Enchanted Fire Page 8

  She stopped abruptly. Orpheus had touched a finger to her lips as he bent to take another cheese out of the cask. His eyes flashed up toward Jason.

  “Look how oily the inside of the wax is,” she said. “I wonder if some exudate from the cheese keeps the wax flexible.”

  “It may be, indeed.” Orpheus smiled brilliantly at her, pleased and relieved. Apparently Eurydice could and would obey an order when she understood the matter was important. “It does stay soft,” he went on about the wax, “not melting soft, but soft. I tried to mold the waste from another cask into tablets for writing, but it did not keep its shape well.”

  “Still,” Eurydice said, frowning, “I do not think we should throw it away. I feel there will be a use for it.”

  Orpheus shrugged. “There are empty sacks. I’ll get you one.”

  He ducked under the planking and soon came out with a bag made of rough cloth. Eurydice had set two peeled cheeses atop each other on the top of the cask. Now she used Orpheus’ knife to halve them, halve them again, and finally to cut each quarter in half, which gave sixteen generous slices almost identical in size.

  “Well,” Orpheus said, handing her the sack. “I do not know how you did it, but it will be a pleasure not to hear the men arguing about who got a larger piece.”

  “It is not very hard,” she said, laughing and pulling another cheese from the cask to demonstrate. “What did Hylas do, walk along cutting slices off as he went?”

  “Yes.”

  She sighed. “I suspect there was a noticeable difference in the slices—and not all by accident. Well, I am not looking for trouble.” She hesitated to remind him that she had avoided the trouble he had implied by his silencing finger as well as any trouble that might arise from unequal portions. “I will make my slices as even as I can. But there is one problem: Is there something in which I can carry the cheese? Otherwise, I will have to run back and forth with two or three pieces each time and no one will know how clever and impartial my division was.”

  Orpheus looked startled. “Currying favor, are you?”

  “Not that,” Eurydice answered rather stiffly. “Say rather that I wish all the crew to think kindly of me—as a person who can be trusted.”

  “Why?”

  “Why?” Eurydice repeated in an exasperated tone. “Because I do not want to be cast off the ship on some barren island.”

  “And I tell you you can stop worrying about it.”

  “Do not be a jackass!” Eurydice exclaimed. “One cannot stop worrying on order whether the worry is justified or not. It is better to cut cheese into even pieces and hand them around with a smile and a pleasant word. Now, in what can I carry the cheese?”

  “A sensible Greek girl would know that if a man told her not to worry, she need not,” Orpheus said through tight lips.

  Eurydice cast her eyes up to heaven. “But I am not a Greek girl, and if what you say is true, I wonder whether any of them are sensible.” She sighed. “Never mind. Would it be proper for me to go under and look for something in which to carry the cheese?”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I do not wish to do anything that will look suspicious or give offense. I do not want anyone to think I am rooting around in your possessions, possibly stealing something precious.”

  “You would be a fool to do that!”

  “Indeed, I would. I know it, and you know it, but would you wish to lay a wager that Hylas, for example, would not accuse me if he noticed what I was doing?”

  Orpheus sighed, mollified. She was infuriating, but she was also remarkably sensible. “Thank all the gods that there are not many Hylases aboard,” he said. “Yes, go. You know best what will serve your purpose. I will vouch for you.”

  Eurydice promptly ducked under the beam that supported the forward edge of the decking and found that beyond it she could stand upright. There was enough light, also, from the open area for her to make out the shapes of several casks like the one Hylas had brought out lashed together and fixed into the point of the prow. Along the bulkheads to either side, rows of amphorae stood in their cradles and around and between them were bushel-sized sacks of tightly sewn leather. Those almost certainly held grain. Around the poles that supported the upper deck’s beams, were chests like the one from which Orpheus had taken the clothing he had given her and, later, his blankets. Atop these were baskets. She picked up the nearest of them and found it was full of empty bowls. These she transferred to another empty sack and she carried the basket out.

  Orpheus had peeled three more cheeses and cut one of them into section. Eurydice looked at his handiwork and raised her brows.

  “You did not like my method?”

  He looked shamefaced but laughed. “I was sure I could get them just as even by eye. It is not so easy as it looks.”

  “Good,” Eurydice said, laughing also. “Now you know. That is just why the Chief Priestess used to take the novices out into an open field and make them try out the spells they thought they had learned. There were always disasters, but little harm was done. I can use these pieces for seconds—seconds are allowed, are they not?”

  “Now, yes. As long as we are in sight of shore, we can find something to eat, even if we do not come to a town where we can buy supplies. While we were on the open seas, we were very careful not to make too many inroads on our stores.”

  While they talked, Eurydice had cut up the two cheeses. Then she offered Orpheus the largest piece of the unevenly sliced round and took the smallest for herself. He protested that she should take more and she promised she would after everyone else had been served. Then she climbed up and offered the basket to Jason, Lynkeus, and Ankaios, who were still in the prow. Each chose, commenting on the neatness of the slices, and Jason said he had forgotten to tell her to get out journey bread to go with the cheese and to mix a krater of watered wine for the men to drink. Eurydice had to ask how she would know where to find the bread, where the mixing bowl would be, and what proportion of wine to water.

  “One to five for the wine to water. As for the krater and the bread, ask Hylas—” Jason stopped abruptly and sighed. “No, do not ask him. I do not think it worth a half hour’s whining and weeping. I see Orpheus is there. He will help you find what you need.”

  “Very well, my lord,” Eurydice said, and turned away to let herself down off the platform.

  Jason’s hand fell on her shoulder and she stiffened and twisted her head to look at him. “I only wanted to thank you.” he said. “It is such a pleasure to hear a simple, yes, when I order food.”

  Eurydice bent her knees a little in a sketch of a bow—which also freed her shoulder. “It is a pleasure to serve you in this.” She grinned at him as she edged away. “Most especially since I get the first bite and sup,” she added, and got down to the lower decking.

  She thought she felt Jason’s eyes following her, but she did not look up, calling to Orpheus to come help her look for the journey bread and slipping into the storage area. Orpheus followed and said softly, “You need not be afraid of Jason. He gave his word not to abuse you.”

  She shook her head nervously. “I do not suspect him of trying to force me, but…but of seeking with kindness to bind me to his use.”

  Orpheus shrugged and pointed to some sacks that were pushed back to wedge tightly under the decking above the casks in the prow. “The journey bread is there. Take the loose sack in front.” Then he went on in a lower voice, “As to Jason, his purpose is very strong. In a way he has bound us all, but he is a good leader and cares for all of us. As for you, his purpose can do you no harm if you are aware of it. Ah!”

  He had been opening chests as he spoke and with the exclamation he pulled out a very large krater, a pitcher for measuring, and a ladle for pouring the mixed wine into cups. Eurydice had found the cups herself in another basket. By common consent, without further words, the topic of Jason was abandoned. Orpheus took the krater and mixing tools out on deck. Eurydice brought a sack of journey bread, which sh
e half emptied into the basket of cheese. This and the basket of cups she set on the gangway, turning to Orpheus before she prepared to climb up beside them.

  “Would you be good enough to mix the wine for me?” She smiled at him. “That task will not shame you before your fellows, as it is not women’s work. I will give out the food and then come back to fill cups.”

  “No need,” Orpheus said, quite startled by the notion that she cared whether his shipmates were likely to make jest of him. “It will be easier for all if I just carry the krater.” He saw her mouth open, then close, and laughed. “And do not bother to tell me not to fill it too full lest it slop out. I have been sailing longer than you.”

  She smiled back at him and set out to proffer her baskets at each, rower’s bench. The basket of cheese and bread was nearly empty when she arrived at Heracles’ bench near where the mast was fixed to the deck. At Heracles’ feet sat a young man Eurydice had not noticed before, although she could not understand her oversight, considering that he was at least as beautiful as Hylas, although blond rather than dark. Heracles was knotting together some fine cord into an intricate mesh and the young man was watching and trying to duplicate the work. Eurydice was surprised at how dexterous Heracles thick fingers were and stood for a moment watching too. She soon realized that the gorgeous blond was thinking more about catching Heracles in the net he was creating than in the net itself, but she told herself it was none of her business and thrust forward her basket.

  “Bread and cheese?” she asked. “Take a cup, too,” offering the second basket. “Orpheus will be along in a few moments with the wine.”

  Heracles looked up and smiled, laying down the netting and taking bread and cheese from the basket without looking. The blond did so as well. And Hylas’ voice rose in a yelp of protest.

  “It’s not fair! Polyphemus took the best pieces. He grabbed them before I could even look into the basket.”

  Color rose in the blonde’s face. “Then take what I have, Hylas, and I will have whatever remains.” He thrust what was in his hands at Hylas.

  “He squeezed them! They’re all broken. I don’t want them now.”

  “Peace, Hylas,” Eurydice said, restraining herself with some effort from turning the basket over the boy’s head and jamming it down hard. “I will go and refill my basket, and you can have the first pick.”

  “Very well,” Hylas said, pouting. “But you had better hurry. I do not see why I should have to wait longer than the others.”

  “Thank you,” Heracles said, smiling at Eurydice, who, as she started back along the gangway, heard him say to Polyphemus, “Give me that.”

  Unable to resist, Eurydice glanced back over her shoulder. The blond young man had immediately offered the somewhat squashed and crumbling bread and cheese he was holding—as he would have offered his head, Eurydice thought—to Heracles, who had set his own portion down on the bench beside him. Hylas had his back to both, watching Eurydice, so he did not see Heracles gesture Polyphemus to take the undamaged portions on the bench while he bit into what Polyphemus had handed him.

  Eurydice jumped down and began peeling and slicing cheese with her brows lifted and her lips pursed with speculation.

  “And why are you looking like a dog that has swallowed a beetle and is not sure it will agree with him?” Orpheus asked, pausing beside her with the full krater.

  At first Eurydice, who believed she should not mix in the affairs of others unless she was invited to do so, was tempted to turn aside Orpheus’ question with some light reply, but it occurred to her that any trouble that took place on the Argo or among its crew would endanger her—and Orpheus, to whom she owed a debt.

  “Is Heracles a flirt?” she asked softly.

  “It is your suspicious mind that sees every kind word or gesture as an offer of insult,” Orpheus snapped.

  “No, hush! I did not mean me.” Then quickly she described what she had seen.

  Orpheus was silent for a moment, then sighed. “I cannot deny I would like your suspicion to be the truth—I mean that Heracles is responding to Polyphemus. If he were, we could drop that little troublemaker Hylas over the side during the next gale—not that we really could. Heracles has too strong a conscience. It is no secret that Polyphemus desires Heracles.”

  “And Hylas does not care?” Eurydice was amazed.

  Orpheus uttered a short, mirthless laugh. “Hylas does not notice! He is so self-absorbed, so convinced that he is the most beautiful creature in the world and no one could admire anyone else when he walks by, and so stupid that, believe it or not, he does not notice. Unfortunately, if Heracles realizes that, he puts it down to Hylas’ innocence. I fear Hylas’ conceit is the truth for Heracles. I do not believe his gesture was an invitation to Polyphemus. It was only Heracles being himself, kind and generous, and trying to make up for any trouble Hylas has caused.”

  “Then Heracles is a fool,” Eurydice snapped. “He would do better to be unkind to Polyphemus.”

  “Probably,” Orpheus admitted, “but it is not in him.”

  Eurydice shrugged and finished loading her basket. Orpheus put the krater on the gangway, hoisted himself up, took the basket from her, and helped her up beside him. They finished their deliveries, restowed the unused journey bread and cheese where they belonged, and took their own portions to the stern.

  Just before they settled down on the blankets, Orpheus turned his head to watch Imbros fall astern. When he sat down he was frowning. Then he asked, “Did that sorcerer, Balta, as you called him, tell you any more about Phrixos?”

  Eurydice chewed for a little while, her brow furrowed in thought. Then she shook her head. “Now I have learned again what my teachers always said was true—that one should always listen carefully, even when one felt the speaker to be a fool. The truth is, I did not listen well. Balta—” she used the truncated name gladly, wanting as few strings as possible to tie her to the past “—was trying to convince me that if I became his acolyte and surrendered my Power to him he could make me forever young.”

  “That is not something you will need to worry about soon,” Orpheus remarked, smiling.

  Eurydice met his eyes soberly. “No, it is not. It is true enough that taking in Power lengthens life and increases health. Balta knew that much, but I saw him as a fool because he did not use his knowledge. He looked at my face, took me for innocent, and did not try to discover what I had already learned about my Gift. I told you I was well schooled.”

  “Yes.” Orpheus smiled, “but I almost feel sympathy for Balta. It is very hard to look at your sweet face and think of you as a mighty sorcerer.”

  Eurydice felt herself flush and bent her head. “I am scarcely a mighty sorcerer,” she muttered, glancing up through her lashes, “but I knew that to let him drain me would increase his life—and shorten mine. Thus, I busied myself thinking how to escape his clutches rather than listening to what else he was saying.”

  “I cannot blame you for that.” Orpheus chuckled. “Was it him you were fleeing?”

  “Others, too.” She told him about the townsfolk who wished to sacrifice her, which made Thrace less than safe for her. She almost confessed that the priestesses of the temple had also pursued her but swallowed the words. She was afraid Orpheus would believe she had carried a curse with her if the ship met bad luck. “I would have been safe if I stayed at the temple, but I did not wish to be immured there. I wished to see the wonders of the world, to taste love…”

  Orpheus laughed and glanced at her sidelong. “You did not seem very eager to taste it with me.”

  “That is not love.”

  Color rose in his face, and he touched her hand gently, apologetically. “You are quite right, Eurydice. That is not love.”

  She smiled. “But I was accusing you unjustly—or was I?”

  “At that time you were,” he said, removing his hand.

  “And now?” she teased, starting to extend the hand he had touched to him. In the next instant she had snatch
ed it back, shaking her head. “No, do not answer me,” she said. “As usual my tongue is wagging before I think. I—I do not want an answer now.” She took a quick drink from her cup, then said hastily, “Let me see. What can I remember of what Baltas—Balta said?”

  Orpheus raised his cup and drained the last of his watered wine. He was more enticed by Eurydice’s withdrawal than if she had taken his hand and openly avowed a desire for him. What drew him so strongly was that the withdrawal held no taint of coy pretense. She had made plain that he was pleasing to her and that she was well aware of his interest in her. Coupled with the words they had exchanged about love, her action said only that she was not ready to offer an easy exchange of pleasure. She was simply uncertain of her own feelings and, implicit in her statement that she did not want an answer yet, was that when she did she would ask openly for it.

  Having followed his thought to its natural conclusion, Orpheus could not decide whether he was delighted or disgusted. He knew he would find it very pleasant indeed not to need to hem and haw and guess about what a woman really meant for once; however, only women who plied the trade of whore came to a man and asked him to lie with them. Orpheus was a little afraid that Eurydice’s honest desire would in his mind become tainted with that foulness if she approached him and asked outright for his favors. He was so caught up in this concern that he nearly flinched away when Eurydice began to speak to him, and then he had to bite his lip to keep from laughing for thinking himself so irresistible.

  “I will tell you all I can remember of what Balta said about Phrixos.” She was speaking slowly, with knit brows. “He told me he felt a burst of Power, as if a spell were suddenly undone and lashing back at its maker. Then the beast that carried Phrixos and Helle appeared in the air above what is now called the Hellespont and fell into the water, plunging deep. When it rose, it swam strongly for the shore, but it carried only one figure, Phrixos, whose greater strength had permitted him to hold on. Phrixos tried to drive the beast back into the water, but it would not go. Then he left it and plunged in himself, several times, but came out empty-handed each time. At last he began to wander along the shore, wailing ‘Helle! Helle!’ After several days, a most beautiful woman came, leading the beast. She was weeping, and she told Phrixos that Helle was lost and that he must remount the beast and go on to where it had been taking him when the spell failed. He did so, and they all disappeared.”