The Wrath of Poseidon

by John Gregory Betancourt

Overview

Half man, half god, Hercules is the most famous hero of ancient Greece. Possessed of enormous strength, the son of Zeus roams the world in search of adventure, sharing the glories of a bygone age with such legendary comrades as Jason of the Argonauts and the proud warrior woman, Atalanta. Prepare yourself for wonders, O mortals, as the Quest for the Golden Fleece begins once more....
The Wrath of Poseidon
The fabled city of Troy has incurred the mighty anger of Poseidon, god of the seas, who calls forth from the ocean depths a fearsome creature to destroy the city. Only the sacrifice of the beautiful Princess Almacea can lift Poseidon's curse--unless Hercules and his companions can slay the dreaded and unstoppable sea monster!
At the Publisher's request, this title is being sold without Digital Rights Management Software (DRM) applied.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781466853850
Publisher:	Tom Doherty Associates
Publication date:	04/16/2025
Series:	Hercules , #1
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	220
File size:	651 KB

About the Author

John Gregory Betancourt has published more than twenty books, including several best-selling Star Trek novels and game books for TSR, Inc.

Read an Excerpt

CHAPTER 1

Feeling the heat of the noontime sun on his face and broad, deeply muscled chest, Hercules stretched and yawned like a cat just gorged to satiation. Slowly he opened his eyes, blinked, and squinted out across the broad wooden deck of the Argo.

The huge ship cut smoothly through the low Mediterranean waves, heading steadily eastward on their quest for the kingdom of Colchis and the legendary Golden Fleece. Hercules smelled the deep, salty tang of the sea's brine and heard the raucous calls of gulls circling overhead. They had to be nearing land, he realized, with so many birds about.

He had been lying with his back to the main cabin, between a coil of rope and a large pythos of water. The huge clay jar smelled damp and refreshing, and it had provided him with pleasant shade all morning. It seemed quite a luxury to lie back and rest: He had no monsters to battle, no great tasks to perform, no wars to fight and win. ... Yes, life was good for the moment.

Like most of the other heroes whom Jason had gathered aboard the Argo for the quest, Hercules knew little of sailing, but he did not hesitate to throw his shoulder to the oars when the wind died down, or to help when the crew needed an extra hand. But this day they seemed to have everything under control, so he had taken the opportunity to drowse away the morning hours. They would need him soon enough, he knew, when they reached Colchis.

Sitting up, he watched sailors scamper up the rigging to shorten the Argo's bright red triangular sails. The men joked and laughed as they worked, and he found he didn't blame them. Not only was the Argo the greatest sea-going vessel ever built — designed especially for Jason and his quest for the Golden Fleece by a Greek inventor and genius shipbuilder named Argus — but it carried the bravest warriors in all of Greece on board. Gazing about at his companions, from Theseus to Orpheus, from Nestor to Iolaus and so many others, Hercules nodded to himself. Yes, they were a good company. He was happy to count himself among their number.

Slowly stretching the kinks from his muscles, he climbed to his feet. It was time for him to get up, he decided. He wanted to see what lay ahead.

He straightened the lion-skin he wore across his back and loins as he turned to survey the horizon. Land — a distant grayish brown smudge — lay directly ahead. Could it be an island? No, he thought, it seemed too large for that. Crete lay behind them, and Cyprus lay to the north. This had to be the mainland, didn't it?

Jason would know for certain. Hercules spotted the ship's captain in the Argo's high prow. Jason was of medium height, but broad-chested, with strongly muscled arms, short black hair, and a closely cropped black beard. Though young, his keen gaze and piercing brown eyes missed nothing.

At the moment Jason stared off toward the mainland, apparently deep in thought. Probably considering the glory that would be his when they returned home in triumph with the Golden Fleece, Hercules thought. It would be quite an accomplishment for him, undoubtedly the stuff of epic songs and poems for many years to come.

The origin of the Golden Fleece was a curious one, he reflected as he worked his way forward. In Thessaly, long ago, King Athamas had grown to dislike his wife, so he divorced her and took another. The former queen suspected danger to her children from their new stepmother, though, so she prayed to the god Hermes, who sent a giant ram with a Golden Fleece to her. She set her two children on the ram's back, trusting that the beast would carry them to safety.

Instantly the ram vaulted into the air, carrying the two children, and it bore them swiftly to the east, until when crossing the strait that divides Europe and Asia, the girl, whose name was Helle, fell from its back into the sea and drowned.

Never slowing or seeming to tire, the ram continued its flight until it reached the kingdom of Colchis on the eastern shore of the Black Sea, where it landed with the boy, whose name was Phryxus.

As soon as Phryxus found himself safe, he sacrificed the ram to Zeus. Then he gave the Golden Fleece to Æetes, the king of Colchis, who placed it in a consecrated grove under the care of a sleepless dragon. For that great gift, King Æetes made Phryxus welcome in Colchis, and eventually he adopted the boy as his own son.

That had been many years ago.

Now Jason had vowed to win the Golden Fleece for his own people, and Hercules could certainly understand why. Such a symbol of divine power would bless whichever kingdom possessed it. Beyond that, Jason needed the Golden Fleece to win back his own throne. Hercules knew that Jason's uncle Pelias now ruled Thessaly — a cold, hard man who had grown used to power and did not want to give it up. Jason hoped to save his country from a civil war by returning as a hero from this great quest. And, in truth, Jason did have a legitimate claim on the Golden Fleece — his great-grandfather and Phryxus had been cousins. Since King Æetes had died long ago, and his direct descendants no longer ruled Colchis, the fleece should go to him.

Thus had Jason sent invitations to all the adventurous young men and women of Greece, and soon he found himself joined not only by Hercules, but by many more adventurers. In all, their company had grown to fifty strong, and every one of them had proved him or herself in battle.

Now, as he paused to look back at the fellow adventurers, Hercules knew they could not fail in their task. So many great and noble warriors as these had never before been assembled in one place. The very foundations of Colchis must tremble at their approach.

Reaching the prow, he paused a moment to study the rapidly approaching land. Now he could see gnarled, wind-swept pines and olive trees high atop sheer cliffs. Waves pounded and foamed against jagged, broken rocks along an unfriendly shore. It seemed a singularly desolate land, he thought.

"Are we putting in here?" he asked Jason.

"Hmm?" Jason glanced back at him, then flashed a quick grin. As always, Hercules always found it infectious and grinned back. "Yes," Jason said in his low, powerful voice. "I have heard of a small village called Teros, which lies a little farther up the coast. We can get fresh water, meat, and vegetables there."

"Teros ..." Hercules turned the unfamiliar name over in his mind. He had never been there and felt certain he had never heard it mentioned before. "Small, is it?"

"Very. One of my father's servants came from there originally. He spoke well of the place, though, and told me to ask after his uncle Periphon, who owns a tavern."

"How long till we reach this Teros?"

"We should be there within the hour."

Hercules nodded. "Good." If Teros had a tavern, it would do quite nicely, he thought. They could spend the night ashore, drinking and celebrating their voyage, swapping stories with the locals, and enjoying life to the fullest. And perhaps he'd meet a nice woman. ...

He leaned on the railing next to Jason, tasting the salty spray kicked up by the prow and feeling the moisture gather on his face, thinking of what new adventures might lie ahead. The Golden Fleece, of course, but along the way ... who could say?

Regardless, it felt good to be traveling again, he reflected. He felt a deep sense of contentment here, aboard the Argo, with all these friends both new and old, sailing off on an epic mission to lands he had never seen before. And how could it be otherwise? This had to be one of the happiest times of his life. Not like the last few years....

He frowned a second, then pushed those dark thoughts to the back of his mind. No, he had agreed to join Jason because he wanted to forget the tragedies of his past, most especially the loss of his beautiful wife and son. He took a deep breath. Like the folding of a wave, he had put that part of his life behind him. Now he lived for the future — for new adventures and excitement, for seeing unfamiliar lands and peoples.

"Jason and Hercules," a woman's low voice said behind them. "The two most important men in all of Greece, conspiring together? What great new plans you must be laying for the rest of us!"

Hercules glanced back and found Atalanta regarding them both with her hands on her hips. She was the daughter of Iasius, king of Arcadia, and an exceptional archer. A buckle of polished gold fastened her red and white vest, and she wore a short red skirt with an intricate border sewn around the hem. Over the last few years, she had won quite a name for herself, killing several bandit-chiefs and slaying a few minor monsters plaguing the lands around her home. Like all the others aboard the Argo, she had put aside her own ambitions to join this adventure.

Hercules had met her a few times over the years, when she was but a girl, and now he had to admit she had blossomed into a beautiful woman. The smooth curve of her cheek and her full, red lips reminded him a little of his wife, but there the resemblance ended. Atalanta's gray eyes held the hardness of a seasoned warrior, and her lean, muscular body could hold its own against almost anyone aboard the Argo.

"Me, one of the most important men in Greece?" Grinning, Jason leaned back with his elbows against the deck railing. "You've been listening to too many bards, Atalanta. I'm not so important as that."

Softly, she sang:

Where sails the Argo and her crew?
Hercules laughed. "Already the stories and songs have begun!"

"You made that up!" Jason said suspiciously.

Atalanta shook her head. "Not true, Jason. I heard a bard composing it last week, on the very night we set sail. He said he'd have another hundred verses finished by the time we return."

Jason groaned. "And in those verses we'll have faced a thousand more monsters than exist in all the world! Will they never learn?" "I would have expected them to wait for our return, at least," Hercules said. He turned to Atalanta. "Does the song mention me?" "The very next verse," Atalanta said, "is about the sea serpent you and I slew on our first night out. He put me in because I was so interested in his composing, he said."

"A sea serpent?" Hercules laughed. "I haven't killed one of those in years!"

Jason let out his breath. "Will they never learn ...?" "Look at the advantages," Hercules said, clasping him on the shoulder. "You'll never have to buy your own drinks again. Everyone will want to hear about your adventures firsthand. Whether they happened or not is irrelevant. It's the telling that matters."

"I am not doing this to be a hero."

"And that," Hercules said, "is why you are a hero, Jason."

He frowned. "We'll see." Turning, he looked toward shore again. "Teros should be around that finger of land," he said to Atalanta, nodding toward a small peninsula just ahead. "As I just told Hercules, we'll put in there for the night."

"Great," she said. "It's about time we stretched our legs."

"And I don't want to hear any more of that song!"

"Nor do I!" Hercules said.

"Oh, I don't think I can remember more than five or six more verses anyway," she said with a wicked grin. "But maybe the local bard can add a few."

CHAPTER 2

Koremos the Black stood motionless in the shadow of a warped old pine tree, studying the ship with the red triangular sails as it skirted the shoreline a hundred yards out. He kept his four hooves firmly planted and his tail from twitching, even when a horsefly landed on his left flank. No, he would not give his position away now, he thought, not until he knew more about these strangers and their fabulous vessel.

He found the ship particularly intriguing. It was huge, like nothing he had ever seen before, and he knew it had to come from one of the great cities to the west — perhaps Athens, since the people there were so clever, or Thessaly. He squinted, trying to pick out details of the crew. Forty or so people stood on deck. None of them carried arms or armor, but that meant nothing; why should they carry weapons at sea, since the weight would rapidly pull them under if they fell overboard?

The two men in the bow certainly looked like fighters, as did many of the others. Yes, he thought, such a ship as this one would have to be well protected. Their weapons had to be stored safely below.

"What do you think, Koremos?" Bix asked from beside him.

The black centaur glanced thoughtfully at the little human standing beside him. Bix was short and swarthy, with a shock of curly black hair and dark brown eyes, and when he chewed his lower lip, he showed cracked yellow teeth. He was a competent enough lieutenant, Koremos knew, but one without any real ambitions.

"I think," Koremos said slowly, "our fortunes are about to be made. Gather all our men. We'll need them. That ship must be heading for Teros."

"Aye —" And Bix was gone, sprinting back through the pines and toward the hills, straight for the cave where Koremos kept the headquarters for his outlaw band.

Turning his attention back to the sea, Koremos narrowed his eyes to slits. The huge ship was just rounding the spit of land separating the steep cliffs below and to either side of him from the sandy beaches and low rolling hills around Teros. As it vanished from sight, he allowed his tail one quick flip.

Spiraling to the ground, the bothersome horsefly buzzed angrily, stunned, trying to turn itself over. Idly, Koremos stepped on it with one hoof, grinding it into the pine needles.

Thus, he thought, do I deal with all my enemies.

He began to smile.

*
As Teros came into sight, Hercules bit back a cry of disappointment. He had seldom seen such a pitiful excuse for a fishing village.

Perhaps a hundred small drab stone houses with thatched roofs ringed a tiny natural harbor. He spotted a few bright canopies between the buildings, but they seemed little better than patchwork additions, sloppily pieced together and overall quite ugly. Narrow dirt streets ran everywhere, and dogs and barefoot children swarmed through them, laughing, barking, and playing.

A handful of small, single-masted fishing boats had been tied up at the one narrow wooden dock. Along the broad, white sand beach fronting the village and on the dock itself, brown fishing nets had been spread out to dry in the sun. Here and there fishermen in loincloths sat among the nets, mending broken fibers, working out tangles, removing shells and bits of seaweed.

Slowly the villagers began to notice the Argo's approach. Hercules watched as the fishermen leaped to their feet, staring, muttering darkly among themselves. Farther ashore, children began to point and cry out to friends and parents, then sprint for the dock. In seconds, a large crowd had begun to gather.

Hercules sighed. A mass of peasants — this wasn't the welcome he'd had in mind. Of course he had not expected the splendor of Knossos or Athens, with their thousands of buildings, broad paved streets, and towering marble temples, but at the very least he had wanted the shade of spreading grape arbors overhead, the luxuriant perfume of flower gardens filling the air, and his choice among several large and well-stocked taverns. At least there was a tavern, he reminded himself. Jason had mentioned one. That would give them something to do tonight.

Licking his lips, Hercules imagined cups of deep red wine, boisterous talk of wars and adventures, and plenty of songs and storytelling from the local bards — for surely the arrival of such a band of adventurers as the Argonauts would be cause enough for celebration throughout all Teros.

"That's odd," Jason said to him in a low voice.

"What?" Hercules searched among the buildings with new interest. He didn't see anything out of the ordinary; crowds always turned out to meet him.

Jason said, "This is a small town." He nodded toward the shore. "Yet look at the number of people coming to greet us. There must be hundreds of them — perhaps even thousands. Where did they all come from?"

"A festival of some kind?" Atalanta ventured from behind them. She joined Hercules at the rail.

(Continues…)

---

Excerpted from "Hercules"
by .
Copyright © 1997 Tom Doherty Associates, Inc..
Excerpted by permission of Tom Doherty Associates.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

---