Menelaos twisted round, his face white. “Then don’t.”
“But–”
“Don’t.” Menelaos’s voice cracked and he turned away, his eyes brimming with tears. “Stop it. Please.”
So that was it.
Odysseus stared at his friend’s back, his throat aching in sympathy. But there was no point trying to discuss it now. He needed more information if he was to be of any use.
They had the rest of the spring and the whole of summer ahead of them. Plenty of time yet.
The shadows were long when they finally returned, the game bag heavy and their legs scratched and weary. Eurybates was crossing the courtyard as they entered the palace gate and he came over to greet them.
“I suppose you want to know what happened today,” the squire said, once he’d admired the hare.
Odysseus glanced across at Menelaos, who was tying up the mouth of the game bag with hasty fingers, his face suddenly pale under his sunburn. There was no point trying to avoid the subject of the court case – nothing else would be talked about all evening. “We saw the procession,” he said. “So, was there a drowning?”
“Yes, indeed there was.” Eurybates watched Menelaos hoist the game bag onto his shoulder and stride off in the direction of the kitchen. “Is he all right?”
Odysseus nodded, wordless.
“An ugly business it was too – as always.” Eurybates’s frown turned unexpectedly into a smile. “But we didn’t execute the woman. I was so relieved. I thought from the start she was innocent but that particular law is so strange, don’t you think? With the gods’ help, your father made the right decision. We drowned the rapist and fined her husband for bringing the charge against her. And, as your father pointed out, the husband could have been executed too, under the traditional laws, for prosecuting his wife without due care.”
Odysseus felt weak with relief as he listened to Eury warm to the subject of ancient jurisprudence. Of course he didn’t know the woman at all, though he was pleased she’d been acquitted. It might mean nothing. On the other hand, it might be a sign. But would Menelaos see it that way?
Chapter Thirty-two
Odysseus stared into the choking cloud of red dust that enveloped the field, his hands sweating on the reins. When they’d arrived in mid-spring, the chariot training ground on the coastal plain near Pylos harbour had been thickly carpeted with long grass studded with blazing red poppies. Now, after three months of hard use, the grass had all but disappeared, shrivelled by summer heat and worn away by a myriad chariot wheels.
His present task was to keep the horses at a slow trot, their noses not quite touching the backs of the two boys in the chariot in front. He could feel hot horse breath on the back of his neck from the pair immediately behind, but harsh experience had taught him not to turn his head. You only had to collect a face full of horse slobber once to know better. And besides, somewhere up ahead, hidden by that swirling cloud, their rival squad was preparing to attack, and he’d have to react as soon as they appeared.
Off to the left a war horn blared and a line of chariots came charging at them through the dust. The horn blared again and the chariots wheeled to let the spearmen hurl their weapons.
“Turn,” yelled Menelaos. “Hard right.”
“Yes, yes.” Odysseus heaved on the reins. “I’m not deaf.”
A spear flew behind them while another, more cleverly aimed, sailed over Menelaos’s shield, the end of the shaft grazing the top edge as it skidded past.
“Missed. Now it’s our turn,” exclaimed Menelaos. “Well, come on. What’s the signaller doing? He’s taking a lifetime.”
The call came at last and Odysseus swerved their chariot the other way.
“We’ll slay you this time, you sons of stunted dung beetles,” screamed Menelaos. “Olli. Look out.” The next chariot had ranged up beside them, nudging their left wheel, with the horses running shoulder to sweaty shoulder.
“Snail wit!” Odysseus shouted at the other driver.
“Marsh maggot!” came the reply.
The two chariots drew apart again and Menelaos swung his shield out of the way, fidgeting with his spear. Again the war horn blared and the chariots wheeled right once more, Odysseus hauling hard on the reins to avoid another collision.
“Swamp donkeys!”
“Slug spawn!”
The chariots jostled, lurched and settled into line as Menelaos threw his spear. “Yes,” he cried.
“No. Missed.”
“I’m sure I hit something. The chariot at least.”
“A good two spans to the left.”
“Mosquitoes’ testicles.” Menelaos wiped the sweat out of his eyes and drew another spear from the holster on the side of the chariot.
“You threw before they turned. We’ve been practising this manoeuvre for two months. You have to allow for the change in direction.”
“I did. It was your driving. Why did you slow down?”
“Because those purveyors of rotting fish next to us can’t steer.”
Menelaos peered through the dust. “Their leading horse is pulling hard.”
“No excuse for colliding with everyone else on the field.”
The horn blew again, three times.
“What? Not the end of the exercise?” said Menelaos, crestfallen. “We’d have obliterated the other team on the next charge. As for these sellers of decaying seafood …”
“It’s almost harvest,” Odysseus called across as they drew alongside. “Try hiring your horses out for threshing. They might learn how to turn corners if they do it all day.”
“Go thresh yourselves.”
“Crude lot, these Pylians,” said Menelaos. “You were only trying to be helpful.” He grinned at Odysseus, his teeth startlingly white through the mask of red dust that coated his face.
They jogged the horses back around the training field. As they approached the track to the stables, Menelaos gave a whoop of astonishment. “Holy Poseidon, it’s my uncle,” he cried, leaping from the chariot and running towards a short, slight man standing next to Laertes at the gate. “Uncle Gelanor,” he said, flinging his arms around him. “We thought you were dead.”
“No. As true as the gods are blessed, I escaped from Mykenai.”
“It’s so unbelievably wonderful to see you. All those arrows …”
Gelanor shivered and smiled. “Death came so close, I swear I felt the brush of his fingertips.”
“And now you’ve found your way to Pylos.”
“By way of Olenos,” said Laertes.
“Yes, indeed,” said Gelanor. “You see, Menelaos, I heard you and Agamemnon were in Aitolia. But my original journey from Mykenai took me some time to begin with, for I broke my leg in the escape and had to hide up till it healed.”
Menelaos frowned. “That must have been awful.”
“It wasn’t pleasant. But the gods placed me in the hands of a quite remarkable family. They smuggled in a doctor to set the break and kept me close till I could walk again.”
Odysseus finished tying the reins to a fence rail. “Praise to Athena, sir,” he said, seizing Gelanor’s hands. “It’s a miracle to see you again. We were sick with worry.”
“Bless you. And I had the good fortune to arrive in time for your chariot exercises. Most impressive, I must say.”
“They’re certainly improving,” said Laertes.
“Did you see our team?” Menelaos waved an arm at the horses over by the fence. “Those chestnuts. We’re in the Blue Squadron, third from the left. They’re the best pair on the field.”
Odysseus laughed. “They are when we change places. Menelaos can drive and I can throw a spear straight.”
“Ah,” said Gelanor. “So you are finding your natural roles.”
“Eh?” Menelaos looked blank. Then his face cleared. “Oh, yes. I thought you meant, you know, ‘rolling’.”
“No, no. I mean, what you do best.”
“Menelaos thinks you’ve heard how he dro
ve into a ditch,” said Odysseus, laughing even harder.
“And were we hurt?” said Menelaos. “No, not a scratch.”
“And the wheel?”
“What about it?” Menelaos grinned. “The Pylians make wonderful wheels. I was finding them something to do.”
“Are you sure you didn’t suffer injury?” asked Gelanor, a concerned expression on his face.
“It’s only a small ditch,” said Odysseus. “Everyone tangles with it at some point. But you’re right about roles. We need to learn to drive as well as fight. When we’re older, we’ll have to take the reins if our charioteer is killed in battle.”
“Yes, indeed. Nasty, messy things, battles. Whereas here,” Gelanor waved his arm at the exercise field, “you can acquire the necessary skills in total harmony with your horses and with one another. I always find it so delightful watching young men at their manoeuvres, urging their comrades on with such pride and enthusiasm.”
“Er, yes,” said Laertes, smiling. “More or less. Now, after your journey you’ll want to wash and change before we dine. Antikleia will organise a bath for you. Don’t be too long about it though. I have ordered the opening of a very nice jar of Chian wine.”
Chapter Thirty-three
“There’s nothing like disaster to teach you the true necessities of life,” said Gelanor, stroking his wine cup.
Odysseus hid a smile. The gesture reminded him so much of those long evenings spent with Gelanor in their guest room at Mykenai. It was still only a year ago but it felt like half a lifetime.
“Necessities?” Antikleia rested her embroidery in her lap. “And what might they be?”
“Good company, good food, good wine and good music.”
“So you’re not about to become a hermit.”
“Goodness me, Antikleia, I don’t think that would suit me at all. Hermits! Vicious old men crouching in unsavoury holes in the mountains, eating someone else’s mouldy leftovers and refusing every pleasure on principle. No, my escape gave me enough discomfort to last me a lifetime.”
“I thought you were splendid,” exclaimed Menelaos, pulling Argos’s ears. “Running from the gate like that, dodging arrows, leaping across the river.”
“One leap too many, I’m afraid. But look how it saved me, lying wedged between two river boulders while the soldiers crashed past in the dark.” Gelanor rubbed his shin. “I will never forget the pain.”
“Aren’t adventures supposed to be uncomfortable?” said Menelaos.
“Is that so?”
Menelaos blushed. “What of Orion the hunter? They blinded him and he wandered homeless through the islands for years. But he’s a great hero. They sing of him all the time.”
“As they should,” said Laertes. “Indeed, he’s more than a hero; he’s an immortal god, striding across the winter sky with his bow bent on Taurus the bull.”
“Immortality lasts a long time,” said Antikleia. “Orion must find it wearying, forever frozen at the moment of release. The novelty will have worn off long ago.”
“He aches to see his arrow plunge deep into the rump of the bull at last,” said Gelanor. He chuckled. “And then presumably skin him, eat him, tan the hide and make shoes from it. What about the poetry, woman? The honour and glory? Why do women always have to see the practical side of things?” He took a sip of wine. “Talking of heroes, has Menelaos met King Nestor yet?”
“Oh yes,” said Laertes. “Not at the palace, of course. Pylos is still resolutely neutral. But they happen to meet often, quite by accident, as you can imagine.”
Yes, thought Odysseus. Father had managed that very well.
“I’ve arranged for Nestor,” Laertes continued, “to call past tomorrow and you, by chance, will be in the porch when he does. And it would be impolite not to discuss a little politics. I take it you’re not returning to Olenos for at least two days.”
“No, I see no need for us to leave any sooner.”
Menelaos gasped. “Us? What do you mean?”
“You and Gelanor,” said Laertes. “Come now, you’ve been away from Olenos for over three months. Agamemnon longs for your return.”
“But I can’t. I mean, yet. You see, we’ve this major exercise … in a few days …” Menelaos stumbled and stopped, his face ash-white, the old undercurrent of panic back in his voice, the old terror in his eyes.
Odysseus opened his mouth to speak then paused, his thoughts in chaos. What a fool he’d been. Once they’d reached Pylos, Menelaos had seemed so much more his old self. It had been too easy to put off talking about Aerope, too soon to discuss his secret plans. There had always been a reason, always someone else in earshot – their room shared with Eurybates at night, their waking hours crowded with strangers. And summer had always seemed to lie ahead, in an endless stretch of days.
Now the chance had slipped from his fingers.
How stupid, stupid, stupid he’d been to rely on that hunting trip Father had promised. But he could still twist the plan around. There must be countless fishing boats here on the coast. Curse the Pylians for having such fast warships and so many of them. How could they be sure to escape?
What they needed was time – not much – he’d tell Menelaos tonight what they had to do. But it’d be far easier if he could persuade Gelanor to lengthen his stay.
He gave Gelanor a wide smile. “We’ve been practising chariot manoeuvres all summer, sir. And in three days’ time we’re having a final contest, using all the sequences we’ve learned. We know our squadron can win, sir, but we need Menelaos. He’s our best driver. And …” the stronger he could pitch it the better, “… and it would eliminate me as well, since we work in pairs.”
“Olli, we mustn’t upset Agamemnon,” said Laertes.
“No, indeed,” said Gelanor. “But I understand how important this is. A whole season’s work. And wasn’t chariot training the main reason Agamemnon sent Menelaos here?” He sighed. “Alas, Olli, the situation up in Olenos is more complex than I would like. Palamedes has been making trouble. It was fortunate I arrived when I did.”
“What sort of trouble?” Menelaos asked, his eyes darting from Gelanor to Laertes.
“He’s attempting to persuade Agamemnon that you and Laertes have political ambitions of your own.”
“Ambitions?” Menelaos went whiter still.
“Do you mean,” Odysseus asked Gelanor, “Palamedes is suggesting Father is plotting to put Menelaos on the High King’s throne?” So much for the problem with Palamedes sorting itself out, he thought. If anything it was worse than ever. “And Father will then exploit Menelaos for his own ends?”
“No. No! I would never – we’d never …” Menelaos looked on the verge of tears.
Gelanor shook his head. “Calm down, Menelaos. We all know the idea is absurd. If Agamemnon had any doubts about either you or Laertes, I’ve dealt with them. I’m sure, if we leave for Olenos in the next few days, Agamemnon will be quite content.”
Laertes thumped his wine cup down. “No one will accuse me of disloyalty–”
“Nestor will be insulted,” said Antikleia, raising her head from her sewing, “if Menelaos doesn’t take part in the chariot contest. What of his friendship then?”
Bless you, Mother, Odysseus thought, whatever your reasons might be.
Gelanor was laughing. “Oh, indeed, my dear Antikleia. He could take it quite personally.”
Odysseus unclenched his fingers from the rim of his stool. Relax. They mustn’t see how agitated he was. Maybe he could steer Father back towards his original plan. “And Father will be most upset if he’s forced to break his promise,” he said.
“What in Zeus’s name do you mean?” said Laertes.
“That hunting trip to Kephallenia. You can’t have forgotten.”
“Odysseus,” said Laertes, his face flushed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Haven’t you been listening at all?”
“But you promised.”
“I know I agreed to it–”
“You promis
ed.”
“Out of the question. Agamemnon–”
“He’ll be so proud if Menelaos succeeds.” Odysseus rummaged back through his memories. “Remember how disappointed he was when Menelaos missed that spear throw in the hunt at Mykenai last year?”
“And a spear throw,” said Laertes, throwing up his hands, “is more important than the current political situation?”
Odysseus drew a cautious breath. Father often blustered more than usual when he was about to change his mind. “Father, you must keep your promise,” he said. “How can Agamemnon trust a man who breaks his word?”
“The boy has a point, Laertes,” said Gelanor. “If we stay for the chariot contest, I’ll have more time to meet with Nestor. Then Menelaos can go to Kephallenia, kill his deer and cover himself with honour while I return to Olenos with a glowing report on both our achievements. Agamemnon won’t doubt me. He knows how loyal I am.”
Laertes paused. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes. Menelaos will be only a few days behind me.”
“Very well. But, Olli, I want a word with you before you go to bed.”
“Yes, Father.” Odysseus managed to look nonchalant. A word? What about?
“The most important thing,” said Gelanor, “is not to leave Agamemnon alone too long with that young viper Palamedes.”
“Can’t you tell Agamemnon to send him packing?” exclaimed Antikleia. “He sounds like a dreadful young man.”
“Hardly.” Laertes sighed heavily. “He is their cousin. And he played a crucial role in the escape from Sikyon – both Agamemnon and Menelaos owe him their lives.”
Odysseus glanced sideways at his friend, his heart in his throat. Cousin! Another thing he’d avoided talking about. Now it had finally been said.
But Menelaos’s face was blank; a small muscle was twitching at the corner of his mouth, that was all.
Father had spoken as though it were a public truth. Perhaps it was. Perhaps Menelaos had known all along. Otherwise he would have reacted in some way, wouldn’t he?
Murder at Mykenai Page 13