Quicksilver (8 page)

TWENTY-SIX

One day a small crowd of Trojan dead shambled into the cave. This surprised me. Lately the Trojans had been gaining the advantage, driving the Greeks back to their warships, even setting one afire. Hector, King Priam’s favorite son, had led the attack against the ships. “We’re driving those mongrel dogs away!” he exulted, and it seemed he was right.

But on this particular day, forty-seven Trojan soldiers appeared, bringing news that the tide had turned. Achilles, Greece’s greatest warrior, had just killed Hector in single combat. This was a terrible blow to the Trojans: they loved Hector as only people under siege can love a strong protector.

And now, to their horror, Achilles had tied Hector’s body to his chariot and was dragging it around the city walls. The prince, he swore, would never have a proper burial; his corpse would go to the dogs and crows.

It was an act of defilement so obscenely vengeful that even the gods were taken aback.

“Steal it.”

“What?”

“You’re the Prince of Thieves; steal Hector’s body. Achilles is destroying it.” Apollo and I were outside Taenarus Cave. It was dawn, one of the few times of day I was idle, and my brother stood before me with stubble on his jaw and shadows under his eyes. He looked as if he’d been awake for days and was so lackluster that he could have passed for a mortal.

I stared at him in disbelief. “Who sent you?” I asked, wondering if it was Zeus, hoping it was.

“Artemis and Aphrodite and I talked it over. We decided together.” When I was silent, partly out of disappointment, Apollo said, “I know you want to keep your distance from the war, and I respect that. But won’t you help just this once?” His knowing blue eyes held mine. “It’s gotten really ugly.”

I see the dead every day,
I thought.

“I’ve missed you.”

And I’ve missed you,
I thought, but I didn’t say it. Apollo hadn’t bothered to seek me out since the war began—until this moment, when he wanted a favor.

“What you’re asking is impossible,” I said curtly.

He saw that I was angry, and he probably knew why. When he colored a little, I was pleased that I’d shamed him.

“Hera and Athena will torment me until the end of time if I help you. Surely you know that.”

His color deepened. One of Apollo’s most endearing qualities is the ease with which he blushes. It happens when he’s rattled or even thinking of lying. I suspect that’s why he sticks to the truth—he knows his face will betray him.

“I do,” he admitted. “But we’re desperate. And Father isn’t helping.”

“Why not?” I couldn’t help it. I was curious.

“I don’t know. I thought he was fond of Priam, didn’t you?”

I shrugged. “I assumed so. He backed Troy, after all.”

“Well, you’d think he’d take pity on the man,” said Apollo. “Ever since Hector died, Priam’s been sitting in the palace courtyard, rocking back and forth and wailing. He won’t sleep or eat, and it won’t be long before he dies of heartbreak, unless . . .”

“. . . he gets Hector’s body back. Which requires help from Zeus. Who’s withholding it,” I finished.
Why I
hate war,
I thought.

“Can’t you think of a way to reach him?” asked Apollo. “You know him so well.”

“Knew,”
I corrected. “
Knew
him so well. We haven’t spoken since the war started. He wouldn’t listen to me then. Why would he listen to me now?” Then I asked, “What about you? Why don’t you talk to him?”

“Hera won’t let me. She doesn’t care if the body rots.”

Typical,
I thought. Hera and Athena still bore a huge grudge against Paris for the beauty contest on Mount Ida. They despised all Trojans, dead or alive.

“There must be a way to get around her,” I mused, “some way to enlist Father’s help without letting her know.” And then it came to me. “Why not send him a dream?” Apollo had the power to send prophetic dreams, very persuasive ones. Their messages, whether hopeful or dire, were hard to ignore. Even Almighty Zeus might heed one.

Apollo considered it, then clapped me on the shoulder. “Good idea, Hermes!”

Coming from him, this was high praise indeed, and I warmed to it. “Meanwhile,” I said, “tell Aphrodite to dress Hector’s body so it doesn’t decompose. Put her unguents and lotions to some good use for a change.” Aphrodite had a store of cosmetics that could fill Ares’ armory, everything from oil of musk to bat saliva. Their youth-enhancing properties were fabled. Aphrodite doled them out to the other goddesses in exchange for favors. Even the ageless were vain.

Apollo shook his head. “She won’t budge from Olympus. She’s been afraid to go anywhere near the fighting since she got hit.” The Greek captain Diomedes had actually wounded Aphrodite early in the war, when she appeared in battle with the Trojans. No mortal had ever attacked a god before; it had caused such a stir that even I’d heard about it.
Get ready for an unhappy death,
Diomedes,
I remembered thinking,
because it’s coming for
you.

“But Hector’s body isn’t on the battlefield,” I said, repeating something I’d heard from one of the dead. “It’s in the Greek camp, outside Achilles’ tent.”

“Of course!” Apollo smacked his forehead. “She’ll be perfectly safe if she cloaks herself in fog. I’ll remind her.” He smiled at me gratefully. Now that he had a course of action, his radiance reemerged, and he fairly shone with purpose. “Thank you, brother.”

Keep in touch,
I thought, wondering if he would.

TWENTY-SEVEN

The next morning Iris, the Rainbow Goddess, came to see me, announcing her arrival with a flash of light and a whispered greeting. I wondered why I was getting so many live visitors all of a sudden. It was a little unsettling.

“Iris,” I said. “Welcome! You’re looking very well.” This was a lie. Iris’ chiton was ragged and splattered with blood, and her winged sandals were filthy. In fact, I had never seen her looking so bedraggled. She worked as Zeus’ messenger when I wasn’t around, and she was usually immaculate, radiating waves of brilliant, hypnotic color every time she moved.

“Thanks, but let’s not waste our time on pleasantries,” she said hoarsely. “Zeus wants to see you.”

“He does?” I asked, with embarrassing eagerness.

“He does. Between you and me, I hope he’s calling you back to work, because I’m worn out. I’ve been heralding for him
and
Hera, and they’re running me ragged! First Zeus sends me down to the Trojans. Then Hera sends me down to the Greeks. I’m flying to earth five or six times a day! My voice is ruined, and I’m so tired I can hardly cast a decent rainbow anymore.”

I made a sympathetic noise.

“I need a good long rest in some desert country,” she said, “as far from Troy as I can get.” She looked at me. “Don’t just stand there, Hermes, put on your winged sandals! You know he doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

Hera and Athena were in the audience hall when I got there, flanking Zeus’ empty throne. A moment later Ares showed up, begrimed and armored, followed by Apollo, Artemis, and Aphrodite. I was surprised and crestfallen; I had expected to see Zeus alone.

Then he strode into the hall, his solemn bearing deepening the silence around him. He sat. When I stepped forward, he nodded in greeting but did not rise, much less embrace me, though we hadn’t seen each other in years. He was as distant as if I were the envoy of some obscure Druidic cult, come to invite him to the opening of a new rock circle.

I stepped back, appalled and trying not to show it. Then his scepter flashed like winter lightning, and he spoke. “Achilles’ desecration of Hector’s body has gone on long enough,” he pronounced. “It must stop. He will release the body for burial without delay. Hermes Wayfinder will oversee it.”

This was Zeus in all his icy majesty, his voice ringing like a great bronze bell. I heard the anger in it—we all did—and wondered why he had chosen to summon me this way, before so many of the other gods. Then, seeing the frozen faces of Hera and Athena, I understood. Zeus was sending me on an errand, true, but he was also delivering a message to Achilles’ most powerful supporters. By denouncing the Greek champion, he was telling Hera and Athena to stop interfering in the war.

I felt a long, sweet tingle of hope. I had never known Zeus to rebuke the goddesses this way. Could he be tiring of the war? Had he decided to end it somehow? “Let it be so,” I murmured, and he looked at me. I thought I saw affection in his dark eyes, but I couldn’t be sure.

“King Priam will go to Achilles tonight, with ransom for Hector’s body,” he decreed. “You, Hermes, will guide him there, keeping him safe behind enemy lines. When his business is finished, you will escort him back to Troy.” The scepter flashed, dismissing me.

I bowed deeply.
That must have been some dream
Apollo sent!
I thought, flying out of the hall.

TWENTY-EIGHT

In his day Priam had been a force to reckon with. He’d fathered fifty sons, an impressive number for a mortal. He’d been a sensible, pious king, offering generously to Zeus. And he’d amassed great riches, a fortune in gold and jewels that was said to be tucked away somewhere in the palace, nobody knew where. Priam kept its location secret from everyone, even his own family. The treasure was legendary, and the Greeks speculated endlessly about it.

And now the treasure is leaving,
I thought.

It was nightfall. I hovered invisibly outside the city gates, watching Priam and his lone attendant Idaeus. Hours before, Zeus had sent the old king a message through Iris: Achilles would surrender Hector’s body in exchange for a sizable ransom. “Give him enough to melt his rage” were Zeus’ instructions, and Priam had obeyed.

Now Idaeus, an aging, blunt-faced fellow with hair as white as the king’s, drove a donkey wagon heaped high with riches: woolen robes and blankets; bronze tripods; stacks of gold bars; amber, coral, and lapis beads; copper cauldrons; leopard skins; silver goblets. Truly a king’s ransom, it was loaded atop the long wicker box that would serve as Hector’s coffin.

If Priam had ever hoarded his riches,
I reflected,
that
time was over.

The great city gates closed behind them. The king’s stallions, hitched to his war chariot, pranced onto the plain with eye-rolling, pent-up energy. They’d been inside the walled city too long and wanted to run. Priam kept them reined in—he was a born horseman—but only with great effort.

Idaeus watched with concern, but he knew better than to suggest changing places with the king. Slaves drove donkeys; royalty did not. So Idaeus whipped his team until they took the lead. Priam’s horses, forced to follow their lowly cousins, finally settled.

As they drove on, Idaeus peered ahead into the darkness, watching for Greek scouts or guards. Priam, on the other hand, seemed to be looking inward. Once or twice I saw his mournful eyes sweep the plain. I wondered if he was remembering Troy’s glory days, when it was strong and prosperous. Perhaps he was picturing Hector out here, training his beloved horses.

Poor man,
I thought.

After a time the moon rose, revealing the Greek encampment in the distance. A vast sprawl of men, animals, and rough-hewn dwellings, it extended all the way down to the beach. There were hundreds of tents; livestock pens and horse lines by the dozen; clusters of war chariots, some upturned for repair; cooking hearths; store sheds; and altars. Soldiers beyond counting lay on the ground asleep.

But
were
they asleep?

Priam and Idaeus, seeing what lay ahead of them, had come to a halt. Now the wind gusted their way, bringing a chorus of sighs, whispers, and drowsy chatter. But there were no snores. They exchanged a worried look. Many Greeks, it seemed, were still awake. It was easy to guess what the two men were thinking.

Zeus had promised them help in traveling safely to Achilles. Had he led them here only to betray them? Devout as Priam was, he knew all too well how fickle the gods could be. They had smiled on him once, then turned away. Now he could only endure their cold caprices. Resignation froze his face.

Poor man,
I thought again.
He needs reassurance.
Before revealing myself, I raised my golden staff, Caduceus. It was a fine tool, with many powers: it could induce sleep, encourage obedience, and erase memories. Now, waving it once, I cast a spell over the Greek encampment. As quick as thought, every soldier, sheep, horse, chicken, louse, and flea was fast asleep.

How wonderfully easy,
I thought, pleased
. I don’t do
this often enough
.

Then I took off my cap.

Both men froze. Priam released a long, shuddering breath when he recognized me. “Hermes?” he asked.

“Yes, King,” I said, and he lowered himself to the ground facedown, arms outstretched in supplication. Idaeus quickly dropped beside him, his broad back twitching with fear.

I told them to rise. Idaeus was on his feet with his head bowed before Priam had struggled to his knees. Seeing that he needed help, I pulled him up, grasping both his bony elbows. The flesh of his arms was as soft and wrinkled as an old wineskin.

“You’ve come to guide us?” His voice quavered a little.

“As promised,” I said, and at this he shook his head repeatedly, as if making a point in conversation with himself. Then he looked up at me with abject gratitude.

“You’ll be safe,” I told him. “I’ve made sure of that. Look.” I pointed with my staff. Nothing whatsoever moved in the encampment; it was as still as one of the temple friezes at Delphi, and—in my opinion—an even more impressive sight. “They’re asleep,” I said with satisfaction.

Idaeus made a guttural noise of amazement.

I took up the reins of Priam’s war chariot. “I’ll drive you in,” I said. “Climb on. Idaeus will follow.”

Priam hesitated. Then he said, “Tell me, please, Lord Hermes . . .” He faltered and began again. “Is he . . . is Hector—?” He couldn’t finish. But I knew the terrible question he was trying to ask. Had Achilles made good his threat? Had he thrown Hector’s body to the dogs?

I set his mind at ease. “His body is unharmed. Perfect. Without blemish. The gods have protected it for you.”

He nodded rapidly, turning his face away. Idaeus let out a groan of relief.

When they were ready, I led them down to Achilles’ tent.