“My name is Polyxo,” the slave woman said. “And I come with a warning. The men of Lemnos are not away in Thrace, as Hypsipyle told you. They are dead, and she is the one who killed them.”
27
Atalanta
Polyxo moved in a quick, cringing way that reminded me of rabbits or mice, creatures for whom this world is not a safe place. But there was no tremor in her words, and she was stalwart in her determination.
“What happened to the men?” Medea demanded. “Tell me everything.”
“It all began when the men of Lemnos went raiding in Thrace and brought back many women as slaves, including myself.” Polyxo’s face darkened at the memory. “That part was true enough. Hypsipyle’s father, Thoas, took me as his concubine, and when I became pregnant, I was afraid. But the other Thracian women said I should not worry.You are only a concubine, not a wife,they told me.Your son is not a threat.How very wrong they were.
“The women of Lemnos were angry with the men for enslaving us, but they didn’t seek to free us. They had another plan. One day Hypsipyle rode into the city with her women, swords drawn, and they killed all the men of the island. Old ones and little boys, brothers and fathers and husbands. They killed my son too, because Hypsipyle said the son of a slave should not inherit over a freeborn woman like herself.”
A spasm of grief racked Polyxo’s body, and she covered her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut in remembered agony. I wanted toplace a comforting hand on her shoulder, but I was frozen in place by shock.
I am my father’s only child,Hypsipyle told us. If that was a lie, what else might be? Could Polyxo really be telling us the truth?
After a moment, Polyxo continued. “Hypsipyle killed the other Thracian women too. That was the cruelest part, after killing my son. We would have helped the Lemnian women fight, if they asked us. We did not want to be slaves, and we had no love for the men who stole us from our home. Instead, the women slaughtered us.”
“What happened to Thoas?” Medea’s voice was cold. “What really happened?”
“Hypsipyle locked him in a barrel and threw him into the sea. She would not pollute her hands with her father’s blood, she said. This was after she killed my son and the other Thracian women. Now I am the last.”
The ugliness of it made me recoil. Did the human world really contain such indiscriminate slaughter? The Lemnian women had killed every Cephalus among them, true, but they had also killed every Meleager.
“So take your menfolk and go quickly,” Polyxo said urgently. “Before Hypsipyle has time to do the same to them. She will want the men of theArgoto father children on her women, but after that she will surely not let them live. And I cannot think she will have much mercy for you either, since there are more than enough women here on Lemnos.”
I was already prepared to run, but Medea was more discerning. “Why would you help us?” she demanded. “If what you say is true, you bring great danger upon yourself. So why?”
Polyxo threw back her shoulders and stuck out her chin. In the soft illumination of the lamps, her face was like carved marble. “Once I was a chieftain’s daughter in Thrace, and no onequestioned my honor,” she said. “Then I became a slave, and all my honor was taken. Now I take it back. Hypsipyle killed my son, and now I deny her any hope of children herself. This is my vengeance. Now go, flee!”
Polyxo slipped from the room, leaving the door open behind her like a promise.
“I think I understand now,” Medea said, looking up at the walls. “Why I have lost my witchcraft, and what I must do to get it back.”
She did not say more, and I did not ask. The demands of the moment took precedence. I looked down the hall and back at Medea, and she nodded.
There was no discussion about the veracity of Polyxo’s words or the best course of action. We both knew what we must do, and our unity of purpose hung like wolf song in the air.
Moving as one, Medea and I sprinted down the hallway, following the thread of echoing laughter that would lead us to the feasting hall and the rest of the Argonauts.
28
Jason
Everywhere on Lemnos is softness.
Gentle lamplight illuminates the plush couches of the feasting hall and the fine fabrics and pillows that adorn them. It winks on the jewels worn by the Lemnian women as they laugh and feast with the Argonauts, twining slender arms around the necks of the men.
Jason sits at the head of the hall, sharing a dining couch with the queen. Hypsipyle has discarded her armor in favor of a sleek dress, and she moves just a little too close to him.
Cautious, Jason takes no wine and only a little food. His men, he notices, show no such restraint. He looks over to see Zetes shamelessly laying kisses on a woman’s clavicles and Peleus being led away by a pretty brunette.
“Your men are enjoying themselves. Why don’t you, my questing hero?” Hypsipyle teases, raising her cup with a wink before bringing it to her lips. Jason notices how she exaggerates the gesture, throwing back her head to accentuate her breasts. He looks away.
Jason replies that he is enjoying himself immensely. His eyes follow Autolycus, chasing a giggling woman with a pitcher of wine in her hands, and he heaves a weary sigh.
Hypsipyle moves even closer to him, angling her body toward his. They are nearly touching now, only a hair’s breadth separating their skin, though her proximity leaves Jason cold.
