Alcestis by Katharine Beutner Page A

together, and stared determinedly at the table. “Move over,” Phylomache whispered. “Don’t be scared.”
    “I’m not scared,” I said faintly. I moved away, just a little.
    Pelias stood and waited for the men to quiet before speaking. The wine in his cup sloshed over his knuckles when he lifted it. “Men of honor, I have called you here to my home to celebrate the birth of my child, Antinoe, and to praise the gods who bless us with this birth. May they live in strength and glory forever and lead us to strength and glory as well, for our children and our children’s children.”
    “May it be!” one of the kings called, thrusting his cup into the air, and the others let out a series of full-throated cheers.
    “May it be,” Pelias repeated. “I offer you the hospitality of my house. I am glad you have come. You have been invited here not only to celebrate the birth of my child but to compete for the hand of my elder daughter, Alcestis. She is old enough for marriage, and I will find a lord for her before this harvest season ends. I will find the best lord for her.” He paused and looked around at the men as if daring them to cheer again. Wisely, they remained silent, though many of them were grinning at me, their teeth flashing in the low light. None of them looked remotely like gods. I felt them watching, and my cheeks heated beneath the red dye. I considered how far I might be able to run from the table before Pelias caught me and dragged me back.
    “I know what you must be thinking,” my father continued, genial now that the men were behaving themselves. “With such fine men courting her, how will I be able to choose?” Here the men did shout in answer, ribald suggestions about the length of their dicks and the strength of their arms. Pelias laughed, swinging his cup down to take a long drink of wine. “For my part,” he said after wiping his mouth on his arm, “I’d have any one of you.”
    I chanced a look at Phylomache. She was still smiling. Though she had not borne a son, she’d been lucky enough to bear a girl her husband loved, and this feast would secure her place in the household. She wouldn’t be displaced by a pretty boy or a village woman. These men would always honor her, would never touch her unless a war turned Achaeans against Achaeans.
    Pelias waved an arm, silencing the group again. He glared at a few men who did not stop talking quickly enough. “All of you will stay with us in Iolcus for three days. There will be eating, drinking, contests of sport. I tell you, I will enjoy having such men as my companions. From your skill and your conversation, I will know you, and I will choose the man who will win my daughter in marriage.”
    I could see chins moving: approving nods, acceptance. Three days, I thought. That will be enough for him, so it must be enough for me. Phylomache turned to me, face bright with firelight and joy, and wrapped my hand in her own. Her palms were warm and smooth. She whispered something, but I could not hear it over the noise of the men muttering together. I knew what Phylomache meant to say. The queen’s face was transparent as waxed linen. Isn’t this exciting, Alcestis? Phylomache’s look said. All these men, here to claim you. Aren’t you glad to see them?
    I nodded, smiled.
    “Now,” Pelias said, “let us eat this fine meal.” He took the dagger from his belt and poked at the pile of meat stacked before him on the table. I watched carefully to see if he would give the best portion to a particular man; the guests were watching too, and Pelias knew it. He eyed the chunks of meat for a long moment, then stabbed the biggest, best chunk and sawed right through it, cutting it in half. A sound went up from the men, almost a sigh, like Pisidice used to utter when she watched the shepherds. There would be no hero’s portion. The meat was passed out among them in equal pieces, running with red juice. I took my piece from the servants with a nod and tried