Shadow of Athena

by Elena Douglas

  But the captain cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Very well, I’ll take you on. We sail in two days.”

  “Thank you, sir! You won’t be sorry.” The captain only regarded him with a cold, indifferent stare. As Arion turned away, he suddenly knew where he had seen this man before.

  It hit him like a blow.

  This was the merchant who had viciously kicked him in Thrasios’ warehouse in Naryx all those months ago.

  XLV

  KLONIOS

  U

  “If we go on this ship it will be a great risk,” Arion said. “The captain’s name is Klonios. I found out from crewmembers. Do you know him?”

  Arion had kindled a fire outside their lean-to, and they were sitting by it, sharing a supper of bread and dried fish, although “bread” was too fine a name for the hard lumps of crushed grain and water they had browned over the fire. Marpessa was heartily sick of dried fish, and she suspected Arion was too. The wind gusted, and the thin flames did nothing to stop her shivering.

  “No,” she said, “I never heard that name.”

  “He may have seen you in Naryx.” He paused. “I wonder if we should even go on this ship.”

  “Not go?” Sudden tears sprang to her eyes. She, who did not cry easily, was often on the verge of tears these days. It was this place, she told herself. This miserable, dreary place. The ship offered an escape, a hope. For a moment her worries about what would happen when they reached home seemed very far away. She felt a great longing for her mother. If only they could reach her, Amaltheia would find a way to protect them. “Arion, there may not be another ship for months!”

  “But this Klonios might recognize you.”

  “I’m sure he’s never seen me. And I don’t look like myself. But what of you?” she demanded. “He saw you in my father’s warehouse. And today you must have told him your name.”

  He shook his head. “I gave my name as Lykaon—you must remember to call me that. And he didn’t recognize me. I was a slave, a nothing. Someone like him wouldn’t even see me as a man. It’s you I’m worried about. He has dealings with your father. Did Thrasios ever mention him?”

  “No. My father never spoke to my mother or me of his business dealings.” My mother! A great sorrow settled on her heart. Will I ever see you again? Arion must have sensed her thoughts, for his eyes, as they met hers in the twilight, reflected sadness. Silence fell like a shadow between them. He reached out and took her hand in his.

  At last, letting go, he said, “I told the captain—” He hesitated, tossed his fish bones into the fire. “I told him you were sickly. That you would spend much of the voyage lying on your pallet in the hold.”

  Indignation flared in her. “I’ve never been sick in my life, except when the marauders hit me with clubs!”

  “But it’s a way to keep you out of his sight.”

  “For the whole voyage? It would be unbearable!”

  “This trip will be much faster. We won’t be going against the current. Instead, it will speed us on our way.”

  Still, she’d spend all her time in the dark, smelly hold to satisfy his need to keep her safe. Worse, she would not be near him. Then the realization struck her. In a few short weeks, perhaps less, they would reach Lokris, and he would leave her. Or be killed, unless she could find a way to prevent it. The fear loomed like a boulder atop a precipice that threatened to crash down on her. The image of her death that she had seen in Athena’s temple came back to her. Her skin went cold. The Fates were pushing them relentlessly toward some terrible end in Lokris. She knew her mother would be powerless to save them. For a long time she could not speak. At last she heard herself say, “Very well, Arion, I will do as you wish.”

  Two days later, Arion carried their belongings and a pallet for his frail brother Teukros to the ship. Then he went back for Marpessa, who walked in slow steps, feigning weakness and holding a cloth to her forehead, which worked well to conceal her features. He installed her in the hold. As she crouched over the pallet, he could see, in the dimness, the fierce gleam of her eyes.

  “My love!” he whispered ruefully. “I’ll come to see you as often as I can.”

  She glared at him. “Go to your oar. I hope the weather is terrible and the rowing is hard!” Then she reached a quick hand to grasp his arm. “I don’t mean that!” she amended.

  He returned to the deck. He had already struck up an acquaintance with the crewmembers. “My young brother,” he explained as he settled among them, “has always been sickly.” He affected a sorrowful look, hoping to discourage their interest in Teukros. “Also weak in his mind.”

  As the journey began, a fresh breeze was blowing astern. The sail went up, and the men relaxed at their oars. Arion sought a way to ask for information about the captain’s warning not to go to Lokris. He glanced around at the men on the rowing benches. “Are any of you from Lokris?”

  Several surprised looks came his way. “Most of us are, including our captain. Why do you ask?”

  “The captain hinted at trouble.”

  “Aye! There is drought, the crops are failing, and there have been reports of more than the usual numbers of stillbirths and deformed babies. They say Lokris has been cursed by the gods.”

  Arion digested this in silence, wondering what it could mean for their return.

  Lying in the hold, Marpessa felt listless and queasy. If only she were free to move about, to stretch her muscles, to breathe the fresh sea air! The waves of the current propelled the ship forward on great, even swells. Instead of soothing Marpessa, they made her sicker. Surely it was a punishment from the gods. Boasting to Arion that she had never been sick was hubris, and the gods detested hubris. Athena, forgive my false pride! More and more often she prayed to Athena. Ever since the Phoenician ship, she imagined that all the other gods had deserted her, and Athena was a lone, distant presence who sometimes watched over her.

  When Arion came down to see her in the evening, bringing food, she said, “I can’t eat. I’m sick. The gods are punishing me.”

  “Nonsense! It’s just seasickness. You’ll feel better if you eat.”

  She took the proffered meat wrapped in bread. But she heaved and gave it back to him hastily. “This is what comes of having to lie in the hold all day.” Seeing his stricken look, she added, “Arion, I’m sorry! Tomorrow I’ll be well. You’ll see.”

  For Arion the trip was the complete opposite of the outbound voyage with the Phoenicians. With the current and prevailing winds carrying them most days, sailing was easy, and there was much less rowing. Though the captain was an unpleasant man, the crew treated Arion with friendly camaraderie.

  But he did not enjoy it long, for the next day Marpessa was worse. She could barely sit up. When she tried to eat the goat meat he brought, she vomited, then lay with her eyes closed, her pale face covered with a sheen of sweat. He cleaned up the sickness, then laid his hand on her hot brow. Surely just a passing fever, he prayed. With an ache of guilt he wondered if she had indeed fallen ill from being confined to the unwholesome hold. Perhaps he should bring her up onto the deck. Klonios treated his sailors as menials and paid them little attention save to give orders. He probably wouldn’t have noticed Marpessa had she paraded right under his nose. Arion tried to remember the lovely young girl in Naryx that Klonios might have seen, with her long, flowing, burnished tresses, her quick, graceful movements. Now she was thin, ragged, her hair roughly shorn.

  Ah, gods, what have I done to her? I’ve brought her nothing but harm. Perhaps he should leave her now and turn her over to Klonios, telling him that she was Thrasios’s daughter. As her father’s business associate, Klonios might be willing to escort her home. At least he’ll feed her properly, Arion thought. Better than I’ve done.

  But Klonios was a cruel, unscrupulous man. Too well, Arion remembered that vicious kick that had knocked him from his feet. Whatever
it took, he would deliver Marpessa safely to her mother’s arms.

  When he returned to his place on the deck, the men were muttering, going silent as he passed by. One of them said, “Maybe a plague.” Someone else said the word contagion. He felt a flicker of fear. If they thought that, they would dump Marpessa on land at the earliest opportunity or even throw her into the sea.

  He stopped and faced the men. “My brother does not have a plague,” he said, turning about so that all could hear. “It is as I told you. He’s been an invalid since he was a child. That’s why we are on this journey. We are going to the oracle at Delphi to see if Apollo can heal him.”

  Doubtful stares met his eyes. One of the men said, “We’ll see. But if you or anyone else sickens—” He didn’t finish his sentence.

  “Look at me,” Arion challenged. “I’m healthy, and I’ve been with him night and day.” The man shrugged. Something made Arion look over to the captain’s spot at the helm, and he felt the coldness of Klonios’s malevolent stare. Surely the man was too far away to have heard the exchange. Arion prayed that no word of it would reach his ears. Maybe I should bring Marpessa on deck, he thought. Just briefly. To prove she doesn’t have the plague.

  Hours later, with the wind astern and the sail up, Arion, freed of rowing duties, went down again to the hold, this time bringing bread, olives, and a delicacy: fresh shellfish. He found her lying still, her eyes closed. With a pang, he saw that her hand was clasped around the owl feather she had carried with her from the mountainside.

  He held out the food and forced heartiness into his voice. “Look, my love, these are much better than anything we had in Heracléa Pontica, or even with the Phoenicians.”

  To please him, Marpessa made a huge effort and sat up. But a mere whiff of the food was enough to make her heave emptiness and bile until at last she lay back weak and gasping.

  “Perhaps you could come on deck for a brief time, as long as we don’t let the captain see your face.” She heard desperation in his voice, but she shook her head. The concern in his eyes was too much to bear. It demanded effort when she was sinking into a whirlpool of lethargy. She wanted him to leave her alone.

  She said faintly, “Just let me rest. I’m sure it will pass, and—” But she closed her eyes, too weak to go on.

  A cold, heavy fear weighed him down. Not only the crew was still talking about contagion, Marpessa was weakening. He thought of the wasting sickness that had taken his mother. Marpessa had something like it, he was sure. He would be helpless as she wasted away before his eyes.

  After they glided almost effortlessly through the strait that took them out of the Euxine, Klonios walked to the center of the ship. “We’ll be stopping at Kysikos,” he announced. “I have many holdings there to deal with.” His manner was abrupt, inviting no questions. He glared around at the men and added, “We’ll be two days there. You have leave to go into the town, but do not cause trouble.”

  The men glanced at each other, pleased with this news, but none dared show it openly. Klonios’s eyes fell on Arion, and he frowned. A shiver ran down Arion’s back. Does he know something? he wondered, but the captain’s gaze moved on as if Arion were no more than a repulsive insect.

  When they reached the town, the ship was run up onto the beach. As the other men clambered down the gangplank, Arion hurried to the hold. He found Marpessa on her feet, pacing. At first he was encouraged. Then he saw her face. She was flushed, her eyes feverishly bright. Her fists kept clenching and unclenching.

  “What is it?” he asked in alarm.

  “I’m so stupid!” she cried. “I don’t know how I could have missed it!”

  He caught her in his arms and whispered, “Tell me, my love.”

  She leaned against his chest, trembling. She said, so low he barely heard, “Arion, I’m with child!”

  XLVI

  KYSIKOS

  U

  The words struck him with the force of an avalanche. For a moment he couldn’t breathe.

  There could be no good outcome for this.

  They sat side by side on her pallet in the hold. The stillness from above told them they were alone on the beached ship. Arion put his arm around her.

  “There are people who know how to get rid of a baby,” he said at last. “But I don’t.”

  She too seemed to have trouble breathing. “Our baby!” she gasped out. “I don’t want to get rid of it.”

  They were silent, Arion trying to peer into a future where he could see nothing. Then he had a sudden thought. “We’ll have to leave this ship at once!”

  “Why?”

  “Well, everyone will know you’re not a boy.”

  Marpessa gave a broken laugh. “Nonsense! Nothing will even show for months. I can still be Teukros.”

  “Then we can stay on this ship until we reach the coast of Lokris.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t go home. My life is over. My parents will be disgraced. They would rather I was dead.”

  “But you must go home. Your mother could not wish you dead. She’ll know what to do.”

  “My mother! How do I know she’s still alive?” Marpessa’s voice fell to a whisper, and he heard the longing in it. Tears filled her eyes.

  Those tears pierced Arion like shards. “Your mother is strong, Marpessa. I’m sure she’s alive.” He reached for her hand and held it. Then he was silent for so long that she asked, “What are you thinking, Arion?”

  He did not answer. A furious battle was raging inside him. Get off this ship, he was thinking. Take her to the far ends of the earth and start a new life somewhere. He had thought about this before. But he had failed miserably in caring for her. He had not provided her with safety, a roof over her head, or enough food to eat. Now that she was with child, his vow to take her home was all the more important, so that her mother could care for her. Against his will, his own eyes burned with the sting of tears. He was thankful that she did not look at him.

  “Arion?”

  I’ll honor my vow, he thought. Aloud, he said, “We must stop troubling ourselves with this now. It does no good.”

  “But we’re still continuing our journey home?”

  “I don’t see a choice. We’ll pray to the gods and see if their will becomes clear, but—” He sighed and didn’t finish. “Come now.” He stood up. “Let’s get off this ship and walk on land. The evening air will make you feel better.”

  She got to her feet, and they climbed out of the hold. But when she stepped onto the plank that led to the shore, her weakened legs buckled, and he had to help her down.

  Klonios owned a large house that overlooked the harbor. He sat at ease in the front room, a full goblet of wine in his hand, listening with half and ear to his overseer’s accounting of the year’s profits. But his eye was caught by the spectacle before him on the shore. The mysterious young man who had recently joined his crew was helping his sickly, feeble-minded brother down the plank onto the beach. There was something so solicitous and tender about the man’s behavior toward his brother that it riveted Klonios’s attention. The boy was pathetic and weak, rather feminine really. Klonios focused on the lad’s slender, hairless legs and thought how well they would have looked on a woman. And the ankles, small and pretty, almost like a girl’s.

  Something was not quite right. Klonios narrowed his gaze on the pair. The man—what was his name? No matter. Names meant nothing, but Klonios prided himself on never forgetting a face. He had seen this man in the past, he now realized.

  Lokris. They wanted to go to Lokris.

  Klonios tried to recall where had he seen the man. Somewhere in Naryx. He was an underling, Klonios was sure, else he would have remembered him more clearly. Perhaps a slave?

  He sighed, let it go. It would come to him. Then, with sharpened focus, he remembered Thrasios’s warehouse. This man had been there. Was he a slave of Thra
sios?

  Suddenly Klonios was almost sure of it.

  What was he doing here? Escaped? And the lad? His catamite? The crew might know. They were all from Lokris. He would see what he could learn from them.

  The overseer’s voice was droning on, but Klonios leapt to his feet. Something could be made of this. As yet he did not know what, but it would come to him.

  “My lord?” the overseer said.

  “Later,” replied Klonios. “We’ll finish the accounts after supper.”

  As he continued to watch the man and the boy, he realized that he would have to show the man another face, pretend to respect and even trust him in order to allay his suspicions during the rest of the voyage. A steely smile hardened his lips. He was good at this game. The journey ahead had suddenly become interesting

  XLVII

  A PLEASING SACRIFICE

  U

  Every event in Naryx gave further proof of the wrath of the gods. The drought continued. There was a blight on the barley crop. Somebody’s wife had miscarried. Someone’s prize brood mare had dropped her foal early and it had died. Knots of angry men gathered in the agora. Late one evening the knots coalesced into a mob. There was shouting.

  “Athena has cursed us!”

  “The priestesses of Athena are to blame.”

  “The High Priestess—”

  “She offered sacrifice. It did no good.”

  “It’s the dead maidens. If we had sent two more—”

  “Will you offer your daughters?”

  “No one would risk a ship.”

  “Perhaps someone should try.”

  A man leapt up onto the plinth of one of the temple’s columns. “Hear me, men!” he shouted. He had to try several more times until the crowd quieted.