“Ury, I’m not sure—” began Deklah, but it was too late. As the three of us reached the doors, the guards moved. Their scimitars flashed out simultaneously, the spiky inner edges digging painfully into the sides of our throats. Six more guards poured out through the double doors, seizing us and binding our arms painfully behind us. Yoked together by a twisted rope around our necks, we were yanked inside and hauled, stumbling on the dirt floors, through dim, downward-sloping tunnels. Pallid, hairless workers scuttled past, paying us no more attention than if we’d been bits of furniture. After passing several storerooms filled with giant earthenware pots, we were led down a ramp to a large, windowless chamber, the air inside uncomfortably warm and moist. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I gasped. Lying on her side atop a padded litter in the centre of the room was the largest woman I had ever seen.
In every sense, she was enormous. Standing, she would have been as tall as Pharos, but it wasn’t her height that caught my eye. She was hugely, grossly fat. Her bloated arms were as thick as Ury’s thighs, and her own pale thighs were so wide I doubted I could get my arms around one. Folds of fat surrounding her dark eyes had squeezed them nearly shut, and billows of blubber the size of two sheep wobbled beneath her coarse robe, threatening to ooze out across her padded litter.
Around her, a dozen hairless attendants fussed and twittered, cleaning her skin, brushing her hair and pouring wine between her lips from a wide-brimmed vessel. One stood by her head, chewing cake-like lumps from a bowl before spooning it out of her own mouth and into the open maw before her. I stared, horrified, but couldn’t turn away. At that moment her expression changed to a frown of concentration, and a moment later, a foul smell crept through the moist air. From behind her vast buttocks another attendant appeared, carrying a broad silver bowl and poking anxiously at its steaming contents as she scurried off through one of the room’s many doorways.
“Incredible,” murmured Deklah, standing beside me. “That must be their queen. You know, I’d bet she’ll spend her whole life on that litter.” I didn’t doubt it. There was no chance that mountain of flesh could stand up, even on those tree-trunk legs.
One of the attendants made a clicking noise, and the other workers stopped what they were doing to push and heave her bloated mass until they had rolled her onto her other side. I got a glimpse of her enormous buttocks beneath a leather girdle before the eight sweating men carrying her litter turned it to face us again and her attendants ringed her in once more.
Beside me, Ury chuckled. “Now that’s what I call a woman,” he muttered, his voice raw and earthy.
At the sound, the queen tilted her head to face us. Sausage lips twitched as she chattered a low-pitched string of chirps and clicks. The other attendants stopped what they were doing and looked up as her blank gaze swept across us, stopping at me. She spoke again and one of our guards severed the rope binding me to the other three Greeks with a precise twitch of one scimitar, then dragged me over to her. Another word from her and his blade sliced away the cord around my wrists.
This close, she was even more disturbing. The rolls of fat on her chin had merged into a single giant bullfrog sack that spread all the way down her breastbone, jiggling when she spoke. One corpulent arm reached out to slide field-mouse fingers slowly down my cheek. I stood stock still, desperately willing myself not to flinch. What did she see me as? A pet? A mate? A meal? I shut my eyes, sweat starting from my brow in the humid air.
In the silence I heard Ury chuckle faintly, licking his wet lips. “Looks like she likes you, boy,” he called out. “Be sure to save some for the rest of us.” Gods, I hoped he was joking.
The queen had turned her head at his voice and was chattering something. A guard with the other Greeks jerked hard on the rope around Ury’s neck. He staggered, cursing.
“You want to jerk something, gloutos-breath?” he snarled, twisting around. “Jerk this!” Hands tied behind his back, he lowered his head and butted the guard savagely in the neck, knocking him backwards. As Ury’s rush carried him forward, the rope binding him to the two others went taut and pulled them off balance. They tottered for a moment, then all three Greeks collapsed with a clatter, knocking two of the guards down with them.
The razor-sharp scimitars of the remaining guards flashed out instantly and landed on either side of the men’s necks like giant pincers. One of them turned to face the queen and chittered a question.
Her frown could mean only one thing. I hesitated. I wouldn’t cry if Ury died, but Deklah . . . besides, I wasn’t likely to get out without them. I needed a distraction.
Before she could reply, I raised my hands to my face and moaned loudly, bending over as though sick. As the queen turned to look, I hurled myself as hard as I could at the legs of the nearest litter-bearer.
Taken by surprise, he staggered, trying to keep his balance. A pale shin loomed in front of my face, and I grabbed it with both hands and bit hard. Pain shot through my jaw as my teeth struck bone. The litter-bearer screamed, bending to clutch his leg as I spat out a flap of bloody skin. Above me, the other bearers struggled to keep the litter level, but without their corner man, the queen’s weight was slowly tipping it, dumping her huge carcass onto the packed dirt floor.
I rolled frantically out of the way as the queen landed almost on top of me, her mouth opening in an ear-cleaving shriek. The entire palace began humming like a plucked harp. Clucking attendants were suddenly running to her side from doorways all around. Soldiers rushed to form a ring around her, their swords waving in all directions like antennae, alert for threats. Workers spilled into the room, darting in to bundle her huge bulk back onto the litter, filling the entire room with their agitated clicks.
Keeping my belly to the ground, I crept past the soldiers to where the Greeks lay on the floor. The tiny corner of my mind that wasn’t overwhelmed by fear wondered why the soldiers weren’t coming after us, but I had no time to think about that now. Pulling Melantha’s knife from inside my tunic, I sawed through the cords around Deklah’s wrist and neck. Freed, he snatched the knife from me and cut Ury and Yason loose with a few quick slashes, tucking the knife away inside his own tunic.
As Ury began to scramble to his feet, his gaze darting around the room, I realized something.
“Don’t move!” I whispered, grabbing his arm. “Look! They don’t even see us!”
At that moment a clutch of workers poured through a nearby doorway and scuttled across us toward the queen, still squalling on the ground. Two of them stumbled over us on the floor but hardly slowed down.
Ury just stared at me, wild-eyed, but Deklah came to my aid. “You know, Ury, he’s right! For some reason they aren’t seeing us. Follow me and keep your head down. And don’t attract attention!” He began to thread his way through the milling workers, crouching low. Ury hesitated, but I knew where my best chance lay. Springing to my feet, I ducked and followed Deklah toward the doorway, weaving through the crowded room.
I crept through the dim passageways behind Deklah, Ury and Yason now a few paces behind. Around us, workers and warriors were scurrying back and forth, chittering to one another. The hallways didn’t look familiar, but I wasn’t about to question Deklah’s lead.
There was a soft grunt behind us and I turned to look. Yason, looking backward, had run straight into one of the black-carapaced palace soldiers emerging from a side room. One arm shot out and grabbed Yason by the shoulder. Ahead of us, Deklah turned, gesturing at him to stay still. Frowning slightly, the soldier stood facing him, cocking his head first to one side, then the other, staring with that strange, sightless gaze at what he had caught. As we watched, he drew Yason slowly to him and bent his head to sniff Yason’s cheek.
Yason tensed nervously, ready to bolt. Deklah shook his head and gestured for him to stay still, but it was too late. As the soldier reached out for Yason’s cheek with his free hand, Yason gave a frightened moan. Twisting out of the soldier’s grip, he bolted up the passage toward us. The soldier spun, crosse
d scimitars emerging from their sheaths.
“Run!” Deklah shouted. We took off, the soldier pounding heavily behind us, scimitars waving in his hands. Close behind Deklah, I could hear Ury coming up behind me, and I risked a quick glance back. The soldier had nearly caught up to Yason. Clumsy with terror, Yason stumbled. Like a pouncing spider, the soldier was on him. With a single slash, he hacked a gaping slice from the back of Yason’s calf. Yason screamed and fell to the ground, clutching his leg. In a swift, precise motion, the soldier swung both scimitars inwards like a giant pair of shears. They closed on either side of Yason’s neck and snipped off his head.
Blood spurted in two jets from either side of the severed neck to spray the walls and floor as the head tumbled toward me. The sight left me frozen. The twin sprays of blood already dying to a trickle, the whitish stub of bone from the centre of the neck, and, worst of all, Yason’s head, its unblinking white eyes staring from a shadowed corner, had pinned me where I was, horrified.
“Forget him!” I heard Ury shouting angrily. “Get going!” I turned, but he wasn’t speaking to me. He was tugging at Deklah, his other hand gesturing at me. Yason was already forgotten.
With an angry glance at him, Deklah shook Ury’s hand off and grabbed my shoulder. “Just run—they’ve noticed us!”
For a moment, I paused. Three more soldiers had emerged from a doorway, chittering with the one who had beheaded Yason, and began lumbering up the passage after us. We began running, and as we rounded the corner I glanced back for a moment. Workers with baskets and knives were already clustering around Yason’s body.
Directly ahead were the double doors we had come in through, standing ajar. Putting on a burst of speed, we dashed through them into the open air of a cloudy mid-afternoon. Behind us, soldiers spilled out of the doorway into the square.
“Split up!” gasped Deklah, breathing hard. “Head for the ship! Warn them!”
Good idea. If those armoured soldiers caught one of us, there was nothing the rest of us could do anyway. I darted off the road and into the trees. If I could just keep my bearings, this route would be more direct, and I’d be harder to follow.
The underbrush was thicker than I’d expected. After working my way through it for a little while I paused to listen for pursuit. I could hear crashing behind me but it was a long way off, and I leaned against a tree trunk to catch my breath, waving away a cloud of sweat bugs.
Shortly after, I emerged from the forest near the top of a small ridge. Cresting it, I could see the scrub-strewn plain that we had crossed earlier, and beyond it, the cliff. The sounds behind me had died off. As I reached the cliff edge and turned to climb down the rope, a movement in the distance caught my eye. Coming over the ridge were Ury and Deklah. The shortcut I had taken through the woods hadn’t been much faster after all, but it looked like they’d made it safely.
I looked again. Behind them, a black wave of soldiers was flowing up and onto the plateau, scimitars waving. Panicked, I half-fell down the rock face, giving my hands a painful burn on the rope. Seeing my haste, Lopex came back to the stern deck where I’d landed. “What is it, boy?” he barked.
“Yason’s dead. Deklah and Ury—they’re being chased by soldiers. They’re almost at the cliff,” I panted. This was not the time to stay silent, even if he had ordered me to.
He was instantly in command. “Lykos! Lykourgos!” he called to two brothers who sat across from one another. “Grab your sword and shield and get up that cliff. Ury and Deklah need your help.” The two men snatched up their weapons from below their bench and went to scramble up the rope. They were only halfway up when Ury’s wild-eyed face appeared at the top. “Get out of the way!” he shouted, waving them back as he started down himself. The two soldiers reversed course as Deklah appeared at the edge. I watched the rope strain under the weight of four heavy men.
Lopex saw the same thing. “Cut the bow rope!” he shouted to Procoros, pulling out his knife to do the same at the stern. “If they fall, better it be into the sea! Rowers to your benches; starboard side, unlace oars to push off!”
He was too late. As Lykos and Lykourgos jumped down the last few feet to the deck, I heard a snap from above and a wild cry. Arms flailing, Ury tumbled at least ten arm-lengths to land with a hollow thud on his back on the wooden deck. Broken rope still in his hands, Deklah dropped from the sky an instant later to land stomach-first on top of him.
I peered at them both as they lay motionless. A trickle of blood came from the side of Ury’s mouth. Was he dead?
“Boy!” barked Lopex, unlacing an oar to push us off. “Look after them!” I rolled Deklah onto his back on the deck. Perhaps Ury would die before I got to him.
Had the soldiers reached the cliff top? I glanced up and gasped in shock. “Look out!” I yelled. “The cliff!”
Tumbling down the rock face at us were a dozen large boulders. Along the cliff, dark heads peered over the edge like beetles. “Row! Row!” Phidios shouted. The first boulders struck as the ship began to move. Three of them crashed into oars on the cliff side, snapping their handles out of their rowers’ grip and momentarily fouling the others. Several others smashed down into the ship itself, lancing between the rowing benches into the hold, loudly smashing some clay pithoi. Another caught a forward rower on the arm. I noticed that, even with his arm broken, he had the sense to high-ship his oar to keep it clear, but the last boulder ploughed directly into the shoulder of Praxy, the silent port steersman, tearing his arm off and ripping him open from shoulder to waist. He slumped against his steering oar, instantly dead.
“Keep rowing, men!” roared Lopex from the bow. “They can’t reach us once we’re away from the cliffs!” He glanced upward. The cliff was still clustered with soldiers, but there were no more boulders coming down—yet.
The fouled oars had been cleared by their neighbouring oarsmen, and the Pelagios was pulling away from the cliff, about to cross the mouth of the inlet. The inlet! I’d forgotten about the other ships. Lopex was already in the bow, roaring at them. “Ships of Ithaca! Beware the cliff tops! Cut your anchor ropes and row out now!” No one hearing that voice could doubt its urgency, and the men of the other ships sprang to comply. They were packed so tightly that they jostled with one another to extricate themselves from the inlet.
“Sweet gods,” one of the rowers muttered. “Look at the cliffs.”
Around the entire inlet, the cliff tops had come alive with black, swarming figures. I bit my lip. Even Greeks deserved better than this. “Dear gods, get out, get out,” the man near me was muttering, his knuckles white on his oar.
The nearest ship had managed to disentangle itself from the others by pushing off with its oars, and was now rowing furiously into the mouth of the inlet. I could see the captain, a youngish man with a light beard, holding the steering oar himself and scanning the cliffs to either side. Suddenly he froze, staring up. A mammoth red boulder bounced out from the cliff, crushing him instantly and tearing the entire stern from his ship.
Already low in the water, the ship sank quickly. Dozens of smaller boulders were smashing down in a deadly rain, destroying oars, crushing rowers on the ship and in the water alike.
“Sweet Hera,” the man near me breathed. “It’s blocked. May almighty Zeus protect them now.” For a moment I didn’t understand. Blocked? Then I saw. The mouth of the inlet was shallow, and the ship had come to rest on the bottom with its curved stern still visible above the surface. With that ship blocking the mouth, the others were trapped. A chill ran through me.
Lopex had spotted the same thing. “Swim for it!” he yelled. “Hold your breath and paddle with your arms. Dogs can do it, so can you!” Watching them floundering in the water, I realized with a shock that most of them didn’t know how.
From deeper in the inlet came terrified shrieks and cries of pain. I wrenched my gaze up. Boulders of all sizes were hurtling down the cliff sides, bouncing off projections as they tumbled to spring out and strike anywhere in the inlet. With
the ships packed so tightly, more boulders than not were striking ships, or Greeks.
“Get out of there!” shouted Lopex over the din. “Phidios, bring us in toward the mouth! Archers, up front! Fire at the cliff tops!” The ship began to move toward the inlet to bring the archers into range, but it was no use. The cliffs were too high, and long before we were in range, boulders began raining down on us again. It would take only one good strike to hole the Pelagios and sink us, and Lopex knew it. Angrily, he had Phidios back us off again.
He wasn’t the sort to give up. I watched him carefully scanning the rock face on either side of the entrance, looking for a way up. I’d spent enough time with the Greeks by now to understand a little about tactics, and it was clear that the one way to save the men in the inlet would be a direct attack on the soldiers at the top. But the only climbable section of cliff was where we had moored originally, and the edge there still bristled with black figures.
In the inlet beyond the sunken ship, the pounding rain of boulders was battering the other ships to pieces. The water was crowded with the bodies of dead and dying men and the flotsam that had bobbed up from the holds. I watched in horror. Was there nothing we could do? Lopex had already deployed the boarding nets but none of the men in the water could get near us.
My eye fell on the jumble of ox-hide rope that had dropped back to the ship when it snapped, and a desperate idea came to me. Sweeping the bundle into my arms, I bench-hopped forward from the stern, pausing to ask Pharos to come with me from his seat amidships. He nodded silently as I explained, and bent to tie one end of the rope to a spare oar. I coiled the rope as I’d seen the sailors do and tied the other end off to the bow railing.
“Boy! What are you doing?” Lopex grabbed my shoulder. I turned nervously and explained.
He frowned. “Why did you not ask permission?”
I hesitated. “Well you said you didn’t want to hear from me anymore.”
He nodded slowly. “So I did.” He wheeled on Pharos. “What are you standing about for? Do it!” Pharos hefted the oar like a harpoon, now anchored to the bow rail by a long rope. His aim wasn’t good, but he could throw it twice as far as any man in the fleet. With a mighty one-armed heave he sent the oar arcing into the inlet to land well inside, the rope uncoiling from the deck as it flew. It speared the water like a diving seabird before bobbing back to the surface.
Cursed by the Sea God Page 4