meekly, if he could sit up, his back was killing him—Hercules had already run through most of his darker emotions. It had taken only a hand-ful of pointed questions to convince him that the young man wasn't lying. He had no doubt then that his suspicions had been well founded, that this year Themon's festival had been turned into one of his stepmother's devious traps.
But he needed more information, and there was only one person who could tell him what he had to know. First, however, there was the council to face.
"You know," Iolaus said, "we could always leave. I think it'd be a lot easier facing those rebels again."
Hercules shook his head. "We can't. We're here now."
"I know we're here now, but we don't have to be here later."
"Yes, we do."
Iolaus sighed. "Yeah, I guess you're right." As they walked toward the men he brightened. "We'll still get to see the contestants, though, right?"
Hercules nodded, with a brief smile.
"That's okay, then."
As they approached the steps one of the men, wearing a voluminous dark-green robe edged with gold thread, turned toward them and scowled. He was of medium height, with thick white hair except for a few strands of black over the ears. His face was lined, but pleasantly so. It was the eyes that struck Hercules—
very dark, and set deep beneath dark eyebrows.
"What do you want?" the man demanded. "No one is supposed to be here until the morning."
A soft clank of metal made Hercules aware of the guards posted behind each pillar. Unlike the rebels, these men were well armed and well armored.
"I'm Iolaus," Iolaus announced stoutly, posing with one foot on the bottom step, one hand on his hip.
"Your festival judge. You sent for me, remember? And this is Hercules, your other judge."
The council members stirred, whispered among themselves, and did everything but point and ask for an autograph.
Titus Perical hushed them with a sharp gesture, and his welcoming smile reminded Hercules of an aged wolf that hadn't eaten in a very long time.
A languid, beckoning hand invited the two men up the steps, and after the introductions were made and the fussing had died down, Titus put a friendly hand on Iolaus' shoulder.
"You're late, my friend," he said. "We were all concerned for your safety."
"A little scrape with some rebels, that's all," Iolaus said.
The councillors murmured alarm; Titus hushed them again, with a look.
"You're not hurt, I trust?"
Iolaus laughed. "No, not us. I'm not so sure about the rebels, though."
The councillors laughed their appreciation of his courage, and Titus explained apologetically that the rebels—this particular band anyway—were more of a nuisance than a true danger. They certainly wouldn't be allowed to disrupt the ceremonies. And the identity of their leader was close to discovery.
"This band?" Hercules said.
"Yes. They do show up once in a while. Misguided youth who want to rule the world."
And you don't, Hercules thought; could have fooled me.
"We have a pretty fair idea who they are," the man continued. "They'll be under control in no time."
He gestured dismissively. "Pests. As I said."
The conversation turned to accommodations for the city's honored guests, and a brief explanation of their expected duties and appearances. As it turned out, in return for covering all their expenses, and a generous pouch of dinars for their trouble, all they had to do was make themselves available to the people for admiration, sit with the council at the banquet just before sunset the next day, and be present for the judging that evening.
"And the ladies?" Iolaus asked innocently.
Titus waggled a mock-scolding finger. "Now, Iolaus, we wouldn't want them to try to bribe you, would we?"
Iolaus looked shocked. "Well, no, of course not."
"Then the minute you see them will be the minute they see you first. At the contest." A pious look skyward. "We wouldn't want to offend the gods by giving unfair advantage, now, would we?"
Iolaus didn't respond until
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