Warriors in Bronze Read Online Free Page A

portico. 'Fellow's helmet plume needs combing,' the Marshal murmured. Then he clapped my shoulder. 'I've had an idea for getting Hercules out. The moves
    will have to be subtle, but I believe the plan will work.'
    * * *
    Jason concluded his arrangements and interviewed Heroes who volunteered for Colchis. Meanwhile an outrider from Tiryns announced Hercules was coming. I was engaged on the Field of War and missed his arrival. On returning to the citadel I met an entourage gathered outside the Northern Gate - and a villainous lot they looked. Diores identi­fied some characters as we passed: Iolaus, Hercules' nephew, a bitter-faced young man, trap-mouthed and restless-eyed; and Hercules' son Hyllus, not much older than I, a surly youth with a brooding air. A seasoned bunch, their armour grimed and dented - not the sort of men you would care to meet in a narrow pass in the dark.
    Hercules, Eurystheus and the Marshal were closeted in con­ference. I learned later they questioned him closely about the Pylos escapade. Hercules, surprised and hurt, explained that his cattle-thieving quarry had crossed into Pylian territory; and during a night pursuit - typical of Hercules to go on fighting after sundown - gave him the slip and he found himself at dawn below the rock of Pylos. A quick reconnaissance dis­closed a yawning gate and sentries half asleep. Cheated of his prey, irritable and frustrated, Hercules pounced on a heaven­-sent gift, caught the garrison literally napping, killed everyone in sight, collected all the booty his warriors could carry and marched away, satisfied with a job well done.
    Atreus listened incredulously, met the king's despairing look and rolled his eyes to the ceiling. They made no attempt to expound the enormity of an unprovoked attack on a friendly city: Hercules' brain was not of the kind to unravel political niceties. Eurystheus, instead, casually mentioned Jason's mis­sion and suggested the dangers involved would daunt the bravest paladin; men of proven valour flinched from a venture so hazardous. Of the few that offered to serve, Jason chose only the most renowned.
    Hercules swallowed the bait like a hungry shark. 'Why hasn't the idiot come straight to me? I'm just the leader he wants!'
    'I don't think,' said Atreus carefully, 'Jason is seeking a leader; he's doing the job himself. He badly needs outstanding warriors like you - but he's a very selective man.'
    'Selective?' Hercules spluttered. 'He can't have doubts about me! He'll jump for joy if I join him. It's a chance to add to my laurels, and Tiryns is damnably dull. If you'll release me for a while I'll interview Jason and tell him I'm coming.'
    Eurystheus kept his face impassive. 'It can be arranged. Come to the Hall and take a cup of wine.'
    There, relaxing in a chair, surrounded by admiring nobles, I first met Hercules. I had expected a giant, and found instead a person of middle height, almost as broad as he was long; tre­mendous muscles knotted a bulky body. He wore a lion skin - summer or winter he never changed - and carried a knobbled vine-staff. A shaggy man: tousled rust-coloured hair fell to his shoulders, the beard cascaded across a barrel chest, a furry mat swathed legs and arms. You could hardly see his face for all the hair, only mad blue eyes that stared between the tresses. His voice was high and squeaky, a chicken's cackle mouthed from the frame of a bull.
    I poured him wine in a golden cup and waited close beside him: a moonstruck boy adoring a famous Hero, the remem­brance of Atreus' criticisms gone like mist at sunrise. Hercules drained the goblet at a gulp. As I refilled it I asked, in reveren­tial tones, the history of the tawny hide he wore.
    'Ha!' he squawked. 'Have you not heard of the Nemean lion, my lad? Where have you been all your life? A monster which killed cattle, men and horses, and nobody would face him. So, naturally, they sent for me. The creature must have known I was on his track, and went into hiding.