The mid day sun beat hazily down upon the city of Corinth, but high above the dusty streets and along the ramparts of the castle, the air was crystal clear. Over the treetops and beyond the little seaport, the sun sparkled upon the rolling, azure waters of the gulf, and boats like painted toys bobbed atop the waves, while the sea birds wheeled overhead, spilling from the updrafts to dive toward shore in search of food.

Iphicles often lingered here in leisure moments, enjoying the view and listening to the drowsy hum of the marketplace below; feeling proud and honored to be the king of such a prosperous, peaceful and picturesque city. And knowing that it was his own hard work and diplomacy, as well as that of his predecessors, that had made it so in a land where war was the norm rather than the exception.

Other than a few minor skirmishes, a wannabe warlord here, or an overly ambitious king there who had ventured into territory protected by Corinth, it had been a long time since it had been necessary to order the well-trained and well-equipped Corinthian army into battle. But now that respite might well be at an end if the King of Corinth could not pour oil upon some very troubled waters.

If only he knew how the whole thing had gotten started.

"They're coming." Iolaus was leaning casually against the balustrade, his arms folded in front of him, facing the highway to the south. Iphicles looked down the road as far as he could see, but could make out nothing unusual among the travelers who always crowded the road on market day, but he trusted the hunter's unerring eye.

"There," Hercules said helpfully. He pointed toward a cluster of men on horseback that, to Iphicles from that distance, looked much the same as all the other clusters of men on horseback. "Spartan soldiers."

Iphicles sighed irritably. From any other kingdom, delegates sent on diplomatic missions would be�well�diplomats, arriving in official coaches, with colorguards and horses resplendent with the symbols of the royal houses they represented. But the Spartans sent soldiers, the better to display their military tradition, even on a mission to negotiate the peaceful settlement of a dispute. At least, Iphicles hoped that was what would be happening in Corinth that day.

Now he could now see the sun glinting off the polished surfaces of their shields and helms. Faces grim, eyes straight ahead, they rode at a steady pace astride their armored warhorses imperiling the pedestrians who either must step aside to let them pass or risk being trampled. He could see the peace flag affixed to the harness of the lead horse. It hung limply to one side as if it were an afterthought.

Not a good omen. Iphicles turned to reenter the castle. "Come on," he said to his companions. "Let's find my damned crown and get this over with." He dreaded the coming interview; one wrong word at the wrong time and Corinth could be plunged into a useless, senseless war that really had nothing to do with her personally, but had everything to do with the fact that she controlled the isthmus and it was her duty to protect it. No matter what the cost.

They waited patiently in the reception hall while the delegates wove their way through the layers of protocol necessary before being presented to the king. Iphicles, deep in dismal thought, leaned against the arm of his throne, head propped in one hand, with Iolaus and Hercules standing attentively on either side of him. The Captain of the Guard had stationed his elite soldiers at strategic points about the room, although they hardly expected the Spartans had come to open hostilities on the spot; still they looked really good, very formidable, ready for anything that might come. Iph's crown slipped a bit to one side of his bent head and Iolaus reached out to tweak it back into its proper place, flashing the king a saucy grin. Momentarily pulled out of his funk, Iph grinned back; Iolaus always knew how to lighten the moment.

An eager young page skipped into the room, bowed low before his king and solemnly announced the arrival of the Spartan delegation. No sooner were the words out of his mouth when a heavy-set, angry-looking man in full general's regalia strode into the room followed by five soldiers of lesser degree. He shoved the unoffending page to one side and accorded the sovereign of Corinth a bow so minimal that no bow at all would have been less insulting.

"Is this the way you treat all visitors to your city, King Iphicles?" he snarled, "or is this the welcome you reserve only for those you consider your inferiors."

Iphicles had no clue as to the problem, but that information was hardly likely to soothe the general, so he decided a shot in the dark combined with a bit of waffling was in order. "My dear sir, I assure you, there was no offense intended. Surely you were greeted with the same courtesy and deference here that you would have been given in any kingdom in Greece." This wasn't absolutely safe territory since the Spartans weren't particularly popular in most kingdoms in Greece, but it would probably pass muster. Considering their warlike reputations and hot tempers, there were very few rulers who would intentionally offend them with an unseemly reception.

"Nevertheless, my men and I were kept waiting in the anteroom for an unreasonably long period of time."

Iphicles, who had been informed when his visitors had entered the palace and was well aware of exactly how long they had had to wait, recognized this for a gross exaggeration. Evidently the general was going out of his way to pick a quarrel, and Iphicles had no intention of being goaded into losing his temper.

He bowed lightly to the general, a gesture of respect from a king to an honored warrior and said with perfect outward sincerity. "I do apologize, General, for any inconvenience you may have experienced at the hands of my staff. Obviously, a review of the rules of protocol are in order." Nice groveling, Iph. He was acutely aware of the studied deadpan faces of his brother and friend. Great. He'd be hearing about this for a long time.

The General returned the bow with no discernible softening of his hard features. "Apology accepted, King Iphicles. Now, to business. I am General Francus. I have been sent by my lord to discuss the matter upon which he wrote you two weeks ago. Your reply was most unsatisfactory."

"I'm sorry for that," Iphicles answered smoothly. "However, it was the only reply possible and it shall stand."

The general's face darkened. "Even if that means war between Corinth and Sparta?"

"Is it necessary for it to come to that? After all, your quarrel is with Athens, you have none with us."

"The insult from Athens must not go unanswered. You have our king's word that if you allow us to cross the isthmus unchallenged, Corinth will be considered to be neutral in this affair."

'Yeah,' thought Iphicles, 'and your king won't have to face the combined forces of Athens and Corinth.' Aloud, he said. "Surely this�er�misunderstanding could be settled without bloodshed?" Whatever it was. The Spartan king's missive had been long on threats, but short on details.

General Francus was looking at him as if he had lost his mind. 'Right,' Iphicles thought, 'the man's never even 'heard' of settling a quarrel peacefully.

The exchange went on for some time, and although Hercules was listening to every word, his attention had been caught by a young man standing at the rear of the delegation. An officer, surely, perhaps a junior leftenant; Hercules wasn't up on Spartan military insignia.

But it wasn't the man's rank that interested him, it was the fact that the man had been shooting surreptitious glances toward Iolaus since the soldiers had entered the room. But even more puzzling was that on closer examination, the officer bore some resemblance to the hunter. Although the hair that tumbled and curled about his face was dark, his eyes were as blue as the summer sky, and his mouth, set now in sober lines, looked as if it would easily curl into a dazzling smile. And there was something about the way he stood. He was somewhat taller than Iolaus and only a bit shorter than Hercules himself, but he carried himself with the same wary grace as Iolaus did, the same insouciant confidence.

Iolaus seemed unaware of the scrutiny, although he must have noticed the man. As was his habit, he was keeping a watchful eye on all of the delegates, and Hercules could detect nothing in his manner to indicate that any were known to him.

"That is your final answer?" General Francus was saying, lifting his chin stubbornly. His face had gone blank, inscrutable, and it was impossible to tell if he were angry at this upstart, low-born king who had the temerity to stand against the will of Sparta, or if he were looking forward to teaching these obstinate Corinthians a lesson at the tips of the Spartan swords.

"I'm afraid so, General Francus." Iphicles replied, "but I beg the liberty of sending my own emissaries to your king to see if we cannot perhaps work out our differences peacefully."

General Francus bowed slightly. "As you wish. I shall personally escort them. Now, if I may have your leave to retire, sir. We have other business to attend to, and we leave tomorrow at noon."

"Certainly, General. My servants will see you to your quarters. We shall meet again at dinner." Iphicles kept his voice cool and face impassive, but inside he was seething. The Spartans must be mad. They would have to know that not only would they be facing Athens and Corinth, but Marathon, Thebes and troops from many other cities whose vested interests were to keep an armed Spartan force from crossing the isthmus. But an assured defeat had never kept those proud warriors from launching an attack if they felt their honor had been compromised. And lives would be ruined, and a lot of people would die for no good reason.

After the door had closed behind the delegates, Iphicles sighed and rose from the throne. He really hated that overly ornate and hard as a rock monstrosity, and only sat in it when meeting with visiting dignitaries. He always felt more useful decisions got made sitting comfortably around the table in his private salon sharing a flagon or two of ale to loosen thoughts and keep the dialogue flowing.

He headed there now with Hercules and Iolaus following, and after ordering a servant to bring ale, lots of it, he leaned back in his chair, tossed his crown on the table and watched as it rolled away to land with a clunk under Iolaus' nose, before regarding the two heroes tiredly. "So, what do you think?"

"I think things aren't looking too good." Hercules answered soberly.

"That's an understatement." A manservant set the ale along with three goblets before him, but Iphicles waved him away before he could pour, saying that he would do it himself. "I have only unsubstantiated rumors as to what happened between Athens and Sparta," he went on after the servant had left. "And without solid information I have no way of smoothing things over. If that would be possible in any event. " He sighed. "I have no right to ask, but would you and Iolaus�?"

Hercules smiled, exchanging looks with Iolaus who, he knew, had been chafing impatiently during the long dull days at the palace while the diplomatic games were being played out, and was longing to be on the road again. "Be your emissaries to Sparta? Gladly and you have every right to ask." He regarded his brother sympathetically. Iphicles looked exhausted. "But first, you'd better fill us in on the 'unsubstantiated rumors'."

Iphicles sighed. "All I know for sure is that the king of Sparta proposed a marriage between one of his younger daughters and the son of a wealthy Athenian merchant. A comedown for a princess, perhaps, but a wealthy husband is not to be sneezed at. A visit was arranged and the princess and her attendants were sent to Athens; they spent a night here on the way."

"And the princess?" Iolaus chimed in. "Was she pretty?"

Iphicles laughed. Iolaus had his own set of priorities. "No, she wasn't. Decidedly unpretty, as a matter of fact. And a spoiled brat to boot. She gave my servants a bad time; a chambermaid was heard to mutter something about strangling the little bitch with her own silk sheets. But," he added, "a princess is a princess. A merchant's son, no matter how wealthy, could hardly expect to do better."

"Ah," Iolaus said, sagely, "and the visit to Athens, what do you know about that?"

"Only that it was short. The princess' party passed Corinth a few days later going south. They did not stop."

"And the marriage?"

"I've heard nothing more about it and surely I would have been invited to the nuptials."

"Ah ha. That explains everything." Iolaus went on breezily. "Merchant's son gets a good look at his bride-to-be, screams, faints or perhaps goes instantly insane�"

"Iolaus." Hercules said patiently.

"Or maybe he runs off to a monastery�"

"Iolaus."

"Or throws himself into the sea."

"Iolaus!"

"What?"

Hercules shook his head, chuckling. "Those are all very interesting theories, Iolaus, but we need to know exactly what did happen. It may have been that the merchant's son behaved badly toward the princess and an apology may be in order. Along with reparations."

"If by 'reparations' you mean money, you could be on to something. The Spartan king likes money, why else would he throw his daughter at a lowly merchant?"

"Exactly."

"I don't know," Iphicles said slowly. "In their own way, the Athenians can be as stubborn as the Spartans. But still, if the insult, if insult it was, came from the merchant class and not one of the noble houses, pressure might be brought to bear from the king to apologize. And yeah," he added dryly, "money won't hurt."

"So you've never seen that man before?" Hercules asked. They were in their customary chamber, a large airy room that overlooked the gardens, changing into clean shirts before dinner.

"Uh - uh."

"He looked enough like you to be a cousin or something."

"Hmmm. He must have been very handsome then. But I don't have any cousins that I don't know about. At least, I don't think I have any cousins I don't know about, but if I knew about them, then they wouldn't be cousins I didn't know about, would they?"

"I guess." Hercules answered, grinning, after taking a moment to sort it all out. "But he certainly had his eye on you." Not that that was unusual, Iolaus' blonde good looks garnered him a lot of attention from both women and men.

"Yeah, Hercules, well, what can I say," the hunter snickered. "When you got it, flaunt it."

Whatever retort Hercules was planning never got past his lips; he was interrupted by a loud rapping at the door, and opened it to find the young man under discussion standing before him. Gone was the soldier's stiff demeanor, a smile lit up his face and his blue eyes danced with pleasure. Eyes that slid past Hercules and rested on Iolaus who had paused in the act of shaking the wrinkles out of his best shirt, and was looking toward the door.

"Iolaus!' he cried, and his voice was a booming baritone, " we meet at last." He walked straight across the floor and gathered up the hunter in a big bear hug.

"Urp," was the only sound Iolaus could make at first; then he squirmed out of the man's grasp and said, "Do I know you? And how do you know my name?" General Francus hadn't been interested in introductions

"I am Tomas." And when Iolaus continued to look at him blankly, he repeated, "Tomas." Then he raised his eyebrows and sighed. "I see. Our father never mentioned me. He did, however, tell my mother and I all about you." There was something about the manner in which he said this that made Hercules suspect that whatever Tomas' father had told him, it hadn't been very flattering.

But Iolaus didn't seem to notice; he was staring at Tomas, stunned. "Our�our father. You mean�"

Tomas laughed "Skouros, yes. Our father."

"But�but�"

"You really don't know? Did you never suspect that father had another family?" Tomas asked, "He spent much of his time with us before he died. When he wasn't on a campaign. So I guess, he couldn't have spent much time with you." Again there was that odd infliction in his voice that set Hercules' teeth on edge.

Iolaus was staring at the stranger struggling to assimilate the knowledge of this unexpected half-brother. "But how did you recognize me?"

"This," Tomas grinned, reaching out to seize Iolaus' amulet and caressing its cool silkiness lovingly. "I never thought to see it again."

"Father's amulet?"

"Yes. It should have been mine." Tomas sounded a bit sulky and Hercules wouldn't have been surprised to see his lower lip turn out in a pout. "It was brought to our house after his death, but mother insisted that it should be sent to you as the elder son." The amulet had arrived at the Academy by courier and Iolaus had always assumed his mother had sent it. But he had never asked, nor had she ever expressed any interest in the fact that it was in his possession. Skouros was a closed subject between them.

Tomas recovered himself quickly and the radiant smile was back on his face again. "I have been told that you and your friend," Tomas nodded his head toward the son of Zeus dismissively, "are to be traveling with us as Corinth's emissaries to my king, and on behalf of my wife and mother, I invite you both to stop at my home during your stay." He laughed lightly, "I promise you will find it far more comfortable than the castle."

"I�I...I'm not sure." Iolaus looked at Hercules questioningly. An odd thing for him to do. Usually Iolaus would leap at the chance to stay at a private home with presumably plenty of good food and soft beds, and Hercules could come along or not as he pleased.

But Iolaus still looked as if he had been clubbed and wasn't sure how to handle this new situation. Well, demigod to the rescue; what are best friends for. He smiled at Tomas. "Sounds like a plan, huh, Iolaus?"

"Yeah," Iolaus answered absently, not taking his eyes off his new brother, "a plan."

"Good!" Tomas said heartily. "It's settled. My mother, especially, has been wanting to meet you. I'll leave you now; we'll talk more at dinner. Our journey will be a wonderful opportunity for us to get better acquainted. Brother!" He slapped Iolaus on the shoulder, nodded curtly at Hercules and went out, leaving the demigod to shut the door behind him.

"Well!" When they were alone again, Iolaus sat down heavily on the bed. "That was�unexpected."

"It's not every day you acquire a new brother." Hercules said lightly.

"I still can't believe it. My father and�some�some�woman�I mean, I understand�he was away from home for months at a time and he was no�I mean�there were women, and he�but this sounds like a mistress, like he had another home and another family, and�and�"

"Iolaus," Hercules said quietly. "It's not unusual. Many soldiers are unfaithful to their wives and many have second families."

"Yeah, but�" He fell quiet for a long time and Hercules sat down beside him waiting patiently for him to speak. "I wonder if my mother knew."

"She probably did. Women seem to have an instinct for things like that."

"Yeah, well, it's not something that I can just go and, like, ask her, is it?" He sighed. "Do you think it's a good idea for us to stay with Tomas and his family? And his mother? Gods, why would she be wanting to meet me?"

Hercules smiled fondly at his friend. He didn't much like Tomas, but he didn't think the man was contemplating doing any harm to Iolaus. "Too many questions, Iolaus. But the answers may all be in Sparta. Yeah, I think we should take Tomas up on his invitation."

The next morning, Hercules woke at dawn to Iolaus' empty bed. Dressing quickly, he went to the morning room, fully expecting to see the hunter tucking away his usual outsized breakfast, but only Iphicles was there, nibbling desultorily on a piece of toasted bread and sipping a cup of fruit juice.

"Where's Iolaus?" Hercules asked, seating himself across from his brother and helping himself to bacon, eggs, cheese and a hunk of bread.

"He and Tomas went hunting. The Spartans need supplies and won't be ready to leave until noon, so Tomas got a few hours off." He smiled. "Iolaus told me about Tomas. He seemed pretty excited."

"Yeah," Hercules said, his brow creased thoughtfully, "he was pretty shaken up last night, but I guess he's had some time to think it through." Iolaus hadn't slept well last night, and when Iolaus didn't sleep much, Hercules knew it and he didn't sleep much either.

But Iphicles caught the undercurrent of unease in his brother's voice, "It's alright, isn't it? I mean, the guy seems okay."

"Oh yeah, as far as I can tell, he's okay."

Nonetheless, Hercules hung about the castle gate until he saw the two of them coming up the road from the forest. Tomas was in the lead carrying the bows and arrows with Iolaus a few paces behind, a deer slung over his shoulders.

"Looks like you two had some luck." Hercules greeted them cheerfully.

"I had the luck," Tomas, said blithely, raising a hand in greeting. "I gave Iolaus the first shot, but he missed. Still, he's got a lot of potential as a hunter. He did a good job tracking the deer." Turning to his half-brother, he said kindly, "You might want to try shifting a little more weight to your left foot when you draw your bow. You'll find it steadies your aim." And without waiting for a reply, he turned and led the way into the castle.

Hercules fell in behind Iolaus and hissed in his ear. "You! Missed?!"

Iolaus shrugged and peered at the demigod over the deer carcass, grinning sheepishly. "What can I say? Guess I was a little nervous."

After two long days astride a horse, his least favorite mode of travel and trailing along behind Tomas, who was probably the only person he had ever met who could out talk Iolaus, Hercules still didn't much like him. In fact, he thought that another day on the road, and he might downright hate him.

Iolaus, on the other hand, seemed, despite his brother's somewhat pompous manner, to like him quite well, if not with great enthusiasm, at least with friendly appreciation. Tomas had gone out of his way to cultivate his half-brother, chatting him up and asking questions nonstop throughout the trip even well into the night, Tomas insisting that he be allowed to share their tent. The other Spartans kept to themselves so Hercules had had a quiet journey and he was feeling a little lonely.

'Grow up.' he scolded himself, watching the two brothers as their horses pulled away from his, 'you're just jealous because your buddy's got a swell new brother, and he's not paying any attention to you.' He nudged his horse to pick up the pace, but the animal already had his measure and paid no attention. Hercules sighed. Fortunately, Sparta was just over the horizon; already they were passing the outlying villages, so his ordeal was nearly over.

In Sparta, General Francus dismissed his men and personally escorted Hercules and Iolaus directly to the castle. Tomas came along intending to wait during their audience with the king and then lead them to his home, which was in another part of the city. The three of them cooled their heels for a long time in a chilly anteroom. Payback, courtesy of the general Hercules decided, for the reception the delegates had imagined they had received in Corinth.

Once before the king, Iolaus stopped two respectful paces behind Hercules and stood with his feet apart and hands clasped behind his back. Hercules frowned, annoyed, but, Iolaus, on glimpsing the haughty face of the Spartan king, knew instinctively that for the son of Zeus, who was also the brother of a king, to allow an assumed inferior the privilege of standing with him shoulder to shoulder before the throne, would diminish him in the eyes of the sovereign.

That first glimpse also told him that they were going to need all the help they could get.

Hercules looked into the eyes of the king and saw the madness lurking there. He was a broad, squat man with massive shoulders and muscles that bunched beneath his shirt. He had scabby, mottled skin; bits of food clung to the scraggly beard that hung below his chin, and from where he stood, Hercules could detect the sour odor of a body badly in need of bathing. Very unSpartan-like, but this man was new to the throne, having deposed the old king only a few months before, and would very likely be deposed in his turn when his subjects got thoroughly sick of him. In the meantime, he had the means to wreak a great deal of havoc. Hercules had a lot of sympathy for the unfortunate merchant's son who had been commandeered to be the groom of this man's daughter.

"Your Majesty," he began. "I have come to you at the request of my brother, Iphicles of Corinth, to beg you to reconsider the action you are contemplating against Athens."

"I will not." The words rasped from his throat; his beard so thick Hercules could barely see his mouth move.

"Surely, Sire, the disagreement between yourselves and the Athenians can be dealt with in a humane manner. If there is a insult to be rectified, I am certain the offending party will be willing�"

"The disagreement can be rectified over the rotting corpses of Athenian soldiers and all those who stand with her." The king growled, eyeing Hercules coldly so there would be no mistake about the threat.

Hercules took a breath and tried again. "But Your Majesty, The lives of innocent people are at stake�"

"Pah! Peasants! " the king snorted. "It's their duty to serve the crown, and there's too many of them anyway."

Iolaus stir restlessly behind him as Hercules carefully schooled his features not to show his anger at such callousness. "But Sire, surely if an apology is in order, it is your right to demand it. And if the Athenians are willing�"

"Bah, they would only see me as weak. And I am not weak!" The king leaped from his throne and paced back and forth across the dais. Behind him, Hercules heard Iolaus shift his stance and knew that the hunter's hand was edging toward the hilt of his sword. But the king was only grandstanding. "Athens must be taught a lesson it will never forget," he thundered. "We will leave her widows and orphans weeping in the ashes of their city."

Okay. Very dramatic. And loud and clear. Especially loud. This king had no need of a megaphone when addressing his people. Even so, he heard Iolaus' whispered reminder. "Reparations, Herc."

Oh yeah. "There are other solutions, Your Highness. Perhaps if the offense to Sparta could be erased by a goodwill offer from the offending party�" he let his voice trail off, stopping well short of an out and out bribe. This man seemed not in total control of his faculties, and he had no desire for them to try to fight their way out of Sparta one step ahead of the executioner.

But the king merely dropped back onto his throne, and regarded Hercules speculatively. The demigod could almost see the little wheels turning as the man processed this new idea and how it might advantage him.

"True," he said finally, pulling at his bearded chin, "an act of 'goodwill' from the�er�wealthy parents of the�um�nasty little swine might be the very thing to�er... soothe the�uh�anger of my people at the insult to their princess." Not to mention all those lovely dinars stacked in the royal treasury. And for the first time, Hercules now had a pretty clear idea of the incident that had led to this imbroglio. Inwardly, he drew a sigh of relief. It looked as if the matter would be settled without violence after all.

Tomas lived in a trim, white clay house, large but not overly so, on a quiet street in a pleasant neighborhood in a residential area of Sparta. He led his guests through the front door with obvious pride, and introduced them to his wife, Salinia, a slim, beautiful woman, who looked down her elegant nose coolly, and none too politely at her not completely respectable visitors. Not too surprising, Hercules reflected. They were still wearing their travel-stained clothing. Emissaries with important messages were not expected to tidy up before being presented to the king. His mother, Tomas explained, was due home momentarily from visiting relatives in another part of the city, and would be joining them at dinner.

He gave them a tour of the house, pointing out to Iolaus the things that had belonged to their father. His uniforms, with neatly mended tears and stained with blood and the mud of many battlefields, the decorations he had earned as a great warrior and general, and his weapons, the heavy broadsword and the massive bronze shield that Iolaus remembered from his childhood. Remembered how as a very small boy he had tried to lift them and had failed; remembered too his father and older brother's derisive laughter at his efforts. Salinia trailed behind eyeing them narrowly as if afraid these strangers might steal her silver, until they mounted the stairway to the second floor when she disappeared into her sitting room without having uttered a single word.

The guest room they would share during their stay was not large, but it was clean and tidy. Tomas apologized for the humble accommodations, but, he explained, he had a large family with three children, his mother and several servants to house. With final instructions as to how to find the bathhouse and the other room of necessity, he left them to freshen up before dinner.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Iolaus flopped on his bed testing the mattress and found it to his liking. "Wow, junior officers in the Spartan army must be well-paid."

Maybe, Hercules thought as he dropped his carry sack on his own bed and rummaged through it for his clean shirt. He rather expected there was another explanation for Tomas' obvious prosperity, but decided it would be best not to bring it up.

Dinner parties were apparently an important part of Tomas and his family's social life for the dining room with its high vaulted ceiling took up a good third of the ground floor running from the front to the back. The massive black oak table took up most of the center space and was designed to hold forty diners easily and more with a bit of crowding.

There were only five to dine that night so five places were set with Tomas at the head of the table and his family and guests seated informally on either side of him. Like everything else in that house, dinner was flawless; squab, braised, then slowly roasted in a delicate sauce and served with glazed yams and tender young greens. The bread was freshly baked and the fruit ripened to perfection. The wine was light and deliciously tart.

They had been introduced to the fifth diner, Tomas' mother Maudri, a handsome woman with graying hair, who had pronounced herself charmed to have at last met Iolaus, about whose childhood she had heard so much. That made Iolaus cringe, but Maudri's clear direct gaze held no judgment or censure, and she insisted upon claiming the seat next to him so that they might become better acquainted. Hercules, by default had been seated next to Salinia, who applied herself to her plate as if she were dining in blissful solitude, and had ample opportunity to enjoy the byplay between the two as Maudri encouraged the hunter to eat up as if he were still a child, and Iolaus, uncharacteristically intimidated by being in the presence of a woman who was once his father's mistress, but against all expectation had turned out to be a thoroughly nice person, kept peering at her shyly.

Despite Maudri exhortations, Iolaus was eating slowly and sparingly, although Hercules knew for a fact he had put nothing in his stomach since breakfast. It was as if he were consciously trying to make a good impression on his new relatives and that was so unlike the usual take-me-as-I-am-or-leave-me Iolaus, that Hercules began to worry seriously.

From the head of the table, Tomas beamed at his half-brother. "So Iolaus, do you like my home?"

The question gave Iolaus the opportunity to obliquely ask one of his own that had been plaguing him since his arrival, although his question would certainly skirt the parameters of politeness. "It's great," he said, "um�soldiering in Sparta must be more�uh�lucrative than in other parts of the country."

Hercules almost laughed out loud at the usually forthright Iolaus' attempt to be circumspect, and Tomas did laugh good-naturedly, not at all offended. "Oh, this is my mother's house. One that my father gave to her when I was born."

There was a moment of dead silence. The slightly malevolent look that made Hercules so uneasy was back in Tomas' eyes and Salinia smiled icily at her squab. Maudri, however, frowned disapprovingly at her son before throwing Iolaus a soft sympathetic smile.

"But I am sure," Tomas went on, "your own family had a home as nice or nicer than this. Considering that your mother was, after all, his legally wedded wife." The emphasis he placed on those last three words, and the look he cast in his mother's direction held more than just an edge of malice. She ignored it.

"Um�well, we had a little farm just outside of Thebes."

"A farm!" Salinia shrill voice echoed from the cavernous ceiling with her first comment of the evening. "How utterly idyllic."

No one seemed to have anything to add to this inane remark, and after throwing her daughter-in-law an exasperated look, Maudri turned to Iolaus. "And how is your dear mother, Iolaus. I have heard that she remarried."

"Uh�yeah�yes." Iolaus pulled his thoughts together with difficulty. "She married a poet. They're very happy," he added, amazed to think that Maudri seemed genuinely interested in his mother's welfare, even more so that she had taken the trouble to discover what had become of her.

"I understand you attended Cheiron's Academy, Iolaus." Tomas put in. "Skouros must have had a great deal of confidence in your potential. It's not Spartan, of course," he finished grandly, "but it is reputed to be a very fine training school."

And Skouros obviously had not shared with his second family the circumstances under which Iolaus had found himself enrolled in that Academy.

But Maudri smiled at him as if she knew how things had stood between him and his father. "You must not judge your father too harshly, Iolaus," she said quietly, so that Tomas could not hear, "we are all what our lives make us, and Skouros' life was not an easy one."

Iolaus was warmed by her kindness and gentle spirit and wondered what on earth this charming lady had seen in the rough and often crude Skouros. Perhaps he behaved differently with her than he had with his wife. That thought made Iolaus feel a little angry on his mother's behalf; she had done nothing to warrant being treated as shabbily as she had been.

As if she could read his thoughts, Maudri looked at him candidly out of her blue eyes, eyes so like Tomas' and, for that matter, his own. "And you too, I have heard, have not had an easy life, but one filled with honor and acclaim�and wonderful adventures. There are few in Greece who have not heard of the great deeds of the demigod Hercules and his friend, Iolaus." Her smile included Hercules and he smiled back. "You do honor to your father, Iolaus, even if he would not have had the wit to appreciate it."

This remark brought a frown to Tomas' face. His father had been friend, mentor and god to him and no one, not even his mother was allowed to belittle him in his presence. "Before my father died," he said loftily, returning to the previous subject, which was more to his liking, "he put aside money for me to attend the finest military school in Sparta. I graduated at the top of my class and someday I will be as great a general as he was."

There was little Iolaus could say to top this, so he decided he had had just about enough of the one-ups-man-ship game his half-brother was playing. "Well," he drawled, scratching the back of his neck. "I graduated pretty close to the bottom of mine. Just ask Herc how many nights he sat up trying to pound math into my head. But I was pretty good on the training field. Must have been my small size. Nobody could catch me."

Relieved, Hercules smothered a laugh: Iolaus was back in form. Maudri grinned down at her plate and Tomas looked a little taken aback, but Salinia seemed to have lost the thread of the conversation entirely...if she had been following it at all. She picked impassively at her food. And Iolaus, he suddenly found his lost appetite, and dug happily into a huge second helping of the squab.

But later that evening, after they had said their goodnights and retired to their room, Iolaus turned to his friend, his face troubled and angry. "I can't believe it, Herc. I just don't believe it. My mother, my sisters and I, we lived on that wretched farm, scrounging for every scrap of food we put in our mouths, while waiting for my father to bring home a few dinars so we� And all the time he� and them�." His voice faltered as he paced the floor, hands pulling at his curls. "I never thought, I mean, I was a kid; I knew my father was a general, but it never occurred to me how much a general earned. And if I ever did wonder why we were so poor, I always thought he drank or gambled away his pay." He paused by the window and looked sadly out at the moonlit street. "And I stole, Herc. Stole bread and stuff from the market so my sisters wouldn't cry themselves to sleep at night from hunger. And all that time�Oh, gods." He looked at Hercules, his eyes heavy with sorrow. "How could he have hated us so much?"

"I don't think he hated any of you." Hercules said. "Men do strange unaccountable things, Iolaus. We've served in armies, and we've seen things like this and worse."

"Yeah, I know." Iolaus sighed, "but it's different when it's your cat's tail in the door."

Hercules had to laugh. "Where on earth did you hear that expression?"

"From my grandmother." Iolaus snickered. He dropped onto the bed and studied the toes of his boots, his face sobering. "I wonder if my mother knew. About the house and everything, I mean."

"Probably not."

"Yeah." And after a pause "Poor Mom. I was so mean to her when I was young."

"No you weren't, Iolaus." Hercules sat down beside his friend and laid his hand across his shoulders. "You were just a kid being a kid."

"But I was." He looked at the demigod earnestly, "I could have helped her more instead spending so much time in the woods, and then running away. I was so angry at her most of the time, because I thought she should have stopped my father from hurting me. But she was just as much his victim as I was." He looked down at his boots again. "As soon as this is over, I'm going to visit her."

"Good idea. Are you going to tell her about Tomas?"

"I don't know. I guess I'll just play it by ear. I think I'll tell Pandion, though. Let him decide." Iolaus was quiet for a long time, absorbing all these new bits of information, fitting them into their proper places in the fabric of his life.

"I'm sorry." Hercules said finally, giving the hunter's shoulder a squeeze.

Iolaus chuckled at this predictable comment, "None of it was your fault, Herc."

"I know. But I'm sorry anyway."

The courier arrived during breakfast the next morning with the missive to be taken with them to Corinth and then relayed to Athens, delineating the terms under which the Spartans would be willing to forget the whole thing and everyone, at least in Sparta, would be satisfied that justice had been served.

There was no need to delay their departure, and so Maudri said goodbye to them at the door. Salinia was nowhere in evidence. It was a rare thing, Maudri said, with a touch of asperity, for her daughter-in-law to rise from her bed before noon.

She made a warm, polite goodbye to Hercules, and then, much to Iolaus' surprise, hugged the hunter tightly and kissed his cheek before letting him go, "Take care, Iolaus." She said simply, but her eyes were kind and caring and she seemed loath to part with him.

'Just what was it my father told her about me anyway?" Iolaus wondered, taking her hand and smiling down at her as he said goodbye. This was a woman he had every reason to dislike, but he found himself drawn to her. His mother would have liked her too, he was sure.

Tomas accompanied them to the gates of Sparta, where he said his own goodbyes. "I'm glad to have met you at last, Iolaus," he said to his half-brother and seemed quite sincere. "Let's hope this plan works, if not, we could soon be at war; you on one side, me on the other." Was it Hercules' imagination or did Tomas not seem particularly alarmed at the prospect.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." he said mildly. The unease he felt in the man's presence had abated during their stay, but now it was back in force.

"Of course," Tomas said. "It would be too terrible to think about. Brother against brother on the battlefield." The tone sounded genuine, so why, Hercules wondered, was that gleam back in his eyes. His eyes so much like Iolaus'. But Iolaus' were honest, warm and caring and while those characteristics often appeared in Tomas' also, in their depths lurked a mean-spiritedness that worried the demigod. Tomas went on, a smile curling his lips "I would hate to have to kill you so soon after finding you."

Hercules stared at him appalled. "You are joking! You would not kill your own brother, not even in war?" If it were a joke, it was not a very funny one.

But Tomas seemed serious. "There are no brothers on the battlefield, Hercules. You should know that." he said airily, but there was a cold depth in his eyes that belied the lightness of his tone and chilled Hercules to his very soul.

But before he could say anything, Iolaus broke in. His tone, too, was easy, but his voice sounded strained. "Don't count your chickens yet, brother, you may not find me easy to kill."

"Right, we are both well-trained warriors and the sons of Skouros, aren't we?" His eye fell upon the amulet hanging about Iolaus' neck and it seemed to Hercules that a petulant look passed briefly across his handsome features. "But if it should happen, the winner shall have father's amulet, since," his laugh barked harshly in the still air, "obviously, the loser will have no further use for it. But," he slapped Iolaus' horse's rump playfully, and smiled at Hercules, "your friend is a clever negotiator and it's not likely to come to that, is it?"

When Hercules looked back as they trotted along the highway toward Corinth, Tomas was still standing at the gates watching them and there was something about his stance that gave the demigod a prickle of dread. Surely, Tomas would not kill his half-brother over a stupid piece of jewelry. But Hercules knew well that men had killed for less. If it did come to war, Hercules vowed he would not let Iolaus out of his sight.

"Idiots!" Iphicles slapped the parchment he had been holding in his hand against the tabletop. "Morons! Damn them! Damn! Damn!"

"What's the matter, Iph?" Hercules entered through the door that led into the garden where he had been alone, stretched out on a bench enjoying the quiet and the sunshine, when a page brought him the message that a communication had arrived from Sparta. Iolaus, not surprisingly, was off in the kitchens sweet-talking a snack from the cooks to tide him over until lunchtime.

But Hercules, taking a chair across from his brother, had a sinking feeling that he knew what the matter was and it wasn't good. It had been three weeks since the missive from Sparta had been sent on to Athens, and he and Iolaus been hanging around the palace impatiently, waiting for the results.

Iphicles waved his hand at the scroll gloomily. "According to the Spartans, the Athenians have refused to meet their terms. They are demanding again that Corinth give them leave to cross the isthmus."

"And of course, you can't do that."

"No." Iphicles buried his hands in his auburn hair. "Sparta has given me three days to make up my mind before declaring war on me. Damn!"

"So what are you going to do?"

"Hercules," Iphicles picked up his head to look at his brother, and his face was heavy and drawn with strain. "As the King of Corinth, I have a treaty with Athens and all the cities between to protect them from invasion from the isthmus. But they also have an obligation to aid me in that cause. And my first responsibility is to my own people; I cannot ask them to face Sparta alone. If Athens and our allies do not send troops, I may have to turn my back when Sparta arrives."

Hercules was silent; he knew how hard that would be for Iphicles to do. To allow the Spartans to pass Corinth could have disastrous results. Their target may be Athens, but any city, town or village in their path that offered even a whisper of resistance would be in deadly peril.

"Sire." A page entered the room bearing a rolled parchment "A message has just come from Athens."

"Thank you." Iphicles took the parchment, dismissed the page and turned to Hercules with a sigh. "Well, this is it then." The message was long and he read it slowly and carefully so that he would not misunderstand a word while Hercules watched worriedly. Iolaus, gnawing on a huge chunk of bread stuffed with meat and cheese, slipped into the room soundlessly and dropped into a chair beside him.

Finally, Iphicles threw the parchment down, blew out a huge breath and regarded them bleakly. "Apparently, the Spartans are not only demanding an outrageous sum of money, but they also want the man who insulted their princess to be executed publicly�in Sparta. Even that might have been granted to avoid a war, but unfortunately, the merchant and his family have boarded one of his ships and sailed away, only the gods know where. The Spartans are adamant, the money alone will not satisfy them. They want blood, too."

"And so," Iolaus said, "the war is on again."

"I'm afraid so, Iolaus. An army from Athens is on its way here now, to be joined with a brigade from Marathon, and Thebes has agreed to send troops. They, along with small bands of militia from practically every city and village in the province will be joining together here. They figure to make their stand where the road from Sparta crosses the plains just south of Corinth."

"Sounds like quite a show." Hercules murmured in disgust.

"If that were only all it was," Iphicles said heavily. "A little sabre-rattling and then everybody can go home happy. But I'm afraid we're in for it. The Spartans cannot win against our combined forces and they know that, but they can hurt us badly. They will retreat, but not until enough blood has been spilled to satisfy them.

Six days later, as commander-in-chief of the combined forces that had gathered to repel the Spartans, Iphicles reined in his horse at the top of the hill where the highway descended to the open plains. The road ahead was still deserted, the usual crowd of travelers, having been alerted to the coming conflict, had melted away, but his scouts had reported that the Spartans were on the move and not far off.

Hercules, carrying a broadsword for one of the rare times in his life, stood by his brother's horse at the end of the line of Corinthian troops, Iolaus at his side. The demigod thought his partner seemed tense; usually before a battle Iolaus was relaxed and confidence, at least to the casual observer. But today he watched the road anxiously and Hercules was certain he was thinking about Tomas. Iolaus had seldom mentioned his brother since that last disturbing conversation.

Hercules swallowed to ease the tightness in his throat. He hated all of this; the bewildering impulses that drove men to kill one another. And he was always terrified; not for himself, but for the man who fought like a demon by his side, who could never be dissuaded from doing so, no matter what. Iolaus was the finest fighter Hercules had ever known, but in battle there were no guarantees. A lucky cut with a sword, a stray arrow or spear, the swing of a mace, a moment of inattention; death could come in so many ways and so quickly and snatch away a life in a heartbeat. Hercules tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword and prayed that Tomas' post would take him to another part of the field entirely.

A stirring of dust in the distance and the advance guard of the Spartan army marched into view followed by a great mass of horses, foot soldiers, and armaments. A sea of red, the swirling cloaks, the plumes on their helms, moving as one toward them at a steady pace, neither slow, nor hurried, the soldiers and even the horses stepping in perfect synchronization.

"Great gods, but they have come prepared." Iphicles exclaimed, shading his eyes from the sun's glare. He could count already several catapults and spear launchers and, incredibly, a siege machine, the top of which he could see from his vantage point, trundling along the road behind the troops. "Do they really expect that we will run like rabbits back to Corinth and allow them to bottle us up there?"

"Probably not," Hercules smiled grimly. "I think they're trying to scare us." Against his will, he could feel an unholy bloodlust boiling up in his veins. What was it about war that brought about that reaction in men? Iolaus looked up at him and from the gleam in his eyes, he knew that the hunter felt it too. Maybe it was a necessary thing, the adrenal rush that allowed men to exceed their own limitations in order to preserve their lives.

"Perhaps their first mistake." Iphicles nodded toward the siege machine. "They must have exhausted two dozen men dragging that damned thing all the way from Sparta." He held his mount steady as it shuffled restlessly on the grassy hilltop. A breeze caught his long auburn hair, blowing it across his cheek and he pushed it away impatiently. Dressed in a black and silver armored jerkin, a black fur-trimmed cloak thrown back across his shoulders, and a heavy, silver-handled broadsword strapped to his side, he looked every inch a warrior-king. Solid, reliable, capable, a king men would not hesitate to follow into battle.

The Spartans marched forward relentlessly while Iphicles ordered his troops, nervous and eager to get on with it, to hold the line. Intimidation was the first order of battle for the Spartans, but he would not allow it to happen here. There would be no premature charge, he held the high ground and he would hold it as long as he could, letting the enemy come to them. As they approached the foot of the hill, the commanding officer, whom Iphicles recognized as General Francus, reined in his horse, and at a signal from him his troops came to a halt.

"Iphicles of Corinth!" he shouted. "This is your last chance. Let us pass."

"No!" The echoes of his refusal reverberating from the hills that protected the isthmus were shattered by the thunderous cheer that went up from allied troops.

If General Francus was intimidated by the forces arrayed against him, he hid it well. He was a Spartan, schooled to show no fear in the face of an enemy, confident in the knowledge that one Spartan warrior was worth twenty others. He raised his hand and without a single misstep his troops fell into battle formation. With a coordinated snap that could be heard on the furthest hill, his soldiers lowered their faceplates, and raised their swords, rattling them against their shields and prepared to advance.

'That was supposed to scare us, too.' Iphicles thought grimly, lowering his own helmet into place. Behind him he heard the nervous clinking and shuffling of his own troops readying themselves for the coming battle. But armies all over Greece had learned lessons in training and strategy from the Spartans, and their tactics, unchanged for centuries, were taught in every military academy in the country.

Iphicles gripped the hilt of his sword as the Spartans advanced, charging uphill as if they were still on level ground, shields overlapping and swords held at ready. All along the hills other Spartans troops were advancing on the allies, keeping them pinned so that they could not sweep down onto the plains and hit the Spartan flanks as Iphicles had hoped to do. 'Oh well, there's always my back-up plan.' Iphicles reminded himself. And in using this strategy the Spartans would have to spread themselves thinner, depending on their superior strength and skill to overcome the greater numbers.

'And there, they might be in for a big surprise,' Iphicles muttered. He unsheathed his sword and positioned his horse to meet them at a slight angle. His guards fell in at his sides and behind him; they had begged him to retreat to a safe distance and leave the fighting to the army, but Iphicles had refused. He was well-trained for this kind of fighting and he would not sit idly by while others took the risks.

As the first line of Spartans spilled over the crest of the hill, he raised his sword, his battlecry carrying his voice to the furthest hilltop; the Corinthian army surged forward and the fight was on.

Hercules stood steady as the lines of soldiers shifted and thickened around him as more men came forward eager for a quick victory. He knew it wasn't going to be that simple; they may outnumber the Spartans, but they were formidable warriors as others had learned to their regret. He rested his hand on Iolaus' shoulder and gave it a squeeze, smiling down at him and hoping that his fear did not show, although he knew Iolaus was well aware of it. The hunter grinned back impishly, a look that told Hercules he worried too much, he'd be fine. And then the line was moving forward carrying them with it.

It took most of the first hour just to start moving the Spartan force back down the hill and onto the plains. Although the allies had the superior numbers and the better position, the Spartans dug in their heels and simply refused to budge. It was only when their feet began to slip in the blood and the churned up mud that they finally retreated giving only inches at a time and so the sun was nearing its zenith before they reached the level ground. Hercules and Iolaus fought as they always had, in tandem, each knowing instinctively where the other was at all times, their movements swift, economical and deadly efficient.

The battle raged well into the afternoon, and sometimes, after clearing their immediate area, they were able to catch a quick break. At these times Hercules noticed, Iolaus' eyes would constantly sweep the battlefield and he knew that his friend was looking for Tomas. But they had not seen him at all, and in the confusion it was unlikely that they would; the battle ranged across the plain for nearly a quarter of a mile.

So when he did come it was swift and unexpected, working his way quickly through the melee, coming at Iolaus in Hercules' blind spot, a challenging light burning in his brilliant blue eyes as he raised his sword, and there was nothing for Iolaus to do but meet it.

He parried Tomas' first blow easily, leaning into him and shoving him away. The Spartan instantly backpedaled, hoping to throw Iolaus off balance, but the hunter was prepared for this maneuver and threw his weight on his back foot to steady himself. Thinking he had unbalanced his opponent, Tomas roared as he brought his sword back and swung. The sound brought Hercules' head around and his heart lurched as he saw Iolaus dodge the cut, spin on his heels to face Tomas again, just in time to block another. Then the demigod was suddenly occupied with a mob of soldiers who had come at him at once. But he had seen enough to know that Iolaus wasn't fighting, just defending himself.

It was clear to Iolaus that Tomas was trying separate him from his partner, but that was a tactic he had faced before and he exerted just enough resistance to prevent it. He didn't want to kill Tomas, but he had no illusions that Tomas was not trying to kill him. His only hope was to keep himself from being eviscerated until Herc was free to help subdue him. So he whirled and spun and jumped eluding Tomas' slashing sword, but each cut came closer; Tomas was a skilled swordsman and was quickly learning all of Iolaus' moves. Which he was rapidly running out of.

In desperation he tried a roll to carry him away from Tomas, but upon rolling back to his feet, a maneuver he had done successfully a thousand times, he slipped, twisting his leg painfully under him, and the Spartan moved in. Iolaus fell backward as his brother loomed above him, sword raised, his face a cruel mask. He was wearing an arm shield strapped to his left wrist, and just for an instant he raised his arm high exposing his midriff. Iolaus' sword was in his hand, point up, and in perfect position for a blow. But he didn't move and he would always wonder why. He didn't want to kill his half-brother, but he didn't want to die either. It was and would remain a mystery to him. But his brother's face, twisted with rage, with Iolaus' death glittering in his cold eyes, would haunt his dreams for months to come.

"Noooooo!" Iolaus was struggling to move out of the way as Tomas' sword began its descent and barely heard Hercules terrified shout, he just felt the point of the sword as it rip across his chest and into his right arm.

Hercules had dealt quickly with the soldiers who had come against him, smashing into them with abandon. There were so many all at once that he suspected Tomas had sent them to keep him busy. Fury and fear caused him to unleash all of his semi-divine power not caring whether or not the blows he rained on his opponents killed them or not; his only thought was to get to Iolaus. Freed at last, he turned just as Tomas' sword was about to fall.

With a speed he had never known he possessed, his own sword flashed under Tomas' blade, and with a heave, he lifted it up and away, startled when the Spartan managed to keep his grip, and at the same time shift his stance to swing the sword viciously forward. Caught off guard, Hercules staggered back and even so was very nearly skewered. Bringing up his own sword he launched a furious counterassault that drove the Spartan away from Iolaus until he, himself, had reached his wounded friend. He risked a quick glance down; Iolaus was curled on his side, hand pressed against his chest to slow the bleeding. There was a quite a lot of blood, and Hercules knew he needed to get this over and done with and get help. Straddling the hunter's body, feet planted firmly on either side of him, he raised his sword to Tomas, and dared him to come close.

'Like an animal protecting its young.' The cold fury in the demigod's eyes warned Tomas to be careful. He fought warily, keeping sword's distance from his opponent, making shallow lunges hoping to tempt Hercules into making a careless retaliatory move, but Hercules gave him no such advantage.

With a sharp whistle, Tomas signaled for backup and five warriors rushed to his aid. Hercules fought savagely, he cleared his mind of everything else, the area around him became his whole world and it was as if he could see with crystal clarity all of his attackers at once, even those who were coming from behind him, turning to meet each blow with perfect precision. Those who moved too close were immediately rendered unconscious by the solid weight of the demigod's fist.

When the first wave went down, Tomas called more soldiers to him. Hercules could not keep this up long, something would occur to break his rhythm, or an archer or a spearsman would find a lucky mark. But he stood his ground, refusing to leave, he would never leave, not while he lived, because if he did he feared Tomas would kill Iolaus, even wounded as he was.

He was beginning to tire when he heard the jangle of harnesses and suddenly Iphicles was there beside him, protecting him and Iolaus, while his guard slashed into the mass of soldiers. One by one they fell or were driven away and just as the last man was dispatched leaving only Tomas standing to one side, a horn sounded and the Spartans began to retreat, backing away from their opponents toward their own line. The allied soldiers, weary of the battle, lowered their swords and watched them go.

Tomas lowered his sword scowled angrily at Hercules as the demigod knelt beside the hunter and lifted him gently into his arms. Then he looked down at Iolaus, dazed and only half-conscious. "I won. The amulet is mine."

Hercules said a very bad word.

"So! How do you want your eggs this morning?" Hercules, fresh from the bathhouse, popped his head cheerfully around the doorjamb and looked questioningly at his best friend.

"Hmmm. Let's see." Iolaus pretended to think on it when, truthfully, breakfast was all he had thought about while waiting impatiently for Hercules to finish his bath. "With lots and lots of bacon. A big stack of battercakes. And some of that strawberry stuff. Oh yeah and don't forget the honey, some dates, nuts, cheese�and�anything else you can think of." Iolaus lay propped up against a heap of soft cushions his chest and arm swathed in snowy white bandages. Milius, the healer, had just left after his morning visit, checking the wounds for any lingering signs of infection and then smearing them with salve before changing the linens, having all the while to listen to his patient's never-ending complaints, and muttering about how some people didn't know when they were well off and wouldn't he just like a couple of weeks to lay around in bed and do nothing.

Hercules shook his head. "Where do you put it all?"

"Hey," the hunter protested, "healing takes a lot of energy."

Grinning, Hercules went to the kitchen and soon returned with breakfast dishes piled onto a huge tray. Everything Iolaus had asked for and more; the cooks were having a field day conjuring up new and yummy concoctions to coddle their favorite foodie. Setting the tray on the bedside table, he sat down, filled Iolaus' plate, and then his own. He was hungry too, the last few days he had eaten very little, and he could eat fully as much as Iolaus, it was just that for a man his size it didn't seem like so much.

Iolaus ate, if not with his usual gusto, at least well, and with his left hand, his right being immobilized by a sling, chatting amiably between bites while Hercules watched him anxiously. He talked like the old Iolaus and looked like the old Iolaus, but there were shadows in his eyes that hadn't been there before the fight with Tomas. Hercules wished he would talk about it, get it out in the open, but he knew better than to bring up the subject himself. Iolaus would get to it when he was ready.

"Milius says you can go out in the garden for a bit this morning if you'd like. The fresh air will do you good. As long as you let me carry you. No walking, you're still full of stitches."

Iolaus sighed. "I feel stupid being carried."

Hercules grinned. "I'll make sure no one sees us, okay?"

The fresh air did make Iolaus feel better. The two sat together under a shady tree, neither inclined to talk much, just enjoy the garden and each other's company. Hercules finally stretched out on the mossy carpet and fell asleep, and Iolaus did not want to wake him; he looked so tired. All through those first days after the battle, when it had seemed that Iolaus might succumb to the loss of blood or infection, the demigod had sat by his side tirelessly, keeping death at bay with nothing more than sheer determination. Hercules dozed until lunchtime when Iphicles appeared at the door bearing lunch on a silver tray, and the latest news from Sparta and Athens.

"Looks like Sparta is not going to pursue the issue, at least not militarily," he told them, laying the tray on a small table, and setting out the dishes while Hercules carried Iolaus to his chair. "But they won't like swallowing their pride. It would be well to avoid irritating them for a long time to come."

"And Athens?" Hercules fished a big chunk of pork dripping with gravy out of a bowl, plopped it into Iolaus' plate and started to cut it up.

"Athens is gloating, but being careful not to let Sparta see her do it," the king replied. "There'll be squabbles and name calling, and if that merchant and his son return, I wouldn't be surprised if there were an assassination. I hate to think it, but if they had just done it in the first place, the whole war might have been prevented."

"Assassination is a nasty business."

"No more so than war," Iphicles replied. "I lost many good men that day. And there's a lot of widows and orphans needing looking after."

"All over some damned insult." Hercules shook his head. "Did you ever hear exactly what did happen?"

"Yeah, a wounded Athenian soldier told one of my men while he was recuperating in our infirmary." Iphicles smiled humorlessly. "Seems that the groom-to-be got drunk in a tavern and announced to all who cared to listen that his bride had the face of a mottled pig."

It was back to bed after lunch, healer's orders, Hercules told him in answer to the hunter's complaint. In spite of the protest, Iolaus fell asleep immediately and slept throughout the long afternoon. He tired easily; still weak from loss of blood, but the outing had brought some needed color back into his cheeks. Hercules sat by the bedside, to be near if his friend should waken and want anything. He still trembled to think how close he had come to losing him again and for what? An amulet that Iolaus' half-brother had coveted so much that he was willing to kill for it? Hercules' anger still burned deep and hot, and a part of him wished he had killed Tomas that day. He had seen the opening that the Spartan had inadvertently given Iolaus, and he knew that Iolaus had seen it too. It was the sort of thing that they had been trained to see, an opportunity that could mean the difference between life and death in battle. But Iolaus had held back; even in the face of his own death. There were several reasons why he might have done that, and Hercules didn't like any of them.

So he wasn't in a very forgiving mood when, later, Iphicles came to the door, beckoned to him, and said in a whisper so as not to awaken the patient, "Tomas is here. He wants to see Iolaus."

Hercules slid into the corridor and closed the door behind him. "What does he want?"

"He wouldn't say, but�"

"Then, no."

"Hercules," Iphicles said reasonably, "I know how you feel. I wanted nothing more than to strangle him with my bare hands when I saw him strutting into my reception hall. But it's really Iolaus' decision to see him or not, isn't it?"

"I guess," Hercules muttered reluctantly. "But he'll have to wait until he wakes up. Put him somewhere cold and smelly and tell him I'll let him know when and if Iolaus will see him."

Iphicles chortled. "Okay, but he'll think it odd to be sent to the latrines, don't you think?"

"Good place for him, the little piece of sh�"

"Hercules, what would mother say?" Iphicles stifled a laugh and went back to his duties.

It was nearly suppertime and the room was growing dim, when Iolaus stirred and opened his eyes. "Ummm, Herc. I must have slept a long time."

Hercules finished lighting the candles filling the room with golden light to chase away the shadows and came to sit on the bed beside the hunter. "That you did. Hours. Feeling better?"

"Umm, yeah," Iolaus made as if to stretch, and wincing, thought better of it. "Is supper ready yet?"

Hercules laughed and ruffled his hair. "You and your stomach. Supper will be along soon, but," his smile faded, "first�you have a visitor."

"Obviously," Iolaus said watching the change on Hercules' face, "not a visitor as in a 'friendly' visitor."

"It's Tomas."

"Oh."

Iolaus was quiet for so long that Hercules felt the hunter was waiting for him to speak first. "Do you want to see him? If not, I'll send him away."

"I don't know, Herc. I do�and then I don't." He chewed on his lower lip thoughtfully. "I guess I should."

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

Hercules laid a hand on his friend's arm. "I want to be here."

Iolaus looked into the demigod's eyes and saw the worry there, the distrust of Tomas and the awareness that Iolaus would be helpless if Tomas were up to nothing good. It wouldn't be fair of him to send Hercules out of the room to drive himself crazy pacing the corridor. Yet Iolaus knew that he would wait outside if Iolaus asked him to. And because he would, Iolaus said. "Okay, Herc. Anything Tomas wants to say to me he can say in front of you."

Iphicles had only been kidding about the latrines, but he took Hercules at his word. The waiting room that the page led the demigod to upon his inquiring as to the whereabouts of Tomas was chilly and damp. A small, rarely used room upon one wall of which hung a rotting tapestry that permeated the air with the odor of mildew.

Hercules stood in the open doorway quietly observing Tomas who sat on a hard bench staring morosely down at his knees. "So why, did you come here?" he asked abruptly.

Tomas immediately shot to his feet and assumed a defensive stance. "I'm not armed."

"I can see that." Hercules casually leaned against the doorframe and folded his arms across his chest. "You needn't tell me why you are here, but if you're only after the amulet, you may as well go home right now."

"It's not that," Tomas lowered his fists and looked down at the floor, the brash warrior disappeared and in his place stood a shame-faced young man, one who knew he had done a terrible wrong and expected he should be punished for it. "I�I�is he�is he alright?" He looked up at the demigod pleadingly.

"He will be. No thanks to you." Hercules looked at Tomas coldly. "Iolaus has agreed to see you. I don't know why. But I'll be there and if you�"

Tomas looked shocked. "I didn't come here to hurt him. I only hoped that�that he might forgive me."

Hercules stared into Tomas' eyes for a long moment and could see no deception there. Still he did not completely trust the Spartan. He pushed himself away from doorframe. "Alright then. Come along. Iolaus has a more forgiving nature than I do. You just might get your absolution."

"Hello, Iolaus."

Iolaus looked up as Tomas walked through the door closely followed by Hercules. He swallowed and nodded, not trusting his voice to speak. It was silly, perhaps, to feel so much hurt and betrayal by the actions of a man he had only met, had only known the existence of for such a short time, but he did. After all they had shared the same father. Well, shared maybe wasn't the right word. Skouros had shared very little of himself with Iolaus.

Tomas moved to the bedside, acutely aware that Hercules remained within an arm's reach. He took in the sight of Iolaus, his chest and arm swathed in bandages, and his arm wrapped in a sling that tied behind his back pinning it against his waist, and gulped, "I'm sorry, Iolaus, I'm truly, truly sorry."

"For what," the hunter asked, acidly, "because you tried to kill me or because you failed."

Tomas eyes widened and he took a deep breath. "Thank the gods I failed, Iolaus. I don't know why I wanted�I mean�I was so young when father died and he had always told me well�" Tomas looked down at his feet. "that you were�well�weak, a thief, and�no damned good�and I believed him. He told me I was his real son, the son of his heart, and when he died I...I..." Tomas stopped and swallowed against the lump that had come into his throat.

Iolaus watched him, his eyes softening a little, feeling a little boy's sorrow and remembering his own. A teen-ager huddled alone in the corner of the stable at the Academy, weeping for a father who had not loved him.

"Those things he said sustained me throughout the rest of my childhood," Tomas went on, "believing that I was Skouros' most loved son. That he was counting on me to grow up to be a great warrior and carry on his traditions. Make him proud of me. But when I grew up I heard the stories about you and Hercules. The things you had done and how you were a hero, a great warrior, and I thought father had lied to me. And I resented you. That's when I decided I wanted to meet you, to find out the truth for myself."

"And to get the amulet you thought should have been yours."

Tomas laughed ruefully. "Oh that. To tell you the truth until I saw you here for the first time, I hardly ever thought about it. It came to our house in Sparta with the rest of father's belongings after he was killed. Mother kept them there, because that was what he had asked her to do. All but the amulet. He had meant it for me, but she said it belonged to you by right as the elder son, so she sent it to you at Cheiron's Academy. I made a big fuss at the time, but like a kid, a few days later I had forgotten all about it. When I saw you wearing it, it all came back to me, the good times I had spent with father, the amulet he always wore, how he said it would one day be mine because it should only be worn by a great warrior. I even remembered how I loved the feel of it, when he allowed me to play with it."

Iolaus reached over with his left hand and picked up the amulet from where it was lying on the bedside table, rubbing it thoughtfully "He would never allow me to touch it, only Marcus."

"Marcus?"

"Yes," Iolaus looked at Tomas. "He never told you about Marcus?"

"No."

"He was my�our�older brother. He died when I was four."

"Oh." His lips curled into a sad smile. "I guess that makes me the baby of the family. Any more siblings I should know about?"

"We have three sisters. All married with kids. Lots of nephews and nieces."

They were quiet for a long time, while Tomas scuffed the toe of his boot along the parquetry floor. Finally, he took a deep breath and said. "About what I did to you, Iolaus, I wanted to explain�"

Iolaus watched him patiently as he groped for words.

"I never thought of you as�you, as a� real person," he said haltingly. "I mean�my training�a Spartan warrior is taught to kill without remorse. To see all life as an expendable thing, even his own. And I thought�I thought�if I killed you in battle, man to man, it would prove that father told the truth. I was the warrior son."

"And now?"

"It was my mother. Her face when I told her what I had done." That look of fury and revulsion had shocked Tomas to the core of his being; he had expected annoyance, possibly anger, his mother had liked Iolaus, after all, but that look of absolute condemnation and the repudiation of everything he was, everything he had been proud of being, had given him a rare insight into his own character and he wasn't sure he liked what he saw. And he realized, at the same time, the enormity of what he had done.

The next few days he spent alone, thinking, wandering about the house not speaking to anyone, just watching and listening. Watching his children at play, seeing them with clear eyes, his two daughters, half-grown and as pretty as pictures. Soon it would be time to find them husbands and did he really want to see them live as soldier's wives? Or mistresses. His mother's situation had been a lonely one, but even so, she had had it much better than Skouros' unfortunate spouse.

And his small son, whom he saw for the first time as quiet and gentle like his grandmother, and not like his father at all. Was this a child who would long for a different life and would he, himself, some day become to his son what Skouros had been to Iolaus?

He sat in Salinia's sitting room watching as she silently stitched her tapestries. Had she married him only because she, like most women, needed to be married, needed a husband so that she might respectably have a home and children; had she ever felt love for him? Or was her coldness genuine and not merely a reflection of his own?

The next day, he had packed his carrysack, saddled his horse and headed for Corinth.

In spite of the ambiguity of Tomas' explanation, Iolaus understood perfectly. After all, he knew what those looks were like, thinking more of Alcmene than his own mother. Alcmene in a full-blown temper could scare a hydra. But they were hardly life-altering experiences. "So you suddenly had a change of heart�"

"I know that sounds pretty lame," Tomas said, "and I don't know how it will all turn out. But I do know I want the rest of my life to be different. I don't know just how, but I feel different�inside. I don't expect you to forgive me, not yet, but I hope some day�I mean�I'd like to keep in touch, but I'll understand if you don't want to."

"I don't know," Iolaus said slowly after a pause, "Out on the battlefield�" His voice trailed off and he looked away.

"Yes, out on the battlefield. That was another thing." Tomas looked directly into Iolaus' eyes. "You had me. I made a bad mistake and I know you saw it. You could have killed me. Why didn't you?"

'Why didn't I?' Iolaus glanced at Hercules who was looking at him as if he would like to hear the answer to that question himself. So Herc had seen it too. No wonder he had been getting those reproachful looks. So why hadn't he plunged his sword under Tomas' ribs and into his heart? He shrugged. He didn't know, he would probably never know.

"Maybe you don't know, Iolaus," Tomas said finally, "but I think I do. I don't know who's the better warrior, maybe I am, after all." His eyes held the ghost of a twinkle. "But you're the better man."

Iolaus looked weary, his cheeks had lost most of the healthy color the day's outing had given them, and Hercules decided the hunter had had enough. He nudged Tomas hinting it was time to go and Tomas nodded.

"Iolaus," he said, wishing he could touch his brother, but feeling it would be a liberty he had not earned, even if the demigod breathing down his neck would have allowed it. "I meant it when I said I hope we might keep in touch. And anytime you're down Sparta way, I hope you'll visit. My home will always be open to you."

Silently, Hercules escorted Tomas to the castle gate; he could find his own way out of the city or put up at an inn. He wouldn't be invited to spend the night at the castle. As they were about to part, Tomas looked up at him. "I hope some day you can find it in your heart to forgive me, too, Hercules. I know what Iolaus means to you, and you to him, and I know such friendships are rare and precious. I nearly destroyed that and saying I'm sorry doesn't seem like nearly enough."

Hercules heard the words, but felt no softening toward this man. "Iolaus has been hurt many times," he growled, "but no one's hurt him so much inside as you have, except maybe Skouros. I don't know if I can ever forgive you for that."

Tomas nodded. "I understand. But please believe I don't want to be like my father. Not any more. I loved him, he was a good father�to me, at least, but I can see that he was not always a nice person. My mother has been trying to tell me that all my life. She loved and honored him, but she was not blind to his faults as I was."

Hercules thought about telling Tomas about Iolaus' meeting with Skouros in the Asphodel Meadows, but decided that it was Iolaus' story to tell, if he wanted it told at all. So instead he simply said. "I hope you mean that, Tomas."

"I do. And I hope that one day both you and Iolaus will visit me."

"We'll see. Now I must get back to Iolaus. Goodbye, Tomas."

"Farewell, Hercules. And oh, by the way," Hercules stopped in the act of turning away and looked at him questioningly, " you might want to tell your brother that his waiting rooms are seriously in need of some renovations. I know this great interior decorator in Messinia who�" He stopped and looked at the demigod, his impish grin the twin of Iolaus' own. In spite of himself, Hercules laughed.

When Hercules got back to the room, after a brief stop at the kitchens to see to their evening meal, Iolaus, still clutching the amulet in one hand was leaning back against his pillows staring sightlessly out of the darkened window. He turned his head when the demigod entered and smiled wanly. "What did you think, Herc?"

Hercules lifted his shoulders slightly. "He sounded sincere."

"But?"

"No buts, Iolaus. I'm not going to tell you to give the guy a chance. I still don't totally trust him, but he sounded like he meant what he said."

"He sounded sincere before and all the time he hated me. I'm not sure I can forget it, he's my brother, well, half-brother, and he tried to kill me.

"Right." Hercules grinned, hoping to lighten his friend's somber mood. "But only once�so far. He has a long way to go to catch up with my half-brother. Ares has tried to kill me more times than I can count." He was rewarded by a light giggle.

"But there's Iph. He's your half-brother, too."

"Did I hear my name mentioned?" Hercules had not closed the door when he came in, leaving it open for the servant who would be bringing their supper tray. Iphicles was peering around the jamb with a hopeful expression on his face. "I wasn't eavesdropping," he went on plaintively, "I was just passing by and I thought�am I interrupting?"

"Not at all. Come on in." Hercules said cheerfully.

Iphicles crossed the room quickly, found a chair and pulled it up to the bedside. "Thanks guys, I was feeling a bit lonely, sitting in that big drafty dining room all by myself. And I thought�that is�if you guys wouldn't mind�"

"If you ate here with us? Gee, Iph, you don't have to ask. Just show up." Iolaus exchanged a look with Hercules and the demigod could easily see what was going through his mind; the same thing had occurred to him. Do we do that, he wondered? Are Iolaus and I so close, so complete with just the two of us that Iphicles feels left out sometimes?

Aloud, he said. "Have I told you lately how much I like having you for a brother, Iph?"

Iphicles looked stunned, as if this were the last thing he had expected to hear Hercules say. "Well�er�ah�no�I don't remember�" Truthfully he was quite sure Hercules had never, ever said any such thing, but Iphicles had always felt, at least in the past few years, that Hercules didn't mind having him for a brother at all.

A warm smile lit up his tanned face as he looked from one man to other. He loved them both, these two, who were so close they were like one. They were his brothers, and his friends. The truest friends any man could have and he felt blessed to have them in his life, and grateful for the fate that had brought them all back together after so many years of estrangement. But all he said was. "Same here, brothers. Now what's for supper?"

The End.

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