Meanwhile, on the other side of the forest, Aries was feeling much less bold than he had done earlier that afternoon. Standing in the Grand Hall of the Heroes’ Pavilion, he peered at his reflection in one of the shields tossed down by the Argonauts on their way to the Banqueting Hall, trying to screw up enough courage to pull open the door and march in.
But it wasn’t easy.
Partly because, unlike typical Greek heroes, rams can’t dress like champions: those horsehair-plumed helmets slip down their muzzles whilst greaves stop them bending their legs.
But mostly it was because of Alex.
Blinking back a tear, Aries remembered the day they’d met. Having been chased through the forest by five whooping Spartan boys, he’d become tangled in the rose bushes outside the zoo. The boys gathered around him, aiming their catapults at his bottom. Not that that was unusual. Being teased and ridiculed was something that happened every day to Aries; no, what was unusual that day was that someone had stood up for him. Hearing the boys’ jeers, Alex strode out of the zoo, seized the leader of the gang by his red cloak and dangled him upside down to demonstrate exactly what it felt like to be bullied.
The boys fled into the trees while Alex prised Aries from the branches. He’d spent hours gently pulling the thorns from his skin and cheering him up. And he’d been his best friend ever since.
Until today.
Aries flinched as another wave of coarse laughter spilled from the Banqueting Hall, chilling him like a cold tide. Shuddering, he drew himself up to his full height, braced his shoulders and took a deep breath, staring harder into the shield to try and prepare his warrior mind.
In.
If he squinted until he was almost cross-eyed and stuck out his lower lip, he could still make out the gold speckles on his muzzle and a shimmer across his brow.
Out.
Except that squinting his eyes and sticking out his lower lip made him look completely ridiculous…
He heard a snort and turned to see the bowsprit giggling.
“You’ll splinter my grain if you carry on!” she wheezed.
Aries eyed her coldly. “If you don’t mind,” he said, sounding much more confident than he felt, “I am preparing myself.”
The bowsprit burst into laughter, making the sound of a chainsaw gnawing through damp wood.
“What for?” she said. “A gurning7 competition?”
Aries slumped.
He’d never felt more alone.
Why couldn’t Alex see how important it was for him to compete? Why wouldn’t he help him this afternoon? And what if he actually won? How would he cope up on Earth? A giant ram without a friend? A friend with hands who could open doors and write things down, a friend with hands to stroke your ears when you felt alone and frightened.
Like now.
He forced himself to walk towards the doors of the Banquet Hall. Grasping hold of the iron ring in his mouth, he tugged the door open, flinching against the surge of noise of singing and shouting and clapping and cheering. Swallowing hard, he stepped inside.
The Banqueting Hall was magnificent.
Crafted from marble, two long lines of majestic pillars ran down either side of the hall to support its ceiling. This was painted with scenes from the Argonauts’ voyage: the ship slicing between the Clashing Rocks, Atalanta shooting a flock of harpies with her arrows and, coiling all around the base of the roof, a life-size portrait of Drako. However, being evening, the ceiling paintings were blotted by darkness, which hardly mattered since the Argonauts and their guests didn’t give a fig for art – particularly in the middle of a party.
Slamming beer tankards together, slapping each other on the back, singing, shouting and slumping face down in their food? Yes.
Art? No.
Freshly disgusted by them, Aries peeled a hoof from the beer-sticky floor and began picking his way around the edge of the room, careful to stay hidden in the shadows between the pillars and the rows of tables. Firelight from the braziers8 flickered over the Argonauts’ ruddy faces, their shiny noses and greedy smiles.
Around him Aries could smell the mingled aromas of roast meat, woodsmoke and something so sour that he decided it could only be the Argonauts’ feet and armpits. He sniffed again. Yes, he decided, it was just as stinky, mean and grubby as they were.
In front of him, Mopsus, the Argonaut who could speak to animals, slouched against a bedraggled wolf hound. Beside him, Tiphys lay face down in his stuffed pheasant and clearly, Aries decided, helmsman or not, hardly likely to be steering anything anytime soon. Taking a few steps forwards, Aries concentrated his disgust on a row of singing men lurching from side to side on a nearby bench, and as they roared into their chorus he glimpsed Athena sitting at the high table, which was set on a low platform in the centre of the room.
The goddess sat back, resplendent in her white floor-length chiton, her waist criss-crossed with silver cords, her helmet, spear and shield lying at her sandaled feet. She looked fresh-faced and thoughtful, nodding in time to the lyre music, her dark hair plaited over her left shoulder, making a soft nest for her faithful owl9. Beside her, Jason sat back, smoothing his hair into place. Next was Theseus, dark-haired and craggily handsome, all gold and glittery wearing the bronze armour he’d worn to kill the Minotaur. (You could tell it was the same outfit because of the twin horn-shaped dinks in the breastplate and an enormous hoof-print in the helmet that no amount of buffing could ever smooth out.) Herakles, the strongest man in the world, sprawled beside him, taking up three spaces. Draped in the pelt of the lion of Nemea he’d killed, its open maw crowned his pumpkin-shaped head as he lurched drunkenly, reaching for goblet after goblet of wine and dribbling it into his beard. Atalanta was dressed, as always, in her archery clothes. She moved her chair away from Herakles to whisper something to Orpheus, the Argonaut who’d played the lyre aboard the Argo to keep the Argonauts rowing in time.
Bracing his shoulders, Aries pushed his way towards them. It was unfortunate, though, that owing to the width of his horns and the narrow gap between the tables, he dragged the tablecloths either side with him, sending pots, candles and flasks of wine clattering to the floor in a cascade of shattering clay and furious shouts. Undeterred, he stomped up to the competitors’ table, despite having a tablecloth hanging from each horn.
Jason regarded him in disgust, his mouth a perfect ‘O’. The musicians twanged to a halt. And the crowd started to laugh.
Tossing the sheets furiously to the floor, Aries noticed Athena rise to her feet and step forwards, regarding him with cool grey eyes, and he quickly lowered his head, bowing clumsily.
“Majesty,” he murmured.
“Ram?” Athena’s voice was soft and interested. She looked brightly around the wide-eyed onlookers. “What is your business here tonight?”
Aries opened his mouth to speak but another gruffer voice boomed out instead.
“Hish business?” it said thickly, slurred with ale. “I think I sh-tepped in it on the way in!”
At which the crowd dissolved into furious laughter.
“Silence!” Athena slammed her foot down impatiently. “Much as I love a good fight, I will have order! Aries, explain why you are here!”
Aries took a deep breath. “I’m putting myself forward for the challenge!”
For a few seconds there was a stunned silence as several ale-fuddled brains tried to make sense of what they’d just heard.
Then Jason leaped up onto the table, and looked around the crowd’s bemused faces. “Is it just me,” he said, “or did anyone else just hear Aries say that he is going to compete against the Argonauts?”
At which the room erupted into laughter again. Everywhere Aries looked the Argonauts and their friends stood, clutching their bellies and doubling over with laughter, wheezing for breath. Herakles slapped Orpheus on the back and sent him flying onto the floor, where he sat in a heap giggling. Atalanta dabbed away tears from laughing so hard.
“It’s the funniest thing I’ve heard in years!” gasped Jason between gulps of laughter.
“I don’t see why,” said Athena sharply.
The laughter died away immediately.
“Athena?” Jason frowned. “You are joking aren’t you?”
“No,” said Athena coolly. “When I joke, Jason, I laugh. And look at my face. Is it laughing?”
It wasn’t, thought Aries, brightening. In fact, it looked completely unamused and goddess-frosty.
Pursing his lips, Jason stepped down off the table and slumped back into his seat. He folded his arms moodily across his chest. “But he’s something out of a farmyard,” he muttered. “He’s just a common sheep.”
“I am not!” protested Aries.
“Oh, really?” said Jason, raising one perfect eyebrow. “You’ve got four hooves and a silly face, haven’t you? Not like me.”
“No,” said Aries. “You don’t have four hooves.”
Jason lunged at Aries.
“Gentlemen!” scolded Athena. She waited as Jason sat down again and for the crowd to sink into absolute silence before continuing. “I would like to point out that the rules of my competition clearly state—”
A loud muttering, peppered with grunts and grumbling, rose from the back of the room and, frowning at being interrupted yet again, Athena peered out across the heads of the Argonauts and their guests as they appeared to part around someone smaller who was making their way towards her. A few moments later, Alex emerged, red-faced from running, elbowing his way through the swaying men. Wiping the sweat from his brow he knelt down beside Aries and patted the ram’s shoulders.
“You’ve changed your mind!” squealed Aries, beaming.
Now, Aries reassured himself, everything would be all right because Alex always knew the best words to reason with people so he could tell Athena exactly why Aries should be allowed to enter.
Athena peered down. “It’s Alex, isn’t it?” she said.
Alex bowed his head before meeting Athena’s level gaze. “Majesty.”
“So,” said Athena. She regarded him quizzically. “Tell me! What do you think of your friend’s request?”
Aries stuck his muzzle in the air, feeling a surge of confidence rise from his hooves to his horns as he waited for Alex to reply.
“I’ve come to take him home,” said Alex flatly.
Aries stared wordlessly at Alex, his surge no more than a cold dribble of dismay, as the room burst into fresh whoops of laughter and spite.
“Well,” said Athena, raising her voice to be heard. “I’m sorry to hear that because you’re too late!”
“Too late, ma’am?” said Alex.
“Yes,” said Athena. “Because what I had been about to say when I was so rudely interrupted was that my rules clearly state that anyone who was on Kolkis that night can enter, and since Aries was there he’s as entitled as tonight’s other contenders.”
Aries blinked. He held his head up high and looked around at the astonished faces of the Argonauts made stupid by the surprise or, as he would have told you, practice.
“Besides,” she added, “Aries will liven things up a bit, won’t he? After all, the heroes,” she said, waving at the competitors seated behind her, “never make mistakes, do they? They never break their legs or gouge out their eyeballs. In fact, they do nothing for us to laugh at, at all. But a ram on an assault course? That’s more like it!”
Aries jerked his head back to look at her, feeling his forelegs wobble with the meanness of her words. Glancing across at Alex he could see the shock on the boy’s face, too. Why did no one believe in him? He hunched down and scrunched his eyes closed for a moment. It would be so easy, he thought, to listen to Alex, to turn around and trot meekly back to his stable and sink his nose into a bucket of olives. But how would he live with himself the next day? And the day after that? Stuffed with olives and regret?
So, instead he opened his eyes and lifted his shoulders, watching Athena as she drew her red velvet cloak around her shoulders and stepped down from the stage. She turned towards the open doors that led out to the gardens and the lake.
“Let the competition begin!”
7. Gurning is an old English tradition in which people scrunch up their faces, pull their lower lip over their top one, puff out their cheeks and cross their eyes. Then they look a bit like your teacher.
8. Braziers are metal baskets that hold fire. They are not to be confused with brassieres, which are items of ladies’ underwear and, although they sound similar, do not keep straw burning nearly as well.
9. Greek gods and goddesses often had birds with them, a bit like pirates with parrots, but not nearly as much fun. Each bird symbolised what the god it belonged to was famous for: Aphrodite, goddess of love, owned a fluffy-wuffy dove; Zeus, the king, an eagle; and Athena, being wise, an owl, although what is wise about twisting your head all the way round like a lighthouse beacon and staying up all night to catch and eat mice is beyond me.