Fortunes of War

Gathering of the Host

Aeneas pushed his helm back, squinting against the bright sunlight. "Ah, here's Hercules and Iolaus now."

Bellerphon shaded his eyes to look toward the dusty plain below. Just coming down the road, amid the straggle of camp followers and ragged mercenaries plodding toward the army encampment, was a small war party. The leader was mounted on a white horse, his armor glinting with hints of gold in the sun. His shieldbearer and spearbearer rode behind him, followed by his charioteer driving his ornamented war chariot. Two servants followed with baggage-laden spare horses and six retainers in hoplite armor brought up the rear, jogging in formation.

Bellerphon nodded, thinking that he had picked too small a campsite. "Which one is Iolaus?"

Aeneas stared at him a moment, baffled, then looked again. Comprehending, he shook his head in annoyance, asking the gods for patience. "Not him, son. That's some jumped-up Phalagrian prince." He pointed. "Past the mounted party, those two at the side of the road, there. That's Hercules and Iolaus."

Bellerphon looked again. He had seen the smaller man but taken him for one of the mercenaries. He carried a scabbarded sword in one hand and his tangled mane of blond hair and ragged dark-colored leathers were covered with dust. A gray himation was slung over one shoulder and a bow and quiver strapped across his back. Bellerphon hadn't noticed the bigger man walking along beside him because his brown and yellow clothing made him fade into the sun-drenched haze of dust. Even now, Bellerphon's gaze almost slid past him because he carried no weapons, only some battered leather packs hung over his shoulder. Then he saw where the man's head came to on the war horse that trotted past him and suddenly realized just how tall he was. Still.... Bellerphon frowned in consternation. "That's Hercules?"

Aeneas nodded. "I'll send a runner to King Iphicles to tell him he's here. That should give the Parthians pause." He gave Bellerphon a push. "Go down and greet them, boy."

Bellerphon flicked him a suspicious glance, then started down the slope towards the road. It had occurred to him that he might be the victim of a joke, but as the third nephew of the King of Thebes and barely old enough to be acting as a general's aide, he wasn't well acquainted with barracks humor and couldn't be certain. At the bottom of the hill he waited for the mounted party to pass and crossed over to where the two men ambled along the dusty verge.

As he drew closer, the pair still looked like down-at-the-heel mercenaries. The smaller man gestured with his scabbarded sword and Bellerphon heard him say, "I'm telling you, his name was Diocles and he had a ballista right in the belly." Bellerphon realized the man wasn't that small, only an inch or so shorter than himself, but looked it from a distance because his companion was so large.

The big man shook his head. "Are you sure I was there?"

"Of course you were there." His companion threw him a look of mingled scorn and incredulity. "How can you not remember that?"

"I can not remember it because it didn't happen."

"You remember Megara, don't you?"

"Yes, I remember it exists," the big man protested, exasperated. "But that was about a chimaera and you were in Piraeus."

"I think there's something wrong with you. How can you not--" He halted, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe you weren't there."

"Thank you." The big man stopped, clapping a hand to his forehead in relief. "That's what I've been trying to get across to you since we left Marathon!"

Bellerphon cleared his throat and approached cautiously. "Hercules?"

"Yes?" The big man turned to him, pushing dusty brown hair out of his eyes. He smiled slowly and something about the amusement in his blue eyes told Bellerphon that his expression must have been closer to dubious than to the neutral countenance he had been trying for. "That would be me."

Uneasily conscious that this was no joke, Bellerphon said stiffly, "I am Bellerphon of Thebes."

Hercules nodded, shifting the packs he carried and extending a hand for the warrior's grip. "It's good to meet you, Bellerphon."

"I'm The Other Guy," his companion announced, planting his scabbarded sword in the dirt and leaning on it.

Hercules threw the man a wry glance and added, "This is Iolaus."

Bellerphon nodded gravely and decided to stick to his prepared speech. "I greet you on behalf of King Cimon. He has had a tent prepared for you. I--" He hesitated, realizing the prepared speech might not fit the situation. "You have a party of retainers following?" he asked hopefully.

Hercules lifted a brow and exchanged a look with Iolaus that seemed to hold suppressed hilarity. "Ah...that would be me," Iolaus told Bellerphon.

Despite the evidence of his eyes, Bellerphon couldn't believe the greatest hero in Greece travelled to war in this state. He had to ask, "Shieldbearers or a charioteer?"

"That would also be me," Iolaus assured him.

"We travel light," Hercules said, taking pity on Bellerphon and clapping a hand on his shoulder to gently move him along down the road.

Bellerphon led them up the slope into the outskirts of the camp. It was spread across the low plateau at the bend of the river, a vast sea of tents, horse pickets and lines of gleaming war chariots. A squad of hoplites jogged by in formation. As they reached the area given over to the noble warriors and their retinues, Iolaus studied the banners attached to sarrisae driven into the ground outside some of the tents. "Is Perseus here?" he demanded suddenly.

Bellerphon glanced up and was startled to see both men regarding him with a fixed intensity that was somewhat daunting. "No, we were told he was occupied in Lebadea with a--"

"That's all right," Hercules interrupted. He added, sounding a little chagrinned, "I'd rather not know what he's doing."

Suddenly recalling some rumors that had floated around last year, Bellerphon decided to change the subject. "Agamemnon arrived yesterday."

"Oh." Hercules absorbed this information with a thoughtful expression. "We haven't seen him in...years."

"Yeah. I hate to see a streak of luck broken-- Ow!" Iolaus clutched his chest, glaring at Hercules, who had apparently tried to elbow his friend in the ribs and had forgotten the difference in their respective heights. "Will you watch it? You got me right in the nipple."

He spoke loud enough to draw the startled attention of the group of Illyrian warriors attached to Prince Cleuthis who were standing outside their tent. Bellerphon said hastily, "And Achilles has been here for several days, meeting with King Iphicles."

Hercules made a noncommittal noise but his enigmatic glance at Iolaus seemed to hold a wealth of meaning. Bellerphon found himself hoping Iolaus' reply would be more forthcoming, but the smaller man only nodded grimly, still rubbing his injured area.

"This is your tent," Bellerphon said, moving to throw back the flap.

The two men ducked inside and Bellerphon followed them, saying, "I hope this is sufficient to your needs." The tent had been meant for a warrior with a retinue and was nearly twenty paces across. He watched their expressions, suddenly worried about his choice. With the other important warriors arriving for this battle it had been vital to make sure the quarters provided were grand enough, but with these two he was suddenly worried that they would think it too grand.

If Hercules did, he was too polite to intimate it. "This will be fine," he assured him, dumping their packs next to the large firepit.

Iolaus whistled softly in agreement, looking up at the martial figures painted on the hangings that looped back from the smokehole. "It's bigger than some of the houses I've lived in."

Bellerphon nodded. "I will leave you now." He hesitated and then to his horror found himself blurting out, "I wanted to ask--"

Iolaus turned to eye him, one brow lifted. "Yeah?"

"Have you really been--"

"Dead? Four times."

"Oh," Bellerphon managed, and fled the tent.

Iolaus threw a lofty look at Hercules. "You owe me five dinars."

Pulling the cooking pot out of his pack, Hercules rolled his eyes in annoyance. "I know, I know."

Strategy

Later that evening, Bellerphon stopped outside the tent, clearing his throat politely.

"Come in," Hercules called from inside.

Bellerphon lifted the flap and stepped in. The tent looked a little more lived in, though its grand proportions and decorative hangings seemed to emphasize the meagerness of the collection of belongings displayed. Iolaus' sword, bow and quiver leaned against one wall and a battered cooking pot and a knife lay by the hearth, where a small fire had been kindled. Bellerphon resolved to send over some things to make the large space more comfortable. Iolaus was crouched on the ground, digging through his pack, saying, "Dammit, will you stop that? You know it drives me crazy."

"I'm just folding your blanket." Standing on the far side of the firepit, Hercules calmly continued to do just that. "Look, all I'm saying is, don't start anything with Agamemnon."

Iolaus shoved the pack aside and snorted. "I never start anything. Besides, you're the one that dangled him off that cliff when he started talking about trying to sacrifice his own daughter."

Bellerphon stared, then decided Iolaus must be exaggerating. He cleared his throat again. "I am here to conduct you to King-General Cimon's dinner." He was glad to see both men had cleaned off the trail dust, though they still wore the same battered leathers.

"Right." Hercules dropped the blanket onto a pile of shabby bedding, of which Iolaus' gray himation apparently formed an important part. His brows knit, looking idly around the tent as if suspecting he had forgotten something, he asked, "Will Achilles be there?"

Bellerphon saw Iolaus watching the demigod thoughtfully as he replied, "No, he is with King Iphicles and Jason of the Argonauts. They are meeting with the Parthian King's representative."

Hercules nodded to himself. "Good," he said quietly.

Bellerphon led the two heroes toward the Theban King's compound. The bright day was turning into a cool evening and the camp was noisy in the gathering dusk, with men-at-arms, archers, servants and retainers leading horses, carrying messages, or gathering around firepits and discussing the upcoming battle. They kept encountering people that Hercules and Iolaus knew and having to stop while greetings were exchanged. Bellerphon would have worried about being late, but he supposed that if you were the Son of Zeus and the strongest man in the world you could arrive at dinner whenever you pleased, whether you were summoned by a king or not.

"Damn, everybody's here," Iolaus said as they resumed their progress again after greeting another acquaintance. "It's like a Trojan War reunion."

"Great," Hercules muttered, oddly not sounding enthusiastic about the prospect.

Bellerphon hesitated, then ventured cautiously, "I have never been in a battle before." This was not something he would have admitted readily to any of the other heroes or princes he had met this week, but then he sensed these two men were different.

Hercules glanced down at him, smiling faintly. "I'm not so sure there's going to be a battle."

Bellerphon gazed up at him in surprise. "There's not?"

"All this is just posturing," Iolaus told him, shrugging. "The Parthians aren't going to take on Corinth and Thebes with most of the heroes in Greece willing to fight for them."

Hercules nodded agreement. "Iphicles is a good negotiator."

"Oh." Bellerphon frowned, not certain if he was relieved or disappointed.

They reached the stand of banners that marked the beginning of the King of Thebes' encampment and Hercules stopped Iolaus with a hand on his shoulder. As if continuing an interrupted conversation, he said, "Just show some restraint, that's all I'm asking."

Iolaus let out his breath, folding his arms, and confronted Hercules with a challenging air. "Why should I?"

Hercules pressed his lips together and grimly eyed him for a long moment. Bellerphon found himself holding his breath at this battle of wills. Iolaus lifted his chin, showing no sign of giving in. Then Hercules said, "We could go to Thrace."

Iolaus' eyes narrowed. This had obviously been a telling blow. "Thrace?"

Hercules lifted his brows. "Uh huh."

Iolaus regarded him suspiciously. "When?"

"As soon as this is over."

"How long?"

"A week."

"A month," Iolaus countered immediately.

"Two weeks." Hercules added enticingly, "Two weeks. Lydia. I'll go visit Theseus."

There's a city in Thrace named Lydia? Bellerphon wondered but Iolaus frowned. "I want to visit Theseus too."

"All right, two weeks with Lydia, then we'll go visit Theseus. Is it a deal?"

"Okay." Iolaus thought it over. He cocked a brow at Hercules. "What did I agree to?"

"Just go easy on Agamemnon. Don't bring up Clytemnestra."

"He never understood her," Iolaus protested, gesturing earnestly. "A strong woman like her has needs that--"

"Like that, don't say things like that," Hercules interrupted hurriedly.

Agamemnon's wife Clytemnestra, Bellerphon thought, his bewilderment giving way to appalled understanding. He joined Hercules in watching Iolaus with wary hope.

Iolaus looked from one to the other, then relented with a grin. "Okay."

"Right." Hercules turned briskly to a greatly relieved Bellerphon. "Let's go, shall we?"

***

The King of Thebes had been encamped here almost as long as the King of Corinth and had several large tents for the use of the army, as places to assemble and hold councils with the various leaders of the different war bands. One of these had now been fitted up as a formal banquet hall, with richly painted hangings, carved tables and dining couches softened with cushions.

The couches were arranged in a square and Bellerphon had meant to take a place outside their ranks, at the chairs and trestle tables meant for lesser warriors and retainers, but there was apparently a need to provide neutral buffer zones between some of the heroes and warriors present. Aeneas was already providing a barrier between the couch shared by Menelaus and his spearbearer and that of the Queen of the Amazon tribe who had come to fight for Corinth. As the highest ranking Theban prince here, Bellerphon found himself hastily installed on a couch between the one occupied by Hercules and Iolaus and the one taken by Agamemnon and his Chief Counsellor.

The first part of the dinner went well, perhaps because most of the men and women had travelled through the day and the food and wine the King had provided were excellent. But as the platters were cleared and the wine began to flow more freely, the talk turned to the coming war.

"The Parthians have asked for this for a long time," Menelaus said darkly, gazing angrily into his wine cup. "We will slaughter the lot of them and sow their fields with salt."

There were some shouts of assent, dismayed exclamations, and a few noncommittal murmurs from the company. Bellerphon saw the Amazon Queen roll her eyes and he was fairly certain the quiet derisive snort he heard came from Hercules. Iolaus was fortunately in the middle of eating a pomegranate and couldn't reply, though he tried to and in consequence had to be pounded on the back by Hercules.

"In truth, I think there will be no war," King Cimon said slowly, thoughtfully eyeing Menelaus. "Iphicles has the measure of the Parthians. Now that they see the allies that Corinth can claim, they won't hurry to make trouble."

It interested Bellerphon that King Cimon held the same opinion as Hercules. But Agamemnon leaned forward to say, "Iphicles is missing his chance if he doesn't press his advantage. Ecbatana would fall easily to a concerted assault."

There was a skeptical snort from Philoctetes, another Trojan war veteran. "Ecbatana has walls high enough to last any siege. You're mad if you take it on for no other reason than that the Parthian King is an ass."

"Or because he has land you want," Hercules added in a deceptively mild conversational tone.

Agamemnon hesitated, wine cup half-lifted to his lips, but evidently decided not to openly dispute with the demigod. Bellerphon suddenly believed the dangling-from-the-cliff story. Instead Agamemnon turned a dark glare on Philoctetes. "There are ways to knock down walls."

Iolaus leaned back, his blond mane supported comfortably on Hercules' shoulder, one boot propped on the brocaded cushions, and said mock-earnestly, "We could use a big wooden horse." At Agamemnon's angry glower he demanded, "What? It worked before."

Bellerphon saw a man in Corinthian livery enter the tent, distracting him from the growing argument. He watched the man make his way through the other diners to kneel at the King's side and hand him a folded parchment.

King Cimon read the note, his brows knit. He glanced up, caught Bellerphon's eye, and motioned him over. Bellerphon got hastily to his feet and crossed behind the couches to reach the King's side. In a moment he was on his way back, returning hastily to crouch beside the couch next to his own. "Hercules, a message," he said, keeping his voice low. He could see Agamemnon glaring speculatively at him and he was certain the Spartan Prince behind him on the next couch was straining to hear.

"Yes?" Hercules glanced up and Iolaus leaned around him inquiringly.

Bellerphon spoke quietly, "Lord Jason has sent to tell you that the council is ended and that Achilles is coming here."

The two men exchanged a long look, their expressions unreadable. Whatever this feud was, Bellerphon knew it was no light matter, that Agamemnon's enmity was nothing beside it. Then Iolaus nodded as if the silent moment had been a question asked and answered. He rolled off the couch and stood, making his way past the other diners and leaving through the back of the tent.

Negotiation

Iolaus ducked under the flap and stopped, finding what he had thought was their billet now completely furnished and occupied by three strangers. "Sorry, wrong tent." Thinking must have taken a wrong turn at the Illryians and relieved that he was alone and didn't have to endure any commentary on how the greatest hunter in Greece couldn't find his own campsite, he started to withdraw.

"No, my lord Iolaus, this is your tent," one of the men called, hastily getting to his feet.

"My who?" Iolaus asked cautiously, ducking back in.

"Prince Bellerphon sent these things so you and Lord Hercules would be more comfortable."

Managing not to say "Lord who?" Iolaus stepped further into the tent. Back against one wall was a low mound of sheepskins and brightly patterned pillows, and scattered throughout the rest of the large space was a couple of bronze braziers for warmth, some cushions and fur rugs strewn around, and a few carved camp stools. There was a good fire in the central hearth now and an amphora and several cups standing back away from the heat. "Yeah, I think we'll be pretty comfortable," he said, bemused.

The three young men were obviously palace servants, probably brought to wait on the Theban King and his retinue, leaving the younger warriors and shieldbearers free to perform aide-de-camp duties. Iolaus shooed them off as quickly as possible, knowing Hercules would feel obligated to be polite to them even though he would probably come back from the dinner in no mood to deal with anybody. He sat by the fire and had a another cup of the dark sweet wine, thinking about Troy and death and how fate changed people. Tiring of that, he shook his head at himself, threw the dregs in the fire, and stood and stretched. Then he shed his clothes and sprawled gratefully under a clean wool blanket on the sheepskin bed.

The fire was just a heap of coals when Hercules' footsteps outside woke him. Most of the tent was in darkness and it must be deep into the night; the other noises in the camp had long since died down. Still mostly asleep, Iolaus rolled onto his back and scratched his chest. Hercules entered and absently prowled around, distracted and probably trying to figure out in the bad light if he was in the right place. "Bellerphon sent us a bunch of stuff," Iolaus said around a yawn, not too coherently.

Hercules grunted an acknowledgement and Iolaus lay there, trying to wake up, listening to the rustling as the demigod shucked his clothes. Hercules climbed into the bed beside him and pulled back the blanket. "So what happened when--" Iolaus started to ask, but the rest of the question was muffled and incomprehensible as Hercules' fingers laced through his hair, bringing his head up so the demigod could find his mouth for a deep rough kiss. Iolaus shifted to accommodate the knee that pushed between his thighs, all thoughts of old enemies and old friends scattering into warmth and sweat and hard muscle.

Later, still absently nuzzling the back of Iolaus' neck, Hercules asked, "What were you saying?"

Sprawled comfortably on his stomach, a heavy demigod draped half atop him keeping him warm despite the cool night air, Iolaus thought back, trying to recall his remarks of the past interval. Get off my hair? he wondered vaguely. And something like sorry I bit your shoulder but you know that always happens when you do that with your hand there. That was the last thing he remembered saying. Then it clicked. Oh, right. "What happened when Achilles got to the dinner?"

Hercules sighed heavily in his ear, ruffling his sweat-dampened hair. "Nothing."

Iolaus considered that unsatisfactory answer. "Was it easier, me not being there?"

"It was hard to tell."

Apparently idly, Hercules began to move the hand that was trapped under Iolaus, making him take a deep breath and rub his cheek against the sheepskin, thinking that maybe it wasn't time to call it a night yet after all. But he resisted temptation and after a moment he managed to focus enough to say, "This is really bothering you, isn't it?"

"No, it feels good," Hercules said, deadpan, and nipped him in the ear.

Iolaus elbowed him in the breastbone, making Hercules grunt. "Funny. Funny demigod. I meant Achilles."

For a long moment he thought Hercules would avoid the issue. "Is it obvious?"

"Just to me," Iolaus admitted. It was starting to remind him of Troy, except his back wasn't twenty years old anymore. Not that he was complaining.

"I tried to talk to him," Hercules said then, a different tone in his voice. "To explain."

Swearing, Iolaus decided he couldn't have this conversation when most of his brain was in the part of his anatomy Hercules was absently cupping with one big warm hand. He elbowed and disentangled and heaved a reluctant Hercules off him, sitting up and twisting around to face him. "To explain what?" he demanded, exasperated. "What's there to explain?"

Hercules sat up too, propping himself up on one arm, the low glow of the coals catching red highlights in his hair. "That the reason you and I are both still here is mostly luck and temporary insanity. That it has less to do with the fact that Zeus is my father than it does with my inability to accept...death."

Iolaus pulled over a couple of pillows to lean back on. He knew how much it had cost Hercules to confront Achilles on this point, how reluctant the demigod had been to face that angry guilt he could do nothing to assuage. "What did he say?"

Hercules shifted, his mouth pressed into a thin line. "He told me to go back and bed my pet mortal, and leave him alone."

So you did, Iolaus thought, one brow lifted. And a good time was had by us. Screw you, Achilles. Iolaus had been killed four times, but it had never been Hercules' fault. Though by twists of bizarre demigod logic, Hercules always managed to blame himself for it anyway.

Patroclus' death had been Achilles' fault. At Troy, Achilles had gotten insulted over some comment of Agamemnon's and retired from the battle, but Patroclus had borrowed his armor and gone back to the fighting to try to bolster the sagging morale of the troops. And the Trojan Prince Hector, thinking he was fighting an invulnerable demigod and not a mortal warrior, had killed the young man. Iolaus said nothing, waiting for Hercules to let the rest of it out.

After a moment of fuming silence, the demigod gestured in frustration. "His grief I can understand, but he doesn't seem to believe that. Doesn't he think I'd bring back Deineira and my children if I could? There's not a day goes by when I don't think of them. We've all been through it, you, Jason, Iphicles. There's not many men or women warriors in this camp our age who haven't lost someone they love. I've fought for everything I have, I've fought harder than I thought possible. I've been able to hold onto you and he can't stand it, he begrudges me that, and--" Hercules shook his head.

"It pisses you off," Iolaus finished.

"Dammit, yes!" Hercules slapped his hand on the bed with a muted thump. "I understand, I sympathize, but--"

"But you can't help him."

Hercules let out his breath, pushing a hand through his hair. "He used to be a friend."

Iolaus just nodded. "Yeah. Used to be is right."

Hercules eyed him and Iolaus said softly, "It's his problem. If he begrudges you happiness, then he's not your friend."

The demigod looked away and they sat there in silence for a time. A mule brayed somewhere and Iolaus heard voices rise and fall as late arrivals found their way along the row of tents.

Hercules shook his head finally, more at the vagaries of the world than in denial of anything Iolaus had said, and reached for the discarded blanket.

Dispersal

Though his duties were officially over with the withdrawal of the Parthian forces, Bellerphon made one last stop at Hercules' tent. He found the two heroes ready to leave, Iolaus with his bow and quiver already slung over his shoulder and Hercules kicking dirt over the ashes of the fire. Iolaus was saying, "And that has absolutely nothing to do with why I like Euripides better than Sophocles and you know it. That play stunk."

"Oh, right." Hercules snorted skeptically. "Hello, Bellerphon."

"I'm glad you were right, that there was no war," Bellerphon ventured, following the two men outside. All around them, tents were coming down, pack horses were being loaded, chariots harnessed. "I wanted a chance to prove myself in battle, but...."

"But it's better to wait for a battle in a good cause," Hercules said, giving him a smile.

"One that's worth fighting," Iolaus agreed, propping his sword on his shoulder. "Anyway, Thrace?" he finished brightly.

"Right, Thrace." Grinning, Hercules clapped a hand on Iolaus' shoulder.

Bellerphon gave in to curiosity. "What's in Thrace?" As far as he knew it was a howling wilderness, with only a few scattered towns and villages.

"The scenery is incredible," Iolaus said, looking off into the distance with a reminiscent smile. "Heavy forests, clear rivers, taut, rounded bosoms-- I mean, mountains, and deep warm valleys--"

Hercules snorted in amusement. "And old friends," he finished.

Bellerphon walked with them to the edge of the camp and said his goodbyes there. But he stayed to watch as the two men went down the road and across the plain at an easy ground-eating run.

end

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