Vengeance of Orion (28 page)

"There's only eight ships here," said Lukka.

"Either the others have moved on to other villages, or they've returned to Argos."

"Why would some of them return and leave the others here?"

"Menalaos seeks his wife," I said. "He won't return without her."

"He can't fight his way through all of Egypt with a few hundred men."

"Perhaps he's waiting for reinforcements," I said. "He may have sent his other ships back to Argos to bring the main body of Achaian warriors here."

Lukka shook his head. "Even with every warrior in Argos he wouldn't be able to reach the capital."

"No," I admitted, speaking the words as the ideas formed in my mind. "But if he can cause enough destruction here in the delta, where most of Egypt's food is grown, then he might be able to force the Egyptians to give him what he wants."

"The woman?"

I hesitated. "The woman—for his pride. And something more, I think."

Lukka gave me a quizzical look.

"Power," I said. "His brother Agamemnon has taken control of the straits that lead to the Sea of Black Waters. Menalaos seeks to gain similar power here in Egypt."

It sounded right to me. It
had
to be right. My whole plan depended on it.

"But how do you know those are Menalaos's ships?" the ever-practical Lukka asked. "Their sails are furled, their masts down. They might be the ships of some other Achaian king or princeling."

I agreed with him. "That is why I'm going into the Achaian camp tonight—to see if Menalaos is truly there."

Chapter 40

If Lukka objected to my plan, he kept his doubts to himself. We returned to our camp by the canal, ate a small meal while the sun set, and then I started back to the village and the Achaian camp.

The villagers seemed to be living with the invading barbarians without friction. They had little choice, of course, but as I picked my way through the darkness I sensed none of the tenseness of a village under occupation by a hostile force. None of the mud-brick houses seemed burned. There were no troops posted to guard duty anywhere. The villagers seemed to have retired to their homes for a night's rest without worrying about their daughters or their lives.

There were no signs of a battle having been fought, nor even a skirmish. If anything, the Achaians seemed to have set up a long-term occupation here. They had not come for raping and pillaging. They had something more permanent in mind.

Good, I thought. So did I.

I made my way down the shadowy streets of the village, twisting and twining under the cold light of a crescent moon. The wind was warm now, blowing from landward, making the palms and fruit trees sigh. Somewhere a dog barked. I heard no cries or lamentations, no screams of terror. It was a quiet, peaceful village—with a few hundred heavily armed warriors camped along the beach.

Their campfires smoldered in front of each ship. A line of chariots, their yoke poles pointing starward, rested on the far side of the camp, near the rude fencing of the horse corral. A few men slept on the ground, wrapped in blankets, but most of them were inside their tents or the rude lean-tos they had constructed. A trio of guards loafed at the only fire that still blazed. They seemed relaxed rather than alert, like men who had been posted guards as a matter of form, rather than for true security.

I headed straight toward them.

One of them spotted me approaching and said a word to his two companions. They were not alarmed. Slowly they picked up their long spears and got to their feet to face me.

"Who are you and what do you want?" the leader called to me.

I came close enough for them to recognize my face in the firelight. "I am Orion, of the House of Ithaca."

That surprised them.

"Ithaca? Has Odysseus come here? The last we heard he had been lost at sea."

They lowered their spear points as I came to within arm's reach of them. "The last I saw of Odysseus was on the beach at Ilios," I said. "I have been traveling overland ever since."

One of them began to remember. "You were the one who had the storyteller for a slave."

"The blasphemer that Agamemnon blinded."

An old anger rose inside me. "Yes," I replied. "The one Agamemnon blinded. Is the High King here?"

They looked uneasily at one another. "No. This is the camp of Menalaos."

"Are there no other Achaian lords with him?"

"Not yet. But soon there will be. Menalaos is mad with rage since his wife ran away from him after Troy fell. He swears he won't leave this land until she is returned to him."

"If I were you, Orion," said the third one, "I'd run as far from this camp as I could. Menalaos believes you took Helen from him."

I ignored his warning. "How does he know she is in Egypt?"

The leader of the trio shrugged. "From what I hear, he's had a message from some high and mighty Egyptian, telling him that the lady Helen has come here. They're holding her in some palace someplace."

"That's what they say," another of the guards agreed.

The story that Nefertu had unknowingly revealed to me was stunningly accurate. Nekoptah must have sent word to Menalaos as soon as Nefertu had reported Helen's presence in Egypt, months ago. Of course Nefertu had recognized that she was an important woman of the Achaian nobility; he had finally told me as much. And Nekoptah, wily scoundrel that he was, immediately saw how he could use Helen as bait to bring Menalaos and the other warlords of the Sea Peoples into his own service.

I said, "Take me to Menalaos. I have important news to tell him."

"The king is asleep. Wait until morning. Don't be in such a hurry to get yourself killed."

I debated within myself. Should I insist on waking Menalaos? They were giving me a chance to escape his anger. Should I go back to Lukka and our camp, then return in the morning? I decided to wait here at the beach and get a few hours' sleep. Menalaos's wrath seemed of little consequence.

They looked at me askance, but found a blanket for me and left me to sleep. I stretched out on the sand and closed my eyes.

To find myself in a strange chamber, surrounded by machines with blinking lights and screens that showed colored curving lines pulsing across them. The entire ceiling glowed with a cool light that cast no shadows.

I turned and saw the sharp-featured Creator I had dubbed Hermes. As before, he was clad in a glittering silver metallic uniform from chin to boots. He dipped his pointed chin once in greeting.

Without preamble he asked, "Have you found him yet?"

"No," I lied, hoping that he could not see my mind.

He arched a brow. "Really? In all the time you've been in Egypt, you have no idea where he's hiding?"

"I haven't seen him. I don't know where he is."

With a thin smile, Hermes said, "Then I'll tell you. Look into the great pyramid. Our sensors here detect a power drain focused on that structure. He is obviously using it as his fortress."

I countered, "Or he is allowing you to think so, while actually he's somewhere—or
somewhen
—else."

Hermes's eyes narrowed. "Yes . . . he is clever enough to decoy us. That's why it is vital that you get inside the pyramid and see if he's actually there."

"I am trying to do that."

"And?"

"I am trying," I repeated. "There are complications."

"Orion," he said, making a show of being patient with me, "there is not much time left. We must find him before he brings down this entire continuum. He's gone quite mad, and he's capable of destroying us all."

What of it? I thought. Perhaps the universes would be better off with all of us dead.

"Do you understand me?" Hermes insisted. "Time is running out for us. There is only a matter of days!"

"I'm doing the best I can," I said. "I tried to penetrate the great pyramid, and it didn't work. Now I must enter it physically, and for that I need the cooperation of the king, or possibly the chief priest of Amon."

Hermes gusted a great impatient sigh. "Do what you must, Orion, but for the love of the continuum, do it
quickly
!"

I nodded, and found myself blinking at the first streaks of dawn in the clouded sky of the Egyptian shore.

Half a dozen armed guards were standing around me, one of them poking the butt of his spear into my ribs.

"On your feet, Orion. My lord Menalaos wants to roast your carcass for breakfast."

I scrambled to my feet. They grabbed my arms and held me fast as they marched me off toward the king's tent. I had no chance to reach for my sword, still laying on my blanket. But the dagger that I kept strapped to my thigh was still there, beneath my kilt.

Menalaos was pacing like a caged lion as the guards brought me before him. Several of his nobles stood uneasily before the tent, swords already at their sides, although they wore no armor. Menalaos was clad in an old tunic, and had a blood-red cloak over his shoulders. He was quivering with fury so that his dark beard trembled.

"It
is
you!" he bellowed as the guards brought me to him. "Light the fires! I'll roast him inch by inch!"

The nobles—all of them younger than Menalaos, I noticed—looked almost frightened at their king's rage.

"What are you waiting for?" he snapped. "This is the man who stole my wife! He's going to pay for that with the slowest death agonies anyone has ever suffered!"

"Your wife is well and safe in the capital of Egypt," I said. "If you will listen to me for a . . ."

Enraged, he stepped up to me and smashed a backhand blow across my mouth.

My temper snapped. I shrugged off the two men pinning my arms, then smashed them both with elbows to their middles. They fell gasping. Before they hit the ground I had whipped out my dagger and, clutching the startled Menalaos by the hair, I jabbed its point to his throat.

"One move from any of you," I growled, "and your king dies."

They all froze: the nobles, some of them with their hands already on their sword hilts; the other guards, their eyes wide, their mouths hanging open.

"Now then, noble Menalaos," I said, loudly enough for them all to hear, even though my mouth was next to his ear, "we will discuss our differences like men, or face each other as enemies in a fair duel. I am not a
thes
or a slave, to be bound and tortured for your pleasure. I was a warrior of the House of Ithaca, and now I am the leader of an army of Egypt, an army that's been sent here to destroy you."

"You lie!" Menalaos snarled, squirming in my grasp. "The Egyptians have welcomed us to their shores. They are holding my wife for me, and have invited me to sail to their capital to reclaim her."

"The chief minister of the Egyptian king has built a lovely trap for you and all the Achaian lords who come to this land," I insisted. "And Helen is the bait."

"More lies," said Menalaos. But I could see that I had caught the interest of the other nobles.

I released my grip on him and threw my dagger onto the sand at his feet.

"Let the gods show us which of us is right," I said. "Pick your best warrior and have him face me. If he kills me, then the gods will have shown that I am lying. If I best him, it will be a sign from the gods that you should listen to what I have to say."

Murderous anger still flamed in Menalaos's eyes, but the nobles crowded around eagerly.

"Why not?"

"Let the gods decide!"

"You have nothing to lose, my lord."

Seething, Menalaos shouted, "Nothing to lose? Don't you
understand that this traitor, this abductor—he's merely trying to gain a swift clean death instead of the agony he deserves?"

"My lord Menalaos!" I shouted back. "On the plain of Ilios I begged you to intercede on behalf of the storyteller Poletes from the anger of your brother. You refused, and now the old man is blind. I'm not begging you now. I
demand
what you owe me: a fair fight. Not some young champion who rushes foolishly to his death. I want to fight
you
, mighty warrior. We can settle our differences with spears and swords."

I had him. He took an inadvertent step back away from me, remembering that I had fought so well at Troy. But there was no way he could back out of facing me; he had told them all that he wanted to kill me. Now he had to do it for himself, or be thought a coward by his followers.

The entire camp formed a rough circle for the two of us while
^:
Menalaos's servants armed him. This would be a battle on foot, not with chariots. One of the guards brought me my sword; I slung the baldric over my shoulder and felt its comforting weight against f my hip. Three nobles gravely offered me my choice from several spears. I picked the one that was shorter but heavier than the others.

Menalaos came forward out of a cluster of servants and nobles, armored from helmet to feet in bronze, carrying a huge figure-eight shield. In his right hand he bore a single long spear, but I noticed that his servants had placed several others on the ground a few paces behind him.

I had neither shield nor armor. I did not want them. My hope was to best Menalaos without killing him, to show him and the other Achaians that the gods were so much with me that no man could oppose me successfully. To accomplish that, I had to avoid getting myself spitted on Menalaos's spear, of course.

I could feel the excitement bubbling from the Achaians circled around us. Nothing like a good fight before breakfast to stimulate the digestion.

An old man in a ragged tunic came out of the crowd and stepped between us. His beard was long and dirty-gray.

"In the name of ever-living Zeus and all the mighty gods of high Olympos," he said, in a loud announcer's voice, "I pray that this combat will be pleasing to the gods, and that they send victory to he who deserves it."

He scuttled away and Menalaos swung his heavy shield in front of his body. With his helmet's cheek plates strapped shut, all I could see of him was his angry, burning eyes.

I stepped lightly to my right, circling away from his spear arm, hefting my own spear in my right hand.

Menalaos pulled his arm back and flung his spear at me. Without an instant's hesitation, he dashed back to pick up another.

My senses quickened as they always do in battle, and the world around me seemed to slow down into the languid motions of a dream. I watched the spear coming toward me, took a step to the side, and let it thud harmlessly into the sand by my feet. The Achaians "oohed."

By this time Menalaos had grasped another spear. He pivoted and hurled this one at me, also. Again I avoided it. With his third spear, though, Menalaos came charging at me, screaming a shrill war cry.

I parried his spear with my own and swung the butt of it into his massive shield with a heavy
thunk
, hard enough to knock him staggering. He tottered to my left, regained his balance, and came at me again. Instead of parrying, this time I ducked under his point and rammed my own spear between his legs. Menalaos went sprawling and I was on top of him at once, my legs pinning his arms to the ground, my sword across his throat, between the chin flaps of his helmet and the collar of his cuirass.

He stared at me. His eyes no longer glared hate; they were wide with fear and amazement.

Sitting on the bronze armor of his chest, I raised my sword high over my head and proclaimed in my loudest voice: "The gods have spoken! No man could defeat one who is inspired by the will of all-powerful Zeus!"

I got to my feet and pulled Menalaos to his. The Achaians swarmed around us, accepting the judgment of the duel.

"Only a god could have fought like that!"

"No mortal could face a god and win."

Although they crowded around Menalaos and assured him that no hero in memory had ever fought against a god and lived to tell the tale, they kept an arm's length from me, and looked at me with undisguised awe.