‘Is she …?’
‘Asleep.’ Telamon stared at Heracles. Then he gently lay Atalanta on the ground and paced across the earth between them to throw his arms around the hero.
Danae remembered the first time she’d seen them together in that kapeleion in Corinth. Heracles had towered above his companions, dwarfing Telamon’s tall, strong frame. Now the hero looked so fragile, like he might shatter in Telamon’s arms.
Heracles let out a grunt of pain, and Telamon drew back.
‘Sorry,’ he muttered. Then he grinned. ‘I’m so fucking glad you’re alive.’
Heracles reciprocated a strained smile of his own. ‘You came for me.’
‘Of course, you’d have done the same for us.’ Telamon looked at Danae, and she was struck by the genuine warmth shining through the anger and mistrust. ‘Thank you.’
She inclined her head, her chest swelling, then made the mistake of glancing at Heracles. Her momentary joy vanished. There was no softness in the hero’s gaze, not even a crack. He looked at her with all the vitriol of the last time they had spoken and, through it all, a twisted gleam of envy.
29. Tales and Truths
Atalanta woke calling for wine.
Danae rose from where she waited in self-imposed isolation between the boulder and the stone hut and rushed into the dwelling. Telamon and Heracles sat beside the warrior. Metis still had not returned from the lake.
‘Need a drink,’ croaked Atalanta, pushing herself onto her elbows.
Danae hastened to pour water from the hydria into a bowl and proffered it to her. The warrior knocked the vessel from her hand.
‘Wine,’ she demanded groggily.
‘There’s none on the island,’ said Danae.
Atalanta stared at her, the warrior’s gaze morphing from rage to despair. Then she looked down at her legs. Her lips parted, face softening in wonder as she smoothed her hands across the whirling scars.
Her dark eyes lifted to Danae. ‘You healed me?’
‘No.’ Danae shook her head. ‘It was Metis.’
Atalanta opened her mouth as though she would ask another question, then became aware of the two men crouched beside her.
‘Heracles.’ She grasped Telamon’s shoulder and hauled herself up to sitting, staring at the hero. ‘You look like I feel.’
Telamon laughed. Heracles did not.
‘That’s what withdrawing from a lifetime of taking strength elixir will do,’ said Metis. ‘Though you’re free of it now.’
Danae turned around. The woman stood behind her, a clutch of dead lizards dangling from her fist.
‘How are the legs?’ she asked Atalanta as she moved past Danae into the hut.
‘You’re the one who healed me?’
Metis knelt and prodded Atalanta’s shins before lifting and manipulating her lower legs. Then she placed a hand on the warrior’s brow, which Atalanta knocked away. ‘There may still be a trace of fever. You should rest.’ She looked pointedly at Heracles. ‘As should you.’
‘Bollocks, I’m fighting fit.’ Atalanta climbed unsteadily to her feet.
‘Heracles, can you walk?’ asked Telamon.
‘Yes,’ said the hero with as much defiance as he could muster.
‘Well, then.’ Telamon rose and bowed to Metis. ‘We thank you for your hospitality and will take our leave as promised.’
