I panicked and pulled back on the reins, trying to turn him, but I used too heavy a hand and Aristos wouldn’t stand for it. He jerked his head up sharply, tearing the reins from my hand, then down, humping his back and flinging out his heels.
I’d wanted to fly on horseback, not from it. The gods were merciful and let me plunge well clear of the stallion’s flashing hooves and all of the larger rocks in the area.
I was still lying on my stomach, getting a close view of mud and grass roots, when I heard Atalanta’s shrill whistle and Aristos’s footsteps, deceptively dainty for such a powerful creature. The two of them walked over to where I lay so that I got a good look at the huntress’s bare feet and the horse’s mucky hooves before I pushed myself up to sit.
“Do you know what you did wrong?” Atalanta asked me.
“Everything?”
It wasn’t as bad as that, according to her, but bad enough. Aristos had to be sweet-talked for a while before he’d allow me to approach him again. I found myself apologizing to a horse for having acted heedlessly. At first I felt silly doing it, but the longer I spoke to him, quietly asking him for another chance, the more his attitude toward me seemed to soften. When I finished begging his pardon, I swear by Zeus himself that Aristos turned sideways as if to offer me his back once more!
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.