Nobody's Prize by Esther Friesner Page B

are
friends,
Uncle,” Iolaus replied patiently. “
Only
friends. And I still say that Prince Jason won’t raise a hand against his kinsman, neither his own nor another’s.”
    Herakles shook his head. “You believe that? You haven’t grown up at all, Iolaus. You’re still the same innocent lad who carried my weapons when I fought the Lernian Hydra.”
    “The Hydra!” I exclaimed. Slaying the Hydra was one of twelve tasks that great Herakles had to perform as penance for a crime he’d committed in a fit of reason-stealing rage. “Were you
there
?” I looked at Iolaus with renewed respect.
    “He was,” Herakles answered for my master. “The Hydra was a monstrous serpent with nine heads, fangs dripping black venom. Slice off one head and two sprouted in its place! Iolaus was just a boy, but he’s the one who came up with the trick that let me slay the beast at last. I chopped off the Hydra’s heads; he dashed in with a flaming torch to sear the bleeding necks. The monster never had the chance to grow back so much as a single scale! That was when I knew my nephew was braver than many a full-grown man.”
    Zetes and Kalais roared their approval of the story. Orpheus spoke soft words of praise. Iolaus should have basked in their admiration, but instead he sat hunched by the fire, his expression grim. Herakles peered closely at his nephew and drawled, “By the way, lad, do
you
ever tell that tale the right way?”
    “There’s only one right way to tell any story,” Iolaus said. “The truth.”
    “Which is why you’ve been so swift to tell the Spartan princes about
both
your young servants?” Herakles raised one bushy black eyebrow. Iolaus pursed his lips and the great hero burst into rough laughter. “I’ll tell you what, nephew,” he said, clapping my master on the back. “If
you
don’t go around telling everyone that the Hydra was just a cluster of swamp snakes,
I
won’t remind you about how you’re stretching the truth thin as a willow leaf for this boy’s sake.” He nodded at me.
    “What difference does it make?” Iolaus grumbled. “The whole world believes
your
version.”
    “Well, truth or not, it does make the better story,” Herakles replied. “And some of them were pretty big snakes!”
             
    We sailed for more days than I knew how to count, sometimes hugging the mainland coast, sometimes passing from one island to another over the waves. The summer weather blessed us with clear skies and tame waters. We did have a couple of times when we had to put in to shore quickly to wait out a thunderstorm. I think Zeus didn’t want our quest to become
too
comfortable.
    At first we kept to the western coastline, but when we entered the narrows that marked the last gateway out of the Wavy Sea, we kept the land on our right for a time. As much as I loved the sea, I was happiest when our course took us close to land. I liked to dream about the people who might live there, and wonder whether they looked like us, what strange languages they might speak, and whether or not they knew our gods.
    If Zeus sometimes played with our ship just because he had the power to do so, at least his brother Poseidon showed unexpected mercy to my friend Milo, whose old affliction seemed to have vanished. He would run forward even when the sea grew rough, returning aft laughing, his face glowing with health and not a hint of seasickness.
    “Tell me your secret,” I asked him. “What’s changed? Wait, let me guess! You asked Orpheus to offer a prayer to Poseidon for you. Not even a god could resist his voice.”
    Milo shook his head. “Hylas found out I had a bad stomach for sailing. He does too, if you can believe it, but he’s got a remedy that always sets him right. He’s been sharing it with me.”
    “So you’ve gotten over whatever was bothering you,” I said. “I’m glad. I was afraid I’d have to douse you with seawater if you didn’t stop treating him like a toothache.”
    “It was