David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

“Aye, I saw that. What of it? You think you were cheated?”

“I do not know, Meriones. What I do know is that I have now been shamed twice in a single day.”

The judges called out for the archers to resume their positions. Meriones leaned in to Odysseus. “I am sorry, my friend. But whatever happens here, all men know you are still the greatest archer in the world.”

“Go! Go and win the damned tourney.”

Meriones ran back across the field. Odysseus wandered around the gathering field, watching other contests. Bias progressed through both early rounds of the javelin, and Leukon dispatched two opponents in the boxing tourney. Even the big lout Banokles battered his way into the later rounds. Bored and hot and with the opening ceremony not until late afternoon, Odysseus returned to the Penelope.

Piria was sitting quietly beneath the canopy on the rear deck as he climbed aboard. “I had not expected to see you so soon,” she said. The comment did not help his mood. Piria handed him a cup of water. “Have you seen Andromache?”

Draining the cup, he shook his head. “She has left the palace and moved to Hektor’s farm.”

“I shall go there, then.”

“Yes, you must. But not yet. The city is teeming with foreigners. Your father is here, and your brother, and quite an entourage, I’m told. The risk of your being recognized is too great. In five days all the kings will be leaving.”

“I am willing to risk the journey now,” she said.

The anger that had been simmering below the surface all day erupted. “You stupid girl!” he roared. “Of course you are willing to risk it. And if you are captured while scampering witlessly off to your lost love, then every man in this crew might face death. The last man who helped a Thera runaway was burned alive, along with his family. You think I would allow my men’s lives to be put further at risk for the sake of five days? By the gods, girl, you seek to disobey me on this and I’ll hand you over myself.” She sat very still, her eyes wide and fearful. Odysseus felt his anger drift away. What are you doing? he asked himself. This girl has suffered great abuse—and not just during these last few days. And now you terrorize her? “Forgive that outburst,” he said at last. “This has been an ugly day, and I am not by nature a calm man. You are safe with me, Piria. But give me the five days and I will have you at Andromache’s side.”

“I am sorry, too, Odysseus,” she said. “I spoke without thinking. I would not want any one of your crew to suffer because of me. I will, of course, wait. Who am I to be when we reach Hektor’s palace?”

He reddened then. “I have given that much thought. I cannot call you a slave or a servant, for then you would be left among those in Hektor’s employ. You would be given tasks for which you are not trained. I cannot say you are family for it is known that I have no family save Penelope. Therefore—and do not bridle before I have finished—I shall say you are my concubine. You will then be given your own rooms, and I shall send out for clothing for you to replace that tattered gown. You need have no fear. I shall not be requiring you to play the role.”

Surprisingly, she smiled. “I thank you, Odysseus.”

“Yes, well. That is settled, then. And now I shall cool myself with a swim and then don my kingly robes for the opening ceremony.”

Walking to the prow, he lowered himself to the sand. Then, doffing tunic and sandals, he waded out and dived forward. The cold of the sea refreshed him, but niggling doubts continued to gnaw at him.

It was just a broken bow, he told himself. No more, no less.

Dressed in a long robe of white and wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, Odysseus traveled to the stadium in one of Priam’s chariots. He was greeted there by Priam’s son Polites, a shy and dull young man of limited conversation. The prince led him to an enclosure where he found himself in the company of Agamemnon, Peleus, Idomeneos, and Nestor. The Mykene king nodded in greeting. “I hear fortune did not favor you at the archery tourney,” he said.

“Bow snapped,” Odysseus answered, trying for a lightness of tone, as if he cared nothing for the result. It did not fool Agamemnon, he knew. The man had a mind as sharp as a viper’s fang.

Out in the stadium a dark-haired young soldier wearing a cloak of gold was pacing out the running track. Three hundred long paces, imitating the stride of Herakles, who had established the first known sprint race generations back. “The Lord of the Games should be of noble birth,” muttered Idomeneos, “and not some peasant in armor.”

Odysseus let the comment pass. The grandfather of Idomeneos had been a peasant warrior who had seized a section of Kretos and declared himself king. Nestor looked at him, raising an eyebrow. He, too, knew of Idomeneos’ ancestry.

Once the track was established, the turning posts were carried out, then hammered into the ground. Across the field the first of the athletes were leaving the palaistra and moving into position. Odysseus saw Kalliades swinging his arms and loosening his muscles.

“I know that man,” Agamemnon said. His expression darkened. “He is a Mykene renegade.”

“Which one?” Odysseus asked innocently.

“There! The tall one,” Agamemnon said, pointing at Kalliades again.

“Member of my crew,” Odysseus said. “He runs for Ithaka.”

“The man with the sword of Argurios,” Idomeneos added.

“Another traitor,” Agamemnon snapped.

“The world is full of traitors,” Odysseus agreed. “So how is it you know this man?”

“He killed Kolanos, a loyal follower, and was sentenced to death for it. However, he escaped justice and fled… to you, apparently.”

“Had I but known,” Odysseus said. “Naturally I shall dismiss him from my crew when the games are over.”

“He should be dragged out now,” Agamemnon maintained. “I shall send word to Priam.”

“That might cause a problem or two,” Odysseus said. “I seem to recall that following the attack on Troy last autumn King Priam released all prisoners. It is said he requested they kill the general of that raid, a man who had offered to betray his king.”

“A foul Trojan lie!” Agamemnon snapped. “Kolanos would never have betrayed me.”

“Even so, the killing of Kolanos was ordered by Priam. You can hardly ask him to punish a man who carried out his order. And on the surface at least, Kolanos had already betrayed you by attacking Priam, who was—and remains—your ally.”

Agamemnon hesitated. “Your words are wise, Odysseus,” he said at last. “It saddens me that we are not allies. Surely you can see the threat Troy poses. You think Priam, with all his wealth and his growing armies, has no designs on the lands of the west?”

“I do not know the mind of Priam. I think, however, that wealth is all he desires. And he has no need to invade others to see it grow. Troy sucks in gold by the day, in every ship, in every caravan.”

“I have agents here in Troy,” Agamemnon said, keeping his voice low. “Priam recently purchased a thousand Phrygian bows, and he is shipping copper and tin to his armories. Breastplates, helms, shields, swords. If we do not deal with this man now, he will descend on us all.”

Odysseus smiled. “I am the man with no enemies, Agamemnon. Not Troy, not the Mykene, not the Hittites or the Gypptos. My ships are welcome in all bays and all ports.”

Agamemnon appeared to relax. “I appreciate your frankness, Odysseus. I shall be equally forthright. When the war comes—as it must—then those who continue to trade with Troy will be considered enemies. There will be no neutrals.”