The Hittite (29 page)

We fled Ephesus that night, sneaking away like thieves, leaving a very disappointed innkeeper who had looked forward to having us stay much longer.

As we rode into the hills and took the southward trail, I wondered if we could have appealed to the city’s council for protection. But fear of the armed might of the Achaians who had just destroyed Troy would have paralyzed the Ephesians, I realized. Their city had no protective walls and no real army, merely a city guard for keeping order in the bawdier districts. Ephesus depended on the goodwill of all for its safety. They would not allow Helen to stay in their city when Menalaos threatened to bring down the wrath of the Achaian host upon them.

So we pushed on, through the growing heat of summer, bearing our booty from Troy. A strange group we were: the fugitive Queen of Sparta, a blind storyteller, a half-dozen professional soldiers from an empire that no longer existed, and two buzzing, chattering, endlessly energetic little boys.

We came to the city of Miletus. Here there were walls, strong ones, and a lively commercial city. I remembered my father telling me that he’d been to Miletus once, when the great emperor Hattusilis was angry with the city and brought his army to its gates. The Miletians were so frightened that they opened their gates and offered no resistance. They
threw themselves upon the emperor’s mercy. And he was magnificent! He slew only the city’s leaders, the men who had displeased him, and forbade his soldiers to touch so much as an egg.

We bought fresh provisions and mounts in the city’s marketplace. From my own hazy knowledge of the area, and from the answers I received from local merchants, Miletus was the last big city on our route for some time. We planned to move inland, through the Mountains of the Bull and across the plain of Cilicia, then along the edge of the Mittani lands and down the coastline of Philistia and Canaan.

But the sounds and smells of another Aegean city were too much for Poletes. He came to me as we started to break our camp, just outside the city walls, and announced firmly that he would go no farther with us. He preferred to remain in Miletus.

“This is a city where I can tell my tales and earn my own bread,” he said to me. “I won’t burden you further, Master Lukka. Please, let me spend my final days singing of Troy and the mighty deeds that were done there.”

“You can’t stay by yourself, old windbag,” I insisted. “You have no house, no shelter of any kind. How will you find food?”

Poletes reached up for my shoulder as unerringly as if he could see. “Let me sit in a corner of the marketplace and tell the tale of Troy,” he said. “I will have food and wine and a soft bed before the sun goes down.”

“Is that what you truly want?”

“I have burdened you long enough, my master. Now let me take care of myself. Release me. You can travel faster without me.”

He stood there before me in the pale light of a gray morning, a clean white scarf over his eyes, a fresh tunic hanging over his scrawny frame. I learned that even blinded eyes can cry. So, almost, did I.

“No telling of Troy until we are safely away from the city,” I warned, trying to make my voice growl.

We embraced like brothers, and he turned without another word and walked slowly toward the city gate, tapping his stick before him.

I sent the others off on the inland road, telling them I would catch up later. I waited half the day, then entered the city. Leaving my horse with the guards at the gate, I made my way on foot to the marketplace. Poletes
sat there cross-legged in the middle of a large and rapidly growing throng, his arms gesturing, his wheezing voice speaking slowly, majestically:

“Then mighty Achilles prayed to his mother, Thetis the Silver-Footed, ‘Mother, my lifetime is destined to be so brief that ever-living Zeus, sky-thunderer, owes me a worthier prize of glory . . .”

I watched for only a few moments. That was enough. Men and women, boys and girls, were rushing up to join the crowd, their eyes fastened on Poletes like the eyes of a bird hypnotized by a snake. Rich merchants, soldiers in chain mail, women of fashion in their colorful robes, city magistrates carrying their wands of office— they all pressed close to hear Poletes’ words. Even the other storytellers, left alone once Poletes began singing of Troy, got up from their accustomed stones and ambled grudgingly across the marketplace to listen to the newcomer.

Poletes had been right, I had to admit. He had found his place. He would be fed and sheltered here, even honored. And as long as we were far away, he could sing of Troy and Helen all he wanted to.

I went back to the city gate; my horse was still there, tethered at a hitching rail with several others. I gave the corporal of the guards a few coppers, then climbed onto my chestnut mount and nosed her up the inland trail. I would never see Poletes again, and that made me feel the sadness of loss.

Time and distance will soften your sorrow, I told myself. You have two little boys to look after. And the fugitive Queen of Sparta.

It was evening by the time I caught up with our two carts and my men. Lukkawi and Uhri ran up to meet me, and I swung them up onto my horse, laughing at the sight of them. Helen sat in one of the carts, watching with eyes that never wavered from me.

We made camp by the roadside as the purple of evening deepened into night’s darkness. We had a long, long road ahead of us. Deserts and rivers and mountains stood between us and distant Egypt.

The campfire slowly guttered into embers. My boys went to sleep in one of the wagons; Helen had the other to herself. The men rolled themselves in their blankets while I sat by the dying fire, on watch.

The night was chill. A solitary wolf howled in the darkness while the
sad, lopsided face of the moon rode high above among scudding clouds. Stars twinkled up in the black bowl of night, like the eyes of the gods watching me.

“Lukka.”

I was startled to hear her voice, and cursed myself for a fool for letting her steal up on me. Some guard!

Helen was wrapped in that dark robe again, although she had let the hood down. Her hair glowed like gold in the pale moonlight.

“I’m glad you returned,” she said, sitting beside me.

“You knew I would.”

“Still . . .” She let the thought hang in the air. At last she said, “I was afraid that maybe . . . something could have happened . . .”

“Nothing could keep me from my sons,” I said.

“Yes. Of course.”

There was something in her voice, a questioning, a seeking. She lapsed into silence, her chin down, her eyes avoiding mine.

I heard myself admit, “And nothing could keep me from you.”

“No,” she whispered, her face still downcast. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it. I bring nothing but death and ruin. I’m cursed, Lukka, cursed by the gods.”

“The gods of Egypt will love you better.”

“But Egypt’s so far away. I thought we could stay in Ephesus, but he’s searching for me! He’s after me!”

“He won’t find you. He doesn’t know we were in Miletus.” But then I thought of Poletes spinning his tale in the marketplace. Menalaos will know we were there soon enough.

“I’m afraid, Lukka. I’m frightened!”

Without thinking, without worrying about the consequences, I took her by the shoulders and pulled her to me. She buried her face in my chest, sobbing like a child. She wasn’t the Queen of Sparta now, nor a princess of Troy. She was a frightened woman fleeing for her life, dependent on my protection. She was the most beautiful woman in the world and she was in my arms, trembling with fear, needing me as much as I wanted her.

I got to my feet and lifted her into my arms and carried her to the wagon. There, amid the blankets and bags and boxes we made love. Not in a palace, not amid royal trappings on a beautifully decked wedding bed. On a cart that smelled of donkeys and sweat and the dust of long, hard travel.

The stars peeked through the tattered clouds and Artemis’ silver moon sank down behind the western hills while Helen and I made love, all other thoughts, all other cares, driven from my mind completely.

But in the gray half-light that preceded true dawn, as Helen slept in my arms, I knew that I would cross deserts and rivers and mountains for this woman. That I would carry her to the ends of the earth to keep her safe, to protect her against the vengeful Menalaos.

Thus our journey from Miletus began.