Lord of the Silver Bow (22 page)

Then the child had appeared. Karpophorus had faded back into the shadows and listened as the terrified little girl spoke of her mother. With Helikaon kneeling by the girl, it would have been a simple matter to step forward and bury a knife blade between his shoulders. Yet he could not take a life in front of a child.

Karpophorus thought back to the night in Kypros. He had learned a lot both about Helikaon and about himself. Arrogance had crept in. It was almost a deadly lesson. Helikaon had known he was being followed and had set men outside the walls. And the Golden One had almost trapped him in the garden. He shivered with pleasure at the remembered excitement.

A sudden burst of moonlight had shone on Helikaon as he had raced to intercept him. Karpophorus had made it to the wall and into the darkness beyond. Then he had glimpsed Zidantas. The big man had not seen him in the shadows. Then other men had appeared. Karpophorus had needed all his skills to evade them.

He sat in the shade, remembering, and began to doze. A shadow fell across him, and he woke instantly, his dagger in his hand. The elderly servant standing before him almost let slip the tray of food and drink he held. Karpophorus sheathed his blade.

“Your master bade me bring you refreshment,” said the servant sternly, laying the tray on the bench. There was a flagon of cool water and a goblet, alongside a loaf of bread and slices of salt-dried fish.

The servant left him without a word, and Karpophorus ate and drank. His liking for Helikaon swelled. Here was a nobleman who considered the welfare of the men who served him. He must have glanced down from one of the upper windows and seen Karpophorus waiting. Such a man would be made most welcome by the All Father when Karpophorus delivered his spirit to him. In a way, Karpophorus decided, the killing of Helikaon was a gift to the man.

Pleased with the thought, he settled back to doze once more and remembered the first man he had killed. It had been an accident. Karpophorus had been working in the stone quarry. His chisel blade had snapped and flown up. It had caught the man working alongside him in the throat, opening the jugular. He had died writhing on the dust of the quarry. Karpophorus had been horrified, but a priest later had put his mind at rest. His words remained with the assassin still: “Hades, the lord of the dead, knows the moment of our birth and the day and the moment of our death. It is written thus, that each man has a certain span allocated to him by Hades. And when that span is done, his body returns to the earth.”

“So no one dies except at their allotted time?”

“Exactly.”

“Then the lord of the dead used me to take his life?”

“Yes, indeed, my boy. So you should feel no guilt.”

Guilt was the last thing he felt. The young Karpophorus was invigorated. He had been touched by the gods and in that moment had become a servant of Hades. It was the single greatest moment of his life, and it changed his destiny.

He thought again of Helikaon. He could not kill him today, for Oniacus had ordered him to be the Golden One’s bodyguard. In order to remain close to Helikaon, Karpophorus had joined the crew in Kypros and as a crew member had sworn an oath of loyalty. Such matters were not to be taken lightly, which was why he had fought ferociously alongside the Golden One at the battle at Blue Owl Bay.

But the deed could not be put off much longer. The feast of Demeter was tomorrow night. He would quit the ship later today and then kill Helikaon tomorrow.

Satisfied with his decision, he stretched out on the bench and fell into a dreamless sleep.

III

Helikaon passed through the doorway into the king’s
megaron,
a massive hall where petitioners waited in the hope of bringing their disputes before the king. There were merchants and commoners there. It was packed and noisy, and Helikaon moved across it swiftly. A Royal Eagle in bright armor with a white-crested helmet opened the side door to the palace gardens, and Helikaon stepped out into the sunlight. There were stone walkways there, flowing around areas of brightly colored flowers, and several sets of stone seats shaded by an intricate series of climbing plants growing between thick wooden roof slats.

There were people waiting there also, but they were of the royal line. Helikaon saw two of Priam’s sons there, the king’s chancellor, Polites, and fat Antiphones. Polites was sitting in the shade, a mass of papyrus scrolls on his lap. Both men wore the ankle-length white robes and belts of gold that marked their rank as ministers of the king. It had been almost a year since Helikaon had seen them. Polites looked tired, almost ill. His pale hair was thinning, and his eyes were red-rimmed. Antiphones was even larger than Helikaon had remembered, his belly bulging over his wide golden belt, his face flushed and bloated, his eyes heavily pouched. Hard to believe, thought Helikaon, that both were still in their twenties.

Antiphones saw him first and grinned broadly. “Ho, Aeneas!” he called out. “Welcome back!” Stepping forward swiftly for such a large man, he embraced Helikaon, kissing his cheeks. The man’s strength was prodigious, and Helikaon thought his ribs might snap. Then Antiphones released him. Polites did not rise but smiled shyly. “Your adventures are the talk of Troy,” Antiphones continued. “Sea battles and burning pirate ships. You live a life that is not dull, my friend.”

“It is good to be back.”

Helikaon noted the use of the word “pirates,” and added no comment. Troy was still allied to Mykene, and no one was going to risk causing offense to Agamemnon. He chatted to them for a while, learning that Priam was “at rest,” which meant he was rutting with some servant girl or the wife of one of his sons. Polites seemed nervous and ill at ease. Perhaps it is your wife, thought Helikaon.

“What news of the city?” he asked them. He watched their expressions change, as if masks had fallen into place.

“Oh,” said Antiphones, “it is much the same. Have you seen Hektor’s bride?”

“We met.”

“Hard woman. Eyes like green flint. A Thera priestess, no less! Thin as a stick. Nothing to get hold of there!”

Helikaon had no wish to discuss Andromache with them. Ignoring the comment, he said, “Any news of Hektor?”

“Only rumor,” said Polites, dabbing at his watery eyes with the white sleeve of his gown. “A trader reported that a huge battle was being waged. No one knows who won.”

“Hektor won,” insisted Antiphones. “Hektor
always
wins. He may be dull in conversation and unable to tell a fine wine from a cup of cow piss, but he never loses a fight. Don’t you find it baffling?”

“In what way?”

“Ever the diplomat, Polites!” Antiphones said scornfully. “You know full well what I mean. We both grew up with Hektor. He never liked to fight, not even childish scraps. Always reasonable, good-natured, grinning like an oaf. How in the name of Hades did he turn out to be such a warrior?”

Helikaon forced a smile. “Come, come, Antiphones! I remember when you were the fastest runner in Troy. Might not a similar question be asked? How did such a beautiful athlete become so fat?”

Antiphones smiled, but his eyes were hard. “You have a point, Aeneas. Hektor is what Hektor is. The beloved heir. Good for him, I suppose. But there is more to running a city than a warrior might suppose. When crops fail or disease strikes, it will matter not a jot if the king can steer a chariot through a melee, or lop the head from an enemy.”

“Which is why Hektor is lucky to have brothers like you.”

A servant appeared and halted before Helikaon. “The king is ready to see you, Lord Aeneas,” he said.

Helikaon thanked the man and followed him back into the palace through a side door and toward a wide flight of stairs leading to the queen’s apartments at the top of the building.

“Is the queen in residence?” he asked the servant.

“No, lord, she is still at the summer palace. But King Priam has taken to . . . resting in her apartments during the day.”

Two Royal Eagles were standing before a doorway at the top of the stairs. Helikaon recognized one of them, a powerfully built warrior named Cheon. The soldier nodded a greeting and smiled as he opened the door to the queen’s apartments, but he did not speak.

Helikaon entered the room, and Cheon pulled the door shut behind him. Long curtains of gauze were fluttering in the mild breeze from the wide window, and the room smelled of heavy perfume. Through an open doorway Helikaon could see an unmade bed. Then a young woman emerged, her face flushed and her eyes downcast. Easing past Helikaon, she opened the door and left.

Then Priam appeared, a large golden goblet in one hand and a golden flagon in the other. Moving to a wide couch, he sat down, drained the goblet, and refilled it. “Well, come and sit down,” he said, gesturing to a chair on the other side of a low table. “Unless, of course, you have plans to rush through my city burning Mykene pirates.”

Helikaon sat and looked at the king. There seemed to be more silver in the gold of his hair, but he was still a powerful figure.

“Have you heard that Agamemnon was in Miletos?” asked Priam.

“No. He’s a long way from home.”

“He’s been traveling greatly these last two years. Thraki, Phrygia, Karia, Lykia. Offering gifts to kings, declaring friendship and making alliances.”

“Why would he need alliances on this side of the Great Green?”

“Why indeed?” The king fell silent. He leaned back. “You saw the girl?”

“Yes.”

“Pretty—but dull. Was a time when all women seemed to be creatures of fire and passion. You could spend a glorious day rutting. Now it’s all: ‘Yes, Great King, whatever pleases you, Great King. Would you like me to bark like a dog, Great King?’ Why is that, do you think?”

“You already know the answer,” Helikaon told him.

“Then humor me.”

“No. I did not come here to argue with you. Why is it you always desire conflict when we meet?”

“It is not about desire,” said Priam. “It is merely that we don’t like each other. Shall I tell you what you were thinking when I asked the question?”

“If it pleases you.”

“In past days the girls made love to Priam the beautiful young man. Now they just seek to serve Priam the randy old king. Am I right?”

“Of course. In your own mind are you not always right?”

Priam’s laughter boomed out. “You know why you don’t like me, boy? I am all you do not have the nerve to be. I became a king. You backed away from it and allowed little Diomedes to bear the burden.”

“Moments like this remind me why I spend so little time in Troy,” said Helikaon, pushing himself to his feet.

“Oh, sit down!” said Priam. “We need to talk, so we’ll stop baiting each other for a little while. You want wine?”

“No.”

“Let us return to Agamemnon,” Priam continued as Helikaon resumed his seat. “Have you met him?”

“No.”

“Nor I, though I knew his father, Atreus. He was a fighting man, but then, he had to be. The western peoples were constantly warring with one another in those days. But Agamemnon? He is a mystery. Most of his father’s loyal men have been either replaced or killed. Those around him now are savages—like Kolanos. Did you know Agamemnon has reintroduced human sacrifice before battles?”

“No, I had not heard that. It is hardly surprising. The Mykene are a blood-hungry race.”

“Indeed so, Aeneas. Yet they have, since the time of Atreus and his father, maintained the heroic code laid down by Herakles. Glory and service to the gods. Courage and love of homeland. Strength without cruelty. All that is changing under Agamemnon. His generals are now brutal men who encourage excesses among their soldiers. My spies tell me stories of horror from the lands they have plundered. Women and babes butchered, men tortured and maimed.”

“So why is Agamemnon mysterious?” asked Helikaon. “Surely he is just another savage from a race of savages.”

“He is not so easy to analyze, Aeneas. His generals are bloodthirsty, yet he takes no part in their excesses. At feasts he does not down wine and laugh and sing. He sits quietly, watching others do those things. My ambassadors tell me he has a sharp mind, and he talks well about alliances with Troy and the need for peaceful trade. Yet he also equips the pirate fleets that raid our coastlines. Now he seeks alliances with the kings of the east. His ambassadors have been offering gifts of gold in Maeonia, Karia, Lykia—even up as far as Phrygia. Kings require alliances with neighbors to prevent unnecessary warfare. An alliance with Troy is understandable. We are the greatest trading city on the Great Green. But Lykia and Phrygia? What point is there in such gift giving? What does he hope to gain?”

Helikaon shrugged. “With the Mykene it is always war or plunder.”

“That is in my mind also,” said Priam. “And there is the mystery. My spies tell me Agamemnon has fierce intelligence, yet a war in the east would be foolhardy and doomed. The Hittites may not be the power they were, but their armies would dwarf those of the Mykene. The Gypptos, too, could be drawn in. Also, if Agamemnon attacked our allies, then the Trojan Horse would be dispatched—and there is not a force alive to match my Hektor.”

“All this is true, and still you are worried,” Helikaon pointed out.

“ ‘The shepherd is always concerned when the wolves are out,’ ” quoted Priam. “However, there is the added concern that Agamemnon has ordered the building of great numbers of ships. The question is: How will he use them? And where will he take them?” Priam rose from his seat and walked into the bedroom, returning with a length of cured hide on which was etched a map of the Great Green. He spread it on the table. “In my grandfather’s time the Mykene attacked Kypros, and there is still a large Mykene settlement on the island. If they invaded in force, they could seize the copper mines. But Kypros is allied with both Egypte and the Hittite empire, and both have armies ten times larger than that of Agamemnon. Fleets would blockade the island. Massive armies would land, and the Mykene would be defeated.” The king moved his finger to the coast of Lykia. “Let us suppose they invaded the Fat King’s realm. They already have colonies on Rhodos and Kos and in Miletos. They could be supplied from there. But Kygones is an old soldier and a good fighting man. More important, he is allied with me. I would send the Trojan Horse to his aid, and the Mykene would have no way to call for reinforcements. The same can be said of Miletos and Maeonia. Wherever one looks there is no hope of victory for Agamemnon. And you know what that means, Aeneas?”