“Hylas is experienced and can look out for himself. Stay here.” With that stern command, he vaulted over the side.
Milo and I ran to the prow to watch. I balanced on the rail and flung my arms around the image of Eunike, leaning so far forward that my shoulders ached. The Argo’s crew charged, each man’s battle cry loud on his lips. The roaring human wave made many of the circling riders pull back on their reins and turn to meet the unexpected challenge. Some of the riders brandished spears, some flourished short swords. Nearly all carried bows and packed quivers at their backs, but they left those bows unstrung. Instead of keeping their distance, picking off our men from the safety of an arrow flight’s distance away, they kicked their heels to their horses’ flanks and met the battle head-on.
I couldn’t obey Iolaus’s command any longer. If I were a real weapons bearer, I’d take my rightful place beside my master. I sped to the Argo’s stern and lashed an extra sword to my back, then grabbed a spear and leaped over the side, holding it well above my head. I heard Milo shouting after me, then a second splash. He must have jumped into the sun-warmed shallows too, but I didn’t waste a moment looking back.
I stumbled when my bare feet met dry land. I was too accustomed to the roll of the ship, but I soon recovered my balance. I ran after Iolaus, taking care to keep just far enough behind him so that he wouldn’t know I was there. I’d come to help if needed, not to divert his attention and endanger his life.
I lingered on the borders of the combat between our men and the riders. In the confusion of battle, it was impossible for me to tell whether or not they outnumbered us. I saw Zetes and Kalais plunge into the densest part of the clash, moving so swiftly that perhaps the North Wind was their father. The fighting shifted, giving me a clear view of their slashing swords, and my jaw dropped. They weren’t challenging the warriors, they were attacking the horses. The beasts shrieked in pain and terror. Their riders were thrown, or else went down in a heap with their wounded steeds. Zetes and Kalais never gave their foes the chance to regain their feet and face a fair contest. Bronze chopped flesh and bone and the coppery smell of blood choked the air. Would the songs to come call these men heroes or butchers?
Those two were the only ones who fought without honor. Herakles moved through the battle armed with a gnarled wooden club big as a young oak. Hylas kept close behind him, carrying sword, spear, and shield, but his master ignored them all. Herakles swung his club left and right, scything a pair of riders from their steeds. Those he missed learned quickly and steered their horses well out of his reach. He bellowed with laughter and pursued them. More riders fell to his club and some didn’t rise again. Those who did stood their ground and took on the men who came in Herakles’ wake.
Iolaus was fighting one of the warriors Herakles had sent toppling to the ground. My master was being beaten back in a flurry of sword strikes. He took a misstep, slipped, and staggered. As he struggled to keep his balance, his foe’s blade licked out lightning-swift, sweeping his shield aside with one swing, knocking his sword from his hand with the other.
“Iolaus! Here!” I dashed to his side. I held the spear with both hands, using it to fend off my master’s adversary until he could draw the spare blade I carried at my belt. I heard the scrape of the sword leaving its sheath, but I never took my eyes away from the eyes of the foe. They shone blue as deep water, and they were all that I could see of that helmet-hidden face except a glimpse of beardless cheek and the hard, small mouth that erupted with a shrieking war cry.
The warrior’s sword swung high and fell, splintering the spear in my hands. I danced back a few steps and bared my own blade. It had been too long since I’d last used it. I wished that I’d found time and opportunity during the voyage here to practice the hard-won swordsmanship I’d learned at home in Sparta.
The first clang of my sword against the enemy’s blade rang out. The sound shivered through me and kindled an extraordinary transformation. All of my teacher’s lessons came back to me not as words, but as knowledge that I carried in my blood. I could do this! Whether or not I’d win, whether or not I’d survive, I could fight. My fate was in my hands alone. So this was why the Argo’s crew had thirsted for a fight! I attacked, shouting Ares’ name.
My battle joy was short-lived. Iolaus seized the back of my tunic and yanked me back, stepping between me and the other fighter. He’d found his footing and his strength. The fortunes of the skirmish changed and ended with a single stab of Iolaus’s borrowed sword. My enemy made a hideous sound and crumpled.
Iolaus turned to me, his face monstrous. “In the name of all the gods, Helen, what are you doing here?” He was so enraged he called me by my true name, but it was lost in the chaos of battle. “Get back to the ship now, or I swear by Zeus himself, I’ll drag you there by the hair!”
I gave him a sour look. “You’ll need both hands free for that. Better give me that sword back first.” I nodded at the blade I’d brought him, the one that had saved his life.