“Why tell us what we know?” Jason pushed his way forward, dragging Milo by the arm. He shook my friend viciously. “Who is she, boy? Your bedmate? Or yours?” He glowered at Iolaus.
“Enough!” Argus thundered. “By Poseidon, you’ll hear me before you start flapping your jaws, sparking quarrels we don’t need! This girl is no one’s bedmate, young or old. She’s as untouched as the holy huntress she serves.” He pointed one callused finger at the shining moon, then turned and raised the door curtain. “Come out, Atalanta, and let your shipmates know you at last.”
That night, I slept in the old priestess’s home. She lived with the younger woman—I supposed they were mother and daughter—and that woman’s husband and children. Their house was clean and pleasant, with many bundles of drying herbs and flowers hanging from pegs, covering the smell of fish. They gave me a thick blanket to spread on the ground, more woolen pads in case I needed them during the night, and even a cup of warmed milk with honey to drink before the man snuffed out the lone oil lamp that lit their home. I heard the younger woman crooning to her fretful baby, then silence.
I slept badly. My body was weary, but my thoughts raced over everything that had happened that day. The loss of Hylas, Herakles’ madness, the end of my life as Glaucus, the new mask I’d chosen to wear, all of these whirled at dizzying speed through my head. When I did drift into dreams, they were brief, senseless, and horrifying. I woke up clutching my throat, feeling as if I’d nearly drowned. As soon as I saw the hint of dawn beyond the door curtain, I crept out of the house. I had to find my brothers. We needed to talk.
They were awake and waiting for me just six paces away from the priestess’s house. They’d settled themselves on the ground with a clear view of the doorway, and the small space between them was filled with intricate designs they’d scratched into the dirt to pass the time. They stood up together when they saw me, their eyes red and their faces haggard.
“You didn’t have to keep watch all night,” I said. “I wasn’t going to run away, you know.”
“We don’t know,” Castor said. “We know nothing about you anymore, Helen. What in the name of all-seeing Apollo were you thinking, coming on this voyage, pretending to be a boy, doing something this—this—” He threw his hands up in frustration and blurted, “You must be as crazy as Herakles!”
“Little sister, you could have died.” Polydeuces could hardly get the words out. “All of those days at sea, all the dangers, the raiders in Thrace, the bandits of the Clashing Rocks, even a simple misstep, like the one that killed poor Hylas—” His voice broke. He drew a ragged breath and added, “Why, Helen?”
If I answered, would they understand? Their lives were always their own. They never had to fight for their liberty. When Jason came to Delphi seeking heroes, they joined his crew without asking anyone’s permission. No one demanded that they justify their choices. If you asked them why they had so much freedom, they’d react as if you wanted to know why the sky is blue.
I’d be queen of Sparta one day. I’d marry because it would be my duty to have children and provide the land with its next ruler. If I was lucky, I’d choose my husband wisely and we’d love one another. But between You must do this because you’re a princess and You must never do that because you’re a girl, there was no time left for Do what you like, because you’re Helen. This quest, this adventure, might be my only chance to see what it meant to be myself.
What would my brothers say if I told them that?
“Don’t call me ‘Helen,’” I said firmly, brushing Polydeuces’ question aside unanswered. “Helen of Sparta wouldn’t be on this ship. I’m Atalanta.”
“I was wrong. You’re crazier than Herakles,” Castor said.
I ignored his sarcasm. “When the Argo returns to Iolkos, do you want the crewmen scattering to their homes, bearing the tale of how Helen of Sparta threw away her proper role in life to go sailing halfway across the world? What will the lords of Mykenae, Thebes, Iolkos, and all the rest say about us then?”
“That’s something you should have thought about before you sneaked away from Delphi,” Castor said.
“Do you want to argue about how big the fire’s grown or do you want to put it out?” I countered, hands on hips. “Helen can’t be here; Atalanta can!”
Polydeuces shook his head. “It won’t work. Castor and I aren’t the only crewmen who were part of the boar hunt. They saw Atalanta. They know she’s a woman, not a little girl.”
“I am not a little girl anymore! Atalanta isn’t that much older than me. I’m as much a woman as she is, now.”
“You’re still more convincing as a boy,” Castor muttered.
I did my best to fry him with a single look. “I know who was at Calydon as well as you do. Aside from Iolaus and us, I count only three of the boar hunters on this voyage. It’ll be your word against theirs if they say I’m not Atalanta.”
Polydeuces still looked doubtful. “Even men who weren’t on the hunt have heard the songs and know about Atalanta’s exploits. Little sister, I love you dearly, but you don’t look capable of standing up to a wild boar.”
But I did, I thought. I was there alongside Atalanta. Have the poets told the story as if my part in that great hunt never happened? Once more I heard Herakles saying, “Truth or not, it does make the better story.” At least Atalanta was getting the praise she deserved.
“Listen,” I said to my brothers. “You have to believe me, this can work. Befriend the other hunters. Tell them I’m not that Atalanta, just a girl with the same name. Make up some reason to explain why I slipped aboard this ship. Ask them to help you play a joke on all the crewmen who weren’t at Calydon.”
“What joke?” Polydeuces asked.
“Convincing them that I am that Atalanta.” I gave him my most disarming smile.