Part 3 (1/2)
”I am Orion.”
”Come with me,” he snapped, and started to turn away.
”To where?”
Over his shoulder he answered, ”My lord Odysseus wants to see what kind of man could stop Prince Hector in his tracks. Now move!”
Poletes came with me around the prow of the boat, through the soaking rain, and up a rope ladder to its deck.
”I knew knew Odysseus was the only one here wise enough to make use of you,” he cackled. ”I knew it!” Odysseus was the only one here wise enough to make use of you,” he cackled. ”I knew it!”
Chapter 5.
WHICH G.o.d do you serve?” Odysseus asked. I stood in the presence of the King of Ithaca, who was sitting on a wooden stool, flanked on either side by other n.o.blemen. He did not appear to be a very tall man; his legs seemed stumpy, but heavily muscled. His chest was enormous, broad and deep like that of a man who had swum every day since boyhood. Thick strong arms, circled by leather wristbands and a bronze armlet above his left elbow that gleamed with polished onyx and lapis lazuli even in the gloom inside his s.h.i.+pboard tent. White scars from old wounds stood out against the dark skin of his arms, parting the black hairs like roads through a forest.
There was a fresh gash on his right forearm, as well, red and still oozing blood slightly.
The rain drummed against the canvas, scant inches above my head. The tent smelled of dogs, musty and damp. And cold. Odysseus wore a sleeveless tunic, his legs and feet bare, but he had a sheep's fleece thrown across his wide shoulders.
His face was thickly bearded with dark curly hair. Only a trace of gray in that beard. His heavy mop of ringlets came down to his shoulders and across his forehead almost down to his black eyebrows. Those eyes were as gray as the sea outside on this rainy afternoon, probing, searching, judging.
He had asked his question the instant Poletes and I were ushered into his tent, without any preliminaries or formal greetings.
”Which G.o.d do you serve?”
Hastily I replied, ”Athene.” I was not sure why I picked the warrior G.o.ddess, except that Poletes had said she favored the Achaians against the Trojans.
Odysseus grunted and motioned for me to sit on the only unoccupied stool in the tent. The two other men sitting on either side of him were dressed much as he was. One of them seemed about Odysseus's age, the other much older: His hair and beard were entirely white and his limbs seemed withered to bones and tendons. He had wrapped a blue cloak around himself. They all looked weary and drained by the morning's battle even though neither of them bore fresh wounds as Odysseus did.
Odysseus seemed to notice Poletes for the first time. ”Who is he?” he asked, pointing.
”My friend,” I said. ”My companion and helper.”
He nodded, accepting the storyteller. Behind Poletes, barely inside the tent and out of the pelting rain, stood the officer who had summoned us to this audience with the King of Ithaca.
”You did us a great service this morning,” said Odysseus. ”Such service should be rewarded.”
The frail old man at Odysseus's right spoke up in a surprisingly deep, strong voice. ”We are told that you arrived as a thes thes aboard the boat that came in last night. Yet you fought this morning like a warrior born and bred. By the G.o.ds! You reminded me of myself when I was your age. I was absolutely fearless then! As far away as Mycenae and even Thebes I was known! Let me tell you...” aboard the boat that came in last night. Yet you fought this morning like a warrior born and bred. By the G.o.ds! You reminded me of myself when I was your age. I was absolutely fearless then! As far away as Mycenae and even Thebes I was known! Let me tell you...”
Odysseus raised his right hand. ”Please, Nestor, I pray you forego your reminiscences for the moment.”
The old man looked displeased, but sank back in silence.
”What reward would you ask?” Odysseus said to me. ”If it is in my power I will gladly grant it.”
I thought for half a moment only, then replied, ”I ask to be made a warrior in the service of the King of Ithaca.” Then, sensing a slight shuffling of bare feet behind me, I added, ”And to have my friend here as my servant.”
For several seconds Odysseus said nothing, although Nestor bobbed his white-bearded head vigorously and the younger warrior on the king's left smiled at me.
”You are both thetes thetes, without a household?” Odysseus asked.
”Yes.”
He stroked his beard. Then a slow smile spread across his face. ”Then welcome to the household of the King of Ithaca. Your wish is granted.”
I was not certain of what I should do, until I saw Nestor frown slightly and prompt me by motioning with both hands, palms down. I knelt before Odysseus.
”Thank you, great king,” I said, hoping it was the right degree of humility. ”I shall serve you to the best of my abilities.”
Odysseus took the armlet from his biceps and clasped it on my arm. ”Rise, Orion. Your courage and strength will be a welcome addition to our forces.” To the officer at the tent's entrance he commanded, ”Antilokos, see that he gets some decent clothing-and weapons.”
Then he nodded a dismissal at me. I turned. Poletes was beaming at me. Antilokos, his wolfskin cape still dripping, looked at me as if measuring me, not for clothing, but as a fighter.
As we left the tent and went back into the pouring rain, I could hear King Nestor's vibrant voice. ”Very crafty of you, Odysseus! By bringing him into your household you gain the favor of Athene, whom he serves. I couldn't have made a wiser move myself, although in my years I've made some very delicate decisions, let me tell you. Why, I remember the time when Dardanian pirates were raiding the coast of my kingdom and n.o.body seemed to be able to stop them, since King Minos's fleet had been destroyed in the great tidal wave. Well then, the pirates captured a merchant s.h.i.+p bearing a load of copper from Kypros. Worth a fortune it was, because you know that you can't make bronze without copper. No one knew what to do! The copper was...”
His voice, strong as it was, was finally drowned out by the heavy rain and moaning wind.
Antilokos led us past several Ithacan boats to a lean-to made of logs lashed together and then daubed with the same black pitch that caulked the boats. It was the largest structure I had seen in the camp, big enough to hold a couple of dozen men, I estimated. There was only one doorway, a low one with a sheet of canvas tacked over it to keep out the rain and wind.
Inside, the shed was a combination of warehouse and armory that made Poletes whistle with astonishment. Chariots were stored there, tilted up with their yoke poles pointing into the air. Stacks of helmets and armor were neatly piled along one wall, while racks of spears, swords, and bows lined the other, with chests full of clothes and blankets along the back wall between them.
”So much!” Poletes gasped.
Antilokos, who was not a man given to humor, made a grim smile. ”Spoils from the slain.”
Poletes nodded and whispered, ”So many.”
A wizened old man stepped across the sand floor from his hideaway behind a table piled with clay tablets.
”What now? Haven't I enough to do without you dragging in strangers?” he whined. He was a lean and sour-faced old grump, his hands gnarled and twisted into claws, his back stooped.
”A new one for you, scribe. My lord Odysseus wants him outfitted properly.” And with that, Antilokos turned and ducked through the shed's low doorway.
The scribe shuffled over close enough almost to touch me and peered up at me with squinted eyes. ”Big as a Cretan bull! How does he expect me to find proper clothing for someone your size?”
He grumbled and muttered as he led Poletes and me past tables laden with bronze cuira.s.ses, arm protectors, greaves, and plumed helmets. I stopped and reached for a helmet.
”Not that!” the scribe screeched. ”Those are not for the likes of you!”
He sank one of those clawlike hands into my forearm and tugged me to a pile of clothes on the ground, close by the entrance to the shed.
”Here,” he said. ”See what you can find among those.”
It took a while, but I eventually dressed myself in a stained linen tunic, a leather skirt that reached my knees, and a sleeveless leather jerkin that did not feel so tight across the shoulders that it would hamper my movements. While the scribe scowled and grumbled, I made certain that Poletes found a tunic and a wool s.h.i.+rt. For weapons I took a plain short sword and strapped a dagger to my right thigh, beneath the skirt. Neither one of them had precious metals or jewels in their hilts, although the sword's crosspiece bore an intricate design engraved in its bronze.