The Trials of Hercules (9 page)

I had to know it would only be a matter of time before Hera would bring up Portaceae’s marriage law. After all, as goddess of marriage and family, it’s her law that she instituted soon after she became Portaceae’s patron goddess. Her reasoning was that men were more cooperative, more community-minded when married. With a straying husband such as hers, I couldn’t fathom where she came up with such a notion. Still, it did work to settle many men. Not all, but most were certainly less aggressive once married. Domestication some called it.

The law states that if a man is still unwed by the time he reaches his twenty-fifth birthday and has no one in particular in mind, the polis chooses a wife for him. When a man becomes eligible, interested women put their names into a lottery. Ever resourceful when it comes to my own gain, I’ve found this system an excellent opportunity to accumulate a few extra drachars. Nothing is free after all and it appears women will pay dearly when a good prospect is nearing his wedding day. The woman who makes the biggest donation finds her name happens to be chosen on the wedding day. How can it not? After all, hers will be the only name written on the slips of paper in the selection box.

Herc’s wife has been dead nearly eleven months. Men are allowed a period of grieving from the time of death until their next birthday comes around. So, according to Hera’s law, Herc will have to marry again within the month.

“My apologies,” I offer. “It’s been a strange day and I was rude. But your own law states weddings take place on the man’s birthday, so he’ll just have to stay in the House of Hera another few weeks. Then, it will fall on my shoulders to find him a bride. Unless you have someone in mind.”

As I have calculated, Hera’s vanity is appeased by my deference. Her cross expression softens.

“I’ll be certain to find the right woman. Now, do you have an idea for your cousins’ first labor? If not, I have a suggestion.”

I do have something in mind. There’s been word from other poli that black market dealers from Ares’s polis are willing to pay a Solon’s ransom for hydra’s blood—the most poisonous substance in Osteria. But if I want to keep Hera on my good side, I need to let her take her turn in this game.

“I thought you didn’t want to think about it.”

A wicked smile dances across her lips. “When an opportunity comes, I take it. I promise, I didn’t think long on him. I never do.”

For someone who doesn’t think much about Herc Dion, she certainly seems to spend a great deal of effort devising ways to make his life miserable. But I hold this comment on my tongue. The rare moments when Hera is in a good mood are when she is pleased with herself. I have no desire to be the one to cause her foul mood to return.

“Then by all means, share your idea.”

“The Nemean Lion.”

I stare at her. She has to be kidding. Hera will kill my cousins on the very first task.

The creature that is now dubbed the Nemean Lion roamed into Osteria last year. Some say it came from the Middens, the high mountains at the far eastern edge of Osteria, but others say it came from the monstrosities in the Maisland, the barren plains beyond the Middens where all animals and humans are said to have mutated into living horrors during The Disaster. Regardless of where the lion came from, it has made its way across Osteria and has been terrorizing the people in the East Portaceaen district of Nemea for months. Its skin can’t be pierced with arrows or swords and the creature has eluded all traps. The beast has proven itself impossible to kill and bent on making meals of its foes.

I can’t watch my chance to use Herc slip out of my fingers.

“That thing can’t be destroyed,” I object. “Herc’ll be back in the blood crime vault before next Godsday. Why waste him like that? I thought you wanted to torment him.”

“The people in Nemea have taken up a collection, a reward somewhere in the range of five thousand drachars. Apparently the lion has developed a taste for their children and they are desperate to be rid of it. Your cousin will torture himself knowing he must destroy it to protect the rest of the Nemean children.” She smiles, completely pleased with herself and the idea of Herc’s suffering. “You doubt the bastard’s skills too much when it comes to his need to do what’s right.”

Five thousand drachars. If Nemea has that amount of money it should be paid to me, not squirreled away for their own use. My mind flits to ideas of what five thousand drachars could buy for Adneta. And to how she would reward me for the gifts.

“You’re certain he’ll conquer it?” I ask.

“Not entirely, but he has fair odds.”

I consider arguing. How can he have fair odds if the thing can’t be stabbed with blades or shot with arrows? Still, I need to cement a deal with the Areans before I employ Herc against the hydra. Nemea will buy me time to haggle.

“Then he shall go. But truly, Hera, I can think of much better ways to make use of Herc. Let me choose the tasks from now on.” In truth, I want to select the most profitable labors I can imagine. Hera will send him off rolling stones back and forth if she thinks it might cause him anguish. “Think of each one as a surprise. Besides, you have a wife to choose for him.”

“Yes, there are certain criteria that must be met,” she says as she drifts over to a far window. “I can’t let him—” she trails off. “We’re done here,” she says dismissively.

I leave Hera to her thoughts as I hurry down to the second floor to see what Adneta might want in the five thousand drachar range. And what pre-payment she might be willing to offer.

7

H
ERC

I still can’t believe what has happened. For once, the gods have favored me and I’ve been given a reprieve. The moment I accepted Eury’s offer, my limbs felt as if they’d been filled with air, but it had only taken Iolalus’s volunteering to restore the weight of guilt upon them. I’d killed my family, my innocent children. I deserved the worst death imaginable. I’d almost had it, but now I risk my cousin’s life as well as my own for my crime.

After descending the steps of the temple, I make a wide pass around the hole in the earth that I have escaped. The guards, who have begun shifting the vault cover back into place, scowl at me as I pass, but I do my best to keep my head high and not look in their direction. I worry that one false move will have them pulling me back in saying it has all been a joke.

I follow the priestess and Iolalus to their horses who stand side by side in the field beyond the temple nibbling on whatever green they can find in the withered grass. Iolalus has brought a small, nimble horse whose long legs still retain a coltish look although I know the animal is full grown. This is a horse of the vigiles, bred to cross the width and length of the polis at great speed. The Herene’s horse is a sturdy creature that would look more appropriate in front of a plow than under Portaceae’s head priestess. When the grey mare nods a greeting the smell of lavender overwhelms me as if the horse is stuffed with the same plants that surround the temple grounds.

“Iolalus, you’ll be able to keep your horse in our stables unless you need to return him,” the Herene offers.

Iolalus swings up on his horse, a broad smile brightens his face. No doubt he enjoys that a woman of her rank knows him by name. I turn away from his pleased expression feeling burning frustration behind my eyes. How can I have gotten him involved in this? If only he’d stayed away this morning. Now, it will be up to me to keep him safe, and I don’t know if I can. Of late, it seems I have little ability to protect my loved ones. My throat catches and I thank the gods that I’m able to face away as I allow the priestess to use my back as a mounting block to get up on her mare.

“She can carry us both, unless you prefer to walk,” she says looking down to me. The morning sun catches the glints of gold in her green eyes.

Gods, how my thoughts betray the memory of Meg. This woman before me is the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Wisps of blonde hair sneak out of her braid giving her a carefree, girlish appearance. Her dress, despite its simplicity, emphasizes she is no girl, but a woman with a trim waist that gently rounds to her hips. As she settles onto the back of the horse, she shifts her garment until it hugs her thigh and hitches up to expose the lower half of a slim calf. Realizing I’m ogling the body of the head priestess of the Herenes, I avert my eyes to her foot where a single silver ring decorates one of her toes. Somehow this small detail fascinates me.

Damn it. What kind of monster are you?

I curse my behavior and force my eyes to the ground reminding myself that under the sod is where I should be, not here enjoying the view of a perfectly curved calf or delicately decorated toe. Perhaps the gods have been mistaken about sparing me. I have killed my children and been saved from a torturous death only to thank the gods by undressing a priestess of Hera with my mind.

Surely the gods have chosen the wrong man to pardon
.

“I’ll walk,” I say and leave them behind.

The horses trot up to me with Iolalus to my right and the priestess to my left. Her horse gives off a warm jingle as hundreds of tiny bells on the bridle sing with each of the animal’s steps. My eyes refuse to obey and insist on sneaking glimpses of the ring on the priestess’s toe.

“You know our names,” Iolalus says with his typical lack of formality, “but we only know you as High Priestess.”

“Iolalus, speak respectfully to her.”

“It’s no matter,” the priestess says. Her voice has a pleasant ring to it, as if she and the bells on her bridle are singing the same melody. Something about her nags at me, like searching for a word and being unable to come up with it. “We’re not at the House yet, we can still speak informally. Although, you’ll find I don’t stand on ceremony unless the occasion calls for it. My name is Iole.”

“Iole?” I halt and whip my glance up meeting her green eyes whose gold flecks entrance me even more than the ring on her toe. Remembering what a monster she must see me as, I quickly look away and continue my forward march. “Your name’s familiar.”

She gives a little laugh. Amused at my expense, no doubt. “You saved my life when I was sixteen. Mine was the family you rescued in the Hestia neighborhood. Do you not remember?”

“They do say Osteria is a small world,” Iolalus says. My mind races with the memory of that night, of saving that family before the neighboring building collapsed through their roof. That event changed the people of Portaceae’s view of me from bastard-born monster to hero. Perhaps they’d been wrong in their praise. “You know,” Iolalus continues, “that night made me want to become a vigile. I wanted to be a hero my first night of duty, just like my cousin.”

“Shut up, Iolalus,” I say. “You wanted to be a vigile the day I was chosen to be one. And it wasn’t my first night. Just my first night on lone patrol.”

How odd it is that the priestess and I have been thrown together again. Twelve years ago I saved her life and this morning she played a part in saving mine. Surely, the gods’ wheels must be in motion to bring us together.

Stop it. She is a priestess, you are a blood crimer. You have no business thinking of fate like a schoolgirl with a crush.

“Still,” the priestess says, “I’m glad you were there.”

“Only a handful of vigiles were outside of the north section of the city,” Iolalus says, speaking as if reciting an adventure tale around a fire. “Most had to run buckets to burning buildings since the pumps weren’t working—shut down by our brilliant Solon to save money.”

“Iolalus, enough,” I mutter.

“No, let him continue,” the priestess says. “He’s a good story teller.”

I chastise Iolalus with my eyes, but he smirks and looks away, continuing on as if he hasn’t noticed.

“Well, who would have thought the wind would blow an ember all the way from the fires in the north of the city to the west of the city? Or that it would land on one of the most flammable buildings in the west.”

“I think you’re exaggerating,” I say. We are within sight of the city walls now and I hope the priestess will call an end to Iolalus’s gabbing. Certainly it can’t fit with her status to be seen swapping tales with tributes.

“It makes for a better story,” my cousin insists. “Now, it was by the luck of the gods that Herc, a novice vigile of eighteen, was on his first lone patrol and was passing the very building at just the moment it caught fire—”

“I was down the block,” I correct. “I ran when I saw the flames.”

Iolalus ignores me. “And it was lucky he did, because right next door to the building was a family with mere moments to spare and he rescued them.” He continues in a less dramatic voice, “My first lone patrol I only managed to help a woman find her cat.”

“That’s still heroic,” the priestess says in a voice that reminds me of how I would congratulate the twins on a drawing they’d made for me in school. Even if I’d had no idea what the image was or how badly it was rendered, I praised them. By being convicted of blood crime, I have lost all rights to my home. Now that it will be given to another vigile and his family, I wonder what will become of those drawings.

“Do you want another story of Herc? We’ve still got a ways before we’re to the House.”

“Perhaps I should ride so we can move a bit faster and annoy the priestess a bit less with your chatter,” I say.

“You can ride,” Iole says, “but I’d still love to hear another story.”

I hate that I want to think her interest in me is more than just a way to pass the time. I hate that I hope she cares for me. Meg hasn’t even been gone from me a year. She deserves more devotion than eleven mere months of grief. I shouldn’t be able to so quickly abandon my love for her. And I had loved her. Although we only married to fulfill my mother’s dying wish, we had been happy.

So many men detest the marriage law and even flee to other poli to escape the folly it has become. Most of Portaceae knows the system under Eury is rigged. It’s hard to miss that the richest women get the choicest bachelors. But once married most men find the comfort of a home, the responsibility of a family, the companionship of a wife makes them happy. That’s the whole point of Hera’s law really—to create cohesion and a sense of belonging.