Maybe he’s doing so well because he’s lying still, I thought, stretching out to take a nap myself. Later, when I woke up hungry and groped around in the shadows for our bread and cheese, I found both half gone. A seasick boy does not eat half a sheep’s-milk cheese! Milo simply had a fistful of sand up his nose, and I didn’t need Athena’s wisdom to tell me why: He was mad at Hylas. But what had Hylas done except welcome us, shelter us, feed us? It made no sense.
I wanted to drag Milo out of his foul mood, yet more than that, I found that I wanted the freedom to speak to Hylas. I wanted to feel closer to him, to have him like me, even to admire me the same way he admired Atalanta, and I wanted it now. How could that happen if I was trapped inside this tent, hiding from my brothers? I tried to console myself with thoughts of the voyage ahead. You’ll have lots of time to speak with him soon enough, you goose. Three days at most and Iolaus will be able to give you and Milo the freedom of the ship. Then you can talk to Hylas until your tongue withers. You’ll probably be sick of him long before you reach Colchis! So I told myself, but I knew that wasn’t true.
Our first day’s voyage ended when I noticed the sunlight fading at the slim gaps in the ox-hide curtains. The ship’s planking echoed with heavy, hurrying feet, followed by a series of splashes. I could picture my brothers and the rest of Prince Jason’s crew of heroes leaping over the side into shallow water, getting ready to pull the Argo aground for the night. I felt the ship’s keel scrape the shore as the men, grunting with the effort, used ropes and bare hands to carry the vessel clear of the sea.
“I’m dying to stretch my legs. How long do you think we should wait to go outside?” I whispered to Milo.
“Why ask me? I’m sure he’ll come back and tell us what to do,” he mumbled.
“What’s crawled down your neck? When did Hylas insult you, or even treat you badly? He’s done nothing but help us, even though we’re little more than strangers to him. He’s our friend.”
“‘Friend’?” Milo repeated bitterly. “Yes, I guess you’ll have to be satisfied with that, and only that…Glaucus.” I heard him chuckle in the darkness. It was a joyless sound.
I left him there. I crawled out of our shelter as fast as I could, seething over what he’d said. The worst part was, Milo was right. I couldn’t deny I was attracted to Hylas, yet as far as he knew or ever could know, I wasn’t Helen but Glaucus, a boy, like himself. We could be friends and nothing more. I was frustrated, but in spite of that, I had to admit I was also just a little relieved. The thought of Hylas made me feel eager and shy at the same time. Though I revered Aphrodite, I still knew very little about love. For the first time, I found myself truly wanting to know more.
Once out in the fresh air, I stayed low, only standing up after I determined that the ship really was deserted. The men had built a cluster of campfires some distance farther along the beach, far enough to keep the Argo safe from the threat of an errant spark. The wind carried the mouthwatering smell of meat cooking. With dinner on the fire and the ship safely beached on an uninhabited shore, there was no reason for anyone to come back to the Argo soon. I was free to prowl.
I soon learned the mistake of making hasty assumptions. One crewman did remain on the ship, curled up fast asleep by the steering oar at the stern of the boat. He had badly thinning white hair and the muscles of a much younger man, but not the same appetite. He’d chosen sleep over dinner. Perhaps I should have returned to my hiding place, but I’d made a choice too: curiosity over caution. I told myself I could walk softly enough to leave the older man’s slumbers undisturbed.
I walked forward and stood beside the prow, resting my head against the towering timber. After just a day’s sail, the wood smelled more of sun and sea than pitch and paint. It was covered with carvings that told the story of the magical ram whose glittering fleece was the object of our quest. I was idly tracing the patterns all around the prow with both hands, letting my mind wander, when I realized I’d touched a face, a woman’s face, carved larger than life-size. It was mounted at the front of the ship’s bow, where the painted eyes could gaze out over the unknown waters ahead. The day’s sun had left it feeling warm as living flesh. I leaned forward to get a better look at it and sucked in my breath sharply.
Eunike. The Pythia. The knowledge came to me out of nowhere, strikingly true. How had the sculptor come to make such a perfect image of my friend? I even thought I smelled the heady, spicy aroma of laurel leaves wafting out of the wood. The laurel was Apollo’s sacred tree, and the priests of Delphi burned its leaves in the chamber where the Pythia spoke of her visions of the future.
“I wish you were here, Eunike,” I whispered to the image. “Not to tell me what lies ahead, not even about Hylas and—and me. I need to find that out for myself. Maybe I would like you to tell me what’s turned Milo so snappish, but most of all, I’d just like to hear another friendly voice. I miss you.”
I went back to our hiding place and tried to tell Milo about what I’d seen, hoping he might be interested enough to come with me to see Eunike’s face on the prow. He didn’t seem to care. While I was in the middle of my story, he took our fouled clay jar outside, as if I hadn’t been speaking at all.
“There,” he said when he came back, setting it down in front of me. “I emptied the slops and scrubbed it clean. At least you can still find me useful for that.”