For the Winner

by Emily Hauser

  I stared at him. I could aim an arrow from horseback on the tracks of Mount Pelion, but in the darkness, and with a wet string? ‘I’ll have to get closer to them,’ I shouted. ‘And I will need to follow you.’

  He did not answer but spurred ahead, his horse’s hoofs tearing up the dark, muddy earth. Mine shook his head a little, whinnying, and set his course after Hippomenes. I took a deep, shuddering breath, willing myself to focus harder than I ever had before, to ignore the chill in my body and the rain pouring down, and to feel only the rhythm of the horse’s body beneath me as my own. Gripping hard with my thighs, I let the reins go slack, felt my hips rise and fall, rise and fall, as if my mount and I were one, galloping over the plains …

  I turned, pulled my bow from the quiver, set an arrow to the string. Every thought upon the rolling gait of my steed below me and the flint tip of the arrow ahead, I twisted around, drew the string tight away from my body and aimed into the darkness, waiting, waiting, every sinew tensed …

  A flash of lightning silhouetted a rider behind me in silver and black. Quick as a thought, I let the dart fly. The string was damp from the rain and the darkness closed in almost instantly, but I heard a scream of pain to tell me my aim was true, a shrieking cry from the horse, and the whinnying, cursing and splashing as the bandit’s steed crumpled beneath him.

  ‘Again!’ Hippomenes shouted, and I reached back, eyes straining to seek out the barely visible shapes behind me, letting loose one arrow after another through the night as I thundered along. I heard cries and shrieks as some made impact. I paused to look ahead, heart pounding at my throat. Another pillar of light showed the trees at a hundred paces now and nearing, towering ahead of us into the sky. As I summoned the last of my strength and twisted around to draw again I saw one of the two remaining brigands lean his body back on his steed, then hurl his spear towards us.

  ‘Watch out!’ I cried to Hippomenes and, still holding my bow in one hand, I tugged at the reins and veered to the left, narrowly missing the spinning spear shaft, which flew past me and buried itself with a splitting thud in the trunk of a tree ahead. Fifty paces to go … twenty-five …

  And then there was a sudden screech from my horse. He reared, then tumbled, toppling to the earth. I screamed and let go of the reins as I was tossed sideways through the air and slammed into the sodden soil, sending spray and mud streaming up into the air.

  I stared up into the rain splattering down upon my face. I was fighting as hard as I could against passing out. It felt as if one of my ribs had broken and I was gasping and choking for air. Dedali’s horse was sprawling in the marsh, an arrow sticking from its hindquarters.

  I saw Hippomenes running towards me, watched him bend and pull the arrow from the horse. It struggled immediately to its feet, and, limping slightly but roused by fear, bolted for the forest. I felt Hippomenes’ warmth through my sodden tunic as he knelt beside me, and struggled not to close my eyes against the pain and the water pouring down my face.

  ‘Here,’ he said, and placed my elbow around his neck. ‘Hold still.’ He took me in his arms and lifted me as easily as a child, and I moved instinctively towards the heat of him. As he turned into the rain, I saw, through a mist of pain, the two remaining bandits riding towards us, nearing, and one still held his spear …

  Hippomenes stooped suddenly low, pulling me against him so I winced, and the bronze spear hissed overhead into the forest, crashing through the branches. He ducked and ran, holding me close, towards his horse; I could hear it snorting, smell its musky scent. I felt my feet touch the ground, then his hands around my waist as he lifted me onto its back. I threw one leg over, gasping at the sharp stab that darted through my side as Hippomenes vaulted up behind me, placed his arms around me and tugged at the reins.

  ‘Go!’ he shouted, kicking hard, and it began to gallop, mane flying in the wind before my face. Though I could not see behind me I thought I could no longer make out the sounds of the bandits pursuing us, and Hippomenes’ arms were tight around me, his chest pressing against me, his thighs steady and strong, guiding the horse forwards toward the trees ahead …

  And then darkness, deeper even than that upon the river’s plain, submerged us with the sudden silence of a deep, cold pool, and the branches of the trees stretched up, tall and menacing, outlined like spiders’ webs against the lightning-filled sky.

  ‘On! On!’ Hippomenes shouted, and we cantered onwards, and I could see nothing but Hippomenes’ hands beside me upon the reins, turning us this way and that, and the thick, twisted trunks of the trees flying past us at either side. We made our way further into the forest, winding left and right and left again until I could not have told where we were, even if I had not been half unconscious with pain, or whether we had not turned in a complete circle and were back again to the meadow’s plain. But there was no sound of hoofs behind us, and finally Hippomenes allowed his steed to slow to a trot, and I felt it flicking its head back and forth, its warm breath sending mist into the air. Hippomenes turned and looked behind him, his left thigh pressing into my back.

  ‘I think we have lost them,’ he said, in a low voice.

  I tried to move and felt a sharp, shooting pain in my ribs. I gave a little moan.

  ‘Hold still,’ he said, laying his hand upon my shoulder so gently that his fingertips barely brushed the skin of my neck. ‘We will stop soon, and then I can find you a place to rest.’

  I awoke later – how much later I did not know – from a fretful sleep in which odd, disjointed visions of the smoking ruins of Kaladrosos floated across my dreams. At once I felt the pain in my chest, my breathing coming short and shallow. I was chilled through and exhausted. Every part of my body seemed bruised, and my eyes were still heavy with fatigue. I blinked a little, getting my bearings on my surroundings. Then, clutching my ribs, I tried to push myself to sit.

  As I looked around it became clear we were in a cave, the dark walls hollowed out of the rock, the ground scattered with lichen-covered pebbles. A fire was crackling and spitting a few paces away, flames leaping to the cave roof and sending patterned shadows dancing over the stone, bathing my skin in a delicious warmth. I looked down, with a sudden premonition, and saw, with relief, that I was still dressed in Dedali’s tunic and trousers. Hippomenes’ cloak lay tucked over me. It was still damp, but he had tried to wring out the water – he must have covered me while I was asleep. I looked around, and spotted him seated on the other side of the fire towards the back of the cave. He was propped against the wall in his woollen tunic and boots, one hand across his knee as he cleaned his sword with a cloth, entirely absorbed. I watched him for a few moments, following the sure, steady movements of his hands, wondering why he had chosen to stop for me, out upon the plain.

  ‘My thanks to you.’

  He started and dropped the cloth. The firelight was playing shadows across his face, highlighting the curves and contours of his cheeks and the break on the bridge of his nose. He leant forwards, picked it up and started polishing the blade once more. ‘What for?’

  ‘For saving me.’ I indicated the fracture in my ribs, where the skin was swelling painfully beneath my sodden tunic.

  He rubbed at a stain upon the bronze, saying nothing. A few sparks shot from the embers and caught the uplift of the smoke, swirling to the cave’s ceiling and into darkness. ‘You are welcome,’ he said at last.

  We lapsed into silence.

  ‘I – I apologize. For the things I said before.’

  ‘I deserved them.’ He smiled, and his eyes sparkled in the light of the fire. ‘Well, some of them, at least. You certainly have a temper.’

  I scowled at him, and he grinned, discomfiting me. His refusal to be drawn was so steadfast, so irritating, so … The flames rustled and cracked.

  ‘While we are making apologies,’ he said, and stroked the cloth again along the sword blade, ‘I did you wrong on the shores of Colchis. You were angry with me earlier, and you had every right to be. But I wanted to tell you
– I underestimated you, Atalanta, and I am sorry for it.’

  I tossed a stick into the fire and looked up at him. His eyes were hooded in the darkness, but I could sense the frankness of their gaze: comforting, trustworthy, so different from Meleager’s. ‘Is this an apology? Is Hippomenes, son of Megareus, lord of Onchestos, apologizing to a woman?’

  He bowed his head. ‘He is,’ he said awkwardly, and I could sense the resentment in his tone of a proud man who was being forced to admit that he was wrong; and suddenly I realized I did not need to hear it.

  ‘Enough,’ I said, and smiled across the fire at him. ‘I accept your apology.’

  ‘But I—’

  ‘Enough,’ I said again, and threw another stick at him, this time meeting my mark. It clattered off his shoulder and onto the ground. ‘Have I not said? It is forgotten.’

  He gazed at me, his lips curving into a smile, too. ‘Very well, then.’

  We lapsed into silence again. An ember flew from the fire and sparked upon a pile of dry leaves near my feet. I tried to get to my feet to stamp it out, but pain lanced through me and I slipped. In an instant, Hippomenes was at my side and caught me before I fell to the ground, and lowered me gently to his cloak. ‘Take care,’ he said. ‘This is not a time for heroic feats. You need rest, and food, and water.’

  He passed me a gourd, which it seemed he had fashioned from a piece of birch bark, filled with rainwater. As I took it from him our eyes met.

  ‘I – thank you,’ I said, and I took a draught, the gourd dripping a little. He was close to me, so close that I could have brushed his chest with my fingertip if I had stretched out my hand, and I could smell his scent, a mixture of horse sweat, grass and leather.

  When I had finished drinking he took the cup back from me without a word and knelt upon the floor, one knee tucked into his chest, staring into the fire.

  ‘When can we ride again?’ I asked, gingerly propping myself against the cave wall and gathering Hippomenes’ cloak around my shoulders.

  Hippomenes turned towards me with a half-smile. ‘We?’

  ‘I only meant—’ To my dismay, I was beginning to blush, the heat creeping up my neck to my ears. ‘If you want to come, that is no concern of mine.’

  He made no reply, but his gaze was fixed on mine, silent, with an intensity as palpable as heat. Without a word he moved towards me. I felt my breath catch in my throat. His hand was behind my head, then his lips were upon mine, kissing me fiercely, so strong that he would almost bruise me. I felt myself respond to him, my broken rib forgotten in the urgency of that moment, my hands running through his damp hair, lightly at first and then more passionate, down the ridged muscles of his back and along his broad shoulders. Desire was coursing through me stronger than I had ever felt it before, so strong that I longed for nothing more than that he would lift me onto him and have me, hold me close to him and never let me go …

  We broke apart, breathing hard.

  ‘I have wanted you from the very moment I first saw you,’ he said to me, his eyes gazing into mine, the softness in his voice sending a thrill down my spine. ‘As a young man on the hunt, when you pierced the boar with your arrow, then at Kytoros, when you tore my heart out in your desire for Meleager, then as a woman on the shore of Colchis.’ He shook his head. ‘The fire in your eyes that day I shall never forget.’ He stroked a lock of hair back from my face with his finger and kissed me again on the lips, tenderly this time, his mouth brushing mine, making my skin tingle. ‘You are the most desirable woman I have ever seen.’

  I took a deep breath, then choked as a stab of pain seared through my ribs, tears starting to my eyes.

  I realized at once – too late – that it sounded as if I had laughed. Hippomenes’ forehead was creasing in a frown, his eyes darkening, his jaw clenched tight.

  I held up a hand. ‘No – no, I am sorry,’ and I coughed, trying to recover myself.

  But the moment was gone.

  He turned aside and reached into my quiver, pulled out a strip of linen, dipped it in the gourd of water and then handed it to me without speaking. ‘Press the cloth to the swelling and make sure it is kept cool,’ he said shortly, standing up and moving towards the fire, settling himself beside it and closing his eyes, his back to me. ‘You should rest.’

  I passed the cloth under my tunic, still wheezing, and held it there, half closing my eyes at the cool sensation on the bruised and swollen skin.

  We sat in silence for a long while, broken only by my shallow breathing and occasional coughs.

  ‘We must stop here a few more days only,’ I said, once I regained my voice, glad to have something to say. ‘Then I must return, whether I am well or not – for I must reach Pagasae before Ja—’ I stopped short.

  ‘Before Jason?’

  I cursed silently at my mistake: no one except Myrtessa could know what I planned to do. I glanced over towards the back of the cave, and saw that Hippomenes had recovered Dedali’s steed and had cleaned and bandaged it across the hindquarters; the two horses were lying side by side, legs tucked beneath them for warmth. I bit my lip, feeling a fresh wave of guilt. ‘We will have to change horses soon,’ I said, wincing as I adjusted the cloth upon my ribs. ‘My steed is not mine to take and, besides, we will have need of several changes of horse to return to Greece, if we are to make good time. Do you have silver with you?’

  He gestured towards a leather pouch hanging from his belt, beside his dagger.

  ‘If we retrace our steps back to the river and ride due west along the ocean shore we should be able to follow the route we came by, for we were never far from sight of land.’ I spoke quickly, the journey ahead unfolding in my mind. ‘Once we have passed through the lands of the Hittites, if we can cross the strait of the Bosphorus we can ride through Thrace and down to Pagasae from the north.’

  ‘You are not one to rest from planning, are you?’

  ‘If you knew what was at stake upon my return, perhaps you would take as much trouble as I,’ I shot back at him.

  ‘It is not for want of asking.’

  I felt disgruntled and irritated with him once again, and after further silence in which the horses in the corner snorted and the fire spat, I curled up under Hippomenes’ cloak, my face turned towards the cave wall, and tried to sleep. But it was a long time before I was able to fall into a fretful doze, and even then my sleep was filled with confused dreams, where Hippomenes lifted me onto his hips and took me against the rough rock of the cave, my arms wrapped around his broad shoulders, his lips biting into mine and his sweat upon my skin – and in my dream he used my name, my real name, Atalanta …

  When I woke, the fire had burnt down to a dark pile of glowing embers.

  And Hippomenes was gone.

  Golden Apple

  Mount Olympus

  A few hours later, in the skies above and many hundreds of miles to the west, dawn is breaking. Iris and Hermes are seated on the rocky outcrops of one of Olympus’ lower peaks, the summer snow glittering and sparkling around them in the first rosy rays of the sun. The air is fresh and clear, and the dark outlines of the trees to the south are just tinged with gold. Hermes is sitting with his arms folded across his chest, staring at Iris with a distinct expression of mistrust as she idly tosses a golden-skinned apple from one hand to the other.

  ‘They may not even come.’

  ‘They will come.’

  Silence falls again, except for the rustling of the early-morning breeze upon the snow, blowing it up into eddying circles of glittering ice, and the twittering of the swallows circling overhead, forked tails twisting this way and that as they soar and dive.

  Iris turns to her left and glances down towards the Aegean, its waters storm-tossed, and then past the Hellespont, the Propontis and the Bosphorus to the vast, roiling, tempestuous expanse of the Black Sea. Poseidon’s wrath is still playing itself out upon the ocean, all the way from the rocky shores of Mount Pelion to the wide sandy mouth of the river Phasis, twenty-foot waves of
ink-black water crashing upon the beaches from Greece to Colchis, ships rocking and keeling in the blistering winds. And as she looks, her eyes are drawn, inevitably, inexorably, to one ship above all: the wide-bellied, white-sailed Argo. Its oars are flailing in the roiling waters just beyond the Phasis’ mouth, its prow plunging into the sea, then emerging, surrounded by salt spray, to soar for a moment before hitting the tempestuous waters once more …

  Iris’s eyes snap away. The Golden Fleece is upon that ship, hidden in a leather sack and kept locked within the hold. She had been irritated beyond belief, last night, to discover that Jason had captured the Fleece – which she had never intended, for all that she had told Hera.

  Atalanta was supposed to do that.

  She taps her foot against the rock in annoyance. The worst of it all, she thinks, gazing up into the arch of the sky, which is slowly turning now from dark blue to the palest pink and gold, is that Medea, daughter of King Aeëtes, fell for Jason of her own accord! The princess had succumbed to him like a hare captured in the claws of an eagle, and aided him in capturing the Fleece, as docile as if the arrows of the cupids really had struck her in the breast. Yes, yes, of course Iris had suggested sending Aphrodite to the princess of the Colchians to make her fall in love with Jason – but she hadn’t actually done so. Aphrodite had been left untroubled to do whatever she did of an evening in that rose-filled chamber of hers, and Iris had had a full night to herself to plot and scheme for Atalanta’s return.

  There is a moment in which Iris contemplates the strangeness of the workings of Fate – that the mortal Medea should have chosen, of her own free will, unwittingly to follow the course set for her by a pair of scheming gods …

  And then she lifts a hand to hide her smile as a sudden, inspired idea begins to form in her mind.

  Perhaps things may go her way, after all.

  Hermes interrupts her train of thought, peering down the slopes of the mountain, covered with loose scree and, further down, a layer of bright-green brush. ‘I bet they won’t —’