King of Ithaca (6 page)

‘We’ll give you five copper pieces for them both,’ Eperitus corrected, disgusted at the man’s audacity.

The herdsman turned to him with a broad smile on his dirty face. ‘That black un’s my best animal. If your lord wants . . .’

‘Here,’ said Castor, impatient to get on. He handed the goat herder two silver pieces and started towards the temple.

‘You should learn the good grace of yer master,’ the trader told Eperitus, before turning to walk back down the slope. Eperitus gave him a swift kick to the buttocks to speed him on his way, which provoked a stream of insults hurled towards his departing back.

As they rejoined Castor and the others a great belch of smoke swirled out of the temple door and coiled into the night air. For the first time Eperitus consciously recognized the faint stench that had been growing since they left the pool. He turned to Antiphus, who wrinkled his large nose in response. It smelled of rotten eggs, the nauseating, throat-drying stink that poets associate with Hades itself. Suddenly Eperitus wished he had waited until morning.

‘Perhaps she’s asleep like the herdsman said,’ Antiphus suggested, uncertainly. ‘Wouldn’t those other pilgrims be here otherwise? Let’s come back tomorrow.’

‘Go back if you want,’ Castor replied, holding the struggling goat tighter about his shoulders and looking up at the steps to the temple. ‘You can all wait until morning if you’re afraid. But I’m going in now.’

After a brief pause, the others followed him up to the mouth of the oracle.

Chapter Three

P
YTHON

They approached the dark portico that led to the most famous oracle in all Greece. Its rough grey pillars glowed red with the light of whatever burned within and the stench of sulphur was nauseating. A man appeared at the entrance and walked quickly down to bar the way. He was dressed all in black and carried a long staff.

‘The Pythoness sleeps. Now leave before I put a curse on you all.’

‘Don’t be so hasty,’ Castor said, stepping up to the holy man and fixing him with narrowed eyes. ‘How much will it cost to wake her up?’

‘Your money won’t make any difference here,’ the priest answered, his gaze shifting uncertainly under the scrutiny of the fierce-looking warrior. ‘Whole cities send tribute to the oracle, so your pitiful . . .’

‘Then you leave me no choice but to wake her myself! Stand aside.’

It shocked Eperitus that his new friend dared talk in such a way to a member of the most powerful priesthood in Greece. It surprised the cleric too, who for a moment looked as if he would merely slip away into the shadows. But his arrogant manner soon got the better of him, used as he was to bullying pilgrims from every station in Greek life. In an instant he jerked his rakish arms into the air and in a quivering moan began to invoke the goddess Gaea.

Eperitus squirmed nervously as his chants filled the air about them. He feared the goddess would take her supernatural revenge on them at any moment, angry they had offended one of her earthly representatives. But Castor was not so easily intimidated and simply walked around the man.

The others followed, only for the priest to bound up the steps and throw himself in front of them again, his arms extended and his voice raised to Gaea. His outstretched palms halted the intruders in their tracks and Eperitus, for one, was filled with terror by his wailing. Though he would happily fight any number of armed men, who was he to stand up to a goddess?

‘We’ll have to turn back, Castor,’ he said. ‘Unless you want to bring the wrath of the gods down on us.’

‘Athena will protect me, even from Gaea,’ he answered, calmly stroking the nose of the goat about his shoulders and looking up at the priest. ‘Antiphus! Take this animal, will you.’

The priest’s chants were growing louder and more urgent as he saw the armed pilgrims were not retreating. Already he had called down fire from the heavens, cursed them with sudden blindness and invoked several diseases. He was condemning their future wives to barrenness when Castor held up a hand and began to talk through the cacophony.

‘Your incantations don’t work, so save your breath and let me speak. King Menestheus of Athens has sent me to consult the oracle. And in return for an answer to his question he promises three bronze tripods and cauldrons to match, as well as twenty talents of silver.’

The wailing stopped and the priest came down a few cautious steps. ‘What’s the question?’

‘A great sea monster – a kraken – has been smashing our ships into kindling and devouring the crews and cargoes whole. Our merchants are afraid to leave port and we Athenians are starting to feel the pinch. The king’s desperate for the wisdom of Gaea to help rid his city of the beast, and so I must speak to the Pythoness. Every wasted day puts more of our ships in peril and starves Athens of much-needed trade.’

As Eperitus listened to Castor’s story he began to wonder further about his friend’s identity. Did he really come from Crete – as he had told him – or was he in truth an envoy from King Menestheus? Surely he could not cheat his way into an audience with the Pythoness on the pretence of being an Athenian, then ask about a voyage from Crete? He glanced at Halitherses and Antiphus, but they avoided his eyes.

‘There were Athenian merchants here only the day before yesterday,’ the priest responded suspiciously. ‘Why didn’t they mention this kraken?’

‘Because they buy goods from the ships of other cities,’ Castor replied. ‘If they came here and put it about that a sea monster was attacking vessels just off the harbour at Piraeus, the rumour would spread and no foreign merchant would dare come to Athens – they’d be out of business within weeks. Didn’t they appear a little nervous?’

At that moment, a husky female voice called out faintly from deep within the temple. ‘Lies within lies!’ it echoed. ‘Don’t let him in! A maze he is, that man, unto others and unto himself. Though not to us. Not to me.’

The voice laughed, a horrible, retching chuckle.

‘Through the fumes we see him clearly,’ it continued. ‘We know him, then, now and tomorrow. Send him away, quickly. Sleep matters more than poor island princes.’

The priest looked angrily at Castor, who stared back even more determined than ever.

‘I’m not some dog who’ll sleep by the footstool of its master, waiting to be woken with a kick,’ he said, gripping the hilt of his sword. ‘In the name of Athena, you will let me in!’

‘Indeed,’ said a voice from behind the warriors. They turned to see another priest, an older man this time with white robes, a purple cloak draped over one arm and carrying a staff the length of a spear. There was something ethereal about him; his long hair and beard appeared to be filled with strands of bright silver and he had big, round eyes like an owl and a nose that ran straight and did not dip at the bridge.

‘Let them in, let them in,’ the old man said authoritatively, striding towards the pilgrims and waving them up the steps.

‘But Elatos,’ the other priest protested, ‘the Pythoness said to send them away.’

‘We may be priests, Thrasios, but it sometimes makes us arrogant and heedless of our duties as human beings.’ The head priest reached the entrance to the temple and Eperitus suddenly noticed how tall he was – a full head and shoulders above everybody else, even Halitherses. He placed a hand on the younger priest’s arm. ‘Now then, you can see these men are nobles; warriors, no less. Take their animals and sacrifice them, as is required, and call on the presence of the gods this sombre night. Unless I’m greatly mistaken, the prince here will not be kept waiting.’

‘That’s right, my lord. I’m Castor, son of Hylax, come from the island of Crete to consult the oracle.’

‘Are you and have you?’ said the priest sceptically. He placed his fists on his hips and spat irreverently on the step. ‘My name is Elatos, and if you wish to speak with the Pythoness you will first give me three copper pieces. As you’ve brought two animals I assume one of your friends also wishes to receive her wisdom? That will be another three copper pieces.’

Eperitus pulled three of the dwindling number of coins from his pouch and handed them cautiously to the man. ‘I seek the will of the gods.’

‘A wise thing to do,’ the head priest replied, taking his payment along with Castor’s and hiding the pieces in a fold of his robe. ‘Once the sacrifice has been made, follow Thrasios through the crack in the rock at the back of the temple. He will lead you to the Pythoness, but stay close to him! A serpent – Gaea’s own son – protects the priestess, and he’s been known to pick off the odd stray pilgrim.

‘Thrasios will also interpret the Pythoness’s ramblings for you. I find his devotion to the gods helps him understand the precise meaning of the priestess’s gibberish. She’s quite unconscious of it herself, of course. Spouts the stuff all day long yet can’t remember a word of it, let alone interpret it.’

At that point Thrasios appeared on the broad top step. He held Castor’s goat under one arm and a sacrificial knife in his free hand.

‘Come through,’ he ordered, impatiently.

Antiphus led the way. Only Elatos remained, wishing the men goodbye before turning to retreat down the steps. As he placed his foot on the first step, though, he caught Castor’s eye and said in a hushed voice, ‘Meet me by the sacred pool when this is over. I have something to discuss with you.’ Eperitus was not given time to ponder Elatos’s words, as Castor pushed him in through the high, pillared doorway.

Viewed from the outside the temple looked small, but inside it had been delved into the rock-face and was as big as the great hall of the king’s palace in Alybas. The ceiling was high and dark, punctured by a hole through which the blue evening sky was visible. A large, well-stocked fire in the centre of the temple sent trails of smoke through the room, most of which eventually escaped out of the vent in the roof. In the side walls were alcoves that housed rough terracotta images of various gods, each of them lit by a flaming torch that left great black scars on the limestone plaster above. The plaster itself was decorated with what had once been colourful images of animals and men moving through a landscape of rivers and trees, but now these pictures were fading and in places had peeled away. The smoke of the fire and the torches had dulled some beyond recognition.

Only the far wall remained untouched. This was the sheer face of the mountain: rugged, grey and cold. Eating a line straight through its centre was a dark crack, just wide enough for two men to enter side by side. Eperitus strained his eyes to see into its blackness, but the firelight that filled the temple revealed nothing of whatever lay beyond. Then, as he watched, he heard a faint hissing that made his flesh creep. Suddenly he was reminded of what Elatos had said about the serpent that guarded the oracle. His hand instinctively sought the hilt of his sword and with a shudder he turned away.

To his left Thrasios was kneeling and holding the two goats by their stumpy horns. A second priest appeared from a side door and placed shallow bowls of water on the floor. A moment later the animals bowed their heads to drink, unconsciously giving their consent to be sacrificed. Hardly allowing the black animal to take a second lap of the water, Thrasios lifted it to the altar and, picking up his knife, cut off a wisp of its wiry hair. This he threw into the blazing fire whilst uttering prayers to Gaea, conducting the ritual with practised ease and with the relish of a man who enjoyed his work. Eperitus watched in admiration as he controlled the struggling beast with one hand then stunned it with a blow from the handle of his knife. A moment later, still calling on the goddess, he placed a large bowl beneath the goat’s limp head and slit its throat. Thrasios waited for the gush of blood to stop then handed the carcass to the other priest, who finished the work of cutting it up. The second animal met the same efficient death and its various parts were shared between the fire, as a burnt offering to the gods, and the priests, for their evening meal.

Once the act of sacrifice was complete, Thrasios took a torch from the wall and led them into the narrow crack at the back of the temple. It led into an unlit chamber where they waited as the priest cast the light of his torch this way and that, searching keenly for something in the blackness.

As the only light came from this single flame, it took their eyes a moment to adjust to the dimness. Eperitus could sense by the feel of the air and the echo of the small sounds they made that they were in a large cave, a pocket within the solid stone of the mountain. As Thrasios moved his torch through the gloom Eperitus glimpsed a natural archway leading into even deeper darkness beyond. Nothing else was visible, making him feel unnervingly exposed and vulnerable. Then he saw the light catch on something to his left, something shining that moved at incredible speed. Suddenly the torch was whipped out of the priest’s hand and they were plunged into darkness.

‘Don’t move!’ Thrasios hissed, his voice strangely distant, as if he stood on the far side of the cave. ‘If you draw your weapons you’ll be killed. It’s Python. He’s watching you.’ He sounded frightened. ‘You shouldn’t have insisted on coming so late. He’s confused.’

‘Don’t you have any power over the creature?’ Halitherses whispered urgently.

‘I can calm him, but you must remain silent. Don’t move.’

The great beast shifted across the stone floor not two strides away from them. Eperitus realized this was no mere snake but an animal of supernatural proportions. Fighting the urge to take out his sword, he dared to turn his head and behold the full horror of the monster.

Snakes, to Eperitus, were loathsome creatures. Their hideous limbless torsos, their cold skins and lipless mouths froze his flesh with disgust. As he beheld Python, with its vast coils contracting and stretching, it circled them once and then, to Eperitus’s horror, paused opposite him.

Slowly it raised its heavy triangular head and extended it towards his face. Even in the dull light each individual scale was now clear to the terrified warrior as Python’s slender nostrils fanned his face with its cold breath, the ageless eyes regarding him with a malice that dwarfed the hatred of any man. As Eperitus watched, transfixed by mind-numbing horror, its mouth parted with a long hiss to release a glistening, forked tongue, which flickered out and touched his lips.