‘I’m prepared to risk war,’ Diomedes states, slamming his hand palm down on the table. He’s all for warring, is our Diomedes.
Castor and Polydeuces make emphatic noises, especially the elder brother Castor, who’s Nestra’s twin. Tyndareus leans forward. ‘Perhaps the time has come, if my lord Agamemnon and Diomedes will join with me? And Elephenor? Patroclus? What men can you bring? Perhaps Fate smiles at last?’
I don’t believe in fate, personally – but there are goddesses of Fate, the Moirae. They’re not really worshipped, but they are sacrificed – and prayed-to with great fervour, so I’m hazarding they exist. But I do know that prophecy is not an accurate foretelling of the future, just a best guess: so in that case, the whole concept of ‘fate’ is undermined, to my way of thinking. However, most men still believe in it, and the Moirae.
Regardless, Bria and I have prepared for this moment. ‘Such a war may not be fated at all,’ I put in. ‘I’m willing to try and retrieve her covertly.’
That causes a stir, not least because of my involvement in Theseus’s abduction of Helen.
‘Not got your fill of kidnapping women, yet?’ Laas growls. ‘Though if someone is needed to skulk around like a thief, you’re the man.’
‘It’s a rescue, not an abduction,’ I retort. ‘King Tyndareus has spoken of a newborn child – Telmius, is it not traditional for Arcadian children to be formally presented to Artemis at the first holy day following their birth?’
‘Aye,’ Telmius admits, looking at me with renewed interest.
‘The festival of Ploistos is soon,’ Bria puts in. ‘Three weeks from today, on the first full moon of spring, the child will be taken to the grove of Artemis near Pisa town. Only women may enter the grove, and once in there’ll only be women to stop us. We can pluck Clytemnestra out of their midst.’
‘Yes,’ Telmius grudgingly admits, ‘what you say is true. It could be the opportunity you need. But would that not merely leave you stranded in the kingdom of Pisa? What would you do next, when the search for you is called? Tantalus commands hunters who know the lands there like they know the bodies of their lovers.’
‘And how does it help us defeat Tantalus?’ Polydeuces adds.
‘Think about it,’ I reply, keeping my focus on Agamemnon. ‘If we can rescue Clytemnestra, Tantalus is honour-bound to pursue. We can lead him into a trap, if you can get a war party into his lands undetected, to back us up?’
‘It’s still winter,’ Diomedes puts in doubtfully.
‘And the paths through the Arcadian mountains are treacherous, even in summer,’ says Agamemnon, ‘and well-watched.’
‘What about going by sea?’ I suggest. ‘We can get there undetected, beach our ships and move inland quickly.’
The men look at each other, hesitating. ‘The Aegean’s been a witch’s brew this season. There’ve been ships wrecked up and down the eastern coast,’ says Diomedes.
‘The same thing is true in the south,’ Laas says gloomily. ‘Sudden storms, out of nowhere. We could lose an entire fleet on the spin of a coin. Especially if great Poseidon sympathises with Tantalus.’
I don’t entirely disagree. This is the major weakness in our plan. ‘I’m willing to take my galley round the coast,’ I insist. ‘I would risk my own men for this.’
‘We’d need at least six ships, if we’re to get enough men into Pisa to make a difference,’ Agamemnon replies. ‘And the king of Elis will warn Pisa of our approach, if we sail south from the Corinthian Gulf.’
‘Aye, that he would,’ says Meges, joining the conversation belatedly. ‘As an alternative, I could show you paths down through the northern mountains, but they’ll be badly snowbound, with the added risk of avalanches if we get an early thaw, and I couldn’t guarantee we’ll get to Pisa without loss, if we get there at all.’ He makes a hopeless gesture.
‘And Pylos will sound the alarm if we approach up the west coast from Lacedaemon,’ adds Laas. ‘Neither they nor Elis are very fond of Tantalus, but that evil bastard is too strong for them to try and counter.’
The room falls silent, most of us slumped back in our chairs looking defeated. I glance over at Bria, who is biting her lower lip in frustration.
Well, we tried…
Then, unexpectedly, Telmius speaks up, his words lighting a new fire in the room. ‘I know a way through the Arcadian mountains. I can get your men to Pisa undetected.’
7 – Arcadia
‘When he had spoken at length, he urged [them] onwards through shadowed mountains and ravines noisy with wind…’
—The Homeric Hymns: To Hermes
Arcadia
Two and a half weeks later, we’re climbing up a winding trail into the heights of the Arcadian mountains, laden with packs, dark-stained leather armour and our weapons. The two kings have allowed Bria and me to take the lead in this, with Telmius as our guide, and with Diomedes and Laas along for their prowess as warriors. In addition, we have four theioi champions from Mycenae, and though two owe allegiance to Ares, all of them are sworn to Agamemnon, who claims they are as loyal as any men he has – crop-haired Agrius, lean and lanky Philapor, and the Ares lads, dour brothers Ceraus and Pseras. Agamemnon put forward the two northerners, Elephenor and Patroclus, but I outright refused to have them. Thankfully Laas backed me up, and his word swung it.
Despite a certain reserve between us – we serve several different gods and there’s the matter of Theseus and Helen that’s still rankling with Laas – we’re all working together well so far, though Telmius remains a puzzle to me. That’s a concern, since we’re putting our lives in his hands.
Despite this, I continue to like him. He’s got a blithe hardiness, and laughs easily but never cruelly. He’ll share a joke as readily as a sly swig of liquor, and he clearly knows the wilds. ‘Forty years I’ve been traversing these mountains,’ he tells us. ‘I could tell you some tales.’
He takes a shine to Bria, flirting with her shamelessly. Of course she responds, though not with any real intent: I’ve seen Bria when she’s serious and she doesn’t just lap up jokes and flattery – she turns aggressively sexual. However, it’s his baritone laugh and her fluting giggles that have accompanied us on the first part of our journey, whenever they deem us far enough away from any habitation not to be overheard.
From Mycenae we wound our way north and west, skirting the town of Orneia, up in the hills, and the fortress of Orchomenos, out in the wide plains of East Arcadia, where there are too many eyes that might sympathise with Tantalus.
We’re travelling a day ahead of a larger body of soldiers, led by Agamemnon himself, with Elephenor and Patroclus with them. We’re in two parties in order to make our small group easier to conceal, since our role in the plan relies so much on stealth. Hiding the passage of the fifty men who follow us may well be harder, but if they are detected, it could work as a distraction for the Pisans, masking our own advance.
Sadly, Menelaus has been left behind, though part of me is relieved that he won’t be put in danger – this is not going to be a picnic. But when Agamemnon declared that he himself would join the war party, it became inevitable – it would be a foolish king that risked his heir on the same mission.
The war party is being guided by a friend of Telmius, a funny little man called Amolus who, like Telmius, wears a thick beard, against all fashion. A true Achaean man shaves, to show that he’s civilised. I’ve heard, though, that some northern barbarians are known to let their beards grow full on more extended campaigns, and I’m vaguely curious to see whether Elephenor and Patroclus would let themselves go to that extent. This trip, however, will hopefully be too short to find that out.
Our own task is to cross the whole of Arcadia, all the way through Tantalus’s kingdom to his ruling city of Pisa, kidnap his wife and then flee back the way we’ve come, joining with Agamemnon’s force in an ambush for our pursuers. But Telmius still hasn’t revealed how we’re going to do it – he just speaks of ‘hidden paths’.
Th
e Hermes priest is leading the way this afternoon, and I’m next, followed by Bria. Laas and Diomedes are behind us, deep in conversation about sword-fighting techniques, with the four Mycenaeans trailing us watchfully. The two brothers, Ceraus and Pseras, are archers, and I’m bearing the Great Bow of Eurytus. Many soldiers scorn archery, or more particularly, the hours of training and practice that are required – they already have to spend so much time with sword, spear and shield.
Me, I’m just that bit more dedicated. Laertes loves to tell me that a small man has to work twice as hard as a big one, if he wants to be half the warrior: that’s my oversized stepfather for you – all encouragement.
‘What can we expect from here on?’ I ask Telmius, catching him up.
‘It may only be fifty miles from here to Pisa,’ he replies. ‘Trouble is, boy, it’s the worst fifty miles in Achaea. Ahead of us lies some of the most rugged land known, trackless labyrinths of sheer cliffs and boulder-choked ravines. And at this time of year the mountains are still crusted with snow. If you’re lucky enough to get some decent weather, the rivers turn into frigid torrents as the thaw starts. The standard route travels north around the worst of it, but it will be watched and we’ll have to take a different path. Then we need to find the river Ladon and follow it downstream to the confluence with the Alpheius, which winds past Pisa. This time of year it’s impossible, unless you’re with folks like Amolus and me.’
‘And you swear this path is unknown to the Pisans? And safe?’
‘Is anywhere safe?’ He wipes sweat from his balding scalp. ‘I’ll lead you by paths no one else treads.’ It’s not a comforting answer – surely Tantalus and his hunters know every passable wild goat track there is – and nor is his appraising stare. ‘You come with a certain reputation, Prince Odysseus. King Agamemnon says that you were the worst troublemaker in Sparta as a youth, but that you have a silver tongue and can wriggle out of any corner.’
‘Agamemnon was older than us, and Tyndareus kept him busy learning the affairs of state all hours of the day and night. When we weren’t at our lessons or arms training, Menelaus and I ran wild. He was jealous of us.’
‘So I deduced,’ Telmius says lightly. ‘It’s a pleasure to finally meet you – and of course, to meet the infamous Bria. She is something of a legend among legends, if you know what I mean?’
I do know what he means – Bria’s exploits are often secret, seldom credited and she’s almost never mentioned in any tales that slip into public awareness, but among the theioi she’s more than just a name. ‘Don’t tell her that, her ego’s bad enough as it is,’ I say, laughing.
We make camp that night below a high tor, where I can see that some kind of primitive stone monument has been erected long ago – a number of huge rocks placed in a circle. Telmius tells us it’s a holy place to Hermes, and that we’re making good time.
The weather is holding, and I bless our luck. The nights are freezing cold but there’s no rain and little snow lying on the ground where we are, and we have plenty of warm gear to put on. As usual Telmius and Bria’s lively banter lights up the evening. The Hermes priest passes round a wine skin – I don’t know where he finds them but he never seems to run out – and soon we’re all quite tipsy. The Mycenaeans decide we should play a game of chance, using the knuckle bones they carry around in their wallets. Diomedes and Laas join in, but after a brief and urgent-looking conversation with Telmius, Bria goes off alone, claiming she needs some privacy for ‘womanly reasons’.
I give the Hermes priest a suspicious look. ‘What was that all about?’ I mutter.
‘We were just discussing tomorrow’s route. Come, let’s take in the view.’
He leads me up the tor, a stiff climb, with the snow lying deep in the hollows beside the track, and we examine the stones atop the hill. They’ve been placed in a ragged circle, many years ago, judging by the moss that covers them.
‘I was conceived at a place like this,’ Telmius tells me. ‘It was a tradition for newlyweds to spend their first night inside such a circle.’
‘Doesn’t sound very comfortable.’
He laughs. ‘The couples usually managed to keep warm.’
‘So which way tomorrow?’ I ask, staring out from the peak at the taller, cliff-bound heights that already surround us. The land is so tangled and the ravines so deep, I can’t work out which direction we can possibly take next. ‘When does this secret path of yours begin?’
‘Right here,’ the Hermes priest says. ‘On this hilltop. Bria tells me that you and she have both walked in Hades’s realm, as has Laas?’
I have indeed. Telmius is not talking in metaphors: there are places outside but adjacent to this world. Bria calls the process ‘walking inside the mind of a god’. Something in the energies of worship and belief that the great deities feed upon creates these places: they bring to life the ideals of that god, and feel as solid as this world – but they’re not on any map.
I realise with growing alarm that this is his purpose – to lead us through the Arcadian mountains undetected, by taking us out of this world into the realm of Hermes. ‘Aye,’ I tell him, my body tense, both with fear and rising excitement: such places are a test, but they can be rewarding in strange ways. ‘It’s true I’ve been to Erebus, Hades’s realm, and to the smithy of Hephaestus also. But are you serious?’
‘Of course,’ he says gravely. ‘Tomorrow I will take you all into the Arcadia of Hermes.’ He’s watching my reaction carefully.
‘Does Bria know?’
‘She does – I told her before bringing you up here. We’ll tell the others tomorrow morning.’
I try to think it through. It sounds horribly risky, not the least because I’m still not sure how closely tied to Zeus Hermes is. I stare at Telmius, my skin prickling. Are we being led into a trap? ‘Why would Hermes allow this?’ I ask. ‘He’s Zeus’s messenger.’
‘Indeed he is… but he’s already having doubts, though I’m a little ahead of him in this matter – perhaps because I don’t have Zeus looking over my shoulder all the time.’ He gives me a piercing look. ‘As you well know, a theios can have thoughts independent to those of his god. And in the case of this Trojan matter, I’m not content for my master to toady around at Zeus’s beck and call, especially when there isn’t a Hittite god that my master will find suitable to align with. He’s an Achaean god through and through, and he’s not stupid.’
He’s telling me that his divine master might be biddable…
This is perhaps the best news we’ve had since the fall of Thebes. Though clearly it’s far from a settled deal, I’m exhilarated by a sense of possibility. Hermes on our side, but spying on Zeus? Could that work?
But I know I’m getting ahead of myself. Way ahead. Equally, this could be a baited trap, as I’ve already wondered. ‘So we can trust Hermes to help us?’
Telmius puts his head on one side. ‘I’m not going to risk letting him know all our thoughts… No, no, don’t look so worried. It’s really quite safe so long as we don’t draw attention to ourselves.’
‘Meaning, without Hermes realising we’re in his realm?’
Telmius nods cheerfully. ‘That’s it. I can open this gateway to let us in, and guide you through and out again, without him knowing.’
Tricky. But is not Hermes the God of Trickery? Which implies his theioi are also skilled in deviousness. I try and quell my nerves. Can the servant outwit his master?
We really are in Telmius’s hands now, and rather more than I had feared. ‘Then let this mission forge bonds of trust between us,’ I say carefully.
He laughs merrily. ‘You don’t allow yourself to trust anyone, do you? You’re even worse than Agamemnon.’
‘I’ve been stabbed in the back a few times too often,’ I tell him grimly. ‘So has Bria. I want to believe in this, and we’ll play it your way, but if there’s treachery, you’ll go down first.’
With that warning spoken, our bonhomie evaporates and I leave him to commune with his ston
es while I stalk back down the steep path to the camp. I veer into the next gully, meaning to talk to Bria, but then I see her head bobbing in the waters of a pool, one that must be cold as ice. I cannot imagine how she stands it, except that she’s a daemon and can probably stand all sorts of things I can’t even imagine. Hopefully her host, soft, smiling Meliboea, is oblivious to it too. I leave her to her bathing and return to camp.
Diomedes and the Mycenaeans are still knuckle-boning and drinking from Telmius’s wine-skin, but I’ve got too much on my mind and leave them to it. Reassuringly, Laas is standing on guard duty, a little way from the fire. I tell him to wake me when he’s had enough, before wrapping myself in my blanket and cloak, and closing my eyes to think, first and foremost, and then to sleep.
* * *
Laas nudges me awake some hours later, for my turn to keep watch,. The fire has burned low, and the other men are all snoring and venting clouds of wine fumes. I’m still half asleep as I add new branches to the flames, kick them into life and take up my post, huddled in my cloak, still caught in the tail end of a weird dream in which pipes danced over the music of the mountain streams. There’s a strangely warm wind blowing from the tor above, scented with heather, and the stars and moon are glistening overhead, crystalline and remote.
Laas swiftly falls asleep, and I scan Diomedes and the Mycenaeans slumped together companionably in a tight circle round the fire. Then I look for Telmius…
I jolt wide awake, my blood going cold.
His blanket is empty. I cast my gaze about, but he’s nowhere to be seen, though when I glance upwards, it’s like there’s a faraway star, a pinprick of light, atop the tor. A trick of the light, surely, but I’m nervous now. I come to my feet, unsure if I’m jumping at shadows or if there’s genuine danger here. All seems calm, and perhaps Telmius is still up on the hill, readying the gateway to Hermes’s realm?
Sacred Bride Page 9
