For the Winner

by Emily Hauser

  Peleus, beside me, had already gathered up a coil of rope and was knotting a fragment of wood to the end. As I pointed, finger trembling, he whirled the rope tight around his head and then let it out, slithering over the surface of the sea – but as it shot forwards it was lifted by the wind and whipped to the side. He reeled it in and tried again, but the rope was lashed once more by the raging winds and hit the waves far to the stern of the ship – and, though Peleus had gathered it in and was about to try a third time, the waves were carrying Hippomenes further away into the darkness of the storm. Soon he would be too far even for the rope to reach …

  Jason appeared behind us and laid a hand on Peleus’ shoulder. ‘There is nothing you can do,’ he shouted, over the fury of the storm. ‘The man is lost.’

  I turned to stare at him, and Jason looked back at me, eyes cold as the sheets of rain pouring overhead.

  ‘There is always something you can do.’ I pushed the wet hair back from my forehead, scanning the heaving sea, keeping my eyes fixed upon the figure of Hippomenes dwindling ever further into the blackness.

  Jason scowled as the ship pitched, sending us staggering forwards. ‘I am here to recover the Fleece, not to waste my time on men who are already dead,’ he bellowed.

  I was outraged. ‘Hippomenes gave his life to aid you on your quest – and this is how you repay him?’

  ‘He has done nothing more than his duty to his king,’ he roared. ‘I command you to leave him.’

  I did not even pause to think. I tore off my belt, my bow and quiver and my dagger and thrust them into Myrtessa’s arms. ‘You take these,’ I said, my voice shaking with anger. I turned to Peleus. ‘Hold fast to the rope,’ I said, ‘and when I tug three times, pull me in.’ Then, before Jason could do anything to stop me, I slid to the end of the bench, snatched one end of the rope from Peleus’ hands, climbed onto the edge of the hull and dived over the side into the churning ocean.

  Cold enveloped me as I hit the water, and as I surfaced and took a huge, deep lungful of air a wave crashed over me and pushed me under again, swirling, foam and bubbles obscuring my vision, the taste of salt sharp in my mouth, my throat and nose filled with water, the palms of my hands stinging almost beyond endurance. I surfaced again into the blackness and heaved a cough, blinking my streaming eyes, tightening my grip around the bit of driftwood I was holding and the rope tied to it.

  ‘Hippomenes!’ I twisted round, searching through the heaving mass of water for a face, a body …

  And then a wave lifted me high and I saw him. At least twenty paces away, clinging to the wreckage of the mast, his hair plastered to his head and his mouth open, gasping, as wave after wave crashed over him. Summoning my strength I struck out towards him, pulling against the water, kicking my legs with all my might, trailing the rope after me, my eyes focused upon the wet mass of sail and broken wood floating on the surface of the sea ahead …

  Ten paces to go …

  Five …

  And then I was there, panting and choking, the rope still clenched in my hand, clutching the mast for support.

  ‘Y-you!’ Hippomenes gasped. There was a deep bleeding gash in his shoulder from where a piece of falling timber had struck him, the flesh lacerated and torn at the edges. His face was deathly pale. He was gritting his teeth, trying to prevent himself passing out.

  ‘Can you swim?’ I shouted, spluttering as salt water filled my mouth, straining as hard as I could to keep myself afloat. I tried to stretch towards him, but the rope was pulling me backwards as the ship pitched and swayed over the waves. ‘You have to swim towards me, Hippomenes!’

  Hippomenes let go of the mast, slipped, and his head submerged under the water. As another wave surged over him he came up, choking, kicking his legs.

  ‘I cannot – I cannot move – my arm,’ he stuttered, and again he went under the water, the foam swirling around him.

  I turned my head this way and that, looking desperately for anything that might help us. Another wave enveloped me and I emerged, coughing, eyes streaming. At last I spotted it: an oar, floating upon the sea a few paces distant. Striking out towards it, forcing myself to fight against the surge of the sea, I pulled it towards me, looped the rope around the handle and knotted it twice. Then, taking a deep breath I dived. I kicked once, twice, and there ahead of me was Hippomenes, sinking down into the blue-green depths of the ocean, head nodding, a few last air bubbles escaping from his lips. I put both arms around his waist and pulled with all my strength, kicking against the water harder than I had ever done, and after a breathless, head-splitting moment we emerged above the surface, gasping for air, the water pouring from our faces.

  ‘Hold on!’ I called to him. ‘Hold onto me!’ Kicking with my legs, one arm around him and the other pulling at the water, I dragged him over, almost senseless, towards the floating oar and tugged three times at the rope.

  After what felt like an eternity I felt it pull taut; then, slowly, very slowly, it began to reel in. I started to kick again, one arm around Hippomenes, the other clinging to the rope, and I felt the current beside me stir as he started feebly to tread water. Though it felt as if we were hardly moving, I could see the dark outline of the Argo coming closer … closer … My calf muscles were straining so hard I felt as if they would tear, my breath coming in huge gasps. Hippomenes’ eyes were half closed in the darkness, and his legs were failing …

  And then, at last, the shadow of the boat’s huge, tar-black side rose above us. I pulled Hippomenes’ semi-conscious form towards me and tied the rope around his waist, knotting it twice, swallowing several mouthfuls of water as waves engulfed us and I fought to keep him afloat. I tugged again, saw the rope tighten and then, slowly, Hippomenes was drawn up the boat’s hull and over the side. I trod water, fighting with all my strength to resist the urge simply to stop moving, to succumb to blissful oblivion and to sink deep into the embrace of the blackness of the water beneath …

  When the rope came down a second time I was barely conscious of taking hold of it, and it was all I could do to prevent myself passing out as I swung like a caught fish over the ship’s hull, clutching at the slippery rope with all my remaining strength. As I reached the beam of the ship’s side I felt warm hands grasping me, pulling me over and onto the sopping-wet bench, saw Myrtessa’s white face and Hippomenes lying on one of the thwarts nearby, surrounded by slaves, his rasping breathing audible even over the sounds of the storm.

  ‘He – he is alive,’ I muttered. ‘Thank the gods.’

  Then everything went black, and I saw no more.

  I awoke the next morning to a splitting headache and a pain in my arms and thighs such as I had never felt before. I blinked my eyes open and found myself blinded by a bright white light. I squinted and tried to hold my hand to my eyes, but it would not move. I blinked again.

  The open blue sky, spotted with spider’s-web clouds, swam into view above me. The sun was shining on the horizon, a burning disc of white light. The brightness made the backs of my eyes ache. I groaned and tried to sit up. The wounds on the palms of my hands seared and I let out a cry of pain.

  ‘Wait, master – you shouldn’t move.’

  Myrtessa was at my side at once. My vision was clearing now, and I saw that I had been laid upon one of the empty rowing benches at the stern and wrapped in several thick woollen blankets. The air smelt fresh and clear with a slight tang of rain upon it after the storm and, now that I focused my attention upon it, I could hear the rhythmic beat of the rowers’ drum from the bow and the faint splash, splash of the oars upon the water. I swayed with the movement of the ship and Myrtessa put a hand upon my shoulder to stop me falling.

  I propped myself up gingerly and the blankets fell off me. A sharp breeze caught my bare skin, making the hairs prickle with cold, and as I felt the dampness clinging to my arms and chest I realized I was still wearing my sodden tunic.

  ‘I dared not take it off,’ Myrtessa whispered, so quietly that only I could hear. ‘Not with e
veryone watching me.’

  ‘You did well. Hold these.’

  I pushed the blankets into her arms and swung myself up to sit, steadying myself as the world whirled in front of me. As my sight cleared, I took in the scene before me: the men sitting on thwarts still slippery with water and seaweed, snapped ropes trailing into the water, several of the oars lost, the broken stump of the mast in the mast-box, splintered wood scattered around it.

  ‘We were blown back towards the isle of Prokonnesos,’ Myrtessa explained, in a low voice, as she folded the blankets. ‘Jason wanted to run you through for your disobedience in going after Hippomenes, but Peleus and Laertes stopped him … You should have seen the look on his face.’ She shuddered. ‘We did not lose too much distance, all things considered, and it was a blessing that we were not blown upon the rocks of the island, though the loss of the sail will cost us some—What are you doing?’

  I had stood up and was climbing towards the storage beneath the deck at the stern. I turned to face her. ‘I am going to row.’

  ‘But you cannot! You were unconscious all night, you barely even—’

  I ignored her. Did she think, after what Hippomenes, Nestor and Peleus had said the day before, that I was going to languish wrapped in blankets all day? The very thought of their taunting voices, the words Peleus had said – ‘we may have overestimated him’ – made me burn with shame so that I wished for nothing more than simply to do something. I moved away.

  ‘My lord!’ she called.

  ‘I must do this. I thank you for your care of me.’

  The storage chamber, hidden beneath the raised deck at the stern, was dry when I reached it. The doors, locked by a wooden bolt from the outside, seemed to have held fast against the storm. I reached inside to a pile of tunics near the front and drew out the smallest, a simple, plain tunic of dark-green wool. It was nothing near as fine as Corythus’, for it had no embroidery in gold and no tassels around the skirt, but it was dry. I pulled it over my head and slipped my sodden tunic out underneath, then picked up Corythus’ old leather sword-belt and fastened it around my waist. Some clean linen bandages lay in a heap to one side and I unravelled a couple and, wincing in pain, bound my hands.

  As I stepped back out into the bright sunshine I spotted a bench free not too far away, beside the broad-backed figure of Theseus, and I sat down and took the banked oar in my hands, the handle still slimy. The warmth of the sun beat down on my face as I waited for the next stroke, then, as the rest of the crew buried their blades in the sea, dropped mine and fell in with them, following the rhythm of the drum, my body rocking to the movement of the oar and the salt spray flying up into my face. Though the wounds on my hands burnt and my arms were still straining from the night before, it felt good to be pulling on the oar alongside the heroes, to be showing Peleus and the others that I was not the weakling they had taken me to be. I redoubled my efforts, and as the oars stroked the surface of the sea the Argo flew forwards, skimming the Propontis like a bird in flight.

  ‘Lord Telamon.’

  I started. I had been so engrossed in the rhythm of the drum and the sway of the ship to the oars that I had not noticed the approach of footsteps. Beside me stood Hippomenes, wearing a dry tunic also, the wound on his arm bandaged, his shoulder-length hair encrusted with salt.

  ‘You saved my life, last night,’ he said, his voice low.

  ‘I would have done it for anyone,’ I said, continuing to row with strong, even strokes, my eyes upon the distant land to the east, rising and falling in curving hills down to the sea. A small inlet caught my eye, where the sea was palest blue. A tiny fishing boat was moored there, the anchor thrown down into the shallows, and a single figure leant over the side, catching fish.

  ‘And yet you did it. No one else on this ship thought to do so, though they call themselves heroes of Greece,’ he said. ‘I am for ever in your debt. I – I apologize for what I said before.’ His voice was stiff, and now it was he who was avoiding my eye.

  ‘I bear you no grudge,’ I said, and as I lifted the oar through the air to begin another stroke I knew I had spoken nothing but the truth. ‘You were right to distrust a newcomer, and a young one at that – untested by the trials of war. I should have done the same.’

  He nodded, his shoulders relaxing a little. There was a pause. Then: ‘We are eating, up at the ship’s bow. Prince Lycon, the lords Meleager, Castor, Peleus, those of us not tasked with rowing for the hour … Perhaps you would …’

  I dipped the blade back into the sea. ‘It would be a pleasure, my lord,’ I said. ‘I shall join you in a moment, but …’ I leant back and pulled the blade through the water, then cast him a quick smile ‘… I should like to row some more first.’

  It was the first time I had eaten with the lords since I had joined the Argo, for with Hippomenes’ dislike pouring down upon me like a storm cloud and the chill spreading through the other lords – even those who had been favourably disposed towards me after my performance in the hunt – I had taken to breaking my fast with Myrtessa, huddled together on an empty rowing bench at the stern and talking together in low voices. As Hippomenes led me now to the group seated upon the raised platform at the prow, they moved aside to allow me space to join them. Meleager – who was sitting nearby – winked as he handed me a cut of meat wrapped in linen, with a handful of pickled olives and some dried figs. Most of the gathered lords were regarding me in silence, though a couple were nodding, and I saw Peleus flash me a swift smile. I felt my pulse quicken. Perhaps I had been accepted among the heroes at last …

  ‘My thanks to you,’ I said, bowing my head and keeping my eyes downcast as I accepted the food from Meleager, then settled myself to eat, trying not to grin like a fool at the fact that I was dining alongside Nestor, and Theseus, and Peleus, at their invitation – as an equal, almost! The meat was chewy and tough and tasted mainly of salt, but I was hungry enough not to care. By the time I had finished the last fig, covered with sticky honey and filled with summer-sweet seeds, I felt full for the first time in days.

  ‘Here,’ Castor said, passing me a leather pouch, and I smiled at him, took a swig of the watered wine and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand.

  The lords seemed to be watching me, as if they did not wish to be the first to speak, and at last it was Hippomenes who broke the silence.

  ‘You see that slave over there?’ he said, pointing to a young woman with auburn hair and a slight figure, who was bent over holding a bucket, her face flushed, emptying the water that lay ankle-deep in the bilges after the storm. She had been captured a few days before during a raid on the island of Imbros – I had refused to join and had remained upon the ship, for I abhorred the ways of war that made a slave of a free woman – taken with a few others to sluice the thwarts and mend the ropes by day, and to pleasure the heroes at night. The skirmish on the island had been easy for a group of such battle-hardened warriors, and they had returned with barely any cuts or wounds, though – as I had heard Jason boast, to my disgust – they had left many of the husbands and fathers of the women they had captured slain in the fields, blood staining the long grass, their goats and sheep untended now. I had noticed her a couple of times since, throwing slops over the ship’s side or scrubbing dirt from the hull when it was drawn up on the shore for the night, and had passed her some of my bread and olives in secret when I could, for I knew that she was not being well fed.

  I took a fresh swig of wine. ‘What of her?’

  ‘I believe she has taken a liking to you. Talks about you. She was mine from the raid, but you’re welcome to her, if you wish it.’

  I stared at him, the pouch of wine halfway to my mouth. ‘You are offering me a slave-girl?’

  He shrugged. ‘There will be few opportunities for wenching over the next few weeks. I should take the chance while you can, if I were you.’ He leant towards me and lowered his voice. ‘And I will tell you this. She is well worth the effort.’

  I searched for some excuse, some reas
on, but my mind was as empty as the skies in summer. ‘My lord, I—You are too generous.’

  ‘I have not known Hippomenes to be so generous with his slaves,’ Peleus said, joining in. ‘I’m sure there are several men upon this ship who would leap at the chance for a night with – Thalia, did you say her name was, Hippomenes?’

  Hippomenes nodded.

  Castor was staring at the girl, grinning. ‘I, for one—’

  ‘I thank you again for your generosity,’ I said, standing up rather suddenly and knocking the wine pouch to the floor in my confusion. Red liquid spilt out onto the deck, glugging onto the floor and filling the air with the warm, sweet smell of wine. I ducked to pick it up. ‘But I do not – I cannot – I must go,’ I said, and pushed my way out of the circle and back down the ship towards Myrtessa.

  ‘Telamon,’ Hippomenes called after me, but I ignored him. I climbed over a few more thwarts, attempting to put as much distance between myself and the talk of Thalia as I could – but it was impossible to block out Peleus’ next words, for they rang clear over the ship.

  ‘Poor Thalia.’ He chuckled. ‘But it looks as if young Dolius there has captured Telamon’s heart. You must have noticed how much time they spend in each other’s company. Why, they are hardly ever parted.’

  I glanced back to see the assembled nobles laughing together, and Meleager beside them, his chin propped upon his elbow, his brows contracted in a slight frown as he watched me. I hurried away, cursing under my breath at my stupidity.

  We put in that night at a stone-strewn bay as the sun dipped into the waters of the sea, rippling the waves with gold. We had made good time, though we had had to row all day now that the sail was lost. I could just make out the narrow strait of the Bosphorus in the distance to the north, the land sloping down either side of it to channel the waters of the Propontis through to the great expanse of the encircling Ocean beyond.

  I looked over the beach, at the slaves and nobles scattered around, some lying upon their backs, looking up at the pink-orange sky and the clouds, edged with gold. Others were tending the fire that had been lit partway up the beach. A young deer, caught in the woods with Laertes’ spear, was now roasting over the flames, spitted upon a pine branch. The smell of roasting meat drifted towards me on the breeze, sweet and juicy, mixing with the scent of wild rosemary and thyme upon the air. I closed my eyes, remembering Kaladrosos where the rosemary had grown upon the southern side of the house, a feathery silver-green bush, which my mother had plucked every day to season the evening meal. Every night, before we slept, she had laid a branch upon our family’s shrine to honour Artemis. And then the nightmare vision surfaced again, clear as it did at night until I woke, sweating and panting with fear: flames, burning high, licking the house and sending a pillar of black smoke to the sky … The voices of my father, my mother, calling out to me, Maia, Leon and Corycia wailing, their voices growing weaker, asking why I was not there …