The Eternal Banquet

by Jennifer Macaire

  The priests then poured the blood over the boy. The shock of hot blood made him scream. Next to me, his father uttered a desperate groan, and I felt a wave of icy panic wash over me.

  We were standing on the beach on the right side of the sacred island. The bridge was directly behind me, it had been kept clear while the bull was led to the altar, but now the bridge was packed with the crowd, pressing as closely as the guards would allow.

  In front of me was the temple, a simple sandstone building made of eight Ionic columns holding up a roof shingled with enamelled tiles. Inside the temple was the sacred altar, and beyond that was the sacrificial pyre, unlit. The temple, the dead bull, and the spectators were dappled from flickering torches. It was a scene painted black and gold, and the moving, dancing light and shadow made it hard to see things clearly. In the dimness, Alexander eased away from me and vanished into the crowd. I couldn’t even pick him out. No one else would notice him either.

  The priests led the boy towards the huge pile of sticks and hay. He struggled weakly in the firm grip of four priests. He was also stunned, half fainting with terror, his body covered with sticky blood. I could see where he’d wet himself in fear, the urine washing the blood away on his legs. His mouth was drawn back in dread. When I glanced at his father I saw the poor man was shaking badly. Somehow, he stayed upright as the crowd behind us pushed us towards the pyre.

  I started looking for Alexander. I was also peering into the darkness, searching for a sign of our ship. Our whole plan hinged on getting away by sea. We’d been busy all day buying jars filled with crude oil and stocking them on the deck. Back then, no one really knew what to do with crude oil. It was sometimes used in lamps, but not often, because the odour was unpleasant inside a house. I knew what its characteristics were, and Alexander had thought of a way to use it in our favour. It wouldn’t be long now. Priests carried torches towards the pyre, and another priest cut off locks of the boy’s hair, throwing them to the four winds.

  Next to me his father moaned quietly.

  ‘Would you save your son?’ I asked him in Greek.

  He turned to me, his face haggard. He knew Greek. He hadn’t needed Plexis to translate for him. We hadn’t fallen into that trap.

  ‘It is too late to do anything. The gods have chosen.’

  ‘No, the high priest chose, but that’s beside the point. I was the one who freed the other boy. Now I must save your son.’ My voice was a murmur in his ear, but he heard every word.

  He stiffened. ‘You are too late.’

  ‘No. Listen carefully. When the boat appears behind the temple, you must go to your son. Will you cut his bonds and free him?’ This was the hardest part. The pyre would be lit. The man would have to brave a wall of flames. We counted on him to do it. A father would cross through hell to save his child, I reasoned.

  He took the knife I handed him and hid it in his sleeve. Together, we moved forward. It wasn’t easy, but we were amidst the nobles and the crowd wasn’t as thick. Soon, we were nearly in front of the temple. On the other side of the pillars, I saw a tall man standing near of the pyre.

  ‘Hamilcar,’ breathed the man at my side.

  ‘The war captain?’

  ‘The man who captured Tartessos. He has come to be crowned with the laurel of victory and to partake of the wine and barley. He is the one who will light the pyre. He has known my son since he was born.’

  ‘It won’t be easy for him then,’ I said.

  ‘On the contrary. He was the one who decreed that if I couldn’t find the first boy, my son was to die.’ A fierce note crept into the man’s voice.

  In the dark, I saw Alexander. He was making his way along the boulders at the far end of the island. I hoped his plan would work. The sea breeze carried a whiff of crude oil to us. I saw several people wrinkle their noses, but the ceremony was moving towards its climax and no one turned their heads towards Alexander.

  The boy’s hands were bound to a post, and the priest sprinkled wine and barley over his head, chanting in a high, nasal voice. Hamilcar flung his heavy cape behind him and took off his bronze helmet. He handed it to a slave standing nearby and unclasped his sword belt, giving it to another slave.

  The crowd hushed as Hamilcar approached the high priest and bowed. The priest placed a crown of laurel on the war leader’s head and then offered him a chalice. Hamilcar raised it to his mouth and drank deeply. He drained the chalice, then he straightened his shoulders and took a lit torch from a slave.

  He looked directly at the boy’s father, then he walked towards the pyre and dipped the torch to the stack of wood. His face was impassive as he lit the fire. After the flame caught, he tossed the rest of the torch onto the pyre and stepped back.

  The fire crackled. Smoke swirled up, hiding the boy from sight for a moment before the night breeze swept it away and fanned the flames to a man’s height. There was a shrill scream from inside the pyre, and the boy’s silhouette twisted and convulsed as he strained against the bonds that held him.

  ‘Now!’ I hissed, and gave the man a push.

  I had been busy unwrapping a long rope tied around my waist. As the people stared at the fire, mesmerized, I ducked down and fastened the rope to a man’s leg. The man didn’t notice, too busy watching the writhing figure behind the dancing flames. I stood and made my way towards the dark shore. I wound through the crowd, holding the rope roughly knee level. In the press, no one took any notice. I worked my way from one side of the crowd to the other, making sure I passed close to the guards. I was holding my breath as I passed the rope in and out, moving as fast as I could towards Alexander, who was visible now, standing on the edge of the firelight.

  Axiom and Demos were waiting in the dinghy. According to plan, our boat was now in the bay, ready to move quickly.

  There came a sudden cry from the crowd as the boy’s father reached the edge of the fire and plunged through, knife flashing. The surprise was so great that the priests didn’t react at first. It was probably the first time that anyone had ever seen someone try to free a sacrificial victim. The boy was choking on smoke, his hair was smouldering, and his skin was blistered in places. His father didn’t hesitate. He put all his weight into a mighty push that sent the boy sprawling out of the flames. The boy rolled once on the ground and Alexander was there. He picked him up and literally tossed him towards me.

  I grabbed the boy and shoved him towards the rocks behind me, then handed the end of my rope to Plexis who’d surged out of the darkness. He took it and gave a mighty pull, and half the crowd in front of us fell, tangling in a thrashing melee. Hamilcar was the first to react. He snatched up his sword and leapt at Alexander. Hamilcar didn’t know whom he was fighting – he had a wolfish smile on his face.

  Alexander raised his sword, and there was the sudden ringing of metal against metal as the two men met at the edge of the fire. The people nearest them shrieked and scrambled out of the way, further adding to the confusion.

  Plexis had the boy now, and he dunked him into the water before thrusting him into the boat. I turned towards Alexander, but Plexis caught my arm and dragged me over the boulders. He was shouting something, but I couldn’t hear him; I couldn’t stop screaming. The high priest had seized the boy’s father and was wrestling with him. In a moment, the other priests had joined the fray, and the tussling group was heading straight for the blazing fire.

  Alexander was grinning, his teeth shining in the firelight. Hamilcar was scowling, his blade flashing. However, every thrust was met with a counter thrust, and Alexander was moving like a wraith over the boulders, making his way inexorably towards us.

  ‘Hurry!’ I cried.

  My voice was lost in the clamour of the crowd and the clanging of metal swords. Shrieks from people burning suddenly attracted everyone’s attention. Two priests were in flames, their robes throwing sparks as they rushed about, sowing more panic in the crowd. Bystanders tried to scatter but many were tangled with my rope. More and more people fell. A woman’s
hair caught fire, and she started screaming. On shore, the crowd watching began to realize that something was very wrong. A low murmur was growing along the seawall like a wave rushing around it, punctuated by sharp cries.

  I clambered into the dinghy and gathered the boy in my arms, holding him against my chest. He was in shock, his skin was clammy to the touch. ‘Father, father,’ he whispered.

  ‘Hush, he’ll be all right.’ I squeezed my eyes shut. I lied. The boy’s father had been forced into the pyre and was burning, his skin blackening and peeling off in layers while he screamed. There was a priest in the fire with him. Both men were locked together in a death grip. The priest uttered no sound, or maybe he was already dead.

  There was a sound like a bee near my head and Plexis flung himself into the boat. ‘They are shooting arrows at us,’ he cried. ‘Some of the guards have figured out what’s going on. Stay low. We’re casting off.’

  ‘Alexander!’ I screamed.

  ‘He’ll be all right.’

  There was a grinding sound as the boat left the rocks, and then the boat dipped and bobbed as Axiom and Demos grabbed the oars and started to row.

  ‘No! Alexander!’ I screamed again and struggled to raise my head, but Plexis put his foot on my shoulder and shoved me to the bottom of the boat.

  ‘Ashley, don’t move!’ his voice was raw.

  There was a loud splashing and the boat dipped wildly again. I heard Alexander give a hoarse shout, and I felt the boat leap forward as he pushed it. Then the oars dug into the water and we rowed away. Alexander hauled himself into the boat and collapsed, dripping seawater over everything.

  ‘Is it time? This torch is like a bull’s eye to the archers,’ said Demos.

  ‘Yes!’ Plexis cried.

  There was an arc of sparkling light as Demos tossed the torch he held towards the shore, and a loud ‘Whump!’ as the crude oil Alexander had poured on the beach and in the water caught fire. The people who’d plunged in after us screamed and tried to beat out the flames, the archers shot wide as our boat vanished into the darkness, and on the island everything was chaos.

  ‘Are you feeling better about Tartessos now?’ I asked.

  Alexander didn’t answer and I prodded him. ‘Alex?’ He didn’t move, but my hand came away with something on it. I started to shake. He’d been cut; I could feel it now. Warm, sticky blood pooled in the bottom of the boat. In the dark, blindly, I felt frantically along his body with my good hand, searching for the wound. It was on his back. His tunic was sliced open and blood gushed over my fingers.

  I uttered a high shriek and pushed my fist as hard as I could into the cut. Alexander moaned and I pushed harder, willing the bleeding to stop, shouting to Axiom and Demos to hurry, by the gods, to hurry.

  We loaded Alexander on board first, crying to Kell that he was wounded. The tall man didn’t ask questions, he grabbed Alexander and carried him below where a light could be safely lit. Demos hurried after him, shouting at Axiom to bring the medicine bag.

  Plexis and I took the singed boy and pulled him aboard. Paul was waiting for us, his face strained. He’d seen his father, blood dripping from his body, being carried away. ‘Is he all right?’ he asked in a whisper.

  I could only nod. Shock was making my teeth chatter. The boy in my arms was worse off. His skin was still cold to the touch. The deck beneath me lurched as the wind caught the sails, and we veered to the right, away from the harbour towards the open sea. Behind us were the lights of the city and the lights from the warships. Not all of them were short a captain. Some were leaving the port.

  I sent Paul for a warm blanket, and we wrapped the boy in it, making a pallet for him in the shelter of the helm. Phaleria stood above us, her hair a dark cloud in the night. We were sailing blind. I hoped that Phaleria had memorized the treacherous shoreline. We headed northwest towards the mouth of a river. Phaleria was counting on the current there to give us an extra push towards the open sea. The dragon boat was one of the swiftest boats made at that time. Once out in the open, we had a good chance of outrunning the warships. However, in the bay, the low warships with three storeys of trained rowers, would catch us.

  There were twenty warships fanning out to block us, the noise of their drums carrying over the sound of the waves and the faint shouts of the crowds still lined up on the waterfront.

  Paul and I knelt at the boy’s side, holding his hands. Another silhouette crept next to us, and I saw the other boy, the first intended victim. His name was Hirkan, and he spoke to the boy in a low voice until he opened his eyes and stared up at us.

  I hadn’t seen his eyes until then. The night was dark, no moonlight silvered the sails or lined the hard edges of the waves, but even in the starlight I saw the clearest amber eyes staring up at me. They were more yellow than a lion’s eyes, fringed with black lashes, staring out of a pale face smattered with faint freckles. His brown hair was singed, a burn marked his left cheek with an angry welt where a spark had lit upon it, and his left shoulder and leg were both burned. He looked at me and tears filled his eyes. In perfect Greek, he said, ‘My father is dead, and it’s all your fault.’ Then he turned his head and wouldn’t look at me again.

  I felt as if I’d been slapped. The pain in the boy’s voice had been so intense, it had struck me with the force of a blow. Paul jerked his head up and stared at me, his face frozen. He’d become good at that. His face could become as unreadable as a statue’s. Alexander usually had many expressions chasing themselves across his face, and then, in an instant, he could grow still like that. Paul looked very much like his father now, staring at the wounded boy, his face in shadow.

  Hirkan didn’t understand Greek, but he felt what was going on between us. He leaned down and spoke to the boy, whispering harshly. At first, the boy pushed him away, rolling over on his side and curling up. However, Hirkan kept speaking in a low voice, with words as soft as the waves. He touched the boy’s head now and then, prodding him gently.

  I sat back and watched the dark sea around us. In a moment, we’d have to fight. The warships were not far. Arrows sometimes buzzed by like huge wasps. I wanted to go below and see how Alexander was, but my legs wouldn’t carry me. I was falling apart. I had just begun to realize what I’d done beneath the blinding sun. In the split second it took to leap over a wall, I’d put us in terrible danger. I’d killed a man as surely as if I’d pushed him into the fire myself, and I’d caused Alexander to be wounded, perhaps mortally. I’d made a boy an orphan and made a mockery out of a religious ceremony that was sacred for thousands of people. I’d done it with no thought, no idea, only instinct. I’d acted as if I were alone in the world.

  I stood up and walked to the stern to join Titte, Kell, and Erati. I took a jar of crude oil and stood next to them. We would pour it into the sea and set it alight. It was all we had to buy us time. We had to get to the open sea. Then, I would sit down and think of my folly. Then, I would receive the punishment I deserved.

  The warships were gaining. Now the arrows fell thick and fast. One or two sliced through the sails, a few thumped into the boat’s side. I felt the vibration of them as they landed. One hit the deck not two feet from where I stood. I just looked at it. Somewhere, deep inside, I wanted to be struck by an arrow. I wanted to be wounded, to be hurt, to die. I wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear. I was glad of the darkness. I wouldn’t have been able to meet anyone’s gaze at that moment.

  Another arrow thumped into the deck. Off to starboard, a warship was dipping into the waves, her bow nearly level with ours. Axiom grunted and hurled his jar of oil into the sea, reaching down to lift another one up in a fluid motion. Next to him, Erati and Titte did the same, and I poured mine out, leaning well over the stern to do so.

  Axiom caught me by the waist and pulled me back.

  ‘No,’ he said clearly. ‘Sit down.’ It was an order. My knees buckled and I sat down hard. Erati lit a torch and tossed it over the edge of the boat. Alexander had guessed right. The water burst into f
lames and the warship was engulfed in a sheet of fire.

  The effect was dramatic. The other ships veered to the side, we hit the current, and soon there were five hundred metres separating us. The distance grew when we met the chop of the open sea. The warships were manoeuvrable but they were not as well rigged as the dragon boat. The wind filled our sails and the boat plunged forward like a coursing hound, spray coming over the bow.

  The men standing in the back of the boat uttered a hoarse cheer, and even Phaleria gave a delighted cry. Then Demos came up the stairs, wiping his hands on his tunic. I could tell it was he. No one else had his size. Plexis was at his heels. In the dark, I couldn’t see their expressions, so I didn’t know how Alexander was. I was terrified, suddenly.

  The blood drained from my head and I hit the plank deck in the worst faint I’d ever suffered.

  Chapter Six

  Plexis heard me fall and was at my side in an instant. He picked me up and carried me down below, walking sure-footed as was his habit. Alexander was stretched out in his bed exhausted but alive. Demos had cauterized his wound and the smell was sickening. I didn’t dare lean over him. My head was spinning and I thought I’d faint again. I knelt down next to him and took his hand. I held it to my cheek and just stayed there and shook. Then I stood again and carefully tucked the covers around him. In his drug-induced sleep, Alexander moaned. The pain would wake him in the morning.

  Plexis took the lantern down and blew it out. ‘Why don’t you sleep,’ he said gently. There was no reproach in his voice, none at all. I bowed my head and let my tears flow. In the blackness no one would see them. My pallet was made near the bed. I sat on it, too numb to undress, still shivering.