Contents
Cover
Blurb
Logo
Map
Characters
Part 1: Ithaka
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Part 2: Argos
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Part 3: Escape
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Part 4: Arkadia
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Part 5: Messenia
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Part 6: The Bow
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About The Author
Copyright
Dedication
Also by Catherine Mayo
“There’s only one arrow, but you only have to shoot one man. I know you won’t miss.”
War is coming to Bronze Age Greece. It’s time to skill up.
Odysseus’s challenges are mounting. Can he find his grandfather’s hidden gold? Find the strength to string and shoot the Great Bow of Eurytos, which no man has done for generations? Toughest of all, can he persuade a girl to love him?
Win some … lose some.
Central Greece in the Late Bronze Age
The Cave (from above)
Characters
ITHAKA (Ee-tha-ka)
Odysseus (O-dee-see-ooss) also Olli (O-lee): son of King Laertes and Antikleia
Argos (Ar-goss): Odysseus’s dog; also a city and kingdom
Kitti (Ki-tee), also Ktimene (Ki-tee-me-neh): sister of Odysseus
Eurybates (You-ree-ba-tehs) also Eury (You-ree): Laertes’s squire
Antikleia (An-tee-klay-a): Odysseus’s mother
Laertes (Lah-er-tehs): Odysseus’s father, king of Ithaka and the Kephallenian (Ke-fa-lee-nee-an) islands
Meges (Meh-gehs): a sea captain
MYKENAI (Mee-keh-neye)
Menelaos (Me-ne-lah-oss): Odysseus’s closest friend
Agamemnon (A-ga-mem-non): Menelaos’s older brother
Thyestes (Thee-ess-tees): High King of Mykenai, uncle of Menelaos and Agamemnon
ARGOS (Ar-goss) and ARKADIA (Ar-kah-dee-a)
Arkeisios (Ar-kay-see-oss): Odysseus’s grandfather
Alkmaion (Alk-meye-oan): king of Argos
Ahtbar (Art-bar): an Egyptian priest – or is he?
Diomedes (Dee-o-mee-dees): commander of Tiryns (Tee-reens), a fortress in Argos
Stenelos (Ste-ne-loss): Diomedes’s lieutenant
Meskes (Mess-kees): a servant
Skotia (Sco-tee-a): a slave
Danae (Dah-nah-eh): Skotia’s aunt
MESSENIA (Me-see-nee-a)
Nestor (Ness-tor): king of Messenia
Didaion (Dee-deye-oan): governor of Kyparissia (Kee-pah-ree-see-a)
Phylas (Phee-lass): Didaion’s shepherd
Ortilochos (Or-tee-lo-koss): a nobleman
Iphitos (Ee-fee-toss): descendant of Eurytos
Arion (Ah-ree-oan): a relation of Iphitos
MYTHICAL HEROES
Eurytos (You-ree-toss): an archer, and rival of Herakles
Herakles (Heh-ra-klehs): a famous hero
Sisyphos(See-see-foss): a tormented soul
GODS AND MONSTERS
Kerberos (Ker-ber-ross): guard dog of the Underworld
Amun (A-moon): Egyptian god
Hera (Heh-ra): goddess of Mykenai
Poseidon (Po-say-down): god of the sea
Hades (Hah-dehs): god of death and the Underworld
Athena (A-thee-na): goddess of war and skill
Imhotep (Im-ho-tep): Egyptian god of medicine
Ares (Ah-rees): god of war; the planet Mars
Demeter (Deh-meh-ter): goddess of Arkadia, of mountain caves, and of crops
Author’s notes on pronunciation
My pronunciation guide is a working compromise between common English usage and Ancient Greek, which can sound very strange to our ears. For spellings, I have favoured Ancient Greek forms; for example I have used “k” rather than the latinised “c”. Italicised syllables are accented.
Where I have put “ow”, it should rhyme with “ouch”; “eye” rhymes with “high”, or “lie”; “ay” rhymes with “say”; “ah” rhymes with “laugh”; long “o” rhymes with “no”; long “o” with a final “n” is represented as “oan”, to rhyme with “loan”; “th” is always soft, as in “throw”; “ss” is soft, as in “toss”, while “s” is hard, as in “has”; “g” is always hard, as in “get”. Long “e” (“eta” in Greek), which I have replicated with “eh”, is a difficult sound – it should be like “ea” in “thread”.
Chapter One
It had been a good morning for hunting, their last chance before the war began in earnest. They’d been up over Mount Neion, the three of them, and the thought of a second breakfast was making Odysseus’s stomach rumble. He jogged down the steep path, the dog Argos out in front, his best friend Menelaos close behind, and the leather game bag bumping between his shoulder blades, warm and sticky with blood.
They didn’t hear the cries till they were halfway down. Odysseus skidded to a halt, the gravel loose under his boots. Argos scrabbled back up to him, whimpering.
Menelaos grabbed a branch to stop himself crashing into Odysseus. “What’s wrong?” he said.
“Shush!” Odysseus tensed, listening. The wailing sank then spiralled up again in shrill, entangled threads. “Mourners,” he exclaimed, his heart pounding. “Someone’s died. Someone important.”
“Who?” Menelaos frowned. “They were all fine when we left. At least, I think they were. Your mother came down to see us off. So it can’t be her.”
“Or Kitti.”
“You should be nicer to your little sister when she tries to kiss you goodbye.”
Odysseus grinned, despite his rising panic. He’d dodged behind the pillars to tease her, and she’d been so cross about it.
“We could hear your father snoring,” Menelaos went on, “so there was nothing wrong with him.”
“And we saw Eury in the armoury,” said Odysseus. His father’s squire Eurybates had risen even earlier to prepare the king’s armour in readiness for the Ithakan fleet’s departure tomorrow.
“Who else could it be?”
“The sooner we find out, the better. We’ll go down the scree – it’s faster.” Odysseus led the way off the path, fighting through the thorn bushes to a great swathe of rocks and shingle that stabbed down through the forest.
Once they were out in the open he paused, searching for clues. A quick glance told him nothing – the palace, down
on the saddle; the town below it and the sweeping bay beyond; the black-hulled warships on the beach surrounded by a bustle of riggers and carpenters, sail makers, porters and painters with their steaming buckets of pitch – everything looked as it should.
Argos gazed up at him, whining plaintively as the cries echoed round the hillside.
“That wasn’t there before,” said Menelaos, pointing.
“You’re right.” There was a new ship down this end of the bay. Small, twenty oars at the most, bringing news from the mainland perhaps. “Argos!” Odysseus said. “Up. Quick!” The dog jumped into his arms and the two boys set off, the whole surface in motion as they surged down the slope.
“Weren’t the omens good yesterday, when we sacrificed to the gods?” Menelaos shouted over the clatter of stones. “Weren’t they telling us the war will go our way – that we’ll keep my murderous uncle trapped inside the Narrows at the least? I even thought we might kill him. Now that would be a fine revenge for my father’s death.”
“The gods don’t always speak the truth.” Odysseus tried to fend off his worst fears. Perhaps the High King had struck already – killed Agamemnon, Menelaos’s older brother and the rightful heir to the throne of Mykenai. Or Thyestes’s assassins had arrived in that new ship, pretending to be envoys.
Odysseus knew his own father was the obvious target – the alliance he’d put together had kept Agamemnon and Menelaos safe from Thyestes after their escape from Mykenai last year. Without him the alliance might well collapse.
A sharp rock snagged Odysseus’s right boot and he felt the leather tear. Kerberus! It couldn’t be helped – this was by far the fastest way down the mountain. Surely his mother wouldn’t care what the scree did to their boots this time.
If she was still alive. Perhaps the mourners were weeping for her.
Odysseus swung the game bag off his shoulder and dumped it inside the empty kitchen, normally so full of bustle and smells.
“Where is everyone?” said Menelaos, giving him a worried look.
“In the hall, I suppose.” Odysseus set off through the deserted rooms and passages, Menelaos and Argos hard at his heels.
The noise broke over them like a wave as they burst open the door. A wall of wailing women draped in white swayed around the great hearth, their arms writhing up like a field of snakes. Around them the household servants were gathered, fingers twisting nervously in the cloth of their tunics.
The two boys elbowed their way over to Odysseus’s mother, Antikleia: a short, stocky figure with red hair dishevelled and streaked with ash. “Who is it?” Odysseus shouted through the piercing din. “Where’s Father? What’s happened?”
Antikleia looked him up and down, her grey-green eyes coming to rest on his boots. “And what of these?” she said. “New this morning and half-destroyed already? And Menelaos’s no better.”
“We came down the scree.” Odysseus stared desperately around, half-expecting to see a humped shroud with his father’s feet protruding from the end. “We had to, it was the quickest way.”
“Why the hurry? You can’t raise a man from the dead by wrecking good boot leather.”
He grabbed her arm and shook it. “Who’s died?”
“Your grandfather.” She took another handful of ash from the brazier on the hearth beside her.
“Oh!” His heart lurched with a relief he tried to hide. Behind him, Menelaos was muttering something sympathetic.
Odysseus’s momentary euphoria was quickly followed by a pang of regret. He had met his maternal grandfather, but he’d been a tiny baby at the time. Now he’d never know that most devious of men. “Oh Mama. I’m so sorry.”
“So you should be,” she replied, pouring the ash in a steady stream over her head.
Shock, Odysseus thought, stunned by her detachment. Reality would hit home when all this commotion had stopped and she could sit quietly with her thoughts. “Will you go to him?” he asked.
“Go to him? Why ever would I do that?”
“But why wouldn’t you?” Odysseus frowned. “Grandmama will be distraught. And, from what you’ve told me, my uncles will be next to useless, standing about, getting drunk, arguing over their inheritance. She’ll need you to keep them in order.”
“It’s not her father, silly.” Kitti poked out her tongue, safe behind her mother’s back. She waved a pair of shears in the air. “It’s Arkeisios. That stupid old man in Argos.”
“Ktimene. Be quiet!” snapped Antikleia.
“But you told me–”
“What I might think or say in private is irrelevant. We’re mourning him publicly, as we should.”
So that was it. Odysseus knew there was no love lost between Antikleia and her father-in-law, but even so … “Can’t you feel something?” he said.
“What do you suggest?” Antikleia shrugged. “Kitti, pass me the shears.”
“Regret? Sympathy?” Odysseus saw his mother’s lips tighten into a thin line. Wasn’t she even going to bother answering him? “Where’s Father?” he demanded, annoyance thrusting his other emotions aside.
Antikleia gestured towards the back of the palace. “In the herb garden. With Eurybates.”
“Come on, Menelaos.” Odysseus swung round and started forcing his way back through the throng. “At least you could try,” he shouted over his shoulder.
Antikleia froze, a half-severed clump of hair in her hand. He saw her lips move, but the words were drowned out by a renewed wave of orchestrated anguish.
Chapter Two
They paused in the shade of the portico. “You go ahead,” said Menelaos. “Argos and I can keep each other company.”
Odysseus nodded his thanks. Menelaos could be unexpectedly thoughtful at times.
Antikleia’s herb garden was silent in the slanting light of morning. King Laertes was sitting hunched on a stone bench at the centre, his head in his hands and with Eurybates cross-legged on the gravel nearby, a sheet of parchment on his lap. The squire uncoiled his lanky brown limbs and came over to embrace Odysseus, but Laertes didn’t stir.
Odysseus sat down and put his arm around his father’s shoulders. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.
Laertes let his hands drop. “I’m glad someone is.”
Odysseus frowned. His father’s eyes were quite dry. “But you’re upset too. Aren’t you?”
“Yes,” said Laertes. “Only because I’m not sorry at all.”
“You’re his son. You must be sad.”
“Really?” Laertes stared out across the garden, biting his lip. “I am trying, Olli, believe me. But I keep remembering the way he treated your mother. And it makes me so angry, I can’t feel anything else.”
“That was years and years ago,” said Odysseus, shocked at the bitterness in his father’s voice. “Before I was born. Can’t you forgive him now he’s dead?”
“No, I can’t. I’ve told you what he thought. Claimed Antikleia’s father was a mountain bandit. What balderdash.” Laertes glared at a sage bush as though daring it to contradict him. “My father-in-law has had a few differences of opinion with his neighbours over straying cattle – who doesn’t?”
Odysseus considered challenging this rather creative interpretation of his maternal grandfather’s activities. But no, this wasn’t the time. “When you took me to Argos to meet Grandpapa two years ago,” he replied, “I thought–”
“You thought we were reconciled?”
“Well, not reconciled, exactly. On speaking terms.”
“Only because I managed to keep my temper.” Laertes snorted. “Why should it matter that you’re a redhead like her? You’ve certainly inherited these.” Laertes was inordinately proud of his own hands – broad-palmed and strong, with long sensitive fingers. He turned them back and forth. “And I’m sure you’ll grow taller in time. If you must know, the visit was a complete failure.”
Odysseus bit his lip. It wasn’t Mother’s fault she didn’t have the tall, dark-haired distinction of an Argive princess, or his
fault because he took after her. Yes, Kitti was right. Arkeisios was a stupid old man.
And yet, blood was blood.
“Father, you’re his only son – you’re obliged to pray over his body. What will the gods think if you don’t? And what about your inheritance? You are going to Argos, aren’t you?”
Laertes shook his head. “I’ve been forbidden.”
“Forbidden? Who has the right to do that?”
Laertes made no answer except to bury his head in his hands again.
“It’s Alkmaion,” Eurybates said. “He sent a letter.”
King Alkmaion? Odysseus shuddered. The ruler of Argos was praised as a great hero, but when Odysseus had met him during that ill-fated visit, it was obvious Alkmaion had let himself slide into a very unheroic decadence. “What does it say?” he asked.
Eurybates passed over the sheet of parchment.
My very dear Laertes, the letter went, King of the Kephallenians, Beloved Cousin, Scion of the gods,
It gives us the utmost grief to inform you that your noble father has set out on his journey to the Elysian fields. Please do not trouble yourself to come to Argos, for he has already been buried with all due ceremony. If your suffering heart still urges you to make such a tiring journey, we would be most delighted to welcome you into our house. But we fear we will be unable to protect you from the wrath of our good neighbour Thyestes, whose indignation at your support for his enemies is very great. Rest assured, your father’s interests are being well cared for. Our heartfelt condolences, once again, at your very great loss.
Alkmaion, King of the Argives, Father to his People, Beloved of the gods
“Your father’s interests are being well cared for?” Odysseus tossed the parchment on the ground. “Does that mean Alkmaion has stolen your inheritance?”
“Not yet,” said Laertes. “He’ll have to find it first. After it became clear Alkmaion had sided with Thyestes, my father sold his land and hid the gold.”
“To keep it safe for you?” said Odysseus.
“So I thought. But then he sent me this.” Laertes tugged another scrap of parchment out of his pouch. “I told you our visit was a failure.”
Odysseus read the brief scrawl. “Look beyond the Jaws of Death. Is that a place?”
“Not that I know of.”