“No!” Atalanta writhed against her bonds. “I’ll kill you, Jason. I’ll kill you!”
The captain ignored her outburst. “He was ordered, by the sacred oracle at Delphi, to cleanse his soul by performing twelve labors for King Eurystheus of Mycenae.”
“Jason, I swear on the Styx—”
Jason’s voice rose above Atalanta’s cries. “Hisheroicdeeds are nothing but ordered penance and by joining this mission he is in violation of his agreement with King Eurystheus, and therefore the decree of the gods as passed down by the oracle. I believe we are being punished for his actions.” His words sounded rehearsed. “I had hoped I would never have to reveal this. I thought he would be an asset to our cause, but he has brought nothing but death and destruction upon this ship.”
“You bastard,” growled Telamon.
“What crime did he commit?” whispered Orpheus.
“Jason, please. Don’t do this.”
Stunned, Danae looked at Atalanta. She’d never heard the warrior speak so softly. She must be desperate.
The captain’s handsome face was a mask of regret, but he couldn’t quite hide the glint of satisfaction in his eye. “Heracles murdered his wife and children.”
The ship swayed in silence. Danae wanted to scream at Jason, call him a liar, but the truth was written on Atalanta’s and Telamon’s faces.
I have done terrible things, all of them my fault.
Jason must have known all along and held the information back until he needed to sway the loyalty of the men.
She thought of her little nephews, of her brothers who as children wrapped themselves in goat hides pretending to be the hero, of all the people who listened to the tales of mighty Heracles and believed anything was possible.
By toppling their idol, Jason may have won back the crew’s allegiance, but he must be able to see what was plain to her. By killing the hero in Heracles, he had killed the dream of what they could become.
Danae sat down next to Atalanta and proffered a skin of wine she’d pinched from the store cabin.
The warrior snatched the vessel between her bound hands, pulled the cork with her teeth, and drank like her life depended on it.
Beside her, Telamon’s head was slumped on his chest. “We should have abandoned ship with Dolos,” he murmured.
Atalanta offered him the wine. He shook his head.
“Tell me what happened,” said Danae.
Atalanta glared at her.
“I don’t want to judge him until I’ve heard the truth.”
“Just tell her,” said Telamon. “What’s the point in hiding it now?”
Atalanta sighed heavily through her nose. Danae waited.
“Heracles lived in Thebes as a lad. Even before he had hair on his balls, he’d made a name for himself. So, King Creon decided to put him in charge of the army. Long story short, a neighbouring city tried to invade, and Heracles defeated them. As a reward, Creon gave him his daughter, Megara, as a bride.”
Pressure was building in Danae’s chest. That explained Heracles’s unsettled behavior when they passed close to the city. No wonder he’d been so keen to leave that place.
“He’s not to blame for what happened. It’s important you know that.”
She could hear the reluctance in Atalanta’s voice, the discomfort of edging closer to words she did not want to say.
“Go on.”
“One night, someone drugged him. He went mad. Took a club to his wife and the three boys while they slept. When he came to his senses and saw what he’d done, he tried to kill himself. Dolos stopped him.”
Danae imagined the horror of it. Heracles’s wife, his children. The fear on their little faces when they woke and saw their father standing over them wielding a club. All that blood.
