The Girl From Ithaca

by Cherry Gregory

  There were footsteps. At first they were very faint. Then louder, clearer, coming closer. I peered into the night and a dark shape crept forward. I felt for my knife. Then I saw Odysseus stumbling towards me. Medon was at our side in an instant and we helped my brother inside.

  “Only out of breath, I’m not injured,” he gasped. He glanced at his second-in-command. “You’re a better sentry than Ajax’s men; they’re asleep at the gates. At least it was easy getting past them.” He dropped his wet cloak on the floor and collapsed into a chair. “And Medon, I’m afraid you’ll have to tell Evander there’s no need for his piloting skills today.”

  “Another time then,” Medon replied, revealing none of the bitter disappointment he must have felt. He walked to the door. “I’ll check the men this morning, if you need to recover. And get some sleep now, Lady Neomene.”

  I watched Medon march away and then turned to my brother. “Diomedes? Is he …”

  “Yes, Diomedes is back too. But we didn’t reach Helen. Paris and Antimachus were at the gates and there was no sign of Antenor. Soldiers everywhere.”

  I stared at him. “It was a trap?”

  “They knew the exact spot where we’d arranged to pick up the cart. Luckily I heard Antimachus’ voice near the outer wall and realised something was seriously wrong. Seem to remember Antimachus wasn’t very keen about handing Helen back the last time we met.”

  I thought of Antimachus standing next to Paris in the assembly hall at Troy and his threat to send our heads back to Agamemnon.

  “We managed to get through their lines several times, criss crossing back and forth across the plain, trying to reach the river. A couple of times we got close, then we were blocked off by more Trojans. We had to sneak back again and wait for another chance.”

  “What about Antenor? What’s happened to him?”

  “We don’t know. I’m fairly sure he was genuine and wasn’t part of the trap. So someone must have informed Paris and we don’t know if the betrayal was on his side or ours.” Odysseus took my hands. “Antenor might still be safe. Not everyone who knew of our mission, knew he was involved. Remember?”

  “Agamemnon,” I whispered.

  Once Odysseus was asleep, I sat on my bed with frantic thoughts of betrayal and spies and being hunted down on the plain, all like a whirlpool in my head. I tried to think of simpler things. I concentrated on my father’s favourite pig, the old boar called Black Ear. Every time I imagined Paris lying in wait at the gates, I countered it by a picture of Black Ear’s pink face with his one black ear. Then I remembered the snuffling sound he made when I threw the kitchen scraps into his trough, and the soft, warm feel of his back as he trotted up to greet me. It was straightforward with Black Ear. Feed him and scratch his back, talk to him a little each morning and a bit more at night and he was a loyal friend for life.

  I was beginning to understand why father preferred the company of pigs.

  Chapter FIFTEEN

  The Fort of Heracles

  The winter came early and as King Nestor had predicted, vicious storms imprisoned us on our small strip of land. Whenever the winds eased for a few days, Achilles departed on his sea raids and came back with food to supplement our supplies. Ajax, always obsessed with defence, continued to build a higher and stronger barricade around our camp while Odysseus trained six more men to sneak into Troy.

  Ellissa helped me through that dreary time. On the days when the storms were bad and we could barely leave the hut, she taught me a dialect of Anatolian that the Trojans spoke. In return, I taught her Greek and she was a quick learner. It wasn’t long before she was proficient in my language, yet I still struggled with a few basic words in hers.

  I’d also discovered she’d a talent for needlework. My childhood had been full of painful struggles with the much hated needlework practice, only relieved by Penelope picking out my untidy stitches and replacing them with a few of her own, to satisfy Mother of my progress. Now I had no need to worry about rips and worn patches in our clothes, but it was even better than that. Soldiers began seeking her out, asking her to repair their cloaks or tunics, in return for extra food or a particular item she required. If the men couldn’t make the requested item, it was often stolen from Agamemnon’s store, a fact that pleased me as much as the pots and platters themselves.

  After many days trapped inside our hut, the weather cleared and we looked out to see a pale sun rising above the horizon. Odysseus carried out his usual morning inspection of the camp with Medon and then disappeared, taking with him a set of dice he’d been making during the bad weather. I was suspicious of those dice. He’d assured me they were fair, and even demonstrated the fact by throwing a mixed selection of scores. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but I knew it was a trick.

  Ellissa and I were desperate to get out of the hut too. I wanted fresh air and more space, while Ellissa was keen to exchange her sewing for a barrel of apples she’d been promised by four Spartan soldiers. She gathered up the new tunics, advised me to take a long walk and then set off for the Spartan camp.

  I stood outside the hut and took a deep breath, deciding to head for Achilles’ end of the beach, cutting through the Mycenae camp on the way. Looking out for Io and Ceto, I noticed Agamemnon training a group of soldiers. He’d picked up a long spear and was balancing it in his hand. I hurried on, getting as far from him and his target practice as possible.

  He leant back to take the throw and suddenly twisted round at the last moment, so that the spear rose high and then curved down in an arc towards me. The spear sliced into the sand only three paces from my right foot.

  “That’s how to achieve power and accuracy!” Agamemnon bellowed.

  His herald sprinted over and struggled to drag the spear free. He stopped to wipe his forehead. “It’s his best weapon. He always wins the competitions in Mycenae.”

  “I suppose no one dares let him lose. Tell him not to worry, if he keeps practising, I’m sure he’ll throw his spear in the right direction one day.”

  The herald frowned and went back to pulling out the deeply embedded spear; I waved my hand at Agamemnon and walked on. After several strides of trying to look unconcerned, I changed my route and made for the shoreline, knowing he wouldn’t risk one of his precious ash spears near the sea. As my feet sank into the damper sand, I slipped off my sandals and waded into the waves. I concentrated on the smooth pebbles under my feet and the glorious splashing sound as I kicked up a spray. I forgot about Agamemnon and Palamedes and Antimachus. I didn’t even think of Paris or Helen. For a fleeting moment I could have been walking along North Beach in Ithaca. The same seagulls bobbed on the waves and when I glanced over my shoulder, the same footprints decorated the sand.

  My mind wandered as my feet tingled in the pleasure of the cool water. After being confined to the dark, smoky hut for days and days, it felt good to be moving around again. I smelt the salty air and carried on along the beach, watching the soldiers as they took advantage of the better weather.

  Diomedes and a group of his men were inspecting ships for storm damage and others clustered round the tents, drying their clothes and bedding, with items hung on lines of rope crisscrossing the camp. But not everyone was working. When I passed the Cretans, I saw ten or more soldiers swimming in the sea. They were splashing and shouting out challenges to each other, laughing as they shivered in the cold water.

  In the distance, I saw the tall, lean shape of Patroclus, Achilles’ second in command, skimming stones on the water. As I walked closer, I counted the number of bounces. Seven and eight, once even nine. Back in Ithaca, Lysander could only manage five.

  Patroclus looked up and nodded his head towards Achilles’ hut. “Your brother’s playing dice over there, with Big Ajax and Palamedes,” he said.

  My stomach tightened. With Palamedes? It was bound to bring trouble, why didn’t Odysseus realise that? I tried to smile and look relaxed. “You’re not playing?”

  He studied the grey stone in his hand and tur
ned it over several times. “No, it’s not a happy game for me.”

  “Sorry,” I stuttered, “I hope my brother hasn’t cheated you. If he has, I’ll make … ”

  “It’s nothing to do with your brother.”

  “I’m very glad about that,” I said.

  “I was ten and playing with a friend. I found he was cheating and lost my temper. I hit him harder than I intended and vowed to the gods I’d never play dice again.”

  It was a shock to see such a usually calm man look so troubled. I touched his arm. “You were very young, I’m sure your friend’s forgiven you.”

  “My friend died. I was exiled from my home and brought up by Achilles’ father in Phthia,” he replied flatly. He looked away, balancing a stone in his hand. “Now I save my anger for the battlefield.”

  Patroclus flung the last of his skimming stones and turned to me again. “Don’t despair on my behalf. It’s good for me with Achilles. I take charge of the work around the camp that he has no patience for and soothe his black moods. By thinking of his rage, I forget my own.”

  I stared at the water rippling around my feet and wondered how much of Achilles’ rage was because of Iphigenia’s death. Or was it centred on other things now, such as killing Trojans and winning glory?

  Shouts emerged from the hut. Patroclus gave me an apologetic look and ran to investigate. I waited by the water, listening out for raised voices and accusations of loaded dice. When nothing happened, I picked up a flattish stone and tried to copy Patroclus’ action, gripping the stone between my fingers, a slight bend to the knee and slicing it across the water. It splashed heavily and sank. I laughed and retraced my steps, feeling it was best to be as far away as possible from Achilles’ hut and the offending dice.

  Odysseus returned at midday, looking very pleased with himself. He inspected Ellissa’s barrel and picked out an apple. He rubbed it on his cloak and took a bite.

  I studied him carefully. “I hope you didn’t cheat Big Ajax and Achilles.”

  “Cheat? How could I cheat?” he mumbled, his mouth full.

  “With those dice.”

  Odysseus chewed on the apple. “Only with Palamedes. You should have seen his face, he knew I was up to something, but he couldn’t work out what.”

  His smile annoyed me. He got away with so much using his wit and his charm and I had to be the sensible one, the one forced to resist the delights of antagonising Palamedes.

  “Palamedes never forgets a slight, you know that. Now you’ll have to watch him carefully, just when both of you have more serious things to think about.” I shook my head. “Your jokes get out of hand sometimes.” I’d ended up sounding pompous and annoying and exactly the sort of person my brother liked to bait.

  Odysseus laughed, spitting out some of the apple. “Hadn’t realised you’d lost your sense of humour. You’re turning into mother.”

  That was too much. I marched from the hut and walked in the direction of Ajax’s camp. I wasn’t sure where I was heading, but I wanted to keep walking away from Odysseus. The men I passed stared at me in surprise, not used to seeing me in such a bad mood. I marched through the Spartan camp, avoiding the stable boys as they exercised the horses along the strip of empty land by the pens. Despite my mood, I smiled when I saw Antilochus on top of one of the upturned ships, shouting out instructions to his men.

  On top of the hill behind Ajax’s camp, there were ruins of an old fort. When I’d asked Phoebus when we first arrived, he explained Heracles built it when he fought against Troy many years before. Now I’d an urge to climb that hill and see if Heracles had left anything behind. I saw Teucer practising his archery by the boundary fence and imagined how pleased he’d be if I found something of his father’s there. It would have to be a shield or a sword with an engraved hilt. Something that stood out as belonging to Telamon of Salamis. Happier now, I waved at the two guards at the boundary gate.

  “Best keep well inside the camp, Lady Neomene, away from the edge,” one advised. “Haven’t seen any Trojans about, but they’re sneaky little bas … fools … and we don’t want them grabbing you.”

  “I’m only going to the fort, to see if I can find weapons belonging to your King Telamon.”

  The man pulled at his beard. “King Telamon was there with Heracles, I’ll grant you that. It’s why Lord Ajax set our camp so close, but I don’t think you’ll find much after all these years. You’d be safer walking on the beach.”

  “I tried that and Agamemnon threw a spear at me. Wish he’d learn to aim at the enemy, instead of his own side.”

  The guard pulled at his beard again. “Then you may as well risk the cliff. King Agamemnon doesn’t throw spears over there.”

  I scrambled up the path, but when I reached the old fort, there was only a pile of rotting wood. I searched around it and pulled back bracken and nettles. All I found was wood lice and butterflies. Disappointed, I leant against the one upright wall and looked down at the camp. The blacksmith forges were directly below, built by the rock face for maximum shelter. The winds were still too strong to light the furnaces but I spotted two metal workers clearing debris and checking on storm damage. The rest of the camp seemed a great distance away and with a stab of pain I remembered looking down on the Greek army at Aulis. I remembered holding Iphigenia’s hand and seeing Achilles for the first time. And then I remembered the altar …

  There were footsteps someway behind me. I glanced along the cliff path and groaned. It was Palamedes, his cloak flapping around his thin legs and his head tilted forward from the effort of climbing the hill.

  “Thought I saw you up here, on your own” he said, almost smiling when he reached me. “Your brother is careless with his possessions. He shouldn’t let you wander on the very edge of the camp. Anything could happen to a girl like you. Perhaps taken by Trojans or a lustful Greek. Even I could take you and then push you over the cliff. It would look like an accident. No one would ever know.”

  “You have a horrible imagination, Palamedes. It seems a shame you don’t use your brains for more useful activities, like inventing more board games.”

  I dashed forward, trying to push past and reach the path. Once there I knew I could outrun him. But he was ready and stronger than I was. He forced me back against the wall. As I reached for my knife, he seized my arm and knocked it out of my hand.

  “You’re not getting away with that again. Little girls who play the games of men get hurt, especially when there’s no one to help them.”

  His pale face was so close, I smelt his sour breath. He pressed his body against me and forced his hand inside my cloak. He was hurting me. My legs and arms were pinned so I spat at his eyes. His black, piercing eyes. He jumped back for a moment and I scrambled for the track. Not fast enough. He grabbed the edge of my cloak and yanked me back. Kicking out, I caught him between the legs. He groaned and loosened his grip. I dived forward and ran for the path. My legs took over, working on their own as they carried me down the steep track, leaping over rocks, not caring if I fell.

  It was only when I reached within shouting distance of the boundary guards, that I dared to stop and look back. Palamedes remained at the top of the hill, his arms folded and his cloak flapping against his bony body. He was laughing.

  Chapter SIXTEEN

  Amazons!

  As soon as we felt the warmth on our faces and the winter changing to spring, Achilles returned to his sea raids almost every day. By the summer he’d caused devastation along the whole length of coast and started to work inland by attacking the poorly fortified towns around Troy.

  “Refugees flood into Troy and food is now scarce in the lower city,” Odysseus announced at the war council, held in our hut. “My spies report the mood of the ordinary Trojan was low until two days ago. Then their hopes were lifted by the arrival of their northern allies.”

  Agamemnon scoffed. “Northern allies? What have they got to compare with Achilles and his troops?”

  Odysseus took a deep breath. “Ama
zons.”

  The group fell silent. I stole a glance at Io, but she shrugged. I’d heard vague stories about women warriors called Amazons, but never thought they were true, but the mention of their name was enough to drain Agamemnon’s florid complexion until he looked pale and sickly. He wiped his face with the edge of his cloak and stared at Nestor, waiting for inspiration.

  Old Nestor cleared his throat and tried to offer encouragement. “The Amazons are competent fighters, but the stories about them are highly inaccurate and fanciful. Their fame is due to the novelty value of women warriors, rather than any true ability in battle. How could a woman, even if well trained and well equipped, be a match for any of us here? I don’t think we need fear the Amazons.”

  “I’d like to see a woman with as much muscle as me or my cousin Achilles,” Ajax laughed, holding his enormous arm against mine while I stretched over him to refill his cup.

  Palamedes smirked at me. I ignored him and continued pouring wine, but as I walked past, Palamedes grabbed my wrist. “That reminds me, you dropped your little knife that time, up at the fort.”

  He drew my knife from his pocket and thrust the blade towards my arm. I snatched my hand away and stepped back. Antilochus was already on his feet, when a larger knife flew past Diomedes’ face, skimmed over Ajax’s goblet and then nailed the edge of Palamedes’ cloak to the table.

  Palamedes dropped my knife. I dipped down to retrieve it and moved towards the wall. Odysseus walked up to Palamedes and yanked the large knife out of the wood. Then he looked over to me and seeing I was unhurt, returned to his seat between Diomedes and Menelaus.

  Immediately, Palamedes turned on Odysseus. “I was handing it back to her. I would have thought gratitude was in order, not a childish display with a toy.”

  Odysseus shrugged. “It’s a toy that can cut the throat of a prince, if you need a demonstration.”

  Ajax laughed and nudged Diomedes. Agamemnon got to his feet and glared at the big man.