Sacred Bride

by Sacred Bride (retail) (epub)

  ‘No,’ the Spartan grunts. ‘Hope it was Hyllus.’

  ‘You think it was?’

  ‘Nah – too short.’

  ‘Poseidon’s Balls, that’s a scary thought.’

  ‘Shut up and ride,’ Bria tells us, clutching the purple-faced, shrieking baby to her chest and wincing at every wailing cry. ‘This little brat has shat himself again,’ she complains. ‘I should have left him behind.’

  Somehow, our final burst, following the path along the south side of the river, takes us to our ambush point. One moment I’m despairing, the next moment we’re there, at a place where cliffs bound both banks of the Alpheios. A small waterfall plunges from the cliff on our side of the river, a torrent cascading straight into the river below, throwing up a cloud of spray.

  Here the river’s only a dozen yards wide, but fast, deep and swift, with no chance of crossing safely. Just short of the waterfall, there’s a narrow path, wide enough to lead a horse but no more, which angles up the cliff, reaching the top some thirty feet above. Not a slope you’d want to be scaling when a crowd of archers and spearmen are above you, trying to skewer you. It’s the perfect killing ground – though we have no spears and I’m running out of arrows again. But Agamemnon’s men will be well-armed.

  We all look up. ‘We’re here,’ Bria cries as we rein in, beneath the cliff. ‘Hello?’

  No one answers. No one rises to wave. The only reply is a crow, whose cawing echoes about us.

  ‘Telmius!’ I shout. ‘Amolus! Agamemnon!’

  Still silence.

  ‘Wonderful,’ Laas growls. ‘They aren’t here.’

  * * *

  ‘If I ever see that bloody satyr again, I’m going to castrate him with a blunt knife,’ Bria tells me.

  We’re crouched on the cliff top, waiting for the Pisans – there’s no point trying to go on. Our horses are blown, and there are open woods on the river flats further upstream, where we won’t be able to defend ourselves. We must fight here, and it’s as defensible a spot as we’re likely to find. The only real disadvantage with our position is that there’s a steep ridge to our left which blocks our view of anyone approaching from downstream, though we should be able to hear them coming. The steep cliffs closing about the river prevent the enemy from outflanking us, without doubling back for miles – though it’s possible Tantalus has summoned other forces to do so. We’ll find out the hard way, I suppose, but at least for now, all we’ll face is a frontal assault.

  ‘I thought Telmius liked me,’ Bria goes on in a whiney voice.

  ‘Really?’ I ask, raising an eyebrow. ‘Bria, no one likes you.’ I’m half-joking – but only half.

  She looks at me solemnly. ‘I suppose not… but I thought at least that he might want to screw me again.’

  I cast a rueful look eastwards, where nothing and no one is coming to our rescue. ‘I think he just did.’

  ‘Hilarious, Ithaca.’ She spits over the edge. ‘Amolus probably led Agamemnon straight to the Gates of Cerberus.’

  Then we hear the sound of hooves, and I glance left and right: the five of us are strung out along the edge of the cliff beside the falls, commanding the path: me, Bria, Laas, Diomedes and Philapor. Agrius and his cracked ribs are a little further upstream, with Nestra. The queen’s awake, and tied to a tree nearby with strips torn off Laas’s cloak, but we’ve left her arms free so she can breastfeed her infant. Agrius is there to make sure she doesn’t untie her bonds, but he isn’t quite sure where to look.

  ‘We could threaten to kill her,’ Laas suggests, indicating the queen.

  ‘Tyndareus would gut us if we did, assuming we ever lived to tell him. And Tantalus knows it,’ Bria replies dismissively. ‘No, we either fight here or we split up and run, though that’ll just give the huntresses sport, considering our horses are blown.’

  ‘We shall stand and fall together,’ Diomedes says, like a character from a storyteller’s tale.

  ‘There’s a better chance we won’t be taken alive if we fight together,’ Laas agrees. ‘Which is a good outcome. Believe me, you don’t want to fall into Tantalus’s hands, unless you’re already a corpse. They say he’s a master at inflicting pain.’

  With that cheerful thought, we crouch lower as the first of Tantalus’s riders appears round the outcropping that blocks our view of the land downstream – and our enemies’ approach. He spots us immediately on the clifftop above, and is gone before I can fire. A few moments later, we hear horses whinnying, and the tramp of booted feet. They pause, just out of sight, and a rich and melodious voice rings out.

  ‘Odysseus of Ithaca,’ it says. ‘Do you lead this infamy?’

  For a moment I’m astounded. How does Tantalus know I’m here? Is that where Telmius went to, after he left us near the grove? Then I remember that Diomedes spoke my name in front of the altar, when appealing to Clytemnestra.

  Before I can respond, Nestra shrieks, ‘Tantalus! I’m here, my love!’ before Agrius jams a hand over her mouth.

  ‘Nestra?’ Tantalus calls. ‘Don’t fear, my love. We’ll be reunited soon.’

  ‘That’s up to us,’ I call back. ‘And yes, I am indeed Odysseus.’

  ‘How are you involved in this, Ithacan?’ the Pisan King shouts. ‘What offence have I ever caused to you and yours? Did you not dwell with my wife in Sparta as a youth? So why have Agamemnon and Tyndareus sent you to do their dirty work?’

  ‘We’re rescuing an abducted princess,’ Bria hollers back, before I have a chance to speak, not that there’s too much I can rightly say. ‘There’s no infamy in such deeds. That shame belongs to her kidnapper and rapist – you. You’ve imprisoned her for too long, Tantalus! It’s time to give her up.’

  ‘You are misinformed, Prince Odysseus,’ he shouts back. ‘You and your motley friends. My wife was not abducted – she ran away, and came gladly with me to Pisa. Our home together is no prison. There are no locks on the doors of our bedroom.’

  Unfortunately, this is ringing only too true. I fight back a wave of guilt.

  ‘Kill them all, my love!’ Nestra shrieks. ‘Kill them for me! They’ve got my baby!’ Agrius tries to shut her up again and she bites his hand, leaving him hopping round, cursing fluently.

  Holy Athena, now what do we do? I ask the skies silently. Then it strikes me: Athena herself is the answer. ‘Summon Athena!’ I hiss at Bria. ‘It’s our only chance.’

  She stares, then swallows. ‘No, never…’

  ‘Why not?’ I demand.

  ‘Because if I die, with her inside me, we’re both screwed.’

  Well, that’s that, then.

  ‘Let’s get this over with,’ I rasp. ‘Tantalus,’ I call, raising my voice. ‘You’re a traitor to Achaea and a Trojan-loving son of a whore!’ This is rich, coming from me. ‘If you want your wife back, come and get her.’

  As if they’ve been waiting for the invitation, a line of Pisan soldiers burst from the cover of the ridge, roaring war cries and with their shields held high. I fire what arrows I have, scoring several hits, but soon all my shafts are gone. When they realise that there are no more arrows, the Pisans shout triumphantly and come barrelling up the path towards us, with more emerging from behind the outcropping. In a trice the space below is filled with Pisan soldiers, who swarm up the slope, shields held high.

  We’ve no spears, and we’re five against at least three dozen. Apart from the shields we filched from the dead Pisans down-river, the terrain is our only friend, and even that’s no more than an awkward climb. But as the first men come within reach, we all drop to one knee and hack and stab downwards. I deliberately batter the rim of the first man’s shield, wrenching it sideways, and Diomedes plunges his sword into the man’s exposed neck and shoulders. The Pisan gives a choked cry and falls onto the man below him, causing a small landslide of bodies. Pleading at the top of his voice to Hera, Philapor follows my lead, opening up his first foe to a slash to the throat from Laas, and another man collapses onto his friends, splattering blood.
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br />   The attack falters, but not for long. They advance again, crabbing upwards while the men below shout encouragement and curses, locking shields until – incredibly daringly – Diomedes suddenly sweeps both his legs around and slams his feet into the leading shields with all his prodigious strength, battering them backwards down the slope while rebounding back onto the cliff-edge, evading a slashing blade as he does. Laas hacks an attacker’s hand off, and he shrieks and falls away, blood spurting from the stump. Bria kicks a man in the face who’s trying to flank us by scrabbling up the rough rock face; he teeters, momentarily stunned, and she slides her blade into his left armpit and skewers his heart, to send him tumbling down on his mates.

  Once more they come at us, two abreast, braced against each other more tightly. Diomedes, Laas and I crouch at the top of the path with locked shields, and I repeat my earlier trick, hammering at the shield wall until a chink opens that Diomedes and Laas can exploit, while Bria and Philapor guard our flanks, battling the wave of men that edges up, up and up. More fall, more maimed than slain, but the weight of their surge is inexorable…

  For the next attack, they try to take us at a rush – all of them coming on at once – turning their shields to one side and lashing out with blades as they try and gain the cliff top. I block a thrust on one side while darting aside from another and thrust straight-armed, take a man in the throat, in and out in a blinding lunge, block and stab.

  Beside me, Diomedes parries three blades at once and slashes back, but Philapor takes a sword point to the arm and staggers, Laas kills one but is being driven back from the edge, while at the far end Bria shrieks a curse as someone with a spear almost skewers her face, before grabbing the shaft, pulling up on it and then slicing her blade down its length, chopping the attacker’s fingers off. She hauls the spear up and then reverses it, jabbing it down into the shield wall below her, wounding another man, who loses his balance and topples backwards. But several enemy soldiers have reached the crest of the cliff…

  I don’t hesitate. Stepping in as my immediate foe plants a foot on the clifftop, I drive my blade down, through the collar of the man’s armour and into the chest, wrenching the xiphos blade out and then sliding feet first under the men in front of Laas as they reach the top, hacking at knee tendons and hamstrings. I take three of them down in a tangle of bodies as Laas bellows and launches himself at them, cutting down another man who has grabbed me and raised his blade to kill me. I hurl him off me, down the slope and sweep two more men away – but a blade I never saw plunges into my side, below my right ribs. Philapor skewers the attacker for me and I barely feel the wound, such is my battle rage, despite the flow of blood. Diomedes weighs in, kicking another man in the face and off the cliff, and suddenly we’re alone again, if only for a moment.

  ‘You’re insane,’ Laas tells me. ‘Look to that wound.’

  ‘No time!’ I shout back. We’re dead anyway.

  Then the Pisans advance again, stubborn bastards that they are, sensing victory and furious that a mere five warriors have cost them so dear. They attack in a narrow wedge, ignoring the treacherous rock slopes this time, where their footing is so precarious. I’m feeling sick from blood-loss, but I have to keep fighting. Laas, Philapor and Diomedes line up beside me and Bria draws back the spear she wrenched off her attacker. I glimpse Tantalus below now with his elite troops, directing more men up the slope, and realise that he’s her target.

  I’m thinking something even more suicidal – that maybe if I took a running jump I could reach him…

  But then I hear a frightened yell and a low growl behind me and spin. Nestra has somehow untied herself from the tree and Agrius has dumped the baby on the ground to wrestle out his sword with one hand, while holding onto the queen with the other. They’re both facing towards the woods behind us, from which an immense male lion has emerged, teeth bared and tail twitching.

  Before I can cry out, the lion charges forward and leaps. Agrius lets Nestra go and lunges his sword upwards but he’s too slow and the lion hurls him off his feet. Those massive jaws open, crunch shut on his windpipe and wrench.

  Behind the lion, a lioness emerges from the trees and bounds over to Clytemnestra. There’s a mark on her front paw – the mark where my arrow went in – but it’s almost healed. What else could I expect from a theia as powerful as Atalanta? The lioness snarls at me as I take a step toward them, and I sense Bria turning. The other three are caught up in the fight, unable to look back.

  It’s all over now, a voice whispers in my brain.

  I refuse to listen, lifting my xiphos and charging, as the air pulses like a sudden cold shivering, and an owl shrieks in the trees. I throw a glance sideways, eyes widening as Bria’s body changes, from Spartan Meli to a tall and erect Attican virgin, pale-skinned with honey-coloured hair and grey eyes, a silver helm on her head and the stolen spear lengthening.

  Bria’s summoned Athena after all…

  There’s no time to dwell on that – if I let the lion leap at me, I’m done. So I run at it with what strength I have left, slashing at the animal as it recoils from Agrius’s broken body. Clytemnestra sees me coming, screams and gathers up her baby, backing behind the lion. ‘Hippomenes, kill him!’ she shouts.

  Part of me has already guessed his identity – Atalanta’s mate, who like his theia wife has the power to shape-shift. These are older beasts, with scars on their flanks and too much intelligence in their eyes. I see the lioness – Atalanta – roar and charge at Bria-Athena, who jabs with the spear and forces the she-beast away. Then Hippomenes comes at me and my entire life contracts down to the space between us.

  He claws at my front leg, twists from my slashing blade as I hurl myself away, then darts left and right, jaws snapping, paws raking but never quite in reach of my sword, trying to make me stumble, while the wound in my side sends stabbing pain through my torso, my brain finally catching up with my body. The blood’s running even more freely now, soaking my tunic and thigh.

  Then he sweeps round me, makes me turn, my feet tangle and I trip, his paws rip at my inner arm, my shield is torn away and the xiphos ripped from my numbed hand. Then he rears up, hot breath washing over my face as the contorted leonine face fills my sight, his immense body weight bearing down on me…

  All my instincts from years of wrestling and the pankration kick in, as they did with Skaya-Mandu. I ignore the lost sword and grasp at the lion’s waist, planting my feet and then wrenching with all my power. For a lion, being upright isn’t sustainable, and he crashes down flat on his stomach. His legs thrash about as he tries to twist over and rake me with all four sets of claws. But I’m holding onto his scruff with one arm – the wounded one, slippery with blood, something I can’t maintain for more a few heartbeats.

  But my other hand grasps the dagger from my belt and I rip it out, and plunge it into the lion’s rib cage. His whole body convulses at the impact, and I do it again – and again and again as his throaty snarl turns weak, and then I change grip, catch the great beast underneath the jaws and pull back then slash sideways, opening his throat.

  He writhes into stillness as I hang on, drenched in gore. Then I look up.

  Athena – it’s wholly her now – is standing over the body of the lioness, who she’s skewered on the spear, the pair of them caught in a beam of sunlight, a sight of transcendent, barbaric majesty. She turns her grey eyes my way and nods once, then turns to glare at our captured queen.

  ‘Clytemnestra, be still,’ she says in a booming voice, and the young queen goes rigid. The Goddess stalks toward her and pulls her to her feet. ‘Child, listen,’ she says. ‘Aphrodite would say that it is better to love foolishly than not at all, but she is wrong. You’re caught up in the great struggle of our time, and you have loved foolishly indeed. You must be strong now.’

  The young woman just goggles up at her, awestruck and terrified.

  I glance back, reeling as the punishment I’ve taken hits me – my lower legs have been raked with claws, my arm is
torn and my side slashed, and I’m dizzy with exertion and blood-loss. I crawl from the dead lion’s body as the magic that sustained the shape-change fades, leaving a naked man with grey curls and a heavy-set body dead in the dust beside a grey-haired woman with a similarly muscular frame, impaled upon Athena’s spear.

  Then with a choked cry, the goddess staggers and becomes Bria again, falling to her knees in the dust as the energy required to sustain the divine presence collapses. Bria finds it harder to act as an avatar than one solely dedicated to the role, and now I’m seeing the consequences. She looks at me despairingly, and faints.

  I glance back to see that somehow, Laas, Diomedes and Philapor have held firm, at the rim of the cliff. But even as I register this, an arrow slams into Philapor’s chest. From the trajectory, it’s been fired from a position high on the other side of the river. I seize my shield and xiphos, and race back to the others. There are two women in buckskin standing on the top of the opposite cliff, and, as the second one looses, I throw myself aside and the arrow carves the air where I’d been.

  We have no hope of fighting the men below us with these two able to fire on us at the same time. I rush back to Bria, hoping to save Meli’s life at least, and start dragging her limp body towards the wood, as Diomedes and Laas take cover. The Pisans gain the cliff top, snarling with rage. And my theios hearing tells me there are more soldiers coming, from the east this time, the tread of many feet and the faint clang of armour approaching through the trees behind us, out of sight. We’ve lost control of the cliff and now we’re surrounded on all sides. We’re done for.

  It really is all over. All I can do now is die well and hope someone bothers to tell my family.

  I drag Bria with me into the bushes on the edge of the wood, as Clytemnestra lurches to her feet, grabbing up the baby. There’s no one to stop her running to the cliff edge.

  ‘Tantalus, my love!’ she shrieks as she stumbles along.

  She’s taken in by a pair of Pisan warriors, while the rest advance on us, shields up as they fan out. They know we’ve no arrows left, they can see we’re exhausted and they want blood, for the comrades lost and wounded. But they’re in no hurry now. Diomedes, Bria, Laas and me – that’s a haul for anyone to boast of.