Nobody's Princess (13 page)

We finished the morning with a few more attempts at galloping, though nowhere near as headlong as the first try. Atalanta told me to sit back, and I was so eager not to repeat my initial mistakes that I made a bunch of new ones, toppling backward over the stallion’s rump two times out of three. I was lucky I didn’t break my neck.

“Well, one good thing about today’s work,” Atalanta said when it was time for us to return to the citadel. “You’ve spent so little time actually
on
the horse that you might not be quite as sore as yesterday.”

As if he understood and agreed with his mistress, Aristos let loose a long, scornful whinny in my face.

“Just you wait until tomorrow,” I told him.

The next morning, long before the sun was up, I was jolted awake by the sound of running feet, voices shouting curses and commands, and the clash and jangle of weapons. My room on the second floor of Lord Oeneus’s palace opened onto a pillared gallery that ringed a courtyard. I threw my blanket around me, stepped out of my room, and gazed down. The huge space below was mobbed—the gathered heroes, their weapons bearers, palace servants, and Lord Oeneus himself—all of them milling around, weaving between the pillars, everyone trying to find someone else, all of them blundering in a dozen directions at once.

Then I heard the sound of my brothers’ voices sweeping along the gallery, racing toward me. I turned to greet them and was bowled off my feet.

“Agh! Who’d I just knock down?” The sky above the courtyard was still dark and the moon was already set; Castor never did have good night vision. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, stupid,” I replied, holding on to the gallery railing and hauling myself back to my feet.

“Helen?” Polydeuces peered at me. “Go back to sleep; there’s still plenty of time before you have to get up.”

“
You’re
up,” I pointed out. “What’s going on?”

“The boar,” he replied shortly. “Once Lord Oeneus decided there were enough of us for a successful hunt, he sent out teams of men to search for it. They’ve been scouting the countryside for days. One of them spotted it and sent a runner back with word. It’s been living on the great mountain to the west of the palace, the one with the big slash of trees burned off by lightning.”

“The gods are on our side,” Castor added. “I heard that mountain’s got plenty of places we can corner the beast for the kill. I hope I’m the one who brings it down. Wouldn’t Father be proud to see me come home wrapped in a monstrous wild boar’s hide!”

“It’d go well with your manners,” I said, but both of my brothers hustled past me and were already gone.

I hurried to dress, putting on the same tunic I’d worn every time I went to meet Atalanta. I threaded the scabbard of my small sword through the belt, then secured my dark curls into a club even more carefully than usual. It took me longer than I liked. By the time I’d tied the last knot in the thin strip of cloth, the courtyard was empty. The hunt was on the move.

The guard must have thought I was some hero’s servant who’d overslept. He shouted good-natured threats after me as I ran through the gate. “Run faster, boy! You’ll get a whipping from your master when he sees you lagging behind!”

The night sky was paling to smoky blue, and the rising sun was just beginning to show a few thin strands of pink and gold over the eastern hills. It was simple enough for me to track the hunters. They’d all set out on foot because there was no way of knowing when the boar would turn to a mountain path too steep or thickly grown to let horses pass. They left a clear trail to follow, and the dogs—let’s just say that dogs have a way of making it easy for you to know where they’ve been. I heard the hounds baying in the distance, their voices echoing among the trees above when I reached the base of the mountain. Following the tracks of so many feet and the cry of the hunting pack, I plunged into the forests of Calydon.

The sun was well over the horizon before I caught up to them. By that time, they’d scattered through the woods. I said a quiet prayer to Hermes, patron of thieves and tricksters, asking him to see to it that I didn’t run into my brothers. Dressed as I was, only Castor and Polydeuces would recognize me at a glance. No one else could imagine the princess of Sparta to be here, with a sword at her hip.

My brothers would be livid if they caught me. Though they might have accepted my presence on the training ground back home, they’d never stand for my being a part of the boar hunt, with all its thrills and perils. They’d force me to go back to the citadel, even if it meant one of them would have to drop out of this grand adventure in order to enforce their decision. The unlucky twin would never forgive me for stealing his first chance at fame.

O Hermes, be with me! Let me find the hunt, but not my brothers!

The trickster heard, and being a trickster he answered my prayer in his own special way. The first hunters I found weren’t my brothers. They were that handsome braggart Theseus of Athens and his friend Pirithous.

“Well, what’s this?” Theseus boomed when he saw me loping through the underbrush. He was leaning on a huge boar spear, the shaft as thick as a young tree, the bronze point bigger than my hand. “Lost your way, boy? Don’t be afraid, we’ll protect you.” He and Pirithous roared with laughter.

“I can protect myself,” I told them calmly, drawing my blade.

It only made them laugh harder. “Who told you we were hunting bunnies?” Pirithous sneered. He was carrying a bundle of lighter spears and had a weighted net slung over one shoulder. “Ever
seen
a wild boar, puppy? Even a young one can open a man’s belly with one stroke of his tusks.”

“I’ve seen wild boars,” I lied. “This is at least as long as any boar’s tusk.” I held up my sword proudly. “When I meet the Calydonian boar today, we’ll see whose belly gets torn open.”

It was a silly, empty boast, like those they spouted about themselves, but it seemed to win me some friends. The two men traded a look of amusement, then Theseus said, “I like your nerve, boy. What’s your name?”

“Glaucus.”

He didn’t ask me where I was from; he must’ve assumed I was a Calydonian. “Well, Glaucus, Theseus and I travel light, so we didn’t come to Calydon with a whole crew of servants like some of these other so-called heroes. Why don’t you give us a hand with our gear?” Pirithous held out the bundle of spears. “When I kill the boar, I’ll give you one of his teeth to wear ’round your neck as a reward.”

I shook my head. “I only work for one person.”

“A servant with a sword?” Theseus’s eyebrows rose. “Who’d allow that?”

I looked him steadily in the eye. “Atalanta.”

“Her?”
Pirithous spat. “This is the first I’ve heard that she kept servants. Theseus, didn’t we see her arrive at the palace gates alone?”

“I’m not hers,” I said quickly. “I serve Prince Meleager. He ordered me to attend her on the hunt, but she outran me. He’s the one who gave me this.” I made a great show of brandishing my sword.

“That explains it.” Theseus’s mouth twisted into a mocking smile. “Meleager’s in love with that monstrosity, the gods alone know why. The way he looks at her makes me want to puke.”

“He’d better watch himself,” Pirithous put in. “A woman like that devours men. I heard that when he was born, the Fates told his mother that he’d live only as long as the log burning on the hearth. She poured water on it, wrapped it up, and put it away somewhere safe, but I don’t think it worked. Call me a liar, but I swear there are times he looks like he’s burning to ashes from the inside out.”

“He’s still a good warrior,” Theseus said. “
And
a fine hunter, who’ll beat us to the boar if we don’t stop jabbering with this brat and get going.” He shouldered his massive spear and started off.

Pirithous followed, though he did spare me one backward glance. “Go back to the palace, Glaucus; this isn’t for you,” he told me. “You’re almost as weak and soft-looking as a girl. Your hands should hold a lyre, not a sword.” Then he, too, was gone.

I went after them, but only because the whole hunting party was heading in the same direction, higher up the mountain. As I made my way through the trees, I heard a new note in the music of the hunt. The howls and wails of injured dogs, the shrieks of men in pain, and, over all, the bone-chilling bellow of the Calydonian boar.

Then the trees ended. I stepped out onto a spearhead-shaped swath of open ground, the old forest all burned away by a lightning strike, just as Polydeuces had said. There were only a few brave sprouts of new green beginning to poke up from the charred earth, among the blackened stumps of trees. About halfway up that bleak terrain was a small, narrow ravine, like the bite of an ax. That was where the sounds were coming from.

Other stragglers were running toward it, men sweating and shouting, brandishing their weapons and cheering for the kill. I ran with them. I recognized my brothers from the back, already moving toward the front rank of the hunters, but I no longer cared if they saw me. The hunt was almost over; let them send me back to the palace now and it wouldn’t matter. In fact, I
wanted
them to see me. I’d enjoy their look of surprise when I tapped them on the shoulder and—

My hand was already outstretched to touch them when my sandal slipped and I fell on my face. I pushed myself up on my forearms and stared at the ground.

No wonder I’d fallen. The earth was slick with blood.

         
11
         

THE GREAT HUNT

I was still sprawled on the blood-soaked ground when a strong hand hauled me upright and a familiar voice commanded: “Get up or get trampled, lad.”

I regained my feet and found myself again face to face with Iolaus. “Thank you, sir,” I said. “I got separated from my master in the woods. What’s happening? Do we have the boar?”

He grimaced. “That depends on if you ask the boar or the hunters. He’s got his back to the wall and there’s no way he can fight his way through so many of us. He’s got no choice but to surrender.” Another heartrending howl tore through the air. A hound as big as me went flying up and over the hunters’ heads, its body streaked with red. The cornered boar had tossed the poor creature as easily as if it were a wisp of straw. “Too bad he disagrees.”

“Where’s Atalanta?” I cried, clutching Iolaus’s arm. The blood underfoot, the unlucky dog’s fate, the uproar from the ravine all suddenly combined to strike my heart with terror. But I wasn’t afraid for my own life. I feared for my friend. Without thinking, I grabbed Iolaus’s shoulders and sprang up, desperate to see over the heads of the hunters in front of me. I would have clambered all the way up his back to gain a better view if he hadn’t shaken me off like water.

“Calm yourself, lad. You’ll see her if it’s the gods’ will. She’s the one who found the beast. The way that woman can run, no wonder! With the hounds, she drove him into that narrow spot, and her spear drew first blood.” Iolaus looked grave. “That was when he turned and attacked.”

“No!” In my head I could see the boar turning, charging, and who would be his nearest target? I threw myself forward, into the mob, and shoved my way through.

I struggled past men holding a whole forest of heavy boar spears—unwieldy weapons that were made to be braced against the earth, to meet the infuriated beast’s charge and let his own strength impale him. As I squirmed my way through, I encountered someone whose luck had run out. The body lay face to the sun, arms and legs flung out at strange angles, one hand still curled around a spear’s splintered shaft. His face looked like a smashed piece of fruit. The boar had trampled him, then ripped his side open. I saw the white slivers of exposed ribs just before I vomited.

Someone grabbed my shoulder and shook me. “Help or get out of the way, pup.” It was Theseus and he was unarmed. “The monster broke my spear,” he said tersely. “Get me another!”

“Get it yourself,” I growled, wiping my mouth on the back of my hand before lunging away from him.

Atalanta was standing at the entrance to the ravine, behind Meleager and about four other men. She had her boar spear in hand and was trying to elbow her way ahead of them. I was so happy to see her alive that my voice broke when I called out her name.

“What are you doing here, you idiot?” she shouted. She broke away from Meleager and the others to confront me. “Do you
want
to die?” She slapped my face so hard it made echoes.

Then she looked at her hand, smeared with blood, mud, and ashes from my face. Her anger turned to alarm. “What’s this? Are you wounded? Show me!”

I began babbling out a rapid explanation of what had happened, but she stopped me as soon as she saw I wasn’t hurt. “Never mind. I have to finish what I started. I’d have had that beast on my spear by now, except for Prince Meleager. He saw me wound it and thought I was in danger. The gods protect me from men who mean well! Those others with him got between me and my prize because they want to steal the honor of the kill. They’re too stupid to know what they’re up against. I don’t think half these men ever faced a boar on their own.”

“But there are so many hunters here—” I began.

She raised her hand to silence me: “No matter how many hunters set out together, we each face the boar alone.”

As if the gods heard her words, there was a fresh chorus of screams as the boar broke through the mob of armed men. He was a moving mountain of flesh, blood, and bristle, draped in shredded hunting nets. Foam streamed from his mouth, and a wake of blood sprayed out behind him from the dozen shallow wounds on his flanks. Hounds held on to his ears, throat, and haunches, their jaws locked. Only death would make them lose their grip. Their ferocious loyalty to their masters’ orders was a gallant, tragic thing to see.

“He’s heading up the mountain!” Atalanta shouldered her spear and took off, her feet flying fast as dragonfly wings. But instead of rushing up the steep, naked slope after the boar, she raced back into the trees and down through the forest.

“What are you doing?” I gasped as I tried to keep up with her.

She paused. “Trust me. He’s gone up the mountain, but he’s got to come down again. I know where to meet him when he does.” And she was off.

I don’t remember the path we took. I was too anxious about keeping up with Atalanta to notice much. Twigs scratched my face, and brambles clawed my legs. I panted for breath as I ran and inhaled a spiderweb. While I stopped for a moment to spit out the sticky strands, I heard the sound of the hunt up the mountain, dogs and men making an uproar loud enough to shake boulders from their beds.

“Not much farther!” Atalanta called over one shoulder. I wanted to shout back that I didn’t care how much farther we went, I could do it, I wasn’t tired at all, except…I was too tired. By the time she stopped and wedged her spear into the earth, I was ready to collapse.

I didn’t dare. Atalanta’s eyes were fixed on the trail, a steep, twisting, narrow path marked by the prints of cloven hooves and the smell of boar droppings. The clamor was getting louder.

This is real,
I thought, staring at Atalanta. My mind filled with images of the dogs, of the dead man I’d seen. I stood frozen, feeling danger rolling down on me like a flood and unable to do anything but wait for it to wash me away.

“Here!”
Atalanta’s shout shattered my trance. “Get behind me. Hold the spear straight and steady. The slope will give him speed and power. Hold him until the spear point reaches his heart!”

I obeyed, imitating her grip on the spear, the way she braced her feet in the earth. There was a thin, slippery covering of fallen pine needles underfoot, making it hard to stand firmly. My nose filled with the pungent scent of the pines around us, the musky, spicy smell of mushrooms and ferns from the forest floor, the reek of my own sweat. The dazzle of sunlight through the boughs and the kiss of a breeze on my cheek were unbearably sweet. Even through the din of the oncoming hunt, I could hear the beauty of a bird’s song.

I could die here.
I was surprised that the thought didn’t frighten me. I was sad, but for my parents, my brothers, even for Clytemnestra.
I could die here,
I thought.
But not without a fight.

I closed my eyes, tightened my grip on the spear, dug in my feet even more deeply, wedged my left shoulder against Atalanta’s back, and waited for the boar.

His roar crashed over me the instant that he hit our spear. The impact threw us down the path like a rockslide. Baying dogs came rushing past us, unable to stop their mad chase of the boar and overshooting their prey. I fell to one knee, scraping it raw, but I never let go of the spear.

As swiftly as it happened, it ended. There was a deafening crack as Atalanta’s spearhead broke off in the boar’s shoulder. We were swept to one side as the beast took off down the trail.

Atalanta was still cursing his escape when we both heard the twang of a bowstring, the whiz of an arrow, the hit, and the boar’s last squeal of rage and pain. The beast toppled like a tower into the dust, the hounds swarming over him in bloody triumph.

The men were cheering. Their exultant cries soon changed to one word, one name, a name they roared over and over again: “Me-lea-
ger
! Me-lea-
ger
! Me-lea-
ger
!”

As the hunters forced the dogs to retreat from the dead boar, my cousin stepped forward and laid one hand on the monstrous body: The kill was his.

Tears joined the sweat streaming down my face as he claimed the quarry.
It isn’t fair!
My thoughts blazed with frustration.
This should be Atalanta’s glory! They should be shouting
her
name!

But as the servants struggled to hoist the dead boar onto their shoulders and the still-cheering hunters began the trek down the mountain, back to the citadel of Calydon, I heard Atalanta’s voice ringing out, chanting, “Me-lea-
ger
! Me-lea-
ger
!” as heartily as them all.

I let the jubilant procession pass well ahead of me before I started back to the palace. Even though it was all over, I still didn’t want to run into my brothers; I was too bone-weary to be bothered with their reactions if they discovered my presence.

I returned to find the citadel transformed into a storm of wild rejoicing and headlong preparations for the victory banquet. No one noticed me as I trailed back to my room, stripped, scrubbed away the day’s dirt and blood, crawled under my blanket, and collapsed into a dreamless sleep.

My brothers woke me when the sun was beginning to set. “What’s the matter with you, Helen?” Castor cried, shaking me by the shoulder. “How can you sleep at a time like this?”

“Are you all right?” Polydeuces put in. “You’re not ill, are you?” He touched my forehead to check for fever.

I brushed his hand away gently. “I’m
fine,
‘Ione.’ You don’t need to fuss over me just because I’m smart enough to catch some sleep before the feast. I’ll still be awake when the two of you are snoring with your heads on the table.”

“Ha! If not for us, you’d’ve slept right
through
the feast,” Castor countered.

“I’ll build a temple in your honor to show my thanks,” I said, straight-faced. “Now if you really want to lend a hand, go find a servant to help me get ready. This is a special occasion and I want to look my best.”

“Ooooooh, our little sister wants to look
nice,
does she?” Polydeuces crooned. “I wonder why?” I saw him wink at Castor and knew I was doomed to be teased to death.

“Don’t you mean, ‘I wonder
who
?’” Castor replied. He tried to look sly and all-knowing, but his tendency to go cross-eyed ruined the effect. “Do you think it’s Meleager himself?”

“He’s the hero of the day, but I think she’d rather have a
brawnier
man,” Polydeuces said. “I’ll bet I can guess who. I saw how you looked at him the first night we were here.” He flung his arms around his twin, pitched his voice high, and cried, “Oh, Theseus, you’re
sooooooo
strong! Make me queen of Athens too!”

“Out!”
I shouted, snatching up my nearly empty water jug. My brothers retreated at a run, laughing.

I was doing my best to arrange my hair and dress for the banquet when the slave woman showed up, carrying a small oil lamp. She also brought me gifts from the queen: a new dress in all the colors of a springtime sunrise and a necklace of rock crystal and gold beads.

“The lady Althea asks you to accept and wear these, to celebrate the prince’s triumph,” she explained. Then she picked up a comb and set to work on my hair.

When I was finally ready, I went downstairs to the great hall. My brothers were already waiting for me at the king’s table. We were seated together, close enough to the king to satisfy the pride of Sparta, but nowhere near the place of greatest honor, between Lord Oeneus and his queen.

I knew for whom that seat was reserved, but I didn’t know why it was still empty.

The hide of the Calydonian boar was spread out on the floor in front of the royal table, the heavy head propped up on a chair so that everyone could see Meleager’s arrow still sticking out of the beast’s left eye socket.

Every table in the hall was laden with a token piece of meat from the great kill. Even the slaves and servants would have the privilege of tasting broth made from the monster’s bones, but the meatiest ones went to the surviving hounds. While we all shared a taste of Meleager’s victory, Lord Oeneus added so much more food to the banquet that even the mice under his table would be waddling back to their nests that night.