The Girl From Ithaca (29 page)
Agenor shook his head. “There’s nothing there. It’s a trick of the moonlight. We’re almost half way and it won’t be long before we’re looking for the stone markers by the river. We’re going to make it.”
The swiftness of the horses reassured me, though I dragged the ash spear within reach. We made good time until clouds moved over the moon. Agenor slowed the horses to a walk, struggling to make out the track. In the dark, I could almost feel hands reaching out for me, trying to pull me away from Agenor’s protection. I leant closer and felt the warmth and strength of his body.
A dog howled. Then we heard another, as if in reply. I wondered if the second dog was closer. Moments later, the clouds cleared and Agenor drove his horses on, urging them from a walk, to a trot and then a canter. We raced along like that for much of the night. I’d started to look for the markers, when Agenor pulled the horses up.
My heart fell. It was Jewel. She was lame in her left hind leg.
Agenor touched my arm. “It’s nothing. She’ll have picked up a pebble in her hoof. I’ll go and fix it for her.”
He crouched by the little horse. “Only a stone,” he called, scooping it out with his knife.
But something moved.
“Agenor,” I warned, picking up the spear.
Still kneeling, Agenor cried out as two huge dogs emerged from the darkness. The first dog snarled and bounded towards him. Without thinking, I ran with the spear and thrust the bronze head upwards. The dog leapt forward and plunged onto the point, impaling itself on the weapon. Howling, it continued to fall, twitching and groaning as its heavy weight pinned us to the ground. I struggled for breath as Agenor kicked it away and turned to face the second dog.
This dog focused on Jewel. The mare, her eyes wide in terror, reared and kicked out. The dog jumped to the side and then leapt to tear at the horse’s belly. Jewel reared again and the dog backed away. Agenor ran forward and drove his sword into the dog’s stomach. It howled and turned to attack the source of its pain. Agenor leapt out of the way and then plunged in the sword a second time. The dog spun round in confusion until it toppled over onto its side.
Looking up I saw more dogs approaching, slowly circling us. The horses were stamping and on the point of bolting. Agenor grabbed my hand and pulled me back to the chariot. He whipped the distracted horses into an immediate gallop. We surged forward and Star’s hooves pulverised one of the dogs and kicked another into a clump of bushes. Thundering along the path, we cleared the pack of dogs and kept up the gallop until we were sure there were no more. Only then did Agenor slow the horses into their familiar steady trot.
“You were good with that spear,”Agenor said.
“You weren’t so bad with Diomedes’ sword.”
I smiled and tried not to think of the snarling dogs as they leapt at Agenor and Jewel. Instead I kept my eyes on the track, looking for the marker, knowing we were almost there.
“There it is, see. It’s the crossing,” I yelled.
Agenor reined in the horses and we listened for wild dogs. There was nothing except the roar of the river and the laboured breathing of the horses.
“Same as before then, you take Jewel and I’ll take Star. Hold on tight, she’s distressed, but she’ll want to get to camp as much as we do,” Agenor said.
Gripping Jewel’s halter, I wrapped the lead rope round my wrist and plunged down the bank into the ice-cold water. Both horses tossed their heads and fought against us, Star squealing in fright. My fingers felt numb and Jewel’s halter slipped from my hands as she yanked her head away. I tumbled after her, grabbing hold of the rope again. I was lucky. She’d seen the Greek side of the river and harnessed to Star, pulled the stallion with her. The horses knew they were almost home and needed no encouragement.
Agenor and I nodded to each other as we caught our breath. All four of us were exhausted, but it didn’t matter anymore. We were on the Greek side of the river and we’d almost reached Odysseus. Once through the marshes, Agenor relaxed and loosened the reins, allowing the horses to trot to the boundary gate.
A large man with a torch stepped out to inspect us.
“We’re Greeks, let us pass,” Agenor shouted.
“Ha! Is that the Ithacan stable boy?” cried a familiar voice.
Ajax himself walked towards us and held the torch to my face. “Lady Neomene! There were some who said you’d never come back. But I knew you’d return.”
He unbolted the gate and we rode straight towards the Ithacan camp. All I could think of was Odysseus and Ellissa. As Agenor pulled up the horses, I jumped down and rushed into the hut, hardly able to breathe.
The Return
E
llissa sat by Odysseus’ bed, slumped forward as though sleeping. I moved closer and looked at my brother. Odysseus was deathly pale, but he was still breathing.
“Ellissa,” I called.
For a moment she didn’t seem to recognise me. Then she gasped and stretched out her arms. “Agamemnon said I’d not see you again!”
“I’m safe, I’m safe and we’ve got the remedy.” I let go of her hands and reached inside my cloak. “All we have to do is mix this with watered wine.”
Ellissa took the vial. “I’ll see to this. It’s my turn now.”
I felt the weight lift from my shoulders. Suddenly aware of my wet clothes, I dragged them off and found a clean tunic. Lying on my bed, I watched Ellissa give my brother the mixture she’d made up for him. Satisfied she knew what to do, I whispered my thanks to Athena, wrapped myself in a blanket and fell asleep.
“His fever’s down, and his breathing’s deeper,” Ellissa said, when I woke late the next morning. “Oenone’s remedy has saved him.”
Odysseus’ recovery was rapid. By the afternoon, colour had returned to his face and it looked as if he was sleeping peacefully. In the evening, Ellissa and I were eating a meal of bread, nuts and apples by his bed, when his eye lids flickered.
Did you see that?” I asked.
“I think he’s waking up, but he’ll be confused at first. Don’t expect him to make sense,” Ellissa whispered.
Odysseus turned his head to look at us both. “Of course I’m awake and why won’t I make sense?” Then he stared at our plates. “And why are you eating without me?”
On the fourth day of his recovery, Hesta spotted me as I carried water from the stream. I ignored her but she called out and tagged along after me.
“Neo, we were pleased to hear about Odysseus. I’ve got your blue cloak here and we’ve fixed your little brooch. Calchas says he didn’t mean to frighten you. He says he was trying to warn you and protect you.”
I wanted to tell her that I knew exactly the sort of protection Calchas wished to provide. I glanced over my shoulder and saw her smile, eager to be friendly. It was no use being angry with her; she was the one who had to put up with Calchas all day.
“It’s kind of you, Hesta,” I said, pushing open the door.
Odysseus lay on his bed, resting. He’d closed his eyes, acting as though asleep, but I could tell he was listening by the quiver of a smile on his lips.
Hesta placed the carefully folded cloak on the table. “I’ve given it a wash and it’s come out very well. And see, the brooch is nearly perfect again.”
I examined the broken clasp. Someone had carefully repaired it with a well-designed piece of wood. It was expert work carried out on something of no real value; not a task in which the Mycenaean king would normally be interested.
“Lord Agamemnon made sure it was fixed, after I told him how much it meant to you,” she said.
I felt the smooth woollen texture of my cloak. The colour was now a faded light blue rather than the rich blue it had been once, though parts of the lining still bore evidence of its former brightness. It was a warm day but I flung the cloak round my shoulders and smiled at the pleasure of it.
Then I searched in the little pocket and found my knife.
“Agamemnon said the knife belonged to his palace. He thought perhaps you’d stolen it when you were there. He told us there wouldn’t be anything so fine in Ithaca, so we had to make allowances.
“The arrogant beast! I didn’t steal the knife,” I cried, forgetting to be polite.
Odysseus had some sort of coughing fit.
“So glad to see you recovered, Lord Odysseus,” Hesta declared, with a very slight bob of the head.
Odysseus smiled at her. “Thank you, Hesta. Don’t let me interrupt your conversation. I believe Neomene was about to say how she really got the knife.”
“I didn’t steal it! Clytemnestra gave it to me, to protect her daughter, Iphigenia.”
“I merely reported what he said, but I knew he was mistaken,” Hesta said. “You’d never want anything of his.”
“Goes to show,” said Odysseus, “even the great Agamemnon can get it wrong sometimes.”
Hesta studied my brother and then looked back at me. “I suppose he does, on those very rare occasions. And it’s difficult to believe, but even Calchas makes the odd mistake.”
She smiled, bowed her head at Odysseus again and walked out of the door. Odysseus and I stared at each other.
“Odysseus, is she laughing at us or laughing at Agamemnon and Calchas?”
“Probably laughing at all of us. She’s either very stupid or exceptionally clever, or perhaps just confused,” Odysseus murmured, stretching his arms and yawning.
“That isn’t much help. With your great mind, I’m surprised you can’t be more precise.”
“And with all your contacts round the camp, I’m surprised you don’t ask Phoebus. Now please, all your chatter has tired me. Wake me up when the meal is ready.”
Achilles’ Way
N
ow that Odysseus had survived, I was safe from Agamemnon. Nevertheless, a variety of rumours spread around the camp that Agamemnon had planned to kill either Odysseus or myself. I caught snippets of conversation as I passed huddled groups of men or heard the whispers by women who cast furtive glances and then looked away. A few stories were almost true, but most didn’t trouble with facts and developed into wildly fanciful tales that became a source of entertainment around the camp—entertaining to everyone apart from Agamemnon. Agamemnon found himself ridiculed in almost all of the stories and ordered his body guards to stop men talking. It was an impossible task and seemed to confirm and encourage the rumours instead of silencing them.
The story Ellissa most enjoyed was one circulated amongst Ajax’s men. Ajax’s favourite slave, Tecmessa, found us one morning at the stream, and being as open and sincere as her master, made no attempt at hiding what she’d heard.
“Cadmus told me how Lord Odysseus was wounded,” she said, sitting down beside us. “He heard it from one of the stable boys who’d been talking to the Spartans. I think he was very brave to defend you like that, Ellissa.”
I dropped the washing stone and stared at her. Ellissa was staring too. This was the first time we’d heard mention of Ellissa in any of the rumours.
Tecmessa shook her head. “King Agamemnon was wrong. Cadmus says taking a man’s slave is as bad as stealing his horse.”
“That’s true. Very true,” Ellissa replied. “Did Cadmus say what happened?”
“Only that Agamemnon demanded you were handed to him, saying he was entitled to have the best cook, not Odysseus. Were you there when they fought?”
“No … I didn’t see them fight,” Ellissa said.
Tecmessa patted her arm sympathetically. “It was lucky the stable boy was there. He must have saved Odysseus’ life.”
“He did. Odysseus would have died without him. We’re very proud of Agenor, aren’t we, Neo?”
I focused on the question, rather than the details. “Yes, and grateful too. I think my brother will reward him well when we get home.”
Ellissa’s face crinkled with amusement when Tecmessa left.
“You let her think the silly rumour’s true!” I cried.
“But I didn’t lie.”
