Atalanta turned to Evenor and whispered, “What makes him think that patrolling the main road will keep the mantiger from their farmyards or fields?”
“Hush,” Evenor replied.
“Take me to King Iasus,” said Orion, “that I may offer my services.”
“Gladly,” Ancaeus replied. Then, as if only now noticing Atalanta and Evenor, he asked, “Who are these rustics?”
“My companions,” Orion replied.
“What—even that savage-looking girl?”
Orion laughed. “Even her.”
Ancaeus shrugged and waved them forward. “Climb aboard the chariots then.”
Orion was to ride with Prince Ancaeus of course, while Atalanta and Evenor were to be with the soldiers in the following chariots. Atalanta didn’t like the feel of the armor pressing against her or the men who looked at her as though she were some sort of rodent who had sneaked up between their feet.
The chariot started with a lurch, wheeling about so sharply, she almost fell out. She had to cling to the light wicker frame as the leather straps that formed the floor swayed beneath her feet.
Down the wide road they sped, the horses kicking up dust. Atalanta bit her lip to keep from crying out. Her stomach felt as if it had fallen into her knees and was slowly trying to climb back to its proper place again. It was a long, uncomfortable ride, but the walk would have been longer. Atalanta wasn’t sure which she preferred.
At last Tegea came into view.
Atalanta had never seen a city before. When she bothered to imagine one at all, she’d always assumed a city would look just like the villages she was familiar with, only with more cottages.
The reality was quite different.
A ten-foot-high wall surrounded a mass of brick buildings, many of them two and three stories tall. As the chariots passed through a gateway, armored guards atop the wall saluted.
“Hail, Ancaeus!” they cried.
In the streets people looked down at them from high windows and balconies. Some even walked on the rooftops as though they were walking on the clouds.
Surely this is what Olympus must look like, Atalanta thought, the place where the gods live.
They passed grain stores, smithies, bakeries, wine stores, stables, carpentries, and scores of other buildings she couldn’t begin to identify. Wagons had to be wheeled out of the way as the chariots threaded through the crowded streets. Then the chariots turned onto an even wider street at the end of which rose an enormous building which had to be the royal palace.
Surely, she thought, it’s the biggest thing ever built by man.
The palace was surrounded by a great wall. It had high towers and ramparts patrolled by stern-looking men in polished bronze armor with huge shields and long spears. The closer the chariots came to the palace, the more impregnable the place seemed.
At last, they pulled through the gates and into the palace courtyard. When she climbed down from the chariot, Atalanta felt her legs wobble unsteadily.
“Why have they put a wall around the city?” she asked Evenor once the queasiness in her stomach had passed. “Is it to keep the people from wandering away and getting lost?”
“Of course not,” he answered with a laugh.
Atalanta was peeved at his response. “Well, that’s why they pen in the sheep and goats back in Eteos.”
“The wall isn’t to keep people in,” Evenor explained patiently. “It’s to keep Tegea’s enemies out.”
“What sort of enemies?”
“Soldiers from another kingdom.”
She gaped at him. “There are other kingdoms? Surely not as large as this.”
“Larger,” he assured her.
“Have you been there?”
He laughed. “I’ve never even been here.”
She wondered that he was so calm about everything—the ride, the armored men, the high wall. Then another thought struck her. “Why would other kingdoms want to come here?”
He smiled at her and said softly, “Rival cities are like great bulls. Each one wants to control all the territory. So every so often they attack one another. That’s why Tegea has walls.”
She nodded thoughtfully, then said, “If the kingdoms could agree not to attack one another, they could save themselves a lot of bother.”
Evenor put his head to one side, considering. “A queen couldn’t have said better, child.”
Just then Orion walked over, looking both proud and confident. “They’re giving us quarters right in the palace where we can wash up before being presented to the king.”
“Doesn’t he know that you get dirty traveling in a chariot?” Atalanta asked.
“Hush,” Evenor cautioned, but he was smiling.
Orion paid her no attention for he was already following Prince Ancaeus into the palace. Atalanta and Evenor had to move quickly so as not to be left behind.
The inside of the palace was even more astonishing than the outside. Atalanta found herself thinking how cold and unforgiving the white marble floors were for someone used to the softness of grass or the straw-strewn earth floor of a farmer’s cottage. The walls of the palace were also of smooth stone, but these were painted in bright colors. Every few feet oil lanterns set in alcoves gave out a weak, flickering light.
Suddenly the men were guided in one direction and Atalanta was taken in hand by two women—servants by the way they fluttered about—who insisted she go with them.
“Or trouble be on our heads, mistress,” confided the younger.
They brought her up two flights of stairs to a small chamber with a window that overlooked the courtyard, then left. Atalanta ran over to the window, glad of the open air. Glancing down, she saw the horses being led off to the stables, the chariots rolled off into storage. There was no way down from the window. It was too high to jump.
I am here, then, so make the best of it, she told herself. It was certainly better than being chained to a pillar in the middle of a village. But somehow it felt even more imprisoning.
She turned and went over to the bed, a high mound of straw on a wooden platform. She set her weapons down on the linen coverlet where they sank into the thing as if into quicksand. She scowled. Imagine sleeping on that!
Suddenly someone giggled behind her. She whirled around to see three new serving girls bustle into the room with bowls of water, towels, combs, and other implements she didn’t recognize. The girls put these items down on the wooden table and surrounded Atalanta, clucking disapprovingly.
“We’d better get these dirty animal skins off,” said one.
“And do something about this,” trilled another, plucking at Atalanta’s matted hair.
The third tutted. “It’s going to take more than that to make this one presentable. Where does the king find them?”
Atalanta pushed them away.
“Keep your hands off me!” she roared, whipping out her hunting knife. “Get out! Now!” She slashed the air with her blade.
The servant girls ran screaming from the room, calling for the guards. Closing the door behind them, Atalanta went back to the window.
In a few minutes Evenor came rushing in and looked at the knife in her hand. “What’s going on?” he asked. “I hear you tried to murder somebody.”
“They attacked me,” said Atalanta stubbornly. “They picked at my hair and poked me and…”
Evenor grinned. “I expect they were just trying to clean you up. Look, here’s a bowl and cloth. Pretend you’re by a stream and wash the dirt off your face and arms. Let the girls come back and help you get dressed.”
“Why should I?” Atalanta demanded sullenly.
“Because you want to go on the hunt,” Evenor answered.
“What does washing have to do with the hunt?” She felt hungry and angry and tired all in equal measure.