eury, wearing a mask over his nose and mouth, stands on the dais with his guards.

  At a nod from the Solon, the horses’ new handler makes two clicking sounds. The horses each take two steps forward wrenching Iolalus up from the sand. His body pulls taut. His screams pierce through the arena that is barely half full. Either people haven’t had time to get here or they simply no longer care to take part in anything Eury has to offer them. Some, seeing what is happening, immediately turn to leave.

  The horses hold Iolalus in his torturous position for a moment. When their handler gives a sharp whistle they each take a step back. Iolalus’s body drops to the sandy floor.

  Herc, yelling Iolalus's name, runs to the floor of the arena and tries to loosen the rope binding his cousin's left wrist.

  “Leave him,” Eury commands. “He’s a traitor.”

  Herc stands as if guarding Iolalus. “What has he done?”

  “Look, people of Portaceae, see what this Iolalus has done.” Eury rips off the mask to show the people the damage. Greyish purple splotches spread across his eyes, and his nose sits at an even odder angle than usual. He has done nothing to clean up the mess of blood that is now caked over his face, making the injury look worse than it really is. “He attacked me. Assaulted the Solon. That is treason. As the vault may soon be in use, we must take care of him in other ways.” He gives a nod, the trainer clicks, the horses step, and Iolalus screeches so violently that chills fire from my feet through my spine.

  A look of wild terror and utter pain disfigure Herc’s face as his fingers scramble against Iolalus’s bindings. He tries again to untie the ropes at Iolalus's wrists, but stretched taut the rope is even less maneuverable than when it was slack.