‘That’s exactly what I was going to suggest,’ Bria says, tartly. ‘Thanks.’
I give her a faux-warm smile over my shoulder and turn back to Arnacia to make one last appeal. ‘I wish you’d remain with us. I know Skaya-Mandu of Troy, and if he thinks you’re going to keep on blurting spontaneous prophecies that undermine his father’s ambitions, he’ll silence you. So will Tiresias and Manto.’
She flinches, but shakes her head. ‘I must entrust my safety to Artemis’s hands,’ she tells me firmly. I’m forced to accept that. It’s her life.
Diomedes joins us at the rail. ‘I still think we should all land on Delos,’ he says. ‘Or at least bring a hand-picked group of armed men with us. This is our chance to take out those damn Theban seers.’
The last thing Arnacia needs is a bunch of sword-swingers blundering into the sanctuary, trying to slaughter whoever they think looks remotely like a Theban. Bria draws Diomedes away down the ship and begins filling his ears with common sense, while I stand with Arnacia in the prow, the wind – stronger now – catching her hair, which glimmers in the starlight.
‘The journey to Delos was my first time on a ship,’ she tells me, breathing the salt air in deeply. ‘I stood right here, where the whole world is in motion. I felt like I was flying.’
‘It’s my favourite spot too. At the tip of the arrow.’
‘Sitting on the gull’s beak,’ she counters. We share a smile.
Then her face falls. ‘My father won’t take this lying down. Nauplius offered him a lot of silver for me. From the moment we set sail, Palamedes was all for forcing marriage onto me. Nauplius wanted to have it done in full pomp and splendour at Aphrodite’s shrine on Cythera, otherwise I would have been wed by the time you caught us up. If you’d not rescued me, I’d have been lost to Artemis.’
She glances back over her shoulder at Diomedes. ‘If he hadn’t pulled me from the water…’
It’s none of my business, but her little infatuation with Diomedes has gone far enough: I hate misapprehension. ‘Yes, and if I hadn’t worked out the correct direction; if Eurybates hadn’t piloted the galley superbly to make up half a night’s sailing in one day; if Bria hadn’t called in the sea eagles that attacked Palamedes and allowed you to break free; if I hadn’t guided the vessel to you, thrown you the rope then put an arrow in the shark that was about to bite you in half; then yes, things might have gone badly for you. But Diomedes did well also.’
She flushes and ducks her head. ‘You must think me very shallow.’
‘Well, granted he’s the best-looking man I’ve ever seen, but he played the smallest role. And anyway, aren’t you committed to taking a permanent vow to Artemis and renouncing men entirely?’
‘It’s your turn to misunderstand me. Yes, he is good-looking but I’ve had a vocation to Artemis all my life. I’m aware that it comes with sacrifices; I’m not afraid of those. I can do more for my people as a seeress in the service of Artemis than as someone’s brood mare, even Diomedes’s.’
‘Evidently your father disagrees. As do Nauplius and Palamedes.’
She shudders. ‘How can a man who claims to serve the Goddess of Love be so evil?’
I’ve actually met the said Goddess of ‘Love’. Like all the gods I’ve encountered – my own patron included – I found Aphrodite self-interested, cold-hearted and cunning. ‘Aphrodite is a cruel queen, from a barbarous time,’ I reply. ‘Her “love” is more akin to lust, and she uses it as a weapon.’
Arnacia gives me a curious look. ‘So how does an Ithacan come to serve the Goddess of Athens?’
‘I’m drawn to Reason, which is Athena’s primary characteristic. Yes, she is the patron of Attica but her worship can be found throughout Achaea.’
I don’t tell her the other pertinent fact: that no one else wanted me.
‘Another virgin goddess. Does she demand chastity of her theioi also?’
I laugh. ‘If she does, I’m doomed to be thrown out!’ Then I blush, because that sounds boastful and I hadn’t meant it to. ‘It’s different for her champions, but I think her seers and avatars must maintain their virtue.’ I’m improvising, hoping to impress this solemn slip of a girl. But then I think of Bria and her appetites, and blush some more. Though Bria has always seemed the exception to every rule – Athena’s chief avatar, Iodama, killed last year by a Trojan raiding party, was pure enough. And the daemon is fond of claiming that she’s different. ‘Special’ is how she likes to describe herself.
Arnacia knows none of this, however, and doesn’t need to. Let it stand that she thinks she and I have even more in common than we do. ‘A vessel for a virgin goddess must be pure also,’ she says. ‘So it is with my goddess. Marriage to Palamedes and the… ahem, consummation, would have ruined any chance of my taking vows to Artemis.’
‘And force you into serving the Clamshell,’ I sniff.
‘That’s not very nice,’ she chides me, but she’s clearly amused, not offended.
I decide I like Arnacia a lot. But she’s not Kyshanda: no midnight hair or wicked innocence. Nor does she have the wildness I’ve seen in Kyshanda’s eyes since her year with Persephone. My lover is a garden of sensual, mystic delights and I’m longing to see her again.
Arnacia proves an engaging, insightful companion. It’s very comfortable being with her, and in another life I might have been rather smitten. But in this life, Kyshanda’s face is like the moon rising over the sea. As we approach Delos, I can almost smell her on the salty air.
‘Who are you thinking of?’ Arnacia asks me, and I realize that I’ve drifted into a reverie.
She’s just a little too insightful. ‘No one special…’
‘Hmmm?’
‘All right, yes: a woman back on Ithaca,’ I lie, thinking of Issa a little sadly.
It’s time I ended that liaison, I realize. It’s unfair to Issa, generous though she is – and I need to move on.
Arnacia studies my face, and I can tell that she knows I’m lying: I was smiling as I thought of Kyshanda, but my voice lost animation when I spoke of Issa. Thankfully she says nothing, changing the subject to the task ahead.
‘I’ll have to swim ashore, then?’ She looks down at her sanctuary robes, borrowed from Bria.
‘No, we’ll take you in far enough to wade to the beach. In fact, I’ll carry you to dry land myself, so your robes don’t get too wet.’
The approach to the cove isn’t straightforward, especially as we need to get closer in this time. But not too close, otherwise the ship will be grounded, driven onto the beach, or worse, onto the surrounding rocks, by the waves that have sprung up with the wind, for the cove is wide open to the south-west. We scan the shore carefully, checking for any signs of movement as Eurybates guides the craft in, the sail all but furled and the men backing on the oars to slow our progress.
The beach and the land behind it are empty.
Arnacia touches the back of my hand. ‘I haven’t thanked you all nearly enough,’ she says. ‘I would be destroyed or dead were it not for you. I will never forget that.’
On an impulse, I give recruitment one last try. ‘Arnacia, you’re highly intelligent. Have you ever considered serving Athena? The leap from Artemis to Athena may not be large. And you’d even get to retain your virtue.’
She gives me an amused look. ‘Good try, Odysseus. And truly, I like all of you far more than many I’ve met in Artemis’s service. But there is a world of difference between the queens we serve. Artemis is a huntress, a nature goddess, who loves young women and wishes to see them become all they can be. She is young femininity personified. Your goddess is a man in all but body.’ Her cheeks redden. ‘Not that I’m averse to men. I’ve kissed a few, and come close to surrendering what I have more than once. I know a little of what I’m giving up. It will be a genuine sacrifice for me never to know physical love, I assure you.’
I’m incapable of facing that sort of intimidating frankness without going scarlet myself. ‘You can’t blame me for aski
ng,’ I manage to stammer.
‘I’m flattered,’ she laughs, offering her hand. ‘Friends?’
‘Friends.’ We clasp hands, smiling warmly at each other, and this time her gaze doesn’t drift off to Diomedes.
One day she’ll be high priestess of Delos or some other oracular shrine, I remind myself. One day we’ll need an ally like her.
Eurybates has taken us in as far as he dares. As soon as the keel nudges the sand I lower myself into the water. It’s cold enough to make me gasp, and my feet barely touch the bottom when a larger wave than usual comes surging in to crash on the beach. Once that’s past, Arnacia, in her full robes, is eased into my grasp, and I wade ashore with her in my arms. It’s all rather intimate, but we keep it businesslike. Once we’re out of reach of the waves, I set her on her feet. Our ship is already pulling away, the splash of oars drowned by the surf. I look around. There’s no sign of anyone ashore but us, and there seems no reason for my sudden fear…
‘Take care,’ I urge her. ‘Feign ignorance of the prophecy, and stay close to people you trust.’
‘I will,’ she responds. ‘I won’t forget your gallantry – and I will be careful.’
I walk her to where the path begins, beside that distinctive wild fig tree, and show her the goat trail. ‘Follow this north and be careful,’ I begin. ‘An unescorted woman is always in peril—’
She cuts me off. ‘I’m a theia – only a novice, with much still to learn – but I’m not helpless.’
I go to turn, far too distracted by prophecies and worry for her, and that’s how I’m caught out: from amidst the tangle of foliage, a thickly muscled arm snakes out and presses a sharp curved blade to the side of my neck. The rest of the man emerges, stepping out confidently – an easterner, a Trojan, with olive skin and curling, oiled hair. He smirks at me: ‘Move and—’
He’s got too close to me, leaving himself no leverage if I twist and…
…I spin, slam his blade hand down and away while crunching upwards with my thigh. His elbow becomes the twig between hammer and anvil and snaps; the blade drops and he howls, falling to his knees as bodies break cover from impossibly close around us, the air shimmering with green light to reveal a dozen warriors, Trojans in brazen caps and heavy breastplates…
And I see Tiresias in the midst of that light, his timeless face lit by that unearthly phosphorescence.
Arnacia doesn’t scream – she pretends to stumble gratefully into the grasp of the man nearest to her, then rabbit-punches him and breaks his nose. He reels and she pulls free and runs, back towards the beach, just as a woman in huntress garb stalks forward, followed by two more Trojan soldiers.
I seize the sword of the man whose arm I’ve broken and all but kick his head off, parry an overhead blow from the swordswoman and follow it with a slashing uppercut that plunges my blade through the next man’s shoulder, withdraw it and whirl sideways, slicing someone’s sword arm open to the bone, then batter away another lunge from the woman – before something slams into the back of my head and I reel drunkenly.
Some bastard got in behind me while I fought the woman…
Then the air moves, congealing around me, pinioning my arms to my sides, as a tall red-garbed woman steps through the encircling ring of warriors. Her eyes blaze like small, brilliant-blue suns, capturing my gaze, and suddenly I can see nothing but twin discs of azure that grow and swirl and—
A fist smashes into my jaw and the world goes black.
* * *
I wake into a mass of throbbing pain, not just from my jaw, which feels as though it might be broken. The back of my head is bleeding, my nose has been pulverized, my stomach, back and ribcage are battered, and breathing comes with a world of pain. My left eye is so swollen I can’t open it and there are any number of cuts on my face and under my hair.
I only remember the one blow – it seems the good folks of Troy like to kick a man when he’s down.
Bastards.
I try to move, but my wrists are tied behind my back and my ankles are bound. I’m lying on my side in some kind of old storeroom with rotting straw on the dirt floor. There’s a tiny window in one wall, admitting just enough light to tell me it’s daytime, and that the room’s been cleared of all but me. The door might be locked, or not – it wouldn’t help me much if it was wide open. There’s not even a dung bucket or a water jug.
Athena, if you’re watching…
Prayers are futile: the gods don’t hear them – indeed can’t unless their disembodied spirit happens to be hanging over your shoulder. They’re too busy elsewhere, perhaps in someone’s borrowed body, trying to drum up worship through manipulation and murder. This is promising to be a bad day for Athena though, for it will undoubtedly end in the death of one of her champions.
Not a good day for the aforesaid champion either… I groan, closing my eyes and trying to think my way through this. But I can’t see a path to freedom this time.
Bria and Dio must have seen what happened… I wonder if they’re already preparing a rescue bid… or whether they’ve simply cut their losses and sailed away?
Outside the door, I hear men clanking about, murmuring to each other about trivia. I’m desperately thirsty, and I decide I have nothing to lose by calling out.
‘Hey,’ I manage, after I’ve spat out the worst of the blood and phlegm filling my mouth. The insides of my cheeks have been thoroughly mashed into my teeth. Fortunately none of the latter are broken or missing, not that that’s going to matter for much longer. ‘Hey, water!’
The voices outside fall silent, then someone replies. ‘Shut your hole, kidnapper.’ One of them stamps off along what sounds like a gravel path.
When the door opens, it’s not soldiers that enter, but two tall, robed figures. After my right eye gets used to the glare of daylight, I work out that the taller one is Tiresias – handsome, androgynous and smoothly self-assured. His mane of grey hair cascades over richly coloured robes, and he’s gazing down at me with oddly blank eyes, as if he’s stared too long at the sun and now finds mere humanity hard to discern. He chuckles, ‘So, it’s the “Man of Fire”, my dear. Not burning so brightly, is he?’
His companion is the red-robed woman with the bewitching face, whose gaze paralysed me at the cove. Manto, his daughter by Heracles. ‘Let’s douse him, Father,’ she says, toying with her waist-length black hair. ‘We don’t need him alive.’
Despite my desperate desire to defy these two, I’m petrified, remembering how easily she took me down.
‘Does dousing include water, because if it does I’m all for it,’ I manage to reply, in a parched croak.
Manto laughs. ‘You did say he was amusing, Father.’
‘Water’s precious here,’ Tiresias says, in his mellifluous she-male voice. ‘In dry years, the cisterns fail and they have to ship in water from the larger islands. So why would we waste it on you?’ He bends over me, his eyes glinting. ‘What did the girl tell you of her prophecy?’
‘Nothing.’ I look up blearily, my whole body aching. ‘She has no memory of it.’
The old seer combs his fingers through his hair. ‘Perhaps, but there are ways a skilled theios could draw it out of her. We know who you serve, Ithacan. Your goddess has people with the art.’
Manto bends down to assess me better, peering at me as I avert my gaze from those azure orbs. ‘Oh, don’t you want to look at me, Ithacan? You’ll find me fascinating, I can promise you. Just as you did last night.’ She grips my chin with cold hands and pulls my face around. ‘Look at me, Odysseus.’
I close my good eye tight, straining to reach deep into my inner core and the powers residing there. Then a flash of lightning knifes through my brain and those essential threads of energy inside me are blasted away, to be replaced, it seems, by a mesh of writhing, hissing snakes.
‘Now, now,’ she smirks. ‘Let’s not be unpleasant about this. Give us what we want.’
I find my eyelids being prised apart by an invisible force I can’t cont
rol. With an effort, I can still avoid meeting her eyes, though it exhausts me. Up close, her skin is flawless. She has heavy brows and a prominent nose; her hair is magnificent, a lustrous dark curtain, and her bodice is as low-cut as any I have seen, both breasts fully exposed as if to taunt me. There’s something in her manner that says that anything a man could want is hers to give, should she wish to.
But the dangers are also evident. Her teeth are brilliant white and oddly pointed, and when I am finally forced to give up my struggle and meet her gaze, her eyes contain as much ice as fire.
‘What do you want?’ I snarl. But I can’t look away.
‘The names of every Athena theios you know of, where they gather and how they can be found,’ Tiresias replies, while his daughter holds not just my gaze but, it seems, my very soul. ‘Everything the Artemis novice told you of her prophecy and anything else she uttered.’ Then he too bends closer. ‘And all about your mother and Sisyphus,’ he adds, in tones of menace that are in no way mitigated by his fluting voice.
Somehow I find a thin vein of defiance within me, a hidden strength I didn’t know I had. And, with a rush of courage, I realize that, despite Tiresias’s bold words, neither of them can control my brain or truly read my mind. ‘Go find Hades,’ I say, lifting my throbbing head, ‘and ask him.’
Father and daughter giggle like young girls. ‘I do love manly defiance,’ Manto snickers as she straightens up, looping her arm through her father’s and resting her head on his shoulder. The resemblance is uncanny, both in physical looks and in the nonchalant air of privileged corruption they exude like perfume. ‘Shall we let that Trojan boy in now? He’s dying to do something unpleasant.’
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