interest. ‘I was on Thera once,’ he said, ‘long before it was decided that only women could placate the Minotaur. Strange place. All that rumbling below the ground, and the hissing of acrid steam from vents in the rock. I was glad to be back on the Penelope. Tell me, do you believe in the Minotaur?’
‘An odd question from a man who has seen so many monsters and demons.’
‘That would be my point, lass. I have never seen a single one. But in my travels I have seen hot springs, and lava pools. Not one of them boasted a minotaur.
Have you ever glimpsed it?’
‘No-one sees it,’ said Andromache, ‘but you can hear it rumbling and growling below the ground, pushing up, trying to escape. The older priestesses swear the island was smaller years ago, and that the straining beast is lifting it out of the sea.’
‘So, you do believe in it?’
‘Truly I do not know. But something makes that noise, and causes the ground to tremble.’
‘And you placate it with what?’
‘Songs to calm its troubled heart, offerings of wine. Prayers to the great gods to keep it calm. It is said the Kretans used to sacrifice virgins to it in the old days, forcing them to enter the deeper cracks in the rock and walk down to its lair. They did not appease him, for the Minotaur almost broke free many years ago.’
‘My grandfather told me of it,’ said Odysseus. ‘How the sun fled for many days.
And how rocks and ash fell from the sky, covering many of the eastern islands.
There is an old sailors’ legend about the sea rising up to the sky, and the sound of an army of thunders. Like to have seen it. Great story in that. Did you know that your new mother spent three years on Thera, and that part of her bridal dowry was a massive donation to build the Temple of the Horse?’
‘Yes. They speak of Hekabe with great reverence there.’
‘Strong woman. Intelligent like you. Beautiful as a winter morning and terrifying as a tempest. I think you’ll like her.’
‘You sound a little in awe of her, king of Ithaka,’ said Andromache, with a smile.
He leaned forward and gave a conspiratorial grin. ‘She has always frightened me.
Don’t know why. I think she even frightens Priam.’
The sky began to pale. The night was almost over and Andromache could hardly believe she had spent hours in the company of a stranger. She yawned and rubbed at her tired eyes.
‘I think you are getting a little weary of waiting,’ said the ugly king, pushing himself to his feet and walking back to the now shrinking queue. Approaching the men in the line he said: ‘Now, lads, I have a beautiful woman with me who needs her fortune told. Would any object if we stole in next?’
Andromache saw the men turn to stare at her. Then Odysseus dipped his hand into the pouch by his side, and produced copper rings which he dropped into their outstretched palms.
After a short while a man came out of the tent. He did not look happy. Odysseus beckoned Andromache and stepped forward, lifting the tent flap and ducking inside. Andromache followed him. Inside the tent a middle-aged man was sitting on a threadbare blanket. Two lamps were burning, and the air was stiflingly hot and acrid. Andromache sat down and looked at the seer. His right eye was like an opal, pale and milky, his left so dark it seemed to have no pupil. The man’s face was strangely elongated and thin, as if his head had been somehow crushed.
‘And what have you brought me this time, Odysseus?’ he asked, his voice low and deep.
‘A young woman who wishes to know her future.’
Aklides sighed deeply. ‘I am tired. Dawn is approaching and I have no time to count babies and offer platitudes to maidens.’
‘Then do it for your old friend,’ said Odysseus, opening his pouch once more, and this time producing a ring of bright silver.
‘I have no friends,’ muttered Aklides. His one good eye fixed on Andromache.
‘Well, give me your hand and let us see what there is to see,’ he said.
Andromache leaned forward, placing her slender fingers in his greasy palm. His hand was hot and she flinched as his fingers closed around her own. He closed his eyes and sat silently, his breathing shallow. Then he jumped, and a low groan rattled from his throat. His face spasmed, and he jerked his hand back, his eyes flaring open.
‘Well?’ asked Odysseus, as the silence lengthened.
‘Sometimes it is best not to know the future,’ whispered Aklides.
‘Come, come, Aklides! This is not like you,’ said Odysseus, an edge of anger in his voice.
‘Very well. You will have one child. A boy.’ Aklides sighed. ‘I will volunteer nothing. But ask me what you will.’
‘Will I know love?’ asked Andromache, her voice betraying her boredom.
‘There will be three loves. One like the Great Green, powerful and tempestuous, one like the Oak, strong and true, and one like the Moon, eternal and bright.’
‘I like the sound of tempestuous,’ she said, her tone sarcastic. ‘Who should I look for?’
‘The man with one sandal.’
‘And the Oak?’
He gave a thin smile. ‘He will rise from the mud, his body caked with the filth of pigs.’
‘I shall look forward to that with great anticipation. And the Moon?’
‘He will come to you with blood and pain.’
‘What nonsense,’ snapped Andromache. ‘Take back your silver, Odysseus.’
‘I speak only the truth, priestess of Thera,’ said Aklides. ‘I was content tonight, but now your visit means I shall never be content again. Through you I have seen the fall of worlds, the deaths of heroes, and I have watched the ocean touch the fire-red sky. Now leave me be!’
Andromache stepped out into the night. The stocky figure of Odysseus joined her.
‘He is usually more entertaining than that,’ he said.
Ahead on the sand she saw one of the Fat King’s sentries making his rounds, his wooden club on his shoulder, his conical, bronze-edged helmet and cheek guards gleaming in the moonlight. Suddenly he stumbled, as the strap on one of his sandals broke. Angrily he kicked it off, then strode on.
‘Such a pity,’ said Andromache drily. ‘There he is, the tempestuous love of my life, and we never met.’ She gave a theatrical sigh. ‘Should I call out to him, do you think?’ She swung towards Odysseus. ‘I thank you for your company, king of Ithaka. You are a fine friend on a starry night. But now I must return to the palace.’
‘I would be happy to walk you there,’ he said.
‘No, you wouldn’t. Save the lies for an audience, Odysseus. Let us have a pact, you and I. The truth always.’
‘That will be hard. The truth is often so boring.’ He grinned then, and spread his hands. ‘But I cannot refuse a goddess, so I will agree.’
‘You want to walk me back to the palace?’
‘No, lass, I am dog tired now and just want to wrap myself in a blanket by a fire.’
‘That is better, and how it should be between friends. So goodnight to you, Tale Spinner.’ With that she looked up at the distant fortress, and, heavy of heart, set off for the cliff path.
X
The Fat King’s Feast
i
As he walked slowly up the hill road towards the fortress town Helikaon could not stop thinking about the
