Lord of the Silver Bow (9 page)

“You found dull men,” she said.

“From good families.”

“Well, Father, no doubt you will grow rich anyway, selling my sisters.”

“Now, that is what I mean!” Ektion stormed. “Everything sounds ugly when it comes from your mouth. Your sisters will find joy in their children and the wealth of their husbands. Little Paleste is already betrothed to Hektor. She will live in the golden city of Troy, wedded to their greatest hero. He will adore her, and she will be happy.”

“Which was, of course, your prime concern, Father,” she said, her voice gentle. He stared hard at her. “What will I do on Thera?” she asked.

“Do? I don’t know what the women do there. Placate the angry god. Make sacrifices. Sing, for all I know! There are no men there.” She heard the malice in the last sentence.

“Well, that will be a blessing,” she said. “I am already looking forward to it.”

It was not true, but she enjoyed the look of anger that flashed from his eyes.

∗ ∗ ∗

Her heart had been heavy the day the trade ship had anchored in the circular bay of Thera. A life of dull banishment was about to begin.

But Andromache could not have been more wrong. Within days her life had expanded beyond measure. She learned to shoot a bow, to ride half-wild ponies, to dance in the revels of Artemis, drunk and full of joy—in short, to express herself without fear of complaint or censure. Without the restrictions of a male-dominated society the women of Thera reveled in their freedom. Each day there was some new entertainment: footraces or archery tournaments. There were treasure hunts and swimming competitions, and in the evenings discussions on poetry or storytelling. Every few weeks there was a feast offering tributes to one of the many gods where strong wine was drunk and the women danced and sang and made love.

The priestesses of Thera also maintained the Temple of the Horse, conducting ceremonies of sacrifice to the dread Minotaur, seeking to soothe his troubled soul. Their work was vital. Two centuries earlier he had burst his chains, and hot lava had spewed from the earth. The top of the mountain exploded, and Apollo, god of the sun, was so distressed that the world remained dark for three days. Poseidon also, in his anger at the Kretans, who were charged with appeasing the Minotaur, sent a tidal wave across the Great Green, destroying the olive orchards and the wine harvests of Kretos, laying salt upon the earth to prevent any new growth. At the time Kretos was a great power, but the Kretans were humbled by that savage display of godly rage.

Now two hundred priestesses kept the Minotaur subdued, though he still occasionally wrenched at his chains, causing the earth to tremble. On one occasion the western wall of the long dining room had split, shattering the mural upon it.

Despite these occasional crises Andromache enjoyed her two years of freedom. Then, one day in midsummer, came dreadful news. Her sister Paleste, the sweetest of girls, with a smile to melt the coldest heart, had caught a chill, which had turned into a fever. She had died within days of falling ill. Andromache could scarcely believe it. Of all the sisters Paleste had been the strongest and most vibrant. She had been pledged to wed the Trojan prince Hektor in the autumn to secure an alliance between Thebe and Troy. Graciously, her father wrote, the Trojan king, Priam, had agreed that Andromache could replace Paleste and marry Hektor.

Thus, at twenty and set for a life without men, Andromache had been forced to leave Thera and her beloved companions and return to the mainland. Soon she would journey to Troy to wed a man she had never seen.

No more would she ride bareback over the Theran hills or dance and sing in the Dionysian revels. No more would she draw bow to cheek and watch the shaft fly straight and true or swim naked in the midnight seas around the bay. No more would she feel Kalliope’s passionate embrace or taste the wine upon her lover’s lips.

Andromache felt anger rise and welcomed it, for it briefly extinguished the boredom. In Troy she would become a breeding cow and lie on a wide bed, legs spread to receive the seed of a grunting, sweaty man. She would swell like a pig, then scream as the infant clawed its way out of her. And why? So that her father’s greed could be satisfied.

No, she thought, not just his greed. In this violent and uncertain world a nation needed allies. The Egypteian pharaohs constantly waged war on the Hittite peoples, and the Mykene raided wherever they perceived weakness. Her father was greedy, but without treaties and alliances his lands would be devoured by one of the great powers. Little Thebe Under Plakos would be safer under the protection of Troy and its fabled cavalry.

She gazed down on the beach, seeing the fires lit and hearing the faint swell of music on the dusk breeze. Down there was a freedom she would never again experience. Ordinary people living ordinary lives, laughing, joking, loving.

A thought came, delicious and tempting. Soon the ship would arrive to take her to Troy. Until then she was—if matters were handled with care—still free. Moving across the small apartment, she took her hooded cloak of dark green wool and swung it around her shoulders. It complemented her gold-embroidered, olive-green gown. Tying her chestnut hair back from her face with a strip of leather, she walked from her room and along the silent corridor beyond, then slipped down an outside stairwell to a walled garden. There was a guard at the gate. He bowed when he saw her, pulling the gate open as she passed.

There was a breeze blowing over the cliffs as Andromache made her way to the main gate and the steep road leading to the beach. Two more guards saw her. They did not know her and neglected to bow, merely standing aside as she walked out onto the road.

How easy it was, she thought. But then, who would have imagined that a king’s daughter and a priestess of Thera would have any desire to leave the safety of the palace and walk among the hard and violent men of the sea.

It was a sobering thought. There were no soldiers to protect her, and she carried no weapon. The thought of danger did not make her pause. Instead it quickened her heart.

The music grew louder as she approached, and she saw men and women dancing together drunkenly. Off to one side people were fornicating. She gazed down at the closest couple. The man’s buttocks were pounding up and down, and she could see the thick shaft of his penis spearing into the girl he was riding. Andromache looked at her. Their eyes met. The girl grinned and raised her eyebrows. Then she winked at Andromache, who smiled back at her and walked on.

Moving through the packed stalls, she saw that they were covered mostly with cheap and ill-made items. A man approached her, lifting his tunic and waggling his manhood at her. “How much for a ride, girl?” he asked.

Andromache stared hard at the stiffening penis, then transferred her green gaze to the man. “The last time I saw something that small, it was crawling out of an apple,” she said.

Peals of laughter came from two women close by. “It’s getting even smaller now!” one of them called.

Andromache walked on, easing her way through the throng. Some distance away a crowd was gathering around a man standing on an empty stall. Great cheers went up as he raised his arms.

“Want to hear a true story?” he bellowed.

“No, we want to hear one of yours,” yelled someone in the crowd.

The man’s laughter boomed out. “Then I’ll tell you of a dread monster with only one eye. Tall as ten men and teeth sharp and long as swords.”

The crowd fell silent.

III

Helikaon always enjoyed the performances Odysseus gave. He did not just recount tall tales, he acted them, too. As now, with four men lifting the wooden stall, heaving it back and forth to represent a tilting deck. Balanced on it, Odysseus roared out a tale of a mighty storm that carried the
Penelope
to an enchanted isle. In the background some of the
Penelope
’s crew banged drums to imitate thunder, while others whistled shrilly at intervals. Helikaon had not heard this story before and settled back to enjoy the surprises.

Odysseus suddenly leapt from the stall. “And we were upon a strange beach,” he said, “and just beyond it were the tallest trees I ever saw, twisted and gnarled. Just when we thought we were safe there came a terrifying voice.”

From the back of the crowd six of the
Penelope
’s crew all cried out in unison: “I smell blood!” A flicker of enjoyable panic swept through the throng. The timing had been perfect.

“ ’Twas a massive creature, with a single eye in the center of its head. Its teeth were long and sharp. It ran from the trees and caught one of my men by the waist, hauling him high. Then those terrible teeth ripped him apart.”

At that moment Helikaon saw several of Kolanos’ crew working their way through the throng, moving ever closer to him. His eyes scanned the crowd, and he picked out Zidantas, Oniacus, and several of the
Xanthos
’ men, also maneuvering their way toward him while keeping wary eyes on the Mykene.

Odysseus was in full voice now, recounting the adventure with the Cyclops. Sweat gleamed on his face and dripped from his beard. The audience was entranced, the performance—as always—boisterous, energetic, and captivating.

Helikaon looked around. None of the Fat King’s soldiers were close by. The Mykene were apparently unarmed, but one of them was wearing a jerkin of leather that could have concealed a knife. The chances were the Mykene would do nothing. The Fat King was merciless with any who broke his laws. Much of his wealth came from the ships that beached on his bays, and the main reason they chose to stay was the reciprocal guarantee of safety for their crews and cargoes.

Even so it made sense to be cautious. Helikaon eased his way back into the audience, then cut to the left, seeking to circle the crowd and link with Zidantas.

Then he saw the woman.

She was standing just back from the gathering, dressed in a long cloak of green and an embroidered gown. It was difficult by fire and moonlight to see the color of her hair, but it was long, thickly curled, and drawn back from her face. And such a face! She looked like a goddess. Not pretty but awesomely beautiful. Helikaon’s mouth was dry. He could not stop looking at her. She saw him, and he felt the power of her eyes. The look was cool yet strangely challenging. He swallowed hard and stepped toward her. In that moment her expression changed, her eyes flickering beyond him. Helikaon spun around.

The man with the leather jerkin was behind him, a knife in his hand. The assassin darted forward. Swaying aside from the thrusting blade, Helikaon grabbed the attacker’s wrist, pulling him away from the crowd, then stepped in and smashed a head butt to the man’s nose. Stunned, blood pouring from his nostrils, the assassin fell back. Helikaon followed in, butting him again. The assassin’s knees gave way, and he dropped to the sand, the knife slipping from his fingers. Helikaon swept it up, plunging the sharp blade into the man’s throat and then ripping it clear. Blood spurted through the air.

With Odysseus’ tale still captivating the audience, no one in the crowd had seen the brief exchange. The body lay, blood gushing at first and then pumping more slowly as the man died. Rising to his feet, Helikaon looked around for further attackers, but it was Zidantas who emerged from the crowd.

“I am sorry,” he said, looking crestfallen. “I should have been by your side. They played it neatly, though. We were watching the wrong men.”

Helikaon stood silently, looking down at the dead man. The man was young, his hair curly and dark. Somewhere there would be a wife or a lover and parents who had nurtured him. He had played games with other children and had dreamed of a future bright with promise. Now he lay on the sand, his life ended. Helikaon’s thoughts were bleak.

“Are you all right?” Zidantas asked.

Helikaon turned back to where the woman had been standing, but she was gone. He shivered. Then the familiar postbattle head pain began, a throbbing ache emanating from the back of his neck and spreading up over the crown of his head. He realized Ox was looking at him, an expression of concern on his face.

“I am fine, Ox.”

Zidantas looked unconvinced. Oniacus pushed through the crowd to join them.

“The Mykene have returned to their galleys,” he said. Then he saw the dead man and swore. “I am sorry, lord, I should have been here. They fooled us by—”

“I have already explained,” snapped Zidantas. “Still, no harm done. One less Mykene in the world. All in all a good night.”

Thunderous cheering broke out as Odysseus finished his tale. Oniacus swore. “I missed the ending,” he complained.

“So did he,” said Helikaon, pointing to the corpse. “Let us move away.” Tossing the dagger alongside the body, he walked back to the
Xanthos
campfire. Behind them someone shouted, and a crowd gathered around the corpse. Helikaon picked up a water jug and drank deeply. Then he poured water over his hands, washing the blood clear. In the firelight he saw that more blood had spattered his tunic.

Odysseus wandered over to the fire. He was carrying a linen cloth and wiping sweat from his face. He slumped down alongside Helikaon.

“I am getting too old for these athletic performances,” he said. “I need to have a strong word with those sheepshaggers who held the stall. Damned if they weren’t trying to toss me onto the beach.”

He did look tired. Helikaon threw his arm around the older man’s shoulder. “There will be gloom over the whole world if you ever stop telling your tales.”

“Aye, it was a good audience tonight. I used to tell that story with two Cyclopes. Strange how one works better. More . . . more terrifying and yet, somehow, pathetic.” He leaned in close to Helikaon. “I take it the dead man was one of Kolanos’ crew.”

“Yes.”

“Never liked Kolanos. Was at a feast with him one time. Never heard him fart at all. Can’t trust a man who doesn’t fart at a feast.” Helikaon laughed aloud. “Don’t treat him lightly, though, lad,” Odysseus continued. “He is a man of great malice. Back in Mykene he is known as the breaker of spirits.”

“I will be wary, my friend. Tell me, while you were performing, did you happen to see a tall woman in a green cloak? Looked like a goddess?”