Page 6 of Odette's Vow

I did not wish to fall back into Hypnos’ arms, so I got up, finding the jug by the entrance of the tent to wash my face and under my arms. Outside, the camp didn’t sound so busy, so I dared to look.

Turning my head from left to right, I saw two rows of simple but sturdy tents staged like houses along a sandy road. These ones were all emblazoned with the same circular emblem stitched onto the beige canvas. The line that ran across the middle of the symbol was jagged, clearly a clifftop, with a swirling line below it representing a bay. In the centre of the emblem, balanced on the jagged clifftop, was a palace surrounded by olive branches. Above the palace emblem was a rising sun, as if the place was a beacon of enduring hope.

I knew from my studies with Alcander that the island of Ithaca was famed for its rugged mountains and olive groves. I wondered if the boar was from there.

There weren’t many soldiers out, but I could hear roaring laughter in the distance and smell a fire; the aroma of roasted meat mingled with the salty tang of sea air. Perhaps that’s where Odysseus had gone, to have a real dinner, the paltry plate he offered me earlier merely honouring some weird Greek guesthood rule I didn’t know about.

But, why would he feed me at all if I was now nothing more than property to him? I shook my head, my thoughts foggy from weariness, and quite possibly the aftereffects of the hemlock still working its way out of my bloodstream.

My memories, even from earlier in the day, were muddled at best. I was sure on my walk here that there were rows upon rows of these tents, a sprawling tent city, nestled beneath the shadow of mighty warships drawn up to shore. I could imagine that during the day the place pulsed with an energy equal to thecitadel of Troy, which I’d visited on the few occasions I ventured beyond the walls.

For now, though, the place was muted and seemingly deserted. Most of the soldiers must have been up by the bonfire. I hesitated, not wanting to get lost in what was undoubtedly a labyrinth, but also desperate to explore. To not be an easy target for the boar to return to.

So, I stepped out onto the path. Each tent along the way was a miniature fortress, its entrance flanked by spears thrust into the ground and shields propped up against the fabric walls. Whetstones to sharpen weapons lay abandoned beside them. Somewhere, horses whinnied and stamped their hooves impatiently. I imagined they were tethered to wooden stakes.

At least I had been spared that.

Rows of tents gave way to more rows of tents, and I could see more than one bonfire scattered up the coast of the shoreline. Of course, if a hundred thousand Greek soldiers were here, then there had to be other areas for the different islands all gathered under one Greek banner.

Just as I’d had the thought, I saw a pennant with a different emblem of another Greek city-state wrapped around a wooden pole and stuck into the ground, clearly marking the boundary between one encampment and the next.

“What are you doing here?”

The harsh voice to my right threw me and I froze, like a deer that’s just scented a predator in the glen. I went to swallow, to talk, but my mouth was dry and no words would come to mind.

“I asked you a question,” the soldier rounded on me, grabbing my hair and harshly tugging it until my face was cast in moonlight.

“I—I was just … taking a walk,” I managed.

“Without your master? I don’t think so,” he sneered. His flat sloping nose looked like it had been dented in with a shovel. Hisdull eyes, slightly too far apart, lingered on my face then dragged their way down the rest of my body, his sneer turning salacious as his tongue swiped out against fat lips. His grip on my hair tightened.

Then, before I could so much as curse myself for my foolishness (of course there would be guards on watch duty), a commanding voice with the weight of a church bell and yet somehow like warm wood and honey cleared through the heavy breaths of the man holding me.

“There you are.” Odysseus appeared from the shadows of a tent, along the track between the two encampments that obviously led elsewhere. To one of the bonfires, probably. “Release her, Thersites.”

“Odysseus …LordOdysseus,” he corrected himself. Was that fear I heard in his voice? His hand unclenched from my scalp as he shoved me. “I was just showing this slave back to her proper place.”

“And where would that be, Thersites?”

I actually sensed the man behind me begin to tremble as Odysseus strode towards him.

“You would be particularly stupid to take what does not belong to you just to increase your own status. Are you dumb as well as ugly, Thersites? To take another man’s property when his tent is not five hundred metres from your own? What were you going to do, cut her tongue out so she couldn’t talk? Or just hope she wouldn’t open her mouth for anything but your stump of a cock?”

“I wasn’t?—”

“Thinking? No, I don’t imagine you do much of that,” Odysseus said quietly, ignoring the soldier’s blabbering entirely as he stopped beside me, crooked a finger under my chin and turned my head one way and then the other, examining my skin for marks. Satisfied he saw none, though my scalp was stillon fire, he took the remaining steps until he was inches from Thersites’ face.

The smell of fresh sweat emanated from unwashed pores and coloured the air around us.

“Even without talking, all bodies – slave or soldier – can do an awful lot of explaining. Just as yours is doing right now. Do not let me find you touching my property again. Do you understand me, Thersites?”

Thersites gave an audible swallow, the soldier’s fear palpable. I realised in that moment that Odysseus must have been more than just a general, or donesomethingon the battlefield, something renowned, in order to inspire that kind of fear in another man, particularly one on his side of the war. Thersites nodded in deference before shuffling off into the shadows of his encampment.

“Come,” Odysseus motioned for me to take his hand. My legs were now jelly-like from exhaustion and fear, so to avoid tripping over the fabric of my chiton, I gathered the dusty and sand-spattered hem around me and reached for his hand. His was large and calloused, dwarfing mine as he interlocked our fingers and tugged me back to Ithaca territory.

We had just returned to the tent, Odysseus holding the flap open for me as I nodded my thanks, when a cry pierced the air. My head snapped back towards the outside, but no one came declaring war. Instead, an uproar of laughter followed as Odysseus stepped into the tent. I realised it must have been one of the women from my village. I stepped back, to avoid being crushed into the boar’s broad chest and cringed simultaneously, trying to keep my show of displeasure to myself.

He noted it.

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