The Bow Read online

  Chapter Forty-four

  The evening meal was a strange business, the servants melting away like new snow in a shower of rain. Odysseus could smell the tang of wood smoke. Apparently a great stack of logs had been piled up near the edge of the forest, just above the town. They must have lit it already.

  Iphitos chewed slowly through his food while Odysseus and Menelaos squirmed with impatience. It would be rude to leave the table before everyone had finished, but they hadn’t come all this way to watch an old man eat.

  At last Iphitos pushed his chair back. “Thank you kindly,” he said. “And goodnight. I’ve travelled in great haste from Thessaly and I wish to make an early start tomorrow.”

  “Where is he going, and why is he in such a hurry?” Menelaos whispered in Odysseus’s ear.

  “Why indeed?” Odysseus replied, disappointment heavy in his stomach. That one sighting of the bow would be his last.

  “I apologise for the simplicity of the meal, Lord Iphitos,” Ortilochos was saying. “You will miss Demeter’s feast, here in the hall tomorrow. But tonight the whole town is gathered at her fire. The goddess will be carried down from her sacred place at moonrise – perhaps the bearer of Eurytos’s bow might bring it to her to be blessed?”

  Iphitos frowned. “Eurytos learned his skill,” he said, “on Mount Ida near Troy. There they worship Apollo, as any true archer must. I have nothing to offer Demeter, or any other wild mountain creature.”

  The fire was well ablaze when Odysseus and Menelaos arrived. Sparks shot high into the darkening sky and the heat was so intense, the crowd was forced back almost to the edge of the trees. The moon rose to a wail of pipes, calling like a flock of gulls into the heart of a storm. Over the treetops, Odysseus could just make out a procession of torches emerging from a cave high on a bald shoulder of the mountain above.

  The women at the fire linked arms and swayed back and forth, singing a high-pitched song of such eeriness, every nerve and muscle in Odysseus’s body stirred. Beside him Argos growled, then, as the song grew in intensity, the dog stretched his head high in the air and howled like a wolf. People turned to stare, some making the sign against the evil eye.

  Menelaos touched Odysseus’s arm. “No one else has brought a dog with them,” he whispered.

  Odysseus looked around. “I’ll take him back to our room.”

  Argos had calmed a little by the time they reached the bedroom and Odysseus was able, without too much fuss, to persuade him to guard their scant possessions, a disappointed expression on his face.

  Back at the fire, the procession had already arrived. The goddess’s effigy stood high on a wooden frame, staring with black-rimmed eyes through the smoke at the yellow orb of the moon. As the women danced, they stepped forwards, one by one, to fling wreaths of flowers into the fire. Then the men joined in, their deep voices underpinning the sweeping lyric of the song.

  Suddenly, the singing stopped. Into the silence stepped a tall priestess dressed in a layered skirt and a tight-waisted bodice. She raised her voice in a single wild cry, and two young girls appeared, one holding a silver bowl and the other leading a wide-eyed deer decked out with ribbons. As they approached, the priestess drew a knife from her belt and called out to Demeter in a rush of fierce words. The knife flashed down and a great moan came from the crowd as she cut the deer’s throat. Blood gushed into a waiting bowl as the deer crumpled to its knees.

  The priestess took the bowl and lifted it high, before turning to the effigy to pour a crimson stream over its feet. A low chant from the crowd increased in speed as the women began dancing again, this time with a savage energy fed by the growing pulse of sound.

  Now the men were stamping their feet and beating their hands on their thighs as they chanted. Some of them ran to the fire to throw handfuls of powdered gum into the flames, their hair singeing as the resin exploded in a dazzle of light. A pall of incense-laden smoke wrapped around the dancers as their voices rose higher.

  Odysseus struggled out of the press of people. Menelaos had been caught up in the general frenzy, eyes glazed and sweat dripping from his face. It would be so easy to give into it himself. But did he really want to lose control of his senses?

  Should he even be here? Somewhere, in the mountains north of the river, Eury and Meges were looking for the stolen sheep. Had Phylas led them the right way? Was he really to be trusted?

  And further north again, at the Narrows, Father would be standing on deck, half-expecting Thyestes’s fleet to appear out of the darkness.

  Odysseus swallowed. He ought to be in Kyparissia, making sure of the Messenian ships Father so desperately needed.

  He gazed into the darkness, half-blinded by the glare of the fire. And there, at the edge of the trees, was a girl in a yellow headscarf. She beckoned to him, then turned and vanished into the forest.

  Chapter Forty-five

  Skotia paused on the narrow track that zigzagged up through the trees, listening to Olli’s footsteps as he blundered along behind her. The fire must have taken his vision for he was crashing about like an ox, despite the moonlight that sliced through the branches to light the forest floor.

  Now he’d stopped altogether. She ran back down the track, pulled off the headscarf and waved it at him, then set off up the hill again as soon as he saw her. He mustn’t catch up till they reached the clearing – he was bound to think she’d come all this way because she loved him. And when he found out his mistake, what followed must be on her terms, not his.

  Odysseus emerged from the forest and scanned the bare hillside above him. The path he’d been following continued up the ridge to the black mouth of Demeter’s cave. What was Skotia thinking? This was hardly the night for the two of them to blunder uninvited into Demeter’s sacred place.

  But she was nowhere to be seen. Why, by all the fiends, didn’t she wait for him? Why the chase?

  The frenzied roar of the crowd round the fire pulsated up towards him; above, the mountain wrapped its secrets in a still, silvery cloak of light. And there, a little way below the cave, the path divided. Where the left-hand fork dived back into the trees, he saw another flash of yellow. Where was she off to now?

  Back inside the forest, the track headed steeply downhill, snared with roots and fallen branches. He had to fling his hands out more than once to save himself as he stumbled down the slope. The path ended in a streambed clogged with windfall. He cast about but there seemed to be no way forwards. Around him the forest was strangely silent, as though the crowd and the fire had ceased to exist.

  He shivered. She must have gone to the cave after all. Or kept on past it, up the ridge. Or … or perhaps he had imagined the whole thing – Skotia, the yellow headscarf, had all been a trick of the mind.

  Then he saw something move, off to his right. He forced a way around the windfall, cursing as the twigs tore at his arms and legs, and found himself back on the path, which had turned to follow the stream bank. He’d missed it in the dark.

  She was standing perhaps twenty paces above him. The headscarf was clutched in one hand and her face – the face he’d thought he’d never see again – was tense with worry.

  Once more she beckoned; once more she didn’t wait. He forced his way after her through the knee-high grass under the trees, barking his shins on fallen branches embedded in the tangled growth. A little way on, the stream swerved round a low bluff, and the path left it to cut up a steep bank.

  He climbed to the top and found himself on the edge of a clearing ringed with tall trees. Out in the centre, Skotia was standing behind a white rock with a dark-veiled woman beside her.

  A slight breeze had sprung up and the leaves seemed to be whispering his name. Odysseus, Odysseus. He shivered, filled with a strange dread. The night belonged to Demeter, and this place must be her sacred grove, her sacred stone.

  The woman brushed the veil back to reveal a lined face, laughter and worry woven together. “Greetings,” she said. “My name is Danae.”

  Aunt Danae.
Of course. Filled with relief, he started towards Skotia, arms outstretched, but the rock rose up like a drawn sword between them. “So it was you at the trial,” he said, a trifle abruptly. “Why did you come?”

  “Someone wants to kill you,” said Skotia.

  “Kill me?” His heart lurched. “Who?”

  “A man in a dream I keep having.” Shadows flickered over her face as a gust of wind set the branches swaying.

  A dream? Dreams were strange things, woven out of truths or lies – you could never be sure which. And yet … Odysseus suddenly felt sick. Didaion had sent his men to assassinate him on the ship, the night before the trial. The governor might be dead already but his friends would be eager for revenge. And if they couldn’t find his prosecutor, they might kill Menelaos instead.

  He must get back to the fire. No, wait. Skotia must know what this killer looked like. “Tell me more,” he said, his mouth dry. “Tell me about your dream.”

  Chapter Forty-six

  “I’ve dreamed it over and over,” said Skotia. “So we decided it must be true and we had to warn you.”

  Odysseus frowned. “But why here?”

  “It’s safe. We can talk without being overheard.”

  “We were on the way to Kyparissia,” said Danae, perhaps guessing what his next question would be. “We needed water and somewhere to sleep so we followed the stream bed up, looking for a spring.”

  “And found this place,” said Skotia.

  “Yes, but–?”

  “Olli, stop asking questions. I’m trying to describe my dream.”

  “Describe it then.”

  “Shush!” Skotia closed her eyes. “You’re outside in a courtyard, with lots of people. You’re holding the bow – the one you left in the cave. There’s a dog barking. And this man is about to kill you.”

  “What does he look like?”

  Skotia paused, sweat sheening her forehead. “I can’t see his face. And I can’t push through the crowd to warn you–”

  “So how do you know it’s me with the bow?”

  Her eyes flew open, sharp with anger. “I just do. It’s a dream. It shifts around. Besides, everyone’s shouting your name.”

  She wiped her hands on her tunic. Odysseus could see they were shaking. Nerves. Maybe she’d invented the dream as an excuse to find him. Maybe she did love him after all. But why had she brought her aunt with her? And why drag the bow into it? “Are you’re sure it’s the bow I left in the cave?” he asked.

  “No one else has one made out of goat horn,” Skotia said. “All the others I’ve seen, they’re wood. What I do know is, you need it to defend yourself.” She reached behind the rock and held up a long, slim bundle. “So we’ve brought it. There’s only one arrow, but you only have to shoot one man. I know you won’t miss.”

  Odysseus flung up his hands. “I gave Demeter this bow. I can’t believe you took it back. She will be furious.” He looked round the grove, at the stone shining in the moonlight, the shadows shifting under the trees. A distant, wailing cry reached them from the saddle and he shivered again, his skin tight with goosebumps. “No wonder I’m in danger.”

  Skotia shook her head. “When we went into the cave to fetch it, we prayed to her. Then we slept beside her altar and I had the dream again. It felt like she was saying yes.”

  “There were other signs too,” said Danae. “We sacrificed, and the omens were good.”

  Odysseus chewed his lower lip. “Well, perhaps. Why did you come to Kyparissia?”

  “I was at the market.” Danae gripped Skotia’s hand briefly. “All the traders were talking about how your father’s sheep had been stolen. Everyone was sure it was the Messenians who’d done it and most said there’d be war. Then someone said no, there’d be a court case and King Laertes was sending you in his place. And when I came home, Skotia told me about the dream.”

  “And we decided the dream meant you’d be attacked at the trial,” said Skotia.

  Odysseus frowned. “And you didn’t bother to warn me beforehand?”

  “We tried. We asked your guards if we could see you and they refused. So we watched your ship and spotted where you were sleeping. Then, when it got dark we borrowed a boat–”

  “Stole,” corrected Danae.

  Relief and exasperation swept over him. “So that was you.”

  “We put it back, after,” said Skotia, pouting. “So we rowed over and I was climbing on board when someone grabbed me–”

  “I did.” Odysseus pointed to the bandage on his wrist. “You bit me.”

  “What was I supposed to do, with all those soldiers waking up?”

  “We could have killed you.”

  “But you didn’t. Then I fell in the water. That was a bad thing to do – I can’t swim very well. It was lucky Aunt Danae grabbed me and pulled me into the boat.”

  “And we nearly lost an oar,” said Danae.

  “Anyway, the next day we went to the court case,” continued Skotia.

  “Which was inside a hall,” said Danae, “not out in a courtyard.”

  “And even that was different. The courtyard in the dream has plain walls, not brightly coloured ones. We waited there, just in case, but after the trial everyone left. So we left too.”

  “Where did you go?” asked Odysseus. “Eury went searching for you. He couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  Skotia shrugged. “He can’t have looked very hard. Anyway, today at the well we heard you were coming to the festival. And yet, when we arrived this evening, there was no one around at the big house, just the crowd at the fire. It doesn’t make any difference, Olli.” Skotia’s face had gone very pale. “I know something really bad is going to happen.”

  Odysseus felt his gut twist as he made the connection. Ortilochos’s banquet was tomorrow night. His courtyard had plain walls. Perhaps people would gather there beforehand. Or afterwards. It would be easy for Didaion’s friends to mix with the crowd.

  “Check the bow,” said Skotia, breaking in on his thoughts. “You better see we haven’t damaged it or anything.”

  The bow was wrapped in an old cloak secured by twine and an obstinate set of knots. Once it was free, Odysseus stroked his hands along the milk-white goat horn of the arms and checked the black rope binding round the handle. It was good to have it in his hands again. And everything seemed as it should.

  He’d rested the bow against the rock to examine the arrow fletching when Skotia let out an anguished wail. “No!” she cried. “It’s all wrong!”

  “What do you mean, ‘wrong’?” Odysseus put down the arrow and swung round to face her.

  “The bow. It’s different, it’s …” Skotia was gripping the top of the rock, her fingertips white. “The one in the dream is almost black, except the tips are pale.” Her voice started to shake. “And it’s much bigger and the grip in the middle is red leather, not black rope like this. It’s not this bow.”

  Danae’s jaw dropped. “Couldn’t you see that, back in the cave?” she demanded.

  “It was so dark and then you had it all bundled up so it wouldn’t get harmed and I was so sure, anyway,” said Skotia, the words tumbling out. She put her hands over her mouth, her eyes bright with tears. “I know I’ve seen this one before, but I sort of forgot what it looked like.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh, Olli, I’m sorry. I’m so stupid.”

  Odysseus’s mind froze, numb with shock. Then his thoughts were off, racing like hounds in a chase. Skotia had just described the great bow of Eurytos. She couldn’t possibly have known what it looked like; he hadn’t known himself till he saw it this evening.

  Which meant the dream was true. It had brought Skotia all this way to tell him he had to get hold of Eurytos’s bow. Without it he would die.

  But first there was something else he must do.

  Chapter Forty-seven

  He stepped round the rock and caught hold of Skotia’s hand. “You cared enough to come all this way, whatever the dream means,” he said, trying to keep
his voice even. “Skotia, remember what I said before? I love you. I can make you happy.”

  “I was happy,” said Skotia, her fingers limp in his. “Except–”

  “Except you miss me. I’ve missed you too. I think about you all the time.”

  Skotia glanced across at her aunt.

  “Tell him what you told me,” said Danae.

  “I want …” said Skotia, slowly. “Olli, I want to be free.”

  “You’ll be free with me. Father will send Diomedes your slave price, though it’s difficult as you can imagine, with the war going on. Until that’s settled, the safest place for you is Ithaka. Far safer than Arkadia.”

  She bit her lip. “On Ithaka I could never forget who you are. Who I’m not. But that’s not what I mean. You saved my life. I owe you too much. That’s what I want to be free of.”

  “What’s wrong with owing something? We all do. I owe my parents for giving me life. I owe the Ithakans for their loyalty and my friends for their kindness. And Diomedes saved me. Perhaps I’ll never be able to repay him.”

  “That’s why I came,” said Skotia. “To repay you by saving your life. Then we’d be even.”

  “Is that the only reason?” He squeezed her hand. “Skotia, look at me. Tell me you don’t love me.”

  “I …” She swallowed. “You’ve got a hold on me, somehow. I can’t describe it–”

  “That’s because–”

  “Don’t interrupt. I am happy. Except you get in the way.”

  “Because you need me,” he said, his heart pounding.

  She shook her head. “I’m Arkadian, Olli. And Aunt Danae is my family, now my father’s dead and my mother and my sisters and brothers are …” She looked away.

  Perhaps that was the problem, he thought. She was still angry, guilty even. “They may have survived.”

  “Maybe.” She turned back to him. “I have been thinking about what you said; about my mother leaving the lamp burning for me. If she is alive, she might come looking for me. Then I can ask her why she did what she did. If I’ve gone to Ithaka, she won’t find me and I’ll never know. Besides, if I stay in Arkadia, I can look after Aunt Danae when she gets old.”