THE SKIN ON my arms prickles as I watch the Colchians approach. Except for Orpheus who lingers back, the crew has fallen into formation behind and beside me and Jason. As well-trained vigiles they do not draw their weapons, but their hands rest on the hilts of their swords waiting to receive the command to fight. We are eleven to their four, but if each of those spears finds its mark, four of us standing here with neither shield nor breastplate for protection will finish this voyage in Hades’s Chasm. I nudge Jason and indicate him to say something.
“We are here peacefully,” Jason calls out. I personally think it the lamest speech of introduction ever made, but it seems to do the trick as I see the man in front grin.
“Good,” says the smirking man whose amber eyes glint through the eye holes in his helmet. He removes the headpiece and loosens his flattened auburn hair with a few rubs of his hand. “We’re in no mood to fight. Come down. Join us.”
“They seem friendly,” Jason says to me. I offer him a look of reproach in response.
“Friendly men don’t approach fully armed.”
Jason sighs and brushes the seat of his tunic. I recognize his dithering expression, the one he assumes when he is unsure of what to do.
“Fine,” he says before shouting to the men below. “Will you lay down your arms? We’ve had a few unfriendly welcomes of late.”
With a single gesture from the man in front, the others take off their sword belts and place their spears and shields on top of the pile.
“No unfriendly welcome here,” the amber-eyed man says holding out his hands as if to show he is hiding nothing.
“Stay here,” I say to the crew. “Jason and I will go down. If you see any hint of trouble, set sail immediately.” Jason’s face fills with nervous worry. “Okay,” I say in a conciliatory tone, “rescue us and then set sail immediately.”
A small row boat lowers me and Jason into the water. With the incoming tide it takes only a few light strokes of the oars to reach the shore where three of the band steady the boat as we climb out. This close I realize the fourth person is a woman who now struggles with untangling strands of strawberry blonde hair from her helmet. I smile at the concentration on her fine face; it is the same look Penelope gets when trying to sort out a miscalculated sum in the household budget.
“My name is Phrixus and these are my brothers Argus and Melas.” He steps past them and slips his arm around the slim waist of the woman who has finally freed her tresses of the helmet. “And this is my wife, Glauce.”
“Phrixus?” Jason asks, disturbing the man from gazing into his wife’s eyes.
“Not the Phrixus, his son by Chalciope, daughter of Aeetes. I govern the northern portion of Colchis Bay.”
“Just as your father did after his mother brought him to Colchis,” Jason says, his voice filled with awe. Although I remind myself to tease my cousin about his reverential manner later, I can’t blame him for his wonder. We are after all standing face-to-face with the children of one of Osteria’s greatest and most recent legends, but I will not stand with my jaw gaping; I must make my own introductions.
“This is Jason, Prince of Illamos Valley, son of Aeson, and great-grandson of Hermes,” I say proudly.
Phrixus and his brothers, clearly not impressed, give a polite bow of greeting.
“We heard you were coming,” Phrixus says. Jason cocks an eyebrow in curiosity, but I give a skeptical scowl. “Don’t look so surprised. The gods don’t oversee this kingdom, but sea nymphs, including my grandmother Nephele and grand-aunt Perseis, regularly visit these waters. And when they do, they can’t resist spreading the gossip they’ve heard from Poseidon.”
“And what do the gossiping gods have to say?” I ask. I can’t put a point on it, but there is something about this Phrixus I don’t like. Were matters different, had Demos not changed to a democracy after deposing the twins of Ino, he would be rightful king of Demos. Now, although he is nothing but a Colchian guard, he acts as if we should bow to him, that we should willingly accept anything he says. And like a man of court, he takes too much pride in dropping names and being the possessor of tidbits of gossip.
“That you plan on taking the pelt of my grandmother - the pelt Aeetes has sworn to never give up. He’s gone almost mad at times for fear of it disappearing. In truth, I do think he may be mad. Did you know he offered half a year’s tax income to an engineer from Athenos to install a camera to watch the pelt even when he’s not near it?”
“Can you help us get the pelt?” I ask before he can continue. His amber eyes lock on mine, challenging me, but I’m no blushing maid and don’t look away.
“I’m willing to help you get into the castle and to meet with Aeetes. Getting the pelt will be up to you.”
“Why? You would be betraying your king, your own grandfather for that matter.”
The arrogance in Phrixus’s face softens to worry. He looks to Glauce who gives him an encouraging nod. The way she looks at her husband, the way she touches his hand to reassure him, the way he smiles at her as if they share a secret no one in the world will ever know makes me long for Penelope more than I already do. She had gone to Seattica to visit her parents only weeks before I left to serve my vigile duty in Portaceae, not long before the situation with the Areans reached a boiling point. It has been over a month since I’ve seen her, touched her, made love to her. Seeing the loving couple in front of me ignites a sudden urgency to collect Penelope and take her to our home in Illamos Valley. I want nothing more than to be with my wife, to tend my plot of grapes and to live our lives in peace. But for now, there is this task I must help my cousin see to completion.
“Aeetes’s only concern is that pelt,” Phrixus says. “Before the pelt came he was already obsessively protective of this kingdom and spent a good portion of the budget on defense. Now, he spends every extra drachar to protect the castle and the pelt. No money goes toward providing for his people, educating them or protecting them from the small crimes that affect our daily lives. He will allow no citizen of the kingdom to leave for fear we will give away some Colchian secret. And even if you can get away, the abuses he has permitted on the centaurs and satyrs in the area has made it dangerous to even venture beyond the walls without a retinue of vigiles. We want a better life.” Glauce’s hands drift to her belly. It is still flat, but I recognize the protective gesture of an expectant mother. “I’m hoping if the pelt is gone, Aeetes will no longer feel the need to guard us so strongly. Or that he may just die of the shock so his son, Aby, can rule with a gentler and more reasonable hand.”
“So how do we get it?” Jason asks. “Drug him?”
“Not wise. He’s paranoid. He has tasters for his food, and drinks only from his private stores. Besides, even if he was passed out drunk, there’s the dragon to contend with.”
Jason’s shoulders slump; the slight boost of confidence he had won from guiding us through the Needle is obliterated by Phrixus’s news.
“Fire-breathing or just foul-tempered?” I ask. The group casts an incredulous look over me as if they don’t realize this is the deciding factor on whether a dragon can be conquered or not. “Fire hurts. It hurts quite badly in fact. Foul moods can be dealt with.”
“The dragon is only half the problem. The camera sends its feed directly into Aeetes’s bedchamber. Every chance he has, he checks to see what’s happening on the screen. It’s an obsession that is consuming him. Even though he knows his dragon would never let anyone but him near the pelt, when the sun is too weak to power the camera, Aeetes can’t sleep and his moods are worse than an angry sea nymph’s. During stormy weather, all Colchians know to stay clear of him.”
“Is there any way to get the pelt? To even get into the castle?” Jason asks, leaving my dragon question annoyingly unanswered.
“Take me with you,” Phrixus states.
Glauce turns on her husband. “No, I don’t want you going to the castle.”
Phrixus angles Glauce away from us and the two whisper a brief argument of which I can only catch something about a dog and the name Medea from Glauce’s lips that have hardened into a straight line. To this, Phrixus fervently shakes his head. After a few more exchanges, Glauce gives a reluctant nod and Phrixus kisses her on the cheek. In little time, the two are holding hands and turning to face us.
“As I said, take me with you.” Again the cockiness, this time of a man who thinks no woman can refuse his requests. I’d like to see him try to win a debate with Penelope.
“How will that help?” I ask.
“Aeetes won’t let you within a mile of his castle if you just show up at the gates. If I’m with you he’ll trust – no, not trust, trust is not in Aeetes’s vocabulary. With me by your side, you can get through the gates and into his court. If you can’t get that far there’s no way you’ll get to the pelt. Besides, you won’t even make it through the gates if you don’t have me as a guide.”
“Then welcome aboard,” Jason says as I roll my eyes at this Colchian’s arrogance.
Phrixus removes his chest plate then reattaches the scabbard and belt at his waist. As Glauce waves farewell and her brothers-in-law collect their weapons and helmets, Phrixus, Jason and I squeeze into the row boat. Despite his lineage, Phrixus is lower in class and rank than both me and Jason. I’m tempted to pull rank and order him to man the oars, but I decide provoking him isn’t worth the effort, so I row us back to the ship where we’re hoisted back on board.
The moment he steps on deck, Phrixus gives a judgmental scan of the Argoa and its crew. In his assessment, he seems to instantly recognize the man who captains the ship and leaves Jason and me without a word to stride over to Perseus. This should be entertaining, I think. Clearly Perseus takes great pride in his ship and his skills at sea. What will he make of this man who acts like he knows everything?
“You want to center up so you’re in the middle of the bay,” Phrixus orders Perseus. I watch with amusement as Perseus bristles at the Colchian’s demanding suggestion. The Docklander’s face pinches so tight I wonder how he manages to speak.
“I know how to steer a ship.”
“Not here you don’t. You need to be centered to enter the gates. Too far on either side and you’ll get caught in the wake. I personally would prefer not to drown today.”
“Wake?” Perseus asks and I curse him for the doubt that slips into his voice. Doubt that will allow Phrixus to show off.
“You’ll see,” Phrixus says.
Their shoulders already aching from the passage through the Needle, the crew groans their complaints at the command to take up the oars once again, but the surrounding cliffs protect the bay making the water calm and the sails useless. Unless we plan to spend half the day bobbing our way to the gates on the incoming tide, the oars will have to come out once more. Perseus, with annoyed distaste stamped on his face, works with Phrixus to find the proper position and then aims the Argoa toward the east end of the bay where Colchis Castle looms.
Our rowing brings us to an impossibly tall wall that is made up of three conjoined points like a half star jutting into the bay. The barrier joins at the base of a slope that rises up almost vertically from the bay. Built into the rock face, Colchis Castle perches above the wall looking out to the bay and the ocean beyond, and also blocking any view the townspeople might hope to have from the windows of their own homes. The setting is idyllic, but knowing the true nature of the world inside the walls tarnishes any semblance of beauty.
“Do those walls surround the entire kingdom?” I ask Phrixus.
“The main heart of the kingdom, yes. There are some who live beyond the walls, farmers and such, but most people stay inside. The walls are high enough to make an assault impossible, or so my grandfather hopes. There have always been walls, but they grew higher and thicker once the pelt arrived. Those walls cost Colchians the free education every other Osterian child is granted as a right.”
Phrixus commands Perseus to steer the Argoa directly toward the centermost point of the wall – a point that shows no gaps, no docking area and no gates.
“And how do we get the ship through?” I ask, hiding my worry as well as possible as the ship continues straight toward the wall. Every nerve within me tells me to jump back into the row boat before the Argoa breaks into kindling against the point ahead of me.
“Leave that to me.”
With a cocksure smirk on his face, Phrixus pulls out a red and white striped cloth from the pouch at his belt and holds it in full view above his head. A drum bangs from somewhere on the wall and my stomach tightens; I’ve been so focused on trying to figure out how we’ll get through the wall I hadn’t given any thought to the men who would be standing watch on it. Looking up, I see a cluster of vigiles patrolling a walkway that runs along the top of the wall. Stone crenellations protect and hide their bodies, but the black plumes on their helmets and the points of their arrows aimed at the Argoa give away their number. Phrixus relaxes the cloth, turns it ninety degrees then snaps it into full view once more. The drum bangs twice, but this time I’m ready for the deep rumbling the noise stirs in my core.
The Argoa has not slowed its collision course to the wall. I look to Perseus. His bronze face has gone as white as the sail cloth, but he has given his precious ship entirely into the trust of Phrixus. At the rate we’re going we will break the bow against the wall in a few moments. I still detect no opening. I brace myself against the handrail.
Just as I’m about to tell Perseus to snap out of his state, to take command of his ship, to order the crew to reverse their rowing, the wall groans. The groaning is soon accompanied by staccato clicks and heaving creaks – the sounds of gears working. The point before us, the point the Argoa was about to break her bow against, is in fact the center point of a gate. It opens as smoothly as if its massive doors are moving nothing more than the weight of the wind.
My fear loses place to angry wonder as I imagine the expense this engineering must have cost Colchis and its people. The mechanisms installed are powerful enough to wrench the solid masses hastily through the resistance of the water, creating massive wakes on either side of the great doors. The wakes quickly turn into eddies and waves that smack against the outside of the walls. I now understand Phrixus’s suggestion to stay centered to the gates. Despite the churning at the edges, at the very center of the entrance the water ripples just enough to gently rock the ship. Even if we lucked upon figuring out the signal to give the guards, anyone who didn’t know the correct position for their ship would have an impossible time trying to avoid being sucked into a whirlpool or smashed into the wall.
As the crew rows past the entrance, I crane my neck to look straight up. The size of the gates makes the barrier the giants stacked at the bay’s entrance seem like nothing more than a pile of children’s blocks. The sheer height dizzies me and I glance back down to my feet to clear my head.
Once steadied, I scan the harbor as Phrixus orders the rowers to a dock where several fisherman pull and sort their catch. Scrawny children parade the waterfront hawking their wiry muscles and youthful energy. In exchange for a few denaris they heave huge baskets of fish up the steep ramp that must lead into the city’s marketplace. The more entrepreneurial of the children have baskets that fit onto their shoulders leaving their hands free to carry even more product up the sheer incline. As coins exchange hands, the children, some of whom can be no more than six, are weighted down with whatever the fisherman have hauled in this morning. A slow line of small bodies inches its way up the walkway.
Peering over the harbor is a castle of heavy stone and iron bars that looks more like a fortress than a home. Above the line of heavily burdened children, a retinue of finely dressed people has gathered on a lookout; from the way the snake of children disappears before ever reaching this platform, it’s clear the castle has its own separate walkway – possibly for protection, but more likely to avoid passing the half-starved boys and girls straining their way up the slope. At the front of our audience stands a man at least three times my age, but still straight-backed and heavily muscled. His steely beard has been stylized into waves and his face looks like the wind has carved it into a permanent scowl. To one side of him stands a lithe young man full of easy grace and I assume this must be the Aby that Phrixus mentioned. On the other side of the bearded man lingers a dark-haired young woman dressed in a wine-colored dress.
I briefly wonder who she mourns for, but then remember the Colchians do not adhere to the same death rituals or colors as the rest of Osteria. Although she had stopped beside her father with a face full of loathing boredom, something jerks her to attention and she brings a tube to her eyes to peer down at us. When the tube stops searching, I follow her line of sight. It leads directly to Jason.