Cursed by the Sea God (14 page)

Phaith watched, wide-eyed. “Is that how boys eat?”

I looked up as I finished, suddenly embarrassed. “Uh, no. Okay, maybe some of
us. I’m just hungry.”

She handed me a wineskin. “Are you thirsty too? Here.” Feeling her eyes on me,
I drank it more carefully. She looked disappointed.

“Thanks,” I said, putting the cork back in the goatskin. “I don’t think I’ve
ever been that hungry. Not even back in Troy.”

“Troy?” she echoed.

“Where I came from. It’s gone now. It was destroyed.”

She nodded. “I’ve never been anywhere else. Just here.” She gestured around us.
“I’m a shepherdess.”

“A shepherdess?” I asked, surprised. “There are sheep here
too?”

She frowned. “No. Just cows. But I hate the word
cowherd
. It sounds so .
. . ungraceful.”

I wasn’t sure what to say to that. “So you look after all the cows on the
island?”

“That’s right. Me and my sister.” She frowned. “I don’t want to talk about her.
She’s strange. Not like me.”

Definitely no safe reply to that. Casting around for a change of topic, I
smiled. “Thanks for the food, Phaith. I was hungry enough to eat a cow, horns to
tail.”

Her expression changed instantly. “Don’t touch them!” she shouted, leaping to
her feet, her eyes wild. “Don’t you dare touch my cattle.” She snatched a dagger
from her belt and waved it at me. “Do you hear me? Not ever!”

Alarmed, I started to scramble to my feet but caught myself. “It’s okay,
Phaith,” I said gently, sitting back down. “It’s just a saying. Of course I
wouldn’t do
that
.”

She stared at me for a moment longer. The fury faded slowly from her face and
she squatted again and looked into my eyes. “I’m sorry, Alexi,” she said, her
expression anxious. “It’s just that those cattle . . . well, I look after them
for my father. They’re protected. Bad things will happen if you hurt one.” She
shuddered, shaking her head. “Terrible things.”

I stood up carefully. “I’d better be going. Thanks again for the food,
Phaith.”

She stepped forward and grabbed my shoulder as I turned
to go.
“Really.
Don’t
. And those men you’re with, don’t let them either.”

I glanced back at her, surprised. “You know about them?”

A sly smile crept across her face. “Of course. I’ve been watching you.”

URY WAS STANDING in the middle of camp. “This is what he won’t
let us eat, the men who took Troy! Lopex is afraid of cows!”

I had arrived back at the edge of camp as the late afternoon sun was stretching
the shadows of inland hills across the beach. I was still unnerved by what
Phaethusia had said, and the sight of Ury leading three milk-white cattle on
leads into camp was twisting my stomach into a knot. What was he planning? I
watched anxiously as he stopped near the cooking pit. The cows shambled to a
halt behind him, chewing their cuds. The Greeks watched him from their driftwood
seats and sand beds, their eyes as vacant as those of the
cows.

“He listens to that witch and we starve. On an island full of cattle!” Ury
paused for a moment to gather his strength. “He speaks of a curse on us, but we
all heard that one-eyed monster. The curse is on him! Not us. Thanks to him,
we’ve had more bad luck since we left Troy than we did in ten years before the
gates. Lopex is the real curse!” he shouted.

The knot in my stomach tightened. Whatever it was that harming these cattle
would trigger, Phaith had been too agitated even to talk about it.

Ury staggered for a moment, then stood upright again with a swig from his
goatskin, splashing red wine across his tunic. “You know what he’s doing?
Waiting for us to die! Right now he’s sitting somewhere eating roasted beef!
Once we’re dead he can sail home with all our treasure!”

Even for Ury, that sounded stupid. Lopex alone couldn’t begin to push the ship
off the beach, far less row it. I shook my head, my eyes on the knife that had
appeared in Ury’s hand. Kassander slipped silently up beside me from somewhere.
“What is it? What’s going on?” he murmured.

I was still on edge from my encounter with Phaith. “What does it look like?” I
snapped.

In the centre of the camp, Ury was continuing to work himself up. “Look at
you!” He took out his knife and waved it around at the men lying in the sand.
“Heroes of Troy, starving because of an oath he forced on us!”

“Stupid,” I muttered, thinking about Phaith’s warning. “He’s
going to bring the curse down on us.”

Beside me, Kassander shook his head. “Alexi, you must have realized by now that
Ury is not the master of his fear.”

I turned on him. “What the
korakas
do you know?”

He looked at me calmly. “I know enough not to get worked up over things I can’t
change. You might try it.”

“What a surprise!” I muttered. “Kassander thinks we should do nothing!”

“How did you plan to stop him? We’re slaves, Alexi. It’s not in our power.”
Kassander pointed to Ury, now holding his knife. Long shadows from the hills had
shaded Ury’s face, but as he waved his knife over his head it flared red in the
setting sun.

“Lopex will not defeat us!” he was shouting. “Can any death be worse than
starvation?”

“He has a point, Alexi,” said Kassander. “If we don’t eat soon, we’re going to
die.”

I grabbed his arm and stared into his face. “Didn’t you hear what Lopex said?
Those cattle are cursed!”

“Maybe so. But—” Kassander broke off and sniffed. “What’s on your breath? Is
that . . . cheese?”

I tried to back away but Kassander grabbed my arm. “Alexi, do you have food?”
He bent toward my face, sniffing intently. “What have you been eating?” he
demanded. “Have you been hoarding food?”

When I shook my head, he let go of my arm and stepped back, frowning. “I’m
disappointed, Alexi,” he said quietly. “Hiding food from starving men? Was that
considered honest, back in Troy?”

Shame burned my cheeks. I hadn’t even thought to bring any food
back. As I opened my mouth to reply, a shout behind me made me turn. Ury’s knife
flashed down, plunging deep into the first cow’s throat and spattering him with
blood as the cow slumped to the ground with a strangled bellow. Shocked and
anxious, I replied to Kassander more harshly than I’d meant to.

“Honesty? What would you know about it,
Arkadios
!”

His head jerked up and I realized how loud I’d been. We’d been speaking
Anatolean, but his real name was distinctly Greek. It might have passed
unnoticed, but I made the mistake of looking around to see if I’d been heard. A
soldier watching Ury had glanced over at my voice.

“You!” he called. “What did you say? Get over here, both of you.”
Kopros
. I started over reluctantly, then noticed that Kassander wasn’t
moving. I turned back toward him.

“Kassander! Didn’t you hear?”

“Of course I did, boy,” he said quietly, starting toward me. “But I couldn’t
move until you translated for me. They don’t know I speak Greek,
remember?”

Of course. He was staying in character as a Trojan slave. Well, to the Greeks,
that conversation would look like a translation. He caught up with me and we
approached, his head down and shoulders hunched like a frightened slave. The
soldier was a squat, black-haired troll named Nikias. One of Ury’s friends.
Naturally.

“What did you call him, boy?” he said as we halted in front of him. He turned
to his companion, frowning. “Arkadios?
Now why does that sound
familiar?”

I stammered, trying to head off his train of thought. “Arkadios? No, I called
him, um,
arachnios
. From his long arms and legs.” Gods, a ten-year-old
could do better.

Standing beside me, Kassander was saying nothing. “Translate for me, boy,” he
muttered. “I’m not supposed to understand, remember?”

“What? Oh—right. They think I’ve called you, well, you-know-what. Your real
name.”

Kassander turned his downcast head slightly to glance at me. “I know that, boy,
” he said quietly. “I’m Greek, remember? But we can still get out of this. Tell
them I haven’t done anything wrong. Sound like you’re scared.”

I wasn’t sure what he was planning. “Sir?” I said to Nikias. “Please, he’s just
a slave. He didn’t do it.”

“Do what, boy?” he began, but Kassander threw himself to his knees, wrapping
his arms around one of Nikias’s stumpy legs.

“Please!” he whimpered. I froze. He’d spoken in Greek! But Kassander knew what
he was doing. “Please,” he said again in heavily-accented Greek, keeping his
head down and shaking it so Nikias couldn’t see his face. “Kassander good,
please! No hurt!”

Nikias growled in disgust. “Get off me!” He said, trying to pull his leg free.
“I said, get off me, you dirty Trojan coward. By Hermes, it’s no wonder we took
Troy. Get off!” He hooked Kassander under the chin with a sandaled toe and with
a
powerful snap of one thick leg sent him tumbling backwards.
The thrust lifted Kassander half to his feet and he staggered back across the
sand.

“Kassander!” I called. “Look out!” Off balance and staggering, Kassander
stumbled backward straight into Ury, bent over as he skinned the first cow. They
tumbled down together on the half-skinned, bloody carcass.

“What are you doing, you stupid
sueromenos
! I nearly cut my hand off!”
Ury began, but stopped. Landing on their sides, they were facing one another,
their noses almost touching. Kassander swung an arm up to hide his face but Ury
caught his elbow.

“Wait!” he said, frowning. He forced Kassander’s arm down and peered into his
face. His eyes widened in shock.

“You?” he gasped. Dropping Kassander’s elbow he scrambled up off the bloody
carcass. Kassander stood up slowly, his face expressionless.

Ury gestured, his eyes wild. “Grab him! Don’t let him get away!” Two dark men
scrambled to comply, binding Kassander tightly by his shoulders. Ury walked
around him, his knife waving warily, then stopped and put the edge against
Kassander’s throat. An unpleasant smile warped his face. “It
is
you!” he
breathed. “Arkadios! The
lawagetas
!”

Nikias had stumped up beside them. “That’s what that slave called him,” he
said, pointing at me. “Arkadios.”

“He did?” Ury’s unpleasant smile broadened. “This just gets better and better.
Bring him here too.” I was dragged over to
stand beside
Kassander. Ury stood before us, swaying slightly, the front of his tunic soaked
in the heifer’s blood. He reached for his goatskin and took another swig of
wine.

“So the stories were true. You went over to the Trojans. I didn’t believe them.
Not Arkadios.
Respectable
Arkadios.” He folded his arms across his chest
and stood there for a moment, staring at Kassander.

“Bad move, traitor.” He leaned forward, his face almost touching Kassander’s.
“But I’ve got you now.” He stepped back and looked at me, his eyes narrow. “You
too, slave. Hiding a traitor. Nobody will stop me if I kill you now.”

Nikias had taken out his own knife, a wickedly curved dagger with a short
blade. “So who gets it first?” he asked impatiently. “The traitor?” He pointed
his knife at Kassander. “Or the slave?” The knife swung toward me.

A crafty look stole across Ury’s face. “No.” He beckoned to some men nearby.
“Tie them up. Killing takes a full belly to enjoy properly.”

Four of Ury’s men hauled us up the beach to the
Pelagios
, Ury and Nikias
following us. We were thrown to the ground, our hands and feet threaded through
the bow boarding net and bound together with rawhide cord. As Nikias wrenched my
tunic off my shoulders, Melantha’s knife tumbled out beside me. I tried to slide
over it but Ury pounced.

“What’s this?” he said, snatching it up. “Who’d you steal this from?”

Nikias gave me a vicious kick in the side. “Answer your master, slave,” he
grunted.

“Didn’t . . . steal it,” I gasped, curling up around the pain.
“Mine. Look at it—not Greek.”

Ury looked at the pattern on the handle and his eyes narrowed. “You lying
Trojan. This is a girl’s knife.”

” My . . . sister’s,” I said, wheezing. “A coming-of-age gift.”

Nikias spoke from behind me. “I’ve seen that knife before.” He stepped over my
head for a better look in the dusk. “That’s Sophro’s,” he added. “A trophy, he
said.”

“Sophronios?” Ury gave me another painful kick in the side. “How did you get
his knife, you sack of
kopros
? You know what happens to slaves who
steal?”

Gasping for breath, I couldn’t speak. “Sophro told me he took it off a girl,”
Nikias said. “The night we took Troy.”

Ury stopped short. “A girl?”

Nikias shrugged. “Some Trojan
kuna
. Found her lying against a
well.”

Kopros
. This was exactly where I had hoped Ury’s thoughts would never
go. “Near a well,” he said slowly. “A well?” His face contorted in
thought.

Kassander’s dry voice came from nearby. “You never change, do you, Ury? Kicking
an unarmed slave—if someone ties him up for you first.”

Ury spun around to face Kassander. “Shut up!” he roared. Dropping his wineskin,
he leapt to smash Kassander’s face with a fist, forgetting me entirely. The
sound of furious, crunching blows came from Kassander’s direction as Ury
unleashed his rage. Sickened, I huddled with my head down, unable to
watch.

Finally, his rage spent, he stopped and sniffed the air, now
filled with the maddening scent of roasting beef. “Enjoy the smell,” he said
unsteadily. “I’ll be back.” He stumped back to the fire, where his men had
slaughtered the other two cattle and begun skewering and grilling slices of
beef.

There was no sound from beside me. My face burning like an open forge, I forced
my head to turn.

“Kassander?”

Slumped against his bonds, he didn’t answer.

“Kassander?” I took a breath. “I just want to say—I’m so sorry. You’ve always
given me good advice. You lied about yourself, but you had good reasons. I wish
I had kept my mouth shut.”

Kassander heaved his head part way up to look over at me. Blood was trickling
from both nostrils and his smashed lower lip. The skin around his left eye was
turning black, while his right eye was already swelling shut. He began to shake
his head but winced and stopped.

“I expected—” he broke off, coughing, and spat out a tooth with a mouthful of
blood. “I expected to be caught long ago. You stopped that.”

He paused for a rasping breath that made him wince again. “You translated. They
never had to speak to me.” He breathed heavily for a moment. “They would have
known me . . . earlier, if they had.” His head dipped again.

“Kassander!” I called. He didn’t answer. “Arkadios! Listen to me!” He lifted
his head slightly.

“We can still get away. They’ll be busy for a while. Look at
them.” I nodded toward the centre of camp, where the Greeks were wolfing down
half-raw skewers of beef the moment they came off the fire.

He shook his head, then winced. “How would we . . . get free?” he asked, his
voice nearly inaudible. “And we’d need a distraction. A big one. Give us time to
. . . escape.”

A voice boomed out across the camp, rising easily above the crackling cooking
fire and the noises from the Greeks.
“What in the name of the twelve
immortals is going on here?”

Lopex had returned.

A bulging sailcloth sack over one shoulder, he strode into the centre of camp
where several Greeks were roasting beef over a fire and smashed the skewers from
their hands. “Is this how men of Achaea respect their oaths?” he shouted,
staring around at them as they froze in mid-mouthful. “Is this how you show your
devotion? Breaking your word to the gods the moment you get hungry?”