GreekQuest

by Herbie Brennan

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  122

  “Wrong!” shouts the huge man, casually hurling you all the way to 61.

  So pick yourself up, dust yourself off and select another destination from your 61 map.

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  123

  “Get real!” you exclaim, bopping him on the nose.

  This may not be the best decision you’ve ever made. While I’m sure you have no desire permanently to injure the priest, he now has every desire to cut you into little pieces and feed you to the crows. His Life Points stand at a healthy 60. His dagger strikes at +4 and if he ever throws a natural 12, he will pray to Apollo to strike you dead and Apollo will comply without a moment’s hesitation. If the priest kills you, go to 13. Should you bring his Life Points below 15 (since you definitely don’t want to kill him) he will capitulate suddenly and take you into the temple at 82.

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  124

  You rub your chin. “I think Athena’s your best bet,” you whisper. “I happen to know there’s a good chance of war between Troy and Greece. You could do a lot worse than getting a little supernatural help for your side.”

  “You want him to pick that hideous freak?” screams Hera, obviously having overheard every word. “She wasn’t even born - she jumped out of her father’s forehead fully grown.” She turns her head upwards so she’s staring into the sky. “Zeus - punish this stupid young person!”

  “Yes, dear,” sighs a tired voice from the heavens. With which a thunderbolt crackles from the cloudless sky to strike you dead.

  Your hair will have stopped standing on end by the time you reach 13.

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  125

  You peer curiously through the open entrance in the wall around this scruffy building to see three men, two women and a youngish boy all hard at work cutting bits of leather. One of the men looks up and spots you.

  “Hallo,” he says, “is it repairs or a new pair of sandals?”

  “Well, neither actually,” you tell him. “I’m just trying to find my way around.”

  “We’ve got very good sandals here,” he insists. “Best in Sparta. Bit expensive, admittedly, but then you have to pay for quality. Three obols a pair.”

  There’s a heap of sandals beside him in various sizes and they do indeed look rather stylish.

  The man notes your hesitation and says, “Tell you what. If money’s the problem, how about giving us a day’s work? We’ve a rush order on and we could do with all the hands we can get. I’ll pay you a drachma, which is a skilled worker’s wage. Can’t say fairer than that.”

  Considering you’re far from skilled, that’s very true. If you want to spend a day as an Ancient Greek shoemaker, turn to 96. If you have three obols already and want a new pair off sandals, turn to 155. Otherwise you can return to 61 to select another destination from your map.

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  126

  “Positively, absolutely, definitely not!” you exclaim, striking a noble pose.

  To your surprise, the priest drops to his knees, closes his eyes, clasps his hands and intones in prayer, “Great Zeus, this not so humble servant of yours refuses to comply with the traditional ritual of the oracle. I thought I’d mention it to you in case you wanted to do something about it.”

  At which a thunderbolt slams down from the cloudless sky and strikes you dead.

  Looks like old Zeus finally lost patience. Go to 13.

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  127

  “Wrong!” shouts the huge man, casually hurling you all the way to 61.

  So pick yourself up, dust yourself off and select another destination from your 61 map.

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  128

  Dappled sunlight. You’re in a clearing in the woods.

  Paths lead north east to 152 and west to 156.

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  129

  “You’re right!” roars Menelaus. “This confirms exactly what I thought. In fact, to tell you the truth I’ve already made the arrangements. Come with me and you can watch what happens.”

  You follow him a little sheepishly to find Paris already waiting a little distance from the city walls, his sword already in his hand. Menelaus breaks away from his men and runs towards him, his own sword swinging.

  Within minutes it looks as if Menelaus has the upper hand. Paris slips, falls. Menelaus moves in for the kill.

  But suddenly a cloud surrounds the fallen Paris and he rises upwards to float out of reach over the walls to the safety of his native Troy.

  Menelaus stamps back angrily towards you. “What do you think happened there?” he demands.

  “Paris has been practising Transcendental Meditation?” you venture.

  “Nonsense!” snaps Menelaus. “Aphrodite carried him to safety. That sort of trick has Aphrodite written all over it. Now, since that didn’t work, we have three possibilities as I see it - all-out attack, strategic retreat, or cunning ploy. Which do you vote for?”

  All out attack takes you to 119. Strategic retreat is at 113. But if you can think of some cunning ploy that might do the trick, turn to 104.

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  130

  With far too little information on your situation in the Brief Guide, you squat down with your back against a convenient tree to do some serious thinking.

  Zeus talked about training and he’s certainly sent you to the right place to get it. But where and how exactly are you supposed to train? More to the point, how are you supposed to let Zeus know when you’re ready to tackle the main job in Troy? All tricky questions.

  After a bit of hard thinking, you come to the conclusion that the place to train is the city of Sparta itself and the way to let Zeus know you’re ready would be at his temple, which a city like Sparta would certainly have.

  You stand up again and wander further down the hillside until you emerge from the trees. Beneath you is a fertile river valley with a clustering of five villages at one end on the edge of a vast, broad plain, but no sign at all of the city you’re looking for. Obviously you’re going to need directions.

  Fortunately there’s a group of yokels working in a nearby field. One is chewing a straw and watching the others, presumably some sort of foreman. You stroll casually up to him.

  “Excuse me, good peasant,” you greet him cheerfully, “but could you tell me the way to Sparta City please?”

  He looks you up and down and spits on your sandal by way of reply.

  Charming! But when in Rome - er, Greece, do as the Greeks do and this one’s obviously spoiling for a fight. It’ll have to be a bare-knuckle affair since you want some answers and there are few forthcoming from a corpse. The way it works is this:

  The yokel making free with his goobers has 35 Life Points. If you can bring these down below 10 without killing him, you can ask him the question again at 6. If you kill him accidentally, you’ll have to sort out something very different at 47. If he brings you down below 10 without killing you, you’ll fall over unconscious and wake up at 95. If he accidentally kills you, go to 13. Nobody uses weapons even if they have them.

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  131

  “How very kind of you,” you remark politely. “I could do with a bit of home cooking.”

  Which is exactly what you get when you arrive at Pericles’ (that’s his name) home. The first course is a plate of sea urchins garnished with olives, garlic and radishes.

  “A toast to Dionysus!” calls your host, pour
ing goblets of wine.

  You’re still fighting to keep the radishes from making rude noises in your stomach when the second course arrives - herb-stuffed tuna cooked in sea water and really delicious.

  “A toast to love!” exclaims Pericles, refilling the glasses.

  “That was excellent,” you remark, wondering what’s for pud, as the third course arrives. This turns out to be lamb flavoured with cheese and aniseed, a pungent combination not entirely to your taste. With it comes vegetables, roast garlic, fruit and a salad made from dandelions.

  “A toast to fighting!” shouts Pericles, slurring a little.

  By the time the meal is rounded off with some of the most amazing pastries you’ve ever eaten, you’ve taken so much wine you’re not sure what the next toast is all about, although it sounds as if it might be politics.

  You stagger from the table and collapse on a couch while female hetairai put on an entertainment of song and dance accompanied by tambourine, pipe and lyre. The evening begins seriously to blur when the women leave and your host begins a discussion on philosophy. You have a vague recollection of impressing him deeply with the phrase cogito ergo sum (which won’t be heard again for several centuries and even then not in Greece) before throwing up violently and passing out on the floor.

  A fairly disgraceful end to the evening, but at least you have the decency to creep out the following morning before anyone is up to select another destination from your map at 61.

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  132

  “Chaaaaarge!”

  You hear the call from somewhere behind you and swing round to discover several thousand armoured soldiers are bearing down upon you, swords and spears waving wildly in the sun.

  You swing back. In front of you are several thousand soldiers in slightly different armour, also charging, also waving spears and swords.

  Everyone is running, but, ironically, there is nowhere for you to run.

  These warriors aren’t in the least bit interested in killing anybody except each other, but that’s small consolation when you’ve been trampled by several thousand men, twice. Go to 13.

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  133

  “Listen,” you whisper, “why not go for Hera? I know she’s a bit of a bag-lady, but Europe and Asia sounds like a really good deal.”

  “Pick Hera?” shrieks Athena, who obviously heard every word despite the whisper. “You’re supposed to be working for my father!” The owl on her shoulder flies off in sudden panic.

  “You’re Zeus’s daughter?” you gasp. “But that makes Hera your mother, since she’s Zeus’s wife. You can’t object to his picking your mother!”

  “She’s not my mother!” howls Athena. “I sprang fully-grown (and heavily armoured, I might add) from my father’s forehead. He was so pleased to see me he let’s me use these -”

  With which she releases a stream of thunderbolts in your direction.

  Go to 13.

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  134

  You move to lurk behind the door in order to use the old lurking-behind-the-door trick, which is probably fairly new in Ancient Greece. After a moment the door opens to a rattling of keys and a bearded warrior walks in carrying a tray of slops in one hand and a sword in the other.

  “Hello,” he says, looking at the empty pile of filthy straw where you were lying, “where’s the prisoner gone? I do hope he’s not stupid enough to try the old lurking-behind-the-door trick.”

  With which you leap out from behind the door and hurl yourself upon him.

  You’ll still have to roll for first strike since he knew all about the old lurking-behind-the-door trick. The guard has 50 Life Points and can do +4 damage with that sword. But he can do even more damage if he succeeds in hitting you with the tray of slops (+6) although thankfully he can only use it once and if he misses, you’ve only the sword to worry about. Should you win the fight, you can make your break from prison to the (comparative) safety of 61. Should you lose, you will reach the absolute safety of 13 where nothing more can happen to you.

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  135

  Dappled sunlight. You’re in a clearing in the woods.

  Paths lead south to 84, south west to 143 and west to 112.

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  136

  “What’s all this about your friend?” you ask curiously.

  “Poor Patroclus,” Achilles sighs, suppressing a tear. “He borrowed my armour to lead the Myrmidons into battle and like a fool I let him go. That swine of a Trojan, Prince Hector, killed him. I won’t rest until I’ve avenged him. Thank you for agreeing to help me.”

  “Don’t mention it,” you murmur. “But where are we going to find this Hector character?”

  “No worries,” Achilles tells you. “I’ve already challenged him and his finest warrior to single combat. They’re waiting for us outside camp.”

  You follow him with some trepidation to find that he’s right. A massively built giant of a man who looks every inch a Trojan prince is waiting in the open field. Beside him is a little titch who looks as if a single puff of wind would blow him over. If this is the finest warrior Troy has to offer, the Greeks are bound to win the war.

  “I’ll take Hector,” says Achilles. “You dispatch the other one.”

  “No problemo!” you exclaim, drawing your sword and heading towards the little warrior.

  “That’s Hector,” Achilles whispers. “Yours is the big one.”

  You can rely on Achilles to kill Hector since Achilles’ Mum dipped him in the River Styx to make him an immortal and the only place he can get wounded is his heel where she held him. Whether you can rely on yourself to kill the big bloke is another matter. He has fully 70 Life Points and a +3 sword. If he kills you, go to 13. If you survive, turn to 94.

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  137

  “Sorry, old boy,” you shrug, “nothing I can do. I mean it’s not like I’m king here or anything, so you’d better just push off.”

  “Spawn of the netherworld!” exclaims Pheidippides, “I’ll kill you for this!”

  Sparta definitely seems to be one of those places where everybody sorts out disputes by killing people. But you probably don’t have to worry too much here since Pheidippides is obviously on his last legs after running the 200 kilometres from Athens so you should be able to take him easily at 121. Alternatively, of course, you can simply refuse to fight at 111.

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  138

  Splish-splosh. You plunge into the pool and dive smoothly down to the dark shape which looks so much like a crocodile only to discover ....

  It isn’t a crocodile, but some weed that doesn’t even look a bit like a croc close up. You swim back to the surface feeling very pleased with yourself, very happy, very energised.

  As well you might since this is a healing pool. If you were low on Life Points when you plunged in, you are now back to your maximum. And the good news is, the pool will restore Life Points each time you visit it. Now the paths leading out of this place go north to 93, east to 58, south east to 18, south to 67 and north west to 107.

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  139

  You take a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll come with you for whatever good it will do you.”

  “Thanks,” says Paris. “You’re a pal, even if you do sound like a barbarian.”

  Together you walk across to a grassy hillock where the three goddesses are pacing about impatiently. “Ah, there you are!” exclaims Hera to Paris without so much as a glance in your direction. “We want you to decide which of us is t
he most beautiful - myself, Athena or Aphrodite. And may I add by way of encouragement, if you pick me, as any red-blooded man would do anyway, I shall ensure you become ruler of Europe and the whole of Asia.”

  “Here, just a minute!” calls Athena. “If we’re into bribing the judge, let me tell you, young man, if you pick me I’ll help you lead Troy to victory against the Greeks.”

  The third goddess sidles up to Paris and looks deep into his eyes. “If you pick me,” she whispers in a husky voice, “I’ll give you the most beautiful woman in the world.”