Someone sniggered. Hands grabbed his shoulders and yanked him upright, and a deep voice said, ‘Now what have we here?’
‘What if he’s telling the truth and he really is the Outsider the Crows are after?’ said the first rebel, an enormous man with a tangled black beard, short bowed legs and a massive greenstone axe slung over one shoulder.
His companion snorted a laugh. ‘What, you want to hand him over and get the reward?’
‘Course not! But if he is the one, the Crows might be hot on his heels!’
‘I thought of that too,’ said the other. He was thin and wiry, and his pinched features weren’t improved by a straggly red beard. Like his companion, his ‘armour’ was a grimy tunic of quilted homespun and a thick leather cap. His weapons were those of a peasant: a granite hammer thrust in his belt, a flint sickle, and a flint-tipped spear that he was pointing at Hylas’ chest.
‘You say you’re an Outsider,’ he said suspiciously, ‘and you do sort of look like one. But what’s an Outsider doing with a horse and a fine bronze knife? No Outsider I ever seen had a knife like that! Where’d you get it, eh?’
‘Egypt,’ said Hylas.
‘Where’s that, then?’ snorted the big man with the black beard.
‘Never heard of it!’ spat the thin man with the red beard.
Hylas made no reply. His plan to allow the rebels to find him had been accomplished with alarming ease. What he hadn’t anticipated was that they’d think he was a Crow spy. And they didn’t seem the kind who bothered about taking prisoners.
Behind them, Jinx was tugging in vain at his tether, but the big man had tied him firmly to a tree, and he couldn’t break free.
They’d tied Hylas up too, pinioning his arms and making him stand on the edge of the gorge, with his back to the drop. It was all he could do to stay on his feet, swaying and squinting in the Sun.
‘I still think he’s the one,’ insisted Blackbeard. ‘Yellow hair, Crow tattoo –’
‘It’s Mountain Clan,’ said Hylas. ‘Not Crow.’
‘That’s no better,’ snapped Redbeard. ‘When the Crows attacked Mycenae all them years ago, the Mountain Outsiders wouldn’t fight!’ He jabbed his spear at Hylas. ‘If you’re Mountain Clan, you’re a coward!’
Slowly, Hylas shook his head. ‘I’m Mountain Clan, but I’m no coward.’
‘Where’d you get the horse?’ demanded Blackbeard.
‘Found him,’ said Hylas. ‘He escaped from the Crows. So did I.’
‘What were you doing with the Crows?’ said Redbeard.
Hylas hesitated. ‘I’ll tell your leader.’
‘No, you’ll tell us, or we’ll chuck you off the cliff.’
‘All right,’ said Hylas. ‘I’m after the dagger of Koronos. I found out from the Crows that it’s at Lapithos. I let you find me because I want you to help me steal it.’
There was an astonished silence. Then both men burst out laughing. Blackbeard leant on his axe and roared till the tears ran down his cheeks. Redbeard collapsed against a tree, wheezing through a mouthful of broken teeth.
‘Oh, that’s a good one, that is!’ he panted. ‘Now tell us the truth, eh? And I meant it about chucking you off the cliff.’
‘I meant it about the dagger,’ said Hylas.
‘Listen, boy,’ said Blackbeard, wiping his eyes. ‘Maybe you was once a goatherd on Mount Lykas, like you said. And maybe you did lose your sister when the Crows attacked your camp. But we don’t know if that’s true, do we, cos we never been to Lykonia! All we know is you come out of nowhere wearing a Crow tattoo, with a fine Crow horse, and spouting some daft plan for getting us all killed!’
‘He’s got to be a spy,’ said Redbeard.
‘But if I’m not,’ retorted Hylas, ‘and if you chuck me off this cliff, you’ll be in deep trouble with your leader!’ He was bluffing, he had no idea who their leader was. But they didn’t know that.
Blackbeard blew his nose in his hand and wiped it down his thigh. ‘You say you want to join us. How do we know you’re not a Crow spy? Name one rebel from round here. Go on, just one.’
Hylas thought of Akastos. But Akastos had made him swear never to reveal his name to a living soul; besides, he was from Mycenae, far to the north. ‘Periphas,’ he said uncertainly.
The men exchanged glances.
‘What’s he look like?’ said Redbeard.
‘Um – about my height,’ said Hylas. ‘Brown hair and eyes, broken nose –’
‘How’d it get broke?’
‘He stepped on a hoe when he was fifteen and it bashed him in the face. He was too embarrassed to tell his friends, so he said he broke it in a fight.’
Blackbeard laughed. ‘Well I never knew that!’
‘Do you know him?’ Hylas cried eagerly.
‘How come you didn’t mention him before?’ said Redbeard.
‘I didn’t know that you knew him! We were slaves together in the mines of Thalakrea, we escaped in the same ship! He – he’s got a tattoo like mine on his forearm, the Crows did that to all the slaves, only I altered mine, that’s why it’s like the Mountain Clan’s! Tell him I’m here! He’ll vouch for me, I know he will!’
Another exchange of glances. Then Blackbeard shrugged. ‘Ah, where’s the harm? If he’s lying, we’ll soon find out.’
‘What’s your name, boy?’ said Redbeard.
Again Hylas hesitated. ‘Just tell him it’s Flea.’
It was night when Hylas’ blindfold was finally removed. Blackbeard – whose real name turned out to be Nomios – dragged him off Jinx’s back. His belly hurt from the stallion’s withers, and he was still a bit weak.
In the moonlight, he made out Mount Lykas, rearing high above. It was closer than before, and he knew at once where he was. The rebel camp was on a mountain to the north-west.
Among the trees, he saw pine-bough shelters and a large, motley throng of peasants, fishermen and even a few warriors, huddled around fires. Many had bandaged limbs and heads; some were sewing each other’s wounds or tending their own. Their faces were seamed with dirt, hardship and fatigue, and they glanced stonily at Hylas.
There were women among them, no less dirty and grim, and children, and large shaggy mountain dogs who reminded him painfully of his own dog Scram, whom the Crows had killed. The camp was surprisingly well ordered. He saw sacks of barley, skins of oil, and bunches of rue and wormwood hung to dry in the smoke. From cauldrons set over the fires he caught the mouthwatering smell of barley gruel.
Ekion, whom he still thought of as Redbeard, hurried off to find Periphas. Nomios left Hylas in the charge of some peasants, and led Jinx to a clearing where a small herd of donkeys was grazing. Hylas watched anxiously, but the big man handled Jinx with brisk gentleness as he tied him to a pine with a long rope. Jinx flattened his ears and lunged at the nearest donkey, who gave a deafening bray and bit him on the shoulder. Jinx leapt back, startled. The donkey tossed its head and resumed grazing. Jinx shook himself, and did the same.
‘Over here.’ Ekion jerked his head, and he and Nomios led Hylas through the trees. They came to a fire around which sat a group of tired-looking warriors. One of them was instantly familiar, and Hylas broke into a grin.
‘Periphas!’ he cried. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you again!’
‘And you, Hylas,’ Periphas said gravely; but he didn’t return the grin. His eyes were red-rimmed with exhaustion, and there was a bloodstained bandage around his shin. Like his companions, he wore battered armour of dusty brown rawhide over a tunic of grimy quilted linen. His hair had grown since Hylas had last seen him, and it was braided, like a warrior’s.
He is a warrior, Hylas thought in surprise.
‘So it’s true,’ said Ekion, ‘he really does know you.’
‘He saved my life down the mines,’ said Periphas without taking his eyes off Hylas. ‘Later, he warned us that the mountain was going to blow up. That didn’t only save me, it saved Glaukos and Medon and many others.’ Then to Hylas: ‘Last
time I saw you was on Keftiu, you went off to look for your girl. Did you find her?’
‘Yes,’ said Hylas. Why did this feel like an interrogation? Why wasn’t Periphas glad to see him?
Ekion stepped forwards and handed Periphas Hylas’ knife and his wedjat eye amulet. ‘We found these on him.’
Periphas took them in silence. Then he heaved a sigh, and rubbed a hand over his face. ‘These are Egyptian,’ he said quietly.
‘Yes,’ said Hylas. ‘But what’s –’
‘Oh, Hylas. I really hoped it wasn’t true. But now I see that it is.’ He met Hylas’ eyes, and his own were bright with anger. ‘It was you who gave the dagger of Koronos to the Crows.’
The other warriors leapt to their feet and drew their swords. All the rebels within earshot crowded round, shouting angrily.
‘He done that? He don’t deserve to live!’
‘String him up from the nearest tree!’
‘I knew he was a wrong ’un the moment I saw him!’
‘Enough!’ cried Periphas – and silence fell. ‘Why, Hylas?’ he said in a low voice. ‘Tell me why you did it.’
Hylas lifted his chin. ‘Telamon had Pirra,’ he said levelly. ‘He would have killed her if I hadn’t thrown him the dagger.’
Periphas furrowed his brow. ‘Pirra … That’s the girl you went to look for on Keftiu – yes?’
Hylas nodded.
‘Oh, Hylas,’ Periphas said bitterly. ‘I hope she was worth it.’
Hylas swallowed. ‘How did you know any of this?’
Again Periphas sighed. ‘One of the Crows on Telamon’s ship deserted. He’d begun to have his doubts that he was on the right side when Telamon left his kinswoman to the crocodiles. Then he saw a lion and a falcon coming to your aid, and he thought if you had the favour of the gods, he’d be a fool to go against you; so when they got back to Akea, he jumped ship and joined us.’ He paused. ‘I didn’t believe his story. I couldn’t bring myself to think that you – you – would have given the dagger to the Crows.’
Hylas licked his lips. ‘I did what I had to, Periphas – and I’d do it again. But killing me won’t help you beat them.’ He paused. ‘I told you once about the Oracle: If an Outsider wields the blade, the House of Koronos burns …’
‘And what good is that now?’ burst out Periphas. ‘Because of you, they got the dagger back! Because of you, they can’t be beaten, and we lost the battle in the north, and along with it half of Messenia, and good men died! All that might have been different if you hadn’t thrown it to Telamon!’
To that, Hylas had no answer. ‘But now it’s at Lapithos,’ he said. Briefly, he told Periphas of his encounter with Telamon. ‘I’d only guessed that it’s there, but I knew from Telamon’s face that my guess was right!’
‘What if you did?’ snapped Periphas. ‘You still don’t know for sure.’
‘Periphas I came to you,’ Hylas said urgently, ‘I let your men find me – because I need your help to go to Lapithos and get it back!’
Periphas stared at him in disbelief. Then he gave a mirthless laugh. ‘What?’ he said with dangerous quietness. ‘Attack a stronghold with walls ten cubits thick? Look around you, Hylas! Half my men are wounded and the other half don’t know how to fight!’
Rising to his feet, he took a few steps away – painfully because of his injured shin – then returned and loomed over Hylas. ‘Most of these men here aren’t warriors like the Crows,’ he said between his teeth. ‘We’re not an army, and we lost the battle in the north because we don’t have a leader who could make us into one! And now – now, at long last, the rightful High Chieftain of Mycenae has returned, when none of us ever dreamed that was possible – and maybe, just maybe, he could help us beat them, but he –’ He broke off with a scowl, as if he’d said too much.
Hylas stared up at him. ‘But – I thought the true High Chieftain was dead! I thought the Crows killed him fifteen years ago, when they took over Mycenae!’
‘So did we all,’ muttered Periphas. ‘But now he’s back. Although it looks as if he’s come too late.’
‘This isn’t getting us anywhere,’ growled Ekion. ‘The boy gave the dagger to the Crows, that’s all we need to know!’
‘He’s right,’ put in another man. ‘Let’s kill him and have done with it –’
‘Not till I say so,’ cut in Periphas.
‘But –’
‘I’m in charge here, Ekion. Hylas saved my life on Thalakrea. Whatever he’s done, I won’t be the one to order his death.’
‘So what do we do with him?’ said Ekion.
Periphas put his hands on his hips. ‘We’ll take him to the High Chieftain. Let him decide.’
Once again Hylas was blindfolded, and this time he was flung over a donkey’s back, even bonier and more uncomfortable than Jinx. The last he heard of the rebels’ camp was the stallion’s piercing neigh. Jinx didn’t like being abandoned. Hylas hoped the rebels would care for him well.
Fortunately, they hadn’t gone far before he was hauled off the donkey and led down a steep, stony slope into what he guessed from the echoes to be a cave. He smelt wine and woodsmoke. His blindfold was wrenched off.
Blinking in the firelight, he saw armed guards at the mouth of the cave. Further in, a small fire crackled, and beyond it sat the hunched figure of a man. Hylas couldn’t see him clearly, but his shadow on the cave wall revealed him to be a big man with broad shoulders, long warrior braids and a short, sharp beard.
Periphas put a hand on Hylas’ shoulder and forced him to the ground. ‘On your knees before the true High Chieftain of Mycenae.’ Then he too went down on one knee, and bowed. ‘My lord,’ he said reverently. ‘It’s just as you thought. It is the same boy.’
The High Chieftain of Mycenae nodded. Rising to his feet, he turned and limped forwards into the light, and stood looking down at Hylas.
Hylas’ heart skipped a beat.
‘Hello, Flea,’ said Akastos.
‘Where’s that lion of yours?’ said Akastos, his face unreadable in the firelight.
‘W-with Pirra,’ faltered Hylas, still reeling from the shock. ‘Somewhere called Dentra, looking for my sister.’
‘Why aren’t you?’
‘I went after Telamon. I thought he had the dagger. It was a trick. I only just escaped.’
This isn’t possible, he thought. Akastos the wanderer – Akastos the smith – Akastos the fugitive from the Angry Ones, who’d sworn to rid himself of Them and appease his brother’s ghost by shedding the blood of a highborn Crow … Akastos is High Chieftain of Mycenae.
Hylas had last seen him in a hut in the Keftian mountains in the middle of a snowstorm. Then he’d worn tattered sheepskins and he’d been filthy and travel-stained. He was travel-stained now, but his tunic was fine linen, and he wore a kilt of gleaming scarlet leather. The sword-belt across his chest was tooled with gold, and from its scabbard jutted an ebony hilt banded with silver, the most precious metal of all.
Near the fire lay a massive shield of heavy white oxhide; on it, a great gilded lion gave a silent roar. There was a helmet covered in ivory plaques cut from boars’ tusks, crested with a long white horsetail. There was armour fit for a god. Greaves, shoulder-guards, arm-pieces, breastplate: all were of burnished bronze, and figured with leaping stags and hunting lions.
Akastos had always had a warrior’s build, and now he carried himself like one, too. His long dark hair was in many braids threaded with gold wire; his beard was clipped close to the line of his jaw. But his eyes were as Hylas remembered: arrestingly light, and able to pierce you to your spirit and hold you spellbound.
With a start, Hylas realized that Akastos had spoken again. ‘I asked about Telamon,’ repeated Akastos. ‘Tell me you didn’t leave him alive?’
That voice hadn’t changed, either. It could be as smooth as water or as rough as granite, but always with an undertow of power that made you listen and obey.
‘I could have killed him,’ said Hylas. ‘But I �
�� I couldn’t do it.’
Behind him, Periphas gave an angry hiss. Akastos silenced him with a glance. ‘Helping the Crows has become something of a talent of yours, hasn’t it, Hylas?’
Hylas flushed. He watched Akastos return to the fire and sit, signing him and Periphas to do the same.
Akastos took leaves from a pouch and chewed, washing them down with a pull from a two-handled wine cup of rough earthenware. The leaves were buckthorn, to ward off ghosts and the Angry Ones. So that was something else that hadn’t changed.
‘You’re a problem I don’t need, Flea,’ he growled. ‘My men want to kill you. I’m rather inclined to let them.’
‘But you can’t!’ Hylas blurted out. ‘You said once that our fates are intertwine–’
‘I also said that whenever you turn up, things go wrong. And they usually do.’
Hylas took a breath. ‘Give me five men and I’ll go to Lapithos, I’ll find a way to steal the dagger!’
Periphas snorted. Akastos stared at Hylas in disbelief. ‘After what you did, how can you imagine I’d set you free?’
‘If you won’t give me the men, I’ll go on my own –’
‘I don’t think you understand how much trouble you’re in,’ said Akastos. ‘Last summer on Thalakrea, I gave you the dagger to destroy – I had to, because you’d just lamed me in a fight!’ He slapped the burn scar on his calf. ‘For reasons you’ve never explained, you failed to destroy it. And then this summer in Egypt, you gave it to the Crows!’
‘I had to, or they’d have killed Pirra!’
‘I don’t care why you did it!’ roared Akastos. ‘They got it back!’ His voice rang through the cave. He rubbed his hand over his beard and said quietly, ‘The fact is, Hylas, my men are after your blood – and who can blame them?’
Hylas tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. ‘But – you’re not after my blood, are you? Or – you, Periphas?’ He appealed to the younger man, who shifted uncomfortably.
A shadow crossed Akastos’ hard features. Then he threw up his hands. ‘I don’t know what to do with you, Flea! You get in my way, you cause endless trouble! But the truth is, you’re part of what finally brought me back to Akea!’
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