Cursed by the Sea God

by Patrick Bowman

  Suddenly Pakullos was darting at me again, his spar swinging toward my neck. I whipped one end of my spar up to block his before it could connect and it whistled past my ear. He was caught off guard but recaptured his balance instantly, stepping back and retaining perfect control. I’d stopped him! I kept my spar crossways in front of me.

  Suddenly he was directly before me again, his spar raining blows from all directions at once. I had a quick eye and reflexes—I’d needed them to knock seagulls from the sky, back in Troy—and found myself parrying frantically. With this grip my spar could spin to block almost instantly, and aside from two deflections that glanced off my ear and knuckle, nothing landed.

  Pakullos stepped back. He didn’t look bored anymore. The catcalls of the Greeks had fallen silent. Suddenly he came at me again, staring fixedly at my shin, his spar lining up for the strike. I spun to parry, but—never look where you’re striking. At the last instant I raised my spar and parried his actual strike, a wicked slash to the head that could have knocked me out if it had landed. Unprepared, he lost his balance and staggered backward. He was open! I took a step to follow up with a strike against his unprotected side, but stopped, suspicious. Sure enough, the moment I stopped he sprang back into balance. It had been a trap. A murmur ran around the watching soldiers.

  I braced myself for another onslaught but he planted his spar unexpectedly in the sand, looking at me thoughtfully. “Not bad, shrimpling. Good clay.” As I turned to leave the ring he called after me. “Come by some time, Trojan. We’ll try you out on sword and shield.”

  Later that day Deklah came up to me as I was returning to the camp with firewood. “I think you’ve earned the right to carry this, Trojan,” he said, holding out a knife. It was my sister’s, the one he had taken from me among the ship breakers.

  We spent another two months on Circe’s island until one morning, collecting the breakfast platters to carry out to the Greeks, I saw Circe and Lopex emerge from her cottage. She had a concerned hand on his arm. “Promise me, my sweet?” she was saying. “Especially about the island of Helios? If you don’t . . . I wish the entrails were clearer, but . . .”

  He nodded gravely. “I give you my word we will do as you have said.”

  She brightened. “I’ll prepare a special farewell banquet for your men tonight. But right now, do you think we have a little time for ourselves?”

  That afternoon, Lopex strode onto the beach to announce that the ship’s repairs were done at last. “And tonight,” he added as the men gathered, “Circe will provide us with a feast to honour our brave companions who were lost at the island of the ship breakers.”

  The next morning I was set to work loading stores into the hold. It had rained in the night, and the deck and ladder were still slippery. In addition to the standard supplies of millet, olive oil and cured meat, the list of stores included two live sheep, fodder and, strangest of all, a large bundle of tarred greenwood torches. Last night’s feast had included several large amphoras of dark Pramnian wine trundled out around the courtyard, and I had a dry mouth and a pounding headache this morning from a long night of wine testing. Or perhaps just drinking, my memory was hazy.

  As I yanked another sack of millet from the cart and hoisted it onto my shoulder, I spotted Pen hanging around anxiously by the stern ladder, looking mournful. Well, whatever the problem was, it was his sour water, not mine. As I carried the millet sack over, I could feel his eyes on me with each step. He sighed as I approached.

  “Hi, Alexi.” His lower lip was split and puffy.

  I just waited. He sighed again, louder. “Alexi?” he began. “Aren’t you my friend?”

  Oh, gods. “Look, Elpenor,” I grunted, the millet sack growing heavier by the moment, “I’m supposed to be loading stores. Do you want to get off this island or not?”

  He eyed me reproachfully. “I guess you were having too much fun with your new friends last night.”

  I squinted, trying to draw the evening back through the fog of wine. Someone had asked me to sit at their fire. Deklah, Pharos, Adelphos . . . I vaguely recalled people handing me meat and bronze cups of wine. Lots of laughter, and the drunken insults that the Greeks considered high wit.

  “Why didn’t you stop them? They would have listened to you.” His eyes glistened like a puppy’s. “They respect you now.”

  I stared at him. The barest hint of a memory from last night stirred uneasily in my gut but I pushed it away. “Stop who? What are you talking about?”

  He shrugged. “It’s okay. Now that you’re friends with the soldiers I guess you don’t need me around anymore.”

  Friends? What— “Pen, look, Hades curse it,” I burst out, my shoulder aching beneath the heavy sack. “Can’t this wait? My arm’s about to break off.”

  Pen’s eyes filled with tears. “I’m sorry, Alexi. It’s just that . . . you do know that nobody else will talk to me, don’t you? I just thought—” his voice broke and he rubbed his eyes with his fists. “I mean, I hoped you were still my friend.”

  “Boy!” Ury’s bellow carried across the camp. “Dump that nothos and get back to work!” I spun around to see Ury crutching furiously across the sand. I turned toward the ladder but Pen clutched at my tunic. “Please, Alexi,” he said. “Can we talk? Maybe when you’re done?”

  I sighed. “Fine. As soon as this cart is loaded,” I said, watching Ury approach. “But right now, just let go of me, okay?”

  Pen dropped his hand and I made for the stern ladder. Lately Ury had taken to balancing on one foot and smashing me in the head with his crutch, but he still couldn’t get up the ladder without help.

  As I carried the millet sack down into the hold I tried to remember what had happened the previous night. There had been the usual insults, or even more. As I dropped the sack to the floor, a memory surfaced. I’d been carrying platters of pork around to the Greeks, passing Deklah, who didn’t eat pork, when something caught in my legs. I tripped, spilling the platter across the sand. Sprawled by the fire, I looked back to see Ury glaring in satisfaction as he pulled his crutch back.

  “Club-footed fool,” someone hooted. “Are you Trojans all this clumsy?”

  A familiar rumble came from the other side of the fire. “More respect for this one, I think, Grathes.” It was Pharos. “But for him, you would be now food for the ship breakers.”

  “This slave?” Grathes eyed me doubtfully.

  Pharos nodded. “His warning it was, that alerted us first. And more, his rope and oar pulled you from their grasp.”

  Grathes stared at him. “Him? You pulled us in. I saw you!”

  Pharos shrugged, his huge shoulders moving like a landslide. “The strength was mine, but the idea his. Do not discount such a one, even a slave.”

  Grathes looked at me for a moment. “That was your idea, boy?” I nodded reluctantly, unsure whether to admit it. Since the event with the winds, I’d tried to avoid attention, and this wasn’t helping.

  “Sure-footed thinking, boy.” Taking my arm, he led me around the fire to a spot on the log beside Pharos. “Sit here. From here on, you eat as one of us.”

  Back inside the Pelagios, I slumped against the stack of millet sacks, overcome by the memory. Had that really happened, or was the wine blurring my memory? And then what was Elpenor so unhappy about? I strained to remember.

  Wait. It was coming back. From the far side of the fire, Ury had been glowering like a volcano, shooting fiery glances in my direction, but I’d hardly noticed. Sitting between Grathes and Pharos, sharing the meat and wine and finally joining the conversation, I had felt a warm glow building that had nothing to do with the fire. I’d even told a joke or two that were pretty white-haired in Troy, but new to the Greeks.

  Then—that was it. Furious, Ury had grumbled for a while, but then spotted Pen, sitting alone. Yanking him to his feet, Ury had begun cursing at him, forcing him to rinse the spilled pork in the water pail and offer it around. He’d torn off Pen’s sandals and thrown them in the fir
e, making him walk barefoot. Drunk, the other Greeks had watched at first but eventually joined in, jeering and throwing things. First bones, then rocks. Somebody had caught him in the face with a stone, and as he staggered, someone else had tripped him. He had sprawled in the sand nearby.

  Pen was right. I could have stopped it. Right then, they would have listened. But what had I done? Nothing. I winced at the memory. Flushed with the pleasure of being accepted for once, I’d looked away, pretending not to notice.

  Ignoring Ury’s angry shouts, Pen had scrambled up and run off into the darkness, crying. I leaned heavily on the stack of millet sacks, sickened. Since Aeolia, I had known what it was like to be rejected. How could I have done that, and to Pen of all people? I shook my head. From now on I would treat him better, starting by meeting him as I’d promised. And if the Greeks thought less of me for it, so be it.

  It didn’t work out that way. The cart finally emptied, I was creeping off around the stern to go and find Pen when I came face to face with Ury. “Where are you headed, boy?” he sneered, cuffing me. “Get back to work, you lazy Trojan filth.”

  I dodged a second blow and went back. It was nearly noon before I found another chance to slip away. Pen wasn’t in camp, so I ducked into the woods, searching quietly for a while before spotting a fold of cloth behind a tree.

  “Pen?” I called. “Is that you?” There was no sound. “Pen? I wanted to tell you I’m sorry,” I added, picking my way through the thicket around the tree. “I’ve remembered what happened last night.” I paused. “You’re right, I could have stopped it. I was afraid they’d hate me too. I’m really sorry.”

  “Pen?” Still no reply. “Please come. I said I was sorry. The ship’s nearly ready to sail.” I stopped short as I came face to face with him.

  He was lying on his side on the ground. For a moment, I thought he was asleep, but his eyes were open. His hand gripped a plant with a strangely shaped purple flower. My grandmother used to keep a pot of them on a ledge outside our door, until my father had noticed them. It was one of the few times I’d seen him angry. I’d been too young to understand, but I recalled him saying something about “deadly poison.” And the plant name, akonitos, “death without struggle.”

  I hoped you were still my friend. Pen’s words drifted back to me in the still air. How long had he waited here for me, wondering if I was going to show up, before finally giving up? Had he found the poison first and sat here with it, or gone looking for it only when he thought I wasn’t coming? Sweet Hera.

  Fighting the impulse to curl up into a ball, I picked him up as best I could, easing his body onto my shoulder in a carter’s carry and heading back down toward the beach. My path was taking me past the cottage when I heard footsteps tramping through the brush nearby.

  “What have you got there, boy?” Ury emerged from the brush with Aegyptos, the solid, one-armed man who had been in charge of the slaves at Troy. Ury peered at Elpenor. “What’s his problem? Cry himself to sleep again?”

  “Asleep?” I shot back. “He killed himself!”

  Ury’s eyes grew round. “Trenched himself, did he?” A smile split his face and he elbowed Aegyptos in the side. “Couldn’t take the company of men, eh? Or did he just miss his mama too much?”

  “No!” I snapped. “I mean, he killed himself . . . by accident.” At least I could keep them from dishonouring his memory. “He, uh, fell off the witch’s roof. Broke his neck.” It wasn’t a hero’s death, but it was better than suicide.

  Ury hooted. “Fell off the roof? Little fool. Useless in battle, useless on an oar. Now he can be useless in Hades. Drop him.”

  I opened my mouth to argue but stopped, realizing where I was. Be found never, outside of camp. Exactly what Pharos had warned me about. Ury’s eyes narrowed as he realized the same thing. I thrust Pen’s body at him and tried to run but he smashed his crutch against my leg.

  “Grab him, Gyp!” he shouted. Aegyptos’s big hand seized me hard around the neck. Ury limped up beside me, hand reaching for his knife, when Aegyptos spoke.

  “Your father, he was that Trojan healer, right? Him it was, gave me this,” he grunted, twitching the stump of his right arm in my face. Beside me, Ury was hissing in excitement as I struggled to get free.

  “Stop that, Trojan,” Aegyptos frowned, giving me an impatient shake. “This, you have to be told. Wouldn’t feel right, otherwise. Now listen. It was the second Scamander battle. I’d fallen, pinned by a dead horse. My arm, it was mangled,” he said slowly. “Crushed by hooves, torn open by a chariot wheel behind.” Ury reached for me but Aegyptos blocked him with his elbow.

  “I lay out on the field all night. The Greeks, they didn’t find me. Good thing, too—a Greek healer would have nicked and left me dead. Your father it was, he found me, sunup the next morning. By then I was mostly dead anyway.”

  Aegyptos paused. “I thought I was headed to Hades for sure. Either he’d kill me or my wounds would. But that’s not where my road was to go. He gave me some water and tied off my shoulder. Then he took and sawed off my arm. It hurt like four furies. I thought I was dying. It’s thanks to him I didn’t.”

  Aegyptos held me at his remaining arm’s length and looked me in the eye. “Since that day, I’ve owed your father a life. Now it’s repaid. Get lost.” He released me with a shove as Ury spluttered, and I ran for the safety of the camp, leaving Pen’s body where it lay.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The Mouth of Hades

  WE PICKED UP THE coastline and followed it westward for nearly a month after leaving Circe’s island. For me, it had been a month of painful guilt. I kept picturing Pen’s body lying there on the ground where I had left him. Would he be alive if I’d spoken up? Or even listened to him that morning? I didn’t know, but the thought gnawed at me constantly.

  Two days ago, Lopex had ordered the navigator to the stern and taken over piloting the Pelagios himself, gazing fiercely at the land to starboard between glances at a sheepskin chart. Just before noon today he’d shielded his eyes to peer at a misty peak inland and shouted an order. Two men had leapt to furl the sail as Zanthos turned our prow in toward the coast. At the benches, the men extended their oars and began to row for the mouth of a nearby river, spilling from a valley off the starboard bow.

  As we entered the valley, the water began to look . . . different. From my usual place on the foredeck, I leaned over the forward rail to watch it slip silently past our keel. If this was water, it was like none I’d ever seen. Black as moonlit blood, it clung to the oars as they pulled free and dripped like slow oil off the blades.

  I shivered, watching the bubbles stream past the bow of the Pelagios. The pacekeeper’s flute piped a slow counterpoint to the regular creak and splash of the oars. My gaze wandered forward and I drew a sharp breath.

  A calloused hand clamped over my mouth. “Shut it, boy. The men haven’t seen it.” Lopex had crossed silently from the far rail and slipped up behind me the instant I’d raised my head. His hand fell away as I nodded and I stared upstream, the black water below us forgotten.

  Squatting over the river ahead, a dark, sharp-edged cloud filled the entire valley. I glanced up at Lopex, expecting him to order a halt, but he turned toward the broad backs of the Greeks on the rowing benches behind us and spoke up.

  “Men of Ithaca! We will soon be entering a shadowed land, as foretold by the sorceress Circe. With her foreknowledge, I can keep us safe. Nonetheless, if any man here fears the dark, let him show it now by shipping his oar. A slave will take your bench while you rest in the hold.” His heavy hand thumped my shoulder. “Otherwise, keep your tongue still and your oar pulling.”

  I stared at his back. Me, pull one of those huge oars? It took me a moment to realize he was using me yet again. Of course. No soldier would admit being scared now. I looked forward to see the black curtain as it seemed to swoop toward us. I squeezed my eyes tight but a clammy rush told me the moment we entered. My eyes opened again slowly.

  The first thin
g I noticed wasn’t the darkness but the colours: there were none. The bright red sash around Pharos’s arm had become a dark grey. Near my feet the bow firepot, normally a shiny bronze, was ghostly pale, the fire inside now flickering a cold white.

  Behind me, the Greeks muttered at their oars. I braved a glance over the bow rail at the shore. Leafless black trees reached for us from both banks, curls of clammy mist drifting between their trunks like wraiths. Their roots clung to black rock that swirled as though the stone had once flowed like water, while long tendrils of ropy vine hanging from the branches clutched at us as we passed.

  Nearby, Lopex was ordering two men up to the bow to hack away the vines that threatened to foul the oars. Glad of the distraction, I watched them leaning out over the rail, cursing as the dark sap oozing from the twitching stumps tarnished their bronze and stung where it touched their skin. Around us, the land was silent, the only noises the slow, thick splash as the oars sliced into the river and the grunts of the men as they slashed at the vines. There were no birds, and it was no wonder. If there were a land less inviting to living things, I doubted mortals had ever seen it. Or come back, if they had.

  A few nights earlier, when Deklah had asked where we were headed, Lopex had said only that he had to consult Tiresias, the seer. When I relayed this remark to the other slaves, Kassander had looked surprised. “Tiresias the Theban? I thought he was dead.”

  Staring around at the brooding, lifeless land around us, I had an uneasy feeling that he was right.

  In that twilit place, time was hard to tell, but it might have been late afternoon when the rowers finally pulled us into a tiny lake, scarcely an arrow’s flight across, at the head of the river. Its murky surface was half hidden by writhing curls of mist. On three sides, the shoreline was crowded with twisting, dead trees, while on the fourth, a sheer cliff face stretched up from the water to vanish into the gloom above.