A soft nose brushed her cheek, followed by a whispering whinny. She blinked. Was there a horse standing over her? Yes, with eyes black as the space between the stars but just as full of dreams. Then a face, this time a woman’s, so kind and sweet she thought at first it might be her mother’s. But it glimmered with a golden light. A goddess! The goddess leaned towards the horse and murmured, ‘If you wish, little one.’
A sharp whistle, like a high-pitched whinny, split the air, and the dream disappeared. Pippa jerked upright. But even though her eyes were open, she wasn’t sure whether she was truly awake.
Instead of her usual bed of hay, she was lying on smooth painted tiles. The scent of laurel filled the air. Had she stumbled here last night? She’d been so tired – but she remembered curling up under some bushes in the mud. Not on tiles. Especially not ones so finely painted as these. Slowly she rubbed her eyes and gazed around.
She was in the middle of the most extraordinary, most enormous courtyard she’d ever seen. The early morning sun shone above, and the walls of the courtyard shone back. They weren’t made of sun-dried brick – but gold! A well gurgled beside a winding staircase, and the scent of laurel came from the enormous trees that grew in each corner – laurel trees, the trees of victory.
But, strangest of all, Pippa was surrounded by almost a dozen other children. They were all around her age but with oiled skin and brushed hair and dressed in clean tunics, ones specially for sleeping. Pippa had only one tunic. She was suddenly aware that it was crusted in mud from the day before. Mud had dried on her legs and feet as well, and it itched. She picked some stray hay from her tangled hair and watched it float down on to the tiled floor.
At her feet she noticed a bundled-up redand-blue chiton made of light linen, along with a matching belt. On top of the fancy tunic lay a brooch made of gold pounded as fine as a leaf in the shape of three intertwined feathers. She touched it cautiously, as though it might dissolve under her fingers.
Tweet! The sharp whistle sounded again, jerking her gaze upwards. ‘Get up! Get dressed!’ boomed a voice. ‘Get up!’
A huge man loomed over them, filling the doorway of the courtyard. He was triple the size of any man Pippa had ever seen. His face was lined with wrinkles and he leaned on a cane. But his muscled shoulders and arms were those of a hero. The silver clasp on his red cape bore the same strange symbol – three intertwined feathers – as the brooch. Everyone stared at him in awe as they scrambled to their feet.
‘Who … who are you?’ whispered a boy with long wavy hair.
‘Are you a god?’ demanded another, his nose as sharp and pointed as his voice.
The huge man threw back his head and laughed. ‘Ha! A god! Now wouldn’t that be fine? No, no god am I. I am Bellerophon.’
‘Bellerophon? The hero?’ stammered a third boy, big as a boulder but nowhere near the size of the man.
‘Hero?’ replied Bellerophon, shaking his head. ‘Not I. Not now.’
‘But you tamed Pegasus! You tried to fly to Mount Olympus and you fell,’ spoke a girl, the only one there other than Pippa. She was pretty, her hair piled on her head the way women wore it in Athens. ‘How are you here?’
‘Ha!’ His booming laughter rang out in the courtyard again. ‘Never mind me.’ He surveyed them. ‘You are still not dressed. Hurry up! I’ll explain while we walk. No, don’t take off your tunics. The mountain is cold today.’
What mountain? Pippa’s heart caught in her throat. But like the rest, she jumped to action, pulling the chiton over her head, clumsily fastening it with the brooch while whispers swirled around her.
‘It can’t be …’
‘It is!’
‘But what is she doing here …’ The whisper, from the sharp-nosed boy, was directed at her.
He stared at Pippa. ‘Where are you from? Who is your family?’
‘I-I’m a foundling,’ Pippa stammered.
The boy sniffed. ‘You don’t belong here. It must be a mistake.’
The sharp whistle split the air for the third time and Bellerophon swung open his arms, nearly knocking over two of the children. ‘QUIET!’ he demanded. Then he pulled out a scroll and began consulting it, looking back and forth between the children and the words.
‘Theodoros of Argos?’ The boy with wavy hair and watery eyes jerked his head up. ‘Yes, you’re here … Sophia of Athens?’ The girl near Pippa stiffened and nodded. ‘Yes … Khrys … Khrys … ?’
‘Khrys of Argos,’ said the sharp-nosed boy. ‘My family has won many chariot races. Surely, you have heard—’
Bellerophon didn’t pause. ‘Basileus of Thessaly …’ Bellerophon glanced at the enormous boy, who shook his head. ‘No? Are you not he?’ said Bellerophon. The boy reluctantly nodded. ‘Good,’ said Bellerophon. ‘And you’re big too. You will need to be.’
Basileus looked worried, but Bellerophon did not elaborate. He just continued with his list. ‘Timon of … hmmm … it doesn’t say. I’ll have to ask about that …’ A slight shadow of a child appeared beside Pippa, so suddenly that she shivered.
The list went on … but her name wasn’t called. Her brows knitted together. Khrys smirked, whispering at her, ‘I knew you were a mistake.’
‘Hippolyta?’ called Bellerophon. ‘Hippolyta!’ he called again. He glanced around the courtyard. ‘Is there no Hippolyta here?’
Pippa jumped. Of course! It was her! No one ever called her by her full name.
‘Even my dog knows his name,’ Khrys snickered, and a few others joined him.
Bellerophon didn’t seem to notice. ‘Hippolyta – lover of horses. How appropriate,’ he said, his eyes twinkling as they met hers.
It was appropriate, especially since she did love horses, but how did Bellerophon know?
‘An interesting choice,’ he went on, raising an eyebrow at her. ‘What a race this will be. Your goddess does love to stir up trouble.’
Race? Goddess? thought Pippa. What did he mean? But her voice was stuck in her throat.
Not Sophia’s. ‘So is it true then?’ she said, pointing at the brooch he was wearing. ‘Three feathers – I thought that was the symbol. The Winged Horse Race. That is why we’re here?’
‘Yes, that is why you’re here.’ Bellerophon moved aside to reveal the open courtyard door and a great expanse of green and rock and sky. ‘Welcome to Mount Olympus.’