‘We’re under parley,’ Nauplius stammers.
So he was shut out of that conversation, I realize. He has no idea what was discussed. That’s interesting in itself.
‘We’ve said what needs to be said,’ Bria replies. ‘You should go before our patience runs out.’ She gestures to the other ship, bobbing alongside. Nauplius inclines his head, then turns, climbs over the railing of our vessel and lowers himself down into his. Palamedes goes to follow.
Except he’s not getting away with this so easily.
I step in swiftly, before he can react, and belt him hard in the stomach. He folds over my fist with a sickly gasp, his chest emptying of air and his face contorting in shock – and I follow up with a straight jab to the nose that shatters it into a crooked pulp. He’s flung backwards, his body made to arch when all it wants to do is bend double.
I bend over him as he writhes on the deck in utter agony. ‘Arnacia hates your guts, you koprologus. If you or your shit-gathering father ever try to force her into marriage again, I’ll disembowel you. And I ever see your stinking face again – you’d better fucking run, just in case.’
He’s too busy sobbing and throwing up to make any kind of response.
‘Ithaca!’ Bria frowns. ‘He has Aphrodite’s protection.’ She only seems moderately put out though.
‘I know, but this privileged priapus needs to feel the consequences of his actions for a change,’ I reply, without a shred of guilt. ‘I mean it – he’d better not cross my path again, ever.’
Diomedes shows his opinion by picking up the blubbing Palamedes and hurling him over the side of the ship, sending him crashing down into Nauplius’s scuppers, where he smears his blood and vomit over the oar benches.
‘You know, Odysseus,’ Diomedes says to me, ‘I think we’re going to be friends.’
* * *
We turn back towards Delos, leaving Nauplius’s vessel to resume its course towards Cythera. The storm is now far away across the water, a wall of black hastening towards the horizon, and the waves have dropped. We’re still wary, but nothing more untoward than a great deal of bailing and a few sea creatures shadowing us astern cause us any concern. And with the whole afternoon ahead of us and a steady north-west crosswind still holding, we can probably make the cove at Rineia before we lose all light.
After we’re satisfied that all is well, I ask Diomedes to take charge of the ship, and Bria escorts me to the stern to speak with Arnacia. The daemon is utterly exhausted after providing herself as an avatar for Athena – she can’t do that sort of thing for very long at all, I’ve noticed.
‘How do you fare?’ I ask Arnacia as we join her.
‘Well enough,’ Arnacia says, giving me her self-possessed smile. ‘I understand I have your quick wits to thank, for guessing the direction my abductors took?’
‘Inspired genius,’ I reply, with a wink.
She gives me a measured look. ‘Indeed.’ Just maybe, there’s a glint of humour in her eye.
She’s still wary though, as any well brought-up girl is going to be, alone with strangers. I try to deal with that: ‘Arnacia, you’re in no danger from us, I promise you. We’re taking you back to the shrine and your people as quickly as we’re able. We’re too far from Delos to reach it tonight, so we’re making for Rineia. Tomorrow, we’ll take you the rest of the way.’
‘Thank you,’ she says in a simple, heartfelt way, bowing her head.
‘I take it your father isn’t keen to lose his daughter to the shrine?’
‘My father cares only for the weight of his coffers,’ she says bitterly. ‘My vocation is to Artemis, but he sees only…’ She breaks off and looks at me, then Bria. ‘You are theioi, like me?’
So Arnacia didn’t see the exchange between Athena and Poseidon? No, of course not, huddled on the stern deck as she was, with the entire crew crowded around her. I share a look with Bria. ‘We are.’
‘But you don’t serve Artemis,’ Arnacia replies, directing her comment at me. ‘If that were the case, you’d have been able to visit the shrine openly. But you didn’t, did you?’
She’s quick and clever behind that calm, steady gaze. I admit my deception immediately. ‘And I owe you a further apology – my name isn’t Eumaeus, and I wasn’t born on Syros.’
She smiles again. ‘Oh, I knew that, Odysseus of Ithaca.’
I glance at Bria, who smirks and answers my unspoken question with an almost imperceptible shake of her head. No, she hasn’t given my identity away. ‘So how…?’ I’m not used to being unmasked so easily.
‘Do you think I spent my brief time at my uncle’s court with my eyes shut?’ Arnacia replies. ‘I never forget a face, and you’ve not changed that much.’
So much for my clever disguise. ‘You realized this, but you still talked to me,’ I say. ‘And you didn’t betray me to the High Priestess. Why?’
‘You interested me – the one clear truth I heard was your concern for Achaea and for our ancient ways; those are concerns I share. And you had the fragment of embroidery. I was intrigued, and I didn’t feel in danger.’ She fixes me with that steady gaze again. ‘Bria sounds Scythian, and Diomedes is the Argive son of an Aetolian exile – I’ve heard of him. And there’s you, a son of Cephalonia… What brought you three together?’
We’re here to interrogate her; instead she’s interrogating us. Which makes me like her even more, though we’ll have to whittle down her defences if we’re to get anything useful. ‘We all serve Athena.’
Arnacia’s eyes flicker to Bria. ‘The Attican goddess?’ she says, wrinkling her nose.
‘The Achaean goddess,’ Bria corrects. ‘You’re a novice seer, aren’t you? You must know of the prophesized war between Troy and Achaea, and how your eastern friends are going to swallow up our lands within two decades if they’re left unchecked?’
If left unchecked… That’s an interesting way of expressing something I’d thought was inevitable. But right now I’m more interested in Arnacia’s reaction: what does this cool slip of a girl think about Troy’s new harbour which controls the entrance to the Bosporus, with the potential to strangle the tin trade, destroy all the Achaea kingdoms’ wealth and lead to conquest?
Arnacia has lost some of her composure. ‘I know of the prophecies,’ she admits.
Bria leans forward, her eyes narrowing. ‘And how do you feel about having your sacred sites overrun with dancing Easterners, screwing in your gardens and rioting outside the shrine?’ I admire her gall, considering I was doing some of the screwing and we both instigated the riot. ‘How do you feel about Apollo and his relationship with his “new sister”, Artemis?’
Arnacia pauses, biting her lip. ‘It’s not for a lowly novice to question the decrees of High Priestess Sophronia.’
‘Yes it is,’ Bria says sharply. ‘You should always question your “betters”, because they’re not always acting for their flock. Do you want to see Achaea invaded? Do you want to see your faith taken over by men and tainted by eastern ways? Do you really believe Artemis is Apollo’s sister?’
I hide a smile. Bria knows better than I do that gods aren’t ever truly related – they’re disembodied spirits. And they don’t actually have family, only rivals. But does this girl know that?
Arnacia drops her gaze. ‘I’m still adjusting to the revelation.’
‘It’s not a revelation,’ Bria retorts. ‘It’s a political proclamation of alliance. It means that, like Zeus and Ares and Aphrodite and their allies, Artemis is abandoning Achaea in favour of Troy, seeking new worshippers among those she already sees as the “victors”. But some of us, like Athena, have deeper ties to Achaea and are willing to fight for our people.’
Arnacia is visibly distressed. ‘I can understand that position,’ she admits. ‘But our hierarchs tell us this is for the best, and they know more than us.’
She’s got backbone and I pity her predicament. ‘We’d like to believe that some among the Artemis flock feel the same way as us,’ I tell her. �
�Especially if you’ve received a prophecy that offers us hope?’
She looks up at me with narrowing eyes. ‘Is that why you came creeping into our holy place?’
There’s no point denying it. ‘Of course. But our motivation is the survival of our people and our way of life.’ I’m not sure how easily we’re going to persuade her to talk about her own prophecy. Appeal to her head? Or to her emotions? ‘Perhaps you should consider the danger you’re in from all your other “friends”. Aphrodite sent a sorcerer to enthral and abduct you. Your own High Priestess Sophronia, servant of Artemis, lets Trojan spies and Theban seers interrogate you. Did you know that half the reason we’re here is that Tiresias is suspected of attempted murder, back in Ithaca?’
‘Am I a hostage for his crime?’ she replies, with something of her former spirit. ‘Your prisoner?’
Have I pushed her too hard? ‘No. We pulled you from the sea to save you.’
‘Then prove it by taking me back to the sanctuary,’ she retorts. Her voice is fierce, but there’s a look in her eyes that makes me suspect I’ve given her something to think about.
‘When we set you, unharmed, on dry ground in Delos, you will be able to judge whether we can be trusted,’ I reply. Bria is looking daggers at me, and when I walk away she follows and plucks at my sleeve.
‘We’re not releasing that little sourpuss back to Sophronia without learning her secret,’ she hisses.
‘Yes we are.’
‘Why? So you can look noble and virtuous? We’re at war, Ithaca, and she’s an enemy.’
‘No, she’s not,’ I snap back. ‘She’s a friend, if we treat her well.’
Bria bunches a fist. ‘My mistress—’
I interrupt her. ‘Let’s just do it my way again. That way you’ll all know who to credit.’
7 – The Prophecy
‘It is not true that the gods do not hold us dear, for they are the beneficent friends of mankind; nor is it true that they are ignorant of their own laws and their own plans; nor is it true that it is of no concern to us to know what will happen, for we would take more care if we knew; nor is it true that they think it contrary to their majesty to give auguries, for there is nothing more excellent than kindness; nor is it true that they are unable to see the future.
Therefore it is not true that they exist but do not give us signs about the future; there are indeed gods, therefore they give us such signs; and if such signs[are given], it is not true that they provide us with no way to recognize those signs – otherwise their signs would be useless.’
—Cicero, On Divination
Rineia, Aegean Sea
We reach Rineia just before dark overtakes us, with the last of the nor’wester dying away. I for one am exhausted from the hardest day at sea I’ve ever had. The ship is now taking in so much water from her sprung timbers, it’s lucky we haven’t needed to row. All hands, even Arnacia, have been busy bailing. It’s with a sense of vast relief that we grind the keel into the crisp white sand at the head of our chosen cove, and lower ourselves over the prow to stumble ashore for some much needed food and rest.
The crew busy themselves lighting cooking fires with what’s left of the wood we gathered when we first landed here on Rineia three days ago, and soon we settle down to eat. Our own small group – Bria, Diomedes, Eurybates and I, with Arnacia clad in an overlarge tunic borrowed from Bria, while hers dries out – have chosen the fire furthest from the ship and the general babble of conversation.
‘How is it for you?’ Bria asks Arnacia, partway through a welcome meal of goat’s cheese, hard bread softened with olive oil, and smoked ground meat baked in grape leaves, all of it washed down with a resinous white wine. ‘As a seer, I mean? I have some of the art myself, but we all experience it differently.’
I’ve noticed Arnacia’s barely sipped at her wine, so we’re not going to catch her out that way. I’ve also noticed she’s been glancing admiringly at Diomedes when she thinks no one is looking, enough that I’m beginning to question her commitment to chastity. But for whatever reason, Diomedes is more interested in the food. We’re not going to milk her that way either. A part of me is amused, another puzzled by his indifference, and yet another relieved, because we do not need that sort of complication.
Although Arnacia still has her guard up, Bria’s question interests her. ‘In truth,’ she admits, ‘I’ve only ever experienced the one true seeing, and I have no recollection of it.’
I swear under my breath. We’ve all been assuming she knows what she prophesized.
‘Is that common?’ I ask Bria.
‘It’s not uncommon,’ Bria replies with a frown, ‘especially with spontaneously given prophecies. I presume there were others present to hear and record your words?’ she asks Arnacia.
‘A fellow novice,’ Arnacia says, after a pause. ‘We were together in the shrine late one evening, taking our duty at cleaning. Suddenly I felt this strange, floating feeling, as if I was falling in and out of my body. I heard my own voice shouting, then I blacked out and woke on the floor with my friend restraining me. Apparently I’d been clawing at my skin.’ She gives a horrified shudder. ‘I’ve never lost control of myself before.’
That, I certainly believe.
‘So you have no idea at all about what you said?’ Bria asks.
‘Only that I spoke of important things,’ Arnacia replies. ‘My friend realized Sophronia had to be informed. She went to her while I rested, told her what she’d heard and was sworn to silence. My life has barely been my own since.’
‘Even though you know less about your own prophecy than almost anyone in the shrine,’ says Bria.
‘Apparently most seers who have a spontaneous prophesy are prone to having more. Sophronia says that I’m now the shrine’s greatest prize. She says I shall live in privilege and comfort for the rest of my life.’ Arnacia doesn’t sound terribly excited at the thought.
She’ll likely never leave that tiny island again.
‘But your father still wants to marry you off for profit,’ I put in.
‘Yes. He’s been working towards such a union ever since he realized that my mother was possessed by a spirit when she conceived me. I had no notion, and no wish other than to serve Artemis. But when he realized I had value, he started nosing around that trader-king, Nauplius, who wants me for his own patron gods.’
Theioi are rare and valuable servants, and until they’re awakened by one god or another, their allegiance is still fluid. A young unclaimed theia would indeed be a prize for any deity.
‘How did you come to Delos?’ I ask.
‘It was to be my final period spent in service to Artemis before I was given in marriage to Palamedes – which I did not want at all. But since the prophetic vision struck me, Sophronia and all the priestesses have agreed to let me take my vows. As soon as I’m ready, I’ll pledge my life to Artemis, and Father won’t be able to rule me any more. The dispute has been… unpleasant.’
‘And then his friends decided to abduct you,’ Diomedes comments. ‘Good thing for you we came, eh?’
‘I’m very grateful,’ she replies warmly. ‘But I still wish only to serve Artemis.’
‘Wouldn’t you like to discover precisely what you said in that vision?’ Bria asks shrewdly.
Arnacia’s eyes widen. ‘What do you mean? Sophronia says I will never recall.’
‘Ah, but she must have forgotten to tell you that your subconscious mind can be made to remember,’ Bria says.
Arnacia’s mouth forms a little “o”. ‘How?’
‘There’s an art to it, which I happen to know.’
I exchange a look with Diomedes, who seems as impressed as I am. But Arnacia is still wary. ‘Sophronia says it must remain secret. She says it’s best I don’t know.’
But I can hear the hunger in her voice.
‘She’s probably feeling more than a little jealous that the vision didn’t come to her,’ Bria says archly. Clever Bria. She can get under anyone’s skin, given
enough time. ‘Come on, girl, don’t you want to know what these words were that have changed your life so profoundly? Especially as Sophronia has deliberately kept them from you… while sharing them with the Trojans…’
‘I’m sure she’s doing it for the best,’ says Arnacia, but she’s now visibly wavering.
‘Even your so-called best friend has been forbidden to tell you, hasn’t she?’ Bria needles.
I watch the girl’s resolve crumble. She’s loyal to her shrine, of course – but a god or goddess or some great spirit has used her mouth to prophesize. Of course she’s desperate to know what words came out.
Even so, she remains silent, staring into the fire, for a while longer. Then suddenly she capitulates: ‘Very well. What damage can the truth do?’
The truth can do all kinds of damage, I could tell her: it almost destroyed my family, when they learnt I was the son of Sisyphus, not Laertes. But I keep my mouth shut, and watch Bria take over.
Her preparations are minimal: she bids the girl to set aside her meal and commands us to silence. I’m handed a wax tablet and a stylus, to capture whatever words we learn. Eurybates is sent off to supervise the repair and caulking of the ship, now that the crewmen have finished their dinner. Whatever happens, we don’t want to be overheard. Then Bria lights a small lamp and asks Arnacia to look into the flame, breathe slowly and listen.
The daemon’s voice flattens out into a monotonous drone; she seems to be chanting something but I can’t make out the words. Every so often she speaks more clearly, telling Arnacia to empty her mind of all, to close her eyes, to listen only to her. It’s quite repetitive but strangely relaxing, lulling us all. Diomedes falls asleep almost instantly, but I’m too curious to let go…
Then Bria stops her chanting. ‘Arnacia,’ she says, in a low, commanding voice. ‘Are you with me?’
The girl’s eyes open but they’re blank and unseeing. ‘I’m here,’ she intones softly.
I have a thousand questions but Bria gestures at me to remain quiet. ‘Arnacia,’ she says, ‘I want you to remember that night in Delos, when the voice of the oracle touched you. Tell me what you saw and heard.’
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