Penelope's Web

by Christopher Rush

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He wanted to find out if the ships are guarded. Or if you’ve given up and are ready to retreat.’

  ‘I see. And were you sent or did you volunteer? Tell me the truth and be quick about it, because I’ll tell you something for nothing. I can always tell when a shifty little bastard is lying, and I react badly to being lied to. I lose control. I do terrible things to a man. I can’t help myself. I kill him so slow he’s screaming at me to get a move on. And that upsets my concentration and I go even slower. So I think you’d better tell me now.’

  ‘All right, all right – I volunteered.’

  ‘Why?’

  Dolon tried a nervous smile. ‘Bravery?’

  ‘Or bribery?’

  Panic filled his eyes.

  ‘Yes, I can see it in your face. You were bribed. The truth again now – quick, you little cunt! What were you offered?’

  I pointed my spear at one of his eyeballs.

  ‘All right, OK, OK – I was offered Achilles’ horses and chariot.’

  ‘Achilles’ team? Really? But I don’t understand – the horses are with Achilles, and Achilles isn’t even in the game right now, as I’m sure you’re aware. So how could Hector hope to lay his filthy fingers on those horses and just give them to you?’

  Dolon swallowed. ‘What he meant was, he’d give them to me once we’d – once he’d defeated you.’

  ‘Ah, I see, once you’d defeated us. So it wasn’t bravery that motivated you. Or loyalty. Or patriotism. It was greed.’

  ‘And fucking presumption!’ Diomedes broke in. ‘I ought to cut your balls off for that! What makes you think you’re going to beat us, eh?’

  Dolon flinched.

  ‘Never mind that,’ I said. ‘You’ll have to forgive my comrade. Have you met Diomedes, by the way? Now he is patriotic, a true fucking patriot. He’d kill anyone who isn’t a Greek. Any fucker at all. You, for example. But the point is – returning to the subject of your little visit across the lines – you were just itching to get your thieving hands on those horses. A fantastic prize, I grant you. And I have to congratulate you on your taste. No, no, I admire it, I really do. But can I just tell you – spirit of helpfulness and all that – Achilles’ horses, well, they’re hard to handle, a nightmare actually, for anybody except Achilles. They’re high-spirited, you see, and I suspect they’re made of sterner stuff than you, my friend. Frankly, I don’t think you’re strong enough for them. Because, if you don’t mind my saying so, you’re no hero, just a common thief. A snooper and a sneak. A little fucking land-rat. Do you mind my plain speaking? You don’t mind if I humiliate you a little, do you? Maybe that’s all I’ll do. Rather than kill you, I mean.’

  Dolon dropped like a shot and clasped my knees.

  ‘No, no, humiliate me, please! I want you to. Only don’t kill me. You haven’t heard the details of the ransom yet. This could be your lucky day. I’ll make you rich. And I’ll tell you anything you want to know.’

  ‘I think you’d better,’ I said, ‘and I appreciate your offer, I really am interested, and it’s very kind of you. I do actually have a few questions for you, and I’d like you to be quick with the answers now – none of your fibs and fudges. Got it? Don’t take time to think about it. Instant replies. Are you ready?’

  ‘I’m ready.’

  ‘Right then. And in the following order. One: where was Hector when you left him just now? Two: where was his gear? Three: where were his horses? Four: how are your sentries arranged and where are the other men sleeping? And five: what’s the next move? Are they planning on returning to the city, or do they intend to take advantage of their advanced position? Don’t let me confuse you – I’m simply asking if they intend an immediate all-out attack, or not. Which is it? The truth now, in all cases, and don’t make a meal of it. Be succinct.’

  Dolon kept nodding furiously throughout the questionnaire. He couldn’t wait to complete it.

  ‘I’ve no problem with these questions, on the whole. Right now, Hector is in a meeting with his advisers. They’re holding a night conference by King Ilus’s tomb. Do you know it? Very quiet.’

  ‘Naturally. And you’re right, a tomb’s a nice quiet place for a conference. No fear of being disturbed, eh? No input from the dead, no barracking, no time-wasting opinions. Good, that’s a good answer, a good start. I like your style. Maybe I won’t kill you after all. Carry on.’

  ‘Well, I’m not entirely sure about questions two and three, I swear to you, but I can tell you that Hector wasn’t armed when I left him, and I imagine that he left his gear in his tent, and his horses will be close by. As for question four, regarding the sentries, nothing special was arranged. Every unit’s got a fire, as you can probably see. The sentries keep signalling to each other to stop themselves from nodding off, that’s all. The allies aren’t even on guard – they don’t have their women and children to worry about, not like us. They leave it to us to keep watch.’

  ‘Makes sense.’

  ‘Yes. Now question five –’

  ‘Hang on, I want more detail on that last point. Where exactly are your allies tonight? How are they deployed? Spell it out for me. You really are doing very well so far.’

  ‘Well, the Carians and the Paeonians are closest to the sea; so are the Leleges, the Caucones and the Pelasgi. There are also those units that have been allocated to the area near Thymbria – that’s the Lycians, the Mysians, the Phrygians and the Maeonians.’

  ‘Fucking hell, soldier, I think I’ll make you a general – in the Greek army! You’re a military genius. How’d you like that, eh?’

  Dolon laughed and started to relax. ‘It’s a good offer. Frankly, I don’t mind which side I’m on, so long as I’m paid. Actually, I’m wondering if I can offer you a good piece of advice – unsolicited?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Why worry about all that lot – the allies, I mean – when you can much more easily attack those Thracian bastards at the end of the line? I don’t like them much. They’re new arrivals and cocky little cunts, so fucking sure of themselves, strutting around already, thinking they’re going to win the war for us. And their leader, Rhesus, he has the best horses I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘Apart from Achilles’ you mean.’

  ‘Yes, well, that goes without saying.’

  ‘You’ve got something of an eye for a fine horse, haven’t you?’ I winked at him. And at Diomedes.

  ‘I don’t mind admitting it,’ Dolon grinned. ‘I wasn’t serious about Achilles’ horses, by the way.’

  ‘Not serious? Why the fuck not? They’re unparalleled. Nothing on four legs can touch them. I could let you see them at close quarters. I could introduce you to Achilles. He might even consider giving them to you – as a gift, you know?’

  That made Dolon laugh a lot more than was necessary. ‘Now you’re teasing me. No, I told you, it was all a bit of a joke, a misunderstanding. I was never really serious.’

  ‘Of course you weren’t. I wasn’t serious about introducing him to you either. Not safe. He’s a killer. Always on the lookout for a fight. And you wouldn’t want to fight the great Achilles now, would you?’

  ‘Not if I could avoid it!’ Dolon couldn’t stop laughing now. ‘But let me answer question five.’

  ‘Question five? Do you know, I’ve forgotten the question myself, what with all this chinwagging. You’re away ahead of me again. Remind me, will you?’

  ‘Our tactics. Our next move, remember?’

  ‘Ah yes, that’s right. Of course. But you know something? I think I can deduce your next move from everything you’ve said already. Let me save you the trouble of going over that one. Instead, I’ll tell you what, why don’t you tell me more about those fabulous horses that belong to Rhesus? I like the sound of them.’

  ‘Do you want a full description?’

  ‘General will do. I’d like to be able to recognise them, that’s all.’

  ‘That’s easy. They’re whiter than snow. And swi
fter than the wind. That’s how you can tell them.’

  ‘An absolutely original description. You should have been a poet. Do you play the lyre?’

  ‘Well, I –’

  ‘Never mind. And the chariot?’

  ‘Chariot?’

  ‘I’m willing to wager such horses pull no ordinary chariot.’

  ‘Ah, right you are. Magnificently made, yes, a masterpiece of art, all tricked out in silver and gold. That bastard Rhesus denies himself nothing. And he’s got golden armour too and wears it off the field just to show off, the swaggering little fart. Just one piece of it would make your mouth water. It’s fit for Ares.’

  ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘In fact, if I were you, I’d pay Rhesus a visit before morning. He’s had plenty to drink – they all have, a good skinful, the whole regiment, drunk as cunts, ever since they arrived. I can take you to his position if you like, point him out.’

  ‘No, no, that won’t be necessary. Thanks anyway, but I think I’ll pick him out from your description. You really are a mine of information – absolutely priceless!’

  ‘Yes, and what with the way they’re positioned, that armour is yours for the taking. And the horses. And the chariot. But tell me, what’s the plan? Are you going to take me straight back to the ships? Or take me with you across our lines? I could be useful there. Or do you want to tie me up and leave me here till you’ve checked out all my information? I promise I won’t try to escape.’

  I clapped a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

  ‘Well, Diomedes, what do you think? Back to the ships? Take him with us? Tie him up? He’s certainly played fair by us – more than fair. He’s given us a lot more than we asked for. What’s the verdict?’

  Diomedes peered at me in the dimness, trying to read my expression. He wasn’t a good reader of tone either. He looked down at Dolon, who was still kneeling.

  ‘He’s played fair by us all right. But he’s played fucking foul by his own side. He’s a treacherous little shit. And do you know what? I have the feeling that he’d change sides like the weather, and be a thorn in everybody’s fucking flesh. Whereas if I just cut the cunt’s throat right here and now, he won’t be bothering anybody. Or betraying them.’

  Dolon looked up at me desperately.

  ‘He’s got a point,’ I sighed. ‘You can’t deny it. But let’s try it to one more time. Diomedes, don’t you think, though, that he could be useful?’

  Diomedes shrugged. ‘Useful, how? He’s told us all he knows. What more do we need from him? His own lot don’t need him either, do they? He’s not exactly the bravest soldier in Troy, is he? Or the truest. Better at running than fighting, if you ask me. And not even a champion at that. No, I think if you want my opinion, this little cunt’s better out of the war.’

  Dolon lifted up his hand, meaning to touch Diomedes’ bearded chin. At the same time he started to speak, to plead for his life.

  He didn’t have time. Diomedes unsheathed his sword and swung it at Dolon’s neck all in one go. It was expertly done. He slashed through both tendons, and the blood gushed from the trunk, its arm upraised for clemency. Dolon was still speaking when his head hit the dust, and the last sentence was never completed, though the mouth kept on twitching curiously, as if the dying brain was frustrated at not being able to convey the words, his lips, teeth and tongue still busy trying to articulate the thought.

  Not for too long, though.

  ‘Nice hat,’ I said.

  I picked up the head, which had stopped speaking, and removed the weaselskin.

  ‘Pity about the blood.’

  ‘Fucking blood – gets everywhere. Nice wolfskin too,’ said Diomedes, stripping it from the bleeding trunk.

  The pelt was more badly bloodstained. Weirdly, the trunk hadn’t fallen but was still upright, on its knees, and the blood had fountained all over the fur.

  ‘Fuck,’ said Diomedes. He held the garment up. ‘Finders keepers?’

  ‘It’s a deal,’ I said. ‘Wolf to you, weasel to me. Maybe they’re made to match us.’

  ‘I’ll tell you what, let’s leave these items here – they’ll be safe enough – and collect them on our way back.’

  ‘From the Thracians?’

  ‘You, Odysseus, are a fucking mindreader.’

  ‘And you are the fountain of commonsense. This head has told us all it had in it, and all we needed to know. There’s bugger all to be gained from calling on the Trojans tonight. But the Thracians now . . .’

  We ditched Dolon’s things in a nearby tamarisk bush and marked the spot with an armful of twigs and a fistful of reeds.

  ‘Wait a minute,’ said Diomedes, ‘what about this fucker?’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘I don’t know. He looks stupid, just kneeling there, and without even a fucking head.’

  ‘Stick it back on then,’ I said.

  I tried it out. Diomedes squinted at it, frowned, then rearranged it, back to front.

  ‘Looks wrong every which way.’

  ‘Stupid cunt. Better lying down, don’t you think?’

  Diomedes placed his foot in the middle of Dolon’s chest and kicked. The trunk fell and the head rolled off a few paces.

  ‘A slight improvement,’ I said. ‘He had a stupid face anyway. Better without it. Let’s go.’

  We quickly picked a path through the corpses till we reached the Thracian camp.

  Dolon’s information had been impeccable. There they all were, drunk asleep, just as he’d said, their gear all stacked up close by. Rhesus was in the middle, his horses tethered to the end of the chariot rail. The golden armour gleamed in the approaching dawn.

  ‘There’s our target,’ I whispered. ‘You do the men, the nearest ones. I’ll get the horses.’

  Diomedes leapt into the camp roaring like a lion, spreading terror, stabbing left and right, killing with lightning speed. The infernal noise he made was hardly necessary, I thought, though I knew he was fond of screaming – he thought it paralysed the enemy with fear just long enough to kill him. I followed him like a gleaner, hauling each corpse clear by the foot to make way for the chariot and mounts. Twelve men got the chop in as many seconds, and Rhesus was number thirteen. He was still fast asleep when Diomedes came up and stole the life from him. His heavy breathing came to a stop.

  ‘Dolon was right,’ said Diomedes. ‘That bastard’s breath stank of booze. And he was farting in his sleep. The world’s a sweeter place without him.’

  I unfastened the stamping horses and tied them together. There were shouts and clatterings from further up the line. Diomedes’ war-cries had wakened the entire Trojan army.

  ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here!’

  We didn’t forget the tamarisk bush near where Dolon and his head were lying. As soon as we’d collected his things we made for the ships. Everybody crowded round. Nestor was ecstatic.

  ‘Odysseus, you never return from an adventure empty-handed.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Diomedes, ‘I was there too.’

  ‘First among equals, you two,’ laughed Nestor. ‘But where did you get these horses? I’ve never seen the like. Surely some god met you on the way!’

  ‘We ran into a god, all right,’ I said. ‘A god of information. But the Olympians don’t drive these beasts – Rhesus does. Or rather did. They were his.’

  ‘Are the Thracians here?’

  ‘New arrivals. Thirteen fewer than they were. We killed fourteen altogether tonight.’

  ‘Who was the fourteenth?’

  ‘A spy called Dolon. We spied the fucker before he spied us. He did plenty of talking. An insane talker. He completely lost his head!’

  ‘Sounds like the Diomedes touch.’

  ‘The very same.’

  Laughing together, we all went over the trench. I stored Dolon’s bloody pelts in my ship. Diomedes decided against the wolfskin but kept the weapons we’d taken from him. Then we went into the sea to wash the sweat from ourselves. We were
filthy. After that, we freshened up in the polished baths, got the oil on, dressed and sat down to a very late supper, well earned. It was a lot closer to breakfast, as a matter of fact. But we ate well and supped some stuff. Made Dionysus – or indeed any other god who happened to be up at that hour – look sober.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Agamemnon arms at dawn and Penelope arms in style. This is his day of glory.

  His cuirass fairly sparkles – of its parallel strips, ten are of dark-blue enamel, twelve of gold, twenty of tin. On either side, three snakes rise in coils to the neck. You can almost hear them hissing at the jugular. But they are beautiful, works of art. Made of iridian enamel, they shimmer like rainbows.

  The shield is otherworldly: ten concentric bronze rings and twenty studs of glittering tin round a dark-blue enamel boss. Its centrepiece is the grim Gorgon’s head with awesome eyes, flanked by Panic and Rout. More a weapon than a piece of armour. You could crush a skull with it, or a man’s chest.

  The helmet has four plates and is double-crested with a purple horsehair plume. The greaves glitter with silver clips, and as well as his sword he carries a brace of spears of exceptional length. He looks the part of a leader, outshining even Achilles and Hector, though the latter looks the more ominous, if less glorious, like a malignant star that sallies out from a cloud and plunges suddenly into the mist, filling the sky with portent.

  And now the two armies approach each other.

  Picture the long row of reapers who start their day from opposite ends of a wealthy landowner’s field, advancing inexorably on each other, scything down the swathes of barley until at last they meet in the middle with laughter and handshakes and relief, throw down their implements and sit and drink together in the sudden stubble, strewn with lopped poppies, among the freshly scented sheaves.

  So Greeks and Trojans advance, except that they meet not for fellowship and refreshment and ease but for the bloody struggle, the conflict with only one outcome for many. For few will part where many meet . . .

  They clash. And men fall and sway in swathes like the corn, the killers and the killed. The gods sit high on Olympus, exulting in the spectacle, glorying in the jar and jangle, the flash and clatter of bronze, the heaps of dead.