Olympiad Tom Holt

by Olympiad (lit)

  'First things first,' Cleander told us, as we were standing on the dock looking at the sea. 'Let's find a ship we can hitch a ride on. When we've done that, we'll go and find Sarpedon's friend, see if he'll help us. Agreed?'

  Apathy is the nurse of unanimity; we agreed, if only to make him shut up, and started touring round the dock, talking to anybody who looked as if he owned a ship or knew someone that did. Didn't take us long to realise that that wasn't the way it was done, at least not in Corinth. What we should have done, so we gathered, was hang about under the portico of the temple, or in the cool shade of the fig trees, looking like we didn't want to be disturbed. Eventually, a day or a month or six years later, someone would sit down next to us and happen to mention in passing that he was sailing to Elis but some bastard of a giver-and-receiver who'd promised to take space on his ship had gone and let him down at the last moment by dying. Of course, we wouldn't reply to that immediately; we'd change the subject and talk about something completely different for a while, then gradually work the conversation back to ships and spaces and the possibility that we might want to go to Elis at some stage m the next twelve months. That was the proper way to do it, the way Corinthians had been arranging these matters since the first fifty-oared galley was launched there. Anything else was unacceptable, verging on mortal insult.

  After we'd been told to go away a couple of dozen times, we decided we could use a rest and a chance for our hearts to cool down; so we settled ourselves under a tree and shared Out the last of Glycus' fairly drinkable wine. It was hot, we were tired and Glycus' wine was thick enough to glue planks together with; in other words, we were just about to drift off into sleep when we noticed someone standing over us.

  'Excuse me asking,' he said, 'but I heard there were some men from Elis hanging round here. Have you seen them? Only, an old friend of mine is with them, and I'd hate to miss him.'

  Dusa (who was better at waking up quickly than the rest of us) asked him what his friend's name was. Sarpedon, the man said, and his own name was Oxyxiphus.

  At that, Sarpedon pushed his hat on to the back of his head so the man could see his face, grinned like an idiot and said, 'Hello, Oxyxiphus. We were just coming to look for you.'

  'That's luck,' the man replied, grinning back. 'Saves us both a job. How are you, anyway?'

  This Oxyxiphus - well, he looked like he might very well be Sarpedon's friend. They were both about the same age, both of them big and mean-looking with a few scars here and there on their faces and arms. If I was poetically inclined, I'd be tempted to say they were like a pair of old heirloom swords - a bit nicked and notched on the edges, polished a trifle thin and with all the sharp corners rounded, but still as sharp and keen as the day they left the forge. Luckily for you, I'm not.

  To be honest with you, I couldn't have cared less at that moment if he'd looked like a corpse fished out of a river; the fact that he was alive and here and presumably willing to help us made him the most beautiful sight I could ever remember having seen in my entire life, the sunrise over the Taygetus mountains included. And his next words were lovelier than anything the Nine Muses ever warbled, with or without harp accompaniment.

  'You people look flogged out,' he said. 'You'd better come home with me, have a bath and something to eat.'

  I was just luxuriating in the glory of those words, letting their splendour wash over me like the water of a pure mountain spring, when dear brother Cleander chose to open his ugly mouth.

  'We can't stop long,' he said, thereby moving swiftly to the top of my list of people I'd most like to feed to the crows. 'We've still got to find a ship, remember.'

  'A ship,' Oxyxiphus repeated. 'So where are you headed?'

  'Elis,' Sarpedon replied. 'Or anywhere near there, we're not too fussy. Would you happen to know of anything going that way?'

  Oxyxiphus smiled. 'Well,' he said, 'there's my ship. It's due to sail for a trip round the Peloponnese the day after tomorrow. Would that be any use to you, or were you looking to sail earlier?'

  'No,' I said, perhaps a little too loudly to be perfectly polite; but my heart told me this was a time for clarity rather than elegance of expression. 'The day after tomorrow will suit us just fine. Couldn't be better, in fact.'

  'Well, I hope that's settled, then,' said that godlike man. 'I must say, this has turned out as well as anybody could have asked; pleasant company for a day or so, and the chance to do an old friend a good turn. What more could a man ask for?'

  If that had been a genuine question, I could have given him a long tally of suggestions, beginning with food and including boots, clothes, a sturdy mule-cart and the head of Alastor buried in the ant-hill of my choice. Odd, how travel alters a man's priorities.

  When we got to know Oxyxiphus a little better, a few minor character flaws did begin to emerge. For one thing, he was the noisiest eater I've ever met - I've heard quieter earthquakes - and for another, his attitude towards my sister would under other circumstances have offended me mightily, almost to the point of doing something about it. That's another perspective thing, though. When I was young, I had strong views about old men who pester pretty girls; didn't hold with it, thought it was wrong and shameful and to be discouraged wherever possible. It only goes to show how muddle-headed one tends to be in one's youth. Now that I'm an old man myself and have the benefit of a lifetime of wisdom and experience, I realise that it's the other way around: young girls are wasted on young men, who lack the maturity and understanding of the world that's so important in these matters. In those days, for example, what I looked for in a woman was beauty, wit, grace and charm. With the benefit of age, I now know that the ideal qualities in a woman are beauty, gullibility, poor eyesight, patience and a weak head for strong wine.

  Fortunately, Dusa was too busy eating and drinking to notice the way Oxyxiphus was leering at her, and too preoccupied to pay any attention to his rather unsubtle lines; so that was all right. When not stuffing her face or combing her hair, she seemed to spend most of her time staring at Pentheus, his profile or the back of his neck (if he happened to look in her direction, she swung her head away so fast I was worried she'd wring her own neck). That troubled me far more than Oxyxiphus' wolfish grins; but what with the food and the comfort and the improbability of the door flying open and twenty armed men rushing at us, I wasn't really inclined to worry about that, or anything, very much.

  'So you've come all the way from Elis,' Oxyxiphus said, when we'd eaten as much as we could fit in without displacing any organs, and were gently flaking out against the wall. 'That must have been some trip.'

  Sarpedon grinned at him. 'You might say that,' he replied. 'We've certainly had one or two interesting moments.'

  'I'll bet,' said our host. 'No offence, but you look like you have, anyway.'

  'Ah,' Sarpedon said with a groan, 'I'm afraid you're not seeing us at our best. You see, we had a bad time in Argos and had to clear out in a hurry.

  'Trouble?' Oxyxiphus said sympathetically. 'Easy to get into, in Argos. They're strange people there.'

  'You can say that again. If you're in the mood I'll tell you about it; better you hear it from us than someone else, or you might end up thinking hard thoughts about us.'

  Oxyxiphus lifted his head. 'I couldn't care less about anything you may have got up to in Argos,' he said. 'None of my business, whatever it was. But I'd like to hear the story, if you're minded to tell it.'

  So Sarpedon told him, with due emphasis on the completely unexpected and unprovoked nature of the attack on Pentheus (who came out of it all rather well).

  'Just like that?' Oxyxiphus said. 'No warning or anything?'

  Sarpedon lifted his head. 'I suppose there must have been a reason,' he said. 'People don't just attack other people for no reason in the middle of a sacred truce. But they didn't honour us with their confidences in the matter, so we're completely mystified.'

  'Though we can hazard a guess,' Cleander interrupted, slurring his words ever so slightly. 'Aft
er all, Pentheus here isn't short of enemies.'

  I was probably the only person who noticed the way Oxyxiphus' face changed when Cleander mentioned Pentheus' name (Sarpedon had avoided saying it, as any sensible man would have done in a stranger's house). And even I didn't think much about it at the time.

  'Really?' our host said. 'How unfortunate.' He was craning his neck now, to get a better look at our young freeloader. 'If it's not too rude of me to ask,' he said, looking Pentheus in the eye, 'have you been in these parts before?'

  By now Pentheus had gathered there was maybe something wrong. 'No,' he replied. 'Never.'

  'Though, oddly enough,' Cleander went on, 'Corinth is where those people originally came from. Isn't that right, Pentheus?'

  Sarpedon stamped on his foot so hard we could all hear it, but it was too late by then. Oxyxiphus was half standing up, examining Pentheus with one eyebrow lifted.

  'I knew a man with that name once,' he was saying. 'Or rather, I knew of him; never spoke to him, only saw him once. Years ago now, of course, and it's so hard to hold a face in one's memory. That said -' He peered again. 'You wouldn't happen to have family on Aegina, would you?'

  'No,' Pentheus said.

  Oxyxiphus nodded. 'Well, of course, that's right; not any more you don't. Going back a few years, though-'

  I saw Sarpedon looking extremely edgy, and Dusa had gone as white as milk. Even Cleander was frowning slightly, as if starting to realise he may have said the wrong thing.

  'Going back a few years,' Pentheus said, 'yes.'

  Oxyxiphus dipped his chin slightly in acknowledgement, then shot out his hands round Pentheus' throat so quickly I hardly saw him do it. Pentheus sprang up out of his seat, but our host's hands on his shoulders pushed him back again.

  'It's all right,' he said. 'You're a guest in my house, I'm not going to harm you. Not today, anyway. And probably not tonight. But if I find you anywhere inside my fences by sun-up tomorrow, then so help me you'll be going home to Aegina in a small bronze jar. Understood?'

  'Now just a moment-' Sarpedon began. He didn't get any further.

  'And as for you,' Oxyxiphus went on, giving his old comrade-in-arms a big eyeful of mustard, 'it breaks my heart to see what's become of you, going round the country with beggars and murderers. From a stranger it'd be bad enough; but you come in here, expecting me to help the man who killed my own sister's son-'

  Strangely enough, what depressed me most of all about this turn of events - Cleander hasn't snuck back in, has he? Good, right. What depressed me most of all at that moment, more than the injustice of it all or even the rather desperate position we were back in, was the ugly possibility that Pentheus' prince-in-his-own-land story might turn out to be true after all. As you all know, I'd assumed from the start that he was lying blind; if I'd had to suffer proof that he really was a king's son escaping from a desperate blood-feud, I'd probably have broken down and cried my heart out, right there in front of everybody. But a moment's calm thought put paid to that; all that Oxyxiphus had confirmed was that Pentheus really did come from Aegina, and that at some stage he'd killed this man's nephew. Those facts could just as easily fit my wandering bandit theory, or any one of a dozen other disreputable and shameful versions of Pentheus' past. Once I'd realised that, I felt a whole lot better.

  'I take it,' Sarpedon said quietly, once he had a chance to get a word in, 'that the offer of a ride home on your ship doesn't stand any more.'

  It wasn't the cleverest thing to say right then. 'That's right,' Oxyxiphus said. 'Now, here's what I'm prepared to do. Since you used to be my friend, and I owe you a good turn for what you did for me back then, I'll let you all go, provided you're out of here by dawn tomorrow. What's more, I won't come after you, I won't tell the rest of my family you've been here, even. But if any of you so much as set foot in Corinth ever again - well, I'd advise against it. As a friend.'

  Sarpedon looked at him, and sighed. 'I suppose I should thank you,' he said.

  'No suppose about it. If it'd been anybody else-'

  'Thank you for the food.' Sarpedon stood up, beckoned to us to follow. 'And thank you for the offer of a night's sleep, but we won't stay where we're not welcome. Cratus, Dusa, Cleander ...' He looked round at Pentheus and scowled. 'Come on, you,' he added. 'We'll be going now.' He took a few steps towards the door. 'Just one thing,' he added. 'Out of interest only. Are there many good games players here in Corinth these days?'

  'Plenty,' Oxyxiphus replied. 'What do you want to know that for?' Sarpedon lifted his head. 'Oh, no reason,' he said. 'Goodbye.'

  So there we were again (Cratus continued); slung out of Argos, destitute and surrounded by enemies in Corinth, better off by full stomachs and thick heads but still in the same old rags we'd arrived in - unfortunately, we hadn't got as far as the new-clothes-for-old stage of traditional Corinthian hospitality by the time we were given our marching orders. Everything still as bad as ever it had been.

  'And it's all your fault,' I couldn't resist pointing out to Pentheus as we traipsed back through the city towards the harbour - just in case he'd somehow missed that point himself. 'If it wasn't for you, we'd be lodging up at the palace right now, trading presents with King Bacchias and asking if he liked games-playing.'

  'That's perfectly true,' Pentheus replied quietly. 'I never mean to pass around my bad luck, but it's catching, like the plague. I'm sorry. That's all I can say, really.'

  I took a deep breath. 'Well, it's not going to help matters shouting at you,' I heard myself say, though it wasn't what was in my heart. 'But if you want to make it up to us, you'd better think of a way of getting us on board a ship before Oxyxiphus changes his mind.'

  He looked at me. 'All right,' he said. 'Here's what we'll do.'

  Of all the crazy, idiotic schemes I've ever had the bad luck to get involved with...

  Picture in your mind the harbour at Corinth - yes, I know you've never been there, and take it from me, if you haven't been there you've got no chance of imagining what it's actually like. But do what we all do when someone tells a story: think of some place you do know that you reckon might be something like, and pretend to yourself that it's Corinth harbour.

  There's a man called Callipous, sitting on a coil of rope beside his ship and thinking of very little. It's a warm day and he's been working hard, getting all his gear on board for a long, leisurely trip. He's made the run four or five times before, so he's no stranger to the sea and ships; and, like so many seafaring types whose lives are constantly in the hands of the gods, he's inclined to be just a little superstitious, a trait he unintentionally betrays by spitting in the fold of his cloak when a black dog trots past him on the quayside.

  (You have no idea how long it took us to find a black dog; then we had to catch the wretched thing; then we had to persuade it to run along the quay past the various shipmasters who were sitting out there. Our diligence was rewarded, though, as you'll hear in a moment.)

  A little later, just long enough for a man to eat an apple, a shadow falls across his face and he looks up to see a rather alarming-looking party standing over him; four men, and a girl holding a big, dusty jar. They look like vagrants, maybe highwaymen down on their luck. He doesn't like the look of them much.

  'That your ship?' asks the oldest of the men, nodding sideways.

  'That's right,' Callipous replies. 'And who might you be?'

  The man doesn't reply; he turns aside, whispers a few words to the other men, and then something longer to the girl, who glances at Callipous, looking rather sad, and suppresses a shudder. Callipous is beginning to wonder what's going on.

  'You planning to sail any time soon?' the older man asks him abruptly. He's very rude, that older man, but there's a sort of fierce intensity about his manner that gives Callipous the impression that it'd be wise to answer his questions.

  'Tomorrow,' he replies. 'Depending on how the wind holds up.'

  The older man gives him a perfunctory nod, and goes back into conference with h
is associates. Callipous can't hear what they're muttering without leaning forward and being obvious about it, but he can pick out the odd word, like 'omen' and 'unfortunate' and 'I still say we should tell him' (at which the older man lifts his head sharply and scowls hot mustard). Eventually, after their debate's apparently got quite heated, one of the younger men steps away from the rest, as if taking some unilateral action the others don't agree with, and comes over to where Callipous is sitting.

  'Did I hear you say you were planning on sailing tomorrow?' he says, while the others glower frightfully at him.

  'That's right,' says Callipous, who by now is distinctly rattled. 'What's all this about, anyway?'

  The young man looks gravely at him. 'If I were you,' he says, 'I'd forget about it. Stay home. Find something else to do.'

  'Why?'

  'You don't want to know,' the young man says grimly. 'Just take my word for it; unload your gear, send your crew home, forget the whole thing. All right?'

  Our friend is now very rattled indeed. 'It's not all right,' he says, 'not by a long bowshot. Who the hell are you people, anyway? And what's so damned interesting about my ship?'

  At this, the older man laughs in a less than pleasant manner, while the girl looks away and stifles a sob. 'You're wasting your breath,' the older man says irritably. 'He won't listen. They never do.'

  The young man shrugs and starts to turn away, but he's prevented by Callipous' hand on his shoulder. He turns round, looking angry.

  'You'd better not do that again,' he says quietly. 'Ever.' Callipous immediately removes the offending hand, and apologises. 'Better,' the young man says. 'Look, I'm telling you for your own good: don't go out in that ship, understood?'