That's beside the point. This orchard I was walking through belonged to this old man who was Oeleus' debtor, so in a sense Oeleus' brother was entitled to be there and I wasn't. Never a problem before, of course. Oeleus and I had always been on fairly civil terms, no earthly reason why we shouldn't be. But as soon as I saw Alastor and he saw me, I knew all that had changed.
He didn't snarl, or set his dogs on me (he had two rather fine boarhounds with him, as it happens; I don't know why I remember them so well, but I do). He smiled, said hello in a perfectly polite manner, and asked if he could help me at all.
'No, not really,' I said. 'I'm just cutting through on my way to the city.'
'Oh.' He looked at me as if the idea of a short-cut was some new kind of blasphemy imported from the nefarious East. 'Please, be my guest. You're welcome to come this way any time you like.'
'Thank you,' I said. By then, of course, it was too late to retrieve the situation. I had become the forgiven trespasser, enjoying the benefit of a licence that had been granted and could be withdrawn at any time. Just to hammer the point home as firm as a gatepost, he turned round and walked with me all the way to the boundary. He didn't make me turn out my satchel to see if I'd stolen any apples, but probably only because there weren't any apples on the trees yet.
I was walking up the road to the city, muttering to my heart under my breath, when I heard a familiar rumbling noise behind me; I jumped sideways without looking and just managed to avoid a four-horse chariot. I recognised the back of Alastor's head, though I couldn't make out the driver.
All in all, I wasn't in the happiest of moods when I reached the palace; and the sight of Dusa sitting under the old fig tree by the door didn't improve my temper.
'Must you do that?' I asked her.
'Do what?' she replied.
'Sit out in public like that,' I replied.
'Like what?'
I don't know what the convention is in your country; here, the rule is that men spend all their time outdoors and have dark, bronzed skins, while women never leave the house and are milk-white, like a dead body fished out of the sea. If you see a woman with a suntan, you assume she can't possibly be one of the better sort, she's got to be a peasant's wife who works in the fields alongside her husband. Inevitably, girls like my sister Dusa take a perverse pride in sitting outside in the sun, often without even a hat. Doesn't bother me, but some people get really upset about it.
'Please yourself,' I said. 'At least you've got the sense to sit in the shade this time of day. Your wits are feeble enough as it is without being fried.'
'Thank you so much,' she replied, getting up and brushing dust off her skirt. 'What took you so long, anyway? I've been here since just after sunrise. Really, I'd have thought you'd have shown a bit more enthusiasm than that.'
I didn't even bother to answer. 'Are you proposing to come inside with me?' I asked.
'Yes.'
'You do know women aren't allowed inside the palace? Apart from members of the household, of course, but you aren't.'
Dusa smiled at me. 'What a strange man you are,' she said. 'First you tell me off for being outside, then you tell me I'm not allowed to come in. I wish you'd make up your mind.'
The thought of a series of discussions of this kind, all the way round the cities and back again, made me cringe. Still, I hadn't entirely given up hope of leaving her behind. That's me, an optimist to the last twitch.
'If you want to try getting inside the palace,' I said, 'you go ahead. Just don't involve me, that's all.'
She laughed. 'The day I need your help for anything,' she said, 'you've got my permission to bury my ashes in an ants' nest. You, on the other hand, need my help rather a lot, so if I were you I'd mind my manners.'
Cleander and Tachys were already there; Sarpedon wasn't, but if he had been I'd have been worried, because he was always late for everything (except battles). King Leon was sitting on his bed - he'd pulled the curtain back - looking miserable.
'I was just telling your brother,' he said to me as I went up the hall, 'I didn't sleep at all last night, worrying about this scheme of his. Of course, it's too late to back out now, after I've announced it and everything. But what if it's a disaster? There's so many things that could go wrong, it's enough to poison a man's heart.'
Really, that wasn't the sort of thing I wanted to hear. It's one thing to be downbeat and gloomy about something yourself; when other people start acting worried and depressed, though, that's something else entirely.
'Like you said,' Cleander replied, 'it's done now, you've promised everybody the treat of a lifetime. If you cancel the games now, you'd better start packing up your stuff on a wagon and looking for somewhere else to live.'
Leon looked like a dog that's got a partridge between its teeth and really doesn't want you to have it. 'I'm not sure you're cut out to be a diplomat,' he said. 'And you're the bright one.'
'Well, if any of you had listened to me-' Tachys started; then he ran into the expression on Leon's face and quickly looked the other way. If Leon had been able to turn people to stone just by glowering at them, like the witch in the old story, we could have turned Tachys on his side, split him down the middle lengthways with wedges and used him for a lintel.
It was then that my heart told me what I had to do. It was against my better judgement; but just because a thing's ill-founded, that's no reason why a man should stand by and watch it get worse.
'Don't worry about Cleander,' I said, 'or Tachys, either. We've started this thing now, so we'd better make it work. And,' I added, 'it will.'
'Really?' Leon turned that into-stone glare on me. 'What makes you so sure, all of a sudden?'
'Because I'm going to make sure it does,' I said; and for some reason I said it so calmly, with such authority and unruffled determination, that for a moment, everybody believed me.
Including me.
Well, maybe a god took over my body and spoke through me. 'All right,' Leon said. 'When can you start?'
'Tomorrow,' I said. 'First light, to get a jump on Oeleus and his people. We'll go home now and get our things together - not that we'll need much. The less we take with us, the less there'll be to lose when we cross a river or get laid up in the mountains.'
And that, apparently, was that. We were going, after all. I was as surprised as anybody there. But these things happen, and it's not often that something unfolds the same way you folded it up.
Sarpedon arrived just as we were leaving. 'Tomorrow morning,' I told him, 'first red light of the dawn. We'll meet up at Caryllus' southern boundary-stone. Bring as little as you think you can get away with.'
Uncle grinned. 'Oh good,' he said, 'you're in charge now. I feel better already.'
Leon and Cleander both looked at me at the same time, like archers estimating range. 'That's right,' I said. 'It's my party now. Anybody got any problems with that?'
'No,' said Leon, before anybody else could speak; and after he'd spoken, there wasn't much point anybody else saying anything. I noticed that Dusa was grinning too, but nothing I was minded to say at that moment would have improved the situation, so I kept my face shut.
I went home, and got ready.
When our father died, rest his soul on the far bank of the River, and Cleander and I set about dividing up his property between us -some years after all this, by the way; let's not get confused about the order of events - I made a point of choosing the southern house (which was where I was living when all this happened) even though it's smaller, darker and more inconvenient. I just happen to like it, that's all.
Not that it's anything special, mind you; well, it's pretty much like this one, only smaller, of course, and shorter, but the same basic pattern, rounded at the back end, square at the front (why do we build them that way, does anybody know?) with an open porch in front of the double doors, overhung by the loft balcony. Downstairs is just the main hail, no inner room like you've got here; upstairs is the upper room, where my wife and I slept. I didn'
t keep a large household, no more than a dozen of us at any one time.
It didn't take me long to get my stuff together; my spare tunic and sandals (I wore my boots), the better of my two hats, my sword and two spears - couldn't be bothered to take a shield; in any kind of fight I was likely to survive a cloak wrapped round my left arm would do just as well; wine, flour and figs for three days, a wooden cup and bowl and a small skin of water. For presents, I took a silver belt-buckle I'd been given by someone I never liked much (it was a high-class buckle, but I never liked it for that reason), a short sword with enamel and silver filigree decoration, a couple of old-fashioned brooches that I knew my wife hadn't worn for years, a couple of slightly faded purple tunics and a big square-handled silver cup of the unlovely or prize-in-the-games pattern. I reckoned that would do to get me started; obviously I'd get presents in exchange as I went along. It's odd, isn't it, that no matter how far you go or how often you give and receive presents along the way, you generally find you come home with a collection of old junk that bears a striking resemblance to what you left home with- 'That's true,' Palamedes interrupted. 'I remember one time when I went south - Messene, Sparta, out that way; I'd had this quite hideous cauldron and stand given me, one of those copies of the genuine Assyrian article, and the best part of the whole trip was going to be losing this thing and maybe getting something better in exchange (well, that was a foregone conclusion, even if all I got was a year's accumulated toenail clippings). Turned Out I was in luck. I palmed the cauldron off on the first people we stayed with, in Bassae, and I got a rather nice silver-washed spearhead for it. We carried on, down the coast to Pylos, up to Limnae, then Sparta, Prasiae, Tegea and finally Mantinea, by which time I'd converted that cauldron, so to speak, into a quite superb old-style helmet, the conical pattern with the big cheek-pieces, that had apparently once belonged to Achilles himself. Anyway, I duly presented this to my host at Mantinea, and you know what I got in return? That rotten fake Assyrian tripod, the very same one I thought I'd got rid of when we set out. Turned out our host from Bassae had been to visit his married sister at Mila, and her husband had taken a trip to somewhere else, and it had ended up in Mantinea a couple of days before we did, where our host clearly reckoned it was the neatest thing he'd ever seen in his life. It was plain to see he was heartbroken to part with it, but since I'd given him such a classy present and he didn't have much nice stuff, he really didn't have an option. There was what you might call an awkward moment there-'
'Quite,' said Cratus. 'Well, these things happen, don't they? I'm sure you got rid of it eventually.'
Palamedes grinned. 'Oh yes, quite well, as it happens. Got a cartload of iron ingots for it from this extremely gullible Phoen-'
He stopped abruptly. The Phoenician smiled. 'It's all right,' he said, 'it wasn't me.'
'That's all right, then,' Palamedes said.
The Phoenician nodded his head. 'Actually,' he said, 'it was my father. Tell me, did it have three gryphons' heads with sort of stuffed expressions on their faces, and a big dent in the stand rim? That's the one. Still got it at home somewhere; my wife likes it.'
'Ah,' Palamedes said. 'That's all right, then. Sorry, Cratus, you were saying-'
Yes, I was, wasn't I? But that's all right (Cratus went on), it's your house, you just feel free to butt in whenever it takes your fancy.
Where was I? Oh yes, getting ready for the journey. I was damned if I was going to walk if I could help it, so I found the groom and had him bring out the chariot; might as well get some use out of the wretched thing, rather than leave it mouldering in the top barn. It was nothing to get excited about; big and lumbering, only a two-horse four-wheeler, in fact rather better suited to plain old getting-from-here-to-there than warfare, which is probably why it had come my way, while Cleander got the prestige four-horse with the big handles.
There was plenty of room in that old trundler for my stuff and the presents, and still space for one, maybe even two passengers. We got it rigged up, checked the boom and the pins, slapped a bit of goose-grease on the axles and inspanned the horses. I had six horses at that time; five mares and a stallion. I chose a couple of grey mares that weren't much use on the farm (part of my wife's dowry, so they were getting on a bit, but they were steady enough, which is what you want if all you're doing is bouncing along the roads) with my favourite black mare on the leading rein as a change. Finally, on impulse, I dashed back into the house and dug out my bow and a sheaf of arrows. I know it's not something to be proud of, but I was a good archer; I figured we might get a shot or two at some deer along the way - a bit of fresh meat makes a change when you're on the road, and makes a good present when you're calling on strangers.
I stood there in the chariot, asking my heart if I'd forgotten anything. Stood to reason there was something I'd forgotten, because there always is, isn't there? But I was reasonably sure that whatever it was, it couldn't be anything important. Last of all I waved to my wife, who was round the side of the house picking figs. She waved back, but didn't seem inclined to stop what she was doing, so I picked up the reins and moved off. Not what you'd call a heroic sort of leave-taking, but I was in a hurry and besides, I've never been a great one for fuss.
I should've known I'd be the first one at the meet-up point. I stood about for a bit until my legs started to ache, then I tied up the horses to a spindly old olive tree, made myself as comfortable as I could under it and lay down. I must have closed my eyes and gone to sleep, because the next thing I knew about was somebody's foot prodding me in the ribs.
Cleander, I thought as I came to, and I'd already opened the gate of my mouth to tell him what I thought of him, punctuality and manners, when I opened my eyes and realised it wasn't him at all.
Fool's luck only takes you so far, my father used to say; after that you have to get out and walk. Actually, that's one of his more intelligible utterances. There's some of them I've been trying to figure out these last forty years, and I still can't make any sense of them.
'Hello,' I said, for want of anything more sensible coming immediately to mind.
The man standing over me grinned unpleasantly. 'Hello yourself,' he said. 'Get up.'
I could have pointed Out quite truthfully that the point of the spear he was resting on the hollow of my throat made getting up uncomfortable, even potentially dangerous. But I guessed he wasn't in the mood; instead I sort of rolled sideways and pulled myself up against the tree. His friends were methodically unloading the chariot and outspanning the horses, while a bored-looking man was driving out the axle pins with a drift and a small hammer.
'The wheels are the only bits worth having,' the man explained, following my line of sight. 'Nice bit of copper on those wheels. The rest's just fit for firewood.'
He sounded so disappointed in me, my heart wanted to apologise. But I didn't feel much like talking.
'Nice sword,' he went on. 'I'll have that. Those boots new?'
I shook my head. 'My feet sweat, too,' I pointed out.
'Never mind,' he replied, 'they'll do for my oldest boy; bit big, but he'll grow into them. He's at that age where you turn your back on them and they're a span taller.'
I took that to mean that I was supposed to take my boots off. Since the man's spear-point was once again sticking in a relevant area, I thought it'd be sensible to do as he said. While I was at it, he went on, I might as well take off my cloak and tunic; not for him, he was at pains to point out (and I could see his point; he was rather magnificent in a bright purple tunic and a blue wool cloak with a gold and amber brooch), but his father could use a second tunic with the cold weather coming on. I got the impression that his father either wasn't fussy or was grateful for anything he got.
Well, it was a warm day, I didn't really need clothes any more than I needed an extra hole in my body, so I followed his suggestion. That just left the gold ring on my right hand, which he pulled off himself to save me the trouble.
'That'll have to do, then,' the man said with a
sigh, as if reproaching me for wasting his time. 'There's nails in the chariot that would probably straighten and do a turn, but I expect we'd have to burn them out, and we haven't got time. Mind how you go on the road; there's loose flints, and you haven't got anything on your feet.'
Olympiad Tom Holt Page 9
