The Bow

by Catherine Mayo

  It ought to have been simpler this time – these men were searching for them with one intention only – to kill. But they were still men, with wives and families, acting under orders. Damn Thyestes.

  “Probably not?” said Eurybates. “What kind of answer is that?”

  “If any villagers saw us, they’re sure to tell the soldiers,” said Odysseus.

  “So this is a trap? Remind me again why we’re not galloping to freedom.”

  “You heard those men. They know we’re making for Ithaka.” It was all so obvious, now Odysseus stopped to think about it. “They’ll guard the main roads, so we’ll have to find a way through the mountains. Horses will be useless.”

  Eurybates grunted. “I suppose.”

  “You suppose he’s right?” Skotia said tartly. “This was my idea.”

  Well, maybe it was, but it had been his decision. Odysseus turned to Skotia. “Why the stone slab?”

  “To stop their goats falling in, stupid,” said Eurybates.

  “Not goats,” said Skotia. “Ghosts. And it’s to stop them getting out.”

  “Ghosts?” Eurybates stared around in dismay.

  “They come up from Hades,” she said. “A whole army of them tried to get out once.”

  “Here?” Odysseus peered round the boulder. Below him a host of fantastical shapes crowded against each other, filling what he could see of the cave in the dim light. “Will they attack us?” he said, the bow gripped tight.

  Skotia shook her head. “Demeter turned them to stone.”

  “I hope she did,” said Eurybates, craning over Odysseus’s shoulder. Odysseus could hear the quiver in his voice. “So what happens next?”

  “The cave goes right under the village,” Skotia said. “It’s dangerous, but there’s another way out over on the next ridge.”

  “And if the soldiers follow us in here?” said Odysseus.

  “I know a place we can hide,” said Skotia. “It’s not far. Though you might be too fat.” She looked them up and down, her head on one side.

  “I’m not going any further,” said Eurybates. “What if there are more ghosts?”

  “Demeter has always watched over us,” said Skotia. “Aunt Danae and Papa and me.”

  “Who’s Aunt Danae? And what–”

  “She’s my father’s sister. Demeter came to her in a dream. Deep down in the cave there’s an altar where the goddess lives. Aunt Danae took Papa and me there on Demeter’s feast days.”

  “We can’t go through the cave without a light,” said Eurybates, folding his arms with finality.

  “But we have a light.” Skotia untwisted the tuck in her tunic and held the little lamp up.

  Eurybates snorted. “What do we burn in it? Water? Air?”

  “What’s in that satchel?” Odysseus asked, his courage flaring. Perhaps Demeter had intended Skotia to find the lamp …

  Eurybates rummaged inside. “Bread,” he said, laying the contents out. “Figs. Cheese. A bag of,” he tugged it open and sniffed, “almonds. And a wine flask. Nothing to burn.”

  Odysseus picked up the flask and eased out the stopper. “Not wine,” he said. “Oil.”

  Eurybates groaned. “I don’t think–” he started to say, when they heard the crunch of boots on gravel.

  “I saw them,” a high wavering voice said. “Running up here.”

  “So where did they go, old woman?” A man’s voice, hard and loud.

  “Into the cave, like I told you.”

  “Through that tiny gap?”Another man’s voice.

  “They’re evil spirits. They can go anywhere,” the old woman shrilled. “They creep out every night to suck the death juice out of them corpses up in the graveyard.”

  “The men who attacked us were flesh and blood.”

  “I saw them,” she gabbled. “Black they were, with great talons and wings, squeaking and squealing–”

  “Sounds like bats,” said the first man’s voice.

  “Maybe she’s bats,” said the other.

  “We should check it out nonetheless. I’ll round up some men, you fetch torches and we’ll meet back here.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  The scrunch of boots receded.

  “How close is that hiding place, Skotia?” Odysseus whispered, hoping he didn’t sound as scared as Eurybates.

  “Not too far.”

  “Did you keep the lamp wick?”

  “You think I’m an idiot?” She waved the charred stump of cord under his nose.

  “Here’s the oil flask. I’ll light some tinder.” Odysseus searched through one of the food bags for his fire-making kit.

  Eurybates fed yellowed scraps of dry moss up against the drill stick as Odysseus worked the tiny bow, its thin leather thong whirling the stick back and forth on the soft wood base. Soon the first tendrils of smoke thickened and a tiny flame appeared.

  “Wick?” Odysseus reached out a groping hand.

  “I’ll do it.” Skotia held one end of the oil-soaked wick over the burning moss. When it was well alight she eased the other end into the oil-filled lamp.

  Then she scrambled to her feet and felt about on the top of the boulder. “Here’s Aunt Danae’s rope,” she said, pulling down a dusty leather bag. “See?”

  The fibres felt rough under Odysseus’s fingers, like a ship’s rigging, and he was suddenly struck with a deep longing for Ithaka and his family, Argos and Menelaos, the smell of the sea and the sound of gulls. Unshed tears smarted in the corners of his eyes. Perhaps he would never see them again.

  “Are you all right?” whispered Skotia.

  “I’m fine.” He pushed the rope back in the bag. “Eury, put this with the satchel in your sack. Skotia, you take the lamp.”

  “I would’ve, anyway.” Skotia set off, hugging the side wall with the lamp held out at arm’s length as if to ward off the grotesque shapes hovering on the edge of the light. Odysseus tried not to glance sideways as his boots slipped on the uneven boulders. Was it only the lamp flame setting the rocks swaying? He gritted his teeth. Demeter has turned them to stone, he told himself. They can’t move. They can’t.

  Every noise the three of them made boomed and ricocheted round the cave. Even their whispers seemed deafening. If the soldiers came back before they reached the tunnel, they were certain to be heard. And what then? How could they defend themselves with only one arrow?

  At last they reached the base of the slope and edged along to a narrow tunnel mouth, the cave roof so low above them now they had to bend double. Odysseus shivered. What lay ahead?

  “I’m glad that’s over,” Eurybates said, his face beaded with sweat in the flickering light.

  “Shhh.” Skotia swung round. “I heard the slab move.”

  They froze as a grating noise echoed down the cave.

  “Follow me,” Skotia whispered. “Quick.”

  The tunnel was barely shoulder height. They were forced to stoop and Odysseus’s back and thighs were soon in agony under the weight of the gold. Behind him, Eurybates’s breath came quick and hard. At least there was no chance the soldiers could hear them now, for the men’s cries, harsh with bravado and fear, had set the great cavern reverberating.

  A low side tunnel loomed up on their right and then another. “Here we are,” Skotia said. She dropped onto all fours to crawl inside.

  Odysseus struggled after her, his head scraping on the tunnel roof and jagged rocks biting into his knees. The echo of voices told him the soldiers were still searching the cavern. And once they’d finished, they’d track them into this side tunnel – there was enough mud and dust on the cave floor to leave a trail.

  Skotia had stopped. In the lamp light he could see a row of squat limestone pillars lined up unevenly across the tunnel, their columns stained orange and red as though drenched in blood.

  “This is where we hide,” Skotia whispered. “Let’s hope you’re thin enough.” She put the lamp down and wriggled sideways through a gap behind the centremost pillar.

/>   Odysseus watched her, his chest tight with panic. “It’s too narrow, Eury,” he whispered. “Even if we strip.”

  “We have to try,” Eurybates answered, his jaw clenched.

  Odysseus wriggled out of his tunic and unbuckled the heavy jerkin holding the gold, shivering as the cold of the cavern bit through his sweat-soaked undertunic. “What’s it like on the other side of the pillars, Skotia?” he whispered through the gap.

  “It goes steep down.”

  “Is there room for the three of us?”

  “Not here at the top. But there’s a ledge just below me that I think we can climb down to. It looks wide enough for all of us. Then the tunnel drops away again.”

  “The ledge sounds fine.” Odysseus stared into the darkness that led back to the main passage. Was that a flicker of light? How long did they have? “Skotia, Eury’s going to pass the gear to you,” he said, trying to keep his rising panic out of his voice. “Then, if you climb down to the ledge, he’ll lower everything on the rope once he’s through himself. I’ll keep guard.”

  Odysseus rolled onto his side, notched his last arrow and drew the bow. The first soldier to come within range would feel its kiss. He could hear Eurybates edging through the gap. Then whispers, scuffling noises and the odd thump – presumably Eury with the gear. At the end of the tunnel, the passage began to glow. The soldiers had reached the bottom of the big cavern.

  “We’re ready,” Eurybates hissed. “The gap’s really narrow so try to get your arms through first. I’ll give you a hand.”

  Odysseus passed him the bow and arrow and reached his arms through the slot, his head twisted round onto his shoulder and his feet scrabbling for traction. Eurybates guided his hands to a couple of holds and he heaved hard only to have his shoulders jam.

  “No good,” he gasped. He squirmed out again then angled one arm forwards and the other back. One shoulder went through. Another heave and the other followed. He breathed out to ease his ribcage past the pillar, and stretched for the next handholds. The orange light in the passage flared bright. The soldiers had reached the mouth of the side tunnel.

  Odysseus’s hips stuck fast. He shuffled his feet around, trying to find something to push against.

  “What’s that?” a sharp voice cried. “Something moved, up the end there.”

  “In you go,” said another voice. “We’ll follow. Got your sword ready?”

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  “It’s wider just above you,” hissed Eurybates.

  Odysseus managed to work his body up the slot a handspan. Still not enough. His sweat-soaked fingers were slipping on the handholds, his feet were flailing in empty air and his whole body had started to shake. He could see the torch moving towards him. The soldier must be blinded by it – if he moved it to one side, he’d see what an easy target he had.

  “Ready?” Eurybates had Odysseus by the shoulders.

  “Yes.”

  They heaved together. Hopeless.

  Panic rose like vomit. Yet, through it, he imagined he could hear Stenelos’s voice. You can change the shape of your body, it said. Unclench your buttocks. Use your gut to support your legs.

  Of course. “Now!” he whispered. As Eurybates hauled, Odysseus sucked his belly in, relaxed his gluteal muscles and pulled hard with his arms. For two heartbeats nothing happened. And then, like a calf’s head breaching in birth, his hips slid through the gap.

  For a sickening moment the two of them lurched on the edge of the drop. If they fell, the ledge where Skotia was waiting with the gear was probably too narrow to stop them, and they were likely to dislodge her as well. Odysseus lunged at a broad stalactite just as Eurybates grabbed another. Safe! A shared grin, and they were scrambling down to the wink of light below them on the ledge.

  Skotia licked her fingers and the lamp flame sizzled and died.

  Above them the limestone pillars blazed red as the soldiers edged themselves closer, their armour scraping on the rock. A muffled command cut short something that sounded like a prayer.

  They’re frightened, Odysseus thought. As frightened as we are. But when they thrust their torch through the gap, they’ll see how helpless we are, trapped on this ledge. I’ve no room to draw the bow and kill even one of them with my last arrow.

  We’re going to die. Here, now. I’ll never see my family again, or Menelaos or Argos; I’ll never climb Mount Neriton again, with the morning sun on my shoulders …

  Then a voice rose, chilling and unearthly, to echo against the rock walls of the cavern. He stared round, terrified. Skotia turned to him, her eyes gleaming in the glow of the approaching torch and he realised, with horror, that the noise was coming from her.

  Perhaps it was exhaustion, or fear, or both, but for an instant his mind spun like a boat sucked into a whirlpool. Was Skotia a ghost? Had she planned all along to lure them into the cave? Would her fellow ghosts come swarming out of the blackness below to join the feast?

  Then he saw her wink as she seized his hand and squeezed it. No, she was a real girl – and tricky with it. His heartbeat settled just enough for him to join in, growling and snarling to add the ferryman’s dog to her cold wraith. A mix of screeches and howls came from his left. Eury – not so much of a fool either.

  “Ghouls,” a soldier screamed, from close above them. “Monsters. They’re coming for us, oh help, oh gods, oh gods.”

  There was a clatter and the torchlight dimmed. Babbled curses mixed with the screech of bronze on stone. “Don’t leave me,” a voice sobbed, far down the tunnel. “Wait for me, I beg you!” Nailed boots skidded on the passage floor, followed by distant crashes and screams, a grating sound and an echoing boom. The stone slab had been hauled shut.

  The three of them clung to each other, weak with relief. “I think they’ve left the torch behind,” said Odysseus, gesturing at the faint glow above. “We’ll use it to light the lamp.”

  “It’ll be handy further on too.” Skotia clambered up the slope and disappeared through the gap. When she reappeared with the torch, Odysseus held the lamp wick to the still-glowing head. Light! What would they do without it?

  Squeezing between the pillars was a struggle once again, but now he knew what to do. At least he hadn’t ripped his undertunic to shreds. He wouldn’t want Skotia to see him naked.

  “These jerkins are fiercely heavy,” she said, lifting one off the ground. “No wonder you two pant so much. What’s inside?”

  He grabbed it off her. “Forget you’ve ever seen them,” he said.

  “You still don’t trust me, do you?” she said angrily. “I told you back at the hut, I’d bite my tongue off before I said anything. About you or Laertes’s gold.” She grinned at their horrified faces.

  “How did you know?” said Odysseus.

  “Overheard you.”

  Eurybates reached for the other jerkin. “Biting your own tongue off,” he said, turning to Skotia, “is not as easy as you might think.”

  She pushed her hair back from her face. “Ever tried it?”

  “Of course we trust you,” said Odysseus.

  “Really? You won’t even tell me who you are. Eury. That could be short for anything.” She glared at them. “And Olli isn’t a name at all. Well? Or haven’t I done enough to deserve the truth?”

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  “I promised Eury I wouldn’t tell,” said Odysseus.

  “So? He can let you off.” Skotia turned to Eurybates. “Can’t you, Eury?” she said flatly.

  “It’s not safe,” Eurybates muttered.

  “There’s more danger ahead,” she replied, her voice thick with anger. “You need me to get you through the cave alive, but it’s not safe to say your names?”

  “She’s right, Eury,” said Odysseus.

  Eurybates flushed. “Tell her if you must.”

  To his surprise Odysseus found himself hesitating. He’d hated his first disguise, loathed the way she’d looked at that fat Cypriot boy. But over the last few days he’d shed all pr
etence. She’d seen him as Olli, as himself. She was bound to be impressed by a king’s son, heir to a kingdom, a palace, an army, gold and silver and bronze. But was that what he wanted?

  They were looking at him, waiting. “I’m Odysseus,” he said reluctantly. “Son of Laertes. And Eury is Eurybates, my father’s squire.”

  She glanced down at her hands, then at the tunnel floor. “Oh.”

  He waited for her to raise her head again, smile, frown. Anything.

  “Thanks,” she said finally, her voice flat. She clambered to her feet. “We’d best get going. Maybe they’ve found some soldiers with more courage in their chests than the last lot.”

  Odysseus heaved the jerkin on. What did he expect her to do? Fling her arms around him? Kiss him on the lips? Strange girl though. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have thought she was disappointed.

  For a short while they had to crawl again, before the cave opened out into a sizeable cavern, the floor covered in pebbles and sand. Then the roof dropped down again, draped in veils of black and yellow stalactites but leaving enough room for them to walk upright. As they went on, the air became colder and colder.

  Skotia hurried them past several evil-looking holes and tunnels that seemed to suck the light from the lamp. When the tunnel widened Odysseus felt a little easier, and even more relieved when they reached another lofty cavern. A large stumpy stalagmite stood alone in the centre and it was there that Skotia stopped.

  She put the lamp down on the ground. “This is Demeter’s altar,” she said, as the shadows drew close about her. “We have to give her a gift, otherwise she won’t let us through the worst part.”

  “How can it be any worse than the pillars and the soldiers?” Odysseus exclaimed.

  “There’s a place where three tunnels meet. One of them leads right down to Hades. But if we give Demeter something precious, she may let us pass.”

  “Food?” suggested Eurybates.

  “No.” On an impulse, Odysseus slid the bow off his shoulder.

  Eurybates grabbed his arm. “Are you mad? We’ll need it.”