A Timeline of the Heroic Age
In addition to using material from the Greek myths, Jane Yolen and I wanted to set our Young Heroes tales, as best as we could, against the background of the historical Greek civilization of the Heroic Age. The fall of Troy is not only part of the legends of ancient Greece; it is generally accepted to have been a historical event to which we can give an approximate date. Using this as my starting point, I worked my way back in time, setting the major events of Greek legend in chronological sequence.
Note that Heracles is the original Greek name for the hero we normally refer to as Hercules. The titles of the Young Heroes novels are in italics, showing the years when these adventures supposedly took place.
Robert J. Harris
BCE
2200 The Mycenaean peoples invade Greece from the north
1750 Cities of Crete destroyed by an earthquake
1600 Cretan palace at Knossos damaged by an earthquake (Knossos rebuilt within a century and Cretan civilization flourishes)
1357 Perseus slays Medusa
1350 Perseus founds Mycenae
Oedipus becomes King of Thebes
1291 Bellerophon battles the Amazons
1289 Hippolyta and the Curse of the Amazons
1274 The labors of Heracles begin
1273 Heracles sails to the land of the Amazons accompanied by Peleus and Telamon
1270 Heracles captures Troy and slays Laomedon
1268 Theseus sets out for Athens where he slays the Cretan Bull
1267 Theseus travels to Crete and slays the Minotaur; becomes King of Athens
1266 Queen Hippolyta leads the Amazons to war against Athens
1265 Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast
1263 Jason and the Gorgon’s Blood
1259 Jason leaves Mount Pelion and travels to Iolcus
1258 Voyage of the Argonauts
1254 Hunting of the Calydonian Boar
Atalanta marries Melanion
1253 At the age of six, Achilles begins to hunt wild beasts under Chiron’s instruction
1247 Odysseus in the Serpent Maze
1245 Battle of the Gods and Giants
1237 Death of Heracles
1236 Helen marries Menelaus
1235 Penelope marries Odysseus
1234 Paris abducts Helen
1233 Trojan War begins
1225 Deaths of Patroclus and Hector
Penthesilea and the Amazons arrive to help the Trojans
1224 Achilles slain by Paris at the Skaian Gate
1223 Fall of Troy
1213 After ten years of wandering, Odysseus returns to Ithaca
1200 Fall of Mycenae; end of the Heroic Age
Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast
Jane Yolen and Robert J. Harris
For Heidi—
who keeps me running on the right path
—J.Y.
To David E. Poole and
Professor Robert Ogilvie, who taught me Homer and Virgil and much else besides
—R.J.H.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE: A SHAPE IN THE FOREST
CHAPTER TWO: THE RING
CHAPTER THREE: BURYING THE PAST
CHAPTER FOUR: URSO
CHAPTER FIVE: ON THE TRACK
CHAPTER SIX: THE WOODLAND GOD
CHAPTER SEVEN: THE TRAP
CHAPTER EIGHT: THE HUNTERS
CHAPTER NINE: THE VILLAGE
CHAPTER TEN: A SMALL HERO
CHAPTER ELEVEN: A SIGN FROM THE GODS
CHAPTER TWELVE: THE HUNT
CHAPTER THIRTEEN: VICTIMS OF THE BEAST
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: LAND OF DANGER
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: THE CHALLENGE
CHAPTER SIXTEEN: TWO NATURES
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE RACE
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE ROAD TO TEGEA
CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE CITY
CHAPTER TWENTY: CHOSEN FEW
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE: SACRED TEMPLE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: THE GREAT HUNT BEGINS
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE: ATTACK
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR: NIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE: ONE SMALL DEATH
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX: ALLIES FROM THE WILD
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: THE TRAP
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: ARROW’S FLIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE: THE CAVE
CHAPTER THIRTY: THE PALACE
WHAT IS TRUE ABOUT THIS STORY?
A Conversation Between the Authors
A Biography of Jane Yolen
A Biography of Robert J. Harris
CHAPTER ONE
A SHAPE IN THE FOREST
THE GIRL WAS SILENT, tracking through the deep woods, a small gutted rabbit safely tucked into her leather belt. It was all she had found in the snares they’d set, and she was still hoping she might be able to find something more impressive before her father reappeared.
He’d left her to check the snares while he followed some deer tracks. Of course she’d grumbled. Checking the traps was a child’s task.
“And I’m no longer a child,” she whispered to herself, though she wasn’t yet thirteen.
The forest seemed unnaturally quiet. Nothing scrabbled in the underbrush away from her. No birds trilled overhead. Even the wood pigeons were still. She was disappointed.
How can I prove to Papa what a good hunter I am, she thought, if there is nothing here to hunt?
A spring gurgled from a low crag, their usual meeting place. Glancing around, she looked for some sign of her father.
Perhaps he has had good luck, she thought. Then she added in an under-breath, “I’ve certainly had none.” The rabbit didn’t count. It was scarcely a meal for one, and besides, it had been caught in their snares.
Setting aside her bow, she crouched by the stream and scooped up the cool water in her cupped hands, drinking greedily. Then she straightened up, licking the droplets from her lips and brushing a strand of dark hair from her eyes in a single unconsciously graceful movement.
The sun was almost touching the hilltops to the west.
Where is he? she wondered, a bit anxious. They had agreed to meet long before dark. It was not like him to be late.
The only other time he’d left her waiting at the stream was a few weeks ago when he’d been gathering wildflowers for her birth remembrance day. She’d forgotten about it. He hadn’t.
She smiled at the memory, then stiffened at a sudden noise, a strange rustling in the bushes, as if something big was creeping through the undergrowth toward her.
It didn’t sound like her father.
Instantly alert, she snatched up her bow and looked about.
As suddenly as it had come, the noise was gone.
A breeze? she thought. A breeze could rustle the bushes. But she didn’t really believe it was a breeze. Or at least she wasn’t sure of it. In the woods—her father always said—certainty keeps the hunter alive.
She slipped an arrow out of her quiver and fitted it to the bowstring.
The rustling started again, and this time there was no breeze. Then she heard a solid crack, as if a branch had been stepped upon.
A deer? Too heavy.
A boar? Too subtle.
A bear? Though they were rare in these parts.
A pair of wood pigeons burst suddenly from a tree, their wings beating in a desperate flight. The girl felt her heart fly off with them.
Suddenly something touched her on her arm and she whirled about, arrow at the ready.
“Papa!” She lowered the bow.
“Hush, Atalanta,” he said, raising a finger to his lips. “There’s something out there.” His weather-browned face creased with concern. “Something big.”
“I know,” she whispered back, realizing she did know. “I think it may be stalking me. What is it?”
His eyes narrowed, and his fingers clenched tightly around the shaft of his long hunting spear. “I don’t know. I found some spoor in the woods. Nothing I recognize.”