I didn’t want to ask, but I couldn’t go back to Ury with no information. “Apollonia?” I said. “Is your town defended? Does it have big walls?”
Her laugh sent a thrill down my back. “Walls? Of course! What else holds up the roofs?”
“No, I mean around the outside. Thick stone walls. For protection.”
A pretty frown pursed her lips. “Outside the city? But there are no houses there. Why build walls without houses?”
I tried a different approach. “What about weapons? Do your people have armour? Swords and shields?”
She repeated the words as though she’d never heard them. “Armour? Shields?” She shook her head uncertainly. “I don’t know these words, Alexi. Truly, you ask some strange things.” Her almond eyes glanced sidelong at me. “But you’re very handsome, even if you need a bath. We hardly ever get strangers here.” Gods. Trojan girls never spoke this way. At least not to me. I looked away as I felt a blush coming up.
Unaware of the turmoil she was causing, Apollonia casually took out a small white pouch of sticky, dark-brown paste, then expertly pinched off a small piece with one hand and popped it in her mouth. She glanced over. “We call it ophion.” She smiled at my expression. “We make it from a flower called lotos. Would you like some?” she offered, pinching off another small ball of it and rolling it smooth. “Wait. It’s better with sakcharis.” She rolled it in a second pouch of a white, grainy powder. I opened my mouth and she dropped it in.
I chewed experimentally, gagging at the bitter taste that even the sweet white powder couldn’t mask. She giggled. “Don’t chew. Just swallow. There.” She smiled as I choked it down.
“It’s not for tasting. For feeling. It makes you feel better. Happier.”
We had reached the river, and I scooped some water to rinse my mouth. “Uh, thanks. I guess, ” I stammered.
“Just wait. You will see.” She turned and began to scrub the clothes in the river. As we continued talking, I felt a strange sensation creeping through me, a welling, glowing contentment undermining my thoughts. My memories of my sister were still there, but my feelings were somehow being washed away. I watched Apollonia wringing out the clothes, enjoying her lithe, dreamy movements as she bent to wrap them in a bundle again. She glanced up at my expression and smiled. “It takes us all that way, the first time.” She stood up to go, the bundle again balanced on her head, and looked back over her shoulder for me to follow.
As we walked back up the road, I began to feel uneasy, despite the strange calm of the ophion. Ury and the soldiers would be hiding by the roadside just ahead. “Let’s walk over here, ” I said, steering her to the other side. She let herself be led, uncomplaining.
“Apollonia, ” I said quietly, struggling to clear my mental fog. “Does your town have soldiers? Warriors? Stratiotai?” I tried all the words I knew, but once again she shrugged her incomprehension.
I grabbed her bare shoulder, trying not to be distracted by the warm touch. “Listen, Apollonia. This is important. You have to tell your people to get ready. There are Greek soldiers near here. I think they’re going to raid your town. You have to tell them.”
She frowned uncertainly, understanding my tone, but my words weren’t getting through. “Go!” I hissed at her. “Danger! Run!” At last, understanding the idea if not the details, she lifted her dress with one hand and ran off around the bend and up the road, her other hand still expertly balancing the laundry on her head.
As I came around the corner, Ury emerged from behind the tamarisk. “What did you say to her, boy?” he growled. “She took off up the road like Hades himself was behind her.”
I hadn’t thought things out this far. “Uh, she, I mean—” I stammered.
He laughed, a nasty, knowing sound. “Tried to jump her, did you, boy? Tried to drag her into the bushes?”
I blushed, and he smirked. “Couldn’t even get that right, eh, boy? Well, did you get anything useful at all? How is the town defended?”
“It doesn’t have a wall, ” I began, wondering how little I could get away with telling him. Not that I knew much. “She didn’t understand when I asked her about soldiers or weapons. I think their words must be different. She didn’t seem worried about an attack.”
Ury chuckled nastily. “So what you’re saying is, they’re totally unprepared.” He turned toward the stand of fir trees nearby. “Get out of there, you lazy kopros-sniffers, we’ve got a town to raid.”
They shambled out sullenly from the trees, grumbling as they approached. I recognized one of them as Theron, his black beard bristling angrily, dark eyes burning. “We’ve had about enough raiding and looting, thanks very much, ” he growled. “Thanks to you and Lopex we left a dozen dead back on Ismaros and took twice that in wounds. And if there was going to be an attack, it wouldn’t be on your say-so.”
Ury rounded on him furiously, cracking him hard on the side of the head with his helmet. “You shut your fat hole, Theron, you don’t know what you’re talking about. Now get your helmet on, your sandals laced, and your mouth shut. Or would you like to lose a tongue?” he shouted, his hand clutching the pouch at his waist. “The same goes for the rest of you stinking sons of rats. Move!”
The men backed off slowly and began to put on the rest of their armour, shooting surly glances in Ury’s direction. We set off down the road, Pharos and me in the lead, Ury driving his men from the rear with a barrage of curses. I wondered whether my warning had got through.
All too soon, the black-lined road spilled out of the valley onto a broad plain, a field of brilliant red poppies along one side and a cluster of low, white buildings in the distance. There was no sign of a wall or even watchtowers. I felt sick. Had I betrayed her?
There was a shout from one of the men. “Soldiers!”
I peered down the road toward the town, relieved, but couldn’t quite make them out. They weren’t soldiers, I could see that much.
One of the men called out, “Women! They’re just kunai!”
It was true. Some thirty of them were standing there, spanning the road three deep as though they were waiting for us. The soldiers began to mutter. “Something’s not right. They’re not afraid of us.” Several of the men drew their swords.
We were now close enough to make out details. The women were all wearing pure white dresses that clung to their slender forms, and all had the same high cheekbones and black hair in a queue down their backs. Their faces bore the same calm expression and pinprick pupils I’d seen on Apollonia. I caught a sudden scent.
“Food!” shouted a soldier behind me. The women in the front row were holding out beautiful silver trays, piled high with plump grapes, figs, dates and cheese; others held hot skewers of fragrant roast pork and fish. Behind them were women bearing two-handled kylices full of sweet-smelling red wine. And in the rear I could see ornate copper bowls with symmetrical mounds of white-powdered ophion in small round balls.
I sniffed the air hungrily, the smell reminding me how long it had been since we’d had real food. Pharos put out his arm to stop me. “Take care,” he warned. “Poisoned, this food may be.” The men shuffled warily to a halt.
As if they’d understood, each woman shifted her tray to one hand, and in a single graceful motion, pinched off a single morsel of food, slipped it between her lips and swallowed. They picked up another and began to glide toward us.
I held my breath. The men’s swords were out and waving warily. But the smell of the food and the perfume of the women were intoxicating. And there was no way they could be hiding weapons.
They slid smoothly up to us, feet hidden by their long dresses, their hips swaying gently as they came on. The men shuffled their feet, muttering, but before their anxiety could tip over into action, the women had slipped wraithlike between the waving swords and were at their elbows, their long, slender fingers slipping morsels into the men’s mouths.
A touch on my shoulder. I turned to see Apollonia, a silver tray in her hand, a piece of roast f
ish in her fingers.
“Apollonia! I was so worried—” I began, but she cut me off gently, slipping the morsel of fish into my mouth.
Gods, it was perfect. Crisp but warm and flaky underneath, seasoned with a hint of cinnamon and a herb I didn’t recognize. I ate eagerly, scarcely chewing, only half aware of the men nearby doing the same thing. It was so good my eyes watered. Around me, swords and shields were clattering to the ground as the soldiers lost control, feeding themselves two-handed from the women’s silver platters. Behind them, the kylix-bearers came on, gently tipping wide vessels of sweet red wine into our mouths.
“Eat, my dove, ” Apollonia was murmuring in her beautiful liquid speech. Around me were the smooth voices of the other women. “The meat is warm and moist, and the wine is sweet. Eat. Forget.”
On an empty stomach, the wine went quickly to my head. I staggered and sat down. My senses dulled, I scarcely noticed when she slipped a heavily-powdered ball of ophion between my teeth. A few other soldiers started, alarmed by the bitter taste, but the women’s constant liquid warble reassured them and they sat back, delicate fingertips stroking their cheeks.
Soon, a familiar wash of warm contentment was flowing through me. Apollonia offered me another powdered ball, and this time the bitter taste didn’t matter. One more, and nothing else did either. I relaxed and let myself be fed.
Hands slipped under my armpits and lifted me gently to my feet. I looked around, dazed. Two women, black-lined eyes and pinprick pupils making them near twins of the others, were tugging me gently toward the nearby town. Apollonia’s lips brushed my ear. “Stay here with me, my sweet. Here we have no pain, no sorrow, no memories. Only pleasure, and sweet ophion.”
I hardly recall being led through the town with the others. We were brought to a house richly draped with fine, red-dyed cloth. There was a soft, soft bed. I slept.
Time drifted past as fog. Waking, eating. More balls of bittersweet ophion and deep, dreamless sleep. Apollonia, appearing like a vision, sweet lips by my ear, soft arms around my neck. “Soon, my love. Soon you will be one of us. I want you with us. With me.” Content, I waited, tranquil for the first time in my life. The things that had once so troubled me—my sister, my father, Troy—were so small. So insignificant. Foolish to have ever let them bother me. A little more time, and even these musings were gone. And whenever I opened my eyes, Apollonia was there.
It didn’t last. After a time, perhaps many days, there was commotion in the street outside. Someone in the room. Big, imposing, angry. I turned my head languidly. Why would someone wear a metal shirt, I thought vaguely. Feeling myself hoisted onto his shoulder. People in white pulling at him as he pushed them away. I wondered why. I watched myself carried through streets, away from town, onto a ship. It looked oddly familiar, but my mind was full of holes, my thoughts wriggling away like tiny fish through a net.
Discomfort stirred. Go back. I wanted ophion. Apollonia. Trying to stand up . . . but something was stopping me. Ropes. Other men tied up beside me. A far-off voice shouting row, curse you, row.
Now the coast was slipping away from us. I tried to say stop, take me back, but shouting in a dream, my tongue wouldn’t obey. My alarm grew as I began to see what was happening. Struggling to get loose, I wept with frustration. Nearby, other men struggled and wept with me as we watched the land of ophion recede in our wake.
Bitter as the loss was, the next few days drove it from my mind. That evening, an itch began to well from beneath my skin. The ropes that bound me had some slack, and as the itching grew, I scratched until the blood flowed. But what came next was worse.
The following morning the cramps hit me like a storm wave, pitching me forward and driving my itching skin from my mind. I lay doubled up on the deck, cramped over so far my face was pressed into my knees, my gut twisting like a wrung-out pot rag. Waves of cramp continued to wrack my body, leaving me helpless and writhing on the deck.
On the heels of the cramps came a sudden, wrenching attack of diarrhea. In no time my skin, my tunic, the wooden deck around me were filthy. I was so sick I didn’t care, didn’t even notice when Zosimea was sent to clean me up and give me water. I didn’t care that the rowers could see me, hardly noticed when someone untied my ropes and sat with me.
I’m not sure how long it went on. Two nights, perhaps three. Eventually the cramping attacks began to subside, and I became aware of myself again. My arms and legs were covered with bloody scabs where I’d scratched right through the skin. Despite Zosimea’s attention my tunic was soiled, the smell of feces overpowering. Memory of lying doubled up in my own filth in full view of the crew came back as I stood and staggered to the stern rail, avoiding their eyes.
It was the first time on my feet in days, but nobody looked like they wanted to speak to me. Even the normally talkative Zanthos had his head turned away, his nose wrinkled. Too weak to stand properly, I leaned against the rail, watching the bubbles swirl in our wake. Behind me, I could hear some Greeks guffawing as they played kottabos across one of the rowing benches.
There was a heavy tread on the deck behind me and a familiar rumble. “Standing at last. My thought, that you might never stand again.” Pharos put down a box he was carrying. The rail creaked as he leaned against it. I flicked a silent glance at him. I didn’t feel like talking, especially to Greeks.
Behind the ship, a gull screamed and wheeled as it dove for a wriggling fish. I turned my face to let the sea breeze play on my cheeks, gradually blowing the fog from my mind. “Your sickness now is not the ophion, but the wanting of it, ” Pharos added. I looked at him in mild surprise. He added, as though he had read my thoughts, “Pharos speaks, thinks slowly, but deeply too. Most men misjudge him.”
A groan caught my attention. Three men were tied to the railing on the port side, looking as filthy and haggard as I felt. Pharos frowned. “Filth, crying in their vomit. With the lotos-women, Pharos should have left them.”
My blurry memories sharpened and I spoke without thinking. “That was you! You pulled me out!”
Pharos nodded.
“Why?” I said angrily. “Why couldn’t you have left me?”
He shook his big head. “Pharos saved you, ” he said simply.
“Saved me? From what? You think I wanted to come back? To this?” I scowled at him. “I was happy there, Greek!” Forgetting how weak I was, I let go of the rail and lurched toward him, but staggered and nearly pitched over the railing. He caught me effortlessly and propped me against it.
“Saved you, yes. A healing power the gods have given you, Alexi, ” he rumbled. “Look.” He squatted and slid the bandage off his shoulder where I had treated him a few days earlier. The lips of the wound had joined up, leaving only a fading red line. Despite my anger, I couldn’t help reaching over and dragging a fingernail along it. It was smooth and dry, with no sign of eksepsis. He nodded.
“The gods favour your Trojan medicine.” He bent to pick up the wooden box he had set down and held it out toward me. It was the trade box that we had taken to the village. When I didn’t reach for it, he thrust it at me again. Irritated, I unlaced the tight leather ties that held the lid on and peeked in. It was lined with cork-stoppered vials, neatly held in place by leather stays. A mortar and several well-worn grinding pestilloi of different sizes were stacked on the bottom, but even with my eyes closed I would have known it by its scent. It was a Trojan healer’s box, the vials filled with healing tinctures and herbs. My father had kept one in his xeneon.
“For healers.” Pharos rumbled. “Yours now, I think.”
He set the box down and lumbered back to his bench. I watched him go, thinking angrily of what had been stolen from me. The calm. The contentment. The warm bed. I looked up. Apollonia. What had happened to her? Had she tried to hold me there? I concentrated, trying to remember. A pair of dark-lined eyes swam into my mind. A slender, black-haired girl standing to the side, watching calmly as Pharos carried me out, her blank gaze showing no concern, only a mild confus
ion. I frowned at the thought. A life full of contentment, but empty of passion—was that where the ophion had been leading me? I glanced over at Pharos’s broad back on his rowing bench. I didn’t want to admit it, but perhaps the Greek had saved me from something after all.
Chapter 13
“GREAT ZEUS, WHAT was that?” Beside me on the stern deck, Zanthos gripped his steering oar more tightly. With a gritty crunch, the Pelagios had ground to an abrupt halt. A pause, then men’s muffled voices in the darkness.
Lopex relayed the words down the ship. “We’ve grounded on a pebble beach. For tonight, we’ll haul the ship up and camp by the water. At first light tomorrow, we’ll find out more about where we’ve landed.”
The relief in the voices around me was clear. We’d been sailing blind since the fog had come on us just before dark. The massive cliffs to port had offered no sign of a beaching-point for the night, so Lopex had opted to continue at a slow row rather than drift on the swell.
I awoke early the next morning, lying in the sand to watch the slow dawn light creep like rosy fingers up the hills behind the beach. I missed Apollonia. I missed ophion. But if forgetting my life was the price, I didn’t want to pay it. I needed to put the island of the lotos-eaters from my mind.
The morning was already warm as the rest of the camp began to wake. The previous night’s fog was gone, revealing that we had somehow managed to sail blindly up a narrow inlet, guarded by sharp black rocks on either side, to a pebbly beach of dark sand at the end. A short walk up the beach was a stand of poplars concealing a sweet, cold spring. A wooded island lay just off the coast.
Breakfast was millet porridge once again, with a little dried mullet that some of the men had caught and prepared on the beach at Midhouna. The Greeks were passing a kylix around, each gulping a mouthful of water from it to rinse their mouths, then spitting it back and passing it on. Barbarians.
I kept a careful eye out for Ury as I stirred the porridge, but I’d seen nothing of him since our encounter with the lotos-eaters. If what Pharos had said was true, he was probably too ashamed to show his face.
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