She was watching me closely, and I realized what she was truly implying. ‘You think I ran away from my husband?’
The woman shrugged. ‘Many girls your age struggle to adjust to the demands of married life. I know the signs.’ The woman paused for a moment, then added, ‘Unless you are a slave or concubine, but I doubt that. You speak as though you are used to people listening to you. Perhaps that is why your marriage was not successful.’
‘You know nothing of my marriage,’ I interrupted sharply. ‘And your advice is not welcome.’
For a moment there was no sound in the little room. I was naked in the bath and the chieftain’s wife loomed above me. It occurred to me that she could push my head beneath the waters and hold it there until I stopped struggling, and no one would ever be the wiser. No one would bother to avenge the death of a strange woman who appeared like a phantom.
I met the woman’s gaze unflinchingly. She looked away first.
She left and returned with clothing. It was shapeless and threadbare from a thousand washes, the sort of simple tunic worn by both men and women in this remote place, but at least it fit well. I was led to a table occupied by three small boys, quiet and well-behaved, tiny versions of their expressionless father. The chieftain and his wife ignored each other, and they ignored me as well. Family meals with my parents had always been happy affairs, filled with conversation and laughter, butthis was as dismal as a funeral. I thought of Eros, and briefly wondered what it might have been like to raise our children in the marvel of the seaside house. The thought stung like ocean water in a raw wound, so I pushed it away.
That night, for the first time since I was driven from the seaside house, I lay down on a mattress, though it was straw-stuffed and itchy. But I still found that I could not sleep. The heavy breathing of the rest of the family, punctuated by snores and farts, kept me awake. If some shadowy figure was to creep up on me, I would not hear until it was too late.
I finally fell asleep before dawn, dreaming uneasily of walking through a field of long grass speckled with wildflowers and never reaching my goal. I was startled into wakefulness hours later by a particularly vociferous rooster. I sprang up, certain it was Eros, but it was only an ordinary chicken.
That morning, the chieftain greeted me at breakfast alone, a porridge-filled bowl in front of him and another waiting for me on the other side of the table. He did not say where his wife or the children were, but a pair of young men loitered by the door – stout men, bulky with muscle from years of dragging ploughs through the rocky dirt.
‘We have given you clothing and accommodations above the demands of xenia,’ the chieftain said, his gaze lingering on my chest. ‘It is time to discuss payment.’
I frowned, and my palms began to sweat. The law of xenia quite clearly demanded hospitality without any exchange of payment, but I had planned for this eventuality.
‘I saw claw marks on the backs of your sheep when I passed through the fields,’ I said. ‘You are plagued by a griffin infestation, are you not?’
The chieftain’s jaw quivered. ‘Yes. We have dealt with thevermin for quite some time.’ He looked puzzled at this apparent change in topic.
I nodded. ‘If you give me a bow and arrows, along with a knife and sturdy shoes, I will rid you of this problem. Would that be sufficient payment?’
The chieftain stared at me. I think he would have laughed had his shock not been so great. ‘Youwill kill the griffins?’
I met his gaze coolly. ‘If I fail, what have you lost? A knife, a few arrows, a pair of shoes. A small price to be free from a dangerous nuisance.’
That convinced him. He accepted my bargain.
I went up into the mountains with a rare lightness in my heart. The weight of a quiver and bow felt good at my side, and my limbs hummed with joy. With the warmth of the sun and the cool of the forest’s shade, I could almost forget everything I had lost.
I found the griffin eyrie on an outcropping of rock a bit taller than the walls of Tiryns, on the side of a narrow stone canyon. I made my way towards it stealthily, keeping to the dry undergrowth that grew in sparse patches. I spotted one of the griffins lounging in the nest, splintering a bone with its sharp beak. Abruptly, it raised its head and gave a cry of greeting.
A shadow passed over the nest and another griffin landed, carrying a dead rabbit, and the two tore into the carcass together. The newly arrived griffin was larger, a female. I realized I must be looking at a mated pair. Even from a distance, I could see the grey fur threading through the female’s back, and I noticed that the male favoured his left side, compensating for some old injury. No wonder they had resorted to stealing goats and sheep; more challenging prey was likely beyond them.
A mated pair. The memory of Eros’s pained expression as the darkness tore him away flashed behind my eyes, and I bitback my grief. I had to complete this task. I would not return empty-handed.
Once the griffins settled down, I made my move. I burst from the undergrowth and drew my bow in the same fluid motion. A second later, the male griffin screamed. An arrow protruded from his eye, and he pawed at it frantically. His mate gave a cry of outrage and snapped open her wings, nearly blocking out the sun. She took to the air, trying to drop upon me from the sky.
I sprang back at the last moment, pivoting to strike her with my bow. The wood was yew, old and flimsy, but hard enough to knock the female griffin off course and send her crashing headlong into the rock. The bones of griffins are hollow like those of birds, and they can be incapacitated by a blow that would only annoy a drakonis or a hydra. The female griffin was dead before she hit the ground.
A cry from above drew my attention. It was the male griffin, rising on unsteady feet. Blood sheeted across his face and body, but he made his way unsteadily down the cliff face. I tensed; though I still had a few arrows left in my quiver, my bow was now a useless ruin. I pulled my knife from its sheath, but to my shock the griffin ignored me entirely and ran to the body of his mate, nudging her and mewling pitifully. He did not even notice my approach until I was close enough to wrench his head back and slit his throat.
I watched the life fade from his eyes and felt his body grow limp beneath my hands, and I felt a wave of sudden disgust at what I had done. I saw the iridescent colour of his mate’s pinfeathers in the dust and wanted to weep that I had destroyed such beauty. I turned and vomited into the dirt.
As I caught my breath, Medusa’s words rung in my mind:I don’t see how a hero differs from a pig farmer. Both are butchers.
I wondered what exactly it was that made a monster.
I buried the griffins as a last gesture of respect, an honour afforded to a noble enemy, scrabbling at the dirt with my hands, using a sharp stone to dig when my fingernails began to splinter. I took a pinion from each before consigning their bodies to the earth, unmistakable evidence of my victory. The feathers were enormous; balanced on my toes, they reached well over my head. I tied them to the quiver at my side and made my way down the mountainside.
If I had expected celebration upon my return, I was sorely disappointed. Instead, the people of the mountain village peered at me with suspicion from windows and doorways, scurrying away as I passed. They feared me more than they did the griffins. Those creatures were comprehensible at least, part of the natural order of things, but I was something else, and that made me far more terrifying.
I found the village chieftain waiting for me at the rough wooden table in his house, and I saw no trace of his wife. There were a number of men crowded into the room, at least five or six.
