Oracle (11 page)

The harper started another tune, his thin fingers stroking the strings. It was louder than the first, with a stronger beat, almost like eagle wings flapping as the bird took flight. Nikko looked around desperately for his sister.

And all at once she was there.

She stood on the white stones by the fire, her arms raised, swaying slightly like the smoke. Her skin-coloured costume took on the colour of the fire. Suddenly she leaped again—higher, wider than Nikko had ever seen her jump before—a somersault over the fire, her tiny body tumbling through the flames.

Gasps filled the room.

The High King glanced up.

Thetis stood straight and proud on the other side of the fire, miraculously unhurt. She jumped through the flames again, this time with her toes pointing down, lit by the fire light so her feet and legs looked like flames as well. Then tumbling down, over and over, till she was at the feet of the King. She stayed there bowed only for a moment, then reached up and pulled the fine shawl from the woman at his side.

The crowd gasped again, but in shock, not admiration. Who would dare to take the shawl of the priestess of the Mother, the sister of the High King?

Nikko felt his feet glued to the tiles of the floor, as though he was made of stone like the palace.

Thetis smiled. How can she smile? thought Nikko. And then he thought, Why not? What is the worst that they can do to us? Tie us to the trees? This man might do that anyway, to appease a morning’s boredom.

The music grew even more insistent, as though the blind harper had sensed what was happening in the room. It pulsed like a heartbeat, like the song of the wind.

Thetis ran now, the shawl trailing behind her. Like wings, thought Nikko. And suddenly she was the butterfly again.

The palace vanished. So did the lords and servants and the King. Suddenly there was only Thetis and her dance.

He knew what she wanted now. He ran over to the white rocks by the fire, and stood with arms outstretched. She sprang up onto him. He felt her small thin feet pressing on his shoulders, felt the sweep of the shawl lifting in the heat and smoke. He looked up as Thetis jumped from his shoulders and grasped the cornice of the column next to the smoke hole, clinging somehow with her fingers and her toes. The shawl billowed about her, flying this way and that as she twirled it.

It was the most beautiful thing Nikko had ever seen, the girl, her face and figure twisting in the mists of smoke, the colours of the shawl echoing the fire. Thetis had looked too tiny before. Now her very smallness suited the wide silk wings.

‘A butterfly,’ breathed someone.

It was as though the mountain and its song rushed back to him, bringing both its strength and music.

Nikko knew what to do now. He opened his mouth, and let the song pour forth, washing through the stunned silence of the chamber.

Once more this was a song with no words. What use had the winds for words? It was as though the song controlled him. He felt it change. There were wings in the music now, as well as wind, butterfly wings that soared a flash of colour across the sky.

And now another sound drifted through the room, growing louder and more powerful.

The harper had picked up his melody. They played in counterpoint, the old musician and his harp, the boy and his pure voice.

Still Thetis danced, flying from one pillar to the other, so swiftly that the room seemed filled with movement as well as music, as though the room was filled with unearthly creatures that had never felt the ground.

And then it was over. He forced himself into stillness, feet apart, and she landed on his shoulders, steadying herself briefly with her hands on his head. He felt the shawl drift down to hang around them both, hiding them, joining them as one performer.

Nikko held up his hand. She took it, and landed on her feet before him, twisting the shawl so it was a thin rope around her neck, no longer concealing them, no longer wings.

They stepped over toward the throne, one step, two, still hand in hand. On the third step they bowed again, not reading each other’s minds but the signals of their bodies, too minute for anyone else to see.

This time they bowed as the Chamberlain had bowed, a movement of the head and neck, their right hands pressed against their chests, as though they too took for granted the right to stand upright in front of the High King.

The room was silent. The High King stared. So did his sister, her bare shoulders above the Mother’s apron a reproach.

They will tie us to the trees, thought Nikko. They will make us slaves.

Somehow it didn’t matter. Bitterness might come later. Not now. Orkestres had been right. You knew when greatness had flowed over you, like the silk shawl. Thetis had been a star, a glowing spark, shining above the world. For a while Nikko too had shone in her light.

Still no one spoke. The harper too was silent, his head bowed over his harp, his white hair hiding his expression.

Reality began to seep back again. Nikko shivered, not just from the breeze on his sweat.

The High King stood up. He beckoned to one of the guards. The man came closer. The King gestured. The guard handed the King his shield. The High King took it, then bent down to pick up one of the spears that stood against the throne, a symbol of his power perhaps, for surely no one ever hunted with spears tipped with gold, their hafts carved with lion heads embossed with ivory.

Still Nikko and Thetis stood there, motionless. Still the room was silent, except for the flicker of the fire. The High King began to bang his spear against his shield.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

Nikko felt his skin prickle. He took Thetis’s hand
again. He had expected it to tremble, but it was warm and still. What did all this mean?

And then he knew, for the cheering rose in a great cry: the room was full of people clapping their hands as the King was clapping spear and shield.

The woman in the diadem stepped over to them. The King laid down his shield and spear and the clapping died. She looked a little like the King, but had grey hair among the black. She smiled—a strange smile, as though it came from far away.

‘The dance of the butterfly.’ Her voice had the accent of Mycenae, the words higher and more clearly spoken than at home. ‘Butterflies can’t speak. They only give the world their beauty. Did you know that the soul is a butterfly? And that dance was for the King.’ Xurtis closed her eyes, and laid her hand on Thetis’s head. ‘While you dance for His Majesty my brother, his soul will be safe.’

She opened her eyes, then smiled again. This smile was different from the first, almost as though she wanted to laugh. ‘You may keep the shawl,’ she added.

The room seemed to sigh, as though no one had dared to breathe till they heard what the woman was going to say. The High King beckoned again, to the Chamberlain this time, and spoke to him. The man looked startled.

The King beckoned to Nikko and to Thetis. As they stepped forward the Chamberlain lifted the chains from his own neck, one thick woven gold, the other heavy with red jewels. He placed the first over Nikko’s head, the other over Thetis’s.

Suddenly it seemed right to bow again. Nikko prostrated himself a second after Thetis had begun her bow. And then among the noise and cheering he felt Orkestres’s hand on his elbow, and he and Dora guided them out.

The man’s face was black-streaked where tears had melted his eye make-up. ‘You have won his heart, child. I have never seen…never imagined I could see…’ His voice broke as he stroked Thetis’s hair. ‘You’ve won every heart in the chamber tonight! You are the Butterfly, the greatest dancer the court has ever seen. How did you know what to do?’

Thetis shook her head as Orkestres peered down at her, his face full of bewilderment as well as joy. ‘Why haven’t you danced like that before?’

Dora bent down and picked Thetis up. The child looked small against her bulk, and suddenly tired. She rested her head against Dora’s shoulder, and snuggled closer.

‘She did just what we told her to do.’ Dora looked from Nikko to Orkestres. She smiled slightly. ‘She danced the exercises we showed her,’ she said softly. ‘She did what we told her to do, just as her brother promised. But you said you’d shivered when she was a butterfly, up on the mountain. So that’s what she became, when she saw the act we’d taught her had failed. She flew for us tonight, for everybody here. Neither of us could teach that, or your song either,’ she added to Nikko. ‘It is your own.’

The world was swaying around him. All that had happened tonight—it was too much to take in. He wanted to dance again, to run shouting around the walls of Mycenae. He wanted to rest, to drink, to eat. He wondered if his heart would ever stop drumming like
music in his chest. He knew his face was smiling, but he had to work not to cry as well.

He had wanted to save his sister, but she had saved them both.

Just how much had Thetis seen when she sneaked out of their rooms? he wondered. How had she learned what would win a king?

Nikko glanced over at Thetis. There were shadows under her eyes, and her hands trembled, even though they had been so firm and sure such a short time before.

‘Baths,’ said Dora. ‘Warm baths for everyone, to calm us down.’ She stroked Thetis’s hair. ‘I know what it feels like, my lamb. You are exhausted and exalted all at once. That is what it means, to give yourself to an audience. And it’s the same,’ she added, ‘whether it’s a peasant or a king. You give yourself, and when it’s over the ground feels dull and flat, and so do you, with all your brightness gone. We all feel it. You get used to it in time—a bit, at any rate. The hot water is waiting. Then food and sleep.’

Sleep, thought Nikko. His heart was racing as though he would never sleep again.

They had danced before the King. Danced and sung like the children of the mountain that they were, as well as the acrobats that Orkestres and Dora had taught them to be.

That is who we are now, thought Nikko. We are what we were born, and what we have become.

Thetis put out her hand to him. He took it in his again. Her fingers still trembled, but she was smiling too, her whole face glowing, as though she had been living in a cloud, thought Nikko, and now the mist has lifted, and the real Thetis can shine through.

Dora was right. The bath soothed him. The food calmed them both even more. But it seemed that sleep had only slipped through him when there was a knocking at the door.

He pushed himself sleepily into a sitting position among his furs. Morning light shone around the edges of the shutters, so he must have slept. Thetis was already awake, wearing a new tunic Dora had made for her, nibbling a piece of honey bread. He drew his blanket around him as Orkestres flung the door open. He wore his best kilt, and half his jewellery, and make-up on his eyes and lips.

Orkestres expected this knock, thought Nikko. The Chamberlain stood in the doorway, lit by the pink sunrise sky behind him, his face expressionless. He bowed to Orkestres as deeply he had to the High King. Behind him were servants, men and women, and a guard with his arms full of garlands of spring flowers.

Nikko shuffled his tunic on under the blanket. Dora had come into the room now. Like Orkestres she was dressed in her best silk, with necklaces up to her chin. She put her arms around Thetis’s shoulders.

Dora is more her mother than ours ever was, thought
Nikko blearily, trying to bow properly to the Chamberlain as well as straighten his tunic over his nakedness.

‘From His Majesty Atreus, High King of all the world.’ The Chamberlain gestured the guard forward. He placed a garland on Orkestres’s head, then on Nikko’s, Thetis’s and Dora’s.

‘Follow me,’ said the Chamberlain shortly. ‘The servants will bring your things.’

‘What’s going on?’ Nikko finally had his robe on straight.

Orkestres winked at him. ‘Don’t ask,’ he whispered. ‘Hold your head high. Pretend all this is your due.’

They followed the Chamberlain up the narrow road, the servants straggling behind them with the furs and clothes from their rooms, then onto the wide white road that led up to the palace. The wind dappled petals across their faces. The air was filled with other fragrances—scented oils and baking bread and meat.

They turned into a door that butted into the foundations of the high palace.

The Chamberlain bowed again, his face still showing nothing of his thoughts. Is he angry at our success? wondered Nikko.

‘This is yours, by favour of the High King.’ The Chamberlain backed out, still bowing.

‘Well.’ There were tears in Dora’s eyes. ‘Well.’ She hugged Orkestres so hard he nearly overbalanced. ‘They’ve done it, my love, our little lambs have done it!’

Nikko stared. ‘Is this ours?’

The room was beautiful. Not as large as the room last night, but still ten times the size of Orkestres’s rooms. The
walls were painted with dancers playing among a mob of lions, fat and sleepy, watching the dance. The floors and ceiling were tiled. The columns were painted white and gold. There were tables and stools of carved wood and ivory and small benches, draped with furs and cushions. Best of all, one wall opened out onto a terrace that had wooden walls folded back to close it off when it was cold.

He ran outside.

And he saw beyond the walls of Mycenae. There were streets of sheds and other buildings further down the hill, and even further down was a plain, divided into strange squares, fields of olive vines and the soft green that meant wheat or barley fields. Beyond, an endless blue line met the sky, but deeper, richer than the sky could ever be, like one of the blue jewels the ladies wore. The sea, he thought. I have finally seen the sea.

He hadn’t heard Thetis come up beside him. She took his hand. He turned to her. Her face showed no surprise, or even interest in the view. She was looking at him, smiling at her brother’s pleasure.

‘You’ve seen all this before, haven’t you?’

She nodded.

‘When you sneaked out?

She nodded again, grinning this time.

‘I should beat you.’

She laughed at that, then suddenly jumped up onto his shoulders. He steadied her ankles automatically.

‘You can see more than me now?’

He felt her nod above him.

‘You will always see more than me,’ he added slowly. ‘You always have.’

Again, he felt her nod.

She slid down so she was sitting on his shoulders, then slipped off onto the tiled terrace and ran inside.

There was a room for each of them, as well as the massive public chamber, all opening onto the wide terrace. Thetis’s room had walls and ceiling newly painted with butterflies, and red tiles in the floor. The King must have ordered the painters to work through the night.

Orkestres and Dora’s room had chariots and horses, and a giant bed platform with an opening for coals to be shovelled underneath.

‘No loom,’ whispered Dora.

Orkestres laughed, and hugged her to him. ‘No more weaving for you, girl.’ He bent down and whispered in her ear. ‘You can keep your dye pots though, just for us alone.’

Nikko’s walls showed apes, picking fruit from a tree. This paint smelled old, not new. Instead of bed platforms Nikko’s and Thetis’s rooms were furnished with pallets piled with the softest fur: lynx and wildcat and others Nikko didn’t know. There were fine woollen sheets, and pillows stuffed with duck down.

Nikko wandered out to the public chamber. There was space here to practise, and they had the terrace too. ‘Well, little sister?’

But Thetis wasn’t listening. A servant had brought in a tray of roasted pigeons and hot fresh bread spiced with dates and honey. Another brought bowls of roasted pistachios, dates and almonds and pitchers of watered
pomegranate juice. Thetis was already eating, sitting cross-legged on one of the softest furs, her mouth stained red from the pomegranate, a date in her fingers and crumbs in her lap.

She smiled up at him, and gestured for him to join her, as relaxed as if she had always been a High King’s darling: as if it had always been her due.