Jane Yolen - Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast

Women wearing white chitons and crowns of laurel sang songs of thanksgiving from the rooftops, tossing flowers down upon them.

The flowers made Atalanta sneeze.

King Iasus greeted the party in person at the gates of the city. He embraced his brother first, then clasped each of the hunters warmly by the hand.

When he saw the cub cradled in Atalanta’s sling, he called for the guards. “Take that thing away and cut off its head.”

“It’s only a baby, a harmless baby,” Atalanta said. “Artemis herself has put it under my protection.” She glared at Iasus. “You don’t believe in killing infants, do you?

His face blanched, and he stammered a response. “It shall…shall be as you…wish, young huntress. I…I…I…honor Artemis. I will… not …go against her wishes.” He called off the guards.

Atalanta nodded, but took the cub from her back and cradled it, like a baby, in her arms, letting it suck on her finger. Its milk teeth weren’t strong enough to hurt. She rocked it for a bit, crooning a lullaby, and the cub whimpered a moment before falling back to sleep, snoring lightly.

Then Melanion told them all how—after Orion’s death—it was Atalanta who’d devised the plan to defeat the mantiger, and that it was she who pursued it to its mountain lair.

“Without her, we would have had no chance,” Ancaeus added. “No chance at all.”

Melanion told the story again to the assembled court at a banquet in honor of the hunters. The story grew with the new telling.

If there’s ever a third repetition, Atalanta thought, I wouldn’t he surprised if I flew up to the mantiger’s cave on wings of flame. But she smiled at Melanion because he told the story with such passion.

Ancaeus confirmed the story at the banquet. “But my nephew—my courageous nephew—has understated his own part in the hunt. Anything I’ve ever said against him, I now take back. I shall make him my heir as I have none.”

The banqueters raised their cups to salute Melanion.

“To be the adopted son of a prince with the courage to be bait for such a beast would be an honor indeed,” Melanion returned.

Once again the banqueters raised their cups, this time to salute the prince.

“And I,” Iasus said, standing, “shall give Hierax’s old place as royal huntsman to Evenor.” The queen tugged at his robe, and he bent over to confer with her. Then he smiled broadly. “And we shall give the girl, Atalanta, any reward in our power to bestow.”

Sitting on the king’s left hand, Atalanta made a face. She didn’t feel like being rewarded by him any more than she’d wanted a reward from Artemis. Standing, she told him in a shaking voice, “Just to be back and safe is reward enough, Your Majesty.” Then she sat again.

He put his arm familiarly around her. “Nonsense. You must have a reward. Some gold. Some jewels at least. Marry my nephew!” He laughed and both Atalanta and Melanion blushed so furiously that the entire court rocked with laughter.

“I just want to go home,” Atalanta said, brushing back a lock of hair that had come loose from one of the gold pins.

“And I,” said Evenor, who was sitting next to Atalanta, “I’m a simple country man, Your Highness. From simple country people. My wife and children and I could never live here comfortably in the great city of Tegea.”

Even so, Iasus insisted that Evenor be given a fortune in cattle and sheep. As for Atalanta, “You shall be treated as a princess, as though you’re visiting royalty, and not…” He hesitated, unsure how she would take what he had to say. “Not just some wild girl out of the northern forests.”

“But I am just a wild girl out of the northern forests,” she said carefully, “even though your queen has graciously dressed me in fine clothing.” She caught Evenor’s eye and shook her head, warning him against saying a word more.

At the king’s insistence, Atalanta had been installed in a huge chamber on the first floor of the palace. The room had colorful hangings on the walls and lush woven carpets. There was a bath sunk into the floor, towels, mirrors, perfume, even a bowl of milk in one corner for the cub.

After the feast but before the acrobats had begun their entertainment, Atalanta had gone back to the room, pleading a headache. She’d sent all of the servants away and closed the door behind them with a long sigh.

She sat for a long time on a little bench in front of a mirror of polished metal, and a stranger looked back at her accusingly. The stranger had glossy black hair set in elaborate curls, jewels around her neck and arms, tints of blue and green painted on her eyelids, and pink rouged into her cheeks. She was pretty—in an odd, brittle way.

Is this what a princess looks like? she wondered. If she told her history and produced the boar ring, she’d have to spend the rest of her life dressed this way, bejeweled and painted.

And then would I be Atalanta or somebody else?

She pulled off the jewels and threw them down on the bed. She took water from a bowl in her cupped hands and splashed it on her face to wash the makeup away. She pulled the pins and clasps out of her hair and ran her fingers roughly through it until all of the elaborate styling was undone. Braiding her hair, she slung it over her back. Then she began to strip off the beautiful, delicate gown.

When she looked back in the mirror, she recognized who she saw. Pan had said that Urso had to follow his own nature. Well, she knew that she had to do the same.

Going over to the window, she stared down on an olive grove at the back of the palace.

“Very splendid, isn’t it?” Evenor said, coming in without knocking.

Atalanta turned. “It’s only a room,” she said, shrugging. “A place to rest and get out of the rain.”

“We’ve a room for you back in Eteos,” he said. “But it can’t compare with this.”

“When are you leaving?”

“In the morning. With the cattle and sheep the king has promised. Herma will have worked herself into a great passion by now, sure I’ve died. I miss her. And the children.”

“You can’t just leave me here by myself!”

“Be sensible, Atalanta. You’re not by yourself,” he said. “You belong here. You’re the rightful princess of Arcadia. This is the home of your family.”

“My family?” said Atalanta in a choked voice. “They left me on a mountainside to die.”

He held up his hands. “Be fair, child. The queen knew nothing of that, and Iasus isn’t the first man ever to act out of anger and disappointment. He has long since regretted his act.”

“I haven’t told them, you know. And I never will.”

“Of course you will,” said Evenor. “If not today, then one day. Truth is like good wine. You can’t keep it bottled up forever. You have to share it.” He leaned his head to one side. “I think the queen suspects anyway.”

“That’s why I must go—and quickly.”

Putting his arms around her, he gave her a hug. “Whether you visit us as your friends or your subjects, you know that you’ll always be welcome in our home.”

“I know that, Evenor. Tell Herma and the children I will see them soon. I promise.”

He left the room without looking back.

She locked the door behind him, turned, and threw herself onto the bed.

“I’ll never be able to sleep,” she whispered. But soon enough, sleep claimed her. She slept without dreams.

Dawn was just beginning to spread its rosy fingers over the land when she got up. Putting on her hunting clothes, she slung her bow and quiver over her shoulder.

“Maybe one day,” she murmured to herself, fingering the boar’s head ring. “Maybe one day I’ll return to tell them the truth.” She glanced out the window where a small wind was puzzling through the olive trees. “But not today.”