We salute the royal spectators, but this time I’m all concentration, and don’t really take in the nuances of their expressions. The crowd is a wall of sound and I shut it out, though I’m aware they’re on my side this time – Phylace is a long way to the north from here – even further north than Elephenor’s and Patroclus’s kingdoms – and no one here wants their princess to marry a barbarian. I’m watching the way Protesilaus moves, over on the far side of the ring, planting both feet, hands on knees, breathing deeply. He looks calm, confident, and bloody big.
‘Begin!’ Nassius calls, and we advance, slapping away each other’s initial attempts to grapple, circling left, right, seeking a misstep. He’s wary, so am I, and those are muscular shoulders he’s got. Then he steps in, and it’s either dodge or grapple – I try to take him by surprise by hurtling into the clinch and we collide, as I drive up under him. He’s forced back a few steps, but he twists and tries to throw, I hold on and we’re both off-balance – we crash to the dirt, legs flailing for purchase, arms locking as we seek a choke hold. We’re grunting at the exertion, skin to slippery skin. I’m working on locking up his right arm while he tries to trap my legs and roll on top.
Suddenly he gains the purchase he needs – as I find my lower leg pinned, he rears up and slams down, chest to chest and almost winds me. He’s got the leverage now, gravity in his favour, then his forearm whacks the side of my neck and I’m chewing dust. I fight hard, but he’s got the weight to pin me harder, harder…
‘First bout to Protesilaus!’ Nassius snaps, and the Phylacian rolls away, his intent face triumphant. I nod acceptance – he got me fair and square – and bounce back to my feet, cursing myself. There’s time for water and to re-dust my hands, and then it’s bout two, which I must not lose.
This time I go in more cautiously, feigning uncertainty as we circle, circle… Again it’s Protesilaus who comes in – hard this time and faster than before and that’s almost enough to outdo me – but as he rams into my chest I deliberately go with him, while gripping his weaker right arm, lifting and twisting, so that instead of finding himself on top of me and the victory all but won, we crash to the earth again. This time I’m on top with the better grip, wrenching his arm brutally round and rising to pin him, chest down beneath me. I could break his arm and there’s nothing in the rules to say I shouldn’t…
…but I don’t, and the Phylacian recognises that. As Nassius calls the bout in my favour I rise and Protesilaus looks up and nods shortly, acknowledging what I did and didn’t do.
‘You’re too nice,’ Eurybates says, while handing me the water-skin. ‘Bria will skin you for showing mercy.’
‘My guiding principle is to be a better person than Bria in all things,’ I tell him.
‘Low hurdle,’ he comments wryly. ‘But aren’t you trying to be a wrecker?’
‘I’ll win anyway,’ I tell him, hoping I’m right. Otherwise Athena’s likely to be as unimpressed as Bria.
It feels like no time at all before Nassius calls us to our third and final bout. The noise ringside is deafening as we step forward and size each other up. Whatever complacency either of us had is gone, knowing one slip will ruin our hopes – his to marry Helen, mine to wreck Aias’s chances if I can. We close slowly, warily, crouched over with weight forward, moving almost in slow motion. He’s trying to ensure I have no choice but to take him on, body to body, so that his superior weight can tell, while I’m trying to provoke him to lunge too soon, a little off-balance. He feints a charge, goes left, then drives in with his right shoulder…
I place my trust in Menelaus’s assessment, and that saves me. Because this is another feint, designed to make me deploy my weight and balance to counter his right – but his feet shimmy and suddenly he’s bullocking forward, leading with the left, but I’ve gone in lower than him, dropping to one knee and driving once again up under his shoulder as we slam together, chest to chest. He kicks off from his calves and thighs, tries to rear up over me again. I resist, resist…
…and then twist at the hips and wrench him downwards while sliding my arm from his right shoulder to his throat and pull him backwards onto me. He slips into a choke hold while my shorter legs lock onto his.
Protesilaus fights with all his power, trying to wrench his legs free and pull away, but I hang on, and as his first attempt subsides, I tighten my grip, forcing his back to arch. His face is scarlet now, eyes bulging as he tries to prise my choke hold free, battering at my forearm, pumping his hips up then back into my midriff, trying to knock the air from my lungs…
…but he can’t get enough purchase to jolt loose, and it’s his energy that gives out first. He’s left clutched in my arms, writhing feebly as his face turns dark puce. In moments, he’s slapping the turf in frustrated surrender.
‘Bout three and victory to Prince Odysseus,’ Nassius calls out.
I release my opponent slowly, because some men don’t know when they’re beaten, but the Phylacian rolls over and gives me a rueful grin, gasping for air. ‘You fight well for a little man,’ he pants. ‘Too quick, too many tricks.’ He offers me a hand, and when I grip it, we haul each other up and he gives me a grudging hug. ‘Good luck, eh,’ he mumbles. ‘Especially if you fight that bear from Salamis.’
I’m led to the royal platform, still panting, where Agamemnon rubs his chin and tells me that he knew better than to bet against me this time. But Helen and her brothers are no friendlier.
‘It’s the dwarf again,’ Polydeuces snickers as I salute them.
‘We’ll be peeling him from the turf next round,’ Polydeuces adds.
I just focus on Helen. ‘Princess, when royal children take up the mantle of their parents and become rulers, they must also embrace the dignity and honour of that role. For Polydeuces, that day is still far off, but for you it’s only days away. I look forward to seeing the woman emerge from the child.’
She leans forward and beckons me close. ‘I lost my childhood the day Theseus decided I was a gift he would unwrap,’ she hisses, for my ears alone. ‘He said you were involved, and he had no reason to lie.’
Same old, same old.
‘I guided your rescue. Theseus was lying to get himself out of a hole.’
He didn’t lie at all, but that’s a truth that needs to die…
‘You were serving Athena, and you were going to give me to one of hers,’ she hisses back. ‘Maybe you even thought to have me yourself? Was that your plan?’
‘Theseus broke from Athena, and she aided your rescue – through me.’
That does nothing to allay her suspicion, but I can see she’s unable to say categorically that I’m lying. Her lovely face takes on a sour, dissatisfied caste. ‘How can I marry anyone I can’t trust?’ she asks quietly. ‘You may as well withdraw now, because you’re wasting your time.’
‘If I thought that was true, I would,’ I reply evenly.
Let her think I’m here for her, for a little longer.
I doubt she buys that, though – she’s far from foolish. With minimal grace, she gives me another victor’s bracelet: it’s larger, and a purer silver – this trip is starting to turn a profit. I rise and Tyndareus gives me a friendly smile as I depart the platform – at least I have one true ally up there. If only I could win over Helen and her brothers.
I’m anxious to go and see what can be learned from Alcmaeon, but there’s the small matter of the next round of the wrestling. Aias predictably flattens Eumelus, but the young man takes my advice and goes down swiftly, coming out with nothing worse than a grazed cheek and a bruised shoulder. I console him afterwards, and manage to share a smile with Penelope as she takes her battered friend under her wing. Behind her, Actoris gives me a half-wave. Still keen… Ah, well.
The four remaining champions – myself, Diomedes, Patroclus and Aias, stand before the kings for the semi-final draw. I’m desperate for the draw to provide me with what we need. If Diomedes can win the final then, combined with his first-equal in the footrace, he’s
got a strong case for being awarded the overall honours for the games. And there’s only one way he can do that…
The draw comes up with what I want, and yet I feel sick to the core as Nassius reads out the names. I’m on first, pitted against Aias of Salamis.
* * *
Little man, big man. Everyone knows how this one ends.
The gamblers in the crowd are restless because they can’t find anyone to bet against Aias, so they start taking odds on whether I’m maimed, whether I’m conscious at the end of the bout or whether I survive at all. Aias is playing up to it, carrying skinny young girls round, one on either shoulder while pulling fierce faces.
But I’ve been thinking back to Thebes last year, and a personal duel between two champions – a hopeless mismatch, only accepted because of pricklish Argive pride. The favourite duly won, but he took a wound that made him vulnerable when he fought his next fight, and so he died.
That’s my role here today. To somehow disable Aias badly enough that Diomedes – if he wins his bout – can beat this towering lug. The question is, how can I manage it? Or am I about to have my head ripped from my shoulders?
Let’s find out…
I have Eurybates muttering in my ear as we make our way through the crowds ringing the arena – his last piece of advice is well-meant but substantially worthless: ‘Don’t die, she’s not worth it.’ Then he claps me on the shoulder as I enter the ring and the crowds cheer wildly: because Aias just entered on the other side, a shrieking want-to-be maenad on either shoulder. He kisses them both, nuzzles their cleavages then lowers them down and spanks their bottoms to propel them back into the crowd, before swaggering to the front of the royal dais.
Theseus without any brains at all…
Aias is almost seven foot tall. I’m five and a bit. He’s got a rough-cast, broken-nosed face that speaks of many, many bouts and in terms of bulk, he’s got perhaps double my body mass and it’s all muscle. I’ve never seen a bigger man. I met him two years ago in the company of Heracles, up on Mount Ida, and the demi-god didn’t make him look small. There’s no obvious weakness, not even in speed. He’s not noticeably one-sided, and his technique looks sound, if predictable.
But he’s a cocky bastard, and though he plays the buffoon, I sense pride and a quick temper. I made a point of watching his bouts this morning, and he’s no gentle giant; he enjoys dominating and humiliating others.
I join him before the platform, where Castor and Polydeuces are leaning forward avidly, while Agamemnon is offering Tyndareus double-or-nothing on the obols he lost on me earlier. I glance at Helen, but she’s too intent on Aias’s massive, oiled torso, where even the muscles have muscles, to bother with me at all.
We turn to each other, and Aias makes a show of looking over my head, then mock-starting as he looks down to find me. ‘Oh,’ he guffaws, ‘there he is.’
‘Why?’ I retort loudly, as the crowd shushes to listen. ‘Are you short-sighted as well as cross-eyed?’
The broad grin on his face dies, as he glares down at me in surprise.
‘Tell me,’ I add, ‘was your father the hippopotamus, or your mother?’
His eyes bulge and he lunges for my throat, but I dance out of reach. ‘You kopros-eating dung-beetle,’ he snarls. ‘Let’s do this with swords!’
‘Sure, let’s,’ I call back, as the crowd buzzes in disbelief. ‘You’re so slow, I’d kill you thrice before you drew.’ I sense that all the royals are now leaning forward, but I don’t take my eyes off Aias. ‘The only question would be whether I could stab deep enough through the lard to find your vitals.’
It’s not nice, it’s not accurate and it’s not even subtle – but niceness, accuracy and subtlety would be lost on him. He goes red and then purple and clenches his fists, wading towards me while Nassius roars that the fight will follow the rules – such as they are – and for Aias to be still. ‘Wait for my—’
Aias doesn’t wait: he shoves Nassius aside and charges, arms spread and face enraged – but I do the opposite to what he expects, and come toward him. As he rears up over me I slide in on my back, pretending I’ve slipped, and drive both feet upwards into his groin. They slam into his family jewels as he bellows in agonised fury, while momentum and my upwardly thrusting legs propel him headfirst over me… and his face ploughs into the dirt over the edge of the ring.
Technically, we haven’t even started, but the keryx – furious at being pushed aside – shouts, ‘First bout to Prince Odysseus!’ and the crowd gasps, and then screams, a mix of excitement and outrage.
Aias peels himself off the dirt, bloody-faced and bent over, and tries to come at me again – it takes four armed guards to restrain him, while I provocatively stroll over to my water jug and my chalk bag. Eurybates joins me, while my other men fend off angry members of the crowd who want to take up my ‘dirty, dishonourable tactics’ with me first-hand.
‘Good work,’ Eury tells me, ‘but the surprise element is gone, now. He’s going to cool down, and start thinking again. Be ready for a real fight, my prince.’
‘I will,’ I tell him, flexing my hands and thinking hard. ‘But he’s not the sort to cool down that fast. I can still goad him.’ I clap Eury’s shoulder as Nassius calls for our return.
This time the crowd is hushed as we enter, though what cheering there is, is still for Aias, while I attract all manner of low hissing. Castor and Polydeuces are glaring at me with real anger, and Tyndareus and Agamemnon look uncomfortable, not wanting to be seen to condone what most see as cheating.
Helen though, seems a little amused by it all. Well and good.
I’m right – Aias has probably been given a strong talking-to by his men, but he’s still seething. His huge fingers are twitching into a throttling position, and he’s breathing through flared nostrils like a bull in mating season. He’s actually pawing the turf with one foot.
‘How was that, fat boy?’ I ask him. ‘Think you’ll ever piss properly again?’
‘I. Am. Going. To. Kill. You,’ he snarls with slow menace.
‘I do believe your voice has gone up an octave,’ I comment loudly, and even Helen sniggers.
Aias begins to advance and Nassius – brave man – steps before him. ‘This time, no one moves before I say,’ he shouts, looking up at the not-so-gentle-any more giant with a steadfast expression. ‘You will both await my signal.’
‘Make it a clear signal,’ I advise. ‘This bloated ass I’m fighting isn’t very bright.’
‘Why you—’
‘Be still!’ Nassius barks. ‘And be silent, both of you!’
‘But I was hoping Aias could sing for us, now that he’s a castrato’ I reply, getting another laugh from the crowd. Aias splutters and the keryx glares at me.
‘Prince Odysseus, do you wish to be disqualified?’
I wink at him. ‘Not when I’m on the verge of victory.’
‘You’re on the verge of death!’ Aias shouts. ‘I’m going to smash you! I’m going to pulp your skull! I’m going to rip you limb from—’
‘Prince Aias!’ Nassius shouts. ‘I have asked for silence!’
‘…limb! I’m going to crush your—’
‘Aias, shut the fuck up,’ someone shouts from among his entourage – and all power to whoever he is, because Aias clamps his jaw shut, though he’s still seething fit to burst.
‘Thank you,’ Nassius says tersely. ‘Now, to your corners.’
I back away, and as the keryx leaves the ring, pitch my voice for Aias’s ears. ‘It’s good that your friend knows how to control you. Does he cuddle you to sleep at nights?’
Nassius gives me an evil look, but he’s clearly bluffing about disqualifying anyone. Instead he shouts, ‘Begin,’ and folds his arms, as if distancing himself from the carnage to come.
This time Aias advances slowly and crouched over – probably a good position to adopt, when you’re nursing bruised nuts – and I do the same. A few yards in I begin to crab sideways, making him turn as he advances. H
e lunges at me cautiously, probably aware – assuming he can count – that one more mistake and he’s lost. He keeps away from the edge though, giving me room to dart away, but all he has to do is turn and pursue, closing down the escape angles again.
It’s a slow road to victory for him; eventually I’m going to run out of room – it’s not sustainable.
‘Not so fucking chatty now, eh,’ he sneers. ‘Come here, runt. Let’s see if you can fight.’
He tries to hem me in, I evade again and as I go, I flash my hand in and tweak his left ear, making the crowd murmur and him snarl in frustration, turning and hurling himself at me, momentarily all his weight in the front foot.
I slam my heel into his leading ankle, as if it’s an accident in passing.
If he’d been an ordinary man, it would have broken, I’d likely have been disqualified and we’d both have been eliminated – but he’s a damnable freak and I just bounce off, land badly and almost get pinned. As it is I kick free, rise and spin, coming away as we both leap to our feet and then he charges me, grappling my shoulders before I can get away.
I offer token resistance, concentrating on staying up as he drives me backwards, then falling out of bounds before he can drag me to earth and do some serious damage.
‘Bout to Prince Aias!’ Nassius shouts and his stave slams into the turf beside our heads, to get our attention.
That prevents Aias from trying to break my neck, so it’s a good thing.
One-one.
Reluctantly, Aias lets me go, getting up and glaring down at me. ‘Thought so,’ he sneers. ‘You’re all tongue.’
‘Is that what you tell your boyfriend?’ I ask mildly.
‘You—’
Bang goes that stave again as Nassius calls, ‘To your corners!’
Eurybates puts his arm round my shoulder as I return to my stool. ‘Right choice to take the fall,’ he murmurs. ‘If you get caught again, do the same. Don’t risk your life: if Diomedes wants the princess so very badly, let him take the rest of this.’
Sacred Bride Page 25
