Chapter 30 #2
Unbidden, Alea stole into Danae’s mind. Her sister lay on their pallet, her legs curled into her chest, weaving a piece of their father’s fishing flax into a bracelet.
She always used to lie like that. Danae would say she looked like an upended beetle.
Then Alea would flap her legs to make Danae laugh.
She blinked away the memory. Despite locking her sister away, Alea kept escaping. Sometimes she appeared smiling, sometimes her eyes were cold with blame and sometimes she was a sea-bloated corpse rotting on the sand.
“Orpheus!” called Jason. “Sing us a song.”
The musician obliged and took up his lyre. He sang of his mountain village and Eurydice, the girl he’d left behind. It was a beautiful melody, sweet and tender, the lyrics full of longing and the hope of returning to her a worthy man.
The music faltered as an empty skin hit Orpheus in the face.
“Read the ship, lad!” shouted Ancaeus. “Play something cheerful.”
Orpheus paused, swept wine droplets from his cheek, then began to pluck his strings so fast his fingers blurred.
“There was once a maiden, young and fair,
Light of foot and light of care,
She danced through the grass, she danced through the trees,
She danced like a flower kissed by the bees.”
Abruptly, Heracles grabbed a wineskin and took himself off to the stern deck. Danae watched him go, her brow creased, before Orpheus’s tune lured her attention back to the benches.
“She came to a river, wild and wide,
The water called, she did not hide,
She unpinned her hair, she unpinned her dress,
And with eager feet, met river’s caress.
Oh, poor maiden, young and fair,
She’d stepped into a centaur’s lair,
A dreadful brute, all lust and greed,
On maiden flesh did love to feed.
But as the creature grabbed his prey,
And maiden feared her final day,
The lion came!”
“The lion came!” cheered the crew.
“Tall as an oak, as broad as an ox,
The son of Zeus, quick as a fox.
Charging forth in his crowning mane,
He brought the centaur a storm of pain,
And the maiden cried—”
“‘The lion came, the lion came!’” Danae shouted with the rest of them.
“And he slayed the beast in his father’s name.
So pleased was the maiden that then and there,
She lay on the bank, let down her hair,
And the maiden roared full and true,
‘Oh, lion come, as I come for you!’
The lion came, oh, the lion came,
Lover of maidens no mortal can tame,
The lion came, oh, the lion came,
All praise to Zeus, the lion came!”
The Argonauts erupted with cheers. Orpheus stood and, lyre at his side, bowed to the crew.
“Now, that’s more like it!” shouted Ancaeus as he pounded his bench.
Danae looked back to Heracles sitting on the stern deck, a lone silhouette against the dusky sky. She picked up a skin of wine and climbed across the benches.
“Thought you might need another.”
He turned, his eyes lingering on her face before accepting the drink.
He took a swig, then handed it back to her.
She drank too. She realized it was the first time she’d ever been alone with him.
Well, as alone as it was possible to be on a twenty-crew ship.
The thought sent a little flutter through her chest.
“Not a fan of your songs?”
The hero reached for the wine again. “I’ve heard them all before.” He shot her a wry smile. “And however tuneful, they’re not always entirely accurate.”
She wanted to ask which part wasn’t accurate but felt heat rising in her cheeks at the thought, so instead said, “Why didn’t you fight the pirates?”
For a moment he looked taken aback. “I would have thought that obvious.”
Danae refused to let him make her feel foolish. “If you’d put on your lion hide and made it known the mighty Heracles was aboard, they’d never have fought us. You could have saved a lot of bloodshed.”
“Is that always the best outcome?”
“Yes.”
Heracles did not contradict her, but his expression made it clear he didn’t agree. She took another drink.
“Educate me.”
His smile gleamed in the moonlight. “The fight is what bonds soldiers. The Argonauts are not just warriors by trade, it’s in their bones.
Victory sustains them as much as food and water.
After Lemnos they needed a win. A win that was theirs, earned by their blades, not delivered to them on a platter by a demigod.
” He took back the wine. “And I need a day off every now and then.”
“How do you live with it...all the death? How do you stop each kill reminding you of those you love who’ve...” She did not trust herself to continue.
His gaze softened and for a moment, she thought he would reach for her, but instead he said quietly, “Time and familiarity. Death has become a companion I walk beside each day. But there are some deaths that weigh more heavily than others.” A shadow passed over his face.
“All we can do is make sure we’re strong enough to carry them. ”
There was pain there, beneath his chiseled exterior that looked so like one of his father’s statues.
“I never thanked you. For what you did in the cave.”
“It was nothing.”
“You saved my life.”
A bout of raucous laughter bubbled from the mid-deck. They both glanced back to see Hylas cajoling Atalanta into dancing with him. The pair made Danae think of a mountain goat attempting a jig with a bear.
Heracles laughed. “He’s a good lad, Hylas.”
“Yes, he is.”
“I’ve grown very fond of him.”
She could tell he meant it.
“Is that why you let him join you on your travels?”
Heracles pierced her with those startlingly blue eyes.
Then he turned back to the sea. “Not entirely.” The lines of his face deepened.
“I was put in charge of an army. I was young, and the king was foolish. He saw only my strength and none of my immaturity. I was eager to prove myself, but I wasn’t ready.
I made a bad decision, led my men into an ambush.
Many were killed, including Hylas’s father.
” He paused, staring at the water. “The boy was wasted on that farm. I felt like I owed it to him to take him with me.”
Silence settled between them. Heracles lifted the wineskin to his lips and drank deeply.
“I’m sure it wasn’t your fault.”
His jaw tightened. “It was, and I must never forget it.” His pain was so close to the surface she could almost grasp it. “I have done terrible things, and all of them were my fault.” He shook his head. “People think they want power, but they have no idea. It eats you until there is nothing left.”
As she watched him, her fear melted away.
She wished she could tell him she understood.
Instead, she reached for his hand. He looked at her, scarred brow creased in surprise.
Her skin prickled, her stomach pulsing with nervous energy.
Holding his gaze was like falling into an endless sky.
There was something else in his eyes, something beyond the guilt he was drowning in.
The faintest spark in the darkness. Was it hope?
“You know you can trust me, Daeira,” he said softly.
The feeling she’d had in the square in Corinth returned with a vengeance. She was as certain as if it were written in her bones; they were destined to walk the same path toward Prometheus.
“Heracles...” she began.
“You’re missing all the fun!”
The moment shattered as Telamon appeared behind them and slapped a hand on both their shoulders.
“Peleus and I have been teaching the men to dance, properly. Believe it or not, Ancaeus is surprisingly good.” He straightened up, looking at them expectantly. Heracles sighed, heaved himself up and followed Telamon.
Danae lingered on the stern, the salt wind buffeting her hair, the hint of a smile imprinted on her lips.