“Girls don't ride, Callisto,” said Andromache, giggling. “Most men don't either. Hector and Euneus are just showing off.”
“We certainly impressed our newest princess,” said Hector, grinning. His grin was largely hidden by the overlap of beard. “I am Hector, Callisto, and this is my friend the king of Lemnos.”
Lemnos is a large island in the Aegean Sea, west and north of Troy. We had not sailed near it. I knew nothing about its noble families. I bowed to the young king.
“His name is Euneus,” said Hector. “He is the son of Jason of the Argo.”
We were in the company of the son of Jason?
I no longer cared about Hector. I didn't even care about horses sired by gods. “And do you have it still?” I cried. “The Golden Fleece? And do you have the ship? Is that what you came to Troy in? The Argo? And have you explored as far east as your father did? Have you traveled over the Second Sea and into the Third Sea, the one they call Black?”
Euneus was laughing. “Which would you rather do, my princess? Ask questions or ride?”
“We can do both,” I said quickly. “Your horse is beautiful,” I told the son of Jason. “What is her name? Is she really strong enough to bear you? Is she one of Hector's god-sent horses? I thought a king would ride a stallion.”
“Her name is Dove,” said the king of Lemnos, “because she is white and gray. Stallions can be difficult to manage. For pleasure, a mare is best.”
“Do you still have the Golden Fleece?”
“We never did have the Golden Fleece,” said Euneus. “My father had to give it to King Peleas.”
Hector put a finger on my lips to keep them closed. “I see, Andromache, why you and Callisto became friends,” he said. “You are both quicksilver.”
Quicksilver is a metal I have seen only a few times. It is liquid, like honey, and comes from the ugliest rock that lives, the cinnabar. Cinnabar is used to make vermilion, the beautiful dark red dye, but quicksilver is just a curiosity. Spill it onto a plate and it pours like water, but whip it with a stick and it separates into shiny beads. You cannot pick these beads up, but if you roll them against each other, they become solid again.
“I'm not sure I want to be called quicksilver,” said Andromache. “It is a poison, after all. You can put it out in grain and the rats eat it and die.”
“I didn't mean it that way,” said Hector. “I meant that you and your new friend are all dance and motion. Shining like silver. Beautiful.” He touched her cheek as if she were the most precious thing in the world, and my heart ached with wishing I could have such a love one day.
“Come, Callisto,” said Euneus, giving Hector a chance to be alone with Andromache. “I will show you riding.”
I checked the knot of the kerchief under my chin. It would not do to have the wig fly off as we sped over the Trojan plain.
Hector bent down and made a cup of his two linked hands. Euneus put one foot on this step of fingers, thrust himself up as Hector lifted, and was aboard the horse. I prepared to place my foot there too, but Hector put his great hands around my waist and lifted me as easily as a doll, setting me down sideways in Euneus' lap. I wanted to sit frontward like Euneus, but I had no divided tunic.
Euneus wrapped his cape around both of us and I sat in the cozy tent of his chest and cloak. He tucked my fingers into the soft white mane of the mare while he gripped the leather leash that ran through the horse's mouth.
“Can't the mare chew right through that leather?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said, “so it isn't leather in her mouth. There's a cylinder of bronze for her to bite down on.”
“I don't think I would want to bite on that. What does it feel like on the tongue?” I asked, making a face.
I felt his laughter underneath me. “I don't know. I suppose the way the tip of the knife feels when you put a bite of meat in your mouth. Perhaps when we return to the stable, we'll try it.”
We rode gently for a time, and then picked up speed and galloped down the wide plain. The four hooves of the horse pounded in a wonderful rhythm. It was remarkably loud. The whole world would know that we were coming.
But there was no one to hear. The world was three: a king, a girl and a horse.
The wind flowed through the mare's mane as a river flows downhill. I had to breathe carefully so I would not choke on all that quick air hurled into my lungs. The earth passed beneath us at a terrifying speed. Euneus was hanging on by the muscles of his thighs, tightening them against the horse's great flanks. I could have sat forever in his lap, tasting speed.
But at last he pulled Dove down to a slow pace and circled her in a long gentle walking curve, and we looked back at the city of Troy. Her flags and banners stood straight out in the wind, scarlet and gold embroidery on the blue cloth of sky.
“Thank you, my king,” I whispered. “Thank you so much.”
I have been lucky in my kings. Nicander. Menelaus. And now Euneus, who had let me ride a horse.
Euneus slid off the mare, leaving me alone on her back. He led her for a bit and I swung my leg over and sat astride, tugging the gown to cover myself. It didn't quite cover. Euneus looked at my legs, bare from the thigh down. He did not look away.
Then he stopped walking and the mare stopped with him. I put out my arms and he lifted me but he did not set me down. Still holding me at the waist, he swung me in a circle and kissed me.
I had never been kissed.
I had not known that a kiss could sweep you away as fast as a racehorse.
I gasped and swallowed and wet my lips where his had been, and he kissed me again and set me down. “I didn't think I was old enough for anybody to want to kiss me,” I said shakily.
“You're old enough.” He wrapped the mare's reins around his wrist. We walked toward the city on soft earth, and my hand was soft in his, and my heart was at sea.
He said, “Tell me of Siphnos, princess. I know only that it is a rich island, an island of gold.”
I told him of cliffs that bled stone and crescent moon beaches. I told him of Petra's flowers and Nicander's mining engineers. Of Seaweed, the puppy I had had so short a time, although in this version, I lost Seaweed at Siphnos. I told him of my goddess, and my room at Amyklai, and the decision Bia and I made when Zanthus knocked on the door and I put on the cloak and hood of Hermione.
“You had such courage,” he said. “To defy Helen? To impersonate the princess Hermione? No wonder she dislikes you.” He turned my hand up and traced the lines. “Look what is written in your palm. You are strong in the magic, Callisto,” he said softly.
We were both talking gently, as if sharing secrets.
Or hearts.
“Petra said that,” I whispered. “That I am strong in the magic.”
He looked at me strangely. “You refer to your mother the queen by her first name?”
My hand in his went cold. My cheeks turned hot red and my mouth dry. I had lied to so many people. How I wished I could tell the truth to fine people like Euneus, Andromache, Hector. “I have had many mothers, my king,” I said finally. “I have been lucky in my mothers.”
“I envy you,” he said. “I have not been lucky in mine.”
He told me about the queen his mother, a terrifying woman, beside whom Helen was weak and yielding. His stories made me giddy with that helpless horror and we could not help laughing, and the horse whickered, as if she too caught the joke.
But no matter how slowly we walked, the walk came to an end. We reached Hector and Andromache once more.
“You have given me much to think about, my dear,” said Hector, letting go Andromache's hand. “But return now to the palace. The day grows colder. Winter comes very soon, I think. You two are not wearing warm enough clothing.” He gave me a worried look. “You did not ride as much as I thought you would. Was it unpleasant?”
My smile covered my whole face. Hector raised his eyebrows at Euneus, and Andromache giggled. “It was pleasant,” I said, and my cheeks turned red once
more, but not from fear.
The real Callisto and I, playing with her dolls, used to pretend that one day we would fall in love. We talked of boys, of whom we knew very little. I would tell the princess what I knew from watching shepherds, none of which was very promising, and she would say hopefully, “But a prince would be different.”
And she was right.
A prince was different.
But I had another prince to think about.
Morning in the palace of Troy meant rolling up hundreds of fleeces and blankets and sliding them beneath benches, onto shelves and under beds. The morning after my ride in the lap of Euneus, I dawdled until the three princesses and their servants moved on.
Winter shutters were being fastened over most windows. The first few days of a completely dark hall is rather fun, everyone a child again, playing hide-and-seek or blind men. Those halls that would not have torches had to be memorized, and where torches would be necessary, they would not be used so early in the lighting season. It was a waste of good lamp oil.
Ladders and step stools were dragged down the halls as men got to work on the shutters. These were beautifully painted, gauzy flowers in every shade of pink and rose, but the moment they were shut, it would be too dark to tell.
I had but moments before the workers came into our hall. I rummaged among the possessions of the squires until I found a divided tunic. In Andromache's room, I tore off my gown and pulled the short tunic up my legs. It was strange to have a skirt on each leg. I knew from the eyes of Euneus that I was fast becoming womanly, but the tunic covered my thighs. If I laced my sandals all the way up to my knees, it would cover any shapely ankle I might have developed.
It took longer than I expected to find enough courage for the next step.
I am strong in the magic, I told myself.
But it was not true. No magic makes hair grow back. Only time will serve.
I unwound my turban and tucked it carefully into my rolled fleece.
Hair this short was peculiar, for boys generally wore their hair quite a bit longer, but not strange enough for questions. I was now dressed and shorn as a boy.
From my fleece I removed my only treasure other than Medusa: the amber necklace of Hermione. I unstrung the necklace, removed a single bead with a single dead wasp, and tied the necklace back up. I found I was not quite brave enough to go bareheaded, even in such dark. I rummaged in the shadows and took the unknown boy's old woolen cap. It was moth-eaten and smelly. It was perfect.
Twice I bumped into someone, but we apologized as one does when the halls first go dark, and I felt my way onward. In the streets, I was just another servant boy, huddled against the wind. There had been frost. I pitied the field hands grubbing for the fallen olives.
Somewhere in my heart, I must have known that my fate was to be as harsh as that, for I thought so much about the slaves now, and about their hard lives.
If I saved Pleis, would some god forgive me for stealing the life and name of a princess? Probably not. Once a god is angry, there is no end to it.
I left by the Scaean Gate. “Scaean” means “on the left.” I wondered what it was on the left of, so when I had found my way to the market in the lower city, I looked back.
It's to the left of an attack, I thought. If I were Menelaus, and assembled my troops on the plains…
I wanted to run to King Priam. You opened your gate! I would shout. Don't you know what happens when a king leaves his gate open? You let Helen in—Helen! She who opened the gate to destroy her own kingdom! How can you so blithely say that any trouble she brings is fine with you, you are so honored by her presence? Do you know what it will be when Menelaus and Agamemnon go through your city with a net?
But he would not listen to his own daughter Cassandra and he would not listen to me. And although I was falling in love with Troy, with Andromache and Hector, with the lovely city and broad plains, with the horses in the marsh and the river of silver, and yes, with Euneus… still, I was no Trojan. Still, it was Menelaus to whom I was loyal.
And Pleis.
The citadel of Troy was paved, but not the lower city. It had rained a little in the night, and everything was muddy and skimmed with ice. The worst thing about winter is the filth.
I worked my way through the market. Only staples were for sale. Oil and vinegar, dried peas and lentils, flour and honey. No fresh vegetables except onions and leeks. No flowers or fruit. Cheese, of course. Sheep's yogurt, my favorite.
I had a sudden sharp memory of my birth island. We had berries there, dark and juicy and sweet. My mother would mash them and stir them into the thick soft yogurt and spoon the sweet cream into my mouth as if I were still too young to feed myself. We would laugh and my brothers would roll their eyes. I would let Seaweed lick my mouth clean and my mother would shriek in disgust and the game would end.
It took only a minute to find a dealer in weapons.
The day was gloomy and I could hardly see. I tugged off the cap. It was the first time I had been in public with my bristle hair.
No one looked at me. They were busy with their own lives and I was just another peasant boy slipping in the mud.
The flinging cord of a slingshot must be the exact right length for your arm. I measured myself against several until I found a fine sling.
“Good choice,” said the dealer.
I was aware of being watched. I did not turn to meet the eyes. I am an ordinary boy doing an ordinary thing, I told myself. Getting a new slingshot. I have rather short hair, but my father is careless when he trims it. He took too much, that's all.
I handed the dealer my amber bead.
He shook his head.
It isn't enough? I thought anxiously. But surely—
“Look, boy, this is a fine piece of jewelry. See the hole drilled in it? Put it on a gold thread and give it to your girlfriend for a necklace. I can't take this. Come back with a bowl of mutton stew or a jug of beer and the sling is yours.”
Why could I not find a greedy arms dealer? Now the man would remember me. I did not want to be remembered. But that also meant I couldn't argue and force him to take the bead. How was I supposed to take a bowl of stew away from the great hall, where Priam and his fifty sons and twelve daughters and all their spouses and children and friends took their meals, and slither back to Andromache's room in the dark, and dress once more in the split tunic…
“I trust you,” said the dealer. “Take the sling, bring me the price later.”
I had no choice. “Thank you,” I said glumly.
I turned to leave and felt eyes all over me. I felt very bare. I opened the cap to put it on and tripped over a trembling yellow puppy at my feet. She was all alone, quivering in the mud, yipping little half-barks. I picked her up and kissed her sweet little wrinkled forehead. Her big brown eyes fixed on mine and she snuggled against me the way only a puppy can, warm and soft and glad to be held. She had long yellow fur and a white belly and soft floppy ears. “Ohhh,” I said, in love with her already. She licked me, but she was very young and very tired and she sighed in my arms and went to sleep.
And the voice of Euneus, king of Lemnos, said at my side, “That's a happy puppy. I believe you are the mistress she was hoping for.”
I stared up. I nearly dropped the dog. Tears sprang to my eyes. He had seen me without hair. He, of all people.
“And the black hair of yesterday?” asked Euneus. He was laughing at me.
“I… had a fever. My hair… had to be shaved off. Andromache found something called a wig for me yesterday. I don't actually have black hair.”
“I see that,” said Euneus. He put his palm on my bristles and smoothed them down. They sprang right back up. “I'd call that red hair, Callisto.”
I could not bear it. Just when I had been preening myself that I was becoming a woman, soft and curved and desirable, here I was—bald and bristling and comic. “I have to go now,” I said desperately.
“Without trying out the sling?” Euneus could not c
ontain his amusement. “Why don't you and I go down to the shore and get some good stones? I've got a pouch you can use. In fact, why don't I supply the jar of beer for the dealer? That'll save you coming back.”
I could not think. Perhaps Cassandra felt like this: only wind in her mind. “The puppy…,”I said.
“Is yours. When you described Seaweed, I knew right away what my first present to you would be. Prince Deiphobus has a wonderful hound, beautiful and smart. She had a litter of puppies a couple of months ago and the prince was grateful to find a home for this one.”
Euneus was giving me a puppy to replace Seaweed.
The tears overflowed and I could not wipe them away because I was holding the puppy. I gave up and sobbed.
“Please don't cry,” said Euneus, horrified. “I'm sorry. I saw you sneaking out of the palace in a stable boy's clothing. I thought you were going to try riding a horse by yourself and I couldn't let you do that because it's rather dangerous until you know how, so I followed you and then you yanked that cap off and you had short hair! Callisto, please don't cry.”
“I didn't expect to be noticed. I thought an ordinary boy would just be part of the crowd and—”
He laughed. “You are not an ordinary boy, Callisto. You are a beautiful girl in an extraordinary costume. The short hair is surprising, but it sets off your lovely profile and your royal lineage.”
I buried that profile in the puppy's yellow fur and dried my tears there. “I'm not sure I can have a puppy,” I told him. “I should see if Andromache and the other princesses don't mind.”
“All right. I'll keep her until I leave Troy.”
“Leave Troy!”
He nodded. “I've stayed too late in the season as it is. But Lemnos is only a half day's sail. I'll wait for a perfect day, and autumn will give us plenty more of those, and then I'll ship out.”
“You'll be gone all winter?” I whispered.
He opened the old woolen cap with his spread fingers, shaking his head at the moth holes and the raveling ends of yarn. Then, smoothing my hair as if it mattered, he set the cap carefully on my head. “All winter,” he agreed. “Come. It's only half a mile to the shore. We'll find a stone or two, and you can show off your sling skills for me. You are a remarkable princess, Callisto.”