Oracle

by Jackie French

  More servants came to meet them.

  They were led up a flight of stairs, so high they were almost a mountain. Down a hall, the floor of smooth tiles, as many as the stars in the sky, creating a pattern of warriors chasing cattle. Even the ceiling was patterned. On one wall, painted bears and wolves and deers were pursued by a great lion. On the far wall the lion stood on top of the dead bodies of its prey, its mane gold and its mouth red with blood.

  Another doorway. The servants stopped, making Nikko and the others stop as well. He peered between them, trying not to gasp.

  The feasting chamber was bigger than their village and many times larger than the hall of the lord they’d visited on the way to Mycenae. Lions snarled from three stone walls, while the fourth was made of wood, with great doors open to show glimpses of a massive, green plain, fuzzed in the distance. Shells and stars glimmered on the ceiling in the light from a great fire raised on giant rocks—pure white, despite the smoke and coal, and surrounded by white pillars. Above the fire the smoke hole was the size of the square outside Orkestres’s rooms. It needed to be, for the fire was almost the size of their room.

  And the people! Servants in short blue tunics, their hair tied back in one neat knot; black men who looked like guards, dressed in leopard skins, with leopard skin across their shields; and dancing girls who fluttered through the crowd, their tunics thin as mist, but more revealing.

  And then there were the lords of Mycenae, their jewellery brighter than the flames, skins polished, waists nipped in with belts of gold. Some sat on long benches, others on smaller benches made it seemed for only two, or on stools of polished stone with soft embroidered cushions, or stood talking among themselves.

  And at one end of the room, the High King. He sat on a dais, above the crowd. His throne looked like carved gold, and was balanced on two golden lions that had red jewels for their eyes. But even without the throne you would have known he was the King.

  He was young—younger than Nikko’s father. Somehow Nikko had always assumed a king must be old. His beard was curled, and trimmed to just below his chin; his cheekbones wide, his chin and ears and nose thin and long. His kilt was purest white with a gold border; his chest was bare, shining and hairless, his nipples gilded. He was the only person not wearing jewellery. It seemed it was enough to be the King. He stared around the room as though half listening to the Chamberlain whispering to him on one side, and half listening to the harper playing in the corner, an old man with blind eyes as white as his long beard.

  Something moved on the King’s lap. It was a lion cub, as gold as the throne, except for its eyes. The King’s hands idly stroked its fur. Nikko had seen cats curled in the arms of the ladies on the walls around the city. Cats came from Egypt, the kingdom across the Great Sea. He had never seen anyone hold a lion cub.

  But of course, this was Atreus, High King, lord of the Lion Throne. It seemed even lions obeyed the High King.

  The Chamberlain bowed to the King, then beckoned. The servants stood back against the walls as Nikko took Thetis’s hand and stepped into the room. He was vaguely aware of Orkestres and Dora, peering from the doorway, their faces pale with hope and fear.

  The Chamberlain bowed again before the throne, pressing his chin onto his chest, with one hand on his heart. Should we bow like that? thought Nikko. Orkestres had said to press their faces to the floor.

  But already Thetis was on her knees, and then her whole body was stretched out as though in adoration. Nikko followed her quickly.

  ‘You may get up.’ The King’s surprisingly high voice sounded bored. ‘I see what you mean,’ he added to the Chamberlain. ‘Mountain savages by the look of them. The girl may be beautiful when she is older, with a bit more flesh on her, and the boy is handsome enough. But nothing special. And you tell me the girl is dumb? What use is a slave who cannot speak? What was Orkestres thinking of?’

  He shrugged. ‘Perhaps it is time to stop sending him even to the villages. Well, let’s see what they can do.’

  The Chamberlain smiled. The High King waved a hand at the harper. The chatter stopped, and then the music. The old man sat, his fingers in a motionless caress on the harp’s frame.

  The Chamberlain nodded. ‘Begin.’

  Nikko got to his feet, as gracefully as he could. He moved back a few paces, into the clear space before the throne. He parted his feet, as Orkestres had shown him.

  Thetis leaped to stand with a foot on each of his shoulders. She did a half somersault and braced herself in a handstand, still on his shoulders.

  The gossip that had ceased for a few seconds began again. Thetis stood on one hand now, her legs high and slim, and then she leaped off Nikko’s shoulders, one somersault and then another till her feet at last touched the floor…

  Nikko glanced at the High King. He no longer watched them. A woman had entered the room. Women never attended a feast, of course, except for the dancing girls or flute girls, who didn’t count. But this woman was no flute girl.

  She was about ten years older than the High King, her dark hair coiled under a golden diadem. She wore a green skirt painted with golden stems of wheat, and a gold belt. The apron of a priestess of the Mother covered her breasts, and a green and gold-flecked shawl floated about her shoulders: it was made of some cloth that shimmered like the flames. This must be the High King’s sister, Xurtis, the most powerful woman in Mycenae—powerful enough even to come to a men’s feast. She and the High King were laughing, perhaps at something the King had said.

  It was time for their most difficult piece. Nikko threw himself down, standing on his hands, trying to keep his legs steady in the air. He felt the whisper of air as Thetis flew, her hands grabbing his feet, so she too stood upside down on her brother.

  Thetis gave a final somersault, landing behind Nikko. Nikko lowered his feet to the ground. He bowed toward the King as Thetis leap-frogged across him once again.

  The show was over. They stood together, hand in hand before the throne, their heads bowed politely, waiting for the High King to look at them, so they could prostrate themselves in front of him.

  The High King ignored them, his face averted, listening as Xurtis talked. The harper began to play again. A few of the dancing girls got up from whatever laps they’d been perched on, and began to sway again through the crowd.

  We’ve failed, thought Nikko, as he waited for the High King to notice them again, and remember to dismiss them. Their act was capable, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough to attract the attention of a King. The dance Orkestres saw up on the mountain had been a game, not a performance for a palace. We’ve failed Orkestres too, he thought, and Dora.

  Would they send him out to herd the King’s goats now? And Thetis. His heart lurched. What would they do with Thetis?

  Suddenly Thetis let go of his hand. He glanced down at her.

  But she was gone.

  CHAPTER 17

  The harper started another tune, his thin fingers stroking the strings. It was louder than the first, with a stronger beat, almost like eagle wings flapping as the bird took flight. Nikko looked around desperately for his sister.

  And all at once she was there.

  She stood on the white stones by the fire, her arms raised, swaying slightly like the smoke. Her skin-coloured costume took on the colour of the fire. Suddenly she leaped again—higher, wider than Nikko had ever seen her jump before—a somersault over the fire, her tiny body tumbling through the flames.

  Gasps filled the room.

  The High King glanced up.

  Thetis stood straight and proud on the other side of the fire, miraculously unhurt. She jumped through the flames again, this time with her toes pointing down, lit by the fire light so her feet and legs looked like flames as well. Then tumbling down, over and over, till she was at the feet of the King. She stayed there bowed only for a moment, then reached up and pulled the fine shawl from the woman at his side.

  The crowd gasped again, but in shock, not admiration. Who woul
d dare to take the shawl of the priestess of the Mother, the sister of the High King?

  Nikko felt his feet glued to the tiles of the floor, as though he was made of stone like the palace.

  Thetis smiled. How can she smile? thought Nikko. And then he thought, Why not? What is the worst that they can do to us? Tie us to the trees? This man might do that anyway, to appease a morning’s boredom.

  The music grew even more insistent, as though the blind harper had sensed what was happening in the room. It pulsed like a heartbeat, like the song of the wind.

  Thetis ran now, the shawl trailing behind her. Like wings, thought Nikko. And suddenly she was the butterfly again.

  The palace vanished. So did the lords and servants and the King. Suddenly there was only Thetis and her dance.

  He knew what she wanted now. He ran over to the white rocks by the fire, and stood with arms outstretched. She sprang up onto him. He felt her small thin feet pressing on his shoulders, felt the sweep of the shawl lifting in the heat and smoke. He looked up as Thetis jumped from his shoulders and grasped the cornice of the column next to the smoke hole, clinging somehow with her fingers and her toes. The shawl billowed about her, flying this way and that as she twirled it.

  It was the most beautiful thing Nikko had ever seen, the girl, her face and figure twisting in the mists of smoke, the colours of the shawl echoing the fire. Thetis had looked too tiny before. Now her very smallness suited the wide silk wings.

  ‘A butterfly,’ breathed someone.

  It was as though the mountain and its song rushed back to him, bringing both its strength and music.

  Nikko knew what to do now. He opened his mouth, and let the song pour forth, washing through the stunned silence of the chamber.

  Once more this was a song with no words. What use had the winds for words? It was as though the song controlled him. He felt it change. There were wings in the music now, as well as wind, butterfly wings that soared a flash of colour across the sky.

  And now another sound drifted through the room, growing louder and more powerful.

  The harper had picked up his melody. They played in counterpoint, the old musician and his harp, the boy and his pure voice.

  Still Thetis danced, flying from one pillar to the other, so swiftly that the room seemed filled with movement as well as music, as though the room was filled with unearthly creatures that had never felt the ground.

  And then it was over. He forced himself into stillness, feet apart, and she landed on his shoulders, steadying herself briefly with her hands on his head. He felt the shawl drift down to hang around them both, hiding them, joining them as one performer.

  Nikko held up his hand. She took it, and landed on her feet before him, twisting the shawl so it was a thin rope around her neck, no longer concealing them, no longer wings.

  They stepped over toward the throne, one step, two, still hand in hand. On the third step they bowed again, not reading each other’s minds but the signals of their bodies, too minute for anyone else to see.

  This time they bowed as the Chamberlain had bowed, a movement of the head and neck, their right hands pressed against their chests, as though they too took for granted the right to stand upright in front of the High King.

  The room was silent. The High King stared. So did his sister, her bare shoulders above the Mother’s apron a reproach.

  They will tie us to the trees, thought Nikko. They will make us slaves.

  Somehow it didn’t matter. Bitterness might come later. Not now. Orkestres had been right. You knew when greatness had flowed over you, like the silk shawl. Thetis had been a star, a glowing spark, shining above the world. For a while Nikko too had shone in her light.

  Still no one spoke. The harper too was silent, his head bowed over his harp, his white hair hiding his expression.

  Reality began to seep back again. Nikko shivered, not just from the breeze on his sweat.

  The High King stood up. He beckoned to one of the guards. The man came closer. The King gestured. The guard handed the King his shield. The High King took it, then bent down to pick up one of the spears that stood against the throne, a symbol of his power perhaps, for surely no one ever hunted with spears tipped with gold, their hafts carved with lion heads embossed with ivory.

  Still Nikko and Thetis stood there, motionless. Still the room was silent, except for the flicker of the fire. The High King began to bang his spear against his shield.

  Clang! Clang! Clang!

  Nikko felt his skin prickle. He took Thetis’s hand again. He had expected it to tremble, but it was warm and still. What did all this mean?

  And then he knew, for the cheering rose in a great cry: the room was full of people clapping their hands as the King was clapping spear and shield.

  The woman in the diadem stepped over to them. The King laid down his shield and spear and the clapping died. She looked a little like the King, but had grey hair among the black. She smiled—a strange smile, as though it came from far away.

  ‘The dance of the butterfly.’ Her voice had the accent of Mycenae, the words higher and more clearly spoken than at home. ‘Butterflies can’t speak. They only give the world their beauty. Did you know that the soul is a butterfly? And that dance was for the King.’ Xurtis closed her eyes, and laid her hand on Thetis’s head. ‘While you dance for His Majesty my brother, his soul will be safe.’

  She opened her eyes, then smiled again. This smile was different from the first, almost as though she wanted to laugh. ‘You may keep the shawl,’ she added.

  The room seemed to sigh, as though no one had dared to breathe till they heard what the woman was going to say. The High King beckoned again, to the Chamberlain this time, and spoke to him. The man looked startled.

  The King beckoned to Nikko and to Thetis. As they stepped forward the Chamberlain lifted the chains from his own neck, one thick woven gold, the other heavy with red jewels. He placed the first over Nikko’s head, the other over Thetis’s.

  Suddenly it seemed right to bow again. Nikko prostrated himself a second after Thetis had begun her bow. And then among the noise and cheering he felt Orkestres’s hand on his elbow, and he and Dora guided them out.

  The man’s face was black-streaked where tears had melted his eye make-up. ‘You have won his heart, child. I have never seen…never imagined I could see…’ His voice broke as he stroked Thetis’s hair. ‘You’ve won every heart in the chamber tonight! You are the Butterfly, the greatest dancer the court has ever seen. How did you know what to do?’

  Thetis shook her head as Orkestres peered down at her, his face full of bewilderment as well as joy. ‘Why haven’t you danced like that before?’

  Dora bent down and picked Thetis up. The child looked small against her bulk, and suddenly tired. She rested her head against Dora’s shoulder, and snuggled closer.

  ‘She did just what we told her to do.’ Dora looked from Nikko to Orkestres. She smiled slightly. ‘She danced the exercises we showed her,’ she said softly. ‘She did what we told her to do, just as her brother promised. But you said you’d shivered when she was a butterfly, up on the mountain. So that’s what she became, when she saw the act we’d taught her had failed. She flew for us tonight, for everybody here. Neither of us could teach that, or your song either,’ she added to Nikko. ‘It is your own.’

  The world was swaying around him. All that had happened tonight—it was too much to take in. He wanted to dance again, to run shouting around the walls of Mycenae. He wanted to rest, to drink, to eat. He wondered if his heart would ever stop drumming like music in his chest. He knew his face was smiling, but he had to work not to cry as well.

  He had wanted to save his sister, but she had saved them both.

  Just how much had Thetis seen when she sneaked out of their rooms? he wondered. How had she learned what would win a king?

  Nikko glanced over at Thetis. There were shadows under her eyes, and her hands trembled, even though they had been so firm and sure such a short time
before.

  ‘Baths,’ said Dora. ‘Warm baths for everyone, to calm us down.’ She stroked Thetis’s hair. ‘I know what it feels like, my lamb. You are exhausted and exalted all at once. That is what it means, to give yourself to an audience. And it’s the same,’ she added, ‘whether it’s a peasant or a king. You give yourself, and when it’s over the ground feels dull and flat, and so do you, with all your brightness gone. We all feel it. You get used to it in time—a bit, at any rate. The hot water is waiting. Then food and sleep.’

  Sleep, thought Nikko. His heart was racing as though he would never sleep again.

  They had danced before the King. Danced and sung like the children of the mountain that they were, as well as the acrobats that Orkestres and Dora had taught them to be.

  That is who we are now, thought Nikko. We are what we were born, and what we have become.

  Thetis put out her hand to him. He took it in his again. Her fingers still trembled, but she was smiling too, her whole face glowing, as though she had been living in a cloud, thought Nikko, and now the mist has lifted, and the real Thetis can shine through.

  CHAPTER 18

  Dora was right. The bath soothed him. The food calmed them both even more. But it seemed that sleep had only slipped through him when there was a knocking at the door.

  He pushed himself sleepily into a sitting position among his furs. Morning light shone around the edges of the shutters, so he must have slept. Thetis was already awake, wearing a new tunic Dora had made for her, nibbling a piece of honey bread. He drew his blanket around him as Orkestres flung the door open. He wore his best kilt, and half his jewellery, and make-up on his eyes and lips.

  Orkestres expected this knock, thought Nikko. The Chamberlain stood in the doorway, lit by the pink sunrise sky behind him, his face expressionless. He bowed to Orkestres as deeply he had to the High King. Behind him were servants, men and women, and a guard with his arms full of garlands of spring flowers.