“Or it’s Calchas making a sacrifice,” Hesta said.
“Unless,” Io whispered, “d’you think Achilles has finally had enough and killed Agamemnon?”
We merged with the crowd as calmly as we could, trying to look as though we hadn’t been running round the Trojan countryside and almost killed by an Amazon soldier. Hesta slipped next to Tyro, the other Myrmidon slave, while Io found a group of Mycenaean soldiers.
Ellissa pointed out Odysseus and Medon at the front. We squeezed through to them and turned to see what everyone was staring at. I jumped back in shock. There was a body. His body. Curled into an untidy heap and drenched in blood. Menelaus knelt at his side, checking for breathing. As if in slow motion, the head flopped over. The black eyes stared at me. I think I screamed, but my throat was too dry to make a sound.
Falling back, even the Myrmidon soldiers allowed me through and I ran as far from them as I could. Then I stumbled back to our hut and lay down in the cool and darkness. Ellissa must have followed me, because she was there in an instant, stroking my hand.
A long time later I was aware of her moving around the room, lighting the fire and preparing a meal. Eventually Odysseus returned.
“It’s done now. His pyre lit and the ceremony over,” he said.
Ellissa and I said nothing.
“Palamedes was a spy. They found Trojan gold hidden in his tent. We called an assembly of the whole army and they decided to stone him as a traitor,” Odysseus added.
I sat up, my head still throbbing. “Palamedes wasn’t a spy.”
“You said there might be spies in our camp, why not Palamedes?”
“You know he wasn’t a spy. He was waiting for Agamemnon to award him a large share in Troy’s treasures. He wouldn’t want to risk that by helping the enemy.”
“Yes, you’re probably right,” Odysseus said, leaning back in his chair.
I swung my legs round and sat on the edge of my bed. “You framed him, didn’t you? You put the Trojan gold in his tent.”
“I instructed one of my men to do it, yes. And others to spread rumours round the camp. For revenge and to protect you.”
Holding my head in my hands, I tried to rub away the pain. “He was a horrible man, but he wasn’t a traitor. He was punished for something he didn’t do.”
“Yet he deserved it for what he did to us. I thought you’d appreciate Palamedes being killed by Ithacan trickery,” Odysseus replied.
“I don’t know what anyone deserves anymore! Nothing makes sense when good men die and people like Agamemnon survive.”
“The Amazons, tell him about the Amazons,” Ellissa said.
Odysseus sat up. “Tell me what about the Amazons?”
I closed my eyes and explained what we’d seen in the Trojan meadows. I didn’t mention that we’d been chased down by one of them. Odysseus wasn’t as angry as I’d thought he’d be, probably because he was too interested in the details we gave to think of anything else.
By early evening, Agamemnon and Odysseus were preparing the troops for the expected attack. I lay on my bed half asleep, but Ellissa stood by the open door, watching the activities outside. “Agamemnon’s dressed up in his lion skin and he’s standing on one of our ships, with Odysseus.”
We heard Agamemnon bellowing instructions and encouragement, telling them that however strong and well trained the Amazon warriors might be, they could never beat battle-hardened men. Yes, if they had a lot of practice, they might be able to hit a target with a spear and ride a horse, but you needed the stamina and toughness of a man for a full day’s fighting.
Then Odysseus spoke, much quieter than Agamemnon, but just as easily heard. “Once your officers are satisfied with the state of your weapons, assemble here for wine donated by Agamemnon. A chariot race will be organised by Diomedes and myself, the prizes being a gold wine bowl and a five-year-old gelding.”
Loud cheers broke out at the promise of good wine and a chariot race, anxieties about the battle apparently forgotten for a while. Typical Odysseus, I thought. He’d persuaded Agamemnon to give the bad news of a battle, whilst he gained favour by telling the men there was wine and entertainment. And I suspected it was Diomedes who’d donated the prizes, because Odysseus didn’t have a gold wine bowl or a horse to spare.
I drifted in and out of sleep while Ellissa pottered around the hut, telling me about some of the chariot races she’d seen. I must have fallen asleep because I wasn’t aware of anything until the door burst open.
“Neo, Agamemnon has promised everyone wine, but it’s up to us to organise it,” Io cried. “We haven’t got enough cups or a big enough mixing bowl. We need your help.”
“Ask your new friend, Hesta. I’m asleep.”
“Friend?” she scoffed. “I was just being nice to her. And remember my brilliant shot with the stone, you might be dead if it wasn’t for me. So come on, you owe me a favour.”
I sat up and rubbed my head. “If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t have needed saving in the first place.”
“But then you’d have missed out on all the excitement.”
I looked at Io’s smiling face and decided she wasn’t joking. “You’re in a very strange mood today,” I said.
Io waited for me to drag myself from the bed and then she flung my cloak around my shoulders. “That will do, come on. Ellissa’s helping already.”
We were a long time fetching water and mixing jars of Agamemnon’s wine. Across the sands, Odysseus measured out the racetrack with Diomedes, while men gathered around the fire at the centre of the beach.
“You and Ceto start serving, just to keep them happy. Me and Ellissa will prepare more, we’ll be needing a lot tonight,” Io said, pushing a large jug into my hands.
Walking amongst the men, I caught snippets of conversation and of the tales they told each other, often of their own adventures against sea monsters and flying animals.
“It’s strange, Belus. Last time you mentioned the dog-headed monster, it had five heads, not six,” laughed Diomedes’ charioteer.
“That’s because I chopped the sixth head off,” growled the story teller.
Achilles strode up to me, wanting a drink. With him were Patroclus and his old tutor, Phoenix.
“Entering the chariot race, Prince Achilles?” asked a Spartan, holding up an empty cup for me to fill.
Achilles shook his head. “My horses were a gift from the gods, given by Zeus to my father. They’d make the other horses look like mules and there’s no glory in winning that way. Instead, I’ll donate a pair of gold cups as the third prize.”
Another Spartan edged forward, too curious to hold his tongue. “Prince Achilles, why did Zeus give such a gift?”
Achilles stared at the fire for a few moments. “Do you want a story? A true story?”
The men nearest to him nodded.
“My mother is a sea goddess and Zeus loved her. He wanted to marry her. However, there was a problem.” Achilles explained.
“Zeus’ wife, Hera?” suggested one man.
Achilles smiled. “In this case, it wasn’t Hera. It was the prophecy that her son would be greater than the father. As you know, Zeus stole the throne on Mount Olympus from his own father, so he did not want a son who was going to do likewise to him. In fact, he was so concerned, he ordered my mother to marry a mortal.”
Achilles took his cup of wine and I moved away to serve Phoenix. “Is this really true?” I asked.
Phoenix nodded. “Yes, completely true. I was with his father when he won Thetis for his wife.”
I stayed beside the fire and listened to the rest of Achilles’ story.
“My mother was distraught. She felt it was beneath her to marry a mere mortal and begged Zeus to change his mind. He refused, but promised her that all the gods would attend the wedding feast and give glorious wedding presents.”
“So she chose Peleus, your father?” Antilochus called out, arriving with his younger brother, Thrasymedes.
“Not strai
ght away. She decided to find the mortal with the most god-like qualities and invited all the young and good-looking warriors from Greece. She announced she’d marry the man who was strong enough to hold onto her while she changed into a lion, a snake, fire and water. Many died trying, but my father clung on and survived the test.” Achilles turned and smiled at his old tutor. “Grey-bearded Phoenix witnessed the event, if you doubt what I say.”
Phoenix smiled. “Peleus won the goddess fairly and proved his worth.”
“Then my mother started to make excuses and repeatedly set back the wedding,” Achilles continued. “Zeus was enraged when he heard of all the delays and ordered a wedding feast be arranged straight away.”
Achilles looked round at the crowd of men. “My mother had no chance to avoid the wedding this time, though she found some consolation in the wonderful presents the gods gave. Zeus kept his promise and gave my parents the finest gift of all, the immortal horses.”
While I poured wine for Antilochus and his brother, Menelaus joined the group.
“I’m in the race and I’ve heard a rumour there’s a chariot from Pylos. Can’t be your father, because surely that would be unfair on the rest of us,” Menelaus said, looking at Nestor’s two sons, “so who’s the mystery charioteer?”
I handed a cup to Menelaus and reluctantly moved away to serve a group of Athenians. When I dashed back to refill my jug from the mixing bowl, I found Ceto doing the same.
“Io told me what happened today. Are you feeling all right?” she asked.
“I will be, when the Athenians have had enough wine.”
Ceto laughed. “You’ll be waiting a long time for that.”
I circled the fire, filling any empty cup that was pushed towards me and losing count of how many refills each man gulped down. I was refilling Patroclus’ cup when I heard Agamemnon’s voice.
“Enter with my best mare and pair her with that strong stallion of yours. They’ll make an excellent team.” He was shouting at Menelaus, slapping him on the back.
Moving as far away from Agamemnon as I could, I spotted Nestor advising Antilochus. “Remember your horses are smaller than the others and you’ll have to rely on skill. Take the turn tightly and as you turn, only use your whip on the outer horse.”
Antilochus took this obvious advice without objection and when Nestor and Agamemnon left together, I felt myself blush as he looked across to me. “He was one of the best charioteers of his generation, so he’s keen to instruct me. He means well.”
Thrasymedes laughed at his brother. “He’s proud of you and I’m glad! There’s no pressure on me to be anything other than kind-hearted Thrasymedes, not so bright but always fun.”
“Well, you’d better go and get your horses ready,” I said, still blushing. “I saw the Athenian charioteer take his horses to the starting point ages ago.”
Antilochus turned to study two of the charioteers trotting their horses along the track. “Ah, that’s part of my plan. I’ll let the other contestants tire their horses before the race.”
I smiled at him, but Thrasymedes pushed Antilochus towards the horse pens. As I watched the two brothers sprint across the camp, someone tapped me on my shoulder.
A cheery-faced soldier waved his cup about. “Couldn’t get your attention. Began to worry you weren’t letting us Spartans have any more wine.” I filled his cup and he grinned at me. “No one racing Ithacan horses? Thought young Hyppos might have a go.”
“Don’t be stupid,” the man next to him cried, giving me a wink, “Ithacans don’t own horses, they only breed goats.”
“And sheep,” I added, “don’t forget the sheep. They’re very fast when we race them up the hills, though a little slower coming down.”
The first Spartan raised his cup. “Then here’s to the Ithacan sheep. May the gods protect their speedy feet!”
Ceto and I were serving wine forever and the soldiers’ talk grew louder and cruder. I glimpsed Io running to the stream to fetch more and more water, while Ellissa mixed it with the strong, sweet wine. I wondered if we’d have to keep going until the wine ran dry, but at last Agamemnon’s voice rang out above the laughter and talk of women.
“The charioteers are ready. Odysseus will start the race and Diomedes stands at the turning point!” Agamemnon pointed into the distance where a stake had been thrust into the ground. “All chariots must round that stake on a left turn and Diomedes is there to see fair play. Odysseus will determine who crosses the line in first, second and third position. I will present the prizes.” He swung round to face the contestants. “There is one rule I ask you to obey: no use of the horse whip on your opponents, I want you all fit for battle tomorrow.”
To get a better view, I stood on one of the upturned Ithacan ships with Io and Ellissa.
“Who do you want to win?” Io asked, her eyes shining.
“Antilochus … I think.”
“I thought you might. I’m supporting Zander, seeing as he’s from Mycenae, but Menelaus looks like he’ll do well.”
“Menelaus’ horses are a bit too lively,” Ellissa said. “I think I’ll support the Athenian charioteer, the small man with the black and white team.”
I nodded. “That’s Ion. Yes, he looks confident, a lot more confident than Antilochus.”
Most of the men had crowded along the track, but some had clambered onto the ships beside us and I heard bets being made, with much cheering for favourites. Ajax’s voice rang out above others, shouting for his charioteer to win the honour for his kingdom of Salamis.
When Odysseus brought his arm down to signal the start, Menelaus’ horses stormed into the lead, their hooves creating a dust cloud behind them. Ion, Ellissa’s favourite, drove his pair after them, with Cadmus from Salamis and Io’s favourite, Zander, neck and neck in third place. Then it was Antilochus, and Meriones from Crete in last position.
“Meriones’ horses are Trojan bred. I expect they’ll overtake the others on the home straight,” said the muscular man standing next to Io.
“You should be cheering for your friend,” Io declared.
The man reddened. “Oh, I want Zander to win, but being realistic, I think those strong Trojan horses have the best chance.”
I wasn’t sure how he knew what the horses were like, because he’d been gazing at Io the whole time. It was slowly dawning on me why Io had been in a strange mood all day. I turned back to the chariots and was relieved to find Antilochus still in front of Meriones.
When Menelaus approached the turning point, he hauled in the reins, but his horses didn’t respond. I saw him wrestling for control, trying to shorten their stride, ready for the turn. He careered a long way beyond the post and then, finally managing to bring his horses round, took a wide turn. Ion carefully manoeuvred his chariot tightly around the pole and snatched the lead.
Meriones made his move and pounded ahead of both Antilochus and Cadmus. Men cheered as he took a tight turn, but I concentrated on the contest at the back of the race, between Cadmus and Antilochus. I wasn’t the only one. Big Ajax was shouting for Cadmus in his loud, booming voice and I saw Nestor waving his arms, as though giving instructions to his son from a distance. Cadmus swung wide around the post. Antilochus overtook on the inside and began the long race back to the finishing line.
“Look at Ion!” Ellissa shouted.
I glanced over to the leading chariots and saw Ion’s black and white pair of horses galloping over the line to win the race. Menelaus and Meriones raced on either side of Zander, trying to overtake him. I held my breath. They looked too close, they were going to collide. There was a deafening crack as Menelaus’ wheel hub caught the side of Zander’s chariot. Meriones urged his horses on to the finish, while Menelaus and Zander hauled on their reins, trying to regain control of their chariots.
Then I noticed Antilochus. I laughed in disbelief as he manoeuvred his small horses round the struggling men and pulled ahead of them. Menelaus’ chariot ran on one wheel and then bounced several times befo
re righting itself. He raced after Antilochus, gaining ground rapidly as they pounded down the final stretch. I shouted until my throat was sore, crying out as the Spartan horses drew level, and then gasping with relief when Antilochus fought back. His small Pylian horses gave a final burst of speed and he held onto third place, behind Meriones and just ahead of Menelaus, with Cadmus following one length of a horse after.
I looked down the track for Zander and found him leading his horses to the finish on foot, his chariot tilting at an odd angle, one side higher than the other.
“That was bad luck,” said a Mycenaean, standing beside Ellissa.
Io looked like she’d missed the race altogether, being in close conversation with the man next to her.
“Let’s go and congratulate Antilochus,” Ellissa whispered.
We left Io with her man and ran over to Antilochus, who’d just been presented with his third prize. Nestor held onto the gold cup for his son and talked about a chariot race he’d won thirty years before, while Antilochus and Thrasymedes wiped down the sweating horses, praising them for their agility.
“Give them extra feed tonight,” Antilochus called to the stable boys, as they led the horses away. He turned and smiled at me, his face flushed from the exertion and excitement of the race. Suddenly I didn’t know what to say and looked round for Ellissa. She wasn’t there.
“What did you think of the Pylos horses?” Antilochus asked.
I nodded dumbly. Why couldn’t I speak?
“They gave their best and then Zander’s bad luck was our good fortune,” Antilochus grinned.
“You’re being modest, brother. And you know a good warrior isn’t meant to be modest. You should tell of your mighty victories again and again … and again,” Thrasymedes joked, throwing a look at his father.
Nestor wagged his finger playfully. “And a son isn’t meant to make fun of his father.”
“Quite right,” Achilles cried, striding over. He slapped Antilochus on the back. “Skilled chariot racing, Prince Antilochus. Imagine what you’d be like if you had decent horses.”
Nestor wagged his finger again, this time at Achilles. The men burst into laughter and started to discuss the race. All the conflicts of the last year seemed to fall away as they boasted and joked with one another, full of wild claims about their own horses and pointing out faults in their opponents. I backed away from the men’s talk and spotted Ellissa with Odysseus. As I ran to join them, I saw a furious Ajax storming towards them.
The Girl From Ithaca Page 15
