I step forward, spinning and aiming my arrow at face after face, as the women back off, white-faced and horrified. Laas roars abuse, spraying spittle as he waves his sword in their faces.
Horns blare again, closer now, and on the opposite rim of the dell a huntress appears, drawing her bow. I curse and shoot at her legs rather than her body – out of some manly spirit of chivalry, I suppose. Before she can loose, my arrow slams into her left thigh and she folds, her arrow spilling.
‘Diomedes, come on!’ I shout at him.
Finally, the Argive prince regains control. He scoops up Nestra, who is limp as a corpse. I ready another arrow as Bria tucks the baby under her left arm and whips out her sword.
‘Go!’ she shrieks. ‘Go!’
Diomedes, his face twisted with emotion, hefts the unconscious Clytemnestra over his shoulder and we run up the slope, where Pseras and Ceraus are exchanging arrows with a trio of huntresses, darting in and out of cover to shoot. One of the women sees me, but I scythe her down with an arrow in the side before she can shoot. Laas slashes another shaft from the air, snapping it in half with a miraculous sweep of his blade, and we crash into the trees, legs pounding. I let the others go ahead, spinning as I nock another shaft, catch a blur of movement and drop. An arrow slams into a tree trunk beside me, I shoot back and my shaft slams into the chest of the archer, instincts overriding my desire not to kill. I mutter a prayer, spin and run on.
From somewhere far off to my right, a lioness roars.
‘Run!’ Bria hollers, the baby in her arms now screeching its head off. ‘Head for the horses! Move your arses!’
The two Mycenaean brothers fall back to run with me, panting hard as they ready more arrows, while Diomedes lumbers along under the weight of the queen, gasping for breath despite his prodigious strength. We’re heading into the sun, the sky ahead blood red as though angered at this desecration – or it’s going to rain, if omens aren’t your thing. The lioness roars again, already closer.
Pseras shouts, ‘Watch your—’
Then his back arches and he goes down, an arrow jutting from his right eye.
Ceraus screams, and stops running, firing his arrow and slamming a shaft into the chest of the huntress who shot his brother. She staggers backwards against the trunk of a pine, but the Mycenaean doesn’t stop there. He feathers her again, putting a second shaft through her groin and then a third through her left breast.
‘Ceraus, run!’ I shout, but he’s past hearing, his face torn, bereft. I’ve seen it on battlefields, when loss overrides all care for self, and when I look back, there are at least a dozen women sprinting after us. ‘Ceraus, come on!’ I shout, firing to slow them.
But he’s too far gone. He puts another arrow in that same woman’s gut, even though she’s already dead. He doesn’t care, reaching for another arrow and finding his quiver’s empty. That breaks something in him. He staggers over to his brother’s body and drops to his knees.
I leave him; he’ll be dead any moment now, and if I stay, I will be too.
As I catch up to Diomedes and Bria, I sense movement to my right and dart behind a tree as a shaft whistles by, turn and shoot back – wide, this time. Behind us, Ceraus’s battle roar is cut off mid-cry.
Two down.
Three more arrows hurtle past me. Laas, Bria and Diomedes are well ahead now, somewhere in the trees. I send another shot round the trunk, shooting blind to slow my pursuers. I’m almost out of arrows now, so I focus on escape, racing down into a shallow gully, weaving about to avoid any shots and catching up to Bria and Diomedes as they climb out of it via a narrow cutting that gives us a little cover. I spin, sweep my second last arrow up and nock it, as the first of the huntresses tops the rise on the other side of the gully sixty yards behind – but they’re wary, after the trail of dead and wounded I’ve left behind us. One steps from cover and I put my arrow in her right thigh, and her sisters jerk back into shelter.
I turn and sprint after Bria and Dio, dodging as the hiss of arrows pursues me. Ahead of us, I hear the horses whinny and my heart leaps.
‘We’re over here!’ Bria shouts, and we hear Agrius shout back, some wordless response. We’re close to the edge of the grove now, and the ground is flatter, but the undergrowth is thicker and more tangled. The huntresses’ arrows falter – they must be scared of hitting the queen, now that they can no longer see us clearly.
We break from the trees, and there’s Agrius and Philapor, already mounted, each leading a string of three more horses by their severed chariot reins. Nearby, several bodies lie prone beside the discarded chariots. The Mycenaeans have done well. I run past Diomedes, leap onto my somewhat unwilling mount and beckon to him. ‘Here!’ I shout. ‘Give Nestra to me!’
Diomedes, his face distraught, heaves the still unconscious Clytemnestra off his back and across my horse’s withers. Bria has the baby, purple-faced and squalling, in the crook of her left arm, her features contorted with worry as she grasps the reins of Philapor’s second horse in her right hand. Diomedes hurries over to give her a leg up before swinging himself onto his own mount, sending the beast skittering sideways and almost losing his seat.
‘Where’s Pseras and Ceraus?’ Agrius yells.
‘Fucked,’ Laas shouts back, his arms nearly jerked from their sockets as he struggles to control his horse.
Philapor releases the last pair of horses, those intended for the two brothers, his face ablaze with anger. ‘Filthy pornes, bloody shit-eating whores! Hera, curse the lot of them!’ he screams, oblivious in his rage to the fact that we attacked them, and we’ve paid the consequences.
Archers emerge from the trees as we all wheel, dig in our heels and send our steeds careering eastwards, toward the mountains, with arrows arcing into the sky behind us. But we’re moving fast now, and it takes a hell of a shot or outright luck to score a hit. A few come close, but a fraught few minutes later we’re belting along a wide track through scattered fields and clumps of forest, the odd early-rising shepherd or farmer staring at us gap-mouthed as we thunder past.
I draw alongside Bria. ‘What in Erebus just happened?’ I shout. ‘Why did Nestra scream?’
‘She didn’t understand,’ Bria calls back. ‘She thought we meant to hurt her child.’
‘That’s not how I saw it!’ I reply. ‘She didn’t want to come!’
‘Bullshit,’ Bria snaps. ‘And anyway, it’s irrelevant. She’s ours now, and soon she’ll be back with her family.’
I throw a look over my shoulder at Diomedes, who’s looking miserable and confused, and Laas who is simply looking grim, as he battles to control his horse. Obviously the beast, raised as a chariot horse, isn’t happy about being ridden. The two Mycenaeans are openly weeping over the loss of their two comrades, men they knew far better than I did. ‘We’ve got a hard ride ahead,’ I call back to Diomedes. ‘We’ve got to get to the ambush spot before we’re caught.’
He nods mutely, staring at Clytemnestra, who’s being jolted up and down on my thighs. At the very least she’s going to be a mess of bruises, by the time we’re safe. But she still hasn’t stirred and I’m worried Bria’s done her some permanent harm. I can’t spare her too much attention however – we’re riding hard, and from behind us, the sounds of brazen horns are echoing across the plain behind us.
Along with the roar of a lioness, too damn close for comfort. The hunt is well and truly up, and we’re the quarry.
Agamemnon, you’d better bloody be there…
I glance behind me to see a blur of gold streaking towards us. The lioness – Atalanta – has outrun the pursuit with ease. At any moment she will be on us.
10 – Tantalus
‘And behind them, the dark goddesses of Doom, grinding their white teeth, fierce-eyed, bristling, reeking of blood, monstrous and unapproachable, were engaged in battle around the fallen, all of them avid to drink the dark blood.’
—Hesiod, Shield of Heracles
River Alpheios, near Pisa, Western Peloponnese
I have
one arrow left.
I loop the reins through my belt and twist, gripping as hard as I can with my knees as I wrestle the Great Bow from my shoulder and nock the final arrow. She’s almost upon the rearmost horse, her muscles tensed to spring as I fire, aiming at her head, and those blazing eyes. But even as I release the string, she’s leaping. The arrow takes her in an outstretched paw and she falters, stumbles to the ground and limps away into cover.
I curse under my breath. I had the chance to kill her – it was pure luck I hit her at all… but at least I’ve disabled her. For now.
I should feel relief, but instead I’m faintly nauseous. That was all too easy…
The horns behind us are still blaring, and when we top a rise we see a distant knot of horsemen on the road behind us. Tantalus is coming after us, to regain his wife and child. But they’re still several miles back…
So far, all is going to plan – except two of us are dead, and Tantalus has been quicker to respond than we’d calculated. And we have no idea if Agamemnon with his fifty men will reach the ambush point in time.
Nor have we rescued Nestra, as far as I can see. We’ve abducted her, which is a whole different business.
Suddenly Laas points south, across the river. There’s another bunch of riders over there, converging on us fast. We’re in real danger of getting cut off unless we reach the ford before them, We have to cross the river to get to the ambush spot.
Or… If Bria can replicate Telmius’s spells, we could slip into Hermes’s realm via the gateway on the eyot… But that assumes that we can close the gate quickly behind us again, to prevent our pursuers following, and I have no idea if or how that could be done.
And the whole case we presented to Hermes was based on rescuing Nestra, not abducting her. If she wakens, once we’re in there, and reveals what we’ve done to Hermes, what will the god do to us?
Given that, I surmise that Hermes’s realm may not be a refuge for us, but where else can we go?
‘Ride!’ Bria shouts, and we all urge our mounts into renewed effort. In my lap, Clytemnestra groans and writhes about, which is the last thing I need. I’m holding her as steadily as I can with my left hand, so she’s pinned against my thighs, while my right grips the reins. Already I can feel my horse is labouring under the double load, unused even to carrying one person on its back. I’m slowing us all down – at this rate the men across the river will outrun us.
But what choices do we have…?
As if in response to my unspoken question, Laas kicks his horse forward to catch up with Bria. ‘I’ll take Diomedes ahead and secure the ford,’ he yells, over the screams of the baby. ‘They’ll not cross before us!’
I bless him for his quick wits as the pair gallop ahead, quickly leaving us behind.
Agrius and Philapor flank me, faces red from exertion. Theioi like them are an elite – trained in all aspects of war, including driving a chariot in battle. But riding is mostly for lesser men – couriers, messengers and the like. They have enough experience to stay on a horse’s back, but this mad, panicked ride is demanding all their concentration. None of these chariot horses are well-accustomed to being ridden, and we’re struggling to keep them under control.
Just then poor Nestra jolts back to awareness, grabbing at my thigh and shifting her weight. We almost fall off, I shout in warning and haul on my reins, wrenching at her waist with all my considerable strength to get her back over the horse’s withers.
She looks up at me with blank horror. ‘Tantalus,’ she wails, ‘Tantalus! Help me!’
The horse takes fright, rearing up in alarm. I fight for control as Nestra thrashes in my grip, almost unseating us both as I cling on with my knees. ‘Nestra! Nestra! It’s me!’ I shout. ‘Odysseus! Remember me?’
‘Tantalus!’
Somehow my mount thumps down onto all fours again, prancing about and rolling its eyes. Bria wheels her horse around and gallops back to draw close alongside, Agrius joining us a moment later. ‘Watch out—’ the Mycenaean champion shouts, as Nestra’s arm flashes round…
…and slams my own dagger into my flank.
The thick leather jerkin saves me, coupled with her confusion and lack of strength. The blade skews off, but I’m almost too shocked to prevent her trying again, as she thrashes her legs and her arm goes back once more – but then I catch her wrist and squeeze, forcing her to drop the knife. Bria’s fist crunches into her temple and she slides off the horse and crashes onto the ground, out cold again.
I leap down, clutching the reins to stop my horse bolting, and check Nestra’s breathing before glaring up at Bria. The baby is screaming again, harder than ever.
‘Anyone else think this isn’t a fucking rescue?’ I shout. ‘It’s a bloody kidnapping.’
‘Should be right up your alley,’ Agrius grunts, looking back over his shoulder. ‘Get her up again, Ithacan. That lot over the river are at the ford already. And those bastards behind us are catching us up.’
He’s right. I hoist Nestra back up, swearing and cursing under my breath, regain my dagger and mount again behind her. On we go. But my brain is screaming at me that we’re too slow – the pursuit is too fierce, too well organised, and the ambush point is still well up the valley. And I’m losing heart for this whole, blighted escapade. But I have no choice but to continue.
The final mile to the ford seems to last an eternity, but at last we reach the Alpheios. It’s a mighty river, the longest in Achaea, I’m told. There are four bodies out in the middle, tangled up in some stranded logs. My heart jolts in alarm until I espy Diomedes and Laas on the eyot midstream, with their horses huddled into the bank on this side. The two warriors are crouching behind the boulders that mark the gateway, while the surviving Pisans from the bunch across the river are massing on the far bank for another push, a dozen of them led by a beast of a man with a big war spear.
Laas has a bow – presumably taken from one of the dead Pisans. He and Diomedes have also managed to grab the slain Pisan’s shields, which will help. As our horses reach the eyot, he waves us to dismount and get into cover.
‘We’ve kept them pinned since they first attacked, but I’ve used up most of that bastard’s arrows,’ he says grimly, brandishing the bow at one of the corpses. ‘Here,’ he passes his last four shafts to me. ‘You’re a better shot. Bria, can you get the gates to open for us?’
He’s been thinking along the same lines as I did. Just not as well…
‘No,’ I interrupt, pointing to Nestra’s prone form. ‘She’ll intercede with Hermes and have us killed.’
‘Not if she stays unconscious, she won’t,’ Bria growls.
‘For three days?’ I reply. ‘You’re mad.’
But Bria has turned her back on me, crouching down in the middle of the stone circle to avoid the Pisan arrows and raising her voice in the same chant Telmius used on the far side of Arcadia. ‘Oh great Hermes, child of Zeus and Maia…’
An arrow hisses past my face and I hunch down behind the shield Diomedes has provided for me, lining up my first shot.
‘…willing envoy to the immortal gods whom Maia bore…’
A heartbeat later, the Pisans across the river lock shields and wade into the water.
We’ve no choice but to confront them: I leave Clytemnestra with Agrius and Bria, and join Philapor, Diomedes and Laas at the river’s edge. As the enemy shuffle forward, battling the current, I take aim, seeking an opening, but my first arrow hits the shield wall, and so does the second.
‘…with beautiful hair who lay coupled in love with Zeus…’ Bria’s voice is rising, edged with tension.
I curse, take better aim and lance my third arrow through a gap, and another man drops. But someone’s been watching and counting, because the Pisans suddenly break formation and come barging at us through the water, roaring in fury, led by the giant with the spear.
Bria is shouting now. ‘…WITH BEAUTIFUL HAIR WHO LAY COUPLED IN LOVE WITH ZEUS…’ she screams. By the sound of it, she’s pou
nding the ground with her fist. ‘FUCK YOU, HERMES!’ she bellows, abandoning the circle and joining us by the water, her face red with anger.
‘Not so easy?’ I mutter, making room for her in our shield wall. ‘Maybe you got the spell wrong.’
‘Just shut the fuck up and fight,’ she replies through clenched teeth.
The Pisans are more than half way across. ‘Do you even know who I am, fools?’ the massive spearman roars as he leads the charge.
‘No,’ I mutter, as I nock the last of the arrows Laas gave me and send it whistling at him. Driven by the superior power of the Great Bow, it plunges through bronze and leather, ribs and tissue, and he staggers backward before vanishing under the water. His men recoil, even as Diomedes and Laas charge, spray flying and blades slashing, bludgeoning the first men down as Philapor and I follow them in.
Philapor screeches, ‘For Hera!’ as the Pisans turn to run. He leaps on one man’s back and plunges his sword down through the hollow of his right shoulder and they both go under, splashing as the water turns red. Laas beheads another from behind and the rest drop everything and plough their way back to the far bank, several of them stumbling on hidden rocks and falling, the river’s swift current sweeping them down into deeper water, dragged under by the weight of their bronze armour.
We let them go – Bria’s shouting from behind us. ‘Back here! Grab your horses,’ she cries.
I turn, and see what she means. The main pursuit is only half a mile away, and there’s a red banner amidst the lead horsemen with some device on it that I can’t make out. Tantalus’s flag, no doubt. There’s at least thirty soldiers so, even though we’re theioi, we won’t stand a chance.
‘Come on,’ I yell. ‘We’ve got to ride!’
I grab as many arrows out of the turf as I can and stuff them in my belt. We mount up again, with Laas taking Nestra this time – I’ll need my hands free to shoot. We’re gasping for breath, our hearts pounding. Once we’ve reached the far bank I draw alongside Laas. ‘Any idea who that moron with the spear was?’ I ask.
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