“No, it was a plate. You destroyed it, but you could not change the truth of its existence.”
“Good,” he said admiringly. “I like to see a mind work. My point is that truth is a mass of complexities, made up of many parts. What is the truth of you? The high priestess on Thera would say that you are a traitor to the order and that your selfish actions could bring disaster upon the world should the Minotaur awake and plunge us all into darkness. Is that the truth? You would say that you are driven by love to protect a friend and you are willing to risk your life for her. Would the high priestess accept that truth? If I hand you over to the order, the same high priestess will call me a good man and reward me. Will that be the truth? If I bring you safely to Troy—and it is discovered—I will be declared godless and cursed. I will be named as an evil man. Truth or lies? Both? It depends on perception, understanding, belief. So, to return to your original question, it is not hard to make the truth a lie. We do it all the time, and mostly we don’t even know it.” He glanced at the eastern sky. “The sun is up. Time to leave.”
CHAPTER NINE
BLACK HORSE ON THE WATER
The sea was calm and the breeze a light northerly as the Penelope was floated clear of the beach. The last crewman scrambled aboard, and the oars were slid out into the bright blue water. Odysseus stood on the rear deck, watching the rowers. All the crewmen now wore leather breastplates and helms, and beside them as they rowed lay strung bows and quivers of arrows. Odysseus had also donned a breastplate. It was of no better quality than those worn by his men. Beside him stood the brilliantly armored, high-helmed Idomeneos. Nestor wore no armor at all, just a green knee-length tunic and a long cloak of startling white, but both of his sons wore breastplates and carried round shields. They stood close, ready to protect him.
The breeze was fresh with the promise of rain as the Penelope eased away from the shore. Once they were on open sea, Bias called out a quicker beat, and the rowers leaned more heavily into their oars.
“You say he had a face like a donkey?” Idomeneos asked Odysseus. “I recall no such man.”
“He recalled you,” Odysseus told him.
“You might have asked his name.”
“If you cannot recall a man whose sons you slew and whose wife you stole, I doubt the name would have helped.”
Idomeneos laughed. “I’ve stolen a lot of wives. Believe me, Odysseus, most of them were happy to be stolen.”
Odysseus shrugged. “I expect you’ll be meeting him soon. His face may be the last thing you ever see.”
Idomeneos shook his head. “I’ll not die here. A seer once told me I would die on the day the noon sky turned to midnight. Hasn’t happened yet.”
Odysseus moved away from the Kretan king, scanning the sea and the headlands. As he did so, he heard the big man Banokles complaining to Kalliades. “Not much fighting room if anyone boards. And if those pirates are also wearing leather breastplates, I won’t know who I’m killing.”
“Best only to kill those trying to slay you.”
“That is a good plan. Fight defensive. I’m better attacking, though. I’ll wager you wish you hadn’t left your armor on that pirate ship. I did tell you. That leather breastplate wouldn’t turn aside a hurled pebble.”
“I should have listened to your pessimism,” Kalliades agreed. “But then, you are the man who wears armor to a brothel.”
“A man never knows when danger will strike,” Banokles pointed out. “And I was once stabbed by a whore’s husband.”
Kalliades laughed. “In the arse. You were running away, as I recall.”
“I liked the man. Didn’t want to kill him. Anyway, it was just a nick. Needed no stitches.”
Odysseus smiled. His liking for those two was growing daily.
Piria was standing at the stern, gazing back at the land. Her shoulders were stiff, her features set. Odysseus saw Kalliades move alongside her. “She is a fine ship,” he said.
Piria’s reply was cool. “I used to wonder why men say ‘she’ when talking about their boats. When I was young, I thought it respectful. Now I know differently. The boats go where men tell them. They are merely things for men to ride upon.”
Odysseus stepped in then. “Love plays a part, Piria. Listen to the crew when they speak of the Penelope. You will hear nothing but affection and admiration.”
“Different truths,” she said, which made him smile. Kalliades looked mystified.
Odysseus caught sight of a ship appearing from behind a headland to the north, about a half mile ahead. It was a big galley, twenty oars on each side, and there were fighting men massed on the central deck. Bias also had seen the ship and leaned in to the steering oar, angling the Penelope away from them. Odysseus moved past Kalliades, dropped to one knee, and lifted a hatch before lowering himself down below the deck. When he emerged, he was carrying a huge bow crafted from wood, leather, and horn. A quiver of very long arrows was hanging from his shoulder.
“You are privileged today,” he told Piria. “This is Akilina, the greatest bow in all the world. I once shot an arrow into the moon with it.” She did not smile, and Odysseus felt the tension and fear emanating from her. Pride alone was holding her together.
“I have heard of the bow,” Kalliades said.
“Everyone has heard of that bow,” Banokles put in. The comments delighted Odysseus, but his attention remained on Piria.
“Andromache talked of her skills with a bow,” he said.
At the sound of her lover’s name Piria brightened. “Sometimes she could best me,” she said, “though not often.”
“Could you use a bow like this? Are your arms strong enough to draw the string?” he asked, handing her the weapon.
Piria took Akilina from him, stretched out her arm, curled three fingers around the string, then drew back. She managed a three-quarter pull before her arm started to tremble. “That is good,” said Odysseus, “believe me.” Retrieving the bow, he leaned toward her. “If they get close enough to board, I will leave Akilina with you. At that range even a three-quarter pull will punch a shaft through a skull.” He swung to the two Mykene. “You lads will stay close to me and follow where I go.”
The Penelope surged on, her prow cutting the water. The pirate vessel, with its greater oar power, was closing slowly.
“Another one!” a seaman yelled.
A second pirate vessel was coming from the south, some way back. “If the wind wasn’t against us,” Odysseus said, “the Penelope would outsail them easily. As it is, with more oarsmen, they’ll come on swiftly. Best you keep your heads down. It will be raining arrows before long.”
Kalliades glanced at the oarsmen on the Penelope. They were rowing steadily but with no real urgency. Their movements were smooth and rhythmic, and they did not bother to stare at the two enemy ships. Bias called out an order. The right bank of oars lifted from the water, remaining motionless. The left powered on. The Penelope swung sharply toward the first galley. Odysseus ran down the central aisle and clambered up onto the curved rail of the prow. Straddling the rail and bracing himself with his legs, he notched an arrow to his massive bow. As the two ships closed, enemy archers crowded along the deck of the pirate vessel. Odysseus drew back on Akilina and let fly. The shaft soared through the air, punching into the back of a rower, who cried out and slumped forward. Pirate bowmen let loose a volley of shafts, but they all fell short, splashing into the water off the port bow. Odysseus sent two more arrows into the pirates. One struck a man on the helm, bouncing clear. The other plunged through the shoulder of a bowman. Odysseus threw up his arm, signaling Bias, who yelled out an order, then thrust his weight against the steering oar. The Penelope changed course instantly, almost dancing away from the attacking galley. The maneuver was accomplished with great skill and timing, but even so, for a few heartbeats they were in range of the pirate archers. Banokles, Kalliades, and Piria dropped to crouch behind the stern rail. A ragged volley of arrows slashed across the rear deck, hitting no one but coming close to Bias, who was standing tall at the steering oar. One shaft thudded into the deck rail beside him. Another hit the steering oar and ricocheted up past the black man’s face.