“What are you talking—?” I began. The rest of my protest was lost in the sound of an ox hide being flung back so forcefully that the whole thing tore free of its fastenings. Moonlight flooded my eyes as I stared up at a split-faced monster, a lion’s snout above, a man’s thickly bearded features below. The whole outline bristled with hair, with a wild mane tumbling over its shoulders. Strong hands shot out to grasp my wrists and haul me to my feet and higher, until I dangled with my toes barely brushing the Argo’s hull.
“By Zeus, Iolaus!” the monster bellowed. “You said you had two weapons bearers, but you never told me you’d robbed Aphrodite’s own hearth to find this one. Nephew, I envy you. He’d shame Eros himself with those looks. Ah, don’t give me that angry stare, lad,” it said to me, sending hot breath streaming over my face. “I’m a better friend to you than any you’ll meet on this voyage, believe me, and for my nephew’s sake I won’t ask you for anything more than you’ll willingly give, eh?” With that, he planted a rough kiss on my cheek before letting me drop to the planks in a heap. And that was how I met the hero Herakles of Thebes.
I scrambled up as soon as I hit the boards, one hand to the cheek he’d kissed. My skin tingled from the scrape of his whiskers. Why did he do that? My thoughts raced anxiously. A kiss that… forceful is hardly the way to greet “Glaucus,” unless—
—unless he knows I’m not a boy. Was that his way of telling me he knows my secret?
Now I was used to the moonlight, and saw the reason why I’d mistaken a hero for a monster. All that he wore besides his warrior’s kilt was a magnificent lion’s skin, taken whole from the animal. The mighty forepaws dangled crisscross on his chest and the maned head rested atop Herakles’ own, so that it looked as if the lion were forever trying to devour him and forever choking at the task. If the lion had been alive, it probably would have choked on Herakles. He was the mightiest man I’d ever seen, broad-chested and towering.
Iolaus stood in the shadow of his famous uncle. I hoped he could see the startled look on my face. Why had he told us to keep our presence aboard hidden for a few days, only to reveal it this soon? I was so confused by what had happened that I almost missed hearing Iolaus introduce Milo and me to Herakles.
“—and Glaucus, both from Calydon. That’s where the problem with the Spartan princes began, Uncle.”
“‘Princes,’” Herakles repeated with a sneer. “This ship’s crawling with princes, like maggots on old meat. What did the pretty lad do to make those two mad? Tell ’em no?” He guffawed and brushed my chin lightly with his knuckles. It wasn’t the sort of gesture a man would offer a girl. From the way he spoke and acted toward me, I’d definitely caught the hero’s eye, though not as Helen. Now I had something new to worry about.
Iolaus sighed. “Does it matter? The fact is, there’ll be trouble if Castor or Polydeuces runs into the boy. It won’t matter if they see Milo—they’ve got no quarrel with him—but if they lay eyes on Glaucus, we’ll be sailing a hornet’s nest to Colchis.”
“I see.” Herakles stroked his black beard. “Enough chance of that happening anyway, with Acastus aboard. I’m willing to wager five amphorae of the best Theban wine that Jason finds a way to kill his cousin before we even smell the coast of Colchis.”
“Prince Jason would never defile himself with a kinsman’s blood,” Iolaus protested.
“Pay attention when your elders speak, nephew,” Herakles replied with a small, crooked smile that wrinkled the bridge of his much-broken nose. “I never said Jason’d kill Acastus himself.” He stepped forward and rumpled my hair before I could avoid him. “Never fear, Glaucus, my boy. I’ll keep you clear of the Spartans, and I’ll make sure that the rest of the crew knows to keep their lips sewn shut as well. This ship’s not the wide world, but it’s large enough to keep a secret.”
That night, Milo and I slept ashore beside the same fire as Iolaus, Herakles, Hylas, and three men from the savage northern land of Thrace. It was the campsite farthest from the rest, so there was no danger of anyone catching wind of our conversation. Herakles himself took the Thracians into the plot to keep Castor and Polydeuces ignorant of my presence aboard the Argo, and he made it plain that he’d be insulted if they didn’t consent to work with us. No wise man wanted Herakles for an enemy, though I think those three would have been willing to help even if there hadn’t been a threat attached.
Well before dawn the next day, I was shaken gently awake by one of the Thracians, a man named Orpheus. His two countrymen were Zetes and Kalais, brothers who called themselves the sons of Boreas, god of the North Wind. They were rough-spoken men, built like square-cut blocks of stone, while Orpheus was tall and so slender that I wondered why Prince Jason had allowed such a fragile-looking man to join his crew of heroes.
“Glaucus,” he murmured. I’d never heard my chosen name pronounced as if it were being tasted to become part of a song. “Did you rest well, child? Did your dreams come to you through the gate of horn?”
“What gate?” I rubbed my eyes, still half asleep, and gave him a puzzled look.
His laughter was soft and musical. “In Thrace we say that the god of sleep sends us false dreams through a gate made of ivory, true ones through a gate of horn. But I suppose that’s not what you believe in Sparta.”
Sparta! I tensed. Had that been a slip of the tongue, or did he know the truth about me? If so, how had he learned it? I looked steadily at Orpheus. There was something about him that reminded me of Eunike, a hint of forces from beyond the borders of this world, a breath of the gods. “You mean Calydon,” I said carefully, watching his face. “It’s the princes I’ve offended who come from Sparta, not me.”