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accompanying him. She was tall and blonde, with blazing blue eyes. And this lady is my dear, darling friend and . . .”
    â€œDryope,” Hercules blurted as he recognized her, and immediately regretted it. What if she saw beneath his disguise?
    She peered at him. “Do I know you?” she asked. “You do look familiar . . .”
    â€œBut of course!” Salmoneus shouted, sliding between the two demi-gods. “Goofius is celebrated throughout the isles!” He grabbed Hercules’ jaw and yanked his face forward. “Tell me, madam, is this not the face of a total idiot?”
    I’ll get you for this, Hercules thought.
    â€œHmm,” Dryope mused. “Maybe you’re right.”
    Salmoneus released Hercules’ jaw. The big man looked daggers at his companion.
    Dryope turned to her escort. “My dear,” she purred as she slipped her arm into his, “can you offer our new friends lodgings? They seem to have travelled far and no doubt they need rest.”
    Slaughterius smiled at her. “A fine idea, my dear,” he said, giving her a kiss on the nose.
    Hercules tried not to scowl. Dryope, you’re at it again, he thought.
    The two monarchs turned and ambled back towards one of the slim, curving towers. “O, Captain Vicius,” Slaughterius sang out.
    The burly commander galloped up to his leader. “Sire?”
    â€œGive our guests a place to stay and some food. They will perform tomorrow at noon.”
    â€œNoon?” Salmoneus asked. “Don’t you have something important to do tomorrow at dawn?”
    Hercules gulped. Oh, Salmoneus!
    â€œWhy, yes,” Slaughterius replied without turning around. “We’re going to butcher quite a number of, well, beasts.”
    Beasts? Hercules thought. That’s what they think of the Mercantilians? Ferocius was right: they are planning a dawn attack.
    â€œWe’ve been having such trouble selling our cows and sheep—someone has been spreading disgraceful rumours that they’re not healthy to eat—that we’re going to butcher them ourselves, cook them and eat them in public to show that they’re safe,” Slaughterius continued. “We’ve invited the leaders of all the local city-states—except those dreadful Mercantilians, of course. Rumours, rumours—they’re just awful for business, aren’t they? We’re going to get rid of them once and for all. Good day, everyone.”
    With that, he and Dryope swept away.
    Hercules watched them go, but his mind was elsewhere. When the Mercantilians attacked tomorrow, they were going to massacre these people—and all of the leaders from the other towns. Their citizens were going to want revenge. They’d attack the Mercantilians. There’d be a counter-attack. War.
    Now I know who my enemy is, he thought. That guy who was laughing in the dark last night. He laughs at war all the time. He loves it.
    â€œAres,” he said aloud. “My own half-brother.”

Chapter 8
    â€œShhh!” Salmoneus warned, laying an angry finger over Hercules’ lips. “You’re supposed to be a dopey clown.”
    â€œCome this way,” Captain Vicius was saying.
    His men marched them down a sweeping gravel path to a long building at the far end of the trees and towers. Resting on a soft lawn, it was a canopy of marble, thin as parchment. It curved up to a high point, like a circus tent. White marble tent pegs nailed the structure to the grass. Hercules and Salmoneus entered through a purple curtain-covered gap.
    They gazed around the inside and marvelled. The tent covered a space so long and wide that gladiators could have fought lions there. Free-standing wooden partitions blocked off one area from another.
    â€œAh,” Salmoneus sighed, settling snugly on one of the many brightly coloured pillows that lay on the teakwood floor. “Thank you, boys,” he said, waving the soldiers away