Olympiad Tom Holt

by Olympiad (lit)

  One night we were sitting in the hall, my father and brothers and me, my sisters-in-law and the children and a few of the household -we'd taken against having a lot of people round us, so most of the men slept in the city. Anyway, we'd cleared away the tables and were sitting round waiting until it was time to go to bed - a musician may have been playing, I can't remember. Suddenly my brother Ialmenus looked up and asked if we could smell burning.

  We said no, we didn't think so; but when he asked again a little later, we agreed that maybe we could. Father said did we think one of the houses in the city was on fire? None of us was particularly keen to get up, but eventually Ascaphalus sighed and said he'd better go and take a look. He shoved on his hat and boots and went to the doors; then he looked back at us and said they appeared to be stuck.

  'What do you mean, stuck?' Father asked.

  'I mean, I can't get them open,' Ascaphalus replied.

  Father made an impatient noise. 'Here, let me see,' he said. A moment later, he was looking very thoughtful. None of us said anything; but the burning smell was quite strong.

  'You two,' he said to Ascaphalus and me, 'get a bench, we'll try ramming it open.' We all got behind the bench and gave the doors a fearful thump; they shifted a little, but not much. That was the point at which I noticed a little blue feather of smoke seeping through the thatch.

  'Who the hell do you think it is?' Lycomedes asked. The rest of us couldn't be bothered to answer. After all, it was obvious enough.

  'They must have blocked the door with stones,' Father said, 'or billets of wood. Hyrtacus, go upstairs and look out of the gallery -careful, mind, they'll probably take a shot at you if you poke your head out.'

  Hyrtacus turned white as linen, but nodded and scampered off.

  Some of the women started asking questions - what was going on, who was it? Father told them to be quiet. My little nephew Gortys, Ialmenus' son, started to cry until his mother slapped his legs.

  'It's them all right,' Hyrtacus reported back. 'They've got a mob of men with spears on the courtyard gate - they were holding torches, I could see them clearly enough. I think there's others posted round the house, but it was too dark to tell. I don't think anybody saw me.'

  Father nodded. 'Can you tell where they've lit the fire?' he asked. 'And what they're blocking the gate with?'

  'I couldn't see,' Hyrtacus replied. Father got angry and told him to go back and take a proper look. He went away; we waited a while, but he didn't appear again. Then his wife started to scream and sob, said why didn't we go and see what had happened to him? She wasn't helping.

  'I think we can assume,' Father said, 'that they've got archers covering the gallery doors, so we can't get out that way. It's got to be either through the roof or under the walls. Any views on which?'

  It was getting very smoky and hot in the hall, and we could hear the flames; by the sound of it they were spreading quite rapidly along the crest of the roof. Pretty soon we'd have falling timbers to contend with, as well as the smoke.

  'Under the wall, then,' Father said. 'All right, let's get started.'

  No need to tell us where; a few years before, some cheeky bastard had the nerve to break into the house and steal things - he didn't get through to the inner room, so all he ended up with was a lousy old bronze cauldron, which he was welcome to. What really vexed us at the time was the damage he did where he dug under the wall. Now it looked like he might have done us all a serious favour.

  We'd blocked his hole with rubble and packed earth, but we'd made a pretty slack job of it. We all got swords and iron spits and set to prising up the waste. We were halfway down when a rafter fell slap in the middle of the hall; it killed my mother outright and pinned down Lycomedes' wife and daughter.

  'Leave them,' Father shouted, 'there isn't time.'

  Lycomedes hesitated for a moment, then went on digging, hard as he could. I've wondered about that, but I guess he did the right thing. After all, a man can always get another wife, more children; but his father and his brothers can't be replaced.

  We knew we were losing the race quite some time before we actually gave up; right up to when the smoke was too thick even down at floor level, and with timbers and blazing thatch pitching all round us, we kept at it, though we couldn't see each other, or what we were doing, and the noise was so loud we couldn't hear anything else. Then the moment came when I realised I was the only one still digging; and a heartbeat or so after that, I was through.

  Fresh air came up through the hole like blood from a cut vein, and I shoved my head into it and gulped it down like a thirsty mule at a river. The sheer joy of breathing painted out everything else from my mind, until a clump of burning straw landed square on my back and made me howl with pain and terror. That was enough for me; I shoved myself through that hole - it was just big enough, if it'd been any smaller I'd have kept pushing anyway, even if it meant ripping an arm off - and just when I thought I was stuck and was bound to die ridiculously, my bum burned away while my head was in the clear, out I came like the stopper from a jar.

  The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was a face staring at me. I didn't know who it could be. Then he started yelling, and at the same time he was trying to draw a bow, but in his excitement he'd let the nock of the arrow slip off the string, and he was fumbling to get it back again. I squirmed up out of the hole and tried to get past him, but I caught my foot on the edge of the hole and went down flat on my face. He dumped the bow and made a grab for me; I put up my hand to fend him off, saw I still had a sword in it and stabbed him in the groin. He left me alone after that.

  I didn't have a clue where to go; just 'away', my heart was telling me, and that seemed about all I could cope with in the way of advice. I kept running until I saw the courtyard wall, hopped over that and found myself in the orchard (I'd lived in that house all my life, but until I nearly ran into an apple tree, I didn't even know where I was). That struck me as a good thing; the orchard backed on to the house of Cacodaemon - I'd known him since before I could walk, even. But when I crept round to the door and banged on it, nobody answered; and then there were people in the street, just standing and watching, holding torches and lamps, and I decided I didn't want to hang around. That proved to be a wise decision; someone threw a spear at me - missed plenty wide, but I remember squeaking in terror and bolting for the darkest patch of darkness I could see. After that I kept on running.

  At some point, if I remember correctly, I tripped over a root or ran into a wall; anyway, I managed to knock myself out cold, and that's what saved my life. The Corinthians had brought three whole shiploads of men, and once they realised that one of us had got out they sent the lot of them to look for me. But they were looking for a running man, not an idiot lying stunned, so they went straight past me in the dark and never knew I was there.

  I came round just before dawn, and lay for a while asking my heart what I should do next. At first my heart told me they'd probably all gone by now, I should get back and see if by any miracle any more of us were still alive. But then I found I was too scared for that; better to get up into the hills, where I'd be safe. I knew where the steadings and caves were, where I could find food and water, clothes and weapons from the stores we leave up there for our shepherds. If there was no sign of them after a day or so, I'd come down.

  Just as well the god put that thought into my mind; I spent the next few days dodging Corinthians through the hills - and more depressing still, as often as not they had Aeginetans guiding them. After a really uncomfortable day wedged up a tree, during which I had a chance to eavesdrop on the conversation of one of the hunting parties (their guide was a man I used to go netting partridges with, may he burn in hell for ever), I realised what had happened. Not content with killing my family and burning our house, the Corinthians had decided to take over the island. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the Aeginetans, my father's loving people, the sheep of his fold, didn't seem to mind a bit

  On top of everything els
e, that was so bad I almost wanted to laugh. All the years I'd been growing up, living among them, and I hadn't know it: they hated our family, were delighted to see the back of us. The raid itself had been organised by some of the better sort in the city; according to what I heard, they'd invited the Corinthians to come over, put the idea into their heads. But for giving them the satisfaction, I nearly got down out of the tree there and then and let them take me in. Really, I couldn't see the point in bothering any more.

  But the god put better ideas in my head, which is why I'm here today, for what little I'm worth. I say that; I may not be much good to myself - or to you people - but the sons of Laops value me very highly. I think the only reason I carry on living is to spite them - if they were to stop chasing me and sending men to find me, I'd probably curl up in a ditch and cut my wrists.

  Well (said Cleander), that was the story he told us.

  I'd been too wrapped up in the story to notice what effect it was having on the rest of us. When he stopped talking, I looked round. Dusa was gazing at him with a sort of drowned-in-honey expression on her face. Sarpedon was frowning. Cratus - well, I don't know what he thought he looked like; he had a silly grin on his face, hidden under tight eyebrows.

  'So you're a games-player, are you?' he said. 'There's a coincidence.'

  For that, he got enough mustard from the rest of us to spoil a whole ox. Pentheus just smiled sadly. 'Not any more,' he said.

  'But you know all about that sort of thing,' Cratus went on. 'That could be very helpful to us.'

  'I don't mind helping in any way I can,' Pentheus replied humbly. 'After all, you saved my life.'

  'Yes, didn't we.' Cratus stroked his beard. 'Just a couple of points, though. What about your wife, and - what was it, a son and a daughter?'

  'Two sons, actually.'

  'I stand corrected. What about them, though? Did you just up and leave them?'

  Pentheus nodded. 'That's right,' he said. 'I wasn't in any position to help them; if I'd tried to cross the island to my father-in-law's house, I don't suppose I'd have got very far; and even if I had, all I'd have done was put them all in extreme danger.'

  'Fair enough,' Cratus said. 'But your son - sorry, your two sons -don't you think that the Corinthians would be concerned about two potential heirs to the throne living right under their noses on Aegina? If I was them, I'd have thought getting rid of them would be a really high priority-'

  'Cratus!' Dusa growled. 'For the gods' sakes!'

  Pentheus lifted his head. 'It's all right,' he said. 'Look, to tell you the truth, I haven't got the remotest idea what's happened to any of them. I don't even know if they're still alive. All I do know is, if they're alive, they've got a far better chance of staying that way if I stay off Aegina and don't try getting in touch with them in any way. And since you seem so fascinated by that side of it, yes, it tears my heart to pieces thinking about them, not even knowing, but since there's spit I can do about it, I keep my face shut and my heart closed. All right?'

  'That's reasonable, I guess,' Cratus said blandly. 'All right, next point

  'Cratus!'

  'With you in a moment, Dusa, just asking our guest some questions. Now then; you say your people had come to hate you-'

  'Cratus!'

  'Yes,' Pentheus said. 'At least, that's what I heard them saying. And the way they all helped look for me would tend to suggest there's a grain of truth in it.'

  'Quite so. But do you know why they all took against you like that? What was it - high rents, foreclosing on mortgages, forcing them to join in pointless military adventures?'

  'I don't know,' Pentheus replied, 'and that's the truth. All I did gather was that they resented the fact that my brothers and I spent so much time practising games, and they reckoned we never did any work - soft hands, they said we had, and we didn't know one end of a plough from the other.'

  Cratus looked thoughtful. 'I can see that wouldn't make you popular,' he said. 'But actually helping your enemies-'

  'My guess is,' Pentheus said with a sigh, 'that what really offended them was when we let Actis take part in the race. Thinking about it, I can remember hearing a fair bit of muttering over the years about how it was wrong, a girl games-player, and no good would come of it. I guess that when Actis got her just deserts, as they'd have seen it, they were afraid the bad luck would pass over from us to them; so they decided to get rid of us.'

  At that point, I felt Cratus had done enough harm for one day. 'In any case,' I said, 'what's done is done. What we should be thinking about is, what are we going to do next?'

  'Absolutely right,' Cratus said, grinning. He was being insufferable.

  'You sound like you've got plenty of good, sensible suggestions to make,' I said. 'Go ahead. We're listening.'

  Cratus lifted his head. 'I'm assuming,' he said, 'that we're proposing to take this lost sheep with us. Right? Thought so - and stop pulling faces, Dusa, or the Gorgon will come and you'll be stuck like that for ever. All right, let's think for a moment, see if we can figure out what difference it's going to make.'

  'Go on,' I said.

  Cratus nodded. 'First,' he said, 'there's presumably a risk of more run-ins with the man's enemies, particularly now that Uncle Sarpedon's been so free with the old pitiless bronze. For all we know, he may have started off a blood-feud that'll make our new friend's troubles look positively bland in comparison. But like you said, Cleander, that's done, nothing we can do about it now. So. All we can do is press on, take a few sensible precautions - setting a watch at night, for a start, and I volunteer our new friend Pentheus to take first watch, followed by Uncle Sarpedon, so they can both have a chance to reflect on the effects they have on other people.

  'Apart from that - well, what about it? We've still got our job to do. We've still got Alastor and our good friend Tachys to make it just that bit harder for us. We've still got one hell of a way to go. And,' he added, with a meaningful glance at Pentheus (I say meaningful; damned if I knew what it meant), 'we've now got an expert former games-player to help us along with useful inside knowledge and technical advice. After all,' he added, 'a man who's been practising games all his life, he's bound to know a thing or two about the great games-players of his generation - just the sort of information that could make all the difference when we go cold-calling.'

  Well, that actually did seem pretty sensible, and we all nodded (Pentheus included, though he looked thoughtful and didn't say anything).

  'How are you feeling?' Dusa asked him.

  Pentheus pulled a face. 'Could be worse,' he said. 'I'll be all right so long as-'

  'You aren't going anywhere,' Dusa interrupted. 'We'll stay here, give you a chance to rest. When was the last time you had anything to eat?'

  Cratus and I looked at each other. 'All right,' I said, 'we'll stay here till morning; and then we really do have to get on.'

  Dusa scowled at me, as if everything was my fault, including Pandora's box and the war between the gods and the frost-giants. 'Why?' she said. 'A couple of days won't make any difference to anything. The only thing is, we ought to get him to some shelter. It can't be good for him, lying out in the open air.'

  'What makes you an expert all of a sudden?' Cratus asked. Honestly, you'd think he was trying to provoke her. Fortunately, Sarpedon jumped in; and since he clearly knew a great deal about wounds (how to cause them, mostly, but he also knew a bit about patching them up), she shut her face and listened.

  'Lugging him from door to door trying to find someone who'll take us in, with him in tow, is going to do more harm than a night under the stars,' he said. 'The bleeding's stopped, and the wound doesn't look like it nicked anything important. A day or so of rest and he'll be back on his feet again.'

  'Uncle-' I said.

  'But,' Sarpedon went on, 'if you drag him along before the wound's started to knot, you'll start the bleeding off again, cause all sorts of problems - and that really will slow us up. Now, get some cheese and bread from the panniers, and a fin
ger's length of that blood sausage.'

  At least he didn't specify which finger.

  It was very boring being cooped up in a wood with a wounded man and a drooling girl. I stuck it out for the rest of that day and the following night; then I announced that I was going to walk down to the nearest village, see if I couldn't scrounge some milk, maybe some cold beef or some bacon. Cratus immediately volunteered to go with me, make sure I didn't come to harm if I ran into bandits or Corinthians. Truth of it was, he was even more bored than I was.

  Well, the village was a morning's walk on down the road; miserable little place, with a stockade all round it, two dilapidated store-towers, a few houses, a well and a smithy. Naturally, we headed for the smithy, went in and sat against the wall.

  'You're not from round here,' the smith told us, after we'd been there a while. He was putting rivets into the blade of a broken sickle. I could have done a better job myself.

  'That's right,' I replied. 'We're on our way to Argos.'

  'Ah,' the smith said. 'Well, you're on the right road.'

  We knew that perfectly well; but it seems to be an integral part of being a smith, this business of telling people what clearly they already know. He went on with his work, keeping the sickle-blade clear of the sett so that all the force of the blow went through to the rivet-head. It's an art, peening rivets; most people try to hit them square on top, but really you nibble round the edges with a series of light, precise taps until you've turned over the head completely. This smith seemed to understand the principle of it, though he wasn't putting it into practice all that well.

  'How far is it to Argos?' I asked, after another long silence.

  'Don't know,' the smith replied without looking up. 'Never been. Never needed to go, neither.'

  Cratus smiled at him. 'If you got the chance, would you go? Or are you just not particularly interested?'