The Arrow of Apollo, page 8
Elissa whooped with excitement, her hair rushing backwards in the flow. The stallion’s hooves pounded the flagstones so loudly that Silvius began to fear that they would be heard back in Lavinium.
But there was no pursuit, nothing, only the silvery road stretching ahead.
Soon, Silvius reined in Blaze. In the moonlight they could see the port ahead, a small collection of wooden buildings where the river Numicus met the sea. Here the Etruscans from the north traded across to the Achaean colonists in the south of Italia, and here also came ships from all over the Middle Sea. It was not as busy as Ostium, further north, but they were still likely to find passage quickly.
They dismounted, and Silvius led Blaze to a nearby rivulet which fed into the Numicus, where the horse gulped deep draughts of water, snorting through his whiskery muzzle. Elissa released the wolf cub, and he also slurped thirstily from the edge of the bank. When they’d finished, Silvius took Blaze, turned him in the direction of Lavinium, patted him sharply on the right flank, and the horse galloped off homewards.
Silvius gazed at Elissa for a moment, the stars glittering above them, the waves of the sea tugging at the shoreline nearby. In his friend’s dark eyes, Silvius saw his own excitement reflected back.
Had he made the right choice, bringing Elissa with him? He remembered his vision. The power of the snakes, and the terrible pull of Python; then Apollo’s soft voice intruding, and that tantalising glimpse of light he’d had, and longed for again. It was right. They had both seen the god.
Elissa enticed the wolf cub to her hands, and hefted him up into her arms. Now they had to find a boat. First, Silvius opened his pouch to show Elissa the things he’d brought to trade: a silver amulet and a few silver pieces.
Elissa laughed, the sound piercing the wash of the tide. ‘Do you want to get caught?’
‘What do you mean?’ Not for the first time, Silvius blushed fiercely. The amulet was the most precious thing he owned. It had been given to him by Lavinia’s father Latinus to mark his tenth year.
‘Imagine – Aeneas sends men after you. They hear of a young boy who’s been trading costly silver pieces and an amulet made by Latin craftsmen.’
‘Well, what have you got?’ He pushed the silver back amongst his other belongings.
Elissa tipped out some corals, tin, and other cheap things.
Silvius was suddenly aware of the Arrowhead around his neck, and he concealed it beneath his tunic, feeling its surprising weight hang against his skin. Also heavy at his side was his new sword.
‘Look. This is our story.’ Elissa spoke softly. ‘We need passage to Achaea to visit our cousins. We’re the children of simple traders. We have things to trade for our passage.’
It was a good plan. ‘We can offer help too,’ Silvius suggested. ‘I’m sure they’d be pleased to have extra hands.’
‘You’ve never been on a boat before,’ Elissa sniffed.
‘Neither have you!’
‘I have,’ said Elissa, jutting her chin out in defiance. ‘I’m always hanging about the boats on the lake.’
‘That – that’s different.’
‘Well, I’ve done more than you.’
‘Look, just hide the wolf cub, all right?’
‘His name is Ruffler,’ she said. ‘Because of his ruff.’ She tickled his neck and nestled him back in the pack, leaving it open a little so that he could breathe, where he remained, uncomplaining, bright eyes blinking slowly.
Nobody was about on the streets. There were really only two: a wide road that led down to the harbour, and one running across it, with a shrine at the crossing point, along which were a few settlements. No lights burned in any of the windows, and no sounds came from anywhere.
They arrived at the harbour itself. The waves were licking the shoreline gently. And here, Silvius began to get worried.
Because the whole curved bay was empty.
Not a single ship lay at anchor. His plan was suddenly in ruins. They’d need to wait till morning, by which time they would almost certainly be found.
‘What do we do now?’ Silvius tried not to betray his annoyance. He thought how foolish he’d been. They should have joined up with a trade convoy on the road, then they would have been bound to find a ship.
But he couldn’t go home now. He was on Apollo’s mission, and it had to be carried out. He shuddered at the memory of the Enemy they’d killed in Lavinium.
‘We should wait till morning and ask the harbour master then,’ said Elissa. ‘We can find somewhere to sleep. Ruffler will keep us warm.’ She tipped him out of her pack and he stretched himself gladly, his blue eyes winking in the darkness.
‘We can’t waste time!’
‘Well, we need our sleep.’
Silvius glanced around. ‘We can find somewhere out of the way.’
They began to look for a spot where they could huddle together. There was a little copse beyond the settlement, and they headed in that direction.
Ruffler suddenly stopped; he turned round and growled, hackles raised all along his back.
‘What are you doing there, boy?’ Elissa reached out to him.
There then came the sound of galloping hooves. Silvius’s heart started to beat faster. Could it be possible? A horseman appeared on the road, coming towards them, and Ruffler set up a furious howling.
‘Shut that dog up!’ came a voice from a window. But Silvius didn’t pay any attention.
Because coming towards them was Aeneas’s stallion Blaze. He would have recognised that proud beast anywhere. And astride him, face fully lit in the moonlight, clearer and clearer as he came closer, was his older brother.
Iulus pulled up the stallion in front of them and leapt down, landing squarely on both feet in a way that Silvius couldn’t help but admire, even through his anger.
He strode up to Silvius. ‘What in the name of the Underworld do you think you’re doing?’ he spat. ‘We received a message from Lavinium – I was out on this side of the woods, resting from the hunt, and a soldier came saying you were missing and so were Elissa and Blaze. When Blaze appeared looking for home, I thought at once that you’d escaped on him. Of course you would think to come here, wouldn’t you – the obvious choice,’ he sneered.
‘Iulus! You can’t take us back!’
‘The rest of my men are approaching behind. We’ll take you back to Lavinium as quick as thought. And then, by the Skyfather, you’ll pay for it.’
‘No! We can’t – we’ve got to go. We must do this. For our new country. For the old. For Apollo!’
Iulus clicked his teeth together and sighed. ‘When are you going to realise, little brother, that these gods do not care for us any more?’ Silvius winced at his tone. Elissa was glaring at Iulus.
‘They fled, long ago, beyond the skies.’
‘That’s not true! I’ve seen him! I’ve seen Apollo!’
‘You think you’ve seen him. We will be able to defeat this new threat ourselves. We are strong, well-trained. And you need to learn how to obey your elders!’ He struck Silvius with the back of his hand. The pain stung Silvius, and he threw Iulus off him.
Now they were squaring up to each other. Ruffler was growling deep in the back of his throat.
‘Leave him alone!’ Elissa called out. Iulus ignored her.
‘You can’t tell me what to do!’ shouted Silvius. ‘I have a mission—’
‘You and your mission,’ snarled Iulus. ‘You’re making a lot of trouble for us. Apollo! As if, even if he were here, he would ever choose to speak to you. It’s probably a delusion.’
‘I’m not coming back,’ said Silvius, coldly.
‘Too late,’ said Iulus, and he pointed down the road. There, moving at a steady canter, were a group of about a dozen of Iulus’s hunting companions, all mounted on good, strong horses.
Silvius caught Elissa’s eye. There was nothing they could do. They had been stymied at the first hurdle.
Suddenly Elissa broke away and ran headlong to the harbour, Ruffler bounding at her heels, with Silvius not far behind.
‘What, are you going to swim away?’ called Iulus after them.
Silvius splashed into the freezing waves. ‘There must be a boat here somewhere, a rowboat or something,’ he said to Elissa. ‘Can you see anything?’
‘I’ll try over here,’ called Elissa.
‘Keep looking!’
Iulus laughed, his hands on his hips. ‘Give it up now, Silvius. Give it up. I almost admire you, little brother. You must get that from Aeneas, not from your Latin mother.’
The insult burned through Silvius. He knelt in the waves, his mind listing from side to side. ‘Apollo,’ he whispered. ‘Apollo, please help me.’
‘Those peasant Latins, living like beasts in their huts. I’m the only true Trojan,’ Iulus spoke harshly.
Silvius was trying to pray, trying to see Apollo and feel his light. But he kept noticing the weight of the Arrowhead. Again the strange hissing noise at the edge of his hearing. The casket wanted to be opened. Stargazer had said destroy. And it had worked. His fingers moved towards it. Surely he could not use it against his brother, his brother’s people. It burned against his skin.
From somewhere far off he heard Elissa. ‘No, don’t!’ she called. ‘You can’t do that! You’ll kill us, kill us all!’
She was kneeling beside him in the waves now, and her hand was on his arm, and he saw her quick eyes shining in the moonlight. He let his hand drop, and caught hers.
Iulus’s men had reached their leader, and a few of them had dismounted to watch.
‘Apollo, please …’ called Silvius now, stronger, trying to drown out the hissing that was swelling around him. Was that a snake in the water, twisting towards them?
Elissa joined in. ‘Apollo, please, we pray to you!’
Then they were both calling, ‘Apollo! Apollo!’ until the name was just a string of sounds, blurring and falling over each other.
‘Go on,’ Iulus was commanding. ‘Go in and get them.’
Apollo wouldn’t come. Silvius knew it. The water was boiling now, and he could see sea snakes everywhere, curving and sinuous, circling and getting ready to strike. Elissa gripped his hand tighter. ‘Come, Apollo, come!’ Her prayer sounded weak.
And then, from all around, a deep voice, answering them.
In amazement Silvius looked up from the roiling waves. A patch of white light was floating on the sea, which grew and expanded until it was splashing against his legs. He jumped backwards until he was on the shoreline once more, Elissa beside him.
From the centre of the light, a woman’s form was rising out of the foam. She was entirely naked, and her skin was like the sea, dark and rippling, speckled with starlight. Seaweed was draped around her shoulders like a scarf.
She raised her hand and pointed at Silvius. ‘You,’ she said, her voice like the surf. ‘You are his son. The son of Aeneas, who gave us life.’
‘What?’ He didn’t know what she meant.
‘The ships!’ called Elissa. ‘The ships! It’s true! The Trojan ships that turned into sea nymphs!’
Silvius remembered. When the Trojans had reached Italy, their boats had been blessed with divine life, in recognition for their service.
‘Apollo calls to me from on high, and I hear him. He still watches you mortals. Many of my sisters have gone now, through a gate into another world.’ There was a deep sadness in her voice which touched Silvius. ‘Yet for you, I will, for a time, renounce my new form, and return to the shape of a ship.’
She swam back into the sea. There the nymph drew her arms together into a point, and bowed forwards. Her eyes closed, and her body creaked and groaned and grew larger, turning entirely wooden; and then she rose out of the swell. The rush of waves that followed caused Silvius to fall flat onto his back in the surf, and he watched, open-mouthed, as a small, beautiful sailing boat raised itself from the harbour waters.
It gleamed dark grey like a dolphin’s skin, the beautiful carved form of a woman as its figurehead. She spoke once more, though her lips did not move. ‘Climb on now, and we will go.’
Iulus and his companions were watching in wonder. One of them had brought out a net of the sort used to catch deer, and was preparing to throw it. But Iulus stopped him, gripping his wrist.
‘Let him go,’ he said, thoughtfully. ‘Let him go.’ He called across to Silvius, ‘Be strong, little brother. Be strong. You will need it.’
Silvius turned, and held up his arm in farewell.
Elissa had already swum out to the ship and was clambering up the rope ladder, the pack and the wolf cub on her back. She turned to look at Silvius, eyes alight. ‘Come on!’
Silvius splashed into the waves, and gasping from the cold, swam as powerfully as he could to the bottom of the ladder, and then, panting and soaking wet, he toppled onto the deck next to Elissa. He was filled with a sense of lightness. He steadied himself on the rail that ran around the ship.
Now they were both on board, the ship turned gracefully, and began to sail towards the horizon. Silvius gripped onto the rail, and soon could see nothing; not Iulus and his companions, or the port. There was a single shout, and then they were out in the sea, the moon shining bright above them, the wolf cub tearing in excited circles at their feet.
‘We’re on a boat! We’re out at sea!’ Elissa was lit up with delight. ‘Like the Phoenicians!’
They’d done it. The first stage of the journey had worked, thanks to a miracle. But Apollo had not listened only to Silvius. He looked shyly at Elissa, at the joy in her eyes. She wasn’t leaving anything behind in Lavinium; no mother, no father.
‘Thank you – thanks for helping me pray. I don’t think I could have done it on my own.’ He didn’t mention the hissing and the snakes.
The sea was a stretch of blackness all around. As he turned to investigate the rest of the boat, out of the corner of his eye he spotted a red light.
He stood at the stern and watched it, skin prickling with the cold. The Enemy. They had already found a boat and were coming after them.
‘What is it?’ Elissa asked, frowning. The little wolf cub scampered to his side.
Silvius didn’t answer for a moment. The ship creaked.
‘Come on,’ he said at last. ‘Let’s see if we can find somewhere to sleep.’ They would soon see in the morning.
Twelve
Revelation
MYKENAI, ACHAEA: KINGHOUSE OF THE LION
Tisamenos set two oil lamps in his window, as Hero had told him to do as a sign that he’d performed his task, and sat on the edge of his silken bed to wait. The Last Gorgon’s head, its snakes still clamped to the shield, was in the sack at his feet.
He did not like to be near it, but he did not want it to be far from him either.
He had avoided Agatha, asking one of the maidservants to fill up the copper bath for him. Earlier, as he had sunk into the warm water, he had become increasingly aware of a low, hollow tapping sound. He’d thought it was coming from water dripping onto the stone, but could not locate the source of it.
He had scrubbed away the blood and gore from his body. A stone jug full of small ale stood on a table within reach, and he gulped down a mouthful. Then, after soaking for as long as he could, he stepped out, and looked at himself in a mirror.
His face and body was spotted with livid welts where the venom had got him. The middle finger of his left hand had gone, and the stone stump was heavy and painful. How he would explain all this to his father and his nurse he did not know. Delicately he tapped the place above his right ear. It was hard, harder than bone.
In shock, he examined it in his reflection as carefully as he could. The skin was discoloured, grey even.
A terrible thought came to him: he had been affected by the Last Gorgon. It wasn’t only his finger – a small patch of his head had turned to stone.
He’d closed his eyes, steadying himself on the edge of the bath. The tapping sound became louder. Where was it coming from? He stared at the sack. But it wasn’t that. Again and again it came, and he accidentally knocked over the table with his elbow as he turned to look. Ale splashed everywhere.
A rage gripped him, and he turned over a chest, kicking the contents all over the place – tunics, sword belts, a fine ivory draughts set – until he sat down in the middle of his room and placed his hands over his ears.
Now the tapping sounded even louder. It rang around inside him, seeming to overwhelm everything else.
Then he realised. It was horrifying, but it was the only explanation.
It was coming from inside his mind.
He looked at himself once more in the mirror. His own eyes glared back at him, lidded, heavy, with a hardness he’d not seen in them before.
Now, calmer and quieter, he sat in his hunting tunic, a dark linen cloak ready beside him, a new pair of sandals on his feet. He did not know in what guise the Swallows’ reply would come, but he was ready for anything.
Later, after about two hours had passed, judging by the level of oil in the lamps, his skin was itching, and even though he knew the Last Gorgon was dead, the presence of her severed head so near to him was a real, malevolent thing.
He had to stay awake. But he was so, so tired. His eyes were drooping.
And then he was back in the cave. The rank smell, the dankness. And he had no reflective shield, no sword; he was defenceless, and a beautiful woman was coming towards him, stretching out her arms, eyes so deep he felt himself falling into them, and her hand was grasped around his wrist, and it was turning into a talon …
Something tickled his nose. He opened his eyes and saw, drifting to the sheepskin rug at his feet, a swallow’s feather.
He stretched out a hand and caught it.
Another one fell, and he caught that one too, automatically, with his left hand.
A third and then a fourth fell at his feet. Suddenly, a torrent of feathers whirled down from the ceiling, swooping around his body, tickling his skin, knocking him off balance. A voice, clear through the rustling, issuing an order. ‘Grab the Last Gorgon’s head.’
