Page 4 of The Hymn to Dionysus

The lady laughed. Even if Helios hadn’t said she was their sister, I would have guessed. She looked like him and Agave; they all had the same teeth. “Of course, little knight. You sit here.”

“That’s a big scar for a tiny boy,” the man said, the King, so gently that I considered not hating him any more. “What happened?”

“I was careless around a charioteer,” I explained, distracted because the lady had just put the baby in my arms, and he was a brilliant baby. He was nicely heavy, and solid, with curly black hair and amazing blue eyes. He was big enough to sit up by himself, and have proper opinions about things; maybe to walk. “Hello. What’s your name?”

He bit my knuckle experimentally, looking up at me all brand-new. I squeezed him as much as I dared to, very aware that I needed to make the most of him before Helios noticed I was gone.

“He doesn’t have a name yet. Any thoughts?”

“No, I’m good at tents but I’m rubbish at imagining.”

They both laughed. The baby squeaked and patted my hands with both of his. I grinned, in love, and distraught at the same time. The only difficult thing about being a knight is that commanders only ever take on one child at a time. I’d never have brothers or sisters, even though I would have liked that more than anything.

And then Helios saw me and ran across as if the King and the princess and the baby were as dangerous as any chariot.

“Phaidros!” Helios exclaimed. “Zeus above—I’m sorry, Semele. He’s never run off before.”

“But the baby,” I tried.

“A,” the baby said supportively. I hugged him closer in case someone tried to take him off me. He closed both hands around the ends of my hair against my shoulder.

“Move, knight,” Helios said incredulously.

“I don’t suppose there’s any chance I can steal your baby,” I said to the lady. Sometimes people didn’t want babies. I was forever finding them in baskets outside the sieged cities. It seemed worth a try.

She smiled. “Afraid not. You’ll have to get Helios to make you one.”

“Takes ages,” I said sadly, and gave him back. As Helios propelled me away, the baby waved.

“Nice to see you too,” Semele called after us, so sarcastically that even I understood.

“Why is it not nice to see her?” I asked Helios.

Helios swept me up so he could walk away faster. “I’m sorry I ran away and didn’t do as I was told, Helios, it was a moment of madness and I’ll never do it ever again because I wouldn’t put you through watching me get killed like an idiot?”

“I did check for chariots,” I said feebly. My arms felt light and empty without the baby.

“Oh, right, so it’s fine to get lazy while you’re in Thebes, because you definitely won’t forget to be sensible again once we’re back on a battlefield, because the minds of small boys aren’t in any way like wax that just sets around the most recent thing it comes across.”

It broke over me that probably I wasn’t going to be allowed to see the baby again. There were plenty of things I wanted that I wasn’t allowed, usually because they were expensive or dangerous or impractical, and I didn’t mind, because none of them were important, but the baby was important. I looked back, miserable, and pressed my hands over my eyes. Knights are allowed to cry, but you can’t make a sound, in case of Enemies.

“Oh, tiny knight.” Helios scooped me up and put our heads together. “I’m sorry. There will be other babies to play with when we go home. You know Achilles, my friend in the other unit? He’s volunteered to take a ward. He might even have one by the time we get back. That will be fun, won’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said, and put my head against his shoulder, full of grief anyway.

“You and babies,” he said, poking me until I laughed.

I forgot about the lady and the baby and the Queen’s husband, because inside, there was a gigantic dog who didn’t mind being ridden. Under the influence of the excellent dog, and of the Queen, who told him funny stories, Helios turned back into his normal cheerful self again, though not so quickly that I stopped wondering what had been the matter before. When he put me to bed—next to him, in a genuine, real bed with legs that took you right off the floor, which was exciting—I tried to ask again.

He wasn’t the kind of person who brushed off questions just because you were small, even if the question was a difficult one. “The Palace is a dangerous place,” he said eventually. “I always forget how dangerous, when I’ve been away.”

“Dangerous?” I said, puzzled, because the only possibly dangerous thing I’d seen was the dog, but she had got her nose stuck in someone’s shoe now and she didn’t seem very menacing. “Will people try and kill us in the night?” It happened sometimes. I didn’t mind. I was usually allowed to go back to sleep after I’d helped to mop up.

“No; no,” he said, rescuing the dog. “You’re right, it’s not that bad.”

I couldn’t tell what he thought I was right about.

“I’m not sleepy,” I said instead. “Tell the story about Death and the Girl.”