The Bow

by Catherine Mayo

  “Equal to a king’s son? Horsefeathers!”

  Of course. That’s why she’d reacted so badly when he told her who he really was. Which meant she had been thinking about him, finding herself liking him, more than liking him even. His heart surged. Maybe he could still change her mind.

  She went to stand up and he grabbed her arm. “I didn’t ask you till you had the choice,” he blurted. Only half a lie – he’d wanted her to come to Ithaka all along, hadn’t he?

  “Does that mean I have to say yes? Because you were so polite as to wait?”

  “No! Damn it, Skotia.”

  She half-smiled. “I like you more when you’re cross.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “It’s not. Honest. It’s just, you’re not so good at hiding things when you’re all worked up.” She sat, picking at the hem of her dress. “Think about it. You’re not in love with me, Olli,” she said at last. “You only want me because you can’t have me.”

  “That’s not true! It was my idea, back in Tiryns, that we didn’t–”

  “No, I don’t mean that. It’s because you can’t work me out. And it’s driving you wild.”

  “But I like not being able to work you out.”

  “That’s what I said. Don’t you ever listen?”

  Now that was truly unfair, he thought. He was always listening.

  “And when you do,” she said, “you’ll get bored.”

  “And wander off to enjoy my ‘nice’ bride?”

  “Look, it doesn’t matter what I say. You’ll always want the last word. But I know I’m right.”

  She got to her feet and he stood up to join her. So that was that. “Well, anyway, I’ve something for you,” he said, suddenly awkward. “A present.” He pulled out a small bag and placed it in her hand.

  Skotia peered inside and recoiled. “I don’t want them!” She yanked the string tight and shoved the bag back at him.

  “It’s your future!”

  “They’re Laertes’s.” She stamped her foot. “You’ve no business!”

  “He won’t miss two ingots.”

  She shook her head, eyes squeezing tight shut.

  “Where I come from, it’s the custom for friends to exchange things when they part. You gave me a kiss and I’m giving you these. It means you’ll never starve.” A thought came to him, not a very pleasant one. Still, it had to be said. “It means you can marry the man you want. Or choose not to marry and still hold your head high.”

  “Are you trying to buy me?”

  “No!”

  She stared at him for what seemed an age. “All right,” she said at last. She tucked the bag down inside her tunic. “Goodbye. And … and thank you.” She made a small gesture, as if to touch his hand, then changed her mind as he started forwards.

  Numb with loss, Odysseus watched Skotia walk away, loose-limbed and graceful, till the trees around her aunt’s garden hid her from sight.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Someone groaned, and it woke him up. Odysseus lay still, his heart thumping, while he worked out who it was. Only Eury, still asleep but restless with it.

  He rolled onto his back to stare up through the crosswork of rotting beams over his head. This hut with its crumbling walls, perched high in the abandoned village they’d reached last night, offered scant protection from wild animals. But now they were through the mountains and into Messenia, they didn’t need to worry so much about that.

  Nor did they have to fear being pursued by the Mykenaians. Messenia hadn’t sided with either Thyestes or Laertes, but Thyestes was unlikely to risk provoking Messenia’s ruler, King Nestor, by sending armed troops into a kingdom so resolutely neutral.

  And yesterday evening, as they’d climbed the ridge to find shelter, Odysseus and Eurybates had glimpsed a smudge of blue on the western horizon. The sea at last.

  Odysseus rolled over, trying to twist his mind back into his dream …

  They were in a wood. Skotia was walking towards him, a bow in her outstretched hand. Her face was in shadow but her lips were parted as though she was about to speak …

  Eurybates groaned again. “By the gods, this ground is hard,” he said. “My hip bones will be black and blue for the rest of my life.”

  “But we’re nearly there,” said Odysseus, propping himself up on an elbow. “Another day’s walking, and we’ll reach the coast.”

  “Yes, and on a fishing boat to Ithaka. Can you remember what a decent bed felt like?”

  “Stenelos would say hard sleeping is good for the soul.”

  “Stenelos can keep his miserable soul to himself,” said Eurybates. “I’m all for goosedown. And a room to myself. Travelling with a lovesick mooncalf is starting to fray my nerves. Mind, I think Skotia did the right thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Telling you no. At least you know where you stand. No drooping about all day wondering ‘will she or won’t she?’ No wasted hours fingering the strings of your lyre and improvising bad couplets on the ambiguity of your lady’s fancy.”

  “If I were you, I’d try snoring instead of thinking.” Odysseus clambered to his feet and made for the door.

  Outside it was still dark, though a faint chitter of birds hinted at the coming day. The moon must have set a short while ago, and the stars were flung like a fistful of incandescent sand across the sky. Below him, the broad valley was sheeted in a mist that hid the busy market town they’d skirted yesterday evening – a place over-full of questions and unwanted answers to risk visiting.

  He let his breath out slowly, imagining it blending, drifting across the mountains to be inhaled at last by Skotia.

  What could he have said? What could he have done to change her mind?

  He lay down, the rocky ground cold against his ear. Where was she sleeping tonight? In some rough cot in her aunt’s house? Outside, in the cool air? Had she been looking up at tonight’s moon? Wondering if he was looking at it too? Did she ever think of him?

  His blood was pounding like a drum roll, pulsing through the stones. Or …

  He sat up. “Eury,” he called softly. “Come quick.”

  Eurybates emerged from the hut, fumbling for his knife. “What is it?”

  “Listen.”

  “Listen to what?”

  Odysseus put his ear to the ground again. “It sounds like an army,” he said. “Hooves.”

  “Horses? Would Thyestes really push this far into Messenia? In pursuit of us?”

  Soon they could both hear the noise clearly.

  “They’re coming up the ridge,” Odysseus exclaimed, reaching for his own knife. If only he still had Stenelos’s bow! No, that was foolish – their best chance was to stay hidden. And besides, it was something close to blasphemy to regret his gift to Demeter.

  Eurybates shook his head. “Who’d bring chariots up here? No, it has to be cattle.” He grinned. “A few drovers won’t trouble us.”

  “But if they’re cattle – or sheep or goats – we’d hear their bells. And there’d be dogs yapping and men whistling. And they wouldn’t be blundering round at night in this mist.”

  Eurybates stopped grinning. “So what do we do?”

  “Find out more?”

  “What about, ‘try not to get caught’?”

  “That as well.”

  They crept down the hill to hide behind a broken stone wall at the start of the village. The sound had grown a shape as it climbed out of the mist, a dark mass pinpricked by torchlight. As it drew closer, they could see what it was – a great flock of sheep, surging up the hill towards them. Around them dogs were darting and men were marching, with torches and glittering spearheads held high.

  But where was all the barking, the clanging of bells and the incessant bleating of a flock on the move?

  As the first sheep drew level with them, they could see the poor animals were exhausted, their heads low over their bell-less collars and their tongues lolling. And the dogs had their jaws bound shut with strip
s of cloth. But why? And a huddle of men near the back had their hands tied and ropes around their necks.

  Suddenly, one of the bound men broke silence. “The sheep need water,” he cried. “More of this and you’ll kill them.”

  “Shut your mouth, you miserable Ithakan.” A guard jerked the rope to send him stumbling.

  Ithakan? An Ithakan taken captive, and his fellow shepherds and animals with him. Odysseus gripped Eurybates’s arm, his fingernails biting into flesh. They crouched there, not daring to move till the flock was out of sight.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  “Oh gods, Eury.”

  Eurybates stared at him, ashen-faced. “Maybe we misheard. Maybe–”

  “Maybe nothing! He’s one of Father’s shepherds – I saw him at the last autumn muster on Zakynthos.” Odysseus clenched his fists. “King Nestor has turned against us. He’s brought Messenia into the war on Thyestes’s side; they’ve fought us and they’ve won.”

  The images crowded his mind – the palace on Ithaka burned and the town below it; ships lying charred on the beach; men’s corpses scattered on the shingle, their blood clotting on the stones; Father lying cold and stiff, his eyes empty. And Mother? Kitti? Argos? Where was Menelaos? Was he dead also? Or had he fled, only to be hunted down and killed?

  Odysseus buried his head in his hands. They’d failed. All those months trapped in Tiryns – if only they’d been able to leave sooner. The gold weighed heavy on his shoulders, too late now for anything but revenge. And who could they pay to give them that?

  “Wait.” Eurybates shook Odysseus’s shoulder. “If you’re right about the shepherd, we’ve been raided, yes. That doesn’t mean Messenia has declared war.”

  “What else can it mean?”

  “Think. This isn’t an official war party. If it were, they’d be bragging loud enough to wake the gods. Instead they’re slinking about like thieves.” Eurybates struck his fist against his knee. “Because they are thieves.”

  Odysseus felt his breath start to ease. “But there were hundreds of sheep, Eury. And at least ten shepherds. This isn’t some fisherman stealing a ewe for his daughter’s wedding feast. How many ships would they have needed?”

  Eurybates considered. “Ten, fifteen? Warships, that is.”

  “So how can the king of Messenia not be involved?” In his mind’s eye, Odysseus could see Nestor, sitting on his splendidly painted throne down in Pylos.

  “The local governor might use his provincial squadron.”

  “So why are these men skulking about in the dark?”

  “Because,” said Eurybates, “he doesn’t want anyone to know. Us Ithakans, or Nestor.”

  That made sense. “Knowing how devious Nestor is, he’d probably back them up.”

  “At least we’ve seen the flocks with our own eyes.” Eurybates scrambled to his feet. “That should be proof enough. The sooner we report to Laertes, the better.”

  “We’ll have to be even more careful not to be caught.”

  “True,” said Eurybates, grimacing. “Then they’ll steal our gold as well.” He sighed. “I suppose that means another disguise. Women again?”

  The afternoon sea breeze had whipped up a vicious chop that hammered against the wooden breakwater around Kyparissia harbour. Spume drifted over the medley of ships and fishing boats along the beach, their bows rocking on the sand and their stern warps stretched taut through the water behind them.

  Odysseus gathered his headscarf tight around his face, his other hand holding down his billowing skirt. The peasant woman they’d bought it from had sworn she’d washed it well after her sister died. But now he wasn’t so sure. “Look,” he said. “The ship nearest us seems familiar.”

  “Yes. Definitely Ithakan.” Eurybates clapped his hands over the Cypriot wig, now a little worse for wear. “Confound this wind.”

  Eury made rather a pretty girl, Odysseus thought, with his eyes smudged with charcoal and blackberry juice darkening his lips. “Why don’t we go over? I’ll tell them my grandmama is dying in Ithaka town.”

  Eurybates spared a hand from the wig and clasped it to his padded chest. “Heartbreaking.”

  They were halfway to the ship when a small band of men emerged from the town, tailed by a rather noisy mob and led by a wiry young man with the wide-set legs of a hardened sailor.

  “That’s Meges,” said Odysseus, “or I’m a turtle’s egg.” His heart surged. Father must already have guessed where his sheep had gone. And he’d sent his most promising young commander after them. Meges could be relied on to be brave and resourceful, if somewhat outspoken. He’d proved how steady his nerves were last year, rescuing Menelaos and his brother Agamemnon from under the noses of their pursuers.

  Meges turned at the crest of the beach and shook his fist at the fortress high above the town. “Thieves,” Odysseus heard him shout. “Liars! You’ll not get away with this.”

  Someone in the crowd made a raucous remark and a badly aimed fig spattered in a slush of pink on the sand. The Ithakan sailors swung round, their fists ready for a brawl.

  “No, men,” Meges shouted. “No fighting. Leave these sewer rats to fester in their own stench.” He shook his fist once more. “We’ll be back, never fear,” he shouted.

  As he strode on down the beach, a lanky, golden-haired boy emerged from the group to walk at his shoulder.

  Odysseus turned to Eurybates, his eyes wide. “Menelaos!”

  Eurybates nodded. “Why is he here, though?”

  “To add some weight?”

  “Brother of the exiled high king, you mean? If that’s the case, it hasn’t worked.”

  The Ithakans had reached the ship. Meges sprang up the pegs that jutted out from the steep curve of the prow, pausing to issue orders before hurrying down to the stern, Menelaos at his heels.

  “We’d best be quick,” said Eurybates, as the sailors braced their shoulders against the bow. “They’ll be launched and gone otherwise.”

  “Greetings, friends,” Odysseus said, hurrying over. “We’re journeying to Ithaka – I’ve had word my grandmother’s dying.”

  One of the men laughed. “We’ve no room for passengers, young lady.”

  “Was that Captain Meges with you?” Odysseus replied, with a simper. “He’s my aunt’s husband’s cousin. Pray give him a message for me.” He picked up a flat pebble from the beach, slipped his knife out and scratched a few letters on the stone.

  The sailor looked from the pebble to the knife. “Can’t do any harm,” he said, fisting the stone. “So long as your knife is the only surprise you’ve got.”

  It wasn’t long before he returned. “You’re to come up, the pair of you,” he said, his eyes full of questions.

  The rowing benches aft were crowded with oarsmen, while a string of sailors stood along the centre gangway, the stern warp strung between them. As Odysseus and Eurybates sidled past, Meges called out from the poop and the men began to chant, the oars churning up the shallow water and the rope gang heaving on the warp. With a groan, the ship shuddered free of the sand and the shore crew clambered aboard.

  “Wait in there, you two,” their escort ordered. He pointed to a small, canvas-curtained space below the poop. “Captain will see you when he’s free.”

  Odysseus and Eurybates crouched in the cabin, listening to the suck and slap of water along the sides as the ship turned and made her way out of the harbour.

  The curtain was thrust aside and Meges entered, with Menelaos close behind. “So,” Meges said, holding out the pebble. “How do two frowsy girls on a Messenian beach know Laertes’s private password?”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Odysseus pulled off his headscarf. “Do you recognise us now?” he said.

  “Olli!” Menelaos flung his arms around him, laughing with excitement. “Sacred sea slugs! I told you, Meges. As soon as I saw the pebble I guessed. Here we are, chasing after a flock of scraggy Zakynthian sheep and we find you two instead. As for your taste in clothes–”
/>   “You may not know,” said Meges, “but we’re a touch annoyed with the Messenians.”

  “A touch?” Menelaos snorted with laughter. “Laertes’s elders are baying for war.”

  “The sea battle has fired everyone up,” said Meges. “Even the old women think we’re immortals.”

  “Sea battle?” Odysseus stared from one to the other. “When? Where? What happened?”

  “Nobody’s told you?” Menelaos shook both fists in the air. “We thrashed those swamp donkeys, eh, Meges? Three days ago. We trapped Thyestes’s ships in the Narrows. There was an easterly, though your father, cunning old devil, knew it wouldn’t last. So they stuck their noses out, the fools.”

  A sea battle. And they’d missed it. Odysseus stifled a groan. If only they’d left Tiryns sooner, travelled faster.

  “Then the wind swung round to our backs,” Menelaos continued, “and we pummelled them into the sea.”

  Odysseus exchanged a glance with Eurybates. Meges didn’t seem as excited as he should if Menelaos’s account was altogether true. A victory then, but not such an overwhelming one. With the added disadvantage that it had given the Messenians the chance to raid Zakynthos while the Ithakan fleet was busy fighting.

  “And I killed a man,” said Menelaos, thumping Odysseus’s shoulder. “At least, I think I did. He wasn’t looking too well afterwards. Shame you weren’t there instead of tedious old Crete.”

  “Crete?” said Eurybates.

  “I thought Laertes sent you to Knossos.” Meges’s eyes darted from Odysseus to Eurybates and back. “He said you were visiting Menelaos’s cousins, to persuade them to support the alliance. A clever move, I thought.” He raised an eyebrow. “Not so?”

  “So where have you been?” said Menelaos.

  Odysseus paused. He’d become so used to keeping secrets, it seemed strange to speak openly. But with the gold safe on board an Ithakan ship, there was no need to hide anything – certainly not from these two. “We went to Argos,” he said.

  “Argos!” exclaimed Meges. “But that’s only a few hours walk from Mykenai.”