The Arrow of Apollo, page 16
‘I’m sorry,’ said Elissa, moving towards him. ‘I know how it feels not to have a mother.’ She stretched out a comforting hand, but he pushed it away.
‘How do we know what you’re saying is true?’ Silvius asked.
‘We need to work together. You have to trust me.’
There was no other choice. Either they tried to go in on their own, or they took Tisamenos’s help. There was a pride in his eyes, unwavering, which Silvius recognised.
‘We are agreed.’
‘First find Hero. She will be in the courtyard with Erigone and the other women. She will help you. Elissa, you must go to the women’s quarters and befriend Erigone. Go to her with a tale that I will give you, and she will follow you. Silvius, you must find Orestes, and also bring him here. But you must not tell him that I am here, or he will send guards, and I will be escorted away, and maybe even killed.’
The shadows of the tombs were lengthening. Overhead, clouds passed over the sun, cooling now. A lizard, poised, leapt across a small gap in the stones, and scuttled away out of sight.
‘Will you help us afterwards?’ said Silvius. ‘Whatever we find in the box, we will need help to defeat this evil …’
Tisamenos lifted his eyes up from the ground. ‘I will help as much as I can. But I can’t escape my destiny.’
Elissa kissed him on both cheeks, then Silvius held the strange boy in his grip for a moment, and felt the stone stub of his hand again. After Tisamenos pointed out to them the way to the Lion Gate, Silvius looked back and saw him staring after them. He lifted a hand in farewell, but the Achaean did not respond.
Then feeling the pull of the Arrowhead, he went onward, up the winding path.
Twenty-Six
Among the Lions
The shadow of the Lion Gate spread across the road towards Elissa. She paused, holding Silvius back. A sleepy-looking guard was standing at the left side.
The two companions halted just a little way from the gate. The guard, who was young and clearly very bored, batted a fly away from his face and sighed heavily.
‘Still not a good idea to alert him,’ whispered Elissa, pulling Silvius into the lee of a rock.
Laughter floated up towards them, and around the bend came a group of women following a wooden cart drawn by an old mule, on which were piles of freshly dried clothes.
Elissa acted quickly. She slipped in behind a pair of young girls, and twisted a cloth off the cart. Then she draped it over Silvius, hiding his short hair, and took him by the arm, leaning in as if telling him a secret. They followed the women a few paces behind the ones in the rear.
They were singing and chattering as they went, some in pairs sharing a shawl, some carrying toddlers and babies.
‘The clouds are massing,’ a tall, long-haired woman called to the guard. ‘The Skyfather is angry! There will be a storm later.’
‘At least the Skyfather could wait until my watch is over!’ answered the guard. ‘Any of you girls got a kiss for a lonely soldier?’ There was a gust of laughter, and Elissa and Silvius were through.
Up the dusty ramp they went, now within the encircling citadel walls, the great plains of Argos rolling beneath them. They passed a collection of stone buildings, but it was obvious where the kinghouse was.
Within the city, Elissa began to feel the weight of the stones pressing down on her. She had loved the openness of the sea. But here she was constricted, the walls like a prison.
The kinghouse seemed to her to have erupted from the ground itself, a living thing that had decided, for reasons of its own, to crouch here and wait. Its huge bronze doors were open.
Inside all was shadowy. They watched as people thronged in and out, busy, hurrying, boys off to wrestle and hunt, men and women talking, arguing, carrying jars and clothes and weapons and all the things that made up life.
It was far less ordered than Lavinium. Everything was crumbling and ancient; nobody seemed to be in charge. It made Elissa feel a little less nervous. In all this chaos, it would be easier to stay unnoticed.
Elissa turned to Silvius. He had a peculiar expression on his face, and he was fidgeting with the chain around his neck.
They had to get on with their mission. She had been worrying about the effect the Arrowhead was having on Silvius. Was it making him forget their purpose? Now, she took his arm gently. ‘We’re nearly there,’ she said.
His eyes focused on her, and a smile formed. ‘Yes. Let’s find Hero.’
She approached the kinghouse up a flight of enormous dark stone steps, Silvius behind her.
At the threshold, the brightness of the sun made the inside seem as if it might engulf them both.
A small boy ran past them, being chased by his sister, as Elissa entered the cool gloom of the kinghouse. Her eyes adjusted, and she noted the layout. Four corridors led off from this hall.
‘He said at this time she would be in the courtyard with Erigone,’ said Elissa.
‘Where do you think that might be?’
‘Probably off the main corridor. That one looks like the biggest, doesn’t it?’ There were more people coming in and out of the one that led straight on. ‘Let’s take that one, and then we can always come back here and try the others.’
Silvius nodded. Soon enough the light of day spilled onto the ground ahead of them, and they came out into a large open space, bathed in sunlight, with an olive tree in the centre of it. Underneath the tree was a wooden chair, and in it sat a woman, bony and swathed in a rich purple robe, with a baby on her lap. Around her were many ladies, busily weaving at looms, whilst two soldiers stood at attention on either side of her.
‘That must be Erigone,’ Elissa whispered to Silvius. ‘And Penthilos, the baby.’
Erigone was listening to a pair of women who were apparently looking to her for judgement.
‘Please, my lady, Xanthe’s son lamed my donkey, and now my husband cannot carry his wares to market.’
‘It was an accident!’ cut in the second. ‘I owe her nothing!’
She waved them away, their pleas unanswered, and continued playing with Penthilos, who gurgled and yowled. As if she’d been bitten by a wasp, she thrust the child at a waiting woman, who took him and started to nurse him. Erigone called another to her, and whispered in her ear.
Standing far back, half in shadow, was a young woman with dark skin. She wasn’t dressed as the others were, in robes and sandals, but in a hunting tunic and boots. Her black hair was tied neatly back, and her hand was resting on a dagger that she kept at her belt.
Something sparked in Elissa. She looked like a wolf, lazily keeping an eye on a herd of deer. She was of the space, and yet not of it. Like Elissa. Suddenly she wanted to run to this girl, to take her by the hand, to talk to her for hours.
‘It’s her,’ said Elissa. ‘I know it.’ They crept round the courtyard, keeping quiet, until they were right next to her. Elissa leaned casually against the wall, and said, as Tisamenos had instructed her, ‘The swallows return tonight.’
A tiny ember of recognition burned in Hero’s eyes. Without looking directly at them, Hero said, ‘Wait until that fat man starts speaking to Erigone.’ She indicated with her chin a large, perspiring steward who was waiting to say his piece. ‘When he does, go out of the north-eastern corner of the courtyard. And then, whatever happens, do not be afraid.’
She slipped away to the south. A few moments later, the steward, who was carrying a goose, came forwards. He dropped the bird, and, hissing, it waddled away among the women, who all started flapping their robes and shooing it. ‘Can’t you get that thing out of here?’ Erigone was shouting.
Quietly Elissa sidled to the north-eastern corner, and entered into another dark corridor. There she paused and looked at Silvius. The space between them was alive with anticipation. He was frowning, again fingering the chain.
Elissa sniffed. ‘Something’s tickling my nose.’ She grabbed at whatever it was, and gazed at it in the dim light. ‘It’s a feather …’
Before Silvius could reply, she was bombarded with them, as if someone were plucking a goose right next to her. She caught sight of Silvius’s astonished expression, before it was submerged in a whirl of blackness.
‘Silvius!’ Feathers were stuffing her mouth, so she kept it shut, and closed her eyes tight, feeling now that she was spinning round and round, into a vortex, and then being lifted bodily upwards. She uttered a silent prayer to the gods.
There was silence, and she was now standing on hard ground. Cautiously Elissa opened her eyes. They were in a large stone chamber, obviously underground, and she was relieved to see Hero waiting for them. Silvius was looking on with suspicion.
‘I think it’s all right,’ Elissa whispered.
‘Don’t be afraid,’ Hero said. ‘You were brought here by the power of the Swallows. Silvius, you are my kin – I am also half-Trojan, though I never knew my mother, Cassandra.’ She half bowed to Silvius, who acknowledged it. ‘My grandfather was King Priam, your father’s cousin.’ Then she looked carefully at Silvius and Elissa, and seemed to acknowledge something to herself.
Elissa could not help feeling a little jealous of this family connection, but she did not show it.
‘And you have come to this place,’ Hero said. ‘The whole kinghouse reeks with slaughter. And now it is time to purify it.’ Her eyes glowed with a deep passion that Elissa found frightening.
Hero brought a grey robe from a wooden chest, which she held out to Elissa. ‘Erigone wants nothing more than to rid the city of Orestes. She burns with revenge for her father’s death. So you will go to her and explain that you are a new servant sent from Crete, with designs on Orestes’s life, to help Crete expand its power. You will offer her an alliance with the king there, and tell her to come with you to the beehive tombs.’ Elissa took off her own stained tunic and put on the soft grey robe. Hero gave her a ring, too, engraved with the bull insignia of the kings of Crete.
‘Silvius. You must go to Orestes himself. Since Tisamenos was exiled, he spends his time with his sister Electra. They sit in silence among the ashes of their past. Find him, and tell him that you suspect a plot against his life, and bring him to the tombs at the same time as Erigone.’
‘Why will he trust me?’ Silvius bit his lip.
‘You will have to persuade him. When both of them are by the tombs, Tisamenos will know what to do. And then we can cleanse the citadel.’
There was something about the fire in this girl that made Elissa uncomfortable. She was part Trojan, though, living in the heart of the enemy. How she must have suffered.
‘Return to the kinghouse through the streets.’ She led them through a series of small, dark chambers, before reaching a blue-painted wooden door which opened out onto a dusty thoroughfare.
‘May the gods that remain go with you,’ she said, and ushered them out.
It wasn’t far to the kinghouse, but they were certainly dustier and hotter when they arrived.
‘Here we split,’ said Silvius when they came within a few steps of the great bronze doors. He took Elissa’s hand. ‘Be careful.’
He felt hot, and she thought she could detect trembling. She nodded, and then kissed him on the cheek, which made him blush. She thought she saw a brief flicker of need in his eyes, before he regained his composure.
Just as she was about to disappear around a corner, she turned back to acknowledge Silvius.
He was standing, half-facing away from her, determined.
She raised a hand, and then she set off into the depths of the kinghouse.
Twenty-Seven
The Throne Room
Silvius waited, listening to the echoes and footsteps around him. Tisamenos had said that Orestes would be in the throne room after noon, attending to problems of law. He reminded himself that Orestes was the son of the killer Agamemnon.
What would Aeneas be thinking of him now? He felt a sudden shiver of hatred as he watched the complacent, well-fed kinghouse inhabitants going about their business. They had never known hardship, never known what it felt like to be at the mercy of raids and wolves.
But he had to discard all of that. There were more important things now.
Python’s threat was bigger than old quarrels. Even now Silvius could feel the Arrowhead pulsing with power against his chest.
Two men came past, one gaunt and hollow-eyed but sleek-looking, the other shorter and sturdier, talking animatedly about a field whose boundary stone had been moved. That sounded like the right sort of thing for Orestes to be presiding over, and, resolutely, he fell into step behind them, trying to look as if he knew exactly where he was going.
His instinct proved right. As they came to a large door, the two men clasped each other’s hands. He entered with them into a great hall, where, seated on a raised platform, a large stone throne overshadowed the room. On it was a slumped figure.
Could this be Orestes, King of Mykenai, greatest king of all the Achaeans? Surely not.
This man was glugging from a goblet of wine, and laughing as he spilled a little of it on his robe. Beside him, standing with her arm resting on the back of the throne, was a pale, black-clad woman. Her eyes were half-closed, and she swayed a little, as if dancing to some tune that nobody else could hear.
A woman came scurrying away from the throne, and she whispered at the two who’d just come in. ‘Don’t try Orestes now – he’s in his cups.’ So it was him. She scuttled off. The two men faltered for a moment, then after a few muttered words went back out. The door slammed behind them.
Silvius had heard all the stories about Orestes. That he had killed his own mother. What would stop this man from killing him? Though at the moment, it did not look like that was possible.
The king raised his left hand, and a servant came forwards with a wineskin, filling the heavy gold goblet that Orestes held in his right. He drained it, and smacked his lips, then stood up, leaning heavily on a stick.
‘All of you – all of you. Go. The king commands you. All of you get out of this room – except my sister.’ So that was Electra beside him.
A councillor stepped forwards to whisper something in his ear, but Orestes waved him away. ‘No more today. No more.’
There was a great murmuring and a movement of feet as they all streamed away. Silvius hung back in the shadows until the last person had left, and the door clanged to.
Orestes sat on the steps. Then, much to Silvius’s surprise, he began to sob. His sister Electra joined him, embracing him with her slender arms, and though she did not weep, there was a great sadness in her eyes.
When Orestes finished, with one final, racking rasp, there was a luminous silence in the room, and the king stood up; he regained his throne carefully. Electra lifted herself up by the arm of the throne and steadied herself. Orestes cleared his throat, looked directly at where Silvius was skulking and said, ‘Child. Come out.’
Gathering his strength, Silvius stepped into the circle of light that came from the light well above.
‘What a handsome boy,’ said Electra. ‘That skin, and that black hair.’
‘Tell me, child, why are you spying on the King of Mykenai? And tell me why I should not have you killed?’ There was a coiled power in Orestes, Silvius felt. He had to tread carefully.
‘If you kill me, the world will be in danger,’ said Silvius. He knew that he could not lie to this man. There was something about him, something haughty and damaged and strange and wild.
The chain around his neck was heavy, the Arrowhead throbbing with energy.
‘You speak oddly, child,’ said Orestes. ‘Where are you from?’
‘Our king was Priam,’ continued Silvius. ‘Of Troy.’
The names hung in the air, javelins about to hit their mark. Electra turned sharply to study him, and Orestes straightened, eyes narrowing.
‘You were all defeated,’ said Orestes. ‘My father Agamemnon razed your city to the ground.’
‘A new Troy rises again in the West,’ said Silvius. ‘In Italia, where Aeneas has built the city of Lavinium.’
Orestes gripped his sword handle. All trace of the drunk had gone, and in his place was a fierce soldier.
‘No.’ Silvius removed the chain from his neck, and held up the casket so that they could see it. ‘I am not your enemy. My father’s battles are not mine. In here is the Arrowhead of Apollo.’
A groan escaped Orestes’s lips. He placed his head in his hands. ‘Then it is true, the message from Italia. I thought that I would rest, now …’ He looked up. His eyes were hollow.
‘Give it to me, child.’
Electra, silent, burned into him with her gaze.
‘I can’t,’ answered Silvius. He steeled himself. He was now a messenger of Apollo – he had to tell the truth. ‘Apollo is offended by some lies that have been told. Some lies that affect you directly. And until those lies are revealed, he will not allow it.’
‘You are brave, child, to face the lion in his den,’ said Orestes. Was this the lion of the prophecy, then? He didn’t look very lion-like to Silvius.
Silvius had seen the stone lions above the gate of the city. And while Orestes might have his lion, the people of Aeneas had the wolf.
‘Why shouldn’t I run you through right now, and seize the Arrowhead?’ Orestes hobbled towards Silvius, and suddenly drew the edge of his sword along the boy’s cheekbone. Cool and sharp, Silvius felt its bite. He quashed down a shudder.
‘I am the son of the wolf,’ said Silvius, voice strong as the bronze grazed his throat. ‘You will not take it from me. When the truth is known, we will reunite Arrowhead and Shaft.’
