“You asked before about my childhood,” I said, finding myself oddly eager to share my past. “It is not a very complex story. I was abandoned by my parents on a mountaintop and suckled by a mother bear before a pair of hunters found me. My earliest memories are of fur and milk, then the packed earth floor of the hunters’ hut...”
As I told Medea the story of my life, the birds began to sing and the world gradually filled with light.
32
Medea
“I do not think I am as good at this as you are,” Atalanta said uncertainly.
I reached up to touch the tangled bird’s nest of my hair, then sighed. Really, I should have known better than to accept Atalanta’s offer to style my hair in turn.
Fortunately, there was plenty of time to fix it. We were still on the beach where we’d made camp the night before, though by now it was nearly afternoon. That morning, Jason had announced our detour to the island of Circe, which sent the crew into an uproar. I remembered Ancaeus shouting at Jason, veins standing out in his neck. I was grateful Jason hadn’t mentioned the reason for our visit to Circe, lest the crew turn their irritation on me. To ameliorate the Argonauts’ disappointment at their delayed homecoming, Jason elected to give us a leisurely start to the day.
“Are you angry we won’t be back to Iolcus sooner?” I asked Atalanta as she watched me untangle my hair.
She shrugged. “I am in no hurry. What do I have to get back to? You will help me find the trail of the one I am seeking, and for that we must go to Circe.”
Yes—the name of the woman she wanted to find rose up in my memory. Procris. Who was she to Atalanta? A sister, mother, relative, friend? I was about to ask her, when a strange man came striding up the beach.
“I am Amycus!” the man called. He was nearly hairless on head and chest, so that he looked a bit like a swollen thumb. “King of the Bebrycians! By the law of this land, no travelers may leave until one among you presents himself to me for fisticuffs.”
This seemed to me an unbelievably stupid law, but Amycus lifted his hands to show they were wrapped in strips of cloth like a boxer’s. “Unless, of course, you are pirates or cowards,” he added. A group of men walked behind him: his personal guard, ready to enforce the royal will. Clearly this island was not so uninhabited as we first thought.
My gaze swung to Jason, who was loading amphorae of fresh water onto theArgowith a few others. He looked startled, like a deer caught in the open.Don’t allow this,I thought, urging him silently.Let us be on our way. We have far enough to travel as it is.
“Hail, King Amycus,” my betrothed replied. “We would never dream of violating your laws, for we are no pirates. Someone will be over to fistfight you shortly.”
Atalanta clicked her tongue and muttered disapprovingly under her breath. The other Argonauts drew together, discussing who best to select as their champion, and eventually Polydeuces stepped forward. He was stout and thick with muscle, and he loped toward Amycus across the sand. The competitors acknowledged each other with a nod, and the match began.
Polydeuces rushed forward, swinging his fists, rapid-fire. For him, this was no sparring match but a real fight. Amycus responded to Polydeuces’s advance with a roar of laughter, his bulk easily absorbing whatever Polydeuces threw at him until the Argonaut was winded. Then Amycus seized the chance to press his attack. Polydeuces was forced backward, his heels throwing up a spray of sand.
Feeling more than a little trepidation, I realized that Amycus had never plainly stated what would happen if our champion lost.
Next to me, Atalanta hissed through her teeth. Polydeuces continued to fall back, using his forearms to shield his face from the mighty blows delivered by Amycus. Secure in his victory, Amycus paused to wipe the sweat from his brow.
A fatal error. Polydeuces took the opportunity to surge forward and, in a flash, locked his leg behind his opponent’s, tilting Amycus off-balance and striking him hard in the temple.
A sickening crack echoed through the air. Amycus fell hard on the sand and did not stir.
The Bebrycian guard ran toward their fallen king and Polydeuces, but a cry rose up from the Argonauts. An ugly sound, like a cry of war. All their anger and discontent from the morning had finally found a target. Weapons were never far from the hands of the men who rode with theArgo, and they seized them now, running forward to meet the Bebrycians.
The royal guard wore armor, but it was more ceremonial than practical. The Argonauts cut them down like deer. Within moments the beach was a charnel house, bodies strewn all around and blood seeping into the sand.
Atalanta moved to shield me from the carnage, spear in hand, but I had already seen everything. No Bebrycian would go running for reinforcements, because not one of King Amycus’s party was left alive.
At the center of it all was Jason, looking around in horror. He ordered theArgoset sail not long after, eager to leave this place behind. Atalanta was silent and pale, but the rest of the Argonauts seemed almost boisterous, as if a bit of slaughter left them in a good mood.
Jason insisted on burying the bodies. Later, though, we learned that the shifty Autolycus had stripped armor and valuables from the dead Bebrycians.
So much for not being pirates.
When Atalanta went down to serve her shift at the oars that afternoon, I went to find Jason. I discovered him tucked into a tiny corner of the ship, head in his hands.
He looked like a lost child, and my heart ached. He was grieving, I knew, for the atrocity with the Bebrycians. I squatted down and laid a hand on his shoulder, ready to speak words of comfort.It wasn’t your fault. I know you didn’t mean for this to happen.
Jason’s head jerked up, and emotions flitted across his face. Surprise, fear, and finally a false calm, the mask of the competent captain he turned so often to his crew.
“Hello, Medea,” he said with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes. “I trust you are well. Yes? Ah, that is good. I must return to my duties now, farewell.”
