Dragonflies by Grant Buday

Author:Grant Buday
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Biblioasis
Published: 2011-08-25T00:00:00+00:00

Plodding back along the shore, I am shaken from these recollections of Sparta by shouting. I creep through the thornscrub and find Palamedes and Iolochus backing young Sinon against a pine tree. When I step forward Iolochus runs at me with his sword until seeing who it is and hesitates.

Palamedes is all charm. No poisoned water ever slid so smoothly over polished rock. “Odysseus. Excellent timing. Your man here—” With his blade he indicates Sinon as if directing my attention to the finer points of a slave. “He’s a brave one. Attacked us both, one against two.”

I don’t need to interrogate Sinon to know a lie. Palamedes has it in mind to kill both of my aides. A nice project. Knock the pins out from under Odysseus. “Yes, he’s a lively one. Young men. Erratic as spring winds. But they pass,” I add. “No harm done.”

“Oh,” says Palamedes in a tone almost sprightly, “but harm has been done.” He shows me a blood-stain on his robe between his hip and ribs.

“My blade’s clean,” argues Sinon.

“Show us,” says Palamedes.

Sinon raises his sword—coated in dark blood. By his expression I could very well think he’s the one who’s been dirked. I’m frankly impressed. Had Sinon thought he was doing me a favour by killing Palamedes? “Palamedes,” I say, making with the sincere voice, “Let me have a look at that wound.”

He jumps back as if scalded. “You and yours have done enough, Odysseus. My wound, like my life, is my own.” And in one swift swing he catches Sinon across the upper arm. The boy cries out and drops. Palamedes raises his blade again but I block it with my own. The reverberation of the strike runs down through my elbow. Now Iolochus manoeuvres to get at Sinon, but I drop to a crouch and slash him across the calf. I feel the tendons split; he’ll never walk straight again if he walks at all. Palamedes sheaths his sword, raises his hand in a curious little gesture typical of him, half wave and half insult, maybe part incantation too, something picked up from Calchas, and withdraws into the night.

I tie Sinon’s arm and hurry him back to Machaon, because Palamedes is a great one for wiping his blades in shit or venom. Iolochus we leave groaning in the dirt. It’s tempting to break a few of his ribs for good measure, maybe put my heel in and snap his collarbones, and then as a finishing touch, cut out his tongue and whisper in his ear that Dercynus says hello. It’s what he deserves. I’ve often watched Iolochus perform Nauplian folk dances, curious as to how his apelike face grows reflective and almost refined. There’ll be no more dancing for him.

Machaon rubs Sinon’s wound with crushed garlic, the boy protesting his innocence the entire time until I assure him I know old blood from fresh. “You’d better keep a closer eye on your weapons,” I advise him. “What were you doing out there in the middle of the night?”

“Following you.

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