Atalanta

by Jennifer Saint

There was a sizzle in her eyes, a surge of contempt. ‘When I heard the Argo had returned victorious, I awaited your return to the forest at once,’ she said. ‘That you flouted me to go after the boar I had sent to Calydon, that was my first inkling of your disobedience. I watched the hunt. I saw what happened.’ I felt the sear of her disappointment, the only moment when I thought I might break apart. ‘Why didn’t you come to me then?’ I whispered. I pictured her cold stare, watching me flee Calydon. How broken and alone I had been. And she was there, all along. ‘I let you make your own way back,’ she answered. There was no mercy in her; I’d learned that long ago. ‘To see that you would return to me. Perhaps I would have shown myself to you on your journey – except that I saw before you did the unmistakeable signs of what else it was you had done.’ She dropped her gaze to my swollen middle, her meaning clear. I braced myself for what was coming, for whatever she was to inflict on me. ‘The nymphs can never know what you have done,’ she said, and I didn’t close my eyes or plead or tremble. The mountains behind her were silent, the night dark and uncaring. There was no circle of anguished women around us to watch how she punished me. I breathed in the familiar green scent of the air I loved. I was thankful she had not sprung upon me as I made my way home, that at least I had made it back here once again. ‘Stay hidden, Atalanta,’ she said. I stared, uncomprehending.