I was holding my breath here. Either people were going to think Leon had gone off his head and needed to be put out of his misery, or else some god had given him wisdom from heaven, and they'd believe him and do just what he said. One or the other; no half measures. Still, that was Leon.
'So I asked this god,' Leon went on, "'What would you like us to do? Just say it, it's good as done." The god smiled and said, "Not so hasty, Leon. What we want from you isn't going to be so easy. First you're going to have to persuade the Sons of the Achaeans, and you know yourself how awkward and difficult they can be, especially if you're asking them to do something new and different." "That's all right," I told him, "you'll give me divine eloquence to convince them with." And the god grinned at me and said, "We'll...'
Leon was smiling too, and soon every damned idiot in that orchard had a big soppy grin on his face, though whether or not they believed him I couldn't say. That's where Leon was clever, see. It didn't matter whether what he was saying was truly true, it was true enough. The god may have been a real dream, or it may have been the god telling Leon's heart what to say. All as broad as it's long, really.
'So, anyway,' Leon went on, 'what the god told me to do was this: we're going to hold a festival, but it's not going to be a boring one. There won't be any standing around listening to some old fart reciting hymns; the gods want something to entertain them, so we'll give them something. We're going to have games.'
Dead silence. Even the sheep.
'Well, I was as surprised as you are,' Leon went on. "'Excuse me," I asked the god, "how can we have games? Nobody's died." And the god looked at me, sort of meaningfully, and said, "Well, if that's the only problem, I'm sure we can arrange something." I didn't like the sound of that, so I said, "It's all right, I'm just getting used to the idea; games with nobody dead. And you know what? The more I think about it, the more I like the idea." And the god nodded and said, "That's all right, then."'
I still wasn't sure about how he was going about it, but as far as my heart could judge, it was going down well. Mostly, I reckon, people were thinking, It doesn't matter whether the idea really came from the gods or not; if King Leon said it did, that's good enough for us. They were covered, you see, because a good man always trusts the word of his king, which is why bad kings can still have good subjects. If you didn't have a system like that, I think cities just wouldn't be possible.
'So,' Leon went on, 'that's how it's going to be. We're going to hold games, and we're going to send out heralds to all the greatest games-players in the world, telling them to come to Elis and put on a show for the gods. There will, of course, be prizes - proper prizes, not junk; we're going to show people that we're not paupers in Elis - but I reckon that winning at the Elean games is going to be the biggest, best prize of all on its own; better than bronze or silver, better than gold itself. Because people are going to remember these games, the games in Elis when nobody died. To start with, they'll remember them just because nobody'd died; then they'll remember them because all the greatest heroes in the world were there, like it was the old days of Thebes or Troy, or the Golden Fleece; and then they'll remember them for the wonderful things that were done there - because when great heroes compete with each other, they put themselves out more than when they're matched against the likes of you and me - and that's the memory that won't ever die. Those men will be as near as you can get to being gods themselves. And if that isn't a prize, somebody tell me what is.'
They were cheering him now, bless them; and even I was beginning to wonder if a god really had given him divine eloquence and he hadn't thought to mention it to me. And - well, if I was starting to believe him, when it was my idea to begin with, you can imagine how the rest of them were taking it. He was a clever man, King Leon, in his way; trouble was, either he didn't get the chance to be clever that way often enough, or he didn't realise what direction his talents lay in. It's often that way with clever people, like a man who's a natural shot with the bow but of course he wants to fight in the front rank, in armour, because even the world's best archer is of no account compared to a brave man with a spear.
But there was one man who wasn't smiling or cheering. I could see him from where I was sitting - put myself there on purpose so I could see him - and his heart wasn't happy at all. You've guessed it; Prince Oeleus, who reckoned on being king after Leon, because the boy wasn't up to it. Last thing Oeleus wanted was for Leon to do something that'd make him and Elis famous across the world. He wanted Leon to fail and get old and useless and die before his time, and Elis to be wretched and miserable and crying out for a good king who'd put things straight. Now that's what I mean, by the way, about good and bad kings and good and bad men. I have no doubts at all that Oeleus wanted to be king because he thought -well, he knew - that he'd be good at it, and good for Elis (because he was a good man, and he knew that too). But in order for him to get to be a good king, he was being a bad man and a bad prince, wishing misery and bad luck on Leon and Elis - so even before he was king he was a bad king, and how can good come out of a start like that? In fact, I'd say that anybody who wants to be king is likely to turn into a bad man, however good he may be; the things you have to do to get power make you unfit to have it, and there's no way round that that I can see. But of course, that hasn't got to do with anything, so forget I said it.
The point is, if we could rely on anything, we could rely on Oeleus making trouble, one way or another. I said as much to Leon that evening, after the dishes had been taken away and the girl was going round with the wine.
'Well, of course,' Leon answered me. 'You think I'm an idiot? Don't get me wrong, Oeleus is my own flesh and blood, and if the boy doesn't shape up then I need him to be the next king, otherwise he wouldn't still be here. You don't keep a wolf in your yard unless you figure one day you'll have a use for it.' But he looked depressed all the same, and maybe his heart was worrying about what he'd started. 'My guess is,' he went on, 'he'll try to make the games fail; but he can't do it openly - on his face he's got to be smiling all the time or else it'll turn people against him faster than you can throw a stone. People are like that, I've found. They don't like people who turn against something they want to see happen; but they get almost as much pleasure from seeing something fail as they do from watching it succeed. You think of how people talk about great men, heroes. While a hero's good, they're all for him; but still they're watching, like the wolf at the piggery door. As soon as he starts to show signs of failing, they're on to him like a hawk, pushing him down - not the man he used to be, they say, not half the man he was ten years ago, and once they're started on that game, there's nothing a man can do, however well he performs. They want him to fail. It'll be the same with our games, believe me. If things start to go wrong, there'll be more wanting them to fall flat than get back upright. And that's where Oeleus will take advantage.'
My heart knew he was right, but I didn't know what to suggest, so I kept my face shut.
'Which means,' Leon went on, 'we'll have to be very careful about how we handle this. It's like getting a city ready for war. You fortify all the weak points - because an enemy will smell them before he's even in sight of the walls. But you fortify the strong points as well, because if you concentrate all your strength at the weak places, you leave the strong points open to attack. We've got to figure out what the weak points and the strong points are, and guard all of them. Not just against Oeleus, either. You know that the gods will make a thing go wrong if there's any way it can go wrong.'
'That's true,' I said. 'And you're right, there's no point protecting your knees in a battle if you leave your head exposed, even if you're wearing a good helmet. On the other hand, you don't want to bash in a man's head if it means you leave your guard open.'
'Meaning?'
'Meaning,' I said, 'Oeleus won't want to attack our strong points if doing so leaves him vulnerable. It's what you were saying, about not wanting to make trouble openly. I think he'll try to make difficulties for the h
eralds, the ones who go around inviting people to the games. It's what I'd be doing, if I sat by his fire instead of yours.'
Leon grinned at me, a green-fig, young-wine sort of grin. 'Just as well you don't, then,' he said. 'But there's plenty who do whose hearts'll be telling them the same thing. And what can I do about what happens far away, in other cities? Nothing.'
'True,' I said. 'And who's to know in Elis what happens abroad? He can do what he likes there, and nobody here will think the worse of him.'
'Exactly,' Leon said. 'And that's why the most important thing will be choosing the heralds. They've got to be the bravest, wisest, cleverest men we can think of; and they can't be Oeleus' friends, either, or anybody who might be inclined to listen to him.'
I thought about that while the girl filled my cup. 'That cuts down the number we can choose from,' I said. 'Oeleus is more popular than you are among the better sort, and that's the sharp truth.'
Leon pulled a face. 'I know,' he said. 'Which is why I thank the gods I've got you.'
Honest truth: I hadn't seen it coming. I walked into it, like a bear-hunter into somebody else's trap. Some god took away my wits, I guess, because I should have seen it. But I didn't.
'Me?' I said, though I knew it was too late to get out of it now. 'What have I got to do with anything?'
A grin settled on Leon's face, like rooks on newly sown barley. 'Everything,' he said. 'You thought of the idea. You've just shown me you've got an excellent grasp of the situation and understand the difficulties. And, Zeus knows, you're a persuasive devil, because you persuaded me. I can't think of anybody better to take charge of this operation; including sending out the heralds, of course.'
'Of course,' I repeated; and inside me my heart was screaming, Idiot! Idiot! Which is all very well, but it should've warned me.
After that we talked about who we were going to have as our heralds. Leon didn't like some of the choices I made, but I insisted; if this was going to be my responsibility (or my fault), I had to have some say in the important decisions. Well, that's fair, isn't it?
Secrets are like those big round cheeses we get from Sicily (Cleander went on) - you know, the big island in the middle of the sea where the Cyclops lives - in that they're usually hard to swallow and extremely difficult to keep.
Pretty soon, everybody in Elis knew why I was going round the houses with a big smile on my face; and I've seen lepers and men with the plague more popular than I was. The reason wasn't hard to find: Eleans aren't stupid, they'd guessed about the same time as Leon and I did that Oeleus was going to make life very hard indeed for the king's heralds, as soon as we were safely over the border and out of Leon's jurisdiction. Accordingly, the houses I called on were generally empty when I got there. In a couple of cases, the doors were boarded up and the smoke-hole blocked with turf, just to make sure my heart got the message.
This threw out the plans I'd so laboriously agreed with the king. The men we'd decided on, the cream of the better sort in Elis, were all suddenly abroad, or sick, or dead (in some cases all three at the same time) and therefore not available to go heralding with me. I reported back to Leon, who wasn't the slightest bit happy about it, and together we worked out a new set of criteria for selecting heralds; basically, anybody who didn't get out of my way fast enough.
Actually, my first choice for a companion on this trip was the only man on my original list who agreed to go - my brother and best friend in all the world, Cratus. Well, he was then. These days, he's still my brother.
The two of us went to call on someone we both agreed might well be useful. Just as a precaution, we called at his house a couple of hours before dawn, creeping up by way of the river-bed just in case he'd set watchmen. As luck would have it, the watchdog sniffed us when we were fifty yards from the house and started barking like mad, but we were quick and managed to get our shoulders to the door before the gatekeeper had a chance to shoot the bolts.
'Good morning, Tachys,' I said.
Tachys, who'd obviously just woken up - he was standing in the hall with a wolf-skin blanket wrapped round him, looking as if he'd just nibbled his way out of an egg - scowled at me and said, 'Go away, Cleander. I'm not going with you and that's final.'
'Tachys, Tachys,' I said, 'that's no way to greet an old friend. Besides, you don't even know why I'm here.'
Tachys shook his head. 'Don't need to know,' he replied, 'I can guess. And I swear to you, Cleander, whatever you ask of me the answer's going to be "No".'
'Really?'
'Absolutely.'
'That's your final answer, is it?'
'Yes.'
I nodded. 'All right,' I said. 'I ask you not to take part in the expedition I'm planning.'
I wouldn't have trapped him so easily if he'd been properly awake. But that was one of the reasons I tackled him when I did. Not a morning person, Tachys.
But we had to have him, no doubt about it. Tall, handsome, eloquent, resourceful, honourable to a fault, a fearless warrior, slow to anger but once angry, unstoppable; also well connected abroad, widely travelled, known to be first rate at handling people. The only reason I hadn't included him in my original selection was that a more miserable, depressing man never complained about a harvest. The thought of keeping him company from one end of the world to the other didn't appeal to me one bit.
He whined and moaned for a bit, but when I reminded him that he'd given his word, as good as sworn an oath, he realised he couldn't back out, even if he had been tricked into making the promise. That was Tachys all over; if you tricked him into swearing to kill his own son, he'd do it rather than break an oath. People like that worry me, no two ways about it; but on an expedition like the one we were embarking on, you need someone big and miserable you don't mind imposing on.
So; there were three of us later that morning when we headed out into the hills, looking for the next candidate. We found him easily enough; all we had to do was listen to our hearts warning us about extreme danger, and head for where we weren't supposed to go.
My uncle Sarpedon should have died when he was seventeen; there was this pirate, an Ionian, who'd built up quite an army out of runaways, criminals, bad people of every kind, and spent his time cruising up and down the coast of the Peloponnese picking off outlying farms and small villages. He was a spiteful man, this pirate -you can learn most of what you need to know about him from the fact that he wore a big necklace round his neck made up of the forefinger-knuckles of people he'd personally killed - and probably not right in the head, because he made a point of taking extreme and pointless risks, like in his heart he wanted to die. There are always people like that in the world. I've heard them called two legged wolves, things like that, but they're not like any animal I've ever come across, far from it. They're all human, unfortunately.
Well, this pirate - I think he was called Dolon or Dolops or Doleus, something like that - fetched up on the north-west coast and managed to make a spectacular mess of a local army who'd set out to stop him; a proper army, not just a few farmers and their men, but chariots and fighters of the better sort. That was bad; it gave this Dolon ideas about making a name for himself, maybe even taking control of a small city (like Elis) and becoming a genuine king instead of a captain of pirates.
Now, there's my uncle Sarpedon: seventeen years old, tall, skinny, been the sort of kid who's always picking fights with boys older and stronger than he is and getting horribly smacked around for his trouble; Uncle takes it into his head to find this Dolon and kill him, by way of making a name for himself. Marvellous way to avoid reaching the age of eighteen, if you think about it calmly, but Sarpedon managed it. Say what you like about him, Fear's never managed to prise open the door of his heart. He found the pirate camp, waited till dark and sneaked past the sentries, ran off the horses to make a diversion, then waited outside Dolon's tent. When Dolon came bustling out, fumbling with his helmet straps and shouting blue murder at his captains, Sarpedon jumped on his back and cut his throat, quick and sure
as an old priest killing a goat. Dolon falls down dead; of course, Sarpedon didn't really expect to get that far, so he hadn't given any thought as to how he was going to get out again. All he could do was run - he's fast, mind, and agile, he can change direction in a flash, dodge and duck and scramble under and over things. It must have been a sight to see, Sarpedon scampering about that camp like an escaped duck in a farmyard (you know how tricky they can be when you're rounding them up and there's just one left loose; there's ten or so of you after this one wretched duck, and you're tripping over things, running into each other, losing your tempers), and they nearly got him; they had him surrounded and were gradually closing in, when somehow or other he managed to slip right under the legs of one of those pirates and scuttle away. Nearly clear, he was, but an archer got off a lucky shot which nicked a vein in his leg. Only his heart knows how he kept going; by the time some of our people found him there can't have been enough blood left in his body to fill an eggshell. But he just lay there for days, not quite dying, until suddenly he sat up and announced that he was better now and wanted to go home. Amazing.
Well, you can figure it out for yourselves. In one scale, here's a man with no fear and an unhealthy abundance of good luck; in the other scale, he does crazy things just for glory or fun, which makes him extremely wearing to be with. Not my first choice, by a long way, but it didn't take much imagination to see where he might come in handy.
When we caught up with him, he was up a tree. At the bottom of this tree he'd tethered an old, sick ewe, and he was sitting on a low branch with a sword in one hand and an old, tattered cloak in the other, waiting for a big, ugly old bear that had taken to breaking into houses down in the valley.
'Go away,' he hissed, when we showed up. 'You'll frighten the bear.'
'The crows with the bear, Uncle,' I called back. 'It's me, Cleander. I need to talk to you.'
Olympiad Tom Holt Page 7