The Tale of the Temple
by Amorette

The messenger paused at the gate, uncertain. The old man in the garden looked so ordinary as he bent over his task, spading and turning the soil. Was this white-haired old man really a legendary hero?

"Excuse me," said the messenger, "I'm looking for Iolaus of Thebes, former companion of Hercules."

The old man straightened and fixed the messenger with a sharp, blue-eyed gaze, undimmed by the passing years.

"You found him."

"Oh. Right." The messenger straightened as he unrolled his scroll and read from it. "Noble Iolaus, the citizens of Corinth send their regards and request your honored presence at the dedication of the new temple of Hercules the God."

The old man's eyes narrowed and the messenger stepped back a pace. Iolaus of Thebes might be nearing seventy but he was still hard-muscled and held himself like the warrior he had been for so long.

"Iphicles didn't send you, did he?"

"Um, no. His Highness will be attending the ceremonies but the invitations were tendered by the patrons of the temple and since you are the most honored of Hercules' surviving company, your noble name was, of course, at the top of the list."

"I see. Well, Iph could have saved you the trip. I don't worship Hercules. I don't go to temple dedications. And I don't like being patronized. Now get out of my garden. You're standing where I was digging.."

The messenger looked down at the freshly turned dirt under his sandals and took a step backwards.

"But. . ."

The old man picked up his spading fork.

"Get. Out."

The messenger turned and fled.

Iolaus turned back to his gardening. He hadn't been at work long when he sensed the presence of a god. He turned and found, Ares, God of War, digging through the basket that contained Iolaus' midmorning snack.

"That wife of yours," said the god, ignoring the prongs of the spading fork that were being poked in his backside, "is a good cook." He extracted a piece of baklava.

"My daughter made that and so help me, if you take both pieces, I'll get that hind's blood dagger of mine. . ."

"Relax." Ares hopped up on the fence surrounding the garden and sat on the top rail. He nibbled the piece of baklava in his hand. "I know better than to let you go hungry." He took another bite. "How old is that daughter of yours anyway?"

"Fourteen. And I really do have a hidden stash of hind's blood."

"I know." Ares took another bite and mumbled around his mouthful. "But she is a pretty little thing and a good cook. You'll be fighting off the suitors soon enough."

"Tell me something I don't know." Iolaus, to be safe, put down his spading fork and picked up the remaining piece of baklava. No point in giving Ares a second chance at it.

"All right, I will." Ares gestured towards the retreating back of the messenger, who was disappearing over the hill. "Heard about the new temple?"

"Herc mentioned they were building it. He wasn't happy but Iphicles persuaded him that men needed the work."

Ares summoned up a cup of wine. At Iolaus' glare, he created a second one and handed it to the mortal. "It's a funny story."

Iolaus settled himself against a fence post, crossing his legs at the ankles. "So, tell me."

"For starters. . ." Ares sniggered. "It was hysterical! The sponsors behind the temple hired this half-assed poet to write some epic about Alcmene. He was to read it when they petitioned Iphicles for permission to build the temple. Idiots forgot to check out the poem beforehand."

"And?"

"And the guy wrote erotic poetry! The whole thing was this lurid description of the old man doing the deed with Alcmene! Zeus will love it but Iphicles wasn't so thrilled."

"I can imagine. Hearing an erotic poem about your mother is disgusting." Iolaus shuddered.

Ares shuddered as well.

"Anyhow, Iphicles shut him up before the guy got to the best part, this long description of Hercules suckling Alcmene's tits. How did he describe it? Oh, yeah." Ares started to quote. "Full and lush and giving of life. . ."

"Stop right there!"

"Fine. Prude. Which brings us to the next problem. Patrons want a twice life-size sculpture of Hercules. Which they commission. It is to be monumental nude."

Iolaus winced. "Bet when Herc got wind of that, he had it stopped."

"Yup. You know, I never understood that. He looks good naked. I like it when my statues are nudes."

"Modesty. It's a concept you aren't familiar with on any level."

"Maybe." Ares licked the last of the honey off his fingers. "Herc has Iph force them to clothe the statue. So the sculptor agrees to wrap a lion skin around the revealing bits. Then Iphicles shows up to make sure the sculptor is following instructions, not letting anything peek out, and makes an interesting discovery."

Iolaus interrupted his further search of the basket. "Which was? Want some grapes? Grew them myself."

"No. Any more baklava?"

"No."

Ares sighed. "Oh, well."

"The statue?" prompted Iolaus.

"Right. Sculptor had never seen Hercules so he is making this statue look like Iphicles, on the mistaken assumption that Herc and Iph look alike. Iph sends the guy to check out the fresco that Iph had painted when he got married. Fine only the guy apparently thinks Herc doesn't look godlike enough so he sticks on a beard."

"A beard? Herc never wore a beard!"

"Yeah but I guess the guy was going for a son of Zeus look." Ares smirked and smoothed his own mustache. "So the sculptor is giving Herc this big, long curly beard. Looked positively, how shall I put it, Sumerian?"

Iolaus groaned. "Bet that went over well."

"Iph gets wind of that and tells the guy to lose the beard. So. . ." Ares snickered again. "Poor sculptor is trying to trim the beard off and ends up knocking the statue's head off!"

Ares laughed, delighted, as he demonstrated by miming the blow of a chisel and knocking his own head to the ground. Then he picked it up, brushed a leaf off his hair, and put it back on, still chuckling. "I laughed so hard I thought I was going to rupture something."

"You were there?"

"Oh, yeah. I've been keeping an eye on this place. The original plans called for four, smaller side shrines, off the main sanctuary."

"Four?"

"You, Iphicles, Hebe and me."

"Ooops."

"Ooops is right. Iph tells them right off that if anyone has a petition to present to him, they can leave it in the basket at the palace with the rest. So, then there were three."

"And I can just imagine how thrilled you are by the idea of having a little side shrine all to yourself."

"Iph told them not to but they started it anyway." Ares' grin nearly split his face. "I blasted it to dust. So now there are only two shrines, one for you and one for Hebe."

"No twice life size nudes I assume."

"Nope. Just a couple of busts. Hebe's is pretty good but yours looks like Iphicles again. Guess the sculptor has a thing for Iphicles."

The god and the man exchanged smiles.

"Well," said Ares, "It's understandable."

"Poor Herc." Iolaus held out his cup for a refill and the god obliged with a wave of his hand. "He hates the whole worship thing."

Ares shook his head. "He just doesn't get the god thing."

"I'm a very good god." Hercules appeared, a flat basket in his hand. He folded back the linen napkin and handed round more baklava. "I stopped at your house. Your wife says to bring some wood in when you come in for lunch." He leaned back against the fence. "I answer prayers to the best of my ability."

Ares tongue flipped up and caught a piece of pastry in his mustache before he said, "And you don't take advantage of all those nubile priestesses."

"I am married. To YOUR sister."

"See, I don't get this whole marriage vows thing. We are gods. Why should we get married?"

"This," said Hercules, pointing at Ares, "from the god who likes to remind everyone that he is Zeus' only legitimate son. The rest of us are bastards."

"Exactly! And look how miserable my parents are!"

"Not any more." Iolaus stood up stiffly, hand to his lower back. "Damn, I'm getting old."

"You're the one who wanted to live out your natural life span before becoming a god."

"Yeah, well, I rethink that decision some mornings." Iolaus sighed and picked up his spading fork. "Anyway, I thought Zeus and Hera were getting along these days. After that big second honeymoon thing Cupid arranged. . ."

Ares snorted in disgust. "Twenty-second honeymoon. They do that every few centuries, get all dewy-eyed about each other. Yuck."

"There's another reason they are in a good mood." Hercules smiled shyly. "They are going to be grand parents again."

Ares rolled his eyes. "What a thrill. Grand child number six hundred."

"No, only number thirty or thereabouts, if you count the grandchildren they have together. They seemed very pleased when Hebe and I told them."

"Well, I'm pleased." Iolaus embraced his old friend, grinning. "Congratulations. Being a god, do you know if it's a boy or a girl?"

"I could tell but I want to be surprised."

"Boy." Ares smiled innocently. "What? You are a god, little brother. So am I. Besides, Hebe told me yesterday."

"Your sister," said Iolaus, sounding puzzled, "actually likes you."

The god and the mortal exchanged sneers.

"So," said Hercules, interrupting his brother-in-law and his friend before they started tossing insults. "Has Ares been telling you about the temple?"

Ares knocked his head off again, laughing.

Iolaus chuckled. "Yeah, subject came up.

"Iphicles wanted me to build the temple," grumbled Hercules, "then he complains about the shrine to him. If I have to put up with petitioners and prayers, why shouldn't he?"

"Because he's only a king," replied Ares.

"For the moment," added Iolaus. He winced as he dug his fork into the soil. "This living our natural lives before becoming immortal heroes was partly his idea. How does he feel about old age?"

Hercules shook his head, laughing. "About what you think of it. Hey, at least you are enjoying your children and grandchildren."

"Which reminds me. . ." Ares looked up towards the cottage above the garden and waved at the fair-haired girl who was sweeping the step. She waved back. "I think my son would be perfect for . . ."

Before Ares could finish the sentence, he found the business end of the spading fork stuck in his chest, with Iolaus' full weight behind it. "You are not fixing up my daughter with your son. What are you, the god of matchmaking all of a sudden?"

"Now, Iolaus," Hercules said, tugging on his friend's shoulder. "Don't get upset. Remember that Iphicles and his wife are pretty happy."

"And," added Ares, dematerializing and rematerializing a pace away so that the fork was no longer stuck in him and Iolaus, thrown off balance, would have fallen had Hercules not had his hand out to steady his friend. "I had nothing to do with that. I was as surprised as the next god when she said she wanted to marry Iphicles. I mean, she's an Amazon queen, they aren't supposed to get married. Besides, it's worked out wonderfully. She has the two daughters and he has the two sons. He gets the summer to play bachelor and the winter to be the big family man."

"Well," mutter Iolaus, conceding the point as he returned to his spading. "My daughter is only fourteen. She can't get married for at least another year."

"The son I had in mind is only sixteen! He won't be interested in marriage for years yet. I'm just suggesting you keep it in mind."

"Hmpf," was Iolaus' only reply.

"More baklava?" inquired Hercules mildly, passing around the basket.

They ate in silence, the God of War perched on the fence, Hercules leaning against it and Iolaus leaning on his spading fork.

"There'll be a big buffet at the temple dedication," Ares announced, apparently to the air. "Iphicles got that Egyptian cook of his to put together a menu. Very impressive. I've had his peacock stuffed with almonds and larks tongues and it's right up there with ambrosia."

Iolaus mumbled around his fingers as he licked honey off of them, "I hate larks tongues. They are too tough and get stuck in my teeth."

"Not the way Iphicles' chef does them. He does a mean stuffed camel, too, but I think they are sticking with finger food for the buffet."

Hercules looked positively wistful as he said, "Ever had his roasted pecans in spice? They are delicious. I could eat a barrelful."
"We had sea bass in butter and dill and roast pork with apples when we last visited." Iolaus' expression matched his friend's. "I know, not as much a delicacy as larks tongues but damn fine eating."

"So," said Ares, stepping down from the fence and straightening his tunic, "I'll see you at the dedication."

Iolaus shrugged. "I guess so."

The god waved up at the cottage once more, than vanished in a flash of blue sparks.

"I'd like it if you were there," said Hercules. "Give me someone to talk to besides all those boring priests and politicians. Besides, you'll get a laugh out of the shrine to you. The plinth for your bust.. ."

"Which, according to Ares, looks like Iphicles."

"It does. The plinth is carved with frolicking satyrs and nymphs. You'll love it."

Iolaus sighed and laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, I'll be there but because you invited me, not those idiots on the committee."

"Fine." Hercules smiled broadly for a moment before getting a distracted look in his eyes. "Hebe wants me for something."

"Go. Probably wants a quart of pickled ambrosia or something. See you at the temple."

Hercules waved and vanished, sans sparks. He was always modest.

Iolaus surveyed his garden, only now noticing that someone, probably Hercules but possibly Ares, since he was once, long ago, a fertility god, had finished turning the soil for him. Now all he had to do was plant.

The messenger looked at the white haired old man planting the row of seedlings. Why Aphrodite wanted him especially to attend the opening of her new temple was beyond the messenger but he wasn't in charge of the guest list, just sending out the invitations.

"Hail," said the messenger, "Are you the noble Iolaus of Thebes, one time companion of Hercules. . ."

March 2002