Hero for Hire (14 page)

“Oh, Thracian, I am awaiting our meeting,” she told me in a voice like caressed velvet. “Do not break faith with me. Come to Troezen. Cross the sea. Come to me.”

“Who are you?”

Her smile showed crooked teeth, small as milk teeth but sharp. "I am your future. And you are mine."

She seemed to gloat over me, her tongue churning against her teeth, her eyes burning with lust.

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't mind a woman taking the lead sometimes. It can be fun. But the hunger in her gaze seemed to go beyond mere lust into something foul.

I began to struggle against the bonds she seemed to have cast around me with her gaze. She repeated her claim on me with even greater intensity, her face coming nearer. She raised a bone-white hand as if she could touch me through the veils of night. I saw myself on the bed, sweating, my brow corrugated as I tossed my head from side to side.

“Wake up, Eno, you lout,” I shouted from my vantage point somewhere near the ceiling. “Wake up.”

I did. For a moment, I stared around mindlessly, disoriented by the sudden change of perspective. I’d returned to my body as quickly as if I’d fallen into it.

Someone scratched at the door. I came to myself, sitting on the edge of the bed. It creaked as I got up and, bleary-eyed, opened the door to see the same girl I'd kissed the night before.

“You wanted to be woken up at dawn,” she reminded me as I stood there blinking down at her.

“Did I? Oh, yes, that’s right.” I yawned, while glancing up and down the narrow hall. “Did you find
Doris
?”

“I told you there’s nobody here named that.”

“Did you ask?”

“Yes,” she said with a humoring sigh. “I asked Iole. She’s worked here since she could crawl and she says nobody named
Doris
has ever been here, let alone been here yesterday. Do you want something to eat?”

I thanked her and said I’d come down to the kitchens myself. Then I sat on the bed again, my face buried in my hands. Suddenly, I didn't want to go anywhere, let alone far-off Troezan. Death was an ordinary hazard of the business but that woman...I shuddered deeply as if I'd touched something unclean.

When I got downstairs, the girl was gossiping with the others, including, to my dismay, Omphale. “And he wouldn’t even let me in...”

One of the others said, “Well, you know what they say about the men in Athens.”

“But he’s from Thrace. Have you heard what they say about them?”

“No...what?”

I cleared my throat and they scattered like chickens. Omphale gave me a friendly nod. Someone had dressed her hair in a soft knot and she wore a trace of kohl on her eyelids. “How are you settling in?” I asked as I sat down.

“The girls are very kind,” she said, putting bread before me. “They talk about things I don’t understand, though.”

“You’ll learn.” Had I done her a favor after all by bringing her here? It would be a shame if she became like other girls, giggling and silly. Remembering how she’d insisted on doing her own running when the harpy attacked, I had no real fears that she would.

“They say you’ll try to capture that thing today,” she said.

“Yes. I don’t think it will be too difficult.” I started to say something light and reassuring when she cut me off.

“Neither do I.”

“Eh?”

“I know it can’t stay here. My people will kill it if they can. What will you do with it?”

Temas and Phandros had assumed that I’d kill it outright, somewhere far from Leros where whatever God had sent it would not be displeased. Omphale did not assume that.

“What do you think I should do with it?”

“Take it away and let it go. Find some quiet little island where it won’t bother anyone.”

I put my elbow on the table, my chin in my hand, and studied her. “Why all this mercy? It tried to kill you.”

“Do you think I’m the kind to hold a grudge? Besides, once you understand something, you can’t hate it anymore.”

“And you think you understand this thing?”

“You understand it too, don’t you?”

“No. I don’t understand most females of whatever species.” I tried a charming grin on for size. It didn’t melt her heart appreciably.

“You’re not a stupid man, Eno. Don’t you think the poor thing has a very good reason for attacking a woman walking and talking with you?”

“What reason could it possibly have? Animals don’t reason the way men do.”

She gave me that look. All women have it in their arsenal. I think they are born knowing how to aim and fire it. It starts with a sigh, a roll of the eyes heavenward, and then they stare steadily while the unfortunate male hurriedly reviews his entire calendar of crimes, of omission and commission, for the exact one she is objecting to now.

I applied myself to my porridge. After a minute or two and another heavy sigh, she went to make my breakfast. I was so glad to escape that I didn’t ask again about
Doris
.

The dew still pearled on the grass as I went to the edge of the cliff above the bay. I could see the
Chelidion
far below me. The sea looked as calm as a bowl of milk, belying the roiling mass of life that carried on beneath the surface.

It would have been the easy and comfortable thing to walk down to the pier and row myself out as I had when I took the young king to see the ship. But I knew in my heart that the battle with Eurytos had left a fear of the sea like a raised and twisted scar on my soul. I’d known it yesterday when I’d stood at the water’s edge, watching the dolphins at play. The old Eno would have dived in and swum out to meet them but I had been afraid.

I care little for what the world may say of me but to stand so accused in my own judgment...that I will not bear. Even in the hint of such fear has driven me to take risks and undergo trials that a simpler, wiser man would decline. I can never be free of the doubt that it is not wisdom but cowardice. That is my weakness, one that sends me to dive, in this instance, into a depthless sea at the prompting of jeering ghosts.

I stood on the cliff, my toes clutching the sandy edge. Raising my arms, I inhaled and exhaled, each breath deeper and wider. Then I reached out, turning my arms into a bowsprit, raised up on the balls of my feet and dove off.

Through the rush of the wind in my ears, I heard the harpy cry, or maybe it was a man, calling out, ‘Stop, you fool!”

I dove down into the colder layers until again my breath burned in my throat. A sea turtle stared at me from ancient, wrinkled eyes and I startled a couple of long-bodied fish but that was all. Rising, I broke the sparkling surface, laughing at my folly but powerless against it. I had fought my fears again and won but they would return. They always return.

When I came back from the ship, Phandros was waiting for me on the dock. "Where have you been?

I grinned at him. "I had to make arrangements with Jori. I'll capture the harpy today and be on my way." I shook myself like a dog, water flying off me. "Where's this taverna I've heard so much about?"

After we were served drinks, sitting at a table under a grape arbor, a pleasant spot we had all to ourselves, Phandros looked grimmer even than usual. He'd watered his wine more than half.

"You said you'd sell the harpy in Troezan. Ever been there?"

"No. Have you?"

He shook his head. "I've heard strange tales, that's all."

"Seems every island tells tall tales about all the others. Apparently, there are stories about Thrace which isn't even an island."

"I suppose you are right. Gossip spreads like milk in water until you cannot separate it from the truth."

"Sometimes rumors are true. You said that Queen Amymone was from Lesbos. Now that's an island with plenty of rumors swirling around it," I said with a wink.

Phandros looked disapproving. "Oh, you mean that old tale about the women there? Nonsense, my good fellow. Pure nonsense, I assure you. Our dear queen was as open and sunny as the day, not remote and cold at all."

"I think we are talking about different stories," I said.

"You do mean the one about Orpheus' head?"

"Do I?"

"You must know it. Every schoolboy knows it."

"My education was neglected."

A true teacher, Phandros could not pass up the chance to enlighten my ignorance, even if he sighed dramatically at my denseness. "You do know that Orpheus was torn to pieces by the maddened handmaidens of Dionysus? In Thrace, actually, according to the legends."

"Really?" I ignored the slur on my homeland. "Why did they do that?"

"The tale varies. Some say it was because he would play only sad songs after Eurydice was returned to Hades and they didn't care for the tunes. Some say it was his indifference to their orgies; others that he refused the worship of the God of Wine to follow the God of the Sun. As you cannot have true revelry without both music and wine, the God slew him for the discourtesy. Naturally, there is considerable discussion among scholars as to which is the true tale. These others are folk-legends or a blend of other tales. Macrites of Corinth, for instance, has suggested that..."

"Where does Lesbos come into the tale?" I asked, interrupting what promised to be a lengthy exposition.

"Ah, yes. Well, the poet's head fell into the sea and was carried to the island of Lesbos where it was recovered by several handmaidens to the queen at the time. It was speaking prophetic verses and continued for three days after his death. These prophecies were so horrific that the maidens and the queen vowed that they would never repeat them, except to their own daughters so that they would not be entirely forgotten. Each woman vows equal secrecy and the habit has so grown on them that they are now famous for their taciturnity and their reserve, rare indeed among women."

"It's said that they are so reserved that they don't even tell their children that they love them."

"As I say, a false tale. Queen Amymone was not like that. A more open-hearted woman never lived. She'd say that she loved her husband, throwing her arms about his neck. He permitted her a great deal of license, more than is granted to most women."

I thought of my Minthe. Would she ever throw her arms around me and declare her love? Did she even know I existed?

Phandros had been musing too. "Though...."

"What?" I poured him a little more wine and he drank it absent-mindedly.

"Perhaps I am being wise after the event. Yet it strikes me now that there was something almost defiant in the way she proclaimed her affection." He poured himself a little more wine. "She would say that she loved him in spite of everything. One naturally assumed this was the result of some quarrel, after they'd made up. Yet perhaps there was more to it than that. She was from Lesbos, after all."

"I wish Nausicaa were still here. I have a lot of questions she might have answered if I'd only known what to ask."

"What did happen up in the temple, Eno? And how did you defeat Eurytos and his men? If you want to discuss wild rumors, start with one of those."

Phandros' eyes were shrewd, if red. If anyone could help me sort through the knotted threads of my tangled thought, he could. I wanted to trust him but he had lived a long time in the midst of what I was beginning to believe was part of a cult of dark magic. "Tell me this first, Phandros. Why is there such a large temple to Artemis on this -- pardon me -- rather unimportant island?"

"Another legend. Our lands are full of legends as Attica is full of snakes. You can hardly move without stepping on one."

"Let's not talk about snakes, if you don't mind," I said, taking a drink myself. "What is the legend?"

We were like two old wives, sitting in the sun, gossiping about our betters.

"A typical tale of the Gods. There are, as you know, seventeen portals to Hades, other than the traditional way of crossing the River Styx on Charon's boat. One is here, so they say, and long ago Artemis came with her arrows to drive back some escaping Titans. She decreed a temple be built over the spot. A typical tale as I say. No one has ever seen anything unnatural here, not until last night."

"I suggest you recommend to the king that a new statue of the Goddess be dedicated as soon as possible."

His eyes had grown comically large. "Yes, yes, indeed."

"There are really seventeen portals to Hades?"

"So scholars say." He began to tick them off on his fingers, obscure cities, most remote or unimportant. I stopped him at a name I knew.

"Troezan?"

"Ah, yes, a very famous portal. It is known as the Poor Man's or the Miser's Way, as you don't need two coins to pay the Ferryman. You can walk."

"Not I."

"No!" he said and spat. "I meant no ill omen."

I wanted to trust Phandros. Despite his dry and stuffy ways, I thought him an honest man who had done his best for an island that was not his native land. But why did he drink so much? What memory or crime was he trying to drown? Perhaps nothing more than a forbidden affection for the late Queen of Leros. She must have been a remarkable woman.

What had Nausicaa said? Something about how the plans had been delayed by a fool? Had Amymone come to open the portal only to find love within her arranged marriage? Had the birth of Temas tied her to life instead of death?

There were too many unanswered questions. I felt I'd give my entire profit from this job for a few solid, indisputable answers.

"A fool like you..." I murmured. "That's what she said. Kept too long away by a fool like you."

"What?"

"Just talking out loud. Let's get another beaker."

Phandros licked his lips but resolutely refused more wine. He waved the taverna keeper over to ask for the reckoning.

What made me a fool, besides the obvious? More questions, fewer answers yet. But there was something rattling around in the far depths of my mind that might make sense if I could only reach it.

The landlord refused our money and made a fuss over wiping the table, which did not need it. "If you gentlemen are finished with your wine, some of the lads are grumbling a bit, sir, about the...well, about the dead ones."

"Never mind," I said, standing up. "They'll be fond enough of me in a couple of hours."

* * *

After the sun had passed the zenith, I felt lower than something smelly stuck to the bottom of a sandal but my prophecy had come true. I was very popular.

The harpy had come to me trustingly, pecking the wheat I held in my hand. When she was near enough, I dropped the grains, threw one arm around her body and flattened my other hand over her mouth. Instinctively, she tried to kick but her claws skittered uselessly over the breastplate of my armor.

I thrust her into the cage and slammed the door closed before she could turn and come at me. I watched, heart-sick, as she threw herself frantically against the bars. “Don’t,” I said, knowing she could not understand. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”

Was I afraid or hopeful that she could rip her way out? All I knew is that when the olivewood and iron held, I felt a great weariness settle down on my shoulders.

In a few minutes, she huddled down in the corner, her wings swept over her face in the attitude I’d come to associate with sorrow. She did not raise her face even when I lifted the cage.

My muscles ached as I carried my burden the hundred yards or so to the wagon I’d borrowed from the local oil merchant. The donkeys were placid creatures yet even they shifted their feet and rolled frightened eyes as I lowered the cage into the back.

They showed a surprising increase in energy I drove over the rough track to the ruined pier. Several sailors stood there, waiting for me. I had ordered them not to step foot off the pier and they had obeyed. Perhaps the way I’d picked all three of them up in one fist by the slack of their garments while talking to them might have given them the notion I was serious in my commands.

“You got it!” one of them said gleefully as I drew up beside them. “Way to go!”

“Ugly thing, ain’t it?” one of his fellows added.

I didn’t glance at any of them. I might have appeared stern but I didn’t want them to see the shame I felt lurking in my eyes. “Is the boat ready?”

“Yes, yes, ready and waiting.”

They’d rigged a winch while I’d been gone. As is usual with sailors and other men initiated into deep mysteries, there was a certain amount of milling around and unnecessary display of difficulties before commencing on any operation. They discussed weights and shifting beams and balances, even though I’d told them to be ready when as soon as I returned.

“Hurry up,” I growled.

“Aye, aye, sir. Just another minute....”

Of course, it was impossible to sneak away cleanly. I’d known that. I stood on the end of the dock, my new sword tied on my belt with a leather cord and a long staff of wood in my hand. Slowly at first, but then with increasing speed as word spread, a crowd gathered.

“Is that it?” a fat woman said in a tone of disparagement.

“Oh, look, Iamos! Did you ever see such a thing?”

“I want to see, Mother. Lift me up. Lift me up, Mother.”

The veiled woman were clustered together, whispering behind their hands but glancing far more than at me than at the harpy. I saw merchants, farmers and a couple of faces from the palace. A few high-bellied men conferred near the front of the crowd. Half a dozen young boys were jostling near the sea-wall, daring each other to move closer. I saw one stoop for a loose stone. With a rascally glance at his fellows, he hurled it at the cage.

Some cheered as the stone arced through the air while others applauded, pushing forward. I knew it would only be a moment before all manner of trash would be thrown and I wasn’t having it.

I caught the stone. I fixed my eyes on the boy and squeezed. Sand rained down from my fingers. Then I turned my back on them.

The tenor of the crowd’s noises shifted from triumph to anger. “Let us have it!”

“Yeah, we know what to do with it!”

“Chicken dinner tonight,” called a high tenor voice, followed by clucking noises. Someone else decided it was wittier to crow like a rooster.

I turned toward them again, my hand resting negligently on my sword. One of the town-leaders, his belly as round as a water jar, swaggered forward, holding up his hands for silence.

“On behalf of the people of Leros, I’d like to express my very profoundest....”

From out of the crowd had slipped a narrow-faced, grey-haired man with a beard tangled as a neglected fishing net. Phandros murmured something in the pot-bellied man’s ear and I saw the blowhard’s eyebrows raise so high they tangled in his hair. “Really? Oh, certainly, certainly.”

He silenced the crowd again. “As I was saying, on people loved by Eros of...or rather, I...oh, dear. Gentlemen, the King!”

Temas had brushed his hair in honor of the occasion. He’d flung a bright red himation over his shoulder and his chiton gleamed brilliantly in the morning sunshine. A gold bracelet clasped his right wrist and a large signet carved from a single emerald adorned his forefinger. He wore no diadem but his people parted for him, bowing.

He clasped my right forearm and I had no choice but to return the greeting. “Good people,” he said in a clear, carrying voice. “We have much to thank our friend Eno the Thracian for on this day. No other man could have triumphed against the evils that beset us. No more will we be threatened by Eurytos the Criminal and his band.”

This seemed to be news to some of the more prosperous-looking citizens. Were they the ones making a tidy fortune selling to the outlaws?

“And now he has captured the beast that turned our days from kindly friend to implacable foe! We may tend our crops, care for our flocks and let our children play without fear of losing any to the terror of the harpy! Let us cheer and rejoice. Phandros...serve the wine!”