The musician lifted a spare tunic from his stool, rubbing the fabric between his fingers. ‘It feels as though the whole world has been poisoned by her death. This terrible war …’
‘What war?’
‘Surely you must have heard? Prince Paris of Troy and Queen Helen of Sparta have eloped. Rumour has it Paris was a guest at the Spartan court and while King Menelaus was called away he seized the chance to take Helen back to Troy. In retaliation Menelaus and his brother, King Agamemnon of Mycenae, have declared war on Troy. Half of Greece has pledged to come to their aid.’
It was testament to how little time Danae had spent in human company over the past year that she had not heard the news. She recalled a fleeting conversation aboard theArgoabout Helen, allegedly the most beautiful woman alive. Then she remembered something else.
‘Eurystheus is King of Mycenae, not this Agamemnon.’
Orpheus shook his head. ‘After Heracles chose to join the Argonauts rather than return to Mycenae, the brothers Atreidai attacked the city and deposed Eurystheus. Agamemnon took the crown, and his younger brother Menelaus, by way of marriage, took Sparta.’
Danae blinked. Kingdoms had fallen in the time she had been searching for the Underworld. The ordinary peoplewould suffer the most, but she had no space in her heart to care for other people’s wars.
‘So, where is the entrance to the Underworld?’
‘In an old abandoned mine to the west of the town.’
Danae nodded. ‘Good, we’ll head there as soon as I’ve retrieved my horse.’
Orpheus hurried to stuff the last of his belongings into his pack.
Danae turned to leave the room and, as she did, the chill breath of fear prickled her neck. She had forgotten, just for a moment, that she did not know if she could trust him. It had been so easy to fall into conversation like they used to on theArgo, when the wind bloated the sails, and the oarsmen rested their arms and exchanged idle chatter. But they were Argonauts no longer. He may not know that she had killed Dolos, but Orpheus still might be an agent of the Twelve. He was desperate to bring his wife back from the land of the dead, and desperate men will do anything for that which they desire.
She rubbed her eyes. It would be the cruellest fate of all to fall into the Olympians’ clutches when she might be so close to seeing her sister again.
As she thought of the Underworld, the voice echoed Prometheus’ final instruction in her mind:Go to Delos. Seek out Metis.
‘Be quiet,’ she muttered.
You cannot run from your destiny.
‘I said be quiet!’
‘I didn’t say anything …’ Orpheus stood behind her, wearing an expression of concern. ‘Are you all right?’
‘I’m fine.’ She balled her trembling hands into fists. ‘Let’s go.’
Danae and Orpheus made their way out through Taenarum’s gates and clambered down the rocky slope to where she’d left Hylas.
The familiar hand of dread squeezed her insides when she found no alabaster horse waiting amongst the grey stones and sun-crisped grass. Had he finally left her? Had someone taken him?
She clicked her tongue. Nothing.
‘Hylas, I’ve got wine!’
She was answered by the mournful call of the wind. Then a dash of white appeared from behind the cliffs, and Hylas soared through the sky like the moon escaping a clutch of clouds.
Grinning, she ran to the horse as he landed and threw her arms around his neck. Hylas’ mane was encrusted with salt. She drew back. ‘What have you been doing? And where’s my cloak?’
Hylas ignored her and sniffed in Orpheus’ direction.
The musician gaped.
‘What? Never seen a flying horse before?’
Slowly, still staring at Hylas, Orpheus shook his head. When he’d recovered enough to speak, he said, ‘How did you … where did you … it’s called Hylas?’
‘Yes.’ Danae set about unbuckling one of the saddle pouches and retrieved a small bowl from within.
