Nobody's Princess (11 page)

“I can believe that,” I said, gazing at the stallion’s dark, intelligent eyes.

“Now, the important thing for you to know before we begin is not to be afraid of him,” Atalanta went on. “Aristos is very patient with children.”

“I’m no child!”

“To him, you’re an infant, which is good and bad at the same time. The bad part is that you know absolutely nothing about horses. The good part is that infants learn fast. Well, infant, are you ready?” She replaced Aristos’s bit.

I stood up and wiped crumbs of bread and cheese from my hands and tunic. “Try me.”

I had grand visions of mastering Aristos that very day, before the sun reached noon, and racing him all the way back to the palace. I was so taken by that image, I didn’t bother including a place in it for Atalanta. It was just me and Aristos and a chorus of admiring gasps from everyone who saw us come galloping through the citadel gates.

Instead, I spent what was left of that morning just learning to get on the horse. Better to say
trying
to get on the horse. As Atalanta said, it didn’t count as
on
if I just went toppling
off
the stallion’s back as soon as I mounted him.

We began with Atalanta positioned by the horse’s head, with me facing his left side. She offered her linked hands and told me, “Take hold of the reins, then put your left foot here and I’ll give you a boost up.”

“But I want to do this the same way you do,” I objected. “No one helps
you
mount.”

“Humor me.” She bent forward a little so that her linked hands were lower. “You can try it without my help next time. For now, just do as I say and, whatever you do,
don’t
let go of the reins.”

I wanted to say,
You told me that already,
but decided to hold my tongue. I was sure that once Atalanta saw how well I sat that horse, she’d realize I was ready for more-advanced lessons. I grabbed the reins in my left hand, rested my right on the sheepskin pad covering Aristos’s back, placed my left foot in the huntress’s hands, and bounded upward just as she gave me the promised boost.

I went over the top and off the far side, dropping the reins in mid-flight. Luckily for me, I rolled when I hit the ground and only got a light bruising. Aristos gave me a disdainful look over one shoulder, then ambled away.

Atalanta stood over me, arms folded. “Would you like to try that again?” she asked, doing her best not to smile.

I got up, trudged over to Aristos, took his bridle, and led him back to his mistress. “As many times as it takes.”

It took many,
many
times. My second attempt at mounting ended when I dropped the reins just as I landed on the fleecy pad and Aristos bolted, sending me tumbling. My third failed when I knocked the sheepskin off on my way up and found nothing between me and the stallion’s back. That was when I learned just how slippery horsehair is. By good fortune, Atalanta managed to catch me when I slid off.

On the fourth try, I held tight to the reins, landed on the sheepskin, and straddled the horse proudly. Atalanta looked pleased, or perhaps just relieved.

And then I looked down. Sweet Aphrodite, was the ground
that
far away? Aristos’s back hadn’t seemed so high up when I’d ridden under Atalanta’s protection, but now I was all by myself atop a horse who was suddenly tall as an oak tree! I yelped and leaned forward, clutching for his mane and neck, trying to hold on to his body the way I’d held on to that branch.

The branch was narrower. The branch didn’t
breathe,
shifting shape constantly, making itself wider and narrower by turns and far more difficult for my legs to grasp. The branch didn’t decide to start moving without warning. I made the mistake of leaning even farther forward, lost my balance, and fell off once more.

Aristos took about ten steps, then came back to give me a long look that as good as asked,
What are you doing down there?

By the time Atalanta announced that the lesson was over, I’d managed to mount Aristos and stay mounted, but just barely. Dismounting—deliberately and with some style, not merely falling off the horse—was another story. I begged her to give me more time.

“I’d like to, little squirrel, but I need to go back to the citadel, to join the others. If I don’t show up on the training ground, they’ll all say it’s because I’m just another undependable woman.”

“Not
all
of them,” I said. “My brothers respect you, and Prince Meleager thinks you’re skilled
and
beautiful.”

The moment the words left my lips, I regretted blurting them out. Atalanta gave me a quizzical look. “Did he
say
that? That I’m beautiful?”

I shrugged, hoping she’d let the matter drop. No matter how my cousin had praised Atalanta, it wasn’t my right to repeat it.

“Mmm. I see. Well, Helen, if you ever find your tongue again, feel free to tell your cousin that I thank him for thinking highly of my abilities but to save his opinion of my looks. I didn’t choose my face. It’s a random gift from the gods. But I am pleased to know that he appreciates my
true
accomplishments. That compliment’s worth even more to me, coming from a man whose own athletic skills are so impressive.”

“Do you—do you
like
my cousin?” I asked.

A strange, thoughtful expression crossed the huntress’s face before she replied. “I do like him, but not the way I think
you
mean it. And I respect him. You can tell him that too.”

I’d seen the longing in Meleager’s eyes when he looked at Atalanta at dinner. I had the feeling that he wanted more than her
respect.

Holding the reins herself, Atalanta gave me a lift onto Aristos, then jumped up in back of me. We rode most of the way back to the citadel together. I asked her to stop and let me down in the shade of some pine trees beside the road at a point from which the stronghold gates still looked as small as the first joint of my thumb. I could see the citadel, but as long as I stayed behind the trees, no one there, however hawkeyed, could see me.

“I’ll walk from here,” I told her as I stood stroking Aristos’s neck. “I don’t want anyone paying too much attention to me when I go back inside, and if I come riding in with you, it’d be too conspicuous. One of the guards might take a
good
look at me and realize I’m not a boy. Then he might start asking questions.”

“I think you give those men too much credit,” Atalanta replied. “If you don’t look like a threat or an oddity, they won’t give you a second glance. But be as cautious as you like.”

“I’d rather do that than risk discovery,” I said.

“Especially when that might mean I’d be forbidden to leave the citadel again
and
be watched.” I remembered how Glaucus’s way of testing my dedication and Ione’s vigilance kept me from the training ground for so many days. I refused to have to deal with a nuisance like
that
again. “Nothing’s going to interfere with my riding lessons.”

“Well said.” The huntress was pleased, and my heart rejoiced to have her approval. “Tomorrow I’ll leave the palace at sunrise. You’ll be safe enough from discovery if you meet me here, then we’ll ride on together. Oh, and make sure you wear something that protects your legs a little more than that tunic.”

“Like what?” I asked. “You’re wearing a man’s tunic too.”

“I wear more than this when I ride Aristos over longer distances,” she told me. “Mykenaean horsemen have a reputation for endurance because they wear short breeches when they need to make long journeys; so do I. Even now I’m wearing a loinwrap that covers my upper thighs. If you don’t wear something that gives you at least that much protection tomorrow morning, you’ll regret it by tomorrow night, believe me.” She pressed her heels to the stallion’s sides and was gone.

She was wrong. I didn’t regret wearing inadequate leg covering the next day. I regretted it that very night. I was sore from all the bruises I’d gathered in one fall after another, and my legs were badly chafed and aching after straddling Aristos’s wide body.

I also had more problems to deal with than my aches and pains. After that morning in the hills, I was filthy and reeked of horse. Though I’d tied up my hair, my repeated tumbles had left it snarled. How I missed Ione! My long strands of black curls fell well below my waist, and the tedious work of washing and unsnarling them had always been her job.

Though Ione was still in Sparta, I
did
have someone to help me with this sort of thing here in Calydon—in theory, anyway. My aunt had ordered the motherly slave woman I’d met on my first night in Calydon to attend me, but after she’d neaten my room in the morning for the day, she’d vanish until it was time to help me get ready for dinner. I had no idea of how to summon her if I needed her between those times, and I didn’t dare go searching for her while I was still dressed as a boy.

I had to do what I could for myself before I could even begin to seek her out. There was some water in a large jug by my bedside, so I used that to wash off the worst of the grime on my face, arms, and feet. Next I put on a dress and wrestled a comb through my tangles. I had to remove any telltale bits of twig or leaf before I got the slave woman to help me wash my hair thoroughly. I didn’t want her to start asking questions, or even thinking of them.

As I passed through the palace halls looking for her, I came across the large room where my aunt and her women sat working. It was like a glimpse of home. The great loom stood in the best light, with the queen herself making the shuttle fly back and forth between the up-and-down threads. Three nobly born ladies of Calydon sat nearby on low stools, one spinning thread, two doing needlework while they gossiped. The gold ornaments in their hair and decorating their brightly patterned gowns proclaimed their rank. The remaining five women at work were plainly dressed—slaves or servants, by the look of them—two using spindles, three toiling through a huge basket of raw fleece with their carding combs.

As I watched them from the doorway, unnoticed, I caught sight of the shallow basket standing next to the loom. It was filled with newly made cloth. Atalanta wanted me to protect my legs better for tomorrow’s lesson, and this looked like my chance to get something for the purpose.

I’ll tell the queen that I’ve lost my mantle and I need some cloth for a new one,
I thought. I wasn’t sure of exactly
how
I’d alter the simple length of woven wool to shield my legs, but I decided Atalanta could help me with that. My task was to get the cloth in the first place.

Without pausing to think things through any further, I stepped into the room and greeted my aunt with reverence. She was pleased to see me and insisted that I sit beside her at the loom.

“Helen, my dear, you’ve found me! I’ve been so busy, I hope you haven’t been
too
bored? Have you found enough to do?” Abruptly, her affectionate expression froze. She wrinkled her nose grotesquely, then leaned a little closer, sniffed, and asked, “What
have
you been doing? Er, I mean, what have you been doing to entertain yourself so—
strenuously
?”

One of the noblewomen sniffed as well, then smiled. “I’d say she’s found the stables.” She squeezed my hand gently. “I loved horses when I was your age too. My nurse had to drag me away from them almost every day. When she caught me helping the grooms brush my father’s stallion, she was scandalized.” She mimicked her long-gone nurse’s gruff, scolding voice: “‘
What
do you think you’re doing, my lady? What evil spirit told you that
this
is fit work for any woman? What would your mother say if she could see you now?’”

When we all finished laughing, I lowered my head and said, “You’re right; I was with the horses. I’m sorry if I…brought some of the stables along with me.” I looked up and grinned. That brought fresh laughter.

My aunt patted my cheek. “You’re Leda’s daughter, right enough. She was just the same, when we were girls together. If it weren’t for the stables, you’d never find her inside the palace at all.”

“Did she know how to ride?” I asked eagerly.

Lady Althea shook her head. “She got into enough mischief without that. She just thought they were beautiful, fascinating animals. Besides, she was such a formidable runner that I think being on horseback would’ve only slowed her down. Did you know that she was quite the huntress?”

“Just like Atalanta.” I was proud to compare my mother to my new friend and teacher.

My aunt didn’t share my enthusiasm or my opinion. Her face darkened. “Don’t liken my sister to that unnatural creature. Leda might have known how to run and hunt, but she also knew how to do a woman’s
rightful
work. As soon as she married your father, she was glad to give up all those silly girlhood pastimes.”

I thought of my mother’s pleasure when she’d taught me archery, her joy when my arrow brought down my first quarry.
And when did she learn that “rightful” woman’s work if you say she was never in the palace?
I wondered. But I decided not to voice my thoughts to the queen. What would it accomplish except to irritate her even more?

“All that Atalanta needs is a good husband and a house full of babies,” the second noblewoman spoke up. “
That
will cure her quickly enough.”

“Cure her of what?” I asked. I couldn’t help it. “She’s not
sick,
she’s just not like you.”

“I should hope not!” The lady looked smug about it. “And I thank Hera for it. If I were anything like that—that—that want-to-be man, I’d throw myself into the sea!”

I decided that if I didn’t leave then and there, I’d say something to my aunt’s self-righteous companion that would cause unnecessary trouble for everyone. A guest who broke the peace of her host’s home wasn’t worthy of the sacred bread and salt. I mumbled my tale about the lost mantle, Lady Althea cheerfully gave me a suitable piece of cloth from the basket beside her, and I ran from the room.

As I fled down the corridor, I heard the smug noblewoman tell my aunt, “Such a sweet child. What a pity she’s such a sharp-faced, skinny thing.”