When it was done Eurybates stepped back, his whole body shaking. Olli hadn’t cried out once – it was quite remarkable. But he must be in agony. “My turn now, sir,” Eurybates stammered, his eyes blurred with tears.
“No, it’s plain that’s punishment enough for you,” said Laertes. “Get washed and dressed. We’re late for the banquet. You.” He turned to his son. “Get into your bed. You can stay there until we’re ready to return to Ithaka, however many days that might be.”
Olli was still standing in the same place, fists balled tight and legs trembling. He twisted his head round, chin held high. Eurybates could see the pain in his clenched face and in the unshed tears that threatened to spill down his cheeks. “Yes, Father,” the boy said, his voice cracking. He started to walk over to his bed, stopped and came back. “I let you down,” he said, holding out his hands to Eurybates. “Forgive me.”
Odysseus lay in the dark on his empty stomach, cradling his head in his arms. A distant babble of voices drifted across from the doorway deep inside the massive porch on the other side of the courtyard. He pictured the singer, the finest in Greece, sitting in King Atreus’s hall on a chair beside the raised hearth, the carved ivory arms of his lyre glistening in the flickering light. Soon the voices would hush as he ran his fingers swiftly over the strings, his high, clear voice summoning up great heroes, ancient battles and mighty gods.
He shifted onto his elbows. So, his backside stung. Only a little though, nothing a hero would take notice of. He bent his knees, lifting the sweaty sheet away from the raw skin with his feet.
He had longed to be there tonight; everyone had talked about how well that man sang. Perhaps Menelaos had been allowed downstairs to listen, to sit on a stool away in the shadows with the women. Perhaps they could have sat together.
No – from what Menelaos had said, he was virtually a prisoner. They were both prisoners. For a moment Odysseus indulged in a wave of self-pity before common sense prevailed. His own punishment would end; Menelaos would have nothing better to look forward to. As for that clever plan to free him, to persuade Father to talk with Atreus … Odysseus squirmed with frustration laced with guilt. Perhaps he’d made things even worse.
What must Menelaos’s life be like? Never allowed outdoors, no boys his own age, just women and girls and babies. It was unthinkable. Images of his own carefree afternoons filled his mind: roaming Ithaka’s crags or exploring the rocky coast with his friends, once schooling and arms training were done for the day.
Suddenly, his confinement seemed unbearable and he clambered out of bed. The guard was shuffling his feet on the other side of the door. There was no chance of escape that way. What about the window? He tiptoed across the room and peered out. High above, a window across the courtyard glowed with candlelight. It was probably in the women’s quarters – it might even be Menelaos’s room. A quick glance down showed a flicker of torchlight on a bronze-helmeted head. As he watched, another guard came strolling across to talk to the man below him. No. Impossible.
Odysseus went back to the bed and lay down again. Did Father really mean to keep him bedbound till they returned to Ithaka? If they caught him escaping – if, mind – he’d be punished even further. Already his promise to Menelaos had as much chance of being kept as his little sister had of growing a beard.
How was he ever going to see Menelaos again?
Chapter Six
Odysseus woke as the dim early light seeped in through the shutters. Laertes came over to his bed and sat on the edge.
“I was appalled yesterday. I thought we’d seen the last of your wild behaviour.”
“Yes, Father. I’m truly sorry.” Best to keep it simple.
“But then you confessed.” Laertes cleared his throat. “It might have finally occurred to you that having power over other people – whether it’s someone nobly born like Eurybates or the merest slave – carries an equal measure of responsibility.” He sighed. “If only you could treat Eurybates with the same loyalty you show those young rascals who follow you round on Ithaka.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Whoever inherits the throne of Ithaka must demonstrate wisdom, justice and compassion.”
“Yes, Father.”
“But your behaviour in the past has shown little sign of these essential qualities. If you hadn’t owned up yesterday, I would have seriously considered finding an heir elsewhere. The laws of inheritance are not so rigid that I have to put Ithaka at risk.”
Odysseus stared at him in horror. The possibility had never entered his mind. “I really am very sorry indeed, Father. I will never do anything so thoughtless again.”
“Well said. But actions speak louder than words; and I have yet to see that you have had a true change of heart. Time will tell. In the meantime, I have important business to conduct. It will take three days and I need Eurybates with me to write down what has been agreed on. This, naturally, leaves you on your own. Now, I can either tie you up, or you can swear you will not leave this room.” He paused. “It’s your decision.”
Odysseus squirmed under his father’s gaze. What about his promise to Menelaos? “What if there’s an earthquake?” he queried. “Or a fire?”
“If there’s a major catastrophe, I can’t expect you to sit in here burning to death,” Laertes said, the glimmer of a smile in his eyes. “You are released from the oath if there is a real danger to your physical safety.”
Odysseus placed his hands inside his father’s. “I swear by blessed Athena I will not leave this room until you give me leave, unless there is a real danger to my physical safety.” He hid a grin. “And I promise not to burn the palace down. I can’t do earthquakes.”
“I certainly hope not. I still don’t think you have any idea what danger you placed yourselves in yesterday. Eurybates has been telling me where he tried to find you. If they’d caught him, they’d have killed him. As for you, the citadel walls are lined with the best archers in Greece. If they’d seen you clambering about on the palace roof, they’d have shot you.”
“Yes. I know.” Odysseus hung his head then looked up again at Laertes. “Father, there is another way I can avoid getting into any more trouble.”
“Indeed?”
“You see, I was bored.”
“Bored? In Mykenai? There’s so much to see.”
“To see, yes, but nothing for me to do.”
Laertes opened his mouth and closed it again. “And your solution?”
“I’ve heard King Atreus has two sons. Agamemnon is almost a man, I gather, but the other son’s my age. If I could join his military training group, I’d be too busy for mischief. And I’d be learning something useful.”
“You mean Menelaos? I believe he’s too young to be in training,” said Laertes. “He’s still with the women so he can’t be more than twelve.”
“I overheard someone say he’s older. Please, Father, ask.”
Laertes wandered over to the window. Odysseus tried to guess what he might be thinking as the moments dragged on. “I’ll consider it,” he said at last.
Eurybates returned to the room as dusk fell. After they’d eaten, Odysseus pulled out the draughts board and they settled down to play. Winning wasn’t such an easy matter as it had been at the start of their journey, Odysseus thought ruefully. The squire had a nasty habit of copying his cleverer strategies and he’d have to keep his wits about him.
It was late when Laertes arrived, whistling tunelessly and possibly more than slightly drunk. Eurybates scrambled to his feet but Laertes waved him back.
“No, no, Eury. Go on with your game. I can look after myself,” he said.
“How did your private audience go, sir?”
“Private audience? Ha, ha. We tossed out all the officious types, opened a decent jar of wine and told old soldiers’ tales. Gelanor was there too. In fine form once he’d had a little wine.”
“Who is Gelanor, sir?” asked Eurybates.
“He’s Atreus’s bastard half-brother. And so
mehow he contrives to be himself – no posturing, no pretence. That makes him almost unique in Mykenai. And not always popular.”
“Was King Atreus pleased with the ostrich, Father?” asked Odysseus.
“The ostrich?” Laertes rocked with laughter. “I gather what he’d wanted was an egg – he’d set his heart on an eggshell goblet. But someone must have misunderstood the message. It grew a few feathers, eh?”
“But now it’s here, the ostrich can lay him as many eggs as he wants,” said Eurybates.
“If only that could be. They think it’s a male. And a very bad-tempered one.” Laertes rubbed his face. “Nonetheless, Atreus has written to the Egyptians an elegant letter of thanks. He can hardly complain when he so desires to re-establish trade relations with them.” He tugged off a boot and waved it around by its long, upturned toe. “You know,” he said, throwing the boot under his bed, “Atreus can’t do this very often.”
Odysseus laughed. “What, wave boots around?”
“Cheek!” Laertes wrestled the other boot off and threw it at Odysseus. “Get drunk and tell tall tales of course. He misses it.”
“He feels trapped by the pomp and splendour, sir?” said Eurybates.
“Good heavens, no. The more the better in Mykenai. When you’re a soldier who’s been elected as king you need to reinforce your legitimacy with ceremony, solemnity, parades, ritual, splendour. I’m an elected king too, mind, but you can imagine what the Ithakans would think if I strutted about the way Atreus does. All I have to do is out-argue them.”
“All?” Odysseus raised an eyebrow. “Out-arguing an Ithakan is hardly–”
“Quite.”
“Confound it,” said Eurybates.
“Ah.” Laertes peered at the board. “Lost again? I think he had you about three moves ago. Now, bed for both of you. You have an early start tomorrow.”
Odysseus’s face lit up. “Did you ask him, Father?”
Laertes’s expression went blank. “Ask whom?” Then he smiled. “You’ll find out in the morning.”
Chapter Seven
The door crashed open. Menelaos sat bolt upright in the dark, forcing himself awake through the shreds of his nightmare. The door … No, it had been a different door. He’d been clinging to it. And on the other side, someone weeping … a man. And voices, low, frightened … He clutched the bedclothes to his chest, his eyes darting round the empty room.
“Time to be up, sir.” A shadowy figure stood in the doorway.
“Time for what?” he managed. And what was this soldier doing, with his helmet and his leather corselet, up here in the women’s quarters?
“Military training, sir. Hurry along there, sir. We don’t want to keep the sergeant waiting, sir.”
“What?” Menelaos leaped out of bed as Nurse bustled in, a lamp in one hand and a strip of cloth in the other.
“You’ll need this, my lord,” she said.
My lord? Not her usual way of speaking at all. “What’s happening, Nurse?”
“Put this loincloth on, my lord. Here, I’ll help you with it.” She busied herself, all tugs and sharp fingernails.
The soldier was stirring. Menelaos started to panic – what if whoever had ordered this changed their minds before he was ready? “Nurse, I have to go.”
Nurse wiped her nose on the back of her hand. “I’m not having you leave here looking like something a dog sicked up. There, my lord.”
“Thank you, Nurse.”
“You behave yourself.”
“How badly?” He stood poised to duck her backhand. But she was smoothing down her apron, a meek smile on her face. Very strange.
“Now, they’ve found you a nice room in the east wing, next to your brother.” Nurse sounded almost submissive. “I’ll be shifting your things over there this morning.”
He could barely believe it. Free of the women, free to become a man at last. Was this because of Olli? Had he won the bet?
Nurse wiped her nose again. Was it the flickering light from the lamp that made her eyes glisten? “You’re a good boy; I’ve always said so,” she said, her voice quavering as she squashed him against her massive breasts.
Stunned by this last, most extraordinary piece of information, Menelaos hugged her back.
A group of boys had already gathered in the exercise yard. In the early morning gloom, Menelaos could just make out a short, red-haired boy standing on the edge of the group. Olli. How wonderful.
The boy turned his head and gave Menelaos an empty stare. Menelaos paused. It was Olli, wasn’t it? So why was he acting as though he didn’t recognise him?
Of course. They hadn’t met, had they? He blinked. He’d have need of all his wits this morning.
A burly figure emerged from a doorway. The training sergeant? The man looked them up and down and sighed, his breath whistling through crooked teeth.
“You lot,” he bawled. “Stand up like yer mothers ought to be proud of you. We’ll start with squats. Fifty. Stop mucking around and get on with it.”
Menelaos copied the other boys, trying to ignore the searing pain in his thighs. The sergeant strode up and down then jerked to a halt abreast of him. “You there,” he thundered, his eyes bulging from their sockets as though the mottled blood in his face was forcing them out of his head.
Menelaos opened his mouth but nothing came out.
“Not you, straw-top. The one behind you. Udder-ears.” The sergeant reached in and grabbed a gangly boy by the shoulder. “Did I say knee bends, boy? Womanlike little knee bends? I don’t believe I did. Kiss the ground with yer backside, boy, or I’ll kiss yer backside with my foot.”
By sunrise they were all sweating and gasping for breath. Menelaos was wondering how much more he could take when the sergeant called a halt.
“At ease.” The sergeant rolled his eyes heavenward. “Great celestial gods, have mercy. Bunches of sausages, all of you.”
“He’s always like this,” whispered the gangly boy to Menelaos. “Full of wind. Oh, and I’m Agelaos. What’s your–?”
“Silence,” the sergeant roared. “For those who don’t know, my job is to work you till yer minds turn to marsh mud and yer bodies turn into something that’ll frighten an enemy one day. And by Zeus, I’ll do it. Right now you lot wouldn’t scare a baby frog.”
“Tadpole,” said someone under his breath.
“What?” The sergeant’s head twisted back and forth, his eyes protruding even more. “You, boy.” He grabbed a boy at random. “You said that.”
“N-n-no, sir.”
“Don’t lie to me, boy. Thirty press-ups. Double quick or you’ll have thirty more.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy dropped to the ground and started heaving away.
The sergeant paced to the end of the front row, glaring at them. “Bright as a bronze nail this morning, are we? Bright as bog water, more like. If I give you anything sharp, you’ll stab yer own foot. Wrestling then. Let’s see if you know the difference between standing up and lying flat.” He did a quick headcount. “Nine, not counting big-mouth making love to the parade ground over there. That’s one too many. You,” he said, pointing at Odysseus. “Shorty. Out. The rest of you, into pairs. Four bouts each, then two semifinals and a final.”
Menelaos saw his friend’s head jerk back. Maybe, he thought, he could stand down in his place.
But Odysseus was too quick for him. “Please, sir,” he said. “I’m stronger than I look.”
The sergeant eyed him up and down, and up and down, then up and down again. As Odysseus gazed back, Menelaos held his breath, waiting for the explosion.
Then the sergeant grinned. “Very well. Fight big-mouth then, when he’s finished copulating with the Earth Mother.” He swung back to the other boys. “Right. Rules. No punching, no scratching, no biting, no eye-gouging, no kicking, no grabbing anyone by the privates. Back of both shoulders on the ground and yer lose. Best of three throws wins the bout.”
Menelaos found his first opponent easy enough. Even Nurse h
ad a better scissors lock than this boy. The second bout started off well but then he mistimed a move, slipping and banging his head on landing. On the last, deciding throw, the other boy manoeuvred him into a wrestling hold that smelled even worse than it felt. A sitting face pin, the boy called it. Not one he’d like to experience again, at least not unless his opponent washed more often than this boy did.
He joined Odysseus and the boy Sergeant had called big-mouth by the back wall of the parade ground. “That was splendid,” he said, scraping off some of the dirt with his hands. “I had no idea what to do, of course.”
Odysseus grinned back. “You weren’t so bad.”
“I’ve been practising on my nurse, mind.”
“So have I. Mine was game to start with, but she retired after I knotted her legs behind her neck. It took her a week to untangle herself – you can imagine how it was when she needed to use the privy.” He winked. “I’m Olli, by the way.”
“Oh, but I already–” Menelaos stopped himself in time. “I once knew someone else with a name like that. Nice to meet you. My name’s Menelaos.”
The final bout came to an end and the gangly boy, Agelaos, raised his arms in victory.
“At ease,” the sergeant bellowed and set off for the equipment room.
Odysseus confronted him before he had gone more than a few steps, the injustice of his elimination boiling in his chest. “May I fight him, sir?” He nodded towards Agelaos. “I did win my bout with, er, big-mouth, sir.”
“Very well.” The sergeant leered. “You. Udder-ears.” Agelaos came over. “This …” and he waved his hand at Odysseus, “this very short and opinionated person desires to fight you. Don’t damage him too much. He’s the son of a king of somewhere or other.”
Agelaos strolled up to Odysseus, flexing his shoulders. It was obvious from the expression on his face he wasn’t taking this very seriously. As he lunged at Odysseus’s arms it was simplicity itself to resist, just a little, then appear to give way. Agelaos, encouraged by the ruse, heaved mightily. Odysseus threw his full weight at him, pivoting on his right ankle to throw Agelaos even further off balance. In no time he had both Agelaos’s shoulders down on the ground. As easy as taking honey cake from a baby.
Murder at Mykenai Page 3