At least it made things very clear. As soon as possible he would send her back to her world, the one where she belonged and where he himself had no place. At what point had he started to see himself returning on a ship with her? How stupid to think I could go back, just because I’d saved her and was bringing her home! Now he knew. They would all see him as Marpessa had: a criminal, a thief. They’d probably even think he’d abducted her and seduced her. If I go back to Lokris, they’ll kill me, he realized.
He glanced at the sky. The clouds were so thick and dark that he could not tell how far advanced the morning was. When the rain stopped, he would slip back to the hut, gather the rest of his belongings, and make it look abandoned. Then they would go in search of a ship.
If we walk south, he thought, we’ll surely reach Troas. But he had no idea how far it was, nor how often ships sailed to Hellas. And there were other problems. Marpessa would need a female chaperone. He could not send her alone among rough sailors. He hoped to find a companion for her—perhaps a traveling matron or someone who knew Thrasios or one of the families in Lokris—if his silver was of enough value to buy the services of such a one.
But one step at a time. First, the hut. Then get to Troas.
His legs were cramped from the cold. The rain had slackened, and when at last it stopped he said to Marpessa, “I’m going back to the hut. To get what I left there. You stay here.” He stood up. “It won’t take long.”
Her eyes grew wide, alarmed. She reached out but stopped just short of touching him. “Don’t go! It’s dangerous. The men—”
“I’ll make sure it’s safe,” he assured her.
She scrambled to her feet. “Let me go with you, Arion.”
He nodded. When he put her on a ship, he would miss her staunch spirit, her courage. He swallowed past the knot in his throat. He found that all his hard anger had melted away. She can’t help what she is, he thought. She’s Thrasios’s daughter.
He spread the blankets and his cloak on the ground to dry. Then he emptied the carrying sack of his possessions, hiding them in a crevice under one of the rocks. He left his silver and coppers in the bottom of the sack, and they clinked together as he slung it over his back. The sound gave him a small measure of comfort.
As she followed him, Marpessa found that her ankle no longer hurt so much, and she could breathe with only a small catch of pain. When they came to the willows that lined the stream near the hut, he led her to the cover of a large tree. “Wait here,” he whispered and vanished between the trees.
She wanted to go with him to the hut, but she was afraid of making him angry again. She sat behind the tree, listening to the burbling of the stream, the dripping of water from the leaves, the tentative cry of a bird emerging from wherever it had sheltered during the storm. Moments stretched out. Why was he taking so long? What if the men had waited? Taken him captive? The wind gusted, blocking any other sound. Marpessa drew deep breaths to calm herself. Arion could take care of himself. He wouldn’t walk into a trap. The wind stopped, and she heard the chirping of crickets, the splash of a small fish jumping in the water. We’re never coming back here, she realized. Where will we go? Why hasn’t he told me? At last she heard his steady footsteps and a rustling as he came through the reeds. Her knees weakened in relief.
“I found all my things,” he said.
“What things?” she asked, pleased that he was speaking to her.
He showed her. “My other knife. An axe. An extra cloak and a tunic. Also a small javelin and a fishing net—which I kept hidden in the reeds. And these!” Reaching into the carrying sack, he held out a pair of ordinary-looking rocks. “My fire-starters. We’ll need them.”
“Arion, where are we going?”
His lips formed what might have been a smile, though there was sadness in it, and something held back. “A place called Troas,” he said, “a seaport.” She started to ask more but the look in his eyes warded her off.
Never mind, she thought. I’ll find out soon enough.
Arion stuffed the almost-dry blankets into the carrying sack and hefted it over his shoulder. Then, remembering it was her first day up from her sickbed, he turned to Marpessa. “It’s a long way. Will you be able to walk?”
She nodded. As they set out, clouds covered the sky, hiding the face of Helios and mirroring the gloom of Arion’s mood. He kept thinking of the parting that would come as soon they found a ship. He couldn’t bring himself to tell Marpessa, for he knew she was relying on him to go with her and protect her. He walked in guilty silence and only grunted in reply whenever she spoke. But with his whole being he was aware of her presence behind him, her footsteps, the sound of her breathing. After a time that breathing grew rapid, strained. He stopped and studied her, his gaze drawn to the pulse beating in the side of her slim neck, the delicate hollow at the base of her throat, and lower to the top of her gown. He tore his eyes away. “Are you tired?” he asked more brusquely than he intended.
She shook her head, and they went on. They saw a few homesteads, a few boats bobbing in the surf, and a very few wanderers on business of their own. “Keep the blanket over your head,” he told Marpessa. Whenever someone appeared in the distance, he blocked her from view with his body. Fortunately they managed to avoid close contact.
When at last they stopped, it was late afternoon. Tomorrow they would try to reach Troas. His stomach growled. Marpessa too must be hungry and exhausted, though she had not complained. Hours had passed since she stopped making cheerful attempts at conversation. Her face was pale, her eyes ringed in shadows. Her thin arms hung wearily at her sides. She took an unsteady step and stumbled. He reached out to catch her, then held back. I’ve been too hard on her, he thought remorsefully, making her walk all this way, not even talking to her. And none of this is her fault.
He pointed to a rocky outcropping a short distance away. “We’ll stop there for the night.” To show her that he wasn’t angry any more, that he didn’t blame her, he forced a smile, which was probably more of a grimace. “Come. I’ll make a fire and we can eat.”
Marpessa sank gratefully to the ground. Arion, sitting on his heels, took out his firestones and uttered a brief prayer to Hephaestos, god of fire. She watched, fascinated by the strength of his hands and their skill as he struck the two rocks together repeatedly, holding them over a small pile of wood he had shaved from a fallen log. A shower of sparks flew. He bent and blew softly into the tinder. Nothing. “It’s too damp,” he said. “Hephaestos, send us your fire!” He began again, repeating the process with great care and patience until at last a small wisp of smoke rose from the wood shavings. Bending low, he blew on the smoke with a long, soft breath. Soon she saw a tentative orange flame, which he fed with twigs and more wood shavings, then small branches. His face tense with effort, he nourished his small fire as tenderly as if it were a living thing. At last it grew into a blaze. He built it up with pieces of driftwood.
He straightened and met her eyes. The wind ruffled the hair on his brow. Her heart leapt when, for the first time all day, he gave a genuine smile.
As night deepened, they sat by the fire in silence, their stomachs full of lamb. Arion watched Marpessa covertly as she reclined under a blanket on the other side of the fire. The flames illuminated the planes of her face and threw golden gleams into her eyes. She had not questioned him further, perhaps because she was tired, but eventually she was going to ask why they were heading to a seaport. And he was going to have to tell her—
He let out a hard breath and got to his feet.
Her eyes followed him. “What is it, Arion?”
“Tomorrow I hope we’ll reach Troas.”
“You haven’t told me why we’re going there,” she said.
There’s a lot I haven’t told you, he thought. “To find you a ship, Marpessa.”
She sat up, her face alight. “That means we’re going home!”
&nb
sp; He turned his back on the fire, staring sightlessly at the dark sea. Then he faced her again and sat down.
“Not we, Marpessa. You.”
Her mouth opened. Her eyes grew shiny and wet. She pressed her lips together, but one teardrop spilled.
He could not take his eyes off that tear. Something twisted inside him. A log sank into the glowing fire with a soft crack, and a shower of sparks shot upward. “I never told you why I was here,” he said at last. “I jumped ship—I made it look as if I drowned. I ran away.” She was silent, her eyes unreadable. “That means,” he added, “that I can never go back to Lokris.”
She whisked the tear away and knuckled her damp cheek. “Of course, how stupid of me! I thought maybe my father had asked you to stay here, to keep watch. I should have known better.” Her eyes glittered with more tears, but these, as if by an act of will, did not overflow. She straightened and lifted her head. “Thank you, Arion, for all you’ve done. Without you I’d be dead. I can never repay you.” Each word stabbed him. She gave a small, pained smile. “So I won’t ask any more of you. We’ll say farewell in Troas.”
XXI
TROAS
U
They slept in the shelter of a bluff. Marpessa dreamed she was nearly home; she could see her house in the distance, hear her mother calling, and almost see the beloved face, but her legs would not move, and a fearful darkness grew until it blotted out everything. Her home was lost to her forever. She awoke so filled with grief she could not move.
As they set out again, she trudged a pace or two behind Arion, engulfed in dread and fear. She longed to plead with him. Arion, I’ve never had to fend for myself. How will I manage? Without you I’ll never see my home again.
But I’ve already been too much of a burden, she reminded herself. I can’t make any more demands on him. Still, after a while she broke the silence to ask, “Arion, will you at least help me find a ship?”
He stopped so abruptly that she almost ran into him. “Of course—I said I would. I won’t leave you until you’re in safe hands.”
Marpessa felt some relief. But I’ll still be alone among strangers, she thought.
Later when they sat down on a pile of rocks to rest and eat some of their remaining bread and meat, Marpessa pondered what he had said yesterday: I ran away. I can never go back. She wanted to tell him, I can make it right. Father will take you back if I tell him how you saved my life and cared for me. But she was not sure this was true, and besides his eyes had gone far away again, staring out to sea.
As if thinking aloud, he said, “The ship isn’t the problem.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“You can’t travel alone. You’ll need a chaperone—a protector.”
“A replacement for you,” she said.
He shook his head. “A female.”
She could not imagine how they would find such a person. But there was an even more pressing problem. “What will we do when we get to Troas? You’re a man and I a maid, alone together, and—”
His brow creased. “I’ve thought of a story. We’ll say that I’m your family’s slave, taking you to relatives in Lokris because your family died—killed by the marauders. You had a female companion who was also killed, and we’re looking for another to escort you.”
“But don’t you see? We can’t be seen together! If they find out what we are, who we are, I’ll be taken from you. You’ll be killed!”
Arion sat up sharply. When he said nothing, she realized that he didn’t have an answer for this. We’re doomed before we even find a ship, she thought in despair. Oh, Goddess Athena, what can we do?
And then the answer came into her mind, so simple, so obvious that she was stunned by its brilliance. “Arion, we can avoid the whole problem if—” She paused dramatically, waiting for him to ask.
“If what?” he prompted.
“If I am disguised as a boy!”
His smile was like sunlight breaking through clouds. “By Zeus, that might work!”
They stopped by a large rock that offered concealment so that Marpessa could effect her transformation. Arion gave her his extra tunic and cloak. In privacy behind the rock, Marpessa doffed her filthy, ragged slave’s robe and donned the tunic, which was much too large for her. That was well, because it hung loose around her chest, concealing her breasts. She pulled up the extra length of it and tied it in folds around her waist with an improvised belt torn from her old gown. She had no sandals, but she had gone barefoot since the day she became a slave in Troy. She fastened Arion’s cloak over one shoulder and ran a hand through her hair. Her short curls must look boyish enough. Putting a finger in the dirt at the base of the rock, she smudged her upper lip to make it seem as if the hair had darkened there with the first signs of a man’s beard.
She started quickly back to Arion, eager to show him. Then she slowed, changing her steps into the long, loose-jointed stride of a boy. When she reached him, she hooked her thumbs in her belt and tried to look brashly confident. She spoke in a lower, huskier voice. “My name shall be Teukros—your younger brother. Will I pass?”
She was gratified by his grin of surprise. He nodded. Then he sobered. “But what will you do on a ship where there’s no privacy?”
That problem had not occurred to her. “I’m good at slipping away from people. I’ll find ways.”
Arion looked troubled. “I hope you’re right.”
It’s full of danger, he agonized as they resumed their journey. Troas was turning out to be farther than he thought, giving Arion too much time to worry. The heaviness in his heart was like an anvil. It had been one thing to plan this when the ship was only an idea and the town far away. Now that they were on the verge of arriving, he was afraid. And he knew that, with all her courage and bravado, Marpessa was too. Even if as a “lad” she wouldn’t need a chaperone, how could he leave her on a ship full of men? Anything can happen, he thought. She could be sold into slavery, raped, killed. What if she never reaches home? I can’t do this. But as their steps brought them ever closer to the town, he saw no other choice.
The sky was colored with the bruised tints of twilight when at last they began to see signs of Troas: huts and small farms on their left and more boats on the sea. Marpessa’s jaunty boyish gait had become a limp again. He didn’t have the heart to push her any further. She was clearly on her last reserves of strength.
“We’ll go into town in the morning,” he told her. It felt like a reprieve. He pointed to a rocky outcropping that jutted into the sea. “Tonight we’ll shelter there.” They still had food left. He would build a fire for warmth. No one would question two fishermen cooking their supper on the shore.
Marpessa awoke at first light with a knot in her stomach. This day would decide her fate. The pale sun rose above massing clouds. As they approached the town, they saw small knolls with wooden and stone houses around them, smoke drifting upward from hearths. Atop the highest knoll was a long building with a pitched roof and thick stone columns in front—most likely the temple of Zeus. Around it were several smaller shrines to other gods. Wondering which one was dedicated to Athena, Marpessa sent up a desperate prayer. Please, Goddess, don’t let Arion desert me here! They waded through a wide, sluggish stream that flowed across the muddy shoreline. A few fishing vessels were drawn up on the sand, and two or three larger boats rocked at their moorings on the choppy waters. No boat looked large enough to cross the sea. On the shore, several fishermen labored over their nets.
They stopped. She wondered if Arion felt the same terrible fear that gripped her, the realization that they were fugitives without a home, possessions or friends—without even, when it came down to it, the right to stand on this shore as if they belonged here. It hit her for the first time how flimsy her disguise was and how dangerous it would be if anyone saw through it. And Arion, if they found out he was a fugitive slave—
> Even if we both survive, she thought, I’ll never see him again.
She cast a look at his grim profile. Perhaps they should abandon this scheme and flee before they were seen. Too late. A couple of men on the shore looked up and noticed them.
“What shall we do?” Marpessa whispered.
“We’ll ask what ships will be sailing for Hellas in the next few days.” Arion spoke calmly, but there was a telltale catch in his voice. She had to clench her fist to stop herself from grasping his hand. She wanted to hold on and never let go. She was afraid she would cry. As if he sensed it, he laid his hand gently on her shoulder. Her skin warmed. They had not touched since they huddled from the storm. “Come, Teukros.” He gave a faint smile. “Let’s go talk to them.”
He led the way, and she followed half a pace behind, trying to control her trembling knees and walk with a carefree, boyish stride. They approached the nearest fisherman, a man of fifty or sixty years with a leathery brown face and a rag tied about his head, who was caulking the hull of his upended boat. He straightened slowly and looked them over, his eyes full of suspicious questions. His gaze slid past Arion, lingered longer on Marpessa, and focused on her face, then her chest, making her heart pound. She hunched her shoulders and took a step back so that she was half-hidden behind Arion.
“Good day, sir!” Arion greeted him.
“Good day, strangers,” the man replied. “Who might you be?”
“My name is, er—” Arion cleared his throat to cover the slight hesitation. “Lykaon. This is my young brother Teukros. We are come from Troy in search of a ship.” Marpessa hoped he would not say too much and get entangled in a web of lies. But he added only, “We are returning to our home city in Lokris.”
Her heart jumped at the “we.” Had he changed his mind?
“Lokris!” the man exclaimed. He was silent for a moment, and his gaze seemed to bore into Marpessa. “Is that so? Well, you’re a bit late, my friends! The last ship to Hellas—to anywhere—sailed yesterday.”
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