“She has no love of men in her,” Kalliades replied. “But you are right. I like her.”
“I liked a woman once,” Banokles said. “Or at least I think I did.”
“You have rutted the length of the western mainland. What do you mean you ‘liked a woman once’?”
“You know! Liked. Even after shagging.”
“You enjoyed her company?”
“Yes. She had green eyes. I used to like to look into them. And she could sing, too.”
Kalliades sighed. “Somehow I can tell that this story is not going to have a happy ending. What did you do? Rut with her sister? Eat her dog?”
“Slavers took her from our village. Most of the men were up in the hills felling timber, gathering dead wood for winter fires. They took twenty women. I met an old friend from our village a couple of seasons back. He was a crewman on a trade ship. He came across her in Rhodos, wed to a merchant. Four children. He said she seemed happy enough. That’s good, eh?”
Kalliades fell silent for a moment, then he clapped Banokles on the shoulder. “We could stay behind because we are passengers and we did not name a destination. Therefore, we could make this our destination, which means we do not have to fight pirates alongside Odysseus. How does that sound?”
Banokles looked glum. “Still sounds cowardly.” He glanced up. “Where is that pig going?”
Kalliades swung around to see the pig in the yellow cloak wandering away from the fire and starting up the cliff path. Odysseus was nowhere in sight, and the other kings were settling down beside the fire.
“Never thought to see a king risk his life for a pig,” Banokles said. “Makes no sense.”
“Nor to me. I will say, however, that I was glad to see the pig make it to shore.”
“Why?” Banokles asked surprised.
Kalliades shrugged. “I don’t know. It shouldn’t have been able to swim so far. Only courage—and a troubled sea—carried it into the bay.”
“A courageous pig?” Banokles snorted. “You think the meat will taste any different?”
“I doubt we’ll find out. Odysseus would likely kill anyone who harmed that beast.” Ganny was almost at the cliff top. “Come on, let’s shepherd it back to camp.”
“You go. I’m tired, and I’m comfortable here.”
“You are the man who knows about pigs, or so you claimed. And I doubt I could encourage it back alone.”
Banokles heaved himself to his feet. “I could have chosen Eruthros for a sword brother,” he said.
“So you keep telling me.”
“He wouldn’t bother to chase a wandering pig.”
“Eruthros is dead. If he had the choice, I’ll wager he’d sooner be chasing a pig than walking through Hades.”
“Truth in that,” Banokles agreed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
LORD OF THE GOLDEN LIE
Banokles was still grumbling as they climbed the cliff path, but Kalliades closed his mind to it. Thoughts of Piria were troubling him. Banokles was right. He did like her. There was something about the tall, slender woman that touched him deeply. She was proud, strong, and defiant, though it was her loneliness that affected him most, and he sensed in her a kindred spirit.
Yet why was there such a price on her head? He already knew she was not a slave, but she was a runaway. Odysseus had said that the bounty on her was many times greater than that on Banokles and himself. If that was true, it must have been set by a rich king. And she could not have come far in that small sailboat. He thought of the lands and major islands round about. Odysseus was king of Ithaka and the islands around it, and Nestor was lord of Pylos. On the mainland far to the west there was Sparta, but that was now ruled by Menelaus, brother of Agamemnon, and he was as yet unmarried. And she could not have come that far, surely. Idomeneos, the king of Kretos, was here, and he obviously knew nothing of the runaway woman. If he had, he would have recognized Piria as he had walked past her to the campfire.
Then he remembered the great temple. They had sailed past a large island, and on the cliff top he had seen an astonishing sight: what appeared to be a colossal horse, staring out to sea. He had learned from the pirates it was the Temple of the Horse, built with King Priam’s gold. “An island of women,” one of the crewmen had told him, “all princesses or girls of noble birth. I wouldn’t mind a few days there, I can tell you.”
“No men at all—not even soldiers?” Banokles had asked.
“Not a one.”
“Then why isn’t it raided?”
The man had looked at Banokles scornfully. “The high priestess is Mykene, and the women are all daughters of kings. An attack on Thera would bring galleys from every city-state and every kingdom in pursuit of vengeance. They’d scour the seas until the last pirate vessel was burned. No one goes near Thera.”
Kalliades paused in his walk up the hill. Banokles looked at him. “What is wrong?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking.”
Piria had to have come from Thera. Kalliades knew little about the temple there, but Banokles had been interested and had questioned the pirates about it. As they walked, he said, “You recall that island we passed, with the horse temple?”
“Of course. An island of women.” Banokles grinned. “Be good to be shipwrecked there, I think. Gods, you’d never want to be rescued, would you?”
“Probably not. Do the women ever leave the place? To get married or go home?”
“I don’t know. No, wait! There was a girl last season, someone said. Sent off to Troy. That’s it! Sent to marry Hektor. Don’t recall her name. So yes, they must be allowed to leave.” Banokles walked on, then stopped. “Although somebody else said that a girl some years back was killed for leaving without permission. Why are you interested?”
“Just curious.”
They crested the cliff and saw Odysseus walking down the path on the other side, the pig ambling beside him. He was heading toward a beach where four ships had been drawn up.
Kalliades scanned the area. There were close to two hundred men on the beach. In the bright light of their campfires he could see that some of them bore wounds. Others were eating and drinking. “I think they are the pirates who attacked King Idomeneos,” he said.
“Then why is he going down to them?” Banokles asked. “You think he knows them?”
“Could you recognize a man at this distance?”
“No.”
“And the ships bear no markings. I do not think he knows them.”
“Then it is madness,” Banokles said. “They’ll kill him—and take that golden belt. And they’ll eat the pig,” he added.
“I agree, and Odysseus must know that, too. He is a clever man, and he has a plan,” Kalliades said. “And by all the gods he has nerve!”
Banokles muttered a foul oath. “You are thinking of following him down there, aren’t you? What little luck we have left is in a pot, and you are about to piss in it.”
Kalliades laughed. “You go back, my friend. I have to see how this plays out.” He moved on. After a few moments Banokles caught up to him, as he had known he would. The big man walked alongside him, saying nothing, his expression set and angry.
Kalliades saw Odysseus glance back, but he did not wait for them. He and Ganny went on, then strolled along the beach. Several pirates looked up, then nudged their comrades. A crowd gathered, staring at the odd sight of an ugly man in a gold belt and a pig in a yellow cloak. Odysseus walked on, apparently unconcerned by the interest.
Kalliades and Banokles were some twenty paces behind him when a lean figure stepped away from a fire and stood in Odysseus’ path.
“Whoever you are, you are not welcome here,” the man said.
“I am welcome anywhere, donkey face,” responded the Ugly King. “I am Odysseus, king of Ithaka and lord of the Great Green.” He looked past the insulted man and called out. “Is that you, Issopon, skulking by the fire? By the gods, why has no one killed you yet?”