by Emily Hauser
The men around me glanced at each other, their expressions registering their astonishment at this piece of news. Some bowed to mutter in their neighbours’ ears. My eyes did not leave the king’s face, which was impassive, unreadable.
‘Yet,’ King Iasus continued, ‘should there be any doubt as to whether Jason is Pagasae’s intended king, the Fates have been even more gracious. Indeed,’ he said, his eyes flickering towards me, his voice as smooth as first-pressed oil, ‘they have presented us with something of a solution.’
‘There can be no solution!’ Jason screamed, ripping his hand away from his shoulder and starting towards the king, hands outstretched, almost as if he would throttle him. I flinched and stepped back: his face was red and contorted with anger, a vein throbbing upon his temple. ‘It is my inheritance! I will not lose my inheritance!’
‘No, no, nephew – you misunderstand me,’ the king said, holding up a hand. ‘You will still have your kingdom.’
Jason faltered, breathing like a warrior winded in battle. I stared at the king – what does that mean? – my heart drumming so insistently at my ribs that I was sure the whole hall would hear it. The king’s expression was as inscrutable as ever, and the thin-lipped smile he turned to the crowd glimmered like a mirage on a hot day upon the plains, threatening to disappear at any moment.
‘We have this very day received my long-lost daughter at this court.’ Iasus gestured to me, holding up the leather cord to the crowd so that the medallion circled, flashing, in the sunlight. ‘After examination of the medallion, which I presented to her as a birth-gift, I have decided to uphold her claim. I recognize her as my daughter.’
He held out his arm, still bearing the medallion with his seal-stamp upon it. ‘My daughter, Atalanta, is returned!’
There was a brief smattering of applause, followed by a chorus of low mutterings, growing louder every moment. Jason’s expression was as dark as a storm cloud, the vein upon his temple pulsing once more. I saw Lycon staring at me, his mouth open.
I felt my face pale as the medallion flashed in my father’s hand.
He is recognizing me?
He is recognizing me, in truth, before all the court, as his daughter?
My hands faltered upon Jason’s sword.
‘And what better way to welcome her to the palace than with her betrothal?’ the king continued. ‘Atalanta, you will wed Jason.’ He held up his hands to the skies. ‘The captor of the Golden Fleece in marriage to my daughter – the heir to the kingdom both prophesied and tied to Pagasae by the bonds of the marriage bed!’
The young woman with the hooded eyes behind Jason moved, and her lips parted as her eyes flickered towards me. The gathered nobles were shouting now, a vague noise above the ringing in my ears, whether of rejoicing or confusion I could not tell, and Jason’s expression was transforming into a slowly breaking smile of triumph.
I felt my hands shake with anger. The storm of shouting around me was silenced by the blood rushing through my body. I was fixed to the floor with shock and filled with a terrible, burning rage – that after all I had done, all I had been through, this was to be my end! The king had acknowledged me, only to barter me off as a pawn to a man who threatened to kill those I loved, who had beaten me with his own hands and left me to die in the wilderness? He had calculated his losses after Jason’s failure to retrieve the Fleece – the cold set of his eyes was telling me so. He had determined in that moment to accept me, whether I was his daughter or not, as a chattel to be bargained in marriage, to bring Jason to the throne should anyone doubt his fulfilment of the prophecy.
My temper burnt higher, blazing within me until I could bear it no longer. ‘No!’
King Iasus’ eyes narrowed. The entire court fell silent, the hush sweeping over them, like wind through a glade of trees.
‘What did you say to me?’ Once more the king’s voice was filled with menace.
‘I said no,’ I repeated, growing bolder. ‘I have done everything to serve you, to prove my worth. You cannot do this! I do not wish to marry – and there is no man in the world I would wish to marry less than him!’ This last word I spat across the hall at Jason. I lowered my voice. ‘I have felt the harshness of his justice, seen his cold heart in his treatment of both his equals and his slaves. He would not be a good king to this kingdom.’
‘You presume to know better than I the qualities that Pagasae’s kings should possess?’
‘I—No, I merely—’
But then a voice cut across my own. ‘Is it not the case that the daughter of the king is entitled to a contest for her hand, by the laws of this city?’
I turned. Lycon’s face was a little pale, as if he was nervous to be speaking before so many people, but his jaw was set in determination.
‘And what do you know of the laws of this city?’ King Iasus said, his mouth turning down in a sneer. ‘It was my impression that you preferred poetry to the tablets of the laws.’
Lycon held his ground. ‘I have spent many evenings in conversation with the lawgivers of this land, father, and the laws of the city are inscribed upon stone by the temple of Zeus, beside this very palace.’ He recited in a ringing voice: ‘“Any man who wishes to wed the daughter of the king must prove his suit by contest, and the winner shall gain her as his wife, and the inheritance of the kingdom of Pagasae.”’
I turned to mouth my thanks to Lycon, and he nodded to me, smiling a little. The king turned towards a group of ten aged men, seated along the wall to his right, who, from their white beards and the ceremonial strip of embroidered wool upon their tunics, I took to be members of his council. ‘Is this so?’ he asked.
One of the old men pushed himself to stand from his seat, leaning upon a wooden stick. ‘The lawgiver commands it,’ he said, in a quavering voice. He nodded to Lycon and repeated: ‘“Any man who wishes to wed the daughter of the king must prove his suit by contest.” It is the law. It must be done.’
A storm of muttering broke out through the hall.
‘Very well, then,’ the king announced, nursing the seal-ring at his finger as the old councillor sat back upon his stool. ‘If we must do it in the traditional way, I announce a contest in three days’ time for Atalanta’s hand.’ He turned to me, his yellowing teeth bared in a grin. ‘Lord Jason is as much a contender as any other noble.’
‘But he will win, won’t he?’ I said. ‘You will ensure it.’
Jason started towards me, his hand raised as if he would strike me across the face.
‘That is enough,’ the king thundered, and Jason stopped where he was. King Iasus turned to me, his eyes as hard as a frozen lake in winter. ‘As my daughter, Atalanta, you should remember you are my property, to do with as I wish. You should be thanking the gods on bended knee to have such a loving father who cares for you so well.’
I could feel the panic rising in my throat. I had meant to return as a victor, to prove myself to them in my own right. And now I was being taken as the property of the king, to be married off at his will, an object with which to pass the kingdom to a tyrant …
‘At least,’ I said, thinking quickly, raising my voice so that it carried well across the hall, ‘at least, then, Father, allow me this. Allow me to determine the nature of the contest for myself.’
The king raised his eyebrows, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. ‘If you think we will hold a spinning contest for your hand …’
There was a titter of appreciative laughter from the crowd.
I gritted my teeth and continued: ‘If I must marry, then let it be to a man who is my equal. If a man can win against me in a footrace, then I will be his. But,’ I said, gazing around the room so that every noble and courtier witnessed what I said, ‘if I win, then I gain my freedom, and will be no man’s wife.’ I paused. ‘I do not beg for the kingdom. Only my liberty.’
And then I shall return to Kaladrosos and protect my family, I thought. The father who truly loves me, as you never did.
The king gazed
at me for a while, his eyes flicking from Jason, taller than I and with lean, well-muscled legs, to my slight calves and slim frame, as if he were a gambler at dice weighing the odds. I knew that he was summing me up, judging that I could never outpace Jason.
At last, he looked around the waiting crowd and, very slowly, he smiled, the deliberate, goading smile of a man who has laid a bet he already knows he will win.
‘Very well,’ he said. ‘A race. Let it be known that the contest for Atalanta’s hand will be held in three days’ time, on the fifth day of this month. Any noble of high birth who wishes to contend for her hand may try.’
He spread his hands wide. ‘I swear to you all here and now, by Zeus, protector of kings and lord of the gods of Olympus, the man …’ King Iasus’ eyes darted towards Jason for the briefest of moments, and the corners of his mouth curved into a smile ‘… who wins the race will gain my daughter’s hand, and this kingdom.’
The Race
Pagasae
The Hour of the Middle of the Day
The Fifth Day of the Month of Rains
I was kneeling, crouched in the sand, beads of sweat trickling down my forehead. I could hear the cicadas singing in the cypress trees and the soft beating of waves against the cliffs nearby. I could feel the rubbing of sand against one knee as it pressed into the ground, the warmth between my bare toes. Blood was pounding in my ears, my heartbeat racing, preparing for the burst of speed that was about to come, my thighs tensed and ready, like a spring about to snap.
But none of that mattered. Because I was straining to hear a single sound. One sound, which would begin the race that would determine my destiny. I had to win.
Before all else, I have to win.
To my right, the herald raised his sceptre. His long white robes billowed out around his arm, like a flag. The sound of my heartbeat in my ears was deafening, and my eyes were fixed on the finish line drawn in chalk in the dust, far in the distance, shimmering in the midday heat.
The line of suitors stretched out to my right. The kingdom of Pagasae is a prize worth winning, I thought as I looked around. Twenty men would surely not turn out for my hand alone. Some I did not know, though I could see several of the crew of the Argo, Peleus among them, Pollux too. Jason stood beside Theseus, the two of them talking. Jason’s entire manner exuded arrogance, and I wondered, with a small flutter of fear, what scheme he and my father had in place to wrong-foot me. And then I saw the flash of gold as Jason took Theseus’ hand in his, as if to wish him luck, saw the leather pouch hanging at Theseus’ belt – indeed, there was one at the belts of all the other suitors, I saw, as I scanned the line – filled to the brim with coins; and I realized.
All of the men had been bribed by my father not to outrun Jason.
I exhaled slowly.
That I, in turn, might outrun Jason had clearly not crossed either of their minds; for who could imagine that a woman might outpace a man?
But then, I thought, pressing the tips of my fingers deeper into the sand, they do not know how fast I am.
A movement behind me. Another suitor was arriving late, slipping into line beside me.
I turned. My mouth opened in a soundless exclamation.
It was Hippomenes.
A surge of emotion flooded through me, my heart lighter than it had been in days to see him once more, when I had thought never to see him again: the familiar broken line of his nose, the broad set of his shoulders, the strong line of his jaw. And then I remembered where I was, what I was about to do – that he should have come now, at this moment, at the most important moment of all …
I took a deep breath. You have to calm yourself, I told myself. Steady, and sure, and fast. You cannot lose your focus.
‘What are you doing here?’ I hissed under my breath, not looking at him. ‘I thought you had returned to Boeotia!’
He unfastened the cloak from around his neck and untied his sandals. ‘What do you think I am doing?’
I could not help myself: I turned to stare at him, suddenly very aware of my pulse racing. He cannot mean what I think he means.
‘Don’t be a fool.’
He shook his head and knelt beside me, fingertips pressing into the sand so that the muscles of his arms and shoulders stood rigid, gleaming with sweat. ‘I have never been more serious in all my life.’
I bit my lip, trying not to smile as the memory of our race in the fields of Anatolia floated into my mind. ‘You know you cannot beat me!’
He shrugged his shoulders, smiling a little, too, as he glanced over at me, his brown eyes clear in the sunlight. ‘Even so.’
‘On your marks!’
The herald’s cry rent the air, and at once I felt my body tense. The suitors around me bent low to the ground, some kneeling, others standing with one foot weighted before the other, sweat dripping from their foreheads to the ground in the heat of the day.
‘Prepare yourselves!’
I pressed the ball of my foot into the sand, felt it give a little beneath my bare skin.
‘Run!’ The herald brought his sceptre swishing down to his side with a shout, but I was already gone before the word had finished echoing on the air.
My feet were flashing across the golden sand, so fast that the trees around me were mere blurs of green and grey. My heels barely touched the ground before they were off again; I was a whirl of colour and sound. I was faster than a darting bird, faster than a lion in pursuit of its prey. I was Atalanta, the fastest runner in the world.
And they would never outrun me.
I glanced back at my competitors. Most were already hidden in the cloud of dust kicked up by my heels. Pollux seemed to have got a thorn in his foot and was limping and cursing the gods. Theseus was breathing hard, neck on neck with Peleus, who tripped and fell behind. Even Jason and Hippomenes, both of whom were leading the group of suitors, were still more than ten paces behind, their lungs heaving with the effort to keep up.
I leapt forwards, even faster than before. The wind was rushing past me, so fast now it felt as if I were racing Zephyr himself, the god of the west wind, and my toes were so light on the sand I could barely feel the ground beneath me. I could see the finish line coming ever closer, the line of my freedom drawn across the track. And then I heard a curse yelled to the heavens, a thud and then more oaths. I glanced over my shoulder to see Jason sprawled upon his belly on the earth, and beside him Laertes and Theseus, groaning and clutching at their bruised sides where they had tripped and fallen upon the track.
I laughed aloud and ran on.
I am going to win. I will show them that a daughter can be as good as a son, that I am strong enough to beat men at their own game as I have done all my life. They will see me, at last, for who I am.
Their equal.
I sprinted faster, darting quick glances behind me. Hippomenes had overtaken Jason, who had stumbled to his feet again and was roaring threats and imprecations at him. I could hear Hippomenes’ footsteps thundering down the track behind me, and when I glimpsed over my shoulder again I saw him ten paces behind, his face streaming with sweat. Jason was nothing but a diminutive, red-faced figure far behind him in the dust. The blood was pumping in my veins, the determination that I would show the world, the king most of all, what I could do. Nothing could go wrong now. The finish line was only forty paces away.
I am about to make my destiny.
I am about to win.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, something caught my attention.
A glint of gold.
I turned my head to see it, even as I ran. It was an apple, a beautiful, perfectly round, golden apple, rolling at a tremendous speed along the track past me and then ahead, bumping on the uneven earth. For a moment, something flashed across its surface: a message. It disappeared, then reappeared as the apple rolled and bounced over the ground. I quickened my pace, squinting to make it out.
And then I read it. Inscribed in curling letters across the apple’s golden flesh were two words
.
TΩI NIKΩNTI.
For the Winner.
There was the sound of footsteps behind me, and I looked round again, my heart beating painfully hard with – was it fear? Or anticipation? Hippomenes was charging down the track towards me, sweat flying off his body, the dust kicked up by my heels sticking to his skin. He was only a few paces behind me and the gap was narrowing with every moment. I looked forwards, panicking, to the finish line thirty paces ahead, then at the apple, which was gathering speed now, flashing as it tumbled down the slope of the track and then, inevitably, inexorably, starting to curve away to the side of the cliff and the sea. In a moment it would roll over the edge of the rocks and then it would be lost for ever in the pounding surf.
I stared at the apple, my eyes following the bouncing sphere of gold. As if from a great distance, Myrtessa’s words from so many months before, when we had stood upon the walls of Pagasae, sounded in my head:
Bring back the treasure gold in legends twin,
That’s at the black earth’s furthest ends concealed;
Or else hope not the city’s crown to win,
And see your city to destruction yield.
And what had she said then?
They say there are only two treasures of legend to which the prophecy could refer – the Golden Fleece of Colchis, in the lands furthest to the east where the sun rises, or the apples of the Hesperides, at the very edge of the world where the summer sun never sets.
The apples of the Hesperides.
I looked back and forth, frantic, between the shimmering finish line and the glittering apple, rolling towards the cliff …