by Zizou Corder
‘East!’ shouted Halo into Arko’s ear, as they reached the road outside the sanctuary. ‘Go east!’
He was running like the wind, like a free strong creature who had been shackled and imprisoned and now felt the spring breeze in his wild hair and the open road beneath his hooves. She was dangling and bouncing over his shoulder, and felt only extreme pain in her stomach, and in her arm where he was grabbing it to keep her from flying off.
‘And let me sit properly!’ she yelled.
He couldn’t make out what she was saying.
In the end she had to pull his hair.
‘Let me get round!’ she shouted.
He glanced over his shoulder. If anyone was after them, they were not in view.
He slowed down a little, and she was able to pull herself up, and slip round on to his back.
‘Phew,’ she said, shaking out her body, then wrapping her arms round his waist and leaning against his broad back. ‘That’s better. We’re not being followed, by the way.’
He slowed some more. ‘Well, you were in a good position to see…’ he panted cheerfully.
They both looked round. No one.
‘Well, thank the Gods for that,’ said Arko, and slowed to a walk. ‘Let’s get off the road, anyway, and get our breath back.’
They had put a few miles between themselves and Delphi. Within moments, they were lying by a stream, hidden from the road by a clump of ilex and almond trees, and the high flower-spattered spring grass of an olive grove. They both drank, and stretched, and then grinned at each other in delight.
‘So what happened?’ they said, in unison.
By the end Arko knew all Halo’s adventures, including her visit to the Oracle, and Halo knew that Arko had not, in fact, been caught when she had.
He had given himself up.
‘Why?’ she demanded.
‘The humans came back,’ he said. ‘Many more of them. They wanted to capture all of us, to fight us. I saw them coming, and I persuaded them to take me and leave the others. And I warned the others, before I left, that they could not stay in Zakynthos any longer.’
It took a moment for this to sink in.
‘Do you mean – they left the island?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘So – the village…’
‘Is empty,’ he said.
‘And – our home…’
‘Doesn’t exist any more,’ he said, and he tightened his mouth a little as he said it.
She was silent a moment. A big tear appeared in her eye and hung on the edge of it.
‘Oh,’ she said softly.
‘It’s not your fault,’ he said. ‘They would have come anyway. The grown-ups had been discussing it for a while. No one could have prevented it.’
‘And is everyone… did they…’
‘They swam to the mainland,’ he said. ‘Went back the way they came.’
Halo pictured the scene: the whole herd, swimming the channel by moonlight, their human torsos gleaming pale and their hooves thrashing beneath the wine-dark sea, throwing up phosphorescence and the streaming white lace of sea foam in their wake. She smiled.
‘Where have they gone?’ she asked.
‘Back to Thessaly was the plan, up into the deep forest beyond the Ixion lands,’ he said.
‘So are you going to go and join them now?’
‘Yes. Are you coming?’
‘Of course – but I must go to Athens first.’
‘I’ll come with you. It’s on the way. And that Spartan toad might come after you.’
For a moment she didn’t know what he meant. ‘What Spartan toad?’
‘The Spartan toad who called you his slave,’ said Arko.
‘Oh – Leonidas.’ She frowned. ‘He’s not a toad.’
Arko raised an eyebrow.
‘Well, I was his slave,’ she said. ‘And he could have held on to me, tried to fight you off – but even before you grabbed me he unchained me, and – kind of said goodbye, and walked away. He let me come with you… I don’t know why. He’ll get into trouble for it when Melesippus finds out.’
‘Then why didn’t Melesippus follow us?’
‘They’ve got better things to do. They have to report their oracle, back in Sparta. That they should declare war on Athens, and they will win it if they fight with all their might,’ she said. A silence hung on the air after she said it.
‘War,’ said Arko. ‘I’ve heard all sorts of rumours. So it’s really going to happen.’
‘Looks like it,’ she said.
‘And you want to stop it.’
She laughed.
‘I have to go to Athens,’ she said. ‘That’s all I know. My fate is there.’ And isn’t it strange, she thought, how saying something out loud makes it more true? ‘Athens!’ she yelled cheerfully.
Only four or five trees away, pale blond Manticlas sat in the crook of an olive branch, hidden by dappled leaves. He, at least, knew that Centaurs have good hearing. Much though he wanted to eavesdrop, he dared go no closer.
When they left, he jumped silently from the tree and followed them. Though he knew now where they were going. That bit he had heard.
‘Oh, and Arko,’ Halo said, as she tramped alongside him. ‘I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not a girl any more. By the way.’
Arko said, ‘Oh, you are such a girl…’
‘No, really,’ she said. ‘Humans are horrible to girls. I’m living as a boy. Can’t you tell?’
When he had stopped laughing, Arko said, ‘I suppose that explains the ridiculous haircut.’
She gave out a little warm snort of laughter. She was so happy to be with him again.
‘Well, boy, before we go to Athens,’ said Arko, ‘there is something I must do. I can’t stand all that attention. If I’m to live in the human world for a while, I have to get them to leave me alone…’
An hour later, Halo and Arko were standing behind a stall in the market at Thebes. Halo was failing to keep back the gawking crowds, and a long-haired Oriental tattooist in knee boots was sitting astride Arko’s chestnut back, carefully inking into the flesh across his tanned shoulders, in large black letters, the following words:
KENTAΥPOΣ TOΥ AΠOΛΛΩNA ΔEΛΦOI
which means
CENTAUR OF APOLLO AT DELPHI
‘Now,’Arko was saying, in between little winces at the pain of the needles sticking into him, ‘I just have to tie my hair up and everyone can get the message, and they’ll leave me alone.’
‘Yes, it’s really working already,’ said Halo, scowling at a pair of small boys who were actually trying to climb Arko’s hind legs, looking for a better view. ‘You two! Down!’
‘It will work,’Arko insisted, wriggling his horse-back to get rid of the children – which made the tattooist shout ‘Oi!’ and complain about being jogged. ‘You children,’Arko said, and he made his voice larger and more important. ‘I am protected by Apollo. Leave me in peace!’
The children, it is true, scampered off immediately.
‘You’re finished,’ said the tattooist brusquely, leaning over Arko’s shoulder. ‘I just need to dress it now. Keep it clean, and oil it every day till the scabs come off, and then for another week or two.’
Halo stared at the new tattoo – not that she could make it out clearly. Arko’s whole upper back was a big mess of drying blood and ink.
‘Ugh,’ she said.
Was that what her forehead had looked like when she was a baby?
Well, of course not, as her tattoo was much smaller. Still, she hadn’t known a tattoo made so much mess. Arko, she realized, was pretty brave not to have made more fuss.
The tattooist, who had jumped down from Arko’s horseback, returned with a flask of wine, which he poured across the inky wounds to clean them. He followed on with a dark fragrant oil, and a clean cloth poultice to cover the tattoo, strapped with linen strips round Arko’s chest. Halo, fascinated, interrogated him about the ingredients o
f his oil, and made note of his bandaging technique, which was quite different from the Spartans’. She would take care of the new tattoo till it healed up.
‘First time I ever done a Centaur,’ the tattooist observed as he expertly tucked in the straps. ‘Been an honour. Change the bandage when you can. You only need it a few days. And no need to worry about scarring – ha ha ha. That’ll be an obol.’
Arko had one small coin. Now they were penniless.
‘Never mind,’ said Arko. ‘Athens, here we come!’
*
Neither of them had noticed, when they arrived, a big-eyed pale boy leaning against a tree by the fountain, across the agora. He had noticed them – he had been watching out for them. As they settled in with the tattooist, this boy had lazily pushed himself upright, and ambled off towards the Athens road. Beyond Thebes, somewhere quiet, up on Mount Kithaera, perhaps, as the evening drew in, he would have a word…
Xαπτερ 19
On the road, Arko and Halo fell to chatting with five brothers herding a pack of mules over the mountain. Manticlas, sitting in a tree, watched them pass beneath him, and cursed.
They slept the night surrounded by thirty-five warm smelly animals.
Manticlas wrapped his cloak around him, thinking evil thoughts, and carried on. In the farmlands, down the other side… his moment would come.
The next morning, Halo, Arko, five muleteers and thirty-five mules emerged from the snowy mists of the mountain. Starting to come down Mount Kithaera, they stopped short to stare.
Halo halted Arko with a touch. ‘What is that?’ she said, her eyes shining.
‘I think it’s Athens,’ said Arko.
Before them lay the great flat plain of Attica, rippled with a blanket of olive trees as far as they could see, and dotted with straight deep black cypresses. To the east and north were high embracing mountains, and stretching out to the south was a gleaming sliver of sea. Right in the middle of it, far away, stood a mighty rocky outcrop, a tiny mountain almost, rising above a scattering of red roofs and white buildings, and on top of the outcrop they could clearly see racks of rosy-white columns glowing in the bright sunshine, miles away.
Halo smiled.
‘Athens,’ she said. ‘Arko, that’s my city. If I have family – human family, I mean – they are there. Aiella and Megacles. Arko, I’m scared.’
He put his arm around her shoulder.
‘It’s your city,’ he said. ‘It will love you. Plus, even if it doesn’t, Athens loves visitors. It’s not like Sparta. In Athens, everybody likes things. Even if they complain about them, it’s because they like complaining.’
‘How do you know?’ Halo asked. ‘Have you spent many years in Athens, O wise one?’
‘Centaurs know everything,’ he replied, with his nose in the air. ‘You know that.’
She made a face at him, and started running down the hill. ‘Come on!’ she cried. ‘Let’s get there then!’
Unfortunately, she wasn’t looking where she was going, and she ran straight into the back of a wagon. The wagon’s owner, once he had stopped yelling at her for a billowing fool and a troublesome frog-child, said he quite understood she was keen to get to Athens, but the festival didn’t start for two days, so there was plenty of time, assuming that time would continue to pass in the normal way, which of course it was a risk to assume, but not a risk one could do anything about.
Halo thought about this for a moment, then decided that ‘What festival?’ was the simplest response. And he rolled his eyes at their ignorance, and said, ‘The Great Dionysia, you turnip. Dionysus’s festival. When the Dionysus from here gets paraded round Athens.’
‘Why’s the Dionysus from here in Athens?’ asked Halo.
‘The Eleutherians gave him as a gift years ago,’ said the wagoner. ‘And us stupid Athenians rejected him, so he sent the plague on us, so now we give him a big festival every year so he won’t do it again. Excuse me for mentioning it, but aren’t you a Centaur?’
‘Well spotted,’ said Arko. ‘And are you perhaps an Athenian?’
‘None other,’ said the wagoner. ‘You can always tell us by our superior wit.’
‘Is it really Dionysus?’ Halo asked curiously.
‘Ah, well,’ said the wagoner. ‘A very Heracleitan question. What, after all, is reality?’
‘There’s no need to get philosophical,’ said Arko.
‘Interesting point,’ said the wagoner. ‘Why not? If being philosophical is my nature, then surely it is my duty to be true to my nature, i.e. to be philosophical at all times?’
‘I don’t agree,’ said Halo. ‘Someone might be a horrible liar by nature – that doesn’t mean it’s his duty to be a horrible liar. And also, if you were philosophical at all times you would get very annoying.’
‘It might be my duty to be annoying some of the time, if that was an unavoidable by-product of my being philosophical at all times,’ he replied.
‘OK,’ said Halo. ‘But first, you haven’t answered my first point and second, what if your being so annoying, through being so philosophical, led someone to punch you on the nose, and they got arrested – could they say it was your fault?’
‘Aha!’ cried the wagoner. ‘I see you are a true Sophist…’
‘Am I?’ said Halo. ‘Is that good?’
The wagoner was delighted. ‘“Is that good?”’ he cried. ‘Another splendidly Sophistical question! What’s that on your forehead?’
‘It’s my tattoo,’ said Halo. ‘We’re going to Athens now.’
‘Well, I’d give you a lift,’ said the wagoner. ‘But I’m not going there. See you around!’
He waved, and clicked to his mule, and moved on.
‘Do you think they’re all like that?’ Halo asked, when she and Arko had stopped laughing.
A few hundred metres ahead, Manticlas smiled as he saw the wagon turn off. The road was empty, but for the boy and the Centaur walking towards him, giggling, coming under the tree…
Now, he thought.
He sprang from the tree like a leopard, his sinews tight and his knife in his hand. He landed just as he had planned, on Halo’s back, pulling her backwards with his arm across her mouth and the knife at her throat. She gasped and stumbled. He steadied his feet, held her firm, and yanked her head.
The Centaur turned. His face changed to horror. Instinctively he reared up on his strong hind legs, his hooves high in the air –
‘I’ll kill him!’ shouted Manticlas. ‘Step back or I’ll kill him now!’
Halo couldn’t breathe. She was gasping and coughing. She tried to bite the arm across her mouth, but all she got was a mouthful of rough dusty cloak. Whose voice was that? She recognized it…
Arko came down. His hooves clopped on the road and his horse flanks were quivering. His tail twitched. ‘What do you want?’ he said.
‘Just information,’ said Manticlas.
Arko was circling him, moving around. Manticlas turned, moving Halo with him, so that they were always facing each other. ‘Stay still,’ he said. He jabbed the knife.
Halo gasped. ‘Don’t tell him anything!’ she squeaked.
‘What information?’ said Arko. He was much bigger than this little human. He could just give him a powerful kick, kick him right off the road, break his leg, if he could get the right angle… but his knife was right against Halo’s throat…
‘Tell me where your people are,’ said Manticlas, with a soft little smile that made Arko feel sick.
‘What people?’ he said, stalling for time. ‘I don’t even know who you are.’
‘This little runaway does, though,’ whispered Manticlas. ‘Don’t you, you little runt? Your Leonidas is in big trouble now – betraying Sparta, for a pretty boy. If I drag your corpse back to Melesippus I’ll be the hero of the day…’
She recognized him now. That slimy cruel dreamy boy, Manticlas. She craned her neck away from the knife, but he followed her movement.
He wasn’t big. He wasn’t even
stronger than her. She was a good fighter. The wildcat rose in her. How dare he!
She felt the sharp chill of the blade nestling at her throat. She felt the weight of Leonidas’s chain, still hanging from her wrist. She smiled. Thank you, Leon.
In a swift, strong movement she flicked the chain out and swung it back. She jumped her feet to avoid it, and with a horrible crack it snapped against Manticlas’s legs. Yes!
As he collapsed to the ground, crying out in pain, she turned to hit him again. She could hear hooves – Arko, she thought, but it wasn’t. There were too many – galloping, and drawing up. A young male voice shouted out, ‘Hold that right there!’
She turned and saw three tall, muscular young men sat bareback astride three tall, muscular horses. They wore silk breeches and leather knee-boots, dogskin caps and long moustaches. Thick silver chains hung round their necks, and each had several belts slung around his lean hips, and each belt had several blades stuck through it. Curved bows hung from their bare, broad shoulders. Their eyes were narrow and flinty, their skin tanned, their cheekbones high and wide. Beside each horse panted a huge brown hound, jaw hanging, teeth gleaming, silent, alert, ready at any moment to leap to his master’s bidding.
Once again, Halo felt very much a girl.
She stood there like a fool. The chain she had been about to thwack Manticlas with dangled uselessly from her hand. Arko, too, was frozen.
‘A Centaur!’ shouted one of the riders.
Then before they knew it ropes flew out. With deft, matching movements the horsemen had lassoed Halo and Arko, catching their arms and holding them tight.
She started to cry out – but it was too late. Manticlas was gone. She and Arko were captive again.
‘But he was attacking us!’ she yelled.
‘That’s not what it looked like,’ said the one who had spoken. His accent was thick and strange.
‘But he was – I was fighting back!’ She could have wept with frustration.
‘It’s true,’ said Arko. ‘He had a knife to her neck – why else did he run away?’
The man glanced at Arko. ‘You can tell the Captain when we get back.’
Halo allowed herself to be hoisted up in front of her lassoer, and dumped across his legs. What else could she do?
