By the time she returned downstream to pick up the gown she had left spread over the bushes to dry, the scent of flowers was gone, there were twigs and leaves in her hair, and her cloak was full of bulbs, winter cress, and the tall, thin sprouts of wild onion. She set it down on the bank and bent to wash the dirt from her hands, only then realizing that it had grown so dark she could barely see.
“Eurydice!”
One man’s voice, faint with distance but trained to be heard above the cacophony of a royal hall, a voice Eurydice suddenly knew she would never confuse with any other. Perhaps others were calling her—perhaps not.
“Here!” she cried, snatching up her slightly damp dress and then the cloak full of plants and hurrying toward the sound, “I am here. I am safe.”
“Eurydice?”
“I am coming,” she called at the top of her lungs.
She made the best speed she could, but the light was dim and branches slapped her and she stumbled over roots. Twice more Orpheus called; she responded, but not as loudly, being rather breathless. When she heard the crashing in the brush just before he burst through, she stopped gratefully, leaning against a tree. He snatched her away from the trunk, caught her to him in a fierce embrace, then shoved her back and began to shake her.
“I could murder you!” he cried. “Do you not realize it is dangerous to wander about all alone? You could have been lost, or been attacked by wild beasts.”
“You will spill all the vegetables,” she protested, starting to laugh.
He seemed to have forgotten that she had been wandering about all alone for almost a week before the Argo had come to shore where she was. And neither wild beasts nor getting lost was any danger for her—but probably he did not realize that, and it soothed and warmed her that he had been worried.
He stopped shaking her abruptly. “What vegetables?”
“The ones I have been gathering to garnish the roast—or the stew, if the men’s hunt was not successful.”
“Was that where you disappeared to—gleaning?”
Eurydice smiled. “Well, I also washed myself and my gown. Both of us smelled…ah…like you.”
Orpheus stared down into the elfin face turned up to his. The eyes were full of mischief—and challenge. His heart, which had started to quiet after pounding, first with fear she was lost and then with hope and exertion when he had heard her answer him, began to beat harder again. Although the dominant odors he detected were earth and vegetation, below that was a hint of tempting sweetness.
His arm began to tighten, to draw her closer, but he turned so that he drew her to his side rather than to his breast, and he did not bend his head to kiss those smiling, inviting lips. She was far more appealing than he had thought when he first brought her to Jason, and had it been possible simply to tumble her and put it behind him he would have been more than willing. However, he was not yet ready to make the commitment to her that he suspected she now desired.
“You should tell me when you leave our encampment,” he said, more to change the expression on her face than because he felt any further need to scold her.
“Why?” she asked, her lips curving even more deeply into a suggestive smile.
“Because I am responsible for you,” he snapped. “Remember, you have not yet told us the name or dwelling of the man who can direct us to Colchis.”
“I had forgotten,” Eurydice said, and thrust her bunched-up cloak into his hand. “But since that is all I am good for, you can carry these.”
Chapter Seven
The vegetables were much appreciated, and the dinner was a merry one. Orpheus sang, but briefly, as all were tired and wished to make an early start. Eurydice was irritated by Orpheus’ restraint, although she had sensed the desire that he had mastered and set aside, so her pride was not hurt. To show her displeasure, she gathered only enough bedding to fill her own blanket, but she set her pallet when it was folded quite near his. He gathered material for his own bed without complaint, which made her feel guilty, but when she heard him shifting on it she grinned into the dark. Next time, he might not be so noble.
Nonetheless, she wished again that he was Thracian rather than Greek. He was the first man she had ever met who, while neither a weakling nor afraid, did not grab what was offered with every intention of squirming out of the consequences later. He was also the first she wished was not so noble. She felt like squirming a little on her own pallet, but she would not give him the satisfaction and very soon, while she could still hear him flopping from his back to his stomach, she drifted off to sleep.
By morning, when Eurydice saw Orpheus’ heavy-lidded eyes, she felt rather repentant and resolved that she would not tempt him again. When it was safe, she would explain to him that by saying she desired love she had not meant marriage, only a relationship that was more than a different man every night or lying down together once and rising to go separate ways. It would be enough that they should be companions and lovers until the Argo reached Colchis. To make amends, she ran to bring him his breakfast and when he rose, she cleaned and rolled all the bedding.
Her attentions were delivered at the right time; if she had not brought Orpheus his meal, he probably would have had none. Jason came looking for him before he had downed the last swallow of wine. Since they would not have the full tide to help them float the ship this morning, the timecaller would be needed. Eurydice was a little concerned, but she soon realized that the crew was accustomed to beaching and refloating their vessel in all conditions. It took a little longer, but the Argo was soon in the water.
Once they had sailed around the headland, however, Ankaios sensed a troubling in the free flow of the water. There was land ahead, but whether it was several islands or they were sailing into a giant bay, he could not tell. Jason sent for Eurydice, but she had learned her lesson; she was not going to describe the maps she had seen any more, unless the ship was in real danger. So, although she knew there were several islands, one large and other smaller ones and a great peninsula ahead, she shook her head when Jason asked questions concerning the physical aspects of the coastline.
As far as she could tell from the maps, the ship was in no danger. There was plenty of room for passage between the islands. If she had known more about sailing, she might have asked if saving time were important and suggested they sail north until they rounded the larger island. But she did not know how to explain what she had seen on the map, and she did not think they were in any hurry. And to say there was clear water between the island and the coast because it was clear on the map, could be dangerous. For all she knew, there might: be rocks and shoals. It was better to claim ignorance. What she could tell Jason was what she had learned about the Doliones, the people of the Kyzikian peninsula—such information she could easily have learned in taverns.
“I know nothing about the sea ahead,” she said. “But I have heard that somewhere in the direction we are going is Kyzikos and that place is said to be very friendly to all travelers. It is said that they are eager for trade and for news.”
“They have no fear of raiders?” Jason asked.
Eurydice shrugged. “I have never been there. I can only repeat what one man told me when—when I was trying to Find a ring he had lost.” She had hesitated because she had been the best Finder in the Temple, but that was a skill she could have as easily plied any place, and it was common to minor witches, so it was safe to mention it. “I said that I sensed water, not completely surrounding the ring but on either side of it—which was strange because we were far inland. I thought it might be that he had dropped the ring on the bank of a brook, but he said I was speaking of Kyzikos city, where he had purchased the ring. Then he described the place, so I could clear it from my mind. It seems the city is set on a very narrow place, where Kyzikos meets the mainland. Because there is no passage past it and the harbor on both sides is rather narrow and easily guarded, they are in little danger from raiders.”
“And you think we should stop there?”
“It is a place where many strangers come. They might have heard of Phrixos or of Colchis.”
Jason looked at her hard. “But if I can find directions to Colchis in Kyzikos, why would I need to take you along farther?”
“Because you said you would,” she replied. “So far you have kept your word to me and I have shown myself to be useful and not a troublemaker. What have you to gain by putting me off the ship? And it would make Orpheus unhappy. Do you want aboard a bard who sings nothing except dismal lost-love songs as well as a wailing boy?”
Jason burst out laughing. “Did your patron find his ring?”
Eurydice laughed also. “But of course. Would I tell you a tale in which my Gift failed?”
“I think I would keep you for your own sake,” Jason said, and then, seeing her smile freeze, added. “At least you serve a midday meal without looks that could sour the wine.”
She drew a breath, thinking that she had better offer him something after making so clear that she did not want him to keep her. “If you wish,” she said. “I will tell you now the name of the man and his dwelling.”
Eurydice was reasonably confident that Jason and the crew would not mind carrying her all the way to Colchis. If she was wrong, however, and they did wish to be rid of her, she would not mind being left in Kyzikos. It was a reasonably large city, she knew, very open to all, and its king, also named Kyzikos, was said to be warm-hearted and more merciful than just.
Jason had cocked his head and raised his brows a little. “I have come to trust you, too,” he said. “I will leave it to you to tell me or not.
“Then, I think I will,” Eurydice said. “Goddess preserve me from any accident or other ill, but if any misadventure should occur, I do not wish to feel that I cheated you. The man is Phineus and his city is Salmydessus—that and the tale that he gave Phrixos directions to Colchis is all I know. But in a city like Kyzikos, it can do no harm to ask—who knows what a traveler might have let fall.”
“Well, I thank you,” Jason said, still looking at her intently, “but I hope you will remain with us. As you said, you have been useful and have caused no trouble—and I think Orpheus would miss you.”
She took that for a dismissal and went back to her place in the stern. Once the sail had been raised and the men freed from the oars, a small pile of torn tunics and himations with holes and rents had appeared by the roll of blankets on which she sat. Orpheus had probably passed the word that she was willing to do mending, which she was, but she hoped that he had also said she expected to get paid for her work. She looked up, as she lifted the topmost garment, and saw that Jason was conferring with Idmon and Mopsus. Idmon was staring ahead, but Mopsus was looking back at her. She saw him shake his head, but it did not trouble her. She had told Jason the truth and Mopsus would read nothing in her that she did not want exposed.
When she dropped her eyes to the split tunic, it was to keep them from seeking Orpheus, not to avoid Mopsus’ gaze. She knew he was avoiding her, and it was best that it should be so. Had she not resolved just that morning not to tempt him, unless she could explain herself and satisfy him? Yes, and she meant to keep that vow…but she missed his company. Although she liked to mend, it was far more enjoyable when the mind was occupied with conversation as the fingers were with the task.
There were compensations for the dullness, however. The mending went much faster when she was not distracted by talk. She finished the first piece just before Ankaios called Tiphys to warn of cross currents and almost simultaneously Lynkeus sighted the first small island. While she folded the newly hemmed himation, which had been badly frayed, Jason ordered the sail half reefed and the men to their oars. Orpheus came to stand in the timecaller’s place to be ready in case the power of the rowers was needed in an emergency.
Eurydice reached for the next piece in the pile, felt his eyes on her, and looked up, smiling. She lifted the second garment and lifted and lifted—she looked at what she was doing, suspecting she had caught two himations up together, but it was a single garment and it was huge.
“This must be Heracles’,” Eurydice said, delighted at the excuse to speak to Orpheus on an impersonal subject. “I thought Hylas did the mending for him.”
“Hush!” he urged. “Do you want him back here snatching it out of your hands.”
Although she had no idea whether he had meant it as such, Eurydice took that as an invitation and brought the himation and her needle and thread—actually Orpheus’ needle and thread (a wandering bard learns to carry such necessities)—to the position at his feet she had adopted the previous day.
“I do not wish to make trouble,” she said.
“Oh, Heracles will say he wished to save his darling from pricking his beautiful fingers or some such nonsense and smooth it all over, but I think it was a mixture of kindness—wishing to give you a way to earn something before we come to a town—and a desire to have it mended somewhat more neatly than Hylas would do. Bring it to him first. He will give you something for your work, and that will make the others do likewise without your needing to ask.”
“Thank you,” Eurydice said. “I was not sure what to do about that. Not that I would not be willing to do the mending anyway, but I have no way to replace your supplies unless they pay me.”
“You need not—” he began, but stopped when Lynkeus cried that there was land off the port bow.
Eurydice knew that would be the first of the smaller islands. She did not bother to get to her feet. If the map was right, the passage between that and the mainland shore was wider than that through the Hellespont and the ship should have no difficulty. She found the tear in the garment, saw that it had been mended clumsily before and the stitching had come loose, picked out the coarse stitches, and began to sew.
After awhile it became clear that what they saw was an island and not too long after that, another showed, farther away, barely above the horizon. The ship sailed on safely. Eurydice finished the tunic, looked at the sun, and went to get the noon meal. It took her longer to serve because Orpheus could not leave his post to do the wine. But in the end, the efforts of the rowers were not necessary. Before the sun was halfway down the sky, a larger land mass loomed ahead, and Lynkeus cried that he saw ships.
All the men loosened the swords in their scabbards and the men on the inner oars seized bundles of javelins from under the gangway, unstrapping them and passing several to the outer oarsmen. Shields were drawn from where they rested against the bulkheads and hung from the rails where they would protect the men against flung missiles and be easy to seize for hand-to-hand fighting.
“If it comes to fighting,” Orpheus said to Eurydice, “get under the stern deck where you will be safe from arrows or javelins. But do not go back too far so you can get out if we are rammed or set afire.”
“No—”
“Do as I say,” Orpheus commanded. “This is no time for your ideas about independence. If I must fear for you, I will not be able to defend myself.”
Eurydice closed her mouth on a heated riposte. In fact, she had been about to say that no one could set the Argo afire while she was aboard it, but Orpheus’ remark about fearing for her cooled her temper—and gave her time to think. She would, if she had to, defend the ship with magic, but there was no need to say she could do so ahead of time. She nodded to Orpheus and bundled up the last of the pieces of mending, carrying them to where she could snatch them up and take them under the deck with her. She did not want them trampled by fighting men after all her work.
The preparations, to everyone’s relief, were pointless. As they drew closer to the land, a small boat came out from among the ships and rowed toward them. Jason immediately ordered that the sail be fully furled and the oars took up a slow stroke, Tiphys steering toward the oncoming boat. From this they were hailed in accented Greek and proffered a welcome from King Kyzikos to his city—if the travelers came in peace.
Jason looked at Idmon, and the Seer nodded, smiling. “The welcome is most sincer
e. This is what I felt yesterday.”
“Indeed, we come in peace,” Jason called, and then to the men, “Shields down.”
On his words, the shields were removed from the rails and replaced against the bulkheads—but Jason had said nothing about the javelins and those lay by the men’s feet to be used in case of treachery. None was shown. The little boat led and Tiphys steered the Argo past the ships of Kyzikos, which offered no offense, although their presence was a clear warning. Past those sentinels were other ships, merchantmen and a few galleys of strange design, some at anchor in the deeper waters of the bay, and some drawn up to docks built out from the shore. The little boat sailed ahead to an empty dock, the spokesman gesturing that they should tie up there.
He was waiting for them when the ship made fast. Jason stepped off flanked by Idmon and Mopsus and thanked him, and the king through him, for the hospitality offered.
“I am scia-Kyzikos,” the spokesman said. “You are welcome here. If you have cargo, you can unload it at this dock without charge. You may also leave your ship here at a cost of one ouggia of copper per day. If you prefer, you may anchor in the bay at no cost. You are free of the city with no questions asked for three days, but—” he smiled suddenly “—if you are from a distant place, my master, King Kyzikos, would welcome you at the palace most heartily. He is very interested in tales of far-off places.”
“Thank you, scia-Kyzikos,” Jason said formally. “We have no cargo, although my men may have personal items they wish to trade. If the price is right, I might buy a cargo. My name is Jason and I come from Yolcos in Thessaly.” He smiled. “If this is far enough for your king to welcome me, I would be glad to speak to him.”
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