The Bow

  Contents

  Cover

  Blurb

  Logo

  Map

  Characters

  Part 1: Ithaka

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Part 2: Argos

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Part 3: Escape

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Part 4: Arkadia

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Part 5: Messenia

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Part 6: The Bow

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgements

  About The Author

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Also by Catherine Mayo

  “There’s only one arrow, but you only have to shoot one man. I know you won’t miss.”

  War is coming to Bronze Age Greece. It’s time to skill up.

  Odysseus’s challenges are mounting. Can he find his grandfather’s hidden gold? Find the strength to string and shoot the Great Bow of Eurytos, which no man has done for generations? Toughest of all, can he persuade a girl to love him?

  Win some … lose some.

  Central Greece in the Late Bronze Age

  The Cave (from above)

  Characters

  ITHAKA (Ee-tha-ka)

  Odysseus (O-dee-see-ooss) also Olli (O-lee): son of King Laertes and Antikleia

  Argos (Ar-goss): Odysseus’s dog; also a city and kingdom

  Kitti (Ki-tee), also Ktimene (Ki-tee-me-neh): sister of Odysseus

  Eurybates (You-ree-ba-tehs) also Eury (You-ree): Laertes’s squire

  Antikleia (An-tee-klay-a): Odysseus’s mother

  Laertes (Lah-er-tehs): Odysseus’s father, king of Ithaka and the Kephallenian (Ke-fa-lee-nee-an) islands

  Meges (Meh-gehs): a sea captain

  MYKENAI (Mee-keh-neye)

  Menelaos (Me-ne-lah-oss): Odysseus’s closest friend

  Agamemnon (A-ga-mem-non): Menelaos’s older brother

  Thyestes (Thee-ess-tees): High King of Mykenai, uncle of Menelaos and Agamemnon

  ARGOS (Ar-goss) and ARKADIA (Ar-kah-dee-a)

  Arkeisios (Ar-kay-see-oss): Odysseus’s grandfather

  Alkmaion (Alk-meye-oan): king of Argos

  Ahtbar (Art-bar): an Egyptian priest – or is he?

  Diomedes (Dee-o-mee-dees): commander of Tiryns (Tee-reens), a fortress in Argos

  Stenelos (Ste-ne-loss): Diomedes’s lieutenant

  Meskes (Mess-kees): a servant

  Skotia (Sco-tee-a): a slave

  Danae (Dah-nah-eh): Skotia’s aunt

  MESSENIA (Me-see-nee-a)

  Nestor (Ness-tor): king of Messenia

  Didaion (Dee-deye-oan): governor of Kyparissia (Kee-pah-ree-see-a)

  Phylas (Phee-lass): Didaion’s shepherd

  Ortilochos (Or-tee-lo-koss): a nobleman

  Iphitos (Ee-fee-toss): descendant of Eurytos

  Arion (Ah-ree-oan): a relation of Iphitos

  MYTHICAL HEROES

  Eurytos (You-ree-toss): an archer, and rival of Herakles

  Herakles (Heh-ra-klehs): a famous hero

  Sisyphos(See-see-foss): a tormented soul

  GODS AND MONSTERS

  Kerberos (Ker-ber-ross): guard dog of the Underworld

  Amun (A-moon): Egyptian god

  Hera (Heh-ra): goddess of Mykenai

  Poseidon (Po-say-down): god of the sea

  Hades (Hah-dehs): god of death and the Underworld

  Athena (A-thee-na): goddess of war and skill

  Imhotep (Im-ho-tep): Egyptian god of medicine

  Ares (Ah-rees): god of war; the planet Mars

  Demeter (Deh-meh-ter): goddess of Arkadia, of mountain caves, and of crops

  Author’s notes on pronunciation

  My pronunciation guide is a working compromise between common English usage and Ancient Greek, which can sound very strange to our ears. For spellings, I have favoured Ancient Greek forms; for example I have used “k” rather than the latinised “c”. Italicised syllables are accented.

  Where I have put “ow”, it should rhyme with “ouch”; “eye” rhymes with “high”, or “lie”; “ay” rhymes with “say”; “ah” rhymes with “laugh”; long “o” rhymes with “no”; long “o” with a final “n” is represented as “oan”, to rhyme with “loan”; “th” is always soft, as in “throw”; “ss” is soft, as in “toss”, while “s” is hard, as in “has”; “g” is always hard, as in “get”. Long “e” (“eta” in Greek), which I have replicated with “eh”, is a difficult sound – it should be like “ea” in “thread”.

  Chapter One

  It had been a good morning for hunting, their last chance before the war began in earnest. They’d been up over Mount Neion, the three of them, and the thought of a second breakfast was making Odysseus’s stomach rumble. He jogged down the steep path, the dog Argos out in front, his best friend Menelaos close behind, and the leather game bag bumping between his shoulder blades, warm and sticky with blood.

  They didn’t hear the cries till they were halfway down. Odysseus skidded to a halt, the gravel loose under his boots. Argos scrabbled back up to him, whimpering.

  Menelaos grabbed a branch to stop himself crashing into Odysseus. “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “Shush!” Odysseus tensed, listening. The wailing sank then spiralled up again in shrill, entangled threads. “Mourners,” he exclaimed, his heart pounding. “Someone’s died. Someone important.”

  “Who?” Menelaos frowned. “They were all fine when we left. At least, I think they were. Your mother came down to see us off. So it can’t be her.”

  “Or Kitti.”

  “You should be nicer to your little sister when she tries to kiss you goodbye.”

  Odysseus grinned, despite his rising panic. He’d dodged behind the pillars to tease her, and she’d been so cross about it.

  “We could hear your father snoring,” Menelaos went on, “so there was nothing wrong with him.”

  “And we saw Eury in the armoury,” said Odysseus. His father’s squire Eurybates had risen even earlier to prepare the king’s armour in readiness for the Ithakan fleet’s departure tomorrow.

  “Who else could it be?”

  “The sooner we find out, the better. We’ll go down the scree – it’s faster.” Odysseus led the way off the path, fighting through the thorn bushes to a great swathe of rocks and shingle that stabbed down through the forest.

  Once they were out in the open he paused, searching for clues. A quick glance told him nothing – the palace, down
on the saddle; the town below it and the sweeping bay beyond; the black-hulled warships on the beach surrounded by a bustle of riggers and carpenters, sail makers, porters and painters with their steaming buckets of pitch – everything looked as it should.

  Argos gazed up at him, whining plaintively as the cries echoed round the hillside.

  “That wasn’t there before,” said Menelaos, pointing.

  “You’re right.” There was a new ship down this end of the bay. Small, twenty oars at the most, bringing news from the mainland perhaps. “Argos!” Odysseus said. “Up. Quick!” The dog jumped into his arms and the two boys set off, the whole surface in motion as they surged down the slope.

  “Weren’t the omens good yesterday, when we sacrificed to the gods?” Menelaos shouted over the clatter of stones. “Weren’t they telling us the war will go our way – that we’ll keep my murderous uncle trapped inside the Narrows at the least? I even thought we might kill him. Now that would be a fine revenge for my father’s death.”

  “The gods don’t always speak the truth.” Odysseus tried to fend off his worst fears. Perhaps the High King had struck already – killed Agamemnon, Menelaos’s older brother and the rightful heir to the throne of Mykenai. Or Thyestes’s assassins had arrived in that new ship, pretending to be envoys.

  Odysseus knew his own father was the obvious target – the alliance he’d put together had kept Agamemnon and Menelaos safe from Thyestes after their escape from Mykenai last year. Without him the alliance might well collapse.

  A sharp rock snagged Odysseus’s right boot and he felt the leather tear. Kerberus! It couldn’t be helped – this was by far the fastest way down the mountain. Surely his mother wouldn’t care what the scree did to their boots this time.

  If she was still alive. Perhaps the mourners were weeping for her.

  Odysseus swung the game bag off his shoulder and dumped it inside the empty kitchen, normally so full of bustle and smells.

  “Where is everyone?” said Menelaos, giving him a worried look.

  “In the hall, I suppose.” Odysseus set off through the deserted rooms and passages, Menelaos and Argos hard at his heels.

  The noise broke over them like a wave as they burst open the door. A wall of wailing women draped in white swayed around the great hearth, their arms writhing up like a field of snakes. Around them the household servants were gathered, fingers twisting nervously in the cloth of their tunics.

  The two boys elbowed their way over to Odysseus’s mother, Antikleia: a short, stocky figure with red hair dishevelled and streaked with ash. “Who is it?” Odysseus shouted through the piercing din. “Where’s Father? What’s happened?”

  Antikleia looked him up and down, her grey-green eyes coming to rest on his boots. “And what of these?” she said. “New this morning and half-destroyed already? And Menelaos’s no better.”

  “We came down the scree.” Odysseus stared desperately around, half-expecting to see a humped shroud with his father’s feet protruding from the end. “We had to, it was the quickest way.”

  “Why the hurry? You can’t raise a man from the dead by wrecking good boot leather.”

  He grabbed her arm and shook it. “Who’s died?”

  “Your grandfather.” She took another handful of ash from the brazier on the hearth beside her.

  “Oh!” His heart lurched with a relief he tried to hide. Behind him, Menelaos was muttering something sympathetic.

  Odysseus’s momentary euphoria was quickly followed by a pang of regret. He had met his maternal grandfather, but he’d been a tiny baby at the time. Now he’d never know that most devious of men. “Oh Mama. I’m so sorry.”

  “So you should be,” she replied, pouring the ash in a steady stream over her head.

  Shock, Odysseus thought, stunned by her detachment. Reality would hit home when all this commotion had stopped and she could sit quietly with her thoughts. “Will you go to him?” he asked.

  “Go to him? Why ever would I do that?”

  “But why wouldn’t you?” Odysseus frowned. “Grandmama will be distraught. And, from what you’ve told me, my uncles will be next to useless, standing about, getting drunk, arguing over their inheritance. She’ll need you to keep them in order.”

  “It’s not her father, silly.” Kitti poked out her tongue, safe behind her mother’s back. She waved a pair of shears in the air. “It’s Arkeisios. That stupid old man in Argos.”

  “Ktimene. Be quiet!” snapped Antikleia.

  “But you told me–”

  “What I might think or say in private is irrelevant. We’re mourning him publicly, as we should.”

  So that was it. Odysseus knew there was no love lost between Antikleia and her father-in-law, but even so … “Can’t you feel something?” he said.

  “What do you suggest?” Antikleia shrugged. “Kitti, pass me the shears.”

  “Regret? Sympathy?” Odysseus saw his mother’s lips tighten into a thin line. Wasn’t she even going to bother answering him? “Where’s Father?” he demanded, annoyance thrusting his other emotions aside.

  Antikleia gestured towards the back of the palace. “In the herb garden. With Eurybates.”

  “Come on, Menelaos.” Odysseus swung round and started forcing his way back through the throng. “At least you could try,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  Antikleia froze, a half-severed clump of hair in her hand. He saw her lips move, but the words were drowned out by a renewed wave of orchestrated anguish.

  Chapter Two

  They paused in the shade of the portico. “You go ahead,” said Menelaos. “Argos and I can keep each other company.”

  Odysseus nodded his thanks. Menelaos could be unexpectedly thoughtful at times.

  Antikleia’s herb garden was silent in the slanting light of morning. King Laertes was sitting hunched on a stone bench at the centre, his head in his hands and with Eurybates cross-legged on the gravel nearby, a sheet of parchment on his lap. The squire uncoiled his lanky brown limbs and came over to embrace Odysseus, but Laertes didn’t stir.

  Odysseus sat down and put his arm around his father’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

  Laertes let his hands drop. “I’m glad someone is.”

  Odysseus frowned. His father’s eyes were quite dry. “But you’re upset too. Aren’t you?”

  “Yes,” said Laertes. “Only because I’m not sorry at all.”

  “You’re his son. You must be sad.”

  “Really?” Laertes stared out across the garden, biting his lip. “I am trying, Olli, believe me. But I keep remembering the way he treated your mother. And it makes me so angry, I can’t feel anything else.”

  “That was years and years ago,” said Odysseus, shocked at the bitterness in his father’s voice. “Before I was born. Can’t you forgive him now he’s dead?”

  “No, I can’t. I’ve told you what he thought. Claimed Antikleia’s father was a mountain bandit. What balderdash.” Laertes glared at a sage bush as though daring it to contradict him. “My father-in-law has had a few differences of opinion with his neighbours over straying cattle – who doesn’t?”

  Odysseus considered challenging this rather creative interpretation of his maternal grandfather’s activities. But no, this wasn’t the time. “When you took me to Argos to meet Grandpapa two years ago,” he replied, “I thought–”

  “You thought we were reconciled?”

  “Well, not reconciled, exactly. On speaking terms.”

  “Only because I managed to keep my temper.” Laertes snorted. “Why should it matter that you’re a redhead like her? You’ve certainly inherited these.” Laertes was inordinately proud of his own hands – broad-palmed and strong, with long sensitive fingers. He turned them back and forth. “And I’m sure you’ll grow taller in time. If you must know, the visit was a complete failure.”

  Odysseus bit his lip. It wasn’t Mother’s fault she didn’t have the tall, dark-haired distinction of an Argive princess, or his
fault because he took after her. Yes, Kitti was right. Arkeisios was a stupid old man.

  And yet, blood was blood.

  “Father, you’re his only son – you’re obliged to pray over his body. What will the gods think if you don’t? And what about your inheritance? You are going to Argos, aren’t you?”

  Laertes shook his head. “I’ve been forbidden.”

  “Forbidden? Who has the right to do that?”

  Laertes made no answer except to bury his head in his hands again.

  “It’s Alkmaion,” Eurybates said. “He sent a letter.”

  King Alkmaion? Odysseus shuddered. The ruler of Argos was praised as a great hero, but when Odysseus had met him during that ill-fated visit, it was obvious Alkmaion had let himself slide into a very unheroic decadence. “What does it say?” he asked.

  Eurybates passed over the sheet of parchment.

  My very dear Laertes, the letter went, King of the Kephallenians, Beloved Cousin, Scion of the gods,

  It gives us the utmost grief to inform you that your noble father has set out on his journey to the Elysian fields. Please do not trouble yourself to come to Argos, for he has already been buried with all due ceremony. If your suffering heart still urges you to make such a tiring journey, we would be most delighted to welcome you into our house. But we fear we will be unable to protect you from the wrath of our good neighbour Thyestes, whose indignation at your support for his enemies is very great. Rest assured, your father’s interests are being well cared for. Our heartfelt condolences, once again, at your very great loss.

  Alkmaion, King of the Argives, Father to his People, Beloved of the gods

  “Your father’s interests are being well cared for?” Odysseus tossed the parchment on the ground. “Does that mean Alkmaion has stolen your inheritance?”

  “Not yet,” said Laertes. “He’ll have to find it first. After it became clear Alkmaion had sided with Thyestes, my father sold his land and hid the gold.”

  “To keep it safe for you?” said Odysseus.

  “So I thought. But then he sent me this.” Laertes tugged another scrap of parchment out of his pouch. “I told you our visit was a failure.”

  Odysseus read the brief scrawl. “Look beyond the Jaws of Death. Is that a place?”

  “Not that I know of.”