Oracle (5 page)

For a moment it seemed as though their father didn’t hear. Then slowly he lowered his arm, and stared at the stranger. ‘This is no business of yours, King’s man.’

‘It might be.’ Orkestres stepped into the hut. The gold on his arms shone, even in the dimness. He reached over and took the stick, then tossed it into the pile of firewood.

Giannis growled, like a bear or dog. ‘She is my daughter. I will do what I want with her.’

‘Not if I have need of her, you won’t. Neither she nor the boy is any use to me if they are scarred.’

He might be talking about goats, thought Nikko, as Orkestres lifted his chin and turned his face this way and that. There seemed to be no sympathy in his face, just curiosity.

‘Just bruised. Good. And now the girl…’

The acrobat was smaller than their father, but his voice was bronze, harder even than the headman’s stone. Their father stepped back. Thetis lay on the floor, her face hidden in her arms, but Nikko could hear her gasp as Orkestres lifted her till she was sitting. He peered down the back of her dress. ‘Only one bad cut,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘It should heal without a mark, and anyway it can be hidden. You are lucky, Giannis.’

‘Lucky!’ Their father stared at him.

‘Very lucky. I am offering you a choice. The tributes of the whole village in exchange for these two children.’

Their father shook his head, bewildered. ‘Two children aren’t worth the goats, the barley…’

‘They are to me,’ said Orkestres lightly. ‘And I think they will be to the High King too. Is it a bargain?’

‘These children?’ His father sounded stunned, unsure.

What are they talking about? thought Nikko, still in a daze. Why would the High King want him, and Thetis? Sudden terror grabbed him.

Were they to be a sacrifice? Was that why the High King wanted them? Perhaps if the High King wanted something badly from the gods—to win a war maybe—he needed a big sacrifice: a boy and girl, instead of goats or doves. Or were they to be slaves?

‘Giannis.’ It was the headman, from the doorway. He glanced at Nikko and Thetis, then at the acrobat. ‘Two children, to save us all.’

Their father stared at him, and then at his children. ‘It will be a bad winter,’ he whispered, almost to himself.

‘No!’ Their mother forced her way past the headman. ‘No, you cannot take them!’

Their father grabbed her before she could take Thetis in her arms. ‘We can have other sons. Other daughters too.’

Nikko stared at him, his hands balling into fists. The unspoken words seemed even louder than the ones he’d said aloud. Daughters who do not speak only the truth. Sons who do not bring back the dead from the mountain…

He wanted to hit his father, to scream with pain. But neither would make a difference now.

‘You may take them.’

Nikko’s mother gave a cry. She began to wail, rocking back and forth, scratching her face with her nails.

But she made no move toward her children. Nikko’s father put his arm about her shoulders, and led her out, still wailing.

You wail for the dead, thought Nikko. You scratch your face and cut your hair, because that is all you can do when someone is dead. But we are alive! You could try to help us, comfort us, yell at Father not to let us go. He felt himself move forward, to grab her by the shoulders, to pull her back, to make her face them…

A hard hand grabbed his arm. He turned. Orkestres was looking at him with sympathy.

‘Tend to your sister. That is what’s important now. Wash her face and back with cold water to stop the bruising. Use it on your face too. Sleep here tonight. I’ll fetch you in the morning.’

He turned to go out, then added, ‘I’ll have them send food, and wine. The wine will help the pain.’

Then he was gone.

There was no guard on the door. We could run, thought Nikko, if there was anywhere to run to, except the mountain, and death among the winter snows.

Aertes brought bread still hot from the hearth, topped with slabs of meat—the best bits, not bone and gristle—as well as a pitcher of the best of the village wine. He didn’t speak, or even look at them, just placed the food
on the floor by the doorway. It is as though we no longer exist, thought Nikko.

It was more meat than Thetis had ever been given and more than Nikko had been given for nearly a year, since the hunters had speared a deer across the mountain. But his face was too sore to chew easily, and Thetis turned her face away when he tried to feed her.

‘You must eat something.’ He dipped the bread in the wine, and held it out to her. She looked up at him, her face shadowed, then took it. She nibbled on it, hiccoughing now and then with pain.

‘Thetis…did he hurt you badly?’

She shook her head.

‘You can speak,’ he whispered. ‘He won’t hear.’

Thetis shook her head again.

Nikko felt his fists clench again. But there was no one here to hit, and outside…How could he beat every man in the village? He would only look a fool, a child flailing vainly with his fists.

At last he did what Orkestres had suggested: washed Thetis and then himself with a cloth dipped in the pot of cold water by the door, then curled into a small shape at the far end of the bed platform with Thetis wrapped as gently as he could in his arms, and tried to sleep.

The wine had made Thetis dozy despite the pain. She slept. Her breathing changing to a snuffle, for her nose was swelling too. Nikko heard the feast outside, the men singing and dancing. They are happy, he thought. They get to keep the goats, the barley. All they lose is us.

And that will make them happy too.

At least, he thought, Thetis will be allowed to speak again when we leave here. Or perhaps she won’t. Maybe slaves aren’t allowed to speak. And if we are to be sacrificed…

Finally he heard his parents come in, and Aertes. He pretended to be asleep. And then at last, sleep did come, for when he opened his eyes he could hear the kids butting their mothers’ sides out in the shed, and a lark singing outside the door.

Thetis was still asleep, moving restlessly from the bruises on her back, when Orkestres’s shadow darkened the door of the hut. Their mother slipped from her side of the bed platform. The blood had dried in streaks on her face where she had scratched it with her nails, and her eyes were swollen with crying. Her husband and her eldest son snored under their goatskins.

Now, at last, his mother looked at him, and then at her daughter. Nikko waited for her to speak. But her eyes seemed blank, as though she was trying not to see.

She helped Nikko half lift, half guide Thetis, stumbling, out to the waiting ponies. One of the King’s men reached down and lifted the child onto the saddle cloth. Thetis blinked, awake but still dazed. She looked back at her mother. Her face twisted, as though she was going to cry, but no sound emerged.

Nikko wanted to yell for her, scream at their mother: ‘Coward! Traitor!’ But for a moment it was as though he no longer existed. He was no man’s son now, and no woman’s either.

He gazed around. It was a grey day: grey sky, grey air thickening with mist. At first there seemed to be no one
outside except his mother and the King’s men, but he sensed shadows watching from the doors.

I hate you all, he thought, anger taking over emptiness. The hag is right. You are stupid and in love with your stupidity, scared of anyone who might be different. If you had hidden the goats and grain properly we would be safe.

Suddenly his mother moved forward as though pulled by a rope, almost unwillingly. She stroked her daughter’s hair just once, then slipped Nikko a small parcel, wrapped in grape leaves and tied with grass. ‘Food. For the journey.’ Her voice was hoarse. She seemed about to say something else, then stopped.

Perhaps, thought Nikko, she can’t find the words. How did you say farewell to your children, when you had sold them for a pen of goats, and jugs of barley grain?

His mother had given her daughter away once before, he realised. Now it was happening again.

I should hate you too, he thought. He tried to pull the hatred up from deep inside. Hatred would be easier to bear. But all he could remember was his mother’s voice singing him a lullaby when he was small.

Tears prickled. He felt one trickle down his face, but he refused to wipe it away. Perhaps, if he kept his face still, no one would notice. He glanced back inside the hut out of the corner of his eyes. He could see the large lump that was his father, still unmoving under the goatskins, and another shape by the hearth that must be Aertes. He doubted that either of them were asleep. But neither looked toward the door.

The three King’s men were already seated on the ponies. One of them gestured to Nikko to climb up
behind him. Nikko clambered on awkwardly, wiping his face unobtrusively with his arm. It felt strange to have the animal moving underneath him. Orkestres lifted his leg over Thetis’s pony, settling her in front of him. She still seemed half asleep, but gazed around at the village, at her mother standing silent in the doorway, and then down at the pony’s mane. She reached for it tentatively, then glanced back at Orkestres.

He smiled. ‘Yes, girl. You can pat it.’

One of the King’s men pressed his knees against his pony’s flanks. The beast began to walk, and the others followed.

Down between the huts, children peeped from doorways. But no one spoke or waved. We don’t exist again, thought Nikko. It is easier just not to see us. It is hard to face the truth sometimes—too hard for anyone in the valley. He turned round, expecting Thetis to be weeping, or gazing back at their hut. But she was watching the pony, then looking up to study the King’s men.

Almost, thought Nikko, as though she knows the village means nothing to us now, that we will never see it again.

His heart felt like a spear had pierced it as he realised it was true.

The ponies plodded out the village gate. Suddenly it began to rain.

The rain ceased as they rode downhill, changing to drizzle then finally vanishing, leaving the sky as clear and still as a midsummer pool. An eagle wheeled around the midday sun. Was it the one that had watched them dance?

Despite the autumn shadows the sun was soon hot. Their clothes dried. The ponies’ damp hides steamed in the heat. Several times the King’s man passed Nikko a waterskin. He drank gratefully, and handed it back.

They had passed a handful of villages by now, the ponies slowly plodding down the mountain. Nikko had expected the King’s men to gather the tributes there too. But instead they passed each stockade without stopping.

Part of him wanted to ask why, and a skyful of other questions too: where were they going? How long till they got there? Would they see the sea? But most of all he wanted to yell: Why are you taking us? Are we slaves or sacrifice? What other reasons could the High King have for wanting him and Thetis?

None of it made sense. There were stronger boys in the village, though he hated to admit it, and girls lovelier than Thetis. Why had Orkestres picked them?

What could make them more valuable than a herd of goats and saddlebags of grain?

The King’s men exchanged jokes now and then, and comments about the country. Their accent was hard to understand, and some of their words were strange too. Orkestres barely spoke. He looked different now they were away from the village and people: older and slightly slumped. His mouth was held tightly closed, and he winced when the ponies had to pick their way across the rough creek crossing. Thetis was silent too, in front of him, staring at the country as though drinking in each detail.

The land changed as they travelled downhill. It was oak forest now, deep and dappled, the leaves turning
autumn red, the track muddy under the ponies’ hoofs. Somewhere nearby a river added its mutter to the coo of pigeons, and once they heard the thin howl of a wolf.

Suddenly the trees stopped as though the forest had been cleaved by a sword. They halted, trees to the left and right of them. But laid out before them the land was patchwork, as though someone had sewn strips of bearskin or goatskin together to make a rug. In the distance were rows of olive trees, their trunks lichened and thick as a man, and then a square of vines with withered leaves, followed by a stretch of barley stubble: brown dirt with a few strands of straw, hopeful pigeons and sparrows pecking amongst it. The land was as dappled as the autumn leaves.

Nikko could see the river he had heard before, rushing between the rocks at the bottom of the valley. There were olives on the other side too, and more vines higher up the next hill. Yet there was no sign of a village. Just fields…and more fields…

He tapped the back in front of him. ‘Sir? Are we there? Is this Mycenae?’

‘Mycenae?’ The man gave a shout of laughter. ‘Did you hear what the boy said?’ He twisted round, his gaze surprisingly kindly over his shoulder. ‘No, lad. It’s another three days’ walk from here to Mycenae. We’re stopping at the next village till the others reach us.’

‘The others?’

‘The other King’s men and the tributes they’ve gathered.’ He grinned, showing brown stumps of teeth. ‘They’ll be slower than us. Good thing the acrobat decided to take you and the girl or we’d be herding goats
for two days while the ponies carried the grain. Now we get to ride.’

He pointed. ‘The village is about another two sun fingers from here, boy, down in the next valley. Mycenae!’ He grinned again. ‘There are no wooden forts and stone huts at Mycenae.’

Nikko stared around as the ponies made their way through the big stockyard gate. There were more buildings here than he had ever dreamed of: wooden huts thatched with reeds like the ones in the village, but stone huts too, larger than the headman’s house back home.

What could Mycenae be like, if this was just a village?

Women and girls, grinding flour on their doorsteps, or twirling wool on distaffs, stared at him then dropped their gaze when he looked back, as was proper when a woman saw a man who wasn’t of her family.

The ponies plodded between the houses, up a rise to a building bigger than Nikko had thought existed in the world. It was almost as long as his entire village, built of stones so closely fitted together they looked like one enormous rock, hollowed out by giants. The walls were painted white, with red lintels above doors made of wood, instead of a flap of goatskin.

There was an open space in front of the building. In summer perhaps it had been grass, but now it was mud, and filled with animals. Rough brush fences were placed between the different groups of horses, goats and other animals so they didn’t escape or fight, making smaller pens within one big one.

Tributes for the High King, thought Nikko. Like us.

Goats bleated angrily from one pen. The other sections held animals Nikko had never seen before, bigger than mountain lions, with horns even longer and sharper than a buck’s.

‘They’re cattle,’ said Orkestres, seeing Nikko’s stare. ‘Cows and bulls. The cows give milk—more than goats—and the bulls pull the plough.’

Nikko frowned. ‘Women push the plough,’ he said.

Orkestres laughed. ‘Only in poor mountain villages. Women down here look after their households. They don’t sweat outdoors.’ He shrugged. ‘Except for slaves, of course.’ Orkestres wore his smile again now, and had put on a cloak with a gold border. Gold shone again at his wrists and ears.

He slid off his pony then helped Thetis down. He nodded to Nikko to get off his pony too. The guards had already dismounted, heading over to the pens to inspect the livestock, and talk with friends. ‘Lord Pittaneous has kindly let us use his hall.’

‘Lord?’ Nikko had never heard the word.

Orkestres gave him his real smile, not his public one. ‘A lord is like your headman, but he rules a bigger village. The High King rules the world, except the bits we don’t mention, and then there are minor kings, who rule their own lands, but send tributes to the High King, as well as warriors when he goes to war. Then there are lords, then chiefs, and then ordinary people. Oh, and slaves…’

‘Are we slaves?’ Nikko held his breath.

‘Perhaps,’ said Orkestres lightly, as two men in leather tunics came out to take the ponies and lead them to a
stall. ‘I hope not. It would not look good for me, back in Mycenae, to have traded the High King’s harvest for two slaves. But boy…what is your name? Nikko?’ The acrobat looked at Nikko steadily. ‘Nikko, I will not lie to you. Not to the boy who sang up on the mountain.’

‘Do you lie to other people?’ Nikko flushed. He had spoken without thinking. Is this what Thetis does? he thought. But no. She thought before she spoke—that was the problem.

Orkestres looked amused, not angry, as his father would have been. ‘Yes, Nikko. My whole life is based on illusion. I have skill, but part of that talent is making what I do look impossible for anyone but me.’ He grinned. ‘I lie to my wife, when I tell her she looks as slender as she did when she was fifteen. I lie to the High King. We all do, everyone in the palace, pretending he is the most heroic, the greatest ruler on the earth, mightier even than the Pharoah of Egypt, who could swallow our kingdom for breakfast and never notice. Perhaps,’ he added thoughtfully, ‘many at court actually believe it. But make-believe is my job. You need to know the truth to create good make-believe.’

‘Sir…you were talking about what was going to happen to us.’

‘I was, wasn’t I? There is something about you two that makes me talk as I never have before. And act, for I have never bartered away the King’s tribute for two mountain children either. Very well—here is the truth. I think you and your sister have the talent to be great acrobats. But your fate depends on the will of the High King when we reach Mycenae. This is a gamble, for you and for me too.’

Nikko caught his breath. It was better than he had hoped. At least they weren’t to be sacrificed. At least they had a chance. Or did they? Could he ever learn to twist his body like Orkestres?

He glanced over at Thetis. She stared around the village, giving no sign that she’d heard Orkestres’s words. But Thetis noticed everything.

Orkestres followed Nikko’s gaze. ‘They said in your village that your sister couldn’t speak, but that now she can. Is that true?’ He reached over and ruffled Thetis’s hair. She looked up, and smiled faintly at him. ‘She hasn’t spoken a word all day.’

Nikko tried to find an answer that was truthful, but wouldn’t make Thetis seem touched by the Night Ones, as so many in the village had suspected. ‘She couldn’t speak until this summer, and then she spoke a lot. Just like everyone else.’ Or almost, he thought. ‘Last night, when he beat her, our father made her promise not to speak again. I think she is still obeying him. Does it matter?’ he added anxiously.

Orkestres shrugged. Even his shrug was graceful. ‘Perhaps. If she could sing it might be useful. Maybe the mystery of a voiceless girl may be more useful still. We will see.’

Nikko felt Thetis’s hand slip into his as Orkestres led the way up the steps—so many of them, like a hill made by men. They walked into the brightly painted building.

The room was the longest Nikko had ever seen, but not as long as he had expected from outside. A big round hearth stood in the middle, with a smoke hole in the thatch above. There were openings in the walls too, hung
with wooden shutters to keep out rain and wind. Every bit of the walls was painted. Pictures of running deer and wild goats were so vivid Nikko almost felt he could hear their breath as they ran from the hunters.

The ground felt smooth under his feet. He looked down. The floor was made of the same smooth material as the walls. Next to chairs were goat- and bearskin mats, trimmed into squares or circles, so it would be hard to know what animals the pelts had come from if you had never seen the fur before.

There were more ‘stairs’ at the far end of the room, leading to what Orkestres called a hallway, with curtained doors that led to more rooms. The acrobat pushed aside one of the curtains.

‘This is where we will stay.’

Nikko looked around. The walls were painted here too. He touched one, almost expecting the paint to come away on his fingers, spoiling the scene of birds and butterflies. But instead it felt as smooth as goat’s cheese. In the middle of the room was a fireplace under the smoke hole in the ceiling. Around the fire the big hearth stone extended out almost to the walls, making a flat platform to sleep or sit on, with two piles of soft tanned goatskins. There was a hole in one of these walls too, looking out down to the river and the olive trees. Thetis ran to it and looked down.