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  Orpheus heard her out, but he was shaking his head all the while. When she was done, he said, “That was because you came as a stranger to each place, because you had no kin to stand up for you and take your part. To my village, you will come as my wife. I am known and loved. I have done much good for my village. No one there would believe I would bring evil among them. They will know you are good and will do you no harm.”

  For one moment Eurydice contemplated that most desirable future: Married to Orpheus in a snug house in a quiet village with children at her knee, Healing and Finding when occasion arose, but not pressed to such tasks every day until she ached with weariness and shivered with the cold of emptiness. She would have a garden, a cow, some goats and sheep. She drew a deep breath and let it out in a long regretful sigh.

  “But if you are wrong, I would be dead,” she said bleakly. “Is that not too great a chance to take? Besides—” she smiled impishly, “Are you so sure you wish to spend your entire life with me? I am improper and immodest. I speak my mind to whom I like—even to exalted males—and do not cast my eyes down. I am not meek and well behaved.”

  “I do not know,” he said, not echoing her humor. “I only know that when I thought I had lost you, I could not bear it.”

  Eurydice put out a hand and touched his arm, “Then is it not more sensible to live together until you do know?”

  He jerked back as if her touch had burned him. “No! I am too bound to you already. If I add to that the bond of coupling, I will not be able to part from you, and I must go home… I must.”

  “Why?”

  “When my parents died, I was a child. The people of my village cared for me. I was not of much use. Half the time, I forgot the tasks I was set when a new song came into my head. They did not beat me or cast me out. They were poor, but they banded together and paid for a teacher of music, and when he said he could teach me no more, again, they reached into their thin purses to send me to the city to learn more. I owe them my loyalty.”

  “I would imagine that you have paid back what they spent on you many times over by now.”

  “Perhaps.” His brow creased in a frown. “But it is not only that. It is my—my rooting place. A bard has no home. I travel from place to place, court to court. After a time, I feel like a dead leaf blowing in the wind. My village is the place where I come to rest, where I am always welcome, even if I do not play or sing a note. There, I renew myself.”

  This time it was Eurydice who shook her head. “I understand the words you say, but I have never had a home, so the words mean little to me. I would not lie to you, Orpheus. I will not make a promise that I do not intend to fulfill. I must set my fear against your need, and I cannot do that in a moment. I desire you, and you will be welcome to me any time—but I cannot promise to return to Greece with you.”

  His lips parted, but he did not speak. He turned away quickly and started back toward the ship where parties of men were forming. Eurydice stared after him, watching how lightly he walked. His steps were not dragging now, nor were his shoulders slumped. They were rigidly erect, his head high. Was he glad she had refused? A frown wrinkled her brow. That was ridiculous. Why should he ask her to marry him at all? She had not expected it, had not even wanted it—but he could not have known that. Surely to propose marriage in the hope of driving her away was a dangerous ploy, if he merely wished to avoid coupling with her. What if she had said yes? And why should he wish to avoid coupling? He had been eager enough in the marketplace, so he did not find her repulsive. And she had made it clear that she did not wish to bind him, so he could not fear that.

  Eurydice wandered slowly upstream, absently noting a bed of winter cress, some ferns with tightly curled young fronds, thin stalks of askolonion. Orpheus was a painfully honest person. It was entirely possible that he had told the simple truth, that he was afraid the pain of parting would be worse if they became lovers. That was, in a way, a pleasant thought, but it had little poisoned barbs attached. She had been thinking that surfeit would make parting easier, but she had no real reason to believe that. In fact, she did not really believe that she would soon find surfeit with Orpheus. To her, more and more, he was everything desirable in a man, not only physically appealing, but more interesting than most. He had more in his head than hunting and fighting, and his slight detachment from all the others made his judgement of them much cleaner than it would be if he were bonded. Would not loving only add to the delight he gave her? Would parting in Colchis be easier than it would have been in Kyzikos?

  But if he really wanted her and only feared pain, why were his steps so light, his body so erect, as he left her behind? She followed that thought until she realized her conclusions were foolish, coming back to the happier notion that he sincerely desired her and held back out of fear, and then went all the way around again…and again…and again. Eventually, she was so confused that she almost did not care, and she became aware that the light was fading. She turned back, gathering what she had noted on her way upstream and arrived on the beach near the ship with her arms full of tasty garnishes for whatever meal the cooks prepared.

  She had been hearing voices, loud voices, she realized, during the last part of her walk downstream, but she had paid the intermittent bellows little mind. It was the men’s habit to laugh and shout as they bathed or wrestled. Only when she was almost within the group did she realize that there was no laughter. This shouting was not part of their light-hearted wrangling or jesting challenges, and one voice… Eurydice shuddered. She had never heard Heracles shout before.

  “What is it?” she asked the first man she came even with. “What is wrong?”

  “Hylas is missing,” Lynkeus said. “And Heracles believes we drove him away.”

  “That cannot be true,” Eurydice said. “I saw him go myself, as soon as Heracles was out of sight. No one could have had time to insult him or say he was not wanted.”

  “And what if they had?” Lynkeus asked sourly. “Would it have penetrated that thick hide of his?”

  Eurydice did not answer—the truth was simply too complicated—but sidled forward toward the center where fires were burning. She dumped her gatherings near one of the spits on which meat brought back from the hunt was already roasting. The whole crew was there, tense and angry, and she wondered whether she would do good or harm if she told what she had seen. In a tight, harsh voice, Jason was virtually repeating Lynkeus’ remark—that no one would bother to tell Hylas he was not wanted because they knew he would not listen. He then turned on Polyphemus to repeat the accusation he had made earlier about hanging around Heracles like a mare needing servicing.

  “Hylas was not jealous!” Heracles bellowed before Polyphemus could open his mouth. “He had no cause and knew it. And if you did not drive him away, then perhaps you did worse!”

  There was a breath-held silence in which no man dared meet another’s eye. There was not one of them that had not thought of murdering Hylas at one time or another. Through each flickered a suspicion that one of the others had lost his temper and gone too far with that squalling nuisance. In Eurydice’s mind the silence was like a sore festering under the skin, about to burst and spread sickness through the whole body.

  “No!” she called, pushing forward. “Heracles, no one harmed Hylas, nor did anyone ill speak him. I left the ship as soon as it was beached, before all the mooring lines were fast, to go to the stream. I wished to look for what I could glean for the evening meal. I saw you go east into the woods and a little while later Hylas crossed the stream and went southwest. No one had time to say a word to him after you left.”

  “Why should he run away? Where was he going?” Heracles cried.

  Eurydice replied, as if Heracles had truly been asking questions rather than crying aloud of a hurt. “I believe he has gone to the town we sailed past. It is not far, perhaps a league or so to the west.”

  “It is your fault,” Heracles said turning on Jason. His voice was not loud, but there was something in it that
made Eurydice’s spine feel cold. “You never wanted him aboard and all the others followed your lead—”

  “No,” Eurydice interrupted again. “If blame for his going must be affixed to someone—other than yourself, Heracles—then it is mine. On the night of the storm when the Gegeneis attacked us, Hylas complained to me that you would not let him go with you to fight, and I said to him what I believed then to be true and I believe now—that he should strike out for himself or find a protector who would let him grow into a man.”

  “But he is not a man,” Heracles cried. “He is only a boy.”

  “Fifteen is not so young to take on at least some of the duties of a man,” Jason said. “Let him go, Heracles. He will never become a man without trying.”

  “Dying will not make him a man,” Heracles replied bitterly. “Whatever you say, I will not leave him to wander and die alone in the forest. I will go seek him.”

  “I will go with you,” Polyphemus said. “I do love you, Heracles. I am not ashamed of it, and I will not deny it. But you know, except for today, I never spoke unkindly to Hylas nor blamed him for holding your affection. If we find him, I love you enough to rejoice with you. If we do not, I…I will be there.”

  Jason made a wry mouth. “I freed Heracles from his oath to me on the ship. I will free you too, Polyphemus, so that no cloud will darken your spirit if you cannot return to the Argo. But we will all search tonight and tomorrow. I cannot stay longer than that.”

  “No, not for Hylas, but you stayed a year with the women of Lemnos.” Heracles had spun away and strode off toward the stream before Jason could reply to that taunt.

  Jason’s mouth tightened, but not, Eurydice thought, over words he had no chance to speak. He watched Heracles disappear into the growing dark, muttered, “Fool,” under his breath, and then his wandering eyes fell on her.

  “What have you done to us this time, witch?” he asked.

  “Freed us from a growing canker,” Orpheus replied.

  Eurydice started and turned her head. He was just behind her and a little to the right. His voice had been calm, his lips were slightly curved. He glanced at the men behind and to each side of him.

  “If he does not return, we will miss Heracles’ strength, I am sure,” Orpheus went on, still half smiling, “but how much longer I could have listened to Hylas’ voice without tipping him overboard, I do not know.”

  He is a wonder, Eurydice thought. Somehow, he has made every man realize that they will not miss Heracles’ strength.

  Each knows that they will need two or three men to haul on the Argons lines and to do many other tasks Heracles did alone, but each knows he will be amply recompensed by knowing himself equal to every other man, no one standing out like a beacon to show his inadequacy. She sighed softly as her thoughts ran on—as they had been running all day—to the proposal Orpheus had made. Perhaps, if he were so clever, he could keep her safe. Perhaps he knew the people of his village better than she believed he did. Perhaps she had been a fool to refuse him… Only perhaps he had been clever enough to make her say what he had wanted her to say. She shrank back out of the inner circle while Jason snorted a mingled amusement and exasperation at Orpheus’ remark.

  “Well,” he said, “that is true, but Hylas was one of ours nonetheless, and we cannot abandon him. If he went to the town, well and good. Heracles will find him. Perhaps Heracles will grow wise and leave Hylas there once he is assured of the boy’s safety. If not, he will bring him back. However, we cannot ignore the fact that he might have started southwest to make finding him harder in case someone noticed him leaving. We will search south and southeast to be certain he has not lost himself in the forest.”

  He went on giving orders, dividing the men into groups to search, telling one to bring a barrel of pitch from the ship, others to collect dry grass and cudgels for torches. Eurydice watched Orpheus and had to bite her lips and swallow hard when she realized he was not going to look for her. When he had moved to join the group to which Jason had assigned him, she went back to the spit where she had left her gleanings. She was even more confused than she had been earlier, one moment feeling warm and happy because he had come instantly to support her when Jason seemed threatening and the next chilled by doubt because he did not seem to care where she went or what she did when the threat had passed.

  Finding one of the cooks already turning over what she had brought, she stayed to help sort and clean. When the meal was ready, Eurydice ate—but Orpheus did not come to sit beside her. Later, she went to the ship and gathered up her sleeping gear. She stood for a long time looking at Orpheus’ blankets. She wanted nothing so much as to take them with her and prepare his bed beside her own, as they had slept nearly every night, but she did not dare. If he returned and did not place his bed beside hers, that might be because he was tired and did not want to seek her in the dark. If he moved the bed she had prepared to another place, that could only have one meaning.

  Chapter Twelve

  Eurydice was spared the pain of rejection. The group with which Orpheus was searching did not return at all that night. They straggled back to camp, hungry and tired, about midafternoon the next day, swearing that Hylas was nowhere in the area they had searched. By evening, even the groups with Idmon and Mopsus, who had made sweeps behind the other searchers, had returned. The question then arose whether they should, as Jason had said, set out on the morning tide or wait longer to see if Heracles would return. Most of the men were in favor of departure.

  “I know that I said yesterday we would wait no longer, but I do not like to leave any member of my crew behind,” Jason said, frowning. “If Heracles is in trouble—”

  “Heracles?” Tiphys said. “In what trouble could he be that he cannot get out? The weather will be calm when the tide is full tomorrow. I do not know about the day after that. We should leave while we can expect good sailing weather.”

  “All very well, but I do not want Heracles searching for us with a blood feud in mind,” Jason pointed out, “If harm has come to Hylas and we have departed, how can he know that we honestly searched for the boy?” He turned to look from Idmon to Mopsus. “Can you not feel anything?”

  Both held up empty hands. Slowly Jason turned and searched the gathered crew. “Orpheus” he said, “did you not tell me that we had to leave Kyzikos in a hurry because of some child that Eurydice Found?” Then his eyes flicked right and left; usually Eurydice could be found right beside the singer. “Orpheus!” he exclaimed, his voice sharp, “Where is Eurydice?”

  “I am here,” she said, rising from a piece of wood on which she had been sitting. “I told you yesterday where Hylas was. He is in the town.”

  “You knew where he was, and you let us wander through the woods for a day and a night seeking him?” Jason roared.

  “I told Heracles I believed he was in the town. You were standing right there. As to your search, I thought you did not credit what I said, and belief is all I have, no proof. Finders can be mistaken, although I know Hylas well, and I do not think I am wrong.”

  Eurydice had seen Orpheus get to his feet when Jason raised his voice. She knew that if she cowered away or burst into tears, Orpheus would come to protect her, but that was not what she wanted. That was his duty—as he saw it. She understood that now, remembering the many times he had said he was responsible for her because he had brought her to Jason. And perhaps he had another reason—to save Jason from himself, to allow him to keep his promise that she would arrive in Colchis unbruised and unused. Worse, the possibility that Orpheus had risen to be near her for his own sake receded farther when he sat down again as Jason calmed. Fortunately, she had no time to think more about that. Jason was asking another question—in a much more moderate tone.

  “Is Hylas safe? Well?”

  Eurydice shrugged. “I cannot tell you what he feels any more than if he were a trinket of gold. I see where he is, a chamber in a house, a fair chamber, well appointed, but whether he is a guest or a prisoner I have no wa
y of knowing. That is all I can tell from this distance.”

  “If you can tell so much,” Idmon said, staring at her, “it is more than ever I could. What more can you do?”

  “I have told you.” Though she was numb with pain, a touch of resentment colored her voice. “I am a good Finder. I can Heal. You know I once had a Seeing, but that was the only time in my life that happened—and I hope it never happens again. That is all.”

  It was not, of course. She carried a formidable panoply of spells and had a deep well of Power to make them effective, but since she did not plan to use them against Jason and his crew, it was none of their business—nor was the fact that she could suck Power out of another mage, right down to the life.

  Idmon looked at her a moment or two longer, as he felt the incompleteness of her statement, but either his Gift was not fine enough to be sure, or he felt her good will and reasoned, as did she, that what she did not use was no one’s business but her own. He smiled, very faintly, which made Eurydice certain he knew she was stronger than she admitted but did not feel it necessary that Jason should know. He shrugged and turned his eyes to meet Jason’s.

  “As I said before, more than once, she means us no harm. More important is whether we should send a party to search for Heracles, Polyphemus, and Hylas in the town.”

  “Can you tell us whether Heracles has found Hylas?” Jason spoke to Eurydice, not to Idmon.