The Bow Page 2

  “So it’s a riddle.”

  “A test, perhaps,” said Laertes. “To see if I’m worthy of being his son.”

  “I think it’s a taunt,” said Eurybates. “Like someone asking you to string the great bow of Eurytos. Something that can’t be done.”

  Laertes shrugged.

  “Apparently,” said Eurybates, leaning forwards, “Alkmaion’s men started tearing your grandfather’s house apart the very day he died.”

  “And if Alkmaion does find the gold,” said Laertes, “he’ll waste it on banquets and slave girls.”

  “He should be strengthening his walls against Thyestes,” said Eurybates. “Argos’s riches must look very tempting.”

  “Father, you have to go,” said Odysseus. “Think how many more ships we could build if you found the gold. Or soldiers we could hire. We could attack Thyestes instead of waiting for him to attack us.”

  Laertes held up a hand. “Out of the question. Read Alkmaion’s letter again. He’ll kill me.”

  “Not if you go in disguise.”

  “Disguise?” Laertes laughed. “A king doesn’t creep about in fancy costume. Besides, we’re launching the ships tomorrow and sailing to the Narrows. I have a naval blockade to run.”

  “Let us go, then,” said Odysseus.

  “What? You and Menelaos?” Laertes slammed his hand down on the bench. “Olli, that’s ridiculous. You know how close Argos is to Mykenai. It would put Menelaos in terrible danger. Thyestes and Alkmeion would kill the pair of you.”

  “But–”

  “No ‘buts’. It’s taken Menelaos most of the winter to recover from that head wound his wretched tutor gave him. He wasn’t well enough to come and stay with us till last month and here you are, trying to kill him off again.”

  “Father, I didn’t mean–”

  “Did someone mention my name?” said Menelaos, hurrying over from the portico to join them. “We heard you talking about Argos too, while we were playing catch-the-stick, and I had to explain to this Argos it wasn’t all about him.” Menelaos gave the dog a pat. “Eh, boy?”

  “We’re talking about you, not to you,” said Odysseus. “In fact, we’re not even doing that. Sorry. Father, I meant I could go with Eury.”

  “And without me? Marsh midgets!” said Menelaos, taking the stick from Argos’s jaws and holding it up in the air as the dog tried to snatch it back. “Where to?”

  “Nowhere,” said Laertes. “Don’t even think about it, Olli. It’s not going to happen. And that’s my last word on the matter.”

  Odysseus exchanged a grin with Eurybates. They’d heard Laertes’s last words before.

  Chapter Three

  The Argive ship crept round Cape Malea in the still of early dawn, the lookouts straining to see in the half-dark. In the belly of the ship the sailors were rowing strongly, their weapons beside them.

  “Thyestes’s ships ambushed us on our way to Ithaka,” the captain said to his two exotic-looking passengers. “They were hiding behind those islands just north of here.” He gestured at the rugged coastline ahead. “Somehow they knew where we were going and why – Argos is full of Thyestes’s spies. So there’s a good chance they’ll be waiting for us on the way back too, hoping we’ve got someone important on board like Laertes. Not,” he hastened to add, “that you’re not important. And they’re bound to be interested in anyone a bit, well, unusual.”

  The captain eyed the young priest up and down. An odd choice for an emissary, he’d thought, when King Laertes introduced them. The young man was in Ithaka to visit his great aunt, so the king had said – some Egyptian lady who’d married a local sea captain. The lad was politically neutral and could therefore travel to Argos without fear of capture. Or so the theory went.

  This priest had some strange habits, though. Egyptians wore wigs, the captain knew as much, and Ahtbar, as the fellow called himself, had an elaborate affair tucked away in his luggage. But throughout the voyage he’d sported a skull as bald as a baby’s, which his fat young Cypriot servant scraped with a razor every morning. The captain raked his fingers through his own crop of sun-bleached hair. There was no accounting for some.

  “Our task is a sacred one,” the young priest replied in correct but heavily accented Greek. “I have sworn to proffer King Laertes’s last prayers over Arkeisios’s body. They would not dare keep me from that.”

  “You’d hope so. I’ll do what I can if there’s trouble. We Argives aren’t at war with Mykenai, unlike your Ithakan friends, so they might leave us alone.”

  “Nor has Egypt any part in their dispute. If they harm either of us,” the priest said in a high singsong, “they will have Amun to pay, and Pharaoh too.”

  “Pharaoh’s a long way away,” the captain replied. “And who does this Amun fellow think he is?”

  “The great god Amun will strike down any who dare offer violence to His Servants,” the priest intoned, rolling his eyes upwards and fingering the amulet round his neck.

  “I dare say he will,” said the captain, smiling but taking a small step back nonetheless. You could never be quite sure with foreigners.

  Eurybates stared hard at the islands ahead, his stomach tight. How long could he keep up the pretence of being an Egyptian, let alone a priest? What were the chances of ambush? Hopefully his “priestly status” would be enough to keep him and Olli safe, so long as the Mykenaians didn’t see through the disguises Laertes and Antikleia had provided.

  At last the breeze strengthened and the rowers relaxed on the benches. As the ship came abreast of the islands, the captain turned to Eurybates, reassurance in his face.

  “You see,” he began, “we had nothing to fear after all–”

  “Ship astern!” screamed the masthead lookout. “Two ships. No, three. Fifty oars apiece.”

  “Curse and blast them,” cried the captain, as three black shapes pulled out from behind the last island, sails snapping and filling as they caught the wind. “All men to the benches!”

  At first the little Argive ship clawed away from her pursuers, her sail taut and her oarsmen threshing the sea white. Then the three pursuing ships started to creep closer as their size told. Eurybates watched in horror as their sails stole the wind and the Argive ship’s sail went slack. Now the soldiers in their bows could be heard screaming over the narrowing gap.

  “They’re telling us to heave to,” the captain groaned. “I’m sorry, Sir Priest. I promised King Laertes I’d do my best for you, but I have to think of my men.”

  The sailors slumped exhausted over their oars as the Mykenaian ships slid alongside. A group of soldiers clambered aboard, led by a tall, bulky man with a broken-toothed grin.

  “Greetings, in the name of Hera,” the man said. “Hand over the Ithakans and we’ll leave you in peace.”

  “We, er, we don’t have any Ithakans on board,” stuttered the captain.

  Eurybates stood stock-still beside the mast with Odysseus, his stomach churning as the Mykenaian commander gazed around. Would this man leave them alone? Would their backup plan work if he didn’t? Or would they be hauled off to Thyestes? It wouldn’t take the High King long to find out the truth once he had them stripped. No wigs or walnut juice could hide their identities then.

  “Those two there, by the mast,” cried the Mykenaian commander. “Grab them.”

  “I am a priest of Amun, a loyal subject of Pharaoh,” Eurybates shouted, clutching his amulet as the soldiers dragged him forwards. “By this holy stone, if you seize us, you will be forever accursed.”

  “I don’t know about any holy stone. I do know this ship went to visit Laertes and it’s come back with you two on board. That’s good enough for me.” The commander yanked the amulet from the priest’s neck. “This won’t do you much good when it’s lying on the bottom of the sea.”

  Eurybates started howling the words of the curse his grandmother had taught him, hands quivering at the sky. Odysseus was already down on the deck, black curls splayed over the planks and his back
arched in great spasms, saliva foaming at the corners of his mouth. His face had gone a strange, purplish-pink colour, and for a few heartbeats Eurybates almost lost his nerve. He’d prepared for something along these lines but … had Olli overdone it? Was he actually having a seizure?

  One of the Mykenaian soldiers was tugging at the commander’s sleeve, whispering furiously in his ear. Eurybates raised his voice in what he hoped was a spine-chilling shriek, his heart pounding so hard it threatened to suffocate him. Now the Mykenaians were starting to react, huddling closer, their faces white and their mouths open in shock. Several had their swords drawn – oh gods, it would only take one to panic and this clever idea of Olli’s would kill them both.

  “No, no, don’t,” cried the soldier at the commander’s side, waving his arms at his comrades. “Put your weapons away. They’re possessed by devils. We’re doomed if we touch them. The priest’s saying our eyeballs will burst and our bones will break and our flesh will turn to worms and huge maggots will come crawling out our noses and our ears and–”

  The commander threw the amulet down on the deck, as if it had scorched his hand. “Leave them,” he shouted. “It’s Laertes we’re after, not this pair.” He swung on his heel, his soldiers scrambling after him, over the oar benches to safety. In a moment the ropes binding the ships together had been loosened and the Mykenaians pulled away.

  Odysseus settled his back against the mast, his heart still beating a little too fast. The stuffed paunch over his stomach, an essential part of his “Cypriot” disguise, had twisted to one side while he was writhing about on the deck. And the pads designed to make his cheeks look fat had slid out of position and jammed in the back of his throat – he’d nearly choked on them.

  “That was all rather close,” said Eurybates, joining him. “Just as well I learned a proper curse, instead of babbling nonsense. That soldier could understand Egyptian. Did you hear him translating?”

  “I was flat on my face, remember?” Odysseus managed a grin. “Pretending to have a fit.”

  “How did you contrive to froth at the mouth?”

  Odysseus shrugged. “An old trick I learned, never mind why. And you did brilliantly well. These Argive sailors don’t appreciate your curse any more than the soldiers. See how they’re keeping their distance now?”

  “There’s one warding off the evil eye – pointing his fingers at us where he thinks we can’t see them.”

  “At least we have space to talk. Two whole days of bad Egyptian was starting to grate on my nerves.” Odysseus eased the paunch back into place, trying hard to resist the urge to scratch his head. Mother had insisted on shaving his hair off so the mastic holding the wig on would have a better purchase. But the stubble had started to grow and his head felt as though it had been invaded by a plague of biting ants.

  “I wonder how that soldier learned Egyptian,” said Eurybates.

  “Perhaps he served as a mercenary,” said Odysseus, “down in the desert somewhere. Or on a trading ship to the Delta, like your grandfather.” He wriggled a finger into the wig to find the spot that itched the most and pressed hard. Ah, that was better. “Tell me more about your grandmother’s maggots.”

  Eurybates shrugged self-deprecatingly. “It’s your routine Egyptian hideous-death-and-rotting-corpse curse. It conjures maggots out of any orifice you like.”

  Rotting corpse … Odysseus narrowed his eyes. Look beyond the Jaws of Death, his grandfather’s message had said. As soon as he’d read the words, he’d wondered if they might mean a real skull. But would they have the chance to find out? This morning, frightening as it had been, was only the start.

  They couldn’t turn back now. His father’s coffers were being emptied to pay for the extra men and weapons and ships they needed. The whole outcome of the war might depend on his and Eury’s success.

  Chapter Four

  From the ship’s deck, Odysseus could see the plain of Argos stretching back to snowbound mountains capped with black storm clouds. To their left a river disgorged a muddy torrent into the bay, flanked by a finger of ragged surf that stretched out to sea on the far side of the river mouth. Beyond it again, a stony beach reached westward into the distance.

  A line of white sand lay straight ahead, crowded with ships and backed by warehouses. A little way inland a great fortress towered over the fields, with a town nestled around its sides. Away in the distance he could just make out the city of Argos, on a round hill close to the mountains.

  “Why,” said Eurybates, presumably to show his ignorance of the local geography, “do we not land the ship beyond the river mouth?”

  Foreigners and their foolish questions, the captain’s expression said. “You can’t see it from here, Sir Priest, but there’s a big lake that fills up much of the plain between the shore and Argos city. You’d have quite a swim and your wig, begging your pardon, might look a trifle damp afterwards.”

  Odysseus bit back a smile. It was just as well he hadn’t brought his own Argos with him – every time the city was mentioned, the dog would be wagging his tail or barking in response. Argos hadn’t been pleased at being left behind, but it wouldn’t be for long. Only a few days, if everything went to plan.

  The sailors dropped the sail and backed the oars to ease the ship into shore. Once the bow was firmly grounded and the warps secured, the captain bustled his passengers off the boat and over to a large wooden building. He disappeared inside, to re-emerge with a gloomy man dressed in a purple-edged kilt.

  The man looked Eurybates up and down. “Greetings,” he said. “I am Stenelos, second-in-command to Diomedes, lord of Tiryns. The captain tells me you’re Ahtbar, an Egyptian priest, and you’ve come to offer holy rites to Arkeisios on King Laertes’s behalf. How may we help?”

  “May your gods ever reward you,” Eurybates replied, bowing low in the Egyptian manner. “We need an escort to Argos, and an audience with Alkmaion.” He bowed again, even lower, sweeping his fingers elegantly along the sand.

  Odysseus watched the corners of Stenelos’s mouth twist down. No self-respecting Greek would ever bow, but Stenelos must be used to foreigners’ grovelling ways, even if he didn’t like it.

  “The escort I can arrange,” said Stenelos. “You’ll need Lord Diomedes, however, to petition Alkmaion for an audience. You’re fortunate – the commander is here at the port this morning.”

  Excellent. Odysseus exchanged a glance with Eurybates.

  Stenelos threaded his way through the throng of porters and sailors and vanished, reappearing soon after with a tall, broad-shouldered young man with fierce grey eyes set close to a jutting nose, and a crop of thick dark hair that leaped up from his forehead in defiance of oil and fashion. Odysseus remembered him well from their previous visit to Argos.

  Diomedes’s father was from north-west Greece, not far from Ithaka, but came to Argos to make his fortune. It was on the plains of Argos, racing their chariots against each other, that he and Laertes had become close friends. Then, after rising to be commander of the fortress of Tiryns, he’d died in battle when Diomedes was still a small boy.

  Two years ago, Diomedes, just returned from avenging his father’s death, had greeted Laertes like a long-lost uncle. Even at twenty, he had a formidable personality and he’d already claimed his father’s command at Tiryns. Laertes had said Diomedes was the one person in Argos they could trust.

  “Stenelos has told me your business.” Diomedes rasped a thumb across his chin. “I will take you to Argos myself and arrange for you to see Alkmaion. Your mission is dangerous, but for Laertes’s sake I promise to bring you back here safely.”

  “I have no idea why you came.” King Alkmaion took a glazed sweet from a bowl. For a short while, his attention was claimed by the act of chewing, his honey-smeared lips moving moistly over his teeth while his chins jostled against the folds of his tunic. He belched into a cloth proffered him by a half-naked girl then slumped back on his throne. “Arkeisios has been buried for well over a week.”

&n
bsp; His eyes flickered over his two petitioners and their strange garb. “The heat has been appalling for this time of year – opening the tomb so soon after the interment would be quite disgusting. I cannot ask my men to do it.”

  Eurybates bowed so low he had to clap a hand on his head to stop his wig falling off. “We have brought sulphur for purification,” he said, over the titters of the courtiers. “Your account of the weather surprises me …”

  Odysseus could see Eury biting back his next remark – the wind had been bitter as they crossed the plain to Argos. But there was nothing to be gained by branding Alkmaion a liar.

  Alkmaion smirked, but he was clearly annoyed. “I imagine that Ithaka, so far out in the northern darkness, must always be gripped by snow and ice.”

  “Despite the unseasonable heat, we must enter the tomb and perform the sacred rites on King Laertes’s behalf.” Eurybates was forcing an ingratiating smile onto his face. “We have brought gifts to accompany Arkeisios on his journey.”

  Alkmaion waved a languid hand. “Why not leave the gifts with me?” he said. “I can place them in the tomb once his bones are dry. A special ceremony in a year’s time to honour the father of noble Laertes. A procession. Dancing girls.” He twisted his plump hands in his lap. “Well, perhaps not the dancing girls.”

  “I have sworn to offer the gifts myself.” Eurybates stared back at Alkmaion. “Would you have me break my oath?”

  Alkmaion pursed his lips. “Opening a tomb is a most expensive business. The long passageway to dig out; a wall beyond to dismantle. Then it must all be blocked up again.”

  “Please deduct any necessary costs from King Laertes’s inheritance. We can view the accounts later.” Eurybates was smiling.

  But Alkmaion had flung up his hands. “Inheritance?” he crowed, and his gaudily dressed courtiers chortled in reply. Only Diomedes, standing grim-faced by the door, failed to join in the merriment. “Oh no,” continued Alkmaion, “Laertes is quite mistaken. His father was a most extravagant person, as we know all too well. Wild parties, women, jars and jars of wine, roasted oxen every night.” He paused. Perhaps his imagination was unable to progress past his own behaviour. “Oh, there’s no inheritance,” he continued, shaking his head. “I’m afraid Arkeisios’s debts quite overpowered him in his later years. I have settled the worst. Any further expense is out of the question.”