Shield of Thunder (11 page)

Odysseus fell silent once more. He seemed to shiver at old memories, then shook himself. “Then the woman rose from her rug. She was no longer young, but a finer-looking woman you never saw. She walked over to old Abydos and laid her hand on his shoulder. He smiled at her. Now, I’ve told you he was an ugly man. But from that day on he was no longer ugly. Strangest thing, for his features did not change. He looked exactly the same, only there was no ugliness in him. ‘I welcome you,’ she said, and her voice was like honey, smooth and sweet, a sound you could feast on. Now, Meleagros had a boil on his neck, a great angry thing, leaking pus. She touched it, and the redness faded away, leaving only clean, sun-browned skin. Well, not one of us even thought of going to find Praxinos. But then, we didn’t have to. Just before dusk he stormed into the cave, sword drawn. We had no time to think and certainly no time to stop him. He rushed across the cave floor and plunged his blade into the woman. She fell back with a cry. Then he wrenched the fleece from the wall and fled with it back to the ship.

“We didn’t go with him. We were reeling from what we’d seen. Then old Abydos knelt beside the dying healer. There were tears in his eyes. Meleagros dropped down beside him. ‘I wish I had magic for you,’ he said. ‘Magic like yours.’ And he laid his hand on her brow. And you know what? That damned boil suddenly flared up again on his neck, and the wound in her chest seemed to close a little. There were some people close by. I swung to them. ‘Did she heal you?’ I asked them. They nodded. ‘Then have the courage to give back the gift,’ I urged them. One by one they came forward. It wrenched the heart to see it. One old woman touched her, and the crone’s hands began to twist grotesquely, her arms shriveling and withering. Another man leaned over her, and a huge growth appeared on his throat. And all the while the healer’s wound was closing further, shrinking. At last she sighed and opened her eyes. We helped her up, and she gazed around at the cripples and the dying all about her. Then she spread her arms, and a golden light blazed throughout the cave. I was blinded for a moment, but when my sight came back, all the sickness and suffering in the place had passed. Everyone was well again.”

His voice faded away.

“What about the fleece?” a pirate cried.

“Ah, yes, the fleece. I was angry as I headed back to the ship. I had decided then to gut Praxinos like a fish, throat to groin, and throw his body into the river. A lot of us felt the same way. When we reached the
Bloodhawk,
we saw him sitting in the captain’s chair, the fleece on his lap. We scrambled over the side and advanced on him. The light was fading now, and we heard him cry out: ‘Help me! For pity’s sake!’

“That was when I saw his hands. They had turned to gold—not covered in dust but solid metal. And as we watched, we could see the gold flowing slowly up his arms. Old Abydos moved alongside him and rapped his knuckles against Praxinos’ right leg. It clanged. I looked into the captain’s eyes then. By all the gods, I never saw such terror. We just stood there. He was dead before the gold reached his face, yet still it spread until even his hair was gold thread. Once it was over, we eased the fleece from his knees. Not a speck of gold remained. It was just a fleece.”

“What did you do?” another man asked.

“Nothing we could do. Abydos took the fleece back to the healer, and we broke up Praxinos and shared him among us. I used most of my share to have my first ship built. I did keep one small piece to remind me of the perils of being too greedy.”

Odysseus dipped his hand into the pouch at his side and pulled out a finger of solid gold, which he tossed to the nearest man. “Pass it around, lad. But don’t hold it too long. It is cursed.” The seaman looked at it in the firelight, then handed it swiftly to the man beside him. The finger of gold passed from hand to hand, coming at last to Kalliades. He held it up. It was perfect in every way, from the broken nail down to the creases at the knuckle joint. He offered it to Banokles. “I don’t want it,” the big man muttered, leaning back. Finally it was returned to Odysseus, who dropped it back into the pouch.

“Another tale!” a young pirate shouted.

“No, lad, too tired tonight. But if you are heading northeast, you can beach with us tomorrow. I’ll likely be in the mood for a tale then. I’ll be traveling with King Idomeneos. He’s also a fine storyteller.”

“He’s the man we are hunting,” said the first man who had spoken to Odysseus upon his arrival.

“I know that, donkey face. It is a foolish mission. You think to take him for ransom. And who would pay? Idomeneos has two sons, and both would like to be king in his place. They wouldn’t give you a copper ring. They’d let you kill him. Of course, honor would then insist they brought the entire Kretan fleet in seach of you. Memory tells me it is more than two hundred galleys. They’d scour the seas.” Then Odysseus chuckled. “But I read men well, and I see you already know this. Therefore, your quest is more about blood vengeance than ransom. What did Idomeneos do to you?”

“I don’t answer to you, Odysseus.”

“True. You’ll answer to them, though,” he said harshly, gesturing toward the waiting pirates. “They sail for plunder, not revenge. No profit in blood.”

“He stole my wife and killed my sons,” the pirate said, his voice shaking. “And when he’d finished with her, he sold her to the Gypptos. I never found her.”

Odysseus was silent for a moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice had lost its harshness. “Then you have reason to hate. No man would deny that. If anyone took my Penelope I would hunt them down and see them suffer. A man can do no less. But it is a personal matter, and the men with you will risk death for no reward. Idomeneos did not take their wives or slay their sons.”

With that the Ugly King prodded Ganny with his toe, then set off back toward the cliff path. The pig stood for a moment, then ran after him. Kalliades and Banokles followed.

“That was a fine story,” Kalliades said. “Where did you really get that golden finger?”

Odysseus looked tired, and his reply was toneless. “It is mine,” he said, waggling his index finger. “I had a goldsmith make a cast for me last summer and then fill the cast with gold.”

“How many pirate ships will come against us now?” Kalliades asked.

“Probably two, three at worst,” Odysseus said. “Issopon is a wise old fighter. He heard my words and will draw his galley from the action, I think. Donkey face is another matter entirely. He has a need for blood. And I cannot blame him. Idomeneos always was a cruel and selfish man.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Piria slept a little, but her dreams were troubled. She saw again the day she and her brother had gone swimming for the last time in the rock pool beneath the marble boulders. Three years older than she, at fifteen Achilles was already a handsome young man, strong and athletic, delighting in his prowess with javelin and sword. He was also a fine rider and wrestler. Father adored him, pouring compliments upon him and showering him with gifts. Piria was never jealous. She adored Achilles and delighted in his successes.

On the day of the last swim the shaded rock pool echoed with their laughter. Such sounds were rarely heard within the palace high on the rocky hillside above them. Father was a hard man and quick to anger. Servants and slaves trod warily, and even retainers spoke in low whispers.

Awake now, in the light of a golden dawn, she felt the dream still clinging to her like sea mist upon rock. Piria shivered. He had not been cruel when she was young. Often he would sit her on his knee, twisting his fingers through her long fair hair. Sometimes he would tell stories. Always they were harsh tales of sword and blood, of gods donning human form to bring chaos and destruction to the world of men. Then a change had come over him. Looking back, she understood now that it had mirrored the pubescent change in her. His eyes were on her often, his manner becoming more surly and cold. Piria had been perplexed at the time.

On that terrible day understanding had arrived like a lance. She had been sitting naked with her brother when their father had stormed down the rock path, shouting abuse at her, calling her a whore. “How dare you cavort naked before the eyes of a man?” he screamed.

It was mystifying, for she and her brother had swum naked together throughout childhood. Father’s rage was towering. He ordered her brother to dress himself and return to the palace. When Achilles had gone, he grabbed Piria by the hair.

“You want to cavort with men, slut? Then I shall teach you what that means.”

Even now she could not suffer the memory of the rape that followed and closed her mind to it, her eyes scanning the beach, seeking something to divert her.

Odysseus was talking to a stout merchant who was walking around the pig enclosure, examining the beasts. Kalliades and Banokles were standing apart from the crew, talking quietly. She saw the black man Bias approaching her. He was carrying a breastplate of leather and a round leather helm.

“Odysseus told me to bring you these,” he said. “There is likely to be a fight, and that will be preceded by a rain of arrows.”

“Who are you fighting?”

“Pirates.”

Fear welled up in her, but she did not show it. Instead, she thanked him, removed the cloak of Banokles, and slipped on the breastplate. It was crudely fashioned, but it fitted her well. The helm was too large, so she put it aside. Moments later she saw Bias take another breastplate to Kalliades. As he donned it, he saw her looking at him and smiled. She looked away.

Odysseus approached her. “Best you get aboard,” he said.

“Did you get a fine price for your pigs?”

“No. Had to pay Oristhenes to look after the wounded we have to leave behind. Idomeneos assures me he will repay me, but the man is a miser with a poor memory when it comes to settling debts. I am still waiting for a wager he lost twelve seasons back.” He smiled and shook his head. “Kings! Not one you can trust farther than you can toss an ox.” He fell silent then and stood staring back at the pigs.

“I think Ganny will miss you,” she said.

Odysseus laughed. “He squealed when I took that yellow cloak from him. I think he had grown to like it. I may visit him next time I’m sailing these seas.”

“He will be smoked meat by then,” she said.

“No, not Ganny! Oristhenes assures me he will be treated like a king among pigs. He will be happy here.”

“And you trust Oristhenes to keep his word?”

Odysseus sighed. “I trust in his sense of self-preservation. I did not sell Ganny to him. Ganny is my pig. Oristhenes can use him for breeding, and for that he will ensure he is well fed. Oristhenes knows me. He will do as he promises.”

“Or you will kill him, Odysseus?”

“I would not kill a man over a pig. I might just burn his house and sell him into slavery. But I’d not kill him. But let us talk about you, Kalliope. Why did you run from Thera? It was foolish and beyond dangerous.”

“You think me some witless girl?” she snapped. “My time on Thera was the happiest of my life. No vile and devious men, no betrayers, no rapists. I am seeking a friend, for a seeress told me she would need me before the end.”

“The end of what?”

“I do not know. The seeress saw flames and burning and my friend fleeing savage killers.”

“And you will save her?” The question was asked gently, with not a trace of contempt.

“If I can, I will.”

Odysseus nodded. “I fear the vision may be true. A war is coming that cannot be long avoided. Your friend is Andromache. I met her on her way to Troy. Fine woman. I liked her. We made a pact, she and I, that I would always tell her the truth.” He chuckled. “Not a promise I made lightly. Storytellers fashion lies from truth and truth from lies. We have to. Truth is all too often dull.”

“Did she speak of me?” Piria asked before she could stop herself.

“She spoke of her love for Thera and how unhappy she was to be leaving. You love her greatly, don’t you?”

“She is my life!” Piria said defiantly, looking into his eyes for signs of contempt or disgust.

“Beware who you share that with,” he said softly.

“Are you not going to tell me that my feelings will change when the right man comes into my life?”

“Why so angry?” he countered. “You think I will condemn you? Love is a mystery. We embrace it where we can. Mostly we do not choose whom we love. It just happens. A voice speaks to us in ways the ear cannot hear. We recognize a beauty that the eye does not see. We experience a change in our hearts that no voice can describe. There is no evil in love, Kalliope.”

“Tell that to my father. Tell it to the priests, the kings, and the warriors of this cursed world.”

He smiled. “Ganny is a brave pig, and I like him. I would waste no time, though, trying to teach him the skills of sailing.”

Piria found her anger fading, and she smiled at the Ugly King. “Now, that is a good thing to see,” he said. They stood together for a little while, and Piria felt the warmth of the sun on her face and the freshness of the sea breeze in her cropped hair. She turned toward Odysseus.

“You said storytellers fashion truth from lies. How can that be?” she asked him.

“A question I have long pondered.” He pointed at Bias. “I once told a tale about a winged demon who attacked the
Penelope.
I said that Bias, the greatest spear thrower in the world, hurled a javelin so powerfully that it tore through the demon’s wings and saved the ship from destruction. Bias was so taken with the story that he practiced and practiced with the javelin and finally won a great prize at a king’s games. You see? He had become the greatest because I lied about it. And therefore it was no longer a lie.”

“I understand,” Piria said. “And how can the truth be made into a lie?”

“Ah, lass, that is something none of us can avoid.” Bending down, he scooped up the small clay plate on which Bias had brought her food the night before. “And what is this?” he asked her.

“A plate of clay.”

“Yes, clay. And it was fashioned by the hands of a man, using water and thick earth and then fire. Without the fire it would not have become pottery, and without the water it could not have been shaped. So it is earth, it is water, it is fire. All these facts are true. So is this a true plate?”