Nobody's Prize (5 page)

Hylas took good care of us. Whenever I thought I’d go out of my mind from boredom, since Milo wouldn’t speak, he’d pop in to bring us something to eat, to drop off a fresh flask of water, or just to see how we were getting on. Milo ignored him, curling up in a ball with his face to the ship’s hull. I thought it was the return of his old affliction, seasickness. I was thankful that he wasn’t ill enough to need the clay pot to empty his stomach, and I thought he was very brave to hold back any moans of discomfort.

Maybe he’s doing so well because he’s lying still,
I thought, stretching out to take a nap myself. Later, when I woke up hungry and groped around in the shadows for our bread and cheese, I found both half gone. A seasick boy does
not
eat half a sheep’s-milk cheese! Milo simply had a fistful of sand up his nose, and I didn’t need Athena’s wisdom to tell me why: He was mad at Hylas. But what had Hylas done except welcome us, shelter us, feed us? It made no sense.

I wanted to drag Milo out of his foul mood, yet more than that, I found that I wanted the freedom to speak to Hylas. I wanted to feel closer to him, to have him like me, even to admire me the same way he admired Atalanta, and I wanted it
now.
How could that happen if I was trapped inside this tent, hiding from my brothers? I tried to console myself with thoughts of the voyage ahead.
You’ll have lots of time to speak with him soon enough, you goose. Three days at most and Iolaus will be able to give you and Milo the freedom of the ship. Then you can talk to Hylas until your tongue withers. You’ll probably be sick of him long before you reach Colchis!
So I told myself, but I knew that wasn’t true.

Our first day’s voyage ended when I noticed the sunlight fading at the slim gaps in the ox-hide curtains. The ship’s planking echoed with heavy, hurrying feet, followed by a series of splashes. I could picture my brothers and the rest of Prince Jason’s crew of heroes leaping over the side into shallow water, getting ready to pull the
Argo
aground for the night. I felt the ship’s keel scrape the shore as the men, grunting with the effort, used ropes and bare hands to carry the vessel clear of the sea.

“I’m dying to stretch my legs. How long do you think we should wait to go outside?” I whispered to Milo.

“Why ask me? I’m sure
he’ll
come back and tell us what to do,” he mumbled.

“What’s crawled down your neck? When did Hylas insult you, or even treat you badly? He’s done nothing but help us, even though we’re little more than strangers to him. He’s our friend.”

“‘Friend’?” Milo repeated bitterly. “Yes, I guess you’ll have to be satisfied with that, and
only
that…
Glaucus.
” I heard him chuckle in the darkness. It was a joyless sound.

I left him there. I crawled out of our shelter as fast as I could, seething over what he’d said. The worst part was, Milo was right. I couldn’t deny I was attracted to Hylas, yet as far as he knew or ever could know, I wasn’t Helen but Glaucus, a boy, like himself. We could be friends and nothing more. I was frustrated, but in spite of that, I had to admit I was also just a little relieved. The thought of Hylas made me feel eager and shy at the same time. Though I revered Aphrodite, I still knew very little about love. For the first time, I found myself truly wanting to know more.

Once out in the fresh air, I stayed low, only standing up after I determined that the ship really was deserted. The men had built a cluster of campfires some distance farther along the beach, far enough to keep the
Argo
safe from the threat of an errant spark. The wind carried the mouthwatering smell of meat cooking. With dinner on the fire and the ship safely beached on an uninhabited shore, there was no reason for anyone to come back to the
Argo
soon. I was free to prowl.

I soon learned the mistake of making hasty assumptions. One crewman
did
remain on the ship, curled up fast asleep by the steering oar at the stern of the boat. He had badly thinning white hair and the muscles of a much younger man, but not the same appetite. He’d chosen sleep over dinner. Perhaps I should have returned to my hiding place, but I’d made a choice too: curiosity over caution. I told myself I could walk softly enough to leave the older man’s slumbers undisturbed.

I walked forward and stood beside the prow, resting my head against the towering timber. After just a day’s sail, the wood smelled more of sun and sea than pitch and paint. It was covered with carvings that told the story of the magical ram whose glittering fleece was the object of our quest. I was idly tracing the patterns all around the prow with both hands, letting my mind wander, when I realized I’d touched a face, a woman’s face, carved larger than life-size. It was mounted at the front of the ship’s bow, where the painted eyes could gaze out over the unknown waters ahead. The day’s sun had left it feeling warm as living flesh. I leaned forward to get a better look at it and sucked in my breath sharply.

Eunike. The Pythia.
The knowledge came to me out of nowhere, strikingly true. How had the sculptor come to make such a perfect image of my friend? I even thought I smelled the heady, spicy aroma of laurel leaves wafting out of the wood. The laurel was Apollo’s sacred tree, and the priests of Delphi burned its leaves in the chamber where the Pythia spoke of her visions of the future.

“I wish you
were
here, Eunike,” I whispered to the image. “Not to tell me what lies ahead, not even about Hylas and—and me. I need to find that out for myself. Maybe I
would
like you to tell me what’s turned Milo so snappish, but most of all, I’d just like to hear another friendly voice. I miss you.”

I went back to our hiding place and tried to tell Milo about what I’d seen, hoping he might be interested enough to come with me to see Eunike’s face on the prow. He didn’t seem to care. While I was in the middle of my story, he took our fouled clay jar outside, as if I hadn’t been speaking at all.

“There,” he said when he came back, setting it down in front of me. “I emptied the slops and scrubbed it clean. At least you can still find me useful for
that.
”

“What are you talking—?” I began. The rest of my protest was lost in the sound of an ox hide being flung back so forcefully that the whole thing tore free of its fastenings. Moonlight flooded my eyes as I stared up at a split-faced monster, a lion’s snout above, a man’s thickly bearded features below. The whole outline bristled with hair, with a wild mane tumbling over its shoulders. Strong hands shot out to grasp my wrists and haul me to my feet and higher, until I dangled with my toes barely brushing the
Argo
’s hull.

“By Zeus, Iolaus!” the monster bellowed. “You said you had two weapons bearers, but you never told me you’d robbed Aphrodite’s own hearth to find
this
one. Nephew, I envy you. He’d shame Eros himself with those looks. Ah, don’t give me that angry stare, lad,” it said to me, sending hot breath streaming over my face. “I’m a better friend to you than any you’ll meet on this voyage, believe me, and for my nephew’s sake I won’t ask you for anything more than you’ll willingly give, eh?” With that, he planted a rough kiss on my cheek before letting me drop to the planks in a heap. And that was how I met the hero Herakles of Thebes.

I scrambled up as soon as I hit the boards, one hand to the cheek he’d kissed. My skin tingled from the scrape of his whiskers.
Why did he do that?
My thoughts raced anxiously.
A kiss that…
forceful
is hardly the way to greet “Glaucus,” unless—

—
unless he knows I’m not a boy. Was that his way of telling me he knows my secret?

Now I was used to the moonlight, and saw the reason why I’d mistaken a hero for a monster. All that he wore besides his warrior’s kilt was a magnificent lion’s skin, taken whole from the animal. The mighty forepaws dangled crisscross on his chest and the maned head rested atop Herakles’ own, so that it looked as if the lion were forever trying to devour him and forever choking at the task. If the lion had been alive, it probably
would
have choked on Herakles. He was the mightiest man I’d ever seen, broad-chested and towering.

Iolaus stood in the shadow of his famous uncle. I hoped he could see the startled look on my face. Why had he told us to keep our presence aboard hidden for a few days, only to reveal it this soon? I was so confused by what had happened that I almost missed hearing Iolaus introduce Milo and me to Herakles.

“—and Glaucus, both from Calydon. That’s where the problem with the Spartan princes began, Uncle.”

“‘Princes,’” Herakles repeated with a sneer. “This ship’s crawling with princes, like maggots on old meat. What did the pretty lad do to make
those
two mad? Tell ’em no?” He guffawed and brushed my chin lightly with his knuckles. It wasn’t the sort of gesture a man would offer a girl. From the way he spoke and acted toward me, I’d definitely caught the hero’s eye, though
not
as Helen. Now I had something new to worry about.

Iolaus sighed. “Does it matter? The fact is, there’ll be trouble if Castor or Polydeuces runs into the boy. It won’t matter if they see Milo—they’ve got no quarrel with him—but if they lay eyes on Glaucus, we’ll be sailing a hornet’s nest to Colchis.”

“I see.” Herakles stroked his black beard. “Enough chance of that happening anyway, with Acastus aboard. I’m willing to wager five amphorae of the best Theban wine that Jason finds a way to kill his cousin before we even smell the coast of Colchis.”

“Prince Jason would never defile himself with a kinsman’s blood,” Iolaus protested.

“Pay attention when your elders speak, nephew,” Herakles replied with a small, crooked smile that wrinkled the bridge of his much-broken nose. “I never said Jason’d kill Acastus
himself.
” He stepped forward and rumpled my hair before I could avoid him. “Never fear, Glaucus, my boy. I’ll keep you clear of the Spartans, and I’ll make sure that the rest of the crew knows to keep their lips sewn shut as well. This ship’s not the wide world, but it’s large enough to keep a secret.”

That night, Milo and I slept ashore beside the same fire as Iolaus, Herakles, Hylas, and three men from the savage northern land of Thrace. It was the campsite farthest from the rest, so there was no danger of anyone catching wind of our conversation. Herakles himself took the Thracians into the plot to keep Castor and Polydeuces ignorant of my presence aboard the
Argo,
and he made it plain that he’d be insulted if they didn’t consent to work with us. No wise man wanted Herakles for an enemy, though I think those three would have been willing to help even if there hadn’t been a threat attached.

Well before dawn the next day, I was shaken gently awake by one of the Thracians, a man named Orpheus. His two countrymen were Zetes and Kalais, brothers who called themselves the sons of Boreas, god of the North Wind. They were rough-spoken men, built like square-cut blocks of stone, while Orpheus was tall and so slender that I wondered why Prince Jason had allowed such a fragile-looking man to join his crew of heroes.

“Glaucus,” he murmured. I’d never heard my chosen name pronounced as if it were being tasted to become part of a song. “Did you rest well, child? Did your dreams come to you through the gate of horn?”

“What gate?” I rubbed my eyes, still half asleep, and gave him a puzzled look.

His laughter was soft and musical. “In Thrace we say that the god of sleep sends us false dreams through a gate made of ivory, true ones through a gate of horn. But I suppose that’s not what you believe in Sparta.”

Sparta!
I tensed. Had that been a slip of the tongue, or did he know the truth about me? If so, how had he learned it? I looked steadily at Orpheus. There was something about him that reminded me of Eunike, a hint of forces from beyond the borders of this world, a breath of the gods. “You mean Calydon,” I said carefully, watching his face. “It’s the princes I’ve offended who come from Sparta, not me.”

“Ah.” He gave me a lazy smile. “My mistake. Come with me, Glaucus of Calydon. If you truly must steer clear of those Spartan princes, you’d better get aboard the
Argo
now, before the whole encampment’s awake. Zetes and Kalais and I will work with your master and great Herakles today, letting the other Argonauts know your name and your need to avoid Castor and Polydeuces. We’ll hide you from them so well that it will seem you’ve borrowed Hades’ own helmet of invisibility.”

Orpheus left me to scramble up the
Argo
’s side unaided. Once aboard, I looked over the beached ship’s side and watched him stroll away along the tide line. He paused halfway back to our campsite and faced the sea, where the sun was just beginning to show a sliver of rosy light on the horizon. Raising his arms in salutation, he began to sing a hymn of praise to Apollo. The clear, perfect notes climbed the cool morning air like the fragrant smoke of burning incense. I’d never heard a man’s voice so blessed by the gods.

I was still lost in Orpheus’s song when I sensed that I wasn’t alone. I turned to see Hylas at my back, as fascinated by the Thracian’s voice as I.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Hylas spoke softly, with the reverence a pious man might pay to the gods. “They say that Orpheus has the power to calm storms with his songs.”

“Is it true?” I could believe it.

“If he can’t calm the storm itself, he certainly can calm
our
fears. That’s enough of a gift for any man.”

“That’s too bad.” I ran my fingertips along the smooth wood of the rail. “I would have loved to see him sing a storm away.”

“So, you’ve got a taste for wonders?” Hylas smiled at me. “We’ll see some marvelous sights together on this voyage.”

“Together—?” My breath caught in my throat. It was silly, but no matter how much I told myself that Hylas was a boy like a hundred others, I still couldn’t look at him for long without feeling my face grow warm. “I—Yes, that would be—I’d like that,” I finished lamely. An awkward stillness fell between us, putting me on edge. “What are you doing up so early?” I asked, wanting to fill the silence.