Scions of Troy

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Written by Charlotte Benton (aka PyrrhaIphis) Font is Cormorant Garamond by Christian Thalmann Basic UI formatting based on the "Simple Visual Novel Template for Twine" by Sun Labyrinth. All images used were obtained via Wikimedia Commons (links will be provided on request). The photographs of ancient art were uploaded by Leporello78, O.Mustafin, Maur, Travelling Runes, Marcus Cyron, Zde, Daderot, Schuppi, Bibi Saint-Pol, איתן פרמן, and one that doesn't seem to list who took the photo. (Two of the ancient art photos were significantly edited (the side-bar image to give one of the girls red hair, and one of the chapter title images, an Archaic statue of Athene which I tried to make look like it was wooden) and one had minor edits to remove some significant cracks in the pottery. There were also trims and other such minor edits.) The photographs of scenery from Lesbos, Troy and Mount Ida (which I then mutilated in Photoshop in a vain attempt to make them look kinda-sorta like frescoes) are by Lesvosreisen GmbH, v.sarina, PanosMtln, Angeliki Argyriadou, Volker Höhfeld, Ahmetcan3850, Magurale, Elelicht, Dennis Jarvis, Kiss Tamás, and Ollios. The background image, of water at Santorini is copyright Dietmar Rabich / Wikimedia Commons / “Santorin (GR), Perissa, Wasser an der Küste -- 2017 -- 2523” / CC BY-SA 4.0 [[Table of Contents]] (link-undo:"Go back")

<center>{ #Glossary, Page 1 </center>} ==| Achaia/n (click: "Achaia/n")[(set: $called to "Achaia")(goto: "gloss1")] acropolis (click: "acropolis")[(set: $called to "acropolis")(goto: "gloss1")] agora (click: "agora")[(set: $called to "agora")(goto: "gloss1")] Aiakos (click: "Aiakos")[(set: $called to "Aiakos")(goto: "gloss1")] Aineias (click: "Aineias")[(set: $called to "Aineias")(goto: "gloss1")] Alexander (click: "Alexander")[(set: $called to "Alexander")(goto: "gloss1")] Anatolia (click: "Anatolia")[(set: $called to "Anatolia")(goto: "gloss1")] Antilochos (click: "Antilochos")[(set: $called to "Antilochos")(goto: "gloss1")] Aphrodite (click: "Aphrodite")[(set: $called to "Aphrodite")(goto: "gloss1")] *Argo*/Argonaut (click: "Argo")[(set: $called to "Argo")(goto: "gloss1")](click: "/Argonaut")[(set: $called to "Argo")(goto: "gloss1")] Artemis (click: "Artemis")[(set: $called to "Artemis")(goto: "gloss1")] Asia (click: "Asia")[(set: $called to "Asia")(goto: "gloss1")] Athens (click: "Athens")[(set: $called to "Athens")(goto: "gloss1")] Autolycos (click: "Autolycos")[(set: $called to "Autolycos")(goto: "gloss1")] Bellerophon (click: "Bellerophon")[(set: $called to "Bellerophon")(goto: "gloss1")] Britomartis (click: "Britomartis")[(set: $called to "Britomartis")(goto: "gloss2")] Cassandra (click: "Cassandra")[(set: $called to "Cassandra")(goto: "gloss2")] Chimera (click: "Chimera")[(set: $called to "Chimera")(goto: "gloss2")] Crete (click: "Crete")[(set: $called to "Crete")(goto: "gloss2")] Danaan (click: "Danaan")[(set: $called to "Danaan")(goto: "gloss2")] Delphi (click: "Delphi")[(set: $called to "Delphi")(goto: "gloss2")] Doran (click: "Doran")[(set: $called to "Doran")(goto: "gloss2")] Eleusis (click: "Eleusis")[(set: $called to "Eleusis")(goto: "gloss2")] Eos (click: "Eos")[(set: $called to "Eos")(goto: "gloss2")] Ethiopia (click: "Ethiopia")[(set: $called to "Ethiopia")(goto: "gloss2")] Eurysakes (click: "Eurysakes")[(set: $called to "Eurysakes")(goto: "gloss2")] =|= Achaia Phthiotis (click: "Achaia Phthiotis")[(set: $called to "AchaiaP")(goto: "gloss6")] Agamemnon (click: "Agamemnon")[(set: $called to "Agamemnon")(goto: "gloss6")] Ahhiyawa (click: "Ahhiyawa")[(set: $called to "Ahhiyawa")(goto: "gloss6")] Aias (of Locris/Oileades) (click: "Aias (of Locris/Oileades)")[(set: $called to "AiasL")(goto: "gloss6")] Aiolia (click: "Aiolia")[(set: $called to "Aiolia")(goto: "gloss6")] Althaia (click: "Althaia")[(set: $called to "Althaia")(goto: "gloss6")] Aniketos (click: "Aniketos")[(set: $called to "Aniketos")(goto: "gloss6")] Aoide (click: "Aoide")[(set: $called to "Aoide")(goto: "gloss6")] Apollo (click: "Apollo")[(set: $called to "Apollo")(goto: "gloss6")] Ariadne (click: "Ariadne")[(set: $called to "Ariade")(goto: "gloss6")] Aruna (click: "Aruna")[(set: $called to "Aruna")(goto: "gloss6")] Atalanta (click: "Atalanta")[(set: $called to "Atalanta")(goto: "gloss6")] Atleus (click: "Atleus")[(set: $called to "Atleus")(goto: "gloss6")] Babylon (click: "Babylon")[(set: $called to "Babylon")(goto: "gloss6")] Bistones (click: "Bistones")[(set: $called to "Bistones")(goto: "gloss6")] Callicrates (click: "Callicrates")[(set: $called to "Callicrates")(goto: "gloss7")] Cebren (click: "Cebren")[(set: $called to "Cebren")(goto: "gloss7")] Chryseis (click: "Chryseis")[(set: $called to "Chryseis")(goto: "gloss7")] Cypros (click: "Cypros")[(set: $called to "Cypros")(goto: "gloss7")] Dardanelles (click: "Dardanelles")[(set: $called to "Dardanelles")(goto: "gloss7")] Diomedes (click: "Diomedes")[(set: $called to "Diomedes")(goto: "gloss7")] double-moon shields (click: "double-moon shields")[(set: $called to "shields")(goto: "gloss7")] Eleuthyia (click: "Eleuthyia")[(set: $called to "Eleuthyia")(goto: "gloss7")] Epeiros (click: "Epeiros")[(set: $called to "Epeiros")(goto: "gloss7")] Euphrates (click: "Euphrates")[(set: $called to "Euphrates")(goto: "gloss7")] Eurysakes' sideburns (click: " Eurysakes' sideburns")[(set: $called to "sideburns")(goto: "gloss7")] |== Achilles (click: "Achilles")[(set: $called to "Achilles")(goto: "gloss11")] ages (click: "ages")[(set: $called to "ages")(goto: "gloss11")] ai (click: "ai")[(set: $called to "ai")(goto: "gloss11")] Aias (Salamis/Telamonian) (click: "Aias (Salamis/Telamonian)")[(set: $called to "AiasS")(goto: "gloss11")] Aitna, Mount (click: "Aitna, Mount")[(set: $called to "Aitna")(goto: "gloss11")] Amazon(s) (click: "Amazon(s)")[(set: $called to "Amazons")(goto: "gloss11")] Antianeira (click: "Antianeira")[(set: $called to "Antianeira")(goto: "gloss11")] Apaliunas (click: "Apaliunas")[(set: $called to "Apaliunas")(goto: "gloss11")] Apophis (click: "Apophis")[(set: $called to "Apophis")(goto: "gloss11")] Arios (click: "Arios")[(set: $called to "Arios")(goto: "gloss11")] Ascalaphos (click: "Ascalaphos")[(set: $called to "Ascalaphos")(goto: "gloss11")] Athene (click: "Athene")[(set: $called to "Athene")(goto: "gloss11")] attractiveness (click: "attractiveness")[(set: $called to "attractiveness")(goto: "gloss11")] barbarian (click: "barbarian")[(set: $called to "barbarian")(goto: "gloss11")] Briseis (click: "Briseis")[(set: $called to "Briseis")(goto: "gloss11")] Callicritades (click: "Callicritades")[(set: $called to "Callicritades")(goto: "gloss12")] Cheiron (click: "Cheiron")[(set: $called to "Cheiron")(goto: "gloss12")] Colchis (click: "Colchis")[(set: $called to "Colchis")(goto: "gloss12")] Damaris (click: "Damaris")[(set: $called to "Damaris")(goto: "gloss12")] Dardania (click: "Dardania")[(set: $called to "Dardania")(goto: "gloss12")] Dionysos (click: "Dionysos")[(set: $called to "Dionysos")(goto: "gloss12")] Egypt (click: "Egypt")[(set: $called to "Egypt")(goto: "gloss12")] Endeis (click: "Endeis")[(set: $called to "Endeis")(goto: "gloss12")] ephebe (click: "ephebe")[(set: $called to "ephebe")(goto: "gloss12")] Eurydice (click: "Eurydice")[(set: $called to "Eurydice")(goto: "gloss12")] Eutychos (click: "Eutychos")[(set: $called to "Eutychos")(goto: "gloss12")] |==| {<center> [[Page 2->Glossary2]] </center>} ------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

         As the Muse begins our story, the day is fine and fair, as most were in Methymna. The desolation of war was long forgotten, and prosperity had long since returned to the entire island of Lesbos. The man who had played host to Achilles and Odysseus in the palace in Methymna, despite the irregular and indecorous way he had obtained his throne, stood unopposed. He was not the finest or fairest of monarchs, but he was not the worst, either; his people suffered no particular tyrannies from him, and he usually only had his slaves beaten when they had done some wrong. His palace was bright and pleasant, and filled always with songs and celebrations. His city’s port was constantly visited by trading ships not only from Hatti, but also from Hellas, Phoenicia, and sometimes even distant ports like Egypt and Colchis.          On this particular day, his palace teemed with life, for there were two guests sharing his hospitality. One was cloaked in mystery, and the other was a wealthy horse-breeder from Aiolia. Though the former avoided all within the palace other than the king himself, the Aiolian seemed determined to experience everything and everyone he could, and soon after his arrival he had encountered both the girls of whom our Muse sings, one in the courtyard where the guardsmen practice and the second at the feast. [[Witness the scene in the courtyard.->Courtyard]] [[Witness the feast.->1stFeast]]

In the yard where the king’s personal guards trained, a slender figure with bright red curls was practicing sword-play with one of the guards as the Aiolian and his entourage were being led through the yard. Though the figure with the red hair wore the same leather cuirass as the guard, it was much too large on the red-head, and flapped about with such energy that it would have thrown many fighters off their balance. It did not stop the red-head from fighting with surprising skill, however, such that the king’s guest could not help stopping to stare at the sparring match, forcing his retinue—several Achaian guards and a barbarian eunuch—to stop as well.           “That boy is amazing!” he exclaimed to the king’s retainer who stood near him. “And that hair…if I did not know better, I should think that I was looking at Achilles himself, returned from the house of Hades!”           The retainer laughed. “I thought you Hellenes viewed him as a hero,” he said. “You shouldn’t say such insulting things about the dead you worship as heroes.”           “Do you dare to speak disrespectfully of him?!” one of the Achaian guards exclaimed, staring at his employer in horror. “What if his divine mother wishes to punish us for your disrespect when we set off across the ocean again?”           “I meant no disrespect, I assure you! As soon as he’s provided with a proper set of armor, that boy will be a valuable asset to the king’s guards,” the Aiolian insisted, gesturing towards the sparring red-head. “Any man can see that!”           The king’s retainer shook his head. “That’s no boy,” he explained. “That’s one of the master’s slave girls. The guards allow this disreputable display because…” The retainer’s voice trailed off, and he frowned. “It is usually harmless.”           “That’s a female?!” The king’s guest shook his head. “A proper little Amazon, isn’t she?”           “She wishes,” the retainer chuckled cruelly. “Shall we continue on to where my king awaits you?”           “Yes, yes, lead on,” the other replied, and the retainer and guests left the yard, returning to the interior of the palace.           After a few more blows, the red-headed girl disarmed her opponent, and then grinned in the direction in which the two men had just left. “Did you hear that?!” she asked excitedly, looking back at the guard. “Did you hear what he said about me?!”           “You’re too easily pleased, Atalanta,” the guard sighed, shaking his head. “You’re going to get yourself in even more trouble than usual sooner or later.” He frowned, retrieving his sword from the ground. “We shouldn’t be doing this anymore.”           “What?! Why not?!”           “Atalanta, you’re sixteen years old now. You can’t keep playing at being a boy. How much longer are you going to put off your duty to your master? All the other slave girls your age have borne children already.”           “Ariadne hasn’t,” Atalanta replied proudly.           “Because you threaten any man who comes near her!” the guard exclaimed, a wavering in his voice. “You two can’t stay untouched forever. You have to bear children. The king can’t afford to barter for new slaves all the time, and he doesn’t have the military forces necessary to go out and seize new ones in raids. It’s your job to make sure he doesn’t run out of slaves.”           “That’s an *awful* job. Can’t I be one of the guards instead? You heard that guest! I’d be good at it!”           “No one would take a female guard seriously,” the man insisted, scowling at her.           “They would if I was an Amazon,” she answered, with an innocent smile. “Just tell people I’m an Amazon.”           “Go back to the kitchens before I get in trouble,” the guard told her grimly.           Atalanta sighed miserably. “All right, all right,” she muttered, before slipping out of the over-sized cuirass. Then, grumpily, she stomped off to the kitchens, where she was treated to a terrible lecture for being late, then forced to work on preparing the food for the feast the master was to hold that night. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->nextmorningcard]]

The megaron was laid out for a fine feast, and all of the king’s guests were in attendance. The jolly guest from Aiolia, a finely dressed man in late middle age, was smiling even before the wine began to flow. He was being accompanied in his travels by several Achaian warriors as guards, and a pretty barbarian eunuch, who was currently singing to entertain the entire gathering.          The king’s other guest was as shrouded in mystery as he was covered in his own cloak. Only his head and one bare arm were visible of his body; even his garments were hidden from view, and only rarely did his feet show themselves, though they were encased entirely in leather boots, rather than in sandals or the more common curved shoes. Based on his pale coloration, he was assumed to be a barbarian from the far north.          The Aiolian had proved garrulous right from the start, but he became even more loquacious as the dark-haired slave girl refilled his cup from the krater of wine. “What a beautiful slave!” he exclaimed, his eyes roaming over the teenage girl’s body much more closely than she would have preferred. “And such pretty gray eyes, like the goddess Athene herself! You’re certainly blessed with fine slave girls, your majesty!”          “Indeed, there is as much beauty within my palace as without it,” the king laughed, as the girl picked up an empty serving dish to clear it out of the way. “I have another even finer than this one, you know,” he added, in a confidential tone. The girl’s fingers tightened into the sides of the dish, rendering her knuckles white as the bones beneath the skin.          “I saw her,” the horse-breeder agreed, “though I thought I was seeing a shade risen from the house of Hades! You know, when I was a young man of Epeiros, I once accompanied the second prince to Phthia over some minor dispute. The prince was a terrible man with the size and brutality of two, and he wanted to seize for himself at least some of Phthia’s territory, if not all of it.” The Aiolian shook his head sadly. “He tricked the young son of King Peleus into a duel to the death, and my first thought was to grieve for the beautiful young prince of Phthia, because I thought he was doomed to die.” He laughed, slapping his knee with one hand. “I had never given credit to the rumors that Peleus had married the most powerful and beautiful of the Nereids, but I should have! The young Prince Achilles had no trouble slaying a man twice his size and age. I was the only one of our delegation that defended his right to have done so when we returned to Epeiros, and I ended up banished for my trouble. But Peleus was glad of my support, so he allowed me to settle in Phthia, and I’ve made quite a success of myself there, as you can well see,” the horse-breeder concluded. While he was talking, the dark-haired girl had rejoined a few other slaves on the side of the room, where they awaited the next need of their services. “That girl I saw earlier today looked so much like Achilles as a boy that I couldn’t believe my eyes! Even more remarkable, she fought almost as well as he did! And now here’s this gray-eyed beauty, too! Do you alone take your privilege from these two beauties, or do you allow other men to share in your bounty?”          The dark-haired slave girl’s fists contracted around the empty dish she held, and she contemplated throwing it at the guest as hard as she could. “Easy, Ariadne!” the slave next to her hissed. “They’re just words! Don’t get yourself killed over them!”          “For the moment, their chastity has been preserved,” the king answered, shaking his head. “Until it suits me otherwise, I like preserving them as maidens. It will give me better bargaining power if I should decide to trade them elsewhere.”          If the king spoke honestly, Ariadne would not be the least bit comforted, but she was quite certain that he only spouted hot air. He had no power to dictate their maiden status, because he and all his guards were afraid of Atalanta’s raw strength, even if they no longer believed her when she routinely called herself the daughter of Achilles. But sooner or later, that fear would surely fade, and what would happen to them then?          “I don’t think I could have such a strong resolve, were they my slaves,” the horse-breeder chuckled, “but your thinking is certainly wise. Do you plan on keeping them long?”          The king shrugged. “I haven’t made any firm decisions on the subject,” he admitted. “There have been offers, of course, but…there is much to consider.”          The Aiolian affably agreed with the king’s statement, and the conversation moved on to other topics, but Ariadne found herself too enraged to think straight for most of the rest of the feast. It was only with reluctance that she accepted the singer’s invitation to join him in the garden after the feast. She was in no mood to be entertained…          …but she wanted to learn every song she could from every visitor who passed through the palace. If the time ever came for them to part ways with their role as slaves, having a full repertoire at her command would be very useful. Unlike her cousin, she would never be able to make her way through the world with the strength of her blade (though her bow-arm was strong), but the strength of her song might be enough… [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->nextmorningcard]]

Ariadne awoke with the dawn to find that Atalanta was sitting balled up on her own bare slab of a bed and staring petulantly across their tiny chamber at her. “Where *were* you last night?” Atalanta asked as soon as Ariadne lifted her head. “The others were back from the master’s feast for ages and you were so late that I fell asleep waiting for you!”          “It was just—” Ariadne started with a sigh.          “Don’t say you had extra duties. They all said you didn’t!”          “I was learning some songs from the guest’s bard,” Ariadne explained as she sat up, swinging her legs off the side of the bunk.          “Is that safe?”          “He’s a eunuch. Where could the risk be in it?”          Atalanta shuddered. “Eunuch or no, he’s still a man. You can’t trust them, and you don’t have the strength to fight them off!”          “He’s a *eunuch*,” Ariadne repeated. “He’s not exactly a man anymore.”          “Why not?” Atalanta asked, her eyes wide in her unbelievable innocence.          “You *have* to know what a eunuch is. What the difference is between a eunuch and a man.”          “He has a high voice?”          Ariadne found herself massaging her temples. “Athene give me strength,” she murmured. As the two cousins made their way out of their chambers, Ariadne tried to explain the difference, using as a metaphor one of the only two things she knew Atalanta was sure to understand: horses. Once she likened men to stallions and eunuchs to geldings, Atalanta finally seemed to get it, but Ariadne wasn’t sure she was going to be able keep the information in that empty head of hers…          Upon receiving their puny morning meal from Kawiya, the girls were informed that they would be needed to assist with the laundry. Ariadne wasn’t sure if she loved the task or hated it. It was one of the few activities that were guaranteed to be without the presence of men, but it was rather grueling physical labor that left her arms sore for days afterwards. They had hardly finished eating before they were joined by the other girls who would be doing the laundry with them: Oitane, Thalassa, Damaris and Endeis, all of them with babies on their backs or tiny children toddling after them and clutching the tails of their tunics. Ariadne felt distinctly out of place among these girls about her own age who were already burdened down with children.          Kawiya supervised as the six—ten, including the children—slaves made their way down to the beach, followed by a handful of guardsmen carrying the dirty laundry. Kawiya and the guards only spoke to each other in the local Hatti dialect, but the other girls were already gossiping quietly in Achaian whenever the supervisor had her attention focused on the guards. The laundry was deposited on the pebbly shore, and the guards and supervisor made their way back up to the citadel above, while the girls set about taking the laundry from the bundles and washing it in the clean, briny water.          Atalanta—as Ariadne had expected—was the first to speak as soon as the bundles were opened, complaining in childish terms about the stink and the stains on the clothes. There appeared to be blood as well as human waste; Ariadne hoped that meant the clothes were the queen’s or one of the princesses’, and the blood was from their monthly flow, but she wouldn’t have dared ask even if she thought Kawiya would know the answer.          Ariadne took one of the less-stained garments and knelt beside Atalanta to rinse the garment, then began beating and scrubbing it against the rocks. Trying her best to ignore the gossip of the other girls on the one hand and Atalanta’s grumbling about how this was hardly appropriate work for the granddaughter of a Nereid on the other, Ariadne began quietly singing under her breath. It was one of the songs she had learned last night, and she wanted to make sure she had it down while the bard was still at the master’s court and could correct her before he left.          She didn’t get very far before Oitane knelt down close on her other side and cast an entertained smile at her. “I heard the master’s guests are very interested in you two,” she said.          “Is that so,” Ariadne replied, with enough chill in her voice to freeze water on the boil.          “Well, our fathers *are* great heroes,” Atalanta said, looking up at the sky thoughtfully. “You’d think more of the master’s guests would take an interest in us.”          That only made all the other girls laugh at them, as Ariadne let out a miserable sigh. Since her mother’s death, Atalanta was the only person in all of Methymna who actually believed the ridiculous tale that had been spun for their gullible master all those years ago. Ariadne’s mother had said she had believed it at the time, but that her belief had waned more and more with each year that passed, until by the time of her own death, she had come to understand that Ariadne’s father had been nothing but a liar and a thief.          “Maybe the master will make presents of you to the guests,” Oitane went on. “That man from Aiolia, he brought the master some very fine horses along with the usual gifts. He’ll need to get something special in return…”          “Aiolia?” Atalanta repeated, her eyes suddenly sparkling with interest. “That’s where Phthia is, isn’t it, Ariadne? Maybe he’ll take us to my father’s homeland!”          “And what if he did?” Ariadne asked, scowling. “Do you think some mystical spirit would simply set us free just because your father was from the region?” Not that it was really likely that whatever red-haired liar had fathered Atalanta was actually Aiolian.          “Oh…uh…” Atalanta smiled weakly. “Maybe not,” she admitted with a sigh.          “No ‘maybe’ about it.”          “I don’t know that the gift was worth *both* of you,” Oitane said, laughing.          “The guards were talking about how that northern barbarian’s gift was particularly fine, too,” Damaris added from Oitane’s other side. “Golden vessels filled with jewelry, and a set of iron blades. He will need every bit as fine a gift as the Aiolian. And Talimmu was saying that he spent an awfully long time in private conference with the master, always gesturing towards the slave quarters.”          Atalanta’s jaw began to tremble, which was never a good sign. “You’re still in Talimmu’s good graces after you had another man’s child?” Ariadne asked, smiling at Damaris with an artificial sweetness. “How terribly forgiving he is!”          Damaris paled as her eyes filled with rage.          “Ariadne, it…it isn’t possible, is it?” Atalanta’s voice was quiet.          “What?”          “The master wouldn’t send us away from each other, would he?”          Ariadne sighed. “I doubt he’s even aware of our existence,” she lied. And if she had said it in private, it might have consoled her cousin, but it set the other girls to laughing again. Realistically, it was probably the most absurd thing Ariadne had said in years; the entire city—if not the entire island!—knew about Atalanta. Between her bright red hair and her unusual strength, to say nothing of her delusions of descent from godhead, she was already quite infamous…          “Frankly, I’m astonished he didn’t separate you two years ago,” Damaris snarled. “Maybe then you would behave like real women and have children like the rest of us.”          “What?!” Atalanta’s exclamation was a warning the other girls didn’t seem to understand.          “Since the master’s guests each seemed to take a liking to only one of you, it would only make sense to give one of you to each of them,” Oitane commented.          “I’ll kill any man who tries to take Ariadne away!” Atalanta shouted, leaping to her feet, washing forgotten. “They’ll find out what happens if they cross the daughter of Achilles!”          “What is the matter with you?!” Ariadne snapped, casting a glance from their terrified fellow slaves to the citadel at the top of the hill behind them. She could see the guards standing there watching them, but they were too far away for her to tell if the guards had any idea anything was wrong. “Get back to work,” Ariadne added, tugging on the tail of Atalanta’s tunic until she resumed her kneeling position. “You must never do anything so reckless,” she added, pressing the washing back into Atalanta’s hands. “I am more than capable of defending myself, even if I do lack your brute strength.”          “But, Ariadne, you wouldn’t have a bow if they tried to take you away.”          Ariadne laughed. “You really are silly, Atalanta. It’s much better, if you must kill a man to protect yourself, to do it *subtly*. Poison is much better than violence. Less messy, and if you use the right kind, it will look like illness.”          “Oh.” Atalanta laughed. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”          “Something rash and stupid, I don’t doubt.”          Atalanta agreed, even as the other slaves hastily put a distance between themselves and the two cousins. Soon enough, they had all resumed their work, and Ariadne found herself once again singing the songs she had learned the previous night. But now she wasn’t singing under her breath, but at full strength, with a wide smile despite the tedious and tiresome manual labor. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->interstitial1]]

[[<img src="ch1-late night.jpg" width="750" height="563">->latethatnight]]

Atalanta was pacing back and forth in the tiny space between their beds when Ariadne finally stepped through the doorway into the room. “Where have you been?!” she demanded, rushing over to grasp her cousin by both arms. “What if you had taken them away and the guest was all alone with me on the way to gods-only-know-where?!”          Ariadne laughed weakly, and tried to pull away, but Atalanta wasn’t letting her. “Atalanta, calm down. There’s no reason for you to panic.”          “I’m not panicking!” Atalanta insisted. “I *don’t* panic!” she added after a moment’s thought. Surely being the sort who would give in to fear and panic would shame her father’s memory. He had been a mighty warrior who never knew fear. Everyone knew that.          “Of course you don’t,” Ariadne laughed, pulling away successfully this time. “Keep your voice down, or you’ll wake everyone else. The master’s guests aren’t leaving for several more days, so you don’t have to worry about *that* yet.”          “Oh, really?” Atalanta found herself breathing more comfortably than she had since the other girls had returned from the feast without Ariadne, again. “So…where *were* you, then?”          “Same place I was last night,” Ariadne said, sitting down on her bunk. “Learning songs from that eunuch.”          Atalanta sat down beside her, trying not to look as worried as she was. “But…what if he’s not *really* a gelding and he’s still a stallion? Wouldn’t that be dangerous?”          “He’s not,” Ariadne insisted. “Besides, I think he and his master are…” She stopped suddenly, looking at Atalanta with pink cheeks. “Don’t worry about it, all right? Nothing happened, and nothing’s going to happen.”          “But…it’s just…I…I…if something *did* happen, I don't think I could take it…”          Ariadne smiled at her, and took hold of one of her hands. “It won’t.”          Atalanta nodded, but she didn’t feel terribly reassured. Or at all reassured, even. “What…why…are those songs…really…better than being here with me?”          Ariadne’s smile widened, and she released Atalanta’s hand to wrap her arm around Atalanta’s waist, pulling her close. “What could be better than being with you?” she laughed. “It’s my way of preparing.”          “Preparing? For what?”          Ariadne sighed, and released Atalanta again, beginning to twirl the fingers of her hands about each other. “The girls were right about one thing. It really is a gift from the gods that we haven’t already been separated.”          “The master never separated our mothers. They were together right up until—” Atalanta’s voice stopped in her throat suddenly. Their mothers had been so inseparable that they had died within days of each other, leaving the cousins all alone in the world with no one but Kawiya to depend on, and how much could they depend on a free woman of Hatti who was always letting the master have Atalanta beaten just for being a little bad?          “But our mothers had already done their duty by the master in getting us,” Ariadne pointed out. “And neither of them ever threatened the guards.”          “I don’t threaten the guards!”          Ariadne just stared at her until Atalanta looked away, feeling her face heat up in shame.          “I don’t, really,” she insisted. “I just maybe hit them sometimes, but I don’t *threaten* them. And…I don’t even hit them all that hard…” It wasn’t like that one time she had hit a free man with all her strength. Nothing would ever induce her to repeat *that* mistake…          “I think you’ll find that the master thinks hitting the guards is much worse than threatening them, especially given how hard you can hit them,” Ariadne sighed. “No, we have to accept that sooner or later he’s going to try to send one or both of us away.”          “If he sent us away together—”          “He wouldn’t.” Ariadne didn’t sound like she had any doubt on the subject. “Even if he isn’t planning on making a gift of us to one of these guests, it’s only a matter of time.”          “I won’t let them take you away!” Atalanta promised, clutching Ariadne’s hands. “I couldn’t go on without you.”          “I wouldn’t want to go on without you, either,” Ariadne said. She wouldn’t look at Atalanta as she said it, but the flush on her cheeks and the tightening of her fingers around Atalanta’s seemed to prove she meant it. “Don’t worry, I don’t plan to let them separate us. But if we’re going to avoid that, we have to be ready.”          “Ready for what?” Atalanta looked at her curiously. “Did you figure out a way to contact your father and see if he’ll come and take us away?”          Ariadne scowled, like she always did whenever Atalanta mentioned her father. “Even if I knew who my father was—”          “It was Odysseus, just like—”          “—and even if I had a way to contact him, and even if I thought he would respond, I wouldn’t *want* to,” Ariadne continued, her voice getting hard and a little mean. “We can’t depend on anyone but each other. That’s why we’ll have to escape and find a way to live on our own somewhere off the island.”          “Escape?” Atalanta felt her face break out into a huge smile. “Oh, that’s a great idea! Why didn’t I ever think of that?”          “I’m glad you didn’t,” Ariadne said, with a laugh. “If you had, you probably would have tried to fight your way past the guards and just *swim* all the way to Hellas.”          “I’d never try to swim *that* far,” Atalanta insisted, perhaps a tiny bit petulant about it. “There’s all kinds of other islands in between here and there anyway.”          Ariadne just shook her head. “Promise me you won’t try to escape except acting on my instructions, all right?”          “All right, I promise, except if I have to rescue you because some man’s already taking you away. Then I’ll do whatever I can think of to get you back. Even if it won’t be as good as what you’d think of.”          Ariadne laughed. “As long as we’re given a little advance warning, it shouldn’t be a problem.”          Atalanta nodded, but she still felt a little confused. “What does that have to do with learning songs from a horse?” she asked.          “He’s not a horse!”          “But you said he was a gelding!”          Ariadne whimpered quietly for just long enough that Atalanta worried she wouldn’t answer. “He’s a eunuch,” she eventually said, “the human *equivalent* of a gelding.”          “Um…” Atalanta frowned. She had helped the ostlers geld some yearlings on occasion, but Ariadne couldn’t really mean that some people were cruel enough to do that to humans, too, could she? Wouldn’t that hurt? It sure seemed to hurt the horses, and they were only horses, a lot less sensitive to pain than most men Atalanta knew. “Is he a centaur?” Not that she had ever heard of any centaurs coming to visit the master, but maybe their horse parts were as hardy as actual horses…          “Of course not!” Ariadne grimaced. “I doubt centaurs are real, anyway. Some idiot probably just got confused on seeing a man on horseback in the distance.”          “No, they’re real!” Atalanta insisted. “My father was taught by one!” She paused, biting her lip. “Actually, I heard someone say he was descended from him…” She looked down at her legs and then laughed. “Suppose that’s why I’m so tall, because I’m part horse?”          “You’re not part horse. And you’re not descended from any centaurs, either.”          “No, really, I heard a rumor that my grandfather Peleus’ mother was the daughter of the centaur Cheiron. Really! I heard it from some sailors a couple years ago. Remember, that ship that came from Lemnos? The one with the crew who were all descended from the Argonauts?”          Ariadne laughed. “Ugh, don’t remind me. You kept trying to find out if any of them were related to you.”          “Well, my grandfather and his brother were both Argonauts. I think I heard a rumor once that *your* grandfather was one, too. Though he’s not usually mentioned when people talk about the crew of the *Argo*…”          “Atalanta, neither of us is descended from any Argonauts. Or any gods, or Nereids or centaurs or *anything*. Our mothers were slaves and our fathers were lying, thieving tricksters.” She tightened her grip on Atalanta’s fingers. “You don’t have to be the daughter of Achilles to be special. You’re the whole world to me without being anything but yourself. Isn’t that enough?”          As much as it stung to hear her cousin rejecting her father so harshly, Atalanta couldn’t do anything but nod. “You’re my whole world, too,” she said. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->nextmorningchoice]]

<img src="ch1-following morn.jpg" width="750" height="563">          The next morning, the girls were set to different tasks. Ariadne was sent to help with the weaving, while Atalanta was sent to help in the stables… [[Follow Ariadne->weaving]] [[Follow Atalanta->stables]]

Ariadne obediently followed Kawiya’s directions, and made her way to the large chamber where the master’s widowed sister Wineswa had gathered her servants and retainers around her to work at weaving. While Ariadne had often been called on to help with the weaving, thanks to her dexterity, she had only rarely been brought thus into the company of one of the king’s family. Wineswa spoke in the formal dialect of Hattusa which even her brother didn’t use—except when speaking to a rare messenger from the Great King, of course—so Ariadne understood very little of what she said, but the rest of them were speaking in the local dialect. The retainers were all people of Hatti, but one of the servants was an Achaian like Ariadne and Atalanta.          It was the latter servant, Ione, who gave Ariadne her instructions in Achaian. “Because you slaves haven’t been diligent enough, we’re running low on spun wool. You will spin as much as you can, and hand it all to me as soon as it is ready for the weaving.”          Biting back all her bitter retorts about the failure being on the part of those giving the orders not noticing that more wool was needed, Ariadne bowed her head and set to work silently. It was tedious and mechanical work, giving her plenty of spare attention to listen in on the conversations around her. Surely in such august company, there would be plenty of important information…          At first, there was none, of course. The retainers spent an absurd amount of time flattering Wineswa, who made no response in words, but was surely sitting there with the same arrogant smile she always displayed when she was being complimented. Once that duty was out of the way, the usual gossip proceeded. The valuable gifts the current guests had brought—and it sounded as though Oitane and Damaris had if anything *under*valued the gifts—and speculation on where the barbarian guest had come from, all of which could only end inconclusively with Ione’s rather absurd suggestion that he was from Hyperborea.          That discussion soon gave way to a more important one, as Ziza, one of the master’s favorites among the female servants, commented with some surprise on just how much wool Ariadne had already finished spinning. “Pity she’s a slave; she might make someone a good wife.”          Most of the other servants laughed with a cruelty that set Ariadne’s stomach roiling. “She seems to want to become one anyway—though evidently she doesn’t know you can’t get that from a eunuch!” Titimi exclaimed. Like Ziza, she was one of the servants who acted primarily as a go-between so the royal family wouldn’t have to speak directly to the slaves or the lower order of servants.          “Not at all,” Summunna said, interrupting the laughter Titimi’s comment had prompted. Summunna was Kawiya’s right hand, almost always at her side, though Ariadne wasn’t entirely sure what her actual duties were. “That little slave girl has her heart set on another already.” She lowered her voice to a false whisper, as if she wanted to heighten sense of scandal. “You must have seen them going everywhere together…”          “I’ve often seen her in the company of a red-haired boy,” one of the retainers commented. “A skinny little thing.”          “That’s not a boy,” Summunna laughed, “though I’m sure they’re both constantly praying to their degenerate gods to *make* her a boy!”          All the other women laughed hysterically, even as Ione made a weak defense that the Achaian gods were not ‘degenerate’ and never made women into men. It was all Ariadne could do to keep her hands steady and her work ongoing. Was that really how they looked to other people? Did the other slaves have the same shallow misconceptions?          Of course Ariadne wanted to be with no one other than Atalanta—who else could ever compare to her? And they had to remain all but inseparable because who would protect Atalanta from herself if Ariadne wasn’t there? Of course the idea of anything happening to Atalanta set Ariadne’s heart to pounding in terror, but that didn’t mean she wished anything so…it was just because they were family, of course it was! Anyone could see that, surely! Anyone who could see her heart…          Wineswa said something that broke through the laughter and Ariadne’s spiraling thoughts. She only understood one word: “guest.”          “I believe that is so, my lady,” one of the retainers said. “Is it not, Summunna?”          “I don’t know,” Summunna admitted. “Though Kawiya did tell me that the king has been making inquiries of her lately if she thinks any of the slaves are a danger to his royal person.”          “I could believe it,” Ziza commented. “I’ve heard that guest talking to the king about one of the slaves, suggesting the slave is a threat to him. From the way he was talking, I thought it was one of the male slaves, but he might have meant that Achaian monster.”          “That’s not what I heard at all,” Titimi said. “I heard him talking to the king about a pretty slave girl he was hoping to take with him as a gift to another king he was planning on visiting. Something about her being useful breeding stock.”          The other women laughed even as Ariadne’s blood ran cold. “He won’t have been talking about *that* girl, then!” Patahuli—chief retainer to the master’s youngest daughter—exclaimed. “No man would be brave enough to risk a night in *that* girl’s bed. He’d probably end up with his arms wrenched from his body!”          Wineswa made a surprised exclamation. Ariadne couldn’t understand all of it, but the gist was clear, that she couldn’t imagine a girl possessing such strength.          “They say once someone hitched her up to a plow when they were short on oxen,” Titimi said.          “That’s not true at all,” Summunna said. “But whenever one of the horses dies in its stall, she carries the corpse out with barely any help. I don’t think she’s human.”          Ariadne could feel the eyes of all the other women on her, but she endeavored to keep her movements steady. Even Kawiya often forgot just how well the Achaian slaves spoke the Hatti tongue, and now did not seem to be a good time to remind them, no matter how desperately she wanted to tell them that of course Atalanta was human, that her strength was nowhere near that great, and that Ariadne would never, ever wish to see Atalanta ruined by turning her into a man. Atalanta was—aside from a certain dimness of intellect and tendency to panic—as close to perfect as any human being was likely to get.          How could they not see that? How could they not appreciate that?          How could they not appreciate *her*? [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->interstitial2]]

Atalanta reported to the stables as ordered, half-hoping they were going to be gelding some young stallion so she could try to ask the ostlers if it was really true that sometimes people gelded humans as well. She really found it quite impossible to accept that any man would be able to endure that kind of pain and live; that eunuch must have tricked Ariadne into believing that so she would be off her guard!          Unfortunately, they were just cleaning out the stalls—the worst of all jobs!—and maybe cleaning the master’s chariots in the unlikely event that one of the other cities on the island might try to attack Methymna by land. The stable-slaves Zakynthos and Polyphetes helped Atalanta get all the horses out of the stalls and into a nearby pasture, but for men whose entire duties revolved around horses, they didn’t actually seem to be very good with the animals; the horses responded much better to Atalanta’s commands than to theirs. (Maybe that was just proof that Ariadne was wrong and Atalanta really was part horse! Though that didn’t actually sound so great when she thought about it more deeply…)          Once the horses were safely in the pasture, under the not-terribly-watchful gaze of a few of the master’s guards, there was nothing for it but to get down to the horribly filthy task of mucking out the stalls.          But as it turned out, Atalanta was in charge of bringing buckets and buckets and buckets and buckets and buckets of water all the way up from the sea and throwing the water at the stall while the ostlers and a few of the other male slaves did the actual mucking out. When she learned that, Atalanta said a quick prayer of thanks to the gods for taking pity on her this time! Last time, she had been the one actually dealing with all the half-decayed straw and the awful, awful piles of over-ripe manure. Although that was sort of her own fault, a punishment for having broken too many vessels when she was assigned to help reorganize the palace storehouses, but that hadn’t been her fault! They shouldn’t have had her handling things if they were worried about them getting broken!          By the early afternoon, enough of the work was done that Polyphetes was no longer needed to help with the stalls, and he joined her in carrying the water. He was making the process so much slower, though, because he insisted that he could carry twice as many buckets as she could—did he think he had extra hands?—and kept having to stop on the way up to reposition them, but always insisting that she had to wait for him.          “Hey, you must have heard a lot of stories about the Argonauts, right?” she asked on the third or fourth time they stopped. “I mean, you were almost my age when you were taken from Lemnos, weren’t you?”          “I was a good deal younger than you are when the raiders came, actually,” Polyphetes said, groaning as he picked up the buckets again. “But everyone heard the stories about the Argonauts. Why?” He suddenly grinned at her. “There’s no fear I’m descended from Peleus, if that’s what you’re worried about.”          “Why would I worry about that?” Having another cousin might be fun! Although not if it was Polyphetes. And of course no other cousin could ever match up to Ariadne anyway. “I was just wondering if you knew the exact number of them. I’ve heard some sailors claim that Laertes was one, but usually he’s not listed.”          “Oh, uh…” Polyphetes coughed, and put his water down *again*. “They actually spent all their time in Myrina, on the other side of the island. And it was so long ago that my grandfather hadn’t even been born yet! I don’t really know any more than you, when it comes down to it.” He picked the water back up again. “I’ve never even heard of this Laertes guy, anyway. I doubt he was an Argonaut. Why would you ask that? Who was he?”          “He’s Ariadne’s grandfather.”          “Oh.” They walked in silence for only a few steps before Polyphetes spoke again. “Don’t you ever want to talk about anything but your family?”          “What else is there?”          “Well…lots of things…like…future members of your family…”          Atalanta frowned. “I don’t think people can become relatives who aren’t already.”          Polyphetes let out a miserable-sounding groan. His arms were probably sore from carrying too much at once. Not that Atalanta couldn’t carry that much weight! She could easily carry full buckets that were twice the size of these, but she wouldn’t dream of trying to figure out a way to carry more buckets at once.          Fortunately, Polyphetes got yelled at for wasting so much time by trying to carry extra buckets—though the supervisor was absurd to think he was trying to impress Atalanta. Outdo her, sure, but why would anyone think that would impress her? It wasn’t like a few buckets weighed much. Besides, why would he even *want* to impress her? What would be the point of that?          On the next trip down, Zakynthos joined them, and neither man tried to carry more than two buckets. “We might actually finish this task early,” Zakynthos commented as they were filling their buckets.          “That’d be good. I’m sick of carrying this water around,” Atalanta said.          “Me, too,” Polyphetes agreed.          “This is only your second trip! I’ve been doing this all day, you weakling!”          “It sounds like they might let us rest for the remainder of the afternoon as a reward for being so efficient,” Zakynthos continued.          “Wow, that’d be great!” Atalanta exclaimed as she picked up her buckets, but she didn’t entirely mean it: it would only *really* be great if Ariadne also had that time to rest.          Zakynthos nodded. “I know how much you love horses,” he went on. “If you’d like, I could give you some riding lessons while we’re without duties.”          Atalanta laughed. “I can already ride better than you can!” Zakynthos fell off more often than he stayed on!          “Well, then maybe you can give *me* riding lessons,” he said, surprisingly unashamed of his own failure.          “That doesn’t sound much like resting to me,” Atalanta said, shaking her head. “Sounds like extra work for no reward. If I’m gonna work when I could be resting, I’d rather do work for Kawiya so I’d get praised for being dutiful, and maybe even get a little extra rations or something.”          For some reason, her reply made Polyphetes laugh and Zakynthos grumble angrily.          It only took one more trip down to the sea—this time with both Polyphetes and Zakynthos in a bitter, sulky silence, which made everything much easier on Atalanta—before the task was done and they were soon driving the horses back into the stalls. But rather than being allowed to rest, they were instead set to cleaning and polishing the chariots.          The master only had three war chariots (a pitiful showing!) and two regular chariots. The guards who had been watching over the horses while they cleaned the stables were now watching them as they cleaned the chariots, because the chariots were valuable and would be difficult to replace, unlike the stables. Atalanta was pleased to see some of her favorite sparring partners among the guards, and hoped that the task would be finished soon enough that she could have a match with one or two of them before she had to report to help prepare the evening’s feast. After putting her legs to so much work going up and down the long path to the sea while doing almost nothing with her arms (those buckets really were extremely light!) she needed a good sparring match to bring her body back into order.          But the longer she heard them talking, the less she *wanted* to spar with them…though she was tempted to have a *real* fight with them.          “I can understand why she’s bored spending her time with a girl that only acts like a boy,” an unfamiliar guard was saying, “but a eunuch isn’t much of an improvement!”          “I don’t think that one has ever cared for the company of men,” Utniashu replied. “She’s not been short of offers, after all.”          “I don’t think she’s going to have a choice any longer,” Halpahi added. “I hear it’s not just the eunuch that’s taken with her: it’s his master as well.”          “I heard the king is thinking of making her part of the guest’s departure gifts,” Talimmu said.          “Can’t blame him if he does,” Nuwanuwa said. “She’s hardly worth keeping if she refuses to produce any more slaves.”          As the other guards voiced their general agreement, Atalanta started scrubbing harder to keep herself from going over and ripping their traitorous lips right off their faces.          It wasn’t until Polyphetes and Zakynthos began hissing warnings at her that she noticed she was scrubbing the bronze casing right off the side of the chariot. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->interstitial2]]

[[<img src="ch1-that evening.jpg" width="750" height="563">->feast2]]

Given everything that had happened in the past couple of days, Ariadne could think of nothing worse than taking her usual place as one of the servers at the feast. She tried to get out of it by claiming to Kawiya that her monthly flow had come early, but Kawiya actually had the nerve to *check* and saw it most certainly had not! Ariadne found herself being subjected to a considerable lecture on the subject of honesty, which ended with the information that the only reason she wasn’t being flogged was that the master had specifically ordered her presence at the feast, and a bloody back might be visible through her tunic.          As Ariadne headed towards the megaron, she found herself wishing that Kawiya *had* flogged her in spite of the master: unlike Atalanta, Ariadne had never been seriously beaten, and she was fairly sure she would quickly faint from the pain, rendering her quite unable to serve or entertain. Though with one of the guests having brought an outright bard, her services as a singer were unlikely to be required tonight.          The early part of the feast was calming enough. The bard was singing of the twelve tasks of Heracles, and after some rather tasteless and bawdy discussion of Heracles’ equally prodigious labors with the ladies, the mood suddenly turned more serious. “Speaking of the Bistones, though,” the Aiolian guest said, “have you heard the most recent rumors out of Thrace, sire?”          “Thrace?” The master frowned, and caressed his beard with his fingers. “I have not heard anything of any note.” He looked around at the other men of the court, but they all echoed his sentiments. “What are these rumors?”          “They say that there is a cult among the Bistones that worships some vicious barbarian god,” the Aiolian replied. “A god so cruel that it demands human sacrifice, which the Bistones show no hesitation in performing with great frequency.”          As the court expressed their general horror at the very idea, the master’s other guest suddenly started laughing. It was the first sound Ariadne had heard him make, and the tone of his laughter set a chill in her blood. “Those rumors are quite exaggerated,” the man said. He spoke the Hatti language with an unfamiliar accent.          “You know about this cult, then?” the master asked.          “Yes, I am well known among the Bistones,” the mysterious guest replied. The master—and, for that matter, everyone else in the megaron—continued to look at him, awaiting a proper answer to the question, and an explanation of just what the cult was doing if they were not constantly sacrificing people to whatever god they were worshipping. But the man did not speak another word all evening.          To Ariadne, that could only mean that the Bistones really *were* performing human sacrifice (if perhaps not in the quantities that the rumors suggested), and that this guest felt that it was entirely appropriate that they do so. Perhaps because he, too, worshipped whatever god was so monstrous as to demand the lives of its followers.          And this was the man who might try to take Atalanta away?          At the conclusion of the feast, it was Ariadne who asked the eunuch bard for one more private meeting in the gardens, but this time she had no interest in learning new songs. “Tell me more about these rumors your master mentioned,” she said as soon as they were alone. “The ones out of Thrace.”          “I haven’t heard much more than what he said at the feast,” he said, shaking his head. “But we heard them from some people who fled Thrace in fear of the Bistones and their new king. I believe their fear. Even if the tales of human sacrifice aren’t true, there is some terror in the land of the Bistones again, with no Heracles present to purge it.”          Ariadne nodded, frowning. It was not what she wanted to hear, but it was rather what she had *expected* to hear. She asked as many further questions as she could think of, anything to tease out just a little more information, but eventually he just smiled at her and took her hand, telling her not to worry about the Bistones, because she would certainly never have to meet them. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->decision to escape]]

Atalanta was pacing their tiny little chamber, trying not to panic. Also trying not to look at the walls, because she had sort of dented them in a few places when she tried to punch away her fears. What was keeping Ariadne? Surely it wasn’t already too late!          She had just leapt to the conclusion that she was going to have to charge out and rescue Ariadne from the clutches of their tormenters when she finally arrived, looking just as ashen-faced as Atalanta probably was. “Things are worse than I had thought,” Ariadne said.          “Worse than—do you have any idea what’s going to happen to us?!” Atalanta exclaimed, grabbing Ariadne by both her arms. “Everyone’s been coming in here all one after the other, ever since the feast ended, and…and…I’m not going to let them take you away! I don’t care if the barbarian gods sacrifice the Thracians to me, I’m not letting anything happen to you!”          Ariadne laughed weakly. “Calm down. You’re not making any sense.”          Atalanta sighed, releasing her cousin’s arms, and tried to repeat what she had heard from the other girls who had been serving at the feast. It didn’t really feel like it came out quite the same way as it had when they said it, or even quite the same as what she had just said moments ago, but it was close enough, surely!          “You really need to stop panicking,” Ariadne said, sitting down on her bunk. “If you keep burbling nonsense like that in front of other people, they’ll think you’re a coward.”          “I’m not panicking,” Atalanta insisted. “It’s just—even Kawiya told me I needed to get used to being parted from you! But I won’t! I can’t! I—I—what would I do without you?!”          Ariadne let out a miserable sigh. “If the master’s guest has his way, probably get sacrificed by a Thracian cult.”          Atalanta’s lower lip started to tremble. She had been expecting—hoping—Ariadne would deny that part… “What are we going to do?”          “Sit down, and lower your voice,” Ariadne instructed. After Atalanta obeyed, Ariadne went on in an even more quiet tone. “We’re going to escape. Tonight, while everyone is asleep.”          “What about the guards? There are always sentries.”          Ariadne frowned. “I’m working on that,” she said. “We’re lucky, though; only a sliver of moon in the sky, and even that is mostly blocked by clouds. They’ll have trouble seeing us.” She shook her head. “But we need to plan and prepare while we wait for the rest of the palace to fall asleep.”          “What’s to plan? We just sneak out when the guards aren’t looking, right?”          “We need to acquire disguises so we won’t look like runaway slaves. And we’ll need something valuable we can use to trade for passage.”          “Passage? Can’t we just walk? It’s not that far to—”          “We need to leave Lesbos entirely,” Ariadne insisted. “You’re too easily recognized. So, we’ll need to find a ship that’s getting ready to depart.”          Atalanta nodded, feeling awed by the very idea. Then she felt a smile breaking through her dismay. “Can we go to Hellas and see the lands that birthed our fathers?”          “We’ll go wherever the ship is going. If that’s Hellas, fine. If not, I won’t wait for one that is headed there. Once we’re safely away from here and established as a spear for hire and a bard, then we can travel anywhere we want.”          “Oh, we should probably get me a spear, then, huh? And a lyre for you.” Atalanta laughed. “And some food! We’ll want food on the trip, won’t we?”          Ariadne frowned and didn’t answer, looking lost in thought. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->begin escape]]

         Several hours later, when the night was at its most still and the palace had fallen asleep, the girls put their escape plans into motion. (set: $disguise to "No")(set: $valuables to "No")(set: $lyre to "No") [[Obtain disguises.->disguise]] [[Find some valuables.->valuables]] [[Get a spear.->spear]] [[Procure a lyre.->lyre]] [[Steal some food.->food]]

         Ariadne hesitated. What was the best recourse to procure them disguises? If the first ship leaving the harbor was headed west, then it would be best for them to have Achaian armor, but if the ship was headed east, local armor from Hatti would let them blend in the best, and yet would it really? Both of them, but especially Atalanta, spoke with an Achaian accent when they tried to speak their master’s tongue. They would never pass for people of Hatti. And the spare armor for the king’s guards was probably well guarded. The Aiolian guest’s Achaian guards, on the other hand, would have no guards beyond themselves…but they also might stay up late at a game of knucklebones, or drinking, or coercing some servant or slave to share their bed…          Ultimately, Ariadne decided they should risk trying for the Achaian armor. Even if the ship they ended up on was headed east, they could more easily impersonate an Achaian man than one from Hatti. And if the owners of the armor happened to still be awake, Ariadne might be able to trick them into letting her take it away with her.          When they reached the hall where the less important guests stayed—not far from the more important servants’ quarters—Ariadne set a hand on Atalanta’s shoulder. “You stay here and keep watch for any patrols of guards,” Ariadne whispered to her. “If any come around, distract them. Tell them you were looking to collect used serving dishes from the room of one of the guests, or that you were looking for one of the other slaves, or—” Ariadne stopped herself, catching the look of uncertainty that was marring Atalanta’s brow with lines. “Tell them you’re looking for Ziza if any patrols come up. Say that you had a terrible dream that Artemis was going to shoot her down and you wanted to warn her.”          “Why would—”          “She wouldn’t, but the guards won’t know that,” Ariadne cut her off with as much finality as she could without raising her voice above a whisper. “Just make sure you don’t make enough noise to wake anyone in the surrounding chambers. And lead them away. I’ll meet you back in our room if that happens, all right?”          Atalanta bit her lip, and nodded uncomfortably.          Hoping that would be enough—and praying to Hermes that he lend his thieving expertise to her steps—Ariadne tiptoed towards the doorway that led into the chamber being used by the Achaian guards. It was closed off only by a thin curtain, letting her hear every sound from within. Thankfully, she heard nothing but the sound of sleeping men, and saw no sign of light coming from underneath the cloth.          As quietly as she could, Ariadne pushed the curtain aside and slipped inside the room. She stood motionless just inside the doorway as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the difference between the thin, distant torchlight in the hall to the near-complete absence of light in the chamber. Once she was able to see a little, she could make out the forms of three men sleeping on pallets near the open window, where the only minimal light in the room came seeping in. Their weapons rested beneath the window in easy reach of their grasp, but their armor lay discarded nearer to the doorway, a clear blessing from some god or other!          It was a pity she couldn’t get a spear or sword for Atalanta, but going over there was asking to be caught, so Ariadne focused entirely on the armor. There were three full sets of armor—helmet, cuirass, greaves and shield—but one set was leather and the other two bronze. If her memories of seeing the three men in daylight were accurate, Ariadne was fairly sure that one of the sets of bronze armor was in excellent condition while the other was heavily patinaed with age, but she couldn’t tell the difference between the bronze sets in this low light.          Experimentally lifting one of the bronze cuirasses, Ariadne found that it was quite heavy, much heavier than she would ever be able to wear. That being the case, she quickly wriggled her way into the leather jerkin, set the leather helmet on her head, and slipped her arms through the leather greaves as if they were sleeves. She ran her fingers across the two bronze helmets, but couldn’t feel any difference in their condition. The same held true of the cuirasses and shields, so Ariadne simply selected the bronze armor closest to the door, and moved back out into the hall with it as quietly as she could, praying that Atalanta was still in the hall to take the heavy stuff away from her.          Hermes must have been looking out for them, because no guards had come by, and Atalanta was quickly taking the bronze gear away from Ariadne, and they both hurried into an empty courtyard, where Atalanta began putting on the bronze gear, even as Ariadne moved the leather greaves from her arms to her legs.          Atalanta frowned down at the greaves as she was fastening them onto her legs, where they hid most of the many ordered lines of scars she had gotten as punishments for her various bad behaviors. “Why did you get the old, yucky armor?” she asked.          “I couldn’t tell the difference in the dark,” Ariadne sighed. “It’s probably better this way, anyway. We won’t attract as much attention if we look poor.”          “Mmm, yeah, I guess so,” Atalanta sighed. Then she giggled slightly. “You’ll attract lots of attention in that helmet, though. Didn’t boar’s tusk helmets go out of style in your grandfather’s time?”          “How would I know?” Ariadne snapped back, accidentally raising her voice slightly in her irritation. “We can always get less conspicuous garb later, once we’re safely away from the master’s plans to separate us.”          Atalanta nodded, with a determined smile. “Right. Is there anything else we need?” (set: $disguise to "Yes") (if: $valuables is "No")[[[Find some valuables.->valuables]] ][[Get a spear.->spear]] (if: $lyre is "No")[[[Procure a lyre.->lyre]] ][[Steal some food.->food]] [[Proceed with the escape.->escape]]

         Atalanta watched with incredulity as Ariadne headed towards the section of the palace where the servants slept. “Where are we going?” she asked. “What could possibly be here?”          “Ziza’s chamber,” Ariadne whispered back, leading the way while Atalanta stared after her in confusion. What good was *that* going to do them?! After a moment, Ariadne stepped inside one of the doorways, and gestured to Atalanta to follow her.          It was only with considerable fear that Atalanta did follow her inside the room, but thankfully it turned out to be empty, though the brazier was lightly burning. “What…?” was all Atalanta could find to say.          “Ziza must be with the master tonight,” Ariadne said, with a self-satisfied smile. “Help me search.”          “For what?” Atalanta asked, but Ariadne wasn’t answering: she was already peering into the small vessels that stood on a little table to one side of the room.          Having no idea what she was supposed to look for, Atalanta couldn’t begin to guess where to look, but since it turned out that the servants got to sleep on much nicer beds than the slaves, she decided to start there. Like the beds given to guests, it had a pallet of wrapped straw on top of the hard slab below. Atalanta lifted up the pallet to look underneath, but saw nothing down there except a few scurrying insects.          “Found it,” Ariadne announced. Atalanta turned to look at her, and saw that she was just pulling a small cloth sack out of the chest where Ziza’s clothes were stored.          “What is it?”          Ariadne opened the sack and poured its contents out on top of the pallet. Atalanta was astonished to see necklaces, rings of gold with carved gems, fine earrings with and without gems, and even a small diadem. Picking up one of the gems to examine it, Atalanta realized she recognized the scene carved on it.          “These were stolen from the mistress!” she exclaimed, causing Ariadne to hastily cover her mouth.          “Keep your voice down,” Ariadne whispered, even as she began putting the jewelry back in the sack. “And yes, these have been disappearing from the queen’s chamber over the course of a year or so. I don’t know if Ziza’s been stealing them herself, or if the master stole them to give her as love gifts.”          Atalanta scowled in disgust. The master was an awfully old man—very much older than her father would be if he was still alive!—and terribly mean. Why would Ziza allow him to love her? She was younger than his own children.          “Let’s go,” Ariadne said. “In case she comes back when he’s through with her.”          Atalanta nodded, and they hurried out of the room as quietly as they could. (set: $valuables to "Yes") (if: $disguise is "No")[[[Obtain disguises.->disguise]] ][[Get a spear.->spear]] (if: $lyre is "No")[[[Procure a lyre.->lyre]] ][[Steal some food.->food]] [[Proceed with the escape.->escape]]

Ariadne hesitated outside the armory, holding her breath. Atalanta imitated her, holding her own breath. “It seems quiet,” Ariadne whispered. “Let’s go.”          She led the way inside, and Atalanta did her best to peer through the darkness at the contents of the armory. It was all just sort of dark and blobby to her eyes, though. How was she supposed to find a decent spear in all that dark blobbiness?          “Hurry up and find what you need,” Ariadne’s voice whispered through the darkness. “We have to get out of here as quickly as possible.”          Atalanta nodded—could Ariadne even see that she was nodding?—and slowly inched forward, feeling her way to the racks of spears. She was just hefting one to see if it was weighty enough when she heard the sound of footsteps in the hall. She tightened her grip on the spear, and slowly turned towards the door. With luck, it was just a slave on a late-night errand. With less luck, it was a patrol of guards who would just keep on going, not realizing there was anyone in the armory. With no luck at all, the guards would come inside, and…          The footsteps drew closer and closer, and suddenly the room burst with light, temporarily blinding Atalanta, prompting her to block the light with her arm.          “Thieves!” A man’s voice. One of the guards. “Sound the alarm!”          Atalanta uncovered her face and threw the spear she was holding at the guard in the doorway. It pierced his throat and he fell dead, but more guards surged in past him, their weapons at the ready.          Another fell to an arrow from Ariadne as Atalanta was grabbing another spear from behind her. Before Atalanta could throw her second spear, one of the guards threw his own, and Ariadne fell.          Screaming in rage, Atalanta grabbed spears in both hands and charged the guards. There were only two remaining, and they fell before her as the Trojans once fell before her father.          Turning from the corpses, Atalanta ran to Ariadne’s side, but the spear had pierced her chest deeply, and no amount of shaking could awaken her.          Atalanta took two shields from the armory, placing one over her back and another on her arm, then lifted Ariadne’s body in the arm with the shield, before taking a spear in her free arm. Then she left the armory and headed for the gates out of the palace.          A few more patrols tried to stop her, but they, too, fell before her blade.          Once free of the palace, she walked straight down to the beach. =><= ------- <=          The people from the palace were stunned when they awoke the next morning and learned of the bizarre and bloody escape. But the people of the town gossiped more about what had happened on the beach. An older Achaian man who was visiting relations in the village had been unable to sleep and had seen it all. A red-haired figure looking like the very shade of Achilles had appeared on the beach, carrying a slender, dark-haired corpse. The figure had dropped the shields and spear it was carrying, and simply walked into the sea with the body, never re-emerging from the dark waves.          Sure he had seen a vision of the fallen shades of the Achaian heroes, he built a shrine there on the beach to the mighty Achilles and his lover Patroclos. =><= ***GAME OVER*** <= [[Return to the beginning->Prologue]] [[Restart the escape sequence->begin escape]]

         Ariadne led the way down the silent hallways, the only sound other than the padding of their bare feet being the sound of people sleeping on the other side of the open doorways. She came to a stop at the door to the room being occupied by the Aiolian guest.          Atalanta looked at her in confusion, and leaned in to whisper in her ear. “What are we doing here? Surely the guest’s slave isn’t housed in rooms as large as his master.”          “Just keep a look-out for the guards, and don’t make a sound,” Ariadne said. “Trust in me.”          With an awkward look on her face, Atalanta nodded.          Hoping that her cousin would—for once!—do what she was told, Ariadne stealthily made her way to the doorframe and listened intently to the sounds within. Heavy snores and light wheezes seemed to be the only sounds emanating from the room, so Ariadne carefully allowed herself to take a quiet step past the heavy curtain into the room.          The embers still glowed in the brazier in the corner, giving the room a faint hint of light, just enough for Ariadne to make out the shapes within the bed. The Aiolian guest laid there on his side, snoring loudly enough to wake the dead, one meaty arm wrapped around the form of his quietly wheezing bard. For all the eunuch’s pointless attempts to flirt with Ariadne, he didn’t seem to have any issues about acceding to his master’s desires, given the contented smile on his face as he slept.          More importantly, as Ariadne looked around the rest of the room, she could see the bard’s lyre lying against one wall, near his discarded clothing. It was only two steps to the lyre, and then another three to be back in the hallway with Atalanta, lyre in hand.          Atalanta smiled at her widely, and the two of them headed silently away from the guest chambers. (set: $lyre to "Yes") (if: $disguise is "No")[[[Obtain disguises.->disguise]] ](if: $valuables is "No")[[[Find some valuables.->valuables]] ][[Get a spear.->spear]] [[Steal some food.->food]] [[Proceed with the escape.->escape]]

Ariadne stopped just inside the storehouse where the food was kept. “This is a bad idea,” she whispered, turning to look at Atalanta. “The ship will have food.”          “But what if we can’t get aboard a ship right away?” Atalanta countered. “We need to be able to eat!”          Ariadne frowned, but couldn’t quite find the right way to argue with her cousin. She’d never really been good at denying Atalanta anything… “All right, but make it quick. We need to only take things that will travel well.”          Atalanta nodded, picking up a loaf of bread. “How about this?”          “No, salted meat and dried fruit. Bread is only good for a few days.”          “Okay.” Atalanta put the bread down again, and began to look through the pithoi for food. Every time she lifted the lid of a pithos and put it down again, Ariadne winced at the noise of it, which rang through the silent air like a bell.          The only surprise she felt at the arrival of a half dozen guards was that she hadn’t heard their approaching footsteps. (if: $disguise is "Yes")[“Guests should ask one of the servants or slaves to fetch food for them,” the guard commander said, chuckling lightly.          Seconds later, one of the other guards let out an exclamation of shock. “Wait, look at the face of that one! These aren’t the master's guests! That’s the Achaian brute!”          “Who are you calling a brute?” Atalanta demanded, completely destroying any hope that Ariadne might have been able to somehow convince the guards that they were not, in fact, the slave girls they appeared to be.          “So, you're robbing the king’s guests as well as stealing food, eh?” the guard commander said with a vicious laugh. “T](else:)[“Stealing food, eh?” the guard commander said with a vicious laugh. “So you’re t]hieves as well as terrible slaves!”          The rest of the patrol grabbed their arms, and Atalanta immediately began to struggle against them, shaking the guards around enough that one of the pithoi near her was knocked over and broken in the altercation, spilling loose grain everywhere. “Quiet that girl!” the commander shouted. One of the guards not yet involved drew his sword and struck Atalanta in the head with its handle. She fell limp in the arms of the guards holding her, making Ariadne cry out in alarm.          Soon enough they were deposited back in the slave quarters, under the watch of a seemingly endless supply of guards. Kawiya herself arrived before long, frowning at the cousins with distaste. “Well, this will help the king to make up his mind,” she commented, with a cold smile. “He had been hesitant to give away such a valuable slave, but this will remove all his hesitations. There is no keeping her here now that she’s a thief.”          “He wasn’t going to send us away?” Ariadne repeated, astonished. Had her own gullibility led them to this dire end?!          “Oh, he was going to send *you* away,” Kawiya chortled. “But as the daughter of a dead Achaian hero, and an alleged demigod at that, Atalanta has a certain value that you do not possess. Your father still lives, after all, and both of his parents were human.” She shook her head. “But (if: $disguise is "Yes")[robbing guests and] stealing (if: $valuables is "Yes")[jewelry from the queen](else:)[food]? What a brutal insult to her father’s reputation! I’m sure all the Hellenic people will be happier after she’s been sacrificed by that Thracian cult.”          “No! No, you can’t! If someone has to be sacrificed, it should be me!” Ariadne insisted.          “*You* are to be a gift to the Aiolian horse-breeder(if: $lyre is "Yes")[, assuming he still wants you after you've stolen his minstrel's lyre]. And if you raise your voice to me again, child, you will suffer for it.”          Ariadne sank down to the floor in grief. What greater suffering could there be than being separated from Atalanta?          But the Aiolian would get no joy from his gift.          Ariadne made a solemn vow never to eat again. They would soon be reunited in the house of Hades. =><= ***GAME OVER*** <= [[Return to the beginning->Prologue]] [[Restart the escape sequence->begin escape]]

“How do we get out of the palace?” Atalanta asked, looking at Ariadne pensively. “Won’t there be guards on all the doors at night?”          “Of course there will,” Ariadne sighed. “We’ll go over one of the walls, I guess. There’s a spot on the cliffs you said you could climb, isn’t there?”          “I could climb pretty much any place on the cliffs in daylight,” Atalanta said, prickling a little at the lack of trust in her abilities. “But can you?”          Ariadne shook her head. “Would you be able to climb down carrying me on your back?”          “Um…maybe, but I don’t want to take that risk. Can’t we just use a rope?”          “I suppose we’ll have to, but I hate to leave it behind to show the guards where and how we escaped. And, for that matter, confirming that we did in fact escape.”          “That I think I can take care of,” Atalanta told her cousin with a confident grin. “If you can get us a long enough rope, we should be good.”          Ariadne looked less than confident—why didn’t she ever trust Atalanta?—but she led the way to a storehouse where they made off with a good length of rope. Then they made their way to the top of the walls above the cliffs on the side of the palace furthest from the town.          Atalanta took the rope and let one end dangle down as far as it went. It looked like it stopped at about the top of the cliff. “Huh…I was expecting it to be longer…” She scowled. “Do you think you can stand on that ledge?”          “I should be able to, but what about you?”          “Just climb down,” Atalanta insisted.          Ariadne tried to argue a bit longer, then gave up and climbed down the rope as Atalanta held it in place. Once she felt the rope grow light again as Ariadne let go to stand on the ledge at the top of the cliff, Atalanta pulled the rope back up again and looped it around her body a few times, then carefully lowered herself over the edge of the wall. It was too far to jump, but she was hoping she’d be able to find a few handholds here and there and climb down.          She managed to climb down almost a full body’s length before her fingers slipped out of the slim indentations they’d found, and Atalanta found herself sliding down the face of the wall, gripping at it with all four of her limbs, anything to slow her descent.          She nearly kept sliding down the cliff as well, but she was just barely able to grab onto the ledge at the top.          “Atalanta! Are you all right?!” Ariadne’s voice was tinged with panic. “Why would you try something so stupid!? There’s no point to us escaping if you get yourself killed!”          “I’m fine!” Atalanta retorted as she pulled herself up onto the ledge. “I just lost my grip. No harm done.” Hopefully, the light was low enough that Ariadne couldn’t see all the places where Atalanta’s skin had been rubbed raw on her arms and legs as she tried to regain her purchase on the wall. Quickly, she unwrapped the rope from around her body and lowered it down the cliff. “Hurry up and climb down. Don’t worry about me; the cliff is much easier to climb than the wall.”          “Atalanta…”          “Just go, please. Or we’ll never make cover before the sun comes up!”          Ariadne bit her lip, but didn’t argue further. It didn’t feel like it took her as long to climb down this time as it had before, and soon enough Atalanta was letting go of the rope and beginning her own climb down the cliff. As she had told her cousin, it was much easier to climb, having lots of little nooks and crannies she could fit her fingers and toes into.          Atalanta’s descent took much too long, and the horizon was beginning to grow red with the impending dawn by the time she finally arrived at Ariadne’s side. “Ugh, everything hurts,” she commented, looking at the bleeding ends of her fingers.          “I should think so,” Ariadne snapped at her. “Let’s go, quickly. We need to find shelter before the sun comes up. And some fresh water to bathe your wounds!”          Atalanta laughed nervously, and followed Ariadne as they hurried their way down the slope leading up to the cliff, then disappeared into the forest at the bottom. As they made their way through the forest, they came across a small stream; it was barely more than a trickle, but it was enough to wash the dirt out of Atalanta’s many scrapes, and its water gave them all they had to breakfast on.          After that, all they could do was make their way towards the town, hoping they would be able to find a ship about to leave.          They reached the outskirts of the town sometime around midday, by which point Atalanta’s stomach was complaining quite ferociously about the lack of food. “We need to keep out of sight as much as possible,” Ariadne told her. “Try to keep to the shadows and the alleys.”          Atalanta nodded, and followed as quietly as she could as Ariadne led the way through the bustle of the town towards the port. Whenever anyone caught sight of them, they gasped and hurried away. That did not seem to be a good sign to Atalanta, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to say anything about it.          Eventually, they came into sight of the ships in the harbor. “That one looks like it’s getting ready to leave,” Ariadne said, indicating an Achaian ship. “Let me do the talking.”          Atalanta nodded, and the cousins made their way over to the ship, where sailors were bustling aboard with food stores and other local goods. Ariadne approached a man who seemed to be supervising the others, and greeted him politely.          The man turned to look at them, and his eyes were lingering on them much too long for Atalanta’s comfort. She kept shifting, trying to find ways to hide her fresh injuries. “Can I help you, girls?” the man asked, with a friendly smile.          “We were kidnapped from the temple of Artemis and brought here against our will,” Ariadne said, sniffling slightly. “We beseech you, in the name of the goddess, to help us escape our captors!”          The man ran his fingers across his beard for a moment or two, then gestured to several of his men, who all approached them. “It’s an interesting and touching tale, girls,” the man said, “but I don’t believe it. The king sent around a messenger to all the ships earlier this morning, letting us know about the two slave girls who escaped last night. One boyish with bright red hair, and the other a delicate beauty with gray eyes.” The men surrounded them and drew their swords. “The king even offered a reward for your return.”          (if: $valuables is "Yes")[“We can provide you a reward for your help,” Ariadne assured the man, taking a few of the stolen trinkets from the bag and showing them to him.          “Or I can return you to the king without telling him about these,” the man said, snatching the bag away from her with a laugh.          ]“We won’t go back without a fight!” Atalanta shouted.          “Yes, that’s what the messenger said you would say,” the man said with a laugh.          “And did he tell you who my father was?” Atalanta countered.          “He did tell us about your delusions, yes.”          Atalanta felt her confidence shatter. If they wouldn’t believe her word about who her father was, then how was she supposed to protect Ariadne? “Let me prove it’s true,” she insisted. “I’ll defeat any one of your men in combat—two of them, even!”          “Tell you what,” the man said. “We’ll ask for an outside judge to settle it.” He walked over to the edge of the sea, and gestured towards it. “Oh greatest Nereid, divine Thetis! I call upon you! If this girl is your granddaughter, rise up from the sea and tell us so!”          Atalanta found herself holding her breath, hoping to see the form of her grandmother before her very eyes.          But nothing happened, and soon the man was walking back over, laughing. “I’ll take the messenger’s word for it being a delusion, then.” The other men laughed, too.          While they were distracted, Atalanta grabbed the spear away from one of them, and struck down one of the others, ignoring Ariadne’s shouted command to stop.          It probably would have worked, if there hadn’t been archers on the ship.          As Atalanta fell to the ground in agony, she released some very foul oaths—though she didn’t even know precisely what most of them meant—and called down some particularly nasty curses on the head of the archer who had had the vile bad taste to strike the daughter of Achilles in the same spot where Apollo had guided the arrow of Alexander to kill her father.          The men were all laughing at the two slaves as they were returned to the palace under heavy guard.          The following day, Atalanta had a brief moment of laughter when the report reached her ears that the very ship that had refused them safe passage had gone down with all hands immediately after it reached deep water when it left the harbor, caught up in a sudden storm that died out as soon as it finished engulfing their ship.          But that was probably the last laughter she would ever experience, as she was now being kept chained and separated from Ariadne, awaiting her departure towards parts unknown with the master’s barbarian guest. =><= ***GAME OVER*** <= [[Return to the beginning.->Prologue]] [[Restart the escape sequence.->begin escape]]

(unless: (passage:)'s tags contains "nofooter")[ ---------------------------------------------------------- <center>[[Glossary]]       (link:"Save Game")[ (if:(save-game:"Slot A"))[ (if: (saved-games:) contains "Slot A")[ Saved! ]]]        (link: "Load Game" )[ (load-game: "Slot A")]       [[Credits]]</center>]

(if: $called is "Achaia")[ { <center> #Achaia/Achaian </center> }           “Achaian” was one of the three words used in the *Iliad* to refer to the Greeks. There are two regions in Greece it might refer to, one being a northerly section of the Peloponnese, and the other being Achaia Phthiotis, the region of Aiolia (Thessaly) that was Achilles’ homeland. Most scholars seem of the opinion that it referred to the former, but I have decided to use the term “Achaian” to refer to the Greek-speaking peoples who live in the northern section of what is now the nation of Greece…and also as a catch-all used by non-Greeks in Anatolia. (In much the same way that people in the Middle East referred to all Europeans as Franks during the Middle Ages.) My reasoning here is simple: I need a way for the northern Greeks to refer to themselves collectively, and Achaian is at least derived from a term being used at the time. ](else_if: $called is "acropolis")[{<center> #acropolis </center>}           As with a term like agora, this is more culturally inappropriate than anachronistic, as it’s specifically a Classical-era Greek term and concept. But Atalanta and Ariadne were both raised in the Hellenic culture of their mothers, so…anyway, the concept itself, the raised city, where the wealthiest and most fortified sections of a town are located, is relatively universal, particularly in this part of the world in this era. ](else_if: $called is "agora")[{<center> #agora </center>}           In the modern era, we are more accustomed to thinking of the agora as a marketplace, but its meaning was “meeting place,” and it basically just refers to a central area where many can and do congregate. The ancient equivalent of a town square, essentially. ](else_if: $called is "Aiakos")[{<center> #Aiakos </center>}           Son of Zeus by the nymph Aigina. Father of Peleus, Telamon and Phocos. (Well, in this. The number of his sons varied in ancient texts.) Following his death, he became one of the three judges in the afterlife, along with his half-brothers Minos and Rhadamanthys. ](else_if: $called is "Aineias")[{<center> #Aineias </center>}           Son of Anchises and Aphrodite. A powerful Trojan warrior from a minor branch of the royal family. Better known by the Latin spelling of his name, Aeneas, under which name he became the hero of Virgil’s masterwork of Augustan propaganda, the *Aeneid*. The *gens* Julia (particularly one Gaius Julius Caesar) claimed descent from the son of Aeneas, who they claimed had come to the site where Rome would eventually stand, and had there fathered the mother of Romulus and Remus. Prior to the release of the *Aeneid*, even the Romans didn’t buy that story.           The Greek myths had come up with a number of fates for Aineias, ranging from the one implied in the *Iliad* when Poseidon saves him from Achilles (that he will remain in Troy and rule over the survivors) to one wherein he does in fact go to what we now call Italy with a number of other Trojans. (There are a *lot* of minor Greek myths to establish where various other peoples came from.) I decided here to split the difference, letting him rule in Troy for a while before sending him packing off for Italy. :P (Incidentally, the more popular myth in Ancient Greece regarding the origin of the Roman people was that they descended from Latinos, one of the illegitimate sons of Odysseus.) The tale that he had been captured in the final months of the war is directly out of one of the original Greek versions of the myth; he is not always persuaded to help the invading Greek army though, and in some versions he is actually awarded as a slave to Neoptolemos. (Not sure what happens to him in *those* versions, however. I think we only know about those versions because they were either referenced obliquely in philosophical/historical tracts or were mentioned by mythographers without further details.) ](else_if: $called is "Alexander")[{<center> #Alexander </center>}           The true villain of the Trojan War, Alexander is the beautiful but selfish prince who decided that it was worth sacrificing all his people in order to bed another man’s wife. Unlike some of the other important Trojans (his father Priam, for example), Alexander’s name is extremely Greek…it is also historically established to have been the name of a member of the royal family of Troy in the Late Bronze Age: a Hittite treaty was discovered that was with “Alaksandu” of “Wilusa”, which is to say “Alexandros of Ilios”. (Like the Linear B alphabet used by the Mycenaeans, cuneiform was not terribly efficient, particularly for writing Greek names. “Ilios” is the Classical version of the name, but before the di-gamma was eliminated from the Greek language, it was “Wilios.” (Di-gamma was, essentially, the letter “w”. Its absence can be detected in a few passages of the *Iliad* where the meter is off, because the phrase in use is actually so old that the di-gamma had not been eliminated from the language yet when it was first composed. The name “Ilios,” needless to say, was the cause of at least one of these metrical problems in the epic.)) ](else_if: $called is "Anatolia")[{<center> #Anatolia </center>}           The ancient name for the larger area in which Troy and its environs were located. Basically, this is the ancient name for the modern country of Turkey, minus the slight portion of Turkey that is considered to be in Europe. It is a massive peninsula, bordered by the Black Sea as well as the Mediterranean and the Aegean Seas. Troy is in the northwestern end of Anatolia, and Lesbos lies just off the coast of Anatolia, to the south of the smaller peninsula that is the Troad. ](else_if: $called is "Antilochos")[{<center> #Antilochos </center>}           Son of Nestor, King of Pylos, and youngest of the Achaian princes at Troy. (Not the youngest of Nestor’s sons, though. The very youngest is depicted in the *Odyssey*, sharing Telemachos’ bed when he visits Pylos. Probably not sexually, but who really knows?) Killed by Memnon, King of Ethiopia, in the final months of the war, and immediately avenged by Achilles. Some scholars posit that before the *Iliad*, it was Antilochos who was Achilles’ romantic partner, and that Patroclos was invented for the *Iliad*, prepeating Antilochos’ story (with the inversion of being the older partner instead of the younger), but I do not feel the text supports their interpretation, since the epic does not attempt to define who Patroclos is (and in fact first refers to him only by his patronymic!), proving that the audience already knew him. (However, in deference to their theories, I have made it so that Antilochos also had romantic feelings for Achilles, albeit unrequited ones.) ](else_if: $called is "Aphrodite")[{<center> #Aphrodite </center>}          One of the twelve Olympian gods. Goddess of love and beauty. To modern audiences, she is best known as having sprung fully formed out of the ocean, but that is the Hesiodic explanation of her origin. In the *Iliad*, she is the daughter of Zeus and Dione. (One of the later writers (I think it was Plato, but don’t quote me on that) tried to explain away the different versions of Aphrodite’s origins by explaining that there were actually multiple Aphrodites, to represent the different types of love.) She was known to the Romans as Venus.          In the original drafts of these novels, I was following the Homeric version of her origins, and I believe I even had Dione make a brief appearance in one of the later novels, but in the process of rewriting this first novel into a game, I’ve come to some decisions about other changes that need to be made moving forward, so I’m not actually sure right now which is going to be her “official” origin for these novels. (I would prefer the Homeric version to the Hesiodic, but…I’m going to have to see which feels like it fits best. Then again, Aphrodite is not exactly a major character or concept, so it may not even come up. (The problem with being about 90% pantser is that sometimes you’re not sure how things are going to go, even in a rewrite.)) ](else_if: $called is "Argo")[{<center> #*Argo*/Argonaut </center>}           The *Argo* was the ship taken by Jason and his crew (collectively referred to as the Argonauts) in search of the Golden Fleece. Among the Argonauts were Peleus, father of Achilles, and his brother, Telamon. (Though Telamon was not considered to be Peleus’ brother at the time when the *Iliad* was composed, I have adopted the later version, in which the two sons of Telamon were Achilles’ cousins.) There is no firm ‘canonical’ list of every hero who was aboard the *Argo*, though a few are always included, especially Heracles, Hylas, Castor and Polydeuces, with figures like Orpheus, Peleus and Telamon being among the almost-always-includeds. Among the less common inclusions are Laertes, father of Odysseus, and Menoitios, father of Patroclos. (The latter is a much more common inclusion, and certainly one I support, while the former is very rare and does not feel believable to me.) ](else_if: $called is "Artemis")[{<center> #Artemis </center>}           One of the twelve Olympian gods, daughter of Zeus by the Titan Leto, and twin sister of Apollo. Artemis is one of the three virgin goddesses (the other two being Athene and Hestia), and was especially worshipped by unmarried maidens. An archer, Artemis was both goddess of the hunt and protector of wild animals. ](else_if: $called is "Asia")[{<center> #Asia </center>}           To the ancient Greeks, “Asia” meant more or less what we would now call the Middle East. Honestly, it’s probably a bit anachronistic to use it here, but I couldn’t just have him say “Anatolia” in this context, because part of the point of what Eurysakes is saying is not just to show how much he knows, but also to establish him as a “world traveler,” because he’s been not only to various Mycenaean ports, but also Egypt, Phoenicia, et cetera. Basically, he’s actually kind of bragging about his worldliness, but that doesn’t come across very well. He’s so taciturn that it’s hard to get across where he stands on the self-importance stage. (Though there is one place later on where he does try mansplaining something…) ](else_if: $called is "Athens")[{<center> #Athens </center>}           You’re just looking at this to see what I’ll say, not because you don’t know what Athens is, right? (Or maybe you misclicked?) Well, I am duty-bound to say that Athens is a city located in Attica. It is the current capital of Greece, and was likewise very important in historical antiquity (though not as important, actually, as one might think, because our picture of the Classical period is distorted as most of the texts that survive were written in Athens), but was of very little importance in the Late Bronze Age, though that may be why it wasn’t destroyed along with all the other palatial centers in Greece during the Bronze Age Collapse. (Or it may have been better fire-preparedness that saved it.) Athens was represented in the Trojan War by its king, Menestheus, who was utterly insignificant to the war effort (and I believe also died there, but don’t quote me on that), and more importantly by the sons of Theseus, who wanted to rescue their grandmother, Aithra, who had been enslaved by the Dioscuri when they conquered all of Attica to get Helen back after Theseus kidnapped her. The enslaved Aithra had ended up as Helen’s handmaiden, and had been taken to Troy along with her. `(Spoiler: they successfully rescued their grandmother and brought her back to live out her days peacefully in Athens.)` ](else_if: $called is "Autolycos")[{<center> #Autolycos </center>}           Son of Hermes, father of Anticleia (who was the mother of Odysseus). Infamous thief and liar. Fathering Autolycos was the worst thing Hermes ever did, as far as I know.           Autolycos’ mother was either named Chione or Philonis, and she was so beautiful that she attracted the attention not only of hundreds of mortal suitors, but of both Hermes and Apollo. Knowing that Apollo would come to court her at night, Hermes used magic to put her to sleep in the afternoon so he could have his way with her *before* his half-brother won her heart. Thus she slept with two gods in the same day (even if she didn’t know it) and as no god may lie with a mortal woman in vain, she had twins, one belonging to each god. Apollo’s son was named Philammon, and was much like his father, in that he was extremely beautiful, a talented musician, and something of a creep where the ladies are concerned.           It may not surprise you to learn that the two main sources we have for Hermes having committed such an unconscionable rape were Hesiod and Ovid, two of the most misogynistic of all the ancient authors (which is really saying something!). ](else_if: $called is "Bellerophon")[{<center> #Bellerophon </center>}          Mortal hero who slew the Chimera. His story is narrated by his grandson Glaucos in the section of the *Iliad* known as the “Deeds of Diomedes.” In Greek, his name can also be spelled Bellerophontes. ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(if: $called is "Britomartis")[{<center> #Britomartis </center>}          Somewhat vaguely defined goddess associated with Crete, possibly a survivor from the Minoan belief system. The wide range of incompatible stories in which she is mentioned in historic times suggest her actual origins are quite ancient, though connections to the still-unknown Minoan belief system cannot be proven. Often associated with Artemis. ](else_if: $called is "Cassandra")[{<center> #Cassandra </center>}          Most famous daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecabe of Troy. Twin sister of Prince Helenos. In the *Iliad*, she is mentioned as being his most beautiful daughter, because one of the newly arrived Trojan allies came in the hopes of winning her hand in marriage by driving off the Greek foes besieging the city. (It, uh, didn’t work out for him.) Later texts give her vast powers as a seer, and a curse that her prophecies will never be believed, and/or that she will seem mad. Both the powers and the curse are said to have come from Apollo: the powers either as a general gift or specifically as a wooing present, and the curse in vengeance when she refused his bed. (I have seen (male) scholars dismiss the later version of the myth as a particularly implausible addition, suggesting that the notion of a maiden turning Apollo down is absurd, but honestly I find it very believable, given that his conquests typically did not lead happy lives afterwards. Especially if she has strong powers of precognition, and can see what misfortune would await her if she *did* sleep with him. (Maybe she would have borne him a son who was an even worse disaster for Troy than Alexander!) Plus, you know, maybe she just really wasn’t into him. I mean, he’s both a letch and a jerk. Just ‘cause he’s pretty doesn’t mean those enormous flaws go away!) ](else_if: $called is "Chimera")[{<center> #Chimera </center>}          Monstrous offspring of Typhoeus and Echidna. She had the body and head of a lion, a snake for a tail, and a goat’s head sticking out of her back, all able to breathe fire. Surprisingly, both Homer and Hesiod agreed on that. (They were often in wild disagreement. See Aphrodite, for example…) That’s probably why all the later texts and visual depictions follow the same description.          The word can also be used to refer to any creature combining body parts of multiple types of animals. In that case, the “c” is lower case rather than capitalized. (Since I actually use it that way in this…) ](else_if: $called is "Crete")[{<center> #Crete </center>}          Yeah, you know what Crete is. Big island in the Aegean. At the time of this novel, ruled over by King Idomeneus. Origin of various really famous myths like that of the Minotaur and the Labyrinth. (Not the one occupied by goblins ruled over by a sultry, singing king. The other one.) ](else_if: $called is "Danaan")[{<center> #Danaan </center>}          One of the three names used in the *Iliad* to refer to the Greeks. It is a reference to Danaos, an eponymous ancestor, and the founder of Argos. (Which makes Argos over-represented in the *Iliad*, since the third name used to refer to the Greeks is Argive. Of course, the three names were chosen for metric reasons rather than political or geographical ones…) I have chosen to use Danaan to refer to the people of the Peloponnese. (Which means it isn’t used much in this book, but will come up more later on.) There are Egyptian texts from the period which refer to the Tanaju/Tanaja, explicitly meaning the Mycenaean Greeks: in one inscription from the time of Amenhotep III, a list of Tanaju cities includes Mycenae and other Greek cities. ](else_if: $called is "Delphi")[{<center> #Delphi </center>}          Important cult site dedicated in Classical antiquity to the worship of Apollo. According to the myth, he became the god worshipped at Delphi when he killed Python, the serpent which had tried to kill his mother Leto while she was still pregnant. Python was the original deity worshipped at Delphi, and even as he usurped Python’s worship, Apollo was also forced to make amends for killing him by bestowing the name Pythia on the prophetic priestess who voiced his visions. Many scholars believe that this is a mythologization of the site’s worship being transferred from a pre-Greek chthonic deity to Apollo. ](else_if: $called is "Doran")[{<center> #Doran </center>}          Shepherd of Mount Ida. Not a mythological character. His name means “gift.” ](else_if: $called is "Eleusis")[{<center> #Eleusis </center>}          A place in Attica, near Athens, best known as the site of the Eleusinian Mysteries, which were related to Demeter, Persephone, and Persephone’s abduction by Hades. The secret details of the mysteries were so well kept that modern scholars can only guess at the actual content of beliefs and practices involved. As these mysteries may date back to the Late Bronze Age—or at least derive from Late Bronze Age practices—it seemed okay to reference them here. ](else_if: $called is "Eos")[{<center> #Eos </center>}          The personification of the dawn. Daughter of the Titans Hyperion and Theia. Sister to Helios and Selene. She had a number of ill-fated romances with mortal men, the most pertinent here being the one with the Trojan prince Tithonos, to whom she bore Memnon. She was known to the Romans as Aurora. ](else_if: $called is "Ethiopia")[{<center> #Ethiopia </center>}          By the classical Greek definition, Ethiopia was everything in Africa that was south of Egypt. However, early texts reference Ethiopia as being to the east rather than the south, so I suspect that the term “Aithiopia” may have been derived from whatever term the Mycenaeans used to refer to the land of Hatti, though I'm not sure how that came to be transferred to the majority of Africa. (Maybe it was similar to the term the Egyptians used to refer to their southern neighbors, or what their southern neighbors called themselves?) That being said, I am using the classical definition, and the Ethiopians referenced here are in fact from Africa. ](else_if: $called is "Eurysakes")[{<center> #Eurysakes </center>}          Son of Aias of Salamis by his enslaved concubine Tekmessa. The name means “broad shield.” (Aias was evidently not very creative in terms of naming.) Being only about three or four years old when the war ended, he does not feature in much of the mythology (he’s not even mentioned in the *Iliad*), but has a small-yet-poignant role in the Sophocles tragedy *Aias*. His name is sometimes spelled Eurysaces. ](else_if: $called is "first sailing")[{<center> #first sailing </center>}          Immediately after Helen was taken to Troy by Alexander, Menelaos and Agamemnon raised their army and set sail to get her back…and totally failed to even arrive. They landed in Mysia, where they fought against the local king, Telephos, a son of Heracles, and the young Achilles wounded him, but then they sailed right back to Greece and just sort of sat on their hands for nearly ten years. (Yeah, it makes no sense.) Allegedly, a prophecy said that they needed the help of a son of Priam to reach Troy, and when their first sailing failed to get there, they waited until they could get that help, which they got in a rather round-about fashion. The wound Achilles had given Telephos festered and refused to heal for all that time, until he consulted an oracle (usually said to be the Pythia at Delphi), who informed him that the wound could only be healed by the one who inflicted it. In some versions, Achilles knew how to heal the wound because Cheiron had taught him healing, and in others he had no idea what to do until Odysseus suggested scraping the rust off his spear and using *that* to heal the wound. (Which suggests many weird things, from the implausible notion that Achilles hadn’t been using or maintaining his spear to the improbable but far from impossible idea that his spear had an iron tip instead of a bronze one.) In any case, as Telephos’ wife was a daughter of Priam, and he was therefore the aged king’s son-in-law, that was viewed as enough to satisfy the prophecy, and so the price of his healing was that Telephos had to guide them to Troy.          The big problem with this story is, of course, that Troy’s location is not exactly difficult to find, being right on the freakin’ Dardanelles. Not to mention that the city was likely a very important and wealthy trading hub. The fact that Helen was in Troy for twenty years is established in the *Iliad*, when she says she’s been there for nineteen years, but I suspect that originally there was some other delay (perhaps waiting for Achilles to reach manhood, since there were all sorts of prophecies that he was needed), but then the chronology was shifted around so that Achilles was already at least an ephebe at the time of the first sailing, so that his son would be old enough to take part in the final destruction of the city. (I have a theory, in fact, that if a real person inspired the myth of Achilles, then he did not actually die in the (much smaller) war that was the germ of the myth, and also did various terrible things that inspired the stories of Neoptolemos, and at some point people decided they really didn’t want their hero doing such awful things, so they split him into two people. I have no evidence of this, of course; it’s just my personal theory based on the myths themselves, and the way some of them differed over time.) ](else_if: $called is "Ganymede")[{<center> #Ganymede </center>}          The famous Ganymede (the one a moon of Jupiter is named after) was a Trojan prince, either a son of Laomedon or of Tros depending on the version you’re looking at. (In my version, his father was Tros. Though that is entirely irrelevant to this novel.) He was taken to Olympos by Zeus—in early versions in the form of a whirlwind, and in later versions in the form of a giant eagle—where he served as the cupbearer of the gods, having been made immortal. Over the centuries, the relationship between Zeus and Ganymede became described as a pederastic one, but the earliest mention of the young prince (in the *Iliad*) makes no suggestion of such a situation, and in fact implies that he was an equal favorite with all the gods, not just Zeus. (I have not, at this time, found any reason to decide firmly which version would be ‘canon’ for the version of the myths inside this larger narrative. I’m open to either of them, though I do tend to lean towards the romantic eagle version overall.)          The Ganymede to be found at the Trojan court here has stated very purposefully that he is not the famous one; the name is merely “an old family name.”          Rightfully, the name ought to be Ganymedes, but that’s just one of the few names in the myths that I can’t seem to work with in the original, so I’m going with the typically known Ganymede instead. (Achilles/Achilleus and Alexander/Alexandros being the only others I can come up with off the top of my head.) ](else_if: $called is "Hades")[{<center> #Hades </center>}          One of the three sons of Kronos and Rhea, and the god of the dead; multiple other spellings existed for his name, including Aides (the Homeric spelling), Haides, and Aidoneus. Despite the modern popular misconception, Hades was not the name of his realm; the land of the dead had no specific name and the shades of the dead were simply said to reside “in the house of Hades,” but often ancient writers would simply use the genitive form of the name Hades to express the thought, and over the centuries the idea has corrupted into the idea of the actual realm of the dead also bearing the name Hades. Hades was sometimes said to be the eldest of Kronos’ sons, though in the *Iliad* Zeus is the eldest (a discrepancy that later authors tried to work around by saying that despite being the youngest Zeus became the eldest because all the others were born a second time when they were disgorged by their father after having been swallowed in infancy); in some versions, the three brothers chose their realms, while in others the realms were assigned by lot.          As Hades almost never left his realm, he played a role in very few myths; the tale of his abduction of and subsequent marriage to his double-niece Persephone is the only significant myth about him (and it is to be noted that while Persephone and her mother had not been told about any of it, in most ancient versions it was actually her father’s idea!). One of Hades’ epithets was “Plouton,” meaning “wealthy,” because he controlled everything under the ground, not merely the dead, but also gold and jewels, and crops yet to grow (which explains why he needed a fertility goddess for a wife!), and it was from this epithet that his Roman name of “Pluto” originated. ](else_if: $called is "Hasemeli")[{<center> #Hasemeli </center>}          Hittite god of metalsmiths. ](else_if: $called is "Hecabe")[{<center> #Hecabe </center>}          Late Queen of Troy, wife of King Priam. Mother of Hector, Alexander, Deiphobos, Cassandra, Helenos, Polyxena, Troilos and Polites…probably along with numerous others, but these are the ones typically mentioned. She had the misfortune to outlive her husband, most of her sons, and even some of her daughters. Captured when the city fell, she was given to Odysseus as a slave, but did not sail with him, as her suffering had become so great that she was either transformed into a dog or turned to stone, or sometimes both in succession. She is better known by her Roman name, Hecuba. (Also as the “mobled queen” referred to by the Player in *Hamlet*.) ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(unless: (passage:)'s tags contains "noheader")[ <div id="portraitL"><img class="responsive-image" src="cousins.jpg"></div><div id="portraitR"><img class="responsive-image" src="bard.jpg"></div>]

[[<img src="ch1-next morn.jpg" width="750" height="563">->nextmorning]]

(if: $called is "Helen")[{<center> #Helen </center>}          Queen of Lacedaimon, wife of Menelaos, mother of Hermione. (Yes, Helen and Menelaos had a child. *Before* she went to Troy.) It was said that Queen Leda, wife of King Tyndareos of Lacedaimon, was seduced by Zeus in the form of a swan on the same day that she had also shared her husband’s bed, and laid two eggs as a result, from which hatched Helen, Clytemnestra, Castor and Polydeuces. (Either in the combination of girls from one and boys from the other, or of Tyndareos’ children in one and Zeus’ in the other.) The tale of her departure for Troy with Alexander is legendary, though there are many, many variations in both ancient and modern literature. My version is rooted in the ancient literature, but with my own (hopefully) unique spin, as you’ll discover in the later books. ](else_if: $called is "Hellas")[{<center> #Hellas/Hellene </center>}          Hellene is the term I am using to refer to *all* Greek-speaking peoples. Its use is anachronistic for the Late Bronze Age, but since I decided to apply Achaian and Danaan along geographic lines (and did not want to leave either name out, since they both appear in the records of contemporaneous cultures), I wanted a name that would apply to everyone. Hellas is the name for Greece in Greek, both in Classical times and now, and just as anachronistic here (as far as we know), but I decided to use it for similar reasons. ](else_if: $called is "Heracles")[{<center> #Heracles </center>}          Better known by his Roman name Hercules. The son of Zeus by the mortal Alcmene. The name “Heracles” means “glory of Hera” and it was given to him by the oracle at Delphi in the hopes that he might thereby flatter Hera enough that she would cease tormenting him. (Needless to say, it didn’t work.) There may well be more stories about Heracles than any other mortal in the Greek myths. His twelve labors were tasks he was forced to accomplish for his cousin Eurystheus, King of Tiryns, and are among his most famous deeds. Of particular note here is that he fought against Diomedes of Thrace, a king of the Bistones who was also a son of Ares and had raised man-eating mares. (Various versions give different ends for both Diomedes and the mares, with one popular version being that the mares lost their taste for human flesh after Heracles fed their master to them.) Heracles was also known for accompanying the *Argo* partway on its journey (after the death/abduction-by-nymphs of his boyfriend, Hylas, he left to wander in madness, seeking his beloved), and for having destroyed Troy in the time of Laomedon, the father of Priam, killing Laomedon and all his sons other than Priam (and the one or two extra-pretty ones who had previously been abducted by immortals for lecherous reasons). ](else_if: $called is "Hesione")[{<center> #Hesione </center>}          Daughter of King Laomedon of Troy, sister of King Priam. For her sake, Heracles saved Troy from a sea monster, but her father reneged on his promise to hand her over to the (much older) hero to be his new wife, so he returned with an army and destroyed the city. And yet then he *didn’t* keep her for himself, giving her instead to his comrade-in-arms Telamon. As Telamon’s enslaved concubine, she was the mother of his son Teukros.          The Greeks used her in their myth giving a false etymology to the name Priam: when Heracles was killing all her other brothers, she rescued the youngest, her favorite, by ransoming him with her veil, based on *priamai*, a way to say "to buy". (Actually, Priam is just not a Greek name.) ](else_if: $called is "Hyperborea")[{<center> #Hyperborea </center>}          Literally means “beyond the north.” Hyperborea is more of a concept than a specific place. ](else_if: $called is "Ilios")[{<center> #Ilios </center>}          The other name for the city of Troy, the preferred name in the Homeric texts, from which the title *Iliad* derives. It comes from the actual name of the city in the Late Bronze Age, Wilusa, by way of the archaic Greek version Wilios. ](else_if: $called is "Iris")[{<center> #Iris </center>}          Daughter of Thaumas and Electra (the Oceanid, not the daughter of Agamemnon). Iris is the messenger of the gods, though how that differs from being the *herald* of the gods is unclear to me. (Maybe herald is more important, and thus Hermes only delivers messages for his father, and Iris delivers the messages from all the other gods?) She is also the goddess of rainbows, and often depicted by/with one in modern works. ](else_if: $called is "Kawiya")[{<center> #Kawiya </center>}          The servant who directly supervises the slaves in the palace at Methymna. I got her name from a name-generator that promised they were Hittite names; I simply have to hope they actually were, because I don’t know enough about the Hittite language to be able to tell. ](else_if: $called is "Korinna")[{<center> #Korinna </center>}          Daughter of the shepherd Doran. Not a mythological character. Her name came from a name generator. ](else_if: $called is "Kronos")[{<center> #Kronos </center>}          Father of the original six gods (Hades, Hera, Poseidon, Demeter, Hestia, Zeus), by his sister Rhea. Son of Gaia by Ouranos, who he castrated with a sickle in order to usurp his throne. According to Hesiod, he swallowed his first five children as infants, and was tricked by his wife into swallowing a stone instead of Zeus, allowing the young god to grow up in order to defeat his father and rescue his siblings. A different early text (I can’t remember if it was in the *Iliad* or one of the Homeric Hymns) mentions an early flirtation between Zeus and Hera in which they were (or more like “he was”) trying to avoid notice by their parents (in whose house they were both living), so there was obviously originally a very different version of events before Zeus dethroned his father, but it’s been lost. Kronos was the leader of the Titans, and following the rebellion of his children, he led his fellow Titans in battle against the six gods, but the gods had the help of the Cyclopes, Hekatoncheires (hundred-handed giants) and in some versions Gaia herself, so they won the Titanomachy, and the Titans were imprisoned in Tartaros.          Better known by his Roman name, Saturn. (Also, his Greek name is sometimes spelled Kronus or Cronus.) Not to be confused with Chronos, a minor figure who was the god/personification of time. ](else_if: $called is "Lander")[{<center> #Lander </center>}          Son of Doran the shepherd. Not a mythological character. His name means “lion,” if I recall correctly. (Hey, he’s always been called that, so it was way back in 2014 that I looked it up!) ](else_if: $called is "Lemnos")[{<center> #Lemnos </center>}          An island about halfway between Greece and the Anatolian coast. At one time, the women of Lemnos angered Aphrodite, and she caused them all to emit an odor so foul that no man was willing to come near them. Their husbands therefore went out raiding and stole away women (from either Thrace or Attica, depending on the version) to become their concubines. The Lemnian women soon became enraged by this betrayal, and in one night they killed all their husbands, their husbands’ concubines, and the children those concubines had given birth to. (Surprisingly for women acting in a violent manner in Greek myths, they suffered no penalty for this slaughter. They weren’t even said to have ended up in Tartaros after their deaths.) Consequently, the island was without men for a number of years, and by the time the *Argo* arrived, Aphrodite’s anger had been appeased (in some versions by request of her (sometimes) husband Hephaistos, to whom the island was sacred), and the women no longer stank, thus the Argonauts were willing to hear their request to father new children on them. The *Argo* stayed there a year. (And even then they only left because Heracles, who had stayed on the boat with Hylas the entire time, finally came ashore to mock them for their heroic love-making.) This is all obliquely referred to in the *Iliad*, as Lemnos is mentioned, and its king is a son of Jason. ](else_if: $called is "Libya")[{<center> #Libya </center>}          To the ancient Greeks, “Libya” was the entire continent of Africa. It may be anachronistic to use it here, but without knowing how the Mycenaeans would have referred to Africa, it seemed like the best choice. ](else_if: $called is "maenads")[{<center> #maenads </center>}          Female followers of Dionysos, who enter into a manic, frenzied state. There’s a lot more to the concept than that, but that’s all that’s really relevant here. (There will be much more about them in book three.) ](else_if: $called is "Megara")[{<center> #Megara </center>}          Part of the Isthmus of Corinth directly opposite Salamis, and ruled by the same king. Like Salamis itself, it eventually fell under control of Athens. ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(if: $called is "Sidon")[{<center> #Sidon </center>}          A Phoenician city, possibly the first Phoenician city. It is one of the few major cities not currently known to have fallen at the end of the Bronze Age. The name Sidon actually comes from the Hebrew name for the city, but it is also the name the Greeks used for the city. ](else_if: $called is "Summunna")[{<center> #Summunna </center>}          One of the more important servants in the palace in Methymna. Her name comes from a name generator that promised Hittite names, and as I have no knowledge of the Hittite language, I have to hope that it provided me with appropriate names. ](else_if: $called is "Tartaros")[{<center> #Tartaros </center>}          The underground realm where the worst offenders against the gods were eternally punished. However, Tartaros was not originally used as a punishment for dead mortals, but as a prison for immortal beings. Ouranos locked the Hekatoncheires—the hundred-handed giants—in Tartaros because they were too hideous. Gaia persuaded Kronos to turn on his father because of this cruelty, but Kronos, too, locked away not only the Hekatoncheires in Tartaros, but also the Cyclopes. Therefore, Gaia urged Kronos’ son Zeus to overthrow his father. At the end of the mighty war that raged between the gods and the Titans, the Titans were imprisoned in Tartaros, and the Hekatoncheires were made their guards there. ](else_if: $called is "Telamonian")[{<center> #Telamonian/Telamoniades </center>}           Patronymics meaning “son of Telamon.” The former goes in front of the name, and the latter goes after it. Though the name Telamon by itself is also sometimes used as a patronymic in the case of his son Aias. (Everyone always has to work extra hard to find smooth ways to identify which Aias they’re talking about, you know? Especially since in the *Iliad* they actually hung out together, for some bizarre reason. (Actually, maybe that was to make things easier on the poet, since it let him just use the dual form (Aiantes) and not have to specify which he meant.)) ](else_if: $called is "Tennes")[{<center> #Tennes </center>}          Son of Apollo by the wife of Cycnos (who was the king of Colonai and a son of Poseidon, as well as being the first figure of importance killed by Achilles in the Trojan War). King of Tenedos (which was in fact renamed in his honor while he ruled there). Slain by Achilles at the beginning of the Trojan War, in some versions not just in battle or to get his shiny armor, but because Tennes was trying to stop Achilles from raping his sister. (For obvious reasons, I couldn’t use that version in the novel. That would have shattered Atalanta.) ](else_if: $called is "Thalassa")[{<center> #Thalassa </center>}           A Greek name I got from a name-generator and assigned to one of the other slave girls in the palace in Methymna. The name means “sea,” but there’s no particular significance to it being assigned to this girl; it just seemed like a good name for a girl on an island. ](else_if: $called is "Themiscyra")[{<center> #Themiscyra </center>}          Mythic homeland of the Amazons. It is rare for any two ancient authors to agree on its location, but most modern authors place it in Scythia, since the various tribes of the region seem to have inspired the Amazons in terms of behavior and dress. ](else_if: $called is "Theseus")[{<center> #Theseus </center>}          Son of Aithra, sometimes fathered by Aigeus, sometimes fathered by Poseidon, and sometimes fathered by both. Best known for slaying the Minotaur and running off with the beast’s half-sister Ariadne only to abandon her halfway back to Athens, Theseus was also involved in a number of other major myths, including having kidnapped an underage Helen late in his life, with the intention of marrying her. (This, needless to say, did not go well for him.) ](else_if: $called is "Thymbra")[{<center> #Thymbra </center>}          Town about five miles from Troy, at the junction of the Thymbrios and Scamander Rivers. Location of a very important temple to Apollo. ](else_if: $called is "Titans")[{<center> #Titans </center>}          The elder generation of gods, before the Olympians. There were originally twelve, all children of Ouranos and Gaia, though the children of those twelve were also counted as Titans (except for those who became the Olympian gods). Their leader, Kronos, was the father of Zeus and the other five original Olympians, who rose up against him, culminating in a war known as the Titanomachy, which the Titans of course lost, leaving the Olympian gods in control and the Titans locked away in Tartaros or enduring other punishments. Not all of the Titans of the second and later generations sided with the other Titans; a few remained neutral, and some took the side of the Olympians, thus remaining free and possessing various powers and cosmological roles.          It is worth noting that in some versions, humanity was created by the Titans *before* the Titanomachy, whereas in most versions they were created much later, either by Zeus or by Prometheus (himself a second generation Titan, who stayed neutral in the conflict) in defiance of Zeus. ](else_if: $called is "tower shield")[{<center> #tower shield </center>}          A rectangular shield about as tall as a man. These are known to have existed in the Late Bronze Age, as they are sometimes depicted in artworks (particularly the earlier works found in the Grave Circles at Mycenae), though they are not as commonly depicted as the “figure-8” shields. In the *Iliad*, Telamonian Aias is specifically described as using a tower shield (in fact, one of the ways he is often mentioned is “Aias of the towering shield”), which is at the heart of most of the combat style that earns him the epithet “bulwark of the Achaians.” ](else_if: $called is "Troy")[{<center> #Troy/Troad </center>}          A city in Anatolia which was destroyed repeatedly throughout the Late Bronze Age…and in historical times, too. At the meeting point between the Bosporus and the Aegean, it was in a prime position to be a major trading hub, and excessively wealthy. In the Late Bronze Age, it was in Hittite territory, and was referred to as Wilusa (Ilios in classical Greek), with the area around it being called Taruisa (the Troad, from the Greek Troia, the name for the city in the historical period). ](else_if: $called is "Tyre")[{<center> #Tyre </center>}          Phoenician city of considerable antiquity, dating back to around 2900-2700 BCE. Mythologically prominent as the original home of Cadmos and Europa; following Europa’s abduction/seduction by Zeus, Cadmos followed her to Greece and, being advised against continuing to attempt to restore her, founded Thebes. ](else_if: $called is "Wineswa")[{<center> #Wineswa </center>}          The sister of the king of Methymna. Her name comes from a name generator that promised Hittite names, and as I have no knowledge of the Hittite language, I have to hope that it provided me with appropriate names. ](else_if: $called is "Zeus")[{<center> #Zeus </center>}          One of the twelve Olympian gods. Son of Kronos and Rhea. In the Homeric epics, Zeus is the eldest of their three sons, but other authors described him as the youngest. As the one who led the revolution against Kronos, Zeus became the ruler of the gods. He played a role in countless myths, and was continually unfaithful to his wife/sister Hera. (Of course, you already knew all that…) ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(if: $called is "Achilles")[{<center> #Achilles </center>}          Okay, probably no one needs me to identify Achilles…just to be thorough, I’m doing so anyway. The son of the mortal Peleus and the immortal Nereid Thetis, Achilles was the Greek champion of the Trojan War, and his participation was prophesied to be necessary if the city was to fall. Though the *Iliad* describes him as a blond, I have given him red hair, primarily because of a later myth that requires him to be a redhead. (Which will be elaborated on in later games.) In my own defense, however, the word “*xanthos*” used in the *Iliad* to describe Achilles’ hair *can* in fact mean red hair as well as blond, being applicable to any fair hair color. It just *usually* means blond when applied to humans. (Also, I just generally like red hair and if Achilles had red hair then that means Atalanta gets to have red hair.)          Most everything else you need to know about him is in the main text, except that I will say that the modern concept of him being invulnerable except for one spot on his heel due to having been dipped in the River Styx as a baby is entirely mistaken. Firstly, it’s actually supposed to be his ankle, not his heel; that’s a mistranslation via French. More importantly, in the earliest texts (especially the *Iliad*), he had no form of invulnerability whatsoever. The oldest surviving text to confer any partial invulnerability on Achilles is the Hellenistic *Argonautica* of Apollonios of Rhodes, which borrowed from the Homeric Hymn to Demeter, and had Thetis coat the baby in ambrosia then lay him in the fire to burn away his mortality. His father found her doing so, and snatched the baby out of the fire, grabbing him by his ankle, thus wiping away the ambrosia in that point, leaving him vulnerable there. (In some earlier versions, Achilles was not the first-born of the pair, and earlier sons either died when Thetis laid them unprotected on the fire to see if they were mortal (an action which does not really fit well with her overprotective behavior towards Achilles) or who couldn’t survive having their mortality burned away, in which case Peleus was not entirely out of line for trying to interfere.) It isn’t really referenced until Book 2, and then only obliquely, so I will go ahead and state that I have adopted a modified version of Apollonios’ version: in mine, when Peleus wiped away the ambrosia from his infant son’s ankle in snatching him out of the fire, all of Achilles’ mortality became focused in the tendon on the back of the ankle, the one now named after him. :P So, in my version, he’s still killed by a single arrow when it severs that tendon, but it’s not that he’s invulnerable elsewhere: instead, it’s more like he’s got healing powers, because his injuries heal quickly, but he could still (at least in theory) be killed by all the same wounds a normal man can.          The name “Achilleus” (the proper Greek form of the name) was already in use in the Late Bronze Age, and has been found on various Mycenaean tablets, but is not linguistically Greek. There is a famous false etymology for the name: created by the ancient Greeks themselves, it claims the name means “lipless”, a name given to him after his father interfered in his mother’s attempts to grant him immortality (his previous name having been Ligyron), and it was meant to indicate that his lips had never touched his mother’s breast, as she had been preventing him from eating mortal foods (which you wouldn’t think would include the milk of an immortal woman) in order to ensure that he could be made immortal. Modern scholars have suggested many possible (actual) etymologies: it could be related to “Achaia,” it may be related to the Acheloos River, or it may be derived from the same root as the Greek word “achos,” which means pain. None of these are certainties, etymologically, and they might actually all come from the same root word, for that matter. Personally, I rather like the idea of the name coming from Achaia, as it makes a nice parallel with Troilos that way. ](else_if: $called is "ages")[{<center> #ages </center>}          This game contains many references to peoples’ ages in terms of actual years (for example, to Atalanta and Ariadne being sixteen), and this is actually deeply anachronistic; calendars were not exactly a thing in the Late Bronze Age. Even by the time the Homeric epics were being composed, people were simply referred to as belonging to an “age group” rather than being a specific age. (This also continued well into the Classical period, as I recall.) However, as a modern person I find it very hard to force my brain to let go of these specificities, so please consider the declarations of ages as being “in translation” from the mentions of age groups that would have been used at the time.          In my own defense, however, it is actually very believable that Atalanta and Ariadne know exactly how old they are, as they know they were born a few months after the Trojan War ended, and that’s the sort of event that no one who was alive at the time was going to forget just how many years ago it was. ](else_if: $called is "ai")[{<center> #ai </center>}          An exclamation of lament in ancient Greek, akin to the English “alas!” (If you were looking for looking for information about the letter “Ai” on the grave marker, see the entry on Late Bronze Age Writing Systems.) ](else_if: $called is "AiasS")[{<center> #Aias ###(of Salamis/Telamonian/Telamoniades) </center>}          Better known by his Roman name Ajax, specifically as the Greater Ajax. Son of Telamon, who in post-Homeric texts is typically the brother of Peleus, making Aias and Achilles first cousins. (There is no indication of this being the case in the *Iliad* or the *Odyssey*, but most modern authors, including myself, have adopted it as ‘canon’ anyway.) A very large man who carried a massive tower shield (rectangular, and as tall as a man, if not taller), and was often known as the “bulwark of the Achaians.” He is typically considered to have been the second best warrior among the Greek forces at Troy, though sometimes that distinction is awarded to Diomedes of Argos, making Aias third instead of second. His (friendly) rivalry with Achilles is legendary. He was often described as speaking slowly. ](else_if: $called is "Aitna")[{<center> #Aitna, Mount </center>}          Active volcano on the island of Sicily. In the most common version of the myth (almost every myth has at least one lesser-known variant), following the defeat of Typhoeus, Zeus imprisoned him underneath Mount Aitna, and the volcano’s flames were his fiery breath. In other tales (not necessarily contradictory ones), the volcano was the site of Hephaistos’ forge. ](else_if: $called is "Amazons")[{<center> #Amazon(s) </center>}          Female warriors from the distant edges of the ancient Greek world. Believed in later times to have cut or seared one breast off to prevent it from interfering with their archery, though this was due to a false etymology invented by much later writers; in the Classical period, there is no hint of such a myth, either in text or in art. Tales of the Amazons were likely inspired by the Scythians, whose culture was far more egalitarian in terms of gender politics. ](else_if: $called is "Antianeira")[{<center> #Antianeira </center>}          Leader of the Amazon contingent visiting Troy, niece of the late Queen Penthesileia. Not a mythological character, despite her blood relationship to one. Her name comes from a list of known names of Amazons in the book *The Amazons: Lives and Legends of Warrior Women across the Ancient World* by Adrienne Mayor. The name means “man’s match.” ](else_if: $called is "Apaliunas")[{<center> #Apaliunas </center>}          The name of a tutelary god of Wilusa, as mentioned in the Alaksandu Treaty. Many scholars believe the name to refer to Apollo (or perhaps to be the origin of Apollo), or at least the local version of Apollo. I use it as the Trojan name for Apollo. Essentially. ](else_if: $called is "Apophis")[{<center> #Apophis </center>}          More properly rendered as “Apep,” but the Greeks were aware of the figure and spelled his name Apophis, so that’s what I’ve gone with. He was the embodiment of chaos, typically depicted as a giant snake, and fought constant battles with Ra, the sun god. It’s much more complicated than that, of course, but in this context…actually, given that his mention in context specifies exactly what he is, I doubt anyone’s even bothered to click on this, so I could probably transcribe *Jabberwocky* here and no one would be the wiser. I *won’t*, but I *could*. ](else_if: $called is "Arios")[{<center> #Arios </center>}          To the best of my knowledge, I made this name up. I wanted Ariadne to have come up with names that sounded Greek-like but were also reminiscent of their real names. ](else_if: $called is "Ascalaphos")[{<center> #Ascalaphos </center>}          Son of Ares, often said to be his favorite son, in fact. King of Orchomenos. Although a demigod, he does not leave any strong impression in the ancient literature, perhaps because his father is Ares, the least respected of the Greek gods (and an ally of the Trojans in the Trojan War). He and his twin brother Ialmenos brought thirty ships to Troy with them. Ascalaphos was killed in the battle in the Greek camp in the *Iliad*, when Priam’s son Deiphobos threw his spear at Idomeneus, King of Crete, and missed. (Seriously. Possibly the most ignominious death of any Greek in the entire epic.) ](else_if: $called is "Athene")[{<center> #Athene </center>}          One of the twelve Olympian gods, daughter of Zeus by the Titan Metis (usually; there are versions where Zeus produces her unaided, and even one version where Zeus isn’t involved). One of the three virgin goddesses (the other two being Artemis and Hestia). Athene was goddess both of wisdom and warfare, but her focus in the latter was the calm, strategic warfare preferred by the Greeks. She was always depicted with a helmet and armor, having actually been born with them, from within her father’s head, after he swallowed her pregnant mother in the form of a fly out of fear that she would bear him a son who would overthrow him the way he overthrew his own father. (Again, that’s merely the usual story.)         &nbspHer name is typically spelled Athena, but since it's spelled with a final eta in Greek (rather than a final alpha), I have gotten into the unshakable habit of spelling it Athene. ](else_if: $called is "attractiveness")[{<center> #attractiveness </center>}          Assuming you didn’t click on this just to see why in the world “attractiveness” has a glossary entry, you are probably wondering just why so many people—men, particularly—are generically described as being attractive. It’s a cultural thing, essentially. Among the ancient Greeks, one’s exterior and one’s interior were allegedly expected to mirror each other, hence that the best of the Greek heroes at the Trojan War was also the most beautiful of them, and that the unpleasant character Thersites was described as being physically repulsive. (This fact makes it significant, I think, that when Helen was standing atop the wall of the city and identifying the Greeks below to the Trojan elders, the one man among them that who is *not* described as being handsome is Odysseus.)          But why do I say “allegedly” expected? Well, if you look closely at the myths, there are a lot of times when exterior beauty hides inner ugliness. Achilles seems like a good example of this, as he’s really an awful person, but the ancient Greeks didn’t seem to notice just how awful he was. However, Alexander is a good example: he’s said to be the most fair of mortal men, but he’s a coward, a weakling, and condemns his entire nation to death, suffering and slavery for the sake of his lust for another man’s wife. Neoptolemos is another good example; he’s said to be every bit as beautiful as his father (possibly even more so, since in the *Odyssey* Odysseus tells Achilles’ shade that his son was even more handsome than Memnon) but he commits some of the worst atrocities in the war, and eventually dies in ignominy. ](else_if: $called is "barbarian")[{<center> #barbarian </center>}          More than just an insult implying lack of civilization, the Greek word “*barbaroi*” literally means someone who doesn’t speak Greek (it was onomatopoeic, comparing the non-Greek words to someone babbling “*bar bar*”), and while it was generally applied to everyone non-Greek other than the Egyptians, it was especially used to apply to Persians. That being the case, many later writers applied it to the Trojans (who were often used as an indirect way of mocking the Persians in the post-Persian invasion era), though it was never used to refer to Trojans in the *Iliad*. Technically, I shouldn’t use it in any speech that’s considered in translation from the Hittite tongue instead of from Mycenaean Greek, but…let’s be honest, most languages have a similar pejorative. It’s just that many (most?) modern European languages have simply borrowed the Greek one. ](else_if: $called is "Briseis")[{<center> #Briseis </center>}          Widow of Mynes, King of Lyrnessos. During the sacking of Lyrnessos, Achilles personally slew her husband. Briseis was awarded to him as a concubine following the battle. Though given precious little to do in the epic, Briseis is at the center of the conflict within the Achaian camp in the *Iliad*, when Agamemnon takes her away for himself, and Achilles withdraws from the war in protest at the insult to his honor. Despite protestations to love her, Achilles does not display any particular affection towards her. ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(if: $called is "Callicritades")[{<center> #Callicritades </center>}          I no longer remember where (because it was seven years ago) but I saw this name in a book I read at the university library. (As I graduated years ago, I couldn’t go back and check even if I remembered what book it was, unfortunately. One of the more obscure histories, most likely, or one of the ancient authors who wrote compendiums of fascinating “facts” in late Hellenistic and Roman times.) Although the name I saw might actually have been Callicrates; I’m not sure which it was, but I definitely saw *one* of them in print as a real, honest-to-goodness, someone-actually-used-this name from antiquity while I was writing the original draft of the novel. ](else_if: $called is "Cheiron")[{<center> #Cheiron </center>}          The only centaur who is not portrayed as a lusty, drunken beast in classical literature. Unlike the common centaurs, Cheiron was said to be the son of the Titan Kronos by Philyra, who Kronos had approached in the form of a horse. Cheiron was famous for training many of the greatest heroes of Greek myth, including Achilles, Asclepios and Jason. In ancient Greek depictions of Cheiron, he is depicted as a human man with a horse’s back emerging from his backside, rather than a human torso emerging from a horse’s neck. (The Romans, however, depicted him in the same way as any other centaur.) In later texts, Cheiron is described as the father of Peleus’ mother, but in earlier ancient texts, he is *not* Peleus’ grandfather, instead an obscure figure named Skeiron is; the similarity of the names likely led to the two being confused and then conflated. (However, I am adopting the later version, because it’s much more interesting.) His name is often spelled Chiron in English. ](else_if: $called is "Colchis")[{<center> #Colchis </center>}          Land to the east of the Black Sea, ruled by King Aeetes, a son of Helios. (As his mother was immortal as well as his father, Aeetes is also immortal, and is therefore presumably still ruling by the time of the events of this game, even though the voyage of the *Argo* was several generations back.) ](else_if: $called is "Damaris")[{<center> #Damaris </center>}          A Greek name I got from a name-generator and assigned to one of the other slave girls in the palace in Methymna. ](else_if: $called is "Dardania")[{<center> #Dardania </center>}          A town at the foot of Mount Ida. The birthplace of Aineias. Sacked by Achilles during the Trojan War (well, duh), in which Aineias completely failed to stop him. (Seriously, Achilles actually mocks him for it in the *Iliad*. Right before attempting to kill him.) ](else_if: $called is "Dionysos")[{<center> #Dionysos </center>}          God of wine and theater. Son of Zeus and the mortal Semele. There are a number of myths about mortals refusing to accept him as a god. (Which had made scholars assume he was a late addition to the Greek pantheon, until Linear B was translated and it was discovered that he was very much already worshipped in Mycenaean times.) He is one of the only Olympians not to take part in the Trojan War in any way; he doesn’t even pick a side to root for. (In fact, if I am recalling correctly, he’s only mentioned in the *Iliad* as the one who gave the golden amphora to Peleus and Thetis as a wedding present.) ](else_if: $called is "Egypt")[{<center> #Egypt </center>}          While I hope there is no need to define Egypt to anyone, I will point out that the Egyptians held a truly unique place in the worldview of the Ancient Greeks. Most non-Greeks were referred to (in Classical times) as *barbaroi*, a pejorative that basically just meant ‘non-Greek-speaker,’ and implied a great lack of civilization. (That being said, it was especially used to refer to the Persians.) The Egyptians were the one non-Greek people who were never called *barbaroi*, and they were in fact highly regarded for the great antiquity of their culture. The Egyptians were one of the peoples who birthed important early Greek heroes—Danaos, namesake of the Danaans, was an Egyptian by birth—but the Egyptian people as a whole rarely played any role in the other myths. ](else_if: $called is "Endeis")[{<center> #Endeis </center>}          A Greek name I got from a name-generator and assigned to one of the other slave girls in the palace in Methymna. ](else_if: $called is "ephebe")[{<center> #ephebe </center>}          A difficult word to translate accurately, which is why I’ve simply used it as-is in places where the more complex meanings of the word are needed; it is usually translated as ‘boy’ or ‘youth.’ It refers to a male who has hit puberty but has not yet grown his first beard. In historic antiquity, boys in Greece who had not yet become ephebes were confined to the women’s’ quarters, or at least typically not allowed outside without the supervision of an adult male relation. Once they hit puberty (which happened at about eighteen at that time), they became ephebes and could partially enter society, though for them to travel without adult escort would probably still have been a very rare thing. In writing this, I have had to assume (rightly or wrongly) that some similar practices were in place in the Late Bronze Age as in the Iron Age, which of course explains the way everyone reacts when they hear Ariadne or Atalanta speak in their male disguises. Despite what a certain homophobic scholar wrote in the late 1970s, it was actually illegal (in post-Peloponnesian War Athens, anyway, the city-state and time period for which we have by far the most documentation) for a man to enter into a pederastic relationship with a boy who had not yet become an ephebe; the typical pederastic relationship would have been between an ephebe and a young man who had only recently ceased being an ephebe, and would transition from romantic (and/or sexual) friendship to ordinary friendship when the younger partner ceased to be an ephebe. (There are many examples of atypical relationships that continued on after both men were adults, of course, both mythologically (chiefly Patroclos and Achilles) and historically (Pausanias and Agathon, the Theban Sacred Band, etc.).) ](else_if: $called is "Eurydice")[{<center> #Eurydice </center>}          Doomed wife of Orpheus. She was bitten by a snake and died soon after their marriage, and though Orpheus attempted to get her back from the afterlife, he failed, and she remained dead. At least, according to the late and best known version. There are also versions where he succeeded, and the entire existence of Eurydice may well be a late invention, possibly related to cultic practice.          Uh, all that being said, given the way she’s referenced here, obviously I was going with the late version, because, y’know, it doesn’t make sense any other way. So…yeah, that’s anachronistic. Sorry. ](else_if: $called is "Eutychos")[{<center> #Eutychos </center>}          Formerly a member of the Salaminian contingent to the Trojan War, now accompanying Eurysakes on his travels. Not a real mythological character, however; I got the name from a name generator and liked it for the character. (It means “good fortune.”) ](else_if: $called is "Galenos")[{<center> #Galenos </center>}          Herald working for King Teukros of Cyprian Salamis, formerly herald for Prince Aias of Salamis. Not a real mythological character; I went to a name generator to get a name for him. (It was only kings who had heralds in the *Iliad*; princes like Aias evidently had to carry their own messages.) ](else_if: $called is "xenia")[{<center> #guest-friendship </center>}          *Xenia*, or guest-friendship, was a sacred relationship throughout the Mediterranean area in the Late Bronze Age. Within Greek myth, it is said to have been established by Zeus himself. The essence of *xenia* can be summed up as a social obligation between guests and hosts to perpetrate no harm and to repay gifts in kind, but this would be a colossal understatement. As money did not yet exist in the Late Bronze Age, guest-friendship was necessary for travel to exist; because it was viewed as a sacred relationship, people could count on safely finding housing as they traveled (since inns could not exist without money!), and by passing gifts between host and guest, it also functioned as a pre-monetary form of international trade. A major visit from a prince or king (such as Prince Alexander of Troy visiting King Menelaos of Sparta) would have involved an entire ship’s worth of valuable gifts (at least!) from home, which would have been reciprocated in a matching value of local goods. If you look carefully at various Greek myths, there are many tales of bad hosts or bad guests receiving their just desserts for their vile deeds. (It isn’t just the Greeks, either, but all the cultures in the region. In fact, I had a professor in college who said that the actual sin being committed in Sodom and Gomorrah was the violation of guest-friendship.) *Xenia* was actually very stringent regarding acceptable behavior; in the *Odyssey*, Nestor’s behavior when Telemachos arrives in Pylos makes it clear that a host was not to ask anything of his guest—not even his name or his purpose in visiting!—until he had been fed. My characters are necessarily not fulfilling their proper roles very well in that regard, because it’s just too weird to modern sensibilities…plus it would drag out the narrative even longer than it already is. My apologies for the anachronism.          Guest-friendship was also a deterrent to war, because it created a relationship that lasted beyond the immediate participants and on into the following generations: in the *Iliad*, Diomedes of Argos (no relation to Diomedes of the Bistones) in talking to the Trojan ally Glaucos of Lycia, discovered that their grandfathers had been guest and host, and thus they decided that it would be entirely wrong for them to fight each other, exchanged armor as gifts of friendship, and went on their way. (Seriously. And strangely Homer thought Diomedes had the better deal, because Glaucos’ armor was made of solid gold. Which would have been insanely heavy and absurdly soft, making it worthless as armor. Meanwhile, Diomedes’ armor had been made by Hephaistos himself! Clearly, Glaucos got the better deal! Though he still didn’t survive the war, so…guess it’s not the armor that matters so much as the man inside it.) To share your home (or your campsite, or even your food) with someone, or to share someone else’s home (or camp or food), was not a light matter in the ancient world; it was an investment in a relationship that could last for generations. ](else_if: $called is "hair")[{<center> #hair length </center>}          In this, the short hair sported by Atalanta and Ariadne is treated as a mark of their enslavement. This may or may not be accurate for the Late Bronze Age, and even though it’s a cultural detail I’ve moved backwards from the Iron Age for the purpose, it would only be *mostly* accurate then, too, as it was somewhat more complicated than simply “enslaved females had short hair and free ones had long hair.” As a generalization, however, it is not far off from the mark for the historic period, and I don’t think it entirely inappropriate for the Late Bronze Age, as all the surviving Mycenaean art of women has depicted them with long hair.          As to the mention in the Prologue of Achilles’ hair being “unusually short,” that’s because he had shorn it all off in mourning when Patroclos died, and it hasn’t fully grown back out. (Archaeological evidence has not been entirely clear on just how long men kept their hair in Mycenaean Greece: some ancient artworks suggest short back and sides (as in the historic period) was typical, and others, like the fresco of a lyre-player found in Pylos (yes, the one in the side-bar), suggest that much longer hair was sometimes worn.) ](else_if: $called is "Hatti")[{<center> #Hatti/Hattusa </center>}          The Land of Hatti, with its capital in Hattusa, is the name for the country of the people now called Hittites. The name Hittite, however, is anachronistic and linguistically incorrect, being the Biblical term (and thus translated to English from Hebrew) for the culture, or more likely for the lesser empire that followed the fall of Hattusa at the end of the Bronze Age. In the period in which this novel takes place, the Hittites controlled most of modern-day Turkey, as well as the island of Lesbos. Troy, specifically, is historically known to have been a part of the Hittite empire. No Greek myths ever referred to the Hittites directly, nor was Herodotus aware that they had ever existed. However, there are many among the allies of Troy in the Trojan War who may have originally been inspired by the Hittites; my personal theory is that the Ethiopians were originally the Hittites, as early texts refer to Ethiopia as being in the east rather than the south (which only makes sense, considering their king was the son of Eos, the personification of the dawn). ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(if: $called is "Memnon")[{<center> #Memnon </center>}          King of Ethiopia. Son of Eos and Tithonos, a son of Laomedon. Memnon and his brother were said to have dark skin because when they were little they were carried in the chariot of Helios and became burnt. (Whether that claim was made before the name Ethiopia became attached to all of Africa south of Egypt or whether it was made as some sort of reasoning for Memnon to have ended up in Africa is unclear.) I don’t know, off-hand, of any myths talking about Memnon’s brother becoming king after him, but it stands to reason that he would have. (Actually, aside from Memnon’s participation in the Trojan War, I’m not sure I can think of any other myths that even mention Ethiopia.)          It may have been because of Memnon’s great beauty that by classical times it was said that Ethiopia was home to the most beautiful men in the world. ](else_if: $called is "Myrto")[{<center> #Myrto </center>}          One of the Locrian maidens sent to Troy to serve Athene. Not a mythological character. Her name comes from a name generator, and means “myrtle.” (Admittedly, you probably guessed that was what it meant, but I figured I might as well say so anyway.) ](else_if: $called is "Pyrrhos")[{<center> #Neoptolemos </center>}          Son of Achilles by Deidameia of Scyros. The youngest Greek participant in the war, and probably the most brutal. Following his father’s death, Odysseus (and sometimes Diomedes) fetched him from Scyros, as it was believed that the prophecy that the city could not fall without Achilles could still be fulfilled by the participation of his son. Further details of his fate post-war will be provided in later books. ](else_if: $called is "Nuwanuwa")[{<center> #Nuwanuwa </center>}          One of the guards at the palace in Methymna. His name comes from a name generator that promised Hittite names, and as I have no knowledge of the Hittite language, I have to hope that it provided me with appropriate names. ](else_if: $called is "Oitane")[{<center> #Oitane </center>}          A Greek name I got from a name-generator and assigned to one of the other slave girls in the palace in Methymna. ](else_if: $called is "Orpheus")[{<center> #Orpheus </center>}          Famed bard about whom very little remained constant throughout antiquity. Often said to be the son of Apollo and one of the Muses, but many other potential set of parents were written down for him. He is usually considered to have been one of the Argonauts, but the most famous tale about him is that of his marriage to Eurydice, who was bitten by a poisonous snake and died immediately after their wedding. Orpheus went down to the house of Hades to beg to have her returned to him, and his songs charmed even Hades and Persephone, who agreed to release Eurydice into life once more, but only if Orpheus got all the way back up the surface without looking back to see if she was following him. Of course, he got nervous and glanced back once he was near the surface, and only got to see Eurydice for a split second as Hermes was taking her back down again. Orpheus then went mad with grief, and wandered the world singing songs of misery and woe such that he made even stones weep. He swore off women forever, taking only young men as lovers from then on, which enraged a group of wandering maenads (or in other versions, they demanded that he sing something cheerful for them, and they were enraged by his refusals), who tore him to pieces. His head fell into a river, still singing, and floated downstream, where it ended up in either Thrace or Lesbos, not only singing but also speaking, giving such accurate prophecies that Apollo destroyed the head with a thunderbolt, jealous that it was a better oracle than the one at Delphi. (This is, as far as I know, the only time Apollo was ever said to wield one of his father’s thunderbolts.)          Orpheus was also the central figure in the Orphic mystery cult, which is very complicated, and not fully understood by modern scholars (mystery cults tended not to allow outsiders to know their secrets and beliefs, after all), so any attempt on my part to summarize it would fail miserably. (And it is most certainly not relevant here, after all.) ](else_if: $called is "Pantariste")[{<center> #Pantariste </center>}          One of the Amazon contingent staying at the palace in Troy. Not a mythological character. Her name comes from a list of known names of Amazons in the book *The Amazons: Lives and Legends of Warrior Women across the Ancient World* by Adrienne Mayor. The name means “Best of All.” ](else_if: $called is "Patroclos")[{<center> #Patroclos </center>}          Son of Menoitios. In his youth, he accidentally killed a friend during a quarrel over a game of knucklebones. His family accompanied him in his exile from his native Opoeis to Phthia, where Peleus purified Patroclos of the homicide. When the young Achilles arrived at the court of his father, Patroclos became his devoted friend and companion. (Except in versions where Achilles never left his father’s court, in which they became friends and companions immediately upon Patroclos’ arrival.) In the *Iliad*, the romantic component of their friendship is largely subtext, allowing some later writers (like Xenophon) to deny it, while others built on it strongly (particularly Aeschylos). In the *Iliad*, Patroclos is quite specifically described as the elder of the pair, though some writers in later antiquity made Achilles the elder (a change that has remained popular throughout the subsequent centuries, witness Shakespeare’s Achilles calling Hector a “boy-queller” in his decidedly unheroic *Troilus and Cressida* (the romance between his Achilles and Patroclus being literally the only part that is not depicted as utterly detestable)). Patroclos was killed by Hector in the ninth year of the Trojan War when he went out to fight in Achilles’ place in his armor, but unlike in some modern reinterpretations, Hector knew exactly who he was fighting, and even though Patroclos was badly disadvantaged by the time Hector killed him, Hector was still darned proud of himself for the deed, because Patroclos was a serious bad-ass. (Uh, yeah, I’m kinda a Patroclos fangirl. #fightme) ](else_if: $called is "Pegasos")[{<center> #Pegasos </center>}          Famous winged horse, son of Medusa and Poseidon. Born out of his mother’s neck after her head was cut off. (Ick!) His name is often Romanized by spelling it Pegasus. Despite the modern usage, it was not the name of a species, but a single individual. (Which is to say that there were no other winged horses.) ](else_if: $called is "Peloponnese")[{<center> #Peloponnese </center>}          Large region of southern Greece, connected to the rest of the country only by a thin isthmus. Named after Pelops, the son of Tantalos; Pelops made the entire Peloponnese his kingdom, though it was split up into lesser kingdoms on his death. Most of the major Late Bronze Age settlements in Greece were in the Peloponnese, including Mycenae, Tiryns, and Pylos. ](else_if: $called is "Perseus")[{<center> #Perseus </center>}          Son of Zeus by Danae. Best known for slaying the Gorgon Medusa, but he also played a role in a number of other myths, and was the founder of Mycenae, according to legendary tradition. ](else_if: $called is "Phoinix")[{<center> #Phoinix </center>}          Son of the King of Ormenion, Amyntor. He was forced to leave Ormenion after a complicated intrigue regarding his father’s mistress, which left him under a curse that he would never have children. He ended up in Phthia, where he became part of the court of King Peleus. He trained Achilles in combat and strategy, and regarded the boy as the son he could not have. He outlived Achilles and took up a similar position of mentor and tutor to his son Neoptolemos, surviving the war and leaving along with the young warrior. ](else_if: $called is "Polyxena")[{<center> #Polyxena </center>}          Daughter of King Priam and Queen Hecabe of Troy. Captured at the fall of the city, and killed on Achilles’ grave in order to send her shade down to him as his share of the spoils. Ancient authors vary on whether or not she was properly buried and by whom (Euripides had her mother be forced to do so personally). There are various other tales about her, including one wherein Achilles has already met her (somehow) and “fallen in love with her” and is negotiating for her hand in marriage (which might even include his withdrawing from the war) when he is ambushed and murdered by Alexander. (An action that wouldn’t make much sense if he was planning on going home again!) ](else_if: $called is "Pyrrha")[{<center> #Pyrrha </center>}          A name with a lot of different uses in Greek mythology (one of which will be coming up in later books). In this case, the name Pyrrha is not mythological, but refers to one of the other cities on Lesbos. ](else_if: $called is "Scaian")[{<center> #Scaian Gate </center>}          One of the many gates that led into the city of Troy in Priam’s time. This was the one that faced west, thus the one that the Greek army focused on. ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(if: $called is "Selene")[{<center> #Selene </center>}           Personification of the moon. The daughter of the Titans Hyperion and Theia. She rode a chariot across the sky every evening. Like her sister Eos, she had a number of ill-fated romances with mortal men. Although she was known to the Romans as Luna, they mostly subsumed her into the persona of Diana, their equivalent of Artemis. ](else_if: $called is "slavery")[{<center> #slavery </center>}          Unlike the modern conception of slavery, there was no ethnic or even cultural reasoning behind the enslavement of people in the ancient Mediterranean. Slavery was one of the side effects of war: the civilian population of a defeated city were typically partially or even entirely enslaved. Because this was an action taken in war, that often left ethnic or cultural differences between slaves and masters (as in this tale, where the slaves are Achaian and the masters Hittite, or in the Trojan War, where the Achaians enslaved the people of the Troad), but both historically and mythologically there were numerous examples of Greeks enslaved by other Greeks. (More so historically than mythologically, though mythological examples do exist.) That there were sometimes raids made for no reason other than to capture new slaves is a supposition of my own based largely on actions made in later antiquity (specifically, during the Roman Empire), but I don’t think the logic is out of line.          There is one major anachronism in the way slavery is treated in this game, however: as far as all the inventories, catalogs and descriptions of court cases discovered at Mycenaean citadels have indicated, slaves in Mycenaean Greece were the “property” of the palatial centers or of “the gods” (presumably either the temples or the priests, therefore), but never of individuals. I could not implement this archaeological fact into the narrative without contradicting the myths, where slaves are very clearly the property of individuals. (In the case of the various Greek kings at the Trojan War, it’s not too much of a contradiction, since the king and his palatial center would be viewed as synonymous, and a king’s sons would be an extension of his person in this kind of context, but the *Iliad* very clearly specifies that *Patroclos* owns a slave girl (a gift, of course, from Achilles) and there’s no way he was ever going to inherit a throne, so that’s pretty clearly a case of the nature of slavery having changed by the time the epic was composed (likely due to the introduction of money into society) and the altered version being applied to the story as if it was only natural that life had always been the way it was in the poet’s day.) Since I can’t fix this anachronism, as it is built into the myths that I am tying into, I wanted to at least acknowledge it. ](else_if: $called is "Talimmu")[{<center> #Talimmu </center>}          One of the guards at the palace in Methymna. The name comes from a name generator that promised Hittite names, but it actually sounds to me rather like it comes from further east, like it’s Akkadian or Sumerian or Babylonian or something, but as the Hittites were strongly influenced by the Mesopotamian cultures they came in contact with, that’s not necessarily a bad or incorrect thing. ](else_if: $called is "Telamon")[{<center> #Telamon </center>}          Father of Aias of Salamis by his wife (whose identity varies), and of Teukros by his Trojan concubine Hesione. Though earlier texts (like the *Iliad*) do not identify his paternity, later texts make him a son of Aiakos, like Peleus. He was usually said to be one of the Argonauts, and he accompanied Heracles when he laid siege to and destroyed Troy, killing King Laomedon and all his sons other than Priam (which is, of course, when Hesione became Telamon’s concubine). His name is sometimes used as a patronymic for his son: “Telamon Aias” is one of the many ways authors make clear which Aias they’re talking about. ](else_if: $called is "Tenedos")[{<center> #Tenedos </center>}          An island off the coast of Anatolia, very near Troy. ](else_if: $called is "Teukros")[{<center> #Teukros </center>}          Better known by his Roman name Teucer. Son of Telamon by his Trojan concubine Hesione, who was a sister of King Priam. Teukros was a much smaller man than his half-brother Aias, and primarily an archer; he often fired his arrows from the safety of his brother’s enormous shield, in fact. He was very devoted to his brother, and when the sons of Priam suggested that he should not be fighting against them, as he was their kin, he refused to drop out of the war, out of duty to his brother.          Teukros was also the name of one of the legendary founders of the Trojan royal dynasty, hence Trojans sometimes being called Teukrians. ](else_if: $called is "Thebe")[{<center> #Thebe </center>}          A city near Troy. Ruled by King Eetion prior to his death at Achilles’ hands (along with all seven of his sons); Eetion was the father of Hector’s wife Andromache. The city is actually named Thebes (and said to have been founded by Heracles in honor of his birthplace), but most modern translators leave off the final ‘s’ in order to avoid confusion, a tradition I have followed for the same reason. ](else_if: $called is "Thersites")[{<center> #Thersites </center>}          The only named commoner in the *Iliad*, Thersites is described as being the ugliest man at Troy, and thoroughly unpleasant in every way. Later authors make him a distant relative of Diomedes rather than a commoner, but he shows all the earmarks of having been invented for the *Iliad*, given that he is explained to the audience every time he shows up, as well as being physically described (bandy legs, egg-shaped head, etc.), whereas mythically established characters are simply named, on the assumption that the audience already knows who they are. (If you clicked on this after reading the mention of him in the Prologue, rest assured that you will learn the rest of the story later on. Or at least as much as would get in a glossary entry, anyway.) And I thoroughly defend my position that Thersites was in fact a commoner because at one point in the *Iliad* Odysseus literally beats him with a stick. He wouldn’t do that with a man of noble birth. ](else_if: $called is "Thrace")[{<center> #Thrace </center>}          The region north of the Aegean Sea and south of the Balkan Mountains. The region, while often providing Greek or Greek-like peoples in myths, was viewed as being rather more wild and uncivilized than the Greek mainland. ](else_if: $called is "Tigris")[{<center> #Tigris </center>}          River that was one of the boundaries of the region known as Mesopotamia, literally the land “between the rivers.” It flows from Turkey through Syria and Iraq to the Persian Gulf. ](else_if: $called is "Titimi")[{<center> #Titimi </center>}          One of the servants in the palace at Methymna. Her name comes from a name generator that promised Hittite names, and as I have no knowledge of the Hittite language, I have to hope that it provided me with appropriate names. ](else_if: $called is "Troilos")[{<center> #Troilos </center>}          Son of King Priam and Queen Hecabe of Troy. Sometimes said to be the son of Apollo rather than Priam. Killed by Achilles at the beginning of the war. His name appears to be a portmanteau of the city’s two names—Troia and Ilios—or of two of the royal family’s most important ancestors—Tros and Ilos—marking him out as having some innate symbolic role or importance.          There is more information about Troilos’ death in one of the post-game informational passages. ](else_if: $called is "Typhoeus")[{<center> #Typhoeus </center>}          A monstrous being that battled against Zeus and tried to take over his position as ruler of all. Typically, Typhoeus is described as being a son of Gaia, which makes for a nice parallel with Mesopotamian myth, but he is also sometimes a son of Hera (without a father) or the son of Kronos. Before being defeated by Zeus and imprisoned in Tartaros or underneath Mount Aitna, Typhoeus fathered a lot of very nasty creatures on Echidna (who in at least one version was his sister). His appearance was not standard in art or literature, though most ancient literature gave him a hundred heads or more, while art typically gave him one human head and serpent tails for legs.          Better known by the other spelling of his name, Typhon. I went with this spelling because I liked it better, honestly. (Sorry I can’t give some deep reasoning for it.) ](else_if: $called is "Wilusa")[{<center> #Wilusa </center>}          The name by which the Hittites referred to the city we now think of as “Troy.” Some scholars debate whether or not it *actually* refers to Ilios (Wilios before the Greek language lost the di-gamma) and whether or not that is in fact the same city from the Trojan War myth, but…most people at this point do seem to accept that yes, it does, and yes, it is. ](else_if: $called is "Zelotes")[{<center> #Zelotes </center>}          A high-ranked member of the Trojan court under King Korythos. Not a mythological character. I’m pretty sure I got his name from the English-to-Greek dictionary search at the Perseus Project, but as that was back in 2014 and it’s now 2021, I really don’t remember if that is in fact the case, or what it means. ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

<center>{ #Glossary, Page 3 </center>} ==| Orpheus (click: "Orpheus")[(set: $called to "Orpheus")(goto: "gloss4")] Pantariste (click: "Pantariste")[(set: $called to "Pantariste")(goto: "gloss4")] Patroclos (click: "Patroclos")[(set: $called to "Patroclos")(goto: "gloss4")] Pegasos (click: "Pegasos")[(set: $called to "Pegasos")(goto: "gloss4")] Peloponnese (click: "Peloponnese")[(set: $called to "Peloponnese")(goto: "gloss4")] Perseus (click: "Perseus")[(set: $called to "Perseus")(goto: "gloss4")] Phoinix (click: "Phoinix")[(set: $called to "Phoinix")(goto: "gloss4")] Polyxena (click: "Polyxena")[(set: $called to "Polyxena")(goto: "gloss4")] Pyrrha (click: "Pyrrha")[(set: $called to "Pyrrha")(goto: "gloss4")] Scaian Gate (click: "Scaian Gate")[(set: $called to "Scaian")(goto: "gloss4")] Selene (click: "Selene")[(set: $called to "Selene")(goto: "gloss5")] slavery (click: "slavery")[(set: $called to "slavery")(goto: "gloss5")] Talimmu (click: "Talimmu")[(set: $called to "Talimmu")(goto: "gloss5")] Telamon (click: "Telamon")[(set: $called to "Telamon")(goto: "gloss5")] Tenedos (click: "Tenedos")[(set: $called to "Tenedos")(goto: "gloss5")] Teukros (click: "Teukros")[(set: $called to "Teukros")(goto: "gloss5")] Thebe (click: "Thebe")[(set: $called to "Thebe")(goto: "gloss5")] Thersites (click: "Thersites")[(set: $called to "Thersites")(goto: "gloss5")] Thrace (click: "Thrace")[(set: $called to "Thrace")(goto: "gloss5")] Tigris (click: "Tigris")[(set: $called to "Tigris")(goto: "gloss5")] Titimi (click: "Titimi")[(set: $called to "Titimi")(goto: "gloss5")] Troilos (click: "Troilos")[(set: $called to "Troilos")(goto: "gloss5")] Typhoeus (click: "Typhoeus")[(set: $called to "Typhoeus")(goto: "gloss5")] Wilusa (click: "Wilusa")[(set: $called to "Wilusa")(goto: "gloss5")] Zelotes (click: "Zelotes")[(set: $called to "Zelotes")(goto: "gloss5")] =|= Ouranos (click: "Ouranos")[(set: $called to "Ouranos")(goto: "gloss9")] Paris (click: "Paris")[(set: $called to "Paris")(goto: "gloss9")] Patroclos' funeral (click: " Patroclos' funeral")[(set: $called to "funeral")(goto: "gloss9")] Pelasgians (click: "Pelasgians")[(set: $called to "Pelasgians")(goto: "gloss9")] Penelope (click: "Penelope")[(set: $called to "Penelope")(goto: "gloss9")] Phocos (click: "Phocos")[(set: $called to "Phocos")(goto: "gloss9")] Phthia (click: "Phthia")[(set: $called to "Phthia")(goto: "gloss9")] Poseidon (click: "Poseidon")[(set: $called to "Poseidon")(goto: "gloss9")] Rhoxane (click: "Rhoxane")[(set: $called to "Rhoxane")(goto: "gloss9")] Scamander (click: "Scamander")[(set: $called to "Scamander")(goto: "gloss9")] Sidon (click: "Sidon")[(set: $called to "Sidon")(goto: "gloss10")] Summunna (click: "Summunna")[(set: $called to "Summunna")(goto: "gloss10")] Tartaros (click: "Tartaros")[(set: $called to "Tartaros")(goto: "gloss10")] Telamonian/Telamoniades (click: " Telamonian/Telamoniades")[(set: $called to "Telamonian")(goto: "gloss10")] Tennes (click: "Tennes")[(set: $called to "Tennes")(goto: "gloss10")] Thalassa (click: "Thalassa")[(set: $called to "Thalassa")(goto: "gloss10")] Themiscyra (click: "Themiscyra")[(set: $called to "Themiscyra")(goto: "gloss10")] Theseus (click: "Theseus")[(set: $called to "Theseus")(goto: "gloss10")] Thymbra (click: "Thymbra")[(set: $called to "Thymbra")(goto: "gloss10")] Titans (click: "Titans")[(set: $called to "Titans")(goto: "gloss10")] tower shield (click: "tower shield")[(set: $called to "tower shield")(goto: "gloss10")] Troy/Troad (click: "Troy/Troad")[(set: $called to "Troy")(goto: "gloss10")] Tyre (click: "Tyre")[(set: $called to "Tyre")(goto: "gloss10")] Wineswa (click: "Wineswa")[(set: $called to "Wineswa")(goto: "gloss10")] Zeus (click: "Zeus")[(set: $called to "Zeus")(goto: "gloss10")] |== Palladion (click: "Palladion")[(set: $called to "Palladion")(goto: "gloss14")] Patahuli (click: "Patahuli")[(set: $called to "Patahuli")(goto: "gloss14")] Pedasos (click: "Pedasos")[(set: $called to "Pedasos")(goto: "gloss14")] Peleus (click: "Peleus")[(set: $called to "Peleus")(goto: "gloss14")] Penthesileia (click: "Penthesileia")[(set: $called to "Penthesileia")(goto: "gloss14")] Phoenicia (click: "Phoenicia")[(set: $called to "Phoenicia")(goto: "gloss14")] Polyphetes (click: "Polyphetes")[(set: $called to "Polyphetes")(goto: "gloss14")] Priam (click: "Priam")[(set: $called to "Priam")(goto: "gloss14")] Salamis (click: "Salamis")[(set: $called to "Salamis")(goto: "gloss14")] Scythia (click: "Scythia")[(set: $called to "Scythia")(goto: "gloss15")] Simoeis (click: "Simoeis")[(set: $called to "Simoeis")(goto: "gloss15")] tailed tunics (click: "tailed tunics")[(set: $called to "tunics")(goto: "gloss15")] Tekmessa (click: "Tekmessa")[(set: $called to "Tekmessa")(goto: "gloss15")] Telipinu (click: "Telipinu")[(set: $called to "Telipinu")(goto: "gloss15")] Teshub (click: "Teshub")[(set: $called to "Teshub")(goto: "gloss15")] Thanatos (click: "Thanatos")[(set: $called to "Thanatos")(goto: "gloss15")] Theokleia (click: "Theokleia")[(set: $called to "Theokleia")(goto: "gloss15")] Thetis (click: "Thetis")[(set: $called to "Thetis")(goto: "gloss15")] Thymbrios (click: "Thymbrios")[(set: $called to "Thymbrios")(goto: "gloss15")] Tithonos (click: "Tithonos")[(set: $called to "Tithonos")(goto: "gloss15")] trade (click: "trade")[(set: $called to "trade")(goto: "gloss15")] Tyndareos (click: "Tyndareos")[(set: $called to "Tyndareos")(goto: "gloss15")] Utniashu (click: "Utniashu")[(set: $called to "Utniashu")(goto: "gloss15")] Zakynthos (click: "Zakynthos")[(set: $called to "Zakynthos")(goto: "gloss15")] Ziza (click: "Ziza")[(set: $called to "Ziza")(goto: "gloss15")] |==| ------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(if: $called is "AchaiaP")[{<center> #Achaia Phthiotis </center>}          A region in Aiolia that was a kingdom, with its administrative center at Phthia. At the time of the Trojan War, it was ruled by Peleus, Achilles’ father. (The myths get less clear about who ruled there following Peleus’ death, as he outlived his grandson Neoptolemos, whose own sons were too young to inherit and were not even on-hand in Phthia even if they *had* been old enough.) ](else_if: $called is "Agamemnon")[{<center> #Agamemnon </center>}          The son of Atreus and King of Mycenae, brother of Menelaos, husband of Clytemnestra, father of Iphigenia, Chrysothemis, Electra and Orestes. The man in charge of the cumulative Greek forces in the Trojan War, Agamemnon was revered by the Greeks in ancient times (Aeschylos’ play *Agamemnon* was performed annually in the ruins of Mycenae for generations), and has been vilified ever since Roman times (not without reason). Agamemnon was ruthless and often depicted as greedy, even in the *Iliad*, but despite some modern reinterpretations of the myth, he was also ranked among the best warriors among the Greek forces in the *Iliad*. He was murdered by his wife and her lover upon his return from Troy, either in vengeance for the death of Iphigenia at the outset of the war or in vengeance for the death of Clytemnestra’s first husband and the son she had borne him, both of whom were killed by Agamemnon, or in vengeance for all three. (The details regarding Clytemnestra’s first husband are complex and not really relevant to this game, but have to do with the bitter and bloody feud between Agamemnon’s father and uncle over the throne of Mycenae. (Her first husband was both half-brother and uncle to the lover who helped her murder Agamemnon, incidentally.) Also generally the curse believed to have been placed on the bloodline of Agamemnon’s grandfather, Pelops. Or possibly the curse of being descended from Pelops’ father, Tantalos. Really, there’s just a whole lot of bad blood in Agamemnon’s family tree, in every possible meaning of the words ‘bad blood.’) ](else_if: $called is "Ahhiyawa")[{<center> #Ahhiyawa </center>}          A culture referred to in various Hittite documents. (There’s a whole book dedicated to the translation of said documents, called *The Ahhiyawa Texts*, which I definitely recommend if you’re interested.) As with almost anything involving the Late Bronze Age, there is not 100% agreement in the scholarly community, but as far as I know the majority view at this point is that the name Ahhiyawa comes from the name that by Homeric times was rendered as “Achaian.” In any case, that’s certainly how *I* am using it! ](else_if: $called is "AiasL")[{<center> #Aias ###(of Locris/Oileades) </center>}          Better known by his Roman name Ajax, specifically as the Lesser Ajax. Son of Oileus, King of Locris. A small man who often fought as an archer, and was often in the company of the other, much better Aias. He had a vile personality, and was referred to as "the master of railing" by Idomeneus, King of Crete, during Patroclos' funeral games in the *Iliad*. ](else_if: $called is "Aiolia")[{<center> #Aiolia </center>}          The region of Greece now known as Thessaly. By the Classical period of Greek history (rather, when pre-history gives way to actual history), it was already being called Thessalia, but prior to that time, it was called Aiolia, and is referred to thus in the Homeric works. Aiolia extends all the way north to Mount Olympos, and its regions include Phthia and Iolcos. Aiolia was well-known throughout antiquity for its horse-breeding. ](else_if: $called is "Althaia")[{<center> #Althaia </center>}          Daughter of Chryseis. Not a mythological character; I just got her name from a name generator. (Though it *is* also the name of an actual mythological character, specifically the mother of Meleagros. I doubt Chryseis knew or cared about the coincidence.) The name may have to do with healing, which would make it appropriate for the daughter and granddaughter of priests of Apollo. ](else_if: $called is "Aniketos")[{<center> #Aniketos </center>}          Like most of the other minor, non-mythological-in-origin characters, his name comes from a name generator. The name means “unconquerable.” (He probably chose it himself.) ](else_if: $called is "Aoide")[{<center> #Aoide </center>}          Muse of Song. She is from the earliest set of Muses, when there were only three. ](else_if: $called is "Apollo")[{<center> #Apollo </center>}          One of the twelve Olympian gods. Son of Zeus and the Titan Leto. Associated with divination, the arts, archery and plagues. In later times, he was associated with healing—like his son Asclepios—though his healing duties in Homer’s time were still the role of Paion. Also associated with the sun in later times, especially in Roman times, when he was largely combined with Helios. A lecherous god who pursued many women and at least one boy.          In terms of the Trojan War, Apollo’s activities were extensive and exclusively on behalf of the Trojans. (Despite that he was one of the two gods Laomedon refused to pay for building his walls.) Among his actions were rescuing Aineias from Diomedes, intervening to stop Patroclos from taking the city by himself, and, most famously, assisting Alexander in killing Achilles.          Apollo is not a Greek name, though Linear B tablets do suggest he was already being worshipped in Greece in the Late Bronze Age. He is often suggested to have been originally an Anatolian god, the same one whose name and worship is best (possibly only) known from the Hittite treaty with the Trojan royal Alexander. (Or, more correctly, the *Wilusan* royal *Alaksandu*.) ](else_if: $called is "Ariade")[{<center> #Ariadne </center>}          No, our heroine Ariadne is not the famous one. She is merely named after the daughter of King Minos who enabled Theseus to make his way through the Labyrinth and slay the Minotaur, only to be left behind on Naxos to become the bride of Dionysos. ](else_if: $called is "Aruna")[{<center> #Aruna </center>}          Hittite god of the ocean. ](else_if: $called is "Atalanta")[{<center> #Atalanta </center>}          No, our heroine Atalanta is not the famous one. She is merely named after the famous huntress Atalanta, who was the first to wound the Calydonian Boar, and was loved by Meleagros, eventually bearing his son (though he was married to someone else already). That Atalanta also took part in the funeral games of Pelias, in which she famously wrestled (and defeated!) Peleus. That Atalanta was most likely originally *not* the same Atalanta who ran a footrace with a determined suitor only to be distracted by golden apples; the stories do not really mesh well together, though they had already been combined by late antiquity. (Thus, the Atalanta who was transformed into a lion for having sex on the grounds of a temple was *not* the one our Atalanta was named after. Whatever fate the huntress Atalanta met has been lost to time and the confusion of her tale with that of the other Atalanta.) The name means “equal balance,” incidentally. ](else_if: $called is "Atleus")[{<center> #Atleus </center>}          To the best of my knowledge, I made this name up. I wanted Ariadne to have come up with names that sounded Greek-like but were also reminiscent of their real names. ](else_if: $called is "Babylon")[{<center> #Babylon </center>}          Major Mesopotamian city, possibly the most important one in this era. ](else_if: $called is "Bistones")[{<center> #Bistones </center>}          The Bistones were a people of Thrace, both historically and mythologically. Mythologically, they are best known for their king, Diomedes, a son of Ares, who had raised man-eating mares (but who should not be confused with the heroic Diomedes of Argos, one of the greatest warriors in the Greek army in the Trojan War). ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(if: $called is "Callicrates")[{<center> #Callicrates </center>}          I no longer remember where (because it was seven years ago) but I saw this name in a book I read at the university library. (As I graduated years ago, I couldn’t go back and check even if I remembered what book it was, unfortunately. One of the more obscure histories, most likely, or one of the ancient authors who wrote compendiums of fascinating “facts” in late Hellenistic and Roman times.) Although the name I saw might actually have been Callicritades; I’m not sure which it was, but I definitely saw *one* of them in print as a real, honest-to-goodness, someone-actually-used-this name from antiquity while I was writing the original draft of the novel. ](else_if: $called is "Cebren")[{<center> #Cebren </center>}          A river—and its associated god—in the Troad. The river god is the brother of the other local river gods. ](else_if: $called is "Chryseis")[{<center> #Chryseis </center>}           Daughter of Chryses, a priest of Apollo. She was captured by the Achaian forces at the sacking of Thebe either very late in the eighth year of the Trojan War or at some point in the ninth year, and awarded as concubine to Agamemnon. (It’s not specified why he didn’t have one before Thebe was taken. Presumably he *had* previously had one and she had recently died.) Her father offered to ransom her, and was rebuffed rudely. In vengeance for the slight, Apollo fired arrows of pestilence into the Greek camp…and that’s where the *Iliad* opens. ](else_if: $called is "Cypros")[{<center> #Cypros </center>}          Large island in the Mediterranean. It was actually already settled by Mycenaean Greeks at the time of the Trojan War, which is sort of surprising (to me, anyway) considering how far away from Greece it is. It was a major source of copper, and is in fact the origin of our word “copper” via the Latin. (The Greek letter upsilon is transliterated as either a “u” or a “y” depending on the circumstance.) Typically spelled Cyprus in English. The island is now a single nation, but in the Late Bronze Age it would have been several smaller kingdoms.          Often considered the birthplace of Aphrodite (and in historic times had a major cult center for the goddess), as it is the place where she came ashore in the Hesiodic version wherein she sprang fully grown from the sea after Ouranos’ genitals were thrown into the waters. (I prefer the Homeric version where she’s the daughter of Zeus and Dione, myself.) ](else_if: $called is "Dardanelles")[{<center> #Dardanelles </center>}          Also known as the Hellespont, a narrow strait leading from the Aegean to the Black Sea by way of the Sea of Marmara and the Bosporus. The name comes from Dardanos, a son of Zeus by Electra (the Pleiad, not the daughter of Agamemnon), who was the founder of Dardania. ](else_if: $called is "Diomedes")[{<center> #Diomedes </center>}          King of Argos, and one of the greatest of the Greek warriors to fight at Troy. (It’s hard to pin down whether he or Aias of Salamis was “officially” considered second greatest. I think it’s safe to say it’s a very close call either way.) As the son of Tydeus, one of the Seven against Thebes, Diomedes inherited the favor of Athene that his father had enjoyed. Before entering the Trojan War, he and the other sons of the seven (the Epigonoi) successfully conquered Thebes to avenge their fathers, making Diomedes among the most accomplished (in battle) of the Greek kings, despite being the youngest reigning king there. (Many of the princes were younger, however.) As they were both capable warriors and clever strategists and both favored by Athene, he was a very good friend of Odysseus. (Though actually in the *Iliad* she doesn’t much favor Odysseus, preferring Diomedes almost exclusively. Her extreme favoritism towards Odysseus seems to have started with the *Odyssey* and continued with every text since.) About a book and a half of the *Iliad* is known by the informal name “the Deeds of Diomedes,” because it entails him kicking holy ass. (Literally. He wounds two gods, as well as nearly killing Aineias.)          Not to be confused with the Thracian Diomedes, King of the Bistones, who was a son of Ares killed by Heracles. ](else_if: $called is "shields")[{<center> #double-moon shields </center>}          Okay, I had to make up this term, because I have no idea what they were called by the Mycenaeans, and if they were referenced in Homer, the reference was so oblique that no one gets it. There are a number of surviving Mycenaean artworks depicting shields the archaeological community tends to refer to as “figure-8” shields. (One of the frescoes showing one is used in this game, as the title image for (appropriately enough) Chapter Eight.) As that reference would be meaningless to people of the Late Bronze Age, I couldn’t use that, and had to make up something. This seemed to be the best way to put it, particularly after I called the tasseled shields “waning moon” shields. (I don’t use the image in this game, but those are known from the Warrior Vase, a krater from Mycenae which dates to about the period this is set in, or possibly even a little later. It shouldn’t be hard to find a picture online. In fact, I think the vase has its own Wikipedia page.) ](else_if: $called is "Eleuthyia")[{<center> #Eleuthyia </center>}          Goddess of childbirth, daughter of Zeus and Hera. (Or at least she came to be known as a daughter of Zeus and Hera. References are made in histories of early (now lost) writers who made her much older than either of those gods.) Her name has been found on Mycenaean tablets, so I have tried to adopt the Classical era spelling that most closely resembles the Linear B spelling. There is argument among scholars as to whether or not her name is linguistically Greek; there is also speculation that she may have been related in some way to the Eleusinian Mysteries. ](else_if: $called is "Epeiros")[{<center> #Epeiros </center>}          A region in the northwest of Greece, directly to the west of Aiolia; more commonly spelled Epirus in English. The incident described by the horse-breeder is not one from genuine mythology, but rather something that took place in an earlier work I wrote about the origin of the relationship (both friendship and romance) between Patroclos and Achilles. I included it here because I felt like it worked, but part of the reason I had initially written the incident into that earlier story was to explain some of the actions of Achilles’ son Neoptolemos following the Trojan War, as rather than remaining in Phthia with his grandfather, he went and conquered Epeiros. (This was likely added to the myth at a later date by the multiple noble families of Epeiros who claimed descent from him, including the family that would eventually produce Alexander the Great’s mother, Olympias.) ](else_if: $called is "Euphrates")[{<center> #Euphrates </center>}          River that was one of the boundaries of the region known as Mesopotamia, literally the land “between the rivers.” It flows from Turkey through Syria and Iraq to the Persian Gulf. ](else_if: $called is "sideburns")[{<center> #Eurysakes' sideburns </center>}          I’m sure the mention of his sideburns seems really, really *weird*, but the sideburns were used as a marker of a young man’s passage through his time as an ephebe. There were all these different stages that were defined in art. (One particular Etruscan tomb has a painting of a symposium that shows every single one of the stages, though I forget which one.) The famous kylix known as “Achilles Binding the Wound of Patroclus” specifically depicts the side flap of Achilles’ helmet raised in order to show his sideburns for exactly that reason. So, yeah, that was me trying to be all “authentic-like.” ](else_if: $called is "spear")[{<center> #forked spear </center>}          In the *Iliad*, when Patroclos is putting on Achilles’ armor to go out to fight in his place, it says that he does not take Achilles’ spear, because no one else is capable of wielding it. In one of the books on the subject I’ve read (probably Timothy Gantz’s *Early Greek Myths*), it is commented that scholars have speculated that the line indicates that the spear had two points, making it harder to wield. For some reason my weird brain decided that meant it was forked, and it was only very, *very* recently (like a few days before I’m writing these words) that I realized it actually meant one point on each end. However, I really liked the instant recognizability factor of a forked spear for the reaction it provokes in everyone who sees Atalanta holding the spear, and since I’m not entirely sure that smiths in the Late Bronze Age even could have produced a forked spear (which is okay since Achilles’ spear was made by a god), I decided to keep it even though it’s totally freaking wrong. My deepest apologies for this selfish and stupid behavior.          (EDIT--On the other hand, since originally posting this, I’ve since (finally) played //Hades//, and //it// had Achilles’ spear be forked, so maybe my concluding that was what it meant didn’t mean there’s something wrong with the way my brain works after all! (I spent sooo much time squeeing over the relationship between that game’s Patroclus and Achilles, btw. Like, an embarassing amount of squeeing to be coming from a middle-aged woman. But their love is just so beautiful and swoon-worthy--as is Patroclus’ second portrait!)) ](else_if: $called is "gorgon")[{<center> #Gorgon </center>}          One of three sisters, Medusa, Stheno and Euryale. Daughters of Phorcys and Ceto. Usually depicted as hideous creatures with round, flat faces, lolling tongues and snakes for hair. (The idea of them having snaky bodies as well only dates to the 1980s.) The face of a Gorgon was a frequent decoration on shields and armor. As the head of the decapitated Medusa was ultimately given to Athene and placed on the aegis that she wears, a Gorgon (or just the head of one) was especially commonly depicted on statues and temples to Athene. (In the classical era, that is. No idea what a temple to Athene would have looked like in the Late Bronze Age. I don’t think they even *had* temples in the sense that their descendents did, but since the myths established that the temples exist, they have to exist in the novels.) ](else_if: $called is "Halpahi")[{<center> #Halpahi </center>}          One of the guards at the palace in Methymna. His name comes from a name generator that promised Hittite names, and as I have no knowledge of the Hittite language, I have to hope that it provided me with appropriate names. ](else_if: $called is "Hatepuna")[{<center> #Hatepuna </center>}          A Hittite goddess, daughter of the sea god Aruna. ](else_if: $called is "Hector")[{<center> #Hector </center>}          Eldest son of King Priam and Queen Hecabe of Troy. He was the Trojan champion for the first nine years of the war, until he made the mistake of killing Patroclos, driving Achilles into a blind rage that only ended with Hector’s death. Achilles abused Hector’s corpse for twelve days, dragging it behind his chariot in circles around Patroclos’ tomb, but the gods had preserved the body with ambrosia so that it was neither damaged by the abuse nor rotting from being left in the sun all day. The gods also intervened to help King Priam get into the camp in order to negotiate the return of his son’s body (leading, bizarrely, to a guest-friendship relationship between King Priam and Achilles, who had personally slain around half his sons), so that the *Iliad* ends with Hector’s funeral. Hector is one of the most noble and heroic characters in the epic, second only to Patroclos. (Hey, I told you I was a Patroclos fangirl! Deal with it!) ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(if: $called is "Helios")[{<center> #Helios </center>}          The personification of the sun, typically said to be the son of the Titans Hyperion and Theia, though other origins have appeared, and sometimes Hyperion is simply another name for Helios. Believed to have ridden a shining chariot across the sky each day. His wife was Rhodos, personification/goddess of the island of Rhodes. ](else_if: $called is "Hera")[{<center> #Hera </center>}          Queen of the gods, sister-wife of Zeus, daughter of Kronos and Rhea. Goddess of marriage, and to a certain extent of childbirth as well. Her mythological and religious aspects do not mesh with each other in the least: she is a jealous and vindictive goddess in the myths, but all her religious and cultic functions suggest a goddess full of kindness, mercy and caring. She doesn’t feature much in these books, but in what little presence she has, I am trying to give her a more tempered image. ](else_if: $called is "Hermes")[{<center> #Hermes </center>}          One of the twelve Olympian gods, son of Zeus and the nymph Maia. A trickster god, Hermes was both the god of thieves and a thief himself, but he was also his father’s herald and the *psychopompos*, leading the souls of the dead to the realm of the dead. He wore winged sandals, and carried the kerkyon staff, a rod with twin serpents wound around it (yes, the one in the modern medical symbol, thanks to a mistake; the medical symbol ought to only have one serpent, like the staff of Asclepios); Hermes was often depicted as a handsome, beardless youth, as were his brothers Apollo and Dionysos. (Why only those three were often depicted as young and beardless is unclear; perhaps it was just because they were the younger generation of gods? Hermes and Dionysos were sometimes portrayed as bearded, however; Apollo never was, so far as I know.) ](else_if: $called is "hyacinths")[{<center> #hyacinths </center>}          The hyacinth flower is associated with several tragic deaths in Greek mythology, springing up wild at the site of the death. Most famously, of course, in the case of the death of Hyacinthos, the beautiful youth loved by both Apollo and Zephyros (and others), but Aias of Salamis’ grave was also one of the places where wild hyacinths were said to have sprung up as nature itself mourning.          The flower referred to in the myths is not the same as the flower we now call a hyacinth, however; the identity of the ancient flower is unknown, but its leaves had a pattern on them that resembled the Greek letters for “ai,” the sound of lamentation in Ancient Greek. ](else_if: $called is "Ida")[{<center> #Ida, Mount </center>}          Mountain to the southeast of Troy. The center of many fertility-related cults, including that of Cybele. Early Greek-speaking settlers in the area likely named it after Crete’s Mount Ida. It is called Kazdagi in Turkish, and it seems likely to me that that name may derive from the mountain’s ancient name in the local tongue, but I don’t know if that’s the case or not. (It is also a seriously beautiful place; check out the Wikipedia article for some gorgeous photos…a few of which got mutilated into images for this game, actually…) ](else_if: $called is "Ione")[{<center> #Ione </center>}          One of the servants in the palace at Methymna, a servant who is Achaian rather than Hittite. Her name comes from a Greek name generator. ](else_if: $called is "Ithaca")[{<center> #Ithaca </center>}          Island nation ruled by Odysseus, located just off the western side of the Greek mainland. ](else_if: $called is "Knossos")[{<center> #Knossos </center>}          The largest Minoan citadel on Crete, later inhabited by Mycenaean Greeks. Usually considered to be the location of/inspiration for the Labyrinth in which Minos imprisoned the Minotaur. ](else_if: $called is "krater")[{<center> #krater </center>}          A large vessel used for the mixing of wine, particularly at symposia. They were vital because wine was never drunk unmixed in Ancient Greece: it was heavily mixed with water, typically with three times as much water as wine, as well as with other things. (Some of the other things being things that sound very disgusting as additives for wine, like grated goat cheese.) The vessels are large enough to be heavy even when empty, and carrying one full would be nearly impossible.          The image on the title card for the Prologue is a Mycenaean krater. ](else_if: $called is "Laertes")[{<center> #Laertes </center>}          The father of Odysseus. While later texts have accorded him various honors, ranging from claiming that he was the previous king of Ithaca to that he had been an Argonaut, there is nothing in the *Odyssey* to imply he was ever a man of any importance before his son managed to wed the heiress Penelope. (Given that Odysseus was also sometimes said to have been fathered by Sisyphos (despite the generational impossibility of that, as Sisyphos lived at the time Achilles’ grandfather Aiakos was born), it is unsurprising that Laertes is entirely unimpressive.)          Your guess is as good as mine as to why Shakespeare named the hotheaded brother of Ophelia after him. ](else_if: $called is "Lelia")[{<center> #Lelia </center>}          Slave girl in the palace at Methymna on Lesbos. Sister of Theokleia. Mother of Ariadne. I can no longer remember the exact online resource from which I got the name back in 2014 (something in the dictionary search at the Perseus Project, I think), but I remember the name had something to do with wisdom. ](else_if: $called is "Lethe")[{<center> #Lethe </center>}          One of the rivers in the underworld. The waters of the River Lethe conveyed forgetfulness on the souls of the departed. ](else_if: $called is "Lycomedes")[{<center> #Lycomedes </center>}          King of Scyros, a Greek island nation. Aside from his role in Achilles’ life story, he is best known for having murdered Theseus, despite that the man was his guest. (There are two alternate versions to the tale of Achilles’ relationship with the island of Scyros. In the first, he conquered the island in between the two sailings for Troy, with the purpose `(read: excuse)` of avenging Theseus’ murder. (Not that Achilles or his father, who had sent him to avenge Theseus, had even the slightest connection to the Athenian hero.) In the second, he simply landed at Scyros on his way back from the first sailing, married Lycomedes’ daughter (sometimes), got her pregnant (always), and then just left her and the baby behind when he sailed away again.) ](else_if: $called is "Medusa")[{<center> #Medusa </center>}          One of the three Gorgons, the only mortal one among them; her gaze could turn men to stone. Poseidon fathered two children on her. In the early versions of the tale, Medusa was always a monstrous-looking creature (in which case, Poseidon is certainly not picky!), but later versions had her alone of the Gorgons start out as a human (or human-looking) woman who was cursed into that monstrous form after having sex with Poseidon on the grounds of a temple. By Roman times, the sex had gone from consensual to rape, with Medusa still being the only one punished. (Personally, I prefer the original version, where Poseidon just has slightly freaky taste in women. Or perhaps I should just say he is amazingly broad in his taste in women, given he also pursued traditionally beautiful females like Thetis.) ](else_if: $called is "Menelaos")[{<center> #Menelaos </center>}          Son of Atreus, brother of Agamemnon, father of Hermione by Helen and Nikostratos by his concubine Callileia (a name I hope he bestowed on her himself, because it means “beautiful booty” and not in the sense of having a nice ass). He became King of Lacedaimon by marrying Helen, (nominal) daughter of Tyndareos; the title of king was given to him by his still-living father-in-law, rather than by inheritance, and Tyndareos ruled Lacedaimon as regent in the ten years while Menelaos was at Troy. By the time of this novel, of course, his father-in-law is long dead…not that that comes up in the slightest until many books later. :P ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(if: $called is "Scythia")[{<center> #Scythia </center>}          The name by which the Greeks referred to the region to the north of the Black Sea. ](else_if: $called is "Simoeis")[{<center> #Simoeis </center>}          Another river that runs from the region of Mount Ida to the region of the city of Troy, and is a tributary to the Scamander. The river god of the Simoeis was also an ancestor of the Trojan royal family, but less illustriously. ](else_if: $called is "tunics")[{<center> #tailed tunics </center>}          One of the common modes of dress among the Hittites according to their own artistic record. The fact that I embarked upon this project due to the COVID world lockdown meant that I actually had a brand new resource to call on for Hittite modes of dress, because I found a scholar who had spent some of her lockdown time investigating and even replicating Hittite modes of dress (mostly only for women, so I had to extrapolate a bit for male clothing), which allowed me to be more realistic than making the people of Lesbos and Troy dress like Greeks. The information is at https://annasrome.com/hittite-clothing/ if you’re interested in checking it out. ](else_if: $called is "Tekmessa")[{<center> #Tekmessa </center>}          Born a princess of an unknown city in the Troad, she was reduced to the state of an enslaved concubine following the Achaian raid on her home. (Which presumably also included the death of her father and any brothers she might have had.) She was the concubine of Aias of Salamis, and mother of his son, Eurysakes. ](else_if: $called is "Telipinu")[{<center> #Telipinu </center>}          Hittite god of agriculture. ](else_if: $called is "Teshub")[{<center> #Teshub </center>}          Thunder and storm god of the Hurrians and Hittites. (The Hittites might actually have called him by a different name; it’s not entirely clear. It’s all in translation into English anyway, right?) ](else_if: $called is "Thanatos")[{<center> #Thanatos </center>}          Personification of death. It is unclear precisely how Thanatos’ function works together with Hermes’ function as *psychopompos*; certainly, Hermes wouldn’t be needed to lead the souls away until after Thanatos had officially made the people dead, but it seems terribly inefficient for *two* immortals to be required to be present for every single person who dies! (Probably they stem from different traditions born in different regions of Greece, honestly.) One of the only myths to feature Thanatos as a character is that of Sisyphos, who captured Thanatos in a bronze jar, preventing anyone from dying until Thanatos was freed. (A motif that has been repeated often in folklore ever since, of course.) ](else_if: $called is "Theokleia")[{<center> #Theokleia </center>}          A slave girl in the palace at Methymna on Lesbos. Sister of Lelia, mother of Atalanta. Her name means “divine glory” or “divine fame.” ](else_if: $called is "Thetis")[{<center> #Thetis </center>}          Mother of Achilles by the mortal Peleus. Most famous and powerful of the Nereids. She often defended Zeus and the other gods against their foes, and generally displayed powers more on the level of a full goddess than those to be expected from a Nereid. She did not want to be wed to Peleus, and when he went to claim his bride, she transformed into a number of shapes to frighten him away, but he clung to her until she resumed her human-like form. Despite her distaste for being married to a mortal, she was fiercely devoted to her son. ](else_if: $called is "Thymbrios")[{<center> #Thymbrios </center>}          River of the Troad which joins up with the Scamander River at Thymbra. ](else_if: $called is "Tithonos")[{<center> #Tithonos </center>}          Son of Laomedon. He was carried off by Eos to be her husband. She begged Zeus to make him immortal, but forgot to ask to make him ageless. He fathered two sons on her, one of them being Memnon, King of Ethiopia. ](else_if: $called is "trade")[{<center> #trade </center>}          Trade—domestic or international—did not exist as we know it in the Late Bronze Age, because money had not yet been invented. However, through guest-friendship, goods moved from region to region freely, and by the terminal Late Bronze Age, when our story is set, it is believed that a prototype of mercantile trade already existed, with the merchant class simply exchanging goods for goods, rather than goods for gold. (To the best of my knowledge, archaeologists have not yet uncovered any documents to prove this conclusively one way or the other, however, so it remains conjectural.) ](else_if: $called is "Tyndareos")[{<center> #Tyndareos </center>}          King of Lacedaimon. Husband of Leda. It was said that a quarrel he had with Aphrodite led her to curse him such that not only would his wife be unfaithful to him, but also both her daughters would be unfaithful to their husbands. ](else_if: $called is "Utniashu")[{<center> #Utniashu </center>}           One of the guards in the palace at Methymna. His name comes from a name generator that promised Hittite names, and as I have no knowledge of the Hittite language, I have to hope that it provided me with appropriate names. ](else_if: $called is "Zakynthos")[{<center> #Zakynthos </center>}          A Pelasgian slave who works in the stables of the king in Methymna. His name is actually taken from the name of an island in the Ionian Sea, because nothing on the entire internet wanted to cooperate with me in my search for ancient Greek personal names that were not linguistically Greek, but I was able to find *place names* easily enough. And like many places, the island of Zakynthos was said to have been named after an individual, so…best I could do. (Coincidentally, said island was, according to Homer, conquered by Odysseus…whose name is also not linguistically Greek.) ](else_if: $called is "Ziza")[{<center> #Ziza </center>}          One of the servants in the palace in Methymna. Her name comes from a name generator that promised Hittite names, and as I have no knowledge of the Hittite language, I have to hope that it provided me with appropriate names. ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

<center>{ #Glossary, Page 2 </center>} ==| first sailing (click: "first sailing")[(set: $called to "first sailing")(goto: "gloss2")] Ganymede (click: "Ganymede")[(set: $called to "Ganymede")(goto: "gloss2")] Hades (click: "Hades")[(set: $called to "Hades")(goto: "gloss2")] Hasemeli (click: "Hasemeli")[(set: $called to "Hasemeli")(goto: "gloss2")] Hecabe (click: "Hecabe")[(set: $called to "Hecabe")(goto: "gloss2")] Helenos (click: "Helenos")[(set: $called to "Helenos")(goto: "gloss3")] Hephaistos (click: "Hephaistos")[(set: $called to "Hephaistos")(goto: "gloss3")] heroes/hero-worship (click: "heroes/hero-worship")[(set: $called to "heroes")(goto: "gloss3")] Hipponike (click: "Hipponike")[(set: $called to "Hipponike")(goto: "gloss3")] Ialmenos (click: "Ialmenos")[(set: $called to "Ialmenos")(goto: "gloss3")] Illuyanka (click: "Illuyanka")[(set: $called to "Illuyanka")(goto: "gloss3")] Irnuasu (click: "Irnuasu")[(set: $called to "Irnuasu")(goto: "gloss3")] kings and princes (click: "kings and princes")[(set: $called to "princes")(goto: "gloss3")] Korythos (click: "Korythos")[(set: $called to "Korythos")(goto: "gloss3")] Lacedaimon (click: "Lacedaimon")[(set: $called to "Lacedaimon")(goto: "gloss3")] Late Bronze Age Writing (click: "Late Bronze Age Writing")[(set: $called to "Linear B")(goto: "gloss3")] Lesbos (click: "Lesbos")[(set: $called to "Lesbos")(goto: "gloss3")] Locris (click: "Locris")[(set: $called to "Locris")(goto: "gloss3")] Mahhuzzi (click: "Mahhuzzi")[(set: $called to "Mahhuzzi")(goto: "gloss3")] megaron (click: "megaron")[(set: $called to "megaron")(goto: "gloss3")] Memnon (click: "Memnon")[(set: $called to "Memnon")(goto: "gloss4")] Myrto (click: "Myrto")[(set: $called to "Myrto")(goto: "gloss4")] Neoptolemos (click: "Neoptolemos")[(set: $called to "Pyrrhos")(goto: "gloss4")] Nuwanuwa (click: "Nuwanuwa")[(set: $called to "Nuwanuwa")(goto: "gloss4")] Oitane (click: "Oitane")[(set: $called to "Oitane")(goto: "gloss4")] =|= forked spear (click: "forked spear")[(set: $called to "spear")(goto: "gloss7")] Gorgon (click: "Gorgon")[(set: $called to "gorgon")(goto: "gloss7")] Halpahi (click: "Halpahi")[(set: $called to "Halpahi")(goto: "gloss7")] Hatepuna (click: "Hatepuna")[(set: $called to "Hatepuna")(goto: "gloss7")] Hector (click: "Hector")[(set: $called to "Hector")(goto: "gloss7")] Helios (click: "Helios")[(set: $called to "Helios")(goto: "gloss8")] Hera (click: "Hera")[(set: $called to "Hera")(goto: "gloss8")] Hermes (click: "Hermes")[(set: $called to "Hermes")(goto: "gloss8")] hyacinths (click: "hyacinths")[(set: $called to "hyacinths")(goto: "gloss8")] Ida, Mount (click: "Ida, Mount")[(set: $called to "Ida")(goto: "gloss8")] Ione (click: "Ione")[(set: $called to "Ione")(goto: "gloss8")] Ithaca (click: "Ithaca")[(set: $called to "Ithaca")(goto: "gloss8")] Knossos (click: "Knossos")[(set: $called to "Knossos")(goto: "gloss8")] krater (click: "krater")[(set: $called to "krater")(goto: "gloss8")] Laertes (click: "Laertes")[(set: $called to "Laertes")(goto: "gloss8")] Lelia (click: "Lelia")[(set: $called to "Lelia")(goto: "gloss8")] Lethe (click: "Lethe")[(set: $called to "Lethe")(goto: "gloss8")] Lycomedes (click: "Lycomedes")[(set: $called to "Lycomedes")(goto: "gloss8")] Medusa (click: "Medusa")[(set: $called to "Medusa")(goto: "gloss8")] Menelaos (click: "Menelaos")[(set: $called to "Menelaos")(goto: "gloss8")] Methymna (click: "Methymna")[(set: $called to "Methymna")(goto: "gloss9")] Myteline (click: "Myteline")[(set: $called to "Myteline")(goto: "gloss9")] Nereids (click: "Nereids")[(set: $called to "Nereids")(goto: "gloss9")] Odysseus (click: "Odysseus")[(set: $called to "Odysseus")(goto: "gloss9")] Olympos, Mount (click: "Olympos, Mount")[(set: $called to "Olympos")(goto: "gloss9")] |== Galenos (click: "Galenos")[(set: $called to "Galenos")(goto: "gloss12")] guest-friendship (click: "guest-friendship")[(set: $called to "xenia")(goto: "gloss12")] hair length (click: "hair length")[(set: $called to "hair")(goto: "gloss12")] Hatti/Hattusa (click: "Hatti/Hattusa")[(set: $called to "Hatti")(goto: "gloss12")] Helen (click: "Helen")[(set: $called to "Helen")(goto: "gloss13")] Hellas/Hellene (click: "Hellas/Hellene")[(set: $called to "Hellas")(goto: "gloss13")] Heracles (click: " Heracles")[(set: $called to "Heracles")(goto: "gloss13")] Hesione (click: "Hesione")[(set: $called to "Hesione")(goto: "gloss13")] Hyperborea (click: "Hyperborea")[(set: $called to "Hyperborea")(goto: "gloss13")] Ilios (click: "Ilios")[(set: $called to "Ilios")(goto: "gloss13")] Iris (click: "Iris")[(set: $called to "Iris")(goto: "gloss13")] Kawiya (click: "Kawiya")[(set: $called to "Kawiya")(goto: "gloss13")] Korinna (click: "Korinna")[(set: $called to "Korinna")(goto: "gloss13")] Kronos (click: "Kronos")[(set: $called to "Kronos")(goto: "gloss13")] Lander (click: "Lander")[(set: $called to "Lander")(goto: "gloss13")] Lemnos (click: "Lemnos")[(set: $called to "Lemnos")(goto: "gloss13")] Libya (click: "Libya")[(set: $called to "Libya")(goto: "gloss13")] maenads (click: "maenads")[(set: $called to "maenads")(goto: "gloss13")] Megara (click: "Megara")[(set: $called to "Megara")(goto: "gloss13")] Menoitios (click: "Menoitios")[(set: $called to "Menoitios")(goto: "gloss14")] Myrina (click: "Myrina")[(set: $called to "Myrina")(goto: "gloss14")] Muses (click: "Muses")[(set: $called to "Muses")(goto: "gloss14")] Nereus (click: "Nereus")[(set: $called to "Nereus")(goto: "gloss14")] Oinone (click: "Oinone")[(set: $called to "Oinone")(goto: "gloss14")] oread (click: "oread")[(set: $called to "oread")(goto: "gloss14")] |==| {<center> [[Page 3->Glossary3]] </center>} ------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(if: $called is "Methymna")[{<center> #Methymna </center>}          One of the cities on Lesbos. I could find no mention of archaeological evidence that it was already in existence in the Late Bronze Age, but there was a myth about its conquest in the Trojan War, as Odysseus relates in the prologue. (I also came across the same story being told about Pedasos. I suspect that in the Classical period, there were probably at least half a dozen Greek colonies in Anatolia that told similar stories about their city’s alleged Heroic Age fall to the raiding Greek forces.)          Local legends claimed that it was ruled by two grandsons of Helios at the time it was ravaged by the Achaian army in the Trojan War, with both kings being killed personally by Achilles (who, if you take every local legend into account, probably killed more kings and princes than any other mythological figure ever). In fact, the Greeks maintained that all the major cities of Lesbos had been founded by sons of Helios…and for a while there the prologue of this game was choked off by several long, boring paragraphs on that subject, to explain why the Hittite-controlled island had Achaian architecture. Thankfully, I came to realize how boring and extraneous that information was, and deleted it. You’re welcome. ](else_if: $called is "Myteline")[{<center> #Myteline </center>}          The largest city on Lesbos. It dates back at least to the Early Bronze Age, though probably without any Greek influence until after the end of the Bronze Age. Like every other city within easy reach of the Greek camp, it would have been sacked during the Trojan War, though I don’t know of any specific myths about its sacking at that time. ](else_if: $called is "Nereids")[{<center> #Nereid(s) </center>}          The fifty daughters of Nereus. Except for Thetis (and Amphrite, wife of Poseidon, who was also sometimes said to be one of them), they were basically generic female ocean spirits, possessing minimal power and influence. ](else_if: $called is "Odysseus")[{<center> #Odysseus </center>}          Son of Laertes and Anticlea. King of Ithaca. Hero of the *Odyssey*. Though treated heroically in the Homeric epics (even if he was the sole Greek hero not described as handsome during the sequence wherein Helen identified the Greeks below to the Trojan elders on top of the city walls in the *Iliad*), the Athenian tragic stage made him out to be a monster, as his smooth tongue and ability to convince people to believe him and do as he requested made him a demagogue in their eyes. This dichotomy makes him a hard character for me to work with, because I never know quite how to characterize him, which model to follow; I have tried in these books to find a position in between the two poles, though leaning a bit more into the Homeric version. ](else_if: $called is "Olympos")[{<center> #Olympos, Mount </center>}          The name of a real mountain in Thessaly, but generally used in reference to the realm where the gods reside. That realm is sometimes described as being on top of the real mountain, and at other times it is described as being more ethereal, and less connected to the physical, mortal realm. ](else_if: $called is "Ouranos")[{<center> #Ouranos </center>}          Son of Gaia, and by her also father of the twelve original Titans. Also of various less pleasant-looking beings like the Cyclopes and the Hekatoncheires (hundred-handed giants), which he imprisoned within their mother’s womb (and/or in Tartaros) so he wouldn’t have to look at them, prompting Gaia to help their son Kronos to rise up against his father. Ouranos was castrated and overthrown by his son, no longer ruler over everything, instead reduced to being, in essence, the sky itself. Better known by his Roman name, Uranus. ](else_if: $called is "Paris")[{<center> #Paris </center>}          A shepherd foundling of Mount Ida. Long deceased. ](else_if: $called is "funeral")[{<center> #Patroclos' funeral </center>}          It went pretty much exactly as Eutychos describes it. Sacrificed Trojans and all. (Though Eutychos left out that Achilles also slaughtered some of the dogs they kept in their hut and put *them* on the pyre, too. And cut off a lock of hair that he had promised to a river god back home and burned that with the body, since he now knew he really *wouldn’t* be returning home alive.) ](else_if: $called is "Pelasgians")[{<center> #Pelasgians </center>}          Though various different names were used in antiquity, I am using Pelasgian as a catch-all for the pre-Greek inhabitants of Greece. (It *was* the most commonly used of the terms used in antiquity.) Despite the warlike nature that some of what we know about the Mycenaean Greeks might suggest, they did not exterminate or even drive away the land’s inhabitants when they arrived there. In fact, in historic times, there were still whole villages of them. (I’m sure there are still a lot of their descendents in Greece even now, even if they don’t know that some of their ancestors were there before the Mycenaeans.) As their language, too, had survived to historic times, it is only logical that it is still in use in the Late Bronze Age.          The evidence from historic times indicates that while some of the pre-Greek peoples remained in Greece upon the arrival of the Mycenaean people, some of them fled to the islands, to Anatolia, and possibly some of them went west to Italy and became the ancestors of the Etruscans. (Certainly, that was what some of the ancient Greek historians had to say about the Tyrrhenians, and as a non-Greek inscription found on Lemnos was in a language related to Etruscan, it may have some basis in fact.) In any event, Lesbos is one of the many islands known to have had a “Pelasgian” population in historic times, so I decided that it seemed only logical that there is a Pelasgian presence on the Lesbos of the novel. Said presence is large enough—both among the population and among the other slaves in the palace—that both girls speak a little of the language. (Or rather Ariadne is pretty good at it, and Atalanta can just barely communicate.) ](else_if: $called is "Penelope")[{<center> #Penelope </center>}          Daughter of Icarios, a grandson of Perseus. Icarios was brother of Tyndareos, and it was Tyndareos who persuaded Icarios to allow Odysseus to wed Penelope. Penelope’s unwavering fidelity to her husband over the twenty years he was absent at Troy (and as he slept his way around the Mediterranean on his way home from the war) is her most well-remembered aspect. ](else_if: $called is "Phocos")[{<center> #Phocos </center>}          Son of Aiakos by the Nereid Psamathe, sometimes by rape. Killed by his half-brothers Peleus and Telamon, though ancient sources differed greatly regarding method and reason for the killing. Most versions have one of the brothers (typically Telamon, as the stronger brother) kill him during an athletic competition, with both brothers then hiding the body. However, in some versions the killing is an accident, while in others it is in obedience to their mother’s jealousy, but in most of them it is their own jealousy because Phocos is better-loved by their father and/or more skillful than they are. Both Peleus and Telamon were exiled to seek purification, and never returned.          Surprisingly, back in 2011, in my very first NaNo novel, *Ilios*, a complete (and not very good) telling of the entire Trojan War, I had Peleus come to the conclusion that he had been married off to Thetis as a punishment—for killing Phocos along with other terrible acts, including his vanity making him unintentionally complicit in the death of his first wife—and that was without my having looked up the fact that Phocos’ mother was also a Nereid! Knowing that the half-brother he had killed was the nephew of his second wife actually lends some credence to the idea that it was a punishment rather than a reward after all. ](else_if: $called is "Phthia")[{<center> #Phthia </center>}          A city in Aiolia, palatial center of the region known as Achaia Phthiotis, and called Pelasgian Argos in the Catalog of Ships in the *Iliad*. Its precise location is unknown, and it is one of the many cities mentioned in the *Iliad* whose locations were already lost by the classical period. Many authors—including Euripides—have placed it in Pharsalus, but the close association with the River Sperchios suggests it may have been further south. ](else_if: $called is "Poseidon")[{<center> #Poseidon </center>}          One of the twelve Olympian gods, and a son of Kronos and Rhea. Usually considered the second of their three sons. His realm was the ocean, but he also had the power to cause earthquakes, giving him the epithet Earthshaker. He was also associated with horses, perhaps because earthquakes sound like stampeding horses. He was often described as having blue hair. ](else_if: $called is "Rhoxane")[{<center> #Rhoxane </center>}          One of the Locrian maidens in Troy in service to Athene. Her name is probably anachronistic, as it is the Greek form of the name of Alexander the Great’s Bactrian wife, but I liked the way it sounded for the character, so… ](else_if: $called is "Scamander")[{<center> #Scamander </center>}           The River Scamander runs from Mount Ida in the south up to Troy in the north. The river god Scamander was the father of the original Teukros, and thus one of the ancestors of the Trojans as a people. The clash between its river god and Achilles was an incident in the *Iliad* which really showcases just what a spoiled brat Achilles is in addition to being a vicious murderer: after mouthing off at the river god who very politely asked him to stop choking its bed with dead bodies, when he realized that the river god was in the process of causing the river to flood in order to drown him, Achilles started running like a frightened rabbit, bitterly complaining about why none of the gods were saving him…until the gods *did* save him, culminating in Hephaistos (at his mother’s behest, as he was largely neutral in the conflict) beating the river back with flaming hot tongs until the river god feared he would be killed. ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(if: $called is "Helenos")[{<center> #Helenos </center>}          Son of King Priam and Queen Hecabe of Troy. Usually described as twin brother of Cassandra, sharing her prophetic powers but not her curse. (Sometimes his gift is something supernatural, a gift of Apollo, and sometimes it’s more mundane, like being able to read the flight of birds as a sign from the gods.) In the case of my version of Helenos, of whom more will be said in later books, his twin sister was indeed cursed for rejecting Apollo’s advances, and both of them had supernatural powers of augury because a snake licked them on their ears in infancy (this, too, was a genuine version), allowing them to hear the future (my spin on the ear-licking thing).          In the final year of the war, he was captured either by Odysseus alone or by Achilles and Odysseus (or rather, Odysseus took him prisoner to keep Achilles from killing him), and after being brought back to the Greek camp was made to use his gift of prophecy to help the enemy. (There was, in fact, a brief scene depicting his capture in the original draft of this novel. I've found a way to incorporate it into book two, so you'll be able to read about it when that one's ready.) There is also an alternate version wherein Helenos willingly switched sides because Helen was awarded to Deiphobos instead of to him following Alexander’s death, but I reject this version outright, both because I rather like Helenos and because if he’s a powerful seer he should never want anything to do with Helen, given all the death and destruction caused by her presence in Troy. ](else_if: $called is "Hephaistos")[{<center> #Hephaistos </center>}          One of the twelve Olympian gods. God of fire and metal-working. According to Hesiod, Hera gave birth to him without any assistance from any god, but most accounts describe Zeus as being his father. In some accounts he was born with legs that didn’t work, and in others they were permanently damaged when he was flung out of Mount Olympos. (The reason for his being thrown from Mount Olympos varied from being too ugly to siding with his mother against Zeus in an argument.) Most texts followed the Hesiodic version in which he was married to Aphrodite, though she betrayed him constantly. However, in the *Iliad*, his wife is Charis, one of the Graces. (The subject does not come up in this book series, but I lean towards the *Iliadic* version in this, as in many things.)          A master smith, Hephaistos crafted many weapons and other items for both the gods and mortal heroes. Equivalent to the Roman god Vulcan, but that god differed from Hephaistos in a number of important ways, both physically and in terms of personality. ](else_if: $called is "heroes")[{<center> #heroes and hero-worship </center>}          To talk of “hero worship” in Ancient Greece is not merely to speak of the adulation of a prominent figure. Many of the heroes of Greek myths were worshipped in the truest sense of the word: there were temples, or at least shrines, in their honor, and offerings were left to them. Achilles had a full cult based around an island in the Black Sea which was known as the White Island and viewed as being the site of a secondary afterlife for the veterans of the Trojan War, which Achilles ruled over; there was a temple on the island dedicated to Achilles, and many offering discs with inscriptions (often of snakes, for some reason) have been excavated there. (Thetis was said to have moved his and Patroclos' bones to said temple, btw.) There is a Mycenaean-era palace in Laconia known as the Menelaion where Classical-era Greeks left offerings to Menelaos and Helen. Offerings to Agamemnon (and Cassandra) were left in the ruins of Mycenae all throughout antiquity. Heracles, of course, had temples and shrines wherever Greeks (and then Romans) went. So, the guard is not exaggerating when he assumed that as a deceased hero, Achilles was being worshipped by the Hellenes (although realistically it is highly unlikely that any hero would have started receiving divine honors within one generation of his death, no matter what Octavian/Augustus did regarding the recent death of his uncle/adoptive-father Julius Caesar (that was politics, not religion, no matter what he claimed to the contrary)). ](else_if: $called is "Hipponike")[{<center> #Hipponike </center>}           One of the Amazon contingent staying at the palace in Troy. Not a mythological character. Her name comes from a list of known names of Amazons in the book *The Amazons: Lives and Legends of Warrior Women across the Ancient World* by Adrienne Mayor. The name means “Victory Steed.” ](else_if: $called is "Ialmenos")[{<center> #Ialmenos </center>}          Son of Ares. Twin brother of Ascalaphos. Not a significant character in tales of the Trojan War, despite being a son of the god of war. Bizarrely, he did not return to Orchomenos to take over his dead brother’s throne, but ended up in Colchis, founding a Greek colony there. There’s nothing in the *Iliad* about him holding a grudge over the magnificence of Patroclos’ funeral or about the way everyone completely ignored his brother’s death, but how could he not be angry about it, realistically? ](else_if: $called is "Illuyanka")[{<center> #Illuyanka </center>}          Monstrous serpent from Hittite mythology, defeated by their storm/sky god Teshub, who Illuyanka had defeated the first time they fought. There are similarities between Illuyanka and its (his?) defeat and Typhoeus and *his* defeat at Zeus’ hands. ](else_if: $called is "Irnuasu")[{<center> #Irnuasu </center>}          Old man who acts as the record-keeper in the royal armory at King Korythos’ Troy. His name comes from a name generator that claimed to give Hittite names, and I just had to take the generator’s word for it as to whether or not the names actually are Hittite. ](else_if: $called is "princes")[{<center> #kings and princes </center>}          Even for peoples like the Hittites who kept enough written records for us to have a picture of the succession of their kings, we still do not have a complete understanding of the political situation and interactions of various titles. For a culture like the Mycenaean Greeks, who were barely literate and had only clerical records not intended to be preserved, we have even less understanding of their political structure. From both the archaeological information and from the hints contained in the *Iliad*, we can definitely perceive that unlike their historic descendents, the Greeks of the Late Bronze Age had kingdoms rather than city-states. We don’t know if cities that were not the palatial centers of the kingdoms also had rulers whose titles over time were conflated into being “kings” by their descendents, whose situation was so different. (For example, was Phthia a separate kingdom ruled by Peleus as a king, or was it merely a territory within a larger Aiolian kingdom, perhaps the one we know to have existed with Iolcos as its palatial center, making Peleus more of a duke than a king?) In discussing the kings and princes who were gathered at Troy for the war, I use the collective noun “princes” to refer to both kings and sons of kings: this is a Renaissance tradition well attested in the works of Shakespeare and others, and is often used in translations of the *Iliad*.          We know from Hittite records that Troy (Wilusa) had a “king” who was subordinate to the Great King in Hattusa. This may mean that when various independent kingdoms in Anatolia were subsumed into the Hittite empire that the pre-existing royal families were maintained as puppets/vassals, or that new ones were set up, or that translators have been too loose with applying modern terms to the Hittite texts. As the Greek myths all maintained Troy as having a king—one not represented as being a vassal to anyone else, in fact—I have maintained a Trojan royal family in this work, but it should be kept in mind that this may not be historically accurate in our modern sense of the powers that would normally belong to a king. ](else_if: $called is "Korythos")[{<center> #Korythos </center>}          The current King of Troy in this novel. ](else_if: $called is "Lacedaimon")[{<center> #Lacedaimon </center>}          The ancient name for the most important city in Laconia; we now call the city Sparta. Its precise location in Mycenaean times is uncertain: the palatial center for Laconia may have been the one at Amyclai, or it may have been the one now known as the Menelaion (located at Therapne, just outside of classical Sparta, which was in antiquity a cult center for the worship of Menelaos and Helen), or it may have been a different palace that remains undiscovered. ](else_if: $called is "Linear B")[{<center> #Late Bronze Age Writing Systems </center>}          In short, they weren’t very effective.          In long: allegedly, the Greek alphabet was the first proper alphabet, wherein each sound has its own letter, and each letter represents only one sound. (I doubt that’s even remotely true, but that’s how it used to be taught. Back in the much more Euro-centric era in which I grew up.) Whatever writing systems in other regions were like, the earlier writing systems in the Mediterranean area were not very efficient: Linear B was a syllabic alphabet (a bit like the Japanese hiragana and katakana, but less effective), and Phoenician was made up only of consonants (as I believe the Hebrew alphabet of the period was as well) with the vowels simply implied (or guessed at if you didn’t know what the other person was trying to say). Linear B was so spectacularly bad at writing the Greek language that different tablets from different cities have been discovered spelling the same name in different ways. (At least two spellings for “Achilleus” have been found, for example.) This is likely one of the main reasons that the Mycenaean Greek society never wrote down their histories or the epic poetry that was performed at their courts to entertain their elites, because their writing system was just not sufficient for the task. ](else_if: $called is "Lesbos")[{<center> #Lesbos </center>}          Island near the Anatolian coast, known in the classical era as having five cities. Best known as the home of the early classical Greek poet, Sappho, the only woman whose works survive from that era. In the Bronze Age, it was Hittite territory, known by the name Lazba. ](else_if: $called is "Locris")[{<center> #Locris </center>}          Specifically, Opuntian Locris (there were three places named Locris), where Oileus ruled during the Trojan War. Locris contributed two famous individuals to the Trojan War, one directly and one indirectly. The direct one was, of course, the king’s son Aias, and the indirect one was Patroclos, who was from Opoeis (after which Opuntian Locris is named) before being exiled for homicide. ](else_if: $called is "Mahhuzzi")[{<center> #Mahhuzzi </center>}          Trojan official in charge of the port. I got the name from a name generator that promised Hittite names. I have to hope that it actually delivered on that promise, because I know nothing about the Hittite language. ](else_if: $called is "megaron")[{<center> #megaron </center>}          A particular architectural design unique to Mycenaean and Classical Greece. While the later megaron structures were usually used for temples, in Mycenaean times they were used in palaces. The megaron was used as a combination of a throne room, dining hall and assembly chamber. It is a long, rectangular room with rows of interior columns.          If you’re wondering why a specifically Greek architectural feature is present in a non-Greek city like Methymna (which of course is *now* a Greek city and has been since something like the 9th or 10th century BCE), see the entry on Methymna. ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

(if: $called is "Menoitios")[{<center> #Menoitios </center>}          Father of Patroclos. There is no firm agreement in the ancient literature as to anything else about him other than the identity of his son, however. In the *Iliad*, there is no information about him other than that he joined his son in exile from Opoeis, ending up in Phthia, where he evidently became part of Peleus’ court. Later ancient authors have awarded him all sorts of honors and paternities, ranging from being an Argonaut to being Peleus’ brother to being his half-uncle. (In other words, the son of Aigina by the mortal husband she took after bearing Aiakos to Zeus.)          Personally, while I’m not opposed to him having been one of the Argonauts (in fact, I quite like the idea), I think in all other respects, his own choice of name for his son rather proves that he was nobody. “Patroclos” means “glory of the father” which can imply either “glory from the father” or “glory to the father,” so I think the reasoning there is that when Patroclos was born, his father had a good feeling that he would be a great man, and decided to name him after that fact, laying out his belief that his son would bring him great glory. (Not sure about the glory part, but he certainly brought his father lasting *fame* (or at least name-repetition), which is not quite the same thing.)          Someday, I'd like to write up a version wherein Menoitios and Peleus were also lovers, having entered into a pederastic relationship while sailing on the *Argo* (presumably in which Menoitios is the younger party), and so they're actually somewhat conflicted when they find out that their sons have fallen in love with each other. (Not sure what else I'd do with the story, though...) ](else_if: $called is "Myrina")[{<center> #Myrina </center>}          The primary city on Lemnos, in which the queen (and later the king, her son by Jason) lived. ](else_if: $called is "Muses")[{<center> #Muses </center>}          Divine females fathered by Zeus on the Titan Mnemosyne. (According to the most popular version of their parentage, anyway. There are numerous others.) Their number varied between three and nine, though nine was more commonly repeated in later texts. They were goddesses of all forms that were recognized as art by the ancient Greeks; this meant that there were no muses for the visual arts, only for performative arts. The muses were especially frequently invoked by poets, possibly because of the famous invocation of the muse at the start of the *Iliad*, which has been imitated by everyone from Virgil to Lord Byron. (And, actually, probably by a heck of a lot more people since Byron’s time…) ](else_if: $called is "Nereus")[{<center> #Nereus </center>}          Son of Pontos and Gaia, that is of the sea and the earth. As an ocean deity older than Poseidon, Nereus was sometimes referred to as the Old Man of the Sea. Sometimes confused with Proteus, who had the same nickname and likewise shared Nereus’ powers of prophecy and transformation. ](else_if: $called is "Oinone")[{<center> #Oinone </center>}          Yeah, you know what? I’ma just leave this one empty, sorry. You can read all about her after you reach the ending. ](else_if: $called is "oread")[{<center> #oread </center>}          A type of nymph, sometimes called a mountain spirit in English. The name literally means “daughter of the mountain.” ](else_if: $called is "Palladion")[{<center> #Palladion </center>}          A wooden statue of Athene carved on Mount Olympos. (Or a statue of Pallas, daughter of Triton, which was then mistaken for a statue of Athene, since it was a woman in armor.) It fell from the realm of the gods while Ilos was reigning in Troy, and brought great fortune to the city. In some versions, it was said the city could not fall while the Palladion was within its walls. (In others, though, it was in fact to the Palladion that Cassandra was clinging for divine protection during the sacking of the city.)          Often called the Palladium, but I preferred the Palladion spelling. (Both are genuine Greek spellings, so my choice of one spelling over the other is actually somewhat arbitrary.) ](else_if: $called is "Patahuli")[{<center> #Patahuli </center>}          One of the retainers in the palace at Methymna. Her name comes from a name generator that promised Hittite names, and as I have no knowledge of the Hittite language, I have to hope that it provided me with appropriate names. ](else_if: $called is "Pedasos")[{<center> #Pedasos </center>}          A city of the Troad sacked by the Greek army, led by Achilles. If it was a real city in antiquity, its exact location is not known, but I have placed it on the coast pretty much directly opposite Lesbos, because when I was looking up maps of the Troad while working on *Are You A Better General Than Agamemnon?* I came across one that placed it there. In the context of this story, the name of the town isn’t really even important, since the majority of the towns sacked in the area were sacked by Achilles…and probably most of the ones that weren’t *claimed* to have been, because of his demonic reputation. (If you’ve got to say you were wrecked, you want to have been wrecked by the biggest baddie you can think of, right? That implies anyone lesser couldn’t have taken you, even if they totally could have.) ](else_if: $called is "Peleus")[{<center> #Peleus </center>}          Son of Aiakos, who was a son of Zeus and the King of Aigina. Father of Achilles by the Nereid Thetis. Peleus became the King of Phthia by marrying the previous king’s daughter in most versions; in others, his first wife’s father was king of a larger realm in Aiolia, and his father-in-law divided up his kingdom in order to give Peleus his own throne. At some point following his first wife’s death, he was given Thetis as his bride by Zeus, and it is sometimes said that when Peleus was dying, Thetis gave him immortality and he went to live in her undersea realm with her. (That did not happen in my version, however.) ](else_if: $called is "Penthesileia")[{<center> #Penthesileia </center>}          Queen of the Amazons, daughter of Ares by the Amazon Otrere. Usually said to be Ares’ favorite daughter. She had accidentally killed her sister, and thus needed to be purified of the bloodguilt. After Priam had purified her, she promised to remain in Troy and rid the city of the enemies besieging it. Unfortunately, she then went up against Achilles, who killed her, only to fall in love with her corpse. (The man “fell in love” ridiculously easily, but his affection tended to flit away quickly, except where Patroclos was concerned.) ](else_if: $called is "Phoenicia")[{<center> #Phoenicia </center>}          Nation of the Levantine coast, inhabited by a Semitic people known as Canaanites to the Hebrews. Its people were known as excellent sailors and merchants, though they were not technically merchants yet by the Late Bronze Age, since money and trade weren’t yet firmly established; the *Histories* of Herodotus provide several examples of their reputation in his own times. Historically, the Phoenician script was the main basis of the Greek alphabet. The Phoenicians founded numerous colonies elsewhere in their travels, including most famously at Carthage. The Phoenicians were one of the non-Greek peoples who birthed important early Greek mythological figures, namely Cadmos and his sister Europa. ](else_if: $called is "Polyphetes")[{<center> #Polyphetes </center>}          One of the slaves who works in the stables in the palace at Methymna. An Achaian originally from Lemnos. As with most of the incidental, non-mythological characters, I got his name from a name generator. ](else_if: $called is "Priam")[{<center> #Priam </center>}          Aged King of Troy, son of the previous king, Laomedon. He had one hundred children, fifty sons and fifty daughters, though not all of them by his wife, Hecabe. Of those fifty sons, only one was still living after the war ended. (It’s not clear how many daughters were still alive, but since at least one was safely married in another city, more of them would have survived. The only two I know of who were enslaved by the Greeks didn’t last long, tragically.) Generally regarded (in antiquity as well as in modern times) as a kind and wise king, whose brutal death was one of the worst atrocities of the war. ](else_if: $called is "Salamis")[{<center> #Salamis </center>}          In both reality and the context of this story, the name of two locations:          The original Salamis is an island off the coast of Athens, ruled over by Telamon at the time of the Trojan War. It was represented in the war by Telamon’s two sons, Aias and Teukros. This is by far the more famous of the two locations, especially because of the naval battle fought just off its coast during the second Persian invasion of Greece.          The second Salamis is a city on the island of Cypros, founded by Teukros after his banishment from his homeland in the wake of the Trojan War. The actual Salamis in Cypros really was founded around this time, give or take a century. ] ---------------------------------------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

[[<img src="ch1-sun arose.jpg" width="750" height="563">->passage]]

[[Prologue]] [[Chapter One]] [[Chapter Two]] [[Chapter Three]] [[Chapter Four]] [[Chapter Five]] [[Chapter Six]] [[Chapter Seven]] [[Chapter Eight]] [[Chapter Nine]] [[Chapter Ten]] [[Chapter Eleven]] [[Chapter Twelve]] [[About]]

This "game", *Scions of Troy*, is the lightly interactive adaptation of a novel I first wrote back in 2014. The novel is the first in a series of seven, all of which were originally written in 2014. That being the case, it should go without saying that there is only one ending, and your choices have limited impact. (In fact, most of them just serve to potentially bring our young leads to a tragic death.) However, I hope that you will find the ending of *Scions of Troy* to be satisfactory even without the rest of the series. (I **do** plan to release the rest of the series in this format, but I am not sure how long the process will take. Re-writing this novel nearly doubled its length, and I was motivated to write faster by a desperate, fearful escapism, as I was trying to think about absolutely anything other than the violence that had occurred on January 6th. Therefore, the rewrite of book two may take much longer. Or it may not. I can't see the future.)          When there is no choice to be made, look for this spinning fresco detail to advance the plot: <img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">          At the bottom of most screens, you should see a menu giving you the option to save, load, visit the Glossary or see the Credits. As I am not well versed in programming (being a writer first and foremost), there is only one save slot available, and my understanding is that how well it contains your data will be impacted by how often you clear your browser cache. In that regard, it is fortunate that very little data is carried forward through the novel's progress, so you will miss very little if your save data is lost! The Credits page contains a link back to the Table of Contents, in case you want to revisit earlier scenes.          As to the Glossary, it contains an entry for every single proper noun in the game (unless I somehow missed some), as well as a few archaeological and cultural concepts that I thought might not be well-known among the general populace. There is a "Go back" command at the bottom of every page of the Glossary, but I do feel the need to warn that it takes you back to the top of the page you left. (Though I suppose since it's only linked to at the bottom of the page, that's somewhat irrelevant?)          If you've previously read/played *The Cousins*, then you have ***basically*** experienced Chapter One of this novel/game. *However*, the Prologue now contains actual scenes, rather than a single short passage summing up events, and I hope you will want to read it. For the most part, there are very few significant changes from *The Cousins* to Chapter One of *Scions of Troy*. Mostly, there were only small edits and corrections, including that one minor character has a new name, but there is only one truly noteworthy change: the "staring scene" has been greatly altered and reduced. (Part of what changed between the old draft and the present text is my own better understanding of the characters' sexuality, and I extrapolated a little too far in that scene. Reviewing events of some of the later books, I realized how untenable that situation actually was. Also, it occurred to me that it was terribly anachronistic.) So, if you've already experienced *The Cousins*, you won't miss out on much if you read the Prologue and then use the Table of Contents to skip to Chapter Two.          Hopefully, that's all you needed to know! Click [[here->Prologue]] to start reading at the beginning, or [[here->Table of Contents]] to go to the Table of Contents.

[[<img src="prologue.jpg" width="750" height="730">->pro1]]

The failing red light of the setting sun had long since vanished from the night sky, and the moon was slowly gliding above the island of Lesbos as the two slave girls watched their master’s Achaian guests making themselves free with their host’s wine. On their previous visit, the two princes and their allies had sacked the city and slain the previous kings and all their family…or so ran the gossip in town. The few people who had not been either killed or enslaved in the raid had fled, never to return. When the Achaian army had begun to raid the other cities of Lesbos, many of the people of Mytilene and Pyrrha had left behind their homes and moved to the northern coast to occupy beautiful, tragic Methymna, which still stood as vacant as it had been left by the invaders. Those displaced people took all the possessions they could carry with them, including slaves like Lelia and Theokleia, these two young sisters who stood uncomfortably awaiting orders in the gloom on one side of the megaron, peering into the fire-lit area at the center, watching the two men in their fine armor as they drank, talking and laughing as if they hadn’t a care in the world.          One of the men was in his fifties, though his dark hair was only lightly marred by the gray of age, and there was a canny look to the eyes that flashed with the gray of the sea in the midst of a raging storm. His armor was finely made, yet when he arrived he had been wearing an old-fashioned boar’s tusk helmet, which now sat discarded by his side, along with his curved shield. Though he was a handsome man for his years, it was not he who arrested the attention of the two girls, but his companion.          This companion was a younger man by some fifteen years, and his beautiful face shone with the radiant light of the gods. Golden-red curls, unusually short in length, framed his face, and though his eyes were as bright and blue as the sky on a cloudless day, they bore a sadness that made almost every woman who saw him want to be the one to comfort him for whatever it was that troubled him—or so it appeared to Lelia, based on the way all the other girls in the palace stared at him with dewy eyes. Just as his face put that of all other men to shame, his armor vastly outshone that of his companion, the bronze being everywhere decorated with gold and silver, with such beauty and craft as if it had been created by divine hands.          The older man had introduced himself to Lelia’s master as Odysseus, King of Ithaca, and he had said that he needed to use one of the temples in the city in order to purify the younger man, Achilles of Phthia, of a homicide. At that introduction, Achilles had immediately begun to grumble that Thersites—whoever that might have been—had hardly counted as human in the first place, so he shouldn’t need to go through this farcical procedure. Lelia’s master had, of course, been eager to accommodate two such terrifying princes, and had granted them everything they asked for, and more. Hopefully, that meant they wouldn’t burn the town down on their way out, but Lelia had learned long ago not to put anything past the cruelty of the ravaging Achaian army.          As soon as the rite had been completed, the men had expected to be feasted, and following the feast, they chose to stay up late drinking (allegedly) to the memory of all the companions they had lost in the ten long years they had been assaulting noble Troy. Lelia’s master had attempted to keep them company himself, as any proper host should, but the younger man had insisted that he “looked too Trojan” and should leave them to themselves. That was why only Lelia and Theokleia were on hand to serve them, as they were the only Achaian slave girls in the palace who were judged to be young enough to be appropriate to serve such nobly born guests. Some of the male slaves had brought out a large krater and the finest of the master’s wine to mix in it; once the water and wine were in the krater, the other slaves had departed as Lelia had finished the mixing process, and Theokleia had filled the guests’ cups, then they had both moved aside until further service was required. Lelia hoped nothing else would be needed of them, but Theokleia’s face made it very clear that she was hoping the handsome Achilles might wish for a little more affectionate companionship than he had just at present.          Draining off the wine in his golden cup, Achilles leaned back slightly and stared up at the ceiling above his head. “Is that…blood?” he asked, his voice slightly sluggish through the wine. They had, after all, been drinking for some time by now, and the krater (which would normally be used to serve a whole gathering of at least half a dozen men) had long since been emptied to the point where Lelia could no longer guess just how much wine was in it, though Achilles had refilled his cup so many times that she suspected there could not be much wine left. “How’d blood get on the ceiling?”          Odysseus glanced up at the stain, and laughed, shaking his head. “It probably is blood,” he agreed. “I’m surprised we haven’t seen more of it splattered all across the walls and floor. Those charming serving girls must have been working very hard cleaning this place.” An understatement if Lelia had ever heard one! She and Theokleia had barely been more than children when they had been brought here, but they had still worked their fingers to the bone, scrubbing away bloodstains everywhere…          “Oh…? Nnnnn….which is this, anyhow?” Achilles asked, looking at his companion.          “This is Methymna, on the island of Lesbos,” the older man answered, his voice a bit somber, as if the memory of its earlier defeat was unsettling even to him.          “I’m not *stupid*,” Achilles snarled, his beautiful features contorting into something ominous that frightened Lelia. “I know this’s Lesbos! But you can’t expect me to remember every one of these puny towns I’ve sacked! You got any idea how many places I’ve taken in the last ten years?!”          “Very well indeed,” Odysseus assured him, with a smile that was more conciliatory than suave. “Do not forget that I took part in many such raids myself.”          “Not as many as me,” the younger man grumbled, refilling his cup from the krater.          “Indeed not; none can match your martial prowess.”          “Don’t you flatter me!”          Odysseus laughed. “I intend nothing of the sort. But it is a matter of common knowledge that you have fought longer and harder than any other man among all our forces. Even mighty Aias of the towering shield cannot match your record.”          “The more silvery your tongue wags, the more I know you’re up to something,” Achilles growled. “What happened here? I don’t remember a thing.”          The older man chuckled. “Perhaps the waters of the Lethe have been mixed into your cup, son of Peleus. Maybe you’re happier having forgotten.”          “Don’t make fun of me.”          “I’m not, I assure you.”          The red-haired brute frowned, and took a deep draught from his cup. “Wait…I remember…there was some girl here, right?”          “There are girls in every port on the sea,” Odysseus laughed. “That’s what makes it so delightful to arrive in a new port on a long voyage.”          “No, but this particular girl, she…she did something, didn’t she? Some kind of…something stupid.”          The King of Ithaca sighed sadly. “That is putting it mildly,” he commented. “The king’s daughter stood on the walls of the town and looked out at the battle below, whereupon she was so smitten with love at the sight of your face that she opened the gates and allowed us to walk into the town without further opposition,” he said. While Lelia certainly agreed that the son of Peleus had a beautiful face, she had to wonder if that had *really* been the girl’s intent, or if the unfortunate princess had hoped that allowing the invaders inside would mean they would grant clemency to the people of the town, perhaps having been beguiled by Achilles’ pretty face into thinking that he would be kind and sympathetic.          “Right…that was it. I knew there was something stupid about this town,” the other man muttered, shaking his head. “What happened to her? I don’t remember taking her prisoner.”          Odysseus stared at him with a look that Lelia perceived to be a mixture of disbelief and disgust. “She’s dead,” he said firmly.          “Her people got her, huh?”          “No, you ordered it yourself,” the other man told him, his voice suddenly almost icy. “For her treason.”          Rather than looking ashamed of himself, Achilles nodded. “Makes sense,” he said. “Don’t remember it at all, though.”          Odysseus sighed sadly. “There was considerable argument among the other princes afterwards, you know. About whether you should have done so. If you even had the right.”          Achilles shrugged, apparently uninterested.          “If your cousin Aias had not defended your actions, you might have found yourself in some difficulty over the affair,” the older man continued. Lelia got the feeling that he must have been the ones more outraged over it at the time.          The younger man laughed. “That’s got to be the only time he’s found success with words instead of his spear!”          “You’re not known for winning debates, either.”          “I’m still better at it than Aias is. I’m better at *everything* than he is.”          “True or not, it ill befits either your dignity or his for you to brag about it like that,” Odysseus remonstrated him. “He toils harder than anyone else, and part of that is solely because of his attempts to out-do you. Don’t mock him for it.”          Achilles scowled and drained half his cup of wine in one go. “He’ll be the champion of the Achaian forces soon enough,” he muttered as he lowered his cup again.          The older man frowned, looking genuinely concerned. “You should not talk so lightly of such things. Are you not the son of the immortal Thetis? Someone such as yourself will not enter the house of Hades so easily as a common mortal like myself.” Lelia found the man’s response surprising: Achilles’ comment had not seemed to her to suggest his own impending demise…          “Common mortal?” Achilles sneered, then laughed. “Nothing common about *you*. Not very mortal, neither. They say you’ll never die—you’ll just talk Thanatos into taking someone else’s life in your place!”          Odysseus frowned, and let out a heavy sigh. “I am disgusted by the very notion,” he said, sounding far less than amused.          Perhaps it was his lack of amusement that caused his younger companion to laugh cruelly. “You’re welcome to eternal life, if that’s what you want,” he said, before taking another long draught of wine. “I’d rather a short life and eternal fame.”          “Personally, I would prefer both a long life *and* eternal fame,” Odysseus answered, with a laugh. “Wouldn’t that be the better solution?”          “Can’t have both,” Achilles insisted, shaking his head. “That was the choice I made. She said. She said I could live a long time and be forgotten…or I could die young and be remembered forever.”          “What…? Who said that? When?” Odysseus asked, looking at the younger man with concern. “I never heard such a prophecy.” It seemed to Lelia that any such prophecy was clearly wrong: Achilles had to be nearing forty, and that was hardly *young* by any definition! Lelia would count herself quite elderly if she managed to reach his age.          “My mother said it,” the other answered, shaking his head. “She came to see me at my father’s court, after that pathetic first sailing. Tried to talk me out of it. Into staying home and being a nothing.” He frowned, the confidence draining visibly from his face. “Why? Why would she do that to me? She’s supposed to love me. Why would she want me to be a coward?”          Odysseus laughed. “Ask Briseis sometime. Or ask Tekmessa what she would want for Aias. After the war is over, you can come visit me in Ithaca and ask my Penelope. Ask any woman at all. Which would she want, a live husband thought of as a coward, or a dead husband regarded as a great hero? Every woman will tell you the same thing. They’d rather have a live husband, no matter how much that would soil their husband’s name in the eyes of other men. A mother feels no differently about her son.”          Achilles scowled down into his wine. “That’s no excuse for what she did to me. Leaving me with Lycomedes like that…there’s no excuse for it…”          “I’m sure she was simply worried for your fate,” Odysseus answered, lifting his cup to his lips, though he did not actually drink from it, something he had done often throughout the evening.          Achilles, on the other hand, *did* drink from his cup, and utterly drained it. When he rose to re-fill it, however, he suddenly exclaimed “There’s no more wine!” Before either girl could make a move to repair the situation, he kicked the krater, skidding it across the floor and shattering it against one of the pillars on the far side of the megaron. “Where is everyone?!” he shouted. “We’re out of wine!”          Lelia and Theokleia both ran hastily into the center of the megaron. Achilles just looked at them with annoyance, but Odysseus had a slight smile on his face.          “Did you need something, my lord?” Theokleia asked breathlessly, staring at the angry prince with her sparkling, eager eyes.          “I needed more wine,” he answered sourly.          Lelia was just starting to attempt to explain that it would take them much longer to provide him with that wine now that they would have to fetch another krater when Odysseus also rose to his feet, and leaned in closer to Achilles. “Rather than wine and the harsh punishments of Dionysos, shouldn’t you prefer the soothing company of a maid? Say one of these pretty slaves?” he suggested. Theokleia’s face turned bright red, and Lelia was ashamed to feel her own cheeks heat a bit as well. They had never been treated to such kind words, as their Achaian blood made them no better than the invaders to most of the people of Methymna, despite that they had been born as slaves in nearby Pyrrha.          Achilles didn’t answer right away, but stared at the two girls in front of him, looking them over in a manner that he probably thought was quite careful, but the wine had already taken its toll, and his eyes jumped and lurched and seemed to stare at some point on the far side of the megaron, rather than at either of them.          “Not a bad idea…” he finally said, then attempted to take a step towards them. He was so inebriated that he couldn’t do even that, and stumbled sideways into Odysseus. With an angry growl, the younger man pushed him away as though Odysseus was the one imposing on *him*, then lurched forward unsteadily, colliding with Theokleia, who blushed further at the contact, even as she eagerly led him out of the megaron. Lelia pitied her younger sister: no matter how pretty his face, what would it matter if he was *that* drunk? It was Dionysos who acted, not Achilles. (Though from what Lelia had heard, that might be preferable, as the Phthian prince was said to be the most evil man among all the Achaian forces.)          “Might I trouble you to show me to my own room?” Odysseus asked, distracting Lelia from her contemplations.          She turned to see that he stood before her, holding his own helmet and shield in one hand, and those of Achilles in the other. “Oh! Of course, my lord!” Lelia exclaimed, before hurrying to lead him out of the megaron and to one of the many empty rooms of the palace. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->pro2]]

[[<img src="pro-next morn.jpg" width="750" height="563">->pro3]]

As soon as the rosy light of dawn began to spread through the sky, Lelia rose silently from the bed, donned her tunic, and hurried out of the chamber without waking her master’s noble guest. She hurried straight to the nearest altar to the gods, and made a hasty offering, then prayed long and fervently to all of the gods, but especially to Hera and Eleuthyia. She had barely begun her prayers when Theokleia arrived beside her, and likewise sacrificed and began a prayer of supplication to the gods.          When they had both finished, they hurried to the dismal area where the slaves were housed, where they did their best to clean their bodies before their master and his family could wake for the morning. Theokleia was bursting with energy, and could not long hold her silence while they were cleaning themselves.          “Oh, Lelia, it was so exciting!” she exclaimed. “He’s so handsome!”          “He was so drunk he couldn’t even walk without leaning on your shoulders,” Lelia pointed out, shaking her head. “Did he really have any strength for…you?”          Theokleia giggled, and nodded. “I was afraid he wouldn’t, at first. I had to remove his armor and everything for him, but once I was in his arms…he found his strength quickly enough! Oh, I hope the gods answer my prayers!” she sighed rapturously.          “What did you ask them for?” Lelia asked, hoping she had not asked for anything so outlandish as to hope that the Prince of Phthia should fall madly in love with her and carry her away with him.          Theokleia looked around nervously, but they were alone, and so she continued, though only in a low whisper. “I prayed that I bear his child! Wouldn’t it be divine, to have the son of such a radiant man?”          “And have him be doomed to a life of slavery? It sounds perfectly awful to me,” Lelia countered.          “Oh.” Theokleia pouted for a moment or two, then looked at her sister curiously. “What about you? What happened after I left with Achilles?”          Lelia blushed slightly, and looked away from her sister’s innocent face. “After I led the other guest to his room, I…I knew what was expected of a slave in my position, and I asked him if he wanted me to provide him with any other services.” She laughed slightly, a nervous titter. “Even as he was saying that he could never be tempted into betraying his wife, he took hold of me and brought me into the room. He kept saying that all night, how he would never betray his wife. Even as he was…er…betraying her…” Lelia shook her head. “That’s why I prayed that I *not* get pregnant. The poor man must love his wife very much, and they’ve been apart for ten long years of that terrible war. It would make it even worse if I bore his child.”          “Hmm, would it?” Theokleia looked at her sister with a curious expression, then nodded. “Maybe it would,” she agreed sadly. “I suppose I was being selfish.”          What did it matter? The gods would never listen to the supplications of mere slaves, and such important noblemen were unlikely to return to a city that still had no king even nine years after the death of its previous kings. And they would never care for—or even acknowledge—a slave who had shared their bed for a single night, nor any child born to that slave. It was best to try and forget that the whole incident had ever happened. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->pro4]]

[[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">           ------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

On the docks below the city, the Achaian ship was preparing to sail back to the Troad and the war that still raged desperately outside wide-wayed Troy. Wily Odysseus, King of Ithaca, stood beside the ship, holding the shield and helmet of Achilles in his hands, with a light smirk on his face. He watched the usually swift-footed son of the Nereid stagger slowly towards the ship, shielding his eyes from the bright light of the sun.          “Just how much did I drink last night?” Achilles moaned, as he drew near the ship. “I don’t remember a thing…”          “It might have been a bit excessive,” Odysseus chuckled. “I’m sure you’ll feel much better once you’re out on the waves of your mother’s ocean.”          “Wouldn’t bother me so much if there hadn’t been a girl in my bed when I woke up. Who was she? Did I…?”          Odysseus laughed, and set a comforting hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I’m sure she was just an overzealous admirer. You wouldn’t have betrayed your precious Briseis.”          Achilles made an uncertain noise, but didn’t quite answer. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->pro5]]

[[<img src="pro-months later.jpg" width="750" height="590">->pro6]]

The news that Priam’s mighty city had fallen to its Achaian foes reached Lesbos almost immediately, in the form of a gigantic plume of smoke as the ravaging enemies put the ruined city to the torch as soon as they had finished looting it. Mere days later, the entire sea had been wracked by such terrible storms that Methymna had suffered damage from the towering waves. But it hadn’t been enough of a storm to cost the lives of any of the people of the town, and it had little affected the two slave girls who served the owner of the palace of the former kings of Methymna.          And, because the Fates and the gods could be cruel, by the time their master had welled up the courage to declare himself the new king, they were both heavy with child. Another storm raged upon the wine-dark sea as the two sisters were giving birth, but although the ocean for miles all around Lesbos was wracked with the most terrible waves, the waters near Methymna were calm and placid, as if something was happening there that pleased some watery god.          The elder sister gave birth first, a smooth and easy birth, to a lovely dark-haired daughter that she decided to name Ariadne. Her younger sister had much more trouble giving birth, as her child was fighting and struggling for every moment of it, but she did finally give birth, without causing any harm to herself or the child. Hers, too, was a daughter, with such a sweet face that everyone present was sure she would grow up to be a great beauty, especially with the red hair that was already growing in tiny ringlets on her little head. Her mother had no doubts that only the name Atalanta could suit the child. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Chapter One]]

[[<img src="chapter1.jpg" width="750" height="423">->Start Game]]

(if: $disguise is "No")[(goto: "fail to escape")](else:)[         “How do we get out of the palace?” Atalanta asked, looking at Ariadne pensively. “Won’t there be guards on all the doors at night?”          “Of course there will,” Ariadne sighed. “We just have to hope that any patrols we encounter will be far enough away to mistake us for the guests whose armor we’re wearing.”          “Why would the guests be leaving the palace at this time of night?”          Ariadne shrugged. “Hopefully, it would be rude of the guards to ask. Besides, I doubt the men who own this armor can speak anything but their own language.”          Atalanta nodded, but still looked concerned.          “Just let me do the talking if any talking is needed, all right?” Ariadne said, smiling at her in a way that she hoped was reassuring.          “All right.” Atalanta took Ariadne’s hand and squeezed it warmly. “You always know what’s best.”          “I wish that was true,” Ariadne replied with a deep sigh. “Let’s go.”          Ariadne led the way towards the exit she thought was least likely to be heavily guarded, the one leading out towards the stables. The horses were often skittish around strangers, after all, but Atalanta spent so much time with them that they liked her better than the ostlers, as far as Ariadne could tell. They wouldn’t be alarmed when it was her scent approaching them.          “Are we going to take some horses with us?” Atalanta asked in an excited whisper.          “We don’t dare,” Ariadne replied sadly. “The master will pursue us with great determination if we steal his horses. If all we’re stealing is ourselves…I doubt either of us is viewed as valuable enough to merit doing more than sending out a few patrols into the city. The horses might make him send heralds to all the nearby ports.”          Atalanta sighed miserably, and they walked on in silence, keeping to the shadows near the stables. They had gotten all the way up to the gate by which chariots could leave the citadel when the voice of a guard called out to them from on top of the wall. “Where are you going at this hour?” he asked in the language of Hatti. “Surely the king’s guests don’t need anything the king does not provide them!”          “We need to fetch something for our master off the ship,” Ariadne called back in Achaian, trying to force her voice to sound deep. The effect made Atalanta start fighting giggles beside her.          There must have been two guards on duty atop the walls, because there were two distinct sets of laughter from above. “Suppose the Achaian guest knows his eunuch’s off running around with one of his soldiers?” one of them asked the other.          “Wonder if he’d give us a reward if we told him!” the other replied with a bark of further laughter.          Though they continued to laugh, the guards made no attempt to stop them, and the cousins were able to walk through the gate unhindered. They didn’t speak again until they were halfway down the hill into the town. “I think we ought to make a sacrifice to thank whichever god helped us get through that,” Atalanta said.          “Agreed,” Ariadne sighed. “I already owe Hermes quite a nice sacrifice to thank him for all the help he must have given me in stealing this armor,” she added. Unfortunately, she had no idea just how she was going to do that, considering she had no way of obtaining anything to sacrifice. The god would just have to be patient. Once she had a bow and some arrows, she could hunt something to offer up in sacrifice.          “How are we going to get passage on a ship?” Atalanta asked. “Ships don’t set sail at night, do they?”          “Not under normal circumstances. We’ll have to find a place to hide until dawn,” Ariadne said. “Someplace close to the water, so we can approach the first ship to prepare to leave.”          Atalanta nodded, and followed Ariadne obediently through the town, until they were in sight of the ships resting at the docks and on the beach. Then Ariadne began to pay more attention to the buildings around them. Surely there was one somewhere that was unoccupied…          The first building she could find that had no one in it was a shrine dedicated to the gods of the sea. One side of the structure within was dedicated to the Hatti god Aruna as well as Poseidon, while the other side was dedicated to Hatepuna and the Nereids. (It was, of course, Atalanta’s favorite place to go in the town, even more than the temple of Artemis, though Kawiya rarely let them visit it, since it was so very far from the palace.) It wasn’t ideal by any means, but even though it remained lit by the fire burning in the center of the temple, it was likely to remain empty until the sun came up.          Ariadne led the way into a corner of the Nereid side, where they were half-hidden from the door by the crude statue that represented either Hatepuna or a Nereid, then hurriedly took her armor off. “What are you doing?” Atalanta asked, a note of terror rising in her voice.          “We have to modify our tunics if we’re hoping to pass for Achaian men,” Ariadne said. “Their tunics are the same length in the front and the back.” Really, it was somewhat astonishing that the tails of their tunics hadn’t given them away to the guards on the wall of the palace, but presumably their angle and the low light had saved them from that particular disaster.          “Oh.” Atalanta paused, biting her lip while Ariadne was pulling her tunic off, too. “Do you have a knife to cut it with?”          “Unfortunately not,” Ariadne sighed, looking down at the tunic in her hands. “I was hoping you would be able to rip it.”          “Uh…maybe…” Atalanta reached her hand towards the tunic, then pulled it back again. “I think I’d wreck it. But maybe there’s a knife around here that they use for sacrifices.”          “I guess that would be our best bet,” Ariadne agreed, slipping her tunic back on again. “But I hope the gods won’t be offended,” she added, only half joking.          “I’m sure my grandmother will understand,” Atalanta said, her voice not joking in the least. If they were really going to try to make their way through the world, Atalanta was going to have to learn to stop claiming Achilles had been her father, and she was going to have to learn *fast*. Particularly if the ship they ended up on happened to be sailing east.          Hastily, they moved through the temple, looking for any cutting implements that had been left behind. Atalanta seemed to be focused on the area around the fire, so Ariadne went to examine the area near the statue that was either Aruna or Poseidon. It was carved in a particularly crude style, more of a head and limbs added to a column than a direct or realistic attempt to render a human-like image. But one of its hands held a real conch shell, and the other held a bronze trident. “I promise, I only want to borrow it,” Ariadne assured the statue (just in case) as she reached towards the trident. “I’ll put it right back again when we’re done with it.”          The trident came free easily, and Ariadne hurried back over to the corner hidden behind the other statue, with Atalanta right behind her. Ariadne’s tunic was soon off again, and she quickly used the trident to cut off the longer back of her tunic, making it look at least a little bit like a typical Achaian tunic. By that point, Atalanta had already begun to remove her own armor. As she was setting it down, though, she looked at Ariadne in confusion.          “Why haven’t you put your tunic back on?” Atalanta asked. “What are you doing?”          “I’m trying to cut it into a single, long strip,” Ariadne explained, lifting the removed tail she was trying to cut further. “We should bind our breasts first. Just in case we have to take the armor off, so there won’t be any tell-tale bumps under our tunics.”          “That sounds painful,” Atalanta commented, running her hands over her own small breasts through her tunic. “They’re not really that noticeable, are they?”          “Noticeable enough,” Ariadne assured her. Atalanta’s breasts were really quite lovely, the sort of breasts that men composed long, lewd odes about. “All right, this should be good enough. Here, wrap this tightly around mine to hide them.”          Atalanta accepted the strip of cloth uncomfortably. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather do it yourself? I don’t want to hurt you.”          “I’ll tell you if it’s too tight.”          Atalanta still looked nervous, but did as she was told. It might have been a tiny bit tight, but it wasn’t exactly painful. Once she was done and had tied the binding off in the back, Ariadne put her tunic back on, then turned to look at Atalanta, who was still wearing her own tunic.          “Atalanta, what are you waiting for?”          “I just really don’t…want to…I mean…it just looks so painful!”          “It’s not, I promise.” What was Atalanta so worried about? Her breasts were smaller than Ariadne’s, so it couldn’t possibly hurt her if it didn’t hurt Ariadne. Besides, Atalanta was used to pain, considering all the beatings she had received, to say nothing of the rings of purposeful scars she had been given around her calves as visual reminders of her numerous instances of disobedience.          Uneasily, Atalanta finally removed her tunic, but then her face immediately turned a crimson almost as bright as her hair. “Stop staring!” she exclaimed, pressing the empty garment to her chest. “I hate the way you stare at me when I’m changing!”          “I—I don’t stare—I’m not staring!” Ariadne’s face was so hot that it must have been just as red as Atalanta’s was. Why did Atalanta think she was staring? Yes, she liked to look at Atalanta, of course she did: Atalanta had such a perfect form, like a goddess given mortal flesh. But that wasn’t the same as staring, and why would it bother Atalanta even if it was? They were both girls, after all, and they were kin! It wasn’t as though she was some crude man staring with lustful, destructive desires…          Atalanta continued to look annoyed with her until Ariadne turned her face away with a put-upon sigh. “I just don’t like being stared at,” Atalanta insisted, even as she set the empty tunic in Ariadne’s hands. “Not even by you.”          “I just don’t know what you’re going on about, that’s all,” Ariadne said, as she devoted her attention to the tunic, trying to cut the tail off more quickly than she had on her own tunic. “I really don’t stare. And even if I did, you know it wouldn’t be the way men would stare, right?”          Atalanta made an uncomfortable noise. “I know,” she mumbled, entirely unconvincingly.          Ariadne grimaced, unsure what to make of that, and focused on cutting the tail into another long strip. “All right, I’m ready to apply the binding,” she said, looking up at Atalanta, who was already turning to present her beating-scarred back towards Ariadne.          Doing her best to keep from saying anything else about this sudden and unprecedented burst of shyness, Ariadne carefully fastened the strip around Atalanta’s breasts, tying them down to hide them. Atalanta hurried into her tunic as soon as Ariadne stepped away from her again, and Ariadne had to admire her own handiwork: there was almost no bump at all now, certainly not more than there would be on a young man.          While Atalanta began putting her heavy bronze cuirass back on, Ariadne hastily returned the trident to the statue, promising the god that they would make a small sacrifice in his honor to thank him for its use as soon as they were able. She wasn’t sure how much the gods really cared about things like that, but a little caution couldn’t hurt, particularly given the precarious nature of their current predicament.          “Now what?” Atalanta asked when Ariadne returned to the corner where her own armor lay on the ground waiting for her.          “Now we wait for the dawn,” Ariadne said, as she shrugged back into her leather corselet. “We’ll find the first ship about to sail, and see if we can obtain passage off the island.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Dawn]]]

At the first hint of light, Ariadne led them out of the temple, expressing her worry that the priests would arrive soon to tend to the fire. They took up a position half-hidden behind the temple, peering out of the deep shadows at the ships opposite them. Atalanta spotted the motion first, and excitedly called Ariadne over. “Look, they’re getting ready to sail, right?” she said, pointing out the men carrying bundles of cloth and weapons, as well as massive ceramic vessels, on board a wide boat with rounded, bellying sides and a prow in the shape of a horse’s head. “Who are they? Do you think they’ll let us on board?”          “Judging by their clothes, I’d say they’re Phoenicians,” Ariadne told her. Atalanta was impressed that Ariadne could identify any details about their clothes in this light! All she saw was long tunics, or were they loincloths? “Outside of fellow Achaians, Phoenicians are probably the most likely to take us. Let’s approach them, but let me do all the talking.”          Atalanta nodded. It was comforting, after all, knowing that Ariadne was always there to do the talking for both of them. More often than not, Atalanta only made things worse when she opened her mouth.          As they approached the parade of men carrying goods aboard the ship, Atalanta saw that the men were indeed wearing loincloths, or maybe they were waist-tunics? Whatever they were, they were all quite plain, except for one man, whose loincloth had different colors woven into it, and was even capped with a fancy girdle. That man was just standing there supervising, and it was directly towards him that Ariadne was headed.          “Can I help you, boys?” he asked, as they drew close. He was speaking in the Hellenic tongue, but in the Danaan dialect, and with a heavy accent that made it hard for Atalanta to understand him.          “Please, sir, will you give us passage on your ship?” Ariadne asked, her voice pleading desperately. “We have to leave this island urgently.”          The man frowned at the sound of her voice. “I’ll not be accused of kidnapping by helping two little boys run away from home.”          “I’m no little boy,” Ariadne assured him, straightening her spine. “And my father is very rich—but an oracle told him that my son would kill him, and he believed it so completely that he *castrated* me! And then—and now—” She stopped talking in a gasp as she somehow managed to begin shedding copious tears. Atalanta was astonished she was able to do that so easily. “Now the oracle seems to think he still hasn’t saved himself, and I’m afraid he’s going to *kill* me! Of course I had to take my guard and flee while I still had my life!”          The Phoenician let out a disgusted sigh. “These Hellenes…just when I thought I’d seen the worst of their depravity…” He shook his head. “If your father is so rich, then I might be in danger for sheltering you from him.”          (if: $valuables is "No")[“But—”          “Of course, if you can *compensate* me for that danger…”          Ariadne stopped, biting her lip. “I…we…my guard is very skilled in combat, and I am an excellent archer(if: $lyre is "Yes")[ and know many songs]. If you take us with you, we’ll serve you well for as long as you wish until you feel we’ve compensated you for the danger!”          The man shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I have a full complement of sailors already. I can’t afford two more mouths to feed. But if your father’s so rich, surely you can sneak back into the house and *borrow* something of value, yes? We sail with the tide, but if you can be back by then with something to trade for your passage, then I’ll be glad to take you to our first port of call.”          Ariadne nodded uncomfortably, and walked away from the ship, with Atalanta hurrying after her. Once they were out of hearing, Atalanta leaned in closer and spoke in a lowered voice. “Now what?” she asked. “Wait for the next ship?”          “No, it will be the same thing over again, I’m afraid,” Ariadne sighed. “And with the added risk of the master alerting the town about our escape. We need to get out of town and go as far away as we can.”          Atalanta followed her wordlessly as Ariadne set out walking towards the gates leading out of Methymna. “Where are we going?” she asked.          “Mytilene, I suppose.” Ariadne frowned. “We may have to live off the land for a few months until the master assumes we’ve already fled the island. Then…maybe we’ll be able to get passage from one of the other ports.”          The girls had soon disappeared into the forests in the center of the island, but they couldn’t be sure just how long they would be able to survive there undetected. Would they eventually be caught and returned to their master, or would they eventually be able to escape Lesbos and find true freedom in some other land?          Either way, they were going to miss the predestined meeting that the gods had planned for them; unwittingly, they had lost their chance to make their mark upon the world. =><= ***GAME OVER*** <= [[Return to the beginning->Prologue]] [[Restart the escape sequence->begin escape]]](else:)[“It isn’t much, but maybe this would be enough to make up for any risk you run from my father’s wrath,” Ariadne said, producing the small pouch of valuables they had stolen from Ziza’s chambers. She reached into the bag and pulled out a carnelian necklace.          The man smiled, and took the necklace from her, holding it up to the pale light to examine it. “Very nice…certainly enough to pay for passage for *one*…”          Ariadne frowned as she reached back into the bag. This time, she withdrew two rings, one gold and the other decorated with a carved gem. “If I give you these as well, could you also spare a spear for my guard? He was able to retrieve his armor when we fled my father’s manor, but the weapons were kept under guard and we had to leave unarmed. He isn’t much protection this way.”          “I…suppose so…” the Phoenician replied, taking the rings away with greedy fingers. “Where are you trying to go to, young master?” he asked, his eyes never leaving the bag in Ariadne’s hands.          “We have kin in Achaia Phthiotis,” Ariadne replied, smiling and wiping at her now-dried tears. “Are you going that far?”          “We’re headed in the opposite direction, actually,” the man told her. “But we can take you as far as Sidon or Tyre, and you can get passage there back to Hellas.”          “May all the gods bless you for your kindness!” Ariadne exclaimed, smiling happily. “When do we leave?”          “As soon as the tide turns, assuming all our goods are safely aboard. It will go faster if your guard helps carry our goods.”          “He doesn’t leave my side,” Ariadne said, her voice turning cold.          “Very well,” the Phoenician sighed. Then he gestured towards one of his men, and spoke in his own language as the sailor approached. “Follow him onto the ship and he’ll get you settled on board,” he told the girls in his accented Hellenic.          Ariadne nodded, and soon they were boarding the Phoenician ship, and being pointed to an oarsman’s bench near the back. “Are we to row?” Ariadne asked, looking at the sailor in disbelief. But he didn’t seem to speak their language, as he just smiled at her and walked off again.          “I can row enough for both of us,” Atalanta assured her, taking hold of Ariadne’s hand and squeezing it warmly. “Don’t worry.”          “You’re right,” Ariadne agreed, smiling at her and squeezing back. “We’re finally getting away from here. *Together*.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Chapter Two]]]

[[<img src="chapter2.jpg" width="750" height="404">->phoenician ship]]

Ariadne couldn’t feel at ease until the Phoenician galley finally set sail. It felt like it took forever, but it was probably barely past the time when the master’s family arose for the day. No, not the *master’s* family. The *king’s* family. He was their master no longer, and never would be again.          No man would ever be their master again. No matter what Ariadne had to do, she was never going to allow a man to gain that kind of power over them again.          No man would ever hurt Atalanta again. Even if it cost Ariadne’s life, she would protect Atalanta.          In the meantime, however, it seemed to be Atalanta who was having to protect Ariadne, unfortunately. As soon as the ship set sail, they were expected to start rowing along with all the men on the other benches, and Ariadne’s hands kept slipping off the oar. Even when they managed to stay in place, she was painfully aware that she was not actually contributing anything to the thing’s movement; that was entirely Atalanta.          They hadn’t been sailing long before the man who had let them aboard came storming over, glaring at Ariadne. “You may have been some wealthy little princeling back in Methymna,” he snarled, “but here you’re nothing but a worthless eunuch, and I *will* toss you overboard if you don’t pull your weight, boy!”          Seeing Atalanta rise to her feet to defend her, Ariadne gestured her back, then rose herself, and did her best to imitate a gesture of obedience she had seen other Phoenicians use in port. “I am trying my best,” she assured him, “but I’m afraid my strength is failing me. I have become most awfully queasy since we set sail.”          The Phoenician let out a particularly venomous-sounding string of words in his own tongue, which she did not doubt were the most vile of oaths. “I cannot afford to take you all the way to our next port as a useless passenger,” he said, “especially if you plan on becoming ill all over my ship!”          “Perhaps you can set us ashore at the first town we come to on the Anatolian coast,” Ariadne suggested. “Then you wouldn’t have to worry about my—” She clutched her stomach and made the best impression she could of someone about to vomit.          More swearing followed, but this time grumbled half under the man’s breath. “Fine,” he said with a deep sigh once he was done muttering. “We can make Pedasos in short order. You can get off there.” He gave some orders to his men, and the ship was soon turning slightly; as far as Ariadne could tell by the position of the sun, they *had* been headed more or less to the east, but were now headed almost due north.          The trip to Pedasos was indeed quite short (unsurprising, since you could almost see it from the top of the citadel in Methymna), and soon the Phoenician ship was being pulled up directly onto the beach. The city itself looked half new and half tumbled-down.          “What happened here?” Atalanta asked before Ariadne could shush her. “It’s such a mess…”          The Phoenicians all stared at her in surprise—a eunuch guard was almost as unheard of as a female one, after all—but the man in charge just scowled, shaking his head. “You boys were spoiled growing up in Methymna,” he said. “They took its people but left the buildings alone so they could use it for their own strategic purposes. But *this* town? That brute Achilles burned it to the ground, they say.”          Atalanta twitched at the name Achilles—or the word ‘brute’ that had been attached to the name—but remained silent, biting her lip. The Phoenician’s eyebrow raised slightly at her reaction.          “If I were you two, I’d keep quiet about my family’s roots,” he told them. “The Achaians are not well loved here.”          “Thank you,” Ariadne said. “We will.”          The girls stepped aside then, letting the Phoenicians bring some goods off the ship. By the time they walked off into the city, the sailors were already bartering with the locals, evidently trying to trade some of the goods from Methymna for local goats. Ariadne didn’t think taking live goats on board a ship sounded like good sense, but she wasn’t about to tell them how to run their affairs.          They hadn’t gotten far from the beach before Atalanta stopped beside a ruined building that hadn’t yet been rebuilt. She reached out one trembling hand and touched the charred beams still sticking out of the rubble. “My father did this…?” she asked, sounding like she was about to start crying.          “I keep telling you, Atalanta, he *wasn’t* your father,” Ariadne sighed. “Look, just let me do all the talking, okay? Your voice gives you away.”          Atalanta nodded, and tightened her grip on the spear the Phoenicians had grudgingly provided her. “Can you see if we can get me a new spear? This one is rubbish. It’ll break the first time it hits an enemy’s shield.”          “Let’s concentrate on not making any enemies instead, shall we?”          “I hope that’s *possible*…”          Trying to ignore Atalanta’s sudden bout of pessimism—of all the terrible times for it!—Ariadne led them into the more bustling parts of Pedasos. Soon enough they found themselves in what Ariadne suspected was their agora, though it was rather small to act as any proper meeting place. Glancing around, she saw a couple of pretty girls filling up jars at a well, and decided they looked like the best bet. Gesturing Atalanta to follow her, Ariadne approached the girls and smiled at them warmly. “I’m so sorry to interrupt you, ladies,” she said, bowing in the gracious manner that people used at the king’s court, “but I was hoping you could help us.”          The younger-looking girl giggled, but the elder (probably her sister, given how similar they looked) frowned at her. “Aren’t you a little young to be out of the house unsupervised?” she asked.          “Ah, don’t let my voice fool you,” Ariadne said, shaking her head, before spinning the same tale she had for the Phoenician. “My guard and I were hoping one of you beautiful ladies might be able to direct us towards the nearest large port city, somewhere we might be able to seek employment among a king’s guards.”          “You’d probably have to go all the way to Troy for that,” the younger said, prompting her elder sister to quickly shush her.          Atalanta moved in closer at the name of the city that her paternal fantasy spent ten years failing to defeat. Her movement made the younger girl squeak in fear and draw back behind her elder sister. “Don’t worry about my guard,” Ariadne said, forcing a callous laugh like the rich men at court used. “He’s just eager to see such a famous sight. But it’s quite far from here, isn’t it? Several days’ walk, I would think. Perhaps one of you could spare some of her oh-so-precious time to guide us part of the way?”          The younger sister made eager noises, but her sister quieted her. “Our father would never allow it,” she said coldly, “and don’t think I can’t see the lust in your eyes!” she added, shoving Ariadne backwards. “If you’re worried about getting lost, then just follow the coast north,” she said, pointing out of town. “Follow it far enough, and you’ll come to the ruins of the Achaian camp just at the place where the shoreline turns towards the east. Keep following it to the east, and you’ll be in Troy. It shouldn’t take more than three days, and the walking will help keep your vile desires in check!”          With that, she grabbed her sister’s hand and started tugging her away. The younger sister waved at them sadly as she was pulled around a corner and out of sight.          Ariadne turned towards Atalanta and found her staring at her uncertainly. “Was there lust in your eyes?” she asked.          Ariadne could feel her face growing hot. “No, of course not! I was just trying to play the part of a wealthy young man correctly, that’s all!”          “But weren’t you claiming to be a gelding?”          Ariadne grimaced. “Let’s just go. We have a *long* walk ahead of us.”          Atalanta frowned, looking puzzled. “Shouldn’t we get some food to take with us?” she suggested. “Or at least a bow for you, so we can hunt our own food?”          “Okay, *that* is a good idea,” Ariadne agreed. “There must be someone in town who’d be willing to trade a bow and a quiver of arrows for one of the trinkets we still have from Ziza’s chamber.”          It took much longer than Ariadne expected, but they were eventually able to make the trade. It wasn’t the finest bow she’d ever seen—not even a particularly good one, in fact—but it would do. Then they finally set out walking, headed along the coast as directed.          “Is this really a good idea?” Atalanta asked, once Pedasos was distant behind them. “What if someone finds out who our fathers were? My father was the city’s biggest enemy, and yours was directly responsible for the Achaian army finally getting through the gates.”          Ariadne had to stop walking and take several deep breaths before she could reply. “Atalanta, for the last time, our fathers *were not* Achaian princes.”          “No, yours is a king.”          “For the gods’ sake, you know what I meant!” Ariadne snapped. “They were liars claiming to be famous warriors so they could take advantage of our gullible idiot of a master!”          “That’s not true,” Atalanta said, looking disappointed. “My mother—”          “Your mother was even more gullible than our former master,” Ariadne said, trying to keep her voice from being *too* harsh. “She was the sweetest person around, but too trusting for her own good. My mother had no delusions about what a liar my father was.” With that, she started walking again.          Atalanta hurried after her. “But why would our mothers have allowed liars to…um…make us…?”          “Because our mothers were slaves, and slaves are expected to allow their masters and their masters’ guests to do whatever they want with them.” Ariadne shook her head. “That’s why we had to escape, to keep the same thing from happening to us.”          “But—”          “If it’s any consolation,” Ariadne went on, “even *my* mother admitted that your father was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, so your mother at least had *that* excuse.”          “Not really,” Atalanta said. “But—I’m sorry, Ariadne, you’re wrong. They were exactly who they said they were. I *know* they were. Besides, couldn’t you *feel* it?”          “Feel what?” Ariadne asked, glancing over at Atalanta as they continued walking.          “The joy coming from the ocean itself when we set sail,” Atalanta said, as if that was the most natural and obvious thing in the world. “It was my grandmother watching over me. I *know* it was.”          Ariadne grimaced. “Atalanta, even if your father really *was* Achilles, it wouldn’t—do you honestly think a Nereid as powerful as Thetis would even bother *noticing* if her son happened to impregnate a mere slave girl, let alone watch over the resulting child?”          Atalanta bit her lip. “She would if I was a boy…” she said sullenly.          “Maybe.” Ariadne didn’t actually believe that, not in the least, but she knew that a small concession would be all Atalanta needed to give up on that line of utterly pointless conversation.          Unfortunately, they weren’t walking in silence for long before Atalanta spoke again. “I still think we could be in trouble if we go to the city,” she said. “Shouldn’t we just go to place the where the camp was and wait for the next ship to come by?”          Ariadne frowned. That *might* actually be possible. From the chatter she had heard in the master’s—the king’s—megaron over the years, Achaian ships regularly came to visit the site where their camp had stood for ten long years, paying tribute to the graves of all the fallen warriors. And even if an Achaian ship *didn’t* show up anytime soon, there would be plenty of ships sailing through the Dardanelles. The new Troy wasn’t the major trading center the old one had been in Priam’s day, but it attracted enough traffic to be talked of in Methymna again. Not to mention all the ships making their way from Hattusa towards Achaian, Egyptian and Phoenician ports; there was no way from the one to the others without sailing right past that campsite.          “Maybe so,” she agreed. “We’ll see how things look when we get there.”          Atalanta smiled happily, and they walked on in merciful silence. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->coast]]

By the time they came to a stop at the end of the first day walking along the Trojan coastline, Atalanta was exhausted, but excited. As she helped Ariadne hunt and cook their dinner, Atalanta couldn’t help thinking about all the things they would be seeing tomorrow. Imagine setting foot in the camp where her father had lived for ten years! And she would finally get to pay her respects to his remains, too, a thought which was as sobering as it was thrilling.          No matter how much Ariadne claimed not to believe that Odysseus was her father, Atalanta still envied her to have one living parent. Neither girl would ever see their mothers again, and Atalanta’s father had died before she was even born. But all Ariadne would need to do would be to find passage to Ithaca and she’d be able to meet *her* father. Nothing would ever let Atalanta meet her own father. All she had of him were the many contradictory stories she had heard about him. Her mother had described a beautiful prince swaddled in misery at all the dear companions he had lost to the war. Achaian sailors who visited Methymna talked about the mightiest and noblest warrior who ever fought on any battlefield. And the people from Anatolia…they talked about a merciless beast who slaughtered innocent civilians as readily as hardened warriors on the field of battle. And because she could never meet him, Atalanta would never know which was the *true* Achilles.          They slept that night in the shelter of a ruined house—not a full destroyed town, just a little outpost—with a crackling fire nearby. Although they slept cuddled up for warmth, Atalanta felt both cold and lonely as she woke in the morning. She couldn’t remember her dreams, but they must have been awful, because she found tears running down her cheeks as she awoke. Thankfully, Ariadne hadn’t woken up yet, so she was able to rub the tears away without worrying her.          After a light breakfast consisting of the meager leavings from the night before, they set off walking again, and Atalanta did her best to contain her excitement and curiosity about getting to see the Achaian camp. She must not have been doing a very good job, because Ariadne eventually snapped at her that the camp was burned down before they were even born, so there wouldn’t be anything left but the burial mounds where they had left the remains of their many dead.          The rebuke stung enough that Atalanta didn’t speak again until Ariadne announced that it was about midday, so they should have something to eat.          “There’s a bit of a river over there,” Atalanta said, pointing ahead of them. “I’ll catch us some fish so you don’t have to waste any arrows.”          “I was able to get the other arrows back, you know,” Ariadne sighed, even as Atalanta started jogging towards the river. “And just how do you think you can catch a fish? You don’t have any fishing nets!”          “I thought my hands?” Atalanta said, stopping to turn and look at her cousin as Ariadne started laughing. “Is that not how it’s done?”          “Oh, some people might be able to, but…” She shook her head. “Well, *you* might be able to do it, maybe, but most people use a net.”          “I’d try my spear, but I’m afraid it’d break.”          “The haft does look like it’s a bit rotten, so it probably would,” Ariadne agreed.          “So I’m going to use my hands,” Atalanta said, smiling. “Shouldn’t take long!”          She ran off and was soon wading into the river, ready to pounce on the first fish to come near her.          No matter what other people did, Atalanta knew she could do it. As soon as a fish came near her, she would be able to grab it easily.          Apparently, the fish knew that, too, because none of them came anywhere near close enough for her to try it. In fact, eventually Ariadne shot down another bird for them to eat. While they were sitting around a little fire to cook it, Ariadne sighed, and looked northwards along the coast. “I wonder how much further it is,” she mused.          “You’re getting excited, too, right?”          “My legs are so sore I can barely walk.”          “Oh.” Atalanta sighed. Her legs were hurting a bit, too, she had to admit. She had never walked so far or for so long at a single stretch before. “I don’t think it’s too much further.” She bit her lip. “At least, I hope not.”          “Gods, I’m glad you’re tired, too. If it was just me…”          “I think I’m better off than you are, but I’m not in any state to carry you,” Atalanta said, with a weak laugh. “How often do you think ships come to visit the ruins of the Achaian camp?”          Ariadne shrugged. “I’d expect it depends. Judging by what I heard from the king’s guests, I think any cities that lost a really important nobleman tend to instruct their ships to stop and pay tribute at his grave whenever they sail the nearby waters, but I don’t know how often *that* happens.”          Atalanta laid back, looking up at the cloudless blue sky. “If we do find a ship there, and they’re willing to take us to Hellas…where would you want to go? I mean, if wishing could make just the right ship be there, what ship would you want?”          “Ugh, I don’t *care*,” Ariadne said, almost growling. “I just want to get as far from Methymna as I can.”          “Yeah.” Even though she had known Ariadne wouldn’t say she wanted to go to Ithaca, she was still sort of disappointed that she hadn’t. “But there really isn’t anywhere you’d like to see?”          “I don’t know.” A bit of a pause. “The bird’s almost done cooking. Sit up.”          Atalanta obeyed the order with great relish, and they were soon eating the puny thing. It was tough meat and unevenly cooked, but the very fact that Ariadne had caught and cooked it made it taste so much better!          “I guess,” Ariadne suddenly said, when they were almost done eating, “I might like to visit one of Athene’s cult centers. Or see one of the festivals they hold in her honor in Athens or someplace.”          “That sounds good,” Atalanta agreed. “Let’s try to do that.”          Ariadne smiled, and nodded. “Once we’re in Hellas, we should be able to travel freely as a bard and a spear for hire. As long as you let me do all the talking.”          Atalanta frowned. “I don’t want to have to hold my tongue the rest of my life. Can’t we claim to be Amazons?”          “Not unless we can get some Amazon armor.” Ariadne paused. “Or just Amazon clothing, really. The armor we could say was obtained in Hellas and that’s why it’s Achaian in design. You don’t really fight like an Amazon, though. You’re not so good with a bow.”          “I’m not *bad* with one.”          “But Amazons specialize in them.” Ariadne frowned. “But maybe that could be why we left them, because you weren’t good enough to join them in battle. I’d want to learn more about them before we tried that lie, though. There’s a lot I don’t know; I’d just make a fool of myself if we claimed to be Amazons right now. I’m not even sure precisely where Themiscyra *is*. Somewhere in Scythia, I think, but that’s pretty vague.”          Atalanta nodded, with a weak laugh. “Then again, maybe I *do* want to hold my tongue for the rest of my life. If *you’re* worried you’d say something foolish, then what would *I* do?”          “Depend on me to fix your mistakes, like usual,” Ariadne said, with a light laugh, even as she took hold of one of Atalanta’s hands. “Hurry up and finish eating. We’ll want to start walking again soon.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->much later]]

         Atalanta was definitely ready to stop walking when she caught sight of the ship in the distance. It looked like it was headed inland, so it was going in the wrong direction to take them to Hellas…          …or so she thought, but as they kept walking, the ship just stayed exactly where it was. “Is that ship not moving?” Atalanta asked, looking over at Ariadne.          “It looks like it’s been beached,” Ariadne agreed.          “You think it’s an Achaian ship that’ll take us back with them?”          “It doesn’t look like an Achaian ship, not exactly.” Ariadne frowned. “I’ve seen ships like that in the harbor at Methymna, but I’m not sure where they hailed from. One of the other islands, I think.”          “But if they’ve landed at the camp, they *must* be Hellenes, right?”          Ariadne just shrugged, and kept walking in silence. Atalanta kept silent, too, but her mind was jumping with all the possibilities. Maybe they were sent by some of her father’s kin to leave an offering at his grave! Or maybe they were from—          “We should be careful,” Ariadne said. “According to some of the rumors, a few of the dead princes were buried with great wealth. They might be here to loot the graves.”          “Do people do that?” Atalanta asked, appalled.          “It’s a real problem in Egypt,” Ariadne said. “I don’t know about elsewhere.”          Atalanta couldn’t believe that *at all*, but Ariadne started recounting a tale she had heard from one of the master’s guests who had just been in Egypt, so maybe it was true. But wouldn’t that put her father’s bones in terrible jeopardy? All the Achaians she had ever talked to in the agora in Methymna asserted that his bones had been buried in a solid gold amphora! If that ship belonged to grave robbers…!          Without really meaning to, Atalanta found herself walking faster, and soon enough the campsite came into view. Though it had been burned down seventeen years ago, a few bits of wood from the wall that had been around the camp stuck up out of the ground here and there, and there was still debris littering the soil and the nearby beach.          More importantly, the sailors off that ship were all sitting around a large fire in the middle of where the camp used to be. They were mostly unarmed, dressed more or less like any normal Hellene. But did that mean her father’s grave was safe? Ariadne only *just said* that it was other Egyptians who were looting the tombs of their dead kings…          After pondering it for a moment, Atalanta couldn’t wait. She ran up to the nearest sailor, an older man who was looking at her as though she was the most astonishing thing he had ever seen. “Where—where’s the grave?” she asked, ignoring Ariadne calling out to her to wait. “Where’s Achilles buried?”          That set most of the other men to laughing. “What are boys as young as you two doing out alone and unsupervised?” the older man asked. “You’re not even ephebes yet…”          “No we’re, um, we’re ge—”          “Our father had us castrated to protect himself from a prophecy,” Ariadne said around panting breaths as she arrived at Atalanta’s side. “That’s why we had to run away from home. But please forgive my brother’s rudeness in—”          “There’s nothing rude about asking to see a hero’s grave,” the older man said. “It’s just over there,” he went on, pointing north towards the sea. “Largest mound there. I helped build it myself.”          “Thank you!” Atalanta said, her heart set to rest knowing that this old man was one of her father’s former comrades and not some vile grave robber.          As she set off running in the direction he had indicated, she thought she heard some of the other men saying something, but she wasn’t sure. Still, as she ran through the ruined camp, she did wish she had something to offer as a libation at the side of the barrow. It would only be right, after all. But hopefully her father would forgive her for not having anything to leave him as an offering. She’d only just escaped slavery, after all!          As she came to the end of the burnt-out remains of the camp, Atalanta spotted the large mound of earth that was her father’s tomb. It was surrounded by smaller mounds, but as the old man had said, it dwarfed them all. Atalanta had heard the stories, of course, that her father had insisted that his bones be buried in the same vessel that contained the bones of his best friend, Patroclos. But looking at the size of the mound, she was a little surprised that it wasn’t being used for a lot more than just two bodies! It was big enough to contain funerary urns for at least four or five dozen!          More surprising than the size of the grave, however, was the fact that there was already someone standing at it. He was an enormous man, at least a head and a half taller than she was. Nearly all Atalanta could see of him was the enormous rectangular shield that he wore on his back, which looked to have been very well crafted, and also showed the scars of many years of continual use. The top of his helmet was only barely visible above the top of his shield—mostly just its elaborate plumed crest, in fact—and it seemed to have been even more elaborately made than his shield. He was simply standing there, staring at the mound. However, as Atalanta—and Ariadne catching up behind her—approached, the man turned to look at them curiously, revealing that he wasn’t simply taller than Atalanta, but also much wider, nearly twice as wide as she was. Like Atalanta, he wore a heavy bronze cuirass, but unlike hers, his was quite elaborate; not only was the bronze highly polished, but it had been decorated here and there with designs of stars applied in silver to the bronze. He smiled at them warmly, and somehow just looking at him convinced Atalanta that was probably a very nice man. He had dark eyes, and a very friendly smile, and looked like he was probably only a few years older than they were.          “You must be the ones I’m waiting for,” he said. His voice was slow and methodical, but genial.          “We didn’t come here to meet anyone,” Ariadne answered warily.          The man laughed. “No, of course not. But I did.”          “Huh?” Atalanta had meant to say something else—maybe ask if he had come on that ship on the beach—but that had been the only thing she could produce.          “I dreamed of my father’s shade,” the man said, still speaking slowly. His words gave Atalanta a lumping feeling in the pit of her stomach. No! This man *couldn’t* be the son of Achilles! He didn’t look anything like her! If *he* was a son of Achilles…then how could *she* be his daughter? “He said he couldn’t rest. Because he was…” The man frowned, and scratched his head under his helmet. “Uneasy?” he suggested, though Atalanta wasn’t sure who he was asking.          “And your father is buried here?” Ariadne asked. Atalanta thought she sounded just a little too eager to hear him say ‘yes.’          But thankfully the man shook his head. “Over there. On the beach,” he said, pointing to a spot to the south, between the ship and where they stood. “I kept dreaming it. Over and over again. My father wants revenge.”          “Revenge?” Atalanta repeated. “On…Achilles?” Did that mean this man was a Trojan, despite his Achaian armor?          He laughed, and shook his head. “No. Mostly on Odysseus.” Ariadne twitched slightly, but said nothing. “Because my father was never…he never…” The man sighed sadly, and shook his head. “I went to an oracle. She told me to come here. She said to make an offering to Achilles and Patroclos and Antilochos. Then *they* would come.”          “They?” Atalanta asked breathlessly. Would the oracle confirm what she had always known to be true, what Ariadne had been denying?          “The ones who would help me avenge my father,” the man said. “That must be you.” He smiled at them warmly.          “Um…” Atalanta looked to Ariadne helplessly. What were they supposed to do about this?          “Just what kind of revenge do you want?” Ariadne asked. “I wouldn’t necessarily be averse to helping you avenge your father’s honor against the memory of a dead man, but Odysseus was still alive the last I heard of him, and he’s a king, on top of everything else. I’m not joining a total stranger on a suicide mission, no matter how honorable his reasons may be.”          He smiled, shaking his head again. “It’s not like that,” he assured her.          “Then what *is* it like?” Ariadne prompted.          “I don’t know. But my father was a good man. He would not want me to hurt his friend,” he said, still speaking slowly, and nodding his head as he spoke. Atalanta found his answer confusing, though. Why would one of Odysseus’ friends want vengeance on him? And…          “What does any of that have to do with my—with Achilles?” she asked, unable to hold the question back.          The man hesitated, his brow furrowing. “It was…” He stopped speaking almost immediately, and let out a deep sigh. “Their rivalry was never settled. My father is still seen as second best. That, too, is why he cannot rest. He wants people to know he was just as good as Achilles.”          “No one was as good as Achilles!” Atalanta exclaimed.          “I think you just proved his father’s shade’s point,” Ariadne chuckled. “But what, exactly, are you expecting us to do for you?” she asked.          “The oracle did not say,” the man admitted. “Except that we would travel together.”          “Well, if that’s your ship on the beach, we *could* use a ride to a city,” Atalanta said. “But I still want to know what makes you think your father could have been as good as Achilles!”          Ariadne sighed. “I think you’re focusing on the wrong thing here, *brother*.”          Atalanta grimaced. “Then…*what*? What do *you* want to focus on?”          “I think we need to sit down somewhere and have a nice long talk about all of this. I’m not agreeing to *anything* until I understand what’s going on.”          “Um…but…I wanted to spend some time here,” Atalanta said. Or possibly she whined it; it did sound a bit whiny on the inside. “I don’t have anything to offer as a libation, but—”          “There is still some left in here,” the man said, bending to pick up a small, single-handled amphora off the ground. “I used it for my own graveside libations.”          Atalanta smiled. “You’ll let me use the rest?”          He nodded, and handed the amphora over to her. It felt like it was probably about half-full still. Plenty to offer up to her father’s grave.          “Well, while you’re wasting time and wine on *that*, I think the *adults* need to have a nice long talk together so I can know just what this man is asking us to do,” Ariadne said sternly.          “You don’t sound like an adult,” the man laughed. “Unless you’re an Amazon.”          Atalanta couldn’t help laughing at that.          “Yes, you’re quite funny,” Ariadne said, glaring at him.          “I apologize,” he said, smiling again. “My crew will be glad to provide you with food while we talk. To make up for my rudeness.”          Before anyone else could say anything, Ariadne’s stomach growled loudly, making Atalanta laugh again. “Yes, well…I suppose that might be nice,” Ariadne said, her voice shaking slightly. “But I can’t accept the hospitality of a man who won’t even provide me with his *name*.”          “Eurysakes,” he said, smiling and extending a hand towards them in a friendly manner. “Son of Aias Telamoniades.”          Atalanta couldn’t help staring in shock. His father was Telamonian Aias, one of the most famous of all the Achaian warriors, second only to her own father in might?! Of course his father’s shade was restless over being still known as only second best! Their rivalry had been legendary! But she did wonder what his grudge against Odysseus could be. For that matter, she’d never even heard how Aias of Salamis had met his death. Aias of *Locris* had a very famous—and ignominious!—death, but Aias of Salamis…no rumor had ever reached her ears. She had heard he had died shortly after her father, but…she had never heard *how*. Such parentage certainly explained the sheer size of the man in front of them, though. Aias, son of Telamon, had been an enormous man, according to all the tales she had ever heard of him.          “You can’t expect us to believe that,” Ariadne said coldly.          “Don’t be so rude!” Atalanta practically shrieked.          “It’s all right,” Eurysakes said, smiling sadly. “It only makes sense. But with the way my father died…who would claim him as a father falsely?”          Ariadne tilted her head to one side. “I never heard any details of his death. It wasn’t in the same battle as Achilles?”          Eurysakes looked down at his feet and shook his head. “I still remember it. The outcry in the camp. I…I don’t remember my father. Just…the day he was found dead…”          Atalanta put a hand on his arm comfortingly. “It’s all right. You don’t have to try to talk about it,” she assured him, despite how desperately she wanted to know how the mighty Aias had met his untimely end. Especially since Aias had been a grandson of Aiakos, just like Achilles. That made Eurysakes her cousin!          “Thank you,” Eurysakes said, smiling at her. Then he just kept looking at both of them, rather expectantly. “Um…your names?” he finally asked, even more slowly than everything else he had said so far.          “Oh!” Atalanta exclaimed, before laughing nervously. She’d gotten so caught up in everything, she had completely forgotten about introducing herself! (And, in her own defense, it wasn’t like she was used to meeting new people! The master hadn’t gotten new slaves in *years*.) “I’m Ata—” she started to say.          “My brother’s name is Atleus,” Ariadne interrupted hastily, “and I am Arios.”          There was something almost condescending about the way Eurysakes smiled in reaction to their names, but it didn’t feel mean, exactly. Atalanta wasn’t sure what it was. “Where are you from?” he asked, after a moment.          “We’re from mind-your-own-affairs-opolis,” Ariadne said, scowling at him.          “That is not very hospitable.”          Ariadne cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Maybe I’ll go hunt up some food while Atleus wastes time here,” she announced.          “Don’t do that,” Eurysakes said, putting a hand on her shoulder, which Ariadne instantly shoved away as if it was poisonous. “We have a great plenty. Please accept our food. I will not pry again.”          Atalanta nodded. “Yeah, go on, Arios. I’ll follow you as soon as I’m done here.”          Ariadne didn’t look pleased about it, but did walk over towards the sailors, letting out a small sigh as she did so. Eurysakes followed her after nodding his head pleasantly at Atalanta. She knew she *ought* to be worried about leaving Ariadne alone with so many men, but she was sure that she could trust Eurysakes. After all, he was her cousin! [[Stay with Atalanta->grave visit]] [[Follow Ariadne->grave info]]

[[<img src="ch2-much later.jpg" width="750" height="563">->campsite1]]

Finally alone with her father’s funerary mound, Atalanta removed her helmet and set it down by her feet, along with her spear. She opened the wine only to find herself immediately almost overpowered by the bouquet rising from within. This was *really* strong wine, even stronger than the unmixed stuff at the king’s palace! Where *had* he gotten it from?          Regardless of the wine’s origin, she poured some of it out onto the side of the mound as a libation, very near the wet spot where Eurysakes had been pouring some out before they arrived. Almost immediately, she felt as though she really *did* have his attention; a warm, friendly wariness seemed to emanate from the barrow in front of her. “Father,” she said, keeping her voice low, just in case anyone was in earshot, “if you really are my father, no, I *know* you are! I…I wish I could have met you. My mother always had such wonderful things to say about you, even though she only knew you for a few hours. She…um…she’s in the house of Hades now, too. But I guess you probably know that. I…I want to live up to your illustrious example, but…it’s a lot harder to do that as a girl. So, for right now, I have to pretend to be a boy. Or a gelding.” She cleared her throat uncomfortably. She still didn’t quite understand any of that stuff. “If that man is really the son of Aias, then I’m sure he doesn’t want to do anything to disrespect your memory. But if he isn’t, and he does, then I promise I won’t let him. Please…if you can…watch over me. Or at least just watch me. I want to make you proud, as proud as I’ve been to consider myself your daughter.”          She felt like there was probably more she should say, but she couldn’t think of it—she had never had Ariadne’s gift with words, after all—so she just stood there in silence, trying to come up with something else at least vaguely appropriate to say. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->campsite2]]

Though she was uneasy about it for more reasons than she could count, Ariadne did her best to keep her discomfort from showing on her face as she walked back to the fire where the sailors were cooking some admittedly delicious-smelling food. There were about thirty sailors, plus the older man Atalanta had spoken to earlier—the captain of the ship, presumably—and that suspicious Eurysakes character she could hear following her all too closely. Against thirty-two men, what could she possibly do to defend herself if things went awry? They weren’t armed—and aside from Eurysakes, none of them even had on armor—but their sheer numbers would put an end to Ariadne (or her virginity) all too easily, and even Atalanta would have trouble saving herself from such overwhelming numbers, surely.          “You look terribly nervous,” the captain commented as Ariadne took a seat by the fire. “Is something wrong?”          “Not at all,” Ariadne told him with her best smile. “I’m just distressed that my brother wants to waste good wine on the grave of an ordinary dead man.” She let out an uncomfortable laugh as she saw the anger on the faces of the sailors. “Though I do wonder why a single man would have such a huge barrow. It looks like it ought to hold the bones of a few dozen men,” she went on, saying the first thing that came to mind in the hopes of distracting them.          “It holds three,” Eurysakes told her. “Achilles’ bones were placed in the same vessel with those of Patroclos. His lover,” he added, as if he seriously expected her not to know who Patroclos was, despite how famous Achilles’ overreaction to his death was. “And their friend Antilochos was also buried there. He died the day before Achilles.”          “He must have been a very close friend if he was put in the same grave with him,” Ariadne couldn’t help commenting, setting aside the whole Patroclos issue, since Atalanta thought it was terribly sweet that Achilles had wanted to share a grave with his ‘best friend.’ “Was he even of the same station?”          “Patroclos? No, he was of much lower rank, but—” the captain started.          “The other man,” Ariadne said, shaking her head. “My brother idolizes Achilles enough that I’ve heard endless talk of Patroclos.”          The captain chuckled, and nodded. “Of course,” he said. “Antilochos was the youngest prince among the Achaian army, one of the sons of Nestor, the King of Pylos. They had been all but inseparable throughout the war: Antilochos was always to be found with Achilles and Patroclos.” He laughed sadly. “Honestly, most of us were quite sure he was in love with Achilles. And maybe after Patroclos died…well, it hardly matters now.” He shook his head, then chuckled. “Anyway, Eurysakes is actually a bit mistaken.”          “Mistaken?” Eurysakes repeated, sitting down much too close to Ariadne. “How?”          “There are more than three men in that barrow.” He let out a deep sigh. “I suppose your uncle has never told you much about Patroclos’ funeral?”          “Only that my father—” Eurysakes stopped speaking suddenly, a choking sound in his throat, as if his own words were toxic to him. “My father acquitted himself well in the funeral games,” he said, his forehead wrinkling uneasily.          “So, nothing about the funeral itself.”          “He said it was the finest that had been seen at that time. That none but Achilles’ own surpassed it.”          The captain laughed. “Very true,” he agreed. “Many were incensed by the grandeur of Patroclos’ funeral, in fact. Ialmenos in particular; his brother Ascalaphos died in the same battle, but his funeral was ignored entirely in all the commotion caused by Achilles mourning his lover.” He chuckled. “I had to admit that Ialmenos was right that a king and son of Ares should get a more grand funeral than a man who was barely even of noble birth, and yet…Patroclos was a much better man than Ascalaphos was, in every other way.” He smiled. “I suppose I am slightly biased, as someone who came here in service of the sons of Telamon, and therefore spent much time with their cousin Achilles, and yet…I don’t think there were many who fought in the war who would argue with me. For that matter, you could have asked the *Trojans* and they likely would have said the same thing!”          There was silence for a moment, in which Eurysakes removed his helmet, revealing his dark hair and encroaching sideburns. “What mistake did I make?” he asked.          “At the funeral, Achilles sacrificed twelve Trojan prisoners to Patroclos, to serve as an honor guard of slaves on his journey to the house of Hades,” the captain said. “Their bones are still there, in the walls of the barrow.”          “That’s disgusting!” Ariadne exclaimed. “Human sacrifice?! And to a *mortal*?!”          “It was war,” the captain said. “A war such as a youth like yourself cannot imagine. And we had already been assailed by that war for nine long years. We were all a bit mad with it, if I am being honest. No one thought anything of Achilles’ actions at the time, but looking back on it now, yes, I agree it was an awful thing to do.”          “Awful doesn’t begin to describe it,” Ariadne said icily. After what those Thracians would have done to Atalanta…          Eurysakes nodded. “Unconscionable,” he agreed. Well, at least he had a decent moral compass where wholesale slaughter of innocents was concerned. Since Atalanta would now be convinced he was also her cousin, that was important…          “I’m glad you feel that way, young master,” the captain said, smiling at Eurysakes fondly, even as the youth blushed. “Your kindness is a great comfort to your uncle.” He sighed sadly. “I wish I could say that you’ve now heard the extent of the bones in that barrow, but…”          “By all the gods, there are *more* of them?” Ariadne exclaimed. “What, more Trojan prisoners were sacrificed at Achilles’ funeral, too?”          “No, not at his funeral.” The captain looked away from her angry gaze. “After the city fell…I don’t know if it was true or not, but allegedly Achilles’ shade appeared to—after all these years, I’m not sure if it was the assembly of princes, or Agamemnon, or just to his son, but the story went that his shade appeared to *someone*, and demanded his share of the loot. In the form of Priam’s daughter, Polyxena.”          “You didn’t. You *couldn’t* have!”          “It was not my choice, young man,” the captain assured her. “I had nothing to do with it, in fact. No one wished it, except perhaps Neoptolemos. But we were told that Achilles’ shade would wreck our fleet if the girl wasn’t sent to join him in the house of Hades.”          “And yet your fleet was wrecked *anyway*,” Ariadne pointed out, with considerable satisfaction.          “Yes, that was because of—”          “I know why,” Ariadne assured him. Locrian ships sometimes stopped in Methymna on the way to or from Troy, after all. The story made the rounds of the king’s palace regularly.          “I agree it was an awful, unforgivable thing,” the captain sighed. “As I said, no one wished it. Poor Polyxena was a beautiful, frightened, young girl. Any one of us would gladly have traded our lives for hers, but what could we do? Neoptolemos was the definition of terror. He had his father’s looks and skill with a blade, but could be a thousand times more cruel. If you had been unfortunate enough to see him come out of the Trojan palace, gleeful even though he was covered head-to-toe in blood…” The man shuddered. “I still see the sight in my nightmares.”          “This is not very hospitable,” Eurysakes said after a moment. “Arios will not want to share our food now.”          “No, I’m hungry enough to eat anything,” Ariadne assured him, with a weak smile. “And my brother will be, too. But…don’t tell him any of this. He grew up all but worshipping Achilles. He would be crushed to learn any of this.” She laughed. “Except, I suppose, about Antilochos.” That part was only flattering to Achilles, after all. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->campsite2]]

As Atalanta headed over towards the campfire, her helmet and spear in one hand and the amphora in the other, she spotted the old sailor holding some food out towards Ariadne, and felt her own hunger growing within her, causing her to speed up her footsteps. Her approach attracted the man’s attention, his eyes widened, and the food slipped out of his fingers. Thankfully, Ariadne was able to catch it, but the sailor didn’t even notice, getting to his feet, staring at Atalanta in disbelief.          “By all the gods…” His words were barely spoken, almost more of an exhalation. “Are you flesh or spirit?”          “Huh?” Atalanta looked around to see if there was some ghostly eidolon behind her. “Who, me?” she asked, looking back at the man when she saw no one else around.          “My brother is as normal and fleshly as any one of us here,” Ariadne insisted, rising to take a position in between Atalanta and the sailor. “Why would you say any different?”          The sailor ignored her, and turned to look at Eurysakes. “If you have ever wondered what Achilles looked like the day your father met him, the sight stands here before us,” he said, gesturing towards Atalanta. “Except that he wore far finer armor.”          Eurysakes stood up and walked over to stand next to the old man, peering at Atalanta in curiosity. “What does it mean?” he asked, though Atalanta wasn’t sure who he was addressing.          “That story about being eunuchs castrated by a jealous father was just a lie, wasn’t it?” the old man said, looking at Ariadne. “You boys are just as young as you sound, aren’t you? Where did you come from?”          Atalanta’s jaw began to tremble, and she looked at Ariadne hopefully. She didn’t like the idea of having to lie at all, but especially not to a man of her own blood and those who were devoted to his service!          “Do you always question your guests so?” Ariadne asked, looking at him through narrowed eyes.          “Deception is hardly the proper behavior from a guest,” the old man countered.          “That’s enough, Eutychos,” Eurysakes said, with a stern look on his face.          “No, it is not,” the older man replied. “Your uncle charged me to watch your back, and I will not be remiss in a duty assigned me by the king I followed into exile.” He turned his hard gaze back towards Atalanta. “I will know who you *really* are and why you look like the very shade of Achilles.”          “I think we should tell him the truth,” Atalanta said quietly, setting a hand on Ariadne’s shoulder. “It’s only right.”          “You know what the consequences of that could be,” Ariadne hissed back at her.          “We can trust them,” Atalanta insisted. “I *know* we can.”          Ariadne’s body began to tremble slightly underneath Atalanta’s fingertips. She glanced briefly at Atalanta’s face, then looked back at the old man, Eutychos. “Fine, we will trust *you* and you *alone*. Not your men.”          Eutychos nodded, and gestured them to follow him back towards the graves. “We might as well trust Eurysakes, too,” Atalanta whispered to Ariadne as they followed him. “If we’re going to be traveling with him, you know? And he’s my cousin, too, after all—”          “Don’t say *one word* about that,” Ariadne snapped at her. “And let me do all the talking.”          “But—”          “I’ll tell the truth,” Ariadne assured her, with a warm smile, “but they don’t need to know our entire life stories.”          “Well, no, but—”          “Just let me decide what’s too much information.”          Atalanta nodded. It was for the best, of course it was. Ariadne always knew what was best. Even if maybe sometimes—like now—it didn’t feel totally right…          “All right, explain yourselves,” Eutychos said, as he took up a position beside the enormous barrow that held all that remained of Atalanta’s father. “Here where these great heroes may listen in and judge the honesty of your words.”          Ariadne nodded, clearly undaunted by the prospect. “I expect you will keep this completely in confidence,” she said. “Our lives are in jeopardy if anyone else should learn some of this.”          “I keep no secrets from the king and the prince, but I will tell no one else, you have my word on that,” Eutychos replied.          “The prince?” Atalanta asked, tilting her head to one side. He had implied he was in service to Aias’ surviving half-brother, Teukros, who was now king of the new Salamis in Cypros, but the last rumor Atalanta had heard said Teukros only had a daughter.          “Until such time as King Teukros has a son, Eurysakes remains his heir, and thus our prince,” Eutychos said. “Besides, he is by birth a prince of Salamis, as his father was, even if he lives in exile with his uncle.”          Ariadne frowned. “I’m not sure I like you telling even them, but I suppose under the circumstances it is acceptable.”          Atalanta had to bite her tongue to withhold an outburst asking how it could not be acceptable when both the men who would be let in on the secret were her blood relations.          After a moment’s pause, Ariadne let out a deep sigh before proceeding with her tale. “You’re right that we aren’t eunuchs—we aren’t boys at all, in fact. We were born into slavery on Lesbos, and on learning that our master was going to separate us, sending her to Thracians who would sacrifice her to barbarian gods and sending me off to the vile sexual service of an Aiolian horse-breeder—of course we *had* to escape! I won’t allow anything to happen to her,” Ariadne insisted, taking hold of Atalanta’s hand, “and I won’t allow any man to violate either of us.”          Eutychos just stared into Ariadne’s eyes for a long moment. “Where on Lesbos were you born?” he asked. “And when?”          “In Methymna,” Ariadne replied, “about half a year after your war ended.”          Surprisingly, that made Eutychos laugh. “I thought as much,” he said, with a quiet chuckle and a glance over at the barrow beside him. Atalanta felt her heart soar at that. He was acknowledging her as her father’s daughter, wasn’t he? Surely he *had* to be! “You hardly need to go to such extreme lengths to hide it,” he said. “Slaves run away every day, sometimes successfully.”          “Only sometimes?” Atalanta asked, despite herself.          “Most do not have your resourcefulness,” he said, with a warm smile. “But I don’t think you want to go about telling people you’re eunuchs. That will only cause you more trouble than it’s worth.”          “What else can we do, then?” Ariadne countered. “We can’t claim to be Amazons—I don’t know enough about them to make that lie convincing!”          “If you could meet some Amazons to learn from them, that would be your best solution,” Eutychos said, nodding his head. “In the meantime…just claiming to be barbarian boys from some distant land that lets its young men take to arms before they’re ephebes would probably be simplest. That or you could just admit to being warrior women. Such women are rare among Hellenes, but you find them among the Pelasgians.”          “Oh, I like that idea,” Atalanta said, nodding. “I hate having to claim to be a boy.”          “*You* are supposed to keep your mouth shut as much as possible and let me do the lying, remember?” Ariadne said, before letting out a miserable sigh. “For the moment, we’ll take the barbarian boy ruse. If our former master goes looking for us, he’ll be looking for girls, not boys.”          “Where did you get the armor from?” Eutychos asked. “Did you have it when you fled the palace?”          Ariadne flushed crimson, and nodded stiffly.          “We have many sets of Cypriot armor on board our ship,” he said. “We’ll provide you with new armor, so it won’t match what your former master will be looking for, should he happen to send people to search off the island.”          “Thank you!” Atalanta said, clasping his hand with both of hers, which strangely made him turn red. “We’ll never forget your generosity!”          “But in exchange, I expect you to help the prince with whatever task it is that oracle set him before he requested this trip,” Eutychos replied. “He is most determined to see it through, and told me that the gods were going to direct companions to meet him here beside this grave.”          “That’s fair, isn’t it, Ariadne?” Atalanta asked. She wanted to help him anyway, but surely this was something Ariadne would accept as a reason.          “I suppose it is,” Ariadne admitted.          “Ariadne?” Eutychos repeated, his voice on the edge of laughter.          Ariadne scowled. “I think our mothers were originally from Crete,” she lied. Atalanta didn’t think it was even a terribly convincing lie, but Eutychos seemed to accept it.          “And your real name is?” he asked, looking at Atalanta.          “Atalanta.” She smiled nervously, unsure if he would find her name just as funny.          “They might be seen as ill-omened names,” Eutychos commented, “but I’ve known worse.” He smiled warmly. “But come, let’s head back to the fire. I’ve kept you from the food for far too long.”          “Oh, thank you!” Atalanta felt as though her stomach was going to start eating her bones soon! [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->campsite3]]

While they were eating, Eutychos took Eurysakes aside and spent a long time talking to him. Of course he was telling the younger man the whole tale of their being girls and former slaves, but what *else* was he saying? He seemed to attach some significance to their having been born in Methymna, and Ariadne didn’t like that, not one bit. Perhaps those liars who fathered them had been infamous, or were captured soon after their visit to Methymna, or perhaps they had been attached the Achaian army in some minor way and had been exiled, with Methymna being their first stop on their way back to Hellas…?          Whatever Eutychos had told him, Eurysakes seemed quite cheerful when he returned to the group, and took his own share of the food, which he ate with an enthusiasm and in an amount that could only be matched by Atalanta’s. (That, Ariadne reflected dourly, would only further serve to convince Atalanta that she and this mountain of a man were somehow related by blood.)          “You never have explained to us what you want our help for,” Ariadne told Eurysakes, once the meal was winding down. “My brother here is determined to help you, but I dislike agreeing to anything without knowing just what I’m agreeing *to*.”          Eurysakes nodded. “It is not clear to me yet, either,” he admitted. “The oracle told me that our destinies would be made clear to us. As we traveled.”          “That’s very vague.”          “Oracles don’t deal with anything *other* than vagaries!” Eutychos laughed. “Well, except that *particular* oracle,” he added. “She likes to deal with certain very *firm* specifics…” His words made all the sailors laugh in a manner that seemed downright dirty, and made Eurysakes blush spectacularly. Ariadne had a sinking feeling she knew what that meant, and she felt absolutely filthy just at the very idea of it.          “Where, exactly, were you planning to travel *to*?” Ariadne asked, trying to ignore the lot of them. “Surely you don’t plan on boarding your ship and just sailing without destination.”          Eurysakes shook his head with a smile. “My uncle would never let me leave Cypros without a destination.” A look of discomfort crossed his face. “I suggested a trip to establish diplomatic relations. With the new king in Troy.”          “Surely your uncle has sent messengers there before!” Ariadne exclaimed, hardly able to believe the contrary. “Hasn’t he been on the throne for—well, since the city was rebuilt?”          “No. The current king has only ruled for about ten years.”          “Really?” Ariadne bit her lip, wondering how she had never heard about that. She’d have only been a little girl when the change happened, so of course she didn’t hear at the time, but she was surprised that no one had mentioned it at the king’s court since she had begun singing to entertain at the feasts.          Eutychos nodded. “When we sailed away, we left Aineias, the son of Aphrodite, in charge of the few survivors of his people.”          “Wait, why would *you* have been dictating anything?” Ariadne demanded. “The people who destroy a city don’t get to determine who’s in charge of the survivors!”          He coughed uncomfortably. “I gather that was one of the arguments made against his reign, yes.” Eutychos sighed sadly. “You must understand that by the final months of the war, everything was…rather nightmarish. Shortly after Achilles’ death, we captured Aineias, and Odysseus convinced him to cooperate with us. He knew—we *all* knew—that Aineias chafed at being viewed as lesser than Priam’s sons, even though he was a better man than all of them other than Hector, and Odysseus promised that if Aineias helped us bring the war to an end, then he and a certain percentage of his people would be spared slavery, so that the city could be rebuilt under Aineias’ rule.” He shook his head. “My dedication to the sons of Telamon forbids me from speaking kindly of Odysseus, but I doubt any other man could have coaxed a soul as stalwart as Aineias’ to turn on his own people like that.”          Ariadne was deeply curious to find out just what Odysseus had done—though she suspected it had to do with the mysterious circumstances of Aias’ death—but she didn’t think this was the right time to broach the subject. But she could also *feel* Atalanta struggling to find a way to ask, which was sure to turn into a disaster if Ariadne allowed it. “And you think the Trojans rebelled against this Aineias because of that, even though his mother was a goddess?”          “I don’t think it was a rebellion, precisely,” Eutychos said. “Rumors reached Cypros of the usurper threatening to raise an army to drive him out, but according to those rumors there was no violence.”          Eurysakes nodded. “My uncle mentions that often,” he told them. “That is why he will not treat with him. Because Aineias proved himself the true king. Because only he refused to set Trojans against Trojans.”          “And yet now he’s willing to treat with him?” Ariadne asked.          “I don’t think King Teukros was in the least bit fooled about Eurysakes’ intentions,” Eutychos laughed. “Our young prince here is like his father—his lies are pathetically earnest and obvious.”          “That is not complimentary,” Eurysakes said, giving him a cold glare.          “It is *affectionate*,” Eutychos assured him, “and entirely true.”          Eurysakes seemed about to start an argument, and Ariadne didn’t think she could listen to an argument at his slow pace without losing her mind, so she stepped in. “Then you *don’t* intend to go to Troy?” she asked.          “No, we sail for Troy at dawn,” Eurysakes assured her. “But I plan to remain there when the ship sails back to Cypros.”          “I entirely dislike leaving you behind,” Eutychos said, frowning.          “The oracle was clear,” Eurysakes replied. “We will not journey in the company of others from Salamis. There will be no envoys to complicate our travels.”          “And what do you plan to *do* in Troy?” Ariadne asked.          “Other than presenting my uncle’s gifts to the king?” Eurysakes shrugged. “I have no further plans. They will come in time. I have confidence in the oracle’s vision.”          “You must have given her a very *sizable* gift,” one of the sailors laughed, turning Eurysakes a deep crimson, cementing Ariadne’s disgusted conclusions about said oracle.          “Am I missing something?” Atalanta asked, leaning over to whisper in Ariadne’s ear.          “Nothing worth worrying about,” Ariadne assured her. Then she turned to look at Eutychos. “If we sail in the morning, where do we…pass the night?”          Eutychos frowned, and Eurysakes looked embarrassed by the question, but the rest of the sailors looked mystified, which was only natural, since they all thought the cousins were boys. “We typically sleep here around the fire when we camp,” Eutychos said. “If you would prefer not to sleep in company with the rest of us, you may sleep aboard our ship, or we could see if the remains of any of our huts still stand.”          Ariadne didn’t like any of those options, but Atalanta answered before she could say so. “We’ll be fine on the ship, right, Ari—Arios?”          Ariadne sighed. Not much point in arguing about it. “Yes, we will,” she agreed, much against her will. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->night on ship]]

[[<img src="ch2-night on ship.jpg" width="750" height="563">->campsite4]]

Sleeping aboard a ship—even a beached ship—felt very different from sleeping on her pallet back in the palace, or on the ground beside a campfire. From the way she was grumbling about it when they rose with the first light of dawn, Ariadne evidently hadn’t liked the experience, but Atalanta had found it invigorating. The sound of the waves was so peaceful and calming, warm and comforting like being a child again, enveloped in her mother’s arms and the gentle sound of her breathing.          They hopped back down off the ship (without even touching any of the fancy sets of armor among the piles of gifts for the king of Troy!) and headed over towards where the sailors were only just beginning to wake up. It wasn’t long before food was being prepared, and Atalanta took a seat beside Eurysakes to eat. “You said we were going to sail at first light, right?” she asked after a while.          “It’s a figure of speech,” Eutychos told her. “We’re beginning our preparations at first light, that’s all. The tide won’t cooperate for a short while yet. But I may need that time to find some armor among the gifts aboard that’s small enough to fit you two. And the prince will need a new sword, from among our own arms.”          “A new sword?” Ariadne looked at Eurysakes with a suspicious expression. “What happened to your old one?”          “We were attacked by sea-going bandits. It fell out of my hands. Into the ocean.” Eurysakes shook his head. “I hate to risk your lives for that. Perhaps the king’s return gifts will include a sword.”          “I’m sure you could ask him for one if it doesn’t,” Eutychos said. “He is quite desperate to get in your uncle’s good graces, so I’m sure he’d have one specially made for you if you asked.”          “I would not ask such a thing. Particularly of a Trojan.”          Eutychos frowned. “I fought alongside your father for ten long years, young master, and I can assure you that he held no ill will for the Trojan people themselves. And you should be ashamed of saying such a thing at all—you know your uncle’s mother was a Trojan!”          Eurysakes flushed, and looked down at his feet. “I know.”          “And you would not even exist without the war.”          “I know.” He looked back up at the older man, with a determination on his face. “But *that* Trojan…his father…”          “Yes, I can’t argue with *that*, but you must not say things casually that could hurt your uncle, not after all he’s done for you.”          “I’m sorry.”          Atalanta was bursting with curiosity to find out just who the new king’s father was—surely he wasn’t a secret son of Hector who had somehow survived the war’s end?—but it didn’t really feel like the right time to ask. Also that might have required her to stop eating, and she didn’t want to risk losing a bite of food—after all, who could know the next time she might have access to any!          Once everyone was done eating, the sailors headed back to the ship to get it ready to sail, and Eutychos asked Eurysakes if he had any business left in the camp. “I want to see my father’s grave again,” he said.          Eutychos nodded, and patted the younger man on the shoulder gently, though he had to reach up to do so. “That’s very proper of you. We still have some time before the tide.”          Eurysakes looked at Atalanta and Ariadne. “Will you accompany me?” he asked.          “Of course,” Atalanta answered, before Ariadne could refuse.          Eurysakes smiled at them with an almost painful relief, and turned towards the beach to the south of the camp’s remains. They followed him in silence for a moment before Ariadne glanced back at the other men. “I gathered from what was said last night that Telamon banished your uncle from original Salamis for some reason,” she said, looking back at Eurysakes, “but why did your uncle take you with him into exile?”          Eurysakes frowned. “I don’t know. I was still very young. But my mother is in Cypros now. With my uncle. No one was more devoted to my father than my uncle. He has never forgiven Odysseus.”          “Odysseus?” Ariadne repeated, sounding confused. Then a look of astonishment crossed her face. “Are you saying that Aias of Salamis was murdered by Odysseus?”          He shook his head. “No. But it was his fault. He didn’t mean for it to happen. I know that. But that changes nothing. My father would still live if not for Odysseus.”          “I’ve never heard a story like *that* before,” Ariadne said, sounding surprised. Atalanta wanted to believe that somewhere deep inside she was also hurt, but…probably not. Ariadne still refused to accept that their fathers had been telling the truth…          “It is not widely spoken of,” Eurysakes told her, with a small, bitter smile. “It does not reflect well on either of them. People remain silent out of respect.” <center> <img src="grave.png" width="220" height="355"></center>          For the rest of the walk, they remained silent, until they came to a small rock marker to one side of the beach, just off the sand and onto the nearby soil. It was surrounded by wild hyacinths, and at first glance Atalanta had taken it to be a perfectly normal, natural stone. But some lines had been carved onto the stone. Atalanta wasn’t sure what the person had been trying to draw, but it didn’t look like anything in particular to her. (Maybe a brazier?) “What are those lines?” she asked.          “That’s a letter,” Ariadne told her, crouching to look at the lines. “It says ‘Ai’.”          “You know how to read those?” Eurysakes asked, amazed. “How?”          “I spent a lot of time with the king’s scribes,” Ariadne said, with a laugh, even as she walked back over to stand beside Atalanta. “Whenever they got a written message from an Achaian king, they had the worst trouble trying to interpret what it said, and needed the help of someone who spoke the language better than they did. And that was usually me.”          “Because they were filthy men with filthy desires,” Atalanta grumbled. She remembered how those awful scribes would look at Ariadne!          “And they were cowardly weaklings who didn’t have the guts to act on their desires,” Ariadne assured her, giving her hand a warm squeeze before looking back at the stone marker. “Anyway, that definitely says ‘Ai.’ For Aias, I suppose?” She looked around at the grave, and the wide area where the hyacinths didn’t grow, an area about the size and shape of Eurysakes’ tower shield. “This is a large area,” she commented. “Too much for just an urn. And why isn’t there a barrow like for Achilles? For that matter, why weren’t his bones put into the same barrow *with* Achilles? Weren’t they cousins? If some unrelated fellow was buried there just because he was a good friend, why wouldn’t his cousin have been, too?”          Eurysakes made a soft choking noise, then fell to his knees in front of his father’s grave marker, weeping. At first, he seemed to be trying to talk, but neither girl pressed him for the information he was failing to pass along. Ariadne even looked a little guilty, so maybe she was done mistrusting him at last. If Atalanta had ever had any doubts about whether Eurysakes and his companions were telling the truth about his parentage, the sight of him weeping like that would have extinguished them forever. She wanted to fall to her knees beside him, weeping for the father who had died before she was even born, and tell him the whole truth about how she had been fathered by Achilles on the one night he spent in Lesbos in the final weeks of his life. But she didn’t have the courage to do that, even though she wanted desperately to tell him that she, too, knew some of his suffering, even if hers was nowhere near as great as his. But she also felt like she should be *sharing* some of his suffering; her father and his had been as closely related as she and Ariadne were! Whatever tragedy had befallen Aias at his end, Atalanta should rightfully have the same share of the sorrow of it as Eurysakes did. Or almost the same share, anyway. Especially because—based on what Eutychos had said as well as all the rumors, even if the rumors were never entirely clear and sometimes contradicted each other—she was quite sure that Achilles and Aias must have been very good friends as well as being eternal rivals. How could they not have been? Aias was supposed to have been one of the best men at Troy in kindness and goodness! Surely her father would have appreciated and loved him for it! What kind of man would not appreciate a fellow mortal who was kind and pure of soul?          Atalanta quickly lost track of how long Eurysakes spent crying at his father’s grave, all the more so since she spent most of it crying in sympathy with him, even though she had no idea what had happened to so traumatize him about his father’s death. When he finally stood again, and Atalanta hurriedly dried her eyes, she was a little shocked to notice that Ariadne seemed not to have shed a single tear, and in fact looked a little bit bored.          “I’m sorry,” Eurysakes said, as he turned to look at them. “I did not mean to lose control thus.”          “It’s all right,” Atalanta assured him. “Anyone would in your position.”          “You don’t even know what happened,” Ariadne pointed out.          “But it was obviously awful if it’s affected him that much after all this time!” Atalanta shook her head. “Besides, my father died before I was even born! So I know how painful it is to know that my father only exists as a miserable shade in the house of Hades!”          Ariadne sighed deeply. “Atalanta, *please* try not to bring your father into this.”          “I *am* trying,” she answered, aware that she was coming dangerously near a pout.          “Good. I’m sure Eurysakes doesn’t want to be burdened with your troubles as well as his own,” Ariadne continued, smiling.          “I don’t mind,” Eurysakes told them. “You are helping me with my troubles. My father’s troubles. I want to help with yours. If I can.”          “It’s not really anything that needs help,” Atalanta assured him with a sad smile. “It’s not as though my father can ever come back. And at least he…um…well…I don’t have any reason to think he’s not resting peacefully.”          Eurysakes looked as though he might still say something further, but before he said anything, his gaze suddenly became diverted elsewhere. Atalanta followed his gaze and found herself watching in surprise as a rainbow arched down out of the cloudless blue sky.          The rainbow continue to move downwards until it landed on the dirt of Aias’ grave, directly on the prints left behind by Eurysakes’ knees as he had wept above the grave. The dirt itself shimmered in the rainbow light, and a sword seemed to rise up through the dirt, until it was lying flat on top of the grave. Atalanta had no idea what she was witnessing, but her eyes seemed unable to blink as she stared at that sword, the hilt of which was covered in silver studs that reflected the shifting light of the rainbow, making them seem to wink at her.          Eurysakes knelt beside the sword, and slowly reached his hand towards it. The warm-looking light of the rainbow expanded slightly, as if to assure him that it wanted him to take the sword. Carefully, he lifted the sword by its hilt, placing his other hand underneath the blade, lifting it to look at it more closely.          “The sword of Hector,” he said, each word ponderously slow and careful.          “Of *Hector*?” Ariadne repeated, mystified.          “Oh, don’t know you anything?!” Atalanta exclaimed, feeling quite exasperated that Ariadne was ruining this beautiful moment. Normally, she would be quite proud to know something that her cousin didn’t, but in this case, it was just annoying! “Aias and Hector fought a mighty duel that lasted—um—a really long time, until the heralds on both sides made them stop because it was dark out, and they were both so impressed with each other that they exchanged gifts and parted as friends. Hector gave Aias his sword, and…um…I don’t remember what Aias gave Hector,” she admitted sheepishly. “I’m not sure the guards told me that part.” Most of her vast knowledge of the events of the war—and her father’s life in general—had been gleaned from the rumors that the guards in the master’s palace had themselves collected from wherever they (or some guest’s guards) had gone in their lifetimes. Trying to cover up her ignorance, Atalanta returned her attention to Eurysakes, who was still staring at the sword in awe. “So, if that’s the sword of Hector…was that Iris herself presenting it to you?” she asked, looking around. The rainbow had since vanished out of the sky, without a trace.          “Probably,” Eurysakes said. “My father was buried with it.”          Atalanta opened her mouth to reply, but then shut it again hastily. To say that he was buried with it…implied that he hadn’t been cremated! But if he hadn’t been given a warrior’s proper cremation…then had he died dishonorably? How would that have been possible for the mighty Aias, second only to godlike Achilles? As desperately as Atalanta wanted to know, she couldn’t bear to hurt Eurysakes any further by asking him about it.          Slowly, Eurysakes got to his feet, and looked at his father’s grave marker. “Father,” he said, “I promise I will repair your good name. I will put this sword to use in your honor.” He slid the sword into the empty scabbard that was slung over his shoulder, then glanced at Ariadne and Atalanta before looking back at the grave. “These warrior maids are going to help me. An oracle told me to seek them,” he added.          Though Atalanta felt a little uneasy being introduced to the grave of Aias—especially without the most crucial fact that she was the daughter of his cousin and rival!—she still felt all the more nervous about not knowing how he had died, and why his death left his reputation in need of repair. Perhaps there would be rumors in Troy itself on the subject? But that seemed unlikely somehow.          In any case, Eurysakes seemed finished with the grave, because he now turned to the girls, and offered them a sad smile. “We should get back to the ship. The tide will be with us soon.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Chapter Three]]

[[<img src="chapter3.jpg" width="750" height="563">->arrival]]

The moment they returned to the ship, they found Eutychos waiting for them with two sets of Cypriot armor. Both consisted of leather cuirasses with large bronze plates sewn to the chest and back, a simple bronze helm, and a waning moon shield with tassels hanging from the little bite taken out of the bottom of the otherwise circular shield. Both the breastplates and the shields were beautifully decorated with leaping dolphins and monstrous whales applied in silver. The girls were able to quickly change out of their awful stolen armor [(leaving the stolen lyre with the stolen armor, just in case)] while Eutychos and the sailors all marveled at the sight of the sword Eurysakes now carried, which Eutychos was able to confirm was indeed the sword of Hector.          While the crew were setting sail, Eutychos gave them the whole tale of the duel between Aias and Hector, concluding with the exchange, which Atalanta found herself growing uncomfortable with, as Aias had given Hector a beautiful purple sash, which Eutychos went on to relate was the same one Achilles had used to drag Hector’s corpse behind his chariot for twelve days. Atalanta never knew quite how to feel about that story. Maybe it was just because her master was a vassal of the Great King in Hattusa, but everything Atalanta had ever heard about Hector that didn’t come directly from Achaian guests (or sailors in town) had always said what a fine example he had been of all that a man ought to be: kind, noble and generous as well as fearsome on the field of battle. The idea of such a man being so horribly abused after his death was disgusting, and yet Atalanta feared she would go just as far if someone ever robbed her of Ariadne.          Thankfully, Eutychos soon changed the subject slightly to the sword itself. The blade, a dark silver in color, was made of a metal called ‘iron,’ Eutychos told them, which was rarely used outside of Egyptian ceremonial objects, because it was so hard to extract from the earth. Though the people of Hatti, whenever they used it, claimed that they weren’t using mere iron, but the metal of a star that had fallen from the sky. Whatever it was, it was much harder and heavier than bronze, and had only made Hector that much more dangerous in battle. “I know it will serve you well, my prince,” he went on, patting Eurysakes on the shoulder. “But you may wish to keep it under your cloak while you are in Troy. They might recognize it as Hector’s sword, but they may not remember that he made a gift of it to your father.”          Eurysakes nodded. “I will.” Then he asked Eutychos to let him speak to his new companions alone. That set a cold look on Ariadne’s face, but Atalanta was sure he didn’t mean anything inappropriate by it. “We should all tell the same story when we reach the Trojan court,” he said, once Eutychos moved to the back end of the boat, where he was supervising the rowing. “Your identities. Your origins. How we met.”          “Yes, you’re right, we should,” Ariadne said, with a surprised smile. “Since red hair is more common the further north you go, we’re boys from the far north.” She bit her lip uncomfortably. “I suppose it will seem strange for us to be traveling with you if we’re so young, though…”          “Maybe our parents were killed and so we’re all alone in the world, and he didn’t want us traveling alone at our age?” Atalanta suggested.          “I…I don’t know. We want something simple, something that won’t invite countless questions.” Ariadne frowned. “I think maybe it’s better for us to be in the midst of some kind of rite of passage. If it’s a routine journey for our people—whoever they might be—then we don’t have to provide any answers.”          Eurysakes laughed. “You underestimate curiosity. There will be many questions.”          “I’m sure there will. But it’s a religious secret, so we can’t provide any answers,” Ariadne replied with a smile so proud that it was almost a smirk. “Who would ever answer a question about the mysteries at Eleusis?”          “That’s true,” Eurysakes said, with a pensive frown. “But you should not claim to be brothers,” he said, after a fairly long pause. “You do not look much alike. What is your real relation?”          “We’re cousins,” Atalanta said, though she had to bite her tongue to keep from saying anything about her similar relationship to Eurysakes. (Though Eutychos had *probably* already told him…)          “Our mothers were sisters,” Ariadne confirmed. “I suppose it *would* be simplest to maintain that relationship.” She shrugged. “As to how we met and how we got this very Achaian armor, perhaps we ended up in Cypros and were your uncle’s guests for a night, and since you were about to go on a journey yourself, your uncle suggested we take ship with you.”          Eurysakes nodded. “Yes, simple is best,” he agreed. “That will be easy to remember. And I can answer for you. If there are questions about Cypros.”          “I should still know as much as I can,” Ariadne said, her voice on edge. “You won’t always be there to speak for me. I had best ask Eutychos about—”          “There is no need,” Eurysakes said, before beginning to tell Ariadne all about Cypriot Salamis. Which was excessively boring to listen to, his voice still being slow and methodical. Atalanta had always heard about how slowly Aias spoke, but until meeting Eurysakes, she hadn’t realized just what that was like. Everyone was always talking about how quick her father was—both in the speed of his feet and of his temper—but did that mean he had talked quickly, too? How irritating he must have found Aias if that was so! But she didn’t want to think that way—she wanted them to have gotten along quite well. Maybe he hadn’t minded the way Aias talked. Or maybe he even liked the slowness.          Atalanta became lost in increasingly silly fantasies about what her father and Aias must have been like around each other, until she was absolutely destroyed by a fit of the giggles that also put a stop to her cousins’ conversation. Thankfully they didn’t spend *too* long asking her what was so funny, and they sailed on in silence for a short while, until Ariadne asked how long it would be before they got to Troy.          “Not long,” Eurysakes told her. “We should arrive around midday. Maybe sooner. We should see it soon.”          “I forgot to ask when we were discussing the matter before,” Ariadne said, “but just who *is* the current king?” Atalanta nodded her agreement to the question, as it had been puzzling her, too. After all, from everything she had heard, the entire royal family had been either exterminated or enslaved. Surely whoever rose up against Aineias must have had even less claim to the throne than he did.          “His name is Korythos,” Eurysakes said. “He claims to be the son of Alexander.”          “What?!” both girls chorused.          “How could Alexander have had any children?” Ariadne asked. “If Helen had borne any children in her time in Troy, surely her true husband would have killed either her or them or both.” Almost everyone in Methymna found it constantly perplexing that he hadn’t killed Helen even as it was…          “Korythos claims a different mother,” Eurysakes explained. “He says she was Alexander’s wife before Helen.”          “Ohhhh…” Atalanta said slowly, then shook her head. “If he already had a wife, why would he have stolen another man’s wife?” she asked, finding no logical reason for it whatsoever. Especially if his original wife had already given him a son.          “Because Zeus wanted to tear down the world of men,” Eurysakes said. “That’s what my uncle says. He wanted us to destroy each other. Over his daughter.”          “It’s hard to imagine Zeus being so cruel,” Ariadne said, shaking her head. “I suppose your uncle would know better than I would, seeing as he was there and I hadn’t been born yet, but…there must be some other reason.”          Eurysakes smiled. “I think Alexander must have been mad.”          “Makes sense to me,” Atalanta agreed, laughing…though her laughter quickly died off again. If he *was* insane, then her father laid down his life over a madman. No, worse, he lost his life *to* a madman! Rumor had it that it was Apollo who had guided the arrow that killed the swift-footed Achilles, but a radiant god like Apollo would never stoop to helping a madman, so if Alexander was mad then he had to have killed Achilles without divine assistance. “No, on second thought…I don’t think that’s it,” she said, uncomfortably.          “There’s something abnormal about the entire situation, no matter how you look at it,” Ariadne said, patting her hand comfortingly. “Though as far as this Korythos fellow goes, isn’t it most likely that he’s just lying about who his father was?”          “That is the simplest explanation,” Eurysakes agreed, with a laugh. “But my uncle says he is probably telling the truth. His willingness to sacrifice the Trojan people is like his father’s.”          It was a joke—at least, it was spoken like a joke—but it was disquieting rather than funny, and they all fell silent, standing there at the prow of the ship, watching the nearby land drift past. The further they sailed on, the more Atalanta had to remind herself with every passing moment that the city they were approaching was not *really* the Troy she wanted to see. That one no longer existed. The city whose walls had foiled even her magnificent father for ten long years had been destroyed even before Atalanta was born. The Troy where King Priam had watched from the walls as his man-slaying son Hector defended his people…was no more than a memory now. It might as well have been a myth to someone as young as Atalanta. There was no way for her to see the Troy that her father had seen. The Troy her father had given his life in pursuit of.          But she was still going to see Troy! It was hard not to bubble over with excitement as the first signs of the city’s walls became visible in the distance. Atalanta could see a tall and proud wall facing her, every bit as impregnable as the one she had come to expect from all the tales she had heard of her father’s magnificence in battle!          Sadly, she was utterly crestfallen when they actually reached the city, as sailing near the wall revealed that while it looked impressive from a distance, it was built of much smaller stones than she was expecting, inexpertly cut and hastily assembled, and it was much lighter on the sides facing the sea. Even worse, the area inside the wall was a sporadic chaos of crude wooden huts alongside proper buildings. “What…this…is…Troy?” Atalanta asked miserably, feeling on the verge of tears. Where were all the houses? Where were all the people? Where were the magnificent walls and the wide ways? Where was the mighty wooden horse that Ariadne’s father and the other Achaian princes—including Atalanta’s half-brother Neoptolemos—had used to enter the city?          “A mighty city takes many years to build,” Eurysakes told her gently. “Cypriot Salamis is in a similar state.”          “Y-yeah…it’s just…I…I’ve wanted to see it, my whole life, and…” She sighed deeply. “This just isn’t what I was expecting.”          Eurysakes nodded sadly. “I wanted to see it, too,” he said. “The Troy my father knew.”          “You two better get this out of your systems now,” Ariadne said coldly, “before we land and the Trojans can overhear us.”          Atalanta nodded hastily. The last thing she wanted was for any Trojans to figure out that she was the daughter of Achilles! Even worse if they mistook her for his son! Obviously, they wouldn’t think she was Neoptolemos—the news had reached Methymna years ago that he’d been killed at Delphi—but they might think she was some other son that they hadn’t known about before, and then…things could conceivably get very, very ugly. Of course, the remnants of the Trojan people would likely be no happier to see the daughter of Odysseus or the son of Telamon Aias, for that matter.          Or that was what Atalanta would have thought, but how could that be if the new king was constantly trying to set up a relationship between the new Troy and Eurysakes’ uncle in Cypros? Something about that just didn’t make *any* sense. Surely this new Trojan king didn’t go around making peace with Achaians every day! “Hey, Eurysakes, why would the king of Troy want your uncle to talk to him?” she asked, looking at him curiously. “Doesn’t he know your uncle fought against his father? Against the man he claims is his father, anyway.”          Eurysakes chuckled. “Yes, of course he knows.”          “I’d expect it has to do with what Eutychos was saying earlier about your uncle’s mother being Trojan,” Ariadne said.          “It has more to do with the rich copper mines of Cypros,” he said with a laugh, then shrugged. “But you are also right. My uncle’s mother was Hesione. Sister of King Priam.”          “Then…your uncle and the new king…are cousins?” Atalanta asked. “Wait, didn’t that mean he was fighting his own kinsmen?!”          “Yes. And yes.” Eurysakes smiled, and shook his head. “That is how devoted my uncle was to my father. His mother’s kin could not shake his loyalty.”          “Wow.” Atalanta looked back at the city that was rapidly drawing closer, and shook her head. “That’s great, but also kind of…awful? I wouldn’t want to—if my father’s kin asked me to fight against Ariadne because of her father’s family, I’d never do it.”          “That was much my uncle’s position,” Eurysakes said. “He chose the family who had been with him his whole life. Not the family he had never known.”          “Oh…yeah…that makes sense…” Atalanta shook her head, feeling ever so slightly confused by that, somehow. “But this new king doesn’t mind that?”          “He is willing to overlook it,” Eurysakes said. “Because he wants my uncle’s raw copper. So he may make bronze for arms. But he must also fear my uncle’s power. As a warrior. As the husband of a powerful king’s daughter. And as the former comrade-in-arms of many mighty kings.”          “That’s a question, though,” Ariadne said. “Does he know your uncle might send you as his representative? Rather than his own—well, he hasn’t got a son, but the king might not know that…”          “I am known in many ports,” Eurysakes told her. “I represent my uncle often. I am sure Korythos knows this.”          “Even so, the chances of the everyday Trojan people knowing seem slim,” Ariadne said, shaking her head. “It’s probably best if you don’t say anything to them about your father having been one of the greatest warriors fighting against them.” The look on Ariadne’s face—to say nothing of the tone of her voice!—told Atalanta that this instruction was more aimed at *her* than at Eurysakes.          Eurysakes nodded solemnly, and the trio fell into an uncomfortable silence, watching as the city grew ever nearer. Soon, the ship was arriving in the port and a few sailors were hopping off to tie the ship in place. As they were doing so, a man in an elegant tailed tunic approached them, an ornate girdle around his waist. In the Hatti tongue, he asked the sailors who was in charge of their ship. They pointed him towards Eurysakes, who greeted him politely in both Hatti and Achaian as the man approached.          “I am Mahhuzzi, in charge of the port of mighty Wilusa,” the man told Eurysakes in very stiff Hatti language, so formal that Atalanta could barely understand him. “For what have you come to our land, man of our enemy the Ahhiyawa?”          Eurysakes frowned. “I am Eurysakes, son of Aias Telamoniades,” he said. The other man’s face began to drain of color at Aias’ name. “I come on behalf of my uncle, King of Salamis in Cypros. He sends gifts of friendship to your king, his cousin.”          Mahhuzzi’s face relaxed slightly, but only slightly. “I will send a herald to inform his majesty King Korythos of your arrival,” he said. “You and your men will please remain with your ship until the herald returns.”          Eurysakes nodded, and Mahhuzzi quickly scurried off the boat, disappearing into the crowd around the port. Eurysakes frowned as soon as the man was out of sight. “It is very rude,” he said, though Atalanta wasn’t sure if he was talking to anyone in particular or just thinking aloud.          “You shouldn’t have mentioned your father,” Ariadne sighed. “Of *course* he’s afraid to let you off the ship! I *did* tell you that you shouldn’t—”          “It would be rude not to in a formal setting,” Eurysakes said, his voice sharp (but still slow). “And their king knows already. He would think me a liar otherwise. I will not have that.” He smiled, almost viciously. “I do not mind frightening a few locals.”          Atalanta laughed. “I bet you do a lot of that everywhere you go!” A man his size, how could he *not* scare people? Especially always going about fully armed.          “Wasn’t *your mother* one of those locals originally?” Ariadne asked coldly.          Eurysakes’ smile wilted, and he avoided her gaze. “Of course,” he said quietly.          “So maybe try to *avoid *frightening them, then,” Ariadne retorted, leaning back against the prow. “Your mother was probably terrified by your father when they first met.”          He nodded. “Of course. But my father was a good man. She learned he would not hurt her. She loves him.” There was a plaintive tone to his voice, as if his whole world would crumble if that wasn’t the case.          Ariadne sighed. “Having spent my whole life as a slave, I find it hard to believe any slave could ever actually love her master—particularly if he was responsible for her being enslaved in the first place—but I suppose the situation in a camp of war is very different from that in a palace in peacetime. For your sake as well as hers, I’ll try to accept your word on that.”          Atalanta smiled, and squeezed Ariadne’s hand as the only way she could think of to thank her for understanding Eurysakes’ situation without saying something and risking making Eurysakes think that Ariadne had only said that to be nice to him and not because she meant it. Ariadne squeezed back tightly.          While they were waiting for Mahhuzzi to return, Atalanta watched the people in the port going about their business. Most of the people were dressed in the Hatti style like at home in Methymna, but there were also a number of people dressed in a more Achaian manner, as well as Egyptians and Phoenicians and people that neither Atalanta nor Ariadne could identify. Eurysakes was able to provide more information: some were Babylonian, some were Colchian, a few were Scythian, and there was even a ship of dark-skinned Ethiopians.          Eutychos came up while Eurysakes was identifying the different groups of people, and told them a tale about the Ethiopians. Their former king, Memnon, had come to aid Troy in the final year of the war, and had been the most beautiful man there, even more beautiful than Achilles. Eutychos laughed sadly at that. “Sometimes, when they thought no one could overhear them, people whispered that Achilles had actually killed him out of jealousy, having never before encountered a man more handsome than himself. But most agreed that he had killed Memnon to avenge Antilochos.” Eutychos shook his head. “Memnon was the son of the goddess Eos and a Trojan prince she had abducted. His younger brother rules in Ethiopia still, so I have heard that Ethiopian ships have been a common sight in Troy since the war’s end. He helps to raise up the new city in memory of the brother who could not save the old one.”          Eutychos kept telling them various little things like that about the different peoples they could see in the port until Mahhuzzi returned with a man carrying a herald’s staff and wearing an Achaian-style tunic. “King Korythos regrets to inform you that he has many affairs of state he must take care of quite urgently,” the herald said in Achaian, addressing Eutychos more than Eurysakes, “but that he has given orders for a great feast to be prepared in your honor tonight. In the interim, I am available to give you a tour of the city, while your servants may supervise the unloading of your boat.”          Eurysakes cleared his throat to get the herald’s attention. “My uncle is grateful for the king’s hospitality to me,” he said. “I will leave my captain, Eutychos, in charge of my uncle’s gifts,” he added, gesturing to Eutychos. “My companions and I will wish to see the city. But we do not require a guide.”          The herald glanced over at Atalanta and Ariadne, then looked back at Eurysakes. “Do I not meet with your approval, noble guest?” he asked. “If another guide would be more suitable, my king will gladly—”          “I prefer to see things for myself,” Eurysakes said. “Guides steer the guests. Sometimes to the city’s detriment. Sometimes to the guest’s.”          “We wouldn’t mind some directions, however,” Ariadne added hastily, with a wide smile. “My brother and I are here from the distant north, and the fame of Troy’s temple to Athene has spread even there. In your Athene, we see the reflection of our own goddess of war, and we would greatly like to visit the temple and pay our respects to the goddess.”          The herald looked at Ariadne with surprise at the high sound of her voice, but did not comment on it, and politely gave her directions to the agora, which was surrounded by all the temples currently standing. “Many temples have yet to be built, however,” the herald added, with a discomfort so obvious that even Atalanta noticed it. “There is a holy statue in the center of the agora where most of the citizens go to make offerings to the gods whose temples are not yet present in the city. Foreigners also use it for the worship of their gods.”          Ariadne thanked him, and the herald reluctantly presented himself to assist Eutychos in whatever he might need in dealing with King Teukros’ gifts for King Korythos. Then Mahhuzzi began to outline all the port’s rules for visiting sailors. Eurysakes urged the girls to disembark while that was going on; the rules were for the commoners, not for the king’s honored guests. Atalanta didn’t think that was right *at all*, but she wasn’t sure it would be quite right to say so. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->agora1]]

         Following the herald’s instructions, the three of them walked away from the crowds around the port, passing through the residential areas of the Troy that had not yet finished being reborn from its own ashes. The closer they drew to the acropolis, the more it began to look like a real city, the wood and mud structures giving way to proper ones of brick and stone. That made sense to Ariadne: you built outward from a position of strength, so of course the citadel upon the hill would be the first to become sturdy and long-lasting.          Judging by the excitement growing upon Atalanta’s face as they reached the acropolis, it was much more the kind of thing she had wanted to see in the first place. The walls around it were tall and thick, and the trio had to climb many stairs to reach the gates through these inner walls that were surely originally the new city’s outer walls. Within those walls, four large buildings surrounded the central agora. One was the palace of the king, with well-armed guards standing before the doors, and one was the temple of Athene, easily identified by the hideous Gorgon carved above the entrance. The other two were also temples, but Ariadne couldn’t identify them from a distance. The larger one could be a temple to Zeus or Apollo, since he was Troy’s guardian god. But they might both be dedicated to gods of Hatti, or even specifically Trojan gods; the fact that Ariadne had never heard any mention in Methymna of any temple in the new Troy other than Athene’s did suggest that they weren’t temples to gods well known outside of Anatolia. In the center of the agora stood a massive sculpture of some kind of chimera; Ariadne wasn’t quite sure what it was, and the sculpture was so unrealistically carved that she wasn’t sure if it had the body of a horse or a lion beneath its eagle’s wings, bull’s head and horse’s tail. Whatever the sculpture represented, it was surrounded by offerings, mostly burnt offerings of food, but there was also pottery, unburned food, flowers, and even some weapons and gold jewelry.          “I’ve never seen anything so beautiful…” Atalanta said slowly, staring at the acropolis in wonderment. “The palace is so grand, and the temples are so elegant!”          “It is amazing,” Ariadne agreed, though she was more impressed by Athene’s temple than by the large one that Atalanta was staring at.          Eurysakes started laughing at them. “You should see Mycenae,” he told them. “Or Crete. Knossos is beautiful.”          “You’ve been to Crete?” Atalanta asked excitedly.          “I’ve been many places,” he told her. “My uncle sends me on many diplomatic trips.”          “Have you been to Delphi?” she asked, even more excited. Ariadne had to work to repress a scowl. Atalanta was probably thinking about the rumors that surrounded the death of Neoptolemos at Delphi, and all the whispered tales about what had happened to his father’s armor when he was killed. According to Atalanta (who had always interrogated every visitor she could for any information pertaining to Achilles), some claimed the armor was on display above Neoptolemos’ grave, while others claimed that he had been buried in it. Atalanta had even recounted one particularly absurd story that had insisted Achilles’ shade had risen up from the house of Hades to reclaim his (allegedly) divinely created armor upon his son’s death. Bizarrely, *that* seemed to be the rumor Atalanta really wanted to believe was true.          “No, I haven’t been there,” Eurysakes said. “I would like to see it someday.”          “Me, too,” Atalanta agreed.          “Okay, okay, we can talk about that later,” Ariadne sighed. “Right now, we should visit the temples if we’re going to do so.” She bit her lip for a moment. “Ah, I forgot to ask on the ship for something to give to the gods as an offering. I wonder if they’d be offended to have the last of the trinkets from Methymna?” she glanced at the small pouch that was still tied to the strap of her quiver. She was quite sure that *Hermes* would be delighted to receive stolen jewelry as a tribute, but more righteous gods might be rather offended by it…          “An arrow is an appropriate offering. If the large temple is to Apollo,” Eurysakes told her. “I am told it is the customary offering in Troy now.”          Atalanta twitched, and her face contorted into an exaggerated frown. “Is that because of my father?” she asked miserably. She was plainly on the edge of tears. How could she get so worked up over the idea? As absurd as the notion was that Achilles could have ever been her father, why was she still so attached to his memory? Ariadne was never going to understand it, but now was not the time to try. She took hold of Atalanta’s hand in a comforting manner, squeezing it tightly.          “Of course not,” she cooed.          Eurysakes frowned. “It probably is,” he said, shaking his head. “If we are being honest.”          “You don’t even know who he was!” Ariadne snapped at him.          “Eutychos told me,” he replied. “Unless he was wrong?”          “Since *he* doesn’t know either, obviously he was!”          Eurysakes’ eyebrows raised, and he smiled uncomfortably, but didn’t say anything.          “A-anyway…um…what do people give to the other gods in Troy?” Atalanta asked, her voice still shaking a bit. “Maybe we could give Athene my awful spear,” she added, laughing slightly.          “She might see that as an insult,” Eurysakes said, laughing along. “We will get you a better one.” He frowned. “My uncle sent no weapons among the gifts. He said it would be a hostile gesture.”          “Under the circumstances, I’m sure it would seem like one,” Ariadne agreed. “Maybe this King Korythos will give us a nice spear as part of his return gifts.” She shook her head. “I’m sure the gods will forgive us for leaving these trinkets as offerings. We’ll take some to the temples, and leave the offerings to the rest of the gods at that statue, like the herald said. But the question is, which temple do we go to first, Athene’s or the big one?” (set: $cebren to "No")(set: $athene to "No") [[Visit the big temple first.->cebren temple]] [[Visit Athene's temple first.->athene temple]]

(if: $athene is "No")[Atalanta spoke up immediately to insist on visiting the large temple first. If it was the temple of Zeus, then it was only appropriate that they visit it first, especially since two of them were descended from him! And if it was a temple to Apollo, well, better to get it over with fast, right?](else:)[After the terror of near-discovery that Rhoxane’s presence had provided them, Atalanta felt even more keenly the need for a proper temple visit, so she insisted that they were going to visit the large temple now. After all, it was surely the temple to Zeus, which meant they ought to have visited it first!] They walked in silence towards the large temple—not that the agora itself was silent! No, it bustled with a surprising number of people, considering how little had yet been properly built in the main area of the city below. Along the edges of the agora, farmers and craftsmen had set their spare goods out around them, and were trading them for the extra goods of others. The craftsmen were mostly only trading pottery and cloth, unfortunately; Atalanta didn’t see anyone offering to trade weapons. But perhaps with such a newly constructed city, the palace insisted on collecting all the weapons that the smiths could create, in order to aid the city’s defense? She *did* see some armor set out for trade, but it wasn’t newly made armor: it was dimmed with age and decidedly Achaian in design. The survivors of Troy were trading away the armor left behind by the besiegers who had destroyed their home and slain so many of their kin? She wasn’t sure if it was a beautiful testament to the desire of mortal man to survive no matter what, or if it was painfully sad. Perhaps a little of both?          The large temple stood on a slight peak above the rest of the agora, and as they reached the steps leading up to it, Atalanta was surprised at how few people were going up and down the steps, and how little wear there was on them. The only temple she and Ariadne had been regularly allowed to visit back in Methymna had been the temple of Artemis, and every path leading into that temple had been worn smooth by all the feet of young maidens visiting to make sacrifices to their patron goddess. But these steps were nothing like that: they looked like they had seen no use whatsoever. Not only was the stone as fresh and crisp as if it had only been cut that day, there was no mud or dust tracked onto the steps. Out in the rest of the agora, there were plenty of places where dirt had been spread about by all the tromping feet of people, but here the stone was utterly clean.          There was no sound coming from inside the temple, either. At the temple of Artemis in Methymna, there were always voices echoing inside the temple. It was one of the few temples that young girls could visit unchaperoned (giving Artemis quite the cult among the non-Achaian girls on Lesbos), so the gossip of the idle daughters of the wealthy had added considerably to the noise inside, but even without them it would have been noisy. There was always someone or other sacrificing something, always someone praying for some boon. And the priestesses would talk amongst themselves when they had a moment. But nothing echoed from within this temple other than the sound of running water.          The three of them stopped on the top step, lingering just outside the door into the temple. They hadn’t said anything to each other; they had all stopped of their own accord. As if they knew in their bones that something wasn’t right. But Atalanta didn’t want to say anything about it. She didn’t know what she could say, or what she *should* say. Besides, what if the others had stopped for some other reason? She hoped they would meet someone coming out of the temple, but no one appeared in the doorway.          “We…we should…either go in, or go back down the stairs,” Ariadne said, an uncharacteristic nervousness in her voice. “We must look like fools, just standing here like this.”          Eurysakes glanced over his shoulder. “They’re all staring at us.”          Atalanta, too, looked behind her. Sure enough, there were dozens of people on that side of the agora, all staring at them. She couldn’t read their expressions at all. They might have been confused, or pitying. They didn’t seem to be angry, though. “In or out?” she asked, looking over at Ariadne. “Do you want to see what’s going on? It’s so quiet in there…”          “We could ask down below, but…it’s probably best to see with our own eyes,” Ariadne said, nodding her head as if to give herself a confidence she currently lacked. “If we don’t have the courage to enter a strange temple, how are we going to seek employment as a bard and a spear for hire?” she added, with an uncomfortable sort of laugh.          “Right, let’s go, then!” Atalanta exclaimed, then charged ahead into the temple, mostly because she was afraid that if she didn’t go now, she’d never get worked up enough to enter at all. She tried to tell herself that it was like being her father, charging into some mighty battle or other, but…the comparison didn’t really make much sense, even to her.          The temple interior was nothing like any of the temples Atalanta had seen in Methymna. Those had been dominated by statues of the gods being worshipped—thankfully, the one in the temple of Artemis had been much more of a proper statue than the ones in the sea gods’ temple—and the walls had always been decorated with frescoes of tales of the gods being worshipped. But this temple was barren of any depictions of gods or goddesses. There was a channel cut across the floor, through which water was flowing rapidly, and the walls were all painted with water and plant life, as if to give people the impression of being in the depths of a river. Other than Atalanta herself, there was only one other person in the temple, a man dressed in the robes of a priest, which had been dyed a rich blue color that Atalanta had never seen on cloth before.          “What’s the matter with you?” Ariadne’s voice called after her. “Wait for…me?” Ariadne’s lecture had turned abruptly into a question as she saw the interior of the bizarre temple. She walked a few paces further after her usually infallible tongue failed her, until she was on a line with Atalanta.          Eurysakes followed them silently, and stood to Atalanta’s other side, staring at the temple with equal confusion. Clearly, even in all his travels, he had never seen its like.          “Have you come to worship, children?” the man dressed as a priest called out to them, breaking some of the spell holding them. He stood at the edge of the channel that crossed the room, as if he could not step over it to approach them, even though it was not wide at all.          “Um…this is a temple?” Atalanta tried to ask, though as usual she found that she could not produce any words sufficient to express what was flurrying through her mind.          “Of course it is,” the priest replied, sounding confused.          “What my cousin meant to say is that this doesn’t look like the temples we’re used to,” Ariadne said, walking towards the priest. “We’re used to seeing images of the god being worshipped. Do I take this watery theme to indicate that this temple reveres Poseidon or Aruna?”          “Certainly not!” the priest answered, as if the very idea was terribly insulting. That worried Atalanta. She’d seen someone wander into the temple of Artemis once, mistaking it for the temple of Apollo, and the priestesses hadn’t been the least bit insulted by the mistake. She’d even seen a barbarian from distant lands wander in and ask if they could use the temple to worship their own gods, and while the priestesses hadn’t let them do so, they still hadn’t been *offended* by it.          “Whose temple is it?” Eurysakes asked, following Ariadne.          “This temple is to the god of the River Cebren,” the priest replied, making a slight bow to the water flowing in front of him, “the father of the mother of our King Korythos.”          “He built a temple to his grandfather?” Ariadne asked, sounding a little appalled. Atalanta didn’t think that was so unreasonable: if she was running a city, she’d certainly build a temple to Thetis. But she would never do so to the exclusion of the Olympian gods!          “Is there any more worthy cause?” the priest laughed. “Who could not revere the majesty of the mighty rivers?”          By this point, Ariadne and Eurysakes had reached the side of the channel of water, and Atalanta was starting to feel quite left behind, so she followed them, even if a little reluctantly. The closer she got to the channel, though, the more the water within it seemed agitated somehow. Noticing this, the priest frowned, and looked at her with unmasked suspicion.          “Who are you, boy?” he asked, his voice frigid. “Why do the waters of the River Cebren reject you?”          “How did you get part of the river to flow through your temple?” Atalanta asked, looking down at the roiling waters curiously. There hadn’t been anything unusual-looking about the outer walls of the temple…          “Answer my question, boy! Who are you?!”          “I—I’m Ata—Atleus,” she stammered, thanking the gods that she had managed to remember the name Ariadne had picked out for her when introducing them to Eurysakes’ crew.          “I didn’t ask you name,” the priest snarled, “I asked *who you are*. Your parentage, your homeland, your livelihood, your reason for coming here, the sum total of your being!”          “Good gods, who can sum up a human being in a few words?!” Ariadne exclaimed, shaking her head. “Don’t ask for the impossible, good priest!”          “Keep quiet, boy. This does not concern you,” the priest told her, then turned his hateful stare at Atalanta. “Tell me why Cebren’s waters churn in hatred over you,” he demanded.          “I…I don’t know! I’ve never even *heard* of the River Cebren before! I’m a stranger to this land!”          “And your father? Who was he? You are Achaian—was he one of the villains who slaughtered the king’s father, grandfather and uncles?”          Atalanta swallowed heavily. That was coming all too close to the mark, considering that her father had killed numerous of the king’s uncles before being killed by the king’s father, and her half-brother had butchered the king’s grandfather. “Um…my father…um….”          “My cousin and I come from the distant north, in Hyperborea,” Ariadne interrupted. “We were gifted this armor by an Achaian who was our host recently.”          The priest ignored her words, and continued to stare accusations at Atalanta, even as the water between them churned so much that it was nearly splashing her legs, and sounded almost like it was snarling.          “Well…my father…kind of…sort of…maybe…did…er…get in a little bit…of a…an argument…with a river god…once…before I was born…” Atalanta stammered out,          “And that was in this land?” the priest probed. “What river? Why was the god angry?”          “W-well…my father…just…uh…put something in it…that it didn’t like…” Atalanta said weakly. If she admitted that the River Scamander had so risen up against her father because he had choked it with the Trojan dead…even if the current inhabitants of Troy didn’t know that particular tale of her father’s bravery to link it to him, it would still sound awful. In fact, even if she left out the name of the river and the nationality of the dead, it would *still* sound terrible. How could it *not*? The only reason it wasn’t entirely monstrous was because it had happened while he was in the depths of his madness at losing Patroclos…          The priest stared at her in a disapproving silence for a few moments, then dipped his hand into the water of the canal, and flung some water into the dust beside his feet. As he stared at the pattern of the droplets, Atalanta realized he must have been using it as some kind of augury, the way priestesses at the temple of Artemis would read the entrails of sacrificial animals.          “Enemy of Troy!” the priest shouted, looking back up at her. “Miscreated villain who would tear down our walls! Leave this place before the majestic River Cebren floods you out!”          Atalanta nodded uneasily, and backed away for several steps before turning and leaving the temple at a quick walk. She didn’t want to seem afraid—and she wasn’t!—but she didn’t want to disobey an order from a priest, either. Even if he was a crazy type of priest who worshipped a river god instead of an Olympian god or one of Hatti’s gods. River gods were still gods, after all. Just lesser ones. Much lesser.          By the time Atalanta stepped back out into the warm, welcome light of the sun, Ariadne and Eurysakes were right behind her. Ariadne looked puzzled, but Eurysakes looked almost pleased. “I wonder how he did that,” Ariadne murmured. “Making water flow around the room like that wouldn’t be too hard with the right engineering, but to make it behave that way…”          “Maybe it *was* the river god,” Eurysakes suggested. “Stranger things have happened.”          “I don’t think so,” Ariadne replied, shaking her head. “Besides, it’s a different river, and why would *any* river god get so worked up over something that—the man who got in the fight with the river god wasn’t even *really* her father!”          “Please, in the name of the gods, stop doubting it all the time!” Atalanta moaned. “Of course he was! Why would my mother lie?!”          “It’s not your *mother’s* honesty I’m doubting, and you know that perfectly well,” Ariadne snapped. “There’s no reason to think either of those men would have told the truth about who they were.”          “Well, *yours* is still alive,” Atalanta said poutily. “We could go ask him.”          “Gods, no!” Ariadne exclaimed.          Strangely, their argument was interrupted by Eurysakes laughing at them. “Of course they told the truth,” he said. “The River Cebren just confirmed it.” He shook his head. “Besides, Eutychos has no doubts. She could not so resemble Achilles without being his kin.”          “There, see!” Atalanta said, smiling proudly.          “And just *why* would two princes have been so far from the front lines in the final months of the war?” Ariadne demanded, looking at Eurysakes with irritation. “Did your precious Eutychos have any explanation for *that*?”          “Precious?” Eurysakes repeated, looking confused. Then he shrugged his shoulders. “Achilles needed purification. Odysseus performed the rite. In Methymna.”          “Purification from *what*?”          “Homicide. He killed an Argive man. Or was he Calydonian…?” Eurysakes frowned. “I’m not sure. My uncle told me the tale. A commoner with a vile tongue. Always mocking the princes. He insulted Achilles for mourning the Amazon queen.”          “But…” Ariadne’s objection died before it could really start. “It doesn’t make any sense.”          Eurysakes shrugged. “My uncle had not believed Achilles’ story, though. About the River Scamander trying to kill him. He will be curious to learn it was true.”          “It’s not!” Ariadne insisted. “That was a trick of some sort—it *had* to be! You can’t stick part of a river—or a river *god*—inside a—”          “Are you children all right?” a voice asked in the Hatti tongue from below them. One of the women from the agora had climbed part-way up the temple stairs, and was looking at them with worry. “Did the priest in there threaten you?” she added, her aged features gaining a few new wrinkles as she spoke.          “Mmm…not really,” Atalanta said, with a nervous smile.          “Why is such a massive temple dedicated to a single river god?” Ariadne asked, walking down the steps to the woman. “With a building that size, we thought it must surely be a temple to Zeus or Apollo.”          The Trojan woman sighed sadly, shaking her head. “Alas, the only proper temple we have is the one to the Ahhiyawa goddess Athene,” she said, gesturing to the temple depicting the Gorgon above its door.          “What’s the other temple for, then?” Ariadne asked, as Atalanta and Eurysakes followed her down the steps.          “The River Simoeis, ancestor of the royal house of Wilusa,” the old woman explained. “That one we didn’t mind so much, but…no, we still would have preferred a new temple to Telipinu or Aruna, or at least a more convenient temple to Apaliunas!” She sighed sadly, and shook her head. “I daily wish that I had not been so tricked by a pretty face and had joined our true king, Aineias, when he went into voluntary exile to prevent our men from killing each other.”          Eurysakes shook his head, frowning. “I have heard rumors of his voyage,” he said. “I do not think you would have enjoyed it.”          “Has he found a new homeland?” the old woman asked eagerly.          “I am not certain,” Eurysakes admitted, sounding chagrined. “But I have heard rumors of wars and shipwrecks. And the Phoenicians are convinced he is quite evil.” He frowned slightly. “The last rumor I heard was from a land in the distant west. It was several years old. Perhaps he was able to settle there. If he was able to defeat the hostile locals.”          The old woman sighed sadly. “Perhaps the entire Wilusan race is still cursed,” she moaned.          “Why would the people of Troy let a son of Alexander rule them?” Ariadne asked. “Isn’t Alexander the curse who destroyed the old city?”          “Alexander, or Helen,” the old woman replied, shrugging her shoulders slightly. “Or perhaps we offended the gods years earlier and simply did not know it until the gods sent us death in the form of the Queen of Lacedaimon.”          Atalanta wanted desperately to say something to comfort the old woman, but what could she possibly say that wouldn’t ring false and hollow on her lips? She had grown up her whole life relishing the tales of her father slaughtering the Trojans with his divine strength. How could she now say anything to comfort one of the miserable survivors? Listening to the tales of her father’s heroism, it had been hard to think about things like what would happen to the innocent after the war was over.          “Perhaps we should leave our prayers for later,” Ariadne said, shaking her head. “Ma’am, could you recommend someone who might be able to trade us a bit to eat? We haven’t eaten since early this morning.”          The old woman smiled, and set her hand on Ariadne’s arm. “It’s simple fare for a growing lad like yourself, but I could provide you some fine bread.”          “That would be delightful,” Ariadne answered her, smiling.          The old woman, now looking quite pleased, led the way back down the stairs, and over to a small cloth spread on the agora, where an even older man was sitting surrounded by loaves of coarse bread. He was in the midst of negotiating with a harried-looking woman who wanted to trade eggs for loaves. Atalanta chuckled to herself as they walked. She would bet anything that Ariadne already knew that the old woman had food to trade when she asked that question. It had been a good way to change the subject, *and* it made the old lady happy. It didn’t really do as much as Atalanta would have liked to alleviate the guilt she was feeling over the suffering of these people so many years after her father had made war on them, though…          Eurysakes wanted to be the one to make the exchange, but he had nothing to trade with, so Ariadne gave the old woman a loose carnelian bead out of the bag of trinkets from Ziza’s chamber, which delighted the old couple greatly, being worth several dozen loaves easily. All three of them refused to accept more than a single loaf for the bead, though, which they shared as they wandered away from the old couple, moving back towards the statue in the center of the agora.          The bread was decidedly simple fare, just as the old woman had said, and it was many times more coarse than the bread the king had eaten in Methymna, but it was much nicer than the bread that the slaves had been permitted to eat. Though Ariadne had often snuck pieces of the royal bread out of the megaron when no one was watching her too closely at the end of a feast, so Atalanta had gotten a bit used to the finer type… (set: $cebren to "Yes") (if: $athene is "No")[[[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->athene temple]]](else:)[[[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Chapter Four]]]

(if: $cebren is "No")[Not wanting to miss a chance to see such a famous temple to Athene just because her cousin was too distracted by being in Troy—and by the sudden intrusion into their lives of a young man who Atalanta wanted to believe was *also* her cousin—Ariadne didn’t even wait for the others to decide if they were going to see the temple.](else:)[After the bizarre events in the River Cebren’s temple, Ariadne worried that her painfully gullible cousin might want to skip out on Athene’s temple, fearing a similar disaster. But Ariadne wasn’t going to stand for missing such a famous temple to Athene for such a stupid reason, so she didn’t wait for the others to decide if they were going to see the goddess’ temple.] She just started walking towards the Gorgon-decorated doorway. As she drew nearer, approaching the three steps that led up to the door, Ariadne saw that it was a very unique Gorgon relief: Medusa’s head—with the usual flat face, lolling tongue and snaky hair—was in the center above the door, but to either side of her were her sisters, tearing at their own snaky hair in their grief over the murder of their sister. Beyond one of them was the winged horse Pegasos, kneeling with head bowed, and beyond the other Gorgon was a humanoid figure who looked as though he hadn’t been fully carved yet, lacking not only details, but a proper sharp outline. While it struck Ariadne as odd to depict the death of Medusa as a woeful event, given that it had been perpetrated by Perseus, founder of Mycenae, she thought there was decidedly a certain logic to it on a *Trojan* temple.          As Ariadne was mounting the first step, she heard Atalanta’s voice calling out “Hey, wait for me!” from behind her. She slowed her pace, but didn’t actually stop until she was inside the temple.          It was the oddest temple to an Olympian god that Ariadne had ever seen. Admittedly, she had only seen three of them, and one of them was shared with Aruna, the Nereids, and Hatepuna, but that didn’t change the fact that this one was nothing like them. It was certainly not what Ariadne was expecting it to be, at any rate. Despite the size of the building, the room she saw before her was fairly small, and although it *did* contain an altar and many paintings of the goddess, it contained not a single piece of statuary. It seemed so odd to have a temple without a statue of the divinity being worshipped! But then again, between the theft of the Palladion and what Aias of Locris had done during the sacking of the city, perhaps the people of Troy had decided that it was an ill-omened thing to have a statue of Athene in her temple?          “This town is so weird,” Ariadne muttered, despite herself. Omens were superstitions, after all, and what temple should be more averse to giving in to superstition than that of Pallas Athene, goddess of wisdom? Shaking her head, she started to move towards the altar, but stopped after barely more than a single step. She backed away a pace, coming level with Atalanta again, and leaned over to whisper “This was a mistake,” to her, making a slight gesture towards the altar and the priestesses as she did so.          One of the young women serving attendance at the altar was Rhoxane. Of course she was! Ariadne should have known that would be the case and never dared set foot in this temple! There was the *chance* that Rhoxane wouldn’t recognize them, between the passage of time and the armor they wore, but it seemed a very slim chance to Ariadne; even without her bright red curls to give her away, Atalanta’s face was too distinctive and beautiful to be forgotten. And as to time, it hadn’t even been a year since that terrible storm had forced that Locrian ship to land at Methymna on its way to Troy…          The two maidens who were on their way to serve in the temple of Athene had been locked up in one small room in the palace until the ship could be repaired from the damage it had received in the storm. Atalanta and Ariadne—but mostly just Atalanta, really—had been curious about the Locrian maidens and why they were being treated as prisoners, so they had found an opportunity to sneak into the room and see them. The other girl hadn’t been willing to talk to mere slaves, but Rhoxane had explained everything to them.          It was common knowledge, of course, that while the city of Troy was being ravaged by the Achaian army, Princess Cassandra, fairest of the daughters of King Priam, had taken shelter in the Temple of Athene. When Aias of Locris found her there, she had clutched the statue of the goddess for sanctuary. He had ignored that she was taking refuge with the virgin goddess, and had forced himself on her right there in the temple, knocking over the statue in the violence of his lust. When the other Achaians found him desecrating the temple like that, he had clung to that very same statue, seeking the succor he had denied to the unfortunate princess. The other men were more pious than he was (not that *that* was difficult!), and had refused to defile the temple any further. But then they never killed him for it later; they had allowed him to get away with his terrible sin against grey-eyed Athene. And because of that, the entire Achaian fleet was set upon by terrible storms on the sea, sinking most of the ships and killing a great many men—and unfortunate enslaved women!—who did not deserve death. Having survived the wreck of his own ship, as soon as he came up on land, Aias, son of Oileus, was killed by a thunderbolt hurled by his divine ancestor, Poseidon. Everyone knew *that* part, though Ariadne did wonder just how people ‘knew’ that it was Poseidon who had hurled the thunderbolt, rather than Zeus or Athene, who really *ought* to have been the one to finish him off.          What Atalanta and Ariadne *hadn’t* known was why those two Locrian maidens were being taken to windy Ilios as virtual prisoners. Rhoxane had explained that Athene was still enraged by the unspeakable conduct of the son of Oileus, and had sent a plague to torment Locris. Eventually, Oileus had sent to an oracle to learn the cause of the plague, and found that the only way to propitiate the goddess and end the plague was to send two maidens every year to serve in the temple of Athene in Troy. If in any year the maidens failed to arrive, the plague would return, Rhoxane had said, so it was vitally important that they not escape this fate. Atalanta had worried that they were slaves, like herself and Ariadne, but Rhoxane had assured them that most of the maidens returned at the end of a year of service. A few hadn’t returned—one had fallen in love and married a Trojan, and a few others had died of illness or on the sea voyage back—but most came home again, and had assured her that it was not an unpleasant duty, despite how unpleasant the reason for it was.          They had spent so long visiting with Rhoxane that they had gotten in quite a lot of trouble over it; it had been one of the few times Kawiya had ever threatened to have Ariadne beaten, in fact. There was just no way Rhoxane wouldn’t recognize them. Ariadne and Atalanta both turned to leave the temple, only to find that Eurysakes was standing right behind them, his expression turning perplexed as he saw them suddenly facing him.          “What’s wrong?” he asked. “You do not want to make your prayers?”          “There’s us in here that shouldn’t see someone,” Atalanta explained hastily.          “…what?”          Ariadne sighed. “We know one of the Locrian maidens serving Athene this year,” she said as quietly as she could, “and you can see how that would be a problem, surely.”          Eurysakes nodded solemnly. “But we may be here for some time,” he replied, just as quietly. “Perhaps you should speak to her now. Lest she find you unaware later.”          Ariadne hesitated. There was definitely merit to his idea. But there seemed to her to be more risk in letting Rhoxane see them; the girl was probably confined to this temple, after all, so how *could* she see them anywhere else? Besides, given Atalanta’s obsessive worship of Achilles, it was probably better if they *didn’t* stay in Troy a moment longer than they had to. It was probably best to see if they could convince the Cypriot ship to take them along when they left after Eurysakes’ diplomatic visit to King Korythos was completed. It wouldn’t be too far out of their way to take the girls to Crete on their way back to Cypros…          “Are you here to worship?” It wasn’t just the words that made Ariadne’s blood run cold, but the voice asking the question: it was Rhoxane’s voice.          There was nothing for it, then, if Rhoxane had already noticed them. Ariadne turned around to face her, and watched with dismay as the other girl’s beautiful blue eyes widened in recognition and surprise. “My cousin and I are visiting from distant Hyperborea,” Ariadne said immediately in a loud enough voice to be overheard by the other priestesses. “Therefore, we thought perhaps your goddess would not want us in her most holy temple.”          Rhoxane’s mouth opened for a moment with no sound coming out, and she glanced over at Atalanta, who was smiling at her uncomfortably. After a glance at the other priestesses, who were still going about their own business, Rhoxane turned a nervous smile back at Ariadne, tugging on one of the loose curls of black hair beside her face as she did so. “The goddess Athene is glad to welcome devotions from distant lands. All who revere the gods—by any name—are accepted here.” She let out a quiet, awkward laugh. “It’s so funny: you look just like a girl I know…”          “They say that we all have a double somewhere in this world,” Ariadne replied, with a wink.          Rhoxane giggled at that, and nodded, a wide grin playing across her lips. “They do say that, don’t they? Well, you really must tell me all about Hyperborea sometime!”          “I would be delighted to—” Ariadne started, but stopped short at the sight of one of the older priestesses approaching them.          “If these young men are not here to worship, then I must request that they leave. This space is dedicated to a virgin goddess—and all the maidens who serve that goddess must remain pure and undefiled,” she added, giving Ariadne a threatening look.          “I meant no—”          “I could see in your eyes what you meant!” the priestess snapped. “And don’t think I’m fool enough to think that a boy your age hasn’t got desires yet. If you wish to worship, go about it, and leave this girl alone!”          Ariadne nodded, feeling her cheeks heat with shame. Had her innocent wink asking Rhoxane to play along with her obvious lie come across as flirtatious? It was all right so long as Rhoxane didn’t see it that way, but…well, it was hard to blame the priestess, really. After all, it was a very rare maiden who was more lovely than Rhoxane. She didn’t compare to Atalanta, of course, but she was certainly leagues more fair than any other young woman in the temple. Or any of the ones Ariadne had seen in the agora, either.          The three of them approached the altar—all the other priestesses giving them a wide berth, as if Ariadne was somehow a plague that might contaminate them and corrupt their virtue—but came to an uncomfortable halt in front of it. “You’re sure she’d be offended by my spear as an offering?” Atalanta asked, looking at the small pile of weapons and armor that laid at the foot of the altar. By the looks of it, most of it was old Achaian armor that had been left behind at the end of the war…          “An offering must have value,” Eurysakes said. “It must be something you would prefer to keep. To give something you don’t want is an insult.”          Though she was tempted to leave behind the uncomfortably heavy Cypriot helmet, or the shield that was so bulky she could barely walk while wearing it, Ariadne opened up the pouch of jewelry she had taken from Ziza’s chamber, and looked through the items within. “Ah, here, this is good,” she said, pulling out a gold signet ring. An Achaian design, it depicted a goddess holding an axe in either hand, with women worshipping on either side of her. “This is appropriate for a warrior goddess.”          Eurysakes peered at the ring as she held it up. “Isn’t that Britomartis?”          “You have a better offering?” Ariadne snapped.          Looking slightly cowed, he shook his head.          Ariadne placed the ring on the pile of offerings to the goddess, and silently begged Athene to help her and Atalanta with this difficult—nigh impossible—deception they were attempting, upon which their very lives depended. She promised to provide a better offering once she was able to do so, and begged also for Athene to intervene with Hermes to give his aid, too: as the god of liars, his help would surely be needed if they were to convince the entire Trojan court that they were barbarian boys from a land Ariadne knew nothing about other than its name. (Thankfully, she was quite sure that no one at the Trojan court knew more than that, either!) She also pleaded with the goddess to intervene to protect Atalanta from her own trusting nature; the last thing either cousin needed was for Atalanta to be taken under the sway of this Eurysakes and his Cypriotes. Ariadne wasn’t sure what Eurysakes was up to, specifically, but the one thing she could be sure of was that he absolutely could not be who he was claiming to be. She wasn’t sure how to explain or understand that sword rising up from the ground, but surely it might have been caused by some local Anatolian god, indicating Eurysakes’ alignment with Troy rather than with the dead Achaian whose bones lay in that grave…assuming that even *was* the grave of Aias at all! That stone with ‘ai’ incised on it might not have even been a grave marker at all, but merely an indication of mourning. Maybe they had buried Hector’s sword—assuming that even *was* Hector’s sword—there by itself as a cursed artifact, considering how many of their own men it had slain. Yes, surely that was more likely, since both Eurysakes and his entire crew were all lying about their identities…          …though wouldn’t that mean that they knew who Ariadne and Atalanta were—who they *really* were, even—and had some goal in tricking them? Perhaps Eurysakes had been telling the truth about an oracle predicting that he would meet someone at Achilles’ grave, and that was why they had been lying in wait for their naïve victims…?          She was still pondering the danger they found themselves in when Ariadne felt Atalanta’s hand on her arm, tugging her away from the altar. “People are starting to stare,” she whispered. “If we’re Hyberporeans, we don’t have any reason so spend so long praying to Athene.”          “Hyperboreans,” Ariadne corrected. “And no, I suppose we don’t,” she admitted. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that that elder priestess was still glaring at her—at them. “Let’s go,” she sighed. The goddess would understand.          The others both nodded, and they headed for the exit from the temple. (set: $athene to "Yes") (if: $cebren is "No")[[[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->cebren temple]]](else:)[[[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Chapter Four]]]

[[<img src="chapter4.jpg" width="750" height="563">->palace1]]

Once they were finished with the temples, Eurysakes suggested that they see the rest of the city. Atalanta thought that was likely to be more depressing than anything else, but Ariadne agreed that it was a good idea, so she didn’t say anything. They set off walking towards the west, leaving the agora and walking through the half-built lower city towards the outer wall.          The gate to the western plains stood open, but there was a massive wooden door that could be closed to prevent entrance to the city. “Suppose this is where the Scaian Gate stood?” Atalanta asked, looking around curiously. Was this open portal in the same place as the one her father had spent so many years failing to tear open?          “I believe that was further out,” Eurysakes said. “The current city seems smaller than Priam’s was.” He paused, biting his lip. “Unless my steps are larger than my uncle’s.”          Atalanta laughed. “I’d think they’d have to be!” It was well known that Teukros was a much smaller man than his late half-brother had been. And since that huge, rectangular shield on Eurysakes’ back had plainly seen many battles, it had to be the same one his father had carried, making Eurysakes about the same size as his father had been. (Probably.)          They continued discussing the gate and its famed predecessor that neither of their fathers had been able to destroy until they were approached by the Achaian herald from the port. “Forgive me, honored guests,” the herald said, bowing low before them, “but King Korythos has sent me to request that you make your way back to the palace, so that you will not miss the feast he is having prepared for you.”          “Thank you, good herald,” Eurysakes said, returning the bow with a light nod. “Lead the way.”          As the herald led them back towards the palace by a different route than the one they had taken from the agora, Ariadne fell into step beside Atalanta and tugged on her arm to slow her a bit. “When we get to the palace, let me do the talking,” Ariadne said quietly. “We have so many things to hide, and the way you burble when you get nervous…”          Atalanta nodded. “You don’t have to tell me,” she assured her cousin, giving her hand a quick squeeze. “Don’t I always let you do the talking?”          Ariadne smiled warmly, and tightened her own grip on Atalanta’s hand. They walked on hand-in-hand for a while, until they drew near the agora, and people started staring and whispering. Then Atalanta let go of Ariadne’s hand, hoping that they hadn’t given themselves away as girls by the gesture.          The herald led them across the agora to the palace, where a number of well-dressed Trojan men were waiting for them. “Are these the visitors from Cypros?” the wealthiest-looking of them asked, addressing the herald. The man speaking was quite the prettiest man that Atalanta had ever seen, which made her wonder if that meant he was King Korythos himself. And yet, he didn’t seem to be any better dressed than her former master, even though surely the king of Troy should be wealthier than the king of a little port town like Methymna. He didn’t even have a diadem, but maybe kings didn’t wear those except for special occasions? (Atalanta had rarely seen her master outside of major religious ceremonies, after all.) More importantly, if Korythos was fathered by Alexander *before* he made off with Queen Helen of Lacedaimon, then by now he would surely have to be at least forty, and this man didn’t look much over thirty. And yet, how many girlishly pretty men could there be in a single court?          “Indeed they are, my lord,” the herald replied, with a slight bow.          “Hmm. Well, *one* of them certainly matches expectations,” he commented, his critical gaze settling on Eurysakes for a moment, before moving on to Atalanta and Ariadne, prompting a disapproving look on the man’s face. “As to the other two…” He frowned, and shook his head. “It would not be proper to present them in such a begrimed manner to his majesty.” So he really *wasn’t* King Korythos, then…          “You’re quite right, my lord Ganymede,” another man standing near him said in a foul, toadying manner.          “Ganymede?!” both Atalanta and Ariadne chorused at once in their shock.          “It’s an old family name,” the man told them, with a smile that struck Atalanta as being rather vain. “I assure you, I’m not the one you’ve heard of.”          “I should hope not,” Ariadne chuckled. “Zeus the thunderer would surely be much aggrieved to be without his cup-bearer.”          The man called Ganymede laughed, but he seemed angry rather than amused. “Zelotes!” he snapped.          “Yes, my lord?” the sycophant at his elbow oozed, bowing deeply, even though his lord wasn’t looking at the gesture.          “Take these three boys into the palace and see that they’re thoroughly washed before they’re presented to the king. Washed and perfumed,” he added, waving a hand in front of his face as if in objection to their stink. Personally, Atalanta thought they didn’t smell badly at all, especially considering that they had walked for two days straight before reaching the campsite last night.          “Yes, my lord!” Zelotes simpered. Without further ceremony, the Trojan nobles dispersed back to the palace, talking amongst themselves. They were speaking in the high Hatti tongue, so Atalanta didn’t understand much of what they said, but she definitely caught the name Aias being repeated several times, especially by the older men among the nobles.          The three of them were now alone with the herald and Zelotes, and then soon just with Zelotes, as the herald promptly excused himself and hurried back into the agora. “This way, young lords,” Zelotes said to them, gesturing towards the palace.          They followed him as he led them into the palace, listening as he described everything that was expected of them. However, it wasn’t long before he came to repeat Ganymede’s insistence that they must bathe most carefully before being presented to his most elegant—and delicately-nosed, evidently—majesty, King Korythos.          “Ah, there is a complication there,” Ariadne told him, with a slight blush. “Unlike Eurysakes here, my cousin Atleus and I are from the distant north, and our customs are very different from those you practice in these southern lands.”          “Evidently so, as we would never allow such young boys to bear arms or travel unaccompanied,” Zelotes replied, sounding disgusted, “but surely even barbarians must bathe sometimes.”          “Naturally we do,” Ariadne said coldly. “But we have many religious rites that must be undergone before we can immerse ourselves in the purifying waters. And these rites must not be observed by outsiders. So Atleus and myself will have to be alone before we can disrobe and bathe. The servants will have to be dismissed from our presence first.”          “How very odd,” Zelotes commented, shaking his head. “But if that is what you wish, it can be arranged. So long as you do actually bathe, whether or not you’re assisted in the matter is of no importance. Bathe and use the perfumed unguents provided.”          “Do we really smell that bad?” Atalanta asked, trying vainly to sniff at herself around her armor.          “To answer that honestly would be far too rude to the king’s *honored* guests,” Zelotes answered, with a smarmy smile that struck Atalanta as far more rude than any honest estimation of her level of stink could ever be. “Have you any such…complications?” Zelotes went on, looking at Eurysakes.          Eurysakes laughed. “No. I am no different from any other man. Except larger,” he added, with a smirk. Zelotes was, after all, nearly as short as Ariadne. And he did not seem the least bit amused to have that pointed out, given the way he suddenly started walking much faster, and didn’t say another word until they reached their destination.          Korythos’ palace was far nicer than the one her former master owned, Atalanta noticed, even as they passed through its halls at speed. Everything was newly built, of course, which made it look fresh and clean in a way that her master’s never could, but also every wall was lined with beautiful frescoes of flowing rivers, green meadows, and more than one image of the elegant silhouette of the low, sweeping mountains that stood to the southeast of Troy, the same ones that could be seen from home on a clear day.          Atalanta and Ariadne were soon left behind in a large room with a stone bathing tub built into the floor. Several serving girls—or probably slave girls, given that they had short hair, like Atalanta’s and Ariadne’s—were filling the tub with water so warm that it was steaming as they arrived. A number of finely woven men’s tunics in both Hatti and Achaian styles were laid out nearby, along with both sandals and curly-toed shoes. The girls spent several minutes holding up the tunics in front of the cousins to see which ones were the right size for them. Then, at Ariadne’s insistence, they left again, to allow them their ‘bathing rites’ undisturbed.          “I wonder if we can really do this,” Atalanta sighed, as she started removing her fine Cypriot cuirass. Ariadne was moving a screen in front of the door—an actual wooden door, just like a noble’s chamber!—to prevent anyone from coming in and seeing anything. “Won’t people realize the truth eventually?”          Ariadne sighed sadly, and began removing her own armor. “Eventually, yes, of course. That’s why I don’t want to stay in any one place very long. If we can get to Hellas, though, perhaps we really can call ourselves warrior women. Maybe some Pelasgian village would take us in as guards.”          “I’m not very good at speaking Pelasgian,” Atalanta said, frowning as she put the last of her armor aside and struggled out of her tunic. “The last Pelasgian guest the master had laughed at me outright.”          “You’re not *that* bad,” Ariadne assured her, with a chuckle. “It’s just that your Achaian accent made it sound like you’d said something very, *very* filthy.”          Atalanta stopped suddenly in the midst of trying to untie the bindings around her breasts. Her whole face—her whole *body*—felt hot. “Filthy…? Like….*really* filthy…?” she asked, looking at Ariadne over her shoulder.          Ariadne laughed again, harder, as she moved closer to untie the binding for her. “Yes, like that,” she said. “He knew you didn’t mean it, though.”          Atalanta sighed miserably, and hurried over to the tub, hoping to sink into the water up to her forehead. Unfortunately, the tub was actually very shallow, and barely covered her privates, let alone anything else. “How are we supposed to wash in so little water?” Back home, if the slaves got to being so stinky that a wipe-down with water from one of the murky ewers in the slave quarters couldn’t handle it, they just went for a little dip in the sea to cleanse themselves. (Atalanta preferred that method regardless of her relative level of stink, in fact.)          “That’s what those girls were here for,” Ariadne said, shaking her head. “It was the same way in Methymna. I sometimes had to help wash the bathing tubs in the guest chambers; they were about like these.” Ariadne set her tunic aside, and started removing the binding around her own breasts. “We’ll have to wash each other, that’s all.”          Atalanta nodded uncomfortably. They were having to work so hard to hide so much! Why was it even necessary, really? Why did it matter so much what kind of privates they had?          …why did Atalanta even have to *have* privates, anyway? Wouldn’t life be better if she didn’t have anything to hide or cover up?          Maybe that was why some men let themselves be turned into geldings…? [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->palace2]]

After their bath, Atalanta must have been feeling shy again, because she was already hurrying to dress again, before Ariadne could even bring up the subject of the perfumed unguents or binding her breasts. The unguents would probably be more effective if applied to the tunic anyway, but Ariadne insisted on tightly binding her breasts before allowing Atalanta to slip into one of the tunics. Still, it was a silly haste on Atalanta’s part: she evidently didn’t even notice that she was putting on the smaller Hatti-style tunic *backwards*!          The sooner they could end this charade and admit to being women, the better. It would be fewer chances for Atalanta to accidentally say something stupid and expose their deceptions, and it would…well, it *might* get them a little more respect. Among the Pelasgians it would, at least. And the Scythians. Of course, if that time came, they would have to grow their hair out. Right now it was short enough that each curl was about the right length to wrap around Ariadne’s thumb; a common enough length for a man or a boy, but a marker of enslavement on a woman. But that meant that their former state might be evident to observers while they were growing their hair out. It was probably best, then, that they let their hair grow long while they were still pretending to be Hyperborean boys. After all, they could just claim that it was part of the manhood rite in Hyperborea…          But before that, they would have to deal with the matter of court garb. “Help me bind my breasts,” Ariadne said, “and then take off my tunic. You’re supposed to wear the bigger ones. That one doesn’t even cover your buttocks, the way you’re wearing it!”          Atalanta’s whole face flushed crimson, and she hurried around behind Ariadne, helping with the binding. It was tighter than the original binding, so it hurt a bit, but Ariadne had more to hide in that measure than Atalanta did, so she set her mind to ignoring the pain.          Once Atalanta was done with that, she quickly discarded Ariadne’s Hatti-style tunic, and took up her own, once again putting it on backwards. “What are you *doing*?” Ariadne demanded. “We’ve worn tunics like this our whole lives! Why are you putting it on backwards?!”          “Well, I thought…if we’re pretending to be people from super-far away, maybe they wear their clothes differently?” Atalanta said, with a weak smile.          Ariadne sighed. “I can’t imagine anyone anywhere would look at these and think the tail goes in the front.” She frowned, running her fingers through her damp hair. There *was* a reason that the city was sometimes referred to by the epithet ‘windy,’ so maybe if they wore the tailed tunics backwards, there would be less chance of them blowing up and exposing that they weren’t boys…? “Maybe you’re right,” she said, shaking her head. “We’ll do that. Worst that can happen is that they laugh at us.”          Atalanta smiled so brightly that it was almost painful to behold. Did she have any idea just how beautiful she was when she smiled like that? Ariadne wanted to forbid her from ever smiling like that at anyone else, lest they see too much of her true nature and become eternally enthralled by her.          Ariadne put on the smaller tailed tunic—still warm from Atalanta’s body—and immediately felt like a fool, having the tail in the front. This was going to take a lot of getting used to. More importantly, the thin cloth was not doing much to hide their figures; even though their breasts were bound down enough to hide them, with such thin tunics their narrow waists and Ariadne’s wider hips were still rather evident. It was going to take a miracle to keep the court from realizing they were girls…          “I wish we could put our armor back on,” Atalanta said, eying the beautiful Cypriot armor wistfully. “I don’t like being so exposed. What if the Trojans figure out who my father was, and we’re unable to defend ourselves?”          “Given that Eurysakes outright announced himself as the son of the second-greatest warrior in the Achaian army, I don’t think much would happen even if they did leap to that conclusion,” Ariadne said, forcing herself not to add any comment about the impossibility of it being true. Since Atalanta actually believed that Eurysakes and Eutychos were on the level both about themselves and about her paternity, how could Ariadne’s logic prevail against their assurances that Atalanta’s absurd delusions were the truth? Someday, she would find the proof that their fathers had been liars and thieves, but until then Atalanta would remain convinced that she was the daughter of a demigod. Unfortunately, about the only way to prove it would be to find their real fathers. Maybe they *should* go to Ithaca after all; a king as crafty as Odysseus was reputed to be would probably know about anyone who had gone around impersonating him, even decades after the fact…          “Do you think Eurysakes will meet us at the megaron, or should we go find him first?” Atalanta asked, distracting Ariadne from her thoughts.          Ariadne could only shrug in response. How could she possibly know? Besides, what did it even matter? Eurysakes—or whatever his name really was—was every bit the liar that their fathers had been. The sooner they could be rid of him, the better.          She moved aside the screen, and opened the door. The slave girls were waiting for them in the hall, and—after stifling laughter at the sight of their backwards tunics—told them that they would lead them to their companions who were waiting for them outside the great hall, so they could all be presented to the king and his court together.          Eurysakes looked quite nervous as he waited for them, but Ariadne wasn’t sure if it was just because he felt uncomfortable being without his armor and shield, or if he was afraid of his deception being spotted by the king. He, too, was wearing a nice courtly garment, an Achaian-style tunic woven from particularly fine material, with a gold and purple stripe through it. Ariadne had to admit that it made him look downright regal, but the way he shifted from foot to foot so frequently all but entirely destroyed the effect, as did Eutychos upbraiding him for fidgeting. He smiled with relief on seeing them, but didn’t say anything. Atalanta, on the other hand, grumbled something about how unfair it was that his tunic was so much nicer than theirs, but Ariadne was able to reassure her that he had likely brought that tunic with him on his ship; Eutychos’ tunic was likewise woven from finer wool than the ones provided by the Trojans, but lacked the decorative elements of Eurysakes’.          As the slave girls who had been walking in front of them departed, giving Eurysakes and Eutychos a sight of the way the cousins were dressed, both men laughed, but Eurysakes stopped laughing almost immediately. “Your tunics are backwards,” he said quietly, as they drew near enough to converse.          “Intentionally so,” Ariadne whispered back. “To be more Hyperborean.”          Eurysakes only looked concerned by her words, but Eutychos nodded, with a wistful smile. “We are keeping the king waiting,” Eutychos commented, loudly enough for the slaves to hear. “Let us go in.”          The four of them entered the megaron together, and found that an impressive feast had been laid out to one side of the room, and the king and his court were apparently waiting only on them to begin their meal. (There was no sign of the other sailors off of Eurysakes’ ship; they must have all been commoners.) They had hardly entered the room before Eutychos stopped with a gasp, and his hand went towards his hip, as if he was trying to draw a sword. Following his gaze, Ariadne saw only the throne where King Korythos awaited them.          Though he looked surprisingly young for a man who was supposedly born before the Queen of Lacedaimon eloped with Prince Alexander, Korythos was certainly every bit as beautiful as Alexander was said to have been. His hair was golden, and hung down to his shoulders in slightly curled locks. His eyes were a deep blue, like the waters of a placidly moving river on a sunny day, and they looked surprisingly kind and friendly, despite the open hostility being shown to him by one of his guests. “Is something amiss?” he asked, in Achaian that had only the faintest trace of an accent.          “Forgive me, sire,” Eutychos bowed slightly. “Your resemblance to your father made me forget myself momentarily.”          “Then you were one of the men who destroyed my grandfather’s city?” Korythos asked, causing several of the court to turn hate-filled stares in Eutychos’ direction.          “As a warrior of Salamis, I accompanied the sons of Telamon to the war against Troy, yes,” Eutychos said. “None of us bore any malice towards your people. Prince Aias was bound by his oath to Tyndareos to fight to restore Helen.” He set a hand on Eurysakes’ shoulder. “And as he found love on these shores, I do not think he ever repented his oath, despite that it cost him his life.” There was a momentary, very awkward silence, in which Eutychos released Eurysakes’ shoulder. “If it is any consolation,” Eutychos went on, “I personally contributed very little to the devastation of either the city or its surrounding lands. As part of the honor guard for the prince, I rarely added anything to the combat, as the enemies we faced invariably wanted to test themselves against him, and he never needed the aid of his guards.”          Surprisingly, that made Korythos laugh. “What folly, to attack the most dangerous foe present! I am sure none here will contest it when I say that war is the most vile of all human inventions.”          “As one who has experienced all too much of it, I certainly will not argue against that,” Eutychos agreed, bowing again. “Your wisdom is unassailable.”          “Come, let us not speak further before the feast begins,” Korythos said, gesturing them closer.          As they crossed the megaron, Ariadne was painfully aware of the men of the court staring at them, and she could only hope that they were mostly focused on Eutychos, as their former enemy, and that if they spared any attention for the girls, it was only to wonder—or mock—at their backwards tunics. She was left uncomfortably by the all too familiar sensation of so many eyes upon her, after so many nights being ogled as she sang for their former master’s guests, so Ariadne tried to distract herself by looking at the room itself. The megaron was at least twice the size of the one back home, but it *was* still a megaron, rather than a Hatti-style throne room, perhaps because the palace had originally been built by the son of an Achaian goddess? Still, there were differences. In the Achaian architecture Ariadne was used to, the columns were wider at the top and narrow at the base, but these were rather the inverse, slightly larger at the base than at the top. In Methymna, all the columns had been painted white, with traces of old red paint visible below it, but these columns were gradated shades of blue: the bases were a very dark blue, but they slowly became a very pale blue as they rose towards the ceiling, as if the color had been giving out on them as they painted upwards. The throne was carved of stone, but mostly covered over with gold foil, making it quite the most impressive piece of furniture that Ariadne had ever seen, but she doubted it was the least bit comfortable to sit on.          Comfortable or no, Korythos was certainly sitting on it, wearing long, ornate robes, and the headgear of a priest-king, though Ariadne wondered just what god he was priest *to*, considering his odd choice of temples to build. Standing beside him was that same Ganymede from before, but now he wore garments almost as fine as those of the king, and had even more gold rings on his fingers than Korythos was wearing. His dark hair clustered in tight curls that hung down almost to his shoulders; in fact, as Ariadne glanced around, she realized that most of the men of the court had hair that was nearly shoulder-length, as well as being beardless, so it must have been the Trojan fashion for men to grow their hair long and shave their beards. In his fine raiment, Ganymede, too, seemed to merit the word “beautiful” more than anything else; honestly, it was hard to imagine that the Ganymede up on Olympos could be any more beautiful. The both of them together like that, two such androgynously beautiful men, made Ariadne feel a bit of a failure as a woman, even though the visitors to the court at Methymna had always claimed to find her quite beautiful herself. (The only consolation she could feel at the comparison, realistically, was that the men of the Trojan royal family were famous for their beauty—from the original Ganymede through Tithonos, abducted by Eos herself for his fairness of face, all the way to Alexander—and Ganymede was almost certainly related to Korythos, as they had a similar shape to their faces, and the exact same shade of blue eyes.)          Once the four of them reached the throne and bowed before the king—somewhat awkwardly on Atalanta and Ariadne’s parts—Korythos rose from the throne and preceded them over to the feast, where the waiting slaves served him his food. He ordered the slaves to serve his guests next as they all took their positions at the feast.          “Now that we are at our meal, I hope you will indulge my curiosity and introduce your young companions,” Korythos said, looking at either Eutychos or Eurysakes. “My herald was not provided their identities.”          “They are barbarians from the far north,” Ganymede told him. “By their own admission.” He chuckled meanly. “Perhaps that is why they didn’t realize they were putting their tunics on backwards.”          “My cousin and I hail from Hyperborea,” Ariadne said, smiling at Ganymede in a manner that was probably a bit more baring her teeth than truly smiling. “And at home this is the prevailing fashion when trousers are not being worn. We have great gusts of wind in the mountains, and there is nothing more rude or more obscene than the accidental exposure of the genitalia.”          “Hyperborea,” Korythos repeated, casually taking a sip of his wine. “Really?”          “That is certainly what the young gentlemen told King Teukros upon their arrival,” Eutychos said. “They were shipwrecked near our shores, and washed up all but naked on the beach. Please forgive my impropriety in failing to introduce them to you, as members of our party. The dark-haired lad is Arios, and the fair one is Atleus.”          “Surprisingly Achaian names for Hyperborean barbarians,” Ganymede commented.          “We have translated them to your tongue,” Ariadne replied, her eyes narrowing.          “It is not *my* tongue, child,” Ganymede retorted. “We speak the language of the Great King here,” he added in the courtly tongue of Hattusa.          “That is rude, Ganymede,” Korythos said, scowling at him. “It is fortunate enough that these boys speak Achaian so well. Do not expect them to speak so many languages. Especially after I ordered the entire court to speak Achaian to make our guests from Salamis welcome.”          “I wonder what your father would say to that,” Ganymede replied, still in the Hatti tongue.          “My father is not the subject under discussion,” Korythos snarled. Then he turned to look at Eurysakes. “But I have been rude to my primary guest,” he said, with an almost obsequious smile. “I hope you have not taken offense at my lapse, young prince.”          “It is only natural,” Eurysakes replied. The slowness of his tongue caused a look of consternation to cross Korythos’ face. “Eutychos is my elder. It is expected he will speak for me. For now.”          “It gladdens my heart to find you to be so understanding.” There was a pause, then Korythos’ pleasant expression sank a little. “I suppose you never met your uncle’s mother,” he commented.          “I did not. So far as I know,” Eurysakes said. “I have no memories of Salamis. My father’s Salamis. I remember my grandfather vaguely. An angry, yelling man. Purple with rage. Screaming at my uncle. Attempting to strike my mother. I was very small. If Hesione was there…” He shook his head. “She would have been just a strange woman to me.”          Korythos sighed sadly. “Yes, I am not surprised. I quite obviously never knew her myself, nor did my father. My mother told me tales of witnessing her abduction by Heracles and Telamon, but as my father would not be born for many years after that…”          “How did your mother see it, then?” Atalanta asked, her beautiful blue eyes wide with surprise and confusion.          Ariadne elbowed her, but too late to stop the question from coming out, or causing the whole court to laugh at her.          “My mother is a nymph,” Korythos informed her, “immortal and eternally young. Not that that stopped my father betraying her,” he added, with so much venom in his voice that Ariadne found all her last lingering doubts about his story washed away. “That is why I have made adultery a crime punishable by death, for all involved parties.”          “That is surprisingly harsh, but after what this city—what we *all*—suffered over that particular act of adultery, I cannot blame you for that decision,” Eutychos said. The looks on the faces of the men of the court said that they blamed him for it, a lot. Ariadne suspected that Aineias had *not* made any laws to punish adultery with death (not for men, at least), and that Korythos hadn’t revealed that plan until after Aineias had relinquished the throne and sailed away.          The whole court seemed to have been driven into silence by the mere mention of Korythos’ zeal for punishing adulterers, and they ate in an awkward silence for some time. The food was delicious—and Atalanta was rather making a fool of herself in enjoying it all too much—but the atmosphere in the megaron was rendering it ashen in Ariadne’s mouth. When the silence was finally broken, it did nothing to improve the atmosphere, because it was Ganymede who spoke up, and it was about the business of the kingdom. Something about the collection of goods, at least at first, nothing worth paying attention to until he finally added that “we shall lose control of the southern region entirely if we cannot do something about the bandits.”          “Bandits?” Atalanta repeated, her eyes suddenly lighting up with something other than delight at the fine food she was devouring in absurd quantities.          “Yes, there have been many reports of them in the region of Mount Ida,” Korythos said, shaking his head sadly. “I believe the reports to be grossly exaggerating their number and skills, however.”          “Your majesty, they have stolen the greater portion of the tribute from the region, and several dozen of our troops from the villages surrounding the mountain have deserted to go back and protect their families,” Ganymede replied coldly. “They are not to be taken lightly.”          “I’ll fight them for you,” Atalanta offered instantly, at the same time that Eurysakes started to say the exact same thing, though it took him twice as long to say it.          “It is most gracious of you to offer,” King Korythos said, smiling at them, “but I would be a most abysmal host if I asked—nay, if I *allowed* you to fight such foes. My army will take care of the bandits. You need not worry yourselves about them.”          “But…” Atalanta started, turning to look at Ariadne with pleading eyes. But what was Ariadne supposed to say? No matter that the plan was for Atalanta to earn a living as a spear for hire when they reached Hellas, this was hardly the time or place to start! Particularly not when she had never fought a real opponent in her life. Sparring with the guards was simply not the same thing…          “Really, you *must* tell me more about your homeland,” Korythos said, smiling at the girls. “Do the northern lands really turn out proper, powerful warriors at such a young age? You would still be viewed as children here.”          “In our far, frozen land, we must toughen up in our childhood,” Ariadne answered smoothly. “It is so cold that it snows all year round, but we have learned ways of surviving despite the snow.” She laughed. “Though now that we have become accustomed to the gentle warmth you enjoy here, it may be impossible for us to return to our frigid homeland!”          “Snow all throughout the year?” Ganymede repeated, sounding skeptical in the extreme. “Does the light of the sun not reach you at all?”          “Only barely, my lord,” Ariadne said, adding a slick smile to buy herself a moment to extemporize a bit more detail. “We are aware of the difference between night and day, but the clouds never part above our land, and no warmth comes to us with the light. Don’t mistake me, though, my lords! Even though it snows continually, we do have summertime! In the summer, the snow is light and crisp and clear, but in the winter the flakes are so large that you would mistake them for feathers! Indeed, our southern neighbors think they *are* feathers, falling from the backs of gryphons that guard golden treasures in the mountains.” Atalanta had thought snow was feathers for years, after misunderstanding a description of it they had heard from a traveler. Ariadne shook her head. “It is nonsense, of course, but we don’t discourage them from saying it. After all, if it will make them fear us, then they won’t wish to make war on us the way they make war on all their other neighbors.”          “Then the Hyperboreans are people of peace,” the king concluded, looking surprised.          “In most respects, yes, sire. But we must learn the bow or the blade in order to defend ourselves from the beasts that roam our lands,” Ariadne explained. The last thing she wanted to do was make them out to be unable to fight at all! “We do, indeed have gryphons, as well as beasts so terrible that no words exist in your language for them. Things much like the Chimera that your hero Bellerophon defeated, only in larger numbers, and with more heads. Too, we have a tribe of goat-footed men living in the mountains to our east, and we must be ready to defend ourselves from them if need be.”          “Goat-footed men.” Ganymede’s voice was utterly flat, and his eyes were very narrow. He obviously didn’t believe a word of Ariadne’s story, but the rest of the court seemed quite entranced. It was a true delight to get to spin this fabulous tale to such a gullible crowd!          “Not entirely unlike your satyrs,” Ariadne told him, “but considerably more vicious. And less intelligent, thank the gods!”          “Ah, there is an interesting point!” the king exclaimed. “Surely the Hyperboreans do not worship the same gods as the Hellenes or the people of Hatti.”          Ariadne smiled and nodded. “We don’t, and yet we do, your majesty. Our gods are the same as yours, though we call them by different names, just as some of the cities we have seen in these southern lands worship the same god under more than one name, like Poseidon and Aruna. Some of our rites are very different from any of those here in the south, but some are exactly the same. No doubt, these latter were rites handed down to both of us by the gods themselves.”          By this point in the conversation, Ariadne was aware that Eurysakes was smirking fairly noticeably, though he was using his cup to hide it from the rest of the table. As far as Ariadne could see, Atalanta was having much less trouble holding in her amusement at the nonsense that these men were believing so readily; after all, Ariadne used to spin stories for Atalanta all the time back home. Surprisingly, Eutychos was listening with an entirely straight face; perhaps he had experience listening to similar tall tales?          “I should like very much to have seen your Hyperborean clothes and armaments,” the king went on. “Pity you lost them in the shipwreck. They must have been very different indeed from ours.”          Ariadne nodded mournfully. “Yes, they were. As far as clothing goes, we typically wear sleeved tunics over trousers, except during some of the midsummer festivals, when we wear robes—still sleeved, of course—that are longer in the front and shorter in the back. Our armor has very different design, but a spear, a sword or a bow is rather the same anywhere you go, of course.”          “Naturally so,” Korythos agreed. “But why *were* such young boys as yourselves traveling alone? Or were your parents killed in the shipwreck?”          “We are on our journey of manhood,” Ariadne said. “It is the effect of living in such cold climes that the—” She stopped slightly, coughing uncomfortably. “Certain changes of encroaching manhood, if you see what I mean, cannot go through while we are in so cold a place. We have to leave on a holy journey if we want to finish becoming men.”          The court seemed to be holding its breath until one of the men suddenly said “It’s so cold that they won’t drop?” at which point the whole room erupted into laughter, and Atalanta's face turned more red than her hair.          “That is what I was trying very hard not to say, yes,” Ariadne sighed. “It is most dreadfully impolite to speak of such things in Hyperborea,” she added.          “Well, we shall entirely avoid discussing the male—ah—form, while you are present, then,” King Korythos said, with the smile of a man fighting off further laughter. “But surely you had accompaniment on your journey?”          “We did not, no. It is a holy rite, and we must be unaided in our journey. We also must not discuss it, particularly with outsiders.”          “How very *convenient*,” Ganymede commented coldly.          “We will not be so rude as to ask you for further details, then,” Korythos said, aiming a glare at Ganymede as he did so, “but I hope you will not say that fighting bandits is part of the ritual?”          Ariadne laughed. “No, sire. We must subjugate some foe in the course of the journey, but that is typically expected to be more monstrous in nature. Though I believe bandits would more than suffice.”          King Korythos nodded appreciatively, then turned to look at Eurysakes again. “Since I seem to be bordering on rudeness all around, perhaps you will allow me to indulge my curiosity further,” he said. “I have often heard that you were raised by your uncle in Cypros, but it never made any sense to me that your grandfather turned you away simply because your mother had been captured as a slave during the war that cost your father his life.”          Eurysakes frowned. “I do not…it…” He looked to Eutychos helplessly, with watery eyes that looked like they were on the verge of spilling tears. Either he was a better actor than Ariadne had given him credit for, or his real origins (whatever they were) must have contained a similar tragedy.          “It is not that Telamon refused to accept Eurysakes,” Eutychos explained. “He cast out Teukros for having failed to protect Aias from…his fate. As to Tekmessa, Aias’ concubine…I cannot explain what would have made him think such a thing, but Telamon seemed to blame her for what had happened to Aias. Accused her of using her wiles to weaken his son and make him subject to…” He stopped, biting his lower lip with a pensive expression. “I honestly believe something within him must have snapped when he learned what had happened to Aias. He was raving in a manner very unlike the king I had served prior to the war. Whatever the case was, he actually tried to keep the boy, separating him from his mother.”          “He did?” Eurysakes’ voice shook.          “Your mother didn’t want you to know,” Eutychos said, setting a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “She didn’t want to upset you.” Eutychos returned his attention to the king. “I and many of the other men who had fought beside the princes in this land actually turned our blades against the king in whose service we allegedly fought. We would not have Aias’ son parted from the woman who Aias had treasured a thousand times more than his legal wife. That is why we joined Teukros in exile, though I confess that I for one would have done so anyway, because I could not accept a man who would turn aside his surviving son for having failed to prevent something that was entirely outside his power to influence. Perhaps some of this is my loyalty influencing my judgment, but I believe that there were no men of better character in the entire Achaian camp than the sons of Telamon, and while Teukros has nowhere near the physical strength and skill that Aias did, he is every bit as good a man, and any man who refused to honor him for his qualities is not worthy of being my king.”          “Very well spoken, and a very noble sentiment,” Korythos said. “As they were both fighting against my own father, I don’t think I can agree further than that, but I respect your dedication to your comrades.” He frowned. “It makes me worry what my aunt’s life was like after that, however.”          “Though my king—my *new* king—has often sent heralds to ask for news of his mother, I have never heard anything of her fate,” Eutychos said. “We had a visit from one of the sons of Theseus not long after old Telamon finally gave up and died, and he reported no sign of Hesione at the funeral games, so I feel it certain that she is no longer living. It has long been my hope that she passed peacefully *before* our war ended, so she would not have to suffer learning that her home had been utterly destroyed for a second time, nor to have seen her only son sent away in eternal banishment.”          The king sighed sadly. “What a depressing thought! We should not be discussing such things. Let us talk of more cheerful matters!” He clapped his hands to draw the attention of a slave girl. “Send for a bard,” he said. “Let us have a song of the heroism of old. Something unrelated to the anguish our land has experienced in the past few generations. The tale of the defeat of the serpent Illuyanka, perhaps.”          The slave girl ran off into the palace. “I thought you only wanted speech in Achaian,” Ganymede commented. “Surely no one has translated that tale into the words of Hellas.”          Korythos frowned. “Yes, you’re quite right. Go and get my Achaian herald to translate for them.”          “Me?” Ganymede asked, somewhere between offended and incredulous.          “Yes, you! Now!”          Ganymede scowled at his king and left the megaron, grumbling some particularly unsavory invectives as he did so, in at least three or four tongues. Ariadne only understood about half of it, if that much, and she was actually rather glad not to understand any more of it.          While they were waiting, Korythos looked at Atalanta curiously. “I take it from your earlier eagerness to fight that you believe you would be capable of taking on the bandits?”          “My father was the greatest warrior of our people,” Atalanta said, nodding solemnly. “I will not allow myself to fail to live up to his reputation, or he will not rest quietly in death.”          Korythos smiled. “Perhaps you should start with a less dangerous task, then,” he suggested. “Say a sparring match with your enormous friend here?” he said, gesturing towards Eurysakes. “As a young man, I once witnessed his father on the field of battle, and I have to admit to being curious if the resemblance between them goes further than just the physical.”          “Sounds good to me,” Atalanta agreed, smiling. It sounded rather disastrous to Ariadne, but perhaps if she lost badly enough it would encourage her to stop believing herself to be the daughter of Achilles…          “Me, too,” Eurysakes agreed. “I will not disappoint my father’s shade by losing.”          “Excellent!” Korythos applauded as though a child watching the spectacle of dogs tearing apart a hare. “Let that be our entertainment tomorrow morning, then! A friendly match between our two honored guests!”          The court agreed so obsequiously that it made Ariadne sick to her stomach, and entirely turned her off her food. For all his pretence at being a wise ruler, Korythos was no better than his father, was he? No truly wise king would surround himself exclusively with sycophants… [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->monstrous thing]]

Guests at the Trojan court, it turned out, were given marvelously soft beds to sleep on. Atalanta was used to the hard slabs of the slave quarters at Methymna, and had sometimes stolen a nap on the thin pallets laid upon those slabs in the servants’ quarters, but this was entirely new to her. There was an actual bed—she had thought they were just a myth!—constructed of wood, and with a cushion to sleep on that was made of thick cloth filled with something soft and squishy like sand or straw or wool. It was the most amazing sensation, like sleeping in the clouds, and she hardly wanted to rise in the morning.          Until she remembered that she was going to get to have a sparring match with Eurysakes, and then she leapt straight out of bed and hurried into her armor. After all those years of having no one to test herself against but the pathetic guards at the palace in Methymna, imagine getting to try her blade against the son of Aias himself!          It would have been better, of course, if she *had* a blade to try. All she had was the awful Phoenician spear. She didn’t even have a sword to use once the spear broke. But maybe she could borrow one…?          Ariadne, of course, reprimanded her for putting on her armor before they could even have their morning meal, but Atalanta insisted she was right to do so. And when they left the room and made their way towards the megaron, she found that Eurysakes, too, had shown up in his full armor. Eutychos, like Ariadne, was only wearing a courtly tunic, and seemed every bit as annoyed with Eurysakes as Ariadne was with Atalanta. The king seemed quite amused by their eagerness, but said that he would not be available to watch their match until midmorning.          That gave Atalanta enough time to ask Eutychos if he could loan her a sword for the duel, since she didn’t have one. “We can’t have that,” he agreed, nodding. “It would reflect badly on King Teukros if you’re underequipped.” Atalanta and both her cousins accompanied Eutychos to the chambers that had been prepared for him, where he handed over his own sword and its belt. “I wish I could give you a spear to replace that shoddy one, but now that the king’s seen you holding it…”          “A duel is largely fought with swords,” Eurysakes said. “The spears are mostly for show.”          “Not exactly, my prince, but I suppose in this case it’s close enough.”          With that task completed, the girls returned to their own chamber. While she was waiting for the time when the match would take place, Atalanta put in a little practice with the sword, sparring with the air, just to get a feel for its weight. “You’ll tire yourself out if you keep that up,” Ariadne sighed after a while.          Atalanta frowned, but didn’t try to argue. She couldn’t win against Ariadne, after all. So she put the sword away again, and asked Ariadne what they were going to do *after* the match.          “Whatever the king demands, I would expect,” Ariadne said, shaking her head. “Likely another long and boring feast.”          “Um, yes, but…I meant…you know…*after* that.”          “After that?” Ariadne repeated. “I don’t know. We need to leave Troy and get to Hellas somehow, but I don’t know how. Maybe the Cypriotes will give us a ride when they leave.”          Atalanta bit her lip uncomfortably. “You make it sound like we’re not going to help Eurysakes mend his father’s honor.”          “I’m not planning on it,” Ariadne agreed, nodding.          “Because it would reflect badly on *your* father?” Atalanta asked, almost hopefully.          “I don’t care what that sailor claims,” Ariadne said, scowling. “I am *never* going to believe that our fathers were anything but a pair of liars duping a gullible nobleman.”          Somehow, Ariadne’s words hurt less than they used to. Atalanta still felt a warmth inside from having met one of her father’s kin, and having been so completely accepted by one of his former comrades-in-arms. Ariadne’s pessimism couldn’t touch her now. She folded both of Ariadne’s hands within her own. “That’s not true,” Atalanta said. “You’ll see. Someday, you’ll accept that they were telling the truth.”          “Not. Going. To. Happen.”          It might have devolved into a real argument if the herald hadn’t come to fetch Atalanta for the sparring match. He led them to a large interior courtyard bordered with frescoes depicting riverbanks in front of the southern mountains. King Korythos and his whole court waited in the shaded porticoes around the courtyard, while Eurysakes stood in the middle of the courtyard itself, his armor gleaming in the bright morning sun, making him look rather godlike. The thought that she had the privilege to test herself against him in combat made Atalanta’s heart start pounding with excitement.          “Be careful,” Ariadne said quietly, setting a hand on her arm. “Don’t get hurt in a friendly sparring match.”          “Don’t worry about me,” Atalanta promised, before walking over to Eurysakes. Ariadne stayed behind on the sidelines, near the king and Eutychos. Once she was in front of Eurysakes, Atalanta smiled broadly at him. “This should be fun,” she said.          He nodded.          “Um…but I’ve never…” She paused, and glanced over at the eager audience watching them. “I don’t know how a match like this goes in Hellas,” Atalanta said, hoping that was a good enough lie to get around the fact that she’d never fought a formal match, only informally sparred with the master’s guards.          “A duel begins with the hurling of spears,” Eurysakes told her. “Then come the swords. When the spears can no longer be thrown.”          “Surely the spears should be entirely set aside in a friendly sparring match,” Ganymede said, sounding appalled. “They could harm each other—or someone in the court!”          “It will be fine,” the king said, laughing. “They’re both plainly quite skilled.”          Atalanta felt encouraged that he could tell she was a good fighter just by looking, so she nodded, and started moving backwards to a good spear-throwing distance. “Is this a good position?” she asked. “Oh, and who throws first?”          “The distance is almost good,” Eurysakes said, taking a few large steps backwards himself. “But first throw is usually determined by lot.”          “Do we have any way to do that?” Atalanta asked, looking around uncertainly. How did people even do that, anyway? She heard about it sometimes, but…maybe they threw dice? That was the closest she’d ever seen among the guards in Methymna…          “Eurysakes will throw first,” King Korythos declared. “Since he is a prince and you are just a commoner.”          Atalanta bit her lip, trying not to feel insulted by that. It wasn’t as though the king could have any way of knowing that her father had been a prince, too. Besides, she wasn’t really even a commoner: she was just a runaway slave…          Eurysakes threw his spear while Atalanta was still distracted; she didn’t have time to dodge it, and instinctively held up her shield to catch the blow. The spear plunged straight through the shield that Eutychos had provided her, and sailed right over Atalanta’s shoulder. Ariadne was shouting something furious about the throw, but Atalanta did her best to tune out everything that wasn’t Eurysakes. She threw her own spear at his enormous shield just as hard as she could.          The shield made a satisfying ringing sound when the spear struck it, but the shaft of the spear shattered near the head, the rest of it falling pointlessly to the ground, leaving the head imbedded in Eurysakes’ shield.          Without a word, Eurysakes drew his sword and began to advance towards her. Atalanta quickly drew her own sword, and began to dash towards him, determined to strike the first blow. As she was swinging her sword towards him, Eurysakes lifted his own sword to meet it, shoving her away as soon as the two blades clashed together.          While Atalanta was regaining her footing, Eurysakes’ sword began plunging towards her, a thrust rather than a strike. Atalanta met it with her shield at an angle to keep the sword from pushing through, and thrust out with her own sword while his was still ringing off her shield. She took advantage of the opening to strike a blow against his cuirass, leaving a scar on the bright metal as she did so.          Eurysakes fell back sharply, holding his tower shield in front of him, completely hiding him from Atalanta’s sight. All she could do was wait warily, holding her sword and shield at the ready, hoping to use her greater speed to score another hit whenever he started his next move.          To her surprise, Eurysakes’ next move was to attack her with his shield itself: he suddenly charged her, holding his shield like a ram, colliding it with her own shield and sending Atalanta off her balance, nearly tumbling her to the ground, in fact. Before she could recover herself, Eurysakes’ sword had struck the side of her own cuirass. It was a glancing blow, but if she hadn’t been wearing armor, it still would have cut her up pretty badly.          Atalanta danced backwards, then sprinted to the side opposite Eurysakes’ shield, gaining an opportunity to score another light blow on his armor before he could bring the shield around to guard himself. His spin was so fast that the side of his shield struck her sword before she could pull it back. The blow, unexpected as it was, knocked the sword out of her hand, sending it skittering across the courtyard.          She ran after it, recovering it while still moving, and turned to face the foe again, raising the weapon for another blow, only to find that the king had moved out in between them. “I believe we’ve all seen enough now,” he said, with a warm smile. “Any more and you shall actually injure each other at this rate.” He turned towards Eurysakes. “You have displayed that you are every bit your father’s equal in battle,” he said. “I saw his legendary duel with my uncle, the mighty Hector, and this match brought tears to my eyes at the memory. You are both as skilled as those two great warriors, and I feel honored to have witnessed such feats of combat twice in my lifetime.”          While Eurysakes was slowly trying to thank the king for his kind words, Atalanta tried to figure out if she should be flattered or insulted to be compared to Hector. That he had been a fine and great man she did not doubt. That he had been a great warrior was undisputed. But he had killed her father’s closest companion, temporarily driving him mad in the process—just as mad as Atalanta would go if someone were to hurt Ariadne! Wasn’t it an awful insult to be compared to her father’s worst enemy?          She still hadn’t figured out the answer to that when she found Korythos looking at her again. “It is a terrible pity that your spear was broken in the fight, but please allow me to give you a new one to thank you for this great entertainment,” he said. “I quite insist.”          “Oh…um…yes, that would be wonderful, thank you, sire,” Atalanta said, flustered by the suddenness of the suggestion. “You’re very generous,” she added, uneasy about simply accepting a gift just like that.          “A single spear is hardly generous,” the king laughed. “You will see my generosity in time.” He gestured towards the Achaian herald. “Take our young Hyperborean friend here to the armory, and let him pick out whatever spear he should like there.”          The herald nodded, and led Atalanta back into the palace, and down to an underground chamber, where an older man sat by a pile of tablets with strange marks all over them. “This young guest has broken his spear, and the king wishes him gifted with a new one of his own choosing,” he said in the Hatti tongue, then turned a smile at Atalanta. “This gentleman is in charge of maintaining the inventory of the royal armory,” he said, “but unfortunately he does not speak your tongue. Still, speech should not be necessary just to pick out a spear.”          “Why can’t you just come in with me?”          “I regret that I am not permitted into the armory,” the herald said, shaking his head. “As a former slave and a foreigner, I am not trusted in the presence of weaponry.”          “Oh.” Atalanta did her best to keep from wincing at his words, but she wasn’t sure she had succeeded. She was a slave and a foreigner, too! Why were they trusting *her* if they didn’t trust *him*, when he was obviously so much more worthy of their trust? She barely maintained her wits enough to follow the old man into the armory.          Inside, Atalanta found armor, shields, swords and spears, lining the walls and arranged carefully in rows all throughout the massive chamber, the light of the braziers bouncing back off all the polished bronze. But along one wall, far to her right, she saw less polished armor, and double-moon shields. “Hey, what about those?” Atalanta asked, pointing at them.          The old man followed the line of her finger, and shook his head. “Those are old Ahhiyawa weapons left behind after the war,” he said, in the Hatti tongue. “The fine new weapons are over here,” he added, walking away again.          But Atalanta couldn’t help staring at the old weapons. Could there be any spears over there that her father had once held? Some dart that he had thrown at some lesser foe and left behind as his chariot sped off after more impressive enemies?          She knew she ought to follow the old man, but the faded weapons from the war called to her, and she wandered over in their direction, admiring the craftsmanship that left them still impressive and deadly after so many long years.          Had any of those weapons ever rested in her father’s hand? Atalanta couldn’t help but wonder as she idly stroked the shaft of one of the spears. Or perhaps one of the spears had once flown from the hand of Ariadne’s father, or Eurysakes’ father. Maybe one of those old swords had been the one that Menelaos had used to defeat Alexander in single combat before Aphrodite spirited him away to save him from the righteous vengeance of the King of Lacedaimon! Or perhaps…perhaps one of those spears had belonged to poor Patroclos, dropped on the field of battle after the son of Priam had dealt him his mortal wound…          “Looking for a spear?” a man’s voice suddenly asked, in Achaian, disrupting Atalanta’s thoughts. The man was standing at her elbow, dressed in Trojan armor, but she hadn’t heard him approach at all. There was something about him that made her feel strangely, both wary and at ease at the same time. He was not a remarkable man in appearance in any way, neither handsome nor ugly, and yet she felt almost compelled to look away from him immediately, as though something about him was an order not to pay him any attention.          “What makes you think that?” she asked.          “You wouldn’t be down here if you didn’t need a weapon, and you’ve already got a sword,” the man replied, with a wide grin. “Someone with your strong arm needs a fine spear, one that will survive countless battles. An Aiolian spear.”          Atalanta’s eyes widened, and she stared up at the man, who smiled back at her passively. Phthia was in Aiolia! Could he…could he know who she was? Who her father had been? No, how could he? She was still wearing her helmet, so her red hair couldn’t have given her away…          “You…um…is there one you’ve got in mind?” she asked, not sure what else to say.          He laughed, and turned, withdrawing a spear from a shadowed corner, where Atalanta hadn’t noticed it at all. “I think this spear would suit you better than any other here,” he said, holding it out towards her.          Atalanta’s eyes didn’t want to leave the spear in the man’s hand. Its shaft was long, sleek, and well-polished to a deep black hue. The spearhead was brightly polished bronze, forking to two points that both looked very sharp indeed, and it met the shaft with a ring of pure gold. “I…it’s beautiful…” she finally said, fighting against herself. She wanted to take it from his hands. She wanted to touch it to make sure it was real. And yes, she did want to try using it against an enemy. A spear like that looked like it could kill a giant or a cyclops with a single blow! It could probably cut through armor like a rock through water. “But is it really all right for me to have it?” she asked. Even if it was left over from the war, a spear like that must have been worth more than a dozen oxen.          “It’s all right,” the man assured her, holding it out towards her, tempting her with its beauty. “You’re traveling with a relation of mine. You need to be able to protect yourself, and your cousins. If need be.”          She looked at the man briefly, wondering who he thought she was traveling with. Had he mistaken her for some other guest at the court? Or had he mistaken Ariadne for someone? Did he know Eurysakes, or think he did? But no, surely he was confused about who she was! It didn’t feel right, not at all…but that spear was calling to her…          A spear like that…she could imagine a spear like that in her father’s hands as he fought in a rage over the death of the noble Patroclos…          Looking back at the face of the man holding the spear, Atalanta felt somehow reassured by the smile on his face. Maybe he *did* know Eurysakes. After all, his mother had been Aias’ concubine during the war, so she must have been a Trojan originally. Maybe this man was related to her. Not that Eurysakes looked like he needed any protecting from a ‘boy’ half his size…          With a bit of a wink, the man pressed the spear into her hand—when had she raised her hand towards the weapon?—and let go of it. Atalanta’s hand closed around the haft instinctively, and she had to admit that holding it felt good. The weight of it was solid and heavy. It would fly well. Very well.          “You should get back,” the man told her. “The old geezer’s looking for you,” he added, pointing towards the man who was in charge of the armory.          Atalanta gasped, seeing the old man headed in her direction, his scowl visible even in the low light of the chamber. She thanked the mysterious stranger, and then hurried over to the man in charge. He stared at the spear in her hands in astonishment. “Where…did you find that spear…?” he asked in Hatti.          “Oh, that man gave it to me,” Atalanta answered, turning to point back at the man who had handed over the spear. “Huh…? Where did he go?” It wasn’t as though there were other doors down there! But there wasn’t any sign of him at all. Had he ever been there at all?          Could he have been one of the gods?          That didn’t make any sense! Why would one of the gods want to give her a spear? Even if she imagined that it really had belonged to her father, why would the gods care? The gods hadn’t done anything to save her half-brother from whatever it was that had brought him low—the stories she had heard varied wildly about the cause of his death—and he had been born to a princess, not to a slave! No matter how much Atalanta liked to flatter herself that being the daughter of Achilles made her special, she knew that it didn’t *really* change anything. Not anything much, anyway. Sure, her grandmother was a Nereid, and her grandfather was a grandson of Zeus, but…          “I thought you didn’t speak our tongue,” the old man suddenly said, distracting her from her thoughts.          “Oh!” Atalanta winced, wishing Ariadne was there to cover for her stupidity… “I know a little,” she said, with a weak smile.          The old man didn’t look convinced—not at all!—but he didn’t say anything else, and just led her back out of the armory, with repeated commands not to touch anything else. When she left the armory, the herald commented on what a fine spear she had found, and began to lead her back up to the courtyard.          When they returned to the courtyard, Eurysakes smiled at the sight of her new spear, while Ariadne frowned and commented that it looked like a very vicious weapon that would give people the wrong impression. Everyone else in the courtyard was staring at it in astonishment, though. Many of them looked rather angry, in fact…          “I had no idea such a weapon was in my armory,” King Korythos commented, his face and voice so blank of emotion that it was almost unnatural.          “It was with the Achaian weapons from the war,” Atalanta explained. “Um…does that mean I shouldn’t have taken it?”          “It looks very natural in your hands,” Ganymede said, his voice and face both contorted with what might have been hate or rage.          Atalanta bit her lip. She had obviously done something very, very wrong, but she wasn’t quite sure what, or how to fix it. She looked at her cousins, but they looked entirely confused. Eutychos approached her while she was still unsure what to do, and set a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sure you’re every bit as tired by your exercise as my prince is,” he said. “You would both benefit by retiring for a rest in your chambers.”          “Yes, let us disperse,” the king said. “I will send heralds to fetch you when it is time for the next meal.”          Eutychos led them back towards Eurysakes’ chambers, his face tightly controlled until they were safely behind the closed door. Then his eyes started to spill tears. “Where did you—*how* did you find that spear?” he asked, turning Atalanta to look straight into her face. “I know Neoptolemos took it with him when he departed these lands!”          Atalanta barely knew how to keep breathing. “Then…this really is my father’s spear?”          He nodded solemnly. “I doubt another such spear has ever been forged.”          “That’s absurd,” Ariadne said. “There must be dozens of forked spears in the world.”          “I could never mistake the craftsmanship of the gods,” Eutychos insisted. “Like Achilles’ armor—the armor that Apollo struck off Patroclos’ back while he fought like a lion—it was a gift to Peleus upon his wedding to Thetis, crafted by Hephaistos himself. Neoptolemos made it his own along with Achilles’ second set of armor when he arrived here from Scyros, and he took it with him after the war ended.”          “Uh-huh.” Ariadne scowled at him, crossing her arms. “And it magically got here from Delphi *how*, exactly?”          “That is what I want to know, too,” Eutychos assured her. “Tell me how you came to find it,” he said, returning his attention to Atalanta.          Atalanta duly repeated the tale of the mysterious man in armory, her mind flying off ahead of the story even as she did so. What if he *had* been one of the gods? He had known she was traveling with her cousins after all, and no one at the Trojan court knew she was related to Eurysakes as well as Ariadne. If the stories were true, then the god most likely to play such a role would have been Hermes. He said she was traveling with a relation of his. If he was Hermes, then who was his relation? Technically, of course, she and Eurysakes were related to Hermes: like Aiakos, Hermes was a son of Zeus. That probably wasn’t it, though. Was Odysseus related to Hermes? Atalanta didn’t really know anything about his heritage, other than that his father was named Laertes (and might or might not have been an Argonaut). Of course, for that matter, she didn’t really know anything about the family of Aias beyond his relationship to her father. “So, um, I’m wondering,” she said, when she finished the story. “Was Odysseus’ father descended from any of the gods? Like, Hermes maybe?”          Eutychos laughed, and Ariadne went pale. “No, as far as I know Odysseus’ father was nobody in particular. His *mother*, on the other hand, was the daughter of the infamous thief Autolycos, who was a son of Hermes.”          Atalanta couldn’t contain an enormous smile. “Then that *was* Hermes!” she concluded.          “It sounds that way,” Eutychos admitted, “but…something feels off about it.”          “*Everything* about it feels off,” Ariadne grumbled.          “There haven’t been any confirmed actions by the gods since Aias of Locris was struck by a thunderbolt on the way back from the war,” Eutychos said. “A few rumors here and there, but…nothing like Hermes turning up to deliver a weapon that should be half the world away.”          “My sword,” Eurysakes said, patting the handle of the sword on his belt. “That was a divine action.”          “That’s true,” Eutychos agreed, then sighed, finally turning away from Atalanta, shaking his head as he began to pace the room. “I suppose that means whatever task that oracle gave you is a vital one,” he said, looking at Eurysakes. “I think it’s time you shared it with me, my prince.”          Eurysakes cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I must repair my father’s good name,” he said, even more slowly than usual.          Eutychos frowned. “That…” He stopped, shaking his head. “I would be the last person to discourage you from such a noble goal. But it hardly seems like the kind of thing that the gods would involve themselves in—or that would even *need* their assistance. There must be something else.”          Eurysakes shrugged, and repeated what he had told them by the side of the grave, that the oracle had sent him to make an offering at Achilles’ grave, where he would meet the companions who would help him restore his father’s honor. “Perhaps we will accomplish more than that,” he added once he was done. “But the oracle did not say so.”          “Surely she didn’t find your offering insufficient?” Eutychos asked, with an amused smile on his face, and laughter in his voice.          “She did not seem to find it lacking,” Eurysakes said, with an astonishingly red face.          Atalanta bit her lip, wondering if this time she should ask Ariadne to explain what they were talking about, since it was obvious there was some kind of joke she wasn’t getting. But from the scowl on Ariadne’s face, maybe she wouldn’t be willing to explain it? Given how embarrassed it seemed to be making him, she didn’t want to try asking Eurysakes… [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Chapter Five]]

[[<img src="chapter5.jpg" width="750" height="519">->feast and suspicion]]

When the herald arrived to inform them that the midday meal would be served soon, the men were still talking utter rot while Atalanta fondled the handle of her creepy new spear. Ariadne was glad to get out of that room, but she couldn’t help feeling that their core problems had only become worse with the addition of that old spear. No matter where it came from, no matter who had given it to her, not only had it made Atalanta even more certain that she was somehow the daughter of a dead demigod, but it had likely made the entire Trojan court come to the same conclusion as well.          Perhaps that had been the point of giving it to her? Someone in the court might have long since obtained such a weapon—perhaps it really was left over from the war, a shabby duplicate that someone had intended to swap for the real one in order to hobble the Achaian champion—and had been biding their time until a good use for it could come about. And since the prince of Phthia had been just as famous for his red hair as he was infamous for his brutality, Atalanta’s bright red locks had been just the opportunity they had needed. Maybe the Cypriotes had brought it? They couldn’t have predicted meeting a gullible redhead at the graveside like that, but if they were planning on making a grand tour with this enormous lunkhead claiming to be the son of Aias, then having some pretty young boy who could claim to be a son of Achilles was obviously going to help make their scheme (whatever it was) work more smoothly, especially since all eyes would be on the alleged son of Achilles, letting even someone Eurysakes’ size go unnoticed in the chaos.          But where did that leave Atalanta and Ariadne now? What was Ariadne supposed to do to extricate them from this situation? Atalanta was going to fight as hard as she could not to be separated from her new “cousin,” and the more that happened in his presence to reinforce her delusion, the harder it would be to find a way to be rid of him.          On the way to the megaron, Ariadne found herself pulled aside by the herald, and led to a small antechamber, where King Korythos himself waited for her, standing by an ornate ewer, on which one hand rested loosely. “Did you need something from me, sire?” she asked, uncomfortable being left alone and defenseless with a man in his prime. Though he *should* think her a boy too young to be seduced, her thin tunic might have let him deduce the truth about her sex…          “I want honest answers from you,” he said, frowning. “That other boy, Atleus, how long have you known him?”          “All my life, sire. Atleus is my cousin; our mothers were sisters, and gave birth within hours of each other. We are almost brothers.”          “And who was his father?”          “One of our warriors,” Ariadne said, shaking her head. “His name would be meaningless to you, but he was well known in Hyperborea as the greatest of his generation.”          Korythos frowned. “Then he was not Achaian?”          “Certainly not! Why would you even think such a thing, sire?”          “Your cousin bears an uncanny resemblance to one of the Achaian warriors who fought against my father, particularly with that spear in his hands.” He sighed sadly. “Since he returned with that weapon, the court has been filled with nothing but rumors, wondering how Achilles could have fathered a Hyperborean son, or if the boy was fathered by Achilles’ even more monstrous son, the one who vilely murdered my grandfather.”          “I can assure you most decidedly that Atleus’ father was neither of those villains,” Ariadne said solemnly.          Korythos looked down at his hand, where his fingers disappeared down into the ewer, then slowly nodded. “No, I suppose not. But I fear he will find my court unwelcoming now, due to the idle words that spread like wildfire among my courtiers.”          “We can leave in the morning, if you wish, sire,” Ariadne replied. “We were hoping to obtain passage westward. Perhaps there is a boat that could take us on our way.”          “I hate to be such a poor host, but it might be for the best if you did not linger long,” Korythos said, nodding. “I will give the matter some thought; perhaps there is a better solution.” He smiled warmly. “But come, let us to the feast. You must be quite hungry.”          “Unlike my cousin, I don’t have a particularly great appetite.”          “A boy your age should eat more!” Korythos exclaimed, clapping Ariadne on the back in a manner that set her heart to hammering in her chest. His hand had definitely grazed the bindings, but had he felt them, and would he understand what they were if he had? “You’ll never get to be as large as young Eurysakes without eating heartily at every meal!”          “Sire, I don’t think there’s any way under the wide skies above that I could *ever* be as large as Eurysakes, no matter how much I eat,” Ariadne replied, making the king laugh.          Still laughing and joking, the king led Ariadne into the megaron, where the feast—much smaller than the previous evening’s—was soon underway. Though Atalanta didn’t seem aware of it, the men of the court were decidedly cold to her throughout the meal, and many suspicious glares were aimed in her direction whenever she wasn’t looking. Still, the conversations were mostly light and pleasant, until Ganymede turned one of his perpetual frowns in the direction of King Korythos.          “We really must discuss the bandit situation,” he insisted. “You have been avoiding the matter all day, but the fact is that if we wait even one more day, it may be too late. You simply *must* send troops to deal with them.”          Korythos frowned, and let out a miserable sigh. “I wish it were that simple, Ganymede,” he replied, “but we cannot spare the men.”          “You must be joking!”          The king shook his head. “I have had numerous reports of an army gathering on the other side of the Dardanelles. Until we know if they are enemies planning to invade and take away the prosperity that is finally beginning to return, I dare not spare a single soldier.”          Ganymede frowned. “I have heard no such reports, sire.”          “That is because *I* am the king, and *you* are merely an advisor!” Korythos snapped in the Hatti tongue. “You would do well to remember that more often.”          “I have never forgotten it, my liege.” Ganymede’s tone was flat, and his eyes narrowed to a thin glare. Ariadne felt a cold shiver at the expression; it was the look of a man ready to commit murder.          “It sounds like you really need our help to deal with these bandits,” Atalanta said, with a surprisingly unconcerned smile.          “As your host, I could not possibly ask you to take such a risk,” the king replied.          “You do not ask,” Eurysakes said. “We offer. It is very different.”          “But such young boys as yourselves should not be exposed to such dangerous men!” Korythos insisted.          “Perhaps we could simply do reconnaissance for you, your majesty,” Eutychos suggested, with a conciliatory smile. “The young gentlemen would be in no danger—especially with me there to protect them—and with all the information in hand, you could send a very fast and very precise unit to deal with the bandits. Done and back before anyone could sail across the strait, even if they *should* be foolish enough to want to attack.”          The king still looked hesitant, but Ganymede nodded. “I believe that sounds like an excellent idea,” he said. “If you do not object to your *advisor* giving you *advice*…”          Korythos glared at him for a moment, then smiled at Eutychos. “It is still ungracious of me as a host, but I believe I shall take you up on that offer. Of course, I will provide you with any necessities for the trip. Chariot, horses, food, additional weapons, anything you might require.”          “Most generous of you.”          “Where are these bandits located?” Ariadne asked. “One of the mountains to the south, you said?” She didn’t dare address the question specifically at Ganymede—not considering the currents of anger running between him and the king—but she was expecting him to be the one to answer.          “They have allegedly taken over my birthplace, Mount Ida,” the king told her. “It is the most beautiful of the mountains to the southeast of the city. I suspect your elder here knows the location intimately.”          Eutychos cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Regrettably, the small farming villages around the base of Mount Ida were routinely raided for food during the war, I must admit,” he said, his face coloring with shame. “It was not usually the sons of Telamon who led those raids, but I am sorry to say that I and my fellow Salaminians took part in more than a few.”          “It was that red-haired beast who did the most damage,” one of the older men on the far side of the room growled, glaring straight at Atalanta, who cringed at the comment.          “It was war itself that was responsible for that damage,” Ariadne said, putting a comforting hand on Atalanta’s shoulder. “That is why we do not make war in Hyperborea. Our god of war—very like the Achaian Ares in most respects—is the most vile and loathed of our gods. He only receives sacrifices begging him to keep far away from us.”          Thankfully, the king insisted on changing the subject to a deep discussion of Hyperborean religion—which even Ariadne’s imagination was at some pains to keep up for long—sparing Atalanta from any further attacks on her by means of her meaningless resemblance to a long-dead Achaian war criminal. Still, every struggle to come up with a plausible answer felt more than worth it when she felt Atalanta squeeze her hand and give her a warm, grateful smile. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->deciding to leave]]

After the meal was over, Atalanta was glad to get out of there and back to Eurysakes’ chambers, where her father’s spear was waiting for her, unmolested by any of the Trojans. She had hardly reclaimed it when Eurysakes announced that he wanted to go make an offering to Athene to ask for success in their mission tomorrow.          “An excellent notion,” Eutychos said, smiling proudly at him. “You do that, and I’ll speak to the men on the ship, get you some supplies together. We don’t want to abuse the king’s offer, after all.”          Eurysakes nodded, then asked Atalanta and Ariadne to accompany him to the temple. Surprisingly, they had hardly left the room when he said they should go back to the girls’ chamber to get Ariadne’s armor and bow. Ariadne glared at him suspiciously. “*Why*?” she asked.          “Please.”          Ariadne wasn’t going to go along with it, not until Atalanta asked her to. Then, finally, she agreed, and they were soon back in their own room, where Ariadne slowly put her cuirass and helmet back on. “You better not have asked for the reason I think you did,” she said when she was done.          “We must leave now,” Eurysakes said, nodding. “Or Eutychos will not let us fight the bandits ourselves.”          “This is idiotic!” Ariadne exclaimed.          “Oh, come on, Ariadne!” Atalanta took one of her hands in both of her own, looking into her eyes. “How are we ever going to prove ourselves if we don’t get to do anything?”          “Taking on a virtual army of bandits by ourselves is not a good idea, no matter how you try to describe it,” Ariadne insisted.          “We don’t really *know* there are that many of them,” Atalanta pointed out. “Maybe there aren’t really very many at all.”          “They cannot stand up to us,” Eurysakes added. “No matter their number. We have the strength of our fathers to support us.”          Ariadne pursed her lips in disgust.          “Please, Ariadne!” Atalanta said, trying not to whine as she clutched her cousin’s hand tighter. “At least let us make the trip there alone, and *see* if we can handle the bandits ourselves.”          Ariadne sighed sadly. “Will you *promise* that we won’t take them on if we’re too badly outnumbered?”          “There would need to be a hundred of them,” Eurysakes said, with a laugh. “Before we were truly outnumbered.”          “The two of us have never once killed a man,” Ariadne told him, accompanying her words with a cold glare. “We have never been in a serious fight. Even ten men is too many for us to risk ourselves on.”          But Eurysakes shook his head. “I have seen Atalanta’s skill. She could take ten men by herself.”          Atalanta’s heart soared at that description of her prowess, but Ariadne scoffed. “Meaning you think that *you* can take on ninety?”          Eurysakes coughed uncomfortably, with a slight blush. “No…of course not.” He shook his head. “Twenty. Maybe more.” A weak smile. “But if your skill with that bow matches your father’s…”          “My father,” Ariadne snarled, “was a liar and charlatan who took advantage of our former master’s gullibility. I doubt he ever lifted a weapon in his life.”          Eurysakes chuckled. “He is a liar,” he agreed. “Perhaps a charlatan. But also a skilled warrior.”          “You have no idea who my father is,” Ariadne said, glaring at him through narrowed eyes.          “Ariadne, please stop denying it,” Atalanta sighed, tightening her grip on her cousin’s hands. “They were telling our master the truth. Our fathers are just who we’ve always been told they were. Just who my mother always said they were,” she added, since Ariadne’s mother seemed to have been doubting it by the time they lost her.          “I refuse to believe anything so implausible,” Ariadne insisted.          “Well, what if we let the bandits decide?” Atalanta suggested. “I mean, if you’re *not* the daughter of Odysseus, then you won’t be able to come up with a plan to defeat a pack of brigands, and if I’m *not* the daughter of Achilles, then I won’t have the strength to defeat them. But if you *can* come up with a scheme to fight them, and I *can* pull off that scheme, then you’ll admit that they were telling the truth, okay?” She added the most pleading look she could to the request.          Ariadne sighed, and looked away from her face. “Fine,” she muttered. “We can go, but only because it’s the only way to get you to give me any peace. But if I say things look too dangerous, then we turn around and come back with nothing but the information we promised the king we would gather!”          Atalanta nodded, and hugged her as tightly as their armor would allow. “I promise!” she exclaimed. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->leaving]]

Soon after they left the city, they started discussing the “mission” they were on. Ariadne was disgusted to see that Eurysakes was every bit as excited about the idea of defeating a gang of bandits as Atalanta was. They were both acting like children. Still, if he was so thrilled at the prospect of being a hero and saving the people from the bandits plaguing them, then perhaps his role in the scheme—whatever it was—being perpetrated by Eutychos was relatively minor, or at least moderately benign. Maybe Eurysakes really *wished* he was the son of Aias; maybe he genuinely revered the fallen hero, and loved the idea of restoring his honor, and the fact that he would be reaping undeserved rewards in the process hadn’t even occurred to him. (He didn’t, after all, seem to be terribly bright.) If that was the case, Atalanta’s growing attachment to him should be relatively harmless, as long as they could part him from Eutychos’ influence, and as long as Eurysakes never developed any unsavory desire for Atalanta.          However, Ariadne didn’t want to fight bandits so powerful that they were discomfiting the army of a nearby city as massive as Troy, so for the moment she was going to have to *depend* on Eutychos. He would set out in pursuit of them as soon as he realized they had left without him, after all, so if the other two became too eager to fight the bandits on their own, then Ariadne would only have to stall them a bit until Eutychos could catch up to them. (The fact that neither of the others had noticed she left her unwieldy shield behind would, of course, make stalling much easier, since it would be very risky for her to go into battle without one.) That notion was a great comfort to her, since Eurysakes mostly seemed to obey Eutychos’ commands.          They wouldn’t be able to walk all the way to Mount Ida in one day, of course, even if they had started first thing in the morning. They encountered a local after they’d been walking just long enough for the walls of the city to begin fading into the distance, and he had told them that they’d probably want to stop for the night in Thymbra, and then if they started at first light, they might make one of the villages at the base of Mount Ida by the following evening, if they didn’t stop on the way.          Thymbra was a village about half a day’s walk to the south of Troy, in the valley where the Thymbrios emptied into the Scamander. It was the site of the only other full temple in the region—to Apollo, under the name Apaliunas—and evidently also the site of some particularly awful acts committed by the Achaian army during the war, though the local didn’t go into details on that, since the three of them were all wearing Achaian armor. Atalanta was worried about the idea of coming anywhere near the River Scamander after what had happened in the temple to the River Cebren, and even more uneasy about a temple to Apollo, and Ariadne wasn’t sure how to comfort her. Telling her not to fear Apollo was pointless after she’d received so many encouragements to believe herself really the daughter of Achilles—and, really, no matter who her father was, a girl as beautiful as Atalanta had a great deal to fear from the lecherous Apollo.          “I doubt you have anything to fear from the river god,” Ariadne said instead, as they kept walking, once she was sure the local was too far to overhear them. “Whatever happened in that temple, it wasn’t *really* the god of the River Cebren. That’s impossible.”          “Not necessarily,” Eurysakes said, scowling.          “River gods don’t usually interfere with mortals one way or another,” Ariadne pointed out. “And even if they did, how would they know—even if that man really *was* your father, the river god wouldn’t be able to *tell* that. As long as you keep your mouth shut about it, you’ll be fine.”          “But the one in the temple could tell!” Atalanta insisted.          “The gods seem able to detect blood ties,” Eurysakes added. “Oracles often address suppliants by patronymics. Even when no such name is provided.”          Ariadne sighed. “The Scamander is a very long river. The chances of the god happening to be at that particular part of it when we get there seem very small.”          “But aren’t they the *whole* river?”          “Uh…” Ariadne tried to come up with some answer to that, but she really couldn’t. The exact nature of a river god was not something she had any knowledge about. Honestly, she’d always thought of them as being rather amorphous spirits incapable of taking any form other than that of their body of water, and that all claims to descent from them were mere excuses to pretend past a lack of noble blood. If they *weren’t* like that…well, she’d yet to see any proof that they weren’t.          “Maybe we should avoid Thymbra,” Eurysakes suggested. “We can camp. Just outside the valley. It should be safe enough.”          “It might be best not to try to explain ourselves to random villagers,” Ariadne admitted. “Three Achaian youths are an unusual traveling party in Hatti territory. But we might encounter locals who won’t understand why we’re refusing to stay in the village.”          “We don’t have any gifts to give a host,” Eurysakes said. “That is reason enough. We would be imposing. It would be very rude.”          “That’s true,” Ariadne agreed, after thinking about it a moment. “If we *did* go to the village, we’d have to delay our trip southwards by staying to help our host out with chores or something.” That might be a good tactic to delay them so Eutychos could catch up. Ariadne would have to keep that in mind when they reached the mountain villages…          “So we’re not going there?” Atalanta asked, her face brightening up until it seemed to be rivaling the sun itself.          Ariadne nodded, taking her hand. “Yes, we’ll just skirt the valley and keep walking until it gets too dark to go on.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->irnuasu]]

Irnuasu withheld a groan at the sound of someone else entering the armory. Plainly, he would get no peace today!          This time, it was Lord Ganymede himself who was stalking towards him like an enraged lion. “Where did that spear come from?” he demanded, just like all the others had.          “I have no idea, my lord,” Irnuasu assured him, just as he had all the others.          “You are supposed to know every blade, handle and scabbard in this armory.”          “And indeed I do,” Irnuasu agreed, nodding. “I never set eyes on that weapon before seeing it in that boy’s hands. He claimed a man gave it to him. I’ve searched this room five times over since then, and there is no one here but me.”          “What do you mean, he claimed—he doesn’t speak our tongue!”          Irnuasu chuckled. None of the others had picked up on that. “Oh, he speaks our language, all right, my lord. Claimed he only knew a little, but…well, that *might* be true. His Ahhiyawa accent was certainly atrocious.”          Ganymede frowned. “I suppose his companions must speak it as well, then; that red-haired boy is the dim one. We shall all have to watch our secrets when those children are about.” He shook his head. “Take me to the place where the boy claimed this other man appeared to him.”          “Don’t see what that matters, but fine. Follow me, my lord.” Irnuasu did his best not to grumble about it as he led Ganymede towards the back corner where the old Ahhiyawa weapons were stored. Ganymede was allegedly from a branch of the royal family, and the king still didn’t even have a wife, let alone any children. That made Ganymede a possible heir to the throne—maybe the only heir, short of King Aineias returning. Best to keep on his good side if Irnuasu didn’t want to lose his position should there be any more regnal strife…          It didn’t take long to reach the vile things. Maybe it was his imagination, but Irnuasu always felt that this corner of the armory stank of death and old blood. Maybe it was everyone he’d lost to the Ahhiyawa…          “How many have been in this area since then?” Ganymede asked, moving closer to the weapons.          “Only myself,” Irnuasu said. “No one else who’s come down here seeking answers has asked to see it.”          “How many others have come asking?”          “Only half the court,” Irnuasu sighed. “And the elder Ahhiyawa guest.”          “Interesting.” Ganymede moved closer to the weapons, heading towards the back corner where the light of the braziers didn’t quite reach. “Yes, there’s something in the air here…a crackling, a warmth…and a scent, almost like…” He stopped, and turned away from the corner, worrying at his lower lip with his teeth. After an uncomfortable moment, he muttered something to himself in Ahhiyawan, possibly a curse, since it contained the name of a few of the Ahhiyawa gods. Then he shook his head. “I believe I should have a word with the king’s guests before they set off on that reconnaissance mission…”          He began stalking back out of the armory, leaving Irnuasu to follow after him miserably. However, when Ganymede reached the door, he stopped, and looked at Irnuasu. “Before you do anything else, purify this room with incense from the temple.”          “Which temple?” Irnuasu asked. “It’ll take all day to get some from the priests to Apaliunas.”          Ganymede grimaced. “An Olympian god’s incense would hardly help here,” he said, shaking his head. “Or maybe it would…” He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “No, that would only invite disaster. I’ll send a herald to Hattusa for the best purifying herbs. Until they arrive, you should be able to obtain something cleansing from the priests dedicated to the river gods.”          Not at all what Irnuasu wanted to hear, but he knew better than to disobey an order. So, once the nobleman had departed, he had one of the guards stand watch over the door to the armory, and set off to the temple dedicated to the River Simoeis to see if they had any cleansing incense. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->skirmish1]]

         The sun was beginning to sink towards the horizon when the silence of their march was sharply broken. It was a girl’s scream, coming from just ahead of them. Atalanta set off running towards the sound without waiting to see if the others were following her. Regardless, by the time she drew close to the source of the scream, Eurysakes and Ariadne were right behind her.          In a clearing near the bank of a river, a young girl—at least a couple of years younger than Atalanta and Ariadne—was being confronted by half a dozen men, two of whom were nearly the same size as Eurysakes. Despite her youth, the girl was very finely dressed, and wore some very elaborate jewelry. She clutched a parcel to her chest as she backed away from the men.          “Just hand it over, and we won’t hurt you,” one of the men told her.          “No, this belongs to the god!” the girl shrieked, her grip on the parcel tightening.          “Apaliunas doesn’t need it,” another man said, reaching out one hand to finger her hair. “Doesn’t need all those jewels you’re wearing, either.” Confront them now (click: "Confront them now")[(set: $action to "confront")(goto: "skirmish2")] Wait and see what happens (click: "Wait and see what happens")[(set: $action to "wait")(goto: "skirmish2")]

         (if: $action is "confront")[“Don’t you know what happens to people who steal from the gods?” Atalanta demanded, stepping into the clearing and brandishing her spear. “Leave the girl alone, and get out of here!”          Most of the men ignored her entirely—should she have tried to make her voice sound deep and manly?—but the smallest one turned to scoff at her. “Get lost, boy. This doesn’t concern you!” Then he looked her over and licked his lips. “Then again, that armor looks pretty good. Take it off, and I won’t hurt you. Much.”          Before Atalanta could reply, an arrow flew past her and imbedded itself in the man’s throat. He fell to the ground, gurgling as his blood flowed out into the sandy ground.](else:)[“My father is the head priest,” the girl said, even as her eyes began to well tears. “If you persist in this behavior, Apaliunas will punish you, just like he punished the Ahhiyawa when they wronged my grandfather!”          “There’s no reason for you to resist, then, is there?” the first man said, taking hold of her shoulder. “If your god is going to punish us either way, isn’t it in your best interests to just give us what we want and go before we can lose our temper and hurt you?”          “Make sure you give us that pretty dress you’re wearing, too,” the smallest man said, with a lecherous tone to his voice that made Atalanta sick to her stomach and set her advancing further, planning to confront them before they could do anything worse.          Before she could take more than two steps, an arrow flew past her and imbedded itself in the neck of the small man at the back who’d just spoken so lecherously. He staggered backwards a moment, then fell to the sandy ground, bleeding from the front of his throat as well as the back of his neck; the arrow must have just missed all the bones and gone far enough to pierce all the way through.]          The rest of the men turned to face the three young interlopers. “These friends of yours, girl?” the one who seemed to be the leader asked, without turning to look at his victim.          “They are now,” she said, with barely restrained mirth. “Clearly, the god has sent them to save me from you!”          Atalanta didn’t much like the idea of being mistaken for Apollo’s chosen warrior, but she wasn’t about to let these vile men have their way with gifts intended for *any* god, or to let them hurt this innocent girl, so she (if: $action is "confront")[tightened her grip on](else:)[prepared] her spear and moved further into the clearing, swinging it menacingly. “I won’t let any of you escape alive,” she said, feeling like it was the sort of thing her father would have said.          Unfortunately, her girl’s voice just made them all laugh at her. Eurysakes walked up and took a position beside her. “Your lack of respect ends today,” he said. Between his bulk and his deeper voice, his words quieted their laughter. “The gods must be revered. And the innocent will be protected.”          “You think we’re going to be scared of two boys who haven’t even grown their first beard yet?” one of the largest men replied, with a grim chuckle. “You must think we’re fools!”          “There are three of us,” Ariadne said, stepping forward with another arrow notched. “And don’t mistake youth for lack of skill. Or maybe you’ve already forgotten about your friend there?” She indicated the dead-or-dying man on the ground with a jerk of her head.          “Three boys are still as nothing before five men,” the leader replied. “Teach them a lesson, men!” he shouted.          The two large men drew swords and began to advance towards them, and the other two underlings took their own bows off their shoulders, pulling arrows from their quivers in almost the same motion. Atalanta adjusted her shield on her arm, trying to get the hole left by Eurysakes’ spear as far away from anything vital as she could. Before she could finish, one of the large men was already swinging his sword at her. Meet the sword with her own sword (click: "Meet the sword with her own sword")[(set: $action to "sword")(goto: "skirmish3")] Block the blow with her shield (click: "Block the blow with her shield")[(set: $action to "shield")(goto: "skirmish3")]

         (if: $action is "sword")[Atalanta reached for her sword, but too slow: she had to leap backwards to avoid the blow. Once the man’s sword was swinging through empty air towards the ground, Atalanta was able to draw her sword, ready to face him in proper combat.](else:)[Atalanta held up her shield, and the man’s sword impacted hard against it, driving her backwards a surprising distance. Once he was pulling his sword away from the rent it had left in her formerly pretty shield, Atalanta was able to draw her sword, ready to counterattack.(set: $shield to "light damage")]          The large man was already starting another strike with his sword. Atalanta dashed to the side, and struck at his side as quickly as she could. Her blow left a scar in his leather armor, but didn’t penetrate to his flesh.          The man laughed at her even as his sword struck the back of her helmet, knocking Atalanta off her balance and dazing her. Unsteadily, she took a careful step backwards, uncomfortably aware of the sound of twanging bow strings on either side of her. Before she could properly regain her footing, a thrusting blow was already headed towards her face, and Ariadne was screaming her name. Dodge left (click: "Dodge left")[(set: $action to "left")(goto: "skirmish4")] Dodge right (click: "Dodge right")[(set: $action to "right")(goto: "skirmish4")] Raise shield (click: "Raise shield")[(set: $action to "shield")(goto: "skirmish4")]

(if: $action is "shield")[         Atalanta raised her shield to block the large man’s sword. The sword’s tip penetrated the bronze, but was slowed enough by the three layers of ox hide below it that its forward motion was stopped before it could reach her.          Tragically, she was so focused on the opponent in front of her that she wasn’t aware of the arrow headed towards her until it struck her neck.          As Atalanta fell to the ground, losing consciousness, she saw the mysterious man from the armory approaching her with a sorrowful look on his face, his unremarkable exterior fading away to reveal his winged sandals and traveler’s cloak and hat… =><= ***GAME OVER*** <= [[Return to title->Title Screen]] [[Return to start of combat sequence->skirmish1]]](else:)[(if: $action is "left")[         Doubting her ability to stop the blow with her shield, Atalanta hurled herself to her left, towards where Ariadne was shouting at her in alarm. An arrow came whistling past her ear, startling her into tripping. Before Atalanta could get back on her feet, Ariadne fired off several arrows in rapid succession.          Woozily, Atalanta turned to follow the path of the arrows, and saw one of them strike her foe in the arm, and the other two strike one of the enemy archers.](else:)[         Sure she couldn’t stop the blow with her shield, Atalanta threw herself to the right, and let out a cry of alarm at the sight of an arrow coming straight at her face.          Astonished and terrified, Atalanta found her knees buckling, and she fell to a seated position on the ground, letting the arrow fly harmlessly over her head. While she was trying to recover her self-control—not to mention what little dignity she had left—her foe aimed a massive downward swing at her.          Atalanta was just barely able to block the blow with her shield, holding it over her head in a manner that felt particularly pathetic. Taking advantage of her unwieldy position, the enemy began to hammer her shield with blow after ferocious blow, putting so much power into it that Atalanta could hear the bronze being shorn off the leather as if it was dry tree bark.(set: $shield to "heavy damage")          Suddenly, he let out a cry of pain, and the blows stopped. Atalanta took a cautious peek around the shield and saw that her enemy now had one of Ariadne’s arrows in his arm. As Atalanta hurried to her feet, Ariadne fired twice more, and the archer who had come so close to killing Atalanta fell.]          “Pathetic little boys!” Atalanta’s opponent snarled as he ripped the arrow back out his arm. “Too weak to fight me one-on-one? You shame the Achaian armor you’re wearing, you filthy little barbarian brats! And you don’t deserve to be within *sight* of a fine spear like that one you dropped in the dirt!”          “I’ll never bring shame to my father!” Atalanta roared back at him. She turned and ran over to retrieve her spear, holding it over her head like one of Zeus’ thunderbolts. “This spear never knew defeat in my father’s hands—and it won’t in mine, either!”          Her enemy only laughed again. “I’ll bet he was a foppish little weakling just like you,” he said, “and only escaped battle alive by virtue of his pretty face.”          “Take it back!” Atalanta screamed, running towards him. “You can’t talk about my father that way!”          She stabbed at him with the spear, and the man lifted his shield to block the blow. Her father’s majestic, black-handled spear pushed through the ox-hide shield as though it was as thin and weak as human skin.          Atalanta shook the spear to the side, wrenching her enemy’s shield out of his hands, then she stabbed at him again and again, screaming at him to apologize to her father’s shade.          “That’s enough of that!”          A scream from somewhere behind her.          “At-Atleus…”          “Call off your barbarian or she’s dead!”          “Stop it!”          “Help me!”          “Atalanta, stop!”          Hands grabbed Atalanta’s arms from both sides.          She shook off both attackers and whirled on them…          …only to step backwards in horror as she realized that her ‘attackers’ were Ariadne and Eurysakes.          Suddenly trembling all over, Atalanta dropped her bloodied spear, and fell to her knees. “What…what…what happened…?” She felt dizzy and confused, and barely even remembered where she was.          “You had another…fit…” Ariadne said uncomfortably, her face running with tears.          “Keep that monster away from me, if you value this girl’s life!” The sound of a man’s terrified shout made Atalanta look away from her cousins. The leader of the men was holding onto the unfortunate girl by her waist, a blade held at her throat. He was pale and sweaty with fear; sadly, that was a look that was intimately familiar to Atalanta…          “Your men are all dead,” Eurysakes said, turning to look at the other men. He still held his own sword in his hand, its blade red with blood. “You can’t escape. Not dragging her along. Release the girl. Then we’ll let you go.”          “No, I’m not returning to base with my men all dead and nothing to show for it! This girl and her jewels are coming with me, and you Ahhiyawa monsters are staying here and not touching me, or I’ll cut her throat!”          “And then what?” Ariadne challenged. “If you kill her, there would be less than nothing stopping us from dispatching you. You’d do well to accept our mercy and walk away empty-handed.”          “Never! He won’t forgive me if—you just stay back, or I’ll kill her! I swear I will!”          Even as he was shouting with an almost maniacal fervor, he began backing away from them. The poor girl was screaming and crying and begging them to rescue her, but Atalanta knew better than to stir a muscle. If she did, that man would panic and kill the girl immediately. She could only hope that Ariadne had some plan in mind to save her.          “Let the girl go,” Eurysakes said, his voice gently pleading. “You can take her jewels. But let the girl go.”          “Yes, please, take the jewelry!” the girl agreed, around sobs. “Just let me go home!”          “Nice try, but I won’t leave myself open to—” the man started, yanking the girl backwards with him with such force that he unbalanced himself slightly, causing him to stumble back another step. His foot landed on something unstable—Atalanta couldn’t see what it was from where she was sitting—and he fell entirely, losing his grip on the girl, who took off running in the opposite direction, even as Ariadne swiftly drew an arrow from her quiver and fired it right at the man, striking him in the chest, just at the top of his armor. He was still moving, trying to crawl away, but Eurysakes quickly crossed the clearing and finished him off.          Seeing the last of her attackers dead, the girl stopped running, and recovered the parcel she had been carrying earlier, dropped on the ground at some point. “Thank you for saving me,” she said, looking mostly at Ariadne.          “Anyone would have done the same,” Eurysakes assured her.          “I’m just sorry you had to witness that,” Ariadne added, looking at Atalanta with a deep sigh.          “I’m sorry, too,” Atalanta agreed, slowly forcing herself back onto her feet. “I don’t…I’m not normally…like that…”          The girl nodded, but trembled slightly at the sound of Atalanta’s voice. She was probably more frightened of Atalanta than she had been of the man trying to drag her away…          “Do you live around here?” Ariadne asked, moving in between Atalanta and the girl. “Maybe I should walk you home, to make sure you get there safely. It sounded like these men had companions…”          Surprisingly, the girl laughed, even if there was something fearful about the sound. “Of course they did. I thought everyone knew about them! But they mostly keep to the south; I doubt there are any others this far north. They’re scared to come too close to the city.”          “Then these were some of the bandits?” Eurysakes mused, looking at the corpses. “They are tougher than I was expecting.”          “And considerably more bold,” Ariadne agreed, with a deep sigh. “You said your father is Apollo’s priest, didn’t you?”          “That’s right. In Thymbra.”          “Is it far to the town?” Ariadne asked.          “Oh, no, it’s just down the hill from here,” the girl replied. “Just a brief walk.”          Ariadne nodded, and turned to look at Atalanta. “I’m going to walk her home—at least as far as the edge of town where the townsfolk can look after her. Will you be all right waiting here?”          Atalanta nodded. “I’ll probably need that long to…” She swallowed heavily. “…to wash the blood off…”          “We’ll be fine,” Eurysakes added.          “All right, then. Let’s go,” Ariadne said, offering a hand towards the girl. [[Follow Ariadne->meet althaia]] [[Stay with Atalanta->washing off the blood]]]

They walked in an uncomfortable silence until they were far enough from the others that Ariadne could no longer hear the river’s flowing water. Then she finally glanced over at the girl who was walking beside her. She was young—a good two years younger than Ariadne and Atalanta, maybe even three years—and wearing a long, simple dress, dyed an attractive yellow-orange color, and cinched at the waist with a finely woven belt decorated with hanging golden charms. She now had a shawl-like veil draped over her head and back, also edged with gold decorations which matched both those on her belt and those on her necklace and bracelets. Everything about her attire made Ariadne extremely uncomfortable, like being around the king’s family back in Methymna.          Even as Ariadne was trying to come up with something to say to her, the girl looked over at her and gave a nervous smile. “Those men you were traveling with…” she started to say, then stopped again, biting her lip. “Are they…um…friends of yours?”          “One of them is my cousin,” Ariadne told her, “and the other is…a recent acquaintance.” What else could she call him?          “Uh…the one who…er….”          Ariadne sighed. “The one who…” She let out a deep, resigned sigh, trying to find a less awful way of describing it, but she just *couldn’t*. “The one who butchered his opponent is my cousin, yes,” she said. “But he really isn’t usually like that. It’s just sometimes…someone pushes him too far and he snaps.”          “It’s happened before?”          “Once. But we were much younger then,” Ariadne assured her, “and he was unarmed, so the man he was pummeling wasn’t seriously injured.”          “Had he been insulting your cousin’s father, too?” the girl asked.          “I’m not sure,” Ariadne admitted. “I wasn’t there when it started.” In fact, she had missed the entire incident, because she had been helping with the spinning that morning. Atalanta never talked about it, and how could Ariadne have asked about it after Atalanta suffered such a horrible beating over the incident? She was pretty sure she knew what had happened, anyway: the man must have tried to force himself on her, and Atalanta went too far in defending her young virtue. There was no need to make her suffer by forcing her to relive that even long enough to talk about it. “I’ve always thought it started out as self-defense,” she added.          The girl nodded. “You seem so very different—so calm and sensible. Is that because his father was…um…like your cousin was in that battle?”          Ariadne laughed despite herself. If Atalanta’s constant assertions of being Achilles’ daughter were actually true, then he was absolutely like that. All the rumors Ariadne had heard agreed that Achilles had been the most vile of brutes. “I never knew my cousin’s father; he died before we were born.” Or so Atalanta believed. “But I’ve heard rumors that he was subject to that kind of vicious fit,” Ariadne added.          The girl shuddered. “It was like something out of my mother’s and grandfather’s stories about the war,” she said.          “Yes.” There was no arguing that. “But this must be an upsetting subject for you,” she added, trying to smile at the girl. “You’re safe now, and you’ll be back with your family soon. Try to put the whole event out of your mind.”          The girl smiled warmly, lighting up her face and making her almost as lovely as Atalanta. “Thank you,” she said, with a delightful glow in her eyes. “Um…may I know my rescuer’s name?”          Ariadne laughed. “My name is Arios, my lady,” she said, with a slight flourish of a bow.          The girl’s cheeks flushed a charming shade of pink, and she averted her eyes demurely. “My name is Althaia,” she said. “Um…I’m sure my father will want to thank you for saving me,” she added, setting a tentative hand on Ariadne’s arm. “Will you be able to stay the night as our guest?”          “Stay the night…?” The idea of staying in town rather than spending another night camped out in the wilderness was appealing, but… “I would be delighted to accept your father’s hospitality,” Ariadne said sadly, “but I cannot leave my cousin and our traveling companion behind. If I am to stay with you, we will all three have to.”          A sharp intake of breath on Althaia’s part spoke more of her fear than her expression did, which was carefully guarded, with only a slight creasing of the forehead to indicate her displeasure at the idea. “I…I…I don’t know if my father would accept three strange men…Ahhiyawa men at that!”          “Well, *that* we are not,” Ariadne assured her. “Not my cousin and I.” It was true, just not quite the way she was going to have to claim it was. “We currently wear Achaian armor, but my cousin and I are actually from Hyperborea.”          “Oh?” Althaia looked at her curiously until Ariadne gave her the same story about being shipwrecked on Cypros and accepting the armor as part of the hospitality of King Teukros.          “Oh, I’ve heard of him!” Althaia said. “They say he’s the king’s cousin.”          “Yes, that’s what our other traveling companion, his nephew Eurysakes, says. It wasn’t mentioned to Atleus and I during our time in Cypros, though.”          Althaia stopped walking, and worried at her lower lip with her teeth. “My father would probably be very cross with me for refusing to offer hospitality to a genuine prince…” She looked at Ariadne curiously. “But if his uncle is a king, why isn’t he the guest of King Korythos in the city?”          “Actually, he is. We all are. He asked us to defeat the bandits of Mount Ida, since he dare not send his army against them and leave the city unguarded.” Ariadne hadn’t meant to say it quite like that, but watching Althaia’s face light up at the claim was worth it.          “Oh! Oh, in that case, my father will most certainly insist on hosting you all! We should go back for your companions right away, or I’ll be in the most awful trouble!” Althaia exclaimed, clasping Ariadne’s hand with her own free hand.          The intimacy of the gesture left Ariadne’s cheeks heating in a manner that she suspected was not the least bit masculine, but how was she supposed to convince her cheeks that she was trying to pretend to be a boy? “Wouldn’t you rather that I take you to the village now and then return alone to fetch them? So you would sooner be safely back in your family’s care?” And so they could decide to skip out on the priest’s hospitality if it would make Atalanta too uncomfortable…          But Althaia’s grip on Ariadne’s hand only tightened. “No, no, that would be exceptionally rude of me. We’ll go back for them together.”          What choice did Ariadne have but to agree? To refuse would be entirely suspicious. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->thymbrian temple]]

Atalanta didn’t move until Ariadne was out of sight with the girl. Only then did she retrieve her sword and her father’s spear from the ground. She tried to avoid looking at the corpse, but it was so close behind her that she couldn’t avoid seeing what a horrific mess she had made of the man. He was so filled with holes that the sight of what she had done made Atalanta violently ill.          Eurysakes waited silently until she was done retching, then helped her back to her feet without a word. “The cool waters of the stream will help,” he said gently, before leading her over to the riverbank.          When they reached it, Atalanta sank down gratefully to her knees at the edge of the water, and splashed her face and body over and over again until the water before her stopped running red. “Is it always like this…?” Atalanta asked, casting a glance at Eurysakes over her shoulder. His fine armor was also splattered with blood, but nothing like hers had been.          “I…I’m not sure…what you’re asking,” he said uncomfortably.          “Do you always feel like…like you’re the most unspeakable monster imaginable…?”          Eurysakes chuckled. “I have never felt like that,” he said. “But the first time I killed a man…” He let out a deep sigh. “I did not sleep well for days after.”          “So, it’s not just me…”          “No.”          Atalanta looked back at the lightly flowing waters of the river. The current was gentle enough that she could see her reflection on the surface of the water. She didn’t *look* like a monster. She looked like a lost little child wearing her father’s armor. Except it wasn’t even her father’s armor…          A gentle hand on her shoulder preceded Eurysakes sitting down beside her. “What happened?” he asked. “Ariadne called it *another* fit…”          Atalanta swallowed heavily, wondering if Eurysakes would still want to travel with them if he knew the truth. She knew she should say something, but all she could do was weakly nod.          “Did you kill then, too?”          She shook her head. “I didn’t have a weapon. Or armor. And I was a lot younger—a lot smaller.”          “You don’t want to talk about it.”          “No, I don’t,” Atalanta admitted, with a weary sigh, “but it’s better if you know.”          “Ariadne could tell me.”          “She doesn’t know the whole story. I’ve never wanted to tell her about it, and she would never ask.” Atalanta let out a weak attempt at a laugh. “She’s trying to protect me.”          “Of course. She protected you in the battle, as well.”          Atalanta nodded. “It’s just kind of funny…because I was actually trying to protect *her*.”          “In the battle?” Eurysakes didn’t sound particularly confused, but when Atalanta looked over at him, the confusion was so plain on his face that it made her laugh despite everything.          “When I had my earlier…fit.” Atalanta looked back down at her reflection. “It was…I guess it was really only three or four years ago. It feels like a lot’s happened since then.” She shrugged. “There was a guest who brought along a really nasty guard. A barbarian from the north—though not from Hyperborea. I forget where he said he was from.”          “It doesn’t matter.”          “Yeah, I guess not. It might have been near Thrace, actually, now that I think about it.” An uncomfortable similarity… “Anyway, this guard, he did some kind of favor for my master. I don’t know what kind, but it was so big a favor that he was owed a reward of his choosing.”          “And he said he would take Ariadne?” Eurysakes guessed.          “No, he said he was going to take *me*. He wanted to take me to his homeland and give me to his king there. It didn’t sound like…it sounded like I wasn’t going to survive whatever use his king would have for me, but that wasn’t what…” Atalanta stopped, biting her lip. “When I said I wouldn’t go with him, that he didn’t have any right to demand that the daughter of Achilles do anything, he said that for every day I kept refusing him, he’d do something nasty to Ariadne. And that it’d get worse and worse—if the first day’s refusal just bought her a pinch or a little shove, the second would be a punch, the third a kick, and…” A deep, shuddering breath ran through her, as though her lungs were trying to force her to start crying. “He didn’t get very far into his description of what he’d do to Ariadne before I started hitting him. Just as hard as I could. If my master’s guards hadn’t been there to drag me off—familiar faces that I knew were my friends—that I *thought* were my friends—I probably *would* have killed him…”          “It sounds like he deserved it.”          Atalanta nodded. “He did.” She had *no* doubt of that. Punishing someone else for Atalanta’s disobedience was unforgivable. “But my master didn’t think so. He ordered me to be whipped until the man was satisfied.”          “How…how long…?”          She let out a weak breath that was supposed to be a chuckle, but died somewhere between her throat and her mouth. “If it had been up to the man I hit, they would have kept beating me until I died. But the man he was working for—my master’s guest—he intervened and demanded that the beating stop.” She shook her head, trying to smile at him. From the look on his face, it didn’t work. “You were probably able to see the scars on my back when I was wearing that tunic in court.”          Eurysakes nodded uncomfortably. “Hints of them.” He frowned.          “Suppose anyone else noticed?”          “They did.” He smiled, not entirely a true smile, but more convincing than she suspected hers had been. “I told them it was ritual combat,” he said. “Part of the Hyperborean rites of passage. Like the rings of scars on your legs.” Eurysakes pointed to the scars that were just barely visible between sections of her greaves, and had been entirely exposed in court.          “Oh, yeah, those…” Atalanta laughed uncomfortably. “Those are what I got for repeatedly failing to do my duties properly. And mouthing off, mostly about what my father would do to them if he was alive.”          Eurysakes laughed. “I don’t know what kind of father Achilles would have been. He knew little other than war. But he would not have forgiven anyone who enslaved his child. I am sure of that.”          Atalanta smiled warmly. “Does your uncle talk about him a lot?”          He nodded. “Yes, often. Almost as often as he talks about my father.”          “While we’re waiting for Ariadne to get back, will you tell me some of it?” Atalanta asked, with a little more urgency in her voice than she had intended. “All I have are rumors, half of them spread by his enemies.”          “Of course.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->thymbrian temple]]

Eurysakes was in the middle of telling a story about a particularly absurd adventure their fathers had gotten into while they were still quite young, before the second sailing for Troy, when suddenly he stopped talking, and one eyebrow started creeping up his forehead. Confused, Atalanta turned to see what he was looking at, and saw that Ariadne was returning, with the girl they had rescued still walking beside her, but now clutching her hand in a particularly familiar way. “Has something…changed?” Eurysakes asked drolly.          Ariadne’s face turned bright crimson, and she cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Althaia here thought that her father might want to offer us all a night’s hospitality to thank us for rescuing her,” she explained.          Atalanta bit her lip. Could she say no? Would that seem unforgivably rude? Althaia had said her father was a priest of Apollo. How could the daughter of Achilles ever be hosted by a priest of Apollo, her father’s killer? It was unthinkable! “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” she said, her voice shaking. “I mean…um…what if…I…I mean…after what I did…” She couldn’t bear the idea of looking into the clearing behind her, where the corpse of the man she had killed was still being a squishy, disgusting mess of blood and pulverized organs, but she did wave a hand weakly in its direction.          The girl, Althaia, trembled, and stepped closer to Ariadne before swallowing hard and saying “I’m sure my father would insist.”          Atalanta looked to Eurysakes for support, but he was already getting to his feet. “Thank you for the kind offer,” he said, nodding his head at Althaia. “Spending the night in the forest would not be pleasant.”          Was she really the only one who thought this was a bad idea? Atalanta looked at Ariadne, and saw discomfort on her face, even as Ariadne averted her eyes. So she knew this was a mistake and she was letting it happen anyway?          Was she mad at Atalanta?          Was this supposed to be a punishment for something?          That was just awful if it was. But maybe Ariadne just didn’t want to sleep on the ground, and was looking forward to another night on a soft, cushiony bed like they’d had in the city. Althaia looked richly dressed enough; her father probably *had* beds rather than pallets.          It still didn’t feel right, but there just wasn’t anything to do about it. Atalanta got to her feet, and picked up her shield and spear before miserably following after her cousins and the girl who was still clutching Ariadne’s hand as though she feared it might escape. Something about the way Althaia was clinging to Ariadne’s side annoyed Atalanta, but she tried to set it aside, since the girl was probably beyond terrified to have Atalanta following her home after what had happened in that skirmish.          They walked in silence for a short while, until they met a man walking the other direction. He greeted Althaia politely and asked after her mother’s health, then left again with a smile and a friendly nod for the other three. “Has your mother been ill?” Eurysakes asked, once he was gone.          “Oh, no, but he’s always worried about her,” Althaia said. “He’s old enough that he remembers the time when she was held prisoner by the Ahhiyawa during the war. Half the village thinks I was really fathered by Apaliunas, because why else would he have sent a plague to punish the Ahhiyawa for taking my mother away!” she exclaimed, laughing, then suddenly stopped, turning a pale face at Eurysakes. “Oh, no, I’m sorry! You—your—um—your father didn’t fight in the war, did he?”          Eurysakes smiled sadly. “He did. But the plague was not his undoing.” A slight pause, in which Althaia looked unsure how to react. “Is your mother’s name Chryseis?”          Althaia gasped. “How did you know?!”          “Many men died because Agamemnon refused to return her. She is not forgotten by the survivors. But they blame Agamemnon. Not your mother.” Given that Chryseis’ return to her father led directly into Atalanta’s father briefly withdrawing from the war, they probably blamed *him* just as much as they blamed Agamemnon, Atalanta reflected sadly. The idea of accepting hospitality from Chryseis—the indirect cause of her father’s most bitter loss and madness—was hardly a pleasing one, but they were committed now, so what could she do about it?          Althaia nodded uneasily, and turned to look at Ariadne instead. “Um, you did say you’re not Ahhiyawa, but…um…you…it was *true*, right?”          “Of course it was,” Ariadne said, with a warm smile. Atalanta was glad the question had not been aimed at her; she doubted she would ever be able to lie so convincingly.          “I’m so glad,” Althaia sighed, pressing herself closer to Ariadne’s side. “My father is always fearful more Ahhiyawa will come and try to take my mother away again.”          “We are not monsters,” Eurysakes said, his expression more wounded than the tone of his voice. “That was war. We do not do such things in peacetime.”          Ariadne cast a disgusted look at him over her shoulder, but didn’t say anything. Eurysakes looked at Atalanta in confusion, but what could she say? Growing up in Hatti territory, of course they had heard all sorts of reports of continued Achaian raids on Hatti-controlled lands in the many years since the war, but of course Eurysakes wouldn’t have heard them while living at his uncle’s court. For all Atalanta knew, his uncle might have even been *behind* some of the raids. She hoped not, since his uncle was her father’s cousin, but that didn’t count for much. Besides, it’s not like there hadn’t been raids by allies of Hattusa on Achaian islands like Lemnos. It was just an ugly fact of life.          They walked in silence until they reached the sight of the first building. At first, Atalanta thought it might be the palace of the local lord, until Althaia announced it was the temple where her father served the god. As they drew nearer to the front of the temple, she was momentarily alarmed, thinking that there was a man standing before it who was half again as large as Eurysakes! But the man didn’t move as they continued walking, and soon they were close enough that even in the low light of the setting sun, Atalanta could see that it was just a statue.          Ariadne came to a stop in front of the statue, looking up at it. It was better carved than the ones back home in Methymna, but not really lifelike enough to justify Atalanta’s earlier mistake. It showed a very ordinary-looking man, with a real sword strapped to his hip—a sword that was nearly as big as Atalanta’s spear, given the scale of the statue—and a real tunic of very fine cloth wrapped around his stone body.          “Who is this statue of?” Ariadne asked. “He doesn’t have a bow or a lyre; I thought those were the signs of Apaliunas—or are they only associated with his Achaian equivalent, Apollo?”          Althaia smiled at Ariadne, and shook her head. “Apaliunas also carries a bow and sometimes a lyre, but this is not our god; his statue is inside, where the rain cannot hurt it. This is Troilos,” she explained. “He was murdered here by the Ahhiyawa at the start of the war. They say he was the son of Apaliunas.”          Eurysakes frowned. “I’ve heard of him,” he said. “Achilles slew him. There was a prophecy. It said the city could not fall. Not if Troilos attained manhood. But I thought he was Priam’s son.”          “Well, my mother told me that Apaliunas went to Queen Hecabe in the form of King Priam,” the girl answered, shrugging. “I suppose it might have been wishful thinking, or a way to explain how very pretty Troilos was. Everyone thought he would grow up to be even more handsome than Prince Alexander.” She gazed up at the statue, which did not look the least bit pretty to Atalanta. “Either way, Apaliunas fought to defend us against the Ahhiyawa, and everyone says part of it was to avenge the butchering of Troilos.” She laughed, a light, tinkling sound like a waterfall, horribly wrong in the circumstances. “And he did personally avenge Troilos by helping Prince Alexander kill our most terrible foe.”          Atalanta’s fists clenched up, but it was more pain than anger, really. She knew she shouldn’t complain about the actions of the gods, shouldn’t say or do anything about it, because what right had a mortal to argue with the gods? But…she would never get to meet her own father. She had only distant rumors to go on, and so many of them were so horribly distorted because he had been so much more than an ordinary man. And here she was traveling among the survivors of his enemies, people who found his death an event that merited laughter and celebration instead of lamentation and tears…          Ariadne cleared her throat uneasily. “In any case, let’s get you inside to your father,” she said to Althaia.          The girl agreed gladly, and they continued into the temple, though Atalanta felt very nervous as she passed by the statue of Troilos, worried that it might topple over on her in vengeance for his death. Fortunately, it didn’t, and they were able to enter the temple safely.          Unlike the temples in the city, this one was old, and it was everything Atalanta had come to expect from a temple. At the back, by the altar, was an enormous statue of Apollo, so tall that it barely fit within the temple. In one raised hand he held a bow and quiver of arrows, and in his lowered hand he held a lyre—though the statue was stone, the bow, quiver and lyre were all carved from wood, and covered in sheets of bright gold, as was the god’s hair. The statue’s face was placid and she suspected it was probably intended to be handsome, but there was also something menacing about it, as if the statue itself wanted to promise that it could smite its foes without a moment’s warning. (The raised bow in his hand probably had a lot to do with that impression, of course!)          While Ariadne and Eurysakes accompanied the priest’s daughter over to her father, Atalanta walked up to the altar, its stone surface marred by some old blood stain, and stared up at the statue of Apollo. “If that Troilos was really your son,” she whispered at the statue, figuring that the god would hear her no matter how quietly she spoke, “then let’s consider ourselves even, okay? I’ll stop begrudging you for killing my father, because he killed your son. If you still want more vengeance than you already got by killing my father, then…all I can do is beg you to wait. I have to protect Ariadne. I promised Hermes I would keep her safe. If you have to kill me, too, then please wait until Ariadne doesn’t need me anymore.”          “Is the statue really *that* fascinating?” Ariadne suddenly asked from behind her, making Atalanta jump slightly. “You’ve been staring at it for a long time.”          Atalanta turned to look at her cousin, feeling her face flush as she did so. “Sorry. I was just…um…”          “I think I can guess,” Ariadne replied, sounding disgusted. “Anyway, Althaia’s father is absolutely *insisting* that we stay with him tonight. I didn’t think it was a good idea to explain why you might be uncomfortable at the idea,” she added, lowering her voice. “Are you ready to go?”          Atalanta nodded gratefully. She didn’t want to stay under the gaze of that massive statue of Apollo any longer than she had to. She kept feeling like it was going to come to life and stomp on her for having the nerve to enter his temple when she was the daughter of Achilles…          Althaia—minus the parcel she had been carrying all this while—led the three of them back out of the temple, and down a small path that led behind the temple, then veered off sharply, leading them around the edge of the village to a house on the outskirts of a thin forest. It was a small house by comparison to their master’s palace, but it was much bigger and nicer than most of the other houses in Methymna. The smell of roasting meat came wafting out of the open door of the house, making Atalanta’s stomach strongly remind her that they hadn’t eaten anything since midday, and that they had been walking a long time (and had to fight a horrifying battle) since then.          “Mother, I’m home!” Althaia called as she entered the house. “And I’ve brought some guests for the night.”          Althaia’s mother, Chryseis, was a beautiful woman with surprisingly fair hair for an Anatolian, though less golden than King Korythos’ hair, but not dressed nearly as richly as her daughter was. She was standing at the hearth when her daughter called out to her, but turned around as they approached her. Seeing the three guests standing behind her daughter, she let out a frightened sound, not quite a shriek, but far more than a mere gasp, and took a pace backwards, her face draining of color.          “Mother? What’s wrong?!” Althaia ran over to her mother, taking her hand. “Do you know one of these young men?” she added, sounding hurt.          Her mother peered at the uncomfortable trio through the low light in the house, then smiled slightly, and shook her head. “I’m sorry, she said. “That was very rude of me. And to guests in my own house…” She paused a moment, then focused her gaze on Eurysakes. “You look very much like a man I once met,” she explained, “and for a moment, I thought…no, I don’t even know what I thought.” She turned away to look at the meat roasting over the fire. “When I was a young girl, I was captured by the Ahhiyawa forces during the sack of Thebe. I was luckier than the others; my father was able to ransom me before any man laid his hands on me. But it was still a terrifying experience. And you look like one of the Ahhiyawa men I saw more than most…”          Eurysakes bit his lip a moment, looking down at his feet uncomfortably. “That was my father,” he said, even more slowly than usual. “He was one of the men who captured you. And who returned you to your father.”          “Eu-Eurysakes!” Atalanta exclaimed. Was it wise to tell her that!? Wasn’t that a good way to get them all driven out of town as enemies?          Chryseis turned back to look at him, and crossed the room a little, peering at Eurysakes curiously. “How surprisingly honest,” she said, with a small smile. “Most men would have denied it. But I am glad you didn’t; there would have been no reason to try to hide it,” she added. “He treated me very kindly, particularly when he was returning me to my father. Both the men who returned me did.”          “Who was the other one?” Atalanta asked curiously. Not that she held out any hopes that the other had been her own father, but…          “I don’t know his name,” Chryseis admitted. “The other man was smaller and older, but spoke in a most comforting, friendly way.”          “Odysseus,” Eurysakes said. “It was Odysseus. My uncle told me the tale.”          “Your uncle?” Chryseis repeated. “Not your father?”          “My father…did not survive the war,” he answered sadly.          “Most didn’t,” she agreed with a sorrowful sigh. “My own father spent the rest of his life praying for forgiveness for the sake of all mortals. When he heard that most of the Ahhiyawa forces were killed in shipwrecks on their way home, he concluded that the gods had used that war in an attempt to wipe out all of humanity, or at least all the people of both Hellas and Anatolia.” She sighed. “After Apaliunas had helped him to save me from my captors, my father neglected his duties as a priest, he became so obsessed with the notion that the gods had all turned on us. It seems so ungrateful…”          “Mother, let’s not talk about the war,” Althaia suggested urgently. “It was so long ago!”          Chryseis laughed, but it wasn’t a merry sound. “It seems so to you because you’re so young. To me…it will never seem more than mere days since that terrible ordeal. The memories are always too fresh and vivid.” She shook her head with a sigh. “But what causes three Ahhiyawa boys to come stay at our house?” she asked, looking at the trio.          “Only one,” Eurysakes said. “These two are from the north.”          “Oh?” She peered at the girls more closely, then shook her head. “I see. But the question is no different. What brings you here? Why did my husband offer to play host to you?”          “Father wanted to thank them for saving me!” Althaia exclaimed, before quickly giving a very distorted version of what had happened back by the river, not only leaving out Atalanta’s act of mad brutality, but also omitting almost everything Eurysakes had done, too, making it sound as though Ariadne had rescued her essentially unaided. It was a little irksome to be ignored like that, but that was surely better than having anyone else know what she had done. She felt badly for Eurysakes, though, to be ignored the way some people evidently still ignored his father in favor of talking about her own father…          After the tale—such as it was—was over, all too much of the conversation was suddenly dominated by Althaia’s insistence that Ariadne was the finest mortal archer ever to live, and that her skills obviously dwarfed even those of Prince Alexander himself. Ariadne was clearly displeased with being compared to the lecherous prince of Troy who had caused the war, but Atalanta found the comparison even more odious considering that—divine assistance notwithstanding—he was the one who had loosed the arrow that had taken the life of her father.          “Is Prince Alexander really so highly regarded in Troy these days?” Ariadne asked, after the comparison had been made far too many times. “We’ve heard of the war, of course, even in the far northern lands of Hyperborea, but we had heard that his lechery had been the sole cause of the destruction of his home and his people. Wouldn’t he be reviled for such a thing?”          Althaia looked horrified at the very concept, but Ariadne’s words made Chryseis laugh. “There were times, during the war, when the people wanted to see him and his strumpet both stoned to death, or thrown screaming off the walls of the city. Their names were cursed for years after the war ended, too, while Aineias was ruling over the Troad. But then there was an earthquake—it was mild, but it was enough for Korythos to claim that the gods were offended to see a traitor like Aineias, who had capitulated with the Ahhiyawa enemy, sitting upon the throne of holy Ilios. Once Aineias was driven away and Korythos took over ruling the city…as it began to be renewed, and trade opened up in a way it hadn’t under Aineias, people started to think more kindly upon his father than they used to. It’s been years now since anyone in town openly said anything unkind about Prince Alexander. Most of the young people don’t even remember the days when he was hated and cursed,” she added, setting a hand on her daughter’s head.          “Why did people believe his tale?” Eurysakes asked. “Why didn’t they doubt his parentage? His claims of a nymph as a mother…they would not be believed in Hellas. Not so readily.”          Chryseis shook her head. “No one who looks on him can doubt it. Not if they ever saw Alexander in their lives. He is the picture of his father.” Eutychos’ reaction to him in court certainly agreed with that. “No, perhaps he’s even more beautiful,” Chryseis added thoughtfully.          “Is it really okay to say something like that so openly about your king?” Atalanta asked. “Wouldn’t a man be offended to be called beautiful?” Wasn’t beautiful something a woman was supposed to be?          “Such a beautiful boy shouldn’t ask a question like that!” Chryseis exclaimed, laughing. “There were many others taken from us in the course of the war who could be described only in such terms. Memnon, the King of Ethiopia, was the most radiant man who ever lived. I saw him myself, and he was truly too arresting and magnificent to be a mere mortal! Ah, how we all wept when the cruel Achilles took his life!” Atalanta’s stomach clenched up to hear her father called cruel, but she tried to keep it off her face, even as she felt her eyes fighting to produce tears. “Of course, terrible though he was, Achilles was known for his pretty face, too,” Chryseis added. “I thought everyone had heard that much about him.” She laughed. “In fact, in trying to cheer me up, one of those men who were conveying me back to my father—the one you said was called Odysseus—told me that when he was young man, Achilles was once disguised as a girl, so effectively that everyone around him was fooled.”          “That’s just a mean rumor!” Atalanta shouted, despite herself. She’d heard the tale before from sailors in the port—they had even claimed that was where her half-brother Neoptolemos came from—but she refused to believe her father would ever have done something so cowardly! It would shame his name as a mighty warrior if he had tried to hide and escape being drawn into the war!          “Oh dear…have I said something to offend you?” Chryseis asked, sounding a little disappointed. “Surely the barbarian north doesn’t revere the name of Achilles the way the people of Hellas do?”          “Atleus just formed an irrational attachment to the man’s name because they both have red hair,” Ariadne said, trying to laugh even as she whacked Atalanta in the side, fairly hard. “The stories of the war that reached Hyperborea all depicted the Achaian forces as brutal, vicious hordes that slaughtered and plundered the innocent.”          “The story is true,” Eurysakes added, looking at Atalanta. “Of Achilles’ time in disguise as a girl. My uncle told me. It was not Achilles’ idea. It was Thetis. She did not want her son to go to war. She hid him with the daughters of Lycomedes. While he was on the cusp of manhood. He was there about a year.” He laughed. “And left Lycomedes with a grandson.”          Atalanta tried to contain her disgust at the confirmation. That her father had been hiding like a coward—no matter that it was in obedience to his divine mother, it was still cowardly—*and* he had had his way with one of his host’s daughters? How could something so awful be true? Maybe it really wasn’t. Maybe it really *was* just a rumor spread by jealous souls who weren’t as good as her father. And Eurysakes’ uncle was just naïve enough to believe the rumor despite its obvious falsehood. And he just hadn’t ever asked if it was true because…          She tried to focus on coming up with some reason that Teukros would never have asked his own cousin for proof that the rumor was just a rumor while the others continued talking and joking about it for what seemed like an interminable amount of time. The longer it went on, the more Atalanta felt her blood begin to boil in her veins, until she was filled with an intense desire to hit someone. She knew better than to do so, but no memories of beatings were enough to change the urge. Instead, she just left the house and went around the back, until she found a nice big rock, half-hidden from the house by a stand of trees. Tears streaming down her face, Atalanta began slamming her fists into the rock until the urge finally passed. Her knuckles were raw and bleeding by that point, but at least she hadn’t hurt anyone else. And she wouldn’t face a lecture from Ariadne, either.          Having finally calmed down, but wary of going back inside in case they were still saying awful things about her father, Atalanta slumped down to sit at the base of the nearest tree. Sitting there in the idyllic Trojan countryside, listening to the wind in the leaves, and the distant sound of the rivers, Atalanta began to feel terribly guilty. Not just for the way she had abused this poor, innocent rock, or even for the ghastly way she had killed that bandit, but for almost everything she could think of. Had it really been right for her to run away from her master after he had fed and clothed and sheltered her for sixteen years? What if the rumors had been wrong about what the Thracians would have done with her? What if Ariadne could have used her powers of persuasion to convince the master not to separate them? What if the master wouldn’t really have separated them anyway?          She tried to tell herself that it was hardly an inconvenience to the king. He would never notice her absence—unless by the reduction of broken pottery in the kitchen—and the very fact that he was probably going to agree to the guest’s request to take her away proved that she had no value to him as a slave. Besides, it wasn’t right for the daughter of Achilles to be a slave, anyway.          But that just made her feel worse. How could she not feel guilty about the state of the people trying to live in Troy? The old city would never have fallen without her father—despite that he didn’t live to see it fall—and that made Atalanta feel as though she held a share in its sorry present, as though a portion of the guilt for their misery laid on her own shoulders. The way that they had cursed her father’s name so readily…it angered her, and yet she knew that they had their reasons, and that those reasons were just.          Atalanta’s thoughts continued to spiral until it was so dark that she couldn’t see beyond the tip of her nose. She still didn’t move, even when she heard someone coming near her, with the thin light of a lit lantern.          “Ah, here you are.” The voice belonged to Chryseis, making Atalanta wince. “Your cousin’s been looking everywhere for you.”          “I’m sorry,” Atalanta said, doing her best to keep her face passive as she glanced up at the woman. She stood there, still sheltering the lantern’s flame with one hand, its meager light illuminating her face and its worried expression. “I just needed some fresh air,” Atalanta claimed.          “You don’t have to lie to me,” Chryseis said, crouching down beside her. The hand that had been sheltering the flame reached over to wipe some tears off Atalanta’s face. “I’m sorry I tested you like that.”          “What?”          “One of the boys in the village heard the commotion during your battle,” she said. “He heard your cousin address you by a woman’s name…and he heard you talking with young Eurysakes afterwards, speaking about your fathers.”          Atalanta winced. “I’ll leave if you want.”          Chryseis shook her head. “I thought he might have been lying to me—some of the children in village think it’s funny what happened to me during the war—or I would never have introduced that story about Achilles. I didn’t realize it would upset you so badly.” She sighed deeply. “Is your cousin also a girl?”          Atalanta nodded, but couldn’t say anything.          “Well, I’m glad to hear that the boy my daughter’s taken such a fancy to *isn’t* a boy and can’t take advantage of her!” Chryseis laughed. “Are you Amazons?”          Atalanta shook her head, with a weak laugh. “Runaway slaves.”          Suddenly, Chryseis took hold of one of her hands, squeezing warmly. “Come back inside. Dinner’s ready, and you must be hungry.”          “You…you don’t mind? That—that I’ve been lying—that I’m—that my father was—”          “Your father was also one of the men who captured me, but he didn’t treat me cruelly. He and your friend’s father kept one of the other men from trying to force himself on me on the way back to the Ahhiyawa camp, in fact. And I’ve heard that his was one of the strongest voices demanding that Agamemnon return me after Apaliunas sent that plague to punish the Ahhiyawa for Agamemnon’s rudeness to my father.” She smiled sadly. “Your father did many terrible things during the war, but he wasn’t all bad.”          Atalanta bit her lip, trying to find some way to react, something that wouldn’t feel broken and wrong. How was she supposed to feel about any of this?          “Does it upset you so much to accept my hospitality, as someone who was your father’s enemy?”          Atalanta shook her head. “The god your husband serves killed my father. I can never know him for myself because of that.”          “But you accepted the hospitality of the son of the mortal man given the credit for his death.”          “I didn’t like that either.” Atalanta frowned. “But…yeah. If I’ve been the guest of the son of Alexander, how can I not be the guest of a priest of Apollo?” At least the priest himself wasn’t responsible. “I’m sorry for being such a jerk.” She slowly got to her feet, and Chryseis also rose, leading her inside with a warm smile. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->dinner with chryseis]]

The dried smears on Atalanta’s face when she came back inside confirmed Ariadne’s worst fears, as did traces of blood on her knuckles. If she couldn’t find a way to cure her cousin of this unreasoning attachment to the man she thought was her father, their travels in Anatolia were likely to end with them both dead. And even if they managed to get safely to Hellas, then what? In some places, claiming Achilles as a father might get Atalanta a warm reception, but in others the falsehood would be quickly and easily spotted, and would win her only a hot death. But right now wasn’t the time to deal with that, not while Atalanta was still upset. Ariadne took her aside before they ate and helped clean the tear trails off her face, and the blood off her hands. Atalanta winced whenever Ariadne touched her fingers; she must have been punching something particularly hard this time.          By the time that was done, everyone else was waiting on them to eat. Their host called it a poor and simple repast, yet to Ariadne’s eyes it was anything but. It didn’t match the grandeur of King Korythos’ feasts, of course, but it was nearly as fine as the meals served to the king and his family in Methymna when they didn’t have guests. The whole meal was well prepared—Chryseis must have had others in the village preparing most of it, since Ariadne certainly hadn’t seen it being cooked!—and the portions were quite large for an individual household’s meal. And Ariadne didn’t doubt that their host would give them even more, if they were to ask for it. A priest, after all, would be the last one to be a poor host.          The conversation over the meal was mostly light. The priest, Chryseis’ husband, was an unremarkable man in appearance—and intellect, as far as Ariadne could tell—but a very friendly and vivacious one, asking them curiously about everything without prying. Like Korythos, he was very curious to hear tales of Hyperborea, as was his daughter, who seemed especially interested in learning about Hyperborean marriage customs, something Ariadne was having trouble inventing on the spot like this, having little enough knowledge about *anyone’s* marriage customs, since slaves hardly needed to know such things.          The longer the meal went on, the more Ariadne understood the rumors that Apollo was Althaia’s father, rather than her mother’s husband. Althaia, like her mother, was bright and beautiful, seeming to glow in the light. Her father was entirely lacking in beauty, and the light shied away from him, as if it only wanted to shine on beauties like Althaia, Chryseis, and—of course!—Atalanta. The thin firelight played through her hair, braiding into it until it appeared to be true flame, dancing and glowing on its own. Ariadne found it hard not to stare, in fact; she had never really seen Atalanta in this type of light before to appreciate how well it complimented her.          It was probably because she was so often looking at her cousin that she became aware of just how uncomfortable Atalanta grew as the meal progressed. She looked as though someone was pricking the back of her neck with red-hot needles. Unfortunately, it wasn’t hard to guess why that would be. As far as Atalanta was concerned, that huge statue in front of the temple was of an ephebe her father had slain before he could reach manhood, and the temple itself was dedicated to the god who had taken the man’s life in vengeance. The fact that Achilles was not *really* Atalanta’s father was something Atalanta was not yet ready even to entertain, let alone accept as reality. So she was tormenting herself over the fact that she was sitting there enjoying—or failing to enjoy, really—the hospitality of Apollo’s priest. She was probably imagining that her very existence was an odious offense to the god, her very presence in that house a kind of sacrilege against radiant Apollo. Atalanta’s obvious discomfort was a great disappointment to Ariadne; she had hoped that seeing there was no divine anger when Atalanta entered the temple would have made her begin to accept that their fathers had been liars and frauds, but thanks to Eutychos and *his* lies, Atalanta’s delusions seemed to be perpetually reinforcing themselves with every passing moment.          It was a great relief to both cousins when the meal finally ended and the trio were led to a single room where they could sleep for the night, where their weapons and Ariadne’s and Eurysakes’ armor were already waiting for them. Chryseis explained, with far too much embarrassment, that they had no other rooms to spare, and in fact had only one spare bed. Indeed, there was only one actual bed in the room—not a wooden one like in Korythos’ palace, but more of a clay bunk, with a thick pallet spread atop it—with two thick, heavy pallets spread on the floor of the room. Chryseis’ incredible level of discomfort at asking guests to accept such a situation worried Ariadne: did she know that she and Atalanta were not young boys? A host should not be concerned by asking three visiting young men to share a single chamber, but to ask a young man and two girls to share a chamber…          Whatever the state of Chryseis’ knowledge, Eurysakes accepted for the three of them before either girl could object. For some reason that made Chryseis look more relaxed—perhaps if she had guessed that their high voices came from their sex, not extreme youth, she assumed that Eurysakes was fooled where she was not?—and she left quickly, leaving the three of them alone in the room.          “Can you two share the bed?” Eurysakes asked, looking at them with a slightly red face.          “We’ll be fine on the floor,” Atalanta said. “Your uncle’s a king; you should be in the bed.”          “But…” He bit his lip. “This is all very awkward.”          “How so?” Ariadne prompted. “What had you *planned* on doing tonight, if we’d all been sleeping in the forest like we originally expected?”          His face went even more red, and he shrugged weakly. “Opposite sides of the fire?” he suggested.          Ariadne wasn’t sure if his reaction suggested an intention on his part to make attempts on them, or if he genuinely hadn’t stopped to think about how the night would have gone in the forest. The biggest problem with his having been let in on their origins as slaves was that no matter what his real position in life—son of a well-off farmer, most likely, given his sheer bulk—he surely saw them as so far below him as not to count as truly being human. In that case, would he consider it an insult to his honor to engage with them, or did he consider them to have no right to refuse him? From what she had seen of their former master’s guests, attitudes varied exclusively between those positions. *Hopefully* it was the former, but Ariadne didn’t want to take any unnecessary chances.          Unfortunately, Atalanta didn’t seem bothered, and was soon settling down on one of the pallets on the floor, still wearing her armor. “Take your armor off first,” Ariadne sighed. It had been rude enough that she’d been wearing her cuirass at the table, but to *sleep* in it?          Atalanta turned as red as her hair, and quickly began wiggling out of her armor, tossing it haphazardly over near her shield and helmet. Sighing, Ariadne opened the door to the room even as Eurysakes began to settle on the bed.          “Why are you opening the door?” he asked, looking at her curiously.          “There’s no air in here,” Ariadne claimed, gesturing at the windowless walls. “We’ll suffocate if the door is shut.” It seemed a better excuse than admitting that she hoped the open door would keep Eurysakes from trying anything on them in the night, if he knew that every noise they made would be heard all through the house.          He seemed to accept it, and was soon lying down with his back towards them. Ariadne moved the empty pallet closer to Atalanta’s, and laid down on it herself. “Are you all right?” she whispered, once their heads were close together.          Atalanta nodded with a weak smile. “I’m fine.” It was possibly the least convincing lie that Atalanta had ever told her, but Ariadne didn’t call her on it. She just smiled, leaned in closer to give her a light kiss on the cheek, and told her to get some rest. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Chapter Six]]

[[<img src="chapter6.jpg" width="750" height="750">->apollo]]

A golden fog spreading in all directions, lit by an undefined radiance in the far distance. The sweet scent of some incomparable fruit lingering in the air. Hints of the distant sound of a lyre being strummed.          Atalanta had no idea where she was, or how she had gotten there. When she looked down at her own body, suspended in that fog, she saw that she was dressed in an unfamiliar gown, simple and plain, but crafted of a fine fabric the likes of which she had never seen; the cloth was so soft and airy that she could barely feel it against her skin.          She had barely had time to wonder where she was before an image appeared in front of her in the fog. For a moment, she didn’t know what she was seeing, until she recognized her own damaged shield at the center of it. Fine detail spread out like a wave from (if: $shield is "light damage")[the gash left by the bandit's sword](else_if: $shield is "heavy damage")[the massive patch where the bronze had been shorn away](else:)[the hole Eurysakes’ spear had left in the shield], until Atalanta could recognize that she was seeing an image of herself standing in the temple, looking up at the statue of Apollo. “If that Troilos was really your son,” the image of her whispered, “then let’s consider ourselves even, okay?”          The image disintegrated, except for the statue of Apollo, which lingered for a few heartbeats until it, too, faded away, leaving behind a figure the same size. Atalanta didn’t have to see the bow slung prominently over his shoulder to know that he was the real, true Apollo standing before her in all his majesty. His hair shone as golden as the sun, and his skin was a light bronze in color, contrasting sharply with his eyes, which gleamed bright as the sky but as cold and pale as ice. His features were probably even more beautiful than those of Korythos or Ganymede, but it was hard to tell with them so contorted in fury. “Consider ourselves even?” he snarled at her. “What arrogance! Who do you think you are, mortal!?”          “I—I am Atalanta, daughter of Achilles,” she answered, though it felt rather like a squeak to her ears.          “And you think that makes you worthy to treat with the gods? Just because your father was the son of Thetis, a mere Nereid?” Apollo retorted.          “Of course not,” Atalanta said, shaking her head. “But you asked me who I am, so I had to answer, didn’t I?” Wasn’t that the right thing to do if a god asked you a question, to answer honestly?          For a moment, Apollo only stared at her. “Perhaps so,” he conceded, with a grimace.          “Um…I…I’m not very good with words,” Atalanta said, after the god did not continue speaking. “I wasn’t trying to—I didn’t mean to offend you earlier. I was just…it’s just…I only wanted to say that…um…that I wasn’t going to—that I was going to try to…to not be angry…about my father’s death…”          “What right would a mortal have to be angry at the gods?” Apollo glared down at her through narrow eyes as he spoke.          “None,” she admitted, “but I don’t think that’s ever stopped anyone before.”          The god chuckled coldly. “True, but it’s always entertaining to watch them destroy themselves.”          “I have no intention of destroying myself,” Atalanta informed him, finally beginning to find her strength despite the angry immortal standing before her. If he wanted to kill her, she owed it to her father to go out bravely, after all, like he did.          “You will do what the gods have ordained for you,” Apollo said, taking a step closer to her. “If you try to fight against your fate, you’ll find it even worse than it’s already intended to be.”          Atalanta shrugged. “Since I don’t know my fate, I can’t very well fight against it,” she replied, trying to sound unconcerned. “As a simple slave, I’m not exactly someone who’s ever been able to consult any oracles to learn about the machinations of fate.” It sounded like something Ariadne would say, so surely it had to be the right thing to say, right?          The god sighed deeply. The exhalation of his breath carried the same sweet scent that lingered in the air, combined with a warm, gentle moisture that seemed relaxing to Atalanta, despite that she knew he undoubtedly wouldn’t hesitate to kill her at the slightest provocation. “I don’t think there’s anything about you that could be described as ‘simple.’ Except, of course, your intellect,” he added, sounding more mischievous than angry suddenly.          “I’m sure I seem simple by comparison to the gods,” Atalanta replied, “but I’m not stupid among mortals. I’m not as smart as my cousin, but that doesn’t make me stupid!” She was sick of people assuming she was an idiot just because she wasn’t as brilliant as Ariadne.          “What else is it but stupid to argue with a god?” Apollo retorted, one enormous hand taking hold of her chin and angling her face up to look directly into his.          “If you wanted to kill me, I’d be dead already,” she answered, trying to make herself believe it. Feeling the heat of his hand—so much more than the heat of a human hand, more like a stone that had been in the fire—was shaking her resolve to put on a brave face for the sake of her father’s reputation.          Apollo stared down at her for a moment longer, then released her chin and turned away from her. “Killing maidens is more my sister’s role, it’s true,” he muttered, shaking his head, “but don’t think I won’t do it.”          “I understand that,” she assured him. She hesitated for a moment, then asked the question that was burning in her mind. “Do you really hate my father that much, that killing him wasn’t enough for you? Why?”          “Can a mortal possibly understand the workings of the divine mind?” the god countered.          “Probably not, but I’d like to try,” Atalanta said firmly. The gods tended to act awfully human in most of the stories, after all… “If you plan on tormenting me because of my father, I’d like to know what he did.”          Apollo turned to look at her, shaking his head. “At least none can accuse you of cowardice,” he said, though his voice was so empty of emotion that Atalanta wasn’t sure if he meant it as a compliment, an insult, or merely a statement of fact. “Very well, I will show you.”          He walked over to stand beside her, and waved his hand in front of them both. Another image appeared in the fog. It showed a massive Achaian fleet coming in to land on a beach. Defenders flooded from an unfamiliar citadel nearby, and hurried towards the invaders.          “Is that…Troy?” Atalanta asked. It didn’t look anything like the city she had been in only this morning, or even the land around it. The beach didn’t even look right. “In the past?”          “It is the past, but it is not Troy,” Apollo told her. He gestured, and they seemed to fly close inside the image, where two figures among the Achaian forces were fighting so skillfully that they put their foes to flight and their allies to shame. One of them wore bronze armor with shining gold and silver ornamentation; the red hair hanging down beneath his helm identified him undeniably as her father, Achilles. (And despite what Eutychos had said, Atalanta didn’t see any resemblance between his face and hers, not in the least!) The other wore less fabulous armor, and his hair was dark; Atalanta presumed him to be Patroclos, given how closely they were fighting together, and how similar their fighting style was. “This is Tenedos, an island not far off the Trojan coast,” Apollo explained. “The first place the Achaians sacked when they arrived to lay siege to Troy.”          Atalanta nodded, but she wasn’t sure what to make of the information. She knew where Tenedos was—Eutychos had pointed it out when they were sailing from the camp towards the city—but she couldn’t imagine why a battle would so upset a god. As the battle in the image raged onwards, a glorious figure appeared among the defenders: his armor was elaborate, and the hair on his unhelmeted head was every bit as golden as that of the god standing beside Atalanta.          “Tennes,” Apollo said, indicating the figure. “My son.”          She swallowed heavily. Even without having to see it, she knew where this was going. And indeed, as soon as her father saw the golden armor on Tennes, he entered into combat against him and struck him dead, stripping the armor from his corpse as soon as it fell still. Even though she had known that such looting was commonplace in battle, to actually witness her father ripping the armor off a fallen foe was a depressing and unsettling thing.          “I…I’m sure he didn’t know…” Atalanta said weakly. It was the only thing she *could* say. And she knew it wasn’t much defense. Then again, it *had* been an honorable death in battle.          Apollo made a noise of disgust, and the image vanished. It was soon replaced by a new image, that of the exterior of his temple in Thymbra, before the massive statue was erected. At first, the scene was empty of people, but then the sound of hoof beats heralded the arrival of two horses, one ridden by a young girl—Althaia’s age or even younger—and a golden-haired ephebe.          “Troilos. Also my son,” Apollo informed her as the horses slowed to a stop before the temple.          Before either rider could dismount, Atalanta saw the armored figure of her father leap out of the bushes near the temple, his sword already drawn. The girl screamed, and both riders turned their horses and began fleeing back towards the city.          “No, you don’t!” It wasn’t the voice Atalanta would have expected her father to have. But maybe that was the anger it carried as he sheathed his sword and started running after the horses, catching up to them before they could reach full speed. A single leap was enough to let Achilles grab Troilos by his hair and yank him down off the horse, which ran on without him.          “Run, Polyxena!” Troilos shouted, as he struggled out of her father’s grip. “Get help!”          The girl on the horse kicked its flanks, and both horses set off running faster. Troilos ran, too, straight inside the temple. “You won’t get away like that!” Achilles shouted, running inside after him.          “No…that’s not…” Atalanta shook her head, trying to deny what the image was suggesting. “He wouldn’t have…” Not inside a temple!          “Would you like to see what happened inside?” Apollo’s voice was laced with a vicious mirth that froze Atalanta’s insides.          “No! Please, no!”          He snorted. “Very well; we can skip ahead a bit…” The image was largely motionless, but at a light gesture from Apollo’s enormous hand the foliage of the trees began to tremble into a blur. A second gesture and the trees fell still again.          The light on the temple was red even before Achilles emerged to the sound of approaching hoof beats, his armor stained black with blood, and Troilos’ head dangling from one bloodied hand.          Atalanta fell to her knees in tears even as the image of her father threw the head at the approaching horsemen—Troilos’ brothers, presumably—and ran off to disappear in the golden fog around the image. “No…please…please….it can’t…” She turned to look up at Apollo, who stared down at her passively. “This is…it’s a trick…a test…isn’t it? You—you want to see if I—if I’ll turn on my father’s memory…right? He—he would never really have…it…that would—to desecrate a temple and…no, please….please say it’s not true! Please!” She clutched his leg in supplication, reaching towards the god’s knee, crying desperately.          The god scowled, and looked away from her face, waving one hand through the image, dispelling it. “Well, I’m sure if you ask your cousin Eurysakes, he’ll say nothing of the sort happened. Achilles was not fool enough to admit to his comrades that he had defiled my temple in butchering my son.” He glanced back down at Atalanta, and his frown became more exaggerated even as the rest of his expression softened a bit. “Do stop your blubbering,” he said. “I detest the sight of a crying maiden.”          Atalanta tried to control her tears as best she could, wiping them away to hide them. Once she felt like she had succeeded at least a little, she struggled back to her feet, wondering if she had left any tears on Apollo’s leg, and if it would be appropriate to try to wipe them away if she had, or if that would be rude and possibly a bit creepy. She decided it was probably better not to. “I’m sorry,” she said, leaving it open just what she was apologizing *for*.          Apollo sighed. “Your filial devotion to such a beast of a father is so misplaced that it merits much more than a mere apology,” he said, “but at least your reaction is more appropriate than that of Neoptolemos.”          “You showed this to him, too?”          “After he refused to sacrifice to me, I did make a few things clear to him, yes,” Apollo said, with a frown. “He defended his father’s actions—and then not only repeated them but made them look mild by comparison when he slaughtered Priam and his youngest son on my father’s altar.”          Atalanta shuddered. She’d heard the tales—who hadn’t?—but hearing them always put a cold chill down her back to think she shared any blood with such a monster. “And then you killed him, too, to avenge them?”          “No, avenging Priam would have been my father’s place. I slew Neoptolemos for entirely *new* crimes he had committed against me,” Apollo said, with a terrifyingly cold smile. “Would you like to see?”          “Um, no, not really, actually,” Atalanta said, with a nervous laugh. “I believe you.” Everyone had heard what terrible things her half-brother had done in the war, and some of the rumors she had heard of his death at Delphi had said he’d been sacking the place in vengeance for Apollo’s role in Achilles’ death…          Apollo sighed, looking disappointed. “I was looking forward to that,” he said, so quietly that Atalanta was sure she wasn’t supposed to hear it. The sulky tone of his voice made her want to laugh, but she didn’t want to anger him any further, so she held back her laughter.          Atalanta bit her lip a moment, wondering if the slight lightening of his mood meant it would be okay for her to ask the question that was burning in her mind, or if she should hold her tongue. But she couldn’t hold it in. She had to know. “*Are* you planning on tormenting me for my father’s actions?” she asked. “The way Hera tormented Heracles for being her husband’s illegitimate child?” Not that any of that ever made sense to Atalanta; it didn’t at all fit with the way the goddess was described by her priestesses whenever they had come to Methymna.          Apollo scowled at her in disgust. “Don’t associate me with such unthinking behavior, mortal,” he said coldly. “Most of those tales are completely exaggerated anyway. Heracles blaming others for misfortunes of his own making, mostly.” He snorted, shaking his head. “He *was* close friends with that filthy liar Autolycos, after all. It shouldn’t surprise you that he picked up some of his deceitful ways.”          “I just want to know if I should look forward to a life full of torment,” Atalanta said, more than a little confused by the sudden hatred Apollo was displaying towards Ariadne’s ancestor. “Is that so wrong?”          He laughed a single, short and rather mean-spirited laugh. “You’re the daughter of Achilles. What other kind of life could you possibly expect?” Apollo shook his head. “But your torment won’t be of my doing, so long as you never cross me. Because if you do…you will suffer for every sin. Not just your own, but your father’s and your brother’s.”          Atalanta nodded. “I won’t,” she promised. “I want to live up to—I want to be worthy of being the daughter of the man my mother saw, the pure warrior still filled with sorrow at the loss of his best friend.”          Apollo snorted. “Best friend?” he repeated. “Are you really that naïve?”          Atalanta felt her face heat. “I know what people say, but…that’s…I mean…they were—it was like me and Ariadne, wasn’t it? Inseparable and…brotherly…and…”          To her surprise, that made Apollo laugh, this time a true laugh, warm and musical. “You really are that naïve,” he said, once more lifting her face, this time by a single oversize finger curved underneath her chin. “Pity you’re the daughter of such a vile man, or I might enjoy giving you an…*education*…”          Atalanta’s blood ran cold at what that might mean, and she stepped backwards lightly, with an uncomfortable sound that she had meant to be laughter. “Um…did you really…uh…call me here just to…to threaten me if I didn’t behave…?”          The gentle expression that had been on his face was replaced with an annoyed one. Somehow, that made Atalanta feel much more comfortable. “After what you said in my temple, how could I not address your arrogance?”          “I didn’t mean it to be arrogant,” she assured him.          Apollo shrugged. “After the behavior of your father and brother, I could not be certain of that.”          Sadly, Atalanta had to nod. “I understand,” she agreed. “Ah…would it anger you if I asked you a question?”          “That *was* a question,” Apollo pointed out, his voice amused, though his face didn’t look it. “And not the first you’ve asked.”          “Oh, yes, that’s true! But I meant if I could make ask something else, something important specific about people other who—”          “Maybe I should have brought your cousin to translate for you,” Apollo suggested, with a mean smile.          Atalanta’s whole body felt as hot as if it had been thrust into a flame. The parts she could see had certainly turned red enough that it *looked* like it was on fire…          “Go ahead and ask your question,” the god told her, waving his hand dismissively. “But I might not answer it.”          “Well…I was wondering why the gods are helping us. I don’t know if we got out of the palace on our own or if that was a god, too, but Iris came down to give Eurysakes his father’s sword, and I’m sure that was Hermes who gave me my father’s spear, and…well, I guess that’s all, really, but it just seems so strange! Eutychos said that the gods don’t intervene with mortals anymore.”          Apollo scowled. “Athene wants you three to handle this task. She trusts your cousin too much, in my opinion. I don’t see why she favors an arrogant lecher like Odysseus so highly in the first place, and as to why that favor should also extend to his misbegotten daughter…”          “What task?” Atalanta asked curiously. Surely it couldn’t *really* be just Eurysakes’ quest for the sake of his father’s shade. And it seemed highly unlikely that the gods cared about the bandits plaguing Troy…          “You’ll find out when the time is right,” Apollo told her.          Atalanta sighed sadly. Typical of the god of seers and oracles to be so vague! “Um…also…uh…if you don’t mind? I…I’d really like to know what happened to Eurysakes’ father, but I don’t want to hurt his feelings by asking him, and I don’t think Eutychos would tell me even if I asked him…”          Apollo frowned. “That, too, was Athene’s doing,” he said. “Because she didn’t want her favorite damaged. To prevent any risk of him harming Odysseus, she drove him to madness and suicide, even though Aias was worth twenty of Odysseus.”          “Madness…” Atalanta repeated slowly, her eyes widening. No wonder it was so upsetting for poor Eurysakes! To think that his mighty father had been driven insane! The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to do everything she could to help Eurysakes in his quest. Everyone had always said that Aias, son of Telamon, had the greatest heart of any man who had fought at Troy. How horrible for him to have ended so terribly! Even if she wasn’t his kin, she would want to help him, but since she *did* share his blood, she had to help him all the more!          To her surprise, Atalanta suddenly felt a soft finger on her cheek, wiping away a few tears she hadn’t noticed shedding. Gasping in shock, she looked up to see that Apollo was now half the size he had been—only about twice as big as a normal man instead of about four times as big—and smiling at her, a gentle expression, even if there was still menace hidden deep within his sky-blue eyes. “You cry too easily, child,” he said warmly. “You’ll never fool anyone into thinking you’re a man if you cry so readily.”          Atalanta nodded uncomfortably. “I’ll try to fix that…?” She had no idea *how*…and she didn’t think she actually cried that easily at all. Anyone would be upset by learning about Aias’ fate, wouldn’t they?          Apollo chuckled, and withdrew his hand, smirking at her once more. “Just remember that it isn’t *you* who has the favor of the gods in this endeavor of yours. Your cousin has the favor of Athene and Hermes. You’re just supposed to guard her, with your own life if need be.”          “I would even without divine order to do so,” Atalanta assured him. “I’d never let anything happen to Ariadne.”          “I’m sure your father would have said the same thing about the son of Menoitios,” Apollo replied with a cold laugh. It struck Atalanta as particularly heartless if what Eutychos said was true, and Patroclos was really only killed because Apollo himself struck the armor off his back in the middle of battle.          “Then I’ll just have to be better than he was so I can succeed in the one place he failed.”          Apollo stared at her with an inscrutable expression for several agonizingly long seconds, then smiled slightly. It seemed a little mocking, a little dismissive, but not disapproving. “I’ll remember you said that,” he told her, then reached down to set his hand on top of her head. “But now it’s time for you to wake up.”          “What?”          *“I said, ‘wake up’!”*          Atalanta’s eyes jolted open, and she sat up abruptly, looking around her. It was a strange room, but…yes, this was the pallet where she had laid down to sleep last night. The house of Althaia and her parents. Ariadne knelt beside her, scowling at her furiously, and Eurysakes stood behind Ariadne, looking concerned.          “You sleep like the dead,” Ariadne muttered, crossing her arms. “I thought I was going to strain my throat shouting at you to get up. Oversleeping like that is rude to our hosts.”          “I’m sorry,” Atalanta said, “but you won’t believe what just happened to me!”          “You were asleep,” Eurysakes pointed out. “What could happen?”          “Apollo came to speak to me! And he threatened me! And he said I had to guard you because Athene wants you to do something for her!” she told Ariadne, talking as quickly as she could so she wouldn’t forget anything.          “You were *dreaming*, Atalanta,” Ariadne told her. “Apollo didn’t come talk to you in your sleep.”          “Of course not,” Eurysakes said, laughing. “He does not visit maidens to *talk*.”          Atalanta felt her cheeks heating, and she was sure she was probably blushing so heavily that she was turning purple. What could she say? She couldn’t admit that Apollo might have threatened to—that was not something she even wanted to think about, let alone talk about!          “Just get up,” Ariadne said, getting to her own feet. “And don’t you dare say a word about Apollo to our host! He’s a priest of Apollo, remember, and you’ll offend him terribly!”          Atalanta grimaced, but nodded all the same. Ariadne was right about that; the priest was sure not to understand. Especially since she couldn’t really explain it properly without explaining who her father was. And it had sounded like Chryseis didn’t want the rest of her family to know that. Althaia hadn’t seemed to mind much when Eurysakes admitted to being the son of Aias, but…it was a little different than admitting to be the bastard child of the man who had murdered a prince of Troy right in front of the temple of Apollo. Or inside it. Atalanta still hoped that part wasn’t true, but…she didn’t dare just *assume* that the god had really been testing her. It might be the truth. She didn’t want it to be, but…it didn’t much matter, in the end. That young prince had died on her father’s blade, whether inside or outside the temple, and that was the only part that was going to matter to the prince’s people. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->goodbye althaia]]

         Since Atalanta had slept so late, the priest had already departed for the morning by the time the three of them emerged for their morning meal. Given the intensity of his questions about Hyperborean religion, that was quite a relief to Ariadne, and she didn’t doubt it was a relief to Atalanta as well, if for much less valid reasons.          “You know, I never did manage to ask you boys what brings you to Thymbra,” Chryseis commented as they were finishing their meal. “It doesn’t seem the place you would come to just to travel,” she added, with such a telling glance at Atalanta’s red hair that Ariadne’s blood ran cold at the idea of what she might be thinking.          “We’re passing through,” Eurysakes said. “On our way south.”          “South?” Chryseis said sadly. “You shouldn’t head too far that way. There’s much danger in the region of Mount Ida these days. You’re better off heading east if you just want to travel.”          “I’m afraid we’re headed directly into that danger,” Ariadne told her, “intentionally.”          “The king asked Arios to rid us of those awful bandits,” Althaia said, smiling much too brightly.          “That isn’t what I said at all!” Ariadne objected, trying to ignore Atalanta’s giggles and Eurysakes’ barely contained guffaws. “The king—*technically*, the king only asked us to reconnoiter. It was his advisor, Lord Ganymede, who asked us to deal with the bandits entirely. And it was more Eurysakes here they were making the request of than *me*.” As far as the court knew, Ariadne was entirely incapable of fighting, since they had never even seen her string a bow, let alone prove her skill as a marksman.          “Oh, really?” Chryseis looked curious. “You’ve met Lord Ganymede?”          The three of them nodded. “Is that odd?” Atalanta asked. “He seemed to be really important. Like he was running the court whenever the king was busy.”          “Yes, he’s the king’s most important advisor,” Chryseis agreed, “it’s just…he’s sort of…” She frowned. “How can I put this without giving the wrong impression?”          “Overly ambitious?” Eurysakes suggested.          “No, that’s not what I mean at all!” Chryseis laughed. “I suppose the word I was searching for is ‘mysterious.’ He’s supposedly from some branch of the royal family, but no one knows who his father was, or even how he’s related to the royal family. Some say he simply turned up on the day Aineias became king, while others claim he arrived at court before the city fell. Whoever was king when he arrived, it was to the king and the king alone that he explained himself, and he hasn’t done so since.”          “Is *that* why he and Korythos don’t get along?” Ariadne asked. “I had thought it was because Ganymede refused to accede to his authority.” And probably had his eyes on the throne, but it didn’t seem entirely politic to say so. Especially not in front of Atalanta, who might repeat it without thinking.          Chryseis shrugged. “I hadn’t heard anything about them not getting on well. But do tell me all about Lord Ganymede. I’m curious if the stories are true.”          “What stories?” Ariadne asked, wondering if Korythos’ actual reason for disliking Ganymede was that he disliked having another man at his court who was as beautiful as he was.          But Chryseis laughed, and shook her head, saying that she didn’t want to influence their accounts of the man. There really wasn’t much for them to tell her, though, and she seemed disappointed by the time they were done. Nothing Ariadne said induced her to share the stories *she* had heard of Ganymede, making the entire experience quite frustrating. It was a relief when Eurysakes suddenly announced that they needed to get back on the road if they were to reach Mount Ida in a timely manner. Atalanta had mentioned Eutychos in talking about Ganymede, and the reminder of his boss’s existence must have made him realize that for every minute they delayed, there was a greater chance of Eutychos catching up to them and ensuring that reconnaissance was the extent of their activity around the bandits.          Chryseis insisted on sending some food and wine with them for their trip—and lamented that her husband had no horses to give them—but soon enough they were standing in front of the house, making their farewells. Just as they began turning to leave, Althaia suddenly broke from her mother’s side and ran over to Ariadne, wrapping both her arms around one of Ariadne’s, and leaning in close to place a warm kiss on her cheek. “Promise you’ll come back!” she exclaimed.          “I—I can’t promise that,” Ariadne said, feeling a hint of panic around the edges. What was this girl thinking? If Ariadne really *was* a boy, she could be exposing herself to untold dangers in making such a request! “My cousin and I are on our journey of manhood—we have to return to Hyperborea as soon as it’s over…it may be years before we are through with all that duty impinges on us…”          “Well, that’s all right,” Althaia announced, releasing Ariadne’s arm. “By the time you can come back, I’ll be of marriageable age.”          “That’s quite enough of that, young lady!” Chryseis said, bodily turning the girl back towards the house. “Back inside with you!”          Althaia complained bitterly, but went after waving tearfully at Ariadne one last time. Chryseis followed her, shaking her head.          The three of them stood in an awkward silence for a moment, which Ariadne broke by turning and walking away from that house just as fast as she could. What was that girl *thinking*? Did she really think she was worth considering when Atalanta was around? Even on her best day, she wouldn’t be as beautiful as Atalanta at her worst! How could—          Ariadne’s furied thoughts were cut off when Eurysakes started laughing loudly. She came to a stop and turned to look at him. They were by now, thankfully, far enough from the priest’s house that neither Althaia nor her mother were likely to hear the evidently uncontrollable laughter that was keeping the enormous youth from walking any further. “Do you really find it *that* funny?” Ariadne asked flatly.          “It *is* a little funny,” Atalanta said, with that sweet, helpless smile. “At least you’ve successfully convinced her that you’re a boy…?”          “You could have a daughter of Apollo as a wife,” Eurysakes gasped around his laughter.          Ariadne sighed deeply. “So, you’re jealous, then.”          That quieted his laughter, and he shook his head. “Not in the least. She suits you well.”          Something about his reply struck her ear like an evasion, but Ariadne was too angry to care. She began laying into him with everything she had, every brutal application of wit she could generate, berating him for his every blatant lie and for every suspicious action he had taken since they first met him. Atalanta was trying to shush her long before Ariadne had used up even half of the fodder she had for her assault, but she didn’t allow herself to be silenced until Atalanta actively placed her hands over Ariadne’s mouth.          Only then did she become aware of the voices behind her. Gently pushing Atalanta’s hands aside, Ariadne turned around and saw a gathering of men from the village. They were mostly elderly, and looked more worried than anything else. “Something amiss here, boys?” one of them asked in the Hatti tongue, in a particularly unrefined dialect that was a little hard to understand.          “Just a tiny quarrel,” Eurysakes told him, with a smile, even more halting in Hatti speech than in Achaian. “I teased the boy a little too far. But in friendship.”          “Is that so, boy?” the man asked, looking at Ariadne.          She had to withhold a sigh of relief at the realization that none of these men spoke Achaian—unlike Althaia and her parents—and therefore had not heard her saying that she and Atalanta were both girls. “Basically,” she said, with a sidelong glance at Eurysakes. “It didn’t *feel* very friendly to me.”          “It seemed like friendly ribbing to me,” Atalanta added. “You really shouldn’t have gotten so angry at him.” Her voice trembled a little; she was probably upset to learn that Ariadne still didn’t believe Eurysakes’ absurd claims to be the son of Aias. No matter what Eurysakes and Eutychos had claimed, if Aias had had a son by his Trojan concubine, that son would be in Salamis right now—the original one—ruling the country now that his grandfather was dead.          The old men still seemed a little uneasy with the situation, but Ariadne didn’t want to risk any of the accidental slips that were likely to occur if Atalanta kept talking to them, so she instead asked them the simplest way to reach Mount Ida. Some of the old men tried to talk them out of going there, while the others began muttering that of course three Achaian boys would want to go join the bandits. That, of course, set Atalanta to proudly declaring that she intended to put a stop to the bandits once and for all, which only made the old men all laugh at her.          “We’re only looking to gather information about the bandits,” Ariadne assured them. “We were sent for that specific purpose by the king himself. As such young men, he hopes we’ll be able to slip past them unobserved…”          That only made them laugh harder, with several comments about Eurysakes’ size, and the clearly expensive armor they were all three wearing. “I think,” the oldest-looking man said, “given that expensive armor, that we can assume these young men are far too wealthy to be become bandits. That or they already *are* bandits and stole the armor.” But the way he smiled at them said he thought the former. “Either way, there can be no harm in giving them directions. Just outside of town, you’ll find the River Scamander,” he told them, making Atalanta twitch. “Simply follow the river southwards. It flows here directly from Mount Ida. Don’t worry, it’s a very gentle river—not known to flood its banks and attack travelers,” he added with a laugh, evidently having noticed Atalanta’s reaction.          “Thank you so much for your help,” Ariadne said, smiling at him warmly, then starting to walk straight away, tugging Atalanta with her. If Eurysakes wanted to linger, let him. They’d be better off without him!          Ariadne nearly stopped walking as soon as she passed the old man, though, because he whispered “You’d best watch your mouth in the future, young lady,” in Achaian as she passed. It was only with the most concerted effort that she kept the alarm off her face and maintained her gait. How could she have let herself become so enraged that she made such a mistake?          When they reached the river, Ariadne turned her steps southward and started walking, still pulling Atalanta along with her. Unfortunately, she could also hear the crunching footsteps and clanking armor of Eurysakes following them; it sounded as though he wasn’t even a dozen paces behind them, but Ariadne was not about to turn around and check.          “I wonder if that was Hermes, too,” Atalanta said, after they’d been walking for long enough that the sun was nearing its zenith in the sky and the village of Thymbra was far behind them.          “The gods don’t appear to runaway slaves,” Ariadne sighed. “He probably spent time as a prisoner during the war, enough to pick up our language.” And having heard everything Ariadne was saying, he probably felt sorry for her.          “But he knew to reassure me that the river wouldn’t—um—try to punish me,” Atalanta objected.          “He saw your reaction, that’s all. Probably thought you have a fear of water.”          “How would I have even *gotten* here if I was scared of water?” Atalanta countered. “There’s no way for an Achaian to get here but over water in one way or another, no matter where they’re coming from!”          “I don’t know!” Ariadne shouted back. “But he was just an ordinary old man! The gods don’t just hang around helping mortals over every little difficulty!”          “But Athene wants you to—”          “You were *dreaming*, Atalanta. Athene doesn’t want anything of me—Athene doesn’t even know I *exist*. And if she *did* and she really wanted something from me, she’d tell me so herself, not ask one of her half-brothers to tell *you* about it.” Ariadne shook her head. Atalanta’s unshakeable certainty that she was the daughter of a demigod (if a Nereid was truly enough of a goddess to count in that regard) had given her some very odd ideas about the constant accessibility of the gods, and the longer Ariadne spent being assaulted by her cousin’s beliefs, the more she felt sure that the gods had never really existed in that way anyway, and were more *concepts* than they were those so-very-human beings all the stories talked about. Not that she would dare risk saying that to *anyone*.          They walked on in a sullen silence for most of the rest of the day. As the light began to fade into twilight, Atalanta tripped over something in the gloom, and went sprawling on her face on the pebbly ground. “Ugh, everything hurts,” she muttered, as Ariadne helped her to sit up again.          “We should make camp for the night,” Eurysakes said as he caught up to them. “We will not reach another town before full dark.”          Atalanta cast an uneasy glance at the river, then nodded mournfully. She got to her feet, then immediately winced, and nearly collapsed. “It’s nothing!” she insisted when Ariadne rushed forward. “I just twisted something. It’ll be fine in the morning.”          Ariadne sighed. Thus far, Atalanta had displayed a remarkable ability to heal quickly—a fall that would leave other girls with injuries to their ankles or knees that would have them limping for weeks or months didn’t incommode Atalanta for more than a day—but it seemed a terrible idea to just trust to fate on that. And yet, what choice did they have at the moment? “All right. Can you get a fire going while I go out to hunt for some meat?”          “Sure.”          “Chryseis gave us food,” Eurysakes said. “We should eat that.”          “We are going to save it until we need it,” Ariadne snarled at him. “I won’t waste rations that travel well when we’re at the edges of a forest that probably teems with game!”          Eurysakes frowned. “There are many villages at the foot of Mount Ida. We will not lack for hosts.” He shook his head. “I will help you hunt,” he added, evidently having given up on talking her out of it. If that had even been what he was trying.          “I don’t need your help.”          “Ariadne, don’t be like that,” Atalanta said, her voice thin. “I want to see you two getting along…”          A weary sigh escaped her lips before Ariadne could repress it. “Fine,” she grumbled, “I’ll allow him to ‘help.’ But I don’t *need* help from him or anyone else.” [[Stay with Atalanta->lone skull]] [[Go with Ariadne and Eurysakes->hunting]]

Her foot was really hurting much more than she had wanted to let on to her cousins, so Atalanta waited patiently until they had disappeared into the forest before she took even one step. She was sure it really would be just fine by morning—most of her injuries were, after all—but she didn’t want to upset Ariadne any further, and she’d probably get very upset to see Atalanta limping around their campsite.          There were enough fallen branches at the edge of the forest that Atalanta didn’t have any trouble gathering enough wood to create a little fire that soon crackled merrily and provided enough light to let her get a good look at where she had tripped. She had left enough of a mark in the dirt where she had fallen that she was easily able to find the object she had tripped over. Unlike when she would fall sometimes back in the palace in Methymna, it wasn’t Atalanta’s ankle that hurt, but her foot itself, where she had kicked something hard.          Brushing aside the thin coating of dirt, Atalanta found that what she had kicked was a helmet in the Trojan style. Her first instinct was to cover it up again and try to forget she had seen it. But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Soon enough, she was gently brushing more and more dirt aside so she could draw it out of the ground.          To her horror, there was still a skull inside the helmet, the remains of its leather strap holding both skull and jaw in place, along with a few traces of mostly rotted-away flesh.          She didn’t see any sign of the rest of the man’s bones in the dirt directly below it; it seemed all that was left of him was his head.          Was this one of her father’s foes from the war, reduced to bones in the dust? What had happened to the rest of him?          Had he left behind grieving family? Had they even known how he had died, and when? Or had he simply never come home again, leaving them to mourn in his absence?          What sort of man had he been? Did he meet his death bravely, or had he fought in terror of the fate that had found him anyway?          Had her father been the one to rend his life from his body?          The thought nearly made her drop the lifeless skull. It was so plausible an idea that it was soon hard to think of it any other way. In fact, if that vision Apollo had sent her hadn’t shown that Troilos had been bare-headed, she might have come to the horrified conclusion that it was the prince’s skull she had found. (Though even Atalanta realized how absurd an idea that would be; if that vision was true, of course his brothers would have recovered his remains and seen to it that they were properly laid to rest.)          It seemed to Atalanta that there was only one thing she could do, and she had to hurry before the others got back with the food.          She found a thin, flat rock, and used it to dig a hole in the soft dirt just inside the forest. Once the hole was deep enough, she set the helmeted skull inside. “I don’t know what your people do for burials,” she said to it, “but I hope this is enough. And…if my father was the one who killed you…I hope you can forgive him. And me.”          Then she started covering it over with dirt again, asking Hermes and the gods of the underworld to conduct the man’s soul to its proper resting place, if it hadn’t made it there already. It didn’t seem like enough, not at all, but what else could she do? It wasn’t as though she knew who he was, or even if he really had died in the war—he might have been beset by bandits only a few years ago, for all Atalanta knew, or he could have been killed decades before her father was even born, in some long ago war she’d never heard of—and even if she’d had enough time and wood to give the bones a proper warrior’s cremation, she didn’t even know if the Trojans did that the way Achaians did.          This was just going to have to do.          Once Atalanta finished heaping the dirt over the skull, she stuck the stone into the ground as a marker beside the remains, just in case.          Then she limped her way back over to the fireside and sat down, staring morosely out at the waters of the river that had tried to drown her father more than a year before she was born. Did the river god know she was there, and who she was? If the waters of the Cebren had reacted to her, surely the Scamander’s waters would be just as enraged by her. And yet the river seemed to be flowing along peaceably, as if the river didn’t care that the daughter of one of its enemies was sitting so nearby. Maybe it had made its peace with her father, or maybe it had come to understand that he had only choked it with so many corpses because he had gone mad with grief after losing his dearest companion.          Of course, Atalanta knew Ariadne would say that the river was flowing along so peacefully because Atalanta’s father wasn’t really Achilles after all. And if Ariadne didn’t believe Eurysakes or Eutychos were telling the truth about who *they* were, obviously she didn’t put any stock in anything they said in proof that their own fathers were who Atalanta had always known they were.          Finding out that Ariadne still doubted Eurysakes so much had stung, enough that Atalanta had been fighting tears half the day. She’d thought things were looking up for them, that they’d get to travel with Eurysakes after they were done here—maybe even that they’d get to go live in Cypros as guests (or guards) of his uncle when they were tired of traveling. But it sounded like Ariadne wanted to get away from Eurysakes and Eutychos just as quickly as possible, and never to come near them ever again.          But then what? What would they really do with themselves if that came to pass? Atalanta doubted any Pelasgian villages would really want them; two untested, untrained girls coming in and claiming to be warrior women worthy of being village guards? That just wasn’t going to work, no matter how much Pelasgians supposedly accepted women as warriors. If they wanted to find a town willing to feed and shelter them in exchange for the services of Atalanta’s spear and Ariadne’s bow, they would have to prove themselves with great deeds first.          And yet Ariadne didn’t even want to *try* taking on a few bandits!          At this rate, the two of them would have to find an empty mountainside somewhere and live in isolation away from the entire human race, just trying to eke out a living with a garden and some sheep. Maybe that was really all Ariadne wanted in life, but it sounded terribly dull to Atalanta… [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->dardania]]

Trying to keep an ear out for deer or game birds while also staying on edge in case the enormous man behind her should draw that iron blade of his and try to make an end of her was straining Ariadne’s nerves to the breaking point before they had even put the river out of sight behind them. It was made worse by the knowledge that there was really nothing she could do to save herself if he *did* try to kill her; unless she got in a lucky shot before he could close the distance, his bulk and strength would leave her helpless even if she *did* have some weapon beyond than her bow.          Still, as they made their way through the woods as quietly as possible despite the fully armed behemoth, nothing happened until after Ariadne sighted a flock of birds in the trees. They weren’t very large—the light was too low to identify the species, but they might have been doves—but something was better than nothing. She unleashed an arrow at the nearest one, but the twang of the bowstring set the whole flock in motion, and the arrow thunked uselessly into the tree trunk. Grumbling, she scrambled up the side of the trunk to retrieve her arrow, trying to ignore the way Eurysakes just stared after her.          Continued search in the increasingly low light seemed purposeless, so Ariadne tried to make her way back towards the river after that, but stopped at the sound of something large making its way through the underbrush towards them. As much as she would have liked it to be Atalanta, the sound was not coming from the direction of the river.          She froze up, but the sound continued to advance, until an enormous boar emerged from the foliage only a short distance in front of her. It snorted angrily at the sight of her. Ariadne pulled another arrow from her quiver and released it towards the boar as it began to charge her, but it wasn’t a strong enough shot, and failed to penetrate the animal’s thick skull.          Ariadne’s legs seemed made of stone; she knew she should try to leap aside and hope the beast wouldn’t turn to follow her, but she *couldn’t*. She had only ever seen an angry boar once before in her life, and then she’d had Atalanta on hand to kill it and save her. What was she supposed to do without her?          The idea that she was about to die didn’t bother her nearly as much as the thought that Atalanta wasn’t here with her. And that Atalanta would soon be alone in the world, with no one to protect her…          The boar was so close to Ariadne that she could feel its hot breath on the skin of her legs when it let out a squeal of pain and was pushed aside, falling to the ground, still sliding forwards from its momentum, so it ended up beside her, its legs helplessly kicking even as the spear in its side swayed from side to side.          “Why didn’t you move?” Eurysakes asked. “What if I had missed?”          “I…”          He shook his head and drew his sword, proving that Ariadne could indeed still move, because she was finally able to jump aside, putting as much distance as she could between herself and that iron blade. But the blade was not swung in her direction, being used instead to cut off the head of the boar, which had been still been breathing shallowly the whole time. “Help me carve the meat,” Eurysakes said, glaring at her over his shoulder.          “With what?” Ariadne countered.          “Don’t you have a knife?”          “No, of course not.”          He let out a deep sigh, and shook his head. “Fine. I will do it all.” He pulled his spear back out of the boar’s side, and began slicing the corpse up with his sword, evidently lacking a knife himself. “Take this,” he ordered, holding out one strip of cut meat towards her.          A lifetime of slavery had Ariadne obeying without hesitation or question. It wasn’t until she was standing there holding the still-bleeding, unpleasantly warm meat that she realized there was no reason for her to obey this man’s commands. “You don’t have any right to order me around,” she said. “Just because you were born free and I was born a slave, it’s not—I’m not a slave anymore, and I won’t be one ever again!”          “I was not born free,” he said, pushing another strip of meat into her hands. “A concubine is still a slave. But you refuse to believe even that.”          “I have no reason to believe anything you’ve ever said about yourself.”          He sighed deeply. “The king recognized my father in me. Chryseis mistook me for my father at a glance. You need more than this?”          “The king saw Aias from who knows how far away, *once*. And the light was so weak in that house that she was only responding to your *size*. They both were.”          “You must have heard the men at court. They recognized my shield. My father’s shield. The shield he left with me when he took his own life.” His voice was ragged, and even in the low light in the forest, Ariadne could see the cut of the sword in his hand go awry as he spoke.          “It could be a false—a shield created in imitation of the shield of Aias,” Ariadne pointed out. “Or it could have been stolen. A small child couldn’t even lift that shield, let alone protect it from theft.”          “My uncle protected it for me.”          “You can’t honestly expect people to believe you just like that,” Ariadne said. “It’s absurd to expect everyone to be so gullible—as gullible as my former master was in accepting those two lying charlatans into his palace to—to…” Her words gave out on her as she couldn’t quite find a way to make fathering her and Atalanta sound like a bad thing. She liked being alive, and she wouldn’t want to even think about a world without Atalanta in it…          Eurysakes sighed again. “You need to be more trusting. If you plan to travel. Guest-friendship depends on trust.”          “Trust and belief aren’t the same thing.”          “Aren’t they?” A particularly hard cut to the boar’s dwindling corpse. “A host only has his guest’s word to identify him. If he does not believe that….what will he believe?” Another sharp cut. “How can he trust the man with his household? Around his belongings? Around his wife?”          “And if that guest is lying as much as Atalanta and I have been lying to King Korythos?”          He shook his head, and shoved several cuts of meat into her arms, which were by now starting to ache from carrying nearly half of the boar’s weight. “That is why you should not be lying. It is ungrateful behavior. Zeus frowns on deceit.”          “Zeus routinely uses any manner of deceit in order to take advantage of innocent maidens under their fathers’ noses.”          Eurysakes laughed. “That is a different matter.”          “*How* is that different?”          There was a long pause, as if Eurysakes was deeply considering his answer, which made it something of a disappointment when he shrugged and said “Divine double-standard?”          “What a disgusting thought.”          Eurysakes chuckled, and tried to hand her another strip of meat.          “I can’t carry any more than this!” Ariadne objected, stepping away from him. “I’m not as strong as Atalanta!”          “We’ll have to abandon some of the meat, then. I cannot carve and carry at the same time.”          “Can’t you just take the whole corpse and carve it at the campsite?”          He crouched there in silence for a moment, then stood, wiped his blade on the skirt of his tunic, and sheathed it again. “Maybe I can. Now that it is much reduced,” he agreed. Then he actually did heft the disgusting thing, still oozing blood and guts, and slung it over his shoulders with a grunt. “Let’s go.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->dardania]]

Atalanta had hoped, when Ariadne and Eurysakes returned with a whole wild boar, that they had gotten over their differences and were finally ready to work together. Instead, they barely spoke the whole time they were cooking the meat and skinning the boar to use its hide to carry the rest of the meat, which had been lightly smoked over the fire during the night. And they barely spoke the entire next day, too, only speaking to her and not to each other.          It seemed like going off hunting together had somehow made things *worse* between them instead of better.          Therefore, Atalanta was greatly relieved to see a town appear before them as they approached the foot of the mountain towards evening. The farmers just outside the town informed them that it was Dardania, the birthplace of Wilusa’s *true* king, Aineias, who had been unjustly driven out by the usurper Korythos. Even Atalanta knew better than to mention that they were technically there on a mission for Korythos, and did not need *both* her cousins to reprimand her not to say anything. They still did anyway, of course, which left her just a little bit annoyed with them, especially since she was the one who had spent most of the day carrying the stupid wild boar that they had killed the night before even though they had no possible way of preparing or eating all its meat!          Most of the villagers didn’t seem inclined to give them a place to stay for the night, and Atalanta began to worry that they’d have to camp outside the village, which seemed a really bad idea in bandit country, but as they neared the far end of town, an old woman offered them a place around her fire in exchange for a share of the meat they were carrying. It would mean sleeping on her floor, but all three of them gladly agreed.          “What brings three such young boys all the way out here on foot?” the old woman asked, once the meat was stewing over her fire. “And so underprepared for a long journey!”          “Well, um…” Atalanta started, but stopped almost immediately. What in the world was she supposed to say if she wasn’t to mention that the king had sent them?          “We heard there was a reward for bringing those bandits to justice,” Ariadne said. “My cousin and I are from distant Hyperborea, on our manhood journey, and defeating powerful foes is part of the trial, so when this fellow asked our help acquiring him the reward, we thought it would be a good idea.”          “Why do you make me out to be greedy?” Eurysakes asked, giving her a narrow-eyed stare. “I care nothing for any reward,” he added, looking at the old woman again.          The woman laughed. “The boy probably fancies you, dear. Boys always tease the one they like.”          Ariadne winced as though she’d been fed something rancid. “That’s disgusting!” she shouted.          That only made the old woman laugh more, of course.          “I hope you are mistaken,” Eurysakes said, shaking his head. “I could never return his affection.”          “I haven’t got any!”          “It’s just been a long walk and we’re all tired and cranky,” Atalanta said, smiling weakly at the old woman. “No one fancies anyone else here, really. We just all want a rest.” And maybe some time alone, the one thing they absolutely couldn’t have.          “I’m not a *child*, Atleus,” Ariadne said in that warning tone that usually meant Atalanta was about one step away from saying something terminally stupid.          “Well, you’re acting like one!” Atalanta insisted.          The old woman laughed merrily as the argument continued. Things got so bad that when night finished falling and the paltry meal was eaten, the three of them took up positions sleeping on the floor as far from each other as they could. At least, the other two seemed to be sleeping, even as Atalanta lay there awake and stewing over all the things Ariadne had said to her. How was she supposed to sleep if even Ariadne didn’t like her anymore? What would she do with her life if she didn’t have Ariadne to look after and to fix all her blunders?          Atalanta was still tossing and turning when the old woman returned to the room, long after the night had grown still and quiet outside and the others were snoring. She walked over towards where Eurysakes was sleeping, and seemed to be bending to check on him, or perhaps to move his armor aside. Atalanta tried to shift her position a little to get a better look, accidentally kicking her own armor in the process.          The old woman jumped backwards as the noise woke the others, and ran for the door out of the hut. “What…?” Eurysakes muttered as he sat up. “Who…?”          “That old woman was…I dunno, actually,” Atalanta had to admit.          “Where did this knife come from?”          “Knife?” Atalanta repeated, jumping to her feet and running over. Eurysakes was holding an unfamiliar knife in one hand.          “It looks really valuable,” Ariadne commented. “Let me see it,” she added, holding her hand out. Obligingly, Eurysakes put it in her open palm, and Ariadne carried over to the dying fire, tossing another log on to restore the light a bit. “This isn’t locally made. Looks like Egyptian, maybe?”          Atalanta and Eurysakes followed her, and looked over her shoulders. The knife was definitely not Trojan: it had a golden handle, and the blade was covered in unfamiliar designs. “It’s not Egyptian,” Eurysakes said. “I know their style well. That is something different.”          “What, then?” Ariadne asked, looking at him suspiciously.          “I’ve never seen its like,” Eurysakes admitted, taking the knife back again and holding it up close to his face, squinting at the fine details on the blade. “Maybe Babylonian?” He frowned, and shook his head. “No, not quite. The style is different. But similar.” He shrugged. “There are other kingdoms in between the Tigris and Euphrates. It might come from one of them.”          “What was that old woman doing with such a valuable knife from such a far-away place?” Atalanta asked…although she had no idea where Babylonian, Tigris or Euphrates were, so maybe they weren’t as far as they sounded? “And what was she going to do with it?”          “Cut my throat, probably,” Eurysakes said, scowling. “My armor is valuable. My sword more so. And my shield is priceless.”          “Much less so to a Trojan who has no reason to associate it with any specific Achaian warriors,” Ariadne pointed out, rolling her eyes. “But otherwise…you’re probably right.”          “Why?” Atalanta couldn’t imagine anyone doing such a terrible thing, and the old lady had seemed so nice!          “I have a couple of theories,” Ariadne admitted, “but I hate to expound on them without any proof. Let’s search the house while she’s out.”          “That’s an awful thing to do…” Atalanta said, shuddering slightly.          “So is murdering a guest,” Eurysakes pointed out. “I will search in here.”          Ariadne nodded. “There only seem to be the two rooms. Atalanta, let’s check the other one. Or you can step outside and watch the door in case she comes back.”          Atalanta bit her lip for a moment, then shook her head. “No, I’m coming with you.” If there was anyone else there, and they were dangerous, then Atalanta needed to be there to protect Ariadne!          Ariadne nodded with a bright smile, and held her hand out towards Eurysakes again. “Let me have that knife back. So I’m not unarmed in there. Just in case.”          He nodded and returned the blade to her, even as Atalanta hurried to grab her sword from among her own things. “It is very sharp,” Eurysakes said, while she was doing so. “Be careful.”          Ariadne let out a sound that was halfway between a sigh and a groan, but didn’t actually reply. As soon as Atalanta joined her, the two of them stepped over to the curtain that hung between the front room and the back room where the old woman slept.          On the other side of the curtain, the room was illuminated by a lit oil lantern, a very plain and ordinary-looking one. It would have looked entirely unsuspicious as a room, except that the woman had a wooden bed instead of an earthen bunk and a pallet. “Is it normal to have a bed in such a small house?” Atalanta asked.          “How would I know?” Ariadne replied, sighing. “But considering that Althaia’s parents didn’t offer us a room with a wooden bed in it, I wouldn’t think so.” Carefully, she lifted up the lamp, and put it on the floor, before crouching down to look under the bed. “There’s a bundle of some sort under there. Can you pull it out?”          Atalanta nodded, and started reaching under the bed, while Ariadne moved back away from it with the lamp. The bundle was just a big piece of coarse cloth wrapped around a large number of items that slipped around as she tugged on it. It was surprisingly heavy for its size, so even before she got it out from under the bed, Atalanta was pretty sure everything inside the cloth was made of metal.          When she did finally get the bundle out, she untied the cord around it, letting Ariadne push the cloth aside. The light of the lamp was reflected back at them dozens of times over, off the blades of swords, knives, and spears, and off the gold of numerous pieces of jewelry, each clearly well-made and valuable. There were also more loose arrows than Atalanta could count, and at least half a dozen well-wrought bows.          Ariadne frowned. “Either the old woman’s been robbing passers-by for ages, she’s been robbing the offerings at the nearest temple, or she’s in league with the bandits.”          Atalanta looked up at her sadly. “Why? Why would anyone—why would people do things like that?” She couldn’t imagine any reason people would want to do something so awful. Hadn’t the people of the Troad suffered enough already, without their own people turning on them?          Ariadne could only shrug. “Let’s bring this out to the other room.”          With a sorrowful nod, Atalanta closed up the bundle again, and carried it out to where Eurysakes was fruitlessly searching through cooking pots and undecorated pottery. He let out some slow but colorful language when Atalanta showed him what was in the bundle. Then he came to exactly the same conclusions Ariadne had.          “That’s what Ariadne said, too,” Atalanta said, with a weak smile. Hopefully that would help convince Ariadne that Eurysakes was trustworthy…          “The question is, now what?” Ariadne said, her eyes roving over those bows enviously. They were definitely better than the one she was carrying, so it was hard for Atalanta to blame her for that.          “If she is with the bandits…” Eurysakes chuckled. “We should use their own weapons against them.”          “But how can we be sure she is?” Atalanta asked. “Do we ask the villagers in the morning?”          “Too risky,” Ariadne said, sighing. “What if they’re *not* really bandits? They might be die-hard loyalists wanting to weaken Korythos’ kingdom so Aineias can return.”          “He is settled elsewhere,” Eurysakes said. “If the rumors are true.”          “But these people may not believe that,” Ariadne pointed out, “and for that matter, what if the rumors *aren’t* true? Besides, they might want to get rid of Korythos in petty vengeance. Or maybe even in *not* petty vengeance for some awful thing he’s done that we know nothing about, being foreigners in this land.” She shook her head. “We can wait to see if the old woman returns and get her side of the story if she does, but if she doesn’t I think we have to assume the worst about *everyone*, for our own safety.”          Eurysakes frowned. “You’re probably right,” he said, with a slow nod. “There may be much going on. Much that we were not told.”          “Um, should we really be suspecting the son of a goddess of such terrible things?” Atalanta asked. The gods were vicious about avenging that sort of thing, and Aphrodite was said to be especially vindictive…          Ariadne grimaced. “We’re suspecting these *very ordinary* people of something, not the alleged son of a goddess.”          “It is not alleged,” Eurysakes said. “According to my uncle—”          “Will you please give the uncle stories a rest for one single day!?” Ariadne shouted. “I am getting really sick of hearing about your stupid uncle!”          He just lifted an eyebrow at her, with a mild smirk. “All right,” he said after a long enough pause that Atalanta was starting to get worried. “We should test these weapons. See if we want to add them to our own. In case the old woman does not return.”          “Okay, that I can agree with,” Ariadne said, nodding. “They may be as useless as they are ornamented, mere baubles to make princes look pretty when they pretend to know how to fight.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->climbing ida]]

[[<img src="ch4-monstrous thing.jpg" width="750" height="499">->sparring]]

Predictably enough, the old woman never did return, so at first light they left the hut, suddenly better armed than they had been when they arrived. Even though she wasn’t very good with one, Atalanta now had a bow and quiver; hopefully it would help protect her from her own impetuous actions. Ariadne was as well-armed as she could handle being, with two bows, five quivers, a sword and that fancy knife the old woman had wanted to kill Eurysakes with. Eurysakes had also added a bow and quiver to his gear, but somehow his size (and better-fit armor) made it look more like typical war gear than it did on either of the girls.          “Tracks,” Eurysakes said, almost as soon as they were outside. “There. Leading out of the village.”          There were indeed small footprints leading through the soft dirt away from the house, and soon turning to head up the mountain. They followed the footprints as far as they could, before the mountain turned too rocky and they stopped appearing.          “Now what?” Atalanta asked, looking around.          Ariadne looked around too, and saw that they had already climbed high enough to see all the way back to the city in the north. From here, it didn’t look like a pitiful little thing growing up out of the ruins of a formerly majestic citadel; it looked like a proper city, like the kind of thing an army could futilely waste its strength against for ten long years.          “She was headed up pretty consistently,” Ariadne said, “but also moving around to the east. We should probably keep going in that direction.”          “She might expect that,” Eurysakes said. “We should head up and west. Come at her from the other direction.”          “Circle the entire mountain?” Ariadne repeated, incredulous. “That doesn’t sound like a good idea to me.”          Eurysakes didn’t seem to think much of her opinion—what a surprise!—and attempted to argue her out of pursuing the logical course. Of course, Ariadne was not about to be out-argued by a dim-witted, slow-tongued slab of beef, and she launched into what she considered one of her best-ever speeches in defense of her conclusion.          The argument (such as it was) was unfortunately cut short by Atalanta chiming in out of nowhere. “Hey, I think maybe we should do like Eurysakes said,” she said. “It looks like it’ll be much easier to walk. We’d probably move faster that way.”          Annoyed, Ariadne followed the path of Atalanta’s pointing finger, and saw that yes, if they went the wrong way, they would have a gentler slope, covered with grass and further on lightly sprinkled with trees, whereas the way the old woman had been going merely got more and more rocky. “We would have to go much further, so that wouldn’t help much,” Ariadne said, with a sigh. “Not to mention that we should be moving faster than her anyway, since we’re all young and healthy, and she was a hobbling old woman!” She shook her head, and looked at them both closely for a moment. Eurysakes looked to be bristling to resume arguing, and Atalanta looked like she was about to cry because Ariadne wasn’t immediately agreeing with her. “But if you’re both determined to go that way…I guess I’ll bow to the majority decision.” Some fights weren’t worth it.          With Ariadne’s humiliating surrender, they were soon walking off the rocky ground and onto the much more pleasant grasses. They walked on in silence for a little while, until their progress startled a flock of birds, which set off in hasty and terrified flight. “What kind of stuff do you think lives on this mountain?” Atalanta asked, as they were approaching a thin stand of trees.          “They probably have wolves,” Ariadne answered. “I don’t think there are any lions around here, though.”          “No, not in Asia,” Eurysakes said, shaking his head. “Only Europe and Libya.”          Atalanta nodded, with a little smile. “Guess it’s the wrong place entirely for centaurs, huh? How about satyrs?”          “You wouldn’t want to meet a satyr,” Ariadne rebuked her. The very idea of a lecherous satyr setting eyes on a girl as beautiful as Atalanta was horrifying! No way a bit of armor would trick a creature of pure lust like that…          “I know that!” Atalanta claimed instantly. “I just want us all to see something wonderful and fantastical—something that I wouldn’t be the only one to see for once!”          Not more of Atalanta’s claims to have seen gods! Ariadne decided to ignore it.          “Wrong terrain for satyrs anyway,” Eurysakes said, apparently lacking the sense to just let the conversation die the death it needed so desperately. “Too harsh.”          “Atalanta’s fantasies aside, let’s try over here,” Ariadne said, pointing towards a thin track cutting through the edge of the forest. “There’s a path. It must lead to something.”          “That’s a path?” Atalanta repeated, staring at it as they walked. “It doesn’t look like it’s used by anything except maybe a deer or two.”          “That would at least provide us dinner,” Eurysakes commented, with a laugh. “We left all the meat back in the old woman’s hut.”          “Most of it got stewed anyway,” Ariadne pointed out. And it had gotten a bit unpleasant overnight, since they hadn’t been able to either cook or smoke it properly. It was probably full-on inedible by now.          Heedless of the narrowness of the trail and the thickness of the brush overhanging it, and the dustiness of the ground, Ariadne led the group down the trail single-file, noticing as she did that there were definitely human tracks in among the hoof-prints on the trail. The hoof-marks weren’t deer, though; they looked more like sheep or goats in her decidedly untrained estimation. As she walked, Ariadne had to work to ignore all of Atalanta’s complaints that she should be in the lead, or that Eurysakes should be in the lead, just so Ariadne wasn’t the one out in front ‘in mortal danger’ like that. She was being foolish, so Ariadne refused to respond to any of it. Atalanta needed to learn that she was the one who needed protection, not Ariadne…          After they wound along the trail for some time, long enough to move around the side of the mountain and cut off their view of the distant city, they found themselves emerging from the forest in sight of a small home, more of a hovel than a house, even smaller than the one belonging to the old woman in Dardania. “Let’s have a word with whoever lives there,” Ariadne said. “But cautiously.”          “What if that’s where the bandits live?” Atalanta asked.          “Too small,” Eurysakes said. “It’s probably shepherds. There are many on this mountain. Or so I have heard.”          Atalanta bit her lip, then sighed deeply, and shook her head. “Fine. But if they *are* dangerous, you have to run away just as fast as you can,” she insisted, looking at Ariadne. “I can’t let anything happen to you.”          “I’ll be fine,” Ariadne sighed. “I don’t look dangerous, so they would leave me for last.”          With that settled, the three of them approached the little house. It seemed pleasant enough, with an empty pen beside it that presumably normally held the sheep or goats that had left all those hoof-prints on the trail. The door of the hut stood open, and as they drew near, a woman stepped out into the doorframe warily.          It was hard for Ariadne to judge her age accurately; she had the leathery skin of someone who had spent most of her life working outdoors, and her face was lined with cares. Still, her movements were fairly sprightly, and her hair had very little of gray to it; she was probably in her fifties, which *might* have accounted for the fear and accusation in the harsh way she stared at them, given that they were all wearing Achaian armor. Or it might have been something else entirely…          “Who are you?” the woman shouted at them, while they were still pretty far away.          “We are strangers in this land,” Ariadne told her in her own tongue (which didn’t really fit the strangers bit, but if she spoke Achaian the woman was certain to consider them enemies, and might not even understand her), “who have heard of the troubles you face with bandits, and hoped to rid you of their contagion.” May as well see how she reacted. If she tried too hard to talk them out of it… “Lady Chryseis told us of these bandits, and as we were only a few nights ago the guests of her noble husband, the priest at the temple in Thymbra, we hoped to repay him for his hospitality by making these lands safer for his people and his family.”          The woman stared at them with a blank face for long enough for them to draw nearer, into easy bow range even for the weakest archer. “Apaliunas’ blessings on you if you’re telling the truth,” she said, “but I can offer you no shelter in my home. I’ve lost too much to those bandits already; I’m not risking losing my life as well.”          “The only thing we want from you is information,” Atalanta said. “If you can tell us where we might find the bandits, then we’ll be on our way.”          “Such young boys…” the woman muttered, shaking her head. “If I was you, I’d turn right back home. Those bandits are too dangerous for boys too young for their first beards!”          “I’ll protect them,” Eurysakes assured her. His deep voice must have consoled the woman a little, because she smiled slightly.          “My husband is up grazing what’s left of our flock,” she told them, pointing up the slope of the mountain. “You can ask him about the bandits. But he’ll tell you the same thing I’m telling you: you’re too young to lose your lives to those ruffians.”          “Thank you,” Eurysakes said, bowing his head to her.          The woman sighed, shaking her head, and went back inside the house, closing its door behind her. With no other recourse to move forward, the three youths followed the path she had indicated, heading up the side of the mountain. At the base of the path, where it reached the clearing around the house, it was wide enough for no more than three or four sheep at a time, possibly only two in places, but within a short while the trees began to give way to wide-open pasture along the gentle slope of the mountain, and the path cut by the repeated passing of countless hooves began to give way, until it disappeared on them entirely, replaced by nothing but grass cropped short by hungry animals.          By that time, however, they could hear the bleating, and they followed the sound until they found a man, also looking to be about in his fifties, wearing a shepherd’s cap above his rough clothes, sitting in the shade beneath a tree and watching his flock of about a dozen sheep and goats warily. He was gripping the hilt of a sword as the trio approached him.          “Who are you?” he asked them, his voice less outwardly threatening than his wife’s had been, but the way he was so ready to draw his sword added considerably more menace to the question. Ariadne wasn’t even sure what to make of the fact that he had spoken to them in Achaian rather than in any Hatti tongue.          “We’re here to hunt down the bandits,” Atalanta said, in an almost ridiculously cheerful tone. “Your wife said you could tell us where to find them.”          He shook his head, letting go of the hilt of his sword. “You’re too young, boy. Don’t throw your life away.” Then he turned back to look at his flock, as if dismissing them from his presence entirely.          Ariadne wasn’t going to take that! She walked over to him, smiling at him in a way that the courtiers in Methymna had always liked. (Though she wasn’t sure if it would have the same effect on a man who believed her a boy, instead of on men who knew they were looking at a slave girl.) “We can’t do that,” she told him. “We promised Lady Chryseis that we would deal with them.” Or promised her daughter…          “And you want that reward the king’s offered, I don’t doubt,” the shepherd snarled.          Ariadne hadn’t thought there really was such an offer! The fact that he hadn’t mentioned it to them when the subject came up in court seemed highly suspicious to her, but she wasn’t sure how to say so without making the old man even less likely to help them than he already was.          “Well, we wouldn’t mind being rewarded,” Atalanta said, “but we really do want to help the people around here!” The pleading tone in her voice doubtless sprang from her misplaced sense of guilt; even if Achilles really *had* been her father, that wouldn’t make Atalanta responsible for the pain and suffering he had spread everywhere he went! She wasn’t even born until after he died. Who but Atalanta herself could ever blame her for something that happened before she was born?          “Any information will help,” Eurysakes added, his voice soft and pleading.          Even as Ariadne was doing her best to withhold a grimace at the notion of such a pointless addition to the conversation being any help whatsoever, she was surprised to hear the shepherd sigh, and to see him gesture them closer. “Come here, boys,” he said. “Sit down.” Uneasily, they did so, taking seats in the shade of the tree near him. “Look out there,” the shepherd told them, gesturing past his flock.          As Ariadne looked, she realized that the path had curved back around the other way, putting them on the northern side of the mountain again, giving them an unparalleled view past the trees on the lower slopes, beyond the sides of the mountain and out onto the plain below. She could see the Scamander and Simoeis rivers as they snaked away from the mountain, all the way to where the Thymbrios joined up with the Scamander at Thymbra. There were a few other towns dotting the plain here and there, but for the most part it was surprisingly void of people, a grassland plain inconstantly mottled with trees and marshes.          “It’s beautiful,” Atalanta said fondly. Ariadne frowned. While it was true that this majestic sight was especially appealing to them, since they had rarely known anything but the view from the citadel in Methymna, that was plainly *not* what the old man’s point was.          “Beautiful,” the man repeated, sighing. “Once it was,” he said, shaking his head. “Before the Ahhiyawa came.”          Atalanta bit her lip uneasily. Of course she was taking that as a personal attack! Ariadne couldn’t get them out of Anatolia fast enough. No matter what happened, they couldn’t stay here a moment longer than necessary if Atalanta was going to insist on blaming herself for everything that had been done by the man her father had claimed to be.          “I’m sorry,” Eurysakes said sadly, with a glance at his expensive and decidedly Achaian armor.          “I don’t blame *you*, boy,” the shepherd assured him, with a bit of a laugh. “You wouldn’t have even been born yet.”          “I was born there,” Eurysakes claimed, pointing towards the distant coastline, roughly where the Achaian camp had been. “My mother was once an Anatolian princess. Before she became a slave.”          The old man snorted, and shook his head. “And here you are now, an exiled bastard, making a living hunting bandits?”          Eurysakes smiled. “Not exactly.”          “And these other boys? More like yourself, or your servants?”          “We’re only temporary traveling companions,” Ariadne said, trying to keep her temper, “recently met. My cousin and I come from the far northern lands, beyond Thrace. But our holy mission for our people requires us to defeat terrible foes wherever we might find them.”          The shepherd sighed. “I’m sure you think you’re doing the right thing, trying to fight these bandits. But you would need an army. The three of you could never take on so many and win.”          “My father could have done it. Alone,” Eurysakes claimed.          The shepherd only laughed. “Even among the enemy who tore down the citadel, few were *that* powerful!” he exclaimed, clearly amused by the very idea. Ariadne held her breath in terror, afraid that Atalanta would immediately insist that the man was talking to the children not only of two of the ones who were that powerful, but in fact of the two who were the *most* powerful.          “My father was one of them,” Eurysakes insisted, before Atalanta could say anything. Ariadne wasn’t sure if that was better or worse…          The shepherd looked at him gaugingly, and frowned. “Even if he was, do you think you can match him?”          “I want to.”          The old man sighed sadly. “I suppose that’s only natural. But I don’t want to send three more young men off to their deaths. If you really want to help the people hereabouts, you’ll go into the city and convince the king to send in his army to wipe the scourge of those bandits off the side of this mountain.”          Ariadne bit her lip uneasily. How were they supposed to explain that they king had actually sent them because he felt he *couldn’t* send an army? Especially when he had been trying so very hard to pretend he didn’t want them to fight the bandits themselves. (The more she thought about it, the more she feared he had rather hoped they would do so anyway…) “We could do a better job at that if we know exactly how many bandits there are and where they’re located,” she finally said. “To make him understand how important it is to stop them.”          “Fat chance of that happening,” the shepherd growled. “He’ll never understand, because he’s the king. He doesn’t care about the common people. That’s not the king’s job. Kings only care about their sons and their treasuries and their filthy whores.”          The three young people stared at the shepherd in uncertainty. Ariadne could understand whence some of his bitterness had sprung, but the rest of it wasn’t entirely clear. Usually, she would expect a Trojan (or anyone, really) to mean Helen when he spoke of a ‘filthy whore,’ but she had never been the king’s, so the complaint didn’t entirely make sense. “Um…sir?” she started after a long, uncomfortable silence. “I…”          “Sir?” the man repeated, laughing. “I’m just an old shepherd. No point in being polite with me, boy. Other boys your age just call me ‘old timer’ or ‘old fool,’ or…well, if you really want to be kind, you can call me Doran. It’s my name.”          Ariadne nodded with a smile. “Well, Doran, I was just…a little concerned by your words. I can understand the origin of a portion of your spite, but—”          “Let me tell you a story, boys,” Doran said, shaking his head as he cut her off. “Once, many years ago, in the little house where I live now, there was an old couple who had never been blessed with children. They adopted a foundling child, named him Paris, and raised him as their own. And they had a happy and blessed life for almost twenty years. Then the soldiers of the king came, and took away the bull that Paris had raised from a calf. He was an impetuous lad, and chased them to the city to get his bull back again.” He sighed sadly. “Of course, he was killed. Then the old king felt sorry for him after learning his story, and decided to pay recompense to his parents. Grabbed an orphaned urchin out of the streets, and sent him to take Paris’ place taking care of the old couple.” He grinned coldly, revealing ragged teeth. “That urchin, of course, was me. I’d never left the poorest section of the city, and suddenly I was out here, living in the countryside with strangers for ‘parents,’ strangers who never stopped wailing in misery for their lost son. All because the king was so greedy as to steal the bull of those poor people. And that, boys, is why I hate kings. All kings. They’re nothing but a damned curse, useless monsters dragging the rest of us down with them.”          There was much Ariadne could agree with in Doran’s conclusion, but a lot of his story left her perplexed. She didn’t think he was lying—his conviction seemed far too strong for that—but his story had holes in it. How did King Priam learn the story of a boy who had already been killed? And why had this Paris been so reluctant to part with his bull? Unless things worked differently in Anatolia than they did on Lesbos—and nothing Ariadne had seen so far indicated that they did—everything the people grew or made was handed over to the king’s men to be redistributed as needed, so the king’s men were doing nothing out of the ordinary, and it was Paris who was in the wrong. Of course, if Doran was a mere child at the time, he likely heard only a distorted version of the story from his adoptive parents, but still…          Maybe, more than anything else, Ariadne was being shaken by the way Doran was speaking of King Priam. She had never heard anyone speak even one word about him that wasn’t kind and admiring. Even among the Achaian men she had seen in the agora in Methymna, or among their former master’s guests, the old soldiers who claimed to have fought at Troy in their youth! They had all praised his hoary head and said how kind and wise he was, even lamented the terrible way the son of Achilles had slaughtered him. And here was one of his own people cursing him and calling him greedy? The disconnect left her fumbling for any way to react, but she feared what would happen if she let one of the other two speak first.          “Surely not all kings are so awful as that,” she said uncomfortably. “With such a large kingdom as Troy held back then, it must have been difficult to manage all the affairs of the entire—”          “You know *why* they stole that bull, boy?”          “How could I?” she replied flatly, trying her best not to point out that if the bull was raised by the king’s subjects, then it belonged to the king, and he could not have *stolen* it at all.          “Some kind of feast for Prince Alexander!” The old man spat out the name as if it was the worst curse against the gods that could ever exist. It probably was the worst curse against the gods in his eyes. Many in Hellas would agree with that part, at any rate. “Those old folks lost their son, and my life was completely turned upside down, all because of that womanizing wastrel whose lust would go on to destroy the entire kingdom!” Given that the new king was Alexander’s son, Ariadne could certainly understand why Doran was so bitter about the current regime, but that did nothing to get them over the impasse.          So she put a comforting hand on his shoulder, and smiled at him warmly when he turned to look at her. “I can well understand how terrible that must have been for you, and for the old couple who took you into their home. But that’s why we want to find the bandits and put a stop to them. So no one else has to suffer as they did when their son was taken from them.”          The old man continued to look into her eyes for a moment, then looked away, a guilty expression on his face. “I don’t know exactly where they are,” he admitted.          “But you have an idea,” Eurysakes prompted.          Doran sighed sadly. “A few months back, when the bandits were not yet as numerous as they are now, my daughter and my youngest son were here, watching the flock. But when it came time that they should have returned, there was no sign of them. I took my eldest boy, Lander, and went to look for them. We found less than half the flock…and my son’s dead body. It was in a sorry state by then; the crows had found it first. But we knew he had died by the hand of man: there were still arrows in his back.”          “And your daughter…?” Atalanta asked, her eyes already misty.          “No sign of my poor Korinna,” the old man replied, his own eyes beginning to water. “There’s been no sign of her!” With an angry grunt, he wiped the tears from his eyes. “Lander swore he’d rescue her, and get vengeance on the bandits. We’ve never seen him since. But the last time I went to the temple to pray Apaliunas to protect them…someone told me they had seen my Lander. They had seen him *helping* the bandits.”          “Helping them?” Ariadne repeated, unable to contain her shock. “Perhaps they were mistaken.” What sort of man would work with the murderers of his own brother and the abductors of his sister?          “No, they weren’t mistaken. He went and turned on us all, for a few golden baubles. That’s why I told my wife he was killed, too. No point in her waiting for him to come home if he’s turned out to be a man like that.”          For a moment, none of them seemed capable of speaking, or even reacting to the old man’s words. Then, before Ariadne could stop her, Atalanta set one of her hands on his. “Don’t worry. We’ll save your daughter. And maybe it’s still not too late for your son,” she added, her naïveté apparently still at full strength.          Doran looked into her eyes, then sighed deeply. “Promise you won’t do anything to risk your lives,” he said. “If you see that there are more than you can handle, you run away and get the king’s soldiers.”          “I promise,” Atalanta told him, smiling. Ariadne could hear it in her voice that she plainly thought it impossible for there to be enough bandits that she couldn’t take them. Even after what had happened in that tiny little skirmish by the rivers, she was still that blithely confident?          The shepherd didn’t look like he entirely believed her, but he nodded none the less, and pointed towards the southern side of the mountain. “The tracks of the stolen animals led in that direction,” he said. “There are a number of caves that way. They’ve probably made their base in one of them.”          “Thank you!” Atalanta exclaimed with far too much glee, clasping both of his hands in hers, making the old man blush even though he thought she was just a boy. (Even if an exceptionally pretty one…)          All three of them got to their feet and thanked Doran again, then set off in the direction he’d indicated. As they were leaving, Ariadne heard the old man begin a prayer, asking the gods and the spirits of the mountain to protect them. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Chapter Seven]]

[[<img src="chapter7.jpg" width="750" height="504">->cliff and cave]]

The terrain became rockier and harder to traverse long before they came across any indication of caves. In fact, it soon became so rocky that Atalanta felt sure they had missed some other trail they should have taken. “How could they drive sheep through here?” she asked as she struggled to maintain her balance on the rocky slope, using the spear in her hand as walking stick to help maintain her balance. “Goats, yes, but sheep? I don’t think they’d be willing to come this way.”          “You’re probably right, but it’s the only place we can look at the moment,” Ariadne pointed out. “We’ve come too far to try going back to look for the old woman’s trail.” She sighed. “As to the sheep, for all we know they slaughtered the animals and only carried the carcasses over the rocks.”          “Or carried the animals alive,” Eurysakes added. “Or traded them in town.”          Atalanta nodded miserably, trying to look at the positive side that the threat of imminent and deadly bandit attack had at least convinced her cousins to put aside whatever hostility it was they felt towards each other. That wasn’t really very much to keep her consoled as they continued on their way, unfortunately. All too soon, their progress forward was entirely blocked by a cliff, which was much too sheer to climb. It started far below where they were on the mountainside, and continued on far above them, so before they could even try to go around it, they had to decide if they wanted to head upwards along the mountainside, or downwards.          “The sheep would certainly be more likely to want to go down,” Ariadne said, looking at the terrain downslope from them, which soon returned to the gentle, rolling territory they had been passing through when they met Doran and his wife, “but caves are more likely to form in the heights, I would think. And that old woman from Dardania was certainly headed straight up.” She looked up at the area above the cliff.          “Hey, I think I can see a cave from here!” Atalanta exclaimed after following her gaze. “Look, right there!” she added, pointing at the dark splotch near the top of the cliff.          Ariadne sheltered her eyes from the sun, then sighed, shaking her head. “That’s actually *on* the cliff face,” she said. “How would they even get in and out?”          “There must be a path. Let’s go find out!” Atalanta shouted excitedly, before taking off running up the mountainside, trying to keep as close as she could to the cliff, so she could keep the cave mouth in sight. It was definitely a cave, no question of that! That had to be what they were looking for! She was positive!          As she ran, Atalanta could hear Ariadne and Eurysakes running after her, though they kept falling further and further behind as she ran. If she hadn’t been using all her breath on running, she would have laughed. Of course they couldn’t keep up with her! She was the daughter of swift-footed Achilles! How could she be any less swift than her father?          The one problem of her speed was that by the time she reached the narrow ledge that led out onto the cliff face towards the cave, she had long since left her cousins behind. But that was for the better, she decided, tightening her grip on her father’s spear. If there were enemies inside the cave, then she would have time to clear them out before Ariadne could arrive and be put in danger.          Hopefully.          Uttering a quick prayer to Thetis, Athene and her father’s shade, asking for the strength and skill to deal with the enemies she was about to face, Atalanta moved out onto the narrow pathway, and carefully, cautiously inched her way along it towards the cave mouth. Just outside the cave, she stood listening, but she heard no sound from within, so she risked a peek inside.          The interior of the cave was mostly very dark, but just enough sunlight was cutting through the darkness in bright shafts of light that Atalanta could see that the cave was entirely deserted. Worse still, she saw no weapons, sheep or piles of loot, meaning it was probably not in use by the bandits after all. There was, however, something odd in the cave that she was sure merited investigation.          Entering the cave, Atalanta walked up to the thing that had attracted her attention. It looked rather like one of the small altars that had been set up in the king’s palace in Methymna, except that instead of having a small votive painting or sculpture of a god, it had more of those letter things painted on the wall behind it. The top of the altar was black with crusty old blood. Obviously, it was not properly cleaned between sacrifices.          “What is the matter with you?!” Ariadne’s voice suddenly cut through the gloom of the cave. “What would you have done if this place was filled with bandits?!”          “Hey, good timing!” Atalanta replied, turning to smile at her cousin. “You have to look at this!”          “No, I do not!” Ariadne snapped at her, storming over to slap Atalanta in the face, hard. “You’re too reckless! You heard what the old shepherd said; those bandits are dangerous, and yet you just ran off without us? If he thinks three people can’t handle them, how could *one* person possibly handle them?!”          “Yeah, but he doesn’t know that my father was—”          “Your *father* isn’t the one here! No matter who your father was, that doesn’t make you capable of the same things he was! Why don’t you ever think before you act?!” Ariadne continued screaming at her.          “Calm down,” Eurysakes said as he entered the cave behind her. “She just got excited.”          “She’s *always* excited,” Ariadne retorted. “And it’s going to get her *killed* someday!”          “I’m sorry, okay?” Atalanta said, hoping that with an ally present she might finally be able to get a word in edgewise. “But I wouldn’t have entered the cave if there had been people in here, honest! Not unless it was so few that I could handle them on my own.”          “Empty words,” Ariadne growled. Why was she in such a bad mood lately? Maybe all the walking was tiring her out…?          “Really, I honest and truly mean it,” Atalanta insisted. “But look at this! Look at this altar!” she added, pointing at it. “Isn’t it weird?”          “Don’t try to change the subject!”          While Ariadne continued to lecture Atalanta, Eurysakes moved past them and crouched in front of the altar. He touched the dried blood lightly with his finger, then seemed to be inspecting the floor around the altar. Finally, he stood up again, and set a hand on Ariadne’s shoulder, quieting her, at least for a moment. “Atalanta’s right,” he said. “This altar is odd.”          Scowling, Ariadne shoved him aside (or tried to, anyway) and turned to look at the altar, then knelt before it, peering at the letters painted on the back wall. “What does it say?” Atalanta asked eagerly.          “It’s hard to be sure,” Ariadne answered, shaking her head. “Letters aren’t very good at conveying words. Ca Ri Ca Ra Te…” she read slowly.          “Caricarate?” Atalanta repeated, assembling the sounds into a single word. “What does that mean?”          Ariadne shrugged as she stood up. “Like I said, letters aren’t very good. That’s why the scribes in Methymna kept needing my help. And why there are pictograms.”          “I don’t understand,” Eurysakes said, his brow furrowed in confusion.          “Me, either,” Atalanta agreed.          Ariadne sighed, and shook her head. “I don’t know why letters work so badly, but they don’t have letters that correspond to all the sounds. They have to use the same letter for the *rrr* sound as the *lll* sound, so the inventory accompanying a shipment of pottery from Pylos is marked with Pu Ro, for example. They don’t have letters for most sounds by themselves, either, only in combinations like that. I don’t know why, and of course the king’s scribes couldn’t tell me, since they were all trained mostly in Hatti letters, which are totally different…though they don’t really work much better, from what I could tell, especially if you’re trying to write Achaian words with them.”          “If letters work so badly, how do they write a big complicated word like Lacedaimon?” Atalanta asked, tilting her head to the side curiously.          “Who cares?!” Ariadne snapped.          “Is this a name?” Eurysakes asked, crouching to look at the letters again.          “Probably,” Ariadne answered. “Above an altar, you’d expect it to be the name of the god being worshipped. And if it was supposed to be a simple item that had physical form, you’d think they’d use a pictogram. For that matter, though, you’d expect a fresco or sculpture of a god.”          “Caricarates?” Atalanta mused. “Doesn’t sound much like an Achaian name to me. Do you think it’s a barbarian name?”          “If that’s what the name is, it might be, but why use Hellenic letters for a barbarian name? It’s probably something that’s just really hard to convert to letters,” Ariadne answered, then frowned in concentration. “Caricarte…Cracarates…Carriclate…oh, it could be Callicrates!” she exclaimed, her face suddenly erupting into a huge smile that made Atalanta’s whole day brighten. “It’s not all that common, but it is a real name.”          As Atalanta contemplated the name, she couldn’t stop herself from giggling a bit. Only a couple of days ago, she had been talking about how unmanly it seemed to be called beautiful, and here they were (maybe) finding a name that meant strength from beauty! The timing was amusing, if nothing else.          “Do you know one?” Eurysakes asked, looking at her curiously.          She shook her head. “No, I just thought it was sort of funny…” she admitted nervously. “Sorry.”          “Well, funny or not, this does not tell us anything about those bandits,” Ariadne pointed out sharply. “If there’s nothing else in this cave, then let’s get out of here so we can go back the other way. Preferably before we lose the light.”          The others both nodded, with a certain amount of chagrin on Atalanta’s part, and they left the cave again. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->bandit attack]]

Ariadne didn’t feel quite safe until she was off the narrow ledge that led out to the tiny cave mouth and back on solid ground. The strangest thing about that altar, really, was that anyone would want to put something in such a hard to reach cave! Who (other than Atalanta) would even want to climb out there and risk a horrible death in the first place?          Once both the others were off that tiny ledge, they all surveyed the cliffside. It continued on up for quite some way even from where they were, and the terrain above their location got more and more harsh until it was little better than a cliff itself. That being the case, they decided there was nothing for it but to trek down the side of the mountain. They followed the scar of the cliff down a considerable distance past where they had started before they finally reached a place where they could cross it and continue in their original direction. By that time, they could no longer see the sun, and although much of the sky was still a warm, pale blue, they knew they would lose the light entirely soon, and have nothing but the moon to depend on.          After a brief debate, they decided to press onward, at least while they still had enough light to travel, looking for a place to shelter for the night. Sadly, they didn’t get very far before the light *did* start to fail them. In fact, they had only just reached the far side of the cliff when even Atalanta admitted that there was too much risk in continuing onwards. Fortunately (or not), there was another opening at the base of the cliff; not quite enough to call a proper cave, but at least it would give them shelter from any wind or rain that might arise, and a firm rock at their back in case any enemies or wild animals should come upon them in the night. (Though she didn’t want to admit it, Ariadne dreaded the notion of being stumbled upon by another wild boar!)          The decision to camp for the night had been easily made, but the debate over whether or not to light a fire was harder to settle, even though Ariadne was the only one arguing that they dared not risk it: the light and the smoke would alert the bandits to their presence, and attract wild animals. Atalanta, of course, insisted that there was no reason not to: she claimed that the light would scare off the animals, that the cave itself would keep the smoke from traveling, and that the trees across from the opening would block the light from being seen by the bandits. Eurysakes, meanwhile, said that attracting the bandits might actually be a *good* thing, because it might give them prisoners they could interrogate for information, along with also claiming that it would scare off predators rather than drawing them near. Ariadne couldn’t agree with the wild animal thing (boars liked the sun’s light, so surely they’d like the fire’s light!), but she had to admit that he had a point about the bandits, even if he was likely overestimating their ability to defend themselves from a sudden attack.          Both Ariadne and Eurysakes turned out to be right about the bandits, because not long after they finished eating the sparse fare that Chryseis had sent with them the other day, they heard the sound of people advancing on them out in the darkness. Wanting to take the enemy as unaware as possible, they pretended not to notice their approach, keeping their conversation light even as they made subtle gestures with their hands to indicate their plans.          Unfortunately, Eurysakes’ massive shield was resting against the cave wall behind Atalanta, while the spears were resting on the other side of the cave, meaning Atalanta only had her sword to defend herself with. The bows and quivers were all at the back of the little cave, so Ariadne had easy access to them, but they wouldn’t do her all that much good while she was in the lit cavern and the enemies were out in the dark night.          The attack came slightly sooner than Ariadne had been expecting, but she had a feeling it wasn’t soon enough for Atalanta, because she had seemed to be fairly itching to start the fight, despite what had happened last time.          As soon as the first arrow went flying past their faces, passing through the narrow space between Ariadne and Atalanta, Atalanta rolled backwards and grabbed the shield that was bigger than she was, using it to deflect further incoming arrows which all made light ringing sounds as they collided harmlessly with the shield. On the other side of the cave, Eurysakes was using *both* spears to fight off the bandits who were physically trying to enter the cave.          Once Ariadne had her bow ready, Atalanta moved forward out of the cave, drawing her sword to help Eurysakes with the nearby bandits. Ariadne moved up to the mouth of the cave, keeping in the shadows as best she could, even as she began firing her arrows in the direction that the enemy’s arrows were coming from. After her third arrow, there was a cry of agony from the darkness.          A man’s voice let out a vile oath out in the darkness, then shouted “This isn’t worth it! Flee!”          The bandits started to high-tail it, but Atalanta tripped the nearest one, sending him crashing to the ground, even as the other two surviving bandits disappeared into the night. Eurysakes grabbed the bandit before he could get back to his feet, and dragged him into the little cave, forcing him onto his knees in front of the fire.          “Where are the other bandits?” Eurysakes asked, his voice calm, but very firm.          “You’ve got to let me go!” the bandit yelped, struggling futilely against Eurysakes’ grasp. In this light, Ariadne could see that he was fairly young, probably in his twenties, and didn’t have the scrofulous appearance she had come to expect of a life-long bandit.          Atalanta picked up a broken arrow from the ground and held its feathers in the fire. Once they were burning, she held them right in front of his face, so close that they singed the hair above his forehead. “Tell us where to find your friends, and we’ll let you go,” she promised, in the coldest, most cruel tone Ariadne had ever heard from her.          “No, you don’t understand!” the bandit insisted. “They have my sister!”          Atalanta withdrew the arrow a bit, looking at him in concern. “What do you mean?” she asked. Ariadne wondered if she really didn’t understand where he was about to take this, or if she was just hoping it wasn’t true.          “They stole away my sister,” he moaned, “but there were too many of them for me to fight by myself! I thought if I pretended to join them, then I could steal her back again!”          Eurysakes was starting to look conflicted, too, but he didn’t let go, not yet. “Explain yourself,” he said, sternly.          The explanation that followed was exactly what Ariadne had expected from the first mention he had made of having a sister: his name was Lander, he was the son of the shepherd Doran, and he was trying to get back his sister Korinna from the bandits who had killed their younger brother. Atalanta looked completely taken in, naturally, and Eurysakes didn’t look any less convinced.          Ariadne sighed, and shook her head. “Awfully convenient explanation,” she said. “Why should we believe you?”          “Aria—Arios!” Atalanta exclaimed, nearly forgetting their disguises. “We already—”          “Not another word, Atleus!” Ariadne shouted. “I want to hear some *proof*.”          “What kind of proof can I possibly offer beyond what I’ve already told you?” Lander objected. “What more do you need?”          “I need to know that you’re telling the truth,” Ariadne said, with a cheerful tone of voice and a cold smile that she was modeling on the one Kawiya used to wear whenever she realized that she was going to get to punish Atalanta again.          “I’ll do whatever you need me to do to prove myself,” Lander said. “I’ll swear whatever oaths you need to—”          “Spare me,” Ariadne interrupted, scowling at him. “To a dishonest, honorless man, an oath, no matter how sacred, is just a set of meaningless words. Even the oaths that the gods themselves would never break are easily made and easily broken by those who believe in nothing. Give me something firm and solid to believe in.”          “My parents live not far from here,” Lander offered. “You can go and ask them if my story is true.”          “We already spoke to them,” Atalanta said, then looked at Ariadne. “But isn’t that exactly why we should be believing him, Arios?”          “You are so naïve that it’s physically painful, Atleus,” Ariadne replied, shaking her head. “How can we be sure that old couple isn’t part of the bandit group? Sitting there pretending to warn people of the dangers, all the while sending them into ambush, and filling them with tales of the poor, sad, lonely youth trying oh-so-hard to save his sister.”          “Who would think of a thing like that?” Lander asked, staring at her in shock.          “If *I* was running a gang of bandits, that’s exactly what I would do,” Ariadne told him.          “You’re a little scary,” Eurysakes chuckled. “Glad you’re on my side,” he added.          Ariadne wasn’t so sure she liked the idea of being considered on ‘his’ side, but this wasn’t the moment to say so. “Good,” she replied instead, with a laugh of her own, then crouched down in front of Lander. “Now that we understand each other, let’s dispense with your stupid nonsense, and get to the truth.”          “But I’ve been telling you the truth!” Lander objected, almost whining.          “Arios, I really don’t think those bandits could be as clever as you’re giving them credit for,” Atalanta said, looking very uncomfortable.          “Have you forgotten the old woman in Dardania?” Ariadne countered, making Atalanta wince.          “This does seem a different situation,” Eurysakes said. “The bandits could not know we would capture this particular man.”          “But if they have *all* their men ready to tell such a tale?” Admittedly, even Ariadne thought that was unlikely, but carrying this as far as humanly possible seemed like the best way to make sure they were getting the truth from Lander.          “I don’t know what you want from me,” Lander moaned. “I’ll do whatever you want, just please, let me go back before they think I’ve deserted, or I’ll never be able to save my sister!”          Atalanta was just opening her mouth to say something when the sound of a woman’s voice in the distance interrupted them. “Unhand me, you filthy brutes!” the woman was shouting.          The trio exchanged uncertain looks, then Eurysakes clubbed Lander in the head with the hilt of his sword, knocking him unconscious. As the youth fell to the ground beside the fire, Atalanta and Eurysakes grabbed their spears and ran out into the night towards the sound of the scuffle. “Stay here where it’s safe!” Atalanta shouted back at her.          “And keep an eye on the prisoner!” Eurysakes added.          Groaning, Ariadne started scanning the cavern, looking for something she could use to tie Lander up before he could wake up and overpower her. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->mysterious woman]]

In a moonlit clearing, Atalanta and Eurysakes found three men assaulting a woman who seemed more annoyed than frightened. The men were definitely the ones who had just fled from them: Atalanta recognized two of them, and the third still had the broken-off end of Ariadne’s arrow in his arm. Atalanta’s spear found its mark on the first throw, and one of the bandits fell dead beside the woman. The other two bandits had little more time than to turn and look dumbfounded before Eurysakes had cut one of them down with his own throw. The third tried to run, but Atalanta caught up to him and gave him a sword in the gut before he could escape.          The woman smiled at them as Atalanta retrieved her spear from the other corpse. Now that the fight—if something that one-sided could properly be called a fight—was over and Atalanta had time to really look at her, she was quite amazed by what she saw. She’d never seen such a beautiful woman. If the woman had introduced herself as Helen of Lacedaimon, Atalanta would have believed it, except that the coloration didn’t seem right. Helen was supposed to have golden hair, but this woman’s hair…in the light of the moon, it almost looked blue, but a blue as dark as the night sky itself. Atalanta wasn’t sure what color it would be in the daylight.          “Thank you for your help, children,” the woman said, her voice elegance and refinement itself. It struck Atalanta as a little odd that she addressed them that way, actually, since the woman didn’t look that much older than Eurysakes, really. “There have been too many of those unwashed bandits on the mountain lately. I really ought to complain.”          Atalanta wondered who she would complain *to*, exactly, but couldn’t bring herself to ask.          “Do you need help getting home safely?” Eurysakes asked. He sounded so worried, and his expression was so earnest that it was almost adorable, like a little child eager to please.          “No, I’ll be fine, thank you,” the woman replied. “It isn’t far from here.” Then she suddenly crouched, plucked up a flower from the ground, and blew on it petals gently. “Here,” she said, holding the flower out towards them. “In thanks.”          “A flower?” Atalanta asked, very confused, even as Eurysakes accepted the offering.          “It has healing properties,” the woman explained, with a laugh. “Crush the petals against any wound, and it will heal up cleanly and quickly.”          “Really? Thanks!” Atalanta exclaimed.          The woman smiled at them again, then turned and walked off into the forest, her footfalls so silent that Atalanta couldn’t even hear them. “Do you suppose…she was real?” Eurysakes asked in a low voice, once she was gone.          “What else could she have been?” Atalanta replied, feeling confused. He was the one standing there holding the flower she’d handed him! How could he be holding that flower if the woman hadn’t really been there?          Eurysakes could only shake his head, still staring in wonderment at the place where she had vanished. “She seemed almost…divine,” he finally said, making Atalanta laugh. A goddess wouldn’t have needed their help dispatching a few bandits!          “We’d better get back to Ariadne in case the prisoner wakes up,” she pointed out. “Or in case any more bandits attack.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->lander]]

Ariadne had used her time alone to do all she could in defense against Lander (or whatever his name was) awakening: lacking any proper rope, she had used her knife to cut the rough cloth sack that had contained the food from Chryseis into a crude strip that functioned well enough to bind the prisoner’s hands. It was so quick and efficient a process that it unfortunately left her quite a while to worry about what might be happening to Atalanta out there in the darkness. And yet, despite how worried she was, how could she go charging out to help? She didn’t know where they had gone, and she couldn’t hear anything…          As soon as that changed and she heard footsteps headed towards the cave, Ariadne notched an arrow and pressed herself against the back wall of the cavern, leaning Eurysakes’ shield against her side to minimize the amount of her body that enemy archers could hit. That turned out to be a needless precaution, thankfully, because just before two figures appeared out of the darkness, Atalanta’s voice called out “It’s just us! We’re back!”          Ariadne had only just set aside the shield and her bow when the two of them entered the cavern again. As she was just about to reproach them for running off without her, Ariadne saw that Eurysakes was holding a flower in his hand as if it was some precious gem, and she couldn’t stop herself from laughing.          That made him turn bright crimson, and apparently left him incapable of speech, so Atalanta had to stumble her awkward way through an explanation about an unusually beautiful and highly mysterious woman out in the forest, and the flower she gave them as thanks for rescuing her. Lander woke up early in the explanation—it had probably actually been Ariadne’s laughter that awoke him, really—but he kept quiet until Atalanta had finished her story.          “I’ve lived on the mountain all my life,” he said, “and I’ve never met a woman like *that* before.”          “What was she doing in the middle of a forest in the middle of a mountain in the middle of the night?” Ariadne asked, looking at Atalanta with irritation. “Why didn’t you ask?”          “There really wasn’t time,” Atalanta said, with an uncomfortable smile. Ariadne wasn’t sure if that meant there really hadn’t been, or if Atalanta just hadn’t thought of it, because she was so used to letting Ariadne do all the thinking for her.          “Could she have been Selene herself?” Eurysakes asked, looking down at the flower he still clutched in his hand. It was a silvery flower with blue-edged petals, like nothing Ariadne had ever seen before. “Searching for a new mortal lover?”          “Why, were you hoping for the job?” Ariadne asked, filling the cave with her uproarious laughter. From the way he blushed, though, she might not have been wrong about Eurysakes’ reason for asking, which only made it funnier.          “We should probably get back to the matter in hand,” Atalanta said, while Ariadne was still laughing. She indicated Lander with one hand as she spoke. “If we’re going to believe him or not believe him, because either way we have to do *something*.”          Ariadne sighed sadly. It was written all over Atalanta’s face that she completely believed him, and Eurysakes looked…well, his face wasn’t as expressive as hers, but she was pretty sure he was also completely sold on Lander’s tale. Truthfully, it wasn’t really that Ariadne doubted his tale *could* be true, it was the sheer coincidence of him being one of the half dozen sent against them and then him also happening to be the single one they managed to capture. Did that kind of coincidence *really* happen outside of bard’s tales of the exploits of legendary heroes?          “All right, let’s pretend, for the moment, that we believe you,” she said, turning to Lander. “What then?” Finding out what his plan was should help expose any chicanery he had in mind.          “Then…? Well, then you’d let me go so I can save my sister!”          “Thing is, we only came to the mountain to defeat those bandits,” Atalanta said. “We don’t want to sit around and wait while you maybe save your sister or maybe get yourself killed, or maybe never do anything, or—”          “Atleus,” Ariadne interrupted in a warning tone, “you know that isn’t true. We were sent here to gather information about those bandits. *Not* to defeat them.”          “*You* came to gather information,” Eurysakes said. “Atleus and I came to defeat them.”          While Ariadne was trying to find the most politic—or at least the least shouty—way to respond to that, Lander spoke up again. “Maybe we can help each other,” he said. “I could bring you to the base, and you could just spy on them,” he said, looking at Ariadne, “and I could bring the two of you inside and tell them you want to join up.”          “After the battle we just had here?” Ariadne asked, looking at him skeptically. “What kind of idiotic bandits would believe that?”          “Considering we attacked you without warning, you had no choice but to defend yourselves,” he said. “Besides, it sounds like the rest of the patrol is dead now, so there’d be no one to tell the boss you were the ones who killed the others.”          “It sounds like a good idea to me,” Atalanta said, nodding firmly. “We could get right into the heart of their camp before starting the fight. Really know who and what we’re up against. Maybe even keep some of them from getting their weapons.”          Ariadne sighed. “Do you actually think the two of them would stand any chance of defeating the entire group unaided?” she asked, fixing Lander with a heavy stare.          He wilted away from her gaze, and shook his head. “There’s too many of them. Of course the three of us could never defeat them all. But I thought maybe they could at least help me rescue my sister. Maybe even a few of the other girls, but mostly—”          “Other girls?” Eurysakes repeated. “You didn’t mention others.”          “Of course Korinna isn’t the only girl they’ve kidnapped!” Lander shouted, looking over at him. “They’ve got so many captive girls that you’d think the Ahhiyawa had come back!” Both Atalanta and Eurysakes winced, but Lander didn’t acknowledge that. Given all three of them were wearing Achaian-style armor and speaking Hatti with heavy Achaian accents, he was either an idiot, or being intentionally obtuse. “But there have to be at least a hundred bandits in that camp! We could never get rid of them all by ourselves!”          “A hundred before or after the six or so we’ve already killed here tonight?” Ariadne asked sharply. “And are you counting yourself in that hundred?” If there were that many prisoners, relying on an obviously unconcerned king no longer sounded like the best course of action.          “It was just a rough guess,” Lander said sheepishly. “I don’t have any idea the exact number.”          “Name them.”          “What?”          “Name them,” Ariadne repeated. “If you’ve been pretending to be one of them for so many days, you must know their names by now. If you can list their names, then we’ll know how many there are.”          Lander just stared at her for a moment, then nodded. “Okay, well, there’s Aniketos, the boss,” he said, just the first of a long list of names, about a third of them Hellenic, a third of them local, and the rest an assortment of types of names, including Phoenician and even Egyptian, along with some names of types Ariadne had never heard before. For each name, she made a line in the dirt with the same broken arrow Atalanta had used earlier to threaten him. Once Lander finished his list, Ariadne counted the lines. “Looks like eighty-two of them,” she said. “If you aren’t forgetting anyone.” And if he was being honest…though he didn’t really seem smart enough to keep up any kind of deception this long. (Though neither did Eurysakes, and he had been keeping up his deception for many days now…)          “That is a lot,” Eurysakes admitted, frowning. “More than twenty-five each. But my father could do it.”          “Mine, too,” Atalanta agreed, nodding. “I think yours could, too, Arios,” she added, no doubt alluding to the rumors that had reached Lesbos a few years back about what had happened when Odysseus finally returned to Ithaca a full decade after the war had ended.          Ariadne heaved a very deep sigh, but did not otherwise dignify the comment with an answer. “In all truth, there’s no way all eighty-two of them would need to be defeated,” she said instead, using her foot to wipe away the central column of lines. “I’d be surprised if more than half of them had to be defeated.” Especially considering they obviously sent six-man raiding parties out on a regular basis, like the one that they had wiped out near Thymbra. In fact, Ariadne suspected Lander hadn’t known those six men were dead, and had listed them along with their still-living compatriots. “Once the leader and his best men are dead, most of the others would probably flee. They’re only bandits, after all, not soldiers. They’ll have no sense of loyalty or duty to encourage them to stay to face superior foes.” Assuming, of course, that they *were* in fact bandits, and not enraged Dardanians wanting to avenge Aineias’ removal from the throne. Though if they had in fact captured numerous maidens, they likely really were just marauders, especially if their make-up was as international as the list of names Lander had produced.          “So you’ve decided we can fight them after all?” Atalanta asked, with an eager smile.          “I’ve decided nothing of the sort,” Ariadne told her, even as she looked away from that bright, encouraging smile. “I’m still not sure I trust this fellow, for one thing, and I’m not about to let us walk into any fight we can’t walk away from.”          “But if we only have to kill about half of them, that’s not so bad, right?” Atalanta insisted. “It’s only, um…”          “About ten each,” Eurysakes said. “That should be easy. A warm-up,” he added, with a grin.          “Warm-up for what?” Lander asked nervously.          “Tell us about the layout of the base,” Ariadne said, shaking her head. “I can’t make up my mind as to what we should do unless I know every detail. Also the typical hours they keep. When there are likely to be the fewest number of men present in their base, and when they’ll be least on their guard.”          Lander nodded, and began awkwardly describing the layout of the bandits’ base camp. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->before dawn]]

[[<img src="ch7-just before dawn.jpg" width="750" height="486">->aniketos]]

It was a few hours before dawn still, but the eastern horizon was already blushing ever so slightly at the thought of the approach of the beautiful Eos. Inside the large cavern that served as their base of operations, everything was noisy, smoky and ill-lit. Most of the massive fires that they kept burning through the night were just outside the wide cave mouth. There were only two within the cave itself: one that roared directly in front of Aniketos’ stolen throne to keep him warm and make him look as impressive as possible for his pathetic underlings, and a weak one at the back of the cave, near the cage where the girls sat weeping.          The fire before Aniketos’ throne rested between the camp’s two stashes of weapons and armor. The glint of the firelight off the bronze of the armor was almost as pleasing to his eyes as the faint reflections of the fire off the piles of gold stashed along the cave walls to either side of his throne. As he sat on his throne, listening to the chatter of his men at the cave mouth, and the wailing of the girls behind him, he felt like a king. Not just any king, but a truly great king, capable of truly great things! He felt like Agamemnon, sitting comfortably amidst the stolen wealth of all the Anatolian coast, listening delightedly to the lamentation of the Trojan women as the Danaan men had their way with them.          Yes, he was a king among men! And once he had finished with this area, he would take all the loot, all the weapons, all the women he had enslaved, all the men he had trained up, and he would go back across the sea, back to his home, and he would raid the entire Argolid plain just as he had raided the Troad. And then…then maybe he would even be able to sack one of the citadels, and be a king in name as well as in deed! Gods willing, maybe he would *truly* be like Agamemnon, and sit upon the throne of Mycenae, rich in gold!          The men near the cave mouth let out a sudden cry, distracting Aniketos as he contemplated his great destiny. “What is all that racket?” he demanded. How was he supposed to concentrate on his plans for future glory with his men hooting and hollering like that?          Soon enough, one of his men brought two prisoners before him. Aniketos glared down at the three of them from his throne. It was Lander, that shifty newcomer who shirked all work to spend the entirety of his time moping around the girls. How could he have captured two prisoners? They were both still ephebes from the look of them—no beards, despite their fancy Achaian armor—and one of them was quite scrawny, so it wasn’t *too* surprising that even Lander could have taken him, but the other one was the size of the Calydonian Boar! There was no way Lander could have defeated a man like that. And yet he was walking like a prisoner, hands crudely tied before him, head bowed, and Lander prodding him in the back with a gorgeous, black-handled, double-tipped spear. The spear must have belonged to one of the prisoners, Aniketos reasoned, along with the massive shield Lander was now wearing on his back.          “And what is this?” Aniketos asked, looking at Lander suspiciously. He didn’t trust that farmer or cowherd or whatever he was. Not as far as he could throw the man. Which wasn’t that far, really, as his skill had always been mental rather than physical. Men like Lander were made for work and labor. *He* on the other hand, was meant for thinking. For planning. For *scheming*.          “I captured these two, sir,” Lander told him. “They’re after the reward the king’s offering for us.”          “You traitor!” the scrawny one shouted at him, in a voice so high that he was either not yet an ephebe or he was a eunuch. “You promised!”          “What did you promise them, Lander?”          Lander laughed. “The usual. A place in the gang, access to the women, some gold. Nothing they deserve.”          “That boy there is almost as pretty as a girl. Shame to have to kill him. Bet a lot of men would trade a fortune for him,” Aniketos mused. “A pretty slave boy is just the thing to keep a lonely man company when the women are being obstinate.”          “Over my dead body!” the boy shouted, struggling against the bonds on his wrists.          Aniketos laughed. “He’s got spirit, I’ll give him that. Do you really think you want to join up with us, boy?”          “What else *can* I do?” the boy retorted. “I won’t be a slave again!”          “It’s kill or be killed with us, you know,” Aniketos told him. “Think you can handle that? You might have to fight men much larger than yourself.”          “I can handle myself just fine,” the boy said. “If I couldn’t fight, how would I have escaped from my master?”          “Oh, this sounds like an entertaining amusement!” Aniketos laughed. “Give him a weapon, Lander. Let him kill that big fellow to prove himself.”          “Yes, sir. Should the other one have a weapon, too?”          “Gods, no. Just give him a shield.”          Lander nodded, and cut the bonds away from both prisoners’ hands, before handing the forked spear to the boy, making Aniketos scowl. Why give a weapon that fine to a weak and womanish runaway slave? What a waste! Lander grabbed a small shield off the pile and handed it to the enormous youth, before stepping aside, near the spare weapons.          “All right, go ahead and fight,” Aniketos told the prisoners. “The winner may be allowed to join us. And the loser will feed the crows.” Or they might both feed the crows…          The boy began to swing his spear over his head in a dramatic but utterly ludicrous fashion. The men standing near the cave entrance began to crowd around, eagerly awaiting the sight of spurting blood. While the boy was still whirling his spear around, the huge youth kicked the boy in the gut, sending him flying into the pile of weapons behind him, narrowly missing Lander.          “Careful,” Aniketos said, laughing. “Don’t want him damaged before his potential masters can even make offers on him.”          Growling, the boy got to his feet and leapt through the air at the enormous youth, his spear striking the man’s shield and piercing all the way through it. Sadly, it missed the man himself, and hit only the air on the other side of the shield. The youth punched the boy, sending him flying, without his spear.          By now, the men were actively making bets on the fight, and the odds weren’t favoring the pretty little boy, despite that he was the one who was armed. Or rather who had been armed before losing his spear.          To Aniketos’ irritation, he noticed that the boy was starting to raid the same pile of weapons he had landed in earlier. He picked up everything he could grab, and if he didn’t like it, he tossed it over his shoulder, sending it sliding across the floor towards the back of the cave or rattling towards the entrance. How very rude of him to make such a terrible mess! Aniketos decided that if the boy didn’t get himself killed, he was going to castrate him *personally*, assuming it hadn’t been done years ago.          By the time the boy had finally selected a sword he liked out of the pile, the huge youth had the black-handled spear in hand, and was advancing on him menacingly. The boy grabbed up a shield out of the pile, and ran forward to meet the large youth’s advance. Brave, but not very bright.          Sword met shield, spear met shield, and the two combatants parted again, both entirely undamaged. Strangely, the youth discarded the spear in favor of a sword, and the two began to trade even blows, sword against sword and sword against shield, over and over again, as the men became more and more involved in raucously cheering for the fight.          Aniketos was beginning to get alarmed by the evenness of the fight. A boy that young and slender should have been mincemeat before a dozen blows had been exchanged. But this fight! Either the boy was exceptionally talented…          …or it was all an act.          He had barely had that thought when the first of his men fell dead with an arrow in his back. The other men were still so preoccupied with the fight that they didn’t even notice their dead comrade.          “You fools!” Aniketos bellowed as best he could over the commotion. “To arms!”          Too late, he saw Lander pick up that double-tipped spear and throw it right at his chest. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->bandit battle]]

         The plan hadn’t *quite* gone off as Ariadne had wanted. (Technically, what she had *really* wanted was to wait for Eutychos to come and force them to return with only information, but it had rapidly become clear that if she tried to wait, the others would have charged on without her, so that had been off the table.) She had, at least, been able to sneak in while the bandits were obsessing over the ‘fight’ between Atalanta and Eurysakes, but the leader of the bandits had raised the alarm before she’d even been able to kill two of his men. Lander had silenced him quickly, but unfortunately he’d used Atalanta’s spear to do it, meaning she’d be in trouble if she needed it. *And* Lander was the one carrying Eurysakes’ shield, too.          It might still all work out, but it might turn into a disaster, and Atalanta was right in the middle of it.          Ariadne set her jaw firmly, and plucked up several more arrows out of the pile she had made from the quivers Atalanta had thrown in her direction; the quivers on her back she was reserving for later use, in case these ran out. She had to make sure that nothing happened to Atalanta out there. She’d never be able to face her mother and aunt in the house of Hades if she let her silly cousin get herself killed like this.          But that meant not only watching out that the bandits didn’t hurt her, it also meant keeping an eye on Lander. The fact that he had killed the leader of the bandits proved nothing: this might have been his way of taking over the bandits, rather than making any attempt to rescue his sister—if he even *had* a sister. He might not even be Doran’s son at all; he might have killed the real Lander and adopted his story as a way to manipulate gullible people like Atalanta and Eurysakes…          Ariadne prepared her next arrow, and scanned the fight deeper in the cave to pick her next target. Atalanta was using a sword and shield she had taken from the bandits’ own hoard to fight off three men about her own size. On the other side of the cave, near the pile of armor, Eurysakes was fighting two men about *his* own size. (The fact that there even were any bandits as large as Eurysakes was astonishing to Ariadne, and it also did a great deal to prove just how much the king and Lady Chryseis had overreacted to his bulk in assuming he could really be the son of Aias Telamoniades.) Lander was cornered by a single man about Atalanta’s size—half a head taller than Lander himself—who was preventing him from completing the role that Ariadne had assigned to him at this point in the battle. (set: $Lander to "alive") [[Shoot one of Atalanta’s foes->path1]] [[Shoot one of Eurysakes’ foes->path2]] [[Shoot Lander’s foe so he can get on with the plan->path3]]

         There was no need even to think about it: of course Ariadne had to take out one of the men attacking Atalanta! Atalanta was the only one who mattered, after all, and she had so many more men focusing on her. The first shot hit one of the men in the back, but either his leather armor or his shoulder blade stopped it from doing him any serious damage, so Ariadne released another arrow, this one striking him in the back of the neck and removing him from the fight.          Surprisingly, that made Atalanta scowl. “What, you don’t think I can take them by myself?!” she demanded angrily. One of her enemies turned to look in Ariadne’s direction, but Atalanta slashed him across the gut when he did so. “Don’t look away from me in a fight, you creep!” she shouted, before kicking him and turning her attention back to her last opponent.          Ariadne didn’t have time for embarrassment or relief, however, being distracted by a cry of agony as his solitary opponent drove his sword into Lander’s chest, right through his leather armor.(set: $Lander to "dead") So much for *that* part of the plan! Ariadne took down Lander’s killer before he could extract his sword from the corpse, but had no time to prepare another arrow before the whole cave was suddenly awash with the clatter of metal as Eurysakes was knocked over backwards into a pile of armor near the throne to which the bandit leader’s corpse had been pinned.          Hastily, Ariadne began preparing her next arrow to take out one of the two massive foes looming over the prone Eurysakes, but before she could fire, one of them suddenly dropped back, clutching his unarmored leg and shouting up a storm in a language that Ariadne didn’t recognize. Her angle allowed her to see Eurysakes kicking the other man in his shins before he leapt back to his feet in a surprisingly agile manner (all the more surprising considering the heavy cuirass he was wearing), hurling half the pile of armor in the process, knocking his foes backwards into the bonfire, setting their clothes alight even as their bulk all but extinguished the fire itself.(set: $cave to "dark")          Seeing the lighting in the cave fall almost to nothing, Ariadne scowled, and began firing her arrows at the two burning bandits as quickly as she could, desperate to bring them down while they were still inside, as they were suddenly the only source of light she had to make sure she was shooting at enemies and not at Atalanta. (Lander hadn’t mentioned just how little light the rest of the cave gained from the tiny fire at the back! He had made it sound like it was just as effective as the full bonfire…)          Even though the loss of the light was going to make her less useful—possibly downright useless—in the rest of the fight, Ariadne could see that it had advantages, too; it would make it that much harder for the bandits to figure out where she was and come after her. Although she had a sword and a knife, she had no idea how to actually use them in combat, and she doubted her armor would do much to protect her considering how badly it fit her. If any of the bandits reached her, she would be in a lot of trouble, and yet she was actually in *less* danger than her original version of the plan had entailed.          If she had really been the daughter of Odysseus, like Atalanta continually kept insisting, she surely would have been able to come up with something better.          Since the two bandits with burning clothes were already dead, there was nothing Ariadne could accomplish to help the fight going on inside the cave, so she turned her attention towards the cave mouth, where she found there were a number of bandits (some having fled earlier, and the rest apparently having been elsewhere when they arrived) lingering just at the mouth of the cave, peering into the darkness with bows of their own prepared. They were the real threat now; the longer the fight went on in the darkness, the more likely they were to just start firing blindly, not caring if they took out their own allies.          By the time she had taken down four or five of them, the men at the cave mouth mostly seemed more interested in fleeing than in staying to fight, but that was no reason to let up in her assault. Now that they’d come this far, they had to finish the job as completely as possible, or the bandits might just reform under a new leader and the people would suffer just as badly as they had before.          At the same time that she fired an arrow into a sixth man in the cave mouth, Ariadne heard quiet footsteps approaching her from behind. She could still hear the combat going on thick and heavy behind her, so it couldn’t be Atalanta or Eurysakes (if he was even capable of moving that quietly), and therefore *had* to be an enemy. But how to handle him? Shoot him before he can get close (click: "Shoot him before he can get close")[(set: $action to "shoot")(goto: "path1-2")] Shoot him as soon as he’s near enough to get a clean shot (click: "Shoot him as soon as he’s near enough to get a clean shot")[(set: $action to "wait")(goto: "path1-2")]

         Uneasily, Ariadne aimed her arrow at one of Eurysakes’ foes. Though he had shown he was very skilled at fighting smaller opponents, he was already struggling against these two men his own size. If he went down, Atalanta would be without any back-up, and Ariadne would never be able to fire fast enough to save her from so many foes. Eurysakes couldn’t be trusted on other matters, but whatever his game was, he clearly wanted Atalanta to be alive and uninjured, so he would fight to defend her, at least for now.          It was a beautiful shot, and struck the bandit in the back of his neck, just above his leather armor. The man staggered backwards and fell to his knees, probably not dead, but clearly unable to fight, at least for the moment. The moment was all Eurysakes needed: the distraction it provided gave him the opening to defeat his other opponent.          Ariadne expected him to give Atalanta a hand with her three—no, two now—opponents, but instead he turned and slashed the head right off of the man fighting Lander. “Get on with it,” Eurysakes rumbled at him, and Lander nodded before hastily running towards a nearby pile of amphorae. As planned, Lander grabbed an amphora, opened it, and threw the wine within onto the central bonfire, splashing more onto the bandits around the fire than onto the fire itself. It was just the right amount of wine for the fire: instead of the liquid quenching it, the flammability of the alcohol enhanced the fire, which leapt up mightily and set nearly a dozen men to blazing.          Since both Lander and Eurysakes were now fighting other bandits, Ariadne released her next arrow into a bandit who was sneaking up behind Atalanta, who was on the last of her three original foes.          Most of the battle now was chaos, men on fire running out of the cave in agony and terror, some bandits filling their arms with gold and weapons, others struggling to reach the fight around their looting friends, and still others simply trying to flee with their lives. Ariadne began to pick off the men who were trying to join the fight or were already leaving laden down with stolen treasure. Those who were fleeing empty-handed, she let go; there was only one of her, and she could only take down so many men, after all!          After she had taken down some seven or eight men, and even more of them seemed to be emerging from the very walls to engage Atalanta, Eurysakes and Lander in combat, Ariadne realized she could hear some commotion from the cave mouth. Turning to look, she saw a mob of bandits there, armed with bows and aiming into the cave.          Ariadne planted an arrow into the face of one of the men who seemed to be aiming at Atalanta. It became a contest of bows; she launching an arrow at one of the enemy archers and then ducking behind cover until she heard their arrows collide pointlessly against the pile of shields and chests she had hidden behind, then starting the process over again.          She had lost track of how many arrows she had fired in that manner when she became faintly aware of someone approaching her from behind. It *might* have been one of her allies, but the sounds of combat were still strong behind her, so surely Atalanta and Eurysakes were still thickly surrounded by enemies… Can’t take the risk: shoot first! (click: "Can’t take the risk: shoot first!")[(set: $action to "shoot first")(goto: "path2-2")] Prepare for an attack, but wait to see who it is (click: "Prepare for an attack, but wait to see who it is")[(set: $action to "prepare")(goto: "path2-2")]

         Uncomfortably, Ariadne shifted her aim towards Lander’s opponent. If he wasn’t able to follow the plan, there wouldn’t be enough chaos in the cave, and Ariadne would be too exposed to attack from the enemies who were currently still focused on the other three. (The fact that she only saw about twenty-five or so men was also disconcerting; where were all the other bandits?) She released the arrow, and it struck the man in the back, not killing him, but making him stumble enough that Lander was able to finish him off.          Ariadne already had another arrow prepared and aimed at Lander himself—just in case he turned on them—when he began following the plan. He grabbed the nearest amphora of wine, opened it, and threw the wine onto the central bonfire, splashing more of it onto the bandits around the fire than onto the fire itself. It was just the right amount of wine for the fire: instead of the liquid quenching it, the flammability of the alcohol enhanced the fire, which leapt up mightily and set nearly a dozen men to blazing.          Since Lander immediately set to fighting one of the other bandits, Ariadne decided he was probably on their side (at least for the moment), and released her arrow into a bandit who was sneaking up behind Atalanta, who had by now dispatched one of her foes. As Atalanta took down a second opponent, the cave was suddenly awash with the clatter of metal as Eurysakes was knocked over backwards into a pile of armor near the throne to which the bandit leader’s corpse had been pinned.          As Ariadne was preparing her next arrow to take out one of the two massive foes looming over the prone Eurysakes, one of them suddenly dropped back, clutching his unarmored leg and shouting up a storm in a language that Ariadne didn’t recognize. Her angle allowed her to see Eurysakes kicking the other man in his shins before he leapt back to his feet in a surprisingly agile manner (especially surprising given the heavy cuirass he was wearing), hurling half the pile of armor in the process, knocking his foes backwards into the bonfire, setting their clothes alight even as their bulk all but extinguished the fire itself.(set: $cave to "dark")          Seeing the lighting in the cave fall almost to nothing, Ariadne scowled, and began firing her arrows at the burning bandits as quickly as she could, desperate to bring them down while they were still inside, and before they could extinguish the flames on their clothing, as they were suddenly the only source of light she had to make sure she was shooting at enemies and not at Atalanta. (Lander hadn’t mentioned just how little light the rest of the cave gained from the tiny fire at the back! He had made it sound like it was just as effective as the full bonfire…)          Even though the loss of the light was going to make her less useful—possibly downright useless—in the rest of the fight, Ariadne could see that it had advantages, too; it would make it that much harder for the bandits to figure out where she was and come after her. Although she had a sword and a knife, she had no idea how to actually use them in combat, and she doubted her armor would do much to protect her considering how badly it fit her. If any of the bandits reached her, she would be in a lot of trouble, and yet she was actually in *less* danger than her original version of the plan had entailed.          If she had really been the daughter of Odysseus, like Atalanta continually kept insisting, she surely would have been able to come up with something better.          Not long after Ariadne took out the last of the burning bandits still running around—a few had fled the cave, and several more had gotten the fires in their clothes put out—she heard footsteps approaching her. Assume it’s one of the bandits and shoot first (click: "Assume it’s one of the bandits and shoot first")[(set: $action to "shoot first")(goto: "path3-2")] Prepare an arrow, but wait to see who it is before firing (click: "Prepare an arrow, but wait to see who it is before firing")[(set: $action to "prepare")(goto: "path3-2")]

(if: $action is "shoot first")[         Ariadne unleashed an arrow in the direction of the approaching footsteps as soon as she could get one notched. The bowstring sang and was rewarded with a man’s cry of pain from the darkness. Unfortunately, it was followed by an exclamation in Lander’s voice. “What’s wrong with you?” he demanded. “It’s just me!”          “Sorry,” Ariadne said, glad he couldn’t see her wince at his words. “Is it bad?”          “It’s just a flesh wound,” he grumbled, moving close enough that Ariadne could just make him out, and see her arrow sticking into the flesh of his arm, just above the elbow.](else:)[          Her heart thumping in her ears, Ariadne notched an arrow and aimed it at the approaching sounds in the darkness. She drew back on the string as the figure of a man began to become clear…and nearly shot Lander in the face. “You scared me!” she exclaimed.          “Sorry!” he whispered. “Didn’t mean to…”]          “What did you want? You were supposed to stay away from me so no one would know where I am,” she reminded him.          “I’m going to deal with the men by the cage,” Lander told her. “Don’t shoot in that direction, or you might hit me.”          “Just go do it!” she barked, figuring this wasn’t the time to give him a lecture about the fact that she was obviously not going to fire into the darkness and risk hitting her cousin, or the innocent girls in the cage.          As Lander left her side, Ariadne turned and launched an arrow into one of the men lingering just at the mouth of the cave, peering into the darkness with bows of their own prepared. They were the real threat now; the longer the fight went on in the darkness, the more likely they were to just start firing blindly, not caring if they took out their own allies or the captive girls.          By the time she had taken down four or five of them, the men at the cave mouth mostly seemed more interested in fleeing than in staying to fight, but that was no reason to let up in her assault. Now that they’d come this far, they had to finish the job as completely as possible, or the bandits might reform under a new leader and the people would suffer just as badly as they had before.          At the same time that she fired an arrow into a sixth man in the cave mouth, Ariadne heard quiet footsteps approaching her from behind. The footsteps sounded much like Lander’s, but were they? Probably the idiot coming back to say he couldn’t get the cage open; ignore him (click: "Probably the idiot coming back to say he couldn’t get the cage open; ignore him")[(set: $action to "dumbass")(goto: "path3-3")] Can’t take the risk: prepare for an enemy! (click: "Can’t take the risk: prepare for an enemy!")[(set: $action to "prepare")(goto: "path3-3")]

(if: $action is "prepare")[         Ariadne prepared an arrow as if to shoot at one of the enemies now fleeing from the cave mouth, then wheeled around as the footsteps behind her drew close enough that she should be able to see the man behind her.          It *wasn’t* Lander: a man a full head taller than Lander stood there, his face scraggly with a beard that had been awkwardly and unevenly cut back, yet still managed to have bits of food very prominently tangled in it.          Ariadne released her arrow, aiming it right at his face, but the man dodged to the side before launching himself at her, both his hands wrapping around her neck, causing her to drop her bow as she struggled to draw breath.          Kicking furiously at his legs caused the man to slam her up against the cave wall, then pull her back again, his grip having shifted to hold her from behind, one hand entirely encircling her throat, and the other gripping her around her torso, only her corselet protecting her from discovery as a girl.](else:)[         As Lander continued approaching her, Ariadne let loose another arrow, taking down yet another bandit, this one actively fleeing away from the cave.          It proved to be the worst tactical blunder she had ever made.          Rough hands grabbed her from behind, one of them encircling her entire throat, and the other grabbing her by the chest, only her armor keeping him from discovering the secret of her gender.] [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->hostage ariadne]]

“Drop your weapons!” her captor’s voice shouted from right behind her. “Drop them or your archer friend is dead!”          His shout led to (if: $cave is "dark")[the sound of] (if: $Lander is "dead")[two](else:)[three] swords clattering to the ground.          “You idiots!” Ariadne shouted as best she could. “Don’t listen to him!”          “I won’t hesitate to kill you, boy,” the man behind her sneered.          “I won’t let your friends kill my cousin,” she countered. Not that she exactly wanted to let them kill Eurysakes, either, but protecting *him* was not her job. Besides, he could probably take care of himself. Not like Atalanta, who believed the most ludicrous of stories as if they were true, and had the naïveté to expect others to be as trusting as she was.          “How sweet,” the man laughed. “You hear that, boys? You’ve got the little archer’s cousin out there. Cut his heart out and let this boy listen to the screams!”          Ariadne tried to stomp on his foot to force him to loosen his grip, but she missed his foot entirely, unable to turn her head to look for it. This really wasn’t the way she had wanted to die…          “You’ll not get me *that* easy, boy! You’re as weak as a little girl, too,” the man added, in a hoarse whisper, his breath hot on her neck, its foul odor nearly suffocating her. “You must be *really* young. What are you, twelve? Ten?”          “Try sixteen,” Ariadne chuckled. Maybe that would distract him…          “If you were that old, you wouldn’t be so tiny and weak. At sixteen, you’d be approaching manhood, but you’re still just a little—ggrrrhg!”          The man’s words were cut off in a guttural cry, and almost immediately his grip on her slackened, and then his hands fell away altogether, even as his weight entirely pushed down on her. Ariadne was knocked to the floor and rendered insensible between the impact of her head with the floor and that of the bandit’s head with her own. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->post-battle]]

Ariadne prepared an arrow as if to shoot at one of the enemies now fleeing from the cave mouth, then wheeled around as the footsteps behind her drew close enough that a shot to the neck would be fatal. She found herself facing a man about half a head taller than Atalanta, his face scraggly with a beard that had been awkwardly and unevenly cut back, yet still managed to have bits of food very prominently tangled in it.          Unfortunately, her aim had been expecting a shorter man, and the arrow that would have gone straight to the throat of a man Atalanta’s height instead struck the man pointlessly in his mangy bronze breastplate. The man launched himself at her, both his hands wrapping around her neck, causing her to drop her bow as she struggled to draw breath.          Kicking furiously at his legs caused the man to slam her up against the cave wall, then pull her back again, his grip having shifted to hold her from behind, one hand entirely encircling her throat, and the other gripping her around her torso, only her armor protecting her from discovery as a girl. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->hostage ariadne]]

(if: $action is "shoot")[         Ariadne turned and fired her arrow at the approaching footsteps, but rather than being rewarded with the sound of the bandit being struck, she was punished by the sound of coarse laughter. “Didn’t your papa ever teach you not to shoot in the dark?” the man laughed. “Missed me by leagues!”          She didn’t wait for more of that. Ariadne was scrambling to get away from him before he could take another step, crawling on all fours towards the other side of the cave, where she could hopefully find a hiding place where he wouldn’t be able to find her.          He must have known the layout of this part of the cave well. Rough hands grabbed her from behind before she had made it even halfway out of her hiding place, one of them encircling her entire throat, and the other grabbing her by the chest, only her armor keeping him from discovering the secret of her gender.](else:)[         Ariadne prepared an arrow as if to shoot at one of the enemies now fleeing from the cave mouth, then wheeled around as the footsteps behind her drew close enough that a shot to the neck would be fatal. She found herself facing a man about half a head taller than Atalanta, his face scraggly with a beard that had been awkwardly and unevenly cut back, yet still managed to have bits of food very prominently tangled in it.          Unfortunately, her aim had been expecting a shorter man, and the arrow that would have gone straight to the throat of a man Atalanta’s height instead struck the man pointlessly in his mangy bronze breastplate. The man launched himself at her, both his hands wrapping around her neck, causing her to drop her bow as she struggled to draw breath.          Kicking furiously at his legs caused the man to slam her up against the cave wall, then pull her back again, his grip having shifted to hold her from behind, one hand entirely encircling her throat, and the other gripping her around her torso, only her armor protecting her from discovery as a girl.] [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->hostage ariadne]]

Atalanta had been terrified at the sound of one of the bandits taking Ariadne hostage, but as soon as she had thrown down her weapon, she had come to a rather amusing realization: there were so few bandits left at that point that they weren’t really willing to fight anymore. Instead of trying to kill Atalanta and Eurysakes the instant they disarmed themselves, the remaining bandits had set off running for their lives while their young foes could no longer kill them in their flight. (if: $cave is not "dark")[Even more amusing was the fact that Ariadne’s captor couldn’t see his friends abandoning him, because Ariadne’s hiding place blocked most of the cave from his sight.]          By the time Atalanta could reach the side of the cave where Ariadne had been stationed with her bow, (if: $Lander is "dead")[Eurysakes](else:)[Lander] had already killed the bandit who had grabbed her, though Ariadne had somehow ended up unconscious beneath the bandit’s corpse. Still, the important thing was that she wasn’t hurt: she didn’t have any injuries that Atalanta could find, and she was breathing steadily.          (if: $Lander is "dead")[While Eurysakes was re-lighting the fire in the middle of the room and then releasing the kidnapped girls,](else:)[While Lander was opening the cage where the kidnapped girls had been locked up, Eurysakes re-lit the fire in the middle of the room.] Atalanta stayed by Ariadne’s side, waiting for her to wake up. Also, she didn’t want to walk around too much, because of the fairly large gash on her inner thigh. It wasn’t *too* painful, but she didn’t want to make anything worse. And she didn’t dare let Eurysakes(if: $Lander is not "dead")[ or Lander] know about it, since (if: $Lander is "dead")[he](else:)[they] might want to look at the wound, and she was quite sure (if: $Lander is "dead")[he’d](else:)[they’d] see a lot more than that if (if: $Lander is "dead")[he](else:)[they] did! Once Ariadne woke up, then she could bandage the wound, and Atalanta was sure she’d be fine; she always healed fast, after all.          Until then, though, she didn’t want to do any more walking. Or anything at all.          Actually, she was starting to feel a little light-headed.          It probably wasn’t anything to worry about…          …but maybe a quick nap would make her feel a little better… [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Chapter Eight]]

[[<img src="chapter8.jpg" width="750" height="915">->lair wait1]]

Atalanta was jolted awake by the feeling of something pressing up hard against her inner thigh. She opened her eyes with a shriek, trying to push her assailant away.          “Calm down, you idiot!” Ariadne yelled at her.          Looking around, Atalanta saw that Ariadne was binding up the gash on her thigh, while Eurysakes(if: $Lander is "dead")[ was](else:)[, Lander and a woman that Atalanta didn’t recognize were] watching from behind, with (if: $Lander is "dead")[a worried expression](else:)[worried expressions].          “You should have told (if: $Lander is "dead")[me](else:)[us],” Eurysakes said. “You could have bled to death.”          “It…it wasn’t that bad…” Atalanta claimed weakly.          “You’re absolutely covered in blood,” Ariadne pointed out, “and don’t even try to claim that it all belongs to the enemy! Your skin’s turned the color of a cloud! If I’d been out any longer, you’d be dead.”          “Oh. I’m sorry…”          “Just don’t do it again,” Ariadne sighed, shaking her head as she finished tying the binding in place. She sat back a little, and looked at the blood on her hands. “I hope that woman was telling you the truth about that flower,” she said slowly. “If it was poisonous…”          “You used one of the petals on my leg?” Atalanta asked, looking down at the bandaging. How long would it take to heal with the flower petal in the wound? Though without knowing precisely how long it would take to heal normally, there wasn’t too much point in wondering; she’d never be able to figure out how effective the flower remedy was.          “She used the whole flower,” Eurysakes answered, sounding a little sad.          “Given how bad the wound was…if that thing really did have any medicinal powers, I thought we’d need them all,” Ariadne said. “But right now I think you need something to eat. Is there any food?”          “Lots of it,” (if: $Lander is "dead")[Eurysakes](else:)[Lander] assured her. (if: $Lander is "dead")[“Enough for an army.”](else:)[“They’ve been raiding more than just our flocks.”]          “Well, roast some meat for us. (if: $Lander is "dead")[Atalanta](else:)[Atleus] really needs it, and to be honest I’m rather famished myself.”          (if: $Lander is "dead")[Eurysakes](else:)[Lander] nodded, and he (if: $Lander is not "dead")[and the woman—who must have been his sister Korinna—]set about slaughtering a sheep and preparing the meat for cooking. (if: $Lander is "dead")[Then he](else:)[Meanwhile, Eurysakes] retrieved Atalanta’s spear from the corpse of the bandit leader and brought it over to her. “We’ll want to keep a close eye on it,” he told her. “Don’t want anyone thinking it belonged to the bandits.”          Atalanta nodded, holding onto the spear tightly.          “Given half the court saw her with it, I don’t think we have to worry too much about that,” Ariadne sighed, shaking her head. “But I suppose it’s best not to risk having such a good weapon taken away from us, even for a little while.”          “What are we going to do with all their plunder?” Atalanta asked, looking at the mess of jewelry, weapons and other things littering the cave. “I mean, the stuff they didn’t already escape with. If we leave it here and go to tell the king’s men about it, the other bandits will just come back and take it all away again.”          “When the (if: $Lander is not "dead")[rest of the] captured girls left here, we asked them to make sure someone sent a message to the city to let the king know what had happened here,” Ariadne said. “I guarantee he’ll send someone to fetch the stuff.”          “Eutychos will probably catch up to us by tonight anyway,” Eurysakes added. Then he frowned. “It’s surprising he hasn’t found us already. He should have a horse. Maybe a chariot…”          “Couldn’t get a horse this high up the mountain,” Ariadne pointed out, “and a chariot even less so. I’m sure he’ll be here soon, though,” she agreed.          “Do you suppose the king will return everything the bandits stole?” Atalanta wondered aloud. “Our old master, he’d have kept it.”          “No question of that,” Ariadne agreed, laughing. “King Korythos doesn’t seem so greedy, though, despite who his father was. I think he’s likely to return at least some of it, if not all of it.”          “He will with me watching,” Eurysakes said firmly. “To impress my uncle. So there will be better trade.”          “Ooh, I hadn’t even thought of that,” Atalanta said, with a sigh. “I guess that’s the only reason he was so nice to us at all, isn’t it?”          “Most likely,” Eurysakes agreed. “Kings only entertain the highest nobility. Normally.”          Atalanta must have had a funny look on her face at that, because Ariadne laughed cheerfully, and nudged her in the arm. “What he means is, don’t get used to the fancy food we had at court, because we won’t be getting that anywhere else!”          Atalanta laughed, too. “But the food was the best part!”          The conversation fell into a quiet discussion of the feasts they had at court, and a mock argument about whether the subtly flavored meats or the honeyed fruit had been the best of the dishes they’d been served. They continued talking about it until Eurysakes brought over a golden platter with three large chunks of roast mutton on it. He handed the platter to Ariadne, then sat down so they could all eat together.          “Fifty-six,” he said to Ariadne, after swallowing his first bite.          “Really? I’m surprised it’s that high,” Ariadne commented, sounding thoughtful.          “Fifty-six what?” Atalanta asked.          “Corpses,” Eurysakes explained.          “So we each got around…um…fifteen or so each?” Atalanta said, though the number didn’t feel at all right somehow. “Nowhere near what our fathers would have done, but for our first real battle, it’s not bad…”          (if: $Lander is not "dead")[“I don’t think Lander got anywhere near that many,” Ariadne snickered. Fortunately, Lander didn’t seem to hear her, being over near the fire with his sister.          ]“It wasn’t *my* first real battle,” Eurysakes commented. “But it is not a bad total. Even for an experienced warrior. You can be proud,” he said, patting Atalanta’s arm.          Once they were done eating, (if: $Lander is not "dead")[Lander and Korinna left the cave, and] Atalanta was informed very sharply that she had to keep resting, despite that she desperately wanted to wander the cave and check out the spoils of their first major victory. Even though she knew that they wouldn’t actually get to *keep* any of those spoils. Not like her father got to keep the spoils of *his* victories, either; they had all gone to Agamemnon for redistribution. Thinking about that fact made Atalanta feel *very* odd indeed, given where they were and who they would be handing over these spoils to, and she hoped that her father wasn’t frowning on her for giving succor to his enemies. But they hadn’t *really* been his enemies. They had been King Menelaos’ enemies. So it had to be all right, surely.          Didn’t it? [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->lair wait2]]

Ariadne wasn’t worried when night fell and there was no sign of Eutychos coming to reprimand his comrade-in-deception for charging off without him, but when the following day reached its midpoint and he still hadn’t shown up, she started to worry. The three of them had spent the intervening time…well, mostly Ariadne had spent that time trying to force Atalanta to rest while Eurysakes first removed the corpses to a deeper chamber of the cave where they wouldn’t have to look at or smell them, and then sorted the stolen goods into weapons, armor, jewelry, wine, spices, textiles, and just about everything else that was even slightly portable. They had been very efficient (or simply exceptionally greedy) bandits, evidently.          By that evening, Eurysakes was also showing signs of being worried about Eutychos’ absence, so Ariadne decided to keep the conversation light and away from the subject, because she absolutely would *not* be able to ride herd on a wounded Atalanta without help. “What do you suppose will happen when we return to the city?” she asked no one in particular. “Do you think the king will try to give us an even more grand feast than that first one?”          Eurysakes laughed. “No doubt! We saved him from a great embarrassment. So few bandits should not stymie an army.”          There was certainly no arguing with that. The fact that they had been running so unchecked probably only proved that Korythos didn’t actually *care* that his people were being robbed of everything they had. Maybe even that he liked it this way. And yet that didn’t seem much like the man they had met; he had behaved in nearly every way like a model king…          “I want to go back to the temple of Athene,” Atalanta said, after an uneasy silence rested on the trio for some time. “I’m worried that maybe we got Rhoxane in trouble.”          “I doubt she’s in any trouble,” Ariadne said, “but I would like a chance to talk to her in private, yes. Make sure she doesn’t…didn’t come to any misconceptions.”          Atalanta nodded. “It’s kind of hard not to be worried about her in general, even without us having gone in there and made a scene,” she added. “What if the Trojans are treating her badly because she’s a Locrian?”          “After what their prince did to that poor girl—princess, rather—I couldn’t blame them if they did take it out on all the Locrians they meet,” Ariadne agreed, shaking her head. “I hope he suffered before he died.”          “Personally, I hope he’s suffering right now, in the depths of Tartaros,” Atalanta said, perhaps with a just a touch of venom.          Eurysakes chuckled. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” he told them. “He had no respect for anyone. Or anything.”          “Your uncle spends a lot of time talking about the war, doesn’t he?” Ariadne asked. She had lately begun to wonder if perhaps all of Eurysakes’ ‘my uncle’ talk was actually about Eutychos; perhaps Eutychos really had been part of the Salaminian division at Troy, and this deception he was engaged in now had been encouraged by nothing more than his nephew’s size being so similar to that of his late prince. “Hasn’t he got anything else to talk about?” Drawing him out for once instead of trying to shut him up might cause him to slip up…          “Some of what I know comes from my mother,” Eurysakes informed her. “But he does talk about it often. Of course he does. It was ten years of his life. There is much to tell.”          “Of course there is,” Atalanta agreed, then sighed sadly. “I wish I could hear my father’s stories from his own lips…”          “I wish I could, too,” Eurysakes said, his voice trembling. Not back to this again! Whether he was a good liar or truly the son of a deceased father—Ariadne kept changing her mind about which seemed more likely to be the truth—it wasn’t informative or pleasant either way!          “Personally, I’d just prefer it if people stopped talking about the war entirely,” Ariadne said. “It was a ghastly waste of human life for the most absurd of reasons. We’d all be better off forgetting it ever happened.”          “What would stop it happening again?” Eurysakes said, shaking his head. “Best to remember. Remember instead of repeat.”          “Well…yes, I suppose so, but…I rather doubt anything so absurd even *could* happen again. Most men wouldn’t be daft enough to run off with the queen of a powerful enemy city, and most jilted husbands aren’t capable of raising such a large army to use to chase their wives down again.”          Eurysakes laughed. “That’s true,” he agreed.          “Anyway, let’s talk about something more pleasant,” Ariadne suggested.          “Like what?”          “I don’t know! *Anything*!” Ariadne was by now sick and tired of hearing about that stupid war.          Atalanta smiled at her warmly. “Hey, when we’re off traveling Hellas someday, just the two of us, did you still want to be a hired spear and a bard, or were you wanting to be a hired bow?”          Ariadne laughed. “I don’t think there’s any such thing as a hired bow.” She shook her head. “Bard is a safer line of work, anyway. Much less chance of being killed.”          “Unless you can’t sing well!” Eurysakes laughed.          “My singing voice was considered quite good enough for the king’s feasts in Methymna, I’ll have you know!”          “But you haven’t sung a single note since we escaped,” Atalanta pointed out. “Your voice will get all crusty like an old spear if you don’t use it.”          “It doesn’t work like that,” Ariadne sighed.          “Still, you should practice,” Atalanta insisted. “And that way we won’t be sitting here talking about the war, right?”          “Oh, you want me to sing *now*?” Ariadne replied, as if she was feeling terribly put-upon by the request, more to hide how warm it made her feel inside than anything else.          Atalanta insisted that she did, and Eurysakes also expressed his interest in hearing, so Ariadne let out a deep, ludicrously weary sigh, then loudly lamented that she had no choice but to waste her golden tones in such a vile, unsuitable setting, and begged Aoide to forgive her for such a blasphemy against song itself. Luckily, she did know a few comical songs to follow up such an overstated performance… [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->herald arrives]]

Atalanta woke in the early hours of the morning to the clamor of many voices, all of them male. For just a moment, she worried that the bandits had returned, but as she rose and joined her cousins in the cave mouth, she saw that the men approaching them all wore the armor of the king’s guards, and were being led by one of the girls who had been held prisoner by the bandits. Accompanying the guards was the Achaian-speaking herald from the court, who bowed before the three of them.          “It is a great joy worthy of many thanks to all the gods to see that the king’s young guests have not only accomplished such a great task but also all live to tell the tale themselves. The young lady who reported on your deeds had said one of you was badly injured; I am delighted to see this is not the case.”          “My cousin was actually fairly badly injured in the battle,” Ariadne said, “but thanks to a local healing herb, he is much recovered.”          “That is most excellent news,” the herald said. “If you are all well enough to walk, there is a chariot awaiting you at the foot of the mountain. The guards will bring the recovered stolen goods back to the city in the wagons.”          “Lead the way, good herald,” Eurysakes said, nodding his head.          The herald started back down the mountainside by a different path than the one (if: $Lander is "dead")[poor] Lander had used to bring them to the cave, and they followed him, a bit unsteadily on Atalanta’s part, since Ariadne had barely let her take two steps since the battle.          “What’s going to happen to all these things the bandits stole?” Atalanta asked, as she watched the guards beginning to bring heavy loads of weapons out of the cave.          “That will be for the king to decide, young sir,” the herald replied. “I have no doubt that his majesty will do whatever is best for the people of Troy.”          That would make him decidedly unlike his father, Atalanta thought, with a grim chuckle, but since she’d already known that anyway, she didn’t see any point in saying so.          They didn’t walk far before Eurysakes set a heavy hand on the herald’s shoulder. “Where are my men?” he asked. “I expected Eutychos. Why did he not follow me here?”          “Ah, the other men from Cypros departed for Lemnos,” the herald said. “A ship arrived from that island and reported that it was under attack by a most brutal barbarian horde. Not being sure if the Lemnians would be able to defend themselves or if they had managed to send out heralds to any of the nearer ports, your men decided it was their duty to help their fellow Achaians themselves.” The herald smiled at him consolingly. “They delayed their departure nearly half a day searching for you, but as you had left the city without telling anyone…”          Eurysakes cleared his throat uncomfortably, and withdrew his hand again. “If I had known…” he started, but stopped without going any further. Atalanta wasn’t sure if she’d be more worried about being in trouble or if she’d be more worried about Eutychos’ safety if she was him, but either way, it seemed awful.          “Why would Lemnians send to *Troy* of all places to get help?” Ariadne asked incredulously.          “Oh, they did not, young sir!” the herald assured her, with a laugh. “It was a Phoenician ship that had merely been in port in Lemnos, and was passing through our fine city on its way to Hattusa. They saw the marauders arrive shortly after they departed, and saw the smoke of the fires rising from the cities. They mentioned it to us only because they feared there would be no one left in Lemnos to trade with when they next passed by the island.”          Everyone looked disturbed by the herald’s words, and they walked on in silence. It sounded strange to Atalanta in more ways than she could count, but she knew so little of the ways of the world—and knew nothing about Lemnos whatsoever except that it was where her father and his comrades had taken slaves and captured goods to trade them for food and weapons during the war, as well as the port where the *Argo* had dallied for a year to help repopulate the island—that she couldn’t be sure there was anything actually wrong with the herald’s story other than the general awfulness that such things were still happening less than twenty years after so many had been slaughtered in such a pointless war. Small raids were one thing, but this sounded like a truly massive attack bent on destruction, not merely gaining a few slaves or single ship’s worth of other loot.          They remained quiet until they reached the chariot that was waiting for them. It was a beautiful chariot, trimmed with gold, and the horses wore bronze armor with silver inlay. Though it was a large chariot—if small compared to the many wagons waiting beside it—it wasn’t large enough for the charioteer, the herald and the three of them. Thankfully, Eurysakes had experience driving a chariot, so the charioteer remained behind to help the other guards with the bandits’ loot, letting Eurysakes handle the horses. Even so, it was still a tight squeeze with the four of them!          As Eurysakes whipped the horses into action and the chariot started moving incredibly quickly, Atalanta reflected that it would be a more pleasant ride if it wasn’t a battle chariot. There was a quiver built into the side wall and it was pressing up against her calf, just above her greaves. In a battle situation, that would be useful, but right now it was just unpleasant. Still, since she and Ariadne were relatively small, and no one was trying to throw any spears or fire off any arrows, it was all right.          She soon lost all interest in the quiver anyway: having never experienced anything like that chariot ride before, Atalanta was swept away by the sheer excitement of it. They were moving so very quickly! It had taken them days to walk from Troy to Mount Ida, but it barely took half a day to ride back in the chariot! It was the closest to flying she had ever experienced, outside of dreams of encountering the winged horse Pegasos, yet this was really happening!          If the cut to her thigh wasn’t still aching, it would have been perfect.          When they arrived in the city, the herald instructed Eurysakes on the streets to take in order to drive the chariot all the way up to the royal stables, where the ostlers could see to putting away the horses and chariot. The herald told them that servants would be sent to the same chambers they had used before in order to get them bathed and dressed before the feast. He also offered the services of a healer to see to Atalanta’s wound, but Ariadne refused immediately, insisting it wasn’t necessary.          As Ariadne led the way back to their chamber, tugging her by the hand at all too fast a pace, Atalanta felt a burning pain lancing through her leg. The pain spread through her body until it felt as though the whole palace was on fire, collapsing on her head in retribution… [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->crying fit]]

This time, Ariadne had a great deal of difficulty dismissing the girls who wanted to help them bathe. It wasn’t hard to see why, of course; half of Atalanta’s leg had gone crimson, her face was pale and she was sweating heavily. After she’d been fine all this time, *now* the wound was acting up? And there was precious little Ariadne would be able to do about it without them finding themselves in even more trouble—and danger—than they were already in…          “Ariadne…maybe…maybe the healer…is a good idea?” Atalanta said, her words barely more than grunts as she sat down on the bed.          Ariadne shook her head, and took a position right in front of Atalanta, lifting her head by the chin so they were looking right into each other’s eyes. “You know that isn’t a good idea. We don’t dare let anyone find out we’re really girls.”          “But—”          “Atalanta, I don’t think it’s even possible for a healer to look at your wound without the truth literally staring them in the face.”          Now Atalanta’s face was just as red as her leg, and she could only weakly stammer.          “Hopefully, that flower did actually close up the wound,” Ariadne said, though Atalanta’s current state didn’t encourage the belief. “How does it feel?” Aside from its obvious inflammation.          “Like a punishment from the gods.”          “Uh…that’s…” Ariadne coughed. “I’m just going to remove the bandage and have a look at it, all right?”          Atalanta nodded uncomfortably, and Ariadne knelt down in front of the bed, gently parting Atalanta’s legs so she could get at the bandage. Despite the red coloration of the wounded leg, the flesh didn’t feel any warmer than the flesh on the other leg; Ariadne hoped that was a good sign. Carefully, she used her knife to cut the bandage away from Atalanta’s thigh. Surprisingly, the wound was entirely closed: about half of it was still just scabbed over, and the other half had already become pale scar tissue. Ariadne put her fingers on the wound, some on the scar and the rest on the scab.          Surprisingly, Atalanta giggled, and pushed her away. “That tickles!”          “It didn’t hurt?”          “No, not…I mean…everything hurts…but sort of…a throbbing behind the surface?”          Ariadne sighed at that nonsensical description, and stood up again. “Well, the wound is entirely closed, and despite the color of your leg, it doesn’t actually seem to be infected.” She’d seen enough infected wounds on other slaves over the years to know that infected wounds were usually quite hot, typically swollen, and definitely caused a lot of pain when touched. “So whatever’s wrong…I don’t think it’s because of your injury.” She was at a loss to say just what *was* wrong, though. “Can you…do you have any idea why…when…what…” Ariadne stopped, rubbing her temples with the fingers of one hand. “Tell me what happened. You seemed completely fine in the chariot.”          Atalanta nodded, biting her lip. “I just…my leg started to hurt…and then…I..I felt like…like all the…like the all the Trojan dead were…were trying to take vengeance on me…for everything my father did…for all the lives that were taken…”          “Oh, for—Atalanta, no dead person would ever blame *you* for things your father did before you were born!” To say nothing of the fact that no matter what Atalanta believed, Achilles was *not* her father! “Only the living are that unreasonable,” she added, since Atalanta did not look much consoled.          “But what about the lives *I* took?” Atalanta replied, her eyes suddenly spilling tears.          “What?”          “I—there were—what was it, fifteen of them? Plus that man in the woods—that man I turned to *pulp*!”          “Atalanta, calm down,” Ariadne said, sitting down beside her and putting an arm around her, trying to keep her from hyperventilating. “No one in the entire Troad—in all of Anatolia!—would blame you for killing those men.”          Atalanta shook her head feverishly. “But they were free-born men, and I’m just a runaway slave!” she wailed. “What right would I have to harm them!?”          “Free-born *bandits*!” Ariadne reminded her. “And you have no way of knowing if they’d been born free, anyway! They might all have been runaway slaves, too. Besides, aren’t you the one who’s always saying that no one had any right to treat the daughter of Achilles as a slave?” When in doubt, pander…          Hiccoughing spasms of tears shook Atalanta’s frame, even as she nodded. “But what if you’re the one who’s right?” she asked. “What if I—what if I’m really just an ordinary slave girl? Then I had no right to run away or—”          “Atalanta, no man has any right to call another person his property! I don’t care how many men claim it’s just; it will never be anything but a monstrosity. And that man who called himself our master had you regularly beaten for the least offense,” Ariadne reminded her sharply. “We should have run away years ago!” Gently, she stroked the back of Atalanta’s short red hair. “And no matter who your father was, you’re not an ordinary slave girl—you’re not an ordinary girl at all. *I’m* an ordinary girl, but you? How many ordinary girls are as strong as you are? How many ordinary girls can fight like you can?”          “But—but—but—but—”          Atalanta’s attempt to form a reply was cut off as the door to the chamber was opened. Ariadne looked over in alarm, and had only a moment of relief on seeing that it was Rhoxane who opened the door, because over Rhoxane’s shoulder she could see that Ganymede was standing in the alcove across the hall, staring right back at her, his face an unreadable mask.          Rhoxane closed the door before Ariadne could confirm that she had *really* seen him, and ran over to them. “You have to be more careful!” Rhoxane said, in a throaty whisper. “I heard your whole conversation in the corridor!”          “You—you did?” Atalanta asked, her tears coming faster.          “You’re lucky I was alone in the hall,” Rhoxane said, sitting down on Atalanta’s other side and taking her other hand. Ariadne hoped that meant she had only *imagined* that Ganymede was behind Rhoxane, not that he had been so hidden in shadows that Rhoxane hadn’t noticed him. “What would you do if some of these Trojan men heard that you two were runaway slaves? Or who your father was,” she added, in an even quieter whisper.          “That much they’ve already assumed,” Ariadne sighed.          “Because of my hair?” Atalanta asked.          “Mostly because of that spear,” Ariadne said, shaking her head. Then, much against her will, she gave a summary of the private conversation she had with King Korythos shortly before they left the city before. “I’m afraid our victory over the bandits will have cemented the idea in their minds.” For a ‘son of Aias’ to defeat nearly sixty men aided only by two puny barbarian boys would be unthinkable to most men, but for him to do so while aided by a ‘son of Achilles’ would seem all too believable, especially to a Trojan.          “What…what do I do?” Atalanta’s lower lip trembled long after she finished speaking.          “For the moment, we have to pretend we don’t know they think that, I suppose,” Ariadne sighed. “And we need to bathe and get the grime off us before we’re called to the feast.”          “Oh. Do you want me to leave?” Rhoxane asked sadly.          Ariadne smiled at her, and shook her head. “No, of course not. Who knows how many other chances we’ll have to talk.”          For a moment, the three of them sat there in an uncomfortable silence, Atalanta’s eyes still producing copious tears, but her sobs having stilled considerably. Ariadne got up and went over to the door, opening it slightly to look into the hall. Whether or not it was before, the alcove across the way was empty now. Hoping it had been all along and that she had only imagined she saw Ganymede there, she shut the door again, and moved the screen in front of it as it had been before when they were bathing.          Returning to the bedside, she smiled at Atalanta in what she hoped was a comforting manner. “Why don’t you try to bathe now,” she suggested. “Before the water gets any colder.”          Atalanta bit her lip, then nodded. As she was removing her armor and heading over to the small stone tub, Ariadne sat down where she had been, and looked at Rhoxane. “Are you sure you’re both all right?” Rhoxane whispered.          “I’m never sure of that,” Ariadne sighed. “But we’re not physically injured…” Something seemed to have *mentally* injured Atalanta after their return to the palace, but her *body* was fine…          “I’m glad,” Rhoxane said, clasping Ariadne’s hand. “I’ve been worried about you two; I heard you were setting off to fight an army of bandits.”          “There were fewer than a hundred of them, and we only ended up fighting about half of them,” Ariadne assured her. “But what about you? Did you get in trouble because of us?”          Rhoxane shook her head. “No more than usual. You saw the way the head priestess reacts every time a boy—or someone she *thinks* is a boy—talks to me or Myrto. She wouldn’t let up watching me like a ravenous eagle all that day, and as soon as the worshippers went home again, she gave me a long lecture about purity, and spent a while cursing the lechery of every Locrian ever born.” She giggled slightly. “She does that almost every day. I’m used to it.”          “That sounds awful,” Ariadne laughed. “What about the other people you meet? Are they treating you badly?”          “No, apart from the head priestess, everyone’s been very nice,” Rhoxane assured her.          “I’m glad to hear it.” Ariadne paused, and glanced over at where Atalanta was rather pathetically trying to wash herself. “If you could stay here long enough to help us bind our breasts again—” Atalanta being so bad at it that Ariadne had basically been binding her own breasts unaided, “—I’d appreciate it, but then you should probably get back to the temple before you can get in serious trouble.”          “Of course,” Rhoxane agreed, with a warm smile and a squeeze of Ariadne’s hand. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->celebratory feast]]

By the time they were on their way to the feast, Atalanta’s pain had become tolerably dulled, though her leg was still hideously red. Eurysakes looked at her with concern when they met up with him at the entrance to the megaron, but he didn’t say anything, and they made their way in to present themselves to the king in silence. Both King Korythos and Lord Ganymede looked at Atalanta’s leg with more curiosity and maybe slight confusion than any kind of alarm. “Did something happen to your leg, young man?” Korythos asked warmly.          Atalanta laughed uncomfortably. “Um…I’m not…actually…uh…” She looked to Ariadne, finding she had no idea how to answer that question.          “My cousin *was* wounded in the battle,” Ariadne said, “but the red color you’re seeing wasn’t caused by his injury. We’re not sure what happened, actually. I think maybe he was stung by a gadfly on the journey back to the city.”          Even as the entire court nodded their acceptance of Ariadne’s explanation, Atalanta had to admit to herself that it might actually be the truth. It made about as much sense as anything else, anyway. It might even explain that hysterical fit she’d had, too. Maybe.          The whole court was soon seated at the feast, which was even finer than the first one had been. After Korythos spent all too long thanking Eurysakes—and *only* Eurysakes—for defeating the bandits that had so long plagued his people, Atalanta couldn’t hold herself back after one of the other men of the court commented that “Even for a warrior as powerful as your father, it would have been no mean feat to conquer so many men unaided!”          “Unaided!?” Atalanta repeated, despite herself. “What are we, then?! Helpless observers?!” Ariadne elbowed Atalanta in the ribs, *hard*, even as Atalanta was gesturing to the two of them.          The king chuckled. “Please forgive him,” he said. “He did not witness your sparring match, and has no idea how skillful a warrior you are. But did your cousin here also fight, or did he serve merely in an advisory capacity?”          “My skills are primarily in archery,” Ariadne told him.          “And in planning!” Atalanta objected. “We’d have been lost trying to fight them without your strategy.”          Of course, King Korythos insisted that they give him the whole story in its every detail. It was going well until the first time they mentioned (if: $Lander is "dead")[poor] Lander. Of course, Korythos wanted to know who he was, so Atalanta explained that he was “the son of a shepherd we met on Mount Ida.”          The king’s face soured. “I see. A word of advice, boy. Don’t associate with lowly peasants like shepherds. Not if you wish to remain at my court.”          Swallowing nervously, Atalanta nodded. She wasn’t sure what had happened, but she knew she didn’t like it, and didn’t want it to happen again. They all sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment or two, until Eurysakes started slowly attempting to recount the tale of the battle in the bandits’ cave. He was speaking even more slowly than usual, so it was a little painful to listen to, but it was better than the awkward silence that had preceded it.          The tale was improved, of course, by Ariadne taking over the telling, with only the occasional comment from Eurysakes to add emphasis or clarify something Ariadne hadn’t been able to see. Korythos seemed quite entranced by the tale—as did most of the court, really—but Atalanta never quite settled back down after his reaction to the mention of Doran. She hoped it was just the gadfly sting—or whatever it was—acting back up again that was making her so nervous and uneasy.          Once the tale was over, King Korythos turned his attention back to Atalanta, embarrassingly right when she had a mouth full of food. “Did the healers come to look at your wound?”          After swallowing her food, she smiled nervously. “No, they didn’t, your majesty,” she said, “but it seems to be healing well. The healing herb we’d been provided did its job.”          “Healing herb?” he repeated. “What healing herb?”          “It was a flower, sire,” Ariadne explained, “silvery in color, edged with blue the color of deep water at sea. I don’t know the name of it; I’ve never seen such a flower before.”          Korythos nodded thoughtfully. “I have. Yes, with such a flower applied as a poultice, you should recover quite rapidly. It is not easily obtained, however. How did you three boys find it?”          “It was a gift,” Atalanta explained, “from a woman we encountered in the forest. She was being beset by some bandits, and when we saved her, she gave us that flower and told us how to use it.”          “A woman?” the king repeated curiously. “What sort of woman?”          “Well…she was very beautiful,” Atalanta answered, uneasily, little knowing what else she could say. “Unusual, though. Almost unearthly.”          “I thought she might be Selene herself,” Eurysakes added quietly, with a bit of a red face.          The court was silent for a moment—apart from a few courtiers whispering to each other in confusion because they didn’t know enough about the Hellenic gods to know who Selene was—then the king laughed quite heartily. “I see, I see! Yes, I think I know who she was,” he told them, nodding. “You are very fortunate to have met her.”          “Was she truly only mortal?” Eurysakes asked, sounding disappointed. Korythos didn’t answer, only laughed.          “Mount Ida holds a very holy status, but like every other place it is primarily peopled only with ordinary mortals,” Ganymede informed him. “The flower you described is one of many of the plants with healing properties that grow there.”          “Why are there so many growing in one place?” Ariadne asked. “Back home in Hyperborea, you would have to travel for days between spots where such plants can be found.”          “Some say it is because Mount Ida was the birthplace of the divine mother,” a particularly elderly man of the court said.          “Gaia?” Atalanta said, confused. Wouldn’t the mountain be *part* of Gaia? Wasn’t she the ground beneath their feet? Except that didn’t really make too much sense, either; she’d never quite understood how that worked…          The old man laughed. “Not that one,” he said, “though I’m impressed a young lad like yourself from so far to the north would even know of the Ahhiyawa mother goddess. While all the peoples of this world may think they know the truth of the divine origins, it is only we here in the shadow of Ida who understand the real—”          “Three such young boys do not want a lengthy lecture on religious philosophy,” Ganymede said harshly, cutting him off, “nor do most of the other men here.”          “Oh? But I was hoping to learn more about the Hyperborean religion and how it differs from our own,” the old man said, causing King Korythos to laugh with an almost mean look at Ganymede.          “I’m sorry to disappoint you, especially since our faith dictates that we ought to revere the elderly, but to say any more about our religion than I already have would be in violation of the wishes of our gods,” Ariadne said, bowing her head towards the old man.          “It is hardly a fitting discussion for a celebratory feast anyway,” Korythos said, waving his hand dismissively in the direction of both Ariadne and the old man. “We should be speaking only in praise of the victory of you three young lads!” He laughed. “I’m sure if your grandfather had lived to hear of your mighty victory, he would greatly lament not having you as his heir,” he went on, looking at Eurysakes. “Wait, but if he is already deceased, and with both you and his surviving son in Cypros, who rules in Salamis now?”          Eurysakes sighed sadly. “My father had a wife before the war,” he explained, even though Eutychos had mentioned that at that first feast. “She bore him a son, too. He has inherited Salamis and Megara.”          “Such a pity that so great-hearted a warrior as yourself has no inheritance to call his own!” the king lamented. “Such things should really be based on merit, don’t you agree?”          “I have no desire to rule, your majesty,” Eurysakes assured him.          Korythos did not seem to believe that claim, or at least he didn’t understand it, and he began a speech of considerable length, all about the responsibilities of rulership, and the delights that follow upon proper completion of those responsibilities. Given what Doran had to say about King Korythos and kings in general, Atalanta wondered if he really had any right to talk about how great monarchy was, and how any man should naturally want to strive for kingship, especially not when he’d been willing to drive his subjects into a civil war in order to wrest the throne away from Aineias. None of it seemed the least bit right to Atalanta, anyway. If there weren’t kings, then there wouldn’t have been a war over Helen, and maybe her father and Eurysakes’ father would still be alive! Then again, if the war hadn’t happened, she and Ariadne and Eurysakes would never have been born, so she probably shouldn’t curse the war itself *too much*. But surely the value of all the people who had died in the war was far greater than that of the few people born because of it! [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->forge and amazons]]

Despite being back in a soft and comfortable bed in the city, Ariadne awoke in the morning feeling unrested, and although she couldn’t remember her dreams, she was quite sure they had all been awful. Even worse, Atalanta woke in a cold sweat, and reported having been tormented the whole night by awful dreams that insisted on being forgotten (whatever that meant), and her leg was still bright red and she insisted that its ache was, if anything, even worse than before, though Ariadne was glad to see that the cut on her thigh was even more fully healed than it had been the previous night, about a third of the scabs having fallen off to reveal more scar tissue. Whatever that flower had been, its healing properties were quite astonishing!          After being brought a simple breakfast of breads and fruits, which they ate alone in the room, the girls left the room to see what was going to happen to them now. Ariadne was painfully aware of just how *trapped* they really were in the palace; until the Cypriot ship returned to (hopefully) give them passage to Achaian-controlled territory, they hardly dared leave the palace, lest some ally or former visitor of their former master see them and expose their true natures, forcing them back into slavery—or more likely directly into the jaws of death. That being the case, she planned to make sure not to leave Eurysakes alone until his master had returned and they were safely sailing away from Troy.          However, it turned out that Eurysakes was evidently even more agitated than Ariadne was at not seeing Eutychos and his men, as he had left the palace at first light, according to the servants, headed for the docks. He only returned late in the morning, when a herald fetched him because the king wished for the three of them to appear before him again. Atalanta asked him an astonishing breadth of questions about what had happened while he was at the docks, but he would not answer any of them; he merely frowned in a disconcerted way and grunted.          When the three of them were presented before the king in his megaron again, he smiled down at them warmly from his cold throne. “As you may have heard while you were on your mission, I had offered to reward greatly any man—or men—who could save my kingdom from those bandits. However, the reward I had in mind was a paltry thing unsuitable for such noble guests as yourselves—particularly the post in my personal guards!—so I thought I would ask you yourselves what you would care to receive from me in gratitude for your heroism.”          “Great deeds are their own reward,” Ariadne answered, bowing low before him. “We shouldn’t wish to seem greedy by asking for any reward beyond knowledge that we have succeeded in our task, your majesty.” No matter what they might request, it would be more trouble than it was worth! Best to escape Troy as soon as the Cypriot ship returned…and be grateful they still had their lives.          “And indeed you do not,” Korythos agreed. “But do not force me to be an ungrateful and unworthy host by failing to reward you for your actions, so far beyond what is appropriate or expected of a guest.”          “If it isn’t too much trouble,” Atalanta said, her voice almost trembling, “Arios and I could really use new armor. This Cypriot armor is very nice, but it’s not really the right size for us.”          “A trivial reward, but certainly a sensible one,” the king said, nodding. “I should like you to be outfitted in the manner to which you are accustomed, but I fear I have never had any Hyperborean guests before; I have no idea what your native armaments look like, and certainly have none of their type on hand to offer you. I should be glad to have my blacksmiths create new armor for you in your native style, however. Will that be acceptable?”          “It is most generous of you, your majesty,” Ariadne said, “but we are unworthy of such generosity, and we would hate to incommode your smiths in such a laborious task.”          “Making armor is their sole duty, young man,” Korythos laughed. “It is hardly an imposition on *them*. Unless you think they would be unable to create armor worthy of your people?” Though he smiled as he said it, there was a coldness, almost a threat in his eyes.          “Of course not, sire,” Ariadne assured him, trying to be the very picture of warmth and gratitude. “It is just that my cousin and I are not important among our people; to receive such a gift from a king is far above our station.”          “But your actions have merited even greater rewards, I assure you,” the king said. “The matter is concluded; my smiths will craft you armor to your specifications.” He looked at Eurysakes. “And what of you, young prince? What gift might you desire to thank you for saving my realm from the bandits?”          “I have nothing to request,” Eurysakes answered. “My needs are few.”          King Korythos sighed deeply. “Well, it will undoubtedly take my blacksmiths some time to create the armor for your friends. Perhaps you will be able to think of a suitable reward in that time.”          “I will endeavor to do so, sire,” the youth replied.          Seemingly satisfied, the king ordered one of his courtiers to take the ‘two Hyperborean guests’ to see the blacksmiths, so that they could describe the armor they needed. Thankfully, Atalanta had the sense to keep quiet and let Ariadne do all the talking in describing their ‘native’ armor style. Ariadne did her best to invent armor that sounded useful while also being distinct from the armor worn by any of the local cultures, though she soon found herself resorting to the rather vague claim that it was similar in many respects to Amazon armor, particularly in its emphasis on retaining mobility and flexibility, as archery on horseback was very important to Hyperboreans, since they often had to defend themselves against attacking gryphons while they were riding between their well-spaced towns.          Once she had invented their ‘native’ armor style to the satisfaction of the artisans who were to make it, then it became time to measure them so that the armor would fit. Thankfully, she was able to come up with a crazy Hyperborean custom to save them from a quick and mortifying discovery, because it turned out that being touched by a foreigner in a forge was a terrible, terrible sin in Hyperborea! So they had to measure each other, an arrangement that worked out well for everyone.          When that was finally over, they returned to their assigned room, and Atalanta had to take a nap because she was in so much pain. Ariadne was too worried about her to leave her side, but she didn’t seem substantially better by the evening meal. That night’s feast was much more lively—despite that Eurysakes seemed to have stopped being merely taciturn and begun being positively as silent and gloomy as a stone—because at some point in the afternoon, a contingent of Amazons had arrived in Troy, and were now the guests of the king.          Atalanta briefly perked up with excitement at the idea of meeting real live Amazons, but they continually gave her cold glares and whispered among themselves in their own tongue, until Atalanta was just as gloomy as Eurysakes. Sitting between the two of them was less than pleasant, to say the least.          Still, Ariadne was hopeful that Atalanta would be feeling better in the morning—she usually perked up so quickly after any injury or illness, after all!—and that they would be able to convince the Amazons to tell them all about their own ways, so that when they reached Hellas, Ariadne would be able to successfully claim an Amazon origin for them.          To her surprise and dismay, however, Atalanta was if anything feeling even worse in the morning. She didn’t even feel very excited by the idea of going to speak to the Amazons: “They won’t want to talk to me,” she insisted, but Ariadne assured her she was wrong.          Unfortunately, she wasn’t. When they reached the corridor where the Amazons were staying, two of their soldiers blocked the hall with their spears. “No one passes without permission,” they said. “Our lady will not be disturbed by the likes of *you*.”          Atalanta bit her lip and was nearly in tears as she started trying to apologize. “Ata—Atleus, they meant both of us, not—” Ariadne began to say, trying to calm her down.          “*You* may enter,” one of the Amazons interrupted to inform her, “but the one with the hair of the beast may not.”          Ariadne frowned. Wasn’t red hair supposed to be *more* common in the north—and weren’t Amazons from the north, near Scythia? “But…” she started, then stopped immediately, unsure how in the world to respond to the sudden and unexpected notion that Amazons had some kind of superstition against red hair.          “It’s okay, Arios,” Atalanta said, with a weak smile. “I’d rather go lie down anyway. I’m in a lot of pain.”          “Maybe I should stay with you, then.”          “No, if they’ll talk to you, then you should learn everything you can,” Atalanta said, squeezing Ariadne’s hands warmly. “I’ll be fine.” Ariadne knew it was a lie, but she couldn’t bring herself to say so, and instead only watched uneasily as Atalanta slowly made her way back down the passage towards their own chamber.          Uneasily, Ariadne allowed herself to be led into the chamber where the leader of the Amazon party was resting and idly cleaning her weapons, accompanied by several of her companions. “I expected to see you, young one,” she commented, with a harsh laugh. Her Achaian was heavily accented in a way that Ariadne was not accustomed to, but not difficult to understand.          “I…why did your guards let me in but not let in my cousin?” Ariadne asked. “The king’s servants said you would send us both away, allowing no men into your—” She couldn’t finish before the room was filled with laughter.          “You may be fooling these men, little girl, but you can’t fool *us*,” the Amazon leader said. “Particularly not when you bind your breasts that badly.”          Instinctively, Ariadne lifted a hand before her chest. “I..is it…really…that bad?”          The leader nodded. “Sit, child. Let us speak like equals. If you are as skilled as King Korythos says, then you are certainly our equal. Bring our guest some refreshments,” she added, gesturing to one of the other Amazons.          “Right away, Antianeira!” one of them exclaimed, before hurrying out of the room.          Ariadne sat down on one of the cushions before Antianeira, willing herself not to be unnerved just because this woman—a battle-scarred veteran who appeared to be in her forties—had seen through her disguise. “You didn’t answer my question,” she said. “Why did your guards bar my cousin? Surely they didn’t see that I’m female and think that *she* was male?” Atalanta’s had to be the worse deception, with so much of her long, shapely legs exposed!          Antianeira frowned. “I have been to holy Ilios many times,” she said. “The first time I accompanied my aunt, our great Queen Penthesileia, when she came in her exile to seek purification from King Priam for her blood guilt.”          “What does that have to do with it?”          “Do you really have to ask that!?” one of the other Amazons snapped.          “Calm yourself, Hipponike,” their leader said, shaking her head. “I was there when her slayer brought my aunt’s body back to the city. No matter how many tears he shed as he did so, no matter how much he claimed he hadn’t wished to kill such a beautiful woman, I will never forgive him for her death—nor could I forget his hateful features even if I were drowned in the river of forgetfulness itself!”          A small part of Ariadne was rather amused to hear Achilles’ face being described as hateful rather than the usual description of it being a thing of great beauty, but she did *not* like where this was going. “But my cousin is—I know people claim there’s a resemblance there, but it’s *impossible*! Those men were lying when they said they were Achaian princes! Our fathers were liars and thieves!”          “Of course they were,” one of the other Amazons laughed. “They were Achaian princes. What can be more thieving than that?”          “But—no—no, you have to be mistaken—it’s just a coincidence…” Surely these Amazons weren’t also part of some kind of vast plot! It didn’t make sense! “They *were* ***not*** who they claimed to be!”          Antianeira let out a sad laugh. “You feel so strongly on the subject?”          “If you’d had to grow up listening to your closest kin insist that she was the daughter of Achilles, if you’d had to endure story after story after repetitive story about how great he was even though he was little more than a butcher, you’d feel strongly, too,” Ariadne said.          All the Amazons laughed, but it was a kind, friendly laughter. One of them sat near her and set a comforting hand on her shoulder.          “I think you deceive only yourself,” Antianeira said, “but I’m sure this isn’t why you came here to see us today.”          Ariadne shook her head. “I was hoping to learn more about you, as a people.” Briefly, she explained their ignominious origins, and her hope that they would be able to pass themselves off as Amazons in Hellas in the future.          The other Amazons looked uneasy about the entire idea, and turned their gazes towards their leader. “It’s highly unusual,” Antianeira said, with a placid, nearly expressionless face, “but I can understand why you would wish to take such a course. Before I decide, answer me one more thing. Who was your father—at least, who did he say he was?”          Ariadne’s face felt so hot she feared it was the same color as Atalanta’s leg. “Odysseus…” she muttered, unable to look any of them in the face as she said such a hateful name.          They all laughed.          Of course they did!          Who wouldn’t?          “Well, whether he was or not, at least you’ll have inherited a liar’s glib tongue!” Hipponike laughed.          “That is not polite,” Antianeira said, around her own barely contained and entirely unconcealed laughter, “though it is certainly true. But the refreshments are here. Come, share some wine and fruit with us, young warrior, and we’ll answer your questions gladly.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->prepare to infiltrate]]

Atalanta wasn’t sure how long she had been asleep when she heard the door to the room open. “You’re back already, Ariadne?” she asked, without even lifting her head from the bed.          “No. It’s me,” Eurysakes’ voice answered.          Atalanta sat up, clutching the blankets before her, even though she was wearing the same tunic she had at court. It just felt so exposed, having a man in the chamber where she had been sleeping! That had *never* happened in her master’s palace…          “Where did Ariadne go?”          “To see the Amazons.”          “You didn’t want to see them?” he asked, moving closer to the bed.          Atalanta sighed, shaking her head. “They didn’t want to see me. I think I look too much like my father…”          “Probably,” he agreed.          “Where have you been? Ariadne and I haven’t seen you practically at all since we got back to town,” Atalanta said, trying to change the subject.          “At the docks.” Eurysakes frowned. “Something is wrong.”          “Yeah.” A lot of things. Starting with the way Atalanta’s whole body hurt and kept hurting more and more and would not stop hurting no matter how much she ate or slept. Usually those things made the pain go away…          “We need to talk. All three of us.”          Atalanta hesitated. Was he expecting her to go fetch Ariadne? If the Amazons wouldn’t let her in before, why would they let her in now? *Eurysakes* would probably have better luck getting into their chambers than Atalanta would.          They remained in an awkward silence for just long enough that Atalanta felt as though her whole body was being prickled all over. Then, thankfully, the door opened again, and Ariadne came in, carrying some fabric over one arm. “You’re back from the docks?” she asked, looking at Eurysakes in surprise.          He nodded. “We need to talk.”          Ariadne shook her head. “No, Atalanta and I have something more important we have to deal with, right now.”          “But—”          “Ariadne, that’s rude,” Atalanta said, frowning at her.          “Why is everyone upbraiding *me* for being rude lately?” Ariadne asked, looking at her in shock.          “Because you are,” Eurysakes said flatly.          “This from the man who entered a room where a woman was trying to sleep?” Ariadne retorted, her eyes narrowing. But then she shook her head. “No, we don’t have time for this.”          “What’s wrong?” Atalanta asked. Ariadne *never* backed down from an argument!          “While I was talking to their leader, a couple of the Amazons returned from making offerings to Athene,” Ariadne said, sitting on the edge of the bed. “They said that the other worshippers were filled with hushed rumors because the Locrian maidens have disappeared and the priestesses seem not to care.”          “Oh no! Rhoxane…”          Ariadne frowned. “I think someone saw her coming to visit us,” she said. “It’s—if anything’s happened to her, it’s our fault.”          “You don’t know that,” Eurysakes said.          “I *do* know that,” Ariadne insisted. “We have to go look for her.”          “Um, okay, but…how?” Atalanta asked. “That head priestess will never let us in.”          “The Amazons got these for us,” Ariadne said, setting the cloth down on the bed in front of them. “Long gowns, and noblewoman’s veils, so we can hide our hair and faces, or at least enough of our faces that she won’t recognize us.”          Atalanta fingered the finely woven cloth uncomfortably. Impersonating a noblewoman when she was nothing but a runaway slave? That seemed like a horrible idea, like the best possible way to end up ignominiously put to death…          “You cannot face such risks alone,” Eurysakes said, frowning at them. “If you are caught…”          “What?” Ariadne challenged. “What happens if we’re caught? All they’d have to do is look under our gowns to see that as maidens we belonged there! Or do you think *you* can impersonate a woman, despite being the size of *five* women?”          Eurysakes flushed red, and didn’t answer.          “If it takes us too long to get back to the palace, you might have to keep the king distracted so he won’t know we’ve gone anywhere,” Atalanta offered, with a weak smile. “And you have to keep an eye on my father’s spear so nothing happens to it.”          He nodded firmly, and took her father’s beautiful forked spear with him when he left the room. As soon as he was gone, Ariadne moved the screen in front of the door once more. “We need to change and leave as quickly as possible, so we’re long gone before anyone can come looking for us.”          Atalanta nodded, casting another uneasy glance at the rich garments sitting on the bed with her. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Chapter Nine]]

[[<img src="chapter9.jpg" width="750" height="750">->the palladion]]

Trying to get Atalanta into a dress (and convincing her not to try hiding a sword in the garment’s folds!) had proven one of the most difficult things Ariadne had done in years, but the end result was well worth it! She had always been beautiful, but wearing a gown and with a tiny bit of color applied around her eyes—a small quantity of the stuff having been provided by one of Antianeira’s more helpful guards—she was as radiant as a goddess! Unfortunately, she would attract all too much attention, looking like that.          “Make sure you keep the veil firmly in place,” Ariadne said, not only using it to cover her cousin’s memorable red hair (and its tell-tale shortness), but also to hide all of her face other than her eyes. “We don’t want anyone to recognize you.”          Atalanta nodded, and gripped the veil almost too tightly. After using the small bronze mirror in the room (why was a room given to two ‘young boys’ provided with a hand mirror?) to check that everything was right with her own clothes, veil and makeup, Ariadne shifted the screen aside just far enough to allow access to the door. After peeking through and seeing no one in the corridor, she stepped out, and gestured to Atalanta to follow her.          They had to walk much more slowly than usual to properly feign being women of high birth, but Atalanta didn’t even seem to *want* to walk any faster; her leg was still red as flame, so it must have still been hurting, too. Really, Ariadne knew she *ought* to be leaving Atalanta behind, given that, but she was too fearful of what would happen if she did. Caught alone without Ariadne to do the talking for her, Atalanta might say something catastrophic, and if Ariadne got into trouble in this endeavor without Atalanta there to fight for her…          No one hindered them leaving the palace, and the only attention they garnered as they crossed the agora to the temple were curious stares over the unfamiliar but apparently wealthy young women out walking unaccompanied. Certainly there was no indication that anyone thought they were the two ‘Hyperborean boys’ staying as the king’s guests!          While Ariadne didn’t put any stock in Atalanta’s earlier claim that Athene wanted her to perform some task for the goddess, she couldn’t help but feel that maybe the goddess really was looking out for her at least a little, because when they entered the temple there was no sign of the head priestess, the one person associated with the temple who Ariadne feared might recognize them.          A different priestess approached them, and gave them a pleasant smile as she asked them if they had come to make an offering to the goddess. “Our father is a terrible brute who wants to force us into marriage with a man three times our age—both of us to the same man!” Ariadne told her, tears welling up in her eyes. “We were hoping the goddess would permit us to dedicate ourselves to her and thus save us from this terrible fate,” she added. If they could only gain access to the private chambers where the Locrian maidens lived on the temple grounds, they could surely find out what had happened to Rhoxane…          The priestess sighed sadly. “How awful,” she said. “How tragic! But…are you sure this is what you want, girls?”          They both nodded firmly. “There is no goddess greater in our eyes and our hearts than wise, virtuous, virginal Athene,” Ariadne insisted.          “Very well,” the priestess said, in a mournful tone that set Ariadne’s guts to cramping in concern. “Come with me. The goddess will want to test you before you can be accepted into her service.”          The cousins followed the priestess to the back of the temple, where she pushed aside a heavy cloth wall-hanging that closed off a doorway half-hidden behind a large column. The three of them passed through the doorway, and Ariadne heard a less-than-well-muffled gasp from Atalanta at the sight before them.          The floor of the room was covered in wood scrapings and dust, and a wooden statue of Athene stood at the back of the room. The room had columns, much like a megaron, but between the columns were thick curtains dyed a dark color, as if there was some need to shroud the room in darkness and somber mystery.          But the statue of the goddess was the only part that could hold Ariadne’s attention. Ignoring the priestess and everything else, she ran across the room, staring at the statue in disbelief at the holy power pulsing through the air all around it. She reached out her hand towards it reverently, then pulled it back again, just before her fingers could make contact with the wooden image that rose a head and a half above her. “Is this…is this really the holy Palladion?” she asked, turning to look at the priestess.          “Keep your voice down!” the priestess hissed at her, moving in closer. “And yes, it is indeed the true image of the goddess, the Palladion carved on Mount Olympos itself.”          “What?” Atalanta walked up beside Ariadne and peered at the statue curiously. “This was carved by Hephaistos himself?” she asked, and Ariadne held her breath in terror, afraid that Atalanta would go on to mention Achilles’ armor or weapons. “I thought the Achaians stole it during the war,” Atalanta said instead.          “Yes, they did,” the priestess agreed, “but it’s been restored to us recently.”          “How?” Ariadne asked. “By whom? I thought it was taken to Athens to be enshrined in the temple there.”          “The Palladion’s return to Troy was as miraculous as its first arrival here,” the priestess answered, bowing before the statue. Not that her words actually answered *anything*. “But we are under orders not to let anyone know that it’s here. Not just yet. I’ve been assured that we’ll tell the truth when the time comes.”          “When the time comes,” Ariadne repeated, grimacing. “Is there any more vague phrase among the tongues of man?” She shook her head. “But just whose orders are keeping such a miracle secret?”          The priestess scowled at her. “The hopefuls should wait below,” she said coldly. “This way.”          Uneasily, the girls followed the priestess, and found themselves being led down a claustrophobic set of stairs, and into a series of rooms and chambers, blocked off with more heavy curtains, though these were made of undyed wool. The walls of these chambers were scarred with fire, and it didn’t take long for Ariadne to realize that they were now passing through what little remained of Priam’s Troy after the ravaging Achaian army burnt it shortly before the cousins were born.          The priestess led them through several branching chambers to a corridor with many curtained doorways along either side, which ended with one final curtain. They were led to one of the rooms that stood with its curtain pushed aside, and instructed to wait within. Then the priestess pulled the curtain shut behind her, and they could hear her footsteps hurrying away again.          “Is this where Rhoxane and the priestesses live?” Atalanta asked quietly.          “Somehow, I doubt it,” Ariadne sighed. “There’s something much worse going on here than I had thought.”          “What?”          “I don’t know what, but *something*.” She bit her lip. “You’d think there would have been rumors that would have reached even Methymna if the Palladion had disappeared from Athens…”          “Yeah, that’s true,” Atalanta agreed. “Wait, weren’t there two? I mean, didn’t the Trojans make a duplicate? I remember the sailors in the agora telling our mothers the tale, don’t you? Odysseus and Diomedes both infiltrated the city to steal the Palladion, and they both brought back identical statues of the goddess, right?”          Ariadne grimaced. She hated that story. Technically, she hated *every* story involving Odysseus, but that was one of the worst. “That’s what one of the sailors said, yes, but none of the sailors could agree on any detail of the story: most of them said there was only one statue, and half of them said the two alleged friends nearly killed each other over it, and for that matter they couldn’t even agree on who had actually taken control of the statue when the war ended. And the Locrians who brought Rhoxane insisted that the Palladion wasn’t removed from the city until after the war, after their prince had defiled it by holding it in his lust-stained hands.”          “Eugh.” Atalanta shuddered. “So…does that mean it’s just any old wooden statue of Athene?”          “No. It’s the real thing. I’m sure of that, and yet…I don’t know. There was an undercurrent in the air, something unsettling and wrong, layered underneath all that holy power, you know?”          “Um…no?” Atalanta shrugged. “I didn’t feel anything.”          This from the girl who claimed to have seen two gods and to be able to feel the shades of the dead watching her from a funerary mound? Ariadne shook her head to dispel the entire subject. It wasn’t worth trying to address Atalanta’s inconsistencies. “More important than the Palladion, at the moment, is the fact that there’s just something *off* about everything that’s happening here. They have a holy image of the goddess, but they’re hiding it? Maidens are disappearing, and they’re saying nothing? They have what I can only see as a prison hidden in the ruins underneath the temple, and it’s to that prison they bring hopeful devotees? None of it makes any sense.”          “Well, maybe…maybe we should go look for answers first,” Atalanta said. “We should go see if we can find Rhoxane, right? I mean, if this *isn’t* where she’d normally be staying, then maybe they’ve imprisoned her down here to punish her for coming to see us in the palace.”          Ariadne nodded. “If that’s the case…” She couldn’t finish her sentence. It didn’t seem to right to cast aspersions on Ganymede just because she *thought* she’d seen him in the hallway for a moment. It might have only been her imagination…          Atalanta didn’t wait for Ariadne to finish her thought. She slipped out past the curtain, and Ariadne had to hurry after her. Cautiously, they made their slow way along the corridor, moving from curtain to curtain, peeking through the gaps to see who or what was on the other side. Most of them hid sleeping women that Ariadne didn’t recognize. A few, however, hid sleeping *men*, which only proved her prior point that everything was dreadfully out of joint.          Eventually, they found the curtain that hid the sleeping form of Rhoxane. They hurried inside the cell, and Ariadne whispered instructions to Atalanta to remain at the curtain on guard, in case anyone else should come along while they were there. Atalanta muttered something under her breath about regretting that she hadn’t brought any weapons with her, but obeyed the command nevertheless.          Ariadne crouched down beside Rhoxane, and gently shook her shoulder. Rhoxane stirred and looked up at her, first with fearful eyes, and then with a smile of relief. “Ariadne…? What are you doing here?” she asked, sitting up. “You should get out of here before they catch you!”          “What’s happening here?” Atalanta asked, turning away from the corridor. “Are you in danger?”          “They say the goddess demands it,” Rhoxane said sadly. “They read the signs and said that Athene was not placated by our service, and that blood was required to propitiate her after what Aias did.”          “Blood…?” Ariadne repeated. “You can’t mean…”          Rhoxane nodded. “They’re going to sacrifice us to the Palladion.”          “Athene doesn’t want human sacrifices!” Atalanta exclaimed.          “Keep your voice down!” Ariadne reprimanded her sharply. “And keep a tighter watch on the corridor!” Once Atalanta resumed watching the hall through the narrow gap between the curtain and the doorframe, Ariadne looked back at Rhoxane, who seemed so much more weak and pale than she had been just a few days ago. “Rhoxane, do you know when this is going to happen? When they plan to hold the ceremony?”          Rhoxane shook her head. “They said it would happen when the goddess enters our bodies and becomes the center of our souls.”          “What does *that* mean?” Atalanta asked before Ariadne could.          Rhoxane could only shrug, which couldn’t have done Atalanta much good as an answer, considering she had already resumed watching the corridor.          “Well, at least it means you’re not in any danger right this second,” Ariadne said, trying to smile in a comforting manner. “Try not to think about Athene in any way, and maybe their mysterious condition will never be met.” That didn’t seem like a very good plan, so she went on speaking. “We’ll try to get you out of here as soon as we can, all right?”          To Ariadne’s surprise, Rhoxane shook her head. “It’s all right. I don’t want you to risk your lives for me. If my death will protect the people of Locris, then I’m happy to surrender my life.”          While Ariadne was still reeling at Rhoxane’s words—so unlike her to say such things!—Atalanta moved away from the curtain, coming up close behind Ariadne. “I promise you, that isn’t going to happen,” Atalanta said. “If you die, all that will happen is that Athene will get angry at Troy for killing you. And at us for failing to save you. So you should do like Ariadne says and try not to think of the goddess.”          Rhoxane smiled weakly. “You do know that when you tell someone not to think of something, the first thing they do is think of it, right?”          “Think of something that’s completely inappropriate,” Ariadne suggested. “Something that would make Athene reject you. Maybe there’s some boy you fancy back in Locris?”          Rhoxane shook her head, with a small smile and a look in her heavily-lidded eyes that seemed to speak volumes. “Of course not.”          “W-well…try to…try to imagine the kind of person you—who you *would* want to allow to make a conquest of your virtue…” Something about the look on Rhoxane’s face was rendering Ariadne’s tongue almost as useless as Atalanta’s…          “Ariadne!” Atalanta objected. “In a temple of Athene?! That’s blasphemous!”          “That’s the *point*,” Ariadne reminded her, her irritation restoring her tongue’s usual function. “If they’re waiting for her to become seized by some kind of religious fervor, then we need her to be as irreligious as possible. Within reason,” Ariadne added, with a weak chuckle.          “I’ll try,” Rhoxane said.          “What’s to stop you and everyone else down here from just walking back out again?” Atalanta asked. “It’s not as though these curtains could ever hold you in, and there weren’t any guards in any of the chambers we came through on the way in.”          “They told me that if I try to leave, the goddess will use the holy Palladion to strike me down,” Rhoxane told her sadly. “Not only that, but then all of Locris will suffer for my cowardice.”          “They’re the ones who’re cowards, if you ask me,” Atalanta muttered.          “We’d better get back, before anyone comes looking for us and finds we’re gone,” Ariadne said sadly. “Rhoxane, you just try to think about something that Athene wouldn’t approve of so you won’t ever meet the condition they’re looking for.”          Rhoxane nodded again, and the cousins quickly slipped back out of her cell to return to their own. Once there, Atalanta began to pace back and forth listlessly, but had not made more than a few turns before she suddenly slumped to the floor, wincing and clutching her leg.          “I’m sorry,” Ariadne sighed, sitting down beside her. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come with me.”          “I wouldn’t have let you do something this risky by yourself,” Atalanta assured her, moving one hand away from the leg that shone red even through her gown in order to hold Ariadne’s own hand. “It just hurts, that’s all. It’s fine: I’m used to pain.”          “That is *not* fine,” Ariadne insisted.          Atalanta sat there in silence for the moment, then sighed. “What do we do now?” she asked. “What’s a good time for us to get out of here? I don’t want to just sit around until they decide it’s time to kill us, or Rhoxane, or any of the other prisoners.”          “We don’t know what’s going on yet, so for the moment I think we need to wait and see what happens. Can you still fight?”          “If I had a weapon, yes, no question,” Atalanta said, nodding. “Without one…um, maybe.”          “Hopefully we’ll be able to get weapons during our escape,” Ariadne sighed, cursing herself for not listening when Atalanta had said she wanted them to bring at least knives with them. Ariadne had only been thinking that girls in the position they were going to claim to be in would never have even had access to weapons, let alone be carrying any. She had been so focused on being believed that she hadn’t stopped to worry about what would happen once they *were* believed. “We don’t want to do anything much while it’s still daylight out, in any case,” she said, trying to shift her thoughts in a more positive direction. “If we escape while there are still people in the temple, innocent worshippers might get drawn into the trouble.”          “Yeah.” Atalanta bit her lip a moment. “I might see if I can get a little more sleep, then…”          Though the notion worried Ariadne terribly, she didn’t try to stop her as Atalanta leaned her head down on Ariadne’s shoulder and seemed to drop straight off into an uneasy sleep. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->sacrifice]]

Flames licking every inch of her body as it lay incapable of motion. The fire eating away her flesh, bit by morbid bit…          Even as a hand shook Atalanta’s shoulder and she opened her eyes, the flames didn’t go away: everything was awash in heat and terrifying red light, and that which was not afire was already blackened and charred.          “Snap out of it!” Ariadne shook her harder, and the flames slowly went out, though the chamber remained stultifyingly hot.          “I…I’m not on fire…?” Atalanta muttered, looking around.          “You’re certainly sweating as if you were,” Ariadne sighed, then looked around at the charred walls of their cell. “It’s this place infecting your dreams, that’s all.”          “I think I was dreaming about being on a funeral pyre,” Atalanta said, biting her lip. “Before the flames got too high, I could hear the keening of mourners. I think…I think maybe it was my father’s funeral…”          “That’s absurd. You can’t dream of being the corpse at someone else’s funeral.”          “Why not?”          “Well…all right, you *can* dream about it, but it’s not going to be *accurate*,” Ariadne clarified. “Just try to put it out of your mind, all right?”          Atalanta nodded uncomfortably, and tried to find something else to think about, something else to talk about. Given that the cell was only closed off by a curtain, anything they said might be heard by anyone and everyone around them, so they had to be careful what they talked about, or people might figure out too much about them. All she could think of to talk about was the room they were in, wondering what building it had been part of in the Troy of old that her father had fought again. Atalanta wanted to believe these rooms were part of Priam’s palace, and that once, decades ago, mighty warriors would have used these very rooms, sleeping restlessly before they went into battle to lose their lives to her father’s spear.          Ariadne deflated her fantasy quickly, pointing out that as small as these rooms were, they would only have been used for storage, or perhaps slave quarters.          After that, Atalanta found it hard to think of anything to talk about, and they lapsed into a seemingly interminable silence, in which the only sounds were that of a distant sploshing, and the breathing—and sometimes crying—of the other prisoners. The morbid silence was only broken when the priestess who had brought them to the room returned, carrying a large bowl full of what Atalanta could only describe as ‘mush,’ or perhaps ‘slop.’          “The worshippers of Athene have all been sent away for the night,” the priestess told them as she left the bowl on the floor of their cell, “so you will be judged soon. Calm your minds and empty your thoughts of worries. And do not think of shifting from this spot.”          Atalanta picked up the bowl, thinking she was hungry enough to choke down anything, but it smelled so vile that she put it down again without touching the gruel inside. “Why did she specify that it was the worshippers of Athene who’ve all gone home?” she asked. “Wouldn’t it have just been easier to say ‘the worshippers’ instead?”          “She may worship someone else,” Ariadne said, her voice shaking with fury. “The notion that the holy Palladion could fall into the hands of someone who would profane it…I wish we could rescue it from its defilers, but we have to save these people first, surely.”          Atalanta nodded, then thought of something. “If you still felt the power of Athene from it, then they haven’t desecrated it yet, right?”          “Presumably, but what…?”          “There’s something I have to ask the goddess for! Just wait here!” Atalanta exclaimed, before getting to her feet and hurrying out past the curtain.          It was harder than she had expected to remember all the turnings to get back up to the surface, but she was about halfway there by the time she heard Ariadne coming up behind her. “Are you insane?” Ariadne hissed at her. “If they find us gone…”          “It’ll only take a moment,” Atalanta assured her. “But…you might want to ask her for this, too.”          “What?”          Rather than answer, Atalanta kept going, until they emerged into the shrine where the Palladion was being kept. It was now lit by dozens of oil-burning lamps that had not been kept very clean, releasing foul-smelling smoke along with the only thin light in the room. The unsteadily wavering flames of the lamps reflected brightly off the polished surface of the statue, giving it a strangely ominous appearance, despite the benign face carved onto the wooden goddess. Then again, she *was* wearing armor and carrying a spear and shield, so perhaps it wasn’t that odd for it to look threatening.          Atalanta bowed to the wooden statue, then hesitated a moment, not sure how to begin a prayer of this magnitude without a sacrifice. “Divine Athene who wears the aegis of Zeus,” she started, “I beg your assistance! So long as I am having to travel disguised as a man, please prevent me from ever…ah…*bleeding*…if you know what I mean?”          “Atalanta, for pity’s—” Ariadne started, but her voice cut off with a sharp inhalation of shock.          Atalanta turned to see what was surprising her cousin so, and saw that some of the wood shavings in the room had swirled up into the air, and formed into the shape of a beautiful woman wearing an ornate helmet. The goddess Athene herself…?          “By the common blood we share,” the floating image of Athene said, “I feel compelled to grant you one boon, and I can easily do as you ask. But I implore you to rethink your choice of gift.”          Before Atalanta could figure out how to express her confusion, Ariadne was already talking. “I have no doubts that you have a wise reason, great goddess,” she said, kneeling before the floating wood scraps in the shape of the goddess, “but would it be impertinent to ask that you share your reasons with us mere mortals? So that we may never again make such a mistake?”          Athene laughed. “Well said. As I would expect of you,” she added in an affectionate tone. “There is only one simple way to grant your request,” she said, her floating image turning to look back at Atalanta again. “If you do not wish to endure a woman’s monthly cycle, the easiest way to prevent that is to transform you into a man.”          Her eyes wide with horror, Atalanta shook her head feverishly. Although she was enjoying the freedoms that the male disguise allowed her, she would *not* want to become one. She was quite positive about that. “Y-yes, you’re right,” she said once she got herself a little back under control, “that was a stupid thing for me to ask for. I’m sorry. I withdraw it utterly. But, um, maybe…would it be possible to…well, sort of…be neither? Not have any, you know, *privates* at all?”          The floating image of Athene just stared at her for a long moment. “I cannot say I have ever heard of a mortal making such a request before,” the goddess finally said. “I do not know if it is even possible for me to—” Her voice stopped suddenly, and the floating wood scraps and dust suddenly lost her image, falling back to the floor as if they had never been divinely possessed. “They come!” Athene’s voice echoed through the chamber lightly. “Hide yourselves!”          Hurriedly, Atalanta and Ariadne ducked behind some of the curtains at the back of the room. They had barely finished hiding when Atalanta could hear a commotion at the stairs from which they had come. There were voices chanting in a language she didn’t recognize, mostly male voices, and there was another sound, a frenzied sound. Atalanta had heard that sound before, though only at a great distance. It was the guttural howl of the Dionysian rapture of the maenads as they tore across the countryside, demolishing any who stood in their path.          But what would a maenad be doing below the temple of Athene?          As the noise approached the Palladion, Atalanta could just barely see the commotion through the gap between the curtain and the column she was hiding behind. The maenad was being prodded forward by men wearing thick robes with hoods that hung so far over their heads that their faces were lost in shadows. Two men in ornate robes stepped forward to either side of the maenad as she reached the Palladion. These men had no hoods, but instead one had a golden helm with a mask that hid his face, and the other a silver helm of the same design. The man with the golden helm held a wicked stone blade, curved and serpentine, and the one with the silver helm held a large bowl painted with scenes of death.          “Receive this sacrifice, my child!” the man in the golden helm shouted over the din of his chanting followers and the wailing of the maenad. “Take into yourself the destruction! Take into yourself the soul of Dionysos!”          Without another word, the man slit the maenad’s throat. The man in the silver helm caught as much of the blood as he could hold in his bowl, even as Atalanta struggled not to reveal herself and attack them all for the committing such a foul act of murder.          As the maenad’s body slumped to the ground, the man in the silver helm held out the bowl of steaming blood towards the man in the golden helm. “The offering, my lord Callicritades,” he said, bowing low, forcing him to raise his arms higher and higher above his head so that the bowl didn’t lower with him. His voice, like his lord’s, echoed within his mask and came out booming and distorted. It was a very unsettling effect.          The man in the golden mask, Callicritades, took the bowl, and held it up above his own head. “Drink this sweetest wine, my daughter!” The chanting behind him had risen to a fever pitch, and he had to bellow to be heard above it, though Atalanta wasn’t entirely sure who he wanted to have hear him; surely his followers already knew what he was going to say. “Absorb the frenzy! Learn the taste of your foe!”          Then, as if he hadn’t committed sacrilege enough, he poured the blood over the Palladion, befouling its holy surface with human blood. Given how Ariadne had reacted to the Palladion already, Atalanta worried that her cousin might reveal herself in outrage at the deed, and for several moments she held her breath, tensing her body, ready to spring in to the rescue if Ariadne became exposed.          But then the men departed again, though from her vantage point Atalanta couldn’t tell if they had left through the temple or if they had gone down the stairs. Even after they left, Atalanta didn’t dare shift her position even a little. She had to be sure they were really gone, and that they weren’t going to come back again. After all, they might come to clean up that unfortunate woman’s body…          Eventually, Ariadne appeared in her line of sight, checking on the corpse. Atalanta hurried out to join her, lest any foes attack without her being around to protect her cousin. Ariadne was weeping as she inspected the body of the dead maenad.          The maenad had been a young woman, not much older than Ariadne and Atalanta, and she had been quite pretty as well. And yet those men had just sacrificed her as if she was less important than a goose or a goat.          “They won’t get away with defiling Athene’s holy image like this,” Ariadne growled, even as she used one hand to slide the maenad’s emptily staring eyes closed. “Even if I have to kill every one of them myself.”          “You won’t have to,” Atalanta promised her, “because I’ll be right there helping you. But we can’t do this alone, and especially without our weapons. We have to go back to the palace to get Eurysakes and our weapons first.” Eurysakes’ spear would be a huge asset to them in the fight, after all, all the more so considering that Atalanta was still in pain and not sure she’d be capable of much in a real battle right now…          “I wish we could bring a whole army,” Ariadne said, getting back to her feet again. “If this keeps up, Athene will want vengeance on all of Troy for this sacrilege, maybe even all of Anatolia. I’m sure all the men in the city would gladly help us, if we could only tell them about it safely.”          Atalanta nodded. “Right, so let’s just go downstairs, save the prisoners, and get out of here!”          “I don’t know…won’t that make them more suspicious, make them put their guard up?”          “They’ll be suspicious anyway when we disappear from their prison, so what’s the difference?” Atalanta asked.          “I…” Ariadne started, then stopped again. “There’s a commotion in the temple. Let’s go back below before they check our cell and find us gone.”          Uneasily, Atalanta nodded, and they hurried back down the stairs and made their twisting way back to the corridor of cells. The commotion seemed to be following them the whole way, drawing closer at every moment. Shouting voices and the rattling of armor. Only once they were back in their cell and the curtain had been pulled back into place did one voice rise up above the others, shouting “Release me!” in the distinctively slow tones of Eurysakes. Ariadne had to hold Atalanta back from going out to help him.          “We won’t be able to do anything for him unarmed,” Ariadne reminded her in a hard voice right into her ear, even as the sound of at least four or five heavily armed men passed directly in front of their cell. “Wait until the commotion dies down.”          It was agony, but Atalanta did as she was told. The sound of feet and shouting passed all the way down the hall, then stopped with a suddenness that caused a cold pit in Atalanta’s stomach. The feet passed back by their cell soon enough, and everything fell silent again. Once it was quiet, Atalanta ran out of the cell without even waiting to check for enemies. She hurried down to the room at the end of the corridor of cells, where the curtain now stood open, and a light burned on the other side. As Atalanta approached the room, she saw a figure in the armor of a Trojan guard, bound and gagged, kneeling alone in the middle of the floor. Despite the Trojan armor, his size proved that he could be no one other than Eurysakes.          “Thank Athene you’re all right!” Atalanta exclaimed, hurrying inside, despite Ariadne trying to stop her. As usual, she should have listened to her cousin’s nagging voice, because she was grabbed by rough hands as soon as she was through the doorway. Two of the hooded men stood to either side of her, holding her arms in firm grips. They weren’t so firm that she couldn’t have broken free if she wanted, but she thought it might be best, for the moment, if they didn’t know how strong she actually was. After all, right now she *looked* like any weak little girl. Better not to let them figure out that she was almost as strong as her semi-divine father had been…          Two more of the hooded men rushed into the hall and grabbed Ariadne before she could get away. “Don’t you touch her!” Atalanta shouted, struggling against her captors, just a preliminary struggle to test their reactions. Before she could begin her *real* attempt to free herself, she stopped at the sight of the man in the silver mask approaching her, accompanied by the head priestess from the temple of Athene.          “I told you so,” the priestess said, turning a smirk at the man in the silver mask. “Though these two boys weren’t disguised as girls at the time, I saw all three of these young men come to the temple, attempting to pay court to one of the Locrian maidens.”          “I doubt that one’s still a maiden,” the man in the silver mask laughed. “But I wonder what we shall do with these three foreign boys who think they can invade our sacred spaces…”          “We’re not boys,” Ariadne moaned, crying a truly absurd amount of tears. “We only came here to dedicate ourselves to the virgin goddess!”          “Silence your lying barbarian tongue, boy!” the man in the silver mask shouted. “I’ll expose you frauds for what you truly are!” he added, laying his hands on Ariadne’s gown.          “You scum! If you lay one hand on her, I’ll cut you to ribbons!” Atalanta shouted at him, crying in her rage.          “What is this noisome display?” a man’s eerily echoing voice asked from the hallway, causing the man in the silver helm to let go of Ariadne’s gown immediately.          “Lord Callicritades!” he exclaimed, bowing low as his gold-helmed lord entered the chamber. “We were trying to establish that these were imposters who had obtained false entrance to the temple,” he said. “These three young men are the foreign guests who fought the bandits on Mount Ida.”          “Indeed they are,” Callicritades said, then cocked his head to one side slightly. “But you cannot say you were deceived by these two, surely?”          “My lord?”          “I have never seen a more pathetic attempt to masquerade as male in all my years. A small child would not be fooled.” He shook his gold-covered head. “No boy has such curves.”          Ariadne’s face was so dark a crimson that it looked painful, and Atalanta had a feeling hers was probably just as bad.          “In any event,” Callicritades continued, “it matters not whether they are male or female. My daughter needs blood in frenzy, and she accepts the blood of a man as readily as that of a woman. You know that.”          “Y-yes, my lord! Please forgive me, my lord!”          “Bring me the divination urn,” Callicritades commanded. The man in the silver helm bowed low, then hurried across the room and picked up what looked to Atalanta uncomfortably like a funerary urn, which he brought back to his master. The urn was undecorated and unmarked except for a single flash of gold on one side, but it was only visible for a moment, being otherwise blocked by the robes of the man in the silver mask.          Callicritades opened the urn, and reached his hand inside, then withdrew it, and turned towards Ariadne. “Don’t you dare touch her!” Atalanta screamed at him. She didn’t know what was in his hand, but if he intended to hurt her, then she was going to stop him!          “Silence your barbarian tongue, girl,” the man in the silver mask growled at her. “Lord Callicritades must read the divine temper of each potential sacrifice.”          “You won’t sacrifice Ariadne,” Atalanta promised him, her mind rapidly going over the possible ways in which she could kill these monsters and save Ariadne. If she lashed out with her uninjured left leg, she could kick the man in the silver mask into Callicritades, but that might make him collide with Ariadne. If she could signal Eurysakes, then…no, he was still bound, and he was facing away from her!          Atalanta still hadn’t come up with a plan by the time Callicritades began his divination. He waved his hand towards Ariadne’s face, and something sprayed off his hand onto her skin. It looked like a silty mud. Callicritades stared at the dark gray splotches intently.          “Athene,” he announced, sounding disappointed. “Pity. We already have all we need for Athene, and then some.” He walked back over to the urn, and as he dipped his hand back into it, Atalanta could see that he had something white in his hand, which she took to be a ladle of some sort. On removing his hand from the urn again, he walked over to Eurysakes and pushed aside the gag before repeating the procedure with him. “Zeus,” he announced, after studying the droplets on Eurysakes’ face. “Excellent. We’ve been needing another sacrifice to teach her the essence of Zeus.”          The man in the silver mask laughed, the sound echoing unpleasantly inside his mask. “I was afraid he’d be yet another Poseidon,” he commented, making the hooded men still holding Ariadne and Atalanta laugh as well.          “What does that mean?” Eurysakes asked, his voice a low growl as he turned to glare at the silver-helmed man.          “After all those sailors…” The man shook his head. “You’d think at least one of them would have been for Aphrodite, being from Cypros after all…”          “What did you do to my men?!” Eurysakes bellowed, charging to his feet and knocking down Callicritades in the process. “Where are they?!”          “You’ll be meeting them soon enough,” the man in the silver mask said, his echoing voice sounding terrified as he backed away from Eurysakes, who was advancing on him menacingly, despite his bound hands.          The men holding Ariadne released her and rushed to constrain Eurysakes. One of the men holding Atalanta also had to release her and go to help. They were still struggling with him when Callicritades regained his feet, walked over and plucked the helmet from Eurysakes’ head before using it to bash him in the head. Eurysakes stopped struggling, his limbs going limp. However, from what little Atalanta could see, he seemed to be still conscious, merely groggy. Unfortunately, with Eurysakes no longer struggling, she was soon held firmly by both men again, and the head priestess took over the task of holding Ariadne.          “In the future, you will hold your tongue about past sacrifices,” Callicritades said as he returned to the urn still being held by the man in the silver helmet. Atalanta’s stomach revolted. Did that mean that these men had really murdered Eutychos and all of the Cypriot sailors? How could anything so monstrous be possible?          “Ye-yes, my lord. My deepest apologies, my lord.”          Callicritades dipped his hand into the urn one last time, before approaching Atalanta. As he reached her, she was horrified to see what was in his hand wasn’t a ladle or anything of the sort: it was a bone. Most likely a man’s arm bone, from what she could see. Given that fact, Atalanta winced a bit as he flung the water and silt in her face.          As he peered into her face, Atalanta got a good look at Callicritades’ eyes through the holes in his mask. They were a dark blue in color. She was sure she had seen eyes that color recently, but she wasn’t sure when or where. Those eyes soon closed as Callicritades stepped away from her.          “Thetis,” he said. “I suppose it was absurd to expect any other reading of *this one*.”          “Surely we don’t wish to harm the Nereids,” the man in the silver mask said. “Shall we just kill this one now?”          “No,” Callicritades said, as he returned the bone to the urn. Part of Atalanta wanted desperately to know whose urn it was, and part of her cringed at the very idea of finding out. “I believe we can induce another reading.”          “My lord?”          Callicritades laughed. “After we’ve sacrificed her cousin, she should be quite ripe to be worked into a frenzy for Hades.”          “My lord is most wise,” the man in the silver mask said, bowing obsequiously. But Atalanta didn’t care about that. She only cared about one thing. That man had just threatened to sacrifice Ariadne in his quest to pervert the Palladion. There was no force in all the world that was going to stop her from destroying him for that.          “Take these three to a cell and place a guard on them,” Callicritades ordered. “They’re dangerous, so be extra vigilant with them.”          Atalanta’s first instinct was to break away then and there, to kill as many of the enemy as she could before being taken down herself. A warning look from Ariadne made her think about her plan a moment and realize just how stupid it was. There were six men there with them—and probably more nearby—plus that priestess, and not only were all three of them unarmed, Eurysakes was bound at the wrists and didn’t seem entirely conscious. Not to mention that Atalanta was still being tormented by that gadfly bite or whatever it was that was wrong with her leg. Trying to escape here and now would just get them all killed. And while Atalanta’s own death would be no loss, she couldn’t allow anything to happen to either of her cousins. (Though at least Eurysakes would be able to take care of himself once he was unbound and alert.)          So what choice did she have but to allow those hooded men to shove her back out into the corridor, and then right back into that cell they had been in before? The head priestess shoved Ariadne in next, then two of the hooded men carried Eurysakes in and dumped him on the floor, sliding the curtain shut behind them when they left. Atalanta hurriedly knelt and untied his hands, but he wasn’t even able to thank her for it, though he did sort of try.          Uneasy, Atalanta stood up again. “Okay, let’s bust out of here as soon as he recovers,” she whispered to Ariadne.          Ariadne sighed. “They’re even more on guard right now than at any other time. Give it long enough for them to relax their guard.”          “Nnnn…but…uh….ugh!” Atalanta slumped to the floor in disappointment. She felt like maybe she’d be able to defeat this awful feeling running through her body if only she was moving! Sitting around and waiting was just making it worse.          She didn’t have to wait too long before Eurysakes had recovered enough to speak. The first thing he said was to groan Eutychos’ name.          “I’m sorry,” Atalanta said, setting a comforting hand on his arm, but not sure what else she even *could* say.          “I wonder if there’s any chance that man was lying in order to torment you,” Ariadne said, as she sat down on his other side.          Eurysakes shook his head weakly. “No.”          “Is that what you wanted to talk to us about before?” Atalanta asked.          He nodded. “I asked around. Everyone on the docks. No one saw a Phoenician ship. No one saw my men leaving. The ship was in port when the sun went down. Gone when it came up.” He frowned. “Eutychos would not sail after dark. Such actions are madness. He is not—he *was* not mad.”          Ariadne bit her lip uncomfortably. “You were close to him, weren’t you?”          He nodded sadly. “He taught me much. Combat. Travel. Life.” A pathetic attempt at a laugh, then he slowly turned his head to look at Atalanta. “My uncle compared him to Phoinix. Called him my Phoinix,” he clarified.          Atalanta smiled sadly, feeling her eyes grow misty. She’d heard stories about Phoinix, who had been both her father’s tutor and something of a surrogate father to him. If Eutychos was like Phoinix to Eurysakes… “We’ll avenge him,” she promised. “We’ll avenge all of them.”          “That’s right,” Ariadne agreed. “They’ll pay for every life they’ve taken in defiling the Palladion. But first we need to know who they are. It’ll be easier if we don’t have to face them here in their subterranean lair, where they know all the passages and hiding places.”          Eurysakes nodded. “Callicritades…” He frowned. “That was what the leader was called, yes?”          “That’s right,” Ariadne said. “It makes me think of the altar we saw up on the mountain. If that *was* supposed to say Callicrates, it must have been dedicated to this monster’s father.” She paused a moment. “Or perhaps to a….putative father…?”          “Putative father?” Atalanta repeated. “What does that mean?”          “In this case—well, it was probably not the right term, actually,” Ariadne sighed. “I just meant, you know, that maybe he’s claiming descent from a god in order to influence his followers. Or it could be more figurative.”          “Like calling Zeus the father of gods and men,” Eurysakes supplied.          “Yeah, like that,” Ariadne agreed. “So while he must be connected to that altar in some way, we can’t be sure it’s dedicated to his *actual* father.”          “So when we get out of here, maybe we should go investigate that altar again,” Atalanta suggested. “Hey, what about that divination thing he did to us? Do you think it was looking for divine ancestry?” After all, Eurysakes was descended from Zeus. So was Atalanta, of course, but she was more closely descended from Thetis…          “How could it be?” Ariadne retorted. “I can’t be descended from a virgin goddess, now can I?”          “Oh, yeah, I forgot about that part,” Atalanta admitted sheepishly.          “It’s probably something to do with what deity you’re most devoted to,” Ariadne continued. “Given your obsession with Achilles, of course it would come up with Thetis for you.”          “It’s not an obsession!” Atalanta protested. She had every right to admire her father! Especially since she’d never even gotten to meet him!          “They mentioned a frenzy,” Eurysakes said. “But what is this frenzy? Why do they want it?”          “We just saw them sacrifice a maenad,” Atalanta explained, “or at least a woman in a maenad-like frenzy. That must be what they mean, but…I’ve never heard of anyone going into that type of state for any god other than Dionysos.”          “I think it’s possible,” Ariadne sighed. “You hear about people being taken with a religious fervor sometimes. The characteristics would be totally different, of course, but…what worries me is what they’re trying to do to the Palladion. He called it his daughter…”          “If that means he’s comparing himself to Zeus, you’d think he’d be struck by a thunderbolt,” Atalanta said, almost more wishful thinking than anything else.          “I don’t think that happens anymore,” Eurysakes said sadly. “Not since Aias of Locris. And that was Poseidon. Not Zeus. Or so they say.”          “It *should* have been Athene,” Ariadne said.          The others both nodded, but no one replied, and they fell into a long silence in which Atalanta became acutely aware of the sound of their guards in the corridor. She could not only hear them breathing, but the sound of their armor clinking every time they shifted their position. That finally made her think of something.          “Hey, what are you *doing* here, anyway?”she asked, looking at Eurysakes. “How did you get here? Where did you get that armor from? Did you stash any weapons nearby for us?”          “Atalanta, calm down and let him *answer* before you keep asking more questions.”          “Oh, sorry.”          Eurysakes chuckled weakly. “I was worried about you. It was getting dark. You were still not returned.”          “And the armor?” Ariadne prompted.          “I…” He stopped talking immediately, and cast an uneasy glance at the curtain to the hallway. “I made a friend,” he said quietly. “A friend with access.”          “I don’t suppose he’s waiting to let you back into the palace again?” Ariadne asked in a low whisper.          Eurysakes nodded, with a self-satisfied smile.          “That’s a relief.” Ariadne worried at her lower lip with her teeth for a moment. “I wonder how late it’s gotten,” she mused.          “It will not be dawn for many hours,” Eurysakes said. “I doubt the night is half over.”          “Maybe it’s time for us to escape?” Atalanta whispered.          “Maybe,” Ariadne replied, but she still sounded worried. “All right, follow my lead,” she said, getting to her feet and heading for the curtain.          Once she was at the opening, Ariadne pushed the curtain aside only the tiniest fraction, and was immediately greeted by a man’s rough voice yelling something at her that Atalanta couldn’t understand at all. With a quiet snort of derisive laughter, Ariadne opened the curtain further, and moved closer to their captors, who wore the standard armor of a guard of the Trojan citadel, and had both turned to face the open curtain. “Those men are planning to kill us,” she told them, despite that they must have already known that, “but it would be so awful if we had to die as virgins! Won’t you take pity on us…?” she said, pulling her gown tight around her body to expose her curves.          The men stared at her in blank confusion, and said something in the same language as before. Sounding more panicked now, Ariadne repeated her offer in the Hatti tongue, but the guards didn’t seem to understand *that*, either.          “I don’t think your plan is working,” Atalanta said, walking up behind her. “Can we try it my way now?”          “Be my guest,” Ariadne sighed, stepping to one side.          Before the guards could react, Atalanta jumped on the nearest one. Their helmets—unlike the one Eurysakes had been wearing earlier—were buckled into place, which made her task much easier! She pushed the guard’s helmet off his head, and used her entire weight to shove it backwards, throttling him before he could manage to draw his sword and attack her.          As the guard collapsed beneath her, Atalanta released him and rolled to one side, nearly getting in the way as Eurysakes grappled with the other guard. He wrapped his huge, meaty hands around the guard’s neck and choked until the man went limp in his hands.          “Let’s get them out of sight,” Ariadne hissed. “Hopefully delay any report of our escape.”          The others nodded, and they pulled the guards into the cell, pulling the curtain closed behind them. “We should put on their armor,” Atalanta said, looking at Ariadne. “It’ll make things easier for us in getting out of here, and back into the palace.”          Ariadne nodded, and they began to strip the armor off the unconscious guards, cutting off the bottoms of their gowns and using the extra fabric to gag and bind the guards to keep them from alerting anyone. While they were in the final stages of donning the stolen armor, they heard footsteps passing down the hallway and come to a stop about midway down, near Rhoxane’s cell, if Atalanta’s guess was right.          “Shouldn’t there be guards here somewhere?” a man’s voice asked. It sounded to her like the man in the silver mask. Given the way Eurysakes tensed up, he must have thought so, too.          “Yes, I believe so, sir,” another man replied. His voice didn’t have an echo to it, so he must not have been wearing a mask. “Should I report their absence?”          “Of course you should! Go while I’m with this prisoner.”          “Yes, my lord!”          The sound of a curtain swishing down the hall, and running footsteps. “We can’t let him make that report!” Atalanta said quietly, and set off running after the man. He turned out to be one of the hooded men, unarmed and unarmored, and quickly put down with a single blow from Atalanta’s sword. She wiped the blade on his robe and made her way back towards the cell, only to see Eurysakes stalking down the hall, his own sword already drawn.          Ariadne stepped out into the hall behind him. “Get back here!” she called after him quietly, but Eurysakes wasn’t listening. Both girls hurried after him as quietly as they could in their bulky, noisy armor…          “What are you looking so smug about?” the man in the silver mask’s voice asked from up ahead.          “Oh, nothing,” Rhoxane’s voice replied.          “What were you doing in here?”          “Just thinking lascivious thoughts.”          “Maybe Lord Callicritades should give you another reading before—” The man’s words were interrupted as Eurysakes reached the cell and threw the curtain aside. “What are you—!” His voice died in a gurgle.          Atalanta and Ariadne ran the rest of the way to the cell, in time to see Eurysakes pulling his sword back out of the man’s dead body, and Rhoxane curled up in the back corner of the cell, staring at Eurysakes in fear, her whole body white as the dead.          “You idiot!” Ariadne snarled at Eurysakes even as Atalanta made her way past them both into the cell. “We could have gotten some information out of him!”          “He was responsible. For Eutychos’ death. For my men’s death.”          “You don’t know that,” Ariadne pointed out, as Atalanta helped Rhoxane back to her feet. “It was probably his boss who was responsible.”          “But he took glee in their fate.”          Ariadne sighed. “Yes, that he certainly did.” She shook her head. “It was a stupid thing to do, but it’s not as though you can bring him back again. And he might not have talked even if you hadn’t killed him. Let’s see if we know who he was, anyway, since he certainly knew who we are.” She knelt by the corpse and fumbled about for a moment until she managed to remove the helmet. Once it was off, Ariadne rolled the corpse over onto its back, revealing that it was Zelotes.          “So that’s it,” Atalanta muttered, shaking her head. “I knew that toadying behavior was familiar but… if someone that important in the court is involved…”          “Let’s get out of here,” Eurysakes said. “We need our weapons. Our own armor.”          Atalanta and Ariadne nodded, then helped a trembling Rhoxane out past the corpse. Given that they had killed Zelotes in Rhoxane’s cell, everyone agreed she would be in too much immediate danger if they left her behind, so she had to come with them right now, and maybe even accompany them into whatever happened after they were out of this terrible place. Still, Rhoxane was weak and frightened, and they had no sooner gotten out of the corridor of cells than Rhoxane had to stop and rest, her body still trembling with fear every time she looked at Eurysakes.          “Really, Eurysakes is a nice guy, honest,” Atalanta told her. “You don’t have to be afraid of him. It’s just that man in there—”          “I—I’ll be okay,” Rhoxane said, with a weak smile. “It’s just a lot to…to…”          “Just hold on to me, and it’ll be okay,” Ariadne said, holding out a hand towards her. Rhoxane smiled as she took that hand, but the desperation of her grasp told Atalanta that she was anything but happy about any of this.          They had only gone a few more rooms through the twisting path back up to the temple when Rhoxane stopped again. “Is that water?”          “Sounds like it,” Ariadne agreed. “Probably an underground river feeding into a cistern. It would take us too long to find it. If you’re thirsty, wait until we get back to the palace to—”          “No, it sounds like it’s just in the next room,” Rhoxane insisted, letting go of her hand and moving through one of the other curtained doorways. “Yes, it’s in he—eeyahh!”          Everyone ran after her, only to find Rhoxane staring in horror at a large krater that stood on a pedestal beside a massive gold-colored vessel. The splashing sound was coming from the krater. “What’s wrong?” Ariadne asked.          “There are *bones* in it!”          Atalanta and Eurysakes ran past where Ariadne was trying to comfort Rhoxane. Sure enough, there were bones in the krater, which was filled with water that churned and roiled the way the water in the temple to the River Cebren had in reaction to Atalanta’s presence. At first, it looked like four bones, but as Eurysakes reached into the water and removed one, it became obvious that it was two bones which had each been broken roughly in half.          “Legs,” Eurysakes said. “The thigh,” he added, pointing to the ball at the top. “This goes into the hip—”          “We get it, Eurysakes!” Atalanta shouted. “But *whose* are they?! And why are they in that water and why is it acting like that?!”          He shrugged uneasily. “I think they are old,” he said, looking at them. “Long buried. There are signs of burning.”          “The rest of the skeleton is in this thing,” Ariadne commented, standing on the tips of her toes to look inside the open vessel. “He must have been someone important,” she added, lowering herself again. “They didn’t just coat the outside in gold, but the inside, too.”          Eurysakes and Atalanta both stared at her uneasily. “What…?” Eurysakes said, his voice trembling slightly.          “Hey, I think it’s two skeletons in here,” Rhoxane said, also leaning upwards to look inside, despite her earlier fear. “That looks like two skulls!”          Atalanta felt her stomach revolt, and bolstered her hands against her knees, bending in case she ended up losing what little she had eaten today. She *felt* rather than heard the sound of the bone in Eurysakes’ hand falling back into the water.          “What is *wrong* with you two?” Ariadne demanded.          “That’s my father!” Atalanta moaned.          “What?”          “A solid gold amphora,” Eurysakes said, his own voice weak. “It belonged to Thetis. Achilles put Patroclos’ bones in it. Then his own were put in it…”          “That…I see what you’re saying, but we saw the barrow ourselves, remember?” Ariadne said, setting a hand on Atalanta’s shoulder. “It was undisturbed.”          “It is less than a day from here,” Eurysakes said. “Plenty of time for…for this *villainy*.”          There was a moment of silence filled only by the sloshing of the water which now sounded positively malicious. “All right, maybe you’re right,” Ariadne said. “I don’t know. But I do know that every moment we spend in here is a moment closer to our capture and death.”          “Yes. You’re right.” Eurysakes’ enormous hand patted Atalanta’s other shoulder comfortingly. “You must restore the bones to the amphora.”          “Me?” Atalanta straightened up again. “Why me?”          “You are his daughter. It is only right.” He smiled weakly. “A warrior’s bones are often relayed to rest by his son. Why not his daughter?”          Atalanta swallowed heavily, tasting bile as she did so. Handling the bones of some anonymous man was one thing, but her own father’s? And yet, she could hardly leave them as they were, in the waters of an enemy river, and subject to any number of further abuses by his enemies… “All…all right.”          Her hands trembled as she reached towards the bones in the krater, and all the more so when she realized that she didn’t even know if *both* the bones in the krater belonged to her father, or if one of them was Patroclos’. It would be ghastly to accidentally move his friend’s remains to safety before moving her father’s. She didn’t think she could take all four pieces at once, though, so Atalanta’s shaking hands instead reached into the water to grasp both of the upper halves of the broken leg bones.          The sensation was horrific: it felt as though the water was biting her hands, desperate to stop her, or even to harm her. The urge to release the bones and flee the water’s attack was overpowering. But she fought against that urge, and slowly—painfully slowly—she lifted the bones out of the water.          Once her hands were free of that vicious water, Atalanta felt a strange peace overtake her, as if the bones themselves were warm and loving, thanking her for rescuing them. The water seemed to flee both the bones and her hands, so that by the time she deposited them in the amphora, both were entirely dry.          Retrieving the lower halves of the two bones was every bit as bad, but once those, too, had been returned to the golden amphora, an almost rapturous state filled Atalanta, and she felt as though she could do anything. Gladly, she picked up the lid that laid nearby, and closed the amphora to protect the remains inside.          “We can’t leave them here,” Eurysakes commented. “But so much gold will be heavy. We should share the load.”          “It’ll be *really* hard to walk like that,” Atalanta said. “It can’t be *that* bad. I mean, it’s hollow, after all.”          “Well…yes, but…” Eurysakes frowned. “Very well. Step aside. I am the stronger. I will carry it.”          “Oh, are you?” Atalanta asked, even as she stepped aside. She’d heard a lot of men say that to her before, always to be humiliated. But maybe Eurysakes was different, since he was the son of her father’s cousin Aias?          Eurysakes lifted the amphora in both his arms with a grunt, and carried it only a few paces before setting it down again. “It is…absurdly heavy…” he said, panting for breath. “*Too* heavy.”          “Really?” Atalanta crouched down and picked it up. It was insanely cumbersome for her much shorter arms, but it didn’t seem *that* heavy. Not much worse than two buckets of water. “It’s not so bad,” she said as she stood up again. “You’re just weak from that blow to the head. Come on, we need to get out of here and get my father’s remains to safety!”          She charged ahead, ignoring it as Ariadne reprimanded her that the bones were far from their priority here. Atalanta knew that the bones weren’t truly the most important thing here—that was Ariadne—but she couldn’t allow anything worse to happen to all that remained of her father. She hadn’t known him in life, so how could she allow herself to fail him in death? [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Chapter Ten]]

[[<img src="chapter10.jpg" width="750" height="794">->amazons]]

Seeing Eurysakes flabbergasted by Atalanta easily carrying a load he could barely lift was almost worth the terror of trying to escape the unholy underground temple while burdened down by the bones of two dead men who could hardly be said to care what happened to their remains now. When they finally made it up to the room where the Palladion sat surrounded by blood, Ariadne was relieved to see that the corpse was no longer lying at the holy statue’s feet. The hideous profanation of a temple and the temple itself were both entirely peaceful, and they were able to get back outside without being challenged by anyone.          As they crossed the agora, Eurysakes took the lead, heading not for the (well guarded!) main entrance, but a small side entrance, where Ariadne was astonished to see that the entrance was being guarded by the Amazon Pantariste, who greeted Eurysakes with a smile, and glared at Atalanta as though she herself was Achilles still coated in the blood of the former Amazon queen.          Pantariste led the four of them through the silent palace to the chambers of the Amazons, where Ariadne had to explain to both the Amazons and Rhoxane everything that had happened, having to go all the way back to their escape from Methymna to explain some of the details to everyone's satisfaction. When the story was concluded, Antianeira let out a deep sigh. “I wish I could disbelieve your alarming tale, but it fits some of the omens we saw before our departure.” She shook her head. “Our queen—my sister—has frequently sent us to watch over windy Ilios ever since its true king was driven away by the current one. We view it as our duty to our sisters who fell for the sake of this city to protect it from any further foes, whether from within or without.”          “Then you will help us?” Eurysakes asked.          “Of course!” Pantariste exclaimed, smiling at him with such open desire that it turned his whole face crimson.          Antianeira sighed again. “Pantariste, Hipponike, go to the young ones’ chambers and fetch their weapons and armor.” Both Amazons obeyed instantly, and once they were gone, their leader turned an apologetic smile towards Ariadne. “You must forgive Pantariste. She has quite an eye for a handsome young man, particularly when he looks like he would give her strong children.” That made Eurysakes turn an even darker shade of red, and made the other Amazons laugh, though Ariadne wasn’t sure if they were laughing at him or at Pantariste, or both of them. “As to helping you…we will do what we can, but you must understand that without knowing who has done these things, there is nothing we *can* do.”          “We’ve only seen Zelotes act like that around two men,” Atalanta said, “so it has to be one of them, right?”          “Perhaps, perhaps not,” Antianeira replied, shaking her head. “You did not witness his behavior in the company of every man in this city. But supposing you’re right, then what? One of those two men is our host. We cannot act against him unless he betrays us first. But these chambers are our own, and Ariadne here has been our guest in them. We will not betray the sacred bond. You are under our protection, young one. We will shelter this friend of yours,” she said, gesturing to Rhoxane, “and…despite our desires to the contrary, we will even respect the remains of our mortal foe, for your sake.”          “What would the queen say?” one of the other Amazons exclaimed in horror.          “That there is no point in tormenting the dead,” Antianeira retorted. “It is not as though they can feel it.”          “I wonder why those people were doing that with those bones, though,” Rhoxane commented. “Do you think *they* thought they could punish Achilles that way?”          “I think it was me they wanted to punish,” Atalanta said quietly. “Look at my leg,” she added, pushing her torn gown aside to reveal that her thigh was no longer bright red, and had almost entirely returned to its normal tan color. “It doesn’t hurt anymore, either.”          Most of the Amazons looked confused, but Ariadne was filled with loathing at the very idea. If…if that was true…if anything *about* that was true…then…          “If I’m understanding your words correctly, and if you have guessed truly,” Antianeira said, “then that is a very old and very vile form of magic. I did not think anyone in these lands practiced such sorcery.” She frowned. “You will need to be very cautious around such foes.”          “What about my father?” Eurysakes asked, his voice heavy. “His grave is unguarded…”          “Whoever Callicritades is, I doubt he’d even be able to find your father’s grave,” Ariadne assured him. “Unless he fought with the Achaian army—an impossibility if he’s either of the most logical suspects—then he won’t have any idea where your father is buried. He would expect him to be in one of the other barrows where the Achaian war dead were enshrined. If Atalanta is right about what they were doing with those bones, I think their failure at it will keep them from trying again.”          “If?” Eurysakes repeated. “You can doubt it?”          “I can doubt anything I want!” Ariadne snapped instinctively, even though she knew it didn’t really make much sense as an answer. “Besides, if that *was* what was going on with those bones, then why did it only affect one of Atalanta’s legs and not both? They had a right and left thigh bone in that krater.”          “The other must have belonged to Patroclos,” Eurysakes said, talking over Rhoxane’s assertion that she was going to be sick if they kept talking about such awful things.          “Ugh, can we please change the subject?” Atalanta asked, her face having gone whey-colored again.          Most of the Amazons laughed, and even Antianeira chuckled warmly. “Of course. We should be discussing what you plan to do now to deal with this Callicritades and whatever he is attempting to do with the holy image of the goddess,” she said.          “We want to return to the shrine we found on Mount Ida and see if we can learn anything there,” Ariadne told her. “Unfortunately, that will mean the situation in the city might get worse while we’re away, but…”          “In this, at least, I think we can be of help to you,” Antianeira said. “Our horses are not stabled with those of the Trojans, but graze freely out on the plains. One of our warriors will help you out of the city unobserved so you may borrow three of our steeds. If anyone of the Trojan court should ask after you, we will tell them you left the city yesterday afternoon, since it was observed that none of you appeared to the feast last night.”          “Really, *none* of us did?” Ariadne said, giving Eurysakes a suspicious look. He refused to meet her eyes, his whole face once again darkening. Hopefully that only meant he skipped the feast to help Pantariste in her quest for a strong child, and not that he was still up to something. “And nothing was said about it at the feast?” she asked, turning her gaze back to the Amazons.          “Not to or by us, no,” Antianeira confirmed. “However, when a man who *was* at the feast turns up dead in the morning, it will be best if there are those willing to claim that you were not in the city when he was killed.”          “Since Callicritades and his other men all saw us, that won’t help any,” Atalanta moaned.          “But they can’t *admit* they saw you without admitting to having been sacrificing people and defiling the temple and the Palladion,” Antianeira assured her. “The lie will not help you against your foes, but it will help you with those who are uninvolved.”          “We can never thank you enough for all your help,” Ariadne said. “If there’s ever anything we can do to help you in return, I promise we’ll give our all to do it.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->oinone]]

It was the same Amazon who had been let them back into the palace who helped them sneak out of the city—though of course Atalanta hadn’t left the Amazons’ chambers without first privately asking Rhoxane to keep watch over her father’s funerary urn, just in case some of the Amazons were less understanding than their leader—and to the pasture where the horses were grazing. The whole time they were walking, the Amazon kept leaning in to whisper things to Eurysakes that he didn’t seem to like, but he didn’t tell her to stop, so Atalanta decided she’d better keep out of it. The horses the Amazon provided them with were very strong and a bit stubborn, so Ariadne was having trouble with hers at first, but they still made good time getting back to Mount Ida, and were able to ride up very near the cliff where the cave was located. Atalanta could only hope that if any of the bandits who had escaped them were still in the area, that they wouldn’t find the horses, or wouldn’t be able to steal them.          After a tiresome climb up beside the cliff, they began crossing the thin ledge that led into the cave with the Callicrates altar, and Atalanta soon became aware that she could hear a voice from within the cave. It was a woman’s voice, chanting quietly. As she moved closer, she realized that it wasn’t just any woman’s voice; it was the woman they had saved from the bandits earlier, the one who had given them that flower. So much for Eurysakes’ hope that she had been Selene herself, if she was out in the daytime!          The moment that Atalanta entered the cave, the woman stopped her chant, and leapt to her feet. She had been praying in front of the altar, which was currently shiny with fresh blood, though Atalanta couldn’t see where the blood had come from; there was no sign of any freshly slaughtered animal nearby.          “It’s you,” the woman said, staring at them as Eurysakes also entered the cave. “What are you doing here?”          “We came because of that altar,” Atalanta told her, pointing at it. “Do those lines on the wall behind it really say Callicrates?”          The woman looked at the altar over her shoulder, then laughed sadly. “So there *are* those around who can read them,” she said. “I was right not to use his real name.”          “Then you wrote the name there?” Ariadne asked, as she, too, entered the cave.          The woman nodded, and walked a little closer to them, bringing her into the small amount of light that entered the cave. In the full light of the sun, her hair *still* looked blue; a deep, dark shade of blue, the color that Atalanta had always imagined Poseidon’s hair was. Her eyes, too, were blue, of a shade very similar to those of Callicritades. “What business is it of yours what I do here?” she asked, her voice cold as mountain snowmelt.          “In the city, we met a man calling himself Callicritades,” Ariadne told her, just as coldly. “Surely you can see why we thought there would be a connection.”          The mysterious woman frowned, then went over to kneel in front of the altar again. “I have nothing to do with it,” she said.          “Then you’re saying that altar *isn’t* dedicated to worshipping his father?” Atalanta asked doubtfully.          “Worship?!” the woman screamed, gesturing so angrily that she knocked over the altar itself. “Worship?! Who could worship that traitor?!”          “Then what is it for?” Eurysakes asked.          “I come here daily to curse his name and beg all the gods in Olympos to cast his shade down into the vilest pit in Tartaros!” the woman exclaimed.          “Why…? What did he do?” Atalanta asked, her eyes wide with shock. She’d never seen anyone exhibit such venom before…          “He threw me over for another woman,” the blue-haired woman explained, staring at the name written on the back wall as if it was the man himself. “No, not just that! Though we were married, he cast me aside for that…that *whore*! Even though *she* was married, too! That she-creature gives all mortal women a bad name, and yet he preferred her to me! There is no curse strong enough, no oath vile enough, that it can encompass all the evil that came to be within the fair form of Paris, shepherd of Mount Ida!”          Atalanta felt more than a little confused by the woman’s story—hadn’t that been the name of the foundling who got killed in Doran’s story?—but she didn’t doubt the genuine honesty of the woman’s fury. She had obviously suffered greatly, but…if Paris was the one from Doran’s story, wouldn’t this woman have to be extremely old? She’d have to be well older than Doran, at least, but she looked like she would have a hard time convincing anyone she had even been walking the earth for three decades. But perhaps Atalanta was misremembering the name from Doran’s story. Or maybe it was a common name among shepherds?          “I can understand why you’re so bitter,” Ariadne said, “and I don’t blame you at all for wanting to see him punished for making you suffer. But…is there really no connection between your husband and that man in town? Did your husband have any children?”          “I don’t see why that is any concern of yours, little girl,” the woman replied coldly.          “You’re mistaken,” Eurysakes said firmly. “Arios is a boy.”          “I’m not a fool,” the woman snarled at him. “I know the difference between a boy and a girl well enough.”          Eurysakes looked like he might make further attempts to persuade her otherwise, but Ariadne stopped him with a single raised hand. “Let it go, Eurysakes,” she said calmly. “I don’t think many people were ever fooled in the first place. There’s no point in any of us wasting breath on that lie any further.” She walked over to the woman who still knelt at the back of the cave. “Please, let’s not argue. If you’re the one who gave them the flower that healed my cousin of her injury, I would like us to be friends.” She held out her hand towards the woman. “I’m Ariadne, from Methymna.”          “I think you’re all from a bit further west than that, based on your smell,” the woman laughed.          “Smell?” Atalanta repeated, sniffing at herself. “Do we stink?”          “Of Achaian blades, yes.”          “You’re some kind of mountain spirit, aren’t you?” Ariadne asked. “Not a mortal woman like Atalanta and I.”          The woman sighed deeply. “Does it matter to you, child?”          “No, but the fact that you call me a child does prove it pretty conclusively.”          The woman laughed, but didn’t answer.          “Will you really not help us?” Eurysakes asked, sounding deeply disappointed.          “I fail to see what help I could possibly offer you children,” the spirit replied. “I have no power off of this mountain, and precious little power even on it.”          “Well, it’s just that Apollo told me that Athene expects Ariadne to deal with—”          “Shut up, Atalanta!”          Despite Ariadne’s shouted rebuke, the mysterious spirit turned around, rising to her feet and walking over to Atalanta, coming unnervingly close. “No, keep going. What is it that the grey-eyed goddess expects of you mortals?”          “Um…well…Apollo wasn’t clear about that…”          “He never is,” the spirit sighed. “But you must have some ideas, obviously.”          Atalanta nodded uncomfortably. “Well, like I said, there’s that guy Palladion and he’s defiling the Callicritades—”          “Atalanta, stop,” Ariadne said. “You’re just confusing everything.” She walked over to the spirit and gave her a weak smile. “The man calling himself Callicritades is defiling the Palladion,” she explained. “We don’t know his aims, precisely, but it sounded as if he might intend harm to the gods on Mount Olympos. If you are acquainted with Apollo, then I hope you would wish to help us aid the gods, o mountain spir—”          “My name is Oinone,” the woman said sharply, cutting her off. She looked back at her ruined altar and frowned. “I can see why he would attempt such things. He is as much a fool as his father was, even if he believes that he means well.”          “I doubt he does believe that,” Eurysakes said coldly. “He is slaughtering innocents.”          “He likely sees them as anything but innocent,” Oinone said. “Being blind to everything but what he wants to see is unfortunately another thing he has in common with his father.” She shook her head. “But there is truly little I can do for you children. The only power I have that can extend as far as the city is the power of my herbs and potions.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully for a moment. “But perhaps that in itself is something I can do for you.” Without another word, she walked towards the back of the cave, disappearing into the extreme darkness in the furthest corner, but soon returned again, carrying a small amphora in both hands. “This is a powerful antidote; it will utterly destroy any poison. Utterly and permanently. It’s the only thing I have on hand that might help you. But!” she added sharply, as Atalanta began reaching or the amphora. “If I give you this, I expect that the grey-eyed goddess will take up my case with her father, almighty Zeus! I want to see the shade of Paris writhing in torment in Tartaros for what he did to me—to everyone he ever knew! That is the price of my help.”          “We can’t make the gods do things,” Ariadne pointed out. “I’ll be glad to pray to them for your sake, but there isn’t anything more than that in my power to do.”          “Don’t just ask them to help me,” Oinone insisted, “tell them that only with my assistance were you able to overcome their foe. Tell them that it is to me alone that they owe their gratitude. And then remind them what I ask of them!”          “That seems reasonable,” Eurysakes agreed, nodding as he extended his hands towards the amphora.          “Be careful with it,” Oinone told them, as she handed the antidote over to Eurysakes. “I have no more than this, and I will not be able to create more within your lifetime. And do not forget your promise!”          “We won’t,” Eurysakes assured her. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->campfire discussion]]

Ariadne had not, in truth, felt that they had gotten nearly enough information out of Oinone, but the others had seemed to think the antidote was enough, and *Oinone* had certainly seen the audience as concluded, so what else could Ariadne do but accompany the other two back out of the claustrophobically tiny cave and back down the mountainside?          Thankfully, their horses were still where they had left them, and they were able to ride for a decent distance before it got too dark to continue, forcing them to camp for the night. Once they had hunted up some game and it was roasting over the fire, they sat down to discuss their situation. “Um, so, am I crazy, or is Paris the same name of the guy that got killed—the one who was sorta Doran’s older brother?” Atalanta started.          “You aren’t crazy,” Eurysakes assured her. “But the stories do not combine well.”          Ariadne nodded thoughtfully. “Or do they?” she asked. “The way Doran told the story, the bull was taken for something to do with Prince Alexander. What if…” She stopped, biting her lip as she tried to make the two stories work together. “No, there’s too many possibilities.”          “Do you suppose the real Alexander died and Paris looked like him, so he got forced to pretend to be him?” Atalanta asked.          “That’s one possibility,” Ariadne agreed, “but it seems pretty far-fetched. There’s just too many other things it could be, and too much missing information.”          “But what Oinone said Paris did…it sounded like what Alexander did,” Atalanta said. “Didn’t it?”          “Of course it did,” Ariadne sighed. “That goes without saying!” Who else could be said to be a disgrace to all mortal women but Helen of Lacedaimon?          “Then that’d mean Korythos was Callicritades, wouldn’t it?” Atalanta said. “I mean, he did say his mother’s a nymph, and if Oinone is some kind of immortal being, that could be a nymph as well as an oread, right?”          “An oread is a type of nymph,” Eurysakes pointed out. “Though a river god’s daughter would not normally be an oread. But you are not necessarily wrong.”          Ariadne frowned. It wasn’t that Atalanta’s logic was in any way flawed. It was that she was afraid Atalanta wasn’t saying her real reason for wanting to suspect the king: she wanted the son of Alexander to be her enemy so she could kill him in vengeance for the death of Achilles, who still could not possibly be her father no matter what everyone and everything was trying to imply ever since they landed in this cursed land! It was just *impossible*! “It isn’t proof, though,” she said. “I think Ganymede is the more likely culprit.” It was Ganymede, after all, who had seen Rhoxane in the palace and overheard Atalanta calling herself the daughter of Achilles.          “Why Ganymede?” Eurysakes asked, looking at her curiously.          “He seems to have worked much more closely with that Zelotes character, for one thing,” Ariadne started, using her fingers to mark off each point as she made it. “He plainly resents the king, he plainly hates us, he plainly hates Achilles and would relish the chance to abuse his remains—”          “That could be said of most of the city,” Eurysakes pointed out.          “Well, that’s true,” Ariadne agreed, with a laugh, even though it made Atalanta shudder. “More importantly, if the king was responsible, then why all the secrecy? Why wouldn’t he be acting more openly? He’s the king. No one can argue with him.”          The others both frowned. “That is a good point,” Eurysakes agreed.          “But then why would he call himself Callicritades?” Atalanta asked.          “To shift suspicion onto the king in the eyes of anyone who stumbled onto the rites?” Ariadne suggested, but even she could see that was a weak explanation. “Or maybe they’re brothers. Or half-brothers. You only have to look at them to see they're related.”          “I hadn’t thought of that,” Atalanta sighed. “This is all so complicated!”          “We just need more information, that’s all,” Ariadne assured her. “We’ll see what’s going on in the city when we get back tomorrow. See who’s saying what about what happened.”          “If they’re saying anything at all,” Eurysakes pointed out.          “Zelotes was an important man at the court. He can’t simply disappear without people noticing. Someone will have had to produce *some* kind of explanation for his absence.” Ariadne shook her head. “The question is, will his master have claimed he left town on orders—people die at sea every day—or will he claim someone murdered him? And if so, *who*? Who will be blamed?”          “Us,” Eurysakes concluded glumly.          “Not if Antianeira is able to convince them we’d already left town by the time he died,” Ariadne reminded him. “Besides, if Callicritades is either Ganymede or Korythos, they’ll both want to use Zelotes’ death to be rid of the other. They don’t even hide how much they hate each other, after all.”          “Doesn’t that mean they *can’t* both be sons of Alexander or Paris or whoever?” Atalanta said.          “Brothers can hate each other,” Eurysakes said. “It happens often. Even among great men. Our grandfathers killed their half-brother, Phocos.”          Atalanta blanched. “They…they did…?”          Eurysakes nodded solemnly.          Ariadne sighed. “I don’t think that’s relevant here.” Anything to keep Atalanta from getting even weirder about her imaginary heritage! “The food’s almost ready. Let’s put this discussion aside for now, since we really can’t figure anything else out until we know more. Instead, we need to figure out where we’re going to tell people we went, why we didn’t tell anyone we were leaving, and what we’ve been doing.”          The others both winced. “We probably should have talked to the Amazons about that,” Atalanta said. “What if we say something that doesn’t match up to what they said?”          Ariadne could only shrug. “We’ll deal with that when we get to it. *If* we get to it.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->on the road]]

[[<img src="ch10-return to city.jpg" width="750" height="534">->return to city]]

Even though Atalanta used to go riding whenever she could in Methymna, her thighs were still hurting by the time they were finally back in sight of the city. Ariadne, of course, had been moaning over the pain all day. Eurysakes was completely fine, though; he must have ridden horses a lot in Cypros, rather than just ride in chariots all the time. Well, that or he was in pain, too, and just didn’t want to admit it.          Rather than leave their horses with the rest of the Amazons’ horses, they rode right on into the city, and all the way up to the palace. As they were making their way along the edge of the agora, they heard all sorts of rumors: Zelotes had been murdered in his bed, everyone was saying, and now there was a desperate search within the palace to discover the assassin. Atalanta was worried about what was going to happen to them if Antianeira *hadn’t* managed to convince the king that they’d already been gone by the time Zelotes was killed, but she had her father’s spear, and Ariadne had the best of the bows they’d taken from that old lady in Dardania and a quiver overflowing with arrows, and Eurysakes was fully armed, so they would *probably* be okay no matter what…hopefully.          Eurysakes’ horse led the way, right up to the front of the palace. “Inform the Amazons we are back,” he told one of the astonished guards who approached them as Eurysakes dismounted. “These are their horses.”          As the girls were also dismounting, the Achaian herald hurried out of the palace and bowed before them. “His majesty King Korythos has been quite worried about you, young guests!” he exclaimed. “Please come pay your respects to him at once!”          It didn’t *sound* like they were in any trouble, but Atalanta was still nervous as they headed into the megaron and all three bowed before the king, who did not look particularly worried to her. “You disappeared so suddenly, my young friends,” he said, smiling at them. “I was concerned something might have happened to you. Why did you not inform me you were leaving?”          “My apologies, your majesty,” Eurysakes said, bowing his head. “I thought our destination was closer. That we would be back the same day we left.”          “And what was your destination? The Amazons seemed unsure of that.”          “I wish to see my mother’s birthplace,” Eurysakes said sadly. Atalanta was sure it was the truth. “I thought I knew where it was.” He shook his head. “I was wrong. There was nothing there.”          King Korythos sighed sadly. “You may not have been wrong, I’m sorry to say. Many cities were destroyed so completely by the Achaian army that not one stone stood upon another. Survivors often just went elsewhere instead of rebuilding.” He shook his head. “But I am relieved to see all three of you uninjured. I don’t know if you heard on your way here, but one of my advisors was brutally murdered in his sleep. My men are still trying to discover who killed him and why. Keep on your guard in the night until the killer is caught. I should not wish to see anything happen to you lads.”          “Thank you for your concern, your majesty,” Ariadne said. “We’ll be very careful.”          The king smiled at them emptily, and dismissed them from the audience. They didn’t even need to confer about where to go next: they headed straight for the Amazons’ chambers without saying a word. When they got there, Atalanta was greatly relieved to see that Rhoxane was bright and cheerful, and keeping guard over her father’s bones. It wasn’t that Atalanta mistrusted the Amazons, exactly, but how could she live with herself if anything else happened to her father’s remains after they had already been so horribly profaned because of her?          “I’m glad to see you made it back safely, young one,” Antianeira said to Ariadne. “Things have been very uncomfortable here since your departure.”          “Can I take it that you’re ready to help us fight, and that’s why all you look like you’re preparing for war?” Ariadne asked hopefully.          “Do you know yet who your foe is?”          Ariadne bit her lip. “No. We’re still not sure…”          Antianeira shook her head. “Then I can’t help you. I cannot risk agreeing to help you fight only to end up turning my blade against my host. Only if he attacks us first can I fight him.”          “I understand,” Ariadne said with a deep sigh. “But tell us what’s happened. Is it just the commotion over Zelotes’ death?”          Antianeira shook her head, but it was Pantariste who spoke. “When I was headed back inside after helping you to the horses, I heard a commotion from the direction of the temple of Athene.” She frowned. “I dared not show myself, since I was unarmed and without armor, so I couldn’t see much of what was going on. But I heard men grunting as if moving something heavy, and the thin wails of the weak.”          “The prisoners,” Eurysakes concluded.          “Yes, that’s what we all think,” Antianeira agreed. “And probably the profaned Palladion as well. Unfortunately, Pantariste was not able to follow them closely enough to see where they were taken.”          “Inside the palace. I’m sure of that much,” Pantariste added.          Ariadne nodded. “Thank you for everything. We’ll…we’ll have to hope we can handle it from here.”          “May the goddesses grant you their favor,” Antianeira said, bidding them farewell. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->looking for info]]

Ariadne had hopes that that night’s evening meal would prove informative. Unfortunately, it was anything but. Ganymede barely made an appearance, excusing his lateness by explaining that he had been so busy with the funeral arrangements for his wife’s cousin that he had been unable to make it any earlier. Ariadne’s suspicions of him grew all the stronger for this revelation that he was married to Zelotes’ kinswoman, but she tried to tamp them down; that was far from being evidence that he was actually Callicritades.          Afterwards, the three of them returned to Eurysakes’ chambers—on the assumption that they would be more secure as he was (believed to be) more important and *not* the spawn of Achilles—to discuss their plans moving forward.          “We need to search the palace,” Eurysakes insisted. “To find the prisoners.”          “And the Palladion,” Atalanta added.          “I don’t know,” Ariadne said, frowning. “What if they didn’t really move anything? What Pantariste heard might have just been Callicritades having the corpses of the men we killed moved, and the wailing might have been his men mourning.”          “You want to go back under the temple?” Eurysakes asked.          “I think it’s best to be sure before we do anything suspicious like searching the palace,” Ariadne said. “It’s not dark out yet, so there should still be worshippers in the temple.” He didn’t look like he was going to agree, so Ariadne turned to Atalanta. She looked concerned, too, so Ariadne took her hand in both of hers. “You agree with me, don’t you?”          Atalanta smiled uncomfortably. “Well…I…you—you’re always right…so…yeah…”          Not the eager agreement she had been hoping for, but it would have to do.          They set off at once, but as they drew near the temple, Atalanta began to hang back. “Wait, what if the head priestess is there?” she asked quietly. “No matter how we’re dressed, she’ll recognize us. That other priestess, too, probably.”          “Then their reactions should be informative,” Ariadne assured her. “Just don’t worry and don’t say a word.” The last thing they needed was for Atalanta to say or do something stupid!          As they entered the temple, the priestess who had met them before their earlier entry to the lower area was standing near the back of the temple. Seeing them, she gasped, and disappeared behind the column that led to the lower chambers. Thankfully, Atalanta didn’t seem to have noticed her, and Eurysakes wouldn’t have *known* her even if he did see her.          “Can you do something to distract everyone?” Ariadne asked, leaning in towards Eurysakes. “So I can slip away unnoticed?”          He nodded, and walked over to the nearest worshipper, before beginning to ask about proper sacrificing procedure in his loudest and slowest voice. Sure enough, soon both remaining priestesses were hurrying to help him—or at least make him leave the other worshippers alone—and Ariadne was able to sneak around to the back of the temple without anyone paying any attention to her.          Anyone other than Atalanta, anyway, who was following her determinedly. “I should go alone,” Ariadne whispered. “One is less obtrusive than two.” Especially when the second was Atalanta.          “But you can’t fight by yourself,” Atalanta pointed out.          “I doubt they’d have the courage to attack the king’s guest in daylight, not with so many citizens right here. Just stay here near the door. Where you can hear me if I get in trouble.”          The prospect of rushing to the rescue evidently appealed to Atalanta, and she finally stopped where she was, and took up a position leaning idly on the column that hid the doorway to the hidden chamber where Callicritades had profaned the Palladion.          It turned out, as misfortune would have it, that this had all been pointless: what Pantariste heard really had been the enemy moving the Palladion, as the chamber was now empty but for its bloodstains and wood shavings. Strangely, though, the sense of Athene’s holy power remained in the room. In fact, it seemed *stronger* for the Palladion being gone.          Ariadne crouched down and ran her fingers through the wood dust and shavings that had risen up in the form of Athene herself in response to Atalanta’s prayers. A sudden realization shot through her as sharply as an arrow from Artemis’ own bow, and Ariadne clenched a fist around some of the largest shavings. If she was right…          She hadn’t even decided what to do next when she heard a voice echoing from the stairs that led down to the ruins of the old city. “Those three are back, my lady!” It was the priestess who had just run out of the temple. “What should we do?”          “Inform Lord Callicritades,” the voice of the head priestess replied. “They may be more dangerous than he initially thought. We should hold off on further sacrifices until after they’ve been disposed of.”          “Yes, my lady.”          “And keep searching for that missing Locrian! They must have secreted her *somewhere*!”          “Yes, my lady.”          The mention of Rhoxane woke Ariadne to the danger she was in. She stood again, and hurried out of the back room before the priestess could return. “We have to get back to the palace immediately,” she whispered to Atalanta as soon as she was back to the main temple. She took hold of Atalanta’s hand and headed straight out of the temple without so much as looking at Eurysakes, who was still droning on to the other priestesses.          “Wait, what about Eurysakes?” Atalanta asked, once they were outside again, barely able to see in the last gasp of twilight.          “I’m sure he’ll be able to follow us soon enough,” Ariadne said. “They believe he’s the heir to a kingdom. They wouldn’t risk war by hurting him.”          “What do you mean, they ‘believe’ he’s—Ariadne, you can’t say you still doubt him!”          “I can say whatever I want,” Ariadne snapped. “And the name is Arios when we’re in public,” she added in a harsh whisper.          “Considering no one seems to have been fooled, what’s the point?”          Unfortunately, Ariadne couldn’t really argue with that. “It’s the principle of the thing,” was all she could say in defense of her own stubbornness.          Atalanta let out a groan, but didn’t say anything. By the time they were re-entering the palace, Eurysakes had emerged from the temple, and was following them at a casual walk. At least he knew how to act unsuspicious! Of course, if he made dissembling his livelihood, that only made sense…          Ariadne kept walking until she entered the chamber that had been assigned to her and Atalanta. She was checking it over thoroughly for any sign of intrusion when Eurysakes arrived. “Did you find anything?” he asked, as soon as he had shut the door behind him.          “P—our *friend* was right about—well, you know.” Ariadne frowned. How could they feel sure anything they said was not being overheard by the enemy? Going to talk in the chambers of the Amazons would surely be safe, but if they spent too long with the Amazons, it might clue in Callicritades and his followers as to where Rhoxane was hiding. While that would at least free of Antianeira and her troops to fight if it turned out Callicritades was in fact King Korythos, it could also get Rhoxane killed, and Ariadne was not prepared to take that risk. “You know, the night is growing chilly. Shall we light a fire?” she said loudly, gesturing to the fire pit in the back corner. It wasn’t remotely needed, but the crackling of a fire might cover up their voices…          Atalanta looked confused, but Eurysakes obeyed instantly, and soon a roaring fire was making a nice noise, in addition to turning the room into something of an oven. The three of them took up positions right around the fire. “The Palladion was gone?” Eurysakes surmised in a quiet tone.          Ariadne nodded. “I didn’t dare look for the prisoners, because the priestesses were talking nearby enough for me to hear them, but I think it’s safe to assume that they were indeed moved as well.” With a deep sigh, she held out her hand in front of her and opened it, revealing the wood shavings she was still carrying.          “What…?” Eurysakes looked at the shavings with the most complete confusion.          “Oh, that’s—that’s some of what Athene used to talk to us, right?” Atalanta said, then bit her lip. “What *was* all of that? I mean…if that had been a fake Palladion, then that could be the leftovers of making it, but…”          “I’m afraid this is part of the Palladion,” Ariadne said. “These thin scraps of wood are brimming with Athene’s presence. And I don’t think it’s just because of what happened the other night. I think they’ve profaned the Palladion in more ways than just splashing human blood on it.”          Eurysakes frowned. “Why?”          “Why do I think that, or why would they do that?”          “Why would they do that.”          Ariadne shrugged. “I honestly can’t imagine any reason,” she had to admit. “But I know it’s not good.” She sighed, closing her hand again. “The only good thing I can see is that it sounds like they won’t kill anyone else until they’ve killed *us*.”          “But they’re not *going* to kill us,” Atalanta said, with an almost vicious smile. “Right?”          “Right.”          “Do we begin searching the palace now?” Eurysakes asked.          “I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Ariadne sighed. “One of the priestesses was going to go warn their boss about us. I think they’ll all be too on alert tonight.”          “Or they might try to kill us in our sleep,” he concluded, frowning.          “There is that possibility, yes,” Ariadne had to admit.          “We’d better not sleep,” Atalanta said. “At least, not all at once.”          Eurysakes nodded. “One to keep guard.” He smiled. “Like in a camp of war.”          “Well, *that’s* a charming image,” Ariadne said, rolling her eyes. “Before anyone settles down to sleep for the night, we need to figure out how best to handle this from now on. We don’t want to do anything during the day that will make anyone not working with Callicritades suspect us of any wrong-doing. We have too many enemies already to make any more of them.”          “Maybe we need to start out by figuring out who Callicritades really is,” Atalanta said. “And only look for the prisoners after we find that out, since their lives are safe right now.”          “We can’t just count on their lives being safe,” Ariadne had to admit. “Technically, the head priestess just gave her own opinion on the subject. Her master may not agree. Though I suspect he probably will.” She sighed. “But it’s probably a good idea to look for information during the day and not try to search the palace until nightfall tomorrow.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->ganymede arrested]]

After a particularly meager morning meal—the fruit and bread intended for just Atalanta and Ariadne didn’t go so far when there was also Eurysakes to feed!—Atalanta and her cousins left the room cautiously. Ariadne seemed to expect to be beset by enemies at every turn, and her nervousness was definitely infecting Atalanta. She didn’t think it was a very good idea for Ariadne to be carrying around those wood shavings, either, but Ariadne absolutely *would not* let go of them. But hopefully she’d come up with some crazy Hyperborean explanation for them if anyone noticed them.          They headed for the megaron almost immediately. Atalanta didn’t think it was the best idea Ariadne had come up with—more like one of the worst—but since Eurysakes also said that the megaron would be the source of the most current information, what could she do but go along?          They had almost gotten there when they saw Ganymede rushing in ahead of them, his face covered in a particularly nasty scowl. “Your majesty, given how much I have to do right now, I would appreciate not being summoned unless it is truly urgent,” he said, before they could even reach the doorway.          “Oh, it is,” the king replied. They were just close enough now that Atalanta could see inside the megaron, and could see the vicious smile on Korythos’ face. “Guards, seize him!” Two of the largest guards in the citadel—one of them so big that he had probably been the actual owner of the armor Eurysakes had worn the other night—ran up and grabbed Ganymede’s arms.          “What is this treachery!?” Ganymede shouted. “I have done nothing wrong!”          “Was it not *your* sword that took Zelotes’ life?” Korythos was practically laughing.          “Of course not! Why would you think such a mad thing?”          King Korythos shook his head. “My men have investigated this matter quite thoroughly,” he said. “No man benefited from the death of such a selfless fellow as Zelotes. No man, that is, except *you*, who have inherited all his belongings, as his only kin.”          “He was my *wife’s* kin, and I swear by all the gods that I had nothing to do with his death!” Ganymede shouted back. “May almighty Zeus strike me with a thunderbolt if I’m lying!” It seemed odd to Atalanta to hear someone shouting in the Hatti tongue about Zeus, but she didn’t dare say anything about it…though she wondered if the guards holding him knew that Ganymede was telling the truth, since they didn’t let go of him. Surely if they thought he was lying, they’d be scared of being hit by the thunderbolt, too, wouldn’t they?          “As if Ahhiyawa gods have any power here?” Korythos laughed, clearly enjoying Ganymede’s downfall a little too much. “How perverted you became in your time away from the city if you would call on *them* to aid you.” He shook his head. “Take him away,” he said, gesturing limply towards the open doorway beyond which the trio were watching these events with astonished eyes.          “Elders of Troy, are you going to allow this travesty to take place?!” Ganymede shouted as the guards began to drag him away. “This villain has no right to rule over us! Why do you stand there and watch me treated in this manner? Have none of you realized what a mistake it was on your part to allow him to drive away our true king?!”          “No right to rule?” King Korythos repeated, his voice supercilious, and his expression decidedly pleased. “Was not my father Prince Alexander, who fought and died for our beloved Wilusa? Can any who ever looked on his face doubt my descent from him?”          “No!” Ganymede retorted, his voice the shriek of a Fury. His voice frightened the guards into letting go of him. “That man was never the son of King Priam! Your father was nothing but a shepherd of Mount Ida—an interloper who dragged down the noble House of Tros!”          Atalanta felt something seize up within her. Had her guess been right, that the real prince had died and Oinone’s husband was made into a replacement? But if that was the case, why hadn’t King Priam exposed him as a fraud and prevented the war? It didn’t make any sense to her…          “My father was raised as a shepherd in his early years, it’s true,” King Korythos replied, with a slick smile, “and it was thanks to that virtuous upbringing that he was the man my mother fell in love with. If he had lived all his life as Alexander of Wilusa, I would never have been born, for my mother never moves far from the sphere of her father, the River Cebren. But my father *was* the true prince, and the victim of the cruel Ahhiyawa and their vicious gods.”          “Blasphemer,” Ganymede growled. “If the gods harbored some grudge against Wilusa, it was for the madness of allowing a crude peasant like Paris of Mount Ida into the royal palace!”          “I should kill you where you stand for that,” the king snarled, reaching for his sword. When had he started wearing a sword? Atalanta was sure she’d never seen him with one before today…          “My friends, think back to the days before our kingdom was ruined!” Ganymede exclaimed, turning his head this way and that to look at the other nobles of the court. Every man of the ones Atalanta could see immediately turned his face away from Ganymede, unable to meet his eyes. “Think back to the day that whelp came into the city, chasing after his bull. On whose word was he accepted as the prince that had been left exposed at the base of Mount Ida? Only that of a madwoman! We were cursed by the gods from the day he set foot in the palace, having decided to abandon his own identity and usurp the role of the dead Prince Alexander!”          “Drag him from my sight before I stain my robe with his blood,” the king snarled, and the guards immediately grabbed hold of Ganymede again.          The trio in the corridor didn’t wait around to see what happened next: they set off running straight away. Ariadne was in the lead, and turned them down a corridor towards the palace’s forge. “Why are we going here?” Atalanta asked as they headed down the isolated corridor closest to the forge.          “It’s the last place they’ll look for us. Besides, maybe our armor is ready…”          The forge was as hot as the fires beneath Mount Aitna, and the blacksmiths were hard at work, though they evidently weren’t working on the armor, because Atalanta only saw swords being made at the moment. The blacksmith who had taken the description of ‘Hyperborean’ armor from Ariadne called them over soon after they entered, and looked at them with some disappointment. “It will take many days longer to make such complex armor, young sirs,” he told them. Either he was the only one who *was* fooled by their disguise, or he was too polite to admit that he knew they were girls. “Surely your smiths in Hyperborea cannot move at such a pace?”          “Oh, no, we were just wondering how it was coming along,” Ariadne assured him, with a gentle smile. “We rarely have the chance to witness the crafting of armor by means so unlike our own. It’s too cold in Hyperborea to have a hot forge like this one; our armor is hammered out by captive giants whose legs have been cut off to ensure their obedience.”          “Mighty Hasameli preserve us!” the blacksmith exclaimed. “I had no idea that you barbarians were so cruel!”          “They *are* giants,” Ariadne pointed out, shaking her head, “and when they were captured centuries ago, they were attempting to make off with our women folk for their own nefarious purposes. The punishment is quite just, I assure you.”          “Still, I’m glad I live in civilized lands,” the blacksmith said, shaking his head. “Anyway, you can watch us working if you want, but don’t get too close or you might get burned. And for the love of the gods, please don’t say another word about how smithing is done in your lands!”          Ariadne laughed. “I won’t. I promise.”          They watched in silence for a while as the blacksmiths worked. Atalanta wasn’t sure what Ariadne was thinking, but all she could think about was to wonder what was going to happen now. Since they could now be sure that Korythos was Callicritades—really, why had they ever doubted it?—they had to be ready to move against him, and yet how could they? He was the king, so if they just tried to kill him, they’d look like the villains.          None of them said anything, or even moved, until the old man from the armory came into the forge and approached the blacksmith, telling him that the guards were going to need twice as many weapons as expected, then telling him about what had just happened in the megaron, complete with almost every word of the conversation between Ganymede and Korythos. (He evidently had quite a good memory for such an old man! Atalanta hadn’t even noticed him being there…)          “Is the story true?” Eurysakes asked, stepping forward. “The one Ganymede told?”          The old man looked at him with surprise for a moment. “So you do speak our language, too, then.” He shook his head. “Yes, Ganymede’s story is true, but I don’t see how he *knows* it. He can’t have been born yet when that happened.”          “His parents probably told him,” the blacksmith said.          “We don’t even know who his parents *were*!” the old man retorted. “He only told Aineias that.” He scowled. “It was one thing when Aineias was our king and made it a royal decree that the young fellow was his relative, but now?”          “But about his story,” Eurysakes urged. “How did Prince Alexander die?”          “Shot by the Ahhiyawa in battle.”          Eurysakes pursed his lips in irritation.          “I think what Eurysakes means is why would a prince have been exposed at the foot of a mountain,” Ariadne said smoothly.          “So all three of you speak our language? Looks like Ganymede was right about *that*, then.”          “Wait, what?” Atalanta asked.          “I can’t rightly say what King Priam was thinking, never having been even in his presence, let alone his confidence,” the old man said, “but at the time of Prince Alexander’s birth, we were told he’d died moments after being born. Every year on the anniversary of his birth and death, the king held a huge feast to the infant’s memory. That alone should have told us something was strange—not like he was the only one of Priam’s hundred children to die in infancy!—but it was a feast for the whole city, so who was going to complain?” He sighed. “That lad came into town at the…I don’t know, nineteenth or twentieth feast, I suppose. Just wanted his bull back, like Ganymede said. Only Princess Cassandra, she comes up and starts shrieking at him.”          “Princess Cassandra?” Atalanta repeated. “The one who was—um—attacked in the temple of Athene?”          “Aye, that’s her. Beautiful girl she was, but mad.” He tapped the side of his head. “They say Apaliunas robbed her of her wits when she refused his bed.” Given what Atalanta knew about Apollo, that didn’t surprise her one bit. “Well, her twin brother Helenos, he was a mighty seer—still is, maybe. He was dragged off as a slave by the Ahhiyawa; don’t know what happened to him. Probably drowned along with his captors.” He shrugged. “Anyway, Prince Helenos, he sometimes acted as an interpreter for his sister, since she’d been a powerful seer herself before she lost her mind. And he said her raving meant that the shepherd lad was actually Prince Alexander himself, saved by an elderly couple on the mountainside when his parents had him left for dead. But it wasn’t Helenos’ own power as a seer that claimed that boy was the prince, only his sister’s.”          “Why would Priam have exposed his son?” Eurysakes asked. “He was supposed to be a kind man.”          The old man from the armory laughed raggedly. “That’s where it starts sounding like one of your mean-spirited Ahhiyawa tales,” he said. “The king had to come clean then, to accept the boy as Prince Alexander, and he said they had ordered him exposed at birth because of a prophecy that he’d be the destruction of Wilusa and the death of all its people if he grew to manhood. And whether that boy was *really* Alexander or not, he certainly did his best to kill us all!”          Ariadne sighed. “That explains one thing I’ve always wondered about,” she said.          “Oh, does it? What would that be, lad?”          “Why the king didn’t expel Alexander and Helen as soon as the Achaian fleet arrived to demand her return. If he still hated himself for ordering his son’s death, of course he couldn’t bring himself to refuse him anything…”          “Doesn’t explain why he’d take him back in the first place,” Atalanta grumbled. If only he hadn’t, then her father would still be alive, instead of a heap of broken bones hopelessly intertwined with those of another man!          “That was probably the guilt, as well,” the old man said. “As a man who lost all his sons and most of his daughters to the Ahhiyawa, I can tell you that the guilt of living on when your children are dead is…I’d do anything to have even one of them back again. I know it had to be the same for the king and queen.”          Atalanta was once again struck by a feeling of intense guilt, as if she was herself to blame for everything her father and his allies had done. It left her entirely tongue-tied, and something similar seemed to be affecting her cousins, and they were both also standing there awkwardly avoiding the old man’s eyes. The stalemate of silence—not that it was truly silent in the forge, filled as it was with the sound of blazing fires and of hammers pounding on sheets of bronze—was only broken when the blacksmith set a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “This is really no place for this kind of discussion, Irnuasu,” he said. “If his majesty wants more weapons, then I’ve got a lot of work to get through. The young guests are going to be in the way, and you need to get back to the armory before anyone can go looking for you there.”          As the old man nodded, Ariadne hastily apologized for taking up so much of his time, and led the trio back out of the forge again. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->the altar]]

Ariadne didn’t dare say anything after they left the forge, since it was so hard for them to find a moment unobserved by some servant, slave or other Trojan whose function she couldn’t even guess at. There seemed to be a lot more guards around than usual, too, which made a careless word that much more dangerous. She had to hope that Atalanta would understand that they had to search subtly during the day so no one would understand they were up to anything. Though now that it appeared a certainty that the king himself was the enemy they were seeking, being suspicious wasn’t even truly necessary, just being off-guard.          What she really wanted, however, was a nice private place where she could hide the scraps of the Palladion she was still carrying. If anyone connected with Callicritades and his secret followers should see them…well, maybe it didn’t matter, since they already knew she was their enemy and fully aware of what they were up to—sort of—but it was definitely not a good idea, no matter what. Ideally, a little leather pouch or something to keep the scraps safe would be best, but where would she get one of those from within the palace without arousing suspicion? And they didn’t dare leave again, or they’d likely never get back inside.          Eventually as they wandered the halls aimlessly, they came to a small shrine hidden away in an alcove that was actually not that far from the megaron, though it was somewhat difficult to get to it. It contained an altar, but no image of any god, in either statuary or painting, suggesting that it was rather like the altars the slaves were allowed back in Methymna, one which was viewed as suitable for the worship of *any* god. Though it wasn’t private, it was secluded enough that there was no one else in sight, and hopefully they would have a few minutes of privacy before someone else happened by.          “Let’s stop and ask the gods for their blessings,” Ariadne suggested, trying to sound as casual as possible, just in case anyone *was* in earshot.          The others nodded, though Atalanta immediately sighed sadly. “Wish I had something to use as an offering…”          Ariadne moved around to one side of the altar, stepping even further out of the possible path of anyone who might be passing by, then removed the quiver from her back, and pulled out all the arrows. “Hold these,” she said, shoving them into Atalanta’s hands.          “Kind of weird no one’s stopped us from walking around armed, isn’t it?” Atalanta mused aloud, but Ariadne didn’t have time for that.          She placed the scraps of the Palladion into the base of the quiver. “Great Athene, please, lend your strength to my pitiful efforts as I fight in your name,” she whispered to the scraps, despite that she knew very well Athene was hardly interested in archery; she fought with a spear, like a proper warrior, like Atalanta. But Ariadne didn’t feel right asking Artemis for help, somehow, and absolutely was not about to ask Apollo for *anything*. (Even if she had been willing to, Atalanta would have had a fit.) Then she took the arrows back and returned them to the quiver.          “Look at this,” Eurysakes said, as Ariadne was returning her quiver to her shoulder. He was looking at the floor near the other side of the altar.          Atalanta reached his side first, and said “Those look like scratches,” before Ariadne had even gotten there. They were more than scratches, really; they were more like gouges, crossing from the altar all the way over to the wall.          Ariadne crouched down to get a better look at the marks and the floor itself. It was a stone floor, but a very soft type of stone, easily marked. Even so, such deep gouges wouldn’t have been caused by anything normal, and there were too many, as if the action had been often repeated, but without precision. “I think…hey, give me a hand with this!” Ariadne hurried back to the other side of the altar and started pushing on it. It didn’t budge in the slightest until Eurysakes joined her. Then it moved quite easily, and slid aside to reveal an opening and a staircase leading downwards. “Well, I think we’ve found what we were looking for,” she said quietly.          “Are we going down?” Atalanta asked, setting a hand on the hilt of her sword.          “Not right now,” Ariadne told her. “If anyone comes by and sees this like this…” She shook her head. “Let’s get it put back again before anyone *does* come by.”          This time, Atalanta and Eurysakes pushed it into its original place, without Ariadne futilely attempting to help. But because she was standing to the side and watching, she was able to spot a flapping piece of cloth on the back of the altar.          Ariadne knelt to examine it, and found that the altar was in fact hollow, and the thick piece of cloth had been attached to it to disguise an opening. Pushing aside the cloth revealed a funerary urn. Not just any funerary urn, but the one that Callicritades had used for his divinations. Ariadne pulled the urn out slightly, and opened its lid, revealing that it contained all the normal human bones, a hint of ash at the base, and was additionally filled with water, which sloshed around inside the urn as if it was still being moved.          “Were those…ashes…being flung in our faces?” Atalanta asked, holding her stomach as if she would become physically ill.          “Probably,” Ariadne replied, as she closed the urn again. More of that perpetually moving water…maybe it really *was* a river god, but rather than one angered at the proximity of an innocent girl who had no connection to the invading army that had killed the people under the god’s protection before said girl was even born, it was more likely that it was churning thus in outrage at having been separated from its main body. As if it was a hand crawling around on its own. At that idea, *she* felt her stomach beginning to rebel, and decided it would be best to just put the thing back again.          “Whose bones are they?” Eurysakes asked, as Ariadne started to push the heavy urn back into place. “His father’s?”          The girls both shrugged, and Ariadne turned the urn in place. The only thing marked on the side was the image of an apple, inlaid in gold. “A golden apple,” she said, frowning. “I don’t get it.”          The others both shook their heads, and Ariadne hastily replaced the urn and the cloth hiding it, then stood again.          “Now what?” Atalanta asked.          “We’ll come back tonight, when the palace is asleep,” Ariadne whispered.          The others nodded.          “And then we’ll finish this.” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Chapter Eleven]]

[[<img src="chapter11.jpg" width="750" height="464">->daddy's ghost]]

Trying to pretend everything was normal at the feast that night was all but impossible for Atalanta. She kept seeing red every time she looked anywhere near the king. *He*, on the other hand, was in extremely high spirits, and kept laughing and joking with his remaining courtiers, and even sent for a bard to sing bawdy songs to entertain the revelers. Thankfully, Ariadne was able to invent a Hyperborean custom that forbade boys from listening to such songs, so they were able to leave the feast early. Eurysakes soon followed them, though he didn’t share what his excuse had been.          They returned to Eurysakes’ chamber this time, because it was closer to the little shrine than Atalanta and Ariadne’s chamber was. But then they had to wait and wait and wait until everyone else in the palace was likely to be asleep. Having to wait so many more hours before they could go seeking the prisoners and the Palladion was absolute torture! Atalanta was just about to lose her mind by the time Ariadne finally announced that it was probably late enough that they could start their infiltration.          When they reached the small shrine, Atalanta was astonished to see that the altar was already pushed aside. Did that mean that Korythos was planning on moving the prisoners again—or still worse, that he planned on killing them tonight? That only made their task all the more urgent. The first order of business had to be to save the prisoners. Once that was accomplished, then they could find the Palladion and do whatever they could to free *it* from Korythos’ grasp, assuming it hadn’t already been defiled beyond repair. Only after that was all accomplished would they have the luxury of hunting down the son of Alexander himself.          Readying a torch, Ariadne went down the stairs first, before Atalanta could insist on being the first one down, as the least important. She hurried after her, of course, into a close series of chambers of rough, burned walls. Here, unlike in the section of ruins of King Priam’s Troy that they had seen underneath the temple of Athene, the scorched walls proudly displayed scores left behind by weapons during the battle. In her imagination, for just a moment, Atalanta saw her father fighting a duel with the mighty Hector, as fires leapt all around them. Of course, she knew that both of them had died before the city fell and that the city wasn’t torched until after the fighting (and looting) was over, but it was an exciting image none the less.          Unlike the maze underneath the temple, this section of ruins had no other paths to follow; doorways were blocked off with rubble untouched for nearly twenty years, and as they advanced, Atalanta could hear voices from ahead of them, both the weeping voices of prisoners, and the bored voices and clinking armor of guards. The trio came to a stop at a corner. The voices of the guards sounded like they were quite close beyond the corner.          After standing there in silent contemplation for long enough that Atalanta began to grow antsy, Ariadne turned to look at the others and smiled. “I have a plan,” she whispered to them. “Take off your helmet, and get ready to go on my signal,” she added, to Atalanta alone. “When you do, make sure you look terrifying and otherworldly.”          “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Atalanta sighed as she started removing her helmet. “What are you wanting me to do?”          “We don’t know how many guards there are, so we need them shaken up first. Don’t worry; I know what I’m doing.”          “What *are* you doing?” Eurysakes asked. “What do I do?”          “For the moment, you just wait, unless it looks like Atalanta is going to need some help in the fight,” Ariadne told him.          “I won’t!” Atalanta objected, almost forgetting to whisper in her outrage. It would shame her father’s memory, if she needed help against a few measly Trojan guards!          “What will *you* be doing?” Eurysakes asked Ariadne.          “Oh, there’s this song I know,” she told him, with a grin. “The Lament for Orpheus and Eurydice.”          “What does *that* have to do with anything?” Atalanta asked. She hated that song. Not only was the subject matter depressing, but the song itself was high-pitched and reminded her of the shrieked wails at overdone funerals for important people.          “I’ll be changing the lyrics a bit. You just wait until I signal you. Can you peek around the corner a bit without being seen?”          Sighing, Atalanta moved closer to the corner, and found that she could just see around it through a small hole in the masonry, allowing her to see the layout of the hallway beyond. There were a number of doors and other openings on both sides of the hall, most of them blocked, but a few near the further end of the hall had actual doors, all closed. There were at least three guards in the hall, clustered around a lit brazier down by the closed doors, which also seemed to be where the sound of the crying prisoners was coming from.          “Weep, Nereids, for your fallen son,” Ariadne’s voice suddenly started singing, quiet and ethereal. Her words floated through the air gently, and didn’t sound quite human. “Wail, Nereids for the lost ones!” Ai, ai, ai, the tears of the sea! Ai, ai, ai, the moans of the dead!”          By now, Ariadne’s voice was reaching the guards, who looked confused more than anything else. The voice was echoing back and forth off the walls and open doors, so they didn’t seem able to locate the singer. Atalanta couldn’t tell from the looks on their faces if they understood the lyrics, though; the song would never work in the Hatti tongue, but it was a gamble to expect the guards to all speak Achaian…          “How Thetis mourns her fallen son! Madness curled his lip and tore his bone! Hair dyed red with Trojan blood, eyes adrip with tears for a fallen friend!”          Two of the guards that Atalanta could see looked fearful, but the third looked angry, and started checking the closed doors, as if he expected the voice to be coming from behind one of them.          “Fear the wrath of Achilles, mourn the loss of Patroclos,” Ariadne sang, gesturing Atalanta forward.          She didn’t need any more encouragement than that! Doing her best to look tormented—remembering vividly her mother’s descriptions of the expressions she had seen on her father’s face when he had spoken of the war—Atalanta slowly moved around the corner, her spear held at the ready.          None of the guards were looking in her direction as she stepped into the hall, as they were now all checking doors, but one of them glanced in her direction as he shut a door. His glance was only momentary, and turned away immediately, but his body froze up as he did so. Anticipating him turning to look in her direction again, Atalanta hid herself in one of the blocked doorways, which had just enough space to accommodate her. She would seem more like a shade if she could vanish at will, after all!”          “Gods preserve us,” the guard moaned, even as Ariadne began to repeat what she had already sung. “The shades of the dead…”          “It’s one of those prisoners trying to scare us,” the angry guard assured him. “Must be that Locrian bitch. I just can’t remember which cell she’s in.”          “I’m telling you, I saw the vengeful shade of Achilles!” the guard screamed. “He’s going to kill us all!”          “You idiot! Where did you see such a thing?”          “Over there!” the guard exclaimed.          “There’s no one there.”          “But…there was…I swear, there was!”          The guards continued arguing, and Ariadne continued singing, but Atalanta was starting to feel quite helpless. Hiding to seem more shade-like hadn’t been such a good idea after all; now if she stepped back out of the doorway, they’d realize she was just an ordinary person who’d been hiding from them. She needed to know that they weren’t looking in her direction before she stepped out again.          Biting her lip, she looked around at what little she could see from the doorway. She couldn’t see anything of the guards, not even the shadows they cast in the wan light from the brazier, but she *could* just see Eurysakes, who was standing where she had been standing earlier. He made a gesture that seemed to be indicating that she should wait, then turned his gaze back towards the guards. After a few interminably long moments—in which Atalanta began to have horrible fantasies of the guards deciding to head in her direction and finding her hiding there like an idiot and a coward—he gestured her forward, and Atalanta stepped back out into the hallway.          The guards all had their backs to her again—and there were now nine of them instead of the original three—but as she drew closer, her spear held at the ready, several of them turned in her direction, perhaps hearing her footsteps. One of them screamed and fainted dead away.          The others, however, charged her. Swinging her spear, Atalanta opened her mouth as if roaring a battle cry, but she didn’t produce any sound. Her decidedly feminine voice was not going to add to the illusion of her being her father’s shade, after all. Better to have them think that the dead couldn’t speak. Or something. Bellowing without making noise was frightening; a girl yelling was not.          The first guard to reach her got Atalanta’s spear in his face, but it took her too long to extract the tips from his skill, and she had to dodge the blow of the second guard while yanking back on her spear, pulling the first guard’s corpse along with her for a moment or two until the spear finally came free.          And just in time, because she needed to use it to block the attacks of two more guards, as she hadn’t wanted to use her shoddy, (if: $shield is "heavy damage")[heavily ]damaged shield, which was both much too small and much too plain to belong to her father, so it was still on her back. Her sword would have been more effective than her spear in this situation, really, but since this spear really had belonged to her father, how could she *not* use it? It seemed like a more appropriate weapon for her father, anyway.          The hallway was too cramped for effective spear-fighting, though, and although Atalanta was quickly able to dispatch one more of the guards, there were still five of them left—six if the unconscious one woke up again—and they were using swords, so they had a strategic advantage as well as the advantage of numbers. The worst part was that if she failed here, she would be insulting her father’s memory as well as failing to save all those people!          “The island mourns its fallen son,” Ariadne’s voice sang, continuing the same melody but changing the lyrics again. “The Athenian coast has lost its greatest son! Ai, ai, ai, the tears of the sea! Ai, ai, ai, the moans of the dead!”          “Oh gods, there’s another one…!” one of the guards whimpered. Atalanta couldn’t blame Eurysakes for wanting into the fight, but it did frustrate her a little that he probably thought she needed his help. It frustrated her more that she actually *did* need his help…          “Alas for Aias, son of Telamon! His days are ended and his life has run! Gore drips from his spear, rage fills the bones behind his shield!” Ariadne’s voice continued. Atalanta didn’t think these lyrics worked nearly as well, but the guards she was fighting certainly looked even more frightened than before. But maybe that was just because Eurysakes was twice her size…          By the time Eurysakes had run two of the guards through with his spear and bashed another into unconsciousness with his shield, the noise of combat had gotten so loud that Atalanta couldn’t even tell if Ariadne was still singing. In fact, the fight didn’t last much longer than that, since Atalanta had by that point already killed four of the guards.          Once the last guard had fallen, Ariadne finally came around the corner, holding the amphora of antidote that Oinone had given them, though Atalanta couldn’t really imagine what they were going to need it for down here. “Nicely done,” Ariadne said, looking at their handiwork and nodding. “Unfortunately, that trick is only going to work the once. Any other guards left down here will have heard the commotion.”          “I’m ready for them!” Atalanta assured her. It had been a decidedly frustrating fight for her, all the more so since she hadn’t been allowed—possibly hadn’t even been able—to handle it on her own.          “Let’s get the prisoners,” Eurysakes said.          “Right!” Atalanta agreed. She opened the nearest door, and found several terrified-looking prisoners, who all quailed at the sight of her, covered in blood as she was. “You’re free now,” she told them, but they still looked frightened. (Did *they* think she was the shade of Achilles, too? Even though she had a high girl’s voice?)          “You should leave while you can,” Ariadne said to the prisoners behind one of the other doors, which she had just opened. “More guards might come. But once you’re up where there are other people, he probably won’t try to recapture you. He’s got a reputation to maintain. An image to protect.”          “Maybe we should go with them,” Eurysakes suggested as the prisoners started making their way out of the three doors that had now been opened.          “We need to find the Palladion,” Ariadne said, scowling as she opened yet another door. “That’s much more important. Besides, they want these people alive for their sick rites. They won’t slaughter them indiscriminately.”          Eurysakes frowned, even as Atalanta opened another door, revealing even more prisoners, including the other Locrian maiden, Myrto, who smiled hopefully on seeing Atalanta’s face. “They might be recaptured,” Eurysakes pointed out.          “That’s true,” Ariadne sighed, opening the last door. “All right, all of you listen carefully to me,” she said, and the prisoners gathered near her. “There’s a group of Amazons staying in the palace right now,” she explained, before giving them directions to the area where the Amazons were. “Keep away from any Trojan guards and make your way to the Amazons. Tell them Atalanta and I sent you, and they should protect you.”          Myrto nodded. “I will,” she said. “Um…I don’t see Rhoxane anywhere…”          “She’s with the Amazons already,” Atalanta assured her. “They’ll protect you; I promise.” Though she could really only promise *Myrto*. A lot of these prisoners were men, and she wasn’t so sure the Amazons would want to protect *them*. But hopefully they would…          All told there had been almost thirty people in those cells, and the way they were stumbling as they walked, Atalanta suspected they hadn’t been fed very well as prisoners. She could only hope that they would be able to make it back up to the palace and to find their way to the Amazons.          Now that the prisoners were *sort of* safe, they moved on in their search for the Palladion. They didn’t know where to find it, of course, but the passage had no real turnings, so they had no choice but to continue onwards and hope that it was hidden somewhere in this section of the ruins. Atalanta was, of course, very much aware of the fact that there might have been any number of sections of the old city standing under the acropolis—it seemed like half, if not more than that, of its height was the result of how much of Priam’s city had still been standing when they started building on top of it—and if there was more than one section connected to the palace, they might have put the Palladion and the prisoners into different sections. Still, what else could they do but keep looking? It would be absurd to turn around and leave without checking the entire underground area open to them.          As they continued along the hallway, perpetually passing by blocked passages—fallen walls, blocked doors, corridors choked full with debris—until they came to another set of stairs leading downwards.          “Is this wise…?” Eurysakes asked, as Ariadne started down the stairs. “It can’t be down here.”          “It is,” Ariadne insisted. “I can feel it.”          Atalanta sighed deeply. “Ariadne, how could you possibly ‘feel’ a statue? Even if it started out as the real Palladion, it’s been so tainted now that—”          “No! I can feel the goddess herself beckoning me downwards.”          Atalanta frowned, but didn’t argue further. It still felt a bit weird to her, but…Apollo *had* said that Ariadne shared the same favor with Athene that her father did. Maybe whatever was calling Ariadne downwards was part of that? But…what if it was the first stage of the worship frenzy that Callicritades—Korythos—wanted in a sacrifice victim?          “You’d better let one of us lead, just in case,” Atalanta said.          “In case of what?” Ariadne retorted, shaking her head. “I’m the one who knows where we’re going, so I’m going to lead.”          “Get ready to pull her out of danger if anything happens,” Atalanta whispered to Eurysakes, as she moved to take up the rear position. Eurysakes was the better choice to get Ariadne shifted quickly, and his massive shield would do a better job at protecting her after moving her.          At the bottom of that second set of stairs, the walls looked different. They, too, displayed signs of scarring by fire, but they had been constructed out of different materials, and what little remained of the frescos was in a very different style. Atalanta wondered if they had left Priam’s Troy and entered all that remained of the citadel of his father, Laomedon, left behind when Heracles and Telamon ravaged the place.          Despite how old and clearly abandoned this lower hallway was, they came across lit torches as they proceeded through its halls, and there were footprints in the dust in front of Ariadne’s feet. Whatever was the cause of Ariadne’s conviction, it seemed to be accurate… [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->final battle]]

         Another set of stairs led from the remains of Laomedon’s citadel into an even older one, crafted out of larger, more crude stone blocks. If these walls had ever been painted, nothing remained of the frescoes at all. Atalanta couldn’t help but wonder just how many cities had stood there, just how many different cities had been called Ilios, and had looked out on the meeting of the Scamander and Simoeis rivers…          No matter how many citadels of Troy there had been, one more flight of stairs downwards led them into a vast cavern carved out of the living rock. Atalanta wasn’t sure if it had been created by man or the gods, because despite all the burning braziers, the walls weren’t lit very strongly. But the light was plenty strong enough to reveal the Palladion, standing in the center of the room, with the disturbing knife and offering bowl resting beside it.          “It’s going to be hard to carry that back out of here,” Atalanta said. “I wonder if we need to purify it first?”          “I don’t think we even have the ability to purify it ourselves,” Ariadne replied, moving towards it. “The Palladion…it feels sad, don’t you think? She looks like she’s weeping for what they’ve done to her.”          “It’s a trick of the light,” Eurysakes told her firmly, putting a hand on Ariadne’s shoulder to keep her from getting any further away from them.          Indeed, the way the light reflected off the Palladion would be enough to make anyone see things, Atalanta thought, with a shudder. Even more so than in the secret shrine in the temple, in this light the Palladion looked menacing, almost *evil*.          The wooden image of the goddess Athene shifted.          “*That* was no trick of the light!” Atalanta shouted, pointing her spear at it. Not that she thought there was anything a spear could do against a wooden statue, but…she didn’t know what else to do.          “What’s going on?” Eurysakes asked, as the statue shifted again. It seemed to be trying to move towards them, as if the goddess herself was eager to engage them in combat.          “That isn’t the power of Athene moving it,” Ariadne said, shaking her head and moving a step backwards, putting a bit more space between her and the Palladion, which was now trying fairly actively to hop towards them.          “Indeed it is not,” a voice came from behind them. Not just any voice. The echoing voice of Callicritades in his eerie gold mask. Now that she was sure it really was him, Atalanta could kind of hear that it was Korythos’ voice underneath the echo, or thought she could, anyway.          Not wanting to turn her back on the unnaturally moving statue, but wanting to turn to look at the king, Atalanta backed up and turned slightly, so that she was presenting her sides to either of them, letting her see either with just a turn of her head. Callicritades was standing just inside the entrance to the cavern, where the wretch could flee if he was as cowardly as his father was reputed to have been. “What did Palladion do to the you?!” she demanded.          “What?” The echoing voice was flat, and made the mask’s already lacking facial features seem even more blank.          “What did you do to the Palladion?” Ariadne clarified, setting the nymph’s amphora down by her feet so that she could notch an arrow and aim it at the gold-masked man. “You had better tell the truth, or I might just forget to fire a warning shot first.”          Callicritades sighed, shaking his head. “I am not such a weakling that I can be taken down by a single arrow, little girl,” he told her. “Even my father, in the depths that the Olympians degraded him to, required three arrows to bring him low, and even then his death was slow and tortured, bleeding out his life into the floor of his brother’s chariot. But I have never allowed the worship of the selfish Olympian gods to weaken me. I will never be so easily—” His words were cut off with a clang as Ariadne fired her arrow at him. It struck his gold mask, the point driving straight through the cheek of it. He threw the mask and helmet aside, revealing that the arrow had left a long rent in Korythos’ cheek. “You are a very ill-mannered child, interrupting your elders and betters in such a manner,” he snarled at her, his bleeding face contorted with pain.          “What did you do to the holy Palladion?!” Ariadne demanded again, practically screaming.          “Holy?” Korythos repeated, laughing. “What an absurd notion. What could be holy about those back-stabbing Olympian gods?”          Ariadne launched another arrow at him, but Korythos drew his sword and struck this one away. “I won’t ask you again!” Ariadne shouted.          “No, you won’t,” Korythos agreed, his voice chilled with hate. “My daughter is still too young and unprepared to complete her fated task, but she’s more than strong enough to take care of three puny mortal children like you.”          “Your daughter?” Eurysakes repeated, suspiciously.          “Awaken, my daughter!” Korythos shouted, raising his hands above his head. “Break free from your wooden shell and smite these mortals!”          A snapping sound preceded one of the most horrifying sights that Atalanta had ever seen. Cracks formed all across the exterior of the Palladion, as if it was an egg, and thin pieces of wood began to fall off it, until the entire exterior was gone, revealing something in the shape of the goddess Athene, but which appeared to be a living mass of dark, bloody mud.          “What in the name of all the gods is that?!” Atalanta shouted, turning to face it entirely. There was nothing that Korythos could do from where he was that would be dangerous enough to merit risking that thing striking her unawares! Especially not while she still had her shield on her back.          “That is my daughter,” Korythos replied.          “Why…?” Eurysakes asked, even as the thing shaped like the goddess Athene turned its attention towards him. As the thing’s head moved, its hair remained a solid mass, and the folds in its ‘gown’ didn’t move in the least.          “You must know the origins of your so-called gods,” Korythos told him. “Kronos destroyed his father Ouranos, and in turn was slaughtered by his son, Zeus. But Zeus was too cowardly to allow the cycle to continue as it was meant to. He should have been laid low by his own son. He was *supposed* to have had that son by the Nereid Thetis, but some fool Titan warned him, and he wasted the gifts of her womb on a mere mortal man.”          Atalanta’s eyes widened. Her father…was supposed to have been the son of Zeus? And to have *overthrown* him? No…it couldn’t be. It didn’t even make *sense* for that to be!          “The cycle has become stuck, like a wagon in the mud. So I have to give it a little *push*,” Korythos laughed. “That is what my daughter is for. To annihilate the Olympian gods and usher in the new age, ruled by gods who won’t wipe out an entire kingdom for their own amusement.”          “I won’t allow it,” Eurysakes announced, throwing his spear at the disturbing thing shaped like Athene. His spear flew straight and true, and right through the thing’s chest. The thing didn’t seem to care, and Eurysakes’ spear continued flying until it struck the far wall.          That only made Korythos laugh all the more. “My daughter cannot be killed by the likes of you, boy.”          “Stop calling it your daughter,” Atalanta said, shuddering. “That thing is a…a mud monster or something! How could it be your daughter?!” she demanded, even as Eurysakes began running towards his spear, using his massive shield to defend himself from the monster’s own spear, which—like everything else about it—seemed to be a part of its body.          “She is my daughter in the same way any human girl is a man’s daughter,” Korythos chuckled. “After we hollowed out the wooden statue that still bore some energy traces of its Olympian origin, I filled it with earth from Mount Ida, where the nymphs and river gods are strongest. But that could only make a bit of earth in the shape of Athene. It required the spark of life, human seed. Naturally, I used my own. Where could more suitable seed be obtained, after all?”          Atalanta was quite sure humans didn’t grow from seeds, but she didn’t want to say anything just in case he might try to explain what he meant. She was positive she didn’t want to know.          “You and your creation are both unspeakably disgusting,” Ariadne said as she fired an arrow at the creature while it was busily attacking Eurysakes. Like his spear, the arrow went right through it without causing any damage. “It’s just made of loose dirt,” she said, “and that’s why our attacks aren’t working. Maybe if we could get it really wet and then dry it out, it would turn into something more firm?”          The thing’s spear managed to get past Eurysakes’ guard as he was retrieving his own spear. He cried out in agony, and stumbled backwards, clutching his arm. Even in the low light, Atalanta could see that the skin around the wound was turning an unpleasant color.          “I *did* put a few other things in with the earth and my seed, of course,” Korythos laughed. “Venom from Apophis, the Egyptian serpent that chases the sun through their skies, and blood from the head of the dragon Illuyanka, slaughtered by Teshub as callously as your Zeus slaughtered Typhoeus.”          “Where would you have gotten things like that from?!” Atalanta asked, but the king was too busy laughing to hear her. (Or just didn’t care to answer.)          “Venom…?” Ariadne repeated, then grabbed the amphora Oinone had given them. Bring the amphora to Eurysakes. (click: "Bring the amphora to Eurysakes.")[(set: $action to "bring")(goto: "amphora")] Throw the amphora to Eurysakes. (click: "Throw the amphora to Eurysakes.")[(set: $action to "throw")(goto: "amphora")]

(if: $action is "throw")[         “Eurysakes, catch!” Ariadne threw the amphora towards Eurysakes. It was a good throw, aimed right at him.          But the mud-monster in the shape of Athene held up the shield-shaped part of her and blocked the amphora’s path. It fell to the ground near the monster’s feet and shattered.          With no remedy for the venom, Eurysakes quickly lost consciousness. Though Atalanta and Ariadne fought bravely, nothing they did was able to stop the monster. All too soon, they were both struck by its venomous touch, and succumbed to the poison of Apophis. =><= ***GAME OVER*** <= [[Try again?->final battle]]](else:)[         Clutching the amphora tightly against her chest, Ariadne sprinted across the chamber towards Eurysakes. “Drink this!” she exclaimed, handing it to him, only seconds before being struck by the thing’s spear herself, her leg punctured right through her greaves.          “Ariadne! No!” Atalanta ran across the room, using the butt end of her spear to vault herself over the monster, though her whole foot collided with its head, passing right through it, with an entirely unpleasant sensation, a bit like she imagined having raw, shredded meat pressed up against her toes would feel. When she landed, her foot wasn’t working properly, and she fell to the roughly hewn ground.          As soon as Eurysakes had finished drinking from the amphora, he handed it back to Ariadne, and started using his shield to guard the other two from the thing’s attacks. Ariadne hurried to drink some of the antidote, then helped Atalanta to a drink from it as well. Atalanta’s foot started feeling better almost immediately, and she was soon on her feet again, ready to fight the creature.          “What is that you just drank?” Korythos demanded. “Where did you get that?”          “It’s an antidote,” Atalanta told him, with a smirk. “Everyone, spread out. There’s got to be a way to take this thing down. If we don’t stop it now, it might threaten the gods themselves!”          “You’re wasting your time,” the king told them coldly. “You might as well stop struggling and allow her to kill you painlessly.” Shoot him (click: "Shoot him")[(set: $action to "shoot")(goto: "unmasked")] Try to cut the creature’s head off (click: "Try to cut the creature’s head off")[(set: $action to "decapitate")(goto: "unmasked")]]

(if: $action is "decapitate")[         “We’ll never let this thing defeat us!” Atalanta shouted, drawing her sword. She leapt towards the monstrous thing, and slashed its neck hard with her sword, following it up with an elbow blow to the head before the mud could reconnect.          Success! The head rolled off onto the floor and flattened out into an ordinary blob of mud.          Even as it was doing so, the body lifted its spear and ran Atalanta through.          The last thing she heard before the light left her eyes was Korythos laughing at her. =><= ***GAME OVER*** <= [[Try again?->final battle]]](else:)[         “You shut up!” Ariadne shouted back at him, firing off another arrow at Korythos. This time, he wasn’t ready for it, and it struck him in the arm.          Eurysakes moved around to one of the braziers, and kicked it over at the creature. The hot coals, too, passed right through it, and although they sizzled a little, they did no damage to it. In fact, the only thing he seemed to accomplish was to make it mad, as it began to charge him. His spear still passed through it like it was made of water: passage was easy, but had no effect whatsoever.          Atalanta hurried over to help him fight the creature, though neither of them were accomplishing anything, except perhaps to irritate it. It soon shifted its focus from useless attacks against Eurysakes’ massive shield to attacking Atalanta. If the creature could see that it was going to be more effective to attack someone using only a spear than someone with a spear and a shield, how long was it going to take it to realize that it would be even more effective to attack the virtually unprotected Ariadne?          She was so preoccupied with worrying about Ariadne that Atalanta grew careless, and the thing was able to stab her arm badly with its spear. Though the pain was excruciating, the discoloration of the poison did not follow the wound, even as Eurysakes moved around in front of her to protect both of them from the thing’s spear.          “The poison didn’t work this time…?” Atalanta murmured, wondering.          “That must be what she meant,” Ariadne said. “The nymph said the antidote would destroy any poison permanently. It must have conferred some of that power on us, neutralizing the poison even on a second dose.”          “Nymph?!” Korythos repeated, his voice much closer than it had been before. He must have been advancing on them while Atalanta’s entire attention was focused on the mud monster. Ariadne seemed to be keeping him covered with an arrow, but would that be enough to keep him from killing them all while they were fighting his monstrous creation? “Where did you obtain that potion!?”          “From a nymph on Mount Ida who called herself Oinone,” Atalanta told him, grinning proudly as she risked turning her head in his direction. He wasn’t quite as close as he had sounded; well outside of striking range, but in easy spear-throwing range. “Would that be your mother?” she added, laughing.          “Why would my mother betray me?! Doesn’t she know that I only want to destroy the gods that took my father away from her?!” Throw spear at king (click: "Throw spear at king")[(set: $action to "throw")(goto: "antidote")] Use antidote on monster (click: "Use antidote on monster")[(set: $action to "use")(goto: "antidote")]]

(if: $action is "throw")[         “She wants your father thrown into Tartaros,” Eurysakes told him, with a grin. “You can join him!”          As Atalanta watched the throw, she had to admit that it was perfect—not only worthy of Eurysakes’ father, but worthy of her own father. Eurysakes’ spear arced through the air and penetrated Korythos’ chest with such force that it drove him backwards quite some way before he collapsed to the ground, blood trickling from his mouth even as his limbs came unstrung.          His death seemed to have a profound effect on his monstrous ‘daughter,’ however. For the first time, it began to make noise, emitting a low, keening shriek which soon grew in intensity to a howl of rage and grief. Its form, too, changed; within moments, it no longer resembled Athene, but instead became a monstrous serpent, so large that it filled the chamber almost completely, its bulk crushing them against the floor and walls.          One by one, the thing swallowed up the heroic young people, before returning to the shape of Athene, kneeling in mourning beside the corpse of its ‘father.’ =><= ***GAME OVER*** <= [[Try again?->final battle]]](else:)[         “Here, drink up!” Ariadne suddenly exclaimed, drawing Atalanta’s attention away from the king, who was sill slowly advancing towards them. Ariadne shoved the open neck of the amphora down into the back of the creature, which let out an unearthly shriek, then struck Ariadne a resounding buffet, sending her flying across the cave.          “Ariadne!” Atalanta ran over to check on her cousin. Ariadne was unconscious, and had a fairly bad cut across a section of her side left unprotected by the bronze plates of her armor, but it wasn’t deep and didn’t seem to be bleeding much. She would probably be okay, as long as they could kill that thing quickly and get her to a healer.          The creature in the shape of Athene ripped the amphora out of its back, and flung it aside before returning its attention to Eurysakes. Hoping that the antidote had wiped out much of its power, Atalanta threw her father’s spear at it with all her might, but it flew right through without causing the thing any damage, just like before. Her attempt made Korythos start laughing again.          “Idiotic child! You can’t win,” he assured her. Reclaim spear (click: "Reclaim spear")[(set: $action to "reclaim")(goto: "revenge")] Kill him (click: "Kill him")[(set: $action to "kill")(goto: "revenge")]]

(if: $action is "reclaim")[         Rather than try to argue with him, Atalanta ran over to get her father’s spear back. Even though she was running at top speed, the monster was able to strike out at her and deliver a fairly nasty blow to one leg, causing her to stumble. But she got back to her feet and limped over to her spear, pulling it out of the wall so fast she nearly wrenched her arms.          Atalanta turned back to the king in time to see him pulling his sword back out of Ariadne’s body.          Horror and rage overtook Atalanta, and she knew nothing else.          She ran straight through the mud creature, ignoring the feeling of plunging through a mass of clinging mud, and started stabbing Korythos with her father’s spear over and over again.          She didn’t stop stabbing until the mud creature enveloped her, cutting off her air and her life. =><= ***GAME OVER*** <= [[Try again?->final battle]]](else:)[         “I have had all I can take of you!” Atalanta shouted at Korythos, grabbing an arrow out of Ariadne’s quiver. Getting back to her feet, she launched herself through the air at him, and stabbed him in the shoulder with the arrow as hard as she could. “That’s for what you did to my father’s remains,” she snarled in purest hate. She pulled out the arrow, planning to give him a second blow as vengeance for her father himself—if Apollo could threaten to add punishments for her father’s acts to punishments for her own acts, then she could take vengeance on her father’s killer by killing his son, that was only fair!—but the motion of pulling the arrow out left her unbalanced, and Korythos was able to shove her away from him.          Atalanta landed hard on the rough stone floor, just barely colliding with the amphora, sending it skittering across the room. It collided with one of the hot coals on the floor, and suddenly was engulfed in a blazing flame.          “What the…?” Atalanta stared at the burning amphora in confusion and disbelief. Why had it done that?          “The antidote!” Eurysakes exclaimed. “It burns like oil!”          “Right!” Atalanta leapt to her feet, and grabbed one of the braziers, planning on flinging it at the creature.          “Leave my daughter alone, you baseborn bitch!” Throw brazier at monster (click: "Throw brazier at monster")[(set: $action to "monster")(goto: "final")] Throw brazier at king (click: "Throw brazier at king")[(set: $action to "king")(goto: "final")]]

(if: $action is "monster")[         Ignoring him, Atalanta threw the brazier at the mud monster, which erupted into the most spectacular flame she had ever seen.          It was also the last thing she ever saw, because Korythos drove his sword through her throat as his ‘daughter’ burned. =><= ***GAME OVER*** <= [[Try again?->final battle]]](else:)[         Atalanta glared at him for a moment, then smiled. “All right,” she agreed obligingly, hurling the brazier at Korythos instead. As the flaming coals hit him, his robes started to burn, and he himself started squealing and begging his mother and his grandfather to save him. “Get away from that thing, Eurysakes!” Atalanta shouted, then ran around behind Korythos and kicked him in the direction of his ‘daughter.’          Eurysakes leapt clear, landing beside Ariadne, holding his massive shield over both their bodies just as the flaming king collided with the animated bloody earth that he had been calling his daughter. They both went up in such a fireball that Atalanta felt as though all the air had been sucked away from her lungs, and she soon fell to the ground as heavily as one lifeless. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->Chapter Twelve]]]

[[<img src="chapter12.jpg" width="750" height="563">->atalanta]]

Atalanta wasn’t sure which sensation was strongest: pain, hunger or thirst. She wasn’t quite sure where she was, and she didn’t much care to open her eyes to find out. But her stomach was growling at her, and her throat felt rough and scratchy. Her left arm was aching. Her entire right foot felt like it had been plunged into a fire, too.          When she finally opened her eyes, she saw above her the ceiling of one of the fine chambers in the palace in Troy. How had she gotten there? Hadn’t she been in a cave somewhere? Hadn’t she been killed?          No, obviously she hadn’t been killed; she was very much alive. No one dead could be in so much pain. Unless they were in Tartaros, anyway, but she was pretty sure that Tartaros wouldn’t look like Troy. Not this Troy, anyway. The one that was on fire, maybe, but not this peaceful one.          Sitting up was painful and made her groan, but the sight of a bandage wrapped around her arm helped Atalanta to remember what had happened. There had been a big battle under the city, and…          “Ariadne?!” she exclaimed, looking around. But she was entirely alone in the room, which was larger and much nicer than the one they had been sharing before. Her father’s spear was resting in one corner of the room, and the golden amphora containing all that remained of him and his best friend was sitting beside the spear, looking untouched and undamaged. Other than those two objects, there was nothing familiar in the room at all.          Her foot rebelled against the idea, but there was no choice, and Atalanta forced herself to get out of bed. She had to find out where Ariadne was. If anything had happened to her…she was never going to forgive herself if anything had happened to her…          She was all the way to the door of the room before Atalanta even thought to see if she was decent to be seen by others. Fortunately, she was wearing a long tunic, in the Achaian style this time, but her breasts were entirely unbound. For a moment that stopped her in her tracks, but what point was there in worrying about that? It wasn’t as though they were particularly large or noticeable anyway, and even if they *did* alert anyone to her sex, what did that matter when no one seemed to have really been fooled anyway? Whoever had put her in this room and bound her injuries obviously knew she was a girl, so there was no need to try to hide it any further. Besides, Ariadne was much more important than what people thought of Atalanta.          On entering the hallway, Atalanta looked around to get her bearings, and found she wasn’t too far away from where Eurysakes’ chambers had been before the battle. She didn’t make it more than a few steps down the hallway before she heard a woman’s voice calling out in alarm. She contemplated making a break for it, but her foot was already screaming at her; there was no chance she’d be able to outrun a tottering old grandmother, let alone anyone young and healthy.          “You shouldn’t be out of bed, Atalanta!” The sound of her own name made Atalanta turn sharply to look at the speaker. It was Myrto running towards her, and looking terribly concerned. For someone who had disdained to speak to her in Methymna because she was just a slave, Myrto seemed very worried about her *now*.          “What…what’s going on?” Atalanta asked. “Where’s my cousin? Where are both my cousins?”          “Both?” Myrto repeated. “You have another cousin other than Ariadne? Wouldn’t they still be…um…at home?”          “Oh…” Atalanta shook her head. “Sorry…I…I can’t think straight…” Of course Myrto didn’t know that Eurysakes was also her cousin. No one knew that except the three of them…and anyone else who had figured out that Atalanta was the daughter of Achilles. (Which seemed to have been about half the court, if not half the *city*…)          “That’s hardly surprising, after everything you’ve been through,” Myrto said, smiling at her warmly. “Let me help you get back to bed, and then I’ll have someone fetch you something to eat, all right? You’ll feel better with some food in you.”          “Fine, but where’s Ariadne?” Atalanta insisted. She *had* to know!          “She’s still recovering, too,” Myrto assured her. “Her injuries were almost as bad as yours, you know.”          “But…she’s okay? She’ll be okay?”          “Yes, the healers said she should be just fine. They were more worried about *you* than her,” Myrto added. “Now let me get you back into bed before I get in trouble!”          Atalanta laughed weakly, and nodded, allowing Myrto to slip her shoulders under Atalanta’s arm in order to help her back into the bed chamber. She couldn’t help grimacing at the pain as she collapsed into the bed, but surely if she was in such a nice part of the palace and being tended to by one of the Locrian maidens then she probably wasn’t in trouble despite that she had killed the king. (Maybe they didn’t realize what she had done?) “What about Eurysakes? He’s all right, too, isn’t it?”          “Yes, he’s *quite* fine,” Myrto agreed, with a fond smile. “He’s still resting as well, but he’s been awake for two days now. I’ll let him know you’ve woken up; he’s been worried about you both.”          “Two days?” Atalanta repeated. “How long was I unconscious?”          “It’s been about five days,” Myrto said. “Don’t worry, they’ll bring in lots of food and drink.”          Atalanta nodded uneasily, and watched uncomfortably as Myrto left the room.          Five days? She couldn’t imagine it. How had she gone that long without anything to eat or drink? Had someone been feeding her in her sleep? (Surely not Myrto, if so!) Was that even how it worked? And why would they bother when she was the murderer who had killed the king?          Trying to shift her focus away from such confusing matters, she turned her attention towards her aching foot. She could remember the battle fairly clearly now, and she hadn’t even wounded it, so why did it hurt so much?          Grunting in pain, Atalanta slowly unwrapped the bandages that covered her right foot. Every part of her foot was now a hideous reddish-purple color, and the pain was terrible. Had the antidote only worked for a little while? Was the poison coming back again?          “The healers say that the pain should subside soon, though the scarring may never fade,” a voice said from the doorway.          In surprise, Atalanta looked up, and saw that Ganymede stood in the doorway. He was now dressed in an even finer robe than any of the ones she had seen him in before. “You…? What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice slurring slightly in her pain.          Ganymede smiled, and chuckled slightly. “Thanks to you, I am the king now,” he told her. “I am very grateful to you for being so prompt in dispatching Korythos. If you had waited until morning, I would have been put to death.”          There were many things that Atalanta wanted to say or ask, but all she managed was “Oh.”          He sighed. “It’s too early to talk, I suppose. We’ll have to discuss things after you’ve recovered. But don’t worry,” he added, with a slight smirk, “your secret has been shared with as few people as possible,” he told her, before leaving the room again.          Her secret? For a moment, Atalanta felt panic gripping her heart. Had he found out that she was just a runaway slave? Did he realize that she was the daughter of Achilles, the most famed enemy of Troy?! But that was hardly a secret if half the court had already figured it out…          About the time that the slaves began bringing in her food, she wondered if he meant the fact that she was actually a girl…but hadn’t at least half the court figured *that* out, too? [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->ariadne]]

It was the noise of a closing door that woke Ariadne. Since she wasn’t sure where she was or if she still in danger, she did her best to hide that she was conscious. The last thing she remembered, they were still fighting that thing that had emerged from within the ruined Palladion. She didn’t even want to think about it, but if that *thing* had won, if it had…if it had managed to defeat Atalanta…it was possible that Ariadne was the only survivor, and only as a prisoner awaiting a public execution for her role in whatever awful crime the king would make up to cover his own vile actions.          And yet, the bed she was lying in felt soft, with finely woven bedding, not the hard pallet she would expect for a prisoner awaiting a grim and gruesome death. The air in the room smelled fresh and sweet, with hints of flowers, fresh fruit and fine wine, rather than being the stale and dank air of a prison.          There was someone else in the room with her, moving quietly enough that whoever they were, they were plainly not wearing armor. That didn’t mean they couldn’t be an enemy, though, some jailor casually walking about unguarded because he didn’t think his prisoner would awaken. It was only when she felt soft, gentle fingers brush aside some of the hair from her forehead that Ariadne began to realize that maybe she really wasn’t a prisoner.          And that had to mean that Atalanta had been successful in putting down that creature and its regal creator.          Deciding to risk it, Ariadne slowly opened her eyes. They hadn’t managed to focus on anything before she heard a warm, familiar voice exclaim. “You’re awake!”          “Rhoxane…?” Ariadne found it surprisingly hard to form words, even as Rhoxane threw her arms around Ariadne’s neck.          “I’ve been so worried! You’ve been asleep for so long!”          A groan of pain escaped Ariadne’s lips before the words she was trying to form. Her whole side felt as though it had been split clean open at some point in the past, and only roughly sewn back together with cords like sailing ropes. “Where’s Atalanta?”          “She’s recovering next door,” Rhoxane assured her, letting go of Ariadne and sitting up again to smile down at her. “Myrto just stopped by to tell me that she’s finally woken up.”          “Thank the gods…”          Rhoxane laughed. “The new king has been *very* grateful to you three for killing the old one,” she said. “He’s made all sorts of offerings to Apollo and Asclepios, and all sorts of local gods of healing, too, asking them to help you all recover.”          Ariadne had to laugh. Atalanta probably wouldn’t even *want* offerings made to Apollo on her behalf. “I’m glad we’re not in trouble over it.”          “Well, after what Myrto and I were able to tell them even before Eurysakes woke up and filled in the story of what had happened in the battle…” Rhoxane shrugged. “I suppose if the old king had had a son to inherit, he still might have gotten upset about his father’s death.”          “That’s usually the way it works,” Ariadne agreed, then sighed. “Tell me everything that happened since I passed out during the fight,” she begged, doing her best to take Rhoxane’s hand and lend some urgency to the request.          Rhoxane’s cheeks flushed slightly. “Well, I only have the tale of the battle at second hand, from one of the Amazons, so it may not be accurate.” As she related the tale, Ariadne reflected that it had better not be accurate: it made it sound as though Eurysakes had done everything himself after Ariadne lost consciousness, and that Atalanta hadn’t done anything at all!          “Is that how Eurysakes told the story?” Ariadne asked. She hadn’t thought him quite so self-aggrandizing…          Rhoxane shrugged. “The way he talks, who knows? I bet they kept filling in his sentences before he finished them.”          Ariadne laughed so hard it felt as though her side had popped back open. “You’d think Amazons wouldn’t praise a man quite so highly, though,” she commented, once she recovered her breath from the laughter and the pain.          “Oh, there are three or four of them who have decided they want to have his baby before they go back to Scythia, so…” Rhoxane let out a laugh, and shook her head. “I know he’s a little handsome, but really! I don’t see the appeal.”          “Me, either,” Ariadne agreed.          Rhoxane smiled, and continued the story of everything that had happened since the battle, all the revelations that had been made to the court about Korythos’ actions—a dull, watered-down version that contained nothing of mud monsters or attempts to overthrow the gods themselves, and only had him sacrificing people in a perversion of worship that had contaminated the Palladion and caused it to disintegrate in response to his prayers for domination over all of Anatolia and Hellas—and all the excessive gestures of generosity Ganymede had made in the days since his accession to the throne, in order to win over his people, and especially the elders and other prominent men of the court.          “What about you?” Ariadne asked. “Are you all right, being here with me?”          “Of course I am!” Rhoxane cried almost indignantly, her cheeks heating.          “I mean, what about your duties at the temple,” Ariadne explained.          “Oh, that.” Rhoxane laughed nervously. “Well, since the old king was shedding human blood within the temple, it’s been defiled again, and it can’t be used until someone purifies it. King Ganymede sent a herald to Athene’s cult center in Athens to ask for one of the priests there to come and cleanse the grounds to the goddess’s satisfaction.”          “And no doubt to make subtle enquiries to see if the Palladion has disappeared from Athens,” Ariadne concluded, with a chuckle. Whatever else he was, Ganymede wasn’t stupid. She was sure of that much.          “Probably,” Rhoxane agreed, nodding. “Until the temple is purified, though, we can’t serve the goddess there, and since most of the priestesses were part of the old king’s twisted cult, there’s not really anyone to direct us other than the new king. And he decided that since you and Atalanta had protected the goddess with your actions, that surely she would see us as serving her by looking after the two of you.” She smiled widely, taking Ariadne’s hand. “I certainly wasn’t going to complain about that!”          “I’m glad to hear it,” Ariadne sighed. “I doubt Myrto took it quite so well.”          “Well, she didn’t complain, as such, but she did request several times to let me take care of both you and Atalanta so she could look after Eurysakes instead.” Rhoxane laughed. “I think she only stopped asking because of jealous Amazons.”          “I really don’t get it,” Ariadne grumbled. Even if they believed him about being a prince—and even if they thought he really had fought that whole battle himself—why would Amazons lower themselves to—          “Anyway, I think Myrto’s really come around, though,” Rhoxane went on. “You two saved her from being horribly murdered. That’s more than enough to make even someone as conceited as Myrto overlook humble origins.” She shrugged. “Besides, she’s heard the rumors going around saying that Achilles really was Atalanta’s father.”          “That’s going to make life ugly,” Ariadne sighed.          Surprisingly, Rhoxane shook her head. “Antianeira had some ideas about that,” she said, with an almost impish smile. “But right now you need to get your strength back. I’ll go and fetch you something to eat.”          “Wait, no, explain what you mean first!” Ariadne insisted, but Rhoxane left the room with a positively mischievous smile and no explanation whatsoever.          What a tease she could be! [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->medal ceremony]]

Even after waking up, it was another week before Atalanta was recovered enough to feel comfortable walking around again. Ariadne and Eurysakes had healed more quickly than she had—the healers said it was her foot causing the problem, as she had been exposed to more of the poison than her cousins had—but they weren’t allowed to spend much time with each other, because all three of them were supposed to rest as much as possible until they were pronounced fully recovered. But Myrto and Rhoxane and a few of the Amazons were constantly taking messages back and forth between them, so that wasn’t *too* bad…though Atalanta had never before been apart from Ariadne for even a whole day, so it was starting to make her feel very empty inside.          It was a full two weeks after the battle when the three of them were summoned to an audience with King Ganymede. Atalanta had been provided with very fine new clothing to wear: a long Achaian-style tunic decorated with gold and silver threads woven into it, and a pair of Amazon-style trousers, and some curly-toed shoes that were so well made that she wondered if they had come from the Great King’s court in Hattusa itself. It was an odd combination of styles and Atalanta felt like it looked ridiculous on her, but as she approached the megaron and found Ariadne dressed the same way, she had to admit that it suited her cousin well. Eurysakes was wearing a typical Achaian tunic, again woven with gold and purple, this time even finer than the one he had brought with him from Cypros.          The three of them entered the megaron together, and found Ganymede sitting on the same golden throne that Korythos had been when they first saw him. Ganymede wore a long, regal robe, almost solid with gold and purple, and wore on his head a golden diadem in a very Achaian style. To one side of him stood an unfamiliar woman in an equally regal gown (Atalanta presumed she was his wife, though thankfully she didn’t look a thing like Zelotes), and to the other side stood Antianeira, her traditional Amazon clothing made to look less battle-oriented and more courtly by the addition of golden necklaces and bracelets.          Ganymede smiled at them warmly as they approached, then described their heroism to the court in rather flamboyant hyperbole that made all three of them blush considerably. When he finally finished explaining their deeds to the court, Ganymede’s friendly smile became something of a smirk. “Of course, our healers discovered something rather shocking about the two young ‘Hyperborean lads,’ which you can all see plainly for yourselves,” he said, causing a ripple of laughter through the court. “Not everyone was surprised, however,” he added, gesturing to Antianeira.          Antianeira nodded, and stepped forwards. “Now that everything has been peacefully resolved, and I have sent word to my sister our queen, I can explain to you all the true situation of these two warrior maids,” she said, gesturing towards Atalanta and Ariadne. “Their mothers, who accompanied our great Queen Penthesileia to this land so many years ago, recently left this world, and only as they were dying did they finally confess the identities of the fathers of their daughters. Given all that my sister and my people lost to the Ahhiyawa warriors who laid waste to this fine citadel, we overreacted, and sent these girls away in disgrace over their paternity, despite that they were blameless for the lusts of their parents.” She shook her head sadly. “My sister had already repented her rash decision to exile these two when she sent me here to see if any word had been heard of them. Now that they have distinguished themselves in such a mighty battle, she wishes to make it known to all of Wilusa that they are fine and noble Amazons, and welcome to return to Themiscyra whenever they should wish.” The court cheered, and Antianeira stepped back again.          Ganymede turned his attention from Antianeira back to the three young heroes of the hour, as he had called them. “I do hope that you young ladies will remain here to enjoy my hospitality at least for a little while longer before returning to your homeland.”          “I think we rather need to, in all honesty, your majesty,” Ariadne said, with a light bowing of her head. “Neither of us is fully healed yet.”          Atalanta nodded. “I’d like a chance to get to see the rest of the city, and the surrounding countryside, too. If that wouldn’t be imposing…”          “Of course not! You are welcome as long as you wish to stay, and must not be shy to ask me for anything in that time.”          “Sire, if I may?” Eurysakes said, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “I should like to request…” He paused, biting his lip. “I should like to borrow a herald.”          Ganymede laughed. “If you’re worried about your uncle, you need not concern yourself further. I sent a herald to Cypros already to inform him of everything that happened. Knowing as I do the anguish of being uncertain of the fates of loved ones when they are in a city beset by strife, I could not allow him to suffer any undue concern on your behalf, especially seeing as he and I are kin.”          “Thank you,” Eurysakes said with a great smile of relief, before bowing low before the king. “I cannot thank you enough.”          “I should like to give you all gifts as well, but it grieves me that the first gift I can give you isn’t really mine to give,” King Ganymede continued.          “Sire?” Ariadne asked, sounding every bit as confused as Atalanta was.          “Bring in the armor,” he said, and several servants ran in, carrying the armor that Ariadne had described to the blacksmiths back…whenever that was. It felt like such a terribly long time ago now! “It was the villain Korythos who originally commissioned this ‘Hyperborean’ armor for you, but I hope you will still want to accept it,” he added, looking at the girls with a barely contained smirk. He was obviously enjoying the ludicrous nature of all this.          “Of course we will,” Atalanta assured him. With such glorious armor, who could refuse? She was sure that only her father’s legendary armor could be better!          The helmets were of a soft, well-burnished leather, covered almost entirely with scales of bronze overlaid with gold and silver, and came down low in the front to protect their foreheads. They were ornamented with little wings made of feathers—probably those of a swan, from the looks of them, since they obviously couldn’t be gryphon feathers like Ariadne had described—which didn’t protrude too much from the helm, and were only feathers anyway, so a sword blow against them would merely snap the feathers with no harm to the helmet or the girl wearing it. The corselets were even more fine: leather bodices with large breastplates ornamented with scenes of the goddess Athene in battle against goat-footed men laid over the bronze in gold and silver. The parts of the leather not covered by the large breastplates had scales of bronze sewn tightly to the leather, like on Antianeira’s armor, but these scales were even more brightly polished, and decorated here and there with inlays of gold, silver and even a few carnelian and amethyst cabochons just above the breastplate, as if they were necklaces. In addition to the helmets and corselets were greaves and what Atalanta could only consider ‘thigh greaves’, both sets of greaves being thick leather covered over with more scales of highly polished bronze. Both girls were also provided with triangular shields, as Ariadne’s description had specified. Ariadne’s was small enough not to interfere with her archery, and its gold and silver inlay depicted the goddess Artemis and her nymphs at the hunt. Atalanta’s shield was much larger—the triangle was all squeezed out and long, unlike Ariadne’s, where each side was about the same length—and to her astonishment, it was decorated with scenes of her father’s life, from his birth up to his victory over Hector, all laid in gold and silver over the highly polished bronze.          It was all so beautiful that she almost wanted to cry.          “I don’t know how to thank you, your majesty,” Ariadne said, summing up nicely the words that Atalanta was finding herself unable to produce.          “Please, don’t try. Considering the service you have done to me and my people, I owe you much more than this. Look on this place as your own home, and treat it as you would the home in which you were born and raised.” He rose to his feet, and approached them. “Without any need to clean the stables or entertain the guests,” he added in a low whisper to both girls, then turned to face the court again. “Come, everyone, let us feast to our fine young guests!” [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->cypriot herald]]

Ariadne was finding wearing trousers to be an odd sensation, but she had to agree with Hipponike that they made a very nice defensive layer against the lechery of the men around her. It was certainly a relief not to have to bind her breasts or worry about a stray gust of wind blowing a tunic astray and revealing everything she was trying to hide.          But there was still one thing she was hiding, and she daily feared someone would find it and fail to understand its value. “Can you go to the Amazons and ask them if they have a little pouch or something I could have?” she asked one afternoon, looking at Atalanta. It was the first time they had been alone together since the feast in which their status as ‘exiled Amazons’ had been announced to the court.          “A pouch? What for?”          Ariadne picked up her quiver, cradling it gently in her arms. “All that’s left of the Palladion is still in here,” she said quietly. “I want to put it in something that will better protect it.”          “Oh! I’m sure they’ll have something,” Atalanta agreed, and ran out of the room. She probably shouldn’t have been running—even Atalanta needed time to recover from such a terrible injury to her foot!—but trying to stop her was futile; she had always done whatever she wanted even when she was a slave, so how was anyone to stop her now that she was free and being lauded as a hero?          Once Atalanta was gone, Ariadne shut the door behind her, and sat down on the bed, removing her remaining arrows from the quiver and setting them aside before taking out the few wood shavings that were the only still-pure fragments of the Palladion; the people trying to purify the temple hadn’t known what the others were and had swept them out the door as if they were simple trash!          She couldn’t be sure if Athene was listening—if there really was any truth to all those claims of Atalanta being the daughter of Achilles, then surely she had only been paying attention for that reason—but she still had to ask, had to try. “Athene, wise, noble, mighty daughter of Zeus…if you’re still listening, if you’re still willing to grant my cousin a boon, there’s something she needs desperately, though she would never ask for it herself. On her back are terrible scars, scars that can’t be mistaken for ritual scarring the way the ones on her legs can be. They’re the scars of a slave beaten by her master, and I…if anyone sees them, our whole story will be burst from within and…and more importantly, they’re a source of pain for her. Please, if our service in dispatching the man who defiled your holy Palladion was at all pleasing or helpful to you, please cast a veil over those scars so mortals won’t see them. I don’t want to see Atalanta suffer any more over that awful day.”          There was more she should say on the subject, she was sure of it, but she couldn’t think of anything else, and just kept repeating her request over and over again, in the likely vain hopes that Athene would hear and honor it. She didn’t have time to repeat it all that many times, really, before Atalanta came running back again, all but out of breath. (It was shocking to even imagine Atalanta being worn out by a little bit of running around! Was that the result of the injury, or the result of more than two weeks of rest?)          Atalanta handed over a little leather pouch decorated with agate beads, a big grin on her face as she did so. “Hurry with that so we can go to the megaron!”          “Hmm? Why?” Ariadne asked, even as she began reverently placing the scraps of the Palladion into the pouch.          “Everyone’s talking about it—a ship came in from Cypros! The herald’s already gone to the harbor to make sure whoever’s on board comes straight to the megaron, and Eurysakes is already on his way to the megaron to wait for them.”          “Oh? This should be interesting,” Ariadne agreed, slipping the pouch’s long leather cord around her neck and getting up off the bed. Her arrows could wait to go back into the quiver until later.          “Do you think his uncle came personally?” Atalanta asked, as they left the room.          “I would highly doubt it,” Ariadne laughed. She still wasn’t completely convinced that Eurysakes really could be who he had been saying he was all along, but his having actually asked for a herald to be sent to King Teukros did suggest that he might actually be that king’s nephew after all, despite how improbable that seemed.          Evidently the arrival of a herald from Cypriot Salamis was an event viewed to be of the highest interest all around: the megaron was packed, and almost all the Trojan elders were assembled…if they could really be called ‘elders’ when so few of them were over fifty. Eurysakes waited nervously near the throne, where the queen was fussing over him almost maternally. Rather than risk getting in the way of whatever formalities would be involved with the arrival of a ship containing a representative of such a powerful and influential king, Ariadne led Atalanta towards the side of the room, where they could watch without getting in the way.          Soon, the same Trojan herald who had been assigned to deal with them upon their first arrival preceded the new arrival into the megaron. He was an unremarkable man in his sixties, carrying a herald’s staff. The Trojan herald introduced him as “Galenos, herald of King Teukros of Salamis, son of Telamon, son of Aiakos—” and Ariadne didn’t doubt he would have kept going on past Zeus all the way to Ouranos if the other herald hadn’t suddenly let out a cry and run over to Eurysakes.          “My prince! I’m so relieved you’re all right!” Without warning, he suddenly wrapped his arms around the younger man’s much larger frame, causing Eurysakes’ face to darken in shame even as he started weakly struggling against the embrace. “Your uncle has been so worried—and your mother practically threatened to swim here on her own if no ship would bring her!” Recovering his composure, the herald stepped away from the red-faced youth, and faced the throne. “Ah, forgive me, your majesty,” he said, bowing to Ganymede. “I served as his father’s herald as well, so I have known the boy since he was a tiny infant,” so saying, he cupped his hands into a size that was anything but tiny for an infant, more like the size of two or three infants at once, “and all of us in the service of the sons of Telamon formed a greater than usual attachment to—”          “Please stop,” Eurysakes begged, his face now so red that it looked painful.          “Do not be ashamed, young man,” Ganymede said, though he was plainly fighting not to laugh. “To be able to inspire such loyalty is a very worthy quality that few men have. And to be able to inspire loyalty at your age is even more remarkable.”          “It’s not loyalty,” Eurysakes said miserably, looking down at his feet. He looked so pitiful that it was hard for Ariadne to stop herself from laughing. Especially with Atalanta standing right next to her stifling giggles no doubt born from trying to imagine Eurysakes as an enormous toddler wandering about a war camp being cooed over by men who were normally vicious killers.          “My king has instructed me to thank you for your gracious message telling us of young Eurysakes’ heroism,” the herald Galenos continued, as if he hadn’t heard Eurysakes’ comment, despite that it was said right next to his ear. “And he has sent me with gifts as well.”          “He well lives up to his reputation as an excellent king,” Ganymede said.          “However,” Galenos continued, with an uncomfortable clearing of his throat, “he did request that you clarify your lineage to him, as he thought he was aware of all the members of his kin, the Trojan royal family, who survived the war.”          “Ah.” Ganymede sighed. “Yes, I’m sure he did.” He shook his head. “My relationship to the ruling clan was a slight one; the name of my father would mean little to you or your king. I was separated from my home and my family at a very young age, and taken to live in service to a great king at his court. When the war broke out, I so relentlessly begged him to step in and aid my people that eventually he offered me the choice of silence or banishment.” He chuckled grimly. “Everyone around me thought I was mad to choose the latter, but I did, and was promptly sent back to meet the same fate as my people. The first man I met in seeking my way through the streets that were no longer familiar to me was the noble Aineias. When I explained myself to him, he took me back to his own house until he could have a chance to introduce me to King Priam and explain who I was.” He shook his head. “He was captured by your allies before he had that opportunity, but that meant that as I was within his house when the city fell, I was saved from slaughter and slavery. Once Aineias took the throne, he informed the people of my heritage in a rather roundabout way, since my father was long dead and forgotten. As he had been my benefactor, I should have left the city with him when Aineias was driven out in exile, and yet since I had passed up a far greater home once for the sake of this city, how could I have left it?”          “Of course, your majesty. As one who is also in exile from his original home, I can understand all too well,” Galenos said, nodding sagely, even though the explanation really hadn’t answered any questions to Ariadne’s way of thinking, and had in fact left a lot of *new* questions that needed answering even more urgently. “I’m sure that the king will be gratified to learn your story when we return home,” Galenos continued, setting a hand on Eurysakes’ shoulder.          With a deep sigh, Eurysakes gently moved the other man’s hand off his shoulder. “I cannot return yet,” he said.          “My prince!” Galenos turned to look at him. “What are you saying? Your mother is worried sick, and your uncle will not forgive us if we do not bring you home with us!” He paused, and looked around the megaron. “Where is Eutychos? He should be backing me up in this.”          “Dead,” Eurysakes said, his voice almost more of a croak than anything else.          “What?”          “All of them are. Killed by Korythos.”          Galenos’ mouth fell open for a moment, and he shook his head weakly. “That…how could that be…?” He looked towards Ganymede, a gesture that spoke of hopefulness to Ariadne.          “It’s true,” King Ganymede assured him. “Thus far, none of Korythos’ few surviving conspirators have been willing to tell us what they did with the bodies of their victims, but they have confessed that all of the sailors off the Cypriot ship were among the victims.”          “This is a terrible blow,” Galenos said, turning back to Eurysakes. “My prince, are you—”          “It is my fault they are dead,” Eurysakes said. “I cannot face their wives. Their children. Their parents. Not until I have made amends.”          “It is not your fault in the least, my prince,” Galenos assured him. “They were—”          “They would not have been here. Not without me. They would not have stayed. Not without me. They would not have been off guard. Not without me.”          “Even so, that does not leave their blood on your hands.” Galenos placed a hand on Eurysakes’ shoulder again, and this time was not rebuffed. “You must not blame yourself for their fate. The will of the gods is at work in such times. If it was the will of Zeus for them to be thus taken from us, you cannot blame yourself for that. But your desire to atone for their fate is a noble one. I am sure your uncle will understand, and approve.” He cleared his throat significantly. “I am just as sure that your mother will not.”          Eurysakes chuckled. “I’m sure not,” he agreed. “But I cannot go back yet. She will have to accept that.”          “And you plan to remain here?” Galenos asked.          Eurysakes shrugged. “For now. But we will eventually travel. Through Hellas. To see what I have not seen before. To do what I can.”          “We?”          “Ah, forgive me,” Ganymede said, with a laugh. “The herald I sent to Cypros was not instructed to mention the two Amazons who were so instrumental in the defeat of my predecessor.” He gestured towards Atalanta and Ariadne.          “Amazons?” Galenos repeated as he turned, but his mouth fell open when he saw them, then he let out a laugh. “Ah, the irrepressible desires of that man!” He clapped Eurysakes on the shoulder. “Whatever you do, young prince, never imitate your father’s cousin in *that* regard.”          “I wasn’t planning on it,” Eurysakes assured him.          “But to think that he had no sooner finished weeping for their queen than he was seducing one of the other Amazons!” Galenos shook his head. “Even for Achilles, that’s fast.”          Many in the court laughed, and Atalanta’s face had turned as red as her hair. “That’s an awful thing to say right in front of her,” Ariadne said, scowling at the old man.          “Yes, it is,” he agreed. “I pray you forgive me, young lady.”          The gesture was stiff and uncomfortable, but Atalanta nodded, and the conversation in the megaron moved away from her—from both of them—and on to rather dull niceties of court and potential trade between Troy and Cypriot Salamis. Ariadne squeezed Atalanta’s hand gently to reassure her after such an awful exchange. Atalanta squeezed back so hard it was almost painful. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->reburial]]

They didn’t see much of Eurysakes in the two days that Galenos was in Troy, which was fine by Atalanta, because she didn’t want to be around that heartless old man. But shortly before he was going to leave, she asked to meet with him in Eurysakes’ chamber. Then she went back to her own chambers and fetched the golden amphora containing her father’s bones, and carried it the short distance to Eurysakes’ chamber. Ariadne walked beside her, pretending to help carry it, explaining that it ‘looked heavy’ and would distract from her purpose if she had to answer questions about how she was strong enough to carry it. (Really, as her father’s daughter, how could she *not* be strong enough to carry it?!)          Galenos nearly fell to his knees at the sight of the amphora. “How…?” he asked, one hand still over his mouth, and his eyes looking like they were about to start producing tears.          Ariadne hastily explained what Korythos had done with the bones in an attempt to hobble Atalanta. “We’ve been talking about it a lot over the last few days, and thought you might have the best idea of how to go about putting the bones back where they belong.”          “Of course,” Galenos agreed, seeming to recover himself slightly. “Our ship will be sailing right past the spot. You should all three come along with us that far, and we’ll restore them to their proper place together.”          Atalanta nodded, fighting against tears herself. As much as she would have loved a chance to get to meet her father, having to safeguard his remains for the rest of her life was not something she wanted or would be the least bit comfortable with. But she had no idea what sort of thing was the proper procedure to do such a thing, so she hadn’t been sure at all what else to do with them…          In taking the amphora aboard Galenos’ ship, Eurysakes helped Atalanta carry it, and the Cypriot sailors made a great procession of it, all looking both somber and reverent. The whole time the ship was making its way towards the site of the camp, Galenos regaled them with tales of the dead men whose bones were mingling in that amphora, as well as tales of Eurysakes’ father.          The barrow looked entirely untouched to Atalanta’s eyes as they approached it. “The doorway seems undisturbed,” Galenos commented, as they moved around to side that faced where the camp used to be.          “What doorway?” Ariadne asked. “There’s nothing but a blank dirt wall.”          “It looks that way, but when this barrow was being constructed to house Patroclos’ bones, Achilles had them construct it to be more like the tombs we have at home in Hellas, though this turned out to be less like an egg laid vertically and more like one laid horizontally. I can’t imagine how they got in without finding the doorway.”          “They probably dug in through the top,” Ariadne said. “That’s what I would do if I was in their position.”          As soon as she and Eurysakes had set down the amphora, Atalanta began hopping in place to look at the top of the barrow. “Hey, yeah, I think some of the dirt does look different in the middle,” she commented.          Eurysakes lifted himself up onto the tips of his toes, then nodded. “I agree,” he said.          “How barbaric of them,” Galenos said, scowling. “Not that I should expect anything *other* than barbarism from someone who would do such vile things to the bones of the dead.” Then he began instructing the sailors who had accompanied them in the best manner to expose the doorway into the barrow. Sure enough, it didn’t take them long to brush aside a light covering of dirt and expose a wedge-shaped doorway blocked up with stones, which were soon removed.          The daylight didn’t reach into the tomb very well, so one of the sailors provided a torch, and Galenos walked inside. Atalanta hurried to go in after him, wondering what he wanted inside the hollow barrow.          “Ah, here is the son of Nestor, undisturbed,” Galenos said almost immediately. Sure enough, there was another funerary vessel there, mottled with a light coating of dirt, but with no sign of having been opened or moved. “Poor Antilochos! Such sorrow to all of Hellas, to see the finest flower of youth and manhood, all gathered here as nothing but bones!” He shook his head, then turned to look at Eurysakes, who had come in just behind Atalanta. “My prince, let us return the dead to their proper resting place at once.”          Eurysakes nodded, and he and Atalanta hurried back out to fetch the amphora. When they brought it inside to the center of the barrow, though, they couldn’t just set it down. “There’s something on the ground there,” Atalanta pointed out.          Galenos retrieved the object, and the amphora was duly set down just where it had been. “What is it?” Eurysakes asked.          “A silver casket,” Galenos said. “Very well wrought. I’ve never seen its like.” Then he carried it outside the barrow.          As soon as Atalanta and Eurysakes emerged into the open air again, the sailors began closing up the barrow again. “What’s inside there?” Ariadne asked, looking at the casket. “I heard something rattling.”          Galenos set the casket down on the ground and opened it, revealing another set of human bones, much smaller than Atalanta’s father’s, and without any mark of the flame on them. “Oh dear,” Galenos said.          “Should we put them back?” Eurysakes asked.          “Whose are they?” Atalanta asked. “What were they doing in there?”          “They’re probably all that’s left of Princess Polyxena,” Ariadne said, grimacing. “Korythos must have known she had been buried there, and brought that casket to house her bones. But I can’t imagine why he didn’t bring her back to the city to have a proper tomb of her own.”          “Probably the weight of the golden amphora,” Eurysakes said. “He couldn’t carry both.”          “I doubt he was able to carry that amphora by himself in the first place,” Ariadne said, rolling her eyes.          “Why would a princess’s bones have been buried there?” Atalanta asked, feeling her very soul trembling at the terrible guesses she could come up with. The fact that she remembered Polyxena as the name of the girl who had accompanied Troilos on the last ride of his life did not help her feel any better about it…          “It is not a pleasant story,” Eurysakes told her. “It should not be discussed here.”          Galenos nodded. “Yes, this is hardly the place for it.”          “Even though this is where it *happened*?” Ariadne countered coldly, making Atalanta fear the worst about the tale.          “Leave it for later, Ariadne,” Eurysakes said firmly.          Ariadne grimaced. “Fine. But we *will* be talking about this later, at great length. And we should take the poor girl’s bones back to the city so she can be buried with her family. As a daughter of King Priam, this is no place for her.”          “I agree,” Galenos said. “She should be with her people in death, even if she might have embraced Achilles’ company in life.”          “I may be sick,” Ariadne muttered.          Atalanta crouched down, closed the casket, and picked it up again. “I’ll see to it that she’s given a proper burial with her family,” she promised. Not just promising the living, but promising the princess, and Apollo, and even her father.          Galenos thanked her, then—after his sailors had closed up the tomb again—said one last tearful farewell to Eurysakes before returning to the ship, which soon set sail and disappeared along the surface of the wine-dark sea.          As the trio set off walking towards the city with their unexpected parcel, they saw two chariots approaching from the city. As they drew near, Atalanta saw that one of them was the fine chariot King Ganymede had promised to give them as part of their reward for saving the city and the gods from King Korythos and his ambitions. The other contained the king himself, and the Amazon Antianeira, both smiling at the trio fondly.          Even though it had been a long and strange journey to get here—and Atalanta wasn’t entirely comfortable with the knowledge that she was carrying the bones of a girl who had died shortly before Atalanta was born—it felt to her as though the adventure of her life was only just beginning. [[<img src="spinning.gif" width="100" height="100">->they will return]]

<center> **Atalanta, Ariadne and Eurysakes will return** **in** #***The Golden God of Aiolia*** </center>          Meanwhile, if you would like to learn a little more about the mythology and archaeology behind the story... [[Further reading/Sources->Further reading]] [[Timeline]] [[Alexander, Oinone and Korythos]] [[Teukros and Eurysakes]] [[Troilos and Chryseis]] [[Trojan and Hittite Religious Practices]] [[Achilles and Patroclos]]

{<center> #Further Reading/Sources </center>}             If you’ve read a lot of my Glossary entries, you may have noticed many mentions of details I’ve forgotten.  That’s because (as I said in the itch.io page description) this is the adaptation of a novel I wrote in 2014.  I started writing it the week before I started my first semester of working on my Master’s Degree in History.  (In January, though, as I started in the spring semester.)  Over the course of that year, I wrote all seven novels in the series, around class work and independent research.  In the course of my studies (both pre- and post-finishing the novels), I used the university library to look up a lot of information on ancient Greek mythology and culture, as well as on Mycenaean archaeology.  That was all before 2016.  Between the fact that it was so long ago, that my notes were sparse, and that I no longer have access to the university library, having graduated some time ago, I cannot revisit the majority of the research.             All that being said, I can still point you towards some books if you’re interested in learning more about the real culture(s) or the myth of the Trojan War. **Primary sources:** * “Homer”, Iliad, Odyssey – Goes without saying, right?  The former is much darker and more serious, but contains some sick burns, mostly aimed at Alexander/Paris.  Also, Patroclos is awesome.  (And anyone who denies that he and Achilles were lovers has not read the Iliad.)  The Odyssey is much lighter, more misogynistic, and generally not consistent with the Iliad in most respects, one of many reasons I think they were actually composed by different people. * Euripides, Iphigenia at Aulis, The Trojan Women – There are a lot of Euripides plays that survive and are excellent (also some that are awful and should be avoided like the very plague), but these are the two that involve the Trojan War that I would recommend. * Sophocles, Aias, Philoctetes – Especially if you’re curious about the precise circumstances of Aias’ death (though there will be many more details forthcoming in book two), the former is absolutely a must-read.  The Philoctetes isn’t actually at all relevant to any of the contents of this novel (or the rest of the series, for that matter), and its Neoptolemos is entirely unlike pretty much any other Neoptolemos ever, but it’s a great play. * Herodotus, Histories – This may sound like an odd suggestion, but there’s a good reason.  He only touches on the Trojan War briefly, but about half of what Ariadne had to say about Hyperborea comes straight from Herodotus.             There are also a lot of primary sources I either have not read, do not recommend or am ambivalent about recommending.  The ambivalent category includes the Rhesos falsely attributed to Euripides, which is just sort of “meh” all over.  (So much so that I don’t really remember it, even though I know I’ve read it.)  It also includes the Posthomerica (also known as The Fall of Troy) by Quintus Smyrnaeus, meant to fill in everything after the Iliad so one can go on to the Odyssey without missing anything.  (This suggests that the rest of the Epic Cycle was already lost by his day, though some scholars feel he had access to it.  It might be that he had large sections of the lost epics, or perhaps had a much more detailed summary than survives to the present.)  As you can guess by the author’s name, it dates to Roman times (dates not certain, but probably in the early third century), and although the author was not Roman himself (he was a Greek from Smyrna, one of the many towns in modern-day Turkey that claimed to be “the birthplace of Homer”) his work displays the even higher level of misogyny that was one of the differences between the Romans and the Greeks, so for that reason I am uncomfortable about recommending anyone read it, even though it is currently our most detailed ancient source for the rest of the Trojan War.  Another “not sure if I can recommend it” is the Achilleis of Statius, the origin of the “dipped in the River Styx” malarkey.  Written in the first century CE, it stops not long after Achilles’ disguise as a daughter of Lycomedes is exposed.  The opening of the work implies that the author intended it to cover Achilles’ entire life, but some scholars think he probably always intended to stop right where he did.  (His time in disguise as a girl seems to have been the Romans’ favorite part of Achilles’ life.  Which is not surprising in the days after they decided to accept the Julian version where they were descended from Trojans!)  It’s not that it’s a bad poem, as such, but it has Achilles rape Deidameia instead of seduce her (as does Ovid), and that’s just extra creepy, especially since the poem also implies that there was nothing wrong with him doing so and that she’s silly to cry over it and should just be in love with him instead; I’m not sure if that was born from the Roman desire to lessen Achilles’ heroic stature (not that there aren’t authentic, pre-Roman myths involving him raping or attempting to rape someone, it’s just that they don’t have him be all “what are you crying for?” afterwards) or if it was part of the extreme misogyny that Roman culture sometimes displayed, but either way just reading that portion of the poem made me feel icky.             There are also a lot of ancient works that I know I would recommend if they still existed.  Aeschylos’ so-called “tragic Iliad” trilogy would probably be a favorite of mine if it was still around:  some of the quotes we have from it are Achilles lamenting over Patroclos’ body and generally sounding like Juliet weeping over Romeo.  (Though Aeschylos actually made Achilles the lover in the relationship (rather than the beloved) according to other ancient authors.)  There was also a satyr play by Sophocles called “The Lovers of Achilles” that evidently had the teenage Achilles being pursued by a pack of horny satyrs while his father looked on and laughed.  (If it ended with him being rescued by Patroclos, I would totally swoon.)  Alas, all these are lost to the mists of time. **Secondary sources:** * Gantz, Timothy:  Early Greek Myths – This is the ultimate source for mythological details.  He went through every single text, text fragment, and ancient artwork and compiled all the variants of the various myths.  It is a fantastic scholarly resource, and it is absolutely killing me that I cannot find my copy.  (At two volumes, $35 each, I don’t feel like I can afford to buy another copy when I know I already have one somewhere.  I fear it accidentally got stored away with the leftover books from my MA…)  It is not, however, a book narrating the tales, so if you just want to read the myths without already knowing their stories, it would probably be more confusing than anything else.  (I’m not sure what book I would recommend for that purpose, though.  The few I’ve sampled have tended to be pathetically inadequate to the task.  I tried to write one myself at one point, but petered out after a while, partially because it was too hard to find a way to reconcile some of the chronological inconsistencies in the major cycles.  I’m planning on eventually posting (with improvements) the various chapters on AO3; if you’re interested in reading them, let me know, and I’ll give you the URL.) * Mayor, Adrienne: The Amazons:  Lives and Legends of Warrior Women across the Ancient World * Davidson, James:  The Greeks and Greek Love – Very important to get a better understanding of how same-sex love actually worked in the ancient Mediterranean.  It was much more nuanced and varied than a certain 1970s scholar claimed it was.  (This book is, by now, about ten years out of date, though.) * Latacz, Joachim:  Troy and Homer:  Towards a Solution of an Old Mystery – I’m a little hesitant to recommend this one.  Not because I didn’t use it or because it wasn’t interesting, but because it’s old (2003, which is old for a book about an archaeological site still under heavy investigation) and a little too…what’s the word I’m looking for?  Well, for one thing, the title really tells you right away that the author is determined to find all possible evidence that “yes, the city being excavated at Hissarlik is indeed the very city described by Homer!”  While I’m inclined to think that way myself, I did feel like he maybe went a bit far with it.  (Part of this may have been because he’s German, and German archaeology on the whole has tended towards undue reverence for Troy’s “discoverer,” Heinrich Schliemann (who neither discovered the site nor was the first to excavate it, but did inspire the line in Raiders of the Lost Ark when Belloq says that Germans would use a bulldozer to look for a china cup) who was quite desperate to make a name for himself by “proving” the historicity of the Trojan War, among other things.)  However, I did use this for a lot of my early research, and I fear the dates I had in my file of notes for the various destruction layers at Troy may have come from it, which would probably mean they’ve long since been replaced with more accurate dates. * Castleden, Rodney:  Mycenaeans – This is just a basic overview of the culture, and as it was one of the first ones I read back when I was working not on this novel but on my Trojan War novel written for NaNoWriMo 2011, I don’t really remember much about it.  There are probably more accurate, more recent sources out there. * Cline, Eric H.:  1177 BC:  The Year Civilization Collapsed – The author also wrote a Very Short Introduction to the Trojan War, but I haven’t read it, so I can’t say what it’s like.  This was really good, though, so it’s probably worth a look. * Beckman, Gary M. and Trevor R. Bryce and Eric H. Cline:  The Ahhiyawa Texts – Okay, this is much less connected, but I want to recommend it anyway because it’s so darn cool.  This is a translation of every single Hittite text that mentions the Ahhiyawa.  (It does not, however, contain the Alaksandu Treaty, which would really have been logical, given that it clearly contains a Greek name.)               There were, of course, a lot of other sources I consulted, but most of them I didn’t write down. :( ------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

{<center> #Timeline **(of Events Real, Mythical and Fictional)** </center>}          So, there’s a lot to say here, and much of it could be spoilers for later books in the series, meaning I can’t say a lot of what I would ideally want to. There is a “traditional” date for the Trojan War: 1184 BCE. This would have the war either beginning or ending (depending on whether you see that as the start date or finish date!) less than a decade before the Bronze Age Collapse.          I couldn’t use that for obvious reasons! Even more so than the “having the girls travel through what would be their equivalent of a post-apocalyptic wasteland is not what I wanted” reason, there’s also the fact that the myths firmly establish that a good deal of time passes between the fall of Troy and the fall of the other citadels. (Though the ancient texts are not consistent about just how much time, to be honest. And of course they had them all fall to Dorian invaders when most of them seem to have fallen more to earthquakes than to warfare.)          There were a lot of different destruction layers at Troy including VIIa, which coincided with the Bronze Age Collapse and is generally regarded as “Priam’s Troy” by those looking to find such a thing. However, I decided to go with Troy VI, since I didn’t want Priam’s Troy to fall at the same time as everything else. Troy VI consists of layers a-h, and my notes indicate that at the time I was doing the research, the only dates I had for Troy VI were 1300-1250, and I do not honestly know at this point if they judged that all those layers fell in that fifty year range, or if that was just for one of them, or what. In any case, when I was writing the original drafts, I had gone with “about 1250” being the date of the end of the war. However, as I was looking over the drafts of the original series, I realized that date made one of the later books happen in the year something rather overwhelming was happening in the location where that book takes place, and that was going to require massive, massive, *overwhelmingly massive* restructuring to the book….or I could change the dates for the war a bit.          Turned out that made some other things work so beautifully that I kind of feel like “whoa, did I stumble onto the *real* date of the war?” even though I know that’s absurd. (However, as part of our “traditional” date for the war is based on the calculation for its date in Herodotus, I don’t think we should feel quite so tied down to it.)          Anyway, here you have a timeline of a few major events. Mythological events are predicated with an M, *real* events are preceded with an R, and events that took place exclusively in my works of fiction have an F. A tilde (~) indicates that the date is approximate *within my timeline*. Any real world dates are obviously approximate in the real world, since there weren’t any calendars around, you know? (My full timeline has a lot of other dates on it, some spoilers, and some just not relevant to the story told in this particular book.) M  1305 – Fall of Troy to Heracles and Telamon M  1302 – Birth of Hector M  1300 – Birth of Aias M ~1300 – Birth of Teukros M ~1300 – Birth of Patroclos M  1300 – Birth (and exposure) of Alexander M ~1296 – Marriage of Peleus and Thetis M  1295 – Birth of Achilles M  1286 – Marriage of Menelaos and Helen M  1280 – Alexander restored to royal family in Troy M  1280 – Birth of Korythos R ~1280 – The Alaksandu Treaty R  1279 – Ramses II ascends throne (yeah, not relevant, just here for context) M  1278 – Achilles taken to Scyros by Thetis M  1277 – Birth of Telemachos M  1277 – Helen taken to Troy by Alexander M  1277 – First sailing for Troy M  1276 – Achaian fleet limps back to Hellas M  1276 – Birth of Neoptolemos R  1274 – Ramses II loses Battle of Qadesh to Muwatali II R  1272 – Death of Muwatali II, throne passes to Mursili III F ~1269 – Marriage of Aias R  1267 – Mursili III returns capital to Hattusa; his uncle, Hattusili III, overthrows him M  1267 – Trojan War begins F   1267 – Birth of Aias’ legitimate son, Philaios M  1261 – Birth of Eurysakes M  1257 – Fall of Troy F   1256 – Birth of Atalanta and Ariadne M  1256 – Aineias assumes Trojan throne, begins rebuilding Troy M  1256 – Aigisthos and Clytemnestra murder Agamemnon M  1256 – Teukros banished from Salamis M  1255 – Teukros offered bride and kingdom in Cypros if he drives out some enemies M  1254 – Teukros marries Eue, founds Cypriot Salamis M  1250 – Birth of Asterie, Teukros’ daughter F   1250 – Korythos challenges Aineias’ right to rule in Troy; uses Aineias’ late complicity during war as excuse, and points out the earthquake (which is real and had its epicenter near Mycenae) as a sign of divine displeasure in Aineias’ rule. Aineias refuses to set Trojans to fighting each other after they have lost so many of their own to the Greeks and sets sail with several ships full of followers. M  1246 – Return of Odysseus to Ithaca F   1246 – Deaths of Theokleia and Lelia R  1245 – Ramses II takes first Hittite bride F   1239 – Atalanta and Ariadne escape slavery ------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

{<center> #Alexander, Oinone and Korythos </center>}             Much more of the story of these three is true to the myth than you may be thinking!  As I’m sure 99.9% of everyone who’s come across the game knows (if not flat-out 100%), the lecherous prince who spirited Helen away to Troy is usually known to us as Paris.  Which would, obviously, have made it more of a surprise reveal if I had used that as his “official” name and Alexander as his foundling name.  The reason I didn’t do that, of course, was the Alaksandu Treaty, a real Hittite document between the Great King in Hattusa and Alaksandu, a member of the royal family in Wilusa.  (I’ve seen his title translated as both king and sub-king, so I think there may be some uncertainty about just how the titles translate into modern ones.  Even if it did say king for real, that would only mean some scribe screwed up in my fictional world, you know?)  But more than that, it’s because it’s typically this way, that Alexander is the official name and Paris is the name he had as shepherd on Mount Ida.             Now, the story was more simple in the beginning.  The Iliad uses both names interchangeably, but prefers Alexander.  There’s no hint in the epic of Alexander/Paris ever having been raised as anything but a prince.  The story may have arisen later, in order to explain his two names.  But here’s the basic version of the myth I was drawing from:             One day, for reasons of his own, Zeus tells his grandson, Peleus, that as a reward for his virtuous life, he’s being given Thetis, the most powerful and beautiful of the Nereids, for a wife.  Thetis is none too keen on the idea, and Peleus has to wrestle her to submission while she transforms from one terrifying form to the next, but eventually she submits, and the wedding takes place.  Improbably, all the gods are in attendance.  (And yes, that is improbable.  Even a Nereid as powerful as Thetis isn’t that important, and after all this is a humiliation for her, something they should be turning their eyes away from to protect her dignity!)  They bring Peleus all sorts of fantastic wedding presents suitable for a great warrior (most of which will eventually end up with his son in one way or another), but one guest brings a present that is not for the couple getting married:  Eris, the personification of strife, tosses a golden apple into the crowd of assembled gods.  The modern version typically says that the apple has a tag on it reading “for the fairest,” but given how little writing there was at the time, I think it’s safer to assume that Eris shouts that as she’s throwing it.  Anyway, three of the goddesses lay claim to the apple:  Aphrodite, Athene and Hera.  (Oddly, Artemis doesn’t want it, even though one of her cultic epithets is Kalliste, “most beautiful.”  Actually, I should say that it’s more odd that Athene wants it…)  They put up such a terrible fuss that Zeus takes it away from them and says the matter will be decided later, so that the wedding may commence….             Over in Troy, a baby is born to Priam and Hecabe that they name Alexander, but omens come in (in some versions delivered by Cassandra, which would make her either rather astonishingly old to still be single and fertile by the time the city falls, or a particularly gifted seer to be believed as a small child) that he will cause the destruction of the city.  (One of the most often repeated versions is that Hecabe dreams she has given birth to a firebrand that will burn the city down.)  Terrified of seeing everyone and everything they love destroyed, the mournful royal couple send their baby away to be abandoned at the foot of Mount Ida.  But, as always happens in these myths, a childless couple finds and adopts the baby.  In this case, the couple are shepherds who name the baby Paris.             Paris grows up to be absolutely beautiful, and at some point in his youth, Hermes brings the three quarreling goddesses before him and shows him the golden apple, telling him that, as the fairest of mortal men, he has been given this chance to award the golden apple to the goddess he finds most beautiful of the three. (Keep in mind that the marriage of Peleus and Thetis had to happen about the same time he was born unless Achilles is going to be too young for the first sailing!  (That or it has to take Alexander/Paris a long time to steal Helen away.)  Makes you wonder what took the gods so long in settling the matter, doesn’t it?)  Each goddess offers Paris a bribe, as I’m sure you’re aware:  Hera offers to make him the most powerful of mortal men (politically), Athene offers to make him an undefeatable warrior, and Aphrodite offers him the most beautiful of mortal women for a wife.  Despite that both Hera’s and Athene’s gifts would allow Paris to take Aphrodite’s gift with or without consent, he gives the apple to Aphrodite.  (Seriously, she gave the worst of the three bribes by far.)  Aphrodite is delighted, but the other two goddesses vow vengeance, and then all four of them poof away, and Paris is left thinking he’s just had a funny sort of dream.  Then he goes home to his beautiful, immortal wife, Oinone.  (Okay, technically, they might have come to him before he hooked up with Oinone.  There’s no official chronology here.  But as Oinone is not a mortal woman, he can’t have met her after the judgment and then assumed she was the prize he’d been offered.)             One day, soldiers of the king come and take away a bull that Paris had been raising ever since it was a calf.  (Why a shepherd is raising a bull on a mountainside which would probably not be very good cow-raising country is not addressed.)  He chases them all the way back to the city to retrieve it.  The bull is being used as a prize in the funeral/memorial games for the infant Alexander, now believed to have been dead for twenty years.  In some versions, Paris competes against his own brothers and wins (which seems improbable given Paris’ all-around weak status) and in others he’s recognized by Cassandra soon after entering the city.  One way or another, the truth comes out that he is in fact the self-same Alexander, having survived abandonment as the cursed royal babies always do in these stories.  He is accepted back into the royal family as Alexander, and given a position of prominence among Priam’s sons.             He is—whether right away or years later—sent on an international voyage of friendship and trade, calling on King Menelaos of Lacedaimon.  (Sometimes his cousin Aineias is said to have accompanied him on this voyage.  Likely as a bodyguard, given Alexander’s general uselessness with a sword or a spear.)  While Alexander is there, Menelaos receives word that his maternal grandfather Catreus has died in Crete.  He is ashamed to have to leave while he has a guest, but he can’t miss his grandfather’s funeral games (even though his mother was not only disowned by her father but he actually ordered her put into a trunk and thrown into the sea, though in most versions the servant ordered to do it just put her on a boat and sent her to the mainland instead), so he has to leave while his guest is still there.  He returns home after the funeral, his brother Agamemnon in tow, only to find that his guest has absconded with his wife!             Since the fiend is the prince of a very wealthy kingdom and all of Helen’s suitors had sworn an oath to defend her chosen husband’s right to her, Agamemnon quickly convinces Menelaos that they need to raise an army and get her back…             …and you know the story from there, so I’ll cut to the part where it gets back to Oinone.  She had, in fact, been pregnant when her husband abandoned her, and late in the war, her son Korythos has become a very handsome young man, so she sends him to the city where his father is.  Whether because his mother commanded him to as vengeance, or because it was his own will, as soon as he sees Helen, he falls madly in love with her and begins to court her.  Alexander comes in and finds this teenage upstart courting his “wife” and kills him, unaware that the boy is his own son.  (And, let’s face it, I doubt that would have stopped him even if he had known.)             In the final months of the war, when Philoctetes has used the Bow of Heracles to deal Alexander a mortal wound in a rare impromptu archery duel, Alexander lies dying in his brother Deiphobos’ chariot, but begs him to take him back to Mount Ida instead of the city, because Oinone had promised that no matter what happened, she would always heal her Paris if he was wounded.             They get there, and Oinone sneers at him that he should go back to the city and ask Helen to cure him.             So Deiphobos takes him back to the city, and Alexander either bleeds out on the way there or dies in his own bed.  Oinone, however, has repented of her harsh words, and was making her way to the city to heal him, only to get there too late and take her own immortal life in remorse.               Yup.             That is the original myth.             Oinone’s tragic (and stupid) death was actually a pretty popular theme, taken up by a number of ancient writers, most notably Ovid.  Korythos, on the other hand, is pretty universally ignored; he may be one of the least-mentioned figures connected with the Trojan War, right up there with Achilles’ nephew Menesthios and Patroclos’ slave girl Iphis.             Needless to say, I universally reject the idea of Oinone killing herself over Alexander/Paris.  The man is not worth even a mortal woman’s life, let alone an immortal woman’s life.  Also, I don’t think a nymph/oread even could kill herself, whether she wanted to or not, being, you know, immortal.             Anyway, when I was first approaching writing this, I quickly seized on Korythos as my best choice to be the new king of Troy.  After all, if one assumes that he was born in the versions where he wasn’t sent to the city to meet his father (or wreck up his new “marriage” or whatever Oinone had wanted in sending him there), then he’s still alive when it’s all over, yes?  So why not have him step in and fill the throne, as Priam’s grandson?  After all, there wouldn’t be any need for the trio to do anything if Aineias was the king, because what bad could happen with someone so righteous and strong on the throne?  (Though of course Aineias was not the shining pillar of boring perfections that Virgil’s Aeneas was.  OMG, is he dull.  Perfect is not interesting.)             If you’re interested in reading more about Oinone and her terrible life choices (death choices?), you’ll find them all under the Romanized spelling Oenone.  The Ovid version will be absolutely the easiest to find.  That and her brief part in Quintus Smyrnaeus’ Posthomerica.  I don’t recommend reading either of them, but to each their own.  Korythos can also be spelled Korythus and Corythus.  (Though if you just look up the latter, you’ll end up finding a page about an Italian king or something.  This Korythos is so minor that he doesn’t even have a Wikipedia page.  Heck, he doesn’t even have a page at Theoi.com; he’s only listed on his mother’s page, and even there only briefly.) ------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

{<center> #Teukros and Eurysakes </center>}             Ready for another cringe-inducing tale of my brain fails?  (If that question confuses you, check out “forked spear” in the glossary.)  Among the many library books I can no longer access due to having graduated were books containing all the surviving fragments of plays by the three major Athenian tragedians.  (There were probably books with the surviving fragments of all the other Athenian tragedians, too, but if so I missed them.)  Typically, these books contained not only the fragments, but also whatever minimal information we have on all their plays, even those for which no fragments exist.  (There were scholars who just kept lists of these things, all the plays and their subject matter, without any quotes or context.  I think said scholars were Byzantine, but I’m no longer positive.)  Anyway, among the lost plays of Sophocles was one called Eurysakes and two called Teukros.  The plot summary I remember was probably that of Eurysakes, as I would expect one of the Teukros plays was about Teukros’ return to Salamis and subsequent exile, while the other was likely about the original Teukros from whom the Trojan people descended.  Anyway, whichever play it was, the summary can be paraphrased thus:  “Teukros wants to take part in the funeral games for his father, Telamon, but his nephew, Eurysakes, prevents him from doing so.”             My defective brain assumed that meant “When Telamon dies, Teukros wants to go back home to take part in the funeral games, but the nephew he has raised convinces him that the father who rejected him isn’t worth it, so he stays home.”             What it actually meant was “Teukros returns to Salamis in the hope of taking part in his father’s funeral games, but his nephew, the new king, will not permit him to do so, having been raised by his grandfather to blame Teukros for his father’s death.”  Or something more along those lines, anyway.             I’m not sure when I figured out my mistake.  It was while I was still writing the original drafts, but I was far enough along that I was not about to release my mistaken version of Eurysakes as a kind, gentle soul raised in exile by his uncle.  (The Eurysakes of the original drafts was irritatingly lacking in character flaws.  Hopefully I have managed to rectify that in the rewriting process…while not turning him into the asshole that he apparently was in Sophocles’ version.)             Fortunately, Plutarch (along with Pausanias one of the best sources for minor variant versions of myths) left us with the information that—at least according to the Athenians who claimed to have received the island of Salamis from them—Eurysakes had a brother.  I don’t know if the brother was originally supposed to be a half-brother, as I’ve made him, or a full brother also born at Troy, but the fact that he exists at all felt like a justification to keep going as I was and not have to scrap everything and invent a new character to take Eurysakes’ place, since I could have the brother belong to a legal wife, and therefore have been raised by his grandfather and inherited the throne of Salamis when Telamon kicked the bucket.  Also fortunate is the fact that very few myths take place after the Trojan War (outside of the fallout of the returns, and the Orestes vengeance cycle), so my fictional version is not displacing much in the way of real myths.               Moving backwards a bit, regarding Teukros’ homecoming and exile, I’ve seen different reasons for Telamon to exile his surviving son.  The one I’ve gone with—blaming Teukros for failing to stop Aias from killing himself—is the one that makes more sense to me, though even it still doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, considering that Aias is like twice Teukros’ size, so if talking him down doesn’t work, there’s not a lot he could do.  The other major reason people gave for Telamon exiling Teukros was for having failed to avenge Aias, which does not really make a lot of sense.  I mean, who does he even want Teukros to have killed, exactly?  Agamemnon?  Bad idea.  Odysseus?  Even worse idea.  All the other kings and princes?  Utter insanity!  Athene?  Totally freaking impossible.             I feel like the “failure to avenge” version must have hinged on some alternate version of Aias’ death.  Because of course there were alternate versions.  Though the only one I can remember off-hand wouldn’t really give Telamon any excuse to exile Teukros at all:             Many of the late versions of the myth, in order to let Aias continue to compete evenly with his cousin Achilles, give Aias a form of partial invulnerability as well, in his case from having been wrapped in the skin of the Nemean Lion by his father’s friend Heracles when Aias was just a baby.  (Not sure why that would impart the lion’s invulnerability on the baby, but…there’s dumber ways out there to become invulnerable.)  Due to his invulnerability, the Trojans find themselves unable to kill Aias, and therefore have to kill him through trickery, trapping him in a pit and burying him alive.  It’s hard to find a way Telamon could have blamed that on Teukros, unless it would maybe be for failing to dig him out in time.  (In case you’re wondering, the invulnerability version is not incompatible with the suicide version, as whoever made him invulnerable also had Athene on hand to teach him about the one spot where he remained vulnerable:  his armpit.) ------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

{<center> #Achilles and Patroclos </center>}             This little mini-essay (mini-rant? mini-ramble?) is here to illuminate a few things about these two, mostly their relationship according to the original myths, and their relationship within this text.             We’re going to start with the latter, however, as it’s the simplest part to discuss.  In fact, I only feel the need to spell it out because I don’t want anyone misinterpreting Atalanta’s insistence on believing that they were just friends.  My own personal belief is that you have to be purposefully misinterpreting all the evidence to think of them as anything but lovers:  I see them as the greatest tragic romance of Greek mythology, and Patroclos/Achilles has been one of my OTPs ever since I first read the Iliad.  Atalanta spends so long denying it not because she objects to it but because she can’t relate to it; she can’t imagine what anyone would want with love or sex, so the absurdly over-idealized version of her father that lives in her imagination surely wouldn’t want those things, either.  (She has less trouble accepting the myriad tales of him “falling in love” with girls because she knows men are supposed to do that to make babies:  if you could sit her down and force her to say exactly how she really sees it, she would say that yes, of course he was only after babies when he “fell in love” with all those girls, because what else would he want with them?)  So, she can’t relate to the idea of him being in love with Patroclos, but the idea of a brotherly friendship so powerful that he’s left shattered without him, that she gets, because it’s like her sisterly relationship with Ariadne.  (Well, it’s like Atalanta’s end of their relationship, anyway.)             Now, as to their relationship in the original myths, well, it depends what text you’re looking at, but I view the Iliad as the primary “canon” against which all else must be measured.  (Which is almost hypocritical of me, really, because I blatantly discard some aspects of it in order to embrace later versions that are more fun/easier to work with.)  While the poet of the Iliad does not spell out their love as something romantic/sexual, the way their relationship is portrayed pretty much rules out any other interpretation: * They share a hut.  Other men who hold a similar position to Patroclos (Meriones, nephew of Idomeneus (the king of Crete), is often described by the same word as Patroclos, a word older translators tend to put as “squire”, and thus makes a good example, and I think Teukros would also fit this category) all have their own huts.  Some of that could be due to Patroclos’ lower standing in terms of birth, and yet…Teukros’ father may be a king, but his mother is a slave.  (A former princess, yes, but still a slave.  Though actually his mother being Priam’s sister Hesione is not mentioned in the Iliad, though his name proves she was a Trojan.)  In any case, even if Patroclos would not normally be considered to merit a hut of his own, Achilles sure as heck is of a standing where he would not be expected to share! * When Odysseus, Aias and Phoinix take Agamemnon’s offer of reconciliation to Achilles (which is rejected because he doesn’t think Agamemnon really means it), they find Achilles and Patroclos sitting outside the hut, and Achilles is playing the lyre and singing to Patroclos.  Admittedly, the song is not a romantic one (it’s basically about his own situation as a whiny brat sulking over an insult to his fragile male pride), but the thing is, it is not presented as “he was singing and Patroclos stopped to listen” it’s presented as “he is singing solely for Patroclos.”  This is something that happens between lovers, not friends.  (In ancient literature, that is.  Reality is another matter entirely.) * At one point (I believe right after that offer is rebuffed), Achilles takes one of his other slave girls to bed to have sex with her (so much for any claim of Briseis being special!), and Patroclos takes Iphis (the slave girl Achilles gave him (and yes, that’s where half my user-id came from)) to bed to have sex with her…both of them at the same time and in the same hut.  I’m sure some people have used this passage to try and claim that they were straight (assuming they didn’t have a copy wherein a prurient translator removed it) but they may have been thinking in terms of the Roman Empire, when our modern world believes orgies and semi-public sex were an everyday occurrence.  This was never actually the case, but at least in the Roman Empire they did actually happen.  They did not happen in Ancient Greece.  Sex was extremely private to the Greeks.  (Even their erotic pottery tends more to imply than to depict.  Which absolutely cannot be said about the Romans.)  Two men going in to have sex at the same time in the same room?  Uh, no.  Not normal.  That’s a level of intimacy that goes above and beyond friendship.  It reminds me of the story one of my professors told about a Victorian writer (I forget which one, sadly) who was gay but had enough internalized homophobia from his society that he and his boyfriend couldn’t quite bring themselves to have sex with each other, so they hired a prostitute and had sex with her one after the other.  (Which I guess made it indirect sex?)  Honestly, I’m not sure the story’s true, because how in the world would anyone know about it, but the basic idea behind it rings pretty true to me.  I have interpreted the *Iliad* passage (rightly or wrongly) to suggest that Achilles fears his reputation will suffer if they have sex directly with each other when the rest of the army can find out (as the younger partner, their comrades-in-arms would expect that he plays the passive role, despite his more important political and military position, which would be a huge blow to his reputation and (already fragile) masculinity) so they have to resort to other practices, including this sort of miserable “I’m sleeping with her but I’m thinking of you” thing.  Is that actually what’s meant by the passage?  I have no idea.  But that’s my read on it, and particularly that’s the interpretation that I apply to their relationship within this series, that even though they were inseparable for the last nine years of their lives, they also lost most of that time because Achilles’ ego was so fragile that he dared not let anyone see that they’re still a couple (even though everyone knew it despite his attempts to hide it). * When Nestor is trying to goad Patroclos into doing anything and everything to get Achilles back on the field of battle, one of the things he says is to remind Patroclos of what his father had said when Nestor and Odysseus came to Phthia to get Achilles.  What Patroclos’ father said can be paraphrased as “It’s true that Achilles is more important than you are, but you’re older than he is, so he’ll do what you tell him.  Therefore it’s your duty to make sure he does the right thing.”  Thing is…it doesn’t work that way, not normally.  If Achilles was honor-bound to obey everyone older than he is, he’d obey Agamemnon and Odysseus every time they gave him an order, especially since they’re also more important than he is.  (Well…Agamemnon is.  It’s debatable about Odysseus.  On the one hand, he’s already a king and Achilles is only a prince, but given that Ithaca only contributed a fraction of the ships that Phthia did, Achilles is probably more important as just a prince than Odysseus is as a king.)  And while later authors made Patroclos into a first cousin of Achilles (or in one case into a first cousin once removed, making him of Achilles’ father’s generation), in the Iliad there’s no indication of him having any noteworthy heritage, so he isn’t merely “less important” but extremely less important.  Therefore, for Achilles to obey him because he’s older makes no sense unless they’re in a pederastic relationship. * Also in that same lengthy speech from Nestor (there isn’t any other kind where Nestor is concerned), he tries to encourage Patroclos to act by sharing the tale of Meleagros’ wife Cleopatra, and how hard she worked to get her husband back onto the field of battle when he withdrew over an insult to his honor.  So…yeah.  He’s not going to compare them to a married couple if they’re not romantically involved.  (BTW, some scholars speculate that Nestor’s story was where the name Cleopatra was first coined.  Since it is essentially Patroclos backwards.) * When Antilochos comes to tell Achilles about Patroclos’ death, he holds Achilles’ hand as he’s saying it, because he’s afraid Achilles will draw his sword and kill himself.  That’s not how Greek warriors in the Iliad respond to the news of a friend’s death.  When a friend dies, they go out and avenge him.  (In his Posthomerica, Quintus Smyrnaeus tried to change that by making everyone who lost a friend or brother have to be held back from suicide, because someone living in the Christian era (one of the last of the Christian martyrs is believed to have been his son, in fact) and under the influence of the Stoics as well, he wasn’t willing to accept same-sex love.)  Typically, in the Greek myths, when someone commits suicide over the death of another, it’s because they’re in love.  More specifically, it’s almost always girls killing themselves over the death of their husband/boyfriend/lover; I can’t think of any cases, off-hand, of men killing themselves over the death of their wife or girlfriend.  (Though he’s a late example, Orpheus is the closest I can think of, and while he basically gave up on life, he didn’t kill himself. Likewise, Heracles descended into madness over the kinda/sorta death of Hylas, but there was never any suggestion that he might end himself over the youth’s demise.) * The whole thing about putting both their bones in the same urn?  That’s like screaming “we’re a married couple.”  Not that same-sex marriage, as such, existed then, or—for that matter—that married couples tended to have their bones stored in the same vessel.  (Actually, the Greeks of the historic age didn’t do cremation at all.  Neither did the Mycenaeans for most of their history, though they did do so for a while towards the end of the Late Bronze Age, so that’s one of the rare “real cultural details passed forward through the centuries” things, like the boar’s tusk helmet.)   Classicist/historian James Davidson speculates from the few fragments we have of Aischylos’ Myrmidones that the playwright was depicting Achilles and Patroclos not just as lovers but as in a formalized version of a pederastic relationship that was about as close as you could get to a same-sex marriage at the time.  (Not entirely relevant, but I just thought I’d put that out there.)  My take on this, as far as these books go, is that during the first nine years of the war the rest of the army thought it was pretty funny that Achilles was still smitten with the lover he should have outgrown as soon as he grew his first beard.  But once Patroclos died and they heard Achilles’ speech at the funeral, outlining his desire to have both of their bones stored in the same vessel (which was a gift to his parents at their marriage, from Dionysos himself), suddenly everyone realized that “oh, they were actually serious,” and started viewing them as essentially a married couple.  (In other words, future prologues (all the prologues take place during the war) may contain some light mockery of their continued relationship while they’re both still alive, but the relationship is treated seriously following Patroclos’ death.) * When Achilles is unable to sleep because he misses Patroclos so much, the language is so sexually charged that English translators have to bend over backwards to make it sound like anything but missing a lover, and even then they fail because half or more of them have him talking about missing his “manhood.”  Ancient commentators routinely left notes on the line saying that it sounded like Achilles was missing a lover (in the sexual sense, not merely the romantic sense). * At one point before the funeral, Achilles is lying there stretched out beside Patroclos’ body, holding the corpse in his arms.  Case closed.             Okay, so if I had read the Iliad anytime recently, I’m sure I could point out even more places where it’s pretty much undeniable that they’re in love, but hopefully no one actually needed convincing.  I only have one more thing I want to say here, which is to discuss the terminology I’m using.  I know everyone’s aware of the terms erastes and eromenos because of the book Greek Homosexuality.  Thing is, that book was published in 1979, and the author was a homophobe.  It’s not accurate; there are places where he outright ignores textual evidence because it doesn’t support his thesis.  (And I don’t mean obscure textual evidence.  I mean Plato’s Symposium.)  If you’re interested in learning more about what we actually know about how same-sex love functioned in Ancient Greece, I recommend James Davidson’s The Greeks and Greek Love; it’s certainly where I got my better understanding of the topic.  One of the things he points out is that erastes and eromenos are actually the Athenian terms, and that other city-states used other terms.  Carrying that further for my own purposes, the Mycenaeans would have likely had other terms as well, assuming that the type of relationship those are usually used to describe even existed in their time.             You see, in historic times, Greek women were kept cloistered away within the house, and pre-pubescent boys were kept locked away with them.  So when a boy hit puberty and became an ephebe, his forming a close bond with an older youth who could introduce him into society and teach him how life worked was vitally important, especially because war was common in those days, so his father might be dead by that point, leaving him with no one to teach him how to be a man.  (The vital homosocial enculturation type of pederastic relationship did not necessarily involve anything more than the lightest touch of romance, and in most cases actual sex (even non-penetrative) would have been actively discouraged, particularly by the family of the younger boy.)  There is no evidence of the Mycenaeans practicing that sequestering of women, and if women were not sequestered then boys surely would not have been, either, which would mean that the pederastic relationship was not as important to the social growth of a boy into a man as it was in the historic period.  Such relationships are known from cultures all over the world, however, so they probably still did happen (especially given the importance and prevalence of the custom by historic times), but they were probably less formalized.  Which is a very long and roundabout way of saying that I feel like using the terms erastes and eromenos would suggest the same formalized pederastic relationship from the later era, and that would both be anachronistic and frankly would undersell the kind of relationship Patroclos and Achilles had.  Therefore, I’m using the rough translations of lover and boyfriend, both because the translation makes them generic and because they imply a more fluid, naturalistic relationship than the rigidly defined and sometimes formal one suggested by the other terms. ------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")

{<center> #Troilos and Chryseis </center>}             The tale known to fans of the Bard as Troilus and Cressida has ancient origins, but there was a lot of warping, confusion and outright mutilation along the way from Greece to Stratford-on-Avon.  (Okay, technically, to London.  But that sounds less cool!)             It starts a lot earlier than you might think, with two Latin texts that claim to have been first-hand accounts of the war found in ancient tombs and presented to Nero, who ordered them translated to Latin.  Obviously, all of that is utter rot.  The oldest Latin edition we’re aware of was around three hundred years after Nero’s time.  The two texts, Dictys Cretensis and Dares Phrygius, tell a version of the Trojan War story in the first person, the former from the point of view of man from Crete, and the latter from the point of view of a Trojan.  Though some Greek fragments have been found of the former, their date appears to be…actually, about the date of Nero’s reign, give or take a few decades.  And I just found one of my old papers that talks about this subject, so I’m going to quote myself from 2015 rather than try to find a new way to say it:             “Both confuse characters who have similar names (e.g. Peleus and Pelias, Atreus and Catreus), conflate or eliminate other characters, and present radically different sequences of events from the traditional mythic corpus.  Particularly noteworthy to the present discussion is the fact that in both there is no hint of romance between Achilles and Patroclos—in fact, Patroclos dies almost immediately in Dares—and the women in Achilles’ love life, even Briseis, are almost uniformly absent.             “The one passion remaining to him is for Polyxena, the beautiful young daughter of King Priam.  In the earliest works, her only role in the myth is to be slaughtered at Achilles’ tomb, as his share of the spoils.   In the Classical Greek literature, her death is portrayed as a particularly meaningless act of cruelty.  By Roman times, a new story had entered the literature, in which Achilles’ shade requested Polyxena specifically, in order to make her his bride in death.<a href="#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1">[1]</a>  What is important to this discussion is the fact that it was this late version that was incorporated into Dares and Dictys, and thereby also entered into the Medieval and Renaissance conceptions of the Trojan War.             “Consequently, in the Medieval versions, Achilles still removed himself from the war due to a quarrel with Agamemnon, but it was no longer over his honor, nor was it feigned to be over an enslaved concubine.  Instead, he was trying to bring about a peaceful resolution to the war, so that he could marry his beloved, but Agamemnon would hear no talk of peace, causing Achilles to sulk in his tent, as per usual.  Eventually, he was drawn back into battle, not because of the death of Patroclus (who was often already dead by this point), but because his Myrmidons were being slaughtered.  Because of the slaughter, he killed both Hector and Troilus,<a href="#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2">[2]</a> leading Hecuba to plan vengeance on him for the deaths of her finest sons:  she sent him a message, purportedly from Polyxena, asking him to come to the temple of Apollo to arrange their wedding.  When he got there, Paris shot him from behind in ambush, an even more pathetic death than the better known version, which was at least on the field of battle.<a href="#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3">[3]</a>”             (See, I was actually planning on writing my thesis on the depiction of Achilles over time, and how he always failed to quite match up to any given era’s definition of “proper masculinity.”  Ended up writing 32 pages of a preliminary version embodying a prototype of the first two sections, along with summary and intro for the second two sections.  I mostly abandoned the idea because there was really no way to do it without it being “just a literature review,” and thus failing to be a proper thesis.  Also because if I had stayed on the thesis track, I would have had to delay getting my degree while I relearned German in order to pass the language competence test required for the thesis track.  Are there people out there who would want to read that 32 pages?  Or one about that long(ish) on how the Aeneid was Augustan propaganda?  I kinda want to post them online somewhere, as I feel like they’re pretty good, though not good enough to ask any history journals to publish them.)             Er…wow, I am off topic.  Okay, so, like I was saying, Dictys and Dares are pretty danged crazy versions.  And they were all that was available in the Middle Ages and most of the Renaissance.  Them and a few other butchered, watered-down versions of the Trojan War.  (Uh, and the Aeneid.  But that mostly left the actual war as back-story that didn’t need description, because in Virgil’s day everyone knew the tale backwards and forwards.)  Due to the confusions of characters in Dictys and Dares, Chryseis had become Cressida (both are forms of the same name, actually) and yet her father was no longer Chryses but Calchas, who was no longer a Greek priest brought along by Agamemnon, but a Trojan traitor who had switched sides.  (There is no way to make that make sense.)  The fact that Troilos survives much later in Dictys and Dares somehow mutated further into the tale elaborated on by Chaucer and then Shakespeare, in Troilus and Cressida, in which Troilus is in love with Cressida and she is…okay, I don’t actually know what’s in the Chaucer version, because I haven’t read it, but in Shakespeare’s version, she’s a prisoner in the Greek camp, and shacked up with Diomedes, only I think she was actually supposed to be with someone else, or…I don’t know, she comes off like Helen in The Trojan Women, really, like she’d be with anyone for the right price.  (Does it surprise you that I hated Shakespeare’s Troilus and Cressida?  I mean, I loved the romance between his Achilles and Patroclus, but that’s the only part.  I hated every word of the rest.)  Strangely, there’s enough of a return to the original tale in Shakespeare’s version that it’s clear he was aware of the actual plot of the Iliad (which I’m pretty sure had been translated into English a short time earlier, if likely in an extremely expurgated form) though I think it highly unlikely he had actually read it.             ….             Y’know, I feel like I had more reason to tell you all that than I can now think of.  (I got distracted by rereading half of that old paper and lost my train of thought…)             Anyway, I also wanted to use this section to tell you about Troilos’ death.  Or rather, his other deaths.  Curiously, though the death of Troilos is mentioned all over the place, starting all the way back at the Iliad, ancient literature is surprisingly lacking in actual detailed accounts of the death.  Like, there are pretty much none of them.             Ancient art, on the other hand, depicted it a lot.  And it had two main versions, one of which had subsequent variations.  The most prevalent version is the one that you seem to see in the text:  Achilles lies in wait for Troilos outside a temple or well, and when the boy arrives with his sister Polyxena, Achilles attacks, and brutally slaughters the boy, often over an altar.  The other version is very different, however.  It shows Achilles approaching the boy in a very different way, with things like roosters on the ground nearby—gifts a hopeful lover presents to a boy he’s courting.  Yep, there’s a version where Achilles has one of his “instalove” things for Troilos, and tries to seduce him.  From there, it leads to Troilos’ death in one of two ways:  either the boy rejects him and Achilles kills him in anger at being rejected, or the boy accepts him, and Achilles loves him a little too hard and accidentally kills him.  While the latter is kind of funny in a horrible way, it was obviously off the table here for all sorts of reasons.  But the way I had Apollo show the flashback to Troilos’ death, I actually left it open to interpretation as to whether Achilles just outright butchered him or if he first noticed “whoa, this kid is hot” and tried to seduce him, only to whack his head off in anger when the boy refuses him.  I have no plans to ever establish which one actually happened in this version, so please feel free to believe whichever you prefer.   ------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back") <a href="#_ftnref1" name="_ftn1"></a>                [1]  Gantz, Early Greek Myth, 659. <a href="#_ftnref2" name="_ftn2"></a>                [2]  Or just Troilus.  In some versions, Hector was already dead by this point in the story. <a href="#_ftnref3" name="_ftn3"></a>                [3]  This version of Achilles’ death, too, is documented in late antiquity.

{<center> #Trojan and Hittite Religious Practices </center>}          This is a brief one. (Which will come as a relief if you read the previous section.)          Basically, I have to admit here that the religious practices shown among the Trojans in this work of fiction are completely incompatible with what we know about the way the Hittite religion worked. Basically, the Hittites seem to have only had formal religious events when something was going catastrophically wrong, or at least not to have left much evidence of any other types of events. They definitely did not have temples in the sense that the Greeks did.          But within the myths of the Trojan War, the *Trojans* have temples that correspond to the temples that the Greeks of the historic period had. (Even though the Mycenaean Greeks didn’t have that type of temple, either.) Of course, we don’t know how much the Trojan lifestyle would really have been like the Hittite one; Troy was a good distance away from Hattusa, and as the region had been populated before coming under Hittite control, many—if not most or even all—cultural practices would have continued in the native manner, rather than in emulation of the conquering Hittites. The contact with other cultures would also have impacted the way they lived in the city, as is obviously evidenced by the fact that the only surviving historical document to reference the city is conducted with a member of the royal family who has a Greek name, instead of a name from the local language.          Anyway, as with many other things about these novels, I have had to artificially extend Iron Age cultural practices backwards inappropriately in order to match up with the myths. Because, ultimately, these *do* take place primarily at the end of the Heroic Age rather than the Late Bronze Age. I’ve just tried to make the Heroic Age and the Late Bronze Age less incompatible. ------------------------- (link-undo:"Go back")