The Bow Page 6

  Diomedes rocked with laughter. “How very charming.”

  “Yes,” said Odysseus. “I’m full of charm. But no, that’s not how I feel.”

  “Are you sure?” A mischievous look had crept into Diomedes’s eyes. “Why not find out?”

  Eurybates put the serving spoon down. “Antikleia might not be pleased if you corrupt her golden boy.”

  “A small love adventure will hardly corrupt him.” Diomedes heaped his bowl with food. “No doubt Antikleia’s skilled at keeping Laertes on a straight path. Ithaka, however, is a long way from here.”

  Eurybates smiled. “Laertes is faithful by choice.”

  “As well for him.” Diomedes took another gulp of wine and banged the cup on the table. “Antikleia has a sharp tongue, they say. So, Olli. What do you think?”

  A joke, surely. Odysseus busied himself removing the paunch, hiding his alarm as best he could. Diomedes knew how important it was to keep their identities secret. But the commander had been drinking hard, even before the food arrived, and his face had taken on a dangerous flush. Was the tension from the siege bending his wits? Or was Diomedes reverting to the adolescent behaviour he’d shown signs of two years ago, now he had a chance to relax with trusted friends? It was so easy to forget the grim-faced warrior who ruled this fortress was only twenty-two.

  “Leave the boy alone,” growled Stenelos. “He has no time for your troublemaking.”

  If Stenelos intended his remarks to end the subject, they had the opposite effect.

  “I’m amazed you allow him food and sleep,” replied Diomedes, before turning on Odysseus again. “Are you sure you should be eating this rather delicious casserole, Olli? I can arrange for a few dry crusts to be sent to your room.”

  “The boy’s training is my responsibility, thank you, sir.” Stenelos glared across the table at Diomedes.

  “Indeed?” said Diomedes. “And if I were to disagree? As your commanding officer?”

  “We’re a fortress, not a brothel.” Stenelos clenched his fists.

  “Olli isn’t a member of the garrison,” Diomedes said, stirring his stew with a forefinger. “He has no military obligations at all.”

  Odysseus exchanged worried glances with Eurybates. “Even if I wanted her,” and he didn’t, did he? – not like that, “my disguise prevents any, er–”

  “Pshaw.” Diomedes refilled his cup with neat wine, ignoring the water jug that Eurybates edged in his direction. “The girl worships me, can’t tear her eyes away. I have only to say the word and she’ll be as silent as a …” He waved his gravy-coated finger in the air as he searched for a suitable word.

  “Why don’t you bed her yourself?” said Odysseus, praying for a diversion.

  Diomedes stared at him with exaggerated amazement. “A bony little creature like that?” He twisted round to waggle the finger at a wall painting behind him, where a large-nosed lady in a red dress gazed complacently out over her ample bosom. “Now there’s a woman to be longed for.”

  And safely on the wall, Odysseus thought. “Don’t worry,” he said to Stenelos, giving him a nervous smile. “I’m not tempted by either.”

  “So you say.” Stenelos turned away, his lips clamped into a bloodless slash across his face as he tore a scrap of bread into small, even pieces.

  Chapter Thirteen

  What had woken him? Odysseus lay still, sensing Eurybates alert on the other side of the room. Then it came again, a discreet knock.

  Eurybates swung out of bed and wrapped his kilt round his waist. “Who is it?” he said through the closed door. A muffled voice answered, a young boy’s perhaps. Or a girl’s. Damn.

  Odysseus pulled his tunic over the top of the paunch, crammed the wig onto his head and slid the cheek pads into his mouth. Meanwhile, Eurybates had slipped the catch, with his shoulder against the door to stop it gaping wide.

  “It’s the serving girl.”

  “I’ll talk to her.” Odysseus started to push past.

  “No, I can go for a stroll.”

  In the torchlight from the corridor, Odysseus could see the silly grin on Eurybates’s face. “Go back to bed,” Odysseus snapped. He steered the girl off down the corridor. “Where do you sleep?” he asked. Best take her back there.

  The girl shook her head. “My room’s no good. We’re four of us in there.”

  “What do you mean?” Then he realised. He felt like kicking the wall. Confound Diomedes and his warped sense of humour. “We’ll walk on the battlements,” he said. “It’s too hot down here.”

  She couldn’t believe it. It had been bad enough when that revolting porter, Meskes, had passed on Diomedes’s orders. She was to go to the Egyptian’s room and … she’d shrunk from the thought of it. Say nothing of what you find there – those were the commander’s words, or so Meskes had said, sneering at her down his flabby nose. Well, the commander could rely on her; he was the only decent man in this dreadful place.

  But somehow she’d wound up with the boy instead of the priest, this smarmy ball of mutton fat with his greasy hair. He made her skin crawl.

  It couldn’t have been a mistake. They’d both been in there – she’d seen them. Perhaps the priest didn’t want her. Not that she wanted him either. Her teeth started chattering even though the night was hot. At least the priest would be less revolting than this rancid slug.

  The boy sat down on the edge of the rampart, and she pressed up against him, waiting.

  “What’s your name?” he asked in that funny accent.

  “Skotia.”

  “Skotia. ‘Dark one.’ Nice. Is that what your mother called you?”

  She shrugged. It was none of his business what her mother called her.

  “Ah.” He sat quiet for a moment. Then, “I love the night,” he said. “Look, there’s Pegasus. See – those four stars in a square?”

  “Mmm.” Better get on with it. She put her hand on his thigh.

  He pushed her away. “In my father’s–” He stopped, as though the words had choked him. “Where I come from we don’t use the slaves like that.”

  Use? How mealy-mouthed could you get? “Where’s that? Ethiopia?”

  “Do I look Ethiopian?”

  She shrugged again. It was just a word for anything strange. She stared at her feet while the boy rambled on about the Ethiopians, how tall they were and what strange tombs they built and so on and so on.

  “Isn’t that amazing?” he said at last.

  Something to do with ostriches. At least he’d talked himself into a good humour. Skotia put her hand on his thigh again, a little higher up.

  “I told you,” he said, grabbing her wrist. He sounded really angry this time. “Don’t do that!”

  She writhed in his grip. “Ouch,” she gasped. “You’re hurting me.”

  He let go and she stepped back, rubbing her wrist, trying to hold the words back. But they came rushing out anyway, in a wave of despair and anger that had been building for two years, ever since her mother betrayed her. “It’s fine for you, with your nice ideas about how things should be. If I don’t please you tonight, I’ll be whipped.”

  “Whipped?” His mouth gaped open as though he were waiting for that Pegasus square to jump into it.

  “They’ve ordered me to spend the night with you – one or other of you, whichever – and if I don’t make a job of it …” She cringed, remembering the porter’s words. “They’ll take the skin off my back.”

  Why in Demeter’s name had she said that? Now she was in for a real beating.

  Chapter Fourteen

  “I’m so sorry,” he said. “It didn’t occur to me.” He scraped a fingernail through the lichen that crusted the edge of the parapet. “I’ll tell them, ah, tell them you did, um, you know. They won’t know the difference. Unless … you’re not a virgin, are you?”

  “Why? Do you prefer virgins?”

  “Don’t be stupid.”

  “You’re the one who’s stupid. Who’s ever heard of a virgin slave girl
?”

  “I’m trying to help.”

  He was glaring at her, but then she noticed the tears glinting in the corners of his eyes. Well, some people cried at anything. Not her.

  “I’m just saying, there’ll be nothing to show we haven’t.”

  “All right,” she said grudgingly. “I suppose they might believe it.”

  “I swear, by Athena, I’ll say whatever it takes.” He sounded so pleased with himself. “I’ll do all I can to keep you safe. And I’ll swear by Demeter too, just for you.”

  That took her by surprise. “What do you know of Demeter?” she demanded. “She lives with us, in Arkadia.” Skotia waved her hand westward at the mountains, blank shadows below the star-pricked sky.

  “I knew you came from Arkadia.”

  “So?” she said. Conceited little grease glob. “Anyone could have told you.” That should shut him up.

  But no. “It’s the way you talk,” he said. “Why are you here?”

  “My mother sold me.” Flood and thunder. She’d not told anyone that before. And he was the last person …

  He gasped. “How could she?” He took her hand again, but gently. “She must be a monster.”

  “She … I …” Skotia swallowed, strangely softened by his touch. “My father was hurt. Really bad.”

  “How? A fight?”

  Fighting – that’s all men ever thought about. “No, a flood.”

  “And it washed him away?”

  “No. Listen.”

  “I am listening.”

  “No, you’re not.” She glared at him. “We lost all our crops. Everyone did. We were seven children already and my mother was expecting again. I’m the eldest.” She swallowed again. “So I searched all day for stuff to eat, wild greens, anything. Papa went hunting. One day he didn’t come back, so my brother and I went looking. He was way up the hill, stuck between some rocks. He’d broken his leg.” Skotia touched her thigh.

  The boy sucked his breath in. “That’s awful.”

  “It … the bone was sticking out. There was blood everywhere. My brother fetched some men to carry him down.” She shuddered, the memory almost too vivid to bear. They’d tied him onto a rough stretcher of branches and set off down the mountain. Every time one of them slipped, he screamed and writhed about like a pig being skewered. Finally he’d lain still, his face grey and the sweat pooling in the hollows of his eyes.

  “Go on.”

  Skotia found she was gripping his hand so hard her fingers hurt. She tried to relax them without being obvious. “When we got home, the village women said we shouldn’t have bothered. But what else could we do? Leave him up there? Cut his throat? I tried feeding him, but all we had was the wild greens and he sicked them up.” Green slime all over the rough cloth she’d spread over him.

  “How awful,” the boy whispered, his lips hardly moving.

  She nodded. “After two days, my mother said she’d something to sell at the town so we could buy food, and I was to come with her. To carry all the food. When we got to the market, she took me to the slave-traders and they tied my hands and shoved me on a cart with all these other children. Everyone was starving that summer. And these men hung round like vultures, picking them off, the ones they could profit from.”

  “Couldn’t anyone have helped you?”

  “My aunt tried. She lives in the hills in the south, away from the floods. She was there, walking through the town. Maybe she’d heard my father was hurt and she was coming to us. When she saw me, she ran after the cart and screamed for them to stop.” Skotia breathed hard through her nose. “The men hit her with their whips.” Aunt Danae with her black hair tangled over her face, running and stumbling and calling out, till she was hidden by the dust spewed up by the cart.

  The boy was stroking her hand. “How old were you?” he asked.

  “Twelve.”

  Two whole years ago, longer than forever.

  She pulled her hand away and he grimaced. “Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m not going to touch you. Not like that. I’ve promised to keep you safe, remember?”

  Eurybates had left the door unlatched. Odysseus groped for the jug and sloshed some water over his face. Then he lay down on his mat, staring into the darkness.

  “Are you all right?” Eurybates was awake after all.

  “Yes. No. Go to sleep.” Little chance he’d be taking his own advice. The hours dragged on as he twisted and turned on the hard floor. His legs itched in the summer heat as though his skin was crawling with insects, and he had to force himself not to scratch his flesh raw.

  Poor Skotia. How could she bear it, betrayed by her mother and with her father so badly hurt, probably dying? She couldn’t even have said goodbye to him, not properly. What had become of her younger brothers and sisters? Starved to death? The slave-traders would have given her mother a miserable price for her, with so many families desperate – maybe only enough to buy food for a few days. If there was any food to buy.

  And here she was, a slave, locked up in this place of stone and weapons and war, fighting to hold onto her pride.

  And yet, every slave had an evil story to tell, some worse than hers. He couldn’t worry about every piece of misery in the world.

  He got up, drank a mug of lukewarm water, went over to the window, came back again, lay down, shut his eyes.

  It was no use. He rolled onto his front, sleep as far away as Ithaka.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Out!” Stenelos, his face red with fury, strode to his bedroom door and wrenched back the bolt.

  The weight Odysseus was lifting thudded to the floor. “Beg pardon, sir?” he managed.

  “I said, out.”

  “Why, sir? What have I done?” Odysseus tried to look innocent. Well, he was innocent, but that was the last thing he could say without getting Skotia into trouble.

  “You’ve consorted with that whore like some beast of the field, rolling around all night in each other’s muck and sweat. Then you have the nerve to come in here, mouthing empty words to Athena who asks nothing of you save purity of purpose.”

  Odysseus paused. He needed some quick answer to counter Stenelos’s anger, but all his mind could see was a dying man and a bound girl weeping in a cart. “Please, sir, it’s not how you think,” he said, his sleep-deprived brain fumbling for the words.

  Stenelos snorted. “That’s what every lust-driven fool says. If you don’t get out this instant, I’ll throw you out.”

  Odysseus struggled into the hated paunch, wrestled his tunic over the top and crammed the wig onto his head. He stopped, one hand on the door. “Sir,” he said. “I’m at fault, I know that. Forgive me, please.”

  Stenelos took a step towards him, fists raised. Odysseus darted through the door and closed it hastily behind him.

  Confound the man! Odysseus leaned against the wall outside Stenelos’s room. Was there anything he could have said? Would Stenelos refuse to go on teaching him?

  Suddenly, Diomedes burst around the corner in a clatter of metal-shod boots. “Ah. The very person I want to see,” he exclaimed, bustling Odysseus into his office. “Last night I melted down the last of the gold.” He yawned. “Have you tried on those jerkins yet?”

  “Yes,” said Odysseus. “They’re heavy–”

  “Heavier again once these new ingots are sewn in. Can you walk to Ithaka in them?”

  Perhaps. “Of course.”

  Diomedes laughed. “That’s assuming we can smuggle you out of here. I thought Thyestes would have wearied of us by now, but if anything, the cordon’s tighter than ever. Mind you, if he’s preparing for something, he’ll have his work cut out. But I have another piece of news.” He gave Odysseus a conspiratorial grin. “I’ve found another room, to give you some privacy. You and this lass won’t need to huddle on the ramparts again.”

  “I’m supposed to be a humble servant,” Odysseus said, flushing. “What about gossip if you favour me like this?”

  “Nonsense. I’ve appointed he
r as servant to our noble Egyptian priest. You and she will sleep in the new room, which happens to be next to your old one. It’s the priest who will have his privacy, so the talk will go.” He winked.

  “I really don’t want you to do this.”

  “Oh.” Diomedes’s face dropped. “Was she unobliging? I’ll have her whipped if she was.”

  Hades. “Not at all.” Odysseus searched about for the right words. “She was very, er, kind; it was wonderful. But she has a tongue to wag and Eury and I have a disguise to keep.”

  “So how did you manage last night then? Don’t tell me you kept that paunch on.” Diomedes stared at him, clearly caught between incredulity and hilarity.

  Poseidon take it. He hadn’t thought of that. And now he was blushing in earnest.

  “So you found some clever way around it?” Diomedes snorted with laughter. “I don’t need to know the details.”

  Odysseus forced a smile. Diomedes’s imagination could provide him with whatever details it liked.

  “Don’t worry.” Diomedes leaned back in his chair. “She’ll not say a word. She’s been sworn to silence. So, the room?”

  “No. No room.”

  “Then why, damn it?” Diomedes flung himself forwards again, the chair groaning in protest. “Not my holier-than-thou lieutenant’s work, by any chance?”

  “Stenelos?” Odysseus paused. “What makes you think that?”

  “Don’t pull that innocent face with me. You’re infatuated with this girl.”

  “No, I’m not. She’s pleasant and pretty–”

  “Twaddle. You’re besotted, and you’ve just spent a glorious night together. This morning you should have been training and instead I find you outside Stenelos’s room, looking like a goose that’s had its neck wrung.” Diomedes flung his arms wide. “What does that say?”

  Odysseus shrugged. Safer to remain silent.

  “Now listen. Stenelos is one of the best charioteers we have and he’s by far the best archer.” Diomedes snorted. “He’s also a killjoy. That’s his problem, not yours.”

  “But it is my problem. He threw me out, and with good reason.” This was becoming more difficult by the minute. “I want to go on learning from him.”