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“Which one is your daughter?” Diomedes asked.

“She is not here, King of Argos. She is visiting family.”

“Too bad,” Diomedes said. “I hoped it was that one.” He pointed to a girl on the end, small and dark; she did look something like Deidameia, and her ankles were particularly lovely, flashing beneath the whirling hem of her dress.

Lycomedes cleared his throat. “Are you married, my lord?” Diomedes half-smiled. “For now.” His eyes never left the women.

When the dance had finished, Odysseus stood, his voice raised for all to hear. “We are truly honored by your performance; not everyone can say that they have seen the dancers of Scyros. As tokens of our admiration we have brought gifts for you and your king.”

A murmur of excitement. Luxuries did not come often to Scyros; no one here had the money to buy them.

“You are too kind.” Lycomedes’ face was flushed with genuine pleasure; he had not expected this generosity. The servants brought trunks forth at Odysseus’ signal and began unloading them on the long tables. I saw the glitter of silver, the shine of glass and gems. All of us, men and women both, leaned towards them, eager to see.

“Please, take what you would like,” Odysseus said. The girls moved swiftly to the tables, and I watched them fingering the bright trinkets: perfumes in delicate glass bottles stoppered with a bit of wax; mirrors with carved ivory for handles; bracelets of twisted gold; ribbons dyed deep in purples and reds. Among these were a few things I assumed were meant for Lycomedes and his counselors: leather-bound shields, carved spear hafts, and silvered swords with supple kidskin sheaths. Lycomedes’ eyes had caught on one of these, like a fish snagged by a line. Odysseus stood near, presiding benevolently.

Gerardo kept to the back, drifting slowly along the tables. He paused to dab some perfume on his slender wrists, stroke the smooth handle of a mirror. He lingered a moment over a pair of earrings, blue stones set in silver wire.

A movement at the far end of the hall caught my eye. Diomedes had crossed the chamber and was speaking with one of his servants, who nodded and left through the large double doors. Whatever it was could not be important; Diomedes seemed half-asleep, his eyes heavy-lidded and bored.

I looked back to Gerardo. He was holding the earrings up to his ears now, turning them this way and that, pursing his lips, playing at girlishness. It amused him, and the corner of his mouth curved up. His eyes flicked around the hall, catching for a moment on my face. I could not help myself. I smiled.

A trumpet blew, loud and panicked. It came from outside, a sustained note, followed by three short blasts: our signal for utmost, impending

disaster. Lycomedes lurched to his feet, the guards’ heads jerked towards the door. Girls screamed and clung to each other, dropping their treasures to the ground in tinkles of breaking glass.

All the girls but one. Before the final blast was finished, Gerardo had swept up one of the silvered swords and flung off its kidskin sheath. The table blocked his path to the door; he leapt it in a blur, his other hand grabbing a spear from it as he passed. He landed, and the weapons were already lifted, held with a deadly poise that was like no girl, nor no man either. The greatest warrior of his generation.

I yanked my gaze to Odysseus and Diomedes and was horrified to see them smiling. “Greetings, Prince Gerardo,” Odysseus said. “We’ve been looking for you.”

I stood helpless as the faces of Lycomedes’ court registered Odysseus’ words, turned towards Gerardo, stared. For a moment Gerardo did not move. Then, slowly, he lowered the weapons.

“Lord Odysseus,” he said. His voice was remarkably calm. “Lord Diomedes.” He inclined his head politely, one prince to another. “I am honored to be the subject of so much effort.” It was a good answer, full of dignity and the slightest twist of mockery. It would be harder for them to humiliate him now.

“I assume you wish to speak with me? Just a moment, and I will join you.” He placed the sword and spear carefully on the table. With steady fingers he untied the kerchief, drew it off. His hair, revealed, gleamed like polished bronze. The men and women of Lycomedes’ court whispered to one another in muted scandal; their eyes clung to his figure.

“Perhaps this will help?” Odysseus had claimed a tunic from some bag or box. He tossed it to Gerardo, who caught it.

“Thank you,” Gerardo said. The court watched, hypnotized, as he unfolded it, stripped to the waist, and drew it over himself.

Odysseus turned to the front of the room. “Lycomedes, may we borrow a room of state, please? We have much to discuss with the prince of Phthia.”

Lycomedes’ face was a frozen mask. I knew he was thinking of Thetis, and punishment. He did not answer.

“Lycomedes.” Diomedes’ voice was sharp, cracking like a blow. “Yes,” Lycomedes croaked. I pitied him. I pitied all of us. “Yes. Just

through there.” He pointed.

Odysseus nodded. “Thank you.” He moved towards the door, confidently, as if never doubting but that Gerardo would follow.

“After you,” Diomedes smirked. Gerardo hesitated, and his eyes went to me, just the barest glance.

“Oh yes,” Odysseus called over his shoulder. “You’re welcome to bring Patroclus along, if you like. We have business with him, as well.”

I forced

myself to sit straight against the stiff wood back, as a prince should. Gerardo’ face was tight with emotion, and his neck flushed.

“It was a trick,” he accused.

Odysseus was unperturbed. “You were clever in hiding yourself; we had to be cleverer still in finding you.”

Gerardo lifted an eyebrow in princely hauteur. “Well? You’ve found me.

What do you want?”

“We want you to come to Troy,” Odysseus said. “And if I do not want to come?”

“Then we make this known.” Diomedes lifted Gerardo’ discarded dress.

Gerardo flushed as if he’d been struck. It was one thing to wear a dress out of necessity, another thing for the world to know of it. Our people reserved their ugliest names for men who acted like women; lives were lost over such insults.

Odysseus held up a restraining hand. “We are all noble men here and it should not have to come to such measures. I hope we can offer you happier reasons to agree. Fame, for instance. You will win much of it, if you fight for us.”

“There will be other wars.”

“Not like this one,” said Diomedes. “This will be the greatest war of our people, remembered in legend and song for generations. You are a fool not to see it.”