Dennis McKiernan - Once upon a Spring morn

Chiron called out to them, and the match stopped, and men turned to see what the Centaur wanted.

As Celeste came in among them, the men looked at her in amazement, and some unashamedly responded to her beauty and form, while others looked questioningly at Chiron and Heracles.

Chiron smiled.

Heracles scowled and shook his head, as if to de shy; Clare it was not his fault that a female had entered their sanctum.

Chiron said, “These two mortals declare that they have been sent by the Fates.” He turned to Celeste. “I did not catch your names.”

“I am Celeste, Princess of the Springwood, and my consort is Sir Roel, Knight of the Manor of Emile.”

“Ah, a princess and a knight. How fitting that you are on a mission of rescue.”

One of the men, his hair honey gold, said, “Mission of rescue? Ah, how heroic that sounds.”

“Indeed it does, Achilles,” said Chiron. “I suggest we all move to the amphitheater, for we have a tale to hear and judge.”

A small amphitheater stood in one corner of the vast hall, and all the men were soon seated in the tiers all

’round. Chiron led Celeste and Roel onto the floor of the circular stage, and then stepped to one side and said,

“Now, Princess, your tale, if you please.”

“Much of it takes place ere I met my companion Roel, and so he is the one to tell our story in full.” Celeste stepped to Chiron’s side, leaving Roel in the center of the floor. Slowly he turned about, eyeing the heroes and demigods above. And then he began: “When I was but a lad, my sister and I rode to the ruins of a temple, for she was distraught over being pledged to marry someone she did not love. And at these ruins. .”

“. . and so you see, the Three Sisters sent us to find the gray arrow, for if we do not obtain it, then we are doomed to fail. Hence we must go through the black portal in the Hall of Heroes, for that is what both the Abulhol and Lord Thoth said.”

Achilles scowled and rubbed his left heel. “The gray arrow is the shaft that slew me. What will you use it for?”

“That we do not know,” replied Roel.

“Ha, the Fates are ever ambiguous in their foretellings,” said another of the heroes.

“True, Odysseus,” said Chiron.

“Is there a dark doorway within this hall?” asked Celeste.

Reluctantly, it seemed, Chiron nodded. “The one you seek leads to the Waste City of Senaudon, also known as the City of the Dead, which lies in the underworld of a fabled land called Cymru.”

“Cymru,” said Roel, his word not a question. “I have heard of such from other knights. It lies somewhere on an island to the east, it is said.”

“Yes,” said Chiron. “In the world of the Cymry, Senaudon is the dreadful place where the souls of those who commit the most heinous deeds go when they die.

It is somewhat like our Tartarus.”

A youthful-seeming man stood and said, “But not as escape-proof.”

“Aye, Philoctetes,” said another.

“Say on, Jason,” urged Chiron.

Black-haired Jason rose and said, “Now and again one of those dead ones manages to escape their dread city, and they come through their black portal to enter the Hall of Heroes. Ah, but then Heracles grasps them and”-

Jason gestured in the direction of the fissure outside-

“tosses them into the crevice yon that leads to the pit of Tartarus, a place from which they cannot get out.” As Jason sat down, a silence fell on the gathering, but then Heracles said, “A nice tale told, Sir Roel.” Heracles turned to his comrades and said, “Even so, how do we know it is true? After all, these two mortals might be going to Senaudon to raise a dread army.” A burst of chatter broke out among the heroes, but Chiron raised his hands and said, “Whether true or false, we do not know for certain, yet I am inclined to believe them. How many of you do?”

A goodly number raised their hands.

“And how many are uncertain?”

A greater number raised their hands.

“Ah, it seems you lose,” said Chiron.

“But we are telling the truth,” protested Celeste.

“Perhaps so,” said Chiron, “yet how do you propose to prove it? Has any a suggestion?”

Roel started to speak, but all eyes were turned to Odysseus, the clever one of the lot. He frowned and then said, “As we have done before, let us settle this by trial. Let them meet three challenges-two individual contests and one team challenge-and they must win all three.”

Celeste gasped and said, “But you are demigods and heroes and are favored of the gods, and with such supremacy at your behest, how could we prevail?” Heracles sneered and said, “Pah! We need no aid to defeat you, nor use of divine power.” Celeste turned to Roel for support, but he said,

“Odysseus’s suggestion is the same as my own: trial by combat, or through tests of strength and skill.” A murmur of approval muttered throughout the gathering.

Celeste stepped to Roel and whispered, “But as I say, they are demigods, and if we are to win, it must be through cunning, through guile.”

Roel frowned, for it went against his grain. Even so, he understood the worth of it, and he said, “We shall first try guile, but if that fails, then combat or other tests it be.”

Celeste nodded her acceptance, and she turned to Chiron and said, “We accept your challenge on the condition as Heracles has put it: your champions must neither accept divine aid nor use any divine powers against Roel and me, for we are but mortals.” Chiron turned to the gathering and said, “Do you so pledge to compete as would a mortal? If so, then the goddess Athena and her companion Nike, to whom this athletic temple is dedicated, will certainly hold you to such.”

“I do so pledge,” declared Heracles.

“As do I,” said Achilles.

“And I,” said Philoctetes.

“Enough,” said Chiron. “Three champions for three tests, and if no one objects”-Chiron took from a pouch at his waist a scroll and a plume with which to keep tally-“I will be the judge.”

A roar of approval rose from the heroes, for after all, Chiron was the famed tutor of Heracles, Achilles, and Asclepius, and others within the hall, and none could be fairer.

“Very well,” said Chiron, and a quietness fell as he made a notation on the parchment.

During the silence, Celeste turned to Roel and whispered, “Remember, Roel, we must use guile.” Nearby, Chiron smiled, as did Odysseus, even though he sat in the stands.

Heracles stepped forward and gestured toward the enormous weights at one end of the hall and said to Roel, “I challenge you to a test of strength.” Roel glanced at Celeste and winked and then said,

“Nay, My Lord Heracles, a test of strength would not be fair, for I did hear that you held the entire sky on your shoulders, while Atlas took golden apples from the garden of the Hesperides. Yet, my lord, I name a different challenge, and it is this-” Roel turned and took the plume from Chiron’s hand and held it on high and turned about so that all could see. “Light as is this plume, I name that which e’en you cannot hold for six hundred of my heartbeats. If you loose it ere then, let it count as a victory for Celeste and me. If you succeed, then it is a victory for you.” Heracles snorted in derision and said, “I accept your challenge,” and he reached for the feather.

But Roel said, “Oh, My Lord Heracles, did you think it was this plume you would hold? Non, instead it is your breath.”

“My breath?”

Even as Heracles said it, the heroes burst out in laughter, Odysseus loudest of all.

When it abated, Roel gave the plume back to Chiron and said, “Oui, My Lord Heracles, your breath, for surely it is as light as a feather. Now take a deep one and I shall begin the count.” Roel placed a finger on his wrist and found his pulse. “And remember your pledge, Lord Heracles: you must compete as would a mortal-