I went over the top and off the far side, dropping the reins in mid-flight. Luckily for me, I rolled when I hit the ground and only got a light bruising. Aristos gave me a disdainful look over one shoulder, then ambled away.
Atalanta stood over me, arms folded. “Would you like to try that again?” she asked, doing her best not to smile.
I got up, trudged over to Aristos, took his bridle, and led him back to his mistress. “As many times as it takes.”
It took many, many times. My second attempt at mounting ended when I dropped the reins just as I landed on the fleecy pad and Aristos bolted, sending me tumbling. My third failed when I knocked the sheepskin off on my way up and found nothing between me and the stallion’s back. That was when I learned just how slippery horsehair is. By good fortune, Atalanta managed to catch me when I slid off.
On the fourth try, I held tight to the reins, landed on the sheepskin, and straddled the horse proudly. Atalanta looked pleased, or perhaps just relieved.
And then I looked down. Sweet Aphrodite, was the ground that far away? Aristos’s back hadn’t seemed so high up when I’d ridden under Atalanta’s protection, but now I was all by myself atop a horse who was suddenly tall as an oak tree! I yelped and leaned forward, clutching for his mane and neck, trying to hold on to his body the way I’d held on to that branch.
The branch was narrower. The branch didn’t breathe, shifting shape constantly, making itself wider and narrower by turns and far more difficult for my legs to grasp. The branch didn’t decide to start moving without warning. I made the mistake of leaning even farther forward, lost my balance, and fell off once more.
Aristos took about ten steps, then came back to give me a long look that as good as asked, What are you doing down there?
By the time Atalanta announced that the lesson was over, I’d managed to mount Aristos and stay mounted, but just barely. Dismounting—deliberately and with some style, not merely falling off the horse—was another story. I begged her to give me more time.
“I’d like to, little squirrel, but I need to go back to the citadel, to join the others. If I don’t show up on the training ground, they’ll all say it’s because I’m just another undependable woman.”
“Not all of them,” I said. “My brothers respect you, and Prince Meleager thinks you’re skilled and beautiful.”
The moment the words left my lips, I regretted blurting them out. Atalanta gave me a quizzical look. “Did he say that? That I’m beautiful?”
I shrugged, hoping she’d let the matter drop. No matter how my cousin had praised Atalanta, it wasn’t my right to repeat it.
“Mmm. I see. Well, Helen, if you ever find your tongue again, feel free to tell your cousin that I thank him for thinking highly of my abilities but to save his opinion of my looks. I didn’t choose my face. It’s a random gift from the gods. But I am pleased to know that he appreciates my true accomplishments. That compliment’s worth even more to me, coming from a man whose own athletic skills are so impressive.”
“Do you—do you like my cousin?” I asked.
A strange, thoughtful expression crossed the huntress’s face before she replied. “I do like him, but not the way I think you mean it. And I respect him. You can tell him that too.”
I’d seen the longing in Meleager’s eyes when he looked at Atalanta at dinner. I had the feeling that he wanted more than her respect.
Holding the reins herself, Atalanta gave me a lift onto Aristos, then jumped up in back of me. We rode most of the way back to the citadel together. I asked her to stop and let me down in the shade of some pine trees beside the road at a point from which the stronghold gates still looked as small as the first joint of my thumb. I could see the citadel, but as long as I stayed behind the trees, no one there, however hawkeyed, could see me.
“I’ll walk from here,” I told her as I stood stroking Aristos’s neck. “I don’t want anyone paying too much attention to me when I go back inside, and if I come riding in with you, it’d be too conspicuous. One of the guards might take a good look at me and realize I’m not a boy. Then he might start asking questions.”
“I think you give those men too much credit,” Atalanta replied. “If you don’t look like a threat or an oddity, they won’t give you a second glance. But be as cautious as you like.”
“I’d rather do that than risk discovery,” I said.
“Especially when that might mean I’d be forbidden to leave the citadel again and be watched.” I remembered how Glaucus’s way of testing my dedication and Ione’s vigilance kept me from the training ground for so many days. I refused to have to deal with a nuisance like that again. “Nothing’s going to interfere with my riding lessons.”
“Well said.” The huntress was pleased, and my heart rejoiced to have her approval. “Tomorrow I’ll leave the palace at sunrise. You’ll be safe enough from discovery if you meet me here, then we’ll ride on together. Oh, and make sure you wear something that protects your legs a little more than that tunic.”
“Like what?” I asked. “You’re wearing a man’s tunic too.”
“I wear more than this when I ride Aristos over longer distances,” she told me. “Mykenaean horsemen have a reputation for endurance because they wear short breeches when they need to make long journeys; so do I. Even now I’m wearing a loinwrap that covers my upper thighs. If you don’t wear something that gives you at least that much protection tomorrow morning, you’ll regret it by tomorrow night, believe me.” She pressed her heels to the stallion’s sides and was gone.