Chapter 22 #2
Jason got to his feet and looked around at his crew.
“Argonauts, I’m honored that all of you here tonight have pledged to join me on the greatest voyage ever sailed.
Some of you know each other already, but for those that don’t, let me make some introductions.
We have one legend among us, whose reputation needs no preamble from me.
” Jason bowed to Heracles, then gestured to the bald-headed brothers beside him.
“Castor and Pollux, otherwise known as the diabolical twins. You wouldn’t want to face these two in the boxing ring.
” The men grinned. Danae noted Castor was the one with the scar.
Jason pointed at the bearskin warrior. “Ancaeus, the bane of any monster in the Peloponnese.” Atalanta snorted.
Either Ancaeus didn’t hear her, or he pretended not to.
Jason continued, “Tiphys, our navigator and the finest sailor in all of Greece.” He nodded toward a wiry man with copper skin and a long silver beard.
Danae’s heart ached. He looked a little like her father.
“Orpheus.” Jason pointed at a round-faced man with apricot cheeks and a lyre resting on his lap.
“A musician whose voice is sweeter than a lark’s—”
Heracles interrupted him. “And you?”
Jason faltered. “I’m Jason, the captain—”
“Yes, I know your name. But what have you done?” Heracles gestured around the fire. “Like you said, I know by reputation most of the people here. But before this voyage, I’d never heard of you. And you’re damned young to be a captain.”
There were a few mutterings of agreement.
Jason forced out a laugh. “You’re right. I am young to captain a ship.” He paused. “I am the rightful King of Iolcos.”
“What?” Telamon looked at his brother, Peleus, for confirmation.
“It’s true.” The firelight illuminated the hunger in Jason’s eyes. “I was living as a shepherd when I received a message from Hera, the Queen of Heaven herself, telling me of my birthright. I came to Iolcos to claim my throne.”
A muscle twitched in Heracles’s jaw.
“Let me get this straight,” said Telamon. “You marched up to King Pelias’s gate, told him you were going to take his kingdom and in return he put you in charge of a crew of the deadliest warriors in all of Greece?”
“Not quite.” Jason smiled. “At first, he wanted to have me executed. But he was ordered to let me put together this expedition by his priestesses. If I return with the golden fleece, I will be given my crown by divine decree. You see, my destiny is written by the fates. By joining me on this quest, you will all cement your reputations for centuries to come.”
“If you return.” Heracles threw an empty wineskin to the ground. “Clever move on Pelias’s part. All this makes him look like a pious and generous king. Not to mention powerful, gathering all of us together at his command. It’s a dangerous voyage, all he has to do is wait for tragedy to strike.”
The charm slipped from Jason’s face. “I’m surprised you, of all people, doubt the will of the gods. Hera’s, in particular.”
Heracles remained silent, glowering into the fire.
“How about we hear that legendary voice of yours?” Ancaeus said to Orpheus.
“Yes.” Jason clapped his hands, seemingly glad of the distraction. “Music!”
The musician smiled dreamily and lifted his lyre, cradling it as if it were his lover. As he began to play, a shiver ran over Danae’s skin. His voice was like the first breath of dawn, the rush of a tumbling river, and the pounding of horses’ hooves charging into battle, all at once.
“In the beginning, before first light
Before cities and temples and law took flight,
The earth was broken, wild and dark,
The Titans’ rule left its evil mark.
This is how it came to be,
The life we tread from dawn ’til eve,
The Twelve who watch over us all,
The sun, the stars, the earth and sea.
The gods descended from on high,
Zeus, most wise, let his thunder fly,
The Twelve battled fierce and strong,
But despite their power the fight was long.
This is how it came to be,
The life we tread from dawn ’til eve,
The Twelve who watch over us all,
The sun, the stars, the earth and sea.
The Twelve defeated their treacherous foe,
Imprisoned them in the fires below,
Then Zeus made man and led his kin,
To rule from Olympus and keep us from sin.
This is how it came to be,
The life we tread from dawn ’til eve,
The Twelve who watch over us all,
The sun, the stars, the earth and sea.
And now we are forever blessed,
The Titans bound in Tartarus,
The gods watch over from above,
Forever praised, worshipped and loved.”
By the time he finished, Danae’s cheeks were wet with tears. She wasn’t the only one. Even Atalanta hadn’t remained dry-eyed. Orpheus blushed and laid his lyre carefully across his lap.
“Gods,” breathed Telamon, “a talent like that is more dangerous than all of ours put together.”
They set sail with the dawn tide.
Once the Argonauts had clambered aboard the Argo, they hung their shields over the side of the ship and tucked their belongings under the rowing benches.
It transpired there was only one cabin under the prow deck, and it was nearly full to the brim with supplies for the long journey.
There were crates of salted meats, biscuits, barrels of olives, skins of wine and packs of furs to stave off the chill when they reached the Black Sea.
It was going to be cold at the end of the world.
Danae squeezed her bag next to Hylas’s pack and climbed up to the prow deck with Idmon. Everyone else, bar Tiphys and Jason, was seated at the oars. To even out his strength, Heracles was given an entire bench to himself.
But the crew didn’t have to row just yet. A strong northeast wind breathed into the sail and with Tiphys at the tiller guiding the steering oar, the Argo cut through the water like a freshly sharpened blade.
“Orpheus! Sing us a song to see us on our way,” called Jason.
The musician climbed off his bench and sat himself on the edge of the prow platform, his feet drumming a rhythm on the wooden planks.
The beat was strong, and the song’s lyrics told of a great battle and courageous fighters, yet a lilt in the musician’s voice revealed a reservoir of longing. It touched a part of Danae still too raw to be brought into the light. Telamon was right, his was a dangerous talent indeed.
She stared out at the open water, the breeze whipping her short hair.
She’d made it this far; now all that stood between her and Prometheus was the ocean.
She’d always felt more comfortable on water than land.
This was where she belonged. She thought of what her father said to her the day she left Naxos.
She wondered if he was out on his fishing boat at this very moment.
Perhaps they were riding the sea together.
Idmon appeared beside her. He wrapped his long fingers around the side of the ship, so close to hers they almost touched. She fought the urge to move her hand away.
“The Twelve see you and know you, sister of the all-seeing eye.”
She’d never heard that additional part of the greeting before.
“You are young to be holy counsel to a man such as Heracles.”
She touched her forehead and replied, “Age is no quantifier of ability.”
He shifted his weight closer toward her. He smelled of altar smoke and something sour, like long-curdled milk.
“How old are you, child?”
“Old enough to know the will of the gods.”
“Of course.” He smiled obsequiously. “Under whom did you train?”
She let the question hang in the air for a moment then met his gaze, her face calm as the cerulean sea.
“One could almost be forgiven for thinking you are questioning my place on this voyage.”
With satisfaction, she watched his features squirm into a mask of mortification.
“Never, sister.”
He turned and walked briskly to the other side of the deck, leaving Danae alone. She moved her hands and saw her nails had made two rows of crescent indents in the wood.
They had barely sailed a league before the sky darkened.
“Jason!” called Tiphys. “I don’t like the look of those clouds.”
Danae followed the navigator’s gaze and saw thick gray clouds rolling in from the west. They were moving fast and had soon swallowed the sun. The air chilled.
From what she knew of sea storms, the old navigator was right to be worried.
“Idmon,” called Jason. “You said we’d have fine sailing to Troas.”
“The omens indicated we would, Captain,” said Idmon. “I’m sure the clouds will pass.”
“My ass they will,” said Telamon. “That’s a storm coming.”
Then a rumble of thunder came, and a fork of lightning cracked the sky.
Orpheus stopped playing and clutched his lyre to his chest. Soon, dark clouds boiled above the ship.
The wind picked up, and the sea frothed, tossing the Argo between swelling peaks.
Danae and Idmon climbed down to the mid-deck and braced themselves against the wall of the prow platform.
“The omens are in our favor, it will pass,” yelled Idmon. He sounded a lot less certain than before.
“Pull in the oars and sheath the mainsail!” called Tiphys.
“Shit.” Jason clenched his jaw as rain pelted the deck. He pointed at the twins. “Castor, Pollux, do what he says!”
The twins abandoned their benches and battled their way across the swaying ship. They started to undo the sail knots, then a sharp gust ripped the sodden rope from Castor’s fingers, and the untethered sheet flapped violently in the wind.
They were going to lose the sail. Danae had seen it happen on her father’s boat, when they’d been caught out in a flash storm.
“It’s going to rip!” she shouted.
The rope was writhing like a possessed serpent, the half-tethered sail screeching under the pull of the wind.
Without thinking, she launched herself across the deck.
Rain and saltwater blew like grit into her eyes but as the rope whipped back, she threw herself forward and caught it.
The friction burned her palms, but she held on, crashing down between the rowing benches.
Then a blast of wind caught the sail. She was thrown into the air, her screams lost to the raging storm.
Something gave way in her left shoulder, and pain seared through her arm, but she held on.
She was tossed across the ship and just as she was about to fall into the iron embrace of the sea, something clamped around her legs.
Heracles had one arm around her thighs and his free hand clasped the end of the rope.
“Let go!”
She obeyed, her left arm hanging useless as she slid down Heracles’s torso. She fell back between the rowing benches, where Hylas caught her and Atalanta and Telamon fought to secure the sail.
Dolos climbed over the benches toward her. “Your shoulder’s dislocated,” the healer shouted above a surge of thunder. “This is going to hurt.”
He grasped her left arm by the bicep and pulled.
A wave of nausea ripped through her as her shoulder popped back into its socket with a sickening crunch.
She stared up through the driving rain, sagging with relief as Heracles and the others clambered back onto the mid-deck, the sail now bound to the mast. The storm had become so violent, Tiphys had even abandoned the steering oar.
“Argonauts, brace yourselves under the benches!” yelled Jason.
Danae clung onto the sodden wood either side of her as the rest of the crew scrambled to find a hold. All they could do was ride out the storm and pray they survived.