The Trials of Hercules: Book One of The Osteria Chronicles

by Tammie Painter

  “I'll check my schedule.”

  I can feel her eyes boring holes into my back as I brush past the vigiles.

  Three days later Herc arrives at my villa with the horses. With their mouths bound, they look pathetic, but Herc and Altair are patting their necks as if they’re ordinary steeds. One nudges Herc forward as he faces me.

  “They need to be contained and kept away from people,” he says.

  “Yes, yes, now hand them over.”

  Herc slaps the four leads into my palm. One of the horses, a pinto, nuzzles into my shoulder. I slap him across the nose not wanting his deadly mouth near me. The horse snorts and rears back. As if his anger is contagious, the other three animals begin rearing and snorting as well. Hooves and forelegs flail around my head as fetid horse breath envelopes me in its cloying humidity. When I raise my arms in defense, a roan comes down, nicking my forearm with his hoof.

  “No beast touches me. No beast harms the Solon.” I throw down the reins.

  “Guards, kill these traitorous things.”

  “No, they only need—”

  My cousin’s words are cut off as my guards slash at the horses' necks. One guard is downed by a hoof that cracks his skull, but steel proves tougher than flesh and in only moments, the four beasts sprawl on the ground, their necks pulsing dark blood onto the grass.

  “And him as well.” I point to Altair who looks behind him as if I’m referring to a ghost hovering at his back. Before he can move, before he can even piss himself, one of the guards flings a dagger that spins end over end in rapid somersaults until its blade sinks into the cameraman's throat. He slumps down, gurgling out thick bubbles of blood. Herc drops to his knees, cradling the man like a lover, telling him over and over it will be alright. The man's eyes are a mix of wide fear and contented gratitude. After a final shudder, his eyes close.

  Herc shakes with rage as he slowly pushes himself to his feet. Every muscle tenses and a vein in the center of his forehead looks about to burst. He holds his jaw clenched so tight it would be impossible for him to scream all the vile things I’m sure he wants to hurl at me. He looks to the horses then to his dead companion. My cousin leans over resting his hands on his thighs. He looks about to vomit, but instead he heaves out a heavy sob that seems to pull all air from his lungs. Another choking sound escapes him before he grips the camera then scoops up Altair’s body in his arms. Without looking to me, Herc storms off in long heavy strides.

  “Thank you,” I call after him. “I'll be in touch.”

  A sudden sensation of being sucked through a narrow tube overwhelms me. Have I fainted? My vision blurs to the point I think I’ve gone blind. Is this death? I scream but no sounds escape my mouth. The sickening feeling slams to a halt as my body crashes onto a hard surface. I worry if I open my eyes, I will find myself in Hades’s Chasm.

  “What have you done?” A woman’s angry voice demands. “You needed these animals. How dare you waste them?”

  I risk a peek. I’m in the Gods’ Room. I wobble slightly on shaky legs, but refuse to show any sign of weakness to Hera. She would enjoy it too much. I smooth my tunic and brush a hand over my hair forcing myself not to wince at the pain in my arm from the horse’s attack.

  “You could do that all along? You could have saved me a lot of stair climbing over the years, you know.”

  “What have you done, Eury?”

  “The horses? Sacrifices. To you my goddess.” I drop into a swift and deep bow.

  “Unacceptable. I do not accept it.”

  “That's hardly gracious, is it?”

  “You are making poor use of these tasks. He is not being shamed. He is not being humiliated. Despite your commands to the people, they aren’t going to forget him. He is receiving cheers and support from all of Portaceae and completing each of these so-called challenges with ease. No more. We end this now. Send him from my House and to his wife.”

  As much as I know Herc will be miserable with his wife, I’m not about to give him up just yet. He will not escape these tasks, not when there are still treasures to be had and torments for him to face.

  “We said ten labors. One didn't count, so he still has three to go. By your law, he must complete them,” I argue.

  “Continue defying me and you will not win.”

  “I? Defy you? I am merely upholding the agreement we put forth. You wouldn't want to be seen as a goddess who can't uphold her own promises, would you?”

  Her eyes blaze and her brow furrows as she crosses her arms over her chest.

  “There will be no more innocent deaths,” she concedes before disappearing in a crackling flash of light.

  “Thank the gods that war always brings innocent deaths.” I mutter to myself.

  26

  HERC

  I storm away from the sight of Eury and rest Altair’s body over the back of his horse. The animal shies, but my chestnut nickers quietly then nuzzles his nose against the other’s cheek. I grasp the reins of both horses in one hand and the camera in the other as I move blindly forward. My head reels in shock and I have to trust the horses to guide me to keep from wandering off the road and plunging straight off the side of the Solonian Hill.

  Diomedes’s horses, why the horses? And Altair? If I’d only just ordered him to go home instead of following me. With his children still in his mother’s care, he had met me at the city gates and begged me to take him along insisting he needed to be away from his home where every scrap of furniture, every piece of cloth, and even the remains of a hunk of bread flooded him with misery over the loss of his wife. Remembering how it was after Meg died, I took pity on him and let him go with me. My pity has killed him.

  His children have no father because of me. Gods, his children. What will they do now? The polis is certainly in no financial state to care for orphans. With every step down the hill I feel as if I’m treading on my own heart, crushing it under the hard leather of my sandals. I've gotten him and four fine horses killed. Gods curse me.

  The journey back to Portaceae City had been a quiet one, except for a small incident about a mile outside of Diomedes’s holdings. A group of bandits, perhaps five, surrounded us. They were nothing to fear. Each of the men looked as if they hadn’t had a hearty meal for months and the cutlasses they rattled at us were spattered with rust. The weapons couldn’t slice a pat of butter and the men wielding them wouldn’t have the strength to drive the blades through wet bread.

  I was certain they would try to take Altair’s camera—besides the horses, it was the only thing of worth we carried. Whether they had no idea what the contraption was or whether they were too focused on the potential meals the horses might offer, they settled on demanding we hand over the beasts.

  I refused.

  “They’re ours now, big man,” a scruffy fellow who must have been posing as leader of the band said.

  “Are you from around here?” I asked.

  “What’s it to ya if we are?”

  “Do you know Diomedes?”

  The men exchanged glances. Their expressions showed they knew of whom I spoke.

  “Good,” I continued. I wished Iolalus was with us. He was the one with the quick tongue and would have had these men feeling like a band of idiots in only two sentences, then befriending them in another two. I don’t have his gift and had to hope threats would serve. “Then you know of his horses. His flesh-eating horses. These are those animals.” I pointed to Blondie whose pale face highlighted the maroon stains of her last meal. “I only need to remove these bindings—” I raised my hand to the knot at Blaze’s muzzle.

  The men’s eyes went wide as stones.

  “No,” the leader blurted. “We was only japing. Seeing what you’re made of. No harm done.”

  “No, no harm done,” I agreed. “But be mindful. Centaurs are patrolling the outskirts of Portaceae. If they catch you, you’ll be put up against the Areans. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. Thank you for the news. Come men.”

  The band
hurried off, throwing fearful glances over their shoulders, perhaps worried I would set the horses on them after all.

  On the trip back I took every moment I could to pet the horses, hug them, and offer them pieces of apple I had in my travel pack. As much as possible, I allowed my horse and Altair’s to show them how to be a horse among humans. It took much convincing, but I encouraged Altair to do the same. On our third night, we were left exposed when a lightning storm barreled through. When Blondie and Trouble huddled next to me to seek comfort, I knew we were making progress. With a patient and easy hand, the horses could be made into excellent mounts.

  On the final ten miles to the city, I took the bindings from Blaze’s mouth. He had proven to be the biggest baby of them all. Despite having only been fed grass and apple for several days, he made no attempt to bite me or Altair. Still, within the city, I feared the bustling streets, running children, and curious hands might be too much for the ill-treated animals. Once the city walls came into view, I took the caution to bind the horse’s mouth again.

  Diomedes’s steeds weren't uncontrollable beasts, simply horses that needed proper training and kindness. But that kindness came too late and Eury was too hot headed to understand how to treat an abused animal. I should have never taken them to him. I should have taken them to Astoria to work under the best horse trainers in Osteria. I should have kept them away until they were fully trained, until we could use their blood lust in a controlled manner on the battlefield.

  Their deaths were my fault. Eury had given me as much time as I needed on this task, but I rushed the animals to him with Altair trailing behind. I'd wanted the task to be done so I could return to the House of Hera. In my haste to be near Iole I'd gotten four strong animals and a good man killed.

  I take Altair’s body to his home and lay him on his bed. After saying my farewells and apologies to him, I go to his mother’s home. She breaks down the moment she sees his horse without a rider. I hear the children playing in the yard behind her home and am thankful I don’t have to face them as I explain to her what happened. I offer the woman the camera telling her she can sell it to support the children, but she pushes it away.

  “That thing is a death machine,” she wails. “It kills people. You kill people.”

  I don’t know what to say. My throat has constricted so tightly, even if I had the right words to console her, I don’t think I could say them. I hand her the reins of Altair’s horse and turn away.

  In the courtyard of the House of Hera, Iole tends to a tomato plant that has been smashed flat—one of the peacocks has apparently been using the vegetable beds as its nest again. My mood lightens slightly at the sight of her. I walk my chestnut through the courtyard wanting to swing the priestess up onto his back, jump on, and ride away with her. Together we could forget all the troubles of Portaceae. Troubles I now know I can do nothing to solve no matter what efforts I make.

  From the stable behind the House, two horses call out in cheerful whinnies. When my chestnut replies, Iole looks up from the mangled vines. Her face carries no hint of greeting, no sign that she is glad I’ve returned. She stands and wipes her hands on the apron she wears over her dress. A streak of green shows where her hands have passed. Her eyes, where I hope to find some sign of friendship, reveal no hint of warmth.

  “It's time you go home to your wife.”

  Her words hit me in the gut.

  “My home is here,” I say. Then, more quietly, “You are my home.”

  Her chin wavers and her glare softens. But then she shakes her head as if shaking out her unwanted emotions and fixes her face in a stern, cruel countenance. In that moment, she resembles the statue of her mother in the temple.

  “The law states you must stay in the House of Hera, but you have duties to your wife. I suggest you see to them.” She kneels back down to her plant as I stand there dumbly. Her back is to me. Her long braid running down to her waist makes me want to stroke her hair. I only want to touch her, to talk to her. I need words of comfort only she can provide.

  Iole brushes her eyes with the back of her hand. “Go,” she commands.

  The other women in the yard stare at me. Euphemia starts hobbling toward me, rake in hand, ready to chastise me for disturbing her gravel. Ignoring them, I grip the camera so hard I can feel the handle driving into my palm. I spin on my heel, give a light tug on my horse’s reins, and stride off with him to Peacock Lane.

  Along the way, people glare at me. No one offers me a greeting. No one cheers me. Flyers that once plastered walls of buildings have been ripped, leaving only stubborn fragments with tattered words of support I no longer feel and no longer deserve.

  The moment I step inside Deianira’s door I’m greeted with the cloying smell of cooked onions. Deianira stands at the wood-fired brazier, her hair hovering dangerously close to the flame.

  “Decide to grace me with your presence, hero? Well, stew's nearly done.” She gestures with a cracked, wooden spoon to the pot in front of her. There’s no smell of meat and my only thought is that she must be cooking a stew comprised entirely of onions. “After we eat, you will bed me and we will repeat the act as many times as I need. How could you insult me like that? That comment about your cousin guarding a precious object. Do you think I enjoy being a laughingstock? Just the other day—”

  I turn and walk out the door.

  Despite the stench of Deianira’s cooking, my stomach rumbles in protest at not getting fed. I walk to the nearest tavern, but the owner brusquely says he’s closing for the day. I try another eatery a few buildings down, but each item I order just happens to be out of stock. The next place I visit, a rundown bar that’s always desperate for customers, flat out refuses to let me in. My stomach growls with a ferocious hunger. Vigile training has granted me the ability to go days without food and still be able to fight, but after the hearty food of the Herenes, I’ve grown accustomed to plentiful meals when I return from a task.

  I grudgingly accept I won’t be eating this afternoon when a vendor catches my eye and jerks his head to indicate I should come to him. I walk over, still carrying Altair’s camera. The feel of it reminds me of him. How can I be so focused on my own hunger when he’s dead? Still, my belly is empty and this vendor seems my only chance. As I near him he pretends not to see me, but behind his back he holds a bulging bag. I grab it as I go by. I shift the bag to the crook of my armpit and pull out a coin from my waist pouch. As I pass by I slip the coin onto the corner of his cart, then continue my trek to the edge of Forested Park.

  When he sees me, Frederic moos a greeting and ambles over on his stocky legs. I set the camera down on a stump and go to the red bull who moves his head up and down under my hand with a look of utter contentment on his face.

  “At least you're glad to see me.”

  Law or not, duty or not, I remain in the field using Frederic as a back rest as I eat the sack of food—roasted chestnuts and dried summer plums—offering Frederic a piece of each. I sleep through the night in the soft grass disturbed by images of dead horses, dead children, and dead friends. In the morning, I accept that I can’t hide in this field forever. I ruffle Frederic behind the ears, pick up the camera, and head back to the House of Hera wondering what manner of greeting I will receive.

  When I walk the chestnut through the Peacock Gate, Iole is the first sight that greets my eyes. Iolalus chats with her and both wear broad smiles on their faces as if they can’t stop smiling when near one another. I grip the camera tighter and the chestnut tosses his head at the sudden yank I’ve given the reins. Is this why she dismissed me so readily yesterday? Why hadn’t I seen it before? Iolalus. Everybody loves Iolalus. How could they not? He’s amiable, humorous, and above all, not a blood crimer. I nod a curt greeting to them without meeting their eyes, then take my horse to the stables.

  As I’m heading to the staircase, hoping I can avoid speaking to either Iole or her newfound love, Iolalus jogs up to me, a letter in his hand. When I see the broken wax stamped with a c
rowned peacock, my entire body takes on a heaviness as if a boulder has been dumped on my shoulders.

  “Another task?”

  “Appears so,” he replies handing the letter to me. I scan it with disbelief, then crumple it into my pouch.

  “Let’s just hope no one dies this time.”

  I turn to continue on to the stairs, to head to my room to prepare for another of Eury’s pointless errands. Before I’ve taken two steps, Iole calls to Iolalus. Her words, which I only want to be directed to me, to be kind and comforting, to say she’s sorry for what she said the day before, do nothing but ignite my blood into a blaze of jealousy.

  27

  IOLE

  “Iolalus, before you go, a moment please,” I say. Herc glares at us, then shoves the camera into Iolalus’s hands before storming off. I want to call after him, but Iolalus beats me to it. Herc fires a look back at us before slamming the stairwell door behind him.

  “I—” I start to say but give up. There are more pressing matters than explaining myself. “Eury also sent a message stating that he’s finally decided to meet with me. I would appreciate it if you were there as well.”

  “I need to prepare. If he still wants me to go.” Iolalus’s gaze shifts to the upper story of the guest wing then to the camera in his hands. “I don’t know what’s got him so angry.”

  I don’t remark on his comment. My words yesterday came at a bad time. If only I’d realized Eury had killed the horses and Altair only moments before I said what I did. But there’s little use in cursing myself for words I can’t take back.

  “He’ll let you go. And he knows what you need. I would prefer to not be alone with Eury. Maxinia is at Altair’s ensuring that his children have food to eat. If I’d been given some forewarning Eury was finally ready to meet with me, I would have had her wait—”