by Emily Hauser
She gazes down at each in turn as she names them and admits them to the quest. Suddenly, her eye falls upon another figure, standing upon the ship: a woman to the eyes of any but a mortal, though she wears a man’s tunic, a quiver of arrows upon her back, her face set in determination and with long, slim legs, good for running.
Iris catches her breath. Slowly, she begins to smile. Why not? Why should Atalanta not join the quest? By the time Hera discovers she is aboard the Argo it will be too late. Destiny be damned, she thinks, and then she catches herself and almost laughs aloud: for who would understand better than the Fates that a woman can excel as well as a man?
‘Atalanta,’ she breathes.
The final leaf spins gently down the side of the cliff, then, softly, settles on the dark surface of the water.
The oath has been made.
The greatest journey the world has ever seen has begun.
PART II
OCEAN
1260 BC
… the quick swift ships Poseidon gave to sail the great ocean expanse – swift, like a light feather or a thought.
Homer
On the Argo
The Ocean
The Hour of the Rising Sun
The First Day of the Month of the Harvest
A body fell upon mine with the force of a stampeding bull. A shoulder rammed into my chest and I was flung backwards over one of the thwarts, knocking aside several of the rowers, my head slamming into the wooden planks. Hippomenes slid past me, thrown by the force of his assault, and as I scrambled to get to my feet I squinted upwards, saw him regain his footing and raise his fist against the bright sunlight. Fast as I could, I rolled to one side over the bench as he brought it down, hammering his knuckles against the wood, then grunting with pain. I darted to my feet beside a startled slave, who was trying, amid the confusion, to keep to his oar. As my attacker turned to face me, I balled my fist and drove a sharp blow into Hippomenes’ right shoulder. The slave beside me gave a cry and abandoned his seat, kneeling in the gap between the thwarts with his hands over his head. Without pause, Hippomenes swung his fist back to return the blow and, though I leapt over another bench to avoid it, I was too late and his knuckles caught me beneath the ear. I staggered a little and put my fingers to my neck, feeling the impression of the blow lingering upon the skin in an exquisite mesh of pain, the beginnings of a bruise swelling beneath my fingertips. I twisted to reach into my belt for my dagger, fury pounding in my ears, when—
‘Cease fighting, both of you!’
Peleus, tall, with flecks of grey in his hair and a mild-mannered expression, had signalled to the rest to stop rowing and was striding towards us, climbing over the thwarts from where he had been sitting near the mast. He turned to Jason, who was seated nearby, his eyes flicking from Hippomenes to me and back again.
‘My lord, unless I am very much mistaken this is the young man who so excelled in the hunt. Lord Telamon, son of Deucalion, is it not?’ he asked, bowing to me.
I inclined my head. ‘Indeed,’ I said, still breathing rather heavily. ‘I am glad to see you again, my lord Peleus.’
The other nobles, all of whom were still seated at their benches, drew their oars over their laps at Peleus’ signal, and the slaves followed suit – Myrtessa among them, in her slave’s tunic. She gave me a half-smile as I caught her eye. The Argo rocked gently on the waves, the blades of the oars dripping into the sea. I turned to my attacker, my fingers on the bruise at my neck. He was panting slightly a few benches away, his dark-brown hair sticking to the sweat shining on his cheekbones, his gold-embroidered cloak thrown over one shoulder. He had dark eyebrows and a strong aquiline nose that had clearly been broken at least once, and his eyes registered nothing but dislike.
‘What in the names of all the gods are you doing here, Telamon?’ Laertes asked, leaning forwards over his oar.
‘What do you think, my lord?’ I said, daring to hold his gaze, exhilarated but also wary: there was still much that could go wrong, as Hippomenes’ reaction had shown. ‘I have come to join your expedition.’
Some of the men laughed. The beat of the drum faltered and stopped, and everyone was staring at us as the ship floated peacefully on the water, the sea lapping at its hull.
‘You were not invited to join the quest,’ Jason said, his voice cold and distant.
‘No, my lord. But the Fates favour those who make their own paths, do they not?’
Meleager, seated two benches away, let out a bark of laughter, his clear hazel eyes gleaming, the soft dark hair upon his chin shining in the sunlight with a sheen of sweat. ‘He has you there, Jason.’
Hippomenes gave a grunt of impatience and waved a hand in the air. ‘He has nothing. He was not invited to join us, and then he leapt aboard our ship like a common thief. This is no qualification for joining our quest. And besides,’ his eyes skimmed over me, ‘he is too young. Why, the beard is not yet growing upon his chin – and he thinks he can equal proven fighters twice his age?’
Jason stood and surveyed us both, his expression calculating. ‘Telamon, perhaps you have not been introduced to Hippomenes, son of Megareus,’ he said. ‘There is no finer wrestler in all of Greece, is there, Hippomenes?’
Hippomenes snorted.
‘Yet Telamon is our guest, and the guest of King Iasus, too,’ Jason said. He was gazing at me, sizing me up with cold reckoning, as if I were a calf to be bought at the market. ‘And he did not dishonour himself in the hunt.’
‘He certainly knows how to handle himself with his bow,’ put in Meleager, his arm resting upon the ship’s side, his eyes upon me.
Jason nodded, lips pursed. Hippomenes spat over the side of the ship.
‘That is enough, Hippomenes,’ Jason said. He turned to me. ‘Very well, Telamon, you may join our quest, and lend your bow to our cause but,’ he held up a hand to forestall me, ‘this is no easy voyage we embark upon. There are trials ahead – dangerous, deadly even – that will put all of us, experienced warriors as we are, in mortal peril. Your youth will afford you no protection from us.’ His eyes hardened. ‘Ensure you have thought over your choice carefully before you decide.’
‘I have, my lord.’
‘And next time,’ his voice took on the hint of a threat, ‘you will discuss the matter with me beforehand, rather than attempting to commandeer my ship, like a brigand.’
I bowed my head, though it was all I could do not to leap into the air in triumph. ‘As you say, my lord.’
That night, as the evening star appeared on the horizon, we put in at the island of Peparethos. The Argo was built without a large hold and the thwarts were too hard to sleep upon, so Jason had ruled that we would draw the ship up to land and sleep upon the shore. We had come into a sheltered harbour with steep rocky promontories at either side where the waves lapped softly upon the sand. Once the Argo was beached and we had hunted and roasted a pair of wild goats, the slaves unloaded woollen blankets from the storage beneath the stern deck and laid them out upon the ground for us to sleep.
But as the stars shimmered in the sky above, the waters of the bay reflecting them in flashes of silver, and Myrtessa’s breathing beside me grew soft and steady, I could not sleep. Thoughts and images were whirling through my mind – the hero Bellerophon striding up the flanks of Pelion, his arms crossed with scars, my first sight of the Argo that morning, the letters on her prow gleaming gold, the sparkling water beneath me as I leapt aboard the ship, the low threat in Jason’s voice as he had warned me not to disobey him – and I grinned, propping myself up on my elbows, reliving it all. I could never, in all my daydreams at Kaladrosos, have conceived of such an adventure.
An hour later, my mind still filled with the day’s memories, I pushed myself to stand. Quiet as I could so as not to wake Myrtessa, I fastened my cloak and sword-belt, picked up my quiver, slotted my bow into its compartment, and swung it over one shoulder. My sandals crunched a little on the sand as I walked across the beach, the faint silvery moonlight g
uiding my path towards the grove of olive and pine trees that stretched up the hill behind. The sound of the cicadas grew louder as I approached, a soft murmur to match the whispering of the leaves. Dried pine needles crunched softly underfoot as I ducked to make my way into the trees, the moonlight casting shifting shadows over the grass.
And then I spotted a figure kneeling upon the ground, twenty paces ahead in an open clearing, lit silver by the rays of the moon. His pale face was gleaming, his eyes closed, arms outstretched to the sky, yet even at that distance, there was no mistaking those sloping shoulders, the jutting jaw and the tilt of the head, or the glittering clasp of his cloak and sword, fitted with princely jewels.
Jason.
He was speaking aloud, his palms upturned in prayer – it was only the sound of his voice that had prevented him hearing my approach. I slipped without a sound into the shade of a pine, pressing my palms into the bark and peering around, alive with curiosity, straining to hear.
Jason’s voice emerged through the whispering of the leaves: ‘… Lady of Iolcos, hear me, hear my prayer. If you answer me, I vow to sacrifice to you twenty white heifers, not yet mothers of calves, so that you will hear their bellowing and see their blood upon your altar and receive the smoke from their burning on Olympus. Grant that I fulfil my destiny as Aeson’s son …’
A breeze through the trees shook the pine needles overhead. I frowned, leaning forwards, trying to catch the words. I could see Jason gesturing to the heavens, heard a few phrases, ‘Grant … revenge …’ and then his voice grew louder: ‘… those who stood by as I watched my father killed by my uncle, who did nothing as he twisted my mother’s hair in his fist and beat her with my father’s sceptre and raped her upon the king’s throne, again – and again – and again … And left me to crawl through my father’s blood to escape the palace …’ Jason’s voice was harsh and ragged now, a high wavering note of uncontrolled anger and torment.
I saw him stretch his hands higher towards the dark vault of the sky. ‘Kingship is my right – it runs in my very veins! Your lord, Zeus—’
An owl hooted in a nearby tree and I almost cried out with shock. Cursing under my breath, I tried to steady myself, leaning closer – for surely this was the very moment where he would reveal what Myrtessa had guessed …
‘I am a king,’ I heard him say, his voice rising, his words broken as though by sobs. ‘And not only king of Iolcos! I will rule Pagasae, Makronita and Kaladrosos, Lechonia and Aphussos. Help me, lady, queen of the gods, to burn all the towns of Pelion, to raze them to the ground, and torture anyone who dares to challenge me, man, woman or child, till they wish they had never been born, until everyone cries out my name in joy and recognizes me as their one true king!’
He was panting, his eyes open now, and the air around me was still, the leaves of the trees motionless.
I felt my blood chill as an image of my home flashed before my eyes – Kaladrosos – burnt to ashes, flames leaping to the sky, the houses sending up columns of smoke, my mother and father lying hurt in the ruins, my little sisters and brother crying for help … My stomach churned with fear and my heart was hammering, making me want to gasp aloud with pain. So this is what he intends …
Jason’s voice floated across to me: ‘Hera, grant me this prayer, as I pray to you every night and have done since my father’s murder. Give me revenge, and kingship of all the towns of Pelion, as is my birthright and my due. Then you will be honoured in Iolcos as no goddess has ever been honoured before …’
Bile was rising within my belly. I could not bear it – I had to do something. With one swift movement I reached for the sword at my waist, unthinking, started to stride out of the shadows towards Jason, unsure whether I wanted to fight him or to reason with him, knowing only that his words were madness, that he must be stopped …
Swifter than I could have thought, Jason turned and saw me approaching, his eyes like dark shadows meeting mine. He leapt to his feet, and the slender, gleaming blade of a sword appeared from nowhere before I had the chance to block it, the point digging into my neck. Slowly, barely moving, I followed the blade with my eyes, to the hilt, then the hand, the arm holding it, to the shoulder, draped in a dark cloak …
‘What are you doing here, Telamon?’
‘I – I wanted to walk,’ I spluttered, dropping my sword upon the grass and raising my hands, feeling them shaking slightly. ‘Nothing more, I swear it.’
‘You were not trying to eavesdrop?’ he asked. ‘Or perhaps to meet with someone?’
‘W-what?’ Fear was coursing through me, and I wiped my clammy palms against my tunic. How can he possibly know? Did someone tell him? But how could they know?
Was he going to kill me for disguising myself as a man, here, upon the shores of Peparethos, before I had even sailed a day upon the Argo?
He lowered the blade a little and circled me, pointing the tip directly at my heart. ‘You heard nothing that I care about. But I do not trust you, Telamon. Why did you follow me tonight? Why did you force your way onto the Argo? Are you a spy of Pelias? Tell me the truth!’ The words had a ring of command to them, as of one who was used to giving orders.
‘I speak nothing but the truth!’ I stammered, raising my hands to the sky so he could see I was not going for my sword. ‘I was unable to sleep upon the shore, so I came here to walk. As for boarding the Argo,’ I continued, my voice unsteady, ‘perhaps I should have asked for your consent; but after the feast, when I considered your choice of the men you would take with you … I felt I could not lose such an opportunity. I can think of no greater honour than fighting alongside the heroes gathered upon this ship. I swear to you by all the gods, and Zeus, lord of Pagasae, I speak the truth.’
Or at least a part of it.
‘You call it honourable to thrust your way onto a ship unasked?’
‘You accepted me,’ I retaliated, my courage returning. ‘Why? If you are so distrustful of my presence?’
Jason took a while to answer. At last, he sheathed his sword and took a step backwards, eyeing me up and down, his lips tight. ‘Because I prefer to have one I do not trust under my gaze than out of it,’ he said.
Silence fell between us. I was breathing hard, the remembrance of Jason’s words – I will burn all the towns of Pelion, raze them to the ground – still drumming through my mind, mingling in my ears with the screams I had heard of Maia, Leon and Corycia when he had spoken of Kaladrosos until it was almost unbearable. In a sudden, wild moment I bent swiftly and reached to pick up my sword, but Jason saw me and lashed out, catching my wrist before I had even grasped the hilt, his fingers digging into my skin with unexpected strength. My eyes watered with the pain.
Jason took a deep, shuddering breath and jerked my chin up close to his face with his other hand, a muscle in his jaw twitching. ‘As you see, Telamon,’ he said, and though his voice had returned to its usual tone, his breathing was shallow, his fingers still gouging my flesh, ‘I will brook no opposition to my throne. If you do anything to stand against me – if you set one foot outside this camp again – I shall have you speared through and slung over the ship’s side to be eaten by the fish. Do you understand me?’
His teeth glittered in the moonlight.
‘Oh, yes,’ I said, looking him squarely in the eye, though my voice shook a little. ‘Oh, yes. I understand you.’
Over the next two weeks, Jason and I did not speak again, and though I avoided him as much as I could, I had the impression that he was keeping a careful eye upon me, watching me closely as I pulled at the oar, adjusted the rigging or hunted for the evening’s meal. I told Myrtessa of my meeting with Jason the very next evening, when we drew the ship up on the shore and laid our blankets side by side, at a little distance from the other lords, to share food and stories of the day’s adventures in muted whispers. She had gasped, as I described to her the full extent of what I had overheard of Jason’s ambitions for Pelion.
‘But what are we to do?’ she had asked, her eyes
round with fear, hand over her mouth.
I shook my head in the darkness, kneading my forehead with my knuckles. The same question had been echoing in my mind ever since, plaguing my dreams with nightmares of towering flames, the smoking ruins of my home, and my family, their voices growing weaker and weaker, calling to me for help. I felt a twist of guilt in the pit of my stomach: I should never have left them …
‘I do not know,’ I said aloud. ‘But there must be something.’
After six days of good winds, with the breeze blowing into the belly of the sail and sending us speeding over the whipping waves of the sea, past the isle of Lemnos, through the narrow strait of the Hellespont where the proud city of Troy, with its high walls, looked out over the plain and into the sea of the Propontis, our luck turned. The winds changed, blowing hard and strong from the north-east, springing up in the mornings and dying away with the setting of the sun, so that there was nothing to be done but set all hands upon the oars and row throughout the day, with no rest until we stopped to sleep at night. Myrtessa was seated at the thwarts near the bow with the slaves, her tunic stained with sweat as she pulled at the oar. I had my seat beside Peleus, and my palms were blistered, chafing against the smooth wood of the oar so that the skin was rubbed raw and it was all I could do not to cry out in pain each time I made a stroke.
Despair, guilt and frustration coursed through me in turns, sometimes filling me with an irritation so great it was all I could do not to throw down my oar; at other times, I was consumed by a desperate fear that perhaps they had all been right – that I was not good or strong enough to accompany the heroes on their voyage, that I should have stayed at home in Kaladrosos, where I could at least have known that my family was safe. The calm swell of the waves, the white seagulls bobbing on the water of the ocean, the sound of the ropes slapping in the wind, the sea salt on the air and on my tongue, all of which had seemed exhilarating, a portent of the adventure to be had, were subsumed now in the rasping pain in my hands, my aching temples as the sun beat down upon my bare head, the sweat that trickled down my face and back, making my tunic cling to my skin, the tearing, seizing pain in the muscles of my arms, which begged me to stop, and through it all, the ever-present knot of fear in my belly. Yet I had to go on. I could not stop, I could not …