by Emily Hauser
And yet I sensed that I could trust him.
‘My father abandoned me when I was born.’
Hippomenes became very still.
‘I was the firstborn of two children,’ I went on, the words coming more easily now that I had begun and – though I did not know why – I did not want to stop them. ‘The second was a boy. My father, a nobleman by the name of …’ I searched for a name ‘… Tegeas, had no use for a girl, for he needed a firstborn son, an heir who could oversee his estates. And so he …’ I swallowed, my throat tight ‘… he gave me up.’ Silent tears were running down my cheeks, and I let them fall unheeded upon the straw. ‘He abandoned me upon the peak of Mount Pelion in the depths of winter, wrapped only in a swaddling cloth, and left me there to die.’
The chirping of the cicadas in the olive trees outside the window filled the silence that followed.
I raised the back of my hand to wipe the tears from my face. ‘I was found by a woodcutter who dwelt in Kaladrosos, on the slopes of Pelion,’ I continued, my voice unsteady, hardly knowing if Hippomenes was still listening, yet I wanted to go on. Indeed, though it was painful, it was almost a relief to tell someone after so long. ‘He brought me up with his family, never told me who I was, how he had rescued me from my fate. He taught me how to use a bow, and I learnt to hunt, to run upon the mountain slopes.’ The corners of my mouth lifted a little, and I let the sunlit memories pass before my eyes.
‘But then my father told me I was not his, that I had been found upon the mountain with the symbol of Tegeas woven upon my swaddling cloth,’ I moved my hand unconsciously to the cord of the medallion at my neck, felt the metal against my fingertips, ‘and I journeyed to Pagasae to find my family. When I discovered …’ The corners of my eyes were stinging once more: I took a deep breath and collected myself. ‘When I discovered from Tegeas’ slaves that he had cast his daughter out upon the mountain, that he had purposefully, cruelly consigned me to death for the crime of being a woman, I realized the truth. That I had never been wanted. That I had been left to die by my own father, simply for who I was.’
Hippomenes stirred beside me, as if he would say something, but I continued, ignoring him, the words pressing tightly against my chest as if they had to be spoken.
‘And so when I heard of Jason’s journey for the Fleece, I determined that I would accompany him too – as a noble. As an equal. I was determined that I would return to my city, to my father, and show him that I was worthy to be his heir, though he had thought I was not. I was determined I would prove myself the equal of a man, so that he would know what he lost when he cast me out because I was a girl.’
I turned to the dark outline of Hippomenes, lying upon the floor beside me. His eyes shone in the moonlight and I felt a strange sensation of warmth, of something like safety, in the pit of my belly as his gaze met mine. ‘Do you understand now?’ I asked.
He was silent for a long time. Then, at last, he said, ‘I did not know.’
‘I did not tell you.’
‘I would not have—’
‘You need not apologize. It is done and, as you say, you did not know. Most of the women I have met, all they do is spin and sleep and take care of their husband’s children. You could not have known I would be so—’
‘Different.’ He finished the sentence for me with a laugh. ‘No, that I could not.’
Silence fell again between us, so long that I thought Hippomenes must have fallen asleep. I settled down upon the bed, pulling the fleece over myself against the faint breeze blowing in through the window, listening to the snuffling of the horses outside and the humming of the cicadas. I felt my eyes grow heavy with sleep after the long day’s ride, the bath, the bread and stew we had shared earlier with Illa and his family. I heard Hippomenes stir on the floor beside me.
‘Atalanta?’
I shifted onto my side to look at him, his eyes reflecting the dim light of the moon slanting through the slatted window. ‘Yes?’
‘Do not misunderstand this.’
‘Very well.’
‘Whoever left you to die on that mountain was a fool.’
I turned onto my back and smiled up into the darkness of the hut. ‘My thanks to you for that, son of Megareus,’ I said. I brought the blanket up over my shoulders and closed my eyes, still smiling, to sleep.
PART IV
GREECE
1260 BC
For you rule over a wide, broad plain, upon which clover thickly grows, rushes, wheat and rye and pale broad-eared barley …
Homer
Farewells and Greetings
Pagasae
The Hour of the Middle of the Day
The Thirtieth Day of the Month of Ploughing
We rode another four weeks from Kromna, stopping only to change horses, find food and sleep at night. Summer turned gradually to autumn and the breezes grew cooler, the evening light slanting gold over the plains, and the rows of grapevines hanging heavy with black fruit. We passed over the rolling hills of Anatolia and forded the narrow neck of the Bosphorus, where the torches of Lygos blazed upon the shores of the Propontis and the water lapped softly against the hulls of the trading ships. As we entered the valleys edged by the vast dark mountains of Thrace, I could feel my fear rising, steady as the waves upon the sea, that Jason might have reached Pagasae before me …
That he might already have given the Fleece to the king …
That fear spurred me on so that we left our horses at each trading post, flanks gleaming with sweat, legs encrusted with mud, only to leap onto our new mounts and fly again across the grassy plains, scorched yellow after the heat of the summer, scattered with olive trees and wild thyme and sage that sent their woody fragrance into the air.
We approached the bay of Pagasae from the north towards the very end of the Month of Ploughing, skirting along the flanks of Mount Olympus and down through the valley edged by Ossa to the south, past the city of Meliboea and then across the flat plain towards Iolcos and Pagasae. Tears sprang to my eyes as, with a painful rush of joy, I saw the achingly familiar outline of Mount Pelion rising ahead, shrouded in mist and carpeted in verdant green, the promontory curving round to protect the sea, the still waters of the bay of Pagasae shimmering upon the horizon. Kaladrosos lies just behind there, just over the ridge of the mountain … A day’s ride away, perhaps, my family were going about their everyday tasks, chopping wood, feeding the goat, not knowing I was here … My heart beat hard in anticipation as I galloped side by side with Hippomenes across the grass-covered plains, following the course of the dried-up river, my hair flying behind me in the wind, the midday sun beating down upon my head and making my temples throb, and all I could think was: Am I in time?
Am I in time to intercept Jason before he finds the king, and takes the rule of Pagasae?
At last, when we reached the stretch of plain below the city, I brought my horse to a trot, then drew him up, Hippomenes beside me. We stood beneath the shade of a pine tree, gazing up at the fortified walls of the city and the distant figures of the guards striding along the ramparts, just as I had seen them so many months before. Goats wandered around us, their bells clanking softly in the afternoon heat, and rows of cultivated vines heavy with grapes spread before us, like the waves of the wine-dark sea.
‘This is where I leave you.’
I found I could not look at Hippomenes as I spoke, and let my gaze instead follow one of the goats as it wandered over the rocks, glad for a distraction. After so many weeks together upon the Anatolian tracks, eating together, laughing and sharing our stories, racing each other on the dusty roads and making up tales about our merchant disguise, I was exerting all my strength against begging him to stay.
But I have to. I have to do this alone.
He was silent for a moment. ‘What will you do?’ he asked at last, and the coolness in his voice made me long to grasp his hand and tell him to come with me, but I could not allow myself to do so.
Remember, Atalanta, I said to mys
elf. Remember what happened last time you tried to confide in a man.
What you owe to Myrtessa – to your family – is worth more than that.
And, in any case, he probably does not care for you at all.
I brushed the hair out of my eyes and gazed over the sea lapping against the harbour, willing my voice not to waver, to sound offhand. ‘Go to the house of Tegeas, I suppose,’ I said. ‘Give him these,’ I pointed to a pouch at my side, which contained a set of Anatolian hunting knives I had been given as a guest-gift by a wealthy merchant with whom we had stayed, ‘and hope that he accepts me, that I have proved to him my worth.’ I turned to him in spite of myself. ‘And you?’
My stomach lurched at the clear, hard look he was giving me, the set line of his jaw, all gentleness and humour gone. ‘I shall ride back to Boeotia,’ he said, and as he spoke his horse moved slightly and pawed at the dust, as if he was already in a hurry to be gone. ‘It is only a few days’ journey, and I have been gone long enough – my father will be wanting me.’
‘You – you will not stay to see Jason return?’
He shook his head. ‘I owe him nothing. I did not join the expedition for him.’ He glanced towards me, and his expression softened, though still he did not smile. ‘Will you be safe, by yourself?’
I almost smiled, as the bittersweet memory of the words he had spoken at the pass in Colchis, all those many weeks ago, rose up in my mind. I bent to pat my horse’s neck to avoid looking at him. How different it would all have been, if I had not let him come. It shook its head to rid itself of the flies that buzzed in the warm air. ‘You need not worry for me, Hippomenes. I can take care of myself. And I work better alone.’
‘That much I know.’
Silence fell between us as my eyes rested on the bay, the sun’s light reflected on the waters of the Pagasean harbour where I could see several fishing boats drawn up – though no sign of the Argo.
Because they have not yet arrived?
Or because they have left Jason in Pagasae and moored elsewhere?
A cry made me look up: a lone falcon was soaring overhead, its wings stretched to catch the breeze. I shivered as a chill wind blew past me, presaging the approach of winter – or perhaps a sense of what lay ahead.
‘I must leave,’ I said at last, as much to myself as to him, looping the horse’s reins around my hands. I knew the time had come for me to go, yet I did not want to say farewell to Hippomenes, to know that I would never see him again. But if I delay I risk everything. ‘You have several days’ journey to Boeotia. You should ride on to make distance before nightfall.’
He bowed his head. ‘Atalanta—’
‘I bid you farewell,’ I said, my voice a little harsher than I had intended. I could not allow myself to hear him in case my self-control broke. ‘And I wish you a safe journey back to your own city.’
He reached out, then, and clasped my hand briefly. I felt the warmth of his fingers enclosing my own. I looked up, and our eyes met. Heat spread through my body under his gaze, caressing my chest and making every part of my skin tingle, as if I were standing bare-skinned beneath the sun in full summer. With an effort that took all my will, I pulled my hand from his and flicked the reins, avoiding his eye. ‘Travel well, son of Megareus,’ I said, and, kicking my heels into my horse’s flanks, cantered away down the slope of the hill towards the harbour.
I turned then – I could not help it – to look over my shoulder. Hippomenes sat there, motionless, his cloak across one shoulder, the sunlight picking out the golden threads in his hair and glinting off the handle of the sword at his waist. ‘May the gods be with you, Hippomenes,’ I whispered, my voice catching in my throat.
And then I turned back towards the city and galloped down the hill, furiously brushing the tears from my eyes, and thinking: I will never see him again.
I rode as hard as I could towards the harbour, forcing my thoughts to focus upon the only thing that mattered now, the only thing that had to matter, after all those months’ voyaging upon land and sea to the ends of the earth and back.
The Golden Fleece, and rescuing my family from Jason’s tyranny.
I galloped across the plain, my horse’s hoofs kicking up dark clods of earth, and as the walls of the town grew larger on the hill above me and I could begin to make out the figures of townspeople streaming up the track through the gates and oxen pulling carts, the memory of my conversation with Myrtessa in Kytoros suddenly rose, unbidden, in my mind. Her voice was clear in my memory, laughing: It truly was a day blessed by Zeus when you broke through the gates of Pagasae, Atalanta … We shall recover Pagasae from Jason and free Neda and Philoetius, Hora, Opis and your family, from his rule!
As I raced beneath the high walls of the city, the memories crowded into my mind: how Myrtessa and I had walked the ramparts, popping honeyed apricots into our mouths; the nights spent in the taverns, talking with Sagaris and his son the carpenter; the crowded kitchens of Corythus’ house, where Philoetius, Neda and Hora were working even now. I frowned, pressed my lips together and spurred my mount on faster.
I would not let Jason rule as a tyrant over all of this.
I approached the harbour at a full gallop, kicking up dust along the path and showering a pair of traders, who were seated nearby sharing some bread and a jug of wine. The road was quiet, with only a few merchants carrying their wares up and down from the ships. The bustle and clamour of the town drifted faintly towards me on the breeze from the hill above. I leapt from my horse onto the dry grass, tied him to one of the olive trees, then ran, the wind whipping through my hair, down the rocks that sloped towards the bay. My heart was hammering against my ribs in anticipation as I scanned the sweeping shore from headland to headland, past the pier and out to the swelling silver-blue sea, searching, searching for the gilded eagle at the prow of the Argo and the spreading white sail …
But it was as I had seen from upon the plain: only a couple of fishing boats and a trading ship floating low on the water, weighed down with goods.
I raced across the shore, the soles of my boots pressing against the pebbles, towards a group of fishermen taking their midday meal around a couple of wooden crates draped with netting. Seagulls dipped and cawed overhead, searching for crumbs, and I pushed my hair back from my face as I approached. The men turned to stare at me, taking in my strange Anatolian dress, and I lifted my chin a little higher: I would not let them think they could discomfit me.
One, with weather-beaten skin and a knobbly nose, like the withies of an olive tree, considered me for a moment longer, then spat onto the stones at my feet. ‘What do you want?’
‘The Argo,’ I said. ‘Has it come yet? Have you seen it?’
The fisherman took a swig from a clay jar. ‘And who wants to know?’
‘A – a slave of Jason’s,’ I said, pressing my right wrist close to my side and sending a prayer up to the gods that they did not see I had no slave’s brand.
His eyes roved over the bow and quiver hanging from my back, Corythus’ sword at my waist, and he raised his eyebrows.
‘These belong to Jason,’ I explained quickly. ‘I brought them for him. I wanted to know if he has yet returned.’
The three men’s expressions took on a look of interest. ‘One of Jason’s girls, eh?’ said a younger man, his dark hair crusted with sea salt. He leered. ‘A little flat of chest, but otherwise—’
‘I am not here for your appraisal. I am here to learn of the Argo,’ I said, and heard my voice take on a bite of impatience.
The older man shrugged. ‘It’s not here,’ he said. ‘I heard a couple of traders, come from Sithonia not too long ago, said the ship had stopped there – you spoke with them, did you not, Naios?’
Naios, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a pouch of a belly, nodded. ‘Told me as they’d had a spot of trouble with a storm, up in the Hellespont by Troy. They were staying in Olynthos for repairs, the traders said – sold them a few ropes and such.’
�
��And when was this?’ I asked, a little breathless.
Naios tore a chunk of bread from the loaf and bit into it. ‘Oh, a few days ago, I’d say.’
My mind began to race. Olynthos was maybe thirty leagues from Pagasae. That meant, with fair winds and a calm sea, the Argo could be here in, perhaps, a couple of days … But how long had they stopped to mend the ship? ‘My thanks to you,’ I said, turning to leave.
‘Join us, won’t you?’ the younger of the three called out to me, patting the pebbles beside him.
I shook my head, though my stomach growled. I would not risk even the promise of food for the chance that the men might discover who I was. ‘I thank you, no,’ I replied, over my shoulder, and, before they could say more, I ran away from the shore to where my horse stood tethered, to wait.
I hid in the boughs of an olive tree, masked by the leaves and the dappled shadows, my horse cropping the grass and flicking his ears to rid himself of the summer flies. The sun dipped down from its peak to set over the western mountains, and the stars flickered into being in the dark night sky. Day dawned again behind Mount Pelion in a burst of pink and gold, and still there was no sign of the Argo. I had nothing to eat except the fruit upon the trees, and little water to drink. My eyes were sore from straining out over the sea, my limbs stiff, the hard leather of my quiver pressing into my back, yet I could not sleep. My thoughts were treading the same path again and again, feverish, determined, preparing myself for the moment when the Argo came: challenge Jason to a duel.
Challenge him to a duel for the Fleece.
It was as twilight neared again, and I was draining the last few drops of water from my pouch, that I saw it out of the corner of my eye – a solitary speck of white – a sail, on the horizon …
I sat up so quickly that I dropped the pouch to the earth.
I had seen it.
The Argo.
I climbed higher, careful to keep my head hidden, squinting, my heart racing. It had to be the Argo. It had to be …