The Arrow of Apollo, page 10
She caught his gaze then, and it was like looking into the eyes of a spirited horse. She smiled, slowly. And then she began to laugh, a hollow, mad laugh.
Tisamenos dropped the tablet and fled. Even the closing of the stone door did not muffle the laughter, and it rang in his mind until he found a quiet corner near the kitchens, where he paused, breathing in the smell of roasting boars.
Who else was there? Nobody in the whole kinghouse, in the whole city of Mykenai, could help him now. Revenge … it’s natural! Electra’s words pulsed through his head.
He ran, bewildered, through the corridors, ever pursued by that mocking laugh, which was joining now with the tapping noise in his head, booming louder and louder.
He bumped into a secretary as he rounded a corner; he knocked a stone jug from a maid’s hand, and milk spilled all over the corridor. He ran, until he was outside in the dusty streets among the goats and the pigs and the dirt, and then he continued running, blindly, until he was at the massive stone wall on the edge of the citadel. The Lion Gate loomed above him, vast, the two carved lions facing each other.
Here, under the shadow of the gate, with nobody looking on, he threw himself down into the dust, and wept, until he could weep no more.
Through the confusion of his mind loomed Orestes, stroking Erigone’s cheek, holding Penthilos in the crook of his arm, saying, ‘I see myself in him.’ And Electra, raving, twisted by her single-minded purpose, stretching out those terrible hands, those long white fingers.
Even when the sun went down, he did not notice the cold.
Fifteen
Python
THE TYRRHENIAN SEA
Tilting, the ship was creaking alarmingly. Elissa grabbed Ruffler and managed to squash him, squealing, into a pouch slung around her neck. She steadied herself. What was the matter with Silvius? He wasn’t moving. He’d dropped his bow and arrow. Hers were too far away to reach.
‘Silvius! Get up!’ He seemed distant, glazed.
A wave crashed and drenched him. Spluttering, he gripped the side of the ship and pulled himself up, acknowledging Elissa as if he’d only just realised she was there.
‘They’re nearly on us!’
The Enemy were now only a few boat lengths away. The red glow from their eyes was tingeing the sea, making it seem like they were forging through a lake of blood. If it wasn’t for that, they would have resembled a woman and her son out for a fishing trip.
Trembling, Elissa leaped forwards and grabbed the fallen bow. It was like an eel in her hands. Cursing, she managed to fit the arrow to the string.
She remembered shooting deer and birds in the forest outside Lavinium, and pretended to herself that she was on dry land; that made it easier to stand firm.
She sighted along the arrow. She needed to aim a little nearer to the ship, as the rowing boat was moving so fast.
Should she go for the bulky woman, or the young man? The woman looked stronger, but they were both rowing with equal intensity. The woman had long, curling brown hair. It could have been any of the women in Lavinium. She wondered who was waiting for her, back on land. Whether there was a little girl, feet bare, asking for her mother in some village.
The man was on the side nearer to Elissa. So, biting her tongue, she imagined she was simply shooting a grouse, and twanged the bowstring, letting loose the arrow.
The arrow struck the port side of the boat and skittered into the waves.
Silvius was now beside Elissa. ‘I’ll hold you steady,’ he said, bracing himself, gripping her by the waist. The extra weight was just what she needed.
No longer trembling, she fitted another arrow, sighted, took into account the motion of the rowing boat. A twang of the bowstring. This time the arrow stuck firmly into its keel.
‘It’s too difficult!’
‘Let me try,’ said Silvius. They swapped places, Elissa steadying him, but his arrow overshot, making a white splash in the red sea.
‘We’re losing too many arrows,’ she said.
‘We’ll have to fight them here.’ Silvius sounded uncertain.
‘They’ll have to climb on board first – we’ll get them before that.’
‘Push them back into the sea.’
It seemed impossible. But it was the only thing they could do.
They found two oars, and stood waiting with their bows as the Enemy’s boat beat remorselessly onwards.
These moments were unbearable. Ruffler was whimpering at Elissa’s chest. She could hear the relentlessness of the Enemy’s oar strokes; the cries of the ship nymph; Silvius, trying to breathe calmly next to her. All was held in tension, waiting for something to snap.
Elissa could now see the young man clearly. He was handsome, with black curly hair and a pale, sensitive face. A sick feeling surged through her. She knew this young man. She’d seen him, one of the traders from the outlying settlements, bringing pottery for sale to Lavinium. He’d shown her how to paint the figure of a god on a stone. She glanced at Silvius, but he showed no glimmer of recognition.
With an expression of blank determination, the trader threw a grappling hook over the ship’s side. As if she had been bitten, the ship nymph screamed in response.
Elissa was ready, and rushed to try to prise the hook off, Silvius clawing at it too. But it was biting, hard.
A pebble hit Elissa sharply on the cheek, and she staggered and lost her grip. The woman was throwing them. It was enough time for the young man to hurl another hook and lock the two craft together.
As quickly as a cormorant swooping into the sea, the woman vaulted onto the ship. Elissa shot from close range.
Half a breath later, the arrow pierced the woman’s thigh. She took as little notice of it as she might a wasp’s sting, and drew a long sword from her belt, advancing on them.
Elissa was terrified. She had never fought like this, could not fight off a woman possessed by Python and armed with a sword, the red light from her eyes glowing demonic. There was no emotion in her face at all.
A movement caught Elissa’s attention to her right. She saw with dismay that Silvius was fingering the casket holding the Arrowhead.
‘Don’t,’ she muttered.
‘Centaurs are wilder than us. I think I can control it.’
‘Don’t risk it now!’
As the woman advanced, the curly-haired young man also leapt over the side, and the pair strode forwards in a pincer movement.
‘You’re still people!’ shouted Elissa. ‘You have homes, families, friends!’
Implacably the two marched onwards, forcing Elissa and Silvius against the stern.
The bag Elissa was carrying moved, and out shot Ruffler. He landed on the deck, and then skittered straight towards the woman, biting her in the leg. She stumbled.
Instinctively Elissa notched another arrow, this time as quickly and as neatly as if she was on dry land, and it lodged in the woman’s neck.
She fell to her knees, clutching at her throat, but she did not utter a sound.
The red light left her eyes, and for a moment she became just a terrified dying woman.
Elissa had killed someone. Someone who had had the terrible misfortune to be taken by Python. She felt suddenly numb.
‘Where … what … My flower! My little flower!’ She sobbed, and then she was gone. Her body slumped onto the deck, and a wave caught it, and rolled it over the side of the ship.
Elissa ran to where the body had disappeared, and watched it dip under the surface, hair floating around the body.
A harsh grip was on her shoulder. The curly-haired man, the one who’d been so patient with the paintbrush, had her in his grasp. She shrieked.
‘Give the Arrowhead to me,’ her captor hissed. ‘Give it to me, or I will kill her.’
‘Don’t!’ squealed Elissa.
Ruffler bit into the Enemy’s leg, and worried at it. But he took no notice.
‘Python rises,’ said the man, eyes glowing crimson. ‘He calls us and he rises. He will take back his lands. He will rule Delphi! The gods are leaving. Python will return. You will all worship him. Give it to me, join us and live!’
‘Don’t!’ shouted Elissa once more. The young man kicked Ruffler away, and the wolf cub arched his back, baring his teeth. Elissa watched Silvius, aghast. The golden chain glinted on his neck.
Looking at the Enemy, Silvius nodded, briefly. ‘Tell me what to do,’ he said. A clammy terror gripped Elissa. Was Silvius giving in? She searched desperately for some sign in his eyes, but he was ignoring her. Had Python got to him already?
‘No, Silvius, please!’
Waves crashed over the deck, and the Enemy held out his hand and smiled.
Sixteen
News from Italia
MYKENAI, ACHAEA: KINGHOUSE OF THE LION
Orestes was drunk again. Lolling on a plush silken cushion on a chair at the head of the great table in the feasting hall, he leaned over too far and fell off, landing on his face.
The hundreds of guests all roared with laughter and banged the table with their goblets. Erigone, seated next to Orestes, joined in, adding her shrill voice to the cacophony. Sheep and oxen were roasting on spits all around the edges; the men were yelling and boasting, as usual, whilst dancing girls fluttered in the alleyways and delicate-featured boy cupbearers kept the strong wine flowing. Smoke billowed through the halls. Everyone was befuddled with drink.
Everyone apart from Tisamenos, who watched from his position nearby. He had fashioned a kind of linen bandage for his hand; he couldn’t help feeling it, where the stump was. The echoing in his head had gone, drowned out by his thoughts of revenge, but his fingers kept straying up to the stone section of his skull, as if they could not quite believe it had happened.
He was paying close attention to whatever Erigone did. She was reaching down to help Orestes up, her hand on his goblet. She released her fingers from it as he came back up, seemingly careless of it, and Orestes, with the aid of a couple of other friends, reappeared at the table to a chorus of cheers.
‘I’m fine, I’m fine,’ Orestes stuttered. His lips were purple from wine.
Erigone caught Tisamenos looking at her, and for a moment a cloud passed over her apparently joyful features. It cleared quickly, though, and she beckoned to him.
‘Come and join your parents, Tisamenos,’ she smiled.
Tisamenos scraped his chair on the floor, and walked over, slowly, keeping his bandaged hand half-hidden.
‘My, you’ve broken out,’ said Erigone, looking him up and down. ‘All those pimples. We’ll have to get you some poultices. Isn’t your nurse looking after you properly? Come and sit by your mother.’
The babyish insinuations didn’t hurt him any more. Orestes belched, and called for another goblet of wine. Tisamenos kept his head downcast as if he were a little shy of Erigone. He would let her think that he was warming to her.
‘Now now, Tisamenos,’ purred Erigone as she arranged a cushion behind his back. ‘We’ve had our differences. But we should be friends, don’t you think so?’
Tisamenos watched as she poured him a goblet of wine and added water to it. She pushed the heavy gold goblet towards him. It was carved, he noted, with the image of a lion. She was using his father’s emblem as if it were hers. He grasped it by the stem and brought it to his lips, taking as small a sip as he dared so as not to get drunk. Then he set it down again.
‘I heard you visited Electra,’ she said, quietly. She was smiling, her eyes lit up. But Tisamenos could hear the ice in her voice.
‘Yes, of course – I always visit her.’ The lie came to him surprisingly easily.
‘A fine thing, to be so close to one’s relatives.’
Tisamenos realised she must have a spy among Electra’s women. He’d been stupid. He should have known. Did that mean she knew that they had been talking about revenge? Did she know what was in his heart? Now he must act the innocent, maybe even pretend to be on her side. He wondered how long it would be before she made her move.
Orestes was slapping his good leg, as a bard had appeared and was singing about the great deeds of his father Agamemnon at Troy.
The wide-ruling king, beloved by all
Set sail with a thousand black ships
To rescue fair Helen, the bride of his brother,
Whom weak-hearted Paris had stolen …
‘Have you thought about being king?’ Erigone was speaking softly, twisting her fingers in her hair.
Tisamenos remained mute. Act dumb. That was the way.
‘Things don’t always turn out as you’d expect,’ said Erigone. ‘My father was king here, you know. For a while. Whilst your grandfather sat on his haunches on the shores of Troy.’ She was silent, and there was no mistaking the look in her eyes now. It was calculating, cool, the words a veiled threat.
She clearly suspected that he knew about Hermione, and fixed him with her gaze. It was penetrating.
He did his best to appear completely innocent, and looked away first.
Then she clapped her hands.
‘Sing the song of Cassandra!’
The bard faltered.
‘Bard!’
He began again, singing of how she was dragged from the steps of her altar and taken as a slave by Agamemnon. A frown passed across Orestes’s face.
Tisamenos immediately looked about to see if Hero was there – and she was, in the corner, half in shadow, watching. Her own mother, sung about in the halls of her enemy. But Hero made no sign of annoyance, or even of recognition, and simply folded her arms.
Tisamenos knew what she was capable of now, what the Swallows could do, what their magic could do. He wanted to go and talk to her, to find out more, but couldn’t let Erigone see him do so.
The great doors to the hall burst open, and a man came running in, straight up to Orestes; shouting over the bard, he said, ‘Orestes, King of Mykenai, I bring a message.’
‘So urgent?’ answered Orestes, removing his hand from a flute-player’s bare shoulder and putting down his goblet. The hall went silent, except for the occasional muttering or drunken belch.
‘Our friend in Italia says there is trouble there. Certain information is not forthcoming, but an army is massing in the north. And he gave me this to give to you.’ He held out a sealed tablet, and bowed.
Orestes suddenly straightened. Erigone pursed her lips as Orestes broke the seal and studied the tablet carefully. Then, without warning, he stood up, pushing back his chair, and strode towards the great doors. As if remembering something, he stopped, and said, ‘Tisamenos. Come with me.’
‘Orestes?’ called Erigone.
‘Just Tisamenos,’ replied the king.
‘But, Orestes, if it’s news, shouldn’t we discuss it together?’
‘I said just Tisamenos.’
Giddily Tisamenos got up and went to his father, leaving Erigone fuming.
‘Come,’ said his father, looking at him with an expression that Tisamenos could not read. There was worry there, certainly, but also something that Tisamenos had never seen before. Fear. And behind that, a glimpse of the warrior that Orestes had once been.
‘You’re surprised,’ said Orestes.
‘I … I thought you were drunk.’
‘Sometimes it’s good to appear softer than you are. Follow.’ He grabbed a torch from an attendant.
Tisamenos went at his heels, through the dank corridors of the kinghouse, past the old storeroom that had fallen in, and into a quarter that he’d never seen before. It was dark, forgotten, damp. Moss grew on the walls, and there were no torches lighting the way. The pool of light from his father’s flame was small, and he stumbled often.
Looking from side to side, Orestes went to the darkest corner and pushed at something. A stone in the wall slid, groaning, to the right.
The king went through, Tisamenos after him. Orestes pressed the lever that must have opened the door, and then they were in total darkness.
Seventeen
Cai
THE TYRRHENIAN SEA
‘I will give the Arrowhead to you,’ said Silvius, dangling the casket out to the curly-haired young man who had his arm around Elissa’s neck. ‘Let her go first.’ It was the only thing he could do. He saw Elissa’s expression change from horror to determination, and she struggled against her captor’s grasp.
‘The Arrowhead.’ The Enemy was toneless, implacable.
‘I will give you the Arrowhead,’ Silvius continued, steadily, ‘when I have my hand on Elissa.’
‘Move forwards,’ hissed the Enemy.
Silvius did so. The Enemy’s eyes glowed and flared in anticipation. He released Elissa, keeping hold of her shoulder, and at the same time, he reached for the Arrowhead.
‘Silvius!’ choked Elissa. ‘I know this man! He’s from the villages … Do you recognise him?’
The curly hair, the pale cheeks. Yes, Silvius realised, he had seen him, in Lavinium.
‘I think his name is Cai!’
There was a flicker in the red glow.
‘Cai.’ Silvius kept his voice calm, though he was trembling all over. ‘Do you remember Elissa?’
‘You came to Lavinium,’ she took over, ‘a few months ago now, when the winter was hard. You had some pottery with you – your father had made it. I asked you how you drew the wood god, and you showed me, with your fine paintbrush.’
Something seemed to shift inside Cai. A glimpse of blue-grey eyes behind the red. ‘Elissa …’
‘Yes.’ Silvius swallowed. ‘And I’m Silvius.’
Cai’s grip loosened.
‘Elissa … Silvius …’
‘Yes, that’s right …’
‘Elissssa … Sssilviusss …’ Their names began to shade into the hissing of a snake. A change came over Cai’s face. His features hardened, his mouth set into a harsh line. ‘Python is here … and Python rises,’ roared the Enemy, and he lunged for the casket, as Silvius went for Elissa’s right hand, dodging out of the way.
