Other soldiers brought buckets of arrows, which they placed before the men. Then the judge spoke again. “Each archer will have five shots. The leading ten archers will progress to the second round.”
“These are flimsy weapons,” Meriones complained. “Not enough pull to offset the breeze.” He turned to the judge. “Are we at least allowed to practice with these bows?”
The judge shook his head and called the archers forward.
Upon the order to shoot, each man drew back on his bowstring. There was a sudden crack. The bow of Odysseus split, his arrow dropping to the ground. “Fetch another bow!” he called.
A soldier brought him a second weapon. Odysseus calmed himself, sighted carefully, then let fly. The arrow, caught by the breeze, drifted a hairbreadth wide of the dummy. Now, with a feel for the bow, he sent his next three shafts hammering into the straw chest. Then he called out for his fifth arrow.
“You have had five, Odysseus,” the judge told him.
“Are you an imbecile? The bow broke on the first.”
“Such was the will of the gods. You have scored three in five. I am sorry, King Odysseus; you are eliminated.”
The crowd was utterly silent. Odysseus, the greatest of archers, famed around the Great Green, had not made it through the opening round. Hurling the bow to the ground, he snatched up Akilina and sent a long arrow ripping through the farthest target. It struck the pole holding the dummy in place with such force that the target was ripped from its ties and fell to the grass.
Odysseus swung on the judge. “You ignorant cowson! You think this crowd came to see grown men playing with sticks and string? They came to see the finest archers and the greatest bows. They came to see Akilina and the black bow of Meriones. They came for an exhibition of greatness, not an embarrassing display of mediocrity.” With that he stalked away, burning with shame.
Meriones ran to catch him. “My friend, wait!” he called. “Come, let us find something cool to drink.”
“I am in no mood for company, Meriones.”
“I know. In your place neither would I be. But hear me, Odysseus. The judge was overzealous. You should have been allowed another shaft.”
Odysseus paused. “I don’t like losing, Meriones. All men know that. But there is something in the air here, and I do not like the smell. Did you notice the young soldier when he went to give you the bow? He offered it from the left hand, then drew back and gave you the right-hand weapon.”
“Aye, I saw that. What of it? You think you were cheated?”
“I do not know, Meriones. What I do know is that I have now been shamed twice in a single day.”
The judges called out for the archers to resume their positions. Meriones leaned in to Odysseus. “I am sorry, my friend. But whatever happens here, all men know you are still the greatest archer in the world.”
“Go! Go and win the damned tourney.”
Meriones ran back across the field. Odysseus wandered around the gathering field, watching other contests. Bias progressed through both early rounds of the javelin, and Leukon dispatched two opponents in the boxing tourney. Even the big lout Banokles battered his way into the later rounds. Bored and hot and with the opening ceremony not until late afternoon, Odysseus returned to the Penelope.
Piria was sitting quietly beneath the canopy on the rear deck as he climbed aboard. “I had not expected to see you so soon,” she said. The comment did not help his mood. Piria handed him a cup of water. “Have you seen Andromache?”
Draining the cup, he shook his head. “She has left the palace and moved to Hektor’s farm.”
“I shall go there, then.”
“Yes, you must. But not yet. The city is teeming with foreigners. Your father is here, and your brother, and quite an entourage, I’m told. The risk of your being recognized is too great. In five days all the kings will be leaving.”
“I am willing to risk the journey now,” she said.
The anger that had been simmering below the surface all day erupted. “You stupid girl!” he roared. “Of course you are willing to risk it. And if you are captured while scampering witlessly off to your lost love, then every man in this crew might face death. The last man who helped a Thera runaway was burned alive, along with his family. You think I would allow my men’s lives to be put further at risk for the sake of five days? By the gods, girl, you seek to disobey me on this and I’ll hand you over myself.” She sat very still, her eyes wide and fearful. Odysseus felt his anger drift away. What are you doing? he asked himself. This girl has suffered great abuse—and not just during these last few days. And now you terrorize her? “Forgive that outburst,” he said at last. “This has been an ugly day, and I am not by nature a calm man. You are safe with me, Piria. But give me the five days and I will have you at Andromache’s side.”
“I am sorry, too, Odysseus,” she said. “I spoke without thinking. I would not want any one of your crew to suffer because of me. I will, of course, wait. Who am I to be when we reach Hektor’s palace?”
He reddened then. “I have given that much thought. I cannot call you a slave or a servant, for then you would be left among those in Hektor’s employ. You would be given tasks for which you are not trained. I cannot say you are family for it is known that I have no family save Penelope. Therefore—and do not bridle before I have finished—I shall say you are my concubine. You will then be given your own rooms, and I shall send out for clothing for you to replace that tattered gown. You need have no fear. I shall not be requiring you to play the role.”
Surprisingly, she smiled. “I thank you, Odysseus.”
“Yes, well. That is settled, then. And now I shall cool myself with a swim and then don my kingly robes for the opening ceremony.”
Walking to the prow, he lowered himself to the sand. Then, doffing tunic and sandals, he waded out and dived forward. The cold of the sea refreshed him, but niggling doubts continued to gnaw at him.
It was just a broken bow, he told himself. No more, no less.
CHAPTER TWENTY
THE ENEMY OF TROY
Dressed in a long robe of white and wearing a wide-brimmed straw hat, Odysseus traveled to the stadium in one of Priam’s chariots. He was greeted there by Priam’s son Polites, a shy and dull young man of limited conversation. The prince led him to an enclosure where he found himself in the company of Agamemnon, Peleus, Idomeneos, and Nestor. The Mykene king nodded in greeting. “I hear fortune did not favor you at the archery tourney,” he said.
“Bow snapped,” Odysseus answered, trying for a lightness of tone, as if he cared nothing for the result. It did not fool Agamemnon, he knew. The man had a mind as sharp as a viper’s fang.
Out in the stadium a dark-haired young soldier wearing a cloak of gold was pacing out the running track. Three hundred long paces, imitating the stride of Herakles, who had established the first known sprint race generations back. “The Lord of the Games should be of noble birth,” muttered Idomeneos, “and not some peasant in armor.”
Odysseus let the comment pass. The grandfather of Idomeneos had been a peasant warrior who had seized a section of Kretos and declared himself king. Nestor looked at him, raising an eyebrow. He, too, knew of Idomeneos’ ancestry.
Once the track was established, the turning posts were carried out, then hammered into the ground. Across the field the first of the athletes were leaving the palaistra and moving into position. Odysseus saw Kalliades swinging his arms and loosening his muscles.
“I know that man,” Agamemnon said. His expression darkened. “He is a Mykene renegade.”