“No,” Iolaus replied quietly. “This island might have enough food and water to support one person or two, but four? And for how long until my uncle’s sane again, and we see another ship?” He shook his head. “I can’t do that to you and Milo.” He took a deep breath and looked at Jason with pure contempt. “We’ll sail.”
And so we did, as soon as Iolaus returned to the Argo and brought all of Herakles’ weapons and belongings to the shore. He also fetched food and a small amphora of wine. When we were all once more on board and the Argo pulled away from shore, Iolaus refused to row. Instead, he stood beside our helmsman and watched until the unlucky island was out of sight.
That night, we camped near a fishing village. The women stayed hidden, but the men emerged from their homes and came down to the waterside in a whispering cluster to watch us beach the Argo. A ship that big was a novelty to people accustomed to boats only large enough to carry two or three men. The sight of it must have been terrifying and tempting at the same time. They greeted us from a respectful distance and made no move to approach until Argus hailed them in their own tongue.
The next thing we knew, we were being welcomed with bread, salt, meat, drink, and smiles by the entire village. Argus beamed as he told us that we’d finally reached the Colchian lands, though we were still some distance from King Aetes’ court at Aea. The crew was jubilant and pitched in to help the fishermen kindle a huge fire on the beach. While Argus proudly showed off the wonders of our ship to the local men, their wives and daughters served us with as much generosity as their lives allowed.
We repaid them with one of our larger amphorae of wine and with Orpheus’s gift of song. He sang about how we’d battled the Harpies and cheated the Clashing Rocks, and how we’d soon overcome any other obstacles that might lie between us and the Golden Fleece. I sat between Milo and Iolaus, staring into the flames.
Then he sang about a young man so handsome that everyone who saw him loved him. One day, when he went to fetch water from a spring, the nymphs who lived in the pool saw him and fell in love with him. They dragged him down into the depths and gave him the gifts of eternal life, youth, and joy, but he could never return to the mortal world again. As I watched the flames and listened to the music, I imagined that Orpheus’s sweet song conjured Hylas’s spirit back for just a little while. I pictured him the way I best remembered him, happy and kind. I won’t forget you, Hylas, I thought just as one of the logs on the fire cracked open and my friend’s image blew away in a fountain of sparks against the evening sky.
I was still wiping tears from my eyes when my brothers came and planted themselves between me and the fire. “So…Glaucus, is it?” Castor said sternly. The two of them were looking right at me, their faces stone. It was over. I stood up to accept my fate.
As I got to my feet, I felt strange. My bellyache was back, worse than before. The heat of the fire must have been greater than I had thought, because I felt a trickle of sweat on my leg.
All at once, one of the fishermen’s wives set down her platter of broiled sardines and pointed wildly at me, grinning and calling out to the other women, young and old, in a loud, joyful voice. My brothers were brushed aside as the mothers, daughters, and grandmothers of the village rushed forward and carried me away.
7
THE MASK OF THE HUNTRESS
By the time the women brought me to the large hut at the very edge of their village, I understood what had happened to me. I wasn’t a girl anymore. Just before they shoved me through the curtained doorway, I looked up into the night sky and saw the silvery moon that Artemis ruled. Now the moon ruled me.
When my sister, Clytemnestra, first entered womanhood, our mother told us both what to expect, how to deal with our new condition. Clytemnestra was quick to remind Mother that it wasn’t “ours,” but hers alone. Mother said, “It won’t be long before Helen catches up to you. You’re twins, after all.” But Mother was wrong. I’d spent so long lagging behind my sister that I believed the change would leave me alone until I decided I was ready to accept it. If the gods could read thoughts, how they must have laughed!
Inside the hut, an old woman crouched on a piece of faded blue cloth beside a small fire pit. She was crumbling dried herbs into a painted bowl. While she went about her business, a younger woman came in, handed me a clean wool pad, and spoke to me in a kindly voice. I didn’t recognize a single word, but it wasn’t hard to figure out her meaning.
By the time I felt clean and comfortable again, the old woman was finished with her task. She raised the bowl of crumbled herbs to the smoke hole in the roof, chanting, and the other woman sang a response. Then she lowered the bowl, poured water into it, and offered it to me.
Just then, there was a commotion outside the hut. I heard many men yelling, and the village women yelling right back at them, unafraid. I recognized my brothers’ voices through the tumult. They sounded angry, but scared as well. Over all that loud confusion I heard the voice of Argus, shouting in the local language.
I don’t know what he said, but it had the magical effect of silencing the uproar. There was no more yelling from outside, though I still heard plenty of grumbling. The old woman snapped out something that must have been a command. At her words, the young woman who’d helped me earlier went to the door and pulled back the curtain.
“Girl, are you all right?” Argus stood just outside the doorway, speaking barely above a whisper.
“I’m fine,” I replied. For now.