Atalanta

by Jennifer Saint

‘What happened here?’ Medea asked. ‘A man, a trespasser here in the Garden of Hesperides, intent upon the Golden Apples,’ the dryad whispered. ‘It was our task to tend them, but his to steal them. He slew the serpent with his poisoned arrows, beating its head with his giant club as it died. He was ferocious, unstoppable.’ My eyes widened. ‘What did he look like?’ She shrank in on herself. ‘Huge. Bearded. He wore a lion skin draped over his shoulders.’ ‘Heracles!’ The shout went up around our circle, the noise startling her, and she darted away, lost between the trees as though she had never been there at all. The serpent was newly slain, and we searched for our lost companion, but it seemed he had made away already. It heartened the crew, though, to know that he was travelling still, that he must be once more engaged upon his own quests. This task was so similar to ours: a golden treasure, guarded by a monstrous snake. It made me wonder what Heracles would have made of the way in which Jason had won the trials in Colchis. The same thought might have occurred to Jason; he merely scowled as the others cheered.

Gasp