Atalanta and the Arcadian Beast

CHAPTER NINE

THE VILLAGE

THEY MADE IT TO Eteos by midmorning of the next day. Atalanta had had to endure a night tied up. The men were taking no chances of her escaping.

I can wait, she thought. I can outlast them.

Eteos was a small huddle of three dozen mud brick-and-thatch houses around a central square in which stood a herm, a pillar with a stone head of Hermes at the top, for prosperity and fertility. The whole place was less than half a hectare. To Atalanta, it looked crowded and unhealthy.

The men dragged her into the square and leashed her to the pillar like an animal, then left.

I won’t cry, she told herself. And indeed, she was so furious, she only glowered like a captured beast.

In the course of the afternoon, everyone in Eteos must have come out for a look. They stared at her and spoke about her as if she could not hear them or understand. The children were the worst. They seemed to make a game out of calling her names.

“Wolf girl,” they cried. “Wild boar.” And, “Pan’s baby sister.” When there were no grown-ups around, the children also hurled stones and handfuls of dirt at her just to see her snarl. Then they’d jump back, squealing and laughing, from her snapping teeth and grasping hands. For of course she couldn’t reach them. A stout leather collar had been strapped around her neck and fastened shut with bronze studs. The collar was fixed to a length of thick rope that was wound around the pillar and tied with a whole string of knots that were too tight for Atalanta to work free without the help of a knife. Tethered like a wild animal, she began to act the part. At least that way she made the children keep their distance.

She knew that all she had to do to get free of the collar, the rope, the humiliations, was to talk to the people of Eteos, to let them know she was as human as they. But that would have been a defeat. For if they knew that she was one of them, that her father was dead, they would make her stay. Make her live in the village.

I can take anything, she thought, but that.

As the sun started down, Atalanta slumped against the post. An old woman, dressed in a frog-green garment with a bundle of kindling on her back, stopped to cluck and shake her head at the ragged captive.

“Poor child,” she said through broken teeth. “Poor child.”

Atalanta growled at her and the old woman left, still shaking her head.

Then two boys appeared, elbowing each other and laughing.

“Go on,” said one, “go closer.”

“No, she might eat me,” his friend protested with a giggle.

Egging each other on, they edged toward her, smirking and chuckling.

“Hoi—wild child!” the braver one called.

Atalanta remained motionless, not even looking at them, pretending that she was half asleep.

Just let them come within reach and they’ll find out how wild I really am, she thought. She’d pay them back for their taunts with broken noses and split lips. A few more feet…

“Get away from there!” boomed a familiar voice. “Leave the girl in peace! She’s not hurting you.”

At the sight of Evenor striding toward them, the boys took off, disappearing among the mud brick cottages. Atalanta opened one eye and peeked after them. Then, smelling food, she sat up.

Evenor approached her without fear, but he was careful to stay outside the measure of her rope. He set a pair of painted pottery bowls on the ground near her. One was filled with water while the other contained pieces of dried fruit, some scraps of salted meat, and a half loaf of old bread that had been softened in olive oil.

“I’ll bring you some blankets to keep you warm tonight,” he said, looking up at the darkening sky. “It’s getting cold again. This summer seems so unpredictable. At least it shouldn’t rain.”

She didn’t answer him. The villagers knew nothing about her. Nothing! Not even that she could talk.

“No one will have you in their home, you see,” Evenor went on, speaking to her as if she understood him but clearly believing she did not. It was just the way she talked to Urso. “No more than they would a wolf or a wild boar. My wife is of the same mind, and I suppose I can’t blame her. We’ve the children to consider.”

He sat on his haunches and waited while Atalanta stuffed the food into her mouth by the handful. While she ate, she stared at the long scar that ran down his right arm, willing him to explain it to her.

As if he understood, Evenor pointed to the scar. “It was a boar I thought dead did this,” he said. “I got too close and he’d just enough life left to pay me back for killing him. It just goes to show, you can’t be too careful when you’re dealing with wild things.” He winked at her.

She refused to wink back. Let him guess, she thought. Let him try and guess. She would not help.

Instead, she finished her meal and pushed the bowls away. She would eat his food to keep up her strength, but she wouldn’t thank him for it.

Evenor sighed and gathered up the empty bowls. “I’ll be back with the blankets, as I promised.” He left, going into one of the mud-brick houses.

He kept his promise, bringing out two threadbare pieces of cloth that scarcely covered her middle. But he didn’t come to see her the next day. She guessed that he’d gone off hunting. Or to work in the fields with a long, curved scythe cutting grain. She’d seen some of the men head to the fields. Atalanta was amazed to find she missed him.

A woman—probably Evenor’s wife—came out of the same house and set down bowls of food and water within Atalanta’s reach before hurrying away.

Some children gathered around while she ate. They started calling her names, but Atalanta bided her time. As soon as they ventured close enough, she let fly with the water bowl. She caught one boy on the side of his head breaking the bowl in the process. He ran off howling for his mother, blood streaming down his neck.

She was glad when night came, and she could settle down under her thin blankets. This time she slipped almost immediately into a deep sleep.

Something rough and wet rubbing against her cheek woke her. Opening her eyes blearily, she saw a bulk looming dark against the quarter moon.

“Urso,” she whispered.

He stopped licking her face and gave her a wide bear grin.

Rubbing her face against his neck, she made a soft growling sound, assuring him that she was all right. His answering growl was a lot deeper and louder, like the rumble of nearby thunder.

“Quiet, boy. There may be folks awake yet,” she whispered to him. “How is your paw?” She pointed at it.

He held up his right foot. It seemed neither swollen nor scarred.

“Good. I’m glad of that,” she told him. “Now I need help.”

She showed him the rope, and he understood at once that it tethered her to the stake. Digging his claws into it, he ripped the fibers apart shred by shred. When the last few cords snapped, Atalanta jumped to her feet. She took hold of the leather collar and tried to pull it loose, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Time for that later,” she said.

He gave her another rumbling answer. Then, all at once, he reared up on his hind legs and sniffed the air. His head tilted, his lip curled to expose the fangs on the left side of his maw.

Atalanta knew what that meant.

Danger!