“How do you know all this?” Atalanta asked.
He shrugged. “I’m a royal cousin. We hear all the best gossip.”
She made a face at him. “If you’re a cousin of the royal house, shouldn’t you be sitting up there with the rest of them?”
Melanion shook his head. “They don’t actually care much for me,” he said, sweeping his unruly curls back. “They consider me a troublemaker.”
“Then go and trouble someone else,” said Atalanta, chewing on her bread. She doubted he had anything else of interest to tell.
Ignoring her, Melanion squeezed onto the bench beside her. “They say you were raised by wolves,” he said amiably.
Atalanta gazed studiously in the other direction. “Bear.”
“They say you live out in the wild and eat nothing but snakes and honey.”
This time she didn’t answer.
“They say…”
She turned on him. “They say an awful lot, don’t they.”
“I like traveling about in the wild, too,” Melanion went on. “I don’t like being cooped up in the palace. I like to get out in the mountains and the forests.”
“I don’t do it because I like it,” said Atalanta. “I do it because…” She found herself stuck for a reason he could understand, adding lamely, “…because it’s the only way I know how to live.”
Melanion’s face became serious. “It must be nice, though, not to have your father forcing you to come home, making you live up to your responsibilities.”
Atalanta felt a sudden pang of loss. “I don’t have a father. He was killed by the Arcadian Beast. And since you like traveling so much, why don’t you go!” She gave him a shove with both hands and sent him sprawling.
Undaunted, he got up and knelt beside her, suddenly serious. “I’m sorry about your father. I didn’t know. And as for going—well, that’s the very point I was getting to.” He took a deep breath and said in a rush, “I thought you might put in a good word for me with Orion. You know, get him to take me on the hunt.”
“I don’t have any good words for you,” she said, and deliberately turned her back on him. “Go and talk to him yourself.” This last she said over her shoulder.
At that moment King Iasus stood up. “A toast,” he declared, raising his cup, and all eyes turned to him. Even Atalanta’s. “To Orion, the greatest of all hunters, the savior of Arcadia.”
“Orion! Orion! Orion!” It was a tide of voices as Orion’s name passed from mouth to mouth across the hall. Cups were raised in his honor.
After swallowing a draught of the wine, King Iasus looked around at his people, a long, lingering gray-eyed gaze. “And now, brave hunters of Arcadia, which of you will accompany the great Orion on this quest?”
For a moment there was silence. Then every man in the room leaped up, yelling out his name, calling to Orion. The women applauded and threw flowers at Orion’s feet.
Orion waited, hands across his chest, till the tumult ended. Then he said, “Noble king, this beast has proved as elusive as it is deadly. If we send an army against it, it will simply run off to terrorize a different part of the kingdom. And our great force will be too encumbered to catch up.”
The king had his hand on his cheek and looked deep in thought. He nodded at Orion’s words.
“A hunt,” Orion continued, “is best carried out by a small party, a half dozen at most. They must be woods-wary and smart. They need courage, caution, and a good nose for game.”
“Then take Nicon!” someone cried. “He’s got the biggest nose.”
A laugh ran around the room and the man named Nicon made a rude gesture at his tormentor. It drew another laugh.
Atalanta ignored the others, thinking: Orion is right.
At once the Tegeans started calling out again.
“Me! Take me!” cried one man, his right arm in the air.
“I’ll go with you, Orion!” cried another, standing.
Others leaped up, too, including the large-nosed Nicon.
Orion raised both hands in the air to silence them.
“I have already chosen my hunting party,” he said. “Firstly my companions, Evenor and Atalanta.”
“A girl!” Prince Ancaeus erupted indignantly. “You refuse the army of Tegea and take a half-wild girl in its place?”
“That’s my choice,” said Orion, staring the prince down. “I judge her worthy of a place in the hunt for my own reasons. You, of course, may come also, Ancaeus, to represent the royal house of Tegea. The king has told me of your eagerness.”
This appeared to mollify the prince, who fell silent and returned to his wine.
“To complete our company we’ll be joined by Hierax, the royal huntsman,” Orion announced. He gestured toward a hawk-faced man with a gray beard who was seated a few places to his left. There was a muted cheer from around the hall, but it did nothing to disturb the grim set of Hierax’s features.
Melanion was on his feet like the rest of the Tegean men. Suddenly he vaulted onto the table in front of Atalanta, knocking her dish of fruit to the floor. “And me!” he cried.
“Get down!” Atalanta yelled at him. “You look like a fool.”
He whispered to her, “You said to talk to him myself.”
Orion looked vaguely amused. “And who might you be?”
Melanion pushed back his unruly hair once more. “Melanion, son of Amphidamas, your honor, kinsman to the king.”
“The king might as well be kinsman to a donkey!” Ancaeus bellowed disdainfully. “You empty-headed vagabond, what use are you?”
“No one knows the lay of the land like I do,” Melanion asserted confidently. “I know every rock and tree of Arcadia as well as you know the inside of a wine cup, Uncle.”
“Why you arrogant stripling!” Ancaeus roared, leaping to his feet and drawing a knife.
In one swift motion, almost too fast to see, Orion had whipped the knife out of the prince’s hand and tossed it onto the floor. “Be seated, my lord,” he said. “Remember your royal dignity.”
Ancaeus bit back his anger. Slowly he sat down again.
“I’ve been seeking out birds’ eggs and following deer trails since I was an infant,” said Melanion. “I’ve traveled from one end of Arcadia to the other and never taken the same route twice.”
“Yes, to the despair of your father,” said the king, drawing a round of good-natured laughter from his subjects.
“This land is unfamiliar to me,” Orion mused, rubbing his chin, “and a good hunter relies on good information.” He turned to Hierax. “What do you say, royal huntsman? Can the boy be of use to us?”
“It’s true he’s traveled far and wide. Poked his nose where even shrews and weasels don’t go,” Hierax answered slowly. “Blindfold him, stop up his nose and ears, he could still find his way by the feel of the ground beneath his feet.”
“Better than you, Hierax?” Orion asked.
The old huntsman took a moment to answer, glancing grimly at the king first. “I know the royal hunting grounds better than any man alive,” he said. “But outside of that, the boy knows best.”
Atalanta looked at Melanion with different eyes now. She jumped to her feet. “This mantiger is no respecter of property,” she said. “King’s land or farmer’s land is all the same to him. I say we take Melanion, too.” Then her cheeks reddened and she felt a sudden fever rushing to her brow, so she sat.
Orion laughed. “Well said, my little huntress. I was thinking the same.” He turned to Melanion. “You can come, too, boy. But understand this: You obey my commands and go nowhere unless I tell you to.”
“I shall be as obedient as a hound,” said Melanion with a bow.