Without waiting for him to reply, the first man smiled, the dying light gleaming in his eyes. ‘I am Odysseus, King of Ithaca.’
Danae barely registered his words. She felt as though she were wading through a dream, the air thick and blurred with sleep. Atalanta’s and Telamon’s eyes flicked between her and Hylas. It took her a moment to realize that they were waiting for her instruction.
Something about this Odysseus filled her with unease. He was impossible to read, like sand washed clean of footprints. She could not tell if he was friend or foe. But Hylas was with him. That had to count for something.
Hylas was alive.
‘We go aboard,’ she said thickly.
They secured their rowing boat with rope thrown down by Odysseus’ men to one of the ladder pegs bolted to thestarboard side of the ship, then climbed up. Danae carried the bundle of Poseidon’s armour, shattered trident and the collar slung over her shoulder. It was cumbersome, but too precious to be left unattended in the little tub.
The soldiers moved away from them, retreating to the benches as the three pulled themselves up onto the stern deck. There was something strange about the way the soldiers looked at Danae and only her, their faces flushed not only with the last vestiges of light, but something else. Something like wonder.
A breath slipped between her lips as Odysseus and Hylas clambered up to the deck to meet them. Her old friend was much changed. In addition to the scars on his limbs, Hylas’ left cheek bore the deep gouges of an Earthborn’s claws, and his left leg ended just below the knee, a false limb with a moving ankle joint fashioned from oiled wood attached via leather straps.
Odysseus took a couple of measured steps towards them. His features might be ordinary, but his eyes were sharp and flecked with amber, like a wolf’s.
Suddenly, she remembered that these men were not privy to the secrets she and her companions had learnt on Delos and swiftly intoned the sacred greeting, ‘May the Twelve see you and know you.’
Odysseus did not raise his hand to his forehead in response. He watched her carefully. Then his face cracked into a smile.
‘My lord,’ said Hylas, ‘these are my old companions from my days travelling with Heracles – Telamon, Atalanta and … Daeira.’ He spoke her name as though it were a gem freshly pared from the earth: precious with edges that could slice skin.
Danae stared at him, trying to fit her memory to the man stood before her. It was not just his appearance that had changed – there was a coldness to his demeanour that had not been there before.
Then Telamon cut in, striding forward and scooping Hylas into an embrace. ‘How in Tartarus are you alive?’
Hylas blinked as the flame-haired man released him, his cheeks flushing. ‘Because the fates wished it.’
‘Indeed …’ said Odysseus, his eyes raking over the strangers to his ship. ‘Nothing has been seen or heard of the hero, Heracles, since the usurped Eurystheus sent him to the Underworld. Where is your leader?’
Danae could feel Atalanta and Telamon tense beside her.
‘We don’t know,’ she said quietly.
A shadow of worry flickered across Hylas’ face.
‘A pity,’ said Odysseus, his amber eyes betraying nothing.
Danae wished a cloud would swallow the low sun, everything was so bright, the reflected light piercing her eyes from every shining blade and curve of armour.
It was then she noticed the gold pin at the gather of Odysseus’ cloak, the image of an apple tree stamped upon it. Hylas too wore a similar brooch attached to the left shoulder of his tunic.
Pulse quickening, she asked, ‘What is your business in this part of the Aegean?’
Odysseus smiled, his expression a veneer of courtly grace. ‘I was summoned to Delos. Fortunately, my ship happened to be nearby when I received the call.’ He prised his fingers beneath the collar of his tunic and pulled out a chain. Dangling from it was Metis’ bronze medallion, engraved with the Hesperides tree.
‘This amulet is infused with the blood of my ancestors. Prometheus fashioned it forty generations ago and gave it to the first of his followers. It acts as a compass, guiding a bird towards the nearest person who shares kin blood. Which, as my father is back in Ithaca, was me.’ This was who Metis had called upon when Poseidon came. Guilt hollowedDanae’s chest. Even as she had accused Metis of summoning the gods, the woman had already chosen to fight on their side. Perhaps she had even known she would not survive the encounter with the God of the Sea.
Odysseus slipped the pendant back inside his tunic. ‘I believe the false gods use similar medallions to commune with their priestesses.’
‘False gods …’ she repeated.
Odysseus’ lips twitched.
‘What are you, besides your royal title?’
‘I think you know,’ he said softly.
