Nobody's Prize (7 page)

For a moment it looked as if that would be the end of it. Our helmsman frowned, but he began to lean against the steering oar, turning the ship away from the smoke. The other men grumbled. We were close enough to hear the first faint sounds of fighting, the clash of metal on metal, the crackling of flames.

Then Zetes spoke up: “‘Savages’?” he echoed bitterly. “Is that what you call Thracians? Or haven’t you got the brains to know where we are? I know this coastline as well as I know my own sword arm. That’s
our
homeland burning!” He clapped one fist to his chest. “If you turn this ship away, I swear by the deadly waters of the river Styx, the oath that binds the gods, that you’ll see the last of me, my brother, and Orpheus as well!”

Jason’s smile was thin. “Small loyalty, small loss.” I didn’t like the contemptuous way he looked at his disgruntled crewmen, as if their grievances were hardly worth his time. “I won’t risk my ship for anything less than the Fleece.”

“
Your
ship, Jason?” Herakles loomed at the mast, his eyes smoldering in the shadow of the lion’s jaw. “This vessel was made at the command of Lord Pelias, the
reigning
king of Iolkos. You’re king of nothing, and you’ll never be king over me. Unless the gods command otherwise, I serve men
worth
serving.”

Jason’s eyes narrowed. “But the gods
do
command you, Herakles,” he said. “If you still claim to be the son of Zeus, they do. I’ve dedicated this quest to Hera, his wife and queen, because she favors me. But you? Your existence is an insult to her, living proof of her husband’s faithlessness. She’s got enough reason to hate you already. Do you want to add to her wrath against you by defying me?”

Herakles scowled. “I’ll take my chances with Hera. Come closer and take your chances with me!”

No one will win this fight,
I thought, every nerve taut, eyes fixed on the two glowering men. I tightened my grip on my blade. I had no idea how much farther we still had to travel to reach Colchis, but I did know that if the quest ended now, the immortal fame Orpheus sang about would become immortal ridicule. The loss would be Jason’s doing, but all the Argonauts would suffer for it, including my brothers.

Fame…
The word trailed through my mind and struck a spark. I sheathed my sword and crawled just far enough to tug at the hem of Orpheus’s kilt and draw his notice. He gave me an inquiring look until I motioned for him to bend near. Then I whispered, “How quickly can you remind Prince Jason that fame’s more than a word?”

The Thracian poet smiled. “The gods bless you, Glaucus,” he whispered back. “You see what I should have seen for myself.” With that, he straightened up and began a new song. He didn’t need to sing it loudly. The first line was enough to seize everyone’s attention. It told of the quest for the Golden Fleece, and how it came to nothing. When the monsters of a hundred unknown seas couldn’t sink the
Argo,
foolish quarrels did. The name of Prince Jason would be remembered forever.

I watched closely, with growing admiration, as Orpheus made the crew understand that they were risking more than their lives with this dispute. Most of all, I watched Jason. I swear by all-seeing Apollo, I could tell the exact moment when he considered killing Orpheus and, the instant after that, when he realized he’d also have to kill every last man aboard the
Argo
if he didn’t want to return to Iolkos with a reputation for turning tail. What self-respecting city would have a coward for her king?

His scowl vanished, replaced by a broad smile. I couldn’t help wondering if it was sincere or false. “Well sung, Orpheus!” he cried. “I’ve always said that a man needs a light heart before he goes into battle. We’ve all had our joke here, eh, Herakles?” He strode forward to slap the astonished hero on the back. “Now let’s give this ship wings. To Thrace, and to glory!” He pointed toward the shore.

That’s a quick turnabout,
I thought.
And calling it all a joke? There’s a nimble-witted way to save one’s honor. A simpler man would confess that Orpheus’s words persuaded him to change his mind.
I wondered if Jason would ever do anything like that, or if he was someone who believed you could never admit you’d been wrong without also admitting you’d lost, you’d failed.

On to Colchis
or
On to Thrace,
one of the two was a lie. Jason saw nothing wrong with deceiving his men as long as it saved his pride and let him hold on to his command of the
Argo.
I think I must have been the only one concerned about that, though. The men were too eager to obey Jason’s new command, to seize their roles as immortal heroes. They fell back to the oars, Orpheus again set the rowers’ beat, and the
Argo
flew arrow-straight to land.

The fighting was strung out all along the shore, between the water and the small, brightly colored houses of those who made their living from the sea. It was thickest at a point two spear-casts north of where the
Argo
came sailing into the shallows. Our sharp-eared crewman was right: There
were
horses, impressive animals bearing warriors clothed in vivid, sleeveless tunics and ankle-length trousers. Flashes of red and blue and green showed beneath the armor covering their chests and shins. Their war cries were the shrill screams of birds of prey.

Zetes and Kalais stood near enough for me to overhear one of them growl, “
Them
again,” and the other respond, “Thrice-cursed raiders.” Even without their words to confirm it, their grim faces told me that they recognized those mounted fighters and hated them.

Smoke blew across the beach. The
Argo
was the only boat in the harbor that wasn’t aflame. The men didn’t want to waste time beaching the ship. I heard a loud splash as Prince Jason himself slung the stone anchor overboard; then he took up his sword and shield before jumping into the hip-deep water. His bare legs churned the water to foam as he raced toward the battle. If lying came easily to him, so did courage; I had to give him that.

The other men didn’t lose a moment in following their captain’s example. As they began leaping over the sides to rush ashore, Iolaus paused long enough to order Milo and me to remain on board. “You’re not warriors yet,” he said. “You’re only weapons bearers with a long way to go before you’re ready for something like this.”

“Hylas went,” I pointed out. He and Herakles were already halfway to where the fighting was most intense. A mob of riders swooped in circles around a core of armed men dressed much like our own Thracians. More smoke rose from within that defensive ring of swords, but it was too thin and pale to come from any great burning.

“Hylas is experienced and can look out for himself. Stay here.” With that stern command, he vaulted over the side.

Milo and I ran to the prow to watch. I balanced on the rail and flung my arms around the image of Eunike, leaning so far forward that my shoulders ached. The
Argo
’s crew charged, each man’s battle cry loud on his lips. The roaring human wave made many of the circling riders pull back on their reins and turn to meet the unexpected challenge. Some of the riders brandished spears, some flourished short swords. Nearly all carried bows and packed quivers at their backs, but they left those bows unstrung. Instead of keeping their distance, picking off our men from the safety of an arrow flight’s distance away, they kicked their heels to their horses’ flanks and met the battle head-on.

I couldn’t obey Iolaus’s command any longer. If I were a
real
weapons bearer, I’d take my rightful place beside my master. I sped to the
Argo
’s stern and lashed an extra sword to my back, then grabbed a spear and leaped over the side, holding it well above my head. I heard Milo shouting after me, then a second splash. He must have jumped into the sun-warmed shallows too, but I didn’t waste a moment looking back.

I stumbled when my bare feet met dry land. I was too accustomed to the roll of the ship, but I soon recovered my balance. I ran after Iolaus, taking care to keep just far enough behind him so that he wouldn’t know I was there. I’d come to help if needed, not to divert his attention and endanger his life.

I lingered on the borders of the combat between our men and the riders. In the confusion of battle, it was impossible for me to tell whether or not they outnumbered us. I saw Zetes and Kalais plunge into the densest part of the clash, moving so swiftly that perhaps the North Wind
was
their father. The fighting shifted, giving me a clear view of their slashing swords, and my jaw dropped. They weren’t challenging the warriors, they were attacking the horses. The beasts shrieked in pain and terror. Their riders were thrown, or else went down in a heap with their wounded steeds. Zetes and Kalais never gave their foes the chance to regain their feet and face a fair contest. Bronze chopped flesh and bone and the coppery smell of blood choked the air. Would the songs to come call these men heroes or butchers?

Those two were the only ones who fought without honor. Herakles moved through the battle armed with a gnarled wooden club big as a young oak. Hylas kept close behind him, carrying sword, spear, and shield, but his master ignored them all. Herakles swung his club left and right, scything a pair of riders from their steeds. Those he missed learned quickly and steered their horses well out of his reach. He bellowed with laughter and pursued them. More riders fell to his club and some didn’t rise again. Those who did stood their ground and took on the men who came in Herakles’ wake.

Iolaus was fighting one of the warriors Herakles had sent toppling to the ground. My master was being beaten back in a flurry of sword strikes. He took a misstep, slipped, and staggered. As he struggled to keep his balance, his foe’s blade licked out lightning-swift, sweeping his shield aside with one swing, knocking his sword from his hand with the other.

“Iolaus! Here!” I dashed to his side. I held the spear with both hands, using it to fend off my master’s adversary until he could draw the spare blade I carried at my belt. I heard the scrape of the sword leaving its sheath, but I never took my eyes away from the eyes of the foe. They shone blue as deep water, and they were all that I could see of that helmet-hidden face except a glimpse of beardless cheek and the hard, small mouth that erupted with a shrieking war cry.

The warrior’s sword swung high and fell, splintering the spear in my hands. I danced back a few steps and bared my own blade. It had been too long since I’d last used it. I wished that I’d found time and opportunity during the voyage here to practice the hard-won swordsmanship I’d learned at home in Sparta.

The first clang of my sword against the enemy’s blade rang out. The sound shivered through me and kindled an extraordinary transformation. All of my teacher’s lessons came back to me not as words, but as knowledge that I carried in my blood. I could do this! Whether or not I’d win, whether or not I’d survive, I could fight. My fate was in my hands alone. So this was why the
Argo
’s crew had thirsted for a fight! I attacked, shouting Ares’ name.

My battle joy was short-lived. Iolaus seized the back of my tunic and yanked me back, stepping between me and the other fighter. He’d found his footing and his strength. The fortunes of the skirmish changed and ended with a single stab of Iolaus’s borrowed sword. My enemy made a hideous sound and crumpled.

Iolaus turned to me, his face monstrous. “In the name of all the gods, Helen,
what are you doing here
?” He was so enraged he called me by my true name, but it was lost in the chaos of battle. “Get back to the ship now, or I swear by Zeus himself, I’ll drag you there by the hair!”

I gave him a sour look. “You’ll need both hands free for that. Better give me that sword back first.” I nodded at the blade I’d brought him, the one that had saved his life.

Iolaus wasn’t in the mood for inconvenient reminders. “I’ll thank you later, if you’re alive to hear it. Now get back to the ship before something else hap—”

A fresh war cry from one of the remaining riders tore the air, loud and imperious enough to draw everyone’s attention. Spear in hand, horse dancing sideways along the tide line, the warrior shouted harsh foreign words. The unmistakable command made the others turn sharply away from battling the
Argo
’s crew and gallop back up the beach to where their comrades still circled that small rising column of smoke. I think there must have been thirty of them still mounted, but I had no time to count them before they were gone. They didn’t slow the horses’ pace when they leaned over to sweep dismounted fighters up behind them on their steeds. Some of the warriors who’d been unhorsed even managed to sling the bodies of their slain and wounded comrades up and across the horses’ backs before saving themselves.

Our men gave chase, as if they had any real hope of overtaking horses. A few of the riders strung their bows and fired off hissing flights of arrows to discourage pursuit. I heard yelps of pain and much cursing, and I saw several men stop short as the darts sliced their flesh. Zetes fell, clutching his thigh. Soon the riders were nothing but a retreating tumult of flying hooves, sand, and stones, and those wild, hawklike war cries.

“You’re safe. Thank the gods.” Milo appeared at my side, dripping wet, his face scratched and battered. With a shamefaced smile he added, “I fell off the ship.”

“
Another
one who won’t obey me?” Iolaus growled. He turned his back on us and started up the strand, falling in with the rest of the Argonauts. We followed.

As I walked, I wiped sweat from my eyes and viewed the aftermath of my first battle. Besides the warrior I’d fought and Iolaus had slain, there were seven colorfully clad bodies on the beach. The retreating riders hadn’t been able to reclaim all of their dead. We’d lost three of our own, an unexpectedly low price to pay for victory.

We soon reached the place that the riders had been circling. Now that the chaos of combat was over and the dust settled, I could see that it was an altar, a heap of blood-streaked stones crowned by a small, brightly burning fire. Five more men lay sprawled around it, shields scattered, lifeless fingers still curled around the hilts of their swords. They were none of our crew.