Shield of Thunder (26 page)

“A strange event yesterday,” Meriones said.

“It was a slight, right enough,” Odysseus told him. “Perhaps it was not intended for me. Priam has little love for Idomeneos.”

Meriones nodded. “True enough, but would he risk alienating him with so much at stake? Have
you
done anything to incur Priam’s wrath?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

As they made their way back to the other bowmen, a Trojan soldier wearing the yellow sash of a judge came walking along the line, calling out for those with tokens marked from one to twenty to step forward.

Odysseus, whose token was embossed with the number eleven, strode forward with Meriones.

The judge was a handsome young man with fiery red hair and keen blue eyes. He glanced at the bows the men carried. “Be so good as to leave your weapons with friends,” he said. “All archers are to be issued with standard bows from the city armory.”

“What?” Odysseus roared, his anger erupting. Similar cries of outrage came from some of the other bowmen.

The judge raised his arms for silence. “By order of the king this contest is to be fairly judged on the merits of each archer. Many of you carry beautifully made bows, some of horn, some of wood and leather. You, King Odysseus, have the legendary Akilina. It is well known that it can shoot an arrow farther than any bow in the world. Would any contest therefore be fair? We have men here who have no wealth and who have cut their own bows from shriveled trees. Should they be at a disadvantage because you have Akilina?”

Odysseus said nothing, but then Meriones spoke. “It is a fair point,” he agreed. “Bring on your bows. Let us at least practice with them.”

Several soldiers then marched out, carrying slender weapons in the Egypteian style, each carved from a single length of wood with no composite to provide extra strength and elasticity. A young soldier approached Meriones. He was carrying two bows, and as he offered the first to the black-bearded archer, he seemed to hesitate. Then he drew it back and turned toward the judge. “Go ahead,” he was ordered. The youngster then reached out with his right hand, offering a bow to Meriones, who took it and drew back several times on the string. The second bow he offered to Odysseus.

“By the gods,” Odysseus said loudly as he hefted it. “I could shape better weapons than this from dried cow dung. Strike a rabbit with a shaft from this and it would scratch its arse and wonder which flea had nipped it.” Laughter broke out among the crowd.

Other soldiers brought buckets of arrows, which they placed before the men. Then the judge spoke again. “Each archer will have five shots. The leading ten archers will progress to the second round.”

“These are flimsy weapons,” Meriones complained. “Not enough pull to offset the breeze.” He turned to the judge. “Are we at least allowed to practice with these bows?”

The judge shook his head and called the archers forward.

Upon the order to shoot, each man drew back on his bowstring. There was a sudden crack. The bow of Odysseus split, his arrow dropping to the ground. “Fetch another bow!” he called.

A soldier brought him a second weapon. Odysseus calmed himself, sighted carefully, then let fly. The arrow, caught by the breeze, drifted a hairbreadth wide of the dummy. Now, with a feel for the bow, he sent his next three shafts hammering into the straw chest. Then he called out for his fifth arrow.

“You have had five, Odysseus,” the judge told him.

“Are you an imbecile? The bow broke on the first.”

“Such was the will of the gods. You have scored three in five. I am sorry, King Odysseus; you are eliminated.”

The crowd was utterly silent. Odysseus, the greatest of archers, famed around the Great Green, had not made it through the opening round. Hurling the bow to the ground, he snatched up Akilina and sent a long arrow ripping through the farthest target. It struck the pole holding the dummy in place with such force that the target was ripped from its ties and fell to the grass.

Odysseus swung on the judge. “You ignorant cowson! You think this crowd came to see grown men playing with sticks and string? They came to see the finest archers and the greatest bows. They came to see Akilina and the black bow of Meriones. They came for an exhibition of greatness, not an embarrassing display of mediocrity.” With that he stalked away, burning with shame.

Meriones ran to catch him. “My friend, wait!” he called. “Come, let us find something cool to drink.”

“I am in no mood for company, Meriones.”

“I know. In your place neither would I be. But hear me, Odysseus. The judge was overzealous. You should have been allowed another shaft.”

Odysseus paused. “I don’t like losing, Meriones. All men know that. But there is something in the air here, and I do not like the smell. Did you notice the young soldier when he went to give you the bow? He offered it from the left hand, then drew back and gave you the right-hand weapon.”

“Aye, I saw that. What of it? You think you were cheated?”

“I do not know, Meriones. What I do know is that I have now been shamed twice in a single day.”

The judges called out for the archers to resume their positions. Meriones leaned in to Odysseus. “I am sorry, my friend. But whatever happens here, all men know you are still the greatest archer in the world.”

“Go! Go and win the damned tourney.”

Meriones ran back across the field. Odysseus wandered around the gathering field, watching other contests. Bias progressed through both early rounds of the javelin, and Leukon dispatched two opponents in the boxing tourney. Even the big lout Banokles battered his way into the later rounds. Bored and hot and with the opening ceremony not until late afternoon, Odysseus returned to the
Penelope.

Piria was sitting quietly beneath the canopy on the rear deck as he climbed aboard. “I had not expected to see you so soon,” she said. The comment did not help his mood. Piria handed him a cup of water. “Have you seen Andromache?”

Draining the cup, he shook his head. “She has left the palace and moved to Hektor’s farm.”

“I shall go there, then.”

“Yes, you must. But not yet. The city is teeming with foreigners. Your father is here, and your brother, and quite an entourage, I’m told. The risk of your being recognized is too great. In five days all the kings will be leaving.”

“I am willing to risk the journey now,” she said.

The anger that had been simmering below the surface all day erupted. “You stupid girl!” he roared. “Of course
you
are willing to risk it. And if you are captured while scampering witlessly off to your lost love, then every man in this crew might face death. The last man who helped a Thera runaway was burned alive, along with his family. You think I would allow my men’s lives to be put further at risk for the sake of five days? By the gods, girl, you seek to disobey me on this and I’ll hand you over myself.” She sat very still, her eyes wide and fearful. Odysseus felt his anger drift away. What are you doing? he asked himself. This girl has suffered great abuse—and not just during these last few days. And now you terrorize her? “Forgive that outburst,” he said at last. “This has been an ugly day, and I am not by nature a calm man. You are safe with me, Piria. But give me the five days and I will have you at Andromache’s side.”

“I am sorry, too, Odysseus,” she said. “I spoke without thinking. I would not want any one of your crew to suffer because of me. I will, of course, wait. Who am I to be when we reach Hektor’s palace?”

He reddened then. “I have given that much thought. I cannot call you a slave or a servant, for then you would be left among those in Hektor’s employ. You would be given tasks for which you are not trained. I cannot say you are family for it is known that I have no family save Penelope. Therefore—and do not bridle before I have finished—I shall say you are my concubine. You will then be given your own rooms, and I shall send out for clothing for you to replace that tattered gown. You need have no fear. I shall not be requiring you to play the role.”

Surprisingly, she smiled. “I thank you, Odysseus.”

“Yes, well. That is settled, then. And now I shall cool myself with a swim and then don my kingly robes for the opening ceremony.”

Walking to the prow, he lowered himself to the sand. Then, doffing tunic and sandals, he waded out and dived forward. The cold of the sea refreshed him, but niggling doubts continued to gnaw at him.

It was just a broken bow, he told himself. No more, no less.

CHAPTER TWENTY

THE ENEMY OF TROY

Dressed in a long robe of white and wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, Odysseus traveled to the stadium in one of Priam’s chariots. He was greeted there by Priam’s son Polites, a shy and dull young man of limited conversation. The prince led him to an enclosure where he found himself in the company of Agamemnon, Peleus, Idomeneos, and Nestor. The Mykene king nodded in greeting. “I hear fortune did not favor you at the archery tourney,” he said.

“Bow snapped,” Odysseus answered, trying for a lightness of tone, as if he cared nothing for the result. It did not fool Agamemnon, he knew. The man had a mind as sharp as a viper’s fang.

Out in the stadium a dark-haired young soldier wearing a cloak of gold was pacing out the running track. Three hundred long paces, imitating the stride of Herakles, who had established the first known sprint race generations back. “The Lord of the Games should be of noble birth,” muttered Idomeneos, “and not some peasant in armor.”

Odysseus let the comment pass. The grandfather of Idomeneos had been a peasant warrior who had seized a section of Kretos and declared himself king. Nestor looked at him, raising an eyebrow. He, too, knew of Idomeneos’ ancestry.

Once the track was established, the turning posts were carried out, then hammered into the ground. Across the field the first of the athletes were leaving the
palaistra
and moving into position. Odysseus saw Kalliades swinging his arms and loosening his muscles.

“I know that man,” Agamemnon said. His expression darkened. “He is a Mykene renegade.”

“Which one?” Odysseus asked innocently.

“There! The tall one,” Agamemnon said, pointing at Kalliades again.

“Member of my crew,” Odysseus said. “He runs for Ithaka.”

“The man with the sword of Argurios,” Idomeneos added.

“Another traitor,” Agamemnon snapped.

“The world is full of traitors,” Odysseus agreed. “So how is it you know this man?”

“He killed Kolanos, a loyal follower, and was sentenced to death for it. However, he escaped justice and fled…to you, apparently.”

“Had I but known,” Odysseus said. “Naturally I shall dismiss him from my crew when the games are over.”

“He should be dragged out now,” Agamemnon maintained. “I shall send word to Priam.”

“That might cause a problem or two,” Odysseus said. “I seem to recall that following the attack on Troy last autumn King Priam released all prisoners. It is said he requested they kill the general of that raid, a man who had offered to betray his king.”

“A foul Trojan lie!” Agamemnon snapped. “Kolanos would never have betrayed me.”

“Even so, the killing of Kolanos was ordered by Priam. You can hardly ask him to punish a man who carried out his order. And on the surface at least, Kolanos had already betrayed you by attacking Priam, who was—and remains—your ally.”

Agamemnon hesitated. “Your words are wise, Odysseus,” he said at last. “It saddens me that we are not allies. Surely you can see the threat Troy poses. You think Priam, with all his wealth and his growing armies, has no designs on the lands of the west?”

“I do not know the mind of Priam. I think, however, that wealth is all he desires. And he has no need to invade others to see it grow. Troy sucks in gold by the day, in every ship, in every caravan.”

“I have agents here in Troy,” Agamemnon said, keeping his voice low. “Priam recently purchased a thousand Phrygian bows, and he is shipping copper and tin to his armories. Breastplates, helms, shields, swords. If we do not deal with this man now, he will descend on us all.”

Odysseus smiled. “I am the man with no enemies, Agamemnon. Not Troy, not the Mykene, not the Hittites or the Gypptos. My ships are welcome in all bays and all ports.”

Agamemnon appeared to relax. “I appreciate your frankness, Odysseus. I shall be equally forthright. When the war comes—as it must—then those who continue to trade with Troy will be considered enemies. There will be no neutrals.”

“It is getting dangerous to be neutral these days. Old Eioneus was neutral. I hear he fell from his horse and died.”

“A tragic loss for his people,” Agamemnon said. “And I fear he will not be the last. I am told that another of us is to be declared an enemy of Troy. Whoever it is will be lucky to leave the city alive.”

“You are suggesting Priam killed Eioneus?”

“I had no quarrel with him. Perhaps he was preparing to renounce his alliance with Troy.”

Odysseus did not believe the lie for a moment, but he kept his own counsel. “And who is this other enemy to be named?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I wish I did. It is a most odd story.”

Just at that moment there came a great roar from the crowd as the runners were called to the starting line at the western end of the track. The Lord of the Games lifted his arm. The vast crowd fell silent. “Away!” shouted the lord. The twenty runners sped out, sprinting toward the finishing post. Several judges were waiting there to note the first five to cross the line. They would progress to the next round.

Kalliades finished second. Other races followed. Odysseus watched them, sometimes wagering with Idomeneos and Nestor. Then he left the enclosure and walked around the stadium to where the later rounds of the javelin were being contested. Bias was throwing well, but Odysseus saw the black man rubbing at his shoulder. He looks weary now, Odysseus thought. By the later rounds his shoulder will be a sea of pain.

Then, some distance away, standing close to Priam, he saw Helikaon. His heart lifted, and he waved to catch Helikaon’s eye. He was convinced he had, for the dark-haired young man glanced in his direction, though he then turned away. Odysseus watched as he eased his way back through the throng until he was out of sight.

The boy looks thin and weary, he thought. And with so many Mykene in Troy, he should not be out in public. But I will lift his spirits when we speak. Helikaon would be glad to know that supplies of tin from the Seven Hills had exceeded expectations and the profits from the last season had been enormous.

Hungry now, Odysseus made his way to a food stall, where he stood in the shade munching on a Trojan delicacy: meat and herbs wrapped in a broad leaf that had been marinated in wine. Then he walked back around the stadium, coming at last to the enclosure where Agamemnon was standing with King Peleus and his tall son, Achilles.

Odysseus looked at the fleshy king and thought of Piria and of how she had hacked away her blond locks as a child. He knew, as did many of the kings of the west, of the man’s abhorrent sexual tastes, but he knew now of one more evil committed by him.

Now look what you made me do, slut.

Appalling enough to have raped the child, but to make her believe it was somehow her fault was vile beyond belief.

“Well met, Odysseus,” Peleus said, thrusting out his hand.

“You must forgive me,” Odysseus replied, avoiding the handshake. “I have been munching on sweetmeats, and my hands are sticky with honey.” He swung to Achilles. “Good to see you, lad. The word is you will be champion of the games.”

“There is no real competition,” the young man said sourly. “Save perhaps your man, Leukon.”

“He is a canny fighter.”

More races began. Peleus and Achilles wandered away to stand with Idomeneos and the Athenian king, Menestheos.

Agamemnon leaned toward Odysseus. “You are not overly fond of Peleus?”

“I hardly know him. So tell me of this enemy of Troy.”

“I have the story in fragments only. Given time I will learn more. You recall the assassin Karpophorus?”

“By reputation only.”

“He died stabbing the ghastly Helikaon. He did not die immediately, however. It seems that Karpophorus was also responsible for the murder of Helikaon’s father.” Odysseus felt suddenly cold, and his belly tightened. “What is it?” Agamemnon asked, his dark eyes watching the Ugly King.

“Too many sweetmeats,” Odysseus answered. “Go on.”

“There is little more that I can tell. Karpophorus told Helikaon the identity of the man who ordered his father’s death. Helikaon passed the information to Priam. As you know, Priam was blood kin to the father. Cousin or suchlike. So honor demands he declare the man who hired the killer an enemy of Troy. Now, I doubt the man is a mere merchant, so it is likely he is a king. The question is, Who? Anchises was not an enemy to the Mykene. There is a dark mystery here, I think.”

Odysseus saw that Agamemnon was staring at him intently. “I don’t doubt light will shine upon it soon,” he said, moving away. Then he caught sight of Kalliades and Banokles strolling close by. Stepping out, he called the two friends to him. Banokles had a swelling under his right eye and a cut lip, but he was in a fine mood.

“Did you see me, Odysseus?” he asked. “Downed that Hittite six times.” He lifted his fist. “Hammer of Hephaistos!”

“You did well,” the king said. “Are you returning to the palace now?”

“No,” Banokles said. “I’m off to the lower town to meet a friend.”

“I’m heading for the
Penelope.
I’d be grateful for your company,” Odysseus said, staring at Kalliades. The warrior’s eyes narrowed. Then he nodded.

“And we would be privileged to walk with you, Odysseus King.”

“We would?” Banokles queried.

“The Law of the Road,” Kalliades told him.

“Stay close and watchful,” Odysseus said, setting off toward the upper city. The two warriors fell in behind him.

As he walked, a cold anger began in Odysseus, far more powerful than the volcanic rages for which he was renowned. It ate into him, burrowing deep, awakening thoughts and feelings he had put behind him almost fifteen years before.

Priam now knew that Odysseus had hired Karpophorus to kill Helikaon’s father.

As a result, he was to be declared an enemy of Troy. This in itself would have been a matter of great regret for the Ithakan king, but it was understandable.

But Priam had not been satisfied with the honorable course, summoning Odysseus to the palace and banishing him from Troy. Instead he had set out to humiliate and shame him. The icy anger swelled, seeping through his body. What had to follow now was obvious. During the games Priam would set out to divide the kings of the west, to bribe and coerce the weaker or greedier elements. He could not allow Odysseus to leave Troy alive to ally with Agamemnon. Priam would know that Nestor of Pylos and perhaps even Idomeneos would be swayed if Odysseus joined the ranks of the Mykene plotters.

As Odysseus walked, he watched faces in the crowd, seeking any sign of tension, anyone who looked too long or too hard at him. Glancing to his left, he saw Kalliades doing the same. To his right Banokles was walking warily, also scanning the crowd for signs of trouble.

Pushing thoughts of assassination from his mind, he returned to the larger problem. There has to be some way to resolve this, he thought. You are Odysseus, the thinker, the planner. You are known for your cunning and your stratagems. One by one he considered courses of action. What if he went to Priam and tried to set the matter right? Priam would not listen. Odysseus had caused the death of blood kin. Blood demanded blood.

What else to do? He could gather his men, slip out of Troy at dawn, then make his way back to Ithaka on the other side of the Great Green. And then what? Live the rest of his life in fear of assassins sent by Priam? Then there was Helikaon. The fact that he had gone to Priam meant that he, too, would declare Odysseus an enemy. The dread
Xanthos
would sail the Great Green hunting down Ithakan ships, as would the other fifty galleys under Helikaon’s control. If they blocked the trade route to the Seven Hills, Ithaka would within a year—two at the most—be poverty-stricken and ruined.

Face the truth, Odysseus, he told himself. Priam’s decision to make me an enemy has left only one viable choice. You are like a ship, being driven by storm winds you cannot control toward a land of hatred and blood you have no wish to visit. The realization of it grieved him. He loved Helikaon and felt great fondness for Hektor and his new wife, Andromache. In the war to come his every sympathy would lie with Troy. He disliked the megalomaniac Agamemnon and loathed the ghastly Peleus. He had contempt for the mean-spirited Idomeneos and felt no warmth toward the Athenian Menestheos. In fact, of all the kings of the west, he felt affection only for Nestor. Anger swelled again, cold and all-consuming.

Odysseus gazed up at the towering walls and the mighty Scaean Gate. He saw the hilltop palace of Priam and the buildings on either side of the narrow, twisting streets. He no longer viewed them as impressive works of architecture. Now he saw them through different eyes. Coldly he estimated the numbers of men needed to scale the walls and pictured the streets as battlegrounds.

As they eased their way through the crowds, Kalliades leaned in to him. “Four men,” he said. “Following a little distance behind. They have been with us since the tourney fields.”

Odysseus did not look back. Neither Kalliades nor Banokles was armed, and Odysseus carried only a small curved knife in a jeweled scabbard. The weapon was useful for cutting fruit but little else.