Menelaos shook his head. “You mouthed something.”
“Oh.” Menelaos could hear Odysseus swallow again. “Look, I’m truly, truly sorry. I knew you were upset. I felt dreadful too. But,” and Odysseus’s face broke into a smile, “it worked.” His fingers tightened. “You’re here. With us. That’s all that matters.”
Menelaos felt his breath ease and his heart with it. “Yes. I didn’t understand, that’s all. Don’t worry, I wasn’t so very upset. I mean …”
Well, he had been, but it didn’t matter any more. He twisted his head sideways to gaze up at the swaying masthead as it sketched an invisible circle through the flickering stars. In another moment he had fallen fast asleep.
Chapter Twenty-seven
Menelaos woke with a start. Where was he? What was happening? Someone was creeping up on him. He wasn’t dreaming this time; he was certain of that. Where had he put his knife? Under the mattress? Beneath his pillow? He groped about, trying not to make a sound, his saliva too thick to swallow and his tongue glued to the roof of his mouth.
A stool scraped softly on the floor. Too late to find the knife. Menelaos leaped out of bed and threw himself at the dim figure by the window. A dark shape hurtled at him from behind the bed, smashing the stool into his legs. He crashed into the wall and onto the floor amid a din of shouts and barking and splintering wood.
“Off! Argos! Let go. Let go, boy. Be quiet. There. Are you all right?” Odysseus helped him to his feet. “He didn’t bite you, did he? Argos! Sit!” Argos retreated a few feet, snarling. “No. Friend. Friend! Wretched dog.” Odysseus dragged Argos back by his collar. “Let him sniff you. That’s it. You can pat him now.” Argos gave the floor a couple of tentative thwacks with his tail. “He thought you were attacking me.”
“Well, I was. I mean, I was a bit confused, I couldn’t think where … You gave me a devil of a fright.” Menelaos sat down on the edge of the bed, his legs shaking.
“You’re on Ithaka. You’re quite safe. And I was only checking the time.”
“The time? It’s the middle of the night.”
“No, it’s well past the middle. Zeus has just risen so there’s only two hours before sun-up.”
“Zeus?”
“The planet.”
“Ah.” Menelaos took a deep breath, his heart settling back in his chest where it ought to be. “What do you mean by hours?”
“It’s a Babylonian system. You divide the sky into twelve segments and use the position of the stars and planets – or the sun, during the day – to measure the passage of time.”
“Fascinating.” Menelaos yawned. “But I can’t quite see what this has to do with sleeping.”
“Nothing. We’re climbing Neion to see the sunrise.”
“Climbing? Why?”
“That’s the way you usually reach the top of a mountain.”
“Very funny. Doesn’t the sun rise anywhere else on Ithaka?” Menelaus tried rubbing his eyes in case it might clear his head. “And I thought it was called Neriton.”
“That’s the other mountain – the really big one. We can climb it instead, if you insist.”
“No, thanks. So, when do we leave?”
“Now.”
“In the dark?”
“We’ll head up to the observation post with the morning watch. They’ll be carrying enough torches to light the track.”
“Hermes has stolen your wits.”
Odysseus laughed. “It’s a wonderful view.”
View? Menelaos groaned in disbelief. “How many of your other friends are coming?”
“They’re not. Not this time. You’ll meet them all later, at arms training. Hurry up, or we’ll miss the watch.”
Menelaos fumbled with his boot straps, too tired to argue. He’d forgotten about Olli’s enthusiasms.
Wonderful wasn’t the right word to describe walking up this mountain. For a start the watch were almost running. Odysseus kept urging him on as the soldiers’ flickering torches dwindled into the mist ahead. Finally, Menelaos collapsed, gasping for breath and doubled over with a stitch, while Odysseus disappeared up the track, Argos at his heels.
Marvellous, Menelaos thought, head in his hands. What a hellhound of a friend. If this pain in his side ever left him, and if the sun ever decided to rise, he might manage to crawl his way back down and find someone with a kind heart or a donkey to help him back to the palace.
Something warm and wet probbed his fingers and he jerked back in shock. What the …?
“Argos, stop licking his face. Come on, Menelaos, stand up. We’re nowhere near the top.”
“Oh. You again. Why did you bother coming back?”
“I’ve borrowed a torch,” said Odysseus. “No point trying to slow them down; they’ve a job to do. But now we can climb at our own speed.”
“Ah.” His breath was coming back, though there wasn’t enough yet to waste on small talk.
“Here. Have something to eat.” Odysseus passed over a handful of rather squashed-looking figs.
“We haven’t any water, have we?”
“When we reach the observation post. It gives you a stitch.”
“I’ve a stitch already – I might as well have the water too.”
“No, I need something to lure you the rest of the way.”
Menelaos struggled to his feet. “Better get it over with then,” he said.
The sweat ran down his face and dripped off his chin as they plugged on and on. Suddenly, he realised he could see beyond the small circle of light shed by the torch as the mist came to life around them, trees and bushes and the path itself taking on a dim, pearly glow. A moment later they climbed out of the cloud onto a bare outcrop with the dawn-lit sky all around.
Just below them the roof of the cloud stretched out like a solid grey blanket wrapping round the mountains to the north and west. Not far above stood the summit of Neion. Menelaos could see a group of men gathered around a huge copper plate.
“That’s the signalling mirror,” said Odysseus. “We have observation posts all over the islands, with a mirror at each. You can’t quite see from here but there’s another one over on Mount Neriton, up on that shoulder below the summit. You use the mirror to reflect the sun, and because they swivel you can make them flash. If we’re being attacked – by Taphian pirates, for example – Father will know of it almost straightaway. He defeated most of them in a great sea battle years ago, but there are still enough around to make life exciting.” He pulled at Menelaos’s arm. “Come on. Last one there’s a spotted harpy.”
“Spotted monster yourself.” Menelaos gathered up the last of his strength and struggled after him.
They left the post once the sun had fully risen. Odysseus took a different path down, one that wound through a fertile valley to a beach lapped with a blue sea that sucked, oil-smooth, over gleaming white pebbles. He picked up a small branch and hurled it far out into the water, bending down to unstrap his boots as Argos plunged in.
“Time to learn to swim,” he said to Menelaos, pulling his tunic off. “Quick, undress.”
“Er, no, not this morning.”
“I’m not going to drown you, I promise.”
“You swim if you want,” said Menelaos, avoiding Odysseus’s eyes. “I’m happy to watch.”
“I don’t understand,” said Odysseus. “You couldn’t wait to learn, back in Mykenai. Why don’t we wade in – up to our waists, no further – and I’ll hold your shoulders while you lean back? It’s easy to float, so long as you rest your head down in the water and arch your belly up.”
“No.” Menelaos turned back from the water’s edge and eased himself down under a wild olive tree.
“You’re frightened.”
“No, I’m not. To tell you the truth, I’m not interested.”
Odysseus stared at him. He was so used to Menelaos agreeing with everything he suggested. But there was something in Menelaos’s voice, something lurking in the unaccustomed lie, something in that grim, inward lo
ok, that told him his friend wasn’t going to change his mind.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Odysseus tiptoed his way along the corridor, guided by the thin strip of lamp light seeping under the study door. Dawn was still a while away but he knew Laertes was always up early on court days, reading through the wax tablets containing the examining elders’ depositions and pondering the various cases.
His father had read them out to Eurybates over dinner the night before: a stolen cow; an orchard ravaged by goats; two donkeys making hay in a wheatfield – Father had roared with laughter at that and no doubt he’d work the joke into his summing up; a drunken assault; an adultery, or so the husband had claimed.
Odysseus raised his fist to knock on the study door and dropped it again. This was the only peace and quiet Father would have while the cases were being heard and he would guard it fiercely, as he always did. It was a great risk to take, interrupting him like this, but it had to be done. Better to go straight in – that way Father couldn’t refuse him entry. Odysseus took a deep breath, flung the door open and marched into the room.
Laertes was in the middle of adjusting the lamp wick. “Olli, I have two full days of court hearings ahead of me,” he growled, his eyes glued to the tablet in his other hand. “What are you thinking of, barging in on me like this?”
“Father, I must talk to you. It’s important.”
Laertes sighed and put the tablet down. “Make it quick, then.”
“Palamedes has been beating Menelaos like a slave!”
“Indeed? You seem to be making a rather interesting assumption about how slaves are, or should be, treated.”
Odysseus stifled a groan. On court days his father could be even more pedantic than usual.
Laertes put the tips of his fingers together. “Are you referring to our slaves or to slaves in general?”
“Father. I’m talking about Menelaos. And that grotesque nightmare of a cousin of his.”
“Yes, I see. I had for a moment hoped it was your interest in jurisprudence that brought you here so early. I would like you to attend the court hearings, by the way. You and Menelaos are excused lessons for the next two days.”
“Father, please.”
“Sit down. And stop shouting. Thank you. We already knew there was a problem. Why else did I remove him from it?”
“Father, he has to return to Olenos at the end of summer. How can we stop it happening again?”
“By understanding why it occurred in the first place.”
“It occurred because Palamedes is a festering pool of regurgitated pig swill.”
“Mindless insult is no substitute for rational thought.” Laertes wagged his finger at Odysseus. “Think again, sensibly this time.”
“I insulted the pig swill.”
Laertes bit back a smile. “That’s your opinion. Now I’ll have you listen to mine. We must try to see things from Palamedes’s viewpoint.”
“Why?”
Laertes sighed. “Understanding leads to progress.” He leaned back in his chair. “Palamedes is a man of outstanding intellectual brilliance. He has an extraordinary mind but no social skills – he must think he doesn’t need them. Back in Mykenai, his father, Nauplios, was able to protect him from the consequences.”
“It’s not Palamedes who needs protecting.”
“Kindly refrain from interrupting me. Where was I? Oh yes. But then Palamedes was sent to Sikyon to warn Agamemnon and Menelaos, became caught up in the escape and found himself trapped in Olenos. Nobody there is interested in complicated astronomical theory. Then he was given Menelaos as a pupil. Now, Menelaos–”
“Menelaos isn’t stupid.”
“I said, don’t interrupt. Menelaos has a certain, er, inertia to learning, one I’m sure that can be overcome by a committed teacher. But all Palamedes sees is a dull, reluctant boy. So he becomes frustrated and beats him.”
“As hard as he has?”
“Schoolboys are supposed to be beaten hard.” Laertes smiled, twirling his quill between his fingers. “How else are they ever made to learn?”
“Father, Menelaos’s back is a mess. Black, pulped flesh, infected cuts, split-open, half-healed scars. I’m sure there’s at least one broken rib. He must have been beaten or whipped viciously every day.”
Laertes stopped smiling. “Dear gods. But Menelaos has been here two full days. Why didn’t you tell me before?”
“I only found out last night. He’s done everything to hide it from me. I took him swimming the first morning, or at least, I tried – I’d promised him back in Mykenai I’d teach him – but he refused. I couldn’t change his mind. That’s so unlike him; he used to be game for anything.”
Laertes raised his eyebrows. “Anything? Do elaborate.”
“Father, please don’t change the subject.” Odysseus stifled a groan. “Later, when we were doing our military drill, he insisted on wearing his tunic. He told the sergeant they wore them at training in Mykenai, but that’s not true. We all wore loincloths.”
“Of course. It’s far too hot otherwise.”
“I wondered why he lied, but I held my tongue. I didn’t want my friends to get the wrong idea. But I thought he’d at least wash or change after we finished drill – his tunic was wet with sweat. But he wouldn’t do that either.”
“How extraordinary.”
“Then afterwards, when the others wanted to go swimming, he refused again. They’re already whispering about him behind my back – they’d never dare say anything to my face, of course.”
“I should think not.”
“By last night he smelled so foul, I told him I wouldn’t share my room with him if he didn’t have a bath. He told me I could do what I liked, so I threatened to fetch Mother. He did agree then, so I went for some hot water. When I returned he was climbing out the window. I swear, Father, he was almost in tears when I hauled him inside. And I nearly cried too, when I saw his back.”
Laertes sat shaking his head.
“Father, we have to do something.”
“I suppose the first priority is to ensure it heals well. Your mother is certain to have an ointment suitable for the task.”
“And then? It’s not only his back.”
“Eh?”
“He’s nervous as a hare.”
“Ah. His confidence, you mean. This chariot training in Pylos should do wonders – fresh air, good healthy exercise. That’ll make a man of him.”
Exercise, fresh air. It all seemed so futile, with Palamedes lying in wait at the end of it. “Can’t we keep Menelaos here after the summer?” Odysseus said.
“No, we cannot.”
“But what about Palamedes?”
“Perhaps by harvest time the wretched man will have left Olenos to rejoin his father. Don’t worry. It will all sort itself out.”
Odysseus ground his teeth in frustration. How likely was that? “Menelaos was beside himself last night. There has to be more to this than just being whipped–”
Laertes threw up his arms. “Don’t be absurd. The boy’s been beaten – like a slave, as you said. His honour has been tarnished; he’s ashamed; his father was murdered only last year.” He slammed his hands down on the table. “Olli, we discussed all this back in Aitolia. I haven’t time to deal with the phantoms you insist on finding behind perfectly explicable events.”
What was wrong with Father? Was he going to wait for Menelaos to die before he cared? Or was caring too inconvenient?
There had to be another way. Fresh air, exercise – now there was an idea. “Why don’t we take him hunting on Kephallenia?” Odysseus suggested. “You’ve been promising me for eons.”
“Olli, there isn’t time. We leave for Pylos as soon as these court cases are finished.”
“After Pylos. Please, Father, he’ll learn so much from it – courage, patience, endurance.”
And he could help Menelaos escape, if it had to come to that. Perhaps they could board a fishing boat, as he’d done two years ago. If
they reached Sikelia, they could jump ship there – that would give them the whole of the Mediterranean to hide in.
“You’ve always taught me,” he said, widening his eyes to look as innocent as possible, “how important hunting is in developing character.”
“Well …”
The moments dragged on. Father was leaning back in his chair and pursing his lips, the way he always did when he wasn’t sure if he was being hoodwinked or not. But the worst thing to do now would be to keep talking, add more detail. That always gave the game away. Odysseus forced himself to relax.
“Very well,” Laertes said after what seemed like eternity, his face clearing. “I promise. You’re quite right, Olli. Character is the key to everything.”
Chapter Twenty-nine
Outside in the herb garden the sun blazed down but, in the cool of Antikleia’s stillroom, Menelaos found himself shivering.
“That’s where I think the broken rib is, Mother, and there may be another one down here–”
“Be quiet, Olli.” Antikleia glared at her son. “You’ll never become a healer if you don’t learn to listen. If I need to ask questions, I’ll ask the patient.”
“Yes, Mother. Sorry.”
Menelaos glanced across at his friend. Remarkable. Laertes wasn’t able to stop Olli talking but Antikleia seemed to understand him so much better. How alike they were, mother and son – the same short, stocky build, the same fierce red hair, the same quick tongue. Mind you, all the family could talk, even Olli’s little sister, Kitti. What a stroke of good fortune – none of them had remarked on it even once, whenever he retreated into silence. They were all too busy trying to interrupt each other.
Antikleia ran her fingers lightly over the bruised flesh, sniffing at the cuts and listening intently as she pressed down on every rib. Menelaos had been dreading her touching him, dreaded her even seeing him like this, but apart from clicking her tongue when he first took off his tunic, she’d kept her opinions to herself.
“I might have to hurt you somewhat,” she said at last. “If there’s a rib broken, I’ll hear the bone move, but I have to press harder to be sure.”
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