Nobody's Prize (6 page)

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Authors: Esther Friesner

Tags: #Young adult fiction, #Social Science, #Mediterranean Region, #Mediterranean Region - History - To 476, #Historical, #Argonauts (Greek mythology), #Helen of Troy (Greek mythology), #Social Issues, #Girls & Women, #Adventure and adventurers, #Juvenile Fiction, #Greek & Roman, #Fairy Tales; Folklore & Mythology, #Jason (Greek mythology), #Fiction, #Mythology; Greek, #Legends; Myths; Fables, #Action & Adventure, #General, #Gender Studies, #Sex role, #Folklore & Mythology, #Ancient Civilizations

BOOK: Nobody's Prize
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“No choice,” he replied cheerfully. “I had to re-hang the ox hide Herakles tore down last night.” He gestured aft to my shelter beneath the steersman’s post. “I can’t complain about the work. If I hadn’t told him about you, I wouldn’t have had to—”

“You did
what
?” I don’t know how I kept myself from shouting loud enough to bring the whole crew of the
Argo
running. “Hylas, I
trusted
you to—”

“Glaucus, don’t be mad.” He was genuinely distressed. “I did it to help you. I kept thinking of you and Milo trapped in that dark place for days to come. That’s why I spoke to Herakles, begging him to be your champion. Once he promised me he’d protect you, we fetched Iolaus, not before.”

“Oh. Well…well, no harm done,” I said, my anger fading.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Hylas said. “Today I
will
bring you some wine, and the best cheese, and—”

If he said he was going to
bring
me food and drink, it could only mean one thing. I glanced aft to my hiding spot under the helmsman’s post. “I thought we didn’t have to stay there anymore.” I’d joined the quest for the Fleece in order to taste freedom. I didn’t relish the thought of spending another day as a prisoner.

“Not for much longer, Glaucus, I swear. Just until we’ve set sail and Herakles has the chance to tell your story to the rest of the crew…with two exceptions.” His smile glinted with mischief. “If it’s any comfort, you’ll have the space to yourself. You said the Spartans have no grudge against your sour-faced friend. He’s free to come and go as he pleases.”

“His
name
is Milo.” Even if Hylas was correct about my friend’s bad disposition, I felt he didn’t have the right to criticize him.

“From the way he looks at me, you’d think my name was Worm. Did I do something to offend him?”

“It’s only a mood,” I said. “He’ll come around.”

“He’d better,” Hylas said. “It’s going to be a long voyage.”

         
4
         

BIRDS WITH THE FACES OF WOMEN

Eunike as the Pythia had the gift of prophecy and I suspected that Orpheus did as well, but Herakles too turned out to be an oracle, in his own way. My life aboard the
Argo
worked out just as he’d predicted. Prince Jason’s ship was indeed large enough to hold my secret safe. When I emerged from my hiding place the next morning, word of my supposed quarrel with Castor and Polydeuces had spread through the rest of the crew. Herakles made his wishes in the matter clear to everyone. You didn’t need the Pythia to predict your future if you crossed him.

From then on, I knew my brothers wouldn’t see me unless I allowed it. It was easy enough to avoid them. Each crewman sat on his own sea chest to row. The sole exception was the white-haired man who’d slept on board that first night. He seemed to jump from spot to spot on the ship like a flea. My brothers had the two right-hand places closest to the ship’s prow, so I haunted the
Argo
’s stern and never went farther forward than the mast amidships if I could help it.

Of course, the men didn’t row all day long. When the winds favored us, my brothers and the rest shipped their oars and gave thanks to the gods, leaving the
Argo
’s fate to Tiphys, who handled the steering oar, and the men who governed the great sail. Even when the winds failed and the crew bent their backs at the oars, there would be times called for them to rest, drink, and wipe the sweat away. I learned to stay alert for those moments. Just because my brothers didn’t wander far from their chosen bench didn’t mean it would
never
happen.

Keeping an eye on my brothers was a very small part of my days aboard the
Argo.
As far as everyone except Milo and Iolaus knew, I was a weapons bearer and had work to do. Most of it was fetch-and-carry, bringing the rowers watered wine to drink, or a mouthful of bread, dried figs, or wizened olives to silence their stomachs until we beached for the night and ate a real meal. Milo served the men who labored fore of the mast; I worked aft, to keep away from my brothers.

Sometimes we were given a pile of weapons and told to clean and sharpen them, because even when such things were stowed inside the chests the men used for rowing benches, the sea spray would manage to seep in to damage good bronze subtly but surely. Though Hylas only had Herakles’ gear to tend, he always pitched in to help us. After many days of this, Milo began to speak a few words to him. Soon they were trading jokes. I was glad, though I will admit I felt a little jealous. Time Hylas spent talking to Milo was time Hylas didn’t spend talking to
me.

When the sun slid low in the west each day, Tiphys would steer the ship into the most favorable haven he could find. While the crew lowered the mast and jumped overboard to beach the
Argo,
I’d make sure to leap ashore on the opposite side from my brothers. In the nightly commotion of making camp, I gathered firewood and kept my distance from Castor and Polydeuces. At first we were always the same group of eight around our campfire, but after several days we were joined by Prince Jason’s cousin, Acastus. He rowed beside Iolaus, who had taken a liking to him.

Herakles teased him about it when Acastus was out of earshot. “Aiming your heart high, nephew, or are you just trying to win that bet of mine? Good luck with that! If Jason’s got his mind set on securing his claim to the throne of Iolkos, he’ll find a way to get rid of Acastus even if you stick to him like a second skin.”

“Acastus and I are
friends,
Uncle,” Iolaus replied patiently. “
Only
friends. And I still say that Prince Jason won’t raise a hand against his kinsman, neither his own nor another’s.”

Herakles shook his head. “You believe that? You haven’t grown up at all, Iolaus. You’re still the same innocent lad who carried my weapons when I fought the Lernian Hydra.”

“The Hydra!” I exclaimed. Slaying the Hydra was one of twelve tasks that great Herakles had to perform as penance for a crime he’d committed in a fit of reason-stealing rage. “Were you
there
?” I looked at Iolaus with renewed respect.

“He was,” Herakles answered for my master. “The Hydra was a monstrous serpent with nine heads, fangs dripping black venom. Slice off one head and two sprouted in its place! Iolaus was just a boy, but he’s the one who came up with the trick that let me slay the beast at last. I chopped off the Hydra’s heads; he dashed in with a flaming torch to sear the bleeding necks. The monster never had the chance to grow back so much as a single scale! That was when I knew my nephew was braver than many a full-grown man.”

Zetes and Kalais roared their approval of the story. Orpheus spoke soft words of praise. Iolaus should have basked in their admiration, but instead he sat hunched by the fire, his expression grim. Herakles peered closely at his nephew and drawled, “By the way, lad, do
you
ever tell that tale the right way?”

“There’s only one right way to tell any story,” Iolaus said. “The truth.”

“Which is why you’ve been so swift to tell the Spartan princes about
both
your young servants?” Herakles raised one bushy black eyebrow. Iolaus pursed his lips and the great hero burst into rough laughter. “I’ll tell you what, nephew,” he said, clapping my master on the back. “If
you
don’t go around telling everyone that the Hydra was just a cluster of swamp snakes,
I
won’t remind you about how you’re stretching the truth thin as a willow leaf for this boy’s sake.” He nodded at me.

“What difference does it make?” Iolaus grumbled. “The whole world believes
your
version.”

“Well, truth or not, it does make the better story,” Herakles replied. “And some of them were pretty big snakes!”

         

We sailed for more days than I knew how to count, sometimes hugging the mainland coast, sometimes passing from one island to another over the waves. The summer weather blessed us with clear skies and tame waters. We did have a couple of times when we had to put in to shore quickly to wait out a thunderstorm. I think Zeus didn’t want our quest to become
too
comfortable.

At first we kept to the western coastline, but when we entered the narrows that marked the last gateway out of the Wavy Sea, we kept the land on our right for a time. As much as I loved the sea, I was happiest when our course took us close to land. I liked to dream about the people who might live there, and wonder whether they looked like us, what strange languages they might speak, and whether or not they knew our gods.

If Zeus sometimes played with our ship just because he had the power to do so, at least his brother Poseidon showed unexpected mercy to my friend Milo, whose old affliction seemed to have vanished. He would run forward even when the sea grew rough, returning aft laughing, his face glowing with health and not a hint of seasickness.

“Tell me your secret,” I asked him. “What’s changed? Wait, let me guess! You asked Orpheus to offer a prayer to Poseidon for you. Not even a god could resist his voice.”

Milo shook his head. “Hylas found out I had a bad stomach for sailing. He does too, if you can believe it, but he’s got a remedy that always sets him right. He’s been sharing it with me.”

“So you’ve gotten over whatever was bothering you,” I said. “I’m glad. I was afraid I’d have to douse you with seawater if you didn’t stop treating him like a toothache.”

“It was my own fault. Like you said, he’s always been a friend to both of us. I was afraid he wanted to be your friend alone, and—and maybe something more. If that happened, I thought you’d have no more time for me.” Milo lowered his eyes, embarrassed.

I was just as glad he’d looked away from me when he said that, so he couldn’t catch me blushing. “I hope you know that’s nonsense,” I said.

“Oh, of course I do
now,
” Milo said a little too quickly. “I was silly to think Hylas could come between us that way. It’s just not possible.”

“Why do you say that?” I asked, raising one brow.

“You mean you don’t know he’s—?” he began, but before he could tell me more, we both heard Iolaus calling him and he dashed away toward the prow, where I couldn’t follow.

I was still wondering what Milo had meant to tell me when the air rang with a shout from Lynceus, our lookout at the prow: “Fire to the west! Fire and battle!”

I ran to the mast and stared at the black smoke billowing from the shore. I could just see the walls of a royal citadel on the heights above a harbor in flames. The
Argo
’s crew clattered their oars together as they stood at their places, eager to know what Lynceus saw. The word
battle
had transformed them from a well-coordinated crew of oarsmen into a jostling mob of gawkers. Herakles pushed his way forward for the best view. I caught sight of Prince Jason himself at the prow, alternately fighting for a look at what was happening ashore and yelling at his men to return to their seats at the oars.

Iolaus detached himself from the confusion and came to join me at the mast, with Hylas tagging after. Milo remained fore, in the thick of the excitement, and I envied him bitterly.

“I see fire, yes,” Iolaus said, shading his eyes. “But battle?”

“Trust Lynceus,” Hylas replied. “He sees what he sees. Glaucus, come with me. We’ve got to give back the weapons we’ve been tending, and quickly.” When I questioned him with a look, he added, “I don’t know whose battle that is, but it’s going to be ours. Have you ever known a true hero who’d turn his back on a chance to earn glory?”

“Without even knowing who’s fighting or why?” I was astounded. “How will the men know which side to take?”

Hylas flashed a quick smile. “The winning side, of course. Herakles is with us.”

He sped aft, to his master’s stored weapons, and I dashed after. Already the men were throwing back the lids of their sea chests to retrieve the swords stored within. I heard a rumble from the prow and turned in time to see great Herakles working shoulder to shoulder with Milo, trundling out the shields that had been stacked in the space that was twin to my hiding place in the stern. While Hylas readied Herakles’ weapons, I crept farther into the space under the steersman’s post and found a pile of spears. When I dragged them into the light, there were plenty of hands ready to snatch them up.

“Give me a spear, lad, and be quick!” one man barked at me. “We’ll need spears. If my ears are right, they’ve got horses.”

When the last spear had been snatched from my grasp, I crouched with one shoulder braced against the ship’s wooden wall and drew my own sword, making sure it cleared the sheath effortlessly. The familiar feel of the hilt comforted me. One blade couldn’t win a battle, but as long as it was mine, it could be used to protect me and those I loved.

Everywhere I looked, I saw wolfish grins. Hylas was right, the men were ravenous for a fight. Even Iolaus had caught the battle fever. I saw him stride aft to give Tiphys directions for bringing the
Argo
to the burning shore.

Once the crew had their weapons, they slammed the lids on the wooden chests and sprang back to their places at the oars. Orpheus beat a spear against the ship’s rail, marking a quick-time rowing beat for the crew to match stroke for stroke. He raised a powerful paean to Ares, god of war, filling our ears with the promise of the immortal fame that comes to the bravest of the brave, both those who live and those who die. The men answered the end of each verse with a cheer loud enough to shake snow from the peak of Olympus. The ship flew across the water, heading straight for the burning shore.

Abruptly the booming beat of wood on wood stopped. Orpheus swallowed the next line of his blood-stirring song. Without his beat to help them keep time, the overeager men lost control of their oars. The heavy blades clattered against each other loudly, then fell still. Silence rippled over the
Argo
as we stared at the man who’d dared to place himself between a ship of warriors and their desired war.

Prince Jason raised the spear he’d wrested from Orpheus’s hands and rammed its haft down hard on the ship’s hull. “
Turn,
Tiphys!” he shouted, swinging the spear’s point north. “Turn this ship back to her proper course! Have you all forgotten
why
we set sail? We seek the Golden Fleece, not some petty squabble between savages! We’ll waste no time and no lives on anything but our true quest.”

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