“A female?” she asked again, her uncertainty clear in those two words.
“Or a male bringing back food to its mate,” Evenor said.
The thought that there were two of the creatures—and maybe more—made them all shudder, and sweat suddenly sprang up on either side of Phreneus’ beaked nose.
At last they came to the largest village in the region, Mylonas, where the great fairs were held and where people from all the surrounding villages gathered to trade with one another.
Atalanta had been twice to Mylonas with her father and had hated every minute of it.
There were no fairs or festivities going on now. Instead the same air of fear that they’d met in other villages hung over the houses.
They were welcomed by the headman, Labrius, an old friend of Evenor’s. He was gray haired, and looked to be about sixty, but still had the lean strength of one who’d spent his life laboring in the fields from dawn till dusk.
“We’ve come about a strange beast that’s been terrorizing the villages around here,” Evenor began.
“Come, come, my friends,” said Labrius. “I make it a policy never to discuss difficult business on an empty stomach.” He led them to his cottage, a large stone house with four rooms in a semicircle around an open courtyard.
Evenor, Atalanta, and Phreneus joined him and his two sons at a table in the courtyard, where his wife served them with a sweet red wine poured from a large jar called a krater, and bowls filled with fresh stewed vegetables.
Atalanta didn’t wait for an invitation, but straightaway started on her food.
The men laughed at her, but they began to eat as well. Labrius waited until they were almost done before allowing anyone to speak.
Finally he leaned back in his chair, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “So, my friend Evenor, what makes you leave your wife and children to come here?”
Evenor began telling him the story of their hunt, of the death of Atalanta’s father, the maiming of Goryx, and all of the tales of carnage in the villages and farms between Eteos and Mylonas. He was careful to praise Atalanta, her skills, her heroics.
Occasionally Phreneus interrupted to add more to the story, usually elaborating on the bloodier parts.
Having learned her lesson in Phylos, Atalanta didn’t interrupt but instead had a second helping of the stew.
Labrius listened intently, nodding more than once to show that he understood. When Evenor finished, Labrius leaned forward in his chair.
“We, too, have lately had our share of misfortunes,” he said. “Hardly any deer or boar this winter, then a sudden surplus of them. And now—goats and cattle taken. But the worst came two nights ago. Echthenes heard his cows bellowing with fear. ‘A bear,’ he told his wife, before running out with his spear to protect them. He was a good huntsman, Echthenes. The best.” Labrius’ eyes were suddenly moist, but he didn’t cry. “We found his mangled body in the midst of six dead cows, the broken spear by his side. The cows were all partially eaten, but he wasn’t, which was a small blessing. At least we could bury him. The bite marks on his back and spear arm were enormous, much too deep and wide spaced for a bear.”
For a moment there was silence at the table, then one of Labrius’ sons—a stoop-shouldered man of thirty, spoke. “Passing travelers have told us the same stories from all over Arcadia. Whatever this monster is, it’s spreading terror throughout the whole kingdom.”
The other son, handsome where his brother was plain, added, “It’s said King Iasus is assembling a party to hunt the beast down.”
“Who’s King Iasus?” Atalanta whispered to Phreneus, who was sitting on her right.
“King of Arcadia,” Phreneus whispered back. “Though I for one have never seen him.”
What’s the use in having a king if you never see him? Atalanta thought, though she didn’t say it aloud. Instead she reached for some black-skinned olives.
“This is a curse sent by the gods,” Labrius’ stern-faced wife declared loudly. She thumped a jug onto the table to emphasize her point.
A long silence greeted her.
At last Atalanta spoke. “What have the gods to do with it?”
The old woman scowled down at her. “Think, girl, think. When a crime has gone unpunished by men, the gods will send a punishment of their own.”
“Now, now, Iole,” Labrius cautioned her, “we’ll have no talk of crimes and punishment here.”
Iole snorted and placed her hands on her hips. “What do you know, old man? You sit all day with your cronies and drink wine and it muddles what few wits you have left. Perhaps someone unknown to us has insulted the gods…” Before she could go on, there was a shrill uproar from the center of the village.
Atalanta could make out cries of panic. “Run!” she heard. “Run or you’ll die!”
She grabbed up her bow, and Evenor and Phreneus took up their spears. Then the three of them ran toward the sound of the cries, Labrius and his sons right after them.
“Is it the beast?” Atalanta shouted as they ran.
“In the village center? In daylight?” Evenor replied. “Surely not.”
But Atlanta thought, I have seen the creature. It would dare anything.
They pulled aside to avoid the fleeing people. Behind the runners a cloud of dust billowed up and from it came a ferocious bellowing.
“That’s not the monster,” Atalanta said, turning to Evenor. “He roars.”
“Roar, bellow—it’s all the same,” said Labrius, having caught up with them.
“Papa, you’re too old…” said the stoop-shouldered son.
“Get back,” his other son said at the same time.
Just then the cause of the commotion came into view. It was a bull, kicking and snorting and tossing its head from side to side, its sharp horns hooking through the air. It was in a murderous fury. Behind it one man already lay dead, two others cringed, wounded, against a wall. Broken pots, ripped baskets, and a table with its legs broken, lay in the bull’s path.
“That’s Gallo’s best bull,” Labrius said. “It must have broken free of its enclosure.”
Atalanta stared at the crazed beast. “It looks in pain.”
The bull lunged at one of the wounded men, who managed to crawl around the overturned table. Losing sight of its prey, the beast turned away and charged to the other side of the square, snorting. It stamped its hooves against the stones of the village well, knocking half of it into rubble.
Licking her lips, Atalanta took an arrow from her quiver and set it into her bow. Where is a vital spot? she wondered, knowing that just wounding the bull would only madden it further.
“Hold a minute,” said Evenor, who clearly had had the same thought.
Atalanta lowered the bow.
Labrius cried out, “But we have to save them or there’ll be more dead this day.”
Hearing their voices, the bull lifted its great head, its small eyes reddened with pain. It pawed the ground three times, then lowered its head and started toward them.
Atalanta lifted the bow again, thinking that they no longer had a choice. She pulled back on the bowstring and was just sighting on the beast’s eye, when a huge hand pushed her gently aside.
“Be careful, girl,” came a rich, confident voice “That’s a mighty big bow you have there. Better leave this to me.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
THE CHALLENGE
THE SPEAKER STRODE PAST Atalanta and Evenor, tossing a pair of lances and a heavy pack to the ground. He was the biggest man Atalanta had ever seen, a full head and shoulders taller than Evenor. His long black hair was tied back in a knot and his black beard was cropped short. He wore a deerskin tunic that must have taken the hides of three stags, and a lion skin cloak draped over his shoulders. His muscles bunched alarmingly.
The bull sighted this new threat, bellowed again, and charged.