Lord of the Silver Bow (33 page)

Then the dark-haired Dios moved smoothly forward, bowing deeply to Hattusilis. “My apologies, great lord. My father is overcome with grief. He intends no disrespect. Priam and the sons of Priam remain, as always, your most loyal followers.”

The emperor spoke, and the translator’s words echoed in the silent
megaron.
“There is no slight. When a great hero falls, it becomes men to show their feelings truly. Hektor’s courage did indeed turn the battle in our favor. I would have expected no less from him. That is why I felt it right to come myself to this far city so that all would know that Hektor was honored by those he served most heroically.”

With that the emperor swung on his heel and walked from the
megaron.

III

Shortly before dark a hooded and cloaked figure slipped out through the Dardanian Gate into the lower town. One of the gate guards caught a glimpse of the man’s face and turned to speak to his colleague, but the other soldier was partway through a good joke about a Hittite, a horse, and a donkey, and so the first guard laughed and said nothing. There was no reason to question anyone leaving the citadel, after all.

The hooded man made his way through the eastern quarter to where the city engineers had been digging a wide fortification ditch designed to stop the advance of horses and chariots. Houses all along the line of the trench had been emptied to permit the work. Then the digging had revealed a horde of old burial jars dating from many generations back, which were being carefully dug up and moved to another site southeast of the city.

In the gray twilight the man identified a white house with a yellow mark like a paw print on the door. Looking around, he swiftly entered the abandoned house and waited in the shadow of an inner doorway. A short while later two others entered. One, a man with thin reddish hair, asked quietly to the darkness, “Are you here?”

The hooded man stepped from the shadows and said, “I am here, Erekos.”

The Mykene ambassador’s voice betrayed his anxiety, “No names, if you please, Prince.”

The hooded man snorted. “This meeting place is well chosen. No one will come within a hundred paces of it. They fear the shades of the dead are lingering around the burial ground.”

“Perhaps they are right,” the ambassador said nervously.

“Let us not waste time on religious debate,” snapped the third man, a tall white-haired warrior. “The death of Hektor is a gift from the gods. We must seize the chance now.”

There was silence for a moment, and then the hooded man said coldly, “And what of the Hittites, Kolanos? You think we should spark a revolution while the emperor is in Troy? Do you have any idea of the numbers of troops his sons could bring? And they would cry out for joy at the opportunity. Troy’s independence is based on three simple facts: We pay enormous taxes to fund the Hittite wars, we are far distant from the center of their empire, and we send the finest warriors to aid them. But there are those who look upon Troy with great envy and greed. We must offer them no insult, no opportunity to seek our ruin.”

“This is all true, Prince,” put in Erekos, “but even if we wait for the emperor’s departure, will he not send men to the aid of Priam?”

“Not if Priam is dead,” said the shadowy figure. “It is well known that Hattusilis has little liking for him. But then, who does?” he added sourly. “The emperor has far more important worries than domestic problems in Troy. The Hittite army leaves at dawn. When Hattusilis hears Priam is dead, I will send a rider to him, pledging my continued allegiance. He will, I believe, accept it. We must be patient and wait nine more days.”

“It is easy for you to be patient, sitting in your palace.” Kolanos sneered. “But it is not so easy to conceal four galleys off the coast for so long.”

“Easy?” snapped the hooded man. “Nothing about this venture will prove
easy.
I have troops loyal to me, but that loyalty will wear thin when the murders begin. Easy? You think it will be easy to defeat the Eagles? Every one of them is a veteran of many battles. They were promoted for their courage and their fighting abilities. They were trained by Hektor.”

“And like Hektor they will die. They have not come against Mykene warriors before,” replied Kolanos. “I have the best with me. Invincible. The Eagles will fall.”

“I hope you are right,” said the prince. “We will also have the advantage of surprise. Even so, it is vital that we not deviate from the plan. Apart from the Eagles the only people to die will be the men inside the
megaron
when we attack: Priam and those of his sons and counselors who will be there. The deaths must be swift, and the palace taken by dawn.”

“Why wait nine days?” asked Erekos. “Do you need that long?”

“The king has been rotating the troops that guard the upper city,” answered the prince. “I will need the time to ensure that
both
regiments are loyal to me.”

“With two thousand troops against a hundred or so Eagles why do you need us at all?” put in Kolanos.

“I will not have two thousand troops. You need to understand the complexities here, Kolanos.
My
regiment will fight for me without question. Other Trojan units will serve me loyally once I am king. The regiment guarding the walls will be led by one of my men. He will ensure they keep the gates closed and remain at their posts. But not even he could command them to
attack
the palace and kill the king. Why do I need you and your men? Because Trojan troops should not be used in the slaughter of Priam and his sons. My regiment will take the two palace gates, hold the walls, and do battle with the Eagles. Then, when the king and his followers are safely contained in the palace itself, you and your Mykene will assault the
megaron
and kill all the men within.”

“What of the royal daughters and the women of the palace?” asked Kolanos.

“Your men can take their pleasures with the servants. No royal daughters are to be harmed in any way. Enjoy the others as you will. There is one woman, however, named Andromache. She is tall, with long red hair and cursed with too much pride. I am sure your men will find a way to humble her. It would please me to hear her beg.”

“And you will. I promise you,” said Kolanos. “There is nothing quite so sweet after a battle as the squealing of captured women.”

Erekos spoke: “Thoughts of rape should be left until the battle is over, Kolanos. Tell me, Prince, what of the other troops close to the city? The barracks in the lower town contain a full regiment, and there is a cavalry detachment based on the Plain of Simoeis.”

The prince smiled. “As I said, the gates will be closed until dawn. I know well the generals commanding the other regiments. They will swear allegiance to me—if Priam is dead.”

“Might I ask one favor?” said Kolanos.

“Of course.”

“That the traitor Argurios be invited to the
megaron
that night.”

“Are you insane?” snapped Erekos. “You want the greatest warrior of the Mykene facing us?”

Kolanos laughed. “He will be unarmed. Is that not so, Prince?”

“Yes. All weapons will be left at the gate. The king allows no swords or daggers in his presence.”

Erekos was not convinced. “He was unarmed when he defeated five armed assassins. It seems to me an unnecessary risk. Many of the warriors with you still hold him in high regard. I urge you to withdraw this request, Kolanos.”

“Agamemnon King wants him dead,” said Kolanos. “He wants him cut down by his former comrades. It will be a fitting punishment for his treachery. I will not withdraw my request. What say you, Prince?”

“I agree with Erekos. But if you wish it, I shall see that he is there.”

“I do.”

“Then it will be done.”

XXVIII

OF ANCIENT GODS

I

Gershom had never enjoyed riding. In Egypte the horses had been small, their buttock-pounding gait bruisingly uncomfortable for a heavy man. He had also felt faintly ludicrous with his long legs hanging close to the ground. But the Thessalian-bred horse he now rode was a joy. Just under sixteen hands, golden-bodied, with white mane and tail, it all but flew across the terrain. At full run there was little upward movement of the beast’s back, and Gershom settled down to revel in the speed. Helikaon rode alongside him on a mount the twin of Gershom’s. Together they thundered across the open ground under a pale, cloudy sky. At last Helikaon slowed his horse and patted its sleek neck. Gershom drew alongside.

“Magnificent beasts,” he said.

“Good for speed,” said Helikaon, “but poor for war. Too skittish and prone to panic when swords clash and arrows fly. I am breeding them with our own ponies. Perhaps their foals’ temperament will be less nervous.”

Swinging their mounts, they rode back to where they had left the baggage pony. The beast was grazing on a hillside. Helikaon gathered the lead rope, and they set off again toward the southwest.

Gershom was happy to be on the move again. The fortress of Dardanos, despite being a rough dwelling place compared with the palaces back home, was still a reminder of a world he had lost, and he was glad of the chance to accompany the Golden One back to Troy.

“I do not think that merchant would have betrayed me,” he said as they rode.

“Perhaps not knowingly,” said Helikaon, “but people gossip. Troy is larger, and there is less chance of your being recognized.”

Gershom glanced around at the bleak landscape. The old general Pausanius had warned Helikaon that there were bandits abroad in these hills and had urged him to take a company of soldiers as a personal guard. Helikaon had refused.

“I have promised to make these lands safe,” he had said. “The leaders know me now. When they see the king riding through their communities without an armed escort, it will give them confidence.”

Pausanius had been unconvinced. Gershom did not believe it, either.

Once they were traveling together, he became convinced that Helikaon had needed to get away from Dardanos and all the trappings and duties of royalty. Yet with each mile they rode Helikaon grew more tense.

That night, as they camped in the foothills beneath a stand of cypress trees, Gershom said, “What is worrying you?”

Helikaon did not answer but added dry wood to the small campfire and then sat quietly by it. Gershom did not press the question further.

After a while Helikaon spoke. “Did you enjoy being a prince?”

“Aye, I did, but not as much as my half brother Rameses. He was desperate to become pharaoh, to lead Egypteian armies into battle, to build his own great pillars at the temple at Luxor, to see his face carved on massive statues. Me, I just loved being fawned upon by beautiful women.”

“Did it not concern you that the women fawned upon you only because they were obliged to?”

“Why would that be a concern? The result is the same.”

“Only for you.”

Gershom chuckled. “You sea people think too much. The slave women at the palace were there for
my
pleasure. That was their purpose. What did it matter whether they
desired
to be slave women? When you are hungry and you decide to kill a sheep, do you stop and wonder how the sheep feels about it?”

“An interesting point,” observed Helikaon. “I will think on it.”

“It is not a point to
think
on,” argued Gershom. “It was supposed to end the debate, not widen it.”

“The purpose of debate is to explore issues, not end them.”

“Very well. Then let us debate the reason for your original question. Why did you ask if I enjoyed being a prince?”

“Perhaps I was just making conversation,” said Helikaon.

“No. The first reason was to deflect me from questioning you about your concerns. The second was more complex but still linked to the first.”

“Well, now you have me intrigued,” said Helikaon. “Enlighten me.”

Gershom shook his head. “You need enlightenment, Golden One? I think not. Back in Egypte there are statues of mythical beasts that used to fascinate me, creatures with the heads of eagles, the bodies of lions, the tails of serpents. My grandfather told me they actually represented men. We are all of us hybrid beasts. There is the savage in us, who would tear out an enemy’s heart and devour it raw. There is the lover, who composes songs to the woman who owns his soul. There is the father, who holds his child close and would die to protect it from all harm. Three creatures in one man. And there are more. In every one of us is the total of all we have ever been: the sullen child, the arrogant youth, the suckling babe. Every fear endured in childhood is lodged somewhere in here.” He tapped his temple. “And every act of heroism or cowardice, generosity or meanness of spirit.”

“This is fascinating,” said Helikaon, “but I feel as if I have just sailed into a mist. What is the point you are making?”

“That
is
the point I am making. Our lives are spent sailing in the mist, hoping for a burst of sunlight that can make sense of who we are.”

“I know who I am, Gershom.”

“No, you don’t. Are you the man who concerns himself about the secret desires of slave women or the man who cuts the head from a farmer who speaks out of turn? Are you the god who rescued a child on Kypros or the madman who burned to death fifty sailors?”

“This conversation has lost its appeal,” said Helikaon, his voice cold.

Gershom felt his anger swell. “I see,” he said. “So the issues that
can
be debated are only those which do not affect the actions of the Golden One. Now you are truly becoming a king, Helikaon. Next you will surround yourself with sycophants who whisper to you of your greatness and offer no criticism.”

Gathering up his blanket, he lay down, facing the fire, his heart hammering. The night was cold, and he could smell rain on the breeze. He was annoyed at himself for reacting with such anger. Truth was, he was fond of the young king and admired him greatly. Helikaon was capable of great kindness and loyalty. He was also courageous and principled. Those attributes were rare in Gershom’s experience. But he also knew the dangers Helikaon would face as his power grew. After a while he threw back his blanket and sat up. Helikaon was sitting with his back to a tree, a blanket around his shoulders.

“I am sorry, my friend,” said Gershom. “It is not my place to harangue you.”

“No, it is not,” Helikaon replied. “But I have been thinking of what you said, and there was truth in it. Your grandfather is a wise man.”

“He is. Do you know the story of Osiris and Set?”

“Egypteian gods at war with one another?”

“Yes. Osiris is the hero god, the lord of light. Set is his brother, a creature vile and depraved. They are in a constant war to the death. My grandfather told me of them when I was young. He said that we carry Osiris and Set struggling within us. All of us are capable of great compassion and love or hatred and horror. Sadly, we can take joy from both.”

“I know that is true,” said Helikaon. “I felt it as those sailors burned. The memory of it is shameful.”

“Grandfather would say that when you burned those sailors, Set was dominant in your soul. It is Osiris who feels the shame. That is why you dislike being king, Helikaon. Such power brings Set closer to total control. And you fear the man you would become if ever the Osiris in you was slain.”

Gershom fell silent. Helikaon added fuel to the fire, then walked to the pack pony and brought back some bread and dried meat. The silence grew as the two men ate. Then Helikaon stretched himself out by the fire and covered himself with his cloak.

Gershom dozed for a while. The night grew colder, and a clap of thunder sounded. Lightning blazed across the heavens. Helikaon awoke, and the two men ran to where the horses were tethered. The beasts were frightened, ears flat to their skulls. Helikaon and Gershom led them away from the trees and out onto open ground.

Rain began to fall, slowly at first and then in a torrent.

Lightning flashed, and by its light Gershom saw a cave high up on the hillside. He beckoned to Helikaon, and they led the mounts up the slope. It was not easy. The golden horses, as Helikaon had warned, were skittish, rearing constantly and trying to break free. The little baggage pony was calmer, but even he dragged back on the lead rope when the thunder crashed. Both men were weary when they finally reached the cave.

Leading the horses inside, they tethered them. Then the two men sat at the cave mouth, watching the storm wash over the land.

“I used to enjoy storms,” said Gershom. “But since the shipwreck . . .” He shivered at the memories.

“It will pass swiftly,” said Helikaon. Then he looked at Gershom. “I thank you for your honesty.”

Gershom chuckled. “Always been my curse—to speak my mind. Hard to think of anyone I haven’t insulted at some time or other. Are you planning to stay long in Troy?”

Helikaon shook his head. “I will attend the funeral feast for Hektor.” He shivered suddenly. “Just saying the words chills the soul.”

“You were friends?”

“More than friends. I still cannot accept that he is gone.” He smiled suddenly. “Some five years ago I rode with Hektor. Priam had sent him and two hundred of the Trojan Horse to Thraki to aid a local king against some raiders. We were pursuing an enemy force through woodland, and they caught us in an ambush. Once we had fought our way clear, we realized Hektor was not with us. Someone then recalled seeing him struck in the head by a hurled rock. Night was falling, but we rode swiftly back to the battle site. The bandits had removed the bodies of their fallen. Six of our dead were there, but Hektor was not among them. We knew then that he had been taken. The Thrakians were known to torture their captives, slicing off fingers, putting out eyes. I sent out scouts, and we went in search of their camp. We found it just before dawn, and as we crept forward, we could hear the sounds of merriment. And there, standing tall in the firelight, a huge cup of wine in his hand, was Hektor. He was regaling the drunken raiders with ribald stories, and they were shrieking with laughter.” Helikaon sighed. “That is how I will remember him.”

“But you have a second reason for this journey,” said Gershom.

“Are you a seer, Gershom?”

“No. But I saw you talking to Hektor’s betrothed, and I heard you call her ‘goddess.’ ”

Helikaon laughed. “Yes, I did. I fell in love with her, Gershom. If she feels the same, I mean to make her my wife, though I will probably have to offer Priam a mountain of gold for her.”

“If she feels the same?” echoed Gershom. “What difference does it make? Buy her anyway.”

Helikaon shook his head. “You can buy gold that is bright as the sun and diamonds as pale as the moon. But you cannot buy the sun. You cannot own the moon.”

II

As dawn approached Laodike wrapped herself in a shawl and walked out of the palace. The streets were silent and empty except for a few stray dogs seeking scraps. She liked walking, particularly in the fresh air of the early morning, and thought she must know more about the city and its everyday life than any soldier or common worker. She knew which baker had the first loaves fresh and aromatic outside his bakery before dawn. She knew the prostitutes and their regular patrols as well as she knew those of the Trojan regiments. She knew when the first lamb was born on the hillside at the end of winter because Poimen the ancient shepherd, blessed with four generations of sons, would open his only jug of wine of the year and get rolling drunk, then sleep it off in the street in the dawn air, barred from his home by his tiny but ferocious wife.

Laodike walked on out of the town, her sad steps taking her across the new defensive ditch by a bridge, then down toward the Scamander.

Mist lay heavy and gray in the river valley. Beyond it the hills were touched with pink still, though the sun was rising in the sky behind her. She could hear no sounds but the crowing of cocks and the bleating of sheep in the distance.

She walked on toward the tomb of Ilos on a small hill between the city and the river. Ilos was her great-grandfather and a hero of Troy. Hektor often would come here and talk to his ancestor when he was troubled. So she came now, hoping to find comfort.

She plodded up to the small cairn of rocks and sat down on the short, sheep-cropped grass, facing the city. Her body no longer busy, her grief overwhelmed her again, and tears welled in her eyes.

How could he be dead? How could the gods be so cruel?

Laodike could see him now, his infectious smile lifting her heart, the sun glinting on the gold of his hair. He was like the dawn, she thought. Whenever he entered a room, spirits lifted. When she was young and frightened Hektor was always the rock she would run to. And he was the man who would have persuaded Priam to allow Argurios to marry her.

Shame touched her then, and with it the weight of guilt. Are you sad because he has passed to the Elysian Fields, or are you thinking of yourself? she wondered.

“I am so sorry, Hektor,” she whispered. Then the tears flowed once more.

A shadow fell across her, and she looked up. The sun was behind the figure, bright and dazzling, and just for a moment, as her tear-swollen eyes took in the glinting breastplate, she thought it was the ghost of her brother, come to comfort her. Then he knelt beside her, and she saw it was Argurios. She had not seen him for five days now, and she had sent him no message.

“Oh, Argurios, I cannot stop weeping.”

His arm curved around her shoulder. “I have seen the same throughout the city. He must have been a great man, and I am sorry I did not know him.”

“How did you know I would be here?”

“You told me that when troubles were weighing heavy you liked to walk through the city in the dawn light. You talked of an old shepherd in these hills.”

“And how did you guess I would be here today?”

“I did not. I have been at the Scaean Gate every day at dawn for the last five days.”