I stammered, trying to head off his train of thought. “Arkadios? No, I called him, um, arachnios. From his long arms and legs.” Gods, a ten-year-old could do better.
Standing beside me, Kassander was saying nothing. “Translate for me, boy,” he muttered. “I’m not supposed to understand, remember?”
“What? Oh—right. They think I’ve called you, well, you-know-what. Your real name.”
Kassander turned his downcast head slightly to glance at me. “I know that, boy, ” he said quietly. “I’m Greek, remember? But we can still get out of this. Tell them I haven’t done anything wrong. Sound like you’re scared.”
I wasn’t sure what he was planning. “Sir?” I said to Nikias. “Please, he’s just a slave. He didn’t do it.”
“Do what, boy?” he began, but Kassander threw himself to his knees, wrapping his arms around one of Nikias’s stumpy legs.
“Please!” he whimpered. I froze. He’d spoken in Greek! But Kassander knew what he was doing. “Please,” he said again in heavily-accented Greek, keeping his head down and shaking it so Nikias couldn’t see his face. “Kassander good, please! No hurt!”
Nikias growled in disgust. “Get off me!” He said, trying to pull his leg free. “I said, get off me, you dirty Trojan coward. By Hermes, it’s no wonder we took Troy. Get off!” He hooked Kassander under the chin with a sandaled toe and with a powerful snap of one thick leg sent him tumbling backwards. The thrust lifted Kassander half to his feet and he staggered back across the sand.
“Kassander!” I called. “Look out!” Off balance and staggering, Kassander stumbled backward straight into Ury, bent over as he skinned the first cow. They tumbled down together on the half-skinned, bloody carcass.
“What are you doing, you stupid sueromenos! I nearly cut my hand off!” Ury began, but stopped. Landing on their sides, they were facing one another, their noses almost touching. Kassander swung an arm up to hide his face but Ury caught his elbow.
“Wait!” he said, frowning. He forced Kassander’s arm down and peered into his face. His eyes widened in shock.
“You?” he gasped. Dropping Kassander’s elbow he scrambled up off the bloody carcass. Kassander stood up slowly, his face expressionless.
Ury gestured, his eyes wild. “Grab him! Don’t let him get away!” Two dark men scrambled to comply, binding Kassander tightly by his shoulders. Ury walked around him, his knife waving warily, then stopped and put the edge against Kassander’s throat. An unpleasant smile warped his face. “It is you!” he breathed. “Arkadios! The lawagetas!”
Nikias had stumped up beside them. “That’s what that slave called him,” he said, pointing at me. “Arkadios.”
“He did?” Ury’s unpleasant smile broadened. “This just gets better and better. Bring him here too.” I was dragged over to stand beside Kassander. Ury stood before us, swaying slightly, the front of his tunic soaked in the heifer’s blood. He reached for his goatskin and took another swig of wine.
“So the stories were true. You went over to the Trojans. I didn’t believe them. Not Arkadios. Respectable Arkadios.” He folded his arms across his chest and stood there for a moment, staring at Kassander.
“Bad move, traitor.” He leaned forward, his face almost touching Kassander’s. “But I’ve got you now.” He stepped back and looked at me, his eyes narrow. “You too, slave. Hiding a traitor. Nobody will stop me if I kill you now.”
Nikias had taken out his own knife, a wickedly curved dagger with a short blade. “So who gets it first?” he asked impatiently. “The traitor?” He pointed his knife at Kassander. “Or the slave?” The knife swung toward me.
A crafty look stole across Ury’s face. “No.” He beckoned to some men nearby. “Tie them up. Killing takes a full belly to enjoy properly.”
Four of Ury’s men hauled us up the beach to the Pelagios, Ury and Nikias following us. We were thrown to the ground, our hands and feet threaded through the bow boarding net and bound together with rawhide cord. As Nikias wrenched my tunic off my shoulders, Melantha’s knife tumbled out beside me. I tried to slide over it but Ury pounced.
“What’s this?” he said, snatching it up. “Who’d you steal this from?”
Nikias gave me a vicious kick in the side. “Answer your master, slave,” he grunted.
“Didn’t . . . steal it,” I gasped, curling up around the pain. “Mine. Look at it—not Greek.”
Ury looked at the pattern on the handle and his eyes narrowed. “You lying Trojan. This is a girl’s knife.”
” My . . . sister’s,” I said, wheezing. “A coming-of-age gift.”
Nikias spoke from behind me. “I’ve seen that knife before.” He stepped over my head for a better look in the dusk. “That’s Sophro’s,” he added. “A trophy, he said.”
“Sophronios?” Ury gave me another painful kick in the side. “How did you get his knife, you sack of kopros? You know what happens to slaves who steal?”
Gasping for breath, I couldn’t speak. “Sophro told me he took it off a girl,” Nikias said. “The night we took Troy.”
Ury stopped short. “A girl?”
Nikias shrugged. “Some Trojan kuna. Found her lying against a well.”
Kopros. This was exactly where I had hoped Ury’s thoughts would never go. “Near a well,” he said slowly. “A well?” His face contorted in thought.
Kassander’s dry voice came from nearby. “You never change, do you, Ury? Kicking an unarmed slave—if someone ties him up for you first.”
Ury spun around to face Kassander. “Shut up!” he roared. Dropping his wineskin, he leapt to smash Kassander’s face with a fist, forgetting me entirely. The sound of furious, crunching blows came from Kassander’s direction as Ury unleashed his rage. Sickened, I huddled with my head down, unable to watch.
Finally, his rage spent, he stopped and sniffed the air, now filled with the maddening scent of roasting beef. “Enjoy the smell,” he said unsteadily. “I’ll be back.” He stumped back to the fire, where his men had slaughtered the other two cattle and begun skewering and grilling slices of beef.
There was no sound from beside me. My face burning like an open forge, I forced my head to turn.
“Kassander?”
Slumped against his bonds, he didn’t answer.
“Kassander?” I took a breath. “I just want to say—I’m so sorry. You’ve always given me good advice. You lied about yourself, but you had good reasons. I wish I had kept my mouth shut.”
Kassander heaved his head part way up to look over at me. Blood was trickling from both nostrils and his smashed lower lip. The skin around his left eye was turning black, while his right eye was already swelling shut. He began to shake his head but winced and stopped.
“I expected—” he broke off, coughing, and spat out a tooth with a mouthful of blood. “I expected to be caught long ago. You stopped that.”
He paused for a rasping breath that made him wince again. “You translated. They never had to speak to me.” He breathed heavily for a moment. “They would have known me . . . earlier, if they had.” His head dipped again.
“Kassander!” I called. He didn’t answer. “Arkadios! Listen to me!” He lifted his head slightly.
“We can still get away. They’ll be busy for a while. Look at them.” I nodded toward the centre of camp, where the Greeks were wolfing down half-raw skewers of beef the moment they came off the fire.
He shook his head, then winced. “How would we . . . get free?” he asked, his voice nearly inaudible. “And we’d need a distraction. A big one. Give us time to . . . escape.”
A voice boomed out across the camp, rising easily above the crackling cooking fire and the noises from the Greeks. “What in the name of the twelve immortals is going on here?”
Lopex had returned.
A bulging sailcloth sack over one shoulder, he strode into the centre of camp where several Greeks were roasting beef over a fire and smashed the skewers from their hands. “Is this how men of Achaea respec
t their oaths?” he shouted, staring around at them as they froze in mid-mouthful. “Is this how you show your devotion? Breaking your word to the gods the moment you get hungry?”
He was some distance away from us but in the sudden silence every word rang clear. Dropping his sack, he turned to Ury and smashed him back-handed across the mouth, sending him staggering and knocking his skewer to the ground. “And you, Ury? Where is your honour? You who in my absence hold command, this is how you abuse it? You shame yourself. You shame us all, before the gods.”
Ury half-straightened, his forearm raised to shield his face. Around them, the other Greeks watched silently to see what he would do. Ury glanced around and straightened slowly. “It’s not my fault!” he burst out. “You left us here to starve! You wanted us to die!”
Lopex stared at him as though at a loss for words. Taking heart from his silence, Ury snatched up a skewer of raw beef from the slaughterboard by the fire—and bit off a mouthful. He held the skewer over his head and turned to face the camp. “We’ve eaten, and nothing has happened! If there’s a curse on this meat, then curse me now!” He turned back to face Lopex once again and took another bite.
Lopex’s sword hand crept out from his body, fingers flexing, and Ury took an uncertain step back. But Lopex’s hand stayed where it was, and after a moment he sighed and shook his head. “You’re a fool, Ury. I knew it was a mistake to give you authority, but until now I hadn’t understood just how big a fool you were.”
He lifted up the sack he had brought back into camp and faced the men. “At the southernmost end of this island is a rush marsh. I have spent three days identifying which plants are safe, and have returned with enough for several days’ meals.” He glanced expressionlessly at Ury. “But we are undone by your foolishness. Eat, then, if you have no respect for your oaths. But for any among you who have not already despoiled your honour before the gods, these shoots are the meal they intended for us.”
He dropped the sack on the sand, pulled out a finger length of pale-green plant stalk and bit into it. “Pray hard for the winds to release us tomorrow. The curse is real, and you have unleashed it. Perhaps we can yet escape before it strikes.”
He turned and caught sight of us, tied to the boarding nets of the Pelagios. “Ury!” he barked. “Why is my slave tied up? And why is our healer tied up beside him?”
Ury smirked. “Your slave, Lopex? You should have looked more closely. He’s no more Trojan than you are. This is Arkadios the traitor! The man who went over to the Trojans!”
Lopex came across the beach to us and knelt to peer into Kassander’s eyes.
“You haven’t left much of his face for me to tell, Ury,” he said mildly, “but yes, this is Arkadios.” He glanced at me, lashed to the boarding net nearby. “And our Trojan healer?” he asked drily. “Is he a Greek turncoat too?”
“Well, no,” Ury began, sounding less certain. “But he kept the traitor’s secret.” He frowned. “And there’s something else . . .” His voice trailed off for a moment as he tried to remember, but Kassander’s interruption earlier had snapped his strand of thought. “I’m sure he knew about Arkadios, at least,” he added. “He called the traitor by his real name. I’ll kill them both after we’ve eaten.”
Lopex looked at him. “Has it occurred to you that knowing a man’s name doesn’t mean knowing his history? Or that most men would have done the same in his position?”
He turned back and pointed to Kassander. “Whoever he is, he is still my slave. I choose to leave him alive, for now. As for the boy, who were you planning for our new healer? Release him immediately.”
Ury came over to cut my bonds, glaring at Lopex’s retreating back. “I’ll get you yet, boy,” he muttered, sawing savagely at the cords on my wrists. “He may be blind but I’m not. I’ll have your tongue in my collection soon enough.” He shook his leather pouch at me.
My wrists and ankles had been bound so tight they had gone white, and it was some time before I could put any weight on my feet. When at last I could, I stood up and hobbled carefully over to Kassander, still bound. I looked at the knot binding his wrists but he shook his head. “Don’t help me. Ury would love to catch you. Get back to camp.”
He was right. Even treating Kassander’s wounds would be all the excuse Ury needed. Feeling helpless, I hobbled toward the rear edge of the camp where the beach grass began, keeping clear of Ury while I worked the cramps out of my wrists and ankles. As a result, I was the first to see the curse begin.
Ury had ordered some men to carry the offal from the slaughtered cattle out of camp. The men had dumped it all— heart, lungs and other organs—in a sprawling pile in the long grass. As I limped back and forth, trying to walk some life back into my feet, I heard a strange noise from the pile, like an old man wheezing. I crept over and peered down into the grass.
At my feet, the offal was moving.
For a moment I thought there was an animal burrowing in it and stepped closer to look. The sound was coming from the pink, fleshy lungs themselves, expanding and contracting. Regular, bubbling gasps as the air rushed in and out. I stared in astonishment for a moment until something else caught my attention. Off to my left, one of the deep red cow hearts was pulsing too. Separated from its body, it was starting to beat rhythmically as if still alive.
I backed away, staring. Now one of the intestines started to move, coiling and pulsing like a giant, fleshy snake. A disembodied tail flicked at a phantom fly, and I lost my composure completely. Stumbling and scrambling, I backed away until I could turn around and run back into camp. Some of the Greeks looked up as I burst in among them, pointing back toward the offal dump, trying to form words.
“What’s the matter, city boy? Never seen cow guts before?” Someone guffawed but suddenly stopped. Stretched out on the wooden slaughterboards near the main campfire, the jaws of the three carcasses had started to move in unison, a slow, rhythmic chewing as though they were working their cud in a field.
The two men nearest them scrambled up in alarm. Ury, his back to them as he chewed hunks off a skewer of beef, turned toward them. “What’s your problem? Sand up your gloutos?” The men shook their heads, pointing. Ury looked over and leapt to his feet, dropping his skewer of beef. “Sweet mother of Zeus! What in the name of Ares koprophage is that!”
The men around me were scrambling to their feet, groping for their knives. From the cutting boards, a low noise began that grew louder until I recognized it as a pain-filled bellow. The skinless carcasses, the first little more than a skeleton, had lifted their heads and begun an agonized lowing, a sound that grew more insistent until it seemed to vibrate in my own teeth and throat. Around me, the Greeks clung to one another in fear as the curse unfolded.
First one flayed carcass, then the other two, lurched to their feet and hobbled off their planks onto the sand. Shedding shreds of flesh and muscle, they began to stagger among the terror-stricken men. Near the edge of camp, I huddled anxiously behind a bulky warrior, too frightened to move. How could this be happening? The three carcasses were staggering around blindly, their heads lifted as they howled their unearthly pain into the dusk.
The lead cow staggered toward me, ragged strips of flesh still trailing from its bloody bones. The soldier and I bolted in opposite directions through the panic-stricken mass of men. I found myself running toward the far side of the camp where the Pelagios was beached.
“Alexi! Stay here. It’s safer.”
For whatever reason, I had bolted toward Kassander, still bound hand and foot to the boarding net. Reassured by his tone, I slowed to a stop. His right eye was now swollen completely shut but the other searched my face, then flickered toward the chaos in camp. “I’m not sure . . . how you managed it, Alexi, but . . . nice distraction.”
I turned back toward camp to watch the men, still darting in all directions. A few had swords out, but nobody was getting close enough to use them. Besides, if cutting their throats and pulling out the cattle’s guts hadn’t killed t
hem, I couldn’t see a sword doing much. Speaking of swords, I automatically felt for my knife but it wasn’t there, of course. I reached through the net and started trying to unpick Kassander’s wrist cords in the gloom. He nodded.
Suddenly there was a new noise. One of the soldiers had bent double and thrown up his half-chewed meal. He lifted his head and shrieked in terror. “Merciful gods! They’re still alive . . . inside us!”
In the firelight, I could just make out some misshapen lumps in the puddle he had left behind. The hair on my arms rose. Were they moving? Shocked, I stared at Kassander but he seemed unfazed. “Just as well we didn’t . . . eat any,” he wheezed. He saw my expression and shrugged. “Panic never helps. Your master Lopex knows that better than any man I’ve ever met.”
I glanced over through the gloom at Lopex’s tent. In the near-darkness I could just make out his pale shape sitting on a camp stool, arms folded, watching his men flee the stumbling creatures. One by one the men stopped running and violently retched up their dinner.
A few of his men were pleading with him, but Lopex continued to watch in silence. Eventually he unfolded his arms and stood up. “Men of Ithaca!” he shouted, his tone demanding attention. “I warned you of the curse. Do you believe now?”
Despite their terror, many of the men stopped. Those who didn’t were tripped and pinned by the others. Lopex waited. Finally, when the only sound was that unearthly lowing, Lopex spoke. “If you want to live, listen now. You have seen what disobedience brings. From this point on I demand unquestioning obedience as the price of my help. Do I have it?”
An anxious affirmative quavered back from the men. Lopex looked around, unconvinced. “I said, do I have it?” he roared.
The men found the energy to roar back. “Yes!”
Lopex looked slowly around the camp at the terrified men. After what could have been a lifetime, he nodded. “Very well. Do exactly what I say. Polites, take five men to collect driftwood. Adelphos, take three more and chop the driftwood down to fire size, then bank the fire up. Ury, take ten men and rope those creatures. Three of you hold each one steady while the rest cut them into pieces no larger than your thumb. Everyone else, collect every single piece of each carcass— every hoof, hide, horn, scrap of offal, bone or flesh. Every piece of those creatures must be burnt away to ash. We may not be able to reverse the curse, but if we destroy all the signs, we may yet escape it. And tomorrow, wind or no wind, we will leave this island if we have to swim.” The men scrambled to obey.
Cursed by the Sea God Page 14