Nobody's Prize (17 page)

He staggered forward and nearly fell. Polydeuces and I hastened to lay hold of Argus’s arms and help him sit beside me at the women’s table. He leered happily at every woman and soon a small island of isolation separated the three of us from the rest of the table.

“Look at you,” Argus said to me, his voice fuzzy. “If you don’t put all these pretty flowers to shame, I don’t know sun from moon. Is that why you’re not wearing your wreath?” He prodded the ring of roses on the table before me. “Afraid the poor blossoms’ll die of envy?”

“I didn’t know I was supposed to wear it,” I said. “I thought it was to decorate the table.” I reached for the roses, but he snatched them away.

“Ah-ah-ah! No you don’t.” He wagged one finger in my face while holding the wreath high above his head. “You don’t need to wear something like this, not with that thick, lovely hair you’ve got, shining bright as morning. My head shines too, y’know.” He bowed a little, showing off his balding scalp. “Better let me have this to cover it up before the glint blinds someone.” We were all laughing together when he jammed the roses down onto his head.

“Ow! Curse it, that hurt.” Argus shifted the wreath and touched his right temple. He fingers came away smeared with blood. “Stupid slaves, don’t know enough to cut off the thorns before they make a rose wreath. Hunh! Well, at least I spared you the pain, pretty one. I’d say you owe me thanks.”

“I agree,” I said gaily, and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “That’s for saving my life from a bloodthirsty bunch of flowers. And for being my friend and shipmate, too. I’ll never forget you, Argus.”

He got to his feet shakily. “See that you don’t, whoever you are.” Polydeuces caught him when he lurched to one side, and helped him back to his place at the king’s table.

The food tasters finished their business and a troop of servants brought heaping platters of meat, bread, roasted fowl, cheese, and olives to the tables. I was savoring a tiny, crisp quail’s leg when a clamor from the king’s table drew all eyes. Lord Aetes himself was on his feet, shouting for aid. I caught sight of Jason and my brothers in the crowd around Lord Aetes, but with so many people surrounding the king, I couldn’t discern the reason.

Then someone shouted, “He’s dead!” The women at my table broke into shrieks and sobs, though they had no more idea than I did about who “he” might be. They leaped up and fled from the hall. I ran too, but I rushed into the thick of the mob, my heart choking me as I pushed and shoved my way forward. I had to see. I had to know.

Argus lay slumped on the floor, his head lolling in the ruin of the wreath he’d taken from me. His skin was ghastly white and there was a trickle of dark blood at the corner of his mouth. I stared at him for a moment, his words a mocking echo in my ears: “
That
for the Pythia’s prediction!”

I have to get out now, or the Phoenician ship will sail without me,
I realized suddenly.
Lord Aetes will seal the palace. He won’t let a flea escape until he learns who killed his grandson. O gods, who could have done such a thing?
As I flew through the halls, I remembered how happy Argus was, bragging about his stepbrother’s generosity and affection.

Somehow I made my way from that awful feast to the docks. I thanked the gods for giving me the presence of mind to retrieve the things I’d need for the voyage and the speed to escape the citadel before the great gates closed. Once in the streets, I found a dark, deserted alley, where I changed clothes, transforming Atalanta the huntress into Glaucus the prince. From there, I walked to the Phoenician ship. It would have seemed suspicious if I’d arrived at a dead run. The watchman on board the trading vessel greeted me sleepily and showed me to the small pavilion that awaited me.

“Can I help you, young lord?” he asked, watching me while I stowed my bag of belongings. “The master told us you’d be traveling with a servant. Perhaps he was mistaken?”

“What, the boy’s not here yet? That miserable dog, he said he’d come before me and make sure everything was ready!” I spoke with bluster worthy of the haughtiest nobleman, though I was worried. Milo knew the plan, but Argus’s death changed everything. Would my friend be able to escape in time? I ranted even more loudly to drown out my fears. “He thought I wouldn’t board this ship until dawn, when she sails, so off he goes to some tavern. May the gods make me strong enough to give him the whipping he deserves!”

“My lord, perhaps you misjudge the boy,” the watchman said. “This might be all a simple misunderstanding. I hope you’ll find it in your heart to listen to the lad’s excuses once he gets here.”

I couldn’t let him suspect how deeply I appreciated his compassion for my so-called servant. I grumbled a few vague words and let him know that I wasn’t in the mood for company. He left me alone, and I settled down to wait and worry.

I must have fallen asleep. The next thing I knew, Milo was rocking my shoulder gently and whispering, “Helen?” I awoke at once and lunged toward the sound of his voice, wildly thanking all the gods I could name that he was safe. He’d been squatting beside me, and my unexpected enthusiasm pitched him backward onto the ship’s planking.

“Careful there,” he said, righting himself. “Do you want the crew to think I’m more than just your servant?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I said, joking back. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to get out of the palace.” I heard raised voices outside the pavilion, heard the creak of timbers and the groan of ropes. “What’s going on?”

“It’s dawn. We’re sailing.”

“So you nearly
were
left behind.” I shivered.

Milo’s hand touched mine in the dark. “But I’m here now.”

I made a fist and pulled my hand away from him. “He’ll pay for what he’s done,” I said, my jaw tight.

“Who?”

“Karos, Argus’s accursed stepbrother. Even if he is Aetes’ grandson, he must be punished for murdering—”

“Karos is innocent, Helen,” Milo said gravely.

“What? Argus was drinking a lot of wine. Karos must have slipped some poison into his goblet.”

“No. Listen. I was in the kitchens when Argus died. We all ran as soon as we heard the news, but I was the only one headed for the palace gates. I was going so fast, I ran right into her, a little slave girl, bruised and crying in the dark like a wild thing. I spoke kindly to her, and that set her tongue loose. She had to tell
someone
the reason for her misery. She was supposed to bring a gift to the king’s feast, a gift for an honored guest. But she failed to fulfill her mistress’s orders. She just left the gift at the guest’s place and ran away without making sure that it reached the person who was supposed to have it.”

“A gift…”

“A wreath of roses woven by the lady Medea’s own hands.”

         
11
         

MEN AND MONSTERS

The ship that carried us back toward the setting sun covered the distance in far less time than the
Argo.
It was thanks to the Phoenicians’ skill and experience at navigating by night as well as by day, in all weather except outright sea-churning storms. We reached the port that served Athens on a chilly day. Summer was gone.

Once ashore, I gave Milo several of my remaining gold charms and asked him to find us another ship, one bound for Delphi.

“And what will you be doing?” he asked.

I lifted my eyes toward the heights of the nearby city. “I’m going to make a thanksgiving sacrifice to Poseidon. I owe something to Apollo as well, and Aphrodite, who’s always been good to me, and it’s never wise to ignore almighty Zeus. Above all, I need to make offerings to Hades.”

When I mentioned the lord of the Underworld, Milo made a small sign meant to ward off bad luck. “Why
him
?”

“For Hylas. For him, and for Argus, too.”

I picked up two amphorae of wine at the nearest tavern and began seeking the gods. They’d all receive libations, but I’d have to offer Hades more than a sip of wine. The lord of the dead had to have meat and honey cakes as well, to sweeten his temper and make him treat Hylas’s and Argus’s ghosts with kindness.

Poseidon’s shrine was near the water, but I had to turn my footsteps uphill, into the heart of Athens, to find the other gods. Rather than haul two heavy amphorae around while I wandered the city, I found an old man loitering beside one of the public fountains, told him where I wanted to go, and asked him to be my guide to the temples.

“Ah, you’re a pious young fellow,” he said, pleased, and soon led me from Zeus’s temple to Apollo’s, then on to Aphrodite’s, and finally Athena’s. He told me how the goddess of wisdom had earned her place as patron of Athens by giving mortals the olive tree. It would have been a serious mistake to visit her city and not honor her.

Athena’s temple stood at the very top of the tall, rocky hill, where the city clung, the doorway guarded by a pair of carved owls, her sacred bird. As we left the sanctuary, I turned to the old man and said, “Just one last shrine for me to visit and then I hope you’ll let me reward you with a good meal and a few cups of wine.”

His eyes twinkled. “Well, it wouldn’t be polite to say no. So, where is it you want to go?”

“The temple of Hades,” I replied. “But first I need to get more wine for the offering.”

The old man edged away from me and made a warding-off sign when I named the lord of the Underworld, but after that he brought me to the house of a gray-haired woman who was happy to provide me with wine, honey cakes, a fistful of black rooster feathers, and a bright red pomegranate as gifts most likely to please Hades. She packed all this into a basket and I gave her a large amber bead and two bits of silver in trade, then looked around for my guide.

“Oh, he’s gone,” she told me, smiling as she led me back onto the dusty street. “Slipped away on the quiet. He whispered to me that at his age, the farther he keeps from the lord of the Underworld, the easier he breathes. Don’t worry, the shrine’s not far. Go past the temple of Athena toward the palace gate and when you’ve taken thirty steps or so, you’ll see a cypress tree to your left. Go behind it, out of sight of the gateway, and seek the place where the earth slopes down sharply, as if a god had pressed his finger deep into wet clay. Look for it well or you’ll miss it. A freshwater spring bubbles up at the bottom of that notch in the earth, and there’s a flat stone with a carving of Cerberus, Lord Hades’ three-headed watchdog, with the monster’s feet hidden in the mint plants that grow all around the water’s edge.”

“Why would anyone dedicate a god’s shrine in such a hidden spot?” I wondered. “Is that place sacred to Hades for some reason?”

She shook her head and looked sad. “It’s sacred to our king. He built it after his father died, so that it would be convenient for him to make daily sacrifices for the comfort of Lord Aegeus’s spirit.”

Theseus as a devoted son?
I thought as I set off in search of the shrine. It wasn’t an image that matched the braggart of Calydon and the bully of Delphi.
Well, it’s possible. I thought Jason was all selfish ambition until he warned me about the crimson dress.

I found Hades’ hidden spring, a pretty, peaceful place. The cypress tree’s spreading crown cast a cool shadow over the spring, and the thick growth of mint plants at the water’s edge filled the air with a refreshing fragrance. There was a flat black stone just across the pool from the carving of Cerberus. When I ran my fingertips over it, they came away stained with blood, wine, and a smear of cake crumbs. All were fresh. Were they gifts from Theseus, or some other worshipper?

I knelt to unpack my basket beside the flat rock, setting out my own offerings of sweet cakes and figs. I held the pomegranate in both hands and smashed it open, sending the juicy, glittering seeds spilling across the altar stone like blood drops. Then I stood up and raised my hands to hail the god.

“O dread Lord Hades, hear me. Look with kindness on the shades of Hylas and Argus, my beloved friends. Don’t let them wander lost among the hopeless ghosts, but grant that they find their way to the gardens of the blessed dead, the peaceful groves and fields of Elysium. If you will hear my prayer, I promise that I’ll give you a generous sacrifice every year of my life, and that when I rule Sparta, I’ll build a temple to honor you. Lord Hades, ruler of the dead, give comfort to Hylas and Argus, and let them know that while I live, they will never be forgotten.”

I stooped to pick up the last part of my sacrifice, a small clay flask of wine. I pulled out the beeswax stopper and was about to pour the libation when a sharp voice shouted, “Hey! What do you think you’re doing there?”

I turned slowly, the wine unpoured, and saw a young man glowering at me like a dog protecting a meaty bone. His skin was scarred with pockmarks, and mud-colored hair straggled down over his shoulders from beneath a bronze helmet too big for him. He was having some trouble holding fast to the tall spear he carried. He’d draped a cloak over his shoulders, because of the cold, and the thick blue cloth kept snaring his arms.

“I’m making a sacrifice,” I replied. “I’m almost done.”

“You’re done
now,
” he snapped. I glimpsed small, watery green eyes under the outsized helmet’s brim. “Get out of here. This is the king’s shrine!”

“This is the shrine the king built,” I replied, striving to keep my voice even. I hadn’t come for an argument. All I wanted was to complete my offering to Hades, go back to Milo, and leave Athens as soon as possible. “It belongs to the god.”

“Well, you don’t look like a god to me,” my tormentor jibed. He waved his spear at me vaguely. “I’m one of Lord Theseus’s guardsmen, and I’m telling you to move
now.
”

With one twist of my wrist, I upended the flask and sent the wine splashing over the offerings on the black stone. I’d wanted to pour it out in a slow, graceful stream, the way I remembered my father doing it whenever he brought the gods a gift of wine, but this wasn’t the time for that. As the last drop fell, I let the empty flask tumble into the basket. “All right,” I said to the meddling guard. “
Now
I’ll go.”

I started up out of the little hollow holding Hades’ shrine. “Stop!” the guard ordered. He took a wide-legged stance, barring the narrow way out. “You disobeyed me.”

“I’m doing what you asked,” I replied, feeling my own temper rising. “You said you wanted me to go. Step aside and let me pass.”

“You should have left when I told you to.” He readjusted his grip on the tall spear. I heard a loud, moist squeak from the wood. His hands must have been sweating badly. “You’ve defied Lord Theseus’s authority
and
you desecrated the offering he made to his royal father’s ghost. You’ll have to answer to him for that. Come with me.”

That was enough. I dropped the basket and drew my sword. “No.”

He lowered his spear, let out a guttural yell that cracked midway through, and attacked. He had the advantage of the high ground. He should have held it rather than rushing down at me like that. He also had a heavy spear, like the one Atalanta had used to hunt the Calydonian boar. It was impressive to look at, but intended to stop a charge, not lead one. He didn’t have the strength to keep the massive bronze spearhead from dipping low as he ran. By the time he reached me, it was a simple thing for me to sidestep his clumsy onslaught, leap aside, spin around, and stamp my foot down on the wooden shaft. My teacher, Glaucus, was right when he taught me that sometimes a warrior’s best weapon is her opponent’s worst judgment.

The young guard sprawled on his belly. I jumped astride his back, yanked off his helmet, and grabbed a fistful of his hair, jerking his head back and letting the flat of my blade just touch the side of his neck.

“I’m going to leave now,” I said. My words were calm, but my heart was beating wildly. “And you’re going to let me go in peace.” He cursed, so I gave his hair a second tug to recapture his attention. “Look, I didn’t come here seeking trouble. I’m no Athenian. I was told that anyone could visit this shrine. If I’ve done something wrong, it wasn’t deliberate. I’ve just completed a long, dangerous voyage, but a friend of mine wasn’t so lucky. He wasn’t much older than you. Show a little pity for the dead, all right? I promise you, you’ll never have to see me again.”

“Fine,” my captive grumbled between gritted teeth. “Let me up and get out of my sight.”

I sprang to my feet and sheathed my sword, but before I left the seething guard, I seized his fallen spear and shouldered it. It didn’t matter how heavy and unwieldy it was, I had no choice but to deal with it. How smart would it be to turn my back on an angry enemy and leave him armed? I thanked the gods when I saw that the only other weapon he bore was a dagger, much too small to be any danger to me now.

“I’ll leave this spear for you at the temple of Zeus, behind the altar stone,” I told him. I walked away at a smart pace, but I didn’t run, no matter how much I wanted to turn my feet into wings.

I left the spear where I’d promised I would, then I
did
run all the rest of the way back to the waterfront. I found Milo on the shore near the Phoenician ship. He reported that he’d gotten us a room at a clean inn, and that, by a wonderful piece of luck, the young widow who ran the place was the biggest gossip in Athens. She knew the destination of every ship in the harbor.

“There’s a Corinthian merchant who’ll be homeward bound the day after tomorrow,” he told me gleefully. “I got him to agree to take us with him for just three small amphorae of olive oil apiece, as long as we bring our own food and drink. I took care of that, too. It’s all stowed safely in our hostess’s care already.”

“Thanks, Milo. That was quick work.”

“And all for just
one
of the charms you gave me.” Milo proudly puffed out his chest. “You wait and see, I’ll make a fine merchant myself one day. I bet I’ll strike us an even better bargain once we reach Corinth and take ship for Delphi!”

We enjoyed a good, simple meal at the inn, then found our beds in the small room behind the hostess’s own sleeping quarters. There was only a tattered blanket between the two rooms. The widow made a great point of letting us know this, making cow-eyes at both of us and stomping off in a snit when I assured her that we would respect her privacy. Milo collapsed laughing.

The room was so small that it must have been a storage chamber formerly. We were crammed into it like bales of cloth, sharing the small space with our possessions, our provisions, and the six amphorae. Still, it was comfortable enough, and the cold weather favored us. It discouraged fleas and kept the windowless cubicle from being oppressively hot. I wrapped myself in my cloak and fell into a deep slumber filled with hazy, pleasant dreams.

The widow’s shriek tore me out of sleep. I sat up to see the curtain ripped down as two broad-shouldered shapes burst into the room. An oil lamp flared near the ceiling, then dove to blaze a thumb-span from my nose.