Author's note: This is the fifth entry in my series that begins with "Medusa's Trophy" and continues in "Medusa's Pleasure," "Medusa's Proposal," and "Medusa's Answer." I recommend reading the series in that order before reading this one.
There will be a "Medusa's Epilogue" chapter that will complete a few minor story arcs, but this is the final entry of the main story.
All characters in this story are over 18 (especially Medusa).
Asklepios gasped and strained as he dragged the Spartan on the makeshift stretcher along the stream. His old master was larger and heavier than he, and only the leverage of the stretcher's long poles, fashioned from the spears of the other recovering warriors, allowed him to lift and drag the Spartan at all. The old rawhide strap of his backpack still chafed, but it gave him a good grip as he pulled the unconscious man along. His knee ached within its splint, and each step required a heave on the strap, pulling the stretcher like a crude sled. The Helot was bathed in sweat, his mind clouded in the familiar stupor of hard labor. His staff rode with the Spartan, and the dark snake hissed whenever the stretcher threatened to flip over. Those hisses came often.
Following the flow of the stream, he and Medu - no, Epione had made a new camp well away from Medusa's cave. Following the stream as it worked its way down the hills of the island, they had found a sheltering rock formation near its mouth at the island's shore. There they had worked for two days now, dragging each delirious warrior to the new encampment, along with their things: a few surviving weapons, the bolts of cloth taken from Medusa's lair, and the new clothes Epione had made for them - well, all but the Spartan, whose clothes and armor remained intact. Only the Spartan himself now remained to move, and Medusa had her hands full caring for the other eleven warriors. Thus, it fell to Asklepios to drag his former master, and to drag him alone.
The Helot's only complaint was how busy they had been; there had been no time for words or lovemaking, for Epione feared that Medusa would not long restrain herself with prey so near her lair, and the recovering warriors required much tending and care. But that would soon end. This was the third day since they had started restoring the former champions of the gods, and Asklepios expected them to start awakening soon. Of course, that would bring new dangers.
What would these warriors think once they woke up? What would they do? Would they recognize Epione? Might they try to carry her off, as men had once tried to do before she had been Medusa? Might he have to fight one or more of them?
His eyes stung with sweat. Asklepios paused and wiped them. Even his healthy leg trembled with the effort of dragging the Spartan now. He was exhausted; the notion of resisting a single warrior, let alone all twelve, was ludicrous. When Epione had been Medusa, she'd called this decision to restore the warriors foolish. She wasn't wrong.
As he started dragging the Spartan again, a strong voice rang out. "Stop that at once!"
Asklepios looked up. The first warrior strode toward him, his muscular figure as impressive as any Greek statue.
But he glared down at the Helot. "Stop, I say! Lay down your burden, for it is mine now."
Blinking, the Helot set down the ends of the stretcher.
The warrior set to untying the Spartan. "I should be ashamed to let you labor on. The lady Epione tells me I have slept a full three days while you have labored despite your wound." The bonds untied, the warrior swept the Spartan up and over his shoulder, holding Asklepios' old master with one hand as he picked up the makeshift stretcher with the other. "Come. The Lady Epione says you must eat."
Asklepios' breath steadied as he picked up his staff. The dark snake coiled up around it in its customary place. As the Helot fell in next to the warrior, he stammered, "Who - who are you?"
The warrior bowed his head. "I am Perieres of - of a city and a family that will no longer remember me, if indeed it still exists at all. I once thought myself a bold champion of Zeus, but I fell under the spell of Medusa, who brought me low. It seems that many hundreds of years have passed whilst I lay shamed and petrified in my dishonor, with naught but my memories and my shame to ponder. But now I live again, and all thanks to you!"
The helot's brows furrowed. "Thanks to - me?"
Perieres gave a rolling, hearty laugh. "The lady Epione told me of your modesty, but come now! You will have to accustom yourself to thanks and praises. The others are stirring, and they too will be eager to hear Epione tell how you took up the spear in Medusa's cave and thrust it into the gorgon again and again, overwhelming her and forcing her to retire. Though you did not slay her, we must immortalize your deed in song!"
Asklepios stumbled, but steadied himself with his staff. "Epione told you that I - I thrust - wait, a song?"
Perieres nodded. "Ah, what song indeed! Nothing short of an epic poem shall do. The secret son of Apollo lives as a slave to the lawless Spartans! The slave rises against the monster who laid low his master! With powerful stabs of his spear, he overpowers Medusa and drives her to flee! With skillful hands, he tames the gorgon's own pet! With his powers as a healer, he restores the dead stone champions of old!"
"The - ah, the lady Epione did a great deal - "
" - Oh, for certain, I would never leave out the beautiful captive of Medusa who you freed, and whose gentle ministrations aided you. For without her tending your wound - " Perieres nodded down at Asklepios' splinted leg, " - You would not have survived, nor could you have restored us, the failed champions of the distant past. Nor would I suffer to see her worthy name besmirched by failing to praise her assistance to you in our own recoveries."
Asklepios' head spun, and he stopped.
Perieres stopped and casually dumped the stretcher on the ground before unstrapping the unconscious man and slinging him over one shoulder. "Forgive me, worthy Asklepios. I did not see how great your weariness is." He wrapped a his free hand about the Helot's shoulders. "I can return for the rest later. Best you not keep the lady Epione waiting. She seems most eager to see you returned safe to her, and she worries you have overtaxed yourself. I suspect she is right."
~~~~~~~~~~
"Asklepios!" Epione sprang up as the pair shuffled into the encampment by the little river's mouth. Ten men jumped to their feet behind her.
Perieres smiled and released Asklepios. "Welcome back to the world of the living, brother champions! Behold our liberator!"
The other men stared and murmured. Perieres laid down the Spartan's unconscious form on one of their beds. "Here is the last of us, the failed champions of the gods, redeemed by the might and skill of Asklepios!"
Asklepios shuffled toward Epione, who ran forward and embraced him in the amber light of the setting sun.
He pulled back and stared at her eyes, still green in the amber light of the setting sun. "What have you told them?"
Epione shrugged. "I respect your modesty, but I could not help but tell them the truth, the same as I told the great Perieres. I told them how you rescued me after your vigorous efforts with Medusa. How you took up the spear and pierced her with many a forceful thrust." She smiled. "How you overwhelmed her into giving it up to you and let you conquer her cave. How Medusa fled deep into the darkness, while you tamed one of her own snakes to your service and used your healing craft to restore these men."
One of the men frowned. "This is the man who bested Medusa, the same who overwhelmed us with - with her spells?"
Epione nodded. "I saw it myself, brave warriors. Though he may be a modest man and slight of form, he has a vigor and a heart greater than a dozen men."
Perieres folded his arms and glared at the doubting man. "I too can attest to his strength of will. When I found him, he was dragging this warrior alone, unaided, and wounded. He and the lady Epione have saved us and cared for us. And now they should rest - no, lady, pray do not refuse. We twelve live thanks to his skill and your care, but the twelve of us can tend to this last man. Help me pitch a tent for her, men! A tent for her and a tent for Asklepios!
As the twelve men set to making places of comfort for them, Epione and Asklepios knelt by the Spartan, who stirred and groaned, his head rolling. Asklepios held up his former master's head as Epione ladled small spoonfuls of broth into the Spartan's open mouth, which eagerly sucked it down and swallowed.
Asklepios glanced over at the men and murmured, "What is this story you've concocted?"
