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.