A/N Well here we are again with another chapter. I can't quite say that I'm satisfied with this one and it's not quite the chapter that I intended it to be but I hope you'll still enjoy it anyway. Let me know what you think.
"Why have they not been found yet?" Anaxandros' complained, his voice harsh and angry.
The Amphigeneian King sat propped up in bed, his right arm resting in a sling. The knife thrown by Aeson's son had done its work well, he thought sourly. The blade itself had penetrated deep into the muscle, an injury that would have been painful enough on its own and would have required a decent period of recovery without any added complications. As it was though the wound had quickly become infected, the knife having been none too clean after a long night of fighting in the city streets, and Anaxandros had spent much of the last few days in bed suffering the effects of a fever with the wound throbbing without relief.
He owed the boy pain now, he decided; there were cuts to be settled between them. Would that he had made the poison coating his knife blade just a little stronger – enough to dispose of the brat forever, or at least cause permanent harm. Yes, it would have been incredibly pleasing to think of the witch Queen's son permanently incapacitated, his health broken, unable to function without the help of others. All it would have taken would have been just a bit more poison on the blade, something a little stronger perhaps. It was not a mistake that Anaxandros would be making again. When Jason fell into his hands he would not be merciful (and he firmly believed it was only a matter of time before the entire Atlantian royal family was in his hands). The young man had no idea yet what true pain actually was but he would soon learn. Anaxandros comforted himself with that fact.
That Minos and his wife had escaped the city seemed certain now although Anaxandros could not see how it had been done. He had seen with his own eyes the former King and his entourage, the Queen unconscious in the arms of a retainer, retreat to the Oracular chamber below the Temple. That cavern and the living quarters inhabited by the Oracle off it had been thoroughly examined and there seemed to be no other way out other than via the main stairs, yet Minos was clearly no longer down there. It had to be magic – witchcraft – that had allowed them to escape. Anaxandros shuddered at the thought.
It would not do Minos any good though. With his wife grievously injured (if she were not dead already – but Anaxandros supposed that would be too much to hope for) the party could not have gone too far. Having tightened his stranglehold on the city, Anaxandros was now ready to send his men out into the surrounding countryside in search of the former King. Once Minos and his wife were apprehended and disposed of permanently the Amphigeneian grasp on the kingdom would be that much more secure. It was also time to gain control of the surrounding towns. Whilst Anaxandros was certain that none of them were large enough to put up more than a token resistance he wanted to clamp down on any dissent as quickly as possible; rebellion was not going to be given time to form in Atlantis.
Of course there was still the problem of the missing Princess (and Anaxandros still believed that she could be of use to furnish his imbecile son with a string of eminently suitable heirs), the Oracle of Poseidon and the Queen's brat – the boy who had caused so much of his Anaxandros' current pain. They had disappeared into the city streets by all accounts and had yet to be found in spite of Anaxandros' proclamation that anyone found harbouring them would be summarily executed. He hissed slightly as he shifted in bed, the ragged edges of the knife wound in his shoulder pulling painfully. He could not accept that the fugitives had managed to escape the city; it was an inconceivable eventuality. After Atlantis had been sealed – cut off – for weeks now. How could anyone have escaped under those circumstances? Yet if the group had not fled the city then where were they? The city had been torn apart, every building searched, and yet there had been no sign. Anaxandros growled as his rage grew once more.
"They will be found My Lord," the traitor's voice grated against Anaxandros' ears.
"How?" the Amphigeneian King demanded.
The traitor had proved useful, of that there was no doubt, but still Anaxandros would be a fool to trust him completely. Even now he could not bring himself to think of the man by name: his life would be determined and his legacy remembered as the courtier who had betrayed a King and brought a country to its knees. Not that anyone was aware of that fact as yet. Most of the members of the Atlantian court were under some form of house arrest until their loyalty could be decided. There were undoubtedly those who would be resistant to the new rule and who would have to be dealt with accordingly – a few object examples made to encourage the rest to remain in line – but equally there were bound to be those who would see which way the wind blew and try to ride along with it; who would welcome Anaxandros as long as he did not threaten their own positions. As far as most of the court was aware the traitor was in the same position they were: held under house arrest and being brought to Anaxandros for questioning. For now the Amphigeneian King was content to leave things that way. The traitor would be of much more use if those who might potentially resist believed he was still loyal to Minos.
"Your Majesty we have to consider the idea that the Princess and her companions may no longer be in the city," Ceyx's stoic voice interrupted Anaxandros' thoughts. "We have searched everywhere and found no trace. It is possible that in the chaos that followed the battle they may have found a way to escape the city."
Anaxandros rounded on his general.
"You are telling me that your men have been so incompetent that they have allowed the Princess to escape?" he hissed in a dreadfully quiet voice. "Then let us see if we cannot persuade them to be more diligent in their duties in the future."
"My Lord," Ceyx began.
"You will gather the men responsible for taking and guarding the city gates General," Anaxandros went on. "You will line them up in front of the main body of troops. You will divide them into groups of five. Every fifth man will be scourged by his comrades – will receive one hundred lashes. It will fall to the other four in each group to administer the punishment and if the job is not done well you will punish them all."
Ceyx looked momentarily horrified.
"One hundred lashes My Lord?" he queried, his voice registering his discontent. "But surely morale…"
"Two hundred then," Anaxandros growled. He cast a dark look at the soldier. "I can make it more if you continue on your current course… and if you do not have the stomach for command there are plenty who would."
Ceyx swallowed hard. It was no more than a few days since he had seen Anaxandros' last general, Gurgos, Ceyx's former commanding officer, disposed of in a typically brutal way. He had no intention of allowing his own career to end in that sort of manner. Better to submit to the will of his King and follow the orders he had been given than to face disgrace and ignominy, with execution following shortly after.
"I will see it done Your Majesty," he answered.
"There is another matter that I feel I must raise Your Majesty," the traitor murmured unctuously.
"What?" Anaxandros barked.
"I am… concerned about the quality of recommendations you are receiving from your advisors," the thin man went on. "The wording of the last proclamation delivered was perhaps a little… unwise… and given your own clear political acumen, My Lord, I can only assume it was worded that way on the advice of those who council you."
"In what way was the wording unwise?" Anaxandros demanded. "Be very careful. I have punished men for less."
"Sire I have only your best interests at heart," the thin man protested.
"And your own I have no doubt," Anaxandros responded. He shifted uncomfortably in the bed, silently cursing the accuracy of Jason's knife throwing once more. "But do not assume to test my patience with prevarication. I have little time for it at this present time I assure you."
The thin man looked at the Amphigeneian King appraisingly. Anaxandros had never had the most pleasant temperament and his current level of discomfort – the direct result of both the injury to his shoulder and the illness it had caused – was making dealing with him even more hazardous than usual. Still the traitor had survived in the Atlantian court, with all its intrigues and petty rivalries, for more than twenty years now, all the time serving his Amphigeneian master to further his own ends. He was nothing if not wily and knew that the vain and arrogant King could be easily manipulated with a few words of flattery dropped in here and there.
"I do not intend to prevaricate, My Lord," he answered obsequiously. "It was the reference to Aeson's son which may prove to have been unwise. The general populous are like sheep… easily led and easily cowed… yet an idea, once it takes root, can spread through them like wildfire. The citizens of Atlantis have believed for more than twenty years that their Prince was killed. His name has not been spoken of for long years now. In the minds of the people the boy is dead and long forgotten. To mention him in the proclamation… it will bring him back into the minds of the people… and if the people believe that their Prince is indeed alive they may become more resistant to your rule. The idea, once it takes hold, that Aeson's son is still alive will grow and spread. Rumour will fuel it like wildfire… and to have referred to him in the proclamation will give those rumours credence."
Anaxandros glowered.
"The people really did not know of the boy's claim?" he asked darkly.
"No My Lord. Minos did not wish the boy's identity known beyond a few trusted advisors within the Palace," the thin man's voice was heavy with irony as he mentioned the 'trusted advisors' since he himself had been a member of that select group. "I gather that it was partly for the boy's own sake since he had not yet had the opportunity to come to terms with his identity and partly because Minos was not yet certain of what to do with him… and did not want to risk the boy becoming a figurehead of rebellion, even unwittingly. He had not yet ascertained whether the boy would be of further use beyond this current siege and was hardly likely to name him as a member of his family until he was certain what path to follow."
Anaxandros swore under his breath. This was not something he had considered. He had been certain that the people would have become aware of Jason's identity as soon as the boy had declared himself. It seemed strange to him that the lad would not have declared himself from the rooftops to force the court to accept him. Yet now that he knew the truth he was uncomfortably certain that the traitor was right and he had indeed made a fundamental error. This could indeed spread ferment and discord if he permitted it to. Still it would do no good to allow anyone to see that; to admit to his mistake.
"It scarcely matters," he growled. "The boy will be in our hands soon enough and any claim he believes that he has to the throne will be snuffed out along with his life. He will be found and he will be made to suffer for the impertinences he has offered us. He will die a traitor's death. It is only a matter of time. Make no mistake I intend that the line of Atlantian Kings will end now. Find them… find all of them! Do whatever it is that you need to do to make this happen."
The rain had set in shortly after the midday meal on their second day out from the cave. Pasiphae had proved obstinate in her insistence that they should move to the hunting lodge and in spite of his misgivings Pythagoras had been forced to agree to their departure. Whilst it might potentially risk the Queen's health to make the journey there was no doubt that the conditions at the end would be far superior.
As things were the start of their journey had passed off easily. Pythagoras had awoken before the dawn to discover Dion's three soldiers preparing to set off on their journeys to the garrisons, orders from the King already hidden amongst their equipment. He had been unhappy to note that Jason was also up and around at such an early hour, having hoped that his friend would still be sleeping, knowing that no matter how easily they took the journey it would still be a difficult and painful one for a young man with several broken ribs. It appeared though that his hopes had been thwarted, although whether it was because Jason was habitually an early riser or whether his ribs had been bothering him in the night was unclear and Jason himself had once again proved frustratingly reticent on the subject while there were other people around who might hear.
Pythagoras had watched without comment as his stubborn and annoyingly independent friend had packed his blankets into his satchel, moving slowly and with great care which told Pythagoras more eloquently than any words ever could just how stiff and sore Jason really was. In a way Pythagoras was glad that Hercules had still been asleep. The burly wrestler would have been unlikely to have been able to hold his tongue and would have tried to make their friend sit down and rest. In the mood Jason had been in that would only have caused more problems. Pythagoras was grimly certain that Jason would have obstinately dug his heels in, insisted he was fine and pushed himself beyond his own current physical limitations purely to try to prove that fact, potentially causing himself additional harm in the process. So he had watched his friend struggling through his self-imposed tasks from the corner of his eye, knowing the almost desperate need to not be a burden to his friends that was driving Jason at the moment, but ready to step in and help if it was necessary.
Whilst he had allowed Jason the chance to be self-sufficient in packing his meagre gear (a task that was not too onerous) Pythagoras did draw the line at allowing his currently injured friend to fetch wood and build up he fire in preparation for breakfast as he had apparently been about to do as soon as his blankets were put away. The young genius had simply done the job himself, casually and without comment as if that had been his intention all along and as though he had not spotted Jason slowly moving himself to do the same thing. With a smile he had turned and asked Jason to begin to wake those members of the camp who were still asleep as he had begun to prepare their final meal in the cave, noting clinically that his dark haired friend winced as he turned and preparing a painkilling draught for both his patients to take before they began their journey.
Leaving the cave had been remarkably smooth. Pasiphae had plainly realised that travelling in her ruined dress was not practical and by the time Pythagoras had moved over to her with the tonic he wished her to take she had completed what preparations she was able to. It was with some surprise that he discovered that she had, with the help of either the Oracle or Ariadne, ripped away the diaphanous skirt of her dark blue dress to leave the trousers that were usually hidden by the skirt (wide legged and gathered at the ankle) and worn to protect her modesty when riding. The remains of the skirt itself had been used to wrap her jewellery, removed for travelling, into a small bundle which could be added to one of the bags and carried easily. The blood stained and torn bodice of the dress had either been removed or was simply hidden by the single spare tunic that Ariadne had brought from the Palace inside Pythagoras' satchel, worn unbelted by the Queen to avoid placing any pressure on the wound to her stomach that was only just beginning to heal, the scabbed over skin delicate and tender and all too easy to reopen. Pasiphae had scraped her usually immaculately dressed hair back into a braid similar to the one that Ariadne wore. It was strange to see the imperious and coldly beautiful Pasiphae dressed in such an odd mismatch of clothing yet somehow she still retained her regal air; was every inch the Queen.
She had managed the journey much better than Pythagoras had expected. It was true that he had increased the dose of painkilling tonic that she had received, adding in a light sedative to make the journey easier and try to prevent as much pain as he possibly could, but even so Pasiphae had been uncomplaining, allowing herself to be carried by Dion, Hercules or Nisos, taking turns to share the load. Pythagoras knew only too well that under normal circumstances Jason would have tried to join in and didn't doubt that his friend was strong enough but fortunately even he seemed to realise that it simply wasn't a possibility at this moment in time; that he was simply not well enough to help.
The first day had passed easily, although by nightfall they had all been glad to make camp and rest for a time. Sometime around late morning Nisos, scouting ahead of the group, had spotted a patrol in the distance which had necessitated a short stop while they hid in bushes, staying as still and quiet as possible for anxious minutes until the patrol passed by and went on its way. After that they had picked up the pace by unspoken agreement, all determined to put a little extra distance between themselves and the city and keen to reach their destination as speedily as possible. It meant that they had covered far more ground than they had expected to by nightfall and could anticipate reaching the hunting lodge on the next evening rather than having to spend an extra night in the open. Still their increased pace had tired them all and the evening's camp had been subdued as they sought what rest they could. Pythagoras had spent a fair amount of time ensuring that the journey had not been too taxing on Pasiphae and that she was made as comfortable and pain free as possible. He had intended to persuade Jason to allow himself to be examined properly as soon as Pasiphae was settled, if only to ensure that his friend was not in undue pain. By the time Pythagoras had finished with the Queen, however, Jason had already appeared to be asleep and Pythagoras had not liked to disturb him.
Still he had had some misgivings about the wisdom of that course of action when he had awoken early this morning to once again find Jason slowly packing up his blankets into the satchel that he had allowed no-one else to carry for him, bluntly stating that the bag wasn't heavy and everyone else already had enough to carry. He had managed to persuade Hercules to help him into his breastplate yesterday, the side lacings tied much more loosely than usual in deference to the broken bones in his ribcage, and had not bothered to take it off when settling down to sleep last night. Pythagoras supposed he could see the wisdom of it given that they were essentially fugitives on the run at the moment, and yet he couldn't help wishing that Jason would just let go of some of that rigid self-control that he was leaning on and allow himself to be helped instead. It wasn't pride exactly, of that the mathematician was only too well aware, it was more an instinct to melt into the background, a desire to avoid burdening those around him with his pain, to stop those of their companions who he was still perhaps instinctively a little wary of from seeing any weakness in him, a survival instinct that was largely unconscious Pythagoras felt.
It was fairly apparent to the young genius in that still hour just before the dawn, watching Jason crouching on the far side of the fire and seeing the misery in his features when he believed that no-one was looking, that his friend had slept very little; a fact that had grown ever more apparent as the day had progressed. Every line in Jason's body screamed of exhaustion and Pythagoras had had to bite his lip on more than one occasion to stop himself from calling a halt just to give his friend a chance to get a few minutes rest. As it was every time he had considered it, drawing in a deep breath in preparation to speak on at least one occasion, he had found his friend's dark eyes on him, their expression challenging as though daring Pythagoras to speak out on his behalf. As with yesterday Pythagoras knew that that would only lead him into a direct confrontation with the more obstinate side of his friend; a situation he wanted to avoid if at all possible so that he didn't goad Jason into any form of rash activity which might cause him further damage in an attempt to prove his own point. Far better to manipulate Jason carefully and work around his stubbornness, backing down from a direct confrontation now in order to marshal his arguments for when they were really needed, and hopefully to be able to step in before Jason tired himself past the point of collapse. Pythagoras ruefully shook his head. Sometimes Jason was just too pig-headed for his own good.
They had set off early, each of them keen to reach their destination and the small comforts it might provide as quickly as possible, and had stopped shortly before midday to make a light meal of cold meat (cut from the boar that Hercules had hunted and roasted slowly over the fire the night before they had left the cave), nuts and berries, hurriedly gathered from nearby trees and bushes. Pythagoras had not been able to keep his worry from his face as he had allowed his eyes to roam across their little group, noting that while some (Hercules for instance) still ate with their usual gusto, several of his companions ate very little. There seemed little that he could do about it here though – the sooner they could get to the hunting lodge, where the more fragile members of the party could be encouraged to rest and be provided with a hot meal, the better.
Now though the weather had closed in on them; the wind picking up alarmingly and fat drops of rain making their way down through the canopy of the trees to soak the travellers below in a steady downpour. This was not a good situation for any of them to be in, particularly the ailing members of the party. Almost unconsciously Nisos, once again at the head of their group, began to pick up the pace.
Pythagoras looked around himself with worried eyes. Pasiphae should most definitely not be out in this weather. The cloak she was wrapped in, commandeered from one of the soldiers who had been despatched to the garrisons, was already saturated, the hem hanging heavy and streaming water down onto the forest floor, splashing up the legs of Dion, who was currently carrying the Queen. Pythagoras cursed under his breath. In her currently weakened state she would undoubtedly be more susceptible to a chill (just as Jason had been after the incident with Dakos so many months ago now) and would need to be made warm and dry as soon as they arrived at the hunting lodge; put to bed with warm blankets, a tonic and possibly some hot broth to ward off the effects of the cold and rain. Actually, Pythagoras decided, some hot broth would do them all good. It would be one of his first tasks when they arrived.
The young mathematician turned his attention to his other companions. Nisos and Dion were stoic soldiers. There was something reassuring about their solid presence. Nisos still ranged a little in advance of the main group, although still within sight, his eyes everywhere as he looked for potential threats. He looked a little cold as the rain soaked through his cloak, but Pythagoras was certain that Nisos would take no harm from it.
Truth be told Pythagoras was more concerned about other members of the group. Minos was not particularly robust, for instance. After all it was only a few short months ago that he had apparently been on his deathbed. That he had recovered at all seemed nothing short of a miracle. Yet his health was not what it had once been and Pythagoras couldn't help but worry that a journey in adverse weather conditions would be dangerous for him. He looked across at the King with worry. Minos had spent most of their trip attempting to ensure his wife's wellbeing and comfort, stoically ignoring any discomfort on his own part. The care that he had shown towards his family had certainly increased Pythagoras' opinion of the man. Minos had always seemed so cold and aloof to the people of Atlantis – a figure to be respected and feared rather than loved – yet he was clearly not the uncaring monarch that Pythagoras had always believed him to be. That new found esteem meant that the mathematician wished to spare his King as much discomfort as possible. The sooner they reached their destination the better.
Ariadne was stronger than she looked. Both the journey they had made to the mines of Pangeon and the fact that she had managed to escape the Palace and the city and had travelled through the wilderness for four days with Jason to re-join them with no apparent harm or discomfort coming to her spoke volumes to Pythagoras for her levels of resilience. The Princess might look delicate but there was an underlying strength – a hardened core – that would see her through most things. That didn't mean, however, that Pythagoras didn't wish that Ariadne never had to experience any great level of discomfort; Ariadne deserved better than having to trudge through the woods in the middle of a storm.
As for his other companions, the Oracle seemed untouched and untouchable; ethereal and remote as ever. Whilst Pythagoras knew she must be just as wet as the rest of them, the rain barely seemed to touch her; did not seem to bother her in any way. She glided serenely along, her face lost in the deep hood of her dress, pulled up to cover her head for travelling. How was she not cold? Pythagoras shivered involuntarily as a gust of wind stirred up the fallen leaves. It seemed that the Oracle was also made of sterner stuff than she seemed.
Pythagoras looked round at his fellow travellers and froze, suddenly pulled from his contemplation of the other members of the group by the discovery that one of them was missing. Where in the name of the Gods had Jason got to? The last Pythagoras had seen of him he had been walking along with Melas towards the back of the group, seemingly deep in conversation. The young genius had had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that Jason had been avoiding him all day to be honest, although perhaps it would have been more accurate to say that he had been distant from all of them. Maybe he had simply been lost in thought as he walked but in truth Pythagoras suspected that an unhealthy dose of exhaustion coupled with a rising tide of pain and the desire to keep his friends from worrying had more to do with Jason's aloofness on this occasion. His friend's tendency to distance himself, to retreat into himself and to throw up defensive walls, whenever he was upset or hurting was one of Jason's least endearing and most difficult character traits for those around him to navigate. In a way Pythagoras could understand it, knowing what little he did of Jason's background, but it still didn't make it any easier or any less frustrating.
It had therefore been something of a pleasant surprise to see him conversing with Melas. As long as Jason was still talking to someone then things couldn't be too bad – although Pythagoras would have naturally preferred it if his friend had been talking to him. At least then he could have assessed the state Jason was in properly rather than from a distance and taken appropriate action if he felt it was necessary. As it was the mathematician had been forced to gain what information he could from casting surreptitious glances in Jason's direction whenever he thought his friend was too deep in conversation with Melas to notice.
Now though Melas had come forwards to speak with the Oracle before moving on towards the King, his eyes intent, and Jason was nowhere to be seen. Pythagoras peered through the pouring rain at the path behind them, hoping that Jason would appear at any moment. Perhaps he had simply paused to retie his boot or relieve himself behind a bush; perhaps he had told Melas where he was going. Pythagoras slipped forwards, oblivious to the concerned frown Hercules shot in his direction as he hurried past.
Having briefly consulted with the High Priest, Pythagoras dropped back to the rear of the small band, biting his lip and settling his satchel more firmly on his hip, preparing to go back down the trail they had travelled along. As he did a large and firm hand caught hold of his arm and he spun around in surprise.
"What's wrong?" Hercules demanded quietly.
"I have lost track of Jason," Pythagoras admitted. "He was speaking with Melas earlier but now he is nowhere to be seen."
"Maybe he just nipped behind a bush," Hercules suggested. "It happens to the best of us."
"He didn't mention anything to Melas about stopping for any reason," Pythagoras fretted. "In fact he told Melas that he would be fine at the back of the group and would keep an eye out for any Amphigeneians until Melas returned from consulting with the Oracle and the King."
Hercules swore softly.
"That boy is nothing but trouble," he grumbled. "As if we didn't have enough to do without trudging back through a downpour to find his sorry behind." He looked at Pythagoras. "You keep moving," he instructed firmly. "We're not all that far from the hunting lodge and you'll need to show them the way there." He nodded towards the rest of the party who were still moving forwards at a steady pace. "I'll find Jason and we'll catch up with you as quickly as we can."
Pythagoras came very close to heaving a sigh of relief. If the stoicism of Dion and Nisos was comforting, the steady strength and reliability of Hercules, hidden as it was behind a mask of grumpiness, was doubly so. He would rather hear his old friend moaning about the situation than any other sound; Hercules could always be relied on to provide him with support; would always be at his back whenever he was needed. To have the burly wrestler take this particular problem off his hands was reassuring and lightened the burden that was on the young man's shoulders, freeing him to look after the Queen.
"Don't worry," Hercules rumbled preparing to turn back down the path. "Jason will be fine. I'll make sure of it."
Jason was cold, wet and thoroughly miserable. As he trudged along through the steady downpour he wondered just when the last time he had felt quite this cold had been. Certainly not since he had arrived in Atlantis with its warmer climate than what he had been used to growing up in England. It was a little embarrassing actually. He had looked around the group as he had been walking along and few of the others seemed to be feeling the cold the way he was at the moment. Certainly none of them seemed to be shivering uncontrollably. Although to be fair he hadn't been feeling one hundred percent well even before the rain started. Perhaps that had something to do with it.
It didn't help that he was exhausted either. The first night in the cave, when Pythagoras had basically drugged him into insensibility, had been almost sinfully restful and Jason longed to go back to that feeling. For the last two nights though he had barely slept at all. Oh he had gone to sleep easily enough – too tired to stay awake any longer – but a combination of insomnia coupled with the sharp and constant aching from his side had put paid to sleep fairly rapidly and he had found himself lying awake for hours in the darkness, unwilling to move and risk increasing the pain from his ribcage but unable to get back to sleep. What sleep he had achieved could hardly have been described as restful, plagued by strange and disjointed images so randomly attached to one another that they could hardly be called a coherent dream.
Jason sighed. Perhaps he should have asked Pythagoras for something to help him sleep last night, much as he hated the thought of taking any sort of sleeping draught – even a herbal one. Out here in the woods though, with the Amphigeneians hunting them, it had seemed distinctly imprudent to put himself in a position where he might potentially struggle to wake if they had been attacked in the night. So instead he had endured and forced himself to struggle on, feeling Pythagoras' inquisitive and knowing blue eyes on him at every turn and being irrationally annoyed by it. Part of him couldn't help but be infuriated that Pythagoras could see through him so easily and yet seemed to be making no move to help, while the larger part was almost desperate to deny that he needed that help and was frustrated that his body was betraying him in this way.
The downpour wasn't helping matters too. Jason had spent the morning trudging along half in a haze, his energy rapidly dwindling under the steady pace that Nisos had set at the head of the group and his head feeling like it was stuffed full of cotton wool. The brief stop for lunch had done little to restore his energy levels and he had picked at his food with little enthusiasm, once again feeling the weight of Pythagoras' concerned gaze but unable to muster any sort of appetite – the constant throbbing from his ribcage and the bone aching tiredness that coursed through him seemed to have put paid to that. Tiredness had left him increasingly irritable and he had drifted to the back of the group as they had set off again, unwilling to take his bad temper out on his companions and afraid that he would start snapping at them before much longer as the quirks of their personalities – something he usually treasured – grated on his frayed nerves. It had been easier to hide how truly awful he was feeling at the back of the group too; to allow himself to drift along uncaringly. Pythagoras (and more than likely Hercules too) would want him to stop and rest if he knew just how painful it was getting to move or just how tired and ill Jason was actually feeling but Jason would be damned before he allowed himself to slow the group down; before he put them in danger in that way (after all there were Amphigeneians out there somewhere). Especially when he desperately wanted to reach their destination himself and just curl up by a nice warm fire and shut out the world; especially when this journey had been his idea in the first place.
When the rain had set in after the midday meal, it had put the icing on what was already a miserable day. Within minutes they had all been soaked to the skin, the winter wind catching at wet clothes and chilling the bodies underneath even more. By the time Melas had chosen to drop to the back of the group to keep Jason company, the young man had been frozen through, squelching soddenly along, the cold wet mud of the forest paths oozing in through the open vents in his boots, and shivering nonstop. The constant shivering wasn't doing much for the ache in his side either and more than once he found himself suppressing coughs as one or the other of his companions drew near. There was nothing they could do to help until they reached the relative comforts of the hunting lodge so Jason had squared his shoulders and forced himself to keep going, trying to ignore the tightness in his chest as the chill wind threatened to steal his breath away.
To be honest he wasn't entirely sure why Melas had chosen to come back and keep him company. Jason was only too painfully aware that in his current less than stellar mood he was not going to be the best company and his conversation was more likely to tend towards the monosyllabic than the sparkling. Melas hadn't seemed to mind, however. He had apparently been content to walk along telling stories of life in the Temple (where he had apparently been a priest since he was a boy) and did not seem to expect any sort of response from his companion. Jason was rather grateful for that as he wasn't really feeling up to a meaningful conversation but Melas' steady stories, delivered in his deep resonant voice, helped the time to pass more quickly and he found that he could lose himself in them as he walked, blocking out the misery of the day and the way he was feeling.
Eventually Melas had excused himself and gone forwards to discuss some matter or other (and Jason hadn't really been concentrating enough to work out what the matter was) with the Oracle and had then moved on to the King. Jason had tried to reassure the priest that he would be fine on his own for a little while (because he had somehow muzzily thought that Melas seemed to be worried) and assured the man that he would keep a watch out for Amphigeneians until Melas returned to resume his stories.
Without the priest at his side to distract him, however, the cold had rapidly caught at Jason once more, making his teeth chatter unpleasantly. A particularly sharp gust of wind had stolen his breath and set off a nasty coughing fit which had robbed him of his breath completely. He had been forced to stop, leaning heavily against a tree as jagged spikes of white heat ripped through his chest, almost doubled over and unable to breathe at all, until the fit had passed. By the time he had been able to straighten, still feeling more than a little dizzy and shaky, the rest of the group had passed out of sight.
Jason frowned as he tried to force his tired body to pick up the pace a little, still slogging through mud and rain. He really needed to catch up with his companions before they noticed that he had slipped off the back of the group and came looking for him, not wanting to slow them up in any way, particularly since they must be nearing their destination by now. His feet didn't seem to want to cooperate, however, moving sluggishly as though his brain's instructions to them had got lost in translation somewhere, slowing them down to the point where he felt like he was trying to move through treacle. To be fair his mind wasn't actually moving at a much better pace, wasn't registering what he was seeing properly, and so it was almost inevitable somehow that his feet would catch on a fallen branch which seemed to have been put there just to trip him up. For someone who could somersault over bulls with relative ease and grace there were times when Jason could be distinctly clumsy and accident prone – and now was one of those times.
Landing on the forest floor was jarring to say the least. Somehow Jason had managed to stop himself from hitting the ground too hard, putting his hands out blindly to break his fall. Consequently he didn't land quite hard enough to injure himself but the air was still knocked out of him and he lay still for a moment, too stunned to move and momentarily uncertain whether he was hurt or not. Now that he was horizontal his body most definitely protested against the idea of being upright again. It would be only too easy to drop his head down onto his arms and let himself drift away. Jason knew deep down that there were probably very good reasons why he shouldn't let that happen but right now his brain was too foggy to let him think of them or to care.
He ached all over and every movement caused his ribcage to protest painfully, so for a moment he stayed exactly where he was, mentally cataloguing the various aches and pains and trying to work out whether any of them were worse than they had been a moment ago. From somewhere in the back of Jason's mind he thought he remembered hearing someone cry out as he fell, swearing loudly, and now he somewhat fuzzily identified the sound of feet rapidly approaching. He was so tired though and everything was dim and confusing. Just a little sleep, he promised himself. Just a little sleep and everything would no doubt make sense.
A hand grabbed his shoulder suddenly, firmly but not roughly, and Jason turned his head to blink up in sleepy confusion. Hercules' broad face peered back at him, his mouth set into a deep frown and his eyes worried.
"Are you hurt?" the burly wrestler demanded gruffly. "More than you were already," he clarified.
Jason blinked owlishly.
"Don't think so," he managed uncertainly after a moment's thought.
"Are you sure?" Hercules asked
"Yeah," Jason answered vaguely.
"Right then," Hercules rumbled. "We need to get back to the others. Up you get. You can't laze around here all day. There could be Amphigeneians and all sorts in these woods."
Jason tried to force his fuzzy brain into gear. Thinking when he was this tired was a distinct challenge.
"Oh," he managed, still not moving.
Hercules gave a long suffering sigh.
"Get up onto your knees to start with and then we'll get you onto your feet from there," he said with exaggerated patience, making sure every word was slow and clear.
It worried him that Jason clearly wasn't mentally tracking properly at the moment. He had seen the young man trip over the branch, falling with one hell of a bang, but hadn't been close enough to intercept and catch Jason before he hit the ground. Hercules was fairly certain that his friend hadn't hit his head though so there seemed to be no obvious cause for his apparent confusion. He looked more closely at Jason and swore as he took in the bleary, slightly bloodshot eyes, sliding away from him to stare off vaguely over his shoulder, and the weary slump to his friend's shoulders. He had seen Jason exhausted before and knew what signs to look out for so how had he missed it this time?
"Alright," he muttered under his breath, "let's try something different." He tapped Jason's arm gently, noticing that his younger companion's eyes had slipped closed. By the Gods but the boy felt cold even through the soaked material of his tunic. The sooner Hercules could get him up off the floor and heading in the direction of the hunting lodge the better. "Hey," he said. "No going to sleep there. We've got to get moving."
He was rewarded by seeing Jason force his eyes open and shake his head, clearly trying to fight off sleep and regain some level of alertness. With painful slowness the boy pushed himself into a sitting position, wincing with every movement. He seemed to grow a little more alert with every moment that passed and took the water skin that Hercules proffered gratefully, drinking deeply and allowing the lukewarm, gritty water to revive him somewhat, before taking a deep, exhausted breath and handing the skin back to the burly wrestler, turning tired eyes towards his friend.
"What now?" he breathed in a voice dripping with fatigue.
Hercules frowned. He thought he'd already gone through this a few minutes ago. Still, he reminded himself, he couldn't be entirely sure just how alert Jason had been at the time. It was entirely possible that he had not managed to follow what his larger friend had been saying at all. Even now Hercules had the feeling that Jason was struggling to concentrate. It was more than a little worrying.
"Now we try to catch up with the others," Hercules reiterated gently.
"Of course," Jason muttered. "Sorry. I wasn't thinking."
"No," Hercules grinned suddenly. "That's what we have Pythagoras for… to do the thinking."
Jason blinked in faint confusion as he tried unsuccessfully to work his way through Hercules' weak joke. He went to push himself to his feet but thought better of it as the world briefly span out of focus.
Hercules frowned.
"Need a hand?" he asked.
"No," Jason responded automatically. "I'm fine."
"Of course you are," Hercules snorted, reaching out with one meaty hand to grab hold of a fistful of his friend's tunic. "Look, just humour me alright?"
Without waiting for agreement he gently dragged Jason upright, sharing every wince and half-strangled gasp that the young man couldn't help letting out with sympathy brimming in his eyes. Once Jason was standing Hercules moved into his side, bracing his friend until he was certain that the young man was steadier on his feet. He frowned, feeling his friend trembling slightly under his hand, unsure whether it was because of cold, pain or just plain exhaustion, but suspecting that it was probably a mixture of all three.
Still, it would do no good lingering here in the still pouring rain. Not waiting for an invitation, Hercules dragged Jason's right arm across his shoulders and slipped his own arm around the young man's back, resting his hand on his friend's hip below the area where the ribs were damaged, trying to avoid causing any additional pain or distress if he could. It worried him slightly when Jason didn't object, knowing that his friend's independent nature would usually make him resistant to this sort of help.
"Right then," he said. "Let's go."
The wind was biting and the air thinned even further. Before they had gone too far Hercules was forced to stop as Jason fought unsuccessfully to smother cough after cough, bending forwards and hacking helplessly, leaning his weight into his older friend. Hercules frowned again. Jason had had a cough for a couple of weeks now but what had been a dry hacking suddenly sounded much more wet and congested. The burly wrestler's worry deepened, even as Jason, the coughing fit finished for the moment, straightened once more.
Jason, for his part, didn't even bother trying to hide how rough he was feeling from his friend right at this moment. Instead he let his head rest against Hercules' ample shoulder for a minute, drawing strength from his older friend.
"Are you alright?" Hercules rumbled.
"Yeah," Jason answered, trying to ignore Hercules' sceptical look.
They plodded on in silence for a time. Gradually the rain slackened off and the wind began to die down, eventually stopping altogether. As the weather improved, Hercules felt Jason becoming more capable and self-sufficient, still clearly beyond tired but at least able to focus enough to walk without guidance. Still he couldn't help but hover protectively close, ready to step in again if his young friend should falter.
The silence of the forest felt more than a little oppressive to the burly man and so to fill it and to help pass the time as they walked he began to tell stories once again, knowing that he would always have a ready audience in Jason; the lad had a tendency to listen to any story that he was told with rapt attention (much to Hercules' delight given that Pythagoras was not always the most tolerant listener where tall tales were concerned, having heard most of them before) and even when he did interject the odd snarky comment it was always in a light-hearted spirit.
This afternoon though Jason's comments held more than their usual bite and little of their usual sparkle. Hercules sighed. It seemed that his friend was firmly in the cranky stage of tiredness, growing irritated with the least provocation. At least he was focussing a little better – which was an improvement on the state he'd been in when Hercules had found him. The burly wrestler firmly clamped down on his own temper, reminding himself that Jason probably didn't mean to snap and really couldn't help being grumpy under the circumstances, and that actually his irritability was probably one of the reasons he had been loitering at the back of the group – after all he knew that Jason didn't usually like taking his temper out on other people; he was just a bit too sunny natured for that.
Eventually, after a particularly vitriolic response that had made Hercules physically bite his tongue, nails biting into his palms as he clenched his fists at his sides, fighting his own rising temper manfully, Jason glanced across and sighed.
"Sorry," he muttered. "I don't mean to be… well you know…" he finished with a vague wave of his hand.
Hercules couldn't help but notice that his friend was still shivering in spite of the improving weather. At some point in the downpour the hood of Jason's cloak had slipped back off and his dark curls were plastered to his head and dripping a steady stream of water down his back. His clothes were soaked through and streaked with mud from where he had tripped over. All in all he looked like a miserable mess; cold and tired. Hercules glowered, wanting nothing more than to bundle the lad up in some nice warm blankets by a roaring fire with a hot drink to soothe away the coughs that he could see were still trying to bubble up and perhaps one of Pythagoras' tonics to help ease any discomfort and help him rest. That wasn't going to happen while they were still out in the open though.
"Let's just keep moving," he grunted. "I know you're tired, cold, wet and miserable… and actually I'd like to dry out too… so the sooner we can get indoors the better."
"Who said I'm tired?" Jason snapped defensively.
Hercules quirked an eyebrow.
"You've been stumbling along, can barely keep your eyes open, tripped over your own feet back there and are acting like a grumpy, overtired child," he pointed out sharply. "Anyone with half a brain can see you're exhausted… so let's get to the hunting lodge where we can both dry out and get a bit of rest."
Jason bit back the retort that was on the tip of his tongue. Much as he hated to admit it Hercules was probably right. He shivered again, teeth chattering, and coughed wetly, hand immediately grabbing at his ribcage as a spike of pain lanced through him as a result. To his consternation Jason was unable to supress a large yawn, once again fighting a wave of weariness that swept over him and avoiding Hercules' knowing look.
"You're probably right," the young man sighed. "Alright let's keep moving."
It was a relief to both friends when the hunting lodge appeared in front of them, looming through the trees. The small clearing in front of it was deserted but as they approached Nisos appeared from inside and raised his hand in greeting before disappearing around the back. Jason's energy levels were rapidly fading once more and he had come close to tripping over his own feet several times in the past few minutes, causing Hercules to once again duck under his arm and support him – if only to guide him in the right direction when it seemed that Jason's overtaxed and overtired brain wasn't going to be of any use in telling him where to go. As they approached cottage, however, the young man's basic need for independence reasserted itself and much to Hercules' annoyance he shrugged off the supporting arm and headed forwards under his own steam.
Opening the door to the small building the pair were hit by a wall of heat being given off from the small but roaring fire Pythagoras was bustling around. Although the group couldn't have been there for too long they had obviously been busy – lighting the fire, putting up the storm shutters, lighting the lamps, making up beds and getting a pan on to cook. Pasiphae was already ensconced in the large bed against the wall, fast asleep and looking far more comfortable than she had in the cave, with Minos sitting on a stool at her side and the Oracle grinding something into a paste at the side of the bed, muttering prayers over the bowl she held, aided by the ever vigilant Melas. Ariadne seemed to be making up beds for everyone else throughout the room, patting straw that she had obtained from somewhere into thick mattresses and covering them with heavy blankets. Several of these beds had clearly already been completed and the Princess seemed intent on making the rest equally comfortable, her beautiful face intent. Only Dion and Nisos were not present in the room.
For a moment both Jason and Hercules stood in the open doorway basking in the warm glow of the fire until Pythagoras turned and saw them.
"Are you going to come in or not?" he asked with some asperity. "You are letting all the heat out standing there with the door open."
As Jason stepped forwards the young genius looked at him with raised eyebrows, taking in the muddy and wet condition of the clothing and the general air of exhaustion that seemed to cling to his friend with a faintly worried frown.
"You've been busy," Hercules rumbled.
Pythagoras turned.
"Well if we are to be here for a few days we might as well be comfortable," he answered primly. He looked around the warmly lit room with the golden glow coming from the lamps with an air of satisfaction. "The wood that we brought inside last time we were here will stand us in good stead until the ground outside is dry again and I have finally had time to investigate that small store at the back."
"And?" Hercules asked uncomprehendingly.
"It was full of dry straw," Pythagoras answered happily. "It may be a few years old and no longer good enough for animal fodder but it was more than adequate for making comfortable beds. At least we will not have to sleep straight on the ground and should have some comfort." His eyes strayed to Jason as he spoke.
If Jason even heard what his mathematically inclined friend was saying he gave no indication. He felt exhausted and ill and wanted nothing more than to curl up somewhere out of sight where he could metaphorically lick his wounds in peace. Another round of coughing bubbled up wetly from his chest and he bowed his head, wrapping his arms around himself, the rest of the room fading into the background as he tried to draw enough air into his protesting lungs.
Pythagoras' eyes narrowed instantly and he swooped in on his friend as soon as the coughing fit had passed. Before Jason really knew what was happening, and certainly before he could even think of objecting, he found himself stripped of his wet clothing, a towel having been rubbed through his wet curls to dry them off, and lying on one of the makeshift mattresses fairly near to the fire, propped up against a wall with pillows at his back, warm blankets over his legs and a flagon of something warm thrust into his hands.
"I am making a simple stew for supper," Pythagoras announced to the room in general. He shot a look at Hercules. "It would do you good to dry off and get warm too."
"I'm going to," Hercules protested.
"Good," Pythagoras responded sharply. He turned back to Jason with another cup in his hands. "Before you try to object I know you are in pain and I know you do not feel well so please do not even bother trying to tell me otherwise. This should allow you to rest more comfortably so I want to see you drink it all… and I really do not care how bad you think it tastes. That cough worries me. It is growing worse and I do not wish to see you developing a lung fever. Your chest is clearly already congested and I fear there is an excess of phlegm in your lungs. For now please just rest. I do not want to see you trying to help with any jobs… no matter how small… until I am certain that you will take no further harm. I have flaxseed in my stores here so I will be brewing up a remedy to ease your cough as soon as supper is over."
"Pythagoras," Jason started, not really intending to object to his friend's ministrations because actually he already felt a little better for the care that the mathematician was providing, but feeling as though he should at least acknowledge what he was being told.
"No Jason!" Pythagoras went on, in full flow now. "I must insist that you do as I ask. You are not well no matter what you think and I do not want to see you stirring from that bed at the very least until your colour and breathing are improved."
"Pythagoras," Jason tried again, fighting off a bout of coughing.
"I knew that the journey from the cave would be hard on you and I expected you to need to rest at the end of it… but it is plain to anyone with eyes that you have not slept and are exhausted. The journey was clearly more difficult than I had expected and I still don't know why you were so covered in mud when you got here… or for that matter where you had gone when you disappeared from the rest of the group."
Pythagoras was quite impressive when he was in full flow, Jason couldn't help noticing. He sighed, knowing that the young genius was unlikely to be happy with his explanation of where he had been. Pythagoras always seemed to take it as a personal affront when one of his friend's didn't look after themselves.
"I had a coughing fit and had to stop," he admitted quietly. "Couldn't seem to get my breath. I was trying to catch up and I tripped over."
"Tripped over a branch," Hercules added helpfully from the other side of the room. "It took me a while to get him moving again or we'd have been here sooner."
Pythagoras' eyes narrowed even further.
"I'm not hurt," Jason hurried to try to reassure his friend as quickly as possible. "Well no more than I already was. I'm just very, very tired… and you're right, I don't feel very well. I just want to sleep but I don't seem to be able to."
Pythagoras nodded, crouching down next to his friend.
"You should have said something last night," he said.
"Maybe," Jason acknowledged. "I can't think straight at the moment."
"That is because you are so tired," Pythagoras answered. "Trust me to do the thinking right now. Trust that I know what is for the best. Drink this and settle down for a while. I would like you to try to eat some supper once it has finished cooking."
Jason pulled a face. He might feel a little better than he had while they were making their way here but he still really didn't feel much like eating.
"I know," Pythagoras said sympathetically. "Eating is probably the last thing you feel like doing at the moment. Nevertheless it will help you regain your health and strength much more quickly if you can eat."
"Alright," Jason answered tiredly. "I'll do whatever you like and take whatever you want."
Pythagoras frowned slightly. It always worried him when Jason acquiesced so easily. It hardly seemed to be in his friend's nature to give in without a fight and generally told him just how rough Jason was feeling. Still at least it meant that he might actually let himself be looked after for once.
"Very well," he said softly. "Now who would like some supper?" he added more loudly, looking around the room.
