Warrior Bronze

by Michelle Paver

  Havoc stood halfway up the slope, waiting for her. The lioness blended so perfectly with the long gold grass that it was hard even for Issi to make her out.

  As Issi drew near, Havoc turned north-east, towards a spur that jutted from the mountain’s roots. Issi hesitated. Not that way, Havoc, that leads to Lapithos!

  But Havoc had picked up her pace, as if she was nearing her goal. Warily, Issi followed, keeping to the long grass and the tall purple sword-thistles.

  As she climbed higher, the view opened up, and she saw the rebels’ camp down on the ridge. To the east, on the plain, she saw a vast swathe of red dust moving towards them like a tide. Her belly turned over. That must be the Crows. When they reached the rebels, the battle would begin. By the look of it, that would be today.

  Havoc had vanished into the grass. Hurrying after her, Issi’s heart began to race. What if she found Hylas on the other side of this spur?

  As she reached its crest, she heard someone not far below: someone who, like her, seemed to be heading for Lapithos. Whipping out her knife, she dropped to a crouch. If it was Crows …

  A clump of thistles blocked her view, she couldn’t see who was coming; but on the other side of the spur, she saw Lapithos. With a twinge of fear, she took in its dark-red walls, its watchtowers with their slitted windows like sleepless eyes. She saw the fluttering crests of the guards’ helmets on top of the walls. The gates stood slightly open: at any moment, Crow warriors might come pouring out of them – or were the gates about to be flung wide to admit whoever was coming?

  They were drawing closer, she could hear the grass rustling not ten paces away. It didn’t sound like Crows: she caught no creak of armour. Her heart thudded in her chest. Could it be Hylas?

  The disappointment was so crushing she felt as if she’d been punched. It wasn’t Hylas she saw moving swiftly yet stealthily towards Lapithos.

  It was the wisewoman and Pirra.

  A gust of wind shivered the long grass and blew dust in Pirra’s eyes. Her head was swimming with fatigue after climbing into the hills for most of the night, and sweat was trickling down her sides. She tried to ignore the purple stormclouds rolling in from the east, and the tide of red dust slowly advancing across the plain towards the rebel camp. Soon the battle would begin, and Hylas would be in it.

  ‘So that’s Lapithos,’ murmured Hekabi, peering at the Crows’ ancestral stronghold, fifty paces ahead. ‘As I thought. Only a few guards left.’

  Pirra didn’t reply. Lapithos was much smaller and cruder than the House of the Goddess where she’d grown up, but far more war-like and intimidating. She thought it resembled a monstrous toad squatting on the roots of the mountain. Flocks of crows wheeled above it, and vultures glided on huge, fingered wings. Atop the oxblood walls, she saw helmets with crests streaming in the wind. She pictured the guards with bows and arrows poised to shoot.

  The idea of setting fire to this impenetrable stronghold – which had seemed so recklessly inviting when they were safe in the rebel camp – now struck her as suicidal folly.

  ‘Hekabi, this is madness,’ she hissed. ‘The whole place is bristling with Crows!’

  ‘Then why,’ breathed the wisewoman, ‘was Havoc so relaxed when she passed us just now? And look at Echo!’

  She was right. Earlier, they’d glimpsed Havoc on the spur, moving calmly through the long grass. As for Echo, having regained her strength, she was having a marvellous time, soaring almost out of sight, then hurtling out of the Sun in one of her astonishing dives, and scattering the crows above the stronghold.

  ‘But even if you’re right,’ whispered Pirra, ‘there’s no way we can get in without being seen!’

  Hekabi was peering intently at the helmets on the walls. ‘Yes there is. Those gates are ajar. I say we just walk straight in.’

  Pirra shot her a horrified glance. But Hekabi was already striding fearlessly towards the vast double gates that fronted the stronghold.

  Muttering a quick prayer to the Goddess, Pirra followed, keeping low, and darting from one thorn bush to the next.

  To her amazement, no shouts came from above, no hiss of arrows. A shadow sped over her and she ducked – but it was only Echo, heading for the gates. Drawing in her wings at the last moment, the falcon shot through the narrow gap between them.

  They were massively thick and studded with bronze, mounted on posts hewn from whole pines. ‘This has to be a trap!’ muttered Pirra.

  Hekabi pushed them wider and went inside. Nothing happened. Pirra went after her with her heart in her mouth.

  She found herself in a courtyard with doorways on all sides. From one, she heard a donkey bray and the snort and stamp of horses. From another, smoke wafted: she guessed that was a cookhouse, she caught the mouthwatering smell of roast pork. In a corner of the courtyard shaded by a gnarled and ancient vine, vultures squabbled over the remains of a meal on a rough table which had been abandoned in a hurry. Between the heaving wings and snaky necks, Pirra saw broken flatbreads, goats’ cheese, salted fish; a dripping jar of barley beer.

  She was wondering what all this meant when a gust of wind sent the dust whirling across the courtyard and she caught movement on the watchtower. ‘Hekabi, watch out!’ she cried.

  But the arrows she dreaded didn’t come. Instead, a helmet came crashing down from above and rolled to rest on the stones.

  ‘See?’ said Hekabi with a curl of her lip. ‘There’s nobody here!’

  Echo shot out of a doorway and swooped in to land on Pirra’s shoulder. The feathers beneath the falcon’s chin were fluffed up: she was excited, but not alarmed.

  ‘I knew it!’ cried Hekabi. ‘There’s nobody in those helmets up there! They left them on the walls to make it look like it’s guarded, but they’ve all gone! Lapithos is deserted, Pirra! This is going to work!’

  ‘We still don’t know for sure that there’s nobody here,’ breathed Pirra.

  ‘Then we’ll have to work fast,’ retorted Hekabi.

  There were two lines of storerooms, one on the east side of the courtyard and one on the west. ‘We’ll start in the east,’ said Hekabi. ‘One of the scouts told me that’s where most of the oil is. It’ll catch fire quicker.’

  The first storeroom they reached was packed with man-high jars of wine and oil, and big bales of linen and wool. Pirra tried to ignore the panicky feeling she always got in cramped spaces, and did as Hekabi was doing, fetching straw from the stables and hastily twisting it into sheaves, then sticking them in the jars, to act as giant wicks.

  Somewhere, a door banged and a horse whinnied. Pirra froze. ‘There’s someone here, I can feel it!’ At any moment she expected running feet and the creak of rawhide armour. ‘Why would they all leave, Hekabi? Why?’

  ‘Who knows?’ snapped the wisewoman. ‘Maybe they went to join the battle, maybe the ones who were left took fright and fled!’ With glittering eyes, she unravelled a bale of wool and strewed it about, so that it would burn more easily. ‘I counted four more storerooms on this side,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘I’ll do the rest here, you take the ones across the courtyard, and we’ll meet outside on the spur –’

  ‘But surely a single room will be enough? Let’s just set fire to this one and get out of here!’

  ‘No, we have to be sure! These roofbeams are hard as stone; for the whole place to go up in smoke, we’ll need the strongest, hottest fire, or it’ll simply burn out!’

  After a brief, fierce dispute, which Hekabi won, Pirra stomped off across the courtyard clutching more straw.

  The stone passageway struck chill, and in the cramped space, her breath was unpleasantly loud. She smelt rank sweat: men had passed here, and not long ago.

  Suddenly, she was gripped by an appalling feeling of being trapped. For an instant, she couldn’t see, she couldn’t move: it was as if her arms were pinioned to her sides. Then the feeling was gone as swiftly as it had come. Echo, she thought in horror. Something’s happened to Echo.

  At that moment, a sh
riek rent the air. Then another and another.

  Flinging down the straw, Pirra raced up the passage. Echo’s shrieks grew louder – then abruptly cut off. Oh no, no …

  Pirra caught a glimmer of light. She burst into a large hall, dimly lit at the far end by a smouldering brazier. In a heartbeat, she took in roofbeams blackened by smoke; a dizzying red and green floor; walls daubed with savage pictures of warriors and hunting dogs; and a green marble throne on one side, flanked by two painted lions. In the middle of the hall, a mound of ash in a huge round hearth was guarded by four massive pillars zigzagged in yellow and black.

  Pirra sensed that Echo was in here, although she couldn’t see where. At her feet lay a cloak and a spear, as if discarded in haste by some guard – but the hall itself was empty.

  No it wasn’t. At the far end, near the brazier, a man was slumped head down on a gilded table. Pirra couldn’t see his face, but she saw his purple tunic and the white goatskin mantle of the High Chieftain of Mycenae. She saw his stony scalp and the gold diadem around his temples; the cloak pin the size of a fist at his shoulder.

  She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. She had to make sure. Reluctantly, she drew closer. She caught the reek of charcoal from the brazier. She halted.

  Koronos lay with his face in a great silver dish of wine. One hand dangled beside him, the other was on the table. Pirra saw its waxen fingers and black nails frozen in the act of clawing at the bowl. She met the dull glare of one lifeless eye.

  She wished she had an amulet to ward off Koronos’ angry ghost: without the proper rites, it could not be far away. If Hylas was here, he would have seen it.

  Then she heard the scratch of talons on wood. ‘Echo?’ she whispered.

  There: in the corner behind Koronos’ corpse. Pirra’s heart stood still. Someone had bound the falcon’s wings to her sides with a strip of cloth, and tied another around her beak and across her eyes; then they’d secured her by her feet to a stool, which they’d set in the shadows. Echo was still breathing, although clearly half-dead with fright.

  It was then, with an odd sensation of calm, that Pirra realized Hekabi had got it wrong: there was someone left in Lapithos – and now he had caught her in his trap, using Echo for bait.

  Lifting her chin defiantly, Pirra walked past Koronos’ corpse, towards Echo. ‘It’s all right, Echo,’ she said with a catch in her voice. ‘I’m here. And I’m going to set you free.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be too sure about that,’ said Telamon, stepping out from the dark.

  ‘Let the falcon go,’ said Pirra. ‘It’s me you want.’

  Telamon stared at her in disbelief. She was huddled at his feet with her ankles bound, her arms pinioned behind her back, and a large bruise ripening on her cheek – and yet she was barking orders at him as if he was a peasant.

  He’d always known she was brave. Just now, she’d walked fearlessly past his grandfather’s body – while he, Telamon, was still reeling from the shock of what had so recently happened.

  I never touched him, Telamon told himself. The gods did it for me. Just as they gave me the idea to search his chambers, in case he’d lied about sending the dagger to Pharax. The gods kept me here, so that I could capture Pirra.

  All this flashed through his mind as he stared down at her. Then he said quietly: ‘Who do you think you are, to give me orders? Do you think you’re still the daughter of the High Priestess of Keftiu?’

  ‘I’ll always be that.’

  ‘You’re nothing!’ he shouted. ‘You’re in my power! See this?’ He tapped the scar on his forehead. ‘Remember Egypt? That bird of yours striking me with its talons? You’re lucky I didn’t kill it outright! Shall I do it now, eh? Snap its neck between my fingers?’

  ‘No no please – don’t touch her!’

  ‘Ah, that’s better. You need to beg more, Pirra. It’s what women should do.’

  Turning his back on her, he strolled down the hall and took his place on Thestor’s throne – no, his throne.

  It’s true, he thought in amazement, and at last it began to sink in. With Koronos gone, all this belongs to me.

  At the end of the hall, Pirra was struggling with her bonds. She’d gone clammy and pale, clearly trying not to panic.

  ‘You can’t bear being tied up, can you?’ he called. ‘I remember that. It’s your worst nightmare, isn’t it? Being tied up for ever. Well there’s no one to help you now.’

  ‘Or you,’ she shot back. ‘You’re all alone, Telamon. Did you know that Lapithos is deserted? That all your men have fled?’

  ‘Callow youths, I’m better off without them! Now why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here, and where’s Hylas?’

  She hesitated. ‘He’s here in Lapithos. Very soon, you’re going to feel his knife in your guts.’

  Drawing his sword, he slashed at the shadows. Then he realized his mistake. ‘Your filthy Keftian tricks can’t fool me! If Hylas was really here, he wouldn’t have stood by and let me hit you. So I’ll ask you again, and if you don’t want me to rip your bird’s head off, you’ll tell me the truth. Where is he?’

  ‘He’s on the battlefield,’ she said quickly. ‘Fighting alongside the High Chieftain – the real one. Oh yes, it’s true,’ she added. ‘I’ve seen Akastos myself. The Lion of Mycenae has returned, and the rebels are flocking to his call!’

  ‘Much good will it do them,’ he flung back; although inside, he was deeply shaken. ‘Have you forgotten that we have the dagger? That we can’t be beaten!’

  ‘Pharax has the dagger, not you.’

  ‘But I can take it whenever I want.’

  ‘You? Take it from Pharax?’

  ‘The gods mean me to have it, not him!’ He ran to loom over her, making her flinch. ‘I should kill you now and have done with it,’ he panted, ‘but I don’t think I will. You’re my reward for after the battle. Now I’ll ask you again: what were you doing here?’

  She stared up at him with those fathomless dark eyes. ‘Pharax will never give you the dagger.’

  ‘Why do you go on about Pharax?’ he yelled. ‘Pharax is an obstacle, nothing more! Koronos is dead, the gods have chosen me to rule!’

  ‘Did you kill Koronos, too?’

  ‘I never touched him,’ he snarled. ‘I didn’t need to, the gods did it for me!’

  As if he was watching it happen all over again, Telamon saw himself staggering down the hall with Koronos’ laughter ringing in his ears. He heard that laughter break off in a choking cry. He turned to see Koronos clutching his arm and gaping like a fish. He seemed to be having a seizure. There was something weirdly wrong with one side of his face: eye, cheek and mouth sagging grotesquely, as if dragged down by the unseen finger of a god.

  The guards had run to help, but Telamon had ordered them back. ‘No one touch him! The gods have struck him down, we must not interfere!’

  In fascination, he’d watched his grandfather topple forwards with his face in the silver bowl of wine. A dreadful bubbling gurgle, one hand clawing ineffectually at the bowl … The massive shoulders shuddered as Koronos began to drown. Then the black fingernails twitched – and went still.

  Telamon had stood there a long time, while word had spread and the last of the guards had fled Lapithos in terror.

  Finally, he’d summoned the will to approach the corpse. He’d taken it by the shoulders and yanked it upright. Its head had lolled back, and he’d stared down at the slack, wine-stained ruin of an old man’s face.

  Why was I so terrified of him? he’d wondered.

  He’d unfastened the belt from the corpse and let the body fall forwards into the wine. He’d fastened the belt about his own waist, and felt instantly stronger and braver. The High Chieftain is dead: long live the High Chieftain.

  Turning, he’d scanned the walls, where his painted Ancestors hunted and slaughtered their enemies. All those years, he’d thought, when I feared I’d never be as brave as them … But the truth is, I will surpass them! I will be greater than any of t
hem!

  Pirra’s sharp voice pierced his dreams. ‘If it’s all the will of the gods, why are you so frightened of the Angry Ones?’

  ‘I’m not frightened,’ he muttered.

  ‘But you are, I can see it. Pacing up and down, twisting that iron ring of yours. Hylas told me about that. And Koronos has another; are you going to take that, too?’ Her lip curled with scorn. ‘You can collect as many rings as you like, Telamon, but you’ll never have enough. I think you’ll be afraid for the rest of your life!’

  ‘I’m not afraid!’ roared Telamon.

  His voice echoed round the great hall – and from the walls, his painted Ancestors stared back at him.

  He gave a startled laugh. He passed a hand over his face. An idea had come to him of such brilliance that it could only have been sent by a god. ‘I’m not afraid,’ he repeated in wonder. ‘I know what to do!’

  Now Pirra was the one who was alarmed. She’d gone white to the lips, and her skin glistened with sweat. ‘What do you mean? What are you going to do?’

  ‘At one stroke,’ Telamon said to himself, ‘I will make the dagger safe for ever. Yes, that’s it! The gods will help me take it from Pharax on the battlefield – and then I’ll give it to my Ancestors, and they will keep it safe for all eternity!’

  And that way, he continued in his head, the Ancestors will finally be appeased – my father, and Alekto, and Koronos … And the Angry Ones will leave me in peace.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Pirra shouted after him as he strode off down the hall.

  ‘To the battle, of course!’

  ‘What about me and Echo?’

  He laughed. ‘You’d better get used to being tied up,’ he called, ‘because you’re going to stay like that for a while! And when I’ve won the battle, and the dagger is safe with my Ancestors for ever – when I’ve crushed the rebels and fed Hylas’ still-beating heart to the dogs – you’re going to spend the rest of your life here at Lapithos, shut up in the women’s chambers. Although maybe – if you beg very hard – I might let you have one glimpse of the sky, perhaps every other year!’