The Girl From Ithaca (17 page)

I smiled back and pointed to myself. “Not cook!”

Odysseus returned in the evening, hungry and ready for the main meal of the day, and discovered that Ellissa had taken over. He sat at the table and tried to look stern and hard to please. His anger had diminished but he still eyed her disapprovingly. Ellissa was well aware she had to impress him and she watched his reaction as she placed the lentil soup seasoned with coriander in front of him.

Poor Odysseus didn’t stand a chance. He’d had to put up with my basic cooking since we’d set up camp and now the aroma was delicious. He continued with his severe expression until the first mouthful and then he was lost. He was smiling and looking pleased with himself, even before he cut into the roast duck.

I’d attempted to cook meat over the brazier fire and my first attempts were inedible. Odysseus had had to go to Nestor’s or Diomedes’ hut for a meal. I’d improved since then, but there always seemed to be part of the meat that was either burnt or raw. Now he started to wolf down the meal and nodded at Ellissa, without stopping to speak.

Ellissa smiled and served him another helping. Finally, Odysseus sat back in his chair and poured himself wine. He gestured for Ellissa to sit at our table and poured her a cup of wine too. Ellissa didn’t need to understand much of our language to know she was now accepted as part of our little group. She beamed back at him, repeating our names over and over again and then the Greek names for objects round the hut.

Later, as Ellissa snored loudly in the bed we’d hurriedly made up for her, Odysseus whispered, “Nestor’s new slave told him our woman was the palace cook in Arisbe. No wonder that meal was excellent. There’s some in camp who wish they’d had the sense to grab her while they could.”

“I think she’ll learn our language quickly, she’s picked up a lot today.”

Odysseus smiled. “I’m pleased with her. She’ll be a help and company for you, but most of all, I can look forward to eating again. Not that your efforts were unpleasant but …”

“I know. Mother’s and Euryclea’s training didn’t involve cooking over a camp fire in the middle of a beach.”

Odysseus grimaced. “This isn’t quite what they intended for you, but I’m hoping to get you home very soon. All of us home.” Suddenly he was serious. “Listen, I’m going out and won’t be back until after midnight. I won’t tell you the details, it’s safer you’re not involved, but we’ve been planning it for a long time and there’s no, almost no, danger.”

“If something does go wrong …”

“If we get it right, this war will be over. Medon will keep watch on the hut while I’m gone. Go to sleep and I’ll be back before you wake up.”

“Are you going into Troy? With Diomedes?”

Odysseus rubbed his forehead and sighed.

“I’m close,” I said.

“Did Io overhear?”

“No, I’m guessing, but you’ve told me lots of times that Diomedes is the best man to have at your side if there’s any danger.”

“Then you know more than you should,” Odysseus said quietly. “It can’t be helped now and I suppose it would be cruel not to tell the rest.” He checked the door was closed and lowered his voice. “Phoebus has been working for Menelaus and had secret meetings with Antenor, the Trojan advisor who wanted to return Helen. You remember him?”

I nodded.

Paris is away seeking support from his allies tonight and Antenor has ensured he’s in charge of the gates. He’s arranging for Helen and her young attendant to be drugged when they take their evening drink. He will make sure there is a mule cart waiting for us at the outer gates, with Helen inside. She won’t wake up until she’s on the ship heading for Sparta.”

I studied him. He seemed confident and relaxed, but I knew him well enough to know it was an act. “Besides Menelaus, who’s heard about this?”

“Medon and Evander know I’ll be out of camp and they’ve probably worked a few things out. Then Menelaus told Agamemnon yesterday, but without naming Phoebus and Antenor.” Odysseus chuckled as he flung an old cloak round his shoulders. “He thinks our contact in Troy is a senior soldier. So it’s all planned and you must get some sleep. There’ll be a long journey ahead of us tomorrow.”

But I couldn’t sleep. I stood by the door of our hut and watched the campfires dying into embers and then fading away completely. Medon and Evander sat outside their tent, drinking and talking quietly, but occasionally I caught them glancing across to me. At first I heard a few men still moving around the camp, some finishing chores and others crouched in groups playing dice or some other game women aren’t meant to play. But by the time the sentry guards marched along the fence for a second time that night, all was quiet. I stayed watching the moon ride across the darkened sky as the waves broke along the shore, the sea turned to silver. Perhaps tomorrow I’d be sailing that sea, sailing that sea to Ithaca.

There were footsteps. At first they were very faint. Then louder, clearer, coming closer. I peered into the night and a dark shape crept forward. I felt for my knife. Then I saw Odysseus stumbling towards me. Medon was at our side in an instant and we helped my brother inside.

“Only out of breath, I’m not injured,” he gasped. He glanced at his second-in-command. “You’re a better sentry than Ajax’s men; they’re asleep at the gates. At least it was easy getting past them.” He dropped his wet cloak on the floor and collapsed into a chair. “And Medon, I’m afraid you’ll have to tell Evander there’s no need for his piloting skills today.”

“Another time then,” Medon replied, revealing none of the bitter disappointment he must have felt. He walked to the door. “I’ll check the men this morning, if you need to recover. And get some sleep now, Lady Neomene.”

I watched Medon march away and then turned to my brother. “Diomedes? Is he …”

“Yes, Diomedes is back too. But we didn’t reach Helen. Paris and Antimachus were at the gates and there was no sign of Antenor. Soldiers everywhere.”

I stared at him. “It was a trap?”

“They knew the exact spot where we’d arranged to pick up the cart. Luckily I heard Antimachus’ voice near the outer wall and realised something was seriously wrong. Seem to remember Antimachus wasn’t very keen about handing Helen back the last time we met.”

I thought of Antimachus standing next to Paris in the assembly hall at Troy and his threat to send our heads back to Agamemnon.

“We managed to get through their lines several times, criss crossing back and forth across the plain, trying to reach the river. A couple of times we got close, then we were blocked off by more Trojans. We had to sneak back again and wait for another chance.”

“What about Antenor? What’s happened to him?”

“We don’t know. I’m fairly sure he was genuine and wasn’t part of the trap. So someone must have informed Paris and we don’t know if the betrayal was on his side or ours.” Odysseus took my hands. “Antenor might still be safe. Not everyone who knew of our mission, knew he was involved. Remember?”

“Agamemnon,” I whispered.

Once Odysseus was asleep, I sat on my bed with frantic thoughts of betrayal and spies and being hunted down on the plain, all like a whirlpool in my head. I tried to think of simpler things. I concentrated on my father’s favourite pig, the old boar called Black Ear. Every time I imagined Paris lying in wait at the gates, I countered it by a picture of Black Ear’s pink face with his one black ear. Then I remembered the snuffling sound he made when I threw the kitchen scraps into his trough, and the soft, warm feel of his back as he trotted up to greet me. It was straightforward with Black Ear. Feed him and scratch his back, talk to him a little each morning and a bit more at night and he was a loyal friend for life.

I was beginning to understand why father preferred the company of pigs.

Chapter FIFTEEN

The Fort of Heracles

T
he winter came early and as King Nestor had predicted, vicious storms imprisoned us on our small strip of land. Whenever the winds eased for a few days, Achilles departed on his sea raids and came back with food to supplement our supplies. Ajax, always obsessed with defence, continued to build a higher and stronger barricade around our camp while Odysseus trained six more men to sneak into Troy.

Ellissa helped me through that dreary time. On the days when the storms were bad and we could barely leave the hut, she taught me a dialect of Anatolian that the Trojans spoke. In return, I taught her Greek and she was a quick learner. It wasn’t long before she was proficient in my language, yet I still struggled with a few basic words in hers.

I’d also discovered she’d a talent for needlework. My childhood had been full of painful struggles with the much hated needlework practice, only relieved by Penelope picking out my untidy stitches and replacing them with a few of her own, to satisfy Mother of my progress. Now I had no need to worry about rips and worn patches in our clothes, but it was even better than that. Soldiers began seeking her out, asking her to repair their cloaks or tunics, in return for extra food or a particular item she required. If the men couldn’t make the requested item, it was often stolen from Agamemnon’s store, a fact that pleased me as much as the pots and platters themselves.

After many days trapped inside our hut, the weather cleared and we looked out to see a pale sun rising above the horizon. Odysseus carried out his usual morning inspection of the camp with Medon and then disappeared, taking with him a set of dice he’d been making during the bad weather. I was suspicious of those dice. He’d assured me they were fair, and even demonstrated the fact by throwing a mixed selection of scores. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but I knew it was a trick.

Ellissa and I were desperate to get out of the hut too. I wanted fresh air and more space, while Ellissa was keen to exchange her sewing for a barrel of apples she’d been promised by four Spartan soldiers. She gathered up the new tunics, advised me to take a long walk and then set off for the Spartan camp.

I stood outside the hut and took a deep breath, deciding to head for Achilles’ end of the beach, cutting through the Mycenae camp on the way. Looking out for Io and Ceto, I noticed Agamemnon training a group of soldiers. He’d picked up a long spear and was balancing it in his hand. I hurried on, getting as far from him and his target practice as possible.

He leant back to take the throw and suddenly twisted round at the last moment, so that the spear rose high and then curved down in an arc towards me. The spear sliced into the sand only three paces from my right foot.

“That’s how to achieve power and accuracy!” Agamemnon bellowed.

His herald sprinted over and struggled to drag the spear free. He stopped to wipe his forehead. “It’s his best weapon. He always wins the competitions in Mycenae.”

“I suppose no one dares let him lose. Tell him not to worry, if he keeps practising, I’m sure he’ll throw his spear in the right direction one day.”

The herald frowned and went back to pulling out the deeply embedded spear; I waved my hand at Agamemnon and walked on. After several strides of trying to look unconcerned, I changed my route and made for the shoreline, knowing he wouldn’t risk one of his precious ash spears near the sea. As my feet sank into the damper sand, I slipped off my sandals and waded into the waves. I concentrated on the smooth pebbles under my feet and the glorious splashing sound as I kicked up a spray. I forgot about Agamemnon and Palamedes and Antimachus. I didn’t even think of Paris or Helen. For a fleeting moment I could have been walking along North Beach in Ithaca. The same seagulls bobbed on the waves and when I glanced over my shoulder, the same footprints decorated the sand.

My mind wandered as my feet tingled in the pleasure of the cool water. After being confined to the dark, smoky hut for days and days, it felt good to be moving around again. I smelt the salty air and carried on along the beach, watching the soldiers as they took advantage of the better weather.

Diomedes and a group of his men were inspecting ships for storm damage and others clustered round the tents, drying their clothes and bedding, with items hung on lines of rope crisscrossing the camp. But not everyone was working. When I passed the Cretans, I saw ten or more soldiers swimming in the sea. They were splashing and shouting out challenges to each other, laughing as they shivered in the cold water.

In the distance, I saw the tall, lean shape of Patroclus, Achilles’ second in command, skimming stones on the water. As I walked closer, I counted the number of bounces. Seven and eight, once even nine. Back in Ithaca, Lysander could only manage five.

Patroclus looked up and nodded his head towards Achilles’ hut. “Your brother’s playing dice over there, with Big Ajax and Palamedes,” he said.

My stomach tightened. With Palamedes? It was bound to bring trouble, why didn’t Odysseus realise that? I tried to smile and look relaxed. “You’re not playing?”

He studied the grey stone in his hand and turned it over several times. “No, it’s not a happy game for me.”