Murder at Mykenai

by Catherine Mayo

  “Even more importantly,” Laertes was saying, “Palamedes’s father is invaluable to us. Double-dealing and rumour are unpleasant tools at the best of times, but alas, we’re forced to use them. And Nauplios reports he’s making good progress in Mykenai. Even if we can raise a strong army, the walls are too massive for anything but treachery.”

  Treachery. Odysseus bit his lip. Treachery could take many paths.

  Odysseus edged the bedroom door open and listened. A wheezing sound was coming from the bed nearest him – Eury, lying on his back with his arms wide, too much red dust from the training field clogging his nose and dead to the world.

  Menelaos was over in the far bed, breathing steadily. Fast asleep too, by the sound of it, and calm as you please. He must have known already that Palamedes was his cousin …

  Odysseus slipped his sandals off and tiptoed across the plaster floor. With any luck he’d make it into bed without disturbing either of them. His thoughts were in such a confusion as it was; he didn’t think he could face any more questions.

  He was almost there when Menelaos rolled over. “Is that you, Olli?” he whispered.

  Perhaps he’d been awake all the time. Damn. “Ssh,” Odysseus whispered back. “You’ll wake Eury.”

  “What did Laertes want? You’ve been half the night.”

  “Nothing much.” Odysseus sat heavily down on his bed. Nothing much? Nothing short of disaster. How was it Father had guessed his mind so well? But he couldn’t say anything to Menelaos till he’d had time to think of another plan.

  Chapter Thirty-four

  They dragged the boat high up the beach out of reach of the waves, shouldered their loads and headed off up the steep track. Odysseus settled into line behind Menelaos, with the huntsmen ahead and Eurybates bringing up the rear. Menelaos had seemed a little quiet, he thought, during the short voyage from Ithaka across to this pine-covered mountainside on Kephallenia, but the conversation, general as it was, had been dominated by the huntsmen’s banter. Now there was neither time nor breath for talk as they climbed through the forest, and just as well too.

  At least Menelaos had learned how to scale a mountain since that first day on Ithaka – he was using his breath better and moving in that balanced, relaxed way Odysseus had shown him. Indeed, he seemed to be keeping up with the huntsmen without too much difficulty. But suddenly he stopped and slid the pack from his shoulders.

  “Tired already?” said Odysseus, halting beside him. “Shall I take some of your weight?”

  “No, I’m fine. I think I’ve something in my boot. A stone from the beach perhaps.” Menelaos bent down and started undoing his boot straps.

  “Menelaos has a pebble in his boot,” Odysseus called out to the men further up the path. “We’ll catch you up.”

  “Don’t take all day,” said Eurybates from below them, leaning on his spear to take the strain of the pack straps off his shoulders.

  “I need to talk to you,” Menelaos whispered. “In private.”

  Odysseus brushed Argo’s inquisitive nose away. “Back, boy! Sit! Talk? Well, this is as private as we’ll be for the next two days. And with Eury here, it’s not going to be private at all.” His heart sank. He’d been wracking his mind for another plan, every day since that dreadful conversation with Father back in Pylos. And he’d come up with nothing. Nothing at all. As for the promise he’d been forced to make, it felt like the worst kind of betrayal. Menelaos was bound to see it like that. And here he was, obviously urgent to discuss the very thing Odysseus didn’t want to mention.

  Thank goodness Eury was close by. His presence, only ten paces or so down the track, should stop this “talk” of Menelaos’s going where it mustn’t.

  “It’s not something I can say in a moment.” Menelaos made a show of groping about in his boot. “Or with Eury listening. I meant, later. This evening.”

  “No chance of that. There’s far too much to do.”

  “You can arrange it, I know.”

  “No, I can’t. We have to find out where the deer will be in the morning, set traps, hang nets, make camp, gather wood, fetch water, cook.” All true, but it sounded like a string of lame excuses. From the look Menelaos gave him, he was thinking as much. “There’ll be hunters with us all the time,” Odysseus persevered. “We’re too inexperienced to wander off on our own.”

  “You must.” Menelaos’s voice had that desperate note again.

  Odysseus felt sick. So much for all his clever ideas. “Listen,” he whispered, seizing Menelaos’s hand. “You have to go back to Olenos. I know what it will be like–”

  “Do you?” said Menelaos.

  “But you must bear it. Somehow.”

  Menelaos glared at him. “How?”

  “Any way you can.”

  “Really? You may be very clever, Olli, but you don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”

  Odysseus gripped Menelaos’s hand harder. There was nothing for it. He’d have to tell Menelaos what had happened to destroy their chances. “Remember the night Gelanor arrived in Pylos? How Father kept me back? He’d guessed we’d try something like this.”

  “Like what?”

  Odysseus stared at him. “Run away. What else is this about? Oh, Menelaos, I’m so sorry. Father made me swear not to.” He groaned. “I’ve even promised to stop you too. You have to go back to Olenos.”

  “Why?”

  “I have run away before – to Sikelia, remember? On a fishing boat. I told you about that when we first met. And I thought we could try something like that again. But Father thought of it too.” He bit his lip.

  “No, I meant, why would it be such a problem if I don’t go back to Olenos?”

  “If you don’t, Father says the Aitolians will declare war on us.”

  “My brother would stop them.”

  “It was Agamemnon’s idea. When Gelanor arrived in Olenos, he had to work hard to change his mind.”

  Menelaos’s jaw dropped. “No. Declare war? That’s a festering lie. He wouldn’t. He’d never want to do that.”

  “He did. Or rather, Palamedes persuaded him he should.” Odysseus paused, his eyes smarting with tears. “So it’s not only you I’m worried about. It’s Father and Mother and Kitti and Eury. And all the Ithakans. And it would destroy the alliance. Agamemnon would never be the High King.”

  “But Uncle Gelanor–”

  Odysseus shook his head. “If we disappear now, it will be easy for Palamedes to say Father’s hidden you and that Gelanor’s part of the plot. Then they’d kill Gelanor as a traitor.”

  “You’re making this up,” Menelaos muttered. “Why would Agamemnon listen to Palamedes rather than Gelanor?”

  “Why?” Odysseus paused, in an agony of indecision. “Oh gods. I didn’t want to tell you this.” He dragged the fingers of his free hand through his hair. “Father told me Palamedes has been saying how much you remind him of …” He paused. What a horrible set of relations Menelaos had – that evil murderer, Thyestes; cousin Tantalos who’d betrayed them in Sikyon; and now precious cousin Palamedes himself. Poisonous, all of them. But it had to be said. “Palamedes says you remind him of your uncle. Thyestes, I mean, not Gelanor. And he’s been feeding Agamemnon with disloyal things you’re supposed to have said in private–”

  “No.” Menelaos’s face looked ghost-white in the shadow of the trees.

  “He even told Agamemnon that’s why he’d been beating you.”

  “No!” Menelaos pulled his hand away.

  “Please, Menelaos. You mustn’t run away.”

  “I never had any intention of running away. Unlike you.”

  “Oh? Then why? You said–”

  “No, I didn’t. You did.”

  Odysseus bit his lip. “I thought – no, forget I spoke.” He straightened up. “We’d best keep going. The huntsmen will be well ahead by now.”

  Menelaos wrestled his boot back on and shouldered the pack, panic fighting anger in a raging turmoil that made his head fee
l as though it would split in half. He didn’t want to believe Olli but it all made sense. The fact that Palamedes was his own cousin, his own blood, made it all so much worse. They were tied together by the most basic, the most sacred of bonds – almost as though they were one and the same person. The thought filled him with such self-disgust even breathing seemed almost impossible.

  When King Laertes had mentioned it in Pylos the other night, oh so casually, the shock had numbed him. Only a moment before he’d thought nothing could be worse than being accused of treachery. How wrong he’d been.

  Now he had only one plan left. He had to make it work. If only he’d been able to persuade Olli to talk with him about it tonight. But Olli had kept prating on – all that rot about running away.

  Damn it. Now there wouldn’t be another chance.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  The fire had died down and the stars seemed very bright. A solitary watchman stood just outside the dim circle of firelight, his spear gripped ready in his hand, while around the flickering embers the huntsmen lay hunched in their cloaks. Beside him Odysseus slept, or seemed to be sleeping. His eyes were closed but Menelaos had a sense of being watched. Did Olli still think he’d try to escape? Well, he’d find out, soon enough. They’d all find out.

  Above him the great square of Pegasus flagged its way up the eastern sky. They wouldn’t be waiting for dawn, the old huntsman had said, they’d be moving through to the other clearing as soon as Pegasus started his downward journey. Still a while to wait. Menelaos went through his plan again. It all seemed so simple, so easy. Even without Olli helping him. It had to work.

  He felt for his spear, fingered the blade that Olli had helped him sharpen. Pity he wasn’t going to use it.

  The huntsmen woke up without a word being spoken and gathered around the remains of the fire, tightening belts, checking spears, arrows, bowstrings, leashes. A young dog whimpered and was instantly shushed. The deer traps had been set at the top of a likely gully the evening before, the nets strung up to cut off all but the desired path of escape. All they needed now was to find their way in the last of the moonlight to the edges of the clearing, and wait there for the first glimmer of daylight.

  Odysseus gripped the leashes of the two dogs he would set free when the signal came. Argos was tensed like a bow full drawn, but the other dog, an experienced old hand, padded calmly along beside him. He could hear Menelaos following close behind, his footsteps cushioned by the thick layer of pine needles that covered the ground under the trees. Eury had suggested the two of them split up and work from opposite ends of the clearing. Laertes must have talked to Eury before they left for the hunt, and despite overhearing what he could of their conversation yesterday on the track, the squire might still not trust them together.

  Well, they weren’t going to escape, were they?

  It was good Menelaos had insisted they hunt together. They’d spent so much time shoulder to shoulder this summer, it was only right these last precious days should be the same. Odysseus tried not to think of what would happen after that. Don’t spoil it, he thought, enjoy this brief time while it lasts.

  The huntsman leading their group stopped, his arms spread wide. They’d reached the clearing. They crept the last few paces and crouched behind the bushes at the southern edge of the trees. All around the forest was clothed in stillness, but they knew the other men were working into position and the dim cluster of deer on the far side of the clearing was surrounded. The night breeze drifted down the mountain, blowing their scent away from the herd. An owl called, mournful and alone, in the forest below them. Was it to their right or their left? Good omen or bad?

  Dawn bleached a line along the horizon and a shrill whistle pierced the silence. Time. Odysseus unhitched the leashes and the two dogs sprang from the bushes. All around the clearing other dark shapes were surging across the grass towards the deer, their barking shattering the stillness of the night. Behind them the hunters came racing up, spears at the ready. The deer froze, huddled briefly then broke apart, some steered by the dogs towards the nets, others crashing into each other in their confusion.

  “Look, there’s a young one on the edge of the herd, over there,” Odysseus shouted.

  “Shall I throw first?” Menelaos was right beside him, almost too close, and running hard.

  “Yes, but be quick.” Odysseus slowed to give his friend room. Menelaos had to cast now, this instant, and pull back out of the way of the other hunters to avoid being hit by someone else’s spear. Already, he was too far in front.

  A blur of movement caught Odysseus’s eye in the half dark. Not Menelaos. One of the huntsmen, sprinting up hard on their left, his spear arm arcing over. “No,” he shouted. “Menelaos! No! Wait!”

  But Menelaos was still running blindly forwards, and no, oh gods, no, he’d changed direction too, swerving left; he couldn’t have seen the huntsman. Odysseus lunged sideways, trying to jolt the man’s spear arm, upset his aim. The shaft wobbled as it flew from the man’s hand – it had to miss, it just had to miss. But somehow Menelaos was staggering, slipping, falling towards the new path of the spear and the point was ripping, ripping through his hair. Not his head, please. Oh gods, not his head!

  Blood. Blood on his hands, on his tunic, on Menelaos’s tunic, his shoulders, the grass. Too dark to see: fingers searching through hair for shattered bone, pulp; fingers pressing against Menelaos’s neck, as Antikleia had shown him, searching for the pulse, searching; someone sobbing.

  “What happened?” Eury’s voice somewhere overhead.

  “What the devil?”

  “You speared him?”

  “Stupid little fools.”

  Voices gathering all around them.

  “Quiet.” Eury again. “Get back. Give them space.”

  Odysseus looked up at the crowd of faces pressing down on them both. “He’s alive. He’s breathing, his heart’s beating.” The spear had gone, vanished into the long grass. “Menelaos. Menelaos. Can you hear me?” He shook his shoulder, and Menelaos stirred, half-rolling over, his face gaunt, his eyes staring up at them. “Can you hear me?”

  “He’s stunned – you must have knocked him out.” Nervous laughter.

  “I’ll help you up. Here.” Odysseus pulled at Menelaos’s arms, his own body shaking.

  Menelaos struggled to his feet and Odysseus turned him round, parting the hair on the back of his head in the dim early light to find the wound.

  It seemed everyone had an opinion. Half-deafened by the babble of voices, Odysseus pulled his hunting knife out of his belt and hacked off the hem of his tunic. “Here,” he said, his voice wavering. “A bandage. At least till we get back to the camp.”

  “Be quiet, all of you,” growled the huntsman. “What in damnation were you boys playing at? Hadn’t you agreed which order you’d throw?”

  “Yes, we did,” Odysseus snapped back. “I didn’t throw the spear. It was someone else. I tried to stop him but I couldn’t. Who was it?” He glared around at the huntsmen, and their blank faces stared back.

  “We won’t go into this now.” Eurybates was taking charge. “I’ll leave you men to pull down the nets and check the traps while I take these boys down to the camp. Who knows – we may have caught a deer.”

  “Small chance of that,” grumbled the old huntsman. “Without the dogs at their backs, they’ll have scattered through the forest.”

  “Well, it’s not so important,” said Eurybates. “Menelaos is alive; that’s the main thing.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Eurybates coaxed the fire into life and put some water on to heat. Argos had lain down next to Menelaos, his belly flat to the ground and his head stretched along his paws, every muscle taut, his eyes darting to and fro. Odysseus washed the blood from Menelaos’s hair and, when the water was warm, he shaved around the cut and bathed it. He couldn’t quite believe it. In the dark it had looked as though the spear had gone clean through Menelaos’s head. With trembling hands, he smeared ointment
on a pad of clean cloth and bound it over the wound.

  He clambered to his feet as Eurybates dumped an armload of fresh wood beside the fire. “Menelaos and I need to talk in private,” he whispered. “Could you leave us alone for a while?”

  “An excellent idea.” Eurybates’s eyes were as full of questions as his own. “I wasn’t so far away when it happened, but what I saw I can’t make sense of. Maybe you can wring an explanation from him while I keep watch.”

  He squeezed Odysseus’s shoulder and walked over to an outcrop of rock just beyond earshot.

  Menelaos hadn’t spoken, had hardly moved since they arrived back at the camp. Now he sat shivering in the heat of the fire, his knees drawn up against his chest.

  Odysseus fetched a blanket and wrapped it around his friend’s shoulders. “What happened?” he asked. “I was calling for you to stop. Why did you keep running?”

  “It doesn’t matter.” Menelaos’s voice was muffled, his face buried against his knees.

  “Doesn’t matter? You’ve come within a hair of being killed – that matters to me.”

  Menelaos lifted his head. Odysseus could see his cheeks were wet with tears. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “Sorry for what?”

  Menelaos shook his head, eyes closed.

  All the way down the hill an almost unthinkable question had been clawing at Odysseus’s heart. Was it the same question he’d seen in Eurybates’s eyes?

  It had to be asked. “Did you mean to do that? Run onto the spear?” He could scarcely countenance the words, but the expression on Menelaos’s face gave him his answer. A surge of anger overwhelmed him. “You were trying to kill yourself, weren’t you? Of all the mindless, stupid, selfish things you could have done,” he cried. “You panicked. And what about the hunter? Ambushing that poor devil into murdering you.”

  “I don’t … I didn’t see it like that. Oh gods.” Menelaos covered his face with his hands. “But it wasn’t mindless or selfish, I swear, and I wasn’t panicking. I’ve been planning it all summer, ever since you told me we were coming here to hunt. I was going to tell you, that was why I stopped you on the track. I thought you’d help me. I thought if we worked it out together, we could make sure nothing went wrong. It’s the only answer, the only honourable way.”