‘I’m glad Hades is not my patron,’ muttered one of the children beside Pippa.
Pippa too was grateful that she wasn’t the choice of Hades, god of death. But whose choice was she? And what was her horse like?
An older horse, the colour of a great grey owl, flew towards Sophia. ‘Ajax, steed of Athena!’ boomed Bellerophon.
‘I am honoured to ride for the goddess of wisdom,’ said Sophia, stepping towards Ajax.
Pippa could see an angry scar running down one of his flanks, and wondered why Athena would choose a horse that looked like he had been in battle. But when she saw how still and stately he stood beside Sophia, she knew he was clearly an experienced steed, with control many of the other horses lacked.
Khrys’s golden steed, Khruse, for example, reared up as soon as he landed and blew dust into Khrys’s eyes with a final flap of his mighty wings. The horse’s feathers sparkled and shone, a perfect match for Apollo, the sun god.
But no horse landed in front of Pippa. She squinted anxiously into the sky but saw nothing.
Bellerophon strode over to her. ‘Don’t worry. I expected your steed might be late,’ he said. ‘He’s always had his head in the clouds, that horse, from the time he was a foal. That’s why his name is Zephyr, after the wind god. Zephyr loves to dally like the breezes. Still, despite his challenges, there is much to love about him. As Aphrodite well knows. Be patient. He will come.’
Aphrodite! The goddess of love chose me? She couldn’t think on it for long, because Bellerophon whistled again.
Pippa squinted back up at the sky.
With her eyes fixed on the clouds, she heard the shout before she saw the danger.
‘Watch out!’ cried Bas.
Kerauno had escaped his grasp and was headed right for her. Pippa wanted to run, but she couldn’t, frozen in fear, mesmerized by the horse’s raging red eyes.
And then, from the side, came a blur of wings and hooves. A small horse darted in Kerauno’s path.
A horse like a moonbeam.
Kerauno took to the air, leaping over the smaller horse at the last moment, before whinnying and crashing down like an avalanche a short distance away. Bas ran to get his horse under control, while the tiny horse landed in front of Pippa with a soft thump.
Zephyr was small and white, with floppy ears like a donkey’s and black-tipped wings that rose above him like cresting waves. His eyes were like the tips of his wings, black as the night sky. His forelock curled up like a tiny horn. He looked strangely familiar. Where had she seen him before? Of course! He looked just like the horse in her dream.
‘That’s your horse?’ Khrys snorted. Now that the danger was over, he had found his voice again. ‘That’s not a horse. That’s a mosquito.’
The gangly boy named Perikles, Artemis’s child, giggled, and some others joined in.
Bellerophon wasn’t laughing, however. His arms were crossed. ‘And what do you think you are holding? Strings? Those are bridles, and they need to be put on your horses.’
Khrys and Perikles quickly turned to their horses – and Pippa too.
‘Don’t listen to those boys,’ Pippa told Zephyr. She knew how it felt to be made fun of, but it didn’t seem to bother the horse. He was eyeing her curiously.
Slowly, she reached out her hand and stroked his nose, his neck, and lightly touched his quivering wings, which were now folded on his back. The feathers were long, soft and warm. Under them, she could feel his flank rising and falling as he caught his breath.
‘Good boy, good Zeph,’ she said. He snorted softly at the nickname, and Pippa smiled. He seemed to like her. Just as she thought this though, he tossed his head and pulled away from her hand.
‘Is something wrong?’ she asked him.
Zeph replied with another snort and raised his wings slightly.
‘Hush, hush,’ she soothed.
But Zeph tilted his head upwards. Pippa followed his gaze to a bright blue butterfly that was flying up.
‘Do you want to chase it?’
Zeph whinnied, and Pippa laughed. She looked around for Bellerophon, but the groom was busy helping Bas with Kerauno. Bellerophon had not forbidden riding …
So while the other children struggled to get the bridles on their steeds, Pippa dropped hers and grabbed a handful of Zeph’s mane, boosting herself up on to his back. She settled herself into a comfortable position, with her legs tucked under his folded wings.
Without urging, Zeph began to trot. His trot turned into a canter. His wings spread open and started to beat. Pippa couldn’t see, but she could feel his front hooves, then the back, lift from the ground. Her stomach lifted too.
They were flying!
The wind bit her cheeks, and she gripped Zeph’s mane tighter and squeezed his sides with her knees. It was like a dream. But of course, this wasn’t a dream. It was real, and she never wanted it to end.
The butterfly flew up into the clouds, disappearing into their whiteness, and Zeph dashed after it. Pippa gripped his mane, wrapping her fingers around the coarse silver hair. The horse’s wings flexed under her as they swooped, giving chase. Then the butterfly darted down again, and Zeph nosedived.
‘Whoa!’ cried Pippa, her stomach feeling like it was a butterfly itself.
Zeph responded at once, steadying himself in the air so she could reposition herself.
‘Thank you,’ she breathed. The butterfly was gone now, but Zeph didn’t seem to care. He whinnied happily, ready for their next adventure.
A sharp whistle sounded.
Pippa looked down to see Bellerophon, tiny now, beckoning them to return. He blew his whistle again. Pippa wasn’t sure how to do this. She’d never had to land a horse before, but Zeph knew what the whistle meant. He whinnied, circled, and began to descend quickly. He might be small, but he was fast. Too fast!
Pippa wasn’t ready and slipped up on to the base of his neck, losing her grip on his mane. For a moment, she was balanced there, between his wings, the ground rushing up at her. Her stomach dropped.
Frantically she reached and clutched a new handful of mane. Just in time, as Zeph suddenly levelled and landed with surprising grace. Pippa let out her breath.
Bellerophon was there to meet them. Pippa worried how mad he might be. But instead of a scowl, he wore a grin. He gave Zeph’s neck a pat as Pippa slipped off.
‘Now that was impressive,’ he said. ‘You have good form, but –’ he looked over at the children who seemed ready to follow Pippa’s lead – ‘there is to be no further riding until I have gone over proper techniques, such as landing.’ He gave Pippa a stern look and continued. ‘And I must insist you all ride with a bridle. There are rules here, and they must be obeyed – for your own safety, as well as the horses’.’ He was grinning again, though, as he added, ‘If there is one thing Aphrodite is good at, it is matchmaking, and it seems she did right by you and Zephyr.’
Pippa glowed and patted Zeph’s neck too. She couldn’t help but agree and couldn't wait to thank the goddess.
SIX
The rest of the day passed quickly in a whirlwind of wings and rules. At the end of the lessons, Pippa’s stomach was growling like the lion-headed chimera. She couldn’t wait for the feast to begin.
First, of course, they had to get suitably dressed. Back at the sleeping quarters, Bellerophon directed them upstairs to their rooms. When Pippa reached hers, with a rose carved over the entrance, she gasped. Surely this whole chamber wasn’t just for her?
A gilt mirror hung from one wall, and against another was a wooden bed with feet carved in the shape of swans. Pillows, embroidered with doves, were piled high at its head, and laid out across the end were a chiton made of light linen with golden roses woven across it and a pair of golden sandals with wings on their heels. There were himations too – heavier woollen cloaks – hanging up on hooks on the wall. Beside the bed was a table with an oil lamp, a brush and gold and ivory hairpins. In another corner there was a bathtub shaped like a scallop shell. Someon
e had already filled it with steaming water.
Of all the finery, one thing in particular drew Pippa’s gaze: a magnificent mosaic made from small flat stones covering the wall across from the bed. It depicted two winged horses, a dam and her foal, their noses touching in a kiss. Even though it was just an image, Pippa could feel the love between the two. A lump rose in her throat. She had never known that kind of love.
She reached between the folds of her racing chiton for the coin hidden in her tunic and was relieved to feel it was still there.
Pippa did not know her family’s name or anything about them, but for the first time she was close to some answers. She could ask Aphrodite. Since the goddess had chosen her, she must know about Pippa’s past. Maybe her parents had owned horses. Maybe her father had taken part in the chariot races. Maybe there was a good reason why they had abandoned her …
But maybe there wasn’t.
Did she really want to know? She traced the wings on the coin and gazed back at the mosaic. The foal’s wings were folded up on its back, but its dam’s were spread wide, the wingtips kissing the ceiling. Tall as Zeph’s.
‘Lovely, isn’t it?’
Pippa turned to face a woman almost too beautiful to be real, who appeared like magic from the mist of the bath. Her hair was crowned with myrtle, and she wore a chiton dyed in lively patterns that seemed to dance around her.
‘Aphrodite!’ gasped Pippa.
They weren’t supposed to meet the goddesses and gods until the feast. But Ares had surprised them in the stables, after all, so who was to say Aphrodite might not put in an appearance too?
The woman turned to face Pippa and laughed, her voice like a chime. Black kohl lined her eyes and eyebrows, and her cheeks and lips were flushed. Gold hoops and mulberry clusters dangled from her earlobes. Around her waist was a tasselled belt that shimmered when she moved.
‘Oh no. I am not Aphrodite,’ she said. ‘I am one of her attendants – Pandaisia, Grace of Banquets. Which is why I am here – to get you ready for tonight’s festivities.’
One of the Graces? If this was how the Graces looked, Pippa couldn’t imagine Aphrodite’s beauty.
‘Come, into the bath,’ said Pandaisia, gently ushering her towards it.
Pippa had never been to the public baths, large pools where citizens washed and steamed – and even perfumed – themselves. She had only ever washed from a bucket of cold water. Now she understood why so many loved to go. As she stepped in, the basin’s hot water felt wonderful – and made her forget her hunger.
Pandaisia gently scraped the grime from her back with a strigil, a curved piece of wood, which felt surprisingly nice. Pippa swirled the water with her fingers. It whirled in shapes of wings and manes.
All too soon, Pandaisia helped her out and into the fancy chiton. This time Pippa did not wear her tunic underneath. The cloth of the chiton was much softer than the rough wool she was used to. The Grace fastened the three-feathered brooch at Pippa’s right shoulder to keep the cloth in place, and tied the linen belt around her waist. Then she began to arrange Pippa’s hair.
‘What’s Aphrodite like?’ asked Pippa, at last finding the courage for questions.
Pandaisia laughed, this time a sound like a lyre being plucked. ‘Like is not love, but sometimes it is stronger. You must first like and then love.’
‘I’m asking about Aphrodite,’ said Pippa again. ‘I’m going to see her tonight.’
‘Tonight will come, but now is upon us. Here, the sandals.’ Pippa had never worn sandals, always going barefoot. They felt strange and stiff and pinched her feet as the Grace laced them up. ‘Now see yourself, child, and how beautiful you look.’
Pandaisia gently spun Pippa to the mirror.
Pippa started. She hardly recognized herself, other than her face, burned from years of working outside. Her hair, sun-tinged red, was piled on her head, her skin clean.
‘Thank you,’ said Pippa, clasping Pandaisia’s hands, then quickly pulling back, blushing.
The Grace smiled. ‘No need to be embarrassed. That is your true beauty. Your heart.’
Pippa’s questions about Aphrodite would have to wait until she saw the goddess for herself. Pandaisia might speak and move with elegance, but Pippa preferred straightforward answers. Still, it felt nice to be clean and wearing fine things. She felt brighter, taller. Pinching sandals were a small price to pay.
Outside the sleeping quarters, an enormous silver chariot awaited. Instead of wheels, two golden wings extended out from the sides, forming platforms so large they could easily carry all twelve riders.
The riders weren’t the only ones in finery. Four winged horses stood at the ready, side by side, in two rows, as magnificent as the ones Pippa had met today but regally adorned. Pearls were braided through their manes, and their tails were strung with golden threads. She thought of Zeph and how pearls would shine in his silver mane.
‘I would have you ride up, except you are not ready,’ said Bellerophon. ‘It would only cause an embarrassment to us all. So meet my friends – grooms from the gods’ palace, and winners of past races.’ He gestured to a boy on his left, who had a mane-like mop of hair. ‘This is Dion.’ Then he gestured to a taller boy on his right, ‘And Archippos. They will take us up.’
‘Dion, the last race’s winner,’ whispered Sophia. Sophia seemed to know everything. ‘He rode Nikomedes. And Archippos won the very first race.’
‘And now they drive the gods’ chariots,’ said Khrys. ‘I would be well suited to that task.’
But they should be ancient, thought Pippa. The last race was a hundred years ago … and the first … But since the gods chose the age they wished to appear, the winners must too. Regardless of their age, they looked confident standing beside the great groom.
Everyone clambered into the chariot, on to the wings. Pippa climbed up as well and awkwardly took her place between Bas, the broad-shouldered boy, who didn’t even acknowledge her, and the slight boy, Timon, who nodded shyly.
Together, Dion and Archippos gave a shout and flicked the reins. The horses whinnied and their wings flexed, pearled manes flashing. Pippa thought of Zeph and felt a shiver of excitement course through her body, stronger than the rumble of hunger from her stomach.
The chariot jerked, and she felt herself almost lose her footing. Bas reached out as if to help her, but he quickly pulled his hand away.
‘Are you excited?’ she asked. But he didn’t answer, only looked away.
She turned to Timon. ‘What do you think the palace will be like?’
He didn’t say a word either.
Pippa felt her cheeks go hot. So it wasn’t just Khrys. Bellerophon had said that here they were all equal, but of course the other riders wouldn’t treat her that way, no matter how she felt. It would take more than fine clothes and a glittering brooch to change her into anything but a foundling.
The chariot lurched again, rising higher into the sky, and Pippa’s excitement returned as they soared into the darkness, guided by the silver smile of the moon.
Everyone was quiet as they neared the top of the mountain and the silhouette of the palace came into view. There wasn’t just one mountain peak; there were three. And as they drew closer, Pippa could see each one was decorated with a building – a spread of buildings, connected by archways and patios and turrets, glittering like clusters of constellations.
The wind bit at Pippa’s cheeks, but her hands were clammy despite the cool night. First the extravagance of her room, and now … would she really step into the gods’ palace? Feast with them?
Maybe not.
They landed on the platform at the bottom of the stairs outside one of the buildings. When they descended from the chariot, they were greeted with a rude surprise.
Although in the glow of lamplight Pippa could see the steps were made of gold and marble, they certainly weren’t as polished or perfect as their distant shadows had led her to believe. Food was strewn everywhere: a pheasant bone, a half-eaten s
ardine, bits of figs and feta. Barley and honey cakes. Even a pot filled with beans. Not just food. There were goblets tossed aside and what looked like a smashed statue or vase.
Bellerophon seemed as confused as Pippa and the other riders. His brow was furrowed as he marched up the steps to the massive doors, which were carved with a frieze of the earth, the sea and the sky.
He knocked with his cane, the sound reverberating into the night.
At first, no one came. But when he knocked again, the doors creaked open. Pippa tried to peer around him, to see who had opened the door, but she couldn’t make the person out.
‘I’ve brought the riders,’ said Bellerophon.
‘It’s not a good night,’ came a muffled voice.
‘But it’s the night of the welcoming feast! The gods and goddesses know this,’ huffed Bellerophon.
‘Yes, indeed. But … Poseidon went into one of his rants, about how it should be a water race with the hippocampi instead. And Ares smashed Hera’s … well, you can imagine. I tried to stop them, but it was no use. You’d better come in. You can see for yourself.’
Bellerophon grunted.
He turned to the riders and the two young grooms, staring open-mouthed with the horses. ‘Wait here,’ he said. ‘I will be right back.’
What was going on? Pippa wondered, as Theodoros asked the same thing out loud.
‘A fight,’ replied Bas flatly. He slumped down heavily on a step.
‘I doubt wise Athena had anything to do with this.’ Sophia waved her hand at the litter all around them.
‘Or Hera,’ echoed another.
‘I’m hungry,’ said Khrys, almost in a whine. ‘We were supposed to have a feast!’
Pippa was hungry too, but there was plenty to eat, far better than the scraps she was used to. She picked up a piece of bread from the ground.
‘You can’t eat that!’ Khrys burst out. His face twisted in repulsion.
The Winged Horse Race Page 3