“That’s strange,” Hylas said. “Why?”
“I don’t question my master,” Milo replied crisply. “We have to go. Come on, Glaucus.” He started for the stern.
“Wait a moment.” If Hylas noticed how rude Milo was being, he seemed willing to overlook it. “Iolaus probably doesn’t want the other men to know he’s got two weapons bearers when they can’t have even one. Let me help you.”
“We don’t need any help.” Milo crossed his arms. “We have a place at the stern. Glaucus said—”
“I say we listen, at least,” I cut in. “What can you do for us, Hylas?”
The beautiful boy smiled, dazzling me. “Show me this hiding place of yours first, then I’ll do as much for you as I can. We’re all brothers on this voyage.”
Just what I needed: another brother.
We all headed back toward the helm of the Argo. We passed the rowing benches and I spared a moment to pray, Lord Poseidon, grant that Castor and Polydeuces have become good oarsmen. I didn’t want my brothers to be humiliated among their new comrades.
“Ah, you do have a good refuge,” Hylas said, lifting one of the ox hides and peering into the darkness. “This is where I stored Herakles’ things, safe from sun and sea.”
“Only his things?” I asked. “No one else’s?”
“The other men store their belongings in the chests they sit on to row. Herakles demanded more, and he got it.” Hylas’s amused expression added, Could you ever doubt that? “He and I are the only ones who’d have reason to go under there, and he won’t unless there’s a call to arms. If you only need to keep out of sight for a few days, this is the best place for you. You’ll be comfortable as kings. I’ll bring you food and drink. No one will suspect anything. They’ll think I’m carrying it for myself, to eat while I’m looking after Herakles’ weapons.”
“Will we have to sleep on spear shafts?” I asked, joking.
Hylas laughed again. “Feel free to make a bed out of any spare clothing you find. What do you say?”
“That the gods are being very kind to us. So are you, and we thank you.” I cocked my head at Milo. “Shall we?” He shrugged, then stooped to shoulder past me, between the hanging hides.
“Talkative, isn’t he?” Hylas remarked.
I didn’t know what to say. What was the matter with Milo? He was in a foul mood. “He gets seasick,” I said at last. “He’s afraid it’ll keep him from doing his best for our master on this voyage.” It was a weak excuse, but Hylas just nodded.
I ducked into the little space under the helmsman’s post. It was dark as Hades’ kingdom. I felt a pair of sheathed swords, some spears, and a couple of leather bags before I found Milo. He pulled away from me as soon as my fingers brushed his skin.
“What is the matter with you?” I hissed. He said nothing. “Fine. Talk when you like.”
He held his silence a little longer, then spoke so softly I almost didn’t hear him say, “Helen—”
“Here you are.” One of the ox hides flicked back, showing Hylas’s curls haloed by starlight. He shoved a wide-mouthed clay pot inside. It held bread, a ball of hard cheese, and a stoppered flask. “Just water in that,” he told us. “I might get in trouble if someone saw me raiding the ship’s wine. You can use the bowl for…necessities. It won’t be pleasant with it under there during the day, but you can empty it out after we beach at sunset and no one’s left on board. I can’t wait until your master says you can show yourselves. We’ll have good times, we three! Sleep well, and the gods favor you.” He was gone.
My hands explored the clay pot and carefully set aside its contents. “Well, he thought of everything, didn’t he?” I said, joking.
“Of course he did,” Milo grumped, and I couldn’t get another word out of him.
Milo was just as surly and silent the next morning when the two of us were awakened by the excitement of the Argo’s leave-taking, but at least the rocking of the anchored ship hadn’t been enough to make him seasick. The shouted commands, the cheers, even the curses from outside our refuge made their own strange music at a feast from which we were excluded. I heard the creak and splash of the oars, the distant snap of the sail when it first snared the wind, the muffled rush and slap of the water against the side of the ship. I stole frequent peeks through the narrow gap at the bottom of the dangling ox hides, but I had to stay low, so all I got for my trouble was flashes of bare, hairy feet pounding past my eyes.
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.