Olympiad Tom Holt

by Olympiad (lit)

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  'I beg your pardon?' Oenophilus said.

  'And some ships, of course,' Pentheus went on, 'to get the army over there. I don't know how many I'd need - it depends on the size of the army, doesn't it? - but we can work out the details later.'

  'Excuse me,' Hipposthenes interrupted, 'but my heart is wondering if we've missed something. Why do you want an army? And what's this got to do with Aegina?'

  'Ignore him, please,' Cleander said, his eyes as wide as wine-cups. 'He's been out in the sun without a hat; he'll be better soon, I promise, and then we'll be on our way.'

  'Because,' Pentheus said, ignoring my brother completely, 'I'm the rightful Prince of Aegina, but I need an army to drive out the usurpers. Of course,' he added, 'I wouldn't expect you to help me for nothing.'

  'You wouldn't,' Qenophilus murmured.

  'Of course not. Once I'm restored to my throne, the traitors who supported the usurpers will have to be dealt with. Their estates and property are likely to amount to a substantial fortune.'

  'Quite,' said Oenophilus. 'No offence, friend, but are you out of your mind? Even if you're who you say you are, what on earth makes you think we'd be interested in risking our men and resources on some crazy foreign adventure to help a stranger we've only known for a day or so?'

  At which Pentheus smiled. 'Because it's the right thing to do,' he said. 'And because once you land and word gets around that you're bringing me home, the people will rush to help you, so the usurpers won't stand a chance.'

  'You're sure about that, are you? I mean, you've been in touch with your countless supporters there for years, laying plans and making preparations?'

  'No,' Pentheus replied.

  'But you do have evidence to prove that the people of Aegina can't wait to have you back and get rid of these usurpers?'

  'Well, no.'

  'I see.' Oenophilus nodded gravely. 'So all you can offer us is unassailable proof that you really are who you say you are; some kind of tangible evidence that'd convince anybody, no matter how sceptical?'

  'You have my word,' Pentheus said.

  'Indeed.' The prince sighed. 'You want us to launch an entirely unprovoked attack on a powerful kingdom - by sea, which makes the whole thing about ten times as hard as a land attack would be -and risk death and destitution, on the strength of the word of honour of a man whose close friend and travelling companion claims is crazy in the head because of sunstroke. Tell me: if you were the Prince of Aegina -'

  'I am the Prince of Aegina.'

  '- And someone like you came to your house and put a proposition like that to you, what would you tell him? Really?'

  Pentheus looked annoyed. 'At least let me tell you the story,' he said. 'That'll convince you, I'm sure.'

  Oenophilus lifted his head. 'No offence,' he said, 'but I don't think I'll take you up on your kind offer. I'm sorry if I sound like I don't believe you. It's just that we had someone else come by here -what, six months ago? - and he said he was a prince in his own country and down on his luck, and we were terribly sympathetic and offered to help him with anything he needed. Turned out he was a stonemason's son from Athens on the run from the very angry father of a very pregnant daughter, not to mention being mixed up in some ghastly blood-feud. That experience made us uncommonly hard-hearted and cynical when it comes to exiled royalty; however worthy the cause, we simply don't want to know. And now, if you don't mind, we'd quite like to drop the subject and talk about something else, just in case we get angry with each other and spoil an agreeable friendship.'

  Pentheus really did look heartbroken, as if he was a little boy and someone had trodden on his little clay chariot. He didn't say a word, just stood up and walked out of the hall. A moment later, Dusa swept out after him, having given me an entirely unwarranted eyeful of mustard.

  'He'll be better soon,' Cleander said. 'I gather he got a bump on the head when he was young, and occasionally it makes him say strange things. When he comes round again, he doesn't even remember what he said. Entirely harmless, though.'

  The princes gave my brother a much longer, harder look than ever they gave Pentheus; served him right, too. Then Hipposthenes started talking about the optimum size of chariot wheels.

  After a distinctly uncomfortable evening, during the course of which neither Pentheus nor Dusa reappeared, we went to bed. After the princes had gone off to the upper room, Cleander heaved a great sigh and said he supposed we'd better clear out early next morning, since we obviously couldn't stay here any longer.

  'I can't see what you're cribbing about,' Sarpedon put in. 'Sounded like a perfectly good idea to me. If I'd been those two, I'd have jumped at the chance.'

  Neither of us could be bothered to reply to that.

  'Do you think one of us should go and look for Dusa?' Cleander asked with a yawn, as he snuggled down on a thick pile of furs. 'I couldn't care less if Pentheus has jumped in the sea or been eaten by crows, but she is our sister.'

  'The hell with her,' I replied. 'If she's dead now, she'll probably still be dead in the morning. If she's alive, I hope it rams.

  Unusually, Cleander didn't argue the point further; I think it had all been too much for him. He rolled over on to his side and fell asleep. I wasn't long in joining him, at that; stress and aggravation make me sleep soundly, rather than the opposite.

  We were woken up not by the sparkle of pink dawn light glistening through the smoke-hole, but by the slamming back of bolts and the sound of loud voices. Gods, wondered my sleepy heart, now what've they gone and done? But when the princes came bustling into the hall, they didn't look angry or upset. Quite the reverse.

  'Your friend,' said Hipposthenes briskly. 'The Prince of Aegina. Do you know where he is?'

  The obvious explanation was that I was still asleep, and my dreams were being influenced by the huge chunk of Sicilian cheese I'd eaten the night before. For once, though, the obvious answer wasn't the right one.

  The princes, it appeared, had had a dream; the same dream, even. Their eyes were sparkling when they told us about it; the dream had come and stood over them in the middle of the night, taking the form of a young and lovely woman, white as chalk from head to foot and with no clothes on. Her name, she told them, was Victory, and she'd come to tell them that if they went with Prince Pentheus to Aegina, not only would they drive out the usurpers quickly and with only nominal losses, they'd also acquire great wealth and imperishable glory. Then, in a sudden flash of light, she'd vanished and they'd woken up.

  'So you see,' Oenophilus said, 'we've got to find the prince as soon as we possibly can, before he changes his mind. I'm afraid we were shamefully rude to him yesterday; we'd hate for him to go away and get help from somebody else.'

  When I'd heard as much as I could take, I told them I'd go find Pentheus, and left the house. Actually, I did have a pretty shrewd idea of where I might find him; the previous day I'd noticed a fairly secluded spring welling out of the side of the hill, about two hundred paces from the house. Sure enough, there they both were. Dusa's hair was wet, and she was combing it while Pentheus sat on a rock gazing at her as if she was Odysseus' first sight of Ithaca.

  'All right,' I demanded, 'how did you do it?'

  Pentheus spun round and scowled at me. 'I don't know what you mean,' he said. Dusa, though, just lifted her head and turned to look at me.

  'Flour,' she said.

  'Flour?'

  She nodded. 'Just ordinary flour, sprinkled generously over a coat of olive oil. I was afraid the oil would seep through and leave big ugly yellow patches, but it didn't. Of course, there wasn't much light for them to see by, only what was coming from the little lamp we smuggled in.'

  I was curious. 'What about the flash of light at the end? That sounded like it was impressive.'

  Dusa laughed. 'That was just Pentheus with a mirror - that ivory-backed one we found in the wooden box on board the ship. Knew it'd come in handy for something. Anyway, he flashed the mirror and then immed
iately pinched out the lamp. Pretty convincing effect, don't you think?'

  'I don't know,' I said. 'I wasn't there, remember? But my opinion doesn't matter anyway; it's the princes you have to deal with.' I took a breath. 'Talking of whom-' I added.

  'Well?' Pentheus said. 'Come on, time we weren't here.' He stood up. 'You aren't going to tell anyone, are you?'

  'He wouldn't do anything like that,' Dusa said. 'Besides, if he goes to the princes and tries to make them believe that what they saw was just me all covered in flour, I don't think he'll succeed. And they might get quite upset, thinking he'd tried to make a fool out of them.'

  I lifted my head. 'At least you were considerate enough not to tell me what you were thinking of doing before you did it,' I said. 'If I'd known, I'd have worried myself to death. But what god put such a crazy idea into your heart to begin with?'

  Dusa giggled. 'It was that old story,' she said. 'You know, the illustrious ancestor who got slung out of his kingdom, and used the same trick to get back? That's why I thought it might work. After all, it worked back then.'

  'Oh, so it was your idea, then?' I said angrily. 'Dusa, of all the idiotic-'

  'It worked,' she repeated. 'Which means it wasn't idiotic at all. Quite inspired, in fact. Besides, I remember you and Cleander saying before we left that a variation on the scam might come in handy at some stage. You didn't think it was idiotic then.'

  My heart wanted me to point out that we'd specifically agreed to use a more tactful approach to the basic principle. But, not wanting a mirror thrown at my head, I decided not to.

  'Cheer up,' Pentheus said, coming over and slapping me painfully hard on the shoulder. 'We're going to go to war. Isn't that good news?'

  'Just a moment,' the Phoenician said. 'Are you seriously asking me to believe that these two princes, Oenophilus and Hippo-whatever, these two heads of state, that they went from being completely against the idea of this war to all in favour of it, all because of a dream?'

  There was a moment of silence, while the Sons of the Achaeans all looked at the Phoenician.

  'Yes,' Palamedes said eventually.

  'I'm sorry,' the Phoenician went on, sounding rather annoyed, 'but I can't see that, personally.'

  'You can't?' Palamedes frowned at him, as if he'd just cast doubt on the existence of the colour green. 'How strange. Surely even in your country you recognise that dreams are sent by Zeus, or whatever it is you call him where you come from.'

  'Not really, no,' the Phoenician said. 'Some of us believe that from time to time, what we see in our dreams may contain some kind of message from the gods. Usually, though, it's so obscure and downright tricky that you're better off ignoring it completely, for fear of jumping to the wrong conclusion and doing exactly what the dream was warning you against.'

  'I see,' Palamedes said, scratching the bridge of his nose. 'So if a dream came and stood over you and told you to do something-'

  'I don't get that sort of dream very often,' the Phoenician interrupted. 'Usually it's really peculiar things, like I'm standing on the seashore watching myself sail away, or I'm making a speech in the market-place without any clothes on-'

  'If a dream told you to do something,' Palamedes said, carefully ignoring the Phoenician's interruption, 'in clear, easy-to-understand terms, presumably you would do it, wouldn't you?'

  'I doubt it,' the Phoenician said. 'That is, if my poor dead grandmother came and stood over me in my sleep and told me to shave off the left side of my beard and hop round the town square on one foot singing a drinking song, no, I don't suppose I would.'

  Palamedes looked at him for a while, then shrugged. 'You're weird,' he said.

  Later that morning (said Cratus), Pentheus told his story to the princes. I'll say this for him: he was consistent, almost word-perfect. Of course, he may well have told it many times before - more than likely, in fact, given his circumstances. Or maybe he just had an excellent memory, like I have.

  Up till then I'd have described the two princes of Megara as level-headed, if not hard-headed. They certainly weren't hardhearted. Maybe it was the thought of having missed out on a pretty girl who also loved racing chariots that brought tears to Hipposthenes' eyes, but I think the god put genuine pity in Oenophilus' heart. Only goes to show what you can achieve if you've got a way with words and a girlfriend who looks good in flour.

  Talking of words, 'girlfriend' there was intended to convey its usual connotations; I don't know exactly what those two got up to after they rushed out of the hall the previous evening, but my guess is that anointing with oil and flour only came at the end. You can tell, can't you, by intercepting the eye contact, the sharp, almost instinctive glances back and forth. I don't know which I found more nauseating, the idea of the war or the prospect of Pentheus as a brother-in-law.

  When I shared this sentiment with Cleander, though, his attitude amazed me. He wasn't pleased exactly; but my brother's always had this remarkable ability, when things are apparently at their lowest ebb, to adapt. He sort of gives himself a shake and changes his shape, like the Old Man of the Sea in the story; and next thing you know, he's transformed himself from a universal victim into an entirely different creature, ideally suited to take best advantage of the changed circumstances.

  'Look at it another way,' he said. 'What do you reckon to the prospect of having the Prince of Aegina as a brother-in-law?'

  'Not much,' I replied honestly.

  'It's the only way I can see for Dusa to marry into a great house,' Cleander said. 'You know, things may not turn out so badly after all.'

  Many famous men over the years have murdered their brothers. Quite a few of them, if the old tales are to be believed, have gone on to prosper and live long, happy lives. I could have been one of them, but for some reason the god prevented me, grabbing me by the hair and holding me back. So I didn't do anything. I just said, 'Well, so long as you're happy,' and walked away.

  From Megara to Aegina is a day and a half, assuming the winds don't mess you about. The usual procedure is to stop roughly halfway at the group of poxy little islands whose name escapes me, but that's not a good idea if you want the element of surprise; fishermen from Aegina are likely to notice you, especially if you're coming with a fleet big enough to transport an army.

  As to the size of that army; it turned out that Megara was a bigger place than I'd taken it to be. As well as the city and its western hinterland, the princes could call on people who owed them service from as far north as the mountains of Cithaeron (where their country has its border with Thebes) and as far east as the outlying farms of Eleusis, beyond which was Athenian territory. All told, Oenophilus reckoned, he ought to be able to put together an army of over six hundred men, enough to man twelve ships, not counting ours.

  'Actually,' Cleander said, 'we haven't got a crew. Just us.'

  Oenophilus frowned. 'Really?'

  Cleander nodded. 'We lost the crew - well, they up and left us -in Corinth. Seems they liked it there and decided to stay.'

  Remarkably, Oenophilus accepted this sorry excuse for an explanation at face value. 'Pity,' he said. 'But it doesn't matter; we can probably find enough people to man your ship as well, if we aren't too picky about who we ask along. Actually, there's quite a few of the better sort from the north who could use a ride; they're good people, but it's all a bit sparse and bleak up there in the mountains, they don't have a lot to spare, and ships are a rich man's toy, after all.'

  Six hundred men. You can do the numbers yourselves; at least fifty chariots, two fighting men to a chariot, plus two grooms and a couple of men-at-arms. Quite a formidable army, in other words, especially if we did manage to get ashore before they knew we were coming. Once we were on land, the princes reckoned, we'd have the advantage even if they outnumbered us two to one. The Megarians, they said, had always been first-rate chariot-fighters, none better in the world, and over the years they'd had plenty of practice; when they weren't having to keep the Thebans from walking off with their cat
tle, they were scrapping with the Athenians (who they regarded as their traditional enemy, if only because Athenians talk funny and hate working for a living when they can steal) or dealing with bands of adventurers and no-goods slung out of Corinth for antisocial behaviour. Listening to Hipposthenes talking about his army - he was the battlefield commander, being more warlike and fun-loving than his brother - even I began to feel that we might have landed on our feet. I'm no expert and never have been, but we did have an expert with us, and while all these discussions were going on, I kept an eye on Uncle Sarpedon to see what his heart made of it all. And he looked impressed, no doubt about it.

  'So what do you reckon?' I asked him, when I was able to get him alone for a few heartbeats. 'Are they as good as they think they are?'

  Sarpedon stroked his beard. 'No,' he replied, 'but neither is anybody. If what young Hipposthenes has been telling us is even halfway true, though, I'd say that yes, they've got a first-class army: good fast chariots, experienced charioteers and fighters, most of them have fought together in the past - now that's important, you can put together a scratch army of the most talented individuals in the world and still end up with a ghastly mess, but men who know each other and each other's moves, that's an army. As against that, if you believe that Pentheus knows what he's talking about, we won't be facing more than forty enemy chariots, and I don't believe the Aeginetans are likely to be much of a match for these people; they're islanders, nobody bothers them, they won't have had the practice. In a straight fight, all things being equal, I can't see that there's likely to be a problem.'

  I didn't want to talk to Pentheus; it's not a good idea to fall out irrevocably with a man who one day might well be the ruler of a large and rich island, as well as related to you by marriage. I was beginning to find Cleander more than usually insufferable as well. My guess is that after all the disappointments and failures of our journey so far, the thought that now (by virtue of fool's luck and truly rotten navigation) we'd stumbled into a positively heroic venture that looked like it had every chance of succeeding was too much for his feeble, optimistic little heart. The prospect of success and actually achieving something had made him drunk, and I've always found that it's no fun talking to someone when he's drunk and you're sober.