“Grab the rope!” shouted Lopex. “We’ll pull you out!” I doubted anyone in the inlet could hear him over the mayhem, but words weren’t needed. Already, several men were floundering toward it. A few who could swim were pulling companions along with them while others, clinging to drifting pieces of wood, were kicking their slow way past the sunken ship to safety.
“Pull!” shouted Lopex. Several other soldiers had grasped the idea and were hauling on the rope behind Pharos. Some twelve men were now gripping it and being towed toward the Pelagios.
The beetle-soldiers on the cliff tops had spotted the movement in the water and a renewed hail of boulders poured off the cliff, concentrating on the zone near the entrance. Within moments, five of the men on the rope had been struck, vanishing beneath the surface.
“Pull!” shouted Lopex again. Pulling so hard that the rope was in danger of breaking, they hauled the remaining seven men up to the bow. Lopex sprang over the railing to help those who were too weak up the boarding nets and onto the deck.
Pharos was pulling the oar out of the water for another cast, but Lopex touched his arm and shook his head. I looked up. The noise from the inlet had fallen away. The battered bodies of the Greeks and their slaves floated everywhere, motionless. There were no ships left afloat, no more heads above the water. From the cliffs, ropes were being thrown down, black-clad figures climbing down the walls.
Deklah staggered up behind me, holding one shoulder. In the panic I’d forgotten all about treating him. I wondered whether Ury was still alive. “What do you think they’re doing?” I asked, watching the figures casting bronze grapples on ropes into the lagoon, reeling in the floating bodies.
He shook his head, rubbing the arm that had hit the deck when he landed. “You saw them. They were cutting Yason up and carrying him away in baskets.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Circe the Sorceress
STUNNED AT THE LOSS of the rest of the fleet, the men sat at their benches on the Pelagios like corpses, too defeated even to shout defiance at the soldiers watching from the cliffs. Somehow, Lopex persuaded them to take up their oars again, while I was ordered to tend the few wounded laid out on the forward deck. Ury was still unconscious, which at least made him easier to treat. I used a couple of cooking skewers from the hold to splint what felt like a broken leg and left him where he was.
It was already late afternoon by the time we rowed away from the island of what we later came to call the ship breakers, and with no island in sight by nightfall we were forced to spend the night on the water again. We must have drifted during the night, because there was an island visible to the northwest the next morning. We pulled the Pelagios up on the first beach we found, a narrow gravel strip on the northeast face of the island, strewn with driftwood and uprooted seaweed from a recent storm.
For the next two days the Greeks lay groaning on the beach, their heads wrapped in rags. Kassander said it was a Greek thing. Fortunately, I didn’t see much of Ury. He was awake now and sitting up on deck, but with his broken leg he couldn’t climb down the ladder to the beach. He was also coughing blood, so there must have been something wrong inside, but it was nothing I could fix, even if I’d wanted to. I was assigned to bring the men water where they lay, but none of them ate.
On the third morning, Lopex got up and headed inland. He came back to camp mid-afternoon, carrying the carcass of a stag over his shoulders and leaning on his spear. After two days, I thought the men would jump up at the sight, but they didn’t move. Lopex went a little way upwind, built a driftwood fire, then skinned and cut up the stag and started cooking it on skewers.
After ship’s rations, the fresh venison smelled incredible. Lopex waved me over. “Boy! Over here!” He thrust a handful of skewers wrapped in an empty millet sack at me. “Eat.”
Eat before the Greeks? A quick way to get beaten senseless. But the meat smelled too good to think about it for long. I pulled a piece off one of the skewers and bit in. “Stop,” Lopex added, gesturing down the beach with his knife. “Stand over there.”
Fine by me. I wasn’t keen to be around him either. I walked over to where the men lay on the beach and continued eating. Nearby, Lykos rolled over and sniffed. “What’s that, boy?” He peered at it. “Fresh meat? What are you doing eating before free men, slave boy?” Several other Greeks were sniffing the air and looking in my direction.
I shrugged. “Lopex gave them to me.” I clutched the skewers tightly and suddenly understood. The men were too depressed to eat if he ordered them, but let a slave eat before them? Half a dozen Greeks were suddenly clustering around me, anger in their faces. Once again, I was only a finger’s width from a beating. I held the skewers out reluctantly, adding “. . . to, um, give them to you.”
The nearest men snatched them from me as the others, looking disappointed, headed toward the cooking fire. I watched them go, seething. Once again, Lopex had used me, and I hated him more than ever for it.
Sitting alone in the shade of a stubby palm tree on a hill behind the beach, I was still angry a little later when I spotted someone approaching. It was Pen. He recoiled as he caught my expression, but hesitantly held out a venison skewer. “Hi, Alexi. Would you like this? I thought you might be hungry.”
I grunted something and took it. Pen glanced around before sitting down to watch me in silence. After a moment, he spoke. “Alexi?” He began, awkwardly. “I wish you . . .” He gulped and tried again. “I’m sorry. About, well, you know. Being given to Ury. And how he—”
“Nearly killed me,” I interrupted. “I was there.”
Pen looked like he was about to cry. “I’m so sorry, Alexi. I wish I could have done something to stop him, back on the docks. But nobody listens to me.” He brightened a little. “But they did listen to you, didn’t they? Lopex stopped him.”
He was right. They wouldn’t listen to Pen if he called them to supper. “Don’t worry about it,” I said. “It’s not your fault.” I finished the skewer and handed it back to him. “You’d better head back. It won’t help if they see you talking to a slave.”
The next morning, Lopex called a council on the beach. Clearly recovering, Ury roused himself to hobble down the ladder, along with one of the men we’d rescued, a man named Phaeton whose foot had been crushed by a boulder.
“Men of Ithaca!” Lopex said. “We have suffered a terrible loss. While you grieve for the men you knew, I grieve for every life lost from our company. As their leader, their lives were mine to command, yet I would never have chosen a death like that for such brave men. We are alive, thanks be to the gods, and with their blessing will remain so. We owe it to the memory of our shipmates to take up again the lives the gods have given us.”
“Lives?” Deklah broke in. “How can we do that? Do you know how to get home? How to bring our dead fleet mates back? You talk about plans, Lopex, but look around. The gods haven’t given us kopros. They want us dead.”
I waited for Lopex to lash back, but he shook his head patiently. “Deklah. If the gods had wanted us dead, they could have caused it twice over by now. You, who went deep into the den of the ship breakers and escaped alive, don’t believe the gods are on your side? For shame.”
He raised his voice. “Before we continue our journey, we must hold a sacred feast to send the shades of our comrades to Hades. But our stores are low, and we have neither the equipment nor the time to replenish them. We must seek out those who live on this island and trade with them for food stores.”
I felt a chill. Our encounters in the islands so far had all turned out badly. The men clearly felt the same way but Lopex cut them off, ordering them to split into two groups. The men shuffled apart obediently, the six or seven black-haired, scowling figures who I now thought of as Ury’s crew all clustered near him. I circled around carefully to the far side of the other group.
Lopex spoke up. “Listen now. You men will come with me.” He gestured at my group. “We will find the source of some smoke I saw yesterday; the rest o
f you will stay with the ship as a reserve, under Ury. Twenty-two well-armed warriors can stand their ground against whatever they find, or beat a safe retreat if they cannot.”
Lopex stood up to put on his armour when Deklah spoke up again. “So why does it have to be us? Why can’t it be Ury’s group?”
Lopex closed his eyes for a moment, breathing carefully, then opened them again and removed his helmet. “Very well, Deklah. You may choose who goes. Here is a wooden skewer. One end is burnt; the other is not.” He snapped it in half and put both pieces in his helmet. “If Deklah draws the burnt piece, my group will go. Otherwise, it falls to Ury’s group.”
He held the helmet over his head while Deklah reached into it. The men fell silent. A murmur ran over both groups as he opened his hand to reveal the unburnt piece.
Ury glared at Deklah and struggled to his feet, leaning on a crutch made from a broken oar. “That’s it, men. The heretic has stuck it to us. Now get your armour on and get moving!” He caught sight of me before I could dodge behind someone. “You, boy!” he snapped at me. “Get over here and help me with this armour!” As his slave I had no choice, and I cursed to myself as I joined them. At least this group had Pharos in it too.
We set out, Ury gripping my shoulder with one black-haired paw and leaning on his makeshift crutch with the other. Hiking up into the hills behind the beach, we headed for the interior of the island where Lopex had seen smoke. It was a hazy day with no breeze, so we were soon surrounded by clouds of sweat bugs. Ury cursed me roundly as we walked, variously ordering me to slow down or speed up, but with both hands occupied he couldn’t cuff me. As our path continued uphill, the vegetation changed from low scrub to a thin laurel forest, leaving Ury muttering angrily about Deklah each time he had to hobble over a fallen tree.
As we emerged into a clearing, the men in the lead stopped.
“What is it? Keep going!” Ury called. Shoving me aside, he crutched his way up to the front to see what they were staring at. I followed, staying behind the soldiers, but stopped. In the clearing dead ahead, a huge cat lay in the shade of an oak tree. I peered at it. No, not a cat. A lion.
It looked in our direction, its tail twitching, and climbed slowly to its feet. I watched Ury struggle to back up with his crutch. “Don’t run,” whispered someone. “They’re like cats. They like to chase.”
I couldn’t have run if I’d wanted to. Even from behind armed warriors, the sight of that huge beast padding slowly toward us was terrifying. The men groped for their swords. I’d never seen a lion, but this didn’t look like an attack. It was walking casually toward us, like a man coming to investigate a beetle in his garden. As it reached a patch of sunlight in front of us, it stopped, then lay on its back and stretched its furry belly in the sun.
“What’s it doing?” Ury hissed. The creature stretched again, then turned its head to face us. A low growl escaped from it as its front paws batted the air.
“I don’t believe it. I think it wants a belly rub!” blurted the soldier who’d spoken before. He glanced around at us, looking embarrassed. “I once knew an Egyptian trader who kept a cat,” he said awkwardly. “This is a lot like it, but bigger.”
A lot bigger, I was guessing. The beast growled again, louder. The soldier must have been sure of what he said, though, because he edged up slowly and reached out carefully to touch its furry stomach. A rumble like a distant earthquake emerged from its belly. Slowly, the other Greeks approached, clutching their swords. Ury stayed well back.
A second lion lay contentedly in the clearing, but it stayed where it was as we crossed. On the far side stood a high stone wall with a bronze gate set into it. It wouldn’t stop those lions, but they seemed tame enough. Or at least well-fed. The Greeks flattened themselves against the wall on either side of the gate. A soldier named Polites, who had somehow kept his tunic clean and beard trimmed through all our hardships, crept up and peeked inside.
“There’s a stone cottage,” he whispered over his shoulder, “with a garden. There’s a spinning wheel and a few chickens. Wait, there’s something coming. It’s a woman. Now she’s sitting at the spinning wheel.”
“Does she look dangerous?” whispered Ury hoarsely, leaning backwards on his crutch. “We should head back. She keeps lions . . .”
Polites shook his head. “No weapons. I think we should be able to handle her.”
Ury glared around at the others but got no support. “Get on with it, then,” he grumbled.
Polites cleared his throat and called out. “Hello?”
After a moment the gate opened and a tall, fine-featured woman with high cheekbones and a nest of curly hair appeared. “I wondered when you would work up your nerve to call, good sir,” she said, her voice a high-pitched chirp. “I am named Circe,” she added.
Her hand flew to her mouth as she came out and saw the rest of us around the corner. “Oh! I didn’t realize there were so many of you.” She hesitated. “Well, I suppose . . . I suppose you should all come in. Yes,” she added, her head bobbing, “that’s it. Of course. Do come in, my lords. Please.”
At her request, the men dropped their armour and weapons at the gate. Circe showed us across the flagstones and into a sunny room scattered with wooden stools and small tables. Colourful woven tapestries covered every hand-span of the walls. I trailed behind the men and took a seat in the corner, wondering why Ury wasn’t ordering me over. Come to think of it, where was he?
Circe’s voice distracted me. “Please, sit down, do,” she said, her long-fingered hands fluttering like tethered sparrows toward the stools. “You’ve come from far away, I can see that. You must be thirsty in this heat, my lords. Thirsty, yes,” she repeated to herself. “Perhaps you would like some wine, perhaps, some cool wine?”
I hadn’t realized just how parched I was, but the idea suddenly seemed wonderful. The Greeks agreed enthusiastically, and she went into a back room, returning a moment later with goblets and a beautifully decorated deep bowl that the Greeks called a krater, from which she dipped wine for us all.
It was a light Pramnian wine, sweetened with honey and a sprinkle of white barley meal, but after only a single cup I felt myself growing strangely thick-headed. Around me, the conversation was slowly drying up, the Greeks slumping motionless on their stools. My thoughts were becoming slow and stupid. A goblet dropped from someone’s fingers and clattered against the stone floor. For some reason it didn’t seem worth turning my head to see.
I could hear Circe enter the room to my right. She walked past me and picked her way delicately through the seated men, pausing in front of Polites. “I’ll start with you, I think.” Her tone was sweet and high-pitched. “You naughty man, you didn’t think to tell me there were others, did you? But then, that’s just like a man, isn’t it?”
She was carrying a delicate brush in one hand and a tiny glass amphora in the other. I watched, unblinking, as she dipped the brush by its golden handle into the amphora. The bristles glistened as though coated in oil. She turned to Polites and brushed his ears and nose with it, then put the amphora and brush down to watch.
Even in my stupor I was alarmed. His ears were growing! As I watched, they grew hairier, thinner, and developed points on the ends. His nose stretched up and back so I could see his nostrils, then flattened itself on the end. Like a—
Circe clapped her hands and squealed. “Oh, I do so love pigs!” She spun around, her long skirt flying out around her. Behind her, the transformation was quickening. Polites’ head had become a pig’s, his body was shrinking and becoming rounder, his legs and arms shrivelling, his feet and hands twisting and hardening into trotters. With a frightened squeal, he slipped off the bench and began to run around, snuffling at the floor and grunting wildly.
She turned to Pharos, seated motionless on the next stool, and stepped over his long legs stretched out before him. “Your turn, my pet. Aren’t you a big one! But don’t be scared. It’s all for the best. You must trust me, you know.” She leaned closer an
d pouted. “No? Well, you’ll understand very soon.” She brushed his nose and ears with oil as she had before. In a few moments, there was a second pig, much larger than the first, grunting on the floor by her feet.
Despite the fog over my thoughts, I felt a growing horror as she worked her way across the room, struggling to shake off my paralysis as she stopped before me. She made a pretty frown for a moment, one slender fist pressed to her lips. “You’re a tiny one, aren’t you?” she chirped. “You’re going to make such a cute pig, I just know you are. I think I’ll have to keep you for a house pet!” I saw the brush coming toward my face and made a last herculean effort to stop her but my arms wouldn’t even twitch.
For an instant I thought it hadn’t worked, but all of a sudden my balance was . . . wrong. I toppled from the stool and landed sprawling on my stomach. I tried to scramble up but somehow my arms weren’t long enough anymore. Something large and pink was blocking most of my vision, and for some reason I could suddenly see nearly all around me. I opened my mouth to shout but all that came out were grunts and squeals. The fog lifted from my mind and I understood: I was a farmyard pig! Farmyard? The word stopped me in my tracks. Gods. Was she raising us for food?
There was a sudden smack on my backside as Circe swept us out the back door with a broom. “Out, out, no pigs in the house, you know!” She paused and looked at me. “Well, maybe just one, you cute little thing. But not until you’re housebroken, of course,” she added hastily.
She bent down to pick me up and I squealed angrily as she rubbed my neck. “Oh, just look at that curly little tail!” she exclaimed, tugging on something behind me. “You just don’t know how cute you are. No you don’t!” She lifted me to rub her nose in my face before putting me down again.
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