For the Immortal
Page 7
I shook my head, overwhelmed by his words, but he let my hand go and took my chin between his thumb and forefinger. ‘You bow to no one,’ he said, raising my head higher. ‘No one.’
I smiled up at him, the corners of my mouth trembling, and in that moment I felt a rush of joy, as if a weight had been lifted from the scales of my judgement. With the balance redressed, I could take the measure of myself once more.
‘Yes,’ I said, anticipation rising within me. ‘Yes,’ I repeated. ‘I will find a cure for Alexander. I will see my mother.’
‘You will.’
He grinned at me, and then, with a nod, he reached up for one of the sail-ropes and swung himself away towards the lords gathered by the bow. I looked out to sea, at the retreating green-grey line of the land, leaning on the ship’s side and repeating his words, like an oath.
I will find a cure for Alexander.
I will see my mother again.
I pressed my lips together, filled with determination. I will.
Hippolyta
Amazons, Land of the Saka
The Seventeenth Day after the Day of Earth in the Season of Apia, 1265 BC
I thrust a leather bag of koumiss into my pouch along with a hunk of cheese and some fried fish. My quiver was already filled and strapped to my war-belt, my sagaris ready at my hip, my cape over my shoulders and my felt cap on my head when Melanippe ducked into the tent.
‘Kati is tied up outside,’ she said. ‘Are you ready?’
I nodded.
‘You are doing the right thing,’ Melanippe said. ‘It has been long enough – you know that. You do not want to end as Antimache did.’
I nodded again. ‘I know.’
I picked up a ewer of water and poured it over the fire, which sputtered and steamed, then went out with a thick billow of smoke. The only light now was the lamp in Melanippe’s hand and the rays of the moon glowing like pearls on the damp grass outside. I walked past her and out into the night air, fresh and clear as a mountain spring. The moon was a round globe hanging in the sky, and I felt her influence on me, calming, placating – perhaps even hopeful.
Pray the goddess this may be over soon, I thought. Pray the goddess I may be free of this torment.
I leapt up to mount, taking the reins in one hand and wheeling Kati around to face upriver. Melanippe’s eyes were large in the moonlight as she stroked Kati’s nose. ‘May the goddess protect you,’ she said.
I tried to smile at her but could not. My heart was too full, with the eddying whirl of exhaustion and fear that had plagued me for so long. Instead I nodded once more. Then I spurred Kati out of the camp, her hoofs scattering clods of black earth, without looking back.
The journey to the goddess’s sanctuary took me towards the river. The plain was silent except for the beat of the horse’s hoofs and the occasional distant howl of the wolves, piercing my heart, like the barb of an arrow, with their plaintive cry. Now that I had decided, after five years’ torment, to be free of the Greek, I found that the memories were coming more insistently than ever, struggling like a captive animal at the end of the chase. With nothing to distract me but the rubbing of the rug against my thighs and the bite of the air upon my lips, I let myself give into them once more – one last time.
We are sitting on a rock near the island’s shore amid the grey-green shrub; the sea glitters below us in shades of turquoise and blue. My feet are bare – his too – and scorched by the sun as he winds his arms around me. I feel my body shiver, like the feathers of a bird in flight, at his touch.
‘Like this,’ he says, and guides my fingers to the strings of the lyre. Together we pluck the notes, fingers intertwined, and I start to sing, moving my lips to the tune.
‘Leave the singing to the poets,’ he says, and closes my mouth with his.
Hot tears rolled down my cheeks and fell one by one upon my lap.
Night surrounds us as we run towards the grove, hand in hand and breathless, laughing. Nearby, bathed in moonlight, the choirs celebrate the festival of the god, dancing and clashing the cymbals. He catches me and pulls me into the shadows of the pines, presses me hard against a tree and, without waiting, he takes me in the thick darkness of the night. The stars whirl above us and the moon blushes red as I cry out in pleasure, my broken voice mixing with the chants of the worshippers as they dance, and he tells me there is no other life for him than this.
I closed my eyes, fingers shaking on the reins, angered at the thought of the promises he had no right to make, how far he had failed me. And from the bitterness of my resentment I allowed the last vision to rise.
I am standing on the bare outcrop of rock where we played the lyre together, but this time I am alone. I am leaning forwards, my eyes red and rimmed with tears, yet straining to follow a speck of white on the blue ocean as it fades to the horizon. I crouch, my mouth open in a silent cry. The wind blows through my loose hair, the tears run onto my lips, and I allow myself to feel fully the terrible ache of loss and betrayal.
He has left me.
He has left me.
Ἀδμήτη
Admete
Court of Lycus, Mysia
The Eighteenth Day of the Month of Sailing, 1265 BC
For one who had never travelled further than the boundaries of the Argolid, and whose only knowledge of distant lands was the shallow-bottomed barges that came in carrying herbs and spices for my stores, the journey was filled with wonders enough to distract me from my cares, plagued as I was by worry for my brother and anxious to return home. I learnt more of my companions as we travelled. Theseus, lord of Athens, spoke little with me, though Alcides seemed much engaged with him. When I overheard their conversations, on the nights we stopped at the islands dotting the sea, they seemed to be mostly on Theseus’ side, tales of his exploits. The three brothers and nobles of his court in Athens I liked better: Solois, in particular, had a keen eye for the birds that flocked over the islands on their spring passage north, following our course. Occasionally, when he tired of the conversation of the lords, we would walk together from the shore over the meadow pastures and up the flanks of the grassy island hills, looking for their nesting-grounds. Telemus of Salamis was a man of few words, but Argive Timiades would talk with me from time to time, recalling the vine-dotted plains of our home. And on the isle of Paros, Alcides had claimed two more for our voyage, the brothers Perses and Sthenelus.
But though the company of Alcides – when Theseus could spare him – Solois, and the recollections of Timiades pleased me, what truly filled me with hope were the plants. There were so many different varieties, and I could not help but think that one among them might be the cure for Alexander’s illness. On Paros I found a type of fennel that clung close to the rocks by the coast, with a salt-like taste; when picked and eaten fresh, it proved a useful aid to digestion. On Icaria, the villagers near the bay showed me an infusion of sage, garlic and honey, which they drank as a cure-all. I had brought my stylus with me from the herbary, tied to my girdle, and Solois taught me to shape clay from river-mud into tablets – the slaves in Tiryns had always done it for me – so that I could record the new plants and their properties. When we put in at Troy, whose ramparts marked the entrance to the churning waters of the Hellespont, King Priam welcomed us to his halls, and the queen led me to her store-room so that I could document the herbs I found there. That night, the king sacrificed a pair of black-fleeced rams to the gods in our honour, and we drank and feasted with the Trojans – the men with the nobles in the hall, and I with the queen and her daughter Cassandra, a pretty child of five years, in her chambers.
Now, having crossed the Hellespont to the Propontis, the crew brought the ship onto the beach of a river delta, red clay and sand interspersed with tufts of marsh-green. The sun was casting long shadows over the hills ahead as I took Alcides’ hand and leapt onto the shore. A messenger was already waiting to greet us – our ship had been sighted, no doubt, as it neared the bay – and hailed Alcides and Theseus, his c
loak flapping in the breeze blowing off the sea.
‘Lycus, king of the Mariandyni, welcomes you to his shores!’ The herald gave a short bow. ‘You are Greeks?’
‘Hercules, son of Zeus,’ Alcides said, inclining his head. ‘And these are Theseus, son of Aegeus,’ he pointed to each as he spoke, ‘Telemus of Salamis, Timiades of Argos, Thoas, Solois and Euneos of Athens, then Perses and Sthenelus, of Paros.’
I bowed my head, preparing to hear my name, but Alcides said no more. I made as if to brush the folds of my skirt to cover the movement, but felt a flare of irritation at his arrogance. I was there, too, was I not? And though I might not be a hero of Greece, was I not still the daughter of Eurystheus, king of Tiryns? Was it not I who had suggested the task of the war-belt of Hippolyta? I glared at him, but he appeared not to notice.
‘King Lycus is in need of your assistance,’ the messenger said. ‘He offers in return gifts, and his guest-friendship, for as long as you should need to stay in our lands.’
‘What manner of assistance?’ I called, from where I stood towards the back of the gathered Greek nobles. ‘We are already bound upon a quest in aid of my brother.’
The herald acted as if he had not heard me. From what little I could see of his face, through the men standing shoulder to shoulder before me, his eyes did not even flick towards me. ‘The king is at present engaged in a battle with Amycus, lord of the Bebryces. Your fame has preceded you, son of Zeus. Tales of your great deeds have reached us, even here.’ I saw Alcides flush with pleasure. ‘King Lycus requests your aid, and the aid of your fighting companions, against the Bebryces – so that he may put this war to rest at last and earn back the lands that are rightfully his.’
‘You have it,’ Alcides said at once, and held out his hand to clasp the herald’s. ‘I would consider it an honour to assist your king.’
I frowned at him and tried to push past Timiades and Telemus, who stood before me, to tell him that we were not come to make war but to find a cure for Alexander – that every day we lingered my brother might be closer to death – but the messenger had already turned aside, leading Alcides along the path from the shore.
‘Alcides!’ I shouted after him. ‘Alcides!’
But he did not hear me over the clattering of bronze as the slaves began to unload the weapons from the ship.
Hippolyta
River Silis, Land of the Saka
The Nineteenth Day after the Day of Earth in the Season of Apia, 1265 BC
I lay down to sleep, spreading my wolf-pelt cloak on the damp grass and cocooning myself in it. I still wore my fur-lined boots, and my hands were warm in my felt and hide gloves; it was a fair, cloudless night, and the air was fresh on my skin.
I felt drained, my eyes heavy with fatigue. I had arrived at the sanctuary two days before and hardly slept since. The fire-goddess Tabiti required worship at every rising of the sun and the moon, but most of all when the moon was full and golden, so I had spent that night praying aloud on my knees before the sacred black stone, carved with its ancient images of leaping deer, proud-stepping horses and carved bows, the symbols of our people. The next day I had hunted over the plain – on foot, for stealth was the only way to catch an eagle – and pierced a bird with my arrow as it settled to feed on a carcass. I had built a fire to sacrifice to the goddess, then flayed and roasted the meat, offered the best parts to Tabiti and partaken of the rest myself. I had sung to the sun as it lit the sky at dawn, and danced beneath the circle of the moon as it floated above.
I ran my fingers over my war-belt, which I had unbuckled and laid beside me, stroking the ridges and hollows of the embossed plates and the stitching that bound and attached them all like the customs of our tribe. I checked my bow and arrows, fastening the lid on the quiver, saw that my sagaris lay beside me newly sharpened, then glanced at my horse. I had hobbled her with a length of rope, then covered her with a blanket against the night’s chill, and she was cropping the grass nearby. The sky overhead beyond the moon’s glow was scattered with stars, and I felt the tight band of resentment and grief around my chest loosen a little as I remembered how my mother had told me that the spirits of our ancestors lived in the stars and looked down upon us. There was Targitaus, first king of the Saka, son of the river Silis, gleaming to the north, and those three stars, set in line, glittering side by side, were his three sons, Leipoxais, Arpoxais and Colaxais, and beside them his daughter Opoea, founders of the many Saka tribes.
May you look down on me tonight, ancestors, and grant me peace.
I had done everything the goddess required. Now all I had to do was wait for her to lift this fire from my heart.
I lay very still and closed my eyes. Had the mother-goddess taken my pain? In my mind I saw sea-foam swirling around my ankles, and the shape of a winged sail, leaving me.
My eyes flew open and I turned over, gritting my teeth and staring across the moon-flooded grass.
I will overcome this, I thought. I will.
I must.
And it was as I repeated these words to myself that the goddess threw the blessed veil of sleep over me, and for that night at least I was free of him.
Ἀδμήτη
Admete
Court of Lycus, Mysia
The Twenty-fourth Day of the Month of Sailing, 1265 BC
Six days later, the battle between the Mariandyni and the Bebryces still raged. Pent up in the palace of Lycus, and having long checked the herb-store for remedies – there were none of which I did not already know, and certainly none that would be of any use to Alexander – I was furious with Alcides. As the sun dropped to the west, Lycus and the Greeks returned, and I was summoned from my chamber to the evening feast in the hall. Passing the slaves at the doors I was assailed by shouts and laughter, the clinking of goblets and the clamour of conversation. The warriors scattered on the cushions and rugs over the floor were in raucous good spirits, their hair oiled – they had bathed after the day’s battle, then – and unburdened of helmets, breastplates and shields. A strain of music broke through the barrage of words. I glanced around and saw a bard seated on a stool near the wall, singing with his face upturned and his eyes roving the hall, though no one seemed to hear him. I moved closer to catch his song.
The Bebryces snatched up their clubs
and rushed upon the hero Hercules;
but the Greeks gathered round before him with pointed swords;
and Timiades struck upon the head a man attacking him –
his skull split in two over each shoulder.
Perses, Sthenelus’ brother, slew two men:
one, he leapt upon and drove a blow to his chest
throwing him to the ground;
the other he struck beneath his lowering brows,
blinding him. Amycus, king of the Bebryces, now
thrust the bronze at Solois, grazing the skin as the blade
slipped beneath his belt; but he was not killed.
I turned away, sickened, wanting to hear no more, glad that Alcides was so occupied in talking with Theseus that he could not hear his own praises. The carcass of a deer hissed on the fire, and cupbearers were weaving in and out of the banqueters, pouring wine as each warrior held up his empty goblet. The shadows of the slaves slid over the white-plastered walls, and the flames threw the carved-wood pillars that supported the ceiling into high relief. As one of the slaves passed me, bowing, and offered me wine from the mixing-bowl, I shook my head.
‘No, I thank you …’ My voice drifted into silence as I pressed past him, then the servers holding baskets filled with bread, and the carver by the great spit over the hearth, towards Alcides. As I neared him I saw Theseus bend to whisper something in his ear, and Alcides let out a roar of laughter, spilling his wine so it splashed over the tiles.
‘You have a jest to share?’ I asked Theseus, approaching and settling myself on the woven rug beside Alcides.
‘None that you would appreciate, daughter of Eurystheus,’ he said, bowing, his eyes
sliding sideways to Alcides, who laughed again.
‘Then I would speak with Alcides a moment.’
‘Alcides?’ Theseus raised his eyebrows, his gaze not leaving mine as he took a draught from his goblet. ‘And who, pray, is that? It is the hero Hercules I know.’
‘Yes, well – him,’ I said, my jaw tightening in irritation. Alcides was now running his hand over his hair and fussing at his sword-belt, his cheeks flushed at Theseus’ open praise, or perhaps the wine and the heat of the fire. ‘May we speak?’
‘What is it?’ Alcides asked, and his tone was short.
I waited until Theseus had begun to talk to Telemus.
‘We are losing time,’ I said, without preamble. ‘Each day we linger here Alexander grows weaker. He may be worsening even now or …’ I swallowed, unable to name the darkest of my fears. ‘Please – I beg you – we must go on. Leave this battle. It is another man’s war.’
He shook his head, his eyes over-bright. ‘No. I gave Lycus my word of honour. And,’ he gestured to the bard in the corner, ‘it is a source of great glory for me. Zeus listens to the songs of the bards.’
I almost slapped my hand to the floor in frustration. ‘There are more important things – this is not about your glory!’ I said, trying with all my might to keep my self-control. ‘We are on this quest because of my brother – because of me! I hope you do not forget that?’