Five of Swords
Standard disclaimer applies – I don't own any of them.
A/N. Thank you to everyone who took the time to review and encourage me in the last chapter. I know the huge gaps in posting have lost several readers along the way, so I really appreciate it if you're still following this story. Thanks also to Ash and to my two guests – I'm really glad you're enjoying the story and thanks for your reviews.
I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint. I would love to know what people think. Please enjoy!
Chapter 6
The usual quiet hubbub of the streets had been replaced, it seemed, with a carefree frivolity. The first of Poseideon's great feasting days had commenced and lavish merriment and gluttony poured through every dusty nook and cranny. In the narrower side-streets, people sat crammed onto the stone steps that led up to houses and shops leading out into rows of tables and stools in the wider expanses of road. Flags fluttered in the surprisingly gentle breeze, wine and ale flowed into both the humblest wooden drinking vessel and the opulent bejewelled cups, carved with intricate designs. Toast after toast to Poseidon and to the health of the Royal Family were offered up by random revellers, each one met with an raucous uproar of affirmation – with the odd lewd joke tagged on to the end.
And yet surrounded by such like-minded company, Pythagoras had never sat across such a quiet, sombre Hercules. True, he ate the pies and drank the wine and had asked for a refill twice since they had found a seat to cram into at one of the tables, but his mood seemed inexplicably low. Pythagoras cast a pensive look to his friend, who watched the proceedings around him with a grim detachment, alternately taking a bite out of his meat pie and staring down at the table.
"I hope Iphicles returns soon with his wine," Pythagoras shouted across the table to him, hoping to produce some kind of a response. He glanced across to his cloak, rolled up on the seat next to him. "It is getter harder and harder to keep his place at the table with so much competition for it." As if to make his point, a large man stumbled backwards from where he stood behind the young mathematician in a tight throng of people, bumping him hard on the back so that his nose was almost shoved into his, more modest, meal.
"Apologies, my friend!" the large man laughed, too inebriated even with the sun still so high in the sky, to be truly bothered by the accident. Even so, he eyed the spare inch of seating next to the gangly Pythagoras with a slowly dawning realization, an idea beginning to mist through the alcoholic stupor. Pythagoras glanced up at the man with a weak smile, feeling his nervous frame tense as he tried to push his elbows out a little.
"It's taken."
Pythagoras jumped when he heard Hercules' growl and glanced over to where his friend had temporarily reanimated and was now glowering darkly at the drunken hulk. On seeing the non-too subtle meaning emanating from the dark cloud of Hercules, the man suddenly shook his head and laughed, heartily, thumped Pythagoras on the back in such a good-natured manner that the young man felt it would have been rude to point out how much it had hurt, and stumbled away into the crowd.
The young man smiled gratefully at his friend. "I was beginning to think you weren't with us," he teased, a slight accusation in his tone. Hercules shifted awkwardly.
"Sorry about that," he muttered but offered no further explanation. Pythagoras gave a mental sigh. Even if he had wanted answers for his friend's strange, distant behaviour this was certainly not the time and place to go about seeking them: it was hard enough to exchange inane pleasantries with their neighbours, much less delve into a personal, investigative conversation. But in any event, it was good to see his friend stirring back to life. Even now, he attacked his food with more gusto, glancing about himself at the loud revelry, almost as if seeing and appreciating it for the first time. Pythagoras suddenly winced when he realised all of the stories Hercules could add to the surrounding conversation and, for once, not be wildly inappropriate.
"This is good," Hercules enthused, holding up what was left of the pie in question – a scrap of crust that was soon to meet the fate of its comrades. "One of Thebus' if I'm not much mistaken." Pythagoras doubted that he was: Hercules could practically identify pies through their birth marks. "Are you not going to finish yours?" Hercules asked, glancing down to the cloth Pythagoras had spread before him and the small pile of food that it held.
"Yes!" he answered quickly, wrapping his thin arms protectively around his hoard. He may not inhale his food like others around him but it did not mean it was not appreciated all the same. Hercules just shrugged and let the matter drop, much to the genius' relief. A shadow suddenly fell across his lap and the young man groaned, preparing himself to once again fight for the seat beside him. However, a hand rested gently on his shoulder.
"Thank you for keeping my place," a deep voice said. "You must have had to guard it like Cerberus to the Underworld." A second wave of relief washed over the young man and he smiled up at the newly returned Iphicles, gathering up his cloak as the older man awkwardly climbed over the bench and squeezed in next to him. Hercules offered his brother a tight smile.
"You took your time," he remarked, though his comment was noticeably softened when he saw the flagon of wine Iphicles had brought back with him and was now refilling his cup with. The man gave a shrug.
"I thought you would be holding court amongst these fine fellows," he said, indicating the laughing crowd that stood and sat about them, "entertaining them with one of your colourful stories and I wished to spare myself the more visual details." Hercules scowled even as Pythagoras chuckled, making room for Iphicles to spread his own food out onto a small cloth in front of him. Grapes, cheese, figs and bread he noted: not a pie in sight. Instinctively, irrationally, he wondered if Hercules would have taken offence.
"So, Pythagoras," Iphicles announced turning his head to fix his eye on the young man. "Have you thought any more about my offer?" Immediately, Pythagoras tensed, noting with a sinking heart, the way Hercules darkened and gripped the rim of his cup with a little more force. How he wished Iphicles would realise how uncomfortable it was to bring this conversation up in front of Hercules. He made a mental note to quietly make mention of it when the two of them were alone. For now though, ignoring his old friend's hard stare that bored a hole through the table, he cleared his throat.
"I am thinking about it," he promised. "It is a very kind and tempting offer." He felt, not saw, Hercules sharply lift his downcast eyes from the table to stare directly at him, piercing, accusing and at the same time both sad and understanding. Yet the larger man said nothing eventually shifting his gaze to glare upon his brother. Iphicles himself, if he was aware of the tension created, made no show of it.
"Excellent," he remarked, smoothly. "I know I would be lucky to have you and that it cannot be an easy choice. But I am sure you know your mind enough to make the right decision." Then he smiled and took a deep drink of his wine, sighing in satisfaction as he replaced the cup on the table. The gesture bore a startling resemblance to Hercules and, for a moment, jarred Pythagoras who had almost forgotten the two were related. Now that Hercules glared dangerously upon his brother, Pythagoras felt the air prickle around him. He tensed. Normally, instinct told him to smooth over the rough patches – to calm the waters. But he was too nervous to play peace-keeper this time. He was a tiny boat being tossed on those stormy waters and the idea of battling the winds and waves was more than he had the stomach for that day.
"If you will excuse me," he mumbled into his lap. "There are some chores I must finish at the house."
"Now?" Iphicles asked, surprise written over his face. "Surely they can wait until after the feast? And besides, your house looks immaculate as it always does." Pythagoras laughed, hesitantly.
"I know it looks that way and it is kind of you to say. But really, there are things that I am glad you cannot see. But I really should…"
"Let him go," Hercules said, quietly. "If he says he has things to do, that's his business." A quick flick of his eyes to the young, blonde man and an even quicker hint of a smile showed the apprehensive Pythagoras that the remark had been made out of understanding rather than bitterness. He smiled gratefully in response.
Iphicles bowed his head, softly. "Of course, my friend. Please forgive my intrusion. I shall see you back at the house where I shall no doubt be carrying my brother home if his wine cup is refilled any more." The man's eyes twinkled with his own joke but Pythagoras only felt it settle heavily in the pit of his stomach.
"Then you are far more suited to the task than I," he returned, with a polite smile. "I shall see you both later." And with that, he clambered to his feet, half falling backwards off the bench in his attempt to step over it. He was grateful once more to feel the steadying hand of Iphicles reach out to grab an arm and keep him on his feet as he righted himself. Then both brothers watched in silence as the young man pushed and wove his way through the tightly knitted crowd, neither one relaxing until it was apparent that the slight lad had made it into open ground unharmed.
Once Pythagoras had disappeared from sight, Iphicles turned back to his brother, noting for the first time the look of festering suspicion. It did not come entirely as a surprise to him and the tall man sighed heavily. His brother had clearly been labouring over a worry for some time now.
"You have something on your mind, Hercules?" he enquired, deceptively lightly, knowing it would only take a gentle prod with his brother's mood so darkly brewing. For a moment, Hercules did not answer him. He looked away, marshalling his thoughts, his fingers woven tightly together as they rested beside his forgotten place-cloth. Iphicles sat back a little from the table, regarding his brother patiently though with open curiosity.
After a moment, the old wrestler seemed to reach a conclusion. He raised steely eyes to fix upon his twin. "Why are you here, Iphicles?" It was strange, Iphicles thought, that in such a noisy, bustling environment, he could hear his brother perfectly though the man's tone had been low and hard, edged with that familiar hint of fear and sorrow. He gave a neutral shrug in reply, to which Hercules narrowed his eyes, leaning in closer.
"Are you here to stir up the past? To cause trouble? You've not been straight with me." He hesitated. "And I suppose I'm as much to blame for that – I've not gone out of my way to have this conversation. But I'm having it now. I need to know you're not going to go dredging things up that belong in the past – forgotten. Things are good the way they are now – I don't need you tearing down everything I've built up." For a moment, his eyes widened, becoming wild, imploring, desperate. He shot out a meaty hand and gripped his brother's forearm. "Promise me," he almost pleaded. Then, abruptly, he seemed to realise how he must look to anyone witnessing this exchange, how he must look to his brother. He removed his hand with haste and sat back though his eyes remained guarded and he felt his heart hard in the middle of his chest.
Iphicles sat, watching him. His cool eyes gave away nothing and as Hercules watched his brother's face for some sign of benefaction, his own gaze was drawn once more to the jagged scar that ran the course of his face, like a river. The familiar feeling of guilt and nausea churned his gut. Damn the man, he thought, angrily. How hard was it to make a response? However, before he could give in to his frustration, reach across the table and take the man up by his shirt-front, his brother opened his mouth to reply.
"I am truly sorry that my arrival has caused you such anguish, Hercules," he began. "I admit, I did not know what my reception would be, given the circumstances in which we parted company." Hercules' burly frame grew taut but when Iphicles raised up a forestalling hand, the wrestler reluctantly held his tongue, even though the tension did not leave him. "Believe me when I say I am not here to cause you trouble. That was never my intent." Iphicles paused and the hesitation – the genuine uncertainty – gave Hercules a rare glimpse of his brother's fallibility. It went some small way – some very small way - to making him relax, to seeing this man as something less of a threat.
Iphicles took a deep breath. "I had not intended to impart this to you, my reasoning for making this journey and seeking you out, but as you have asked, I feel it right to tell you. I had a dream." He watched, with some wry amusement, as his brother let out the mocking snort he had been expecting. "I know," he admitted. "Your feelings in matters such as this have always been plain and I had not expected your views to have softened since our last years together. But believe me when I say that such things bear significance to me and in this dream, I came to understand that I was being drawn back to Atlantis."
Hercules, now unsure whether to be wary of his brother or to scoff at him, rolled his eyes. "Drawn back?" he repeated. "You think the gods are speaking to you? Sending you back for a family reunion. I think they might have a few more pressing matters to deal with, don't you?"
But his brother merely shrugged, not willing to enter into an argument. "I understand your feelings, but this is my reasoning whether it be co-incidence or something more. In my dream, I was told to mend the past. That a great wrong had been committed and I was to return to put it right." At this, the joviality that had begun to take hold of Hercules was suddenly replaced by a blinding flash of panic.
"What wrongs?" he asked, sharply. Iphicles simply stared back, a little unsure of the question.
"You know as well as I do," he said. "Our relationship, our broken bond of family." Still curious, he watched his brother's shoulders sag in relief. What else, he wondered, could Hercules have been referring to? "Since losing my dear wife, Rosemerta, in childbirth I have felt the pull of family more strongly." His eyes downcast and Hercules instantly felt a pang of sharp sorrow. He had not known – not known his brother had been married, nor had lost a wife and child. They had not shared such honest conversation since the man's arrival and, despite his suspicions, Hercules' stout heart broke for his twin. No man should have to endure such loss and whatever had once passed between them, this man was still his brother and he would never have such pain inflicted upon him.
Once more, he reached across the table, more hesitantly this time, and replaced his hand on his brother's arm. "I'm sorry, Iphicles," he said quietly. "I had no idea. I didn't know you had been married, much less lost your wife and…" he trailed off, uncertainly.
"Son," Iphicles supplied, equally quietly though his face now bore a distant, sad smile. "It was a boy though the gods chose that it should not be." He looked with gratitude to Hercules. "Thank you for your words though, brother. You would have made a jolly uncle, I am sure. My wife was a fine woman as well– you would have liked her." He chuckled, quietly and for a moment, Hercules smiled wistfully back, removing his hand once more. "No, family is important. I see that now and it is past time that I took steps to make amends. In fact," he said, suddenly, "I feel as though you have found your own family here and I am very glad of it – those boys are clearly very dear to you and you to them." Though he had spoken with a smile, Hercules immediately darkened, pulling back with a frown.
"Not so glad of it that you won't try and steal one off to Athens with you though, eh?" He glared accusingly at the man, annoyed to see him simply shrug.
"I do not mean to cause division amongst you. However, Pythagoras would be an asset to any man's business and it is true, I should enjoy his company. But he will decide what is best for himself, I am sure. If it makes you feel better, I shall make no further mention of the offer to him."
Hercules harrumphed, quietly, folding his arms across his chest and leaning them on the table. He could feel Iphicles watching him, even as he refused to return the stare. His brother's voice, deceptively mild, spoke up.
"You know, if you feel so strongly about it, you could always come too? And Jason, of course. There is plenty a lad like him could get up to in a city as diverse as Athens. It is something to think about, is it not?"
Hercules absently reached for his empty wine cup, gripping the rim tightly as he merely scowled in response.
The farm was situated to the north of Atlantis, just on the outskirts of the city, nestled beneath a gently sloping hill. It was one of three neighbouring properties, spread out amid rows and rows of barren fields, the soil turned in preparation for the following season. A stretch of dried vines stood in a bottom field in the lower farm, looking for all the world like an army of skeletal scarecrows, pinioned to their posts. It gave Jason a chill, looking out over such a bleak landscape, although the nature of winter itself created a natural feeling of desolation. The wind, for the most part that day mild and breezy, suddenly picked up and Jason drew the neck of his cloak tighter about him. Minos had not been prepared to let him make this visit yesterday, insisting instead that Jason spent time with his family, in particular, his mother. At the time, Jason had itched with impatience and an irrational feeling that the day's confinement was little more than a thinly veiled punishment for his earlier rudeness. Perhaps even for his refusal to acquiesce to the family's wishes.
But as he had sat with his mother that evening in her chambers and apologised with sincerity for his earlier harshness, he had been surprised by how much better he immediately felt; by how loving and forgiving she had been. They had sat together, long into the night, talking about this and that, about snippets of the past and about nothing at all. He had spoken freely and comfortably, recounting amusing stories, joking and teasing and laughed as she had rolled her eyes in the right places and swatted his arm in mock chastisement for some of his descriptions. It had been an unexpectedly good night. Finally, on seeing his eyes drooping and his head start to lean against her shoulder, she had packed him off to bed with a fond laugh and a warm kiss goodnight.
Ahead of him stood a modest farm house, a plume of smoke steadily rising from within. A boy of about six years old was struggling to carry a bucket of water from a nearby well into the house and the contents sloshed over the rim as he walked, leaving a muddy trail behind him. For a moment, Jason wondered if he should offer to help. Minos had instructed him to act according to his station – at least his position within the court – but surely anyone would offer to help a small child, regardless of their wealth? But in the end, it was not his position that held Jason back – it was the look of determination and pride on the young boy's face as he neared his front door. Jason smiled to himself. The job belonged to that boy and it was obviously something that the child fully intended to do himself without any adult interference. He watched the child put the bucket down with a faint huff, open the door and then drag the bucket through behind him as he went inside.
Jason glanced about. There was a large barn to the left of him and what looked like a wooden cowshed a little further ahead where the sound of snorting, stamping oxen could be heard. But he couldn't see or hear the woman, Despina, within them. Besides, logic told him she would be in the house, waiting for her son and the water he was bringing. As Jason picked a path through the less muddy patches towards the house, he couldn't help noticing a small collection of wooden hoes and ploughs, leant up against a series of small huts. They were all broken or worn out – badly patched up with rope bindings where possible but the repairs were either hastily done or else completed to the best of an unskilled hand's ability. Jason sighed. He was no farmer, but he was good with his hands and had always been adept at cobbling things together and mending and repairing contraptions. Those basic tools wouldn't take long to fix properly. However, that probably was overstepping his bounds, at least in his current role and his promise to his stepfather sat heavily in the back of his mind. But perhaps he could persuade either Pythagoras or Hercules to offer a hand? Presuming the lady wouldn't take offence to the offer of help?
As he reached the front door, Jason raised his hand to knock but sprung back immediately as the door suddenly swung open and, in a blur of movement, the child scurried out, narrowly missing being knocked flat on his back by the far more substantial form of Jason. At once, the boy skidded to a halt with a startled squeak, staring up wide-eyed at Jason. His mother was there in an instant, her hands resting protectively on her son's shoulders, though she frowned down at the lad all the same. Jason was instantly struck with the impression that the speed at which her son often exited the house was a regular matter of discussion. With a faintly amused inward smile, Jason recognised the same exasperated yet fond frown that Pasiphae often wore around him.
"Hello," Jason greeted her as the woman looked up at him, hard suspicion in her eyes yet just the right side of hostile for the time being. Her gaze roamed over his red tunic, modestly trimmed in a gold-threaded pattern around the collar, visible beneath his thick cloak and something in her expression shifted to a different kind of hesitation even as she straightened a little and clearly tried to look a little more presentable. Her grip on her son tightened almost imperceptibly.
The woman's wariness mixed with her attempts to show due deference made him feel incredibly guilty and awkward and, not for the first time that day, Jason tried not to feel uncomfortable in his formal clothing or resent his parents too strongly for their stringent stipulations. Neither Minos nor Pasiphae had been prepared to let him make this visit in his 'street clothes' – Pasiphae hadn't even wanted him to go at all, given the cough that still rattled him every now and then and had been quite prepared to argue the point with him until he would have ended up locked in his chambers. Thankfully, Minos had interceded on his behalf and, taking his life in his own hands, overruled his wife on this particular matter. Despite this being his fourth day and technically one of his own choosing since he still was not quite well enough to make the journey to the Mines of Pangeon, it seemed his parents had managed to commandeer it, nonetheless. Still, this was something that he very much wanted to do and the farm was far away from the prying eyes of those he actively sought to avoid while dressed in such a way so that he did not mind too much.
Clearing his throat, Jason tried to appear as non-threatening or imposing as possible, offering the woman what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "I'm sorry to disturb you but I've come from the King's Court and I wondered if I could speak to you for a moment?" He paused, noticing the mild flicker of panic in her eyes. "Has someone been to see you?" he asked, a touch uncertainly. "With notice that your case is due to be heard soon?" Wordlessly, the woman nodded and though she kept her eyes trained on Jason, her words were addressed to her young son.
"Hector," she said quietly. "Go and play in the barn for a while. But do not make a mess or spoil your clothes," she added as she sent the lad running off with a pat to his back. The child turned at the door to the barn, giving Jason a quizzical look. Jason tried to smile at him but a stern nod from his mother sent the child hurrying into the barn. Jason watched him go, grateful that she seemed to relax a fraction now that the child was out of the way. Or was it because he was now safe from him? The thought made Jason both angry and unsettled but he tried not to let it show on his face.
Finally, after making sure the boy was not re-emerging any time soon, she turned her look back to Jason and he could clearly see the weariness in her expression, mingling with the hard lines of resentment and fear. "You'd better come in then," she muttered, indicating the house with an inclination of her head, already turning towards the door. She did not wait for a response but stepped back through into her house, holding the door for Jason to follow.
Once inside, Jason took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. By comparison, Hercules' home was bright and airy, to say nothing of the warm glow of the Palace as the lamps would catch the fiery reds on the terracotta walls. The smoke in the room hung a little too thickly in the air, making his chest prickle in irritation and his throat constrict. But as he gradually adjusted to the environment, Jason took stock of his surroundings. The room was modest but homely – a fairly large space though comprised of only one room. The fireplace dominated the far wall, crackling pleasantly. An iron pot hung over it and several flowers and herbs hung nearby, drying. The furnishings were simple but practical: a wooden table with two low benches; a high-backed chair near the fire and in the corners of the room, two low wooden bed-frames. A thin curtain partitioned off a small portion of the room though since it was drawn, Jason had no idea what lay behind it.
Suddenly realising that he had spent a little too long staring around the room, rather than paying attention to his host, Jason turned back to the woman. She was perhaps in her early thirties, Jason would have estimated, though something about the lines across her forehead and around her eyes gave her an older appearance. Her dark hair was pulled back behind her head in a sort of conical shape, bound up by a simple blue cloth. She stared at him with sad, determined eyes.
Jason cleared his throat. "You've got a lovely home."
She pointedly ignored his comment. "I invited you in so that my son didn't see this. But if Dimitri sent you – if you're here to try and threaten me and bully me out of my home you can just leave now."
Jason narrowed his eyes in concern. "I told you: I'm from the Court."
She snorted. "Just the kind of place Dimitri would find his hired help."
Jason frowned. "I don't know Dimitri – I promise you. Has someone been around here, threatening you?" The thought that anyone in Minos' employee would be a thug for hire, going around threatening women and children made his blood boil even if it didn't entirely surprise him. However he was pretty damned sure his stepfather would feel the same. But Despina didn't answer. She folded her arms tightly across her middle though her eyes were starting to soften.
"I put nothing past him. If you are not sent by him, then why are you here? I already have my summons."
For a moment, Jason was at a loss of what to say. Why was he here? He wasn't supposed to give her an unfair advantage but was he to do nothing when every instinct he had told him that something was wrong here. "It's just standard custom," he began, awkwardly. "To make sure you're prepared for Court. For us to get a little more background information." It technically wasn't true and for a moment, Jason worried he would be jeopardising the case if this came out. But hadn't Minos himself given Jason advice on what would help her defence? Wasn't it alright to at least tell her that? The woman regarded him more curiously now that she had decided that whatever he was, he wasn't a threat.
A sharp, wheezing cough from behind the thin curtain suddenly drew their attention.
"Who is that?" Jason asked, trying to see through a tiny crack between the curtain and the wall. She sighed heavily and drew the curtain back, revealing a white-haired man, lying on a relatively comfortable-looking bed. He was half asleep, half awake, tossing gently from side to side. Though clearly sick, he at least appeared vaguely at rest.
"My father. When my husband died, my father legally became my protector. The farm is in his name and my son and I are in his care. But as you can see, he is old and weak and frequently becomes ill. I take care of the farm. I care for us all." She sighed once more and sank down onto one of the wooden benches by the table. Jason took a few steps towards the old man, watching the rise and fall of his frail chest in concern.
"Does he need a healer?"
Despina shook her head, pride beginning to surface in her voice. "We have medicine." She indicated the herbs drying by the fire. "I know a little of the arts and can usually produce a tonic or a poultice that helps him." Suddenly, she grew harder, cautious. "I only make things that heal. That is all." Jason shook his head and smiled, reassuringly.
"I have a friend who does the same. Our kitchen looks a lot like this. He's very good at what he does. If you ever need any extra help, I'm sure he would do it. You shouldn't have to do everything by yourself." He suddenly recalled the broken farm tools. "Don't you have anyone who helps you here?" This was a large farm. No one person, man or woman, could look after it alone. Despina glanced down at the table with a soft, embarrassed laugh.
"We have had some, yes. But lately, with recent…problems, they have decided to move on to other pastures." She held up a hand when she saw Jason open his mouth with a clear intention of protesting. "We don't need much help in the winter months. It's mainly a question of repairing damaged equipment and preparing for Spring tilling. When that time comes, it will be easy to hire day labourers from the market." Her smile faded. "There are always those who value a day's wages higher than stigma and scandal. If I am even still here, then."
"You can't give up." Jason's abrupt outburst made her look up in surprise and he felt himself flush at her quizzical look.
"You said you wanted more information?" she asked, indicating with one hand that Jason should sit on the second bench. Once he was seated next to her, remembering just too late not to fold his arms on the flour-covered tabletop, Jason nodded.
"What's the basis for your neighbour's claim?"
"When my husband passed from the sweating fever, Dimitri and I lived companionably beside each other for almost a year. We have been neighbours for over ten years now. But recently, over the Summer, his crops began to die. A field at a time, one by one."
"The whole field?"
"No. But large areas – scattered here and there. I offered him help. So did the other farm that neighbours ours. I offered him the use of our workers to re-plough his land, of our spare grain to re-plant if he could though it was probably too late in the season. I even offered him the use of one of my own fields if his soil was bad. But he did not accept my help. A man like him does not like his pride battered by the help of a woman so I left him to his business. He is an experienced farmer and does not need my advice."
Jason listened carefully, leaning in slightly towards her and Despina found herself touched by such honest attention and caring, despite her best intentions to remain detached. There was something about the compassion in those dark eyes that chipped away at the brittle defences that she had recently been forced to erect. Her own friends and neighbours had turned their backs on her and yet here was this total stranger willing to hear her out.
"And that's it?" Jason asked, faintly surprised at the lack of substance to the claims. Despina shook her head, sadly.
"His crops died and mine lived."
"But what proof does he have that you had anything to do with it? Besides being the land that borders his?" He stopped himself just in time from telling her just how ridiculous and baseless he thought these claims were: that would be to go against the direct wishes of Minos but it was becoming harder and harder to keep his word to the king.
He watched Despina's eyes harden. "He is man of some influence and he has gathered the testimony of other men in the village to swear to the same accusations of magic being used against him."
"But there's no proof!"
"There doesn't need to be proof where a man can accuse a woman. His word will always be held above hers." She sighed wearily and ran a tired hand across her face. "Sometimes I think it would be easier if I left of my own accord. To spare my son the trial. If I lose, we will be turfed out of our home; shunned from place to place. That is no life for my son. There may even be those would seek to take my boy away from me. I lie awake at night and I wonder if the risk is worth it."
And Jason's mind turned for a moment to Minos' words, how he had voiced the same opinion. Reluctantly, he admitted: "If you truly feel that way, I know the king would be willing to offer you some compensation for your land but I'm asking you to give it a little more time before giving up. I believe justice will be done, if you're just willing to stick it out for a little longer."
With a rueful smile, Despina reached over and gently squeezed the fingers of the hand that still rested on the table. "I have not lost my spirit yet. I will give it more time. But I'm not sure why you care so much."
Jason carefully withdrew his hand from beneath hers and looked down, embarrassed. "It's just my job," he muttered. "I want to make sure things are done properly, fairly. I'll try and look in to things a little more carefully for you – I mean, for the case." Then he quickly rose. "I'd better go. Thanks for seeing me." He paused as he reached the door and turned back, with a smile. "I hope your son's not in too much of a mess by the time he comes back in."
She laughed, her eyes seeming much brighter than they had been at the start of his visit. "I'm sure he is. Thank you for coming to see me."
Jason smiled back at her in response before slipping through the door and closing it softly behind him. The evening would be approaching by the time he made it back to the Palace and he had promised his parents that he would return in time for the meal. But he promised himself that at his next opportunity, he would return to this place and look more closely at what was going on in this Dimitri's farm.
Putting the last of the state petitions to bed for the evening, Minos stretched, drained his wine cup and rose from his desk. His personal servant immediately moved in from where he had been hovering at a respectful distance and removed the vessel. Minos nodded briefly to the man.
"I shall not need you any more tonight, Samnos," he informed him with a small smile. "Once my chambers are prepared for the evening, you may retire." His servant nodded and bowed.
"As you wish, Your Highness. Good night." He left the room quickly to complete his final task and ensure the fire was lit in the king's chambers, water brought for washing and the bed turned down. His own bed was calling after a long day and perhaps his own cup of sweet wine, too.
Dusk had rapidly turned into night outside and the king had no intentions of working till the small hours of the morning this time. Lately, it seemed all he did was attend to the needs of his people and listen to the advice and griping of his various courtiers and ministers. And that was important, he reasoned. His people in the city served him loyally and deserved his dedication to duty. His advisors…well, when they weren't playing for favours or bickering amongst themselves like errant children they too were all men he could depend upon to deploy his wishes to the people and to counsel him in times of crisis. But in recent weeks he had barely seen his family – even meal times were never a sure thing as the demands on his time and indeed, on the time of his wife, meant that meals were often taken in their private chambers instead of in the dining room.
He had made it a point to attend today's evening meal though. Jason had, to his faint surprise, returned from his farm visit in time for supper. He had, he realised with a touch of guilt, already prepared his mild lecture for the lad on his tardiness and yet another meal missed. But it was without cause as it turned out. With a smile, Minos considered the extra day they had had with the boy: it was unusual but something he could get used to if Jason felt so inclined. There was a certain…levity that prevailed inside the Palace walls when the boy was home – a breath of life. It lit up his daughter – that much was obvious and a kind of warmth came over his wife. Jason's anger and resentment towards Aeson had abated some time ago now. In fact, the young man was looking forward to seeing his father again, if only to finally clear the air between them. But while his health was still not what it should be for a fit young man his age, the journey was too great a distance. Normally it was Pasiphae who protested the strain the travelling put on her son but in this instance, Minos felt determined to back his wife, if necessary should the lad attempt to make the journey in his condition. However, it appeared Jason concurred with his mother and, the king thought grimly, for Jason to admit to any kind of weakness in front of them spoke volumes to him. If only the lad could be persuaded to willingly spend more of his time with them. If nothing else, Jason was a quick learner and soaked up the tasks he was gradually introduced to. What they might accomplish if the boy could give them more time…
However, he thought with a gentle sigh, Jason already gave them time enough and perhaps it was these days left to his own devices, carefree in the companionship of his friends, that made him such an invigorating spirit? Would living in the Palace every day stifle something vital within him? A part of Minos wholly wanted to believe that they could foster and nurture the role of leadership within the young man, paving his way to kingship while still keeping his essence – his spirit - the same. But what if they could not? Losing what made Jason Jason felt like too high a price to pay.
But in any event, that time was not upon them yet and his mind turned to his last task before turning in. Jason may not know it but he was much more like his mother than he realised and Minos was actually quite adept at getting taciturn, close-guarded individuals to open up to him. Leaving his council chambers, Minos determined to take a strategic wander of the Palace. He could send a servant to find the boy but for what he wanted to do, it was important to find him himself.
And find him he did, eventually, heading towards his bedchamber. Minos felt a touch guilty for the distraction he was about to play: the boy looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes and had clearly been heading for his bed. But, with any luck, this should not take too long.
"Jason," he called as he approached from the opposite end of the corridor. "A word, if you have a moment?" He watched a flicker of wide-eyed panic grip the boy as the lad obviously mentally ran through a list of possible misdemeanours and the king could not help but smile. He could well imagine the sort of childhood his stepson had had where he might well have had a pool of several minor misdemeanours to choose from at frequent intervals. Ah! He would have been a lively one to raise, though Minos would have enjoyed the challenge immensely. With a soft laugh, he put the boy at his ease:
"You have done nothing wrong, Jason." Jason flushed with embarrassment as Minos continued. "I know you are wanting your bed but I should very much like to show you something. It will not take long." He held out one hand, indicating the way he had just come and Jason's curiosity piqued.
"Of course," he replied, following where the king began to lead. "I'm never too tired for a good mystery."
"Indeed," Minos remarked, one eyebrow raised as Jason grinned beside him.
He could see from Jason's face when they entered the North Tower that the boy had not been expecting to end up here. Jason glanced at him warily as they stood by the maritime fresco in the entrance way.
"Acrion isn't hiding here somewhere for another round of Translation, is he?" Minos laughed and placed a hand on Jason's shoulder.
"I do not imagine he will get much out of you at this time of night."
Jason snorted. "He doesn't get much out of me during the day, either."
"Well do not tell your mother that," the king warned lightly. "No, I wish to show you a room up ahead. I do not believe you have seen it before. It is a quiet room of reflection and it is private – only for the family." For a moment he watched Jason look to him in hesitation, concern in his eyes and an objection forming on his lips and he sighed. His hand on his stepson's shoulder squeezed firmly, daring the lad to object: "And you have every right to see it. Now come."
Still a little cautious, but curious all the same, Jason followed Minos further down the hallway until they came to a door set into the left-hand side of the wall. The king produced a key and slipped it into the lock, turning it with a click. It opened, Jason saw while peering over the king's shoulder, onto another small corridor. He was surprised to see sconces burning in the wall brackets. Clearly, this had been prepared ahead of their visit as he could see no other way for a hallway to be lit behind a locked door. Besides, no-one as far as he knew, used the North Tower after dusk.
As Minos reached the end of the second hallway, he stepped through into a larger room and Jason followed a moment later. That room was also well lit with torches burning on the walls, though a little chilly at this time of night. It was unfurnished, save for a few low couches and tables around the outside. In the centre of the tiled, mosaic floor was a round reflecting pool though of course, only the flicker of torch light danced in the dark water now. Jason's mouth hung open a little as he stepped closer to it. Even at night, it gave him chills. Beside him, Minos took a lantern from a small table by the door, lit it and handed it to Jason with an encouraging nod. Looking up at the arched ceiling, he saw a glass skylight directly above the water, waiting for the morning sun to shine through and catch the water beneath in a glimmering, dappling show of light.
"It's beautiful," he murmured, unsure if he was commenting to Minos or to himself. The king quietly stepped up beside him.
"Thank you. I like to think so. Many years ago, before you were born, this room used to provide storage for the various gifts that visiting dignitaries used to bestow upon the Royal Household and for the occasional piece of furniture that was no longer deemed to be in fashion." Looking about at the calm serenity of the room now, he smiled a little wistfully. "But after the war, your mother and I sought to reclaim a little peace within the Palace and I wished for somewhere…fresh. Somewhere where the family might reclaim a little solitude and contemplation and rest."
"Like a haven," Jason supplied, still glancing deep into the pool. He could just about make out the glint of crystals at the bottom, interspersed with rocks and tiny floating flowers. More tiled mosaic patterns lined the outer rim – leaping dolphins and mythical mermaids. He suddenly became aware of the sound of steadily trickling water and looked around. There was no fountain in the pool – its waters were as still as a mill pond. Sensing the boy's question, Minos said:
"The corners of the room each contain a different fountain built into the wall. The light is not as good as it should be but you should still be able to make them out." Eagerly, Jason moved away to do just that and Minos watched him go with a fond shake of his head. Jason scanned the four corners, peering a little more intently into the slightly gloomier depths until the carved stone shapes emerged more clearly. They were all the heads of different creatures, water trickling from a hole in its mouth, into a bowl below and then spilling down into the drain on the floor: a griffin, a bull, a phoenix and a sphinx. Jason grinned. He'd been to the British Museum once on a school trip and he'd seen plenty of statues in the Ancient Greek wings. But they had all been naturally weathered by age or missing noses and ears and eyes. It was still something of a novelty to see them new and vibrant – every carving, every detail making their faces come alive.
He turned back to the king who had not moved to follow him. "They're amazing." The slight awe in his voice made Minos chuckle. "Is this what you wanted to show me?"
The king shook his head, beckoning Jason to return to him. Placing a hand on Jason's back, he guided them both to one of the walls and Jason looked about, expectantly. There were no statues or carvings to be seen: a couple of backless wooden benches with what looked like soft, embroidered seat-covers but he had seen dozens of their kind scattered throughout the Palace. He glanced apologetically to Minos, afraid that he was failing to be impressed by whatever Minos obviously thought highly of. "I'm sorry – I don't see it."
But far from taking offence, Minos simply pointed straight ahead. "Hold your lantern up higher," he instructed. "It is the walls that I wish you to see." Feeling a little foolish for not realising this to begin with, Jason did as instructed, holding the light out in-front of him and stepping closer to the white stone walls. The moment he did, his jaw once more dropped in faint amazement. What he had first taken for more nautically-themed frescoes now peered back at him in the form of people, standing together in all their regal splendour. It only took a moment for Jason to recognise the figures of Minos himself, with Pasiphae by his side. He eagerly scanned across the painting to find Ariadne, instinctively knowing the princess would be there. He found her immediately, her beauty - even in a cold, hard wall – staring back at him, lighting the stone.
Quickly, Jason moved further along the walls going from one to the other, faintly running his fingertips over the surface as he trailed the family through the ages. Not every part of the room was covered: three walls each held one portrait and still left room for more. But those that he saw made him stare in wonder. They were life-sized and though the artistry of the time lacked the detail and realism of the portraits he was used to seeing while growing up, each person's individual features was unmistakable. A young man stood amongst them in two of the gatherings. His olive skin, strong jaw and dark complexion was unmistakable – as was his resemblance to both Minos and Ariadne. Jason considered the young prince Therus had once been here, standing tall, bold and loved amongst his family – at least for the time being - his father's hand resting proudly on his shoulder. Moving back, the adolescent regressed to a young boy, maybe ten years old. His sister, Ariadne, little more than a babe in arms, rested on the lap of a woman, seated on a high-backed chair. With a start, Jason realised it was his mother. Though he had recognised her in the later portraits, it still surprised him to see her being so…motherly to a young Ariadne.
He held the light a little closer to her face, hoping to see a trace of the woman he knew as the young, striking woman she must have been. But the features were too simple, he realised sadly. Pivoting, he looked about the whole room, seemingly forgetting that Minos still stood in the centre, watching him carefully. A pang of melancholy struck him: how he had taken for granted the cameras, social media and filming of his time – the ability to capture a memory, share it, record it forever whether it was worthy of recalling or not. His old friends had hundreds of memories at their fingertips – their childhoods, step by step, their parents' weddings, their grandparents. It wasn't fair. These paintings were beautiful but crude – they couldn't capture the nuances of a smile, the subtleness of a personality or a memory as it unfolded. They were a static representation of a time past and they would fade and crumble, as all things did. In this day and age, a moment past was a moment lost, only stories and legend keeping a person alive through the ages. And if Hercules' stories were anything to go by, each re-telling became more and more embellished until who knew how much of the original subject survived?
But this was the best record of his family that he was going to get and so Jason savoured every inch of it. When he finally registered that Minos was now standing beside him, the young man realised he had no idea how long the king had been there. But apparently, his stepfather was willing to wait – to give him the time he needed to take in his surroundings. Jason slowly turned to him, hesitation in his eyes. "These are the paintings?" he asked, warily. Minos nodded.
"I wanted you to see them. The first was done almost two years after the war. From then on, every five years. You have seen your mother in them?" Jason nodded, unsure of where exactly this was going but having a very uneasy feeling that he had been tricked – that he was going to be backed into a wall. "Have you looked at her closely?" Minos' question surprised him.
"I think so," he answered. Minos nodded, thoughtfully.
"What do you notice?"
Sensing that he had missed something important and been caught out in his answer, Jason paled a little and quickly moved back to scrutinise the paintings more closely, beginning with the wall by the entrance. "In every portrait," the king went on, "we each carry some token of significance to us."
Now that he knew to look out for smaller details, the objects became apparent. They changed as time had worn on: a flower; a sword; a necklace. In Ariadne's youngest picture – the one where she must have been about three years old - she clasped a tiny, wooden doll in one hand. Jason smiled.
Seeing that Jason had completed his second tour of the paintings, Minos asked: "You see them?" Jason nodded. "What do you see about your mother?" Curiously, Jason looked again. He hadn't really noticed anything about Pasiphae. Therus had a book and then a sword; Minos his crown, a pendant, a golden breastplate. Besides Ariadne's doll, he saw a lily and a small white cat. He wondered briefly at whatever had happened to it because there was no evidence of a cat around the Palace. But for Pasiphae…
"She's the only one without anything," he answered, turning back to the king. With a knowing expression, Minos approached him and gently took the lantern from him, holding it up closer to the wall.
"That is not entirely true. Look here," he indicated, "at her hair." Jason did so.
"There's a small blue cloth tied to it," he answered. It seemed a very mundane detail but Minos smiled and nodded.
"And now look closely at this one." He moved over to the next painting, holding up the lantern again and Jason followed, examining it carefully. His eyes widened slightly as he spotted it again.
"Oh, I see it. It's tied around her belt. I didn't notice it."
"Your mother never makes mention of it – certainly not to me. But she has worn it in every portrait. It is always discrete, but it is always there."
"What is it?" Jason wondered.
At this, Minos' smile became sadder. "It comes from the silk covering that lay over your crib, on top of the blanket."
Jason turned his eyes from the painting, to Minos, his eyebrows raised curiously. "How do you know, if she never mentions it?"
The king chuckled and Jason's curiosity grew, along with his confusion. "I had seen it many times," Minos answered, his expression, for a moment, far away. "You and Ariadne shared the same nursery. Sometimes I would sit and watch you both sleeping – it was calming after such demanding days."
Minos' eyes glinted in amusement as he watched Jason's eyes widen. "You would continually throw the covering to the floor and then fuss until someone picked it up and gave it back to you. It was a game you seemed to enjoy. And invariably you always awoke when I entered the nursery, no matter how quiet I was. I was afraid you would cry and wake Ariadne because whenever you saw someone you had to be picked up." He smiled, fondly at the memory, shaking his head. "Your mother would have had my head if she had known I was disturbing you children after you had been put down, Ah, but you were a good baby. I would sit in the nurse's chair and hold you on my lap, watching Ariadne sleeping, letting the world pass by without the worries and burdens of ruling a kingdom. It was never too long before you fell asleep once more."
As Minos had spoken, Jason had watched him with a sense of increasing confusion and wonder. He looked at his stepfather anew. "But I didn't realise you knew me before I left Atlantis."
Minos raised his eyebrows in surprise, a frown creasing his forehead. "Did your father or mother never mention the details of your…departure?" Jason shook his head, still staring wide-eyed at the king as his heart beat a little faster in his chest. "You were nearing a year old when I first met you, Jason and your father did not come for you straight away. It was about another year again before you were taken."
"Why did he wait so long?" Jason wondered and then, seeing the way Minos' expression fell, just fractionally, he felt guilty for even asking the question. But the king did not appear to have taken offence in his reply:
"I do not know, Jason. These things take time to prepare, I suppose. You will have to ask him when you next visit."
Silently, Jason nodded, looking down to the floor. Were things stable enough between Aeson and him to risk such a personal topic? Generally speaking, he did not like to remind his father of the events that saw him thrown out of his own kingdom, losing his wife and son along with his crown. That Minos referred to these events as 'the war' rather than the usurpation or uprisings had not escaped his notice. But Jason had quickly realised that it was almost intolerable to dwell too heavily on past wrongs. He could easily be consumed by them. This was the nature of the lives they led. His stomach clenched at the thought of broaching such a conversation. Maybe in a little while? Once they had cleared the air about their earlier spat and were back once more on even footing.
"When you disappeared," Minos continued, softly, startling Jason out of his thoughts, "Pasiphae had your crib, your toys, your clothes destroyed. She must have kept the cloth, however. I did not question her when I recognised it, hanging from her belt, during our first family portrait. I understood: this was her way of keeping you with her. With us." With a wide sweep of his hand, he encompassed the years of gatherings. "You see, Jason? This year is not the first time you would have sat amongst our family. You have been with us all along, in every portrait."
The king placed a warm hand on Jason's shoulder and squeezed, gently. If he noticed the moisture that had welled in his stepson's eyes, he did not draw attention to it. Instead, he leaned in a little closer to the boy and spoke very quietly, as Jason involuntarily swallowed hard. "I do respect your choice not to join us. It must perhaps feel overwhelming? But I wanted you to know, that even if you are not here in person, your mother will never leave you out." He hesitated a moment. "I imagine," he continued softly, "that this year, she hoped she would not have need of this cloth again but I am certain she will use it, if she has to."
Jason said nothing. Words catapulted around his mind. His chest felt bruised and battered. Minos watched his impassive face, staring hard at the wall straight ahead: transfixed. He moved the hand on the boy's shoulder to briefly squeeze the nape of his neck. "Are you ready to return with me?" he asked, replacing his hand by his side.
Mutely, Jason shook his head.
Equally silently, Minos handed him the lantern which Jason accepted automatically. "Then I shall take my leave of you and retire to my bed. It has been a long day for us all."
As Minos reached the door, he turned to look back at where Jason still stood, lost in his thoughts. "I shall send a servant in to extinguish the torches and lock the door so do not worry about that before you leave. Take the lantern with you though – the path back to our wing is not so well lit. Do not stay up too long," he advised.
Jason barely heard the man leave. His thoughts were lost amongst cold, hard portraits, confusing families and a little scrap of blue cloth.
That's it for now. I hope you enjoyed it. Thanks for reading.