The Girl From Ithaca (23 page)

I tried to look annoyed with her, but Io saw the beginnings of a smile and went away singing. Splashing the water in frustration, I dived to the bottom of the pool one more time.

“You’re a good swimmer,” Ellissa said, as I dried myself.

“Most Ithacans are, the sea is all around us so we learn when we’re young.”

“Well, I prefer horses to the sea. They’re much more reliable.”

“Both are ruled by Poseidon, so there can’t be that much difference,” I said.

Ellisa picked up the water pitcher. “Not much difference?” she laughed. “Poseidon rules earthquakes too. No, I’m keeping to horses.”

We staggered towards our camp, carrying the pitcher between us. I saw Hesta by Agamemnon’s hut and waved at her, but she turned away and walked inside.

“She’s in one of her unfriendly moods again. Don’t know why she’s annoyed with us, we didn’t make her go and look at the Amazons,” I complained.

“Perhaps she’s finding it demanding work with Calchas, she’ll have a lot to put up with, with all his singing and wine drinking,” Ellissa suggested.

“That really would be punishment,” I said, imagining being trapped with Calchas all day. “It’d be like some horrible torment the gods think up for all the wicked people in the Underworld. Starvation, thirst, exhaustion and then, for the most evil of mortals, the company of Calchas. ”

“You’d better start being good then,” Ellissa smirked.

I opened the door of our hut. “To keep me out of trouble, and from being a nuisance round camp, you’ll have to find something to occupy us while we wait for Phoebus.”

Ellissa extracted a sack of vegetables from one of her storage jars. “This might do it. From one of Achilles’ raids. Patroclus gave me a choice of pretty beads or these beans. The beads were tempting, but they’d have broken our teeth.”

Shelling beans was a simple and repetitive task the cook had let me do many times in the palace kitchens and it kept our hands busy without us having to think too much. Ellissa chatted about her travels to the lands east of Troy, where she and her father had traded horses for gold and ivory.

“Once we went as far east as the land of Canaan. There’s food in abundance there and we did a good trade with the different tribes. They’re mainly farmers and …” Ellissa stopped and looked up. “What’s that?”

“Horses,” I said, and went to the door. “It’s Phoebus. I think we’re needed.”

“Work from Machaon,” Phoebus called from his chariot. “Eleven men being carried to the Spartan camp by mule cart, mainly spear and sword wounds. Machaon says you’ll know what to do.”

My mind went blank. I couldn’t remember anything Machaon taught us the night before. I looked at Ellissa for help.

“I’ll get the woundwort and honey,” she said. “You find the blankets and bandages and we’ll meet in the Spartan camp.”

Phoebus gathered up his reins. “I expect we’ll be sending more later. Good luck.”

“Before you go, how’s the battle? What about Odysseus?” I asked.

“He and Diomedes are fighting the Ethiopians near the city. Hector’s army has been beaten back into Troy by Nestor, Achilles and Agamemnon.”

“And what of the Amazons?”

“They’re concentrating on Menelaus. They’ve driven the Spartans back to the river.”

“Menelaus,” I gasped, praying to Athena he was unhurt.

“He was wounded but he’s been patched up by Machaon and is fighting again.”

I stared at Phoebus. “But can’t Agamemnon spare men to help him?”

“He says once Achilles has dealt with Hector, he can go on to defeat the Amazons. The wounded men will be able to tell you more,” Phoebus said, flicking his reins and urging his horses on.

Then he was gone, racing his chariot back to the battlefield. Anxious as I was, I’d no time to worry about Menelaus, for by the time I’d found bandages and grabbed spare blankets from nearby tents, the mule cart had arrived.

“They swept down on us so fast, I didn’t even see them,” one of the Spartans said, as I helped him to a blanket.

The man next to him shuddered. “Better not to see them. I close my eyes and all I see are mad women charging up on enormous horses, screeching a horrible war cry. Don’t think I’ll ever get that out of my head.”

“Anyone know how Lord Menelaus is?” asked Thestor, the herald to Menelaus. He lifted his head briefly but then fell back onto the blanket.

“Phoebus said he’d been fixed up by Machaon and was fighting again,” I said.

Thestor held his bandaged head and tried to sit up. “You’re sure? I saw him being speared by the Amazon queen and I can’t believe he’s still on his feet. He must be tougher than I thought.”

The first man nodded. “Or the gods are on his side.”

“Not likely though. Not with the curse on his family,” Thestor said, slumping onto his back again.

A wounded Spartan was brought into camp in the late afternoon. After I’d cleaned the gash in his shoulder, he caught his breath and told everyone the latest details.

“We’ve got those Amazons on the run,” he declared.

Thestor raised his head. “But how? This morning we were near defeat.”

“Achilles. He rescued us. We were surrounded. Lord Menelaus sent a messenger to Agamemnon, asking for help. No help came. Then Achilles was with us, like a man possessed. The Amazons seemed to vanish. One moment they were there and then they’d gone. He’d split their army in two.”

“What of the Ithacans?” I asked, bandaging his wound as gently as I could.

The Spartan flinched but didn’t complain about my clumsiness. “Can’t say I saw any, sorry. It’s just us Spartans and Achilles I know about.”

It wasn’t long afterwards when we heard Gala crying out. “They’re here. They’re coming into camp.”

I gazed across to the Pylos camp and saw Gala pointing towards the boundary gate. Chariots were streaming into the camp and with a stab of disappointment, I recognised Agamemnon in the lead, his chariot driven by Zander. The soldiers trudged after him, streaked with blood and sweat.

The Spartans came in next, bedraggled and beyond exhaustion. They didn’t look like an army anymore, just individual men stumbling back in a daze. As they collapsed by their shelters, Ellissa ran to them, offering water. Menelaus limped past, white faced and covered in blood. Two of his women helped him to his hut.

I knelt by Thestor. “Menelaus is back.”

“He’s all right?”

“Looks weak, but he’s walking.”

Io raced over, gesturing towards Ajax’s camp. “We’ve seen Antilochus.”

“Where, where is he?” I cried.

“At the gate. Nicodamas has his furnace there, so we got the first view. Climb up on that ship and you’ll see him.”

By the time I’d clambered onto the ship, the Pylian chariots had swept round to Nestor’s hut. I held my breath as the charioteers pulled up the horses. Antilochus climbed out. Thank the gods. Like Agamemnon’s soldiers, he was drenched in blood and it was impossible to tell if he’d been wounded, but he glanced across to me and raised his hand. I smiled and nodded, touching my brooch. Behind him, Thrasymedes staggered from his chariot and Gala took Nestor’s arm to guide him inside.

My eyes stayed on Antilochus until Achilles came charging past. His soldiers ran in step, chanting his name over and over again.

“Achilles, Achilles, Achilles!”

Then we heard Big Ajax’s voice and moments later, Ajax and Teucer’s chariots galloped through the gate. The Salamian soldiers were followed by their usual fighting companions, the Locrian bowmen. When the last of the bowmen marched through, we waited expectantly.

“They’ll be here,” Ellissa called, kneeling by one of the Spartan wounded. “Odysseus doesn’t like to hurry things and it’s a long march back.”

“He’s probably with Diomedes and Machaon,” Io added.

The dark skinned spearmen from Crete were the next to return, with a few weary Athenian soldiers amongst them. Much later, Machaon led the Thessalians down the beach.

“You’ve done well,” he said, pulling up beside us. He wiped the sweat from his face. “By the grace of Apollo, these men look happy enough.”

“Very happy,” said the Spartan herald, “the women are much gentler than you.”

Machaon sniffed. “I’m not your mother, Thestor! I try to be efficient, but I haven’t the time or patience to think of your comfort. Just think yourself fortune to be alive.”

Then he beckoned us away, out of earshot of the men. “I’ll be busy all night so I want you to check on Menelaus this evening. He’s a fool. No sooner had I stopped the bleeding, than he was up, returning to the field. I’ll look in on him now, but if you think he’s in trouble later, come and find me.”

We both nodded.

“Then return to your camp. I’ll get these men to their tents; their friends can look after them tonight.”

Two Spartan charioteers had already arrived to take Thestor. I handed bandages and poppy seeds to the shorter of the two men.

“You know what to do?”

“Yes, done it before,” he said. He looked at his friend. “Not too difficult. If he moans too much, we give him the drink and hope he shuts up.”

“Bet you treat your horses with more sympathy,” Thestor said.

“Of course we do, they’re valuable.”

Gradually the injured dispersed and Ellissa and I gathered our potions, noting which remedies wanted replacing.

“We need more woundwort,” Ellissa said, straightening her back and groaning.

It was difficult remembering the details when we were so tired and worried about Odysseus. I’d never admit it, even to Ellissa, but Palamedes’ clay tablets would have been useful. I splashed water over my face and wished I’d learnt more of the symbols Mentor had shown me, but they’d not seemed important at the time.

Ellissa picked up the bag of remedies and took the cup I offered. With a mouth full of water, she pointed towards the gate.

I turned to see Diomedes and Odysseus together in Diomedes’ chariot, with Medon and the other warriors following. The Ithacan and Argos soldiers limped behind them, dragging their spears and carrying the wounded. I searched for Hyppos and Odysseus’ black horses. Eventually I glimpsed them at the rear of the column, a weary Hyppos on foot, leading the horses. There was no sign of the chariot.

“Brought your brother back in one piece,” Diomedes called, his horses skidding to a halt beside us.

Odysseus jumped down and raised his hand to the charioteer. “Thanks for the ride, Sentar. You did well, putting up with both of us. My friend seems to forget it was I who saved his life.”

Diomedes laughed and the charioteer urged the horses on towards the Argos camp. I ran to Odysseus, but he winced and pulled away.

“Sorry sister, I’m feeling the pain now. I clashed with Memnon, the big Ethiopian.”

He held up a pounded piece of metal and I stared at it for a moment, before recognising his shield. It looked as if it had been crushed by a large fist. Only that was impossible. No one could do that.

“Memnon,” Odysseus explained, “nearly as strong as Big Ajax.”

I nodded dumbly and watched soldiers drag themselves inside the shelters. Others waded into the sea to scrub away the blood and quietly allow the water to ease their muscles.

Odysseus pointed out one group of Ithacans who looked more like young boys playing in the waves, laughing and shouting and bragging to one another. “I’ll join those men, and if you’ve finished here, prepare me a tub of hot water.” He looked at Ellissa. “Then I’ll be ready for a feast.”

Chapter TWENTY

The House of Atreus

W
hen I entered his hut, Menelaus opened his eyes slightly and tried to raise his head. “For one horrible moment I thought you were Calchas, sent by my brother to pray over me,” he groaned.

“That would be a terrible end to a hard day. I heard that the Amazons were aiming for you.”

He grimaced. “I suppose they thought if they killed me, there’d be no point in the war and our armies would leave for home. But it’s too late for that.”

“And they didn’t succeed. You’ve fought the Amazons and survived. That’s all that matters for today. Here, take a sip of water.”

I supported his head and held the cup to his lips. He drank a little and then dropped back onto his bed, his face creased with pain.

“I’ll mix something to help you sleep,” I said, reaching for my small wooden bowl. Concentrating on what was still new to me, I crushed the black seeds into a pulp and mixed it with a few drops of water. His young slave girl, Lyra, handed me a skin of wine and I poured some into a cup.

Menelaus gripped my arm. “I thought I was dying this morning. I saw the vultures circling above and one question gnawed me. When I die, will the curse of Atreus pass to my daughter?”

He stared at me with bloodshot eyes, waiting for an answer. What could I say? I knew nothing about the curse of Atreus and the strange ways of the gods. Slowly his grip on my arm weakened and Menelaus nodded at the cup wearily. He drank the potion slowly, resting between each sip. As he drifted off to sleep, Lyra sat down by the bed, ready to watch him through the night.