Dancing with Bulls: a Big Herc & Iolaus Adventure AND a really late August challenge entry� sorry!

This is for Allie, for all her encouragement, and for Mary, who's patiently been waiting for another 'big guys' adventure. Also for sk, in gratitude, for taking the time to translate 'Fashion statement' into Russian for her friends. Wow!

Hercules settled down in the seat in the Royal Box provided for him, just to the left of the King of Minoa, separated from him by Iphicles. To Hercules' left was an empty seat, reserved for Iolaus.

Brushing a long strand of his hair behind his ear, the King of Corinth leaned to his left and hissed under his breath, "Where is Iolaus?"

Hercules shrugged, trying to look innocent. His big brother wasn't buying.

"Oh, gods, don't tell me he's skirt-chasing already," Iphicles groaned, nervously glancing behind them at the entrance to the Royal Box. So far, no sign of the Minotean king, but he was due any second. While even kings needed to visit the facilities occasionally, they didn't take all day about it.

"Hercules, go find him!" Iphicles commanded, pulling rank, "He's here as an official Hero of Greece, not to spread the Iolausian gene-pool!"

The demigod blushed, and leaned towards his king and brother.

"It's not like that, she's a perfectly nice girl," he hissed loyally back, "And young enough to be our daughter. Iolaus is just buying her a slice of watermelon. You know he attracts pretty girls. He can't help it."

"I know he attracts trouble," Iphicles grumbled, folding his arms across his chest, a gesture that indicated louder than words how royally ticked off he was, "I swear, I can't take you two anywhere."

Hercules felt a touch guilty at this. "Look, I'll go get him," he offered, pushing himself to his feet just as a shadow filled the arched door. The King of Minos had arrived.

The King was tall and slender, like most of his people. Like them, he was dark, with large, gently slanted dark eyes and long, softly curling dark hair. The Minoteans were a beautiful people, gifted with grace, artistic talent, and intelligence- and a total lack of violent tendencies that was as remarkable as the opulence of their island home.

Traders by choice, the Minoteans were a rich culture and people, and, therefore prime prey for pirates and other raiders. Necessity had lead to the formation of their defensive navy, simply to keep the raiders from their shores. The Minoteans were also naturally curious and friendly, which meant they made friends easily; and they were loyal to their allies. A large, successful navy, plus an extensive trade-route and friends in many other lands, plus a willingness and an eagerness to allow peaceful visitors to their shore had all lead Iphicles to the belief that these were people worth knowing better.

And who else to take along on a nice, official, 'cultural exchange' visit than his brother and said brother's best friend?

Iphicles had been anticipating a nice, restful little trip spending some 'quality time' with Hercules and Iolaus, and that was mostly what he had gotten. The journey to Minos had been uneventful in the extreme, smooth sailing and good winds all the way. The Minotean ambassador, who had accompanied them, was friendly and talkative and told a good tale; he and Iolaus had hit it off immediately. Iphicles had been having a very good time. Iolaus had been having a great time.

Hercules was miserable.

First, there had been that feeling of dread the whole way over that had plagued him since Iphy had first proposed this little outing. Then there had been the bad fish or whatever it was that he had eaten, that had conspired with the gentle swell and dip of the waves to make him thoroughly seasick. He didn't get seasick, yet, he undoubtedly was.

The demigod had been so happy to see land at long last that he had nearly succumbed to the impulse to leap from the bow of the ship to kiss the solid ground. Only the thought of Iphy's likely reaction to that had brought him to his senses.

Still grumbling and queasy, he had just managed to sit through the lavish banquet the night before without losing what little dinner he was able to choke down, and had stumbled off to bed without even bothering to bath, a sure sign of his unwellness.

He had suffered from nightmares of sand mantas and hydras all night long, and had woken cranky, achy, and tired. A walk around the palace grounds had helped work the kinks out of his muscles, and a drink of cool lemonade from a vendor's stand had helped with his dry throat. It was at the lemonade stand that Iolaus had caught up with him.

"Hey, Herc, you okay? Not lookin' too good there, pal," the blonde had noted gently, accepting a tall glass of lemonade from the vendor and eyeing the beautifully fluted goblet curiously. "Hey, have you noticed everything here is decorative?" he added.

"Still rumbly in my tummy," Hercules had explained with a sheepish smile, sipping the cool lemonade. This strange drink of the Minoteans was delicious, he thought. The food at the banquet had been delicious, too, what little of it he had eaten.

"I'll be okay. Doing better now that we're not a sea," he added.

Iolaus frowned, and reached up to feel his forehead. "No fever," he noted absently, "But that was strange, Herc. You usually take to water like a duck. I'm the one who took forever to learn how to swim."

The demigod shrugged. "Something I ate didn't agree with me, I guess," he answered. "It happens."

"Not often," Iolaus replied, and shrugged, dismissing Herc's illness. Grinning, he reverted to his typical bubbly self.

"Hey, guess what's on the agenda for today's entertainments, Big Guy? Give you a hint- they are really pulling out all the stops to impress Iphy."

"They're preaching to the choir. He's ready to sing them up as allies right now," Hercules told him, smiling gratefully as he handed back the empty goblet, Iolaus doing the same. The vendor nodded happily and smiled back, not understanding a single word they said and not caring. They were on Minos, therefore, they were friends.

Taking Herc by the gauntlet, Iolaus steered his pal back towards the palace. While he seldom mentioned it, they both knew Herc could sometimes lose his sense of direction in new places.

"C'mon, guess," he urged, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.

Hercules smiled. "Chariot race?" he hazarded, thinking of things that would get Iolaus so worked up so early.

"Nope! Guess again!" Iolaus insisted.

Rolling his eyes in amusement, Hercules suggested, "Dancing girls?"

"Whoa! Now there's a thought!" Iolaus sighed dreamily, eyes glazing. Then, he shook himself all over like a little blonde dog coming out of the rain, and urged, "Try again!"

Hercules stepped around the strange, tangled ball of vegetation that rolled down the street past them. "What the heck is that thing?" he asked, nodding towards the tumbling ball as it rolled away.

"Tumbleweed. They're all over. Don't worry, they're harmless. The Minoteans use them for cooking. Don't change the subject."

Hercules opened his mouth to try another guess when he happened to glance down.

"Yuck," he said, steering Iolaus sharply to the right, "Look out, they need to clean the street."

The hunter followed Hercules' glance and shrugged. "You've seen manure before, Herc," he answered, eyes narrowing, "You tummy still bothering you?"

"There's bugs in that stuff!" Hercules protested, eyeing the small pile of waste suspiciously.

Iolaus, of course, had to go over and give the pile a tentative little kick. "Just dung beetles, Big Guy," he said, nudging one of the big beetles that popped out of the pile and scurried off.

"Aren't they from Egypt?" Hercules asked.

Iolaus looked at him, noting his greenish cast. "Yep, the Minoteans have a trade agreement with Egypt; and yes, they eat what you think they eat, so don't think about it," he advised.

Hercules gulped, and tried not to think about the diet of dung beetles.

They were passing a young Minotean boy playing with a box on wheels that was decorated with goathead stickers when Iolaus finally told Hercules what the day's planned entertainments would be.

"Look, I guess Pan's been here, too," Hercules muttered, nodding at the strange contraption and only half-listening to his partner. Then, belatedly, what Iolaus had just said sank in.

"Excuse? Did you say 'Bull Dancing'?!" he asked, certain that Iolaus was putting him on.

"Oh, yeah! It sounds great, big guy! Think you're up to it?"

"Up to what? What the heck is bull dancing?" Hercules demanded, vision of pirouetting bulls in colorful veils filling his head.

And then Iolaus had told him; and Hercules came to the conclusion that the friendly, intelligent, gentle Minoteans were all stark, raving lunatics, every single one of them.

Hercules shook himself out of his reverie and smiled a trifle nervously at the Minotean king, who smiled happily back.

"He's a friendly one," the king commented in his own language to his ambassador, "Is he Iolaus?"

"No, Iolaus is the one with gold hair," the ambassador said, favoring both Hercules and Iphicles with a smile of his own. Thanks to Hercules spending so much time at the rail during the trip over, the ambassador hadn't gotten acquainted with the demigod, save through a few very brief encounters. Mostly, what he had gotten to know was Herc's backside, since that was about all he had seen.

"Oh, sorry. Hope I didn't offend them. All Greeks look alike to me," the king apologized.

"Don't worry about it, your Highness. They don't understand a word we're saying," the ambassador assured him.

"What did the king just say? Is he looking for Iolaus?" Hercules whispered, concerned.

Still smiling determinedly back, Iphicles hissed out of the side of his mouth, "No, the King just said all Greeks look alike. Now, go find Iolaus before he has a reason for wanting to tell us apart nine months from now!"

Hercules rose, put a hand over his stomach, and made a show of grimacing. "Ah, I need to be excused?" he asked politely, addressing the ambassador.

The king of Minos smiled again, this time up, as he settled into his own seat. "What does the friendly one want? A cool drink?" he asked the ambassador.

"A quick trip to the privy, I suspect. He's been puking up the whole trip," the ambassador informed him.

The king's smile wavered slightly, then came back full force. "For heaven's sake man, show him the way!" he commended the ambassador- but pleasantly, so as not to offend by his tone.

"Of course, Your Highness," the ambassador said in their mother tongue, and then asked Hercules, "Do you need an escort to show you the way?"

"Excuse?" the demigod asked, brow creasing, "I'm sorry, I don't speak Minotean."

"Oops! Forgot..." the flustered ambassador blushed slightly, sandalwood skin darkening to mahogany. In Greek, he repeated, "Do you need an escort to show-?"

"Oh, no, I can find it myself," Hercules hastily assured him, having already learned the hard way that the friendly Minoteans even visited the bathroom together. These nice folks had definite problems with the concept of 'privacy'.

The Minotean ambassador smiled sympathetically. "Perhaps, friend Hercules, you would like our healers to give you something for your stomach?" he offered.

Hercules smiled wanly back. Now that his tummy wasn't bothering him so much, he frankly didn't want to do anything that might upset it again, including downing whatever concoction the Minotean healers might cook up. From what he could remember from last night's banquet, it was liable to be a fish extract of some sort. These people ate a lot of fish- and less palatable things from the sea. Just the memory of the bowl of jellyfish last night that even Iolaus had passed on, made his tummy clench dangerously. This time, the grimace was for real.

"Oh-oh," the king muttered nervously, edging away as inconspicuously as possible.

"Don't. You. Dare." Iphy hissed, glancing at the nervous king and flashing him a reassuring smile while glaring at his baby brother at the same time.

Hercules swallowed hard, closed his eyes, and told his rebellious stomach that this was not the time or place for this nonsense. Remarkably, it listened.

Breathing a sigh of sweet relief, Hercules opened his eyes and smiled as his stomach muscles relaxed, unclenching.

Then he caught something out of the corner of his eye, turned slightly, and saw something that made his stomach knot all over again.

Stretched out below them was the Course Of The Bulls, a six-block strip of the Royal Capital that had been cleared of all obstacles and blocked off with wooden barriers at either end. Instead of a round, contained course such as was used in Greece for chariot races; the Minoteans had a straightaway 'run'. The Bull Dancers, youths of both genders who wished to test their strength, courage, and agility against the Sacred Bulls entered the left end of the course, with the goal of reaching the right end unscathed, or, at least, in one recognizable piece. Those that managed the trick were thought to be blessed by the God Poseidon and showered with honor and gifts; and made the subject of the numerous decorative mosaics and murals that adorned nearly every vertical surface in the city. The Minoteans were very proud of their Bull Dancers.

Hercules had seen the depictions during the brief official tour of the city the day before, but the combination of his own lingering seasickness and the lack of understanding of the language had left him with the impression that the impossibly agile figures skipping along the backs of rampaging bulls and leaping bonelessly between their horns were some sort of local minor mischief gods. It had never occurred to him that the mosaics and murals depicted real people, and real acts of bravery-or extreme foolishness. The demigod had been beside himself when Iolaus had explained the truth of the matter earlier that morning.

"Just think, Herc-you and the bulls, racing for your very life! Wow! What a rush that must be!" the hunter had exclaimed enthusiastically, "Really get the old blood flowing!"

"I don't doubt there blood involved," Hercules had muttered gloomily, images of dancing bulls in veils being replaced with images of screaming teens impaled in the sharp bovine horns. He had shuddered, and added, "Think I can get out of having to watch this?"

"Errr�" Iolaus had answered, blinking, "I think you're stuck, Big Guy. Sacred ceremony honoring Poseidon and all that. Doesn't sound like fun to you?"

"Watching people bleed to death is never my idea of fun, Iolaus," the demigod had sighed.

Now that earlier conversation came back to him in a rush, as he stared, horrified, at the activity at the far left end of the course. There, the Bull Dancers were filtering in, clad in skimpy, tight-fitting clothes to allow the maximum of movement, each carrying a tiny, flexible willow wand decorated with brightly colored ribbons that streamed from the tip. The idea was that the dancer was to try to touch the bull between the eyes with the wand, while, of course, not falling before its horns.

But Hercules wasn't paying attention to the bright wands, or the cheering crowds that lined the course, safe behind wooden barricades, the enthusiastic Egyptian woman waving palm fronds at the dancers, or even the amount of bare leg the girl Bull Dancers were flashing. Oh, no, Hercules had something much more compelling to stare at.

Beautifully carved granite and glazed tile edging crumbled into fine powder beneath his gripping hands as he leaned over the edge of the box and stared downwards, not wanting to believe the evidence of his own eyes.

"Oh, dear, he's not going to throw up on the crowd, is he?" the king asked worriedly.

"I am going to kill him!" Hercules snarled. He didn't need this today, he really didn't.

Iphicles stood; leaned to peer in the direction his brother was staring and demanded, "Hercules! What are you-ohhhh, get in line!"

There, six blocks down and two stories below them, Iolaus, wand in hand, gazed back at them with innocent eyes and gaily waved.

"Uh-uh. He's my partner," Hercules grated, trying to force his hands to let go, before he broke the whole front of the Royal Box off.

"Yeah, well I'm his king, so I get first crack. Gods!" Iphy looked very much like he would have done the deed right then and there, if Iolaus had been within reach. "Doesn't that damned fool know this is a sacred ceremony?"

"He mentioned it in passing," Hercules said grimly wondering if he had missed anything else Iolaus might had mentioned like 'Hey, Herc, mind if I kill myself trying to outrun some bulls?' The demigod's teeth gritted and more of the decorative railing turned into dust.

"Did he bother to ask if outsiders were allowed to participate?" Iphy growled, "Or, are we all gonna get thrown in the Minotean dungeon because of this?"

"Are they both sick? Was it something we served at breakfast?" the Minotean king worried.

The ambassador frowned, trying to hear the hissed conversation over the crowd. He understood much Greek, but Iphicles and Hercules were speaking rapidly, and he couldn't quite catch everything.

"I don't think so, Your Highness. They said something about a 'dungeon'?" he hazarded.

"Dungeon'?" the king echoed, mystified. Minos didn't have any 'dungeons'.

"It is a place underground where they keep prisoners," the ambassador explained.

The king's confusion cleared. "Oh! They must mean the Sacred Waiting Chambers for the bulls! They are eager to see the ceremony begin?"

"We need to get him out of there before they release the bulls," Iphicles decided firmly.

The ambassador overheard-and misunderstood. "Yes, Your Highness, they await the arrival of the Sacred Bulls," he told his king happily.

"Good! The friendly one's stomach must be feeling better." The king stood, lifted his arms high as the crowd below fell silent, waiting breathlessly for his next move.

Side by side, backs to the Minotean king, Iphy and Hercules exchanged horrified glances. They both spun, just as the king dropped his arms, the ribbons on the wands he held in each hand fluttering in the ocean breeze.

The crowd roared as the Sacred Bulls were released.

The Sacred Bulls thundered onto the course as the crowd cheered. The Sacred Bulls, like the people who shared their island home, were beautiful creatures. Compact and tightly muscled, their creamy, slightly curly coats swirled over their frames like tiny, foam-capped waves. Their graceful curved, tapering horns were gilded with gold, as were their flashing hooves. Minotean legend had it that they were descended from Poseidon's own herd, from a cow and bull that the God of the Sea, in his wisdom and kindness, had sent to rescue six children, the only survivors of a shipwreck centuries earlier. Each of the white-coated Sea Cattle had carried three children apiece to the safety of the shore of Minos, and these children had grown and become the first Minoteans. In return, the people of Minos honored the Sacred White Bulls and Cows, never eating their flesh, only that of the brown-coated cattle they imported from Egypt. Nor were they sacrificed, as other white bulls were in Greece. Each Sacred Minotean Bull ran the Ceremonial Course for ten years of its prime, after which he 'retired' to a small Sacred Pasture and a tiny herd of Sacred Cows and got down to the business of fathering future generations of Sacred Bulls.

Bull Dancers were not allowed to hit or harm a Sacred Bull in any way, and that's why their only 'weapons' were the thin, ribbon decorated willow wands, which could do no harm to the Bulls. With that thought firmly in mind, the Dancers scattered before the Bulls.

Iolaus was easy to pick out from the other Dancers, and not just because he still wore his usual costume. Where the tall, graceful Minoteans seemed to flit and float and glide among and over the Bulls, Iolaus scampered and bounced and ricocheted. The youthful Minoteans were graceful, but Iolaus was faster.

Although the street had been cleared of all obstacles at ground level, and the awnings that usually shaded the granite-paved streets were rolled up tight against the building walls, the support poles for the awnings remained, providing some of the Dancers with a framework to swing and leap from.

As Hercules and Iphicles watched, horrified, Iolaus sprang upward, grabbing one of the out-thrusting poles and swinging himself up and over it gracefully to safety as one of the snorting bulls thundered beneath.

And then he dropped onto the bull's back, snatched the wand from his waistband, and touched the bull's nose. Then he looked up towards the Royal Box and gave the thumb's up sign to his partner before vaulting over the bull's head and dashing away.

"I'm going to kill him this time, I really am," Hercules growled thickly. A good-sized chuck of the decorative edging snapped off in his hands. Hercules didn't seem to notice as he methodically ground it into dust, his eyes never leaving Iolaus' bouncing figure.

"Not if I do it first," Iphicles snarled as Iolaus, grinning like a madman, took the time to vault the wooden barrier and bestow a quick kiss to the enthusiastic Egyptian woman before jumping back over into the charging bulls.

The ambassador frowned, bewildered. King Iphicles and Hercules kept saying they were going to 'kill' the golden-haired Iolaus, yet they were undoubtedly fond of him. Therefore, 'kill' must not mean what he had thought it meant. Given that Iolaus was performing remarkably well at the Dance, and would be honored afterwards, then 'kill' must really mean 'honor'.

"These Greeks have such strange slang," he thought, relieved that he had puzzled out the mystery.

Iphicles, keeping foreign customs in mind as Iolaus bounced through the Minotean Dancers, 'tagging' bulls left and right as he went, decided this was as good a time as any to find out just how much fast talking he was going to have to do later to get the blonde out of trouble this time.

"Visitors are allowed to participate in the ceremony, aren't they?" he asked the ambassador, trying to keep the nervous edge out of his voice as visions of a distraught Hercules destroying the whole city to get to a chained Iolaus danced in his head.

In truth, the people of Minos were proud of their traditions and the Bull Dancing ceremony, and frequently disappointed when visitors refrained from joining in the fun. The king had been half-hoping that all three of his Greek guests would try their hands at it, so he certainly wasn't upset that Iolaus had taken up the challenge. In fact, the whole island was delighted by the blonde, and the obvious fun he was having.

The kindly ambassador hastened to assure them that Iolaus was welcome.

"Not to worry!" he said brightly in Greek, "After the ceremony, we will kill him!"

"WHAT?!" Hercules yelped, straightening- and promptly being painfully reminded of the Royal Box's decorative overhang as it came in contact with the back of his head with a loud 'crack'.

"Ow!" Herc yelped as a largish chunk of the overhang flew off and whizzed over the king's head. The king's personal servant, a large, deadpan Egyptian who had been fanning the king languidly with a large palm frond reached up nonchalantly and neatly caught the chunk. His face never changed expression.

"Oh, dear, he's a bit hard on the architecture, isn't he?" the king noted, taking the chunk from his servant and eyeing it doubtfully. He made a mental note to have the overhang shaved off, so Hercules wouldn't bump his head during his next visit.

By this time, Hercules was looming over the Minotean ambassador, a fistful of tunic in his right hand as he grated, "What do you mean, you will kill him after the ceremony?"

The ambassador blinked. "We kill all the dancers after the ceremony," he explained innocently, then, thinking he had divined the source of the demigod's distress, he added comfortingly, "You and King Iphicles will be there, of course!"

The brothers exchanged horrified glances, then both turned to stare at the Minoteans.

'Well, there goes the alliance,' Iphy thought glumly. And the Minoteans had seemed like such nice people.

"I explained all this to Iolaus last night, at the banquet," the ambassador added.

"I'm...not sure he quite understood your customs," Iphicles tried, hoping he could stop this madness before it got out of hand- and before Hercules brought the city down around all their ears.

"I'm sure he did, but why don't you ask him?" the ambassador said.

"How can we?"" Hercules demanded.

Behind him, a familiar voice chirped, "Oh, good, you're still in one piece!"

Hercules and Iphicles spun to see Iolaus clinging to the edge of the balcony like a blonde monkey, grinning for all he was worth.

Hercules dropped the ambassador and lunged at his partner, but he was a fraction of a second too late. His arms closed only on empty air, the madly giggling hunter having already stepped backwards. Hercules would have tumbled down after him, but for Iphicles snagging his waistband and hauling back with all his weight.

"Why doesn't King Iphicles want his brother to join the fun?" the puzzled Minotean king asked his ambassador.

"I'm beginning to suspect they have some sort of phobia about bulls, Your Highness," the bemused ambassador replied, smoothing his tunic front and watching Iphy bodily haul his brother back into the Royal Box.

Hercules, not paying any attention to Iphicles at the moment, was shouting after the blonde, "Get back here, damnit!"

"See you at the finish line, Big Guy!" Iolaus shouted back, somersaulting over a bull's back and tagging it on the way over its shoulders.

The gears in Hercules' head were grinding frantically as he tried to think of some way to coax Iolaus off the course. Possible death, he knew from long past experience, wasn't much of a deterrent anymore where Iolaus was concerned.

He thought of something that would carry more weight, being the worst possible threat he could think of. "Get out of there before you get gored and end up a eunuch!" he bellowed.

From the titter that went up from the crowd at that, it became clear the ambassador wasn't the only Minotean who could speak a little Greek.

"What did he yell?" the king asked the ambassador.

"He seems concerned that the golden-haired one might end up a eunuch," the ambassador replied, frowning slightly.

The king nodded sagely. "That would put a crimp on their fun," he observed.

One of the Bull Dancers, a lithe, pretty young woman, looked up at Hercules' frustrated bellow, grinned, and waved at him as she went past, gracefully balanced on the back of a galloping bull.

The demigod blinked, having last seen her giggling and sharing a piece of juicy cold watermelon with his irresponsible partner only moments earlier.

"Oh, gods, she's why he's doing this," Hercules groaned under his breath. Since, at this point, he was till dangling with his front half over the balcony's edge, Iphicles hauling at his waistband, the demigod was getting out of breath.

The beleaguered King of Corinth muttered a curse and heaved backwards hard. He and Hercules ended up sprawled at the Minotean king's feet, just in time to see the king and his ambassador return the lithe girl's wave.

Looking down, the ambassador smiled, indicated the young woman with a nod of his head, and commented, "Iolaus and the king's sister are getting along well. I'm glad she invited him to participate."

Shoving his brother off him, Iphicles sat up, blinking. "The king's sister is one of the Dancers?" he asked politely, feeling a little silly doing so, as he was still sitting on the floor of the Royal Box. Hercules, cursing softly but vehemently under his breath, clamored to his feet and leaned back over the balcony, eyes anxiously tracking the bouncing blonde.

"Oh, yes," the ambassador nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh-kay," Iphicles breathed, mind racing. While it was possible that a royal sacrifice was part of the ceremony, past experience told Iphicles that generally such sacrifices came from quite distant branches of the royal family, unmarried princesses being a valued political commodity.

"So, the king's sister will be 'killed' along with the other Dancers?" he asked carefully.

"Oh, yes," the ambassador repeated.

"And this has happened before?"

"Oh, yes," the ambassador replied, adding, "She is quite an accomplished Dancer. She's been killed four years running!"

This startling statement was enough to even penetrate Hercules' fog of distraction. He twisted to exchange a bemused speculative glance with his brother, while simultaneously trying to keep one eye on Iolaus' antics below.

Iphcles sighed with cautious relief. "And the Dancers are 'killed' with...." he trailed off, hoping the helpful ambassador would fill in the blank.

He did. "With feasting, and entertainment, and then, of course, there's the offering to Poseidon. Then, our best, most accomplished artist will preserve their images for all eternity in the mosaics!" the ambassador gestured, indicating the mosaics decorating the walls of the Royal Box and the fronts of the buildings around them.

"Ah, that offering to Poseidon wouldn't happen to be blood of any sort, now would it?" Iphicles asked, reckoning how quickly he could tackle Hercules if the answer was an enthusiastic 'yes!'.

The ambassador looked, frankly horrified. Gulping and taking a quick step back from where Iphicles still sat, he shook his head firmly.

Oh, no!" he said quickly, and rapidly repeated the Greek king's question to his monarch, who looked equally horrified. With another gulp, he explained, "The Sacred Offering is a bottle of Sacred Wine!" Which was grown in the Sacred Groves, located in the Sacred Hills, and fertilized with the waste of the Sacred Bulls, but he was too rattled by Iphicles' question to remember to include all this fascinating information.

"Thank the gods!" Hercules breathed, sweet relief washing through him so strongly that he had to resist the urge to hug the ambassador in gratitude. All that 'killing' stuff was obviously a translation problem.

Iphicles climbing to his feet, re-settled in his chair, and tried (unsuccessfully) to wipe the huge grin off his face. "Wine is good," he assured the Minotean king and ambassador. Leaning forward, he confided, "Hercules is a little squeamish where blood is concerned; and when he faints he's hell to move!"

"I heard that!" Hercules protested, still glaring daggers at his partner, and trying to keep a straight face as Iolaus somersaulted over a bull's back to steal a quick kiss from the king's sister. Iolaus glanced up, caught Herc looking, and blew him a kiss, too.

Hercules couldn't keep a straight face with that. Relief combined with the after-math of near-hysteria to make the demigod mischievous. Leaning further over, just to make sure the crowd below got a good view, he blew Iolaus a kiss right back.

The blonde damned near fell off the bull whose shoulders he had just vaulted onto. His high-pitched giggle could be heard all the way up to the Royal Box.

Grinning hugely, Hercules muttered smugly, "that should teach him!"

Iphicles snickered fondly, amused as much by his brother's antics as Iolaus'. After all, weren't they both always claiming that Hercules was 'the responsible one'?!

Below, Iolaus grinned up towards the Royal Box, while still trying to keep track of the bulls and the other Dancers around him. Yanking the beribboned wand out of his waistband to 'tag' the bull's nose, he wished once again that Herc had been well enough to join the ceremony. The big guy didn't know what he was missing-this was fun! Oh, well, there was always next year.

Rolling off the bull's back backwards, he hit the dirt and sprang straight up, grabbing one of the overhanging poles, and swinging up to straddle it, giving himself a few seconds to catch his breath and survey the bulls' progress through the course.

Almost all the Sacred Bulls had reached the end of the course, where they slowed down and were roped and guided through a set of narrow (by bull standards) wooden doors that led to the Royal Stables. There, the bulls were petted and calmed, and fed treats by their Sacred Handlers. Later, they would be quietly paraded back through the same streets, draped in garlands of flowers woven by the youngest Minoteans, and taken back to their Sacred Hills to rest until next year's ceremony. Since most of the bulls were old hands at this, none objected in the least when, upon reaching the end of the course, a silken guide rope was dropped over their heads from above.

But one of the bulls wasn't an old hand. Only four years old, and having even worse sight than the average rather near-sighted Sacred Bull, this little fellow was the youngest of the lot, and still a tiny bit skittish around so many very loud, very active Minoteans. He had gotten down the course mostly by following the scents of the other Sacred Bulls, but now something happened to totally confuse him.

With a loud whoop, Iolaus dropped onto his back from above.

The bull skidded to a halt, legs braced against this 'attack' from above. Snorting with angry frustration, he tossed his gilded horns.

Iolaus, self-preservation sense still working despite all the engaging distractions around him, like the waving sister of the king, immediately decided show time was over. He rolled off the bulls back backwards, landing solidly on his feet, back to back with the little bull. Grinning, he made a showy bow, thoroughly expecting to hear clapping as the bull, now free of his weight, broke for the exit only a few feet away.

Instead, he heard gasps and a couple of quickly stifled screams. Startled he looked up, to see what was so upsetting the crowd.

Where the child had come from was a mystery. Perhaps an over-enthusiastic parent had dropped it from behind the barricades, or, more likely, the boy had found a gap and squeezed through, trying to get a better view. At least, Iolaus thought the tiny, dark-haired child sucking its thumb as it stared at him with huge, dark, liquid eyes was a boy; it was hard enough to tell with the adult Minoteans, much less a child this young, practically a babe-in-arms.

Overhead and behind, Hercules took in the scene through eyes wide with horror. He could see even more than Iolaus, and what he saw did not make him happy. Softly, but with feeling, Hercules said a Very Bad Word, one that he had been know to chastise Iolaus for using. But then, he had good reason for forgetting himself.

The child stood mid-way between where Hercules leaned out of the Royal box and where Iolaus stood by the exit from the course. Iolaus, facing back the way the bulls had come, was concentrating on the child, smiling comfortingly as he started towards the tot, obviously intending to scoop him up and hand him back over the barrier.

Iolaus was also obviously unaware of what upset Hercules even more than the toddler's presence - the last sacred Bull, who, instead of exiting the course as expected, was slowly turning around, eyes fixed at the hunter's defenseless back.

"Oh, shit," Hercules breathed again, mind racing to find some way to alert his friend of the bull's presence without alarming the bull and causing it to charge.

"Excuse?" the Minotean king asked politely, "What did he just say?"

The ambassador thought over all the definitions he knew of 'shit', none of which seemed to apply in this situation.

"He wants a snack?" he ventured, thinking Hercules had picked an odd time to decided to eat something.

"No, he wants a miracle," Iphicles whispered, taking in the situation and no more happier with it than his brother.

"What's going on?" the king asked, leaning over Iphy's shoulder to peer down the course. Seeing the toddler, he commented to the ambassador, "Isn't he a little young to be a Dancer? I think we should get him out of there, don't you?"

"I agree," Hercules muttered, understanding the sentiment of the king's tone of voice, if not the actual words. Without another word he vaulted over the railing of the Royal Box.

"Crap!" Iphy snarled, "Hercules!"

"Herc?!" Iolaus yelped, startled by his partner's sudden desire to see the Sacred Bull Course up close. Hercules wasn't a glory-hound, so why the abrupt entrance?

"Bull!" Hercules hissed, making a grab for the Minotean toddler, who chose this instant to prove that he had a great future as a Bull dancer. The tot, badly startled by Hercules' abrupt appearance, took off like a rocket - straight towards Iolaus and the bull lurking behind him.

Iolaus frowned, moving to intercept the running child, "Well, yeah, it's the Bull course, but why..."

And then he heard a quiet snort and felt hot breath on his neck.

"Oh, shit" he breathed, as the situation abruptly revealed itself. Behind him was one upset Sacred Bull, in front of him one helpless toddler, and he was stuck smack dab between them.

Several possible options raced thru his mind in an instant: Feint to the left or right, but the course was narrow, without much room to maneuver, and the bull was likely to pin him against one of the walls; jump the barricades, but that left the toddler alone out there, and Iolaus was pretty sure even Herc wasn't fast enough to get to the kid before the bull did. Tuck and roll, but that only presented the bull with a smaller target and did nothing to save the child - and this little bull's horns were uncomfortably close to the ground; run straight ahead, but that was out, as that would only lead the bull right towards the boy; or go up.

Iolaus went up.

Taking two tight running strides, he jumped, catching one of the overhanging poles. Flipping himself like a gymnast, he managed to slide his body around with the momentum so that he ended up upside down, hanging by his knees from the pole, still swinging. Using the motion, he arched his back - and managed to snatch up the frightened toddler as he sprinted past. Iolaus grinned at the thought that the boy was still more afraid of the anxious demigod than he was of the charging bull.

Right on cue, the Sacred Bull thundered past below where they hung, frighteningly close, just below the toddler's dangling feet.

"Hey, here, bull!" Hercules bellowed, zigzagging and frantically flapping his arms to attract the bull's attention and give Iolaus a chance to get the child to safety. After all, even Iolaus couldn't be expected to hang upside-down like a tree sloth all day.

'I'm getting too old for this stuff,' the hunter thought, feeling the pull on his thighs and knees. Gripping the toddler about the waist with one arm, he arched upwards to grab the pole with the other, unhooking his knees to flip down to the ground. Okay, now to ditch the kid to somebody on the other side of one of these walls and help Herc.

Who was racing back down the course, with one snorting, obviously peeved Sacred Bull in hot pursuit. It would have been funny, if those horns weren't so very sharp and lethal looking.

Iolaus ran after Herc and the bull, the Minotean toddler still in his arms. Hugging the right wall of the barricades, he anxiously searched for someone to reach over and claim the boy, but none of the Minoteans seemed inclined to do so. Either they were afraid, or more likely, they trusted the visiting heroes to keep the child safe.

From the Royal Box, the Minotean king, his ambassador, and Iphy stared down as Hercules raced past them, the snorting little bull only a few feet behind.

"I don't think the big one knows how to Bull Dance," the king observed calmly, "But he is fast, isn't he?"

"I can imagine why," the ambassador said, chewing his lip thoughtfully. He didn't fully grasp the customs of these strange Greeks, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Hercules wasn't suddenly trying to belatedly join the fun.

"Perhaps you should shout down and tell him he's going in the wrong direction?" the king suggested helpfully.

"Perhaps," the ambassador nodded.

Iphicles, meanwhile, was taking the scene in with narrowed eyes. Seeing Iolaus approaching, still holding the child, he leaned forward and whistled to attract the hunter's attention.

Iolaus looked up, skidded to a halt, grinned, and shouted, "Here! Catch!" With that, he tossed the boy straight up.

Iphy caught the toddler neatly. Thin little arms circled his neck, as a childish giggle sounded in his ear. Another giggle floated up from below.

"'Scuse, got a demigod to save!" Iolaus waved at the occupants of the Royal Box and sprinted towards the far end of the course, where the Sacred Bull was doing it's best to pin Hercules against one of the barriers.

The Minotean ambassador leaned over the edge of the Royal Box and shouted helpfully down, "Hercule! Hercule! Go the other way!"

'Why does it matter?!" the sprinting demigod thought in exasperation, hot bull-breath on the back of his neck. This was one persistent little bull!

Hercules ducked sideways, just as the bull made another attempt to pin him against the wall with a swing of its very, very sharp horns. He tried to duck around to get to the open center of the course, but the little bull was having none of that, swinging its hind end around to block him. Herc feinted the other way, only to find those horns in front of him again. Frantically, he did the only thing he could think of, literally taking the bull by the horns.

The Sacred Bull liked this even less. Bracing all four legs, it tossed its head wildly, trying to break Hercules' grip.

"Don't hurt the bull, Herc!" Iolaus advised as he hovered nearby, looking for an opening. At that moment, the bull got creative, stamping down with one forehoove, barely missing Herc's right foot.

Hercules caught the movement and yanked his foot instinctively out of the way, but in doing so he unbalanced slightly, just enough to loosen his grip on the gilded horns.

Which gave the bull just enough leeway to yank his horns away, and swing them back hard.

A collective silence fell as everyone took in the astonishing sight before them. Hercules was pinned to the wooden barrier by the left horn of the Sacred Bull, which was between his thighs, only an inch or so from a very delicate part of the demigod's anatomy.

With deadly calm, Hercules looked down, then up at Iolaus.

"Don't. Hurt. The. Bull." he repeated reproachfully.

The blonde hunter grinned weakly and shrugged. "Good thing you're so tall?" he offered, trying hard not to snigger, and failing miserably.

Hercules snorted and transferred his reproachful glare down to the bull. "Bad bull!" he scolded.

The little Sacred Bull rolled his blue eyes up to glare right back, snorting disdainfully. Then he twisted his neck slightly, tilting his free horn upwards, so that his muzzle was only inches away from Herc's nether regions, and snuffled, loudly.

The demigod blushed bright red.

"Stop that!" he commanded, gently shoving the bull's muzzle down and away, but the persistent little bull pushed it right back up, taking another, even louder sniff, then snorting, as though trying to clear his nostrils.

Herc's blush darkened, even as Iolaus burst into helpless giggles. The hunter's laughter broke the tension.

"Bad, bad bull!" Hercules scolded as the bystanders started sniggering too. Gritting his teeth, and trying not to die of the embarrassment, the hero reached down to gently pull the gilded horn free of the wood, at the same time pushing the bull's head sideways, so it turned somewhat towards Iolaus.

Which proved to be a mistake.

Just at that moment, a refreshing sea-breeze wafted between the buildings, over the top of the wooden barricades, past Iolaus, and right into the nostrils of the Sacred Bull.

Nostrils flaring, the bull's ears pricked up, and his near-sighted eyes brightened. Watermelon!

The one thing that had stuck clearly in this bull's memory from the previous year's celebrations was, at the end of it all, he had been rewarded with a big, heaping serving of his very most favorite treat, which had made up, somewhat, for all the fuss and bother of running the course with those strange people-blurs jumping all around him. Well, he had been a very good little bull (Hercules' admonition notwithstanding), and he felt he had richly deserved his reward. When Iolaus had leaped onto his back, the little bull had caught the scent of his favorite food, and thought he was about to get his treat, which is why he had failed to exit as he should have, instead turning around to face the hunter. True, Iolaus wasn't his usual caregiver, but it had been a very confusing day, all in all, so the bull could be forgiven for the mistake. Then Iolaus/watermelon-scented-blur had vanished before his near-sighted eyes, only to seemingly re-appear some distance further away.

But now the bull had gotten close enough to determine that this other blur was the one that smelled so good, and he had lost interest in the demigod. Hercules didn't smell a bit like watermelon.

But, Iolaus did.

With a bleat of pure greedy joy, the happy bull bounded forward.

Hercules gasped as the bull yanked its horns out of his grip and charged straight at Iolaus with what the demigod took to be an angry bellow.

Iolaus' eyes widened, then he went into action. Too far from the barricades to scale them, he decided to leapfrog over the bull's head and make for the opposite wall. Hopefully, Herc would follow his lead and get out of there. The hunter took a running stride towards the charging bull- and slipped in a pile of Sacred Bull droppings.

Hercules saw Iolaus go down with a sharp cry of pain as his leg buckled from under him, his right ankle twisting.

"Oh, Shit!" the demigod snarled, flinging himself onto the bull's back frantically, grabbing for those deadly horns.

"Oh, gods," Iphicles breathed from where he stood in the Royal Box. Gently prying the toddler's hands out of his hair, which the Minotean child seemed to find fascinating, the king thrust the boy into the ambassador's startled arms.

"Here, hold this," he instructed, clamoring up onto the edge of the balcony, judging the distance, and jumping down, knees bent to cushion his landing. He hit the ground, straightened, and took off for the far end of the course at a dead run.

Hercules, meanwhile, had managed to drape himself more or less across the bull's back, still clutching those horns with white-knuckled hands as his knees dug into the bull's withers. This served to halt the bull dead in its tracks from shock. It also served to make the little bull really, really upset.

The little bull hadn't liked it a bit when Herc had grabbed his horns earlier, but he hated Herc's sweaty not-inconsiderable bulk on his back. He wanted the demigod off- now!

"Whoa!" Hercules gasped as the bull began bucking, shooting straight up into the air, backend going even higher as he came down hard on his fore-hooves. Every buck sent the demigod's teeth clashing together, his long hair whipping around into his eyes. "Whoa, dammit!" he gasped between clenched teeth, but the bull was in no mood to listen.

"Herc, get off! Jump free!" Iolaus urged from wall he was leaning against. The blonde hero had just managed to crawl out of the way, and had used the wooden barricade to pull himself up into a standing position, but he was in no state to help. Tentatively, he tried to take a step away from the wall, only to gasp as a bolt of electric pain burned, white-hot, up his leg from his ankle straight to his brain.

"Iolaus?" Iphy gasped as he drew up, his own long hair steaming behind him.

"Help him, Iph?" Iolaus begged, "I think my ankle's fractured. I can't seem..." he gasped again, turning an alarming shade of white as he tried to take a step, "I...I can't put any... weight on it. Damn!"

Helplessly, the king turned and did he only thing he could think of. "Hercules! Get off!" he bellowed, which only served to make the little bull even angrier.

Hercules gritted his teeth against the up-and-down jolting to throw a despairing glance towards them. The truth was, he was trying to jump off, but, to the demigod's utter astonishment, his hands and knees were steadfastly refusing to obey his brain's commands. He simply couldn't 'let go'.

Iolaus wasn't too distracted with his own pain not to catch that despairing, entreating glance. He stiffened as the truth sank in abruptly. Some people wouldn't believe that Hercules could be frightened of anything, but Iolaus knew better; and the hunter also knew that the fear sometimes caught even Herc by surprise. The last time something like this had surfaced was back in the Academy with those poles Cheiron had made them practice balancing on. Hercules had been terrified of those poles, for no good reason that either he or Iolaus could understand. It had taken him long hours of secret practice, and a limitless supply of willpower to overcome that fear and not 'freeze up'. Once overcome, it had vanished forever.

But Hercules didn't have hours this time. Right now, he was essentially 'stuck' on the back of the frantically bucking bull until somebody yanked him off, or the bull succeeded in throwing him. Given Herc's demigod panic-stricken strength, option one looked like the most likely. But, how to get close enough to pull Herc off without getting trampled?

"Damn ankle!" Iolaus hissed, annoyed with his own body. He needed the use of his legs, and it was damned inconsiderate for his ankle to chose right now to go and fracture. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he pushed off from the wall and managed a single limping step towards the bull, which, having tired of basic up-and-down, was now trying to rid itself of his unwanted rider by employing a clockwise spin to his bucking.

Worse still, Hercules was beginning to turn an unhealthy - and familiar - shade of green.

"We've got to get him off of there," Iolaus panted, ignoring his own pain to try another step forward. Iphicles slid a supporting arm under the blonde's and moved with him, frowning with confusion.

"Why 'we'?' he asked, eyeing the bull and his brother's sickly expression, not sure which was more alarming.

"He can't," Iolaus groaned, biting his lip.

Hercules meanwhile, was mentally shouting 'Let go, damnit!" at himself, but his body's response was, 'Huh-huh. No way. Forgettaboutit!'

"I hate bulls!' the beleaguered demigod decided, at the same moment the Sacred Bull decided since clockwise wasn't working, maybe counter-clockwise would have more success.

"Ohhh," Herc groaned aloud, as his neck snapped sideways.

And then, the little bull stopped bucking, coming to a sudden and abrupt halt, standing stock-still and panting in the middle of the course; his blue eyes rolled upwards to glare at Hercules sullenly.

"Now, Herc!" Iolaus urged, lurching forward with Iphicles in tow.

Hercules raised his head and let out a long, loud breath, then he frowned, as his hands still refused to release their grip. While he was still fighting his own involuntary muscle spasms, he felt the bull's right shoulder muscles bunch under his elbows.

"Oh, gods, he's gonna roll!" Iolaus hissed in alarm, lunging frantically forward and dragging Iphy with him. His ankle gave out, but Iphicles, understanding the danger if the bull should roll over while Hercules still clinging to its back, did some lunging of his own, letting go of the hunter to latch onto the bull's left horn with both hands and heave his whole weight backwards. Iolaus, frantically clamored up the king's body, pulling himself up with his arms, to grab Hercules left wrist and yank back hard.

The hunter's touch broke the spell of panic, and Hercules released his grip, letting Iolaus pull him off the bull's back. Iphicles let go of the bull's horn, and the bull rolled away, his motion unseating the demigod as Iphy added his strength to the blonde's, wrapping his arms around his brother's chest. The bull went in one direction, rolling completely over in the dust, legs kicking unhappily in the air as the heroes tumbled in the other, ending up in a tangled balls of flailing limbs.

The writhing, cursing ball separated into its component legends just as the little bull managed to right himself, and Hercules found himself practically nose-to-nose with the panting, dazed little Sacred Bull.

"Oh, crap!' the demigod hissed, scrambling to his feet and glancing back to make sure his best friend and brother were both safely behind him as they sorted themselves out and got to their feet.

At that moment, the exit door to the far end of the course banged open. A little Minotean man, half-a-head shorter than Iolaus, stormed out, his long, curly white locks trailing after him as his stamped up the course. He carried a gilded bowl filled with watermelon chunks in one hand, and one of the ribbon-decorated wands in the other.

Reaching the dazed group, he thrust the bowl under the bull's nose, who dove in with a happy bleat, then turned, and applied the wand to Hercules backside with a single sharp 'whack'.

"Hey!" Herc yelped, hands flying to protect his already sore posterior as he backed away from this crazy man.

"Quit picking on my bull, you Greek lummox!" the Minotean yelled in Greek, shaking the wand in the astonished demigod's face. "He's not for riding, fool!"

"I wasn't trying to ride him!" Hercules protested, hurt.

"Grandfather, stop yelling at our guests! They'll think you don't like them!" the Minotean king called from the Royal box in his own language.

"Hah! I warned you about Greeks, didn't I?" the white-haired Minotean yelled right back, shaking the wand for emphases. "Damned idiots will try to ride anything!"

"You must forgive the king's grandfather," the Minotean ambassador called down, looking very embarrassed, "He's very protective of the Sacred Herds."

"The king's grandfather?" Iolaus squawked, staring at the outraged little man.

"Well, he used to be king, but he gave it up," the ambassador explained with a shrug.

"Damned right I did! Give me a nice, sensible bull any day over visiting Greeks!" the little man spat, tossing them a dirty look as he turned to the little Sacred Bull, who looked up at him with a put-upon, innocent expression that Iolaus recognized only too well, having used it numerous times himself on Hercules.

"Were the big, mean Greeks picking on my sweet little baby?" the former king cooed fondly to the bull, who responded by gently butting his hip, carefully avoiding contact with his horns, and nosing the now-empty gilded bowl hopefully. The little Minotean elder scooped up the bowl, hooked a skinny arm around the bull's neck, tucked the wand into the belt cinching his tunic, scratched the thatch of curly fur between between the bull's horns and crooned, "Come along like a good boy, Arion, and you can have all the watermelon you want. We're not gonna let those nasty Greeks play with you anymore, no we're not." Crooning softly, he headed for the exit, the Sacred Bull following as docilely as a pet kitten, lowing softly as the crowd broke into cheers and applause.

"I don't believe this!" Hercules groaned, swaying slightly where he stood, "That thing nearly kills you and it gets watermelon?!"

"Oh, c'mon, Herc, the bull didn't mean any harm. He was confused, is all. Marina told me the Sacred Bulls are pretty tame; folks only get hurt by accident doing this. The bulls never gore anybody," Iolaus explained, sighing.

"Well, guys, looks like all the excitement is over," Iphicles said, "I think we're supposed to follow the former king out of here. Here, Hercules, take my other arm and steady yourself."

"Huh?" Herc muttered, still staring with bleary anger towards the retreating bull's tail. "Nah, you help Iolaus. I'm okay."

"Are not," Iolaus insisted, "You're still dizzy, Herc."

"Am too," Hercules countered, "And I'm not dizzy."

"Hercules, you're swaying," Iphicles noted, "And you're still a little green around the gills."

"No, I'm not," Hercules said, listing to the left.

"You're gonna walk into the walls, Herc," Iolaus warned.

"I said I'm okay!" Hercules replied crossly, taking two wobbly steps forward and smacking face-first into the wooden barrier. Blinking at it, he asked in a bewildered tone, "Where did that come from?"

"Stubborn," Iolaus murmured fondly as Iphicles sniggered. "Come here," the hunter said, limping over to take Hercules' arm. He nodded to Iphy, who stepped over to slip his arm around the hunter's waist. Leaning on Iphy, the blonde guided his wobbly friend down the street, Hercules grumbling softly to himself all the way.

"'Scuse, what was that, Herc?" Iolaus asked as they reached the exit. It was hard to hear over the chattering, cheering crowd.

"I said, 'I am never getting on anything with hooves again'!" Hercules snarled crossly, getting some of his color back.

At that, the little Sacred Bull, about to exit through the wooden doors, threw a haughty, annoyed glance over his shoulder at the grumbling demigod. Turning back, nose up in the air, the bull stopped for second, tail lifting, then pranced daintily through the door.

"He didn't" Iolaus giggled.

"He did" Iphicles chuckled, steering the hunter to the left.

"Who did what now?" Hercules demanded, pulling stubbornly to the right.

And stepped right into the pile of Sacred manure, slipped, and sat down hard. Glaring up at his sniggering brother and giggling best friend, he snarled, ", Gods, I hate bulls!"

Hours later, Hercules was still sulking as the Dancing Celebration was going full swing around him. The visiting Greek contingent, along with various other visitors to Mino's shores and, of course, the triumphant Dancers, were gathered on the main floor of the palace, casually sprawled on large over-stuffed cushions scattered about among low tables laden with a variety of dishes, including a greater variety of seafood than the Greeks had ever seen; everything, in fact except beef, which was conspicuous in its absence.

Also conspicuous in his absence was Iolaus.

The beaming Minotean king noticed this, and motioned his ambassador over from were he was admiring a particularly limber dancing girl who swayed before the guests.

"Where's the gold-haired one?" the King asked in Minotean.

"Taking a bath, sir," the ambassador replied with a trace of a smirk.

"Oh. Where is my sister, then?"

"Helping. It's a bubble bath, and the golden-haired one was hurt, and we can't have him slipping in the bathtub, so..."

"So where are my other sisters?" the king asked with a some concern.

"Oh, they're helping, too. It's a big tub."

The king's smile grew wider. "Good," he said with satisfaction, "I like that gold hair; we could do with some around the place."

Surveying the gathering critically, the king frowned slightly. Across the room, Iphicles sat crossed legged, surrounded by people, the Minotean toddler who had wandered onto the bull course cuddled in his lap as he happily played with the Corinthian king's long locks. Iphy was regaling the small crowd with some of the adventures he had shared with his brother and Iolaus, much to the delight of the visiting Egyptian woman, Mary, and her family. So the Minoteans present could share the fun, Iphy was telling the tales in both Greek and Minotean, switching back and forth. He was obviously having a ball.

The Minotean king pointed over at Hercules, alone in a corner, listlessly poking at the table of food in front of him and gazing forlornly at the entrance.

"Why isn't he in the bath too?" the king asked.

The ambassador shrugged. "The girls invited him, sir, but he just turned pink and said 'no, thanks'. I think he may think he somehow wasn't welcome to participate in the Dancing."

"Nonsense," the king snorted, "He's a guest, and he shouldn't be left alone like that. It's not polite." Glancing about, the king spotted a disgruntled-looking woman entering quietly. He motioned her over.

"Why the long face, cousin?" he asked gently.

The woman, a few years older than the king's sister, sat down next to him with a sigh. "I wanted to help the golden one with his bath, but the tub's full," she complained.

The king beamed, problem solved. Pointing at Hercules, he leaned close and murmured, "That one's all by himself. No competition."

The king's cousin brightened, giving the demigod a slow once-over.

"Ohhh," she sighed happily, "He's a big one! You're sure he's free? I like big guys!"

"He's all yours," the king said generously, "He looks like he needs cheering, doesn't he?". With a happy girlish giggle of anticipation, she jumped to her feet, stopped, and smiled down.

"Mind if I borrow this?" she asked, lifting a small tray of delicacies from the king's table, "might help put him in the mood."

"Go ahead," the king replied, nodding.

A moment later, Hercules looked up to see a lovely Minotean woman standing before him, one of the ever-present gilded trays in one hand. She explained, "My cousin says I should come keep you company."

Hercules blinked, and threw a startled glance at the Minotean king, who smiled encouragingly and nodded. Looking back up at the woman, he smiled uncertainly in welcome. His stomach seemed to have finally settled down, and he was in the mood for some company.

She smiled back, revealing a lovely smile. Like almost all the Minoteans, she was tall and slender, with long dark hair falling in loose curls down her back, and large, dark, slightly up-tilted eyes. She caught his gaze with her own, and Hercules lost himself in those eyes. The next thing he knew, she had gracefully dropped down onto the cushion next to him, snuggled close, and was feeding him one of the tidbits from the tray.

Yep, the evening was definitely looking up!

It was looking up for the woman, too. Merianda was looking forward to getting to know Hercules much better, her eyes tracing the broad line of his shoulder appreciatively. While Minotean men frequently came in 'tall', they seldom came in 'broad'.

Across the room, the king nudged his ambassador to Greece and they exchanged smirks.

"Thirty seconds. That beats her own personal record," the king chuckled as Hercules nibbled at the delicacy.

"I think she likes Hercule," the ambassador commented, noting the lingering appraisal she was giving the dreamy-eyed demigod, "I don't think he stands a chance."

"That's...delicious," Hercules sighed.

"A local favorite. It's considered something of...an aphrodisiac," she purred in his ear.

And then Hercules made a serious mistake. "Oh, what is it?" he asked innocently.

"Dung beetle," she confessed throatily.

The End.

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