Lord of the Silver Bow

by David Gemmell

  Laodike had listed names, but most of them had flown by Andromache with the speed of hunting hawks. Some had registered, but only after she had met the men they applied to: watery-eyed Polites, the king’s chancellor; fat Antiphones, his master of horse. It would have amazed Andromache if the wheezing man could actually mount a horse. Then there was Deiphobos, the prince of the harbor. More commonly called Dios, he looked a little like Helikaon, though without the inherent power. In fact, he had frightened eyes, she thought.

  She realized Axa was regarding her with a worried frown. “The pretty sandals, my lady . . .” She faltered.

  “Do you have them, Axa?”

  “Yes, my lady, but . . . they are not appropriate.”

  “Do not argue with me,” she said. “You fear the king’s anger. I understand that. But you should fear my anger, too.” She kept her voice pleasant but looked hard into Axa’s face, and the young woman dropped her eyes.

  “I’m sorry, my lady, but you do not understand. You cannot wear sandals. You are to meet the king on the great tower. The steps are treacherous, and his orders were for you to wear suitable shoes.”

  Later, striding through the stone streets in the growing dawn light, Axa hurrying behind her and two royal Eagles in armor of bronze and silver by her side, Andromache wondered what game Priam was playing. She wished she had had a chance to speak to Laodike about the king’s strange choice of a meeting place.

  She had heard a great deal of gossip about Priam in her seven days in Troy, most of it admiring, all of it meaningless. He was said to have fifty sons, Axa had confided to her, although the queen had borne him just four. He was known to have been a great bull in his youth, and many of those sons, recognized by him or not, had made their home in Troy, close to the glory of their father. The king, now on his throne for over forty years, still had an eye for a pretty young girl, said another maid, giggling. Andromache had felt repulsed. Just another old man who could not accept the fact that his rutting days were decently over, she had thought. But then, rich men were also powerful men, and power was an aphrodisiac. And Priam was said to be the richest man in the world.

  She had been astonished by the treasures she had seen in the king’s megaron and in the queen’s apartments and the gold and jewels that Laodike thought normal daily wear. Laodike was always festooned with gold, her wrists and throat sporting an assortment of bracelets, bangles, and necklets, her corn-colored hair intertwined with gold wire, her gowns weighed down with brooches. None of that made her more pretty, thought Andromache. The jewels only served to draw attention to her small hazel eyes, her long nose, and a slightly receding chin. What she had, though, to compensate was a smile of dazzling beauty and a sweet nature that made her lovable.

  “Poor Andromache,” Laodike had said, putting her arm through her new sister’s. “You have no jewelry, no gold at all, only a few cheap beads and a little silver. I shall make my father give you gold, amber, and carnelian necklets and earrings to match your eyes and gold chains to adorn your dainty ankles . . . and,” she said, laughing gleefully, “your big feet.”

  “Big feet are said to be very beautiful,” Andromache had replied gravely. “The bigger the better.”

  She smiled to herself now, looking down at those feet encased in the clumsy rope-soled sandals Axa had borrowed for her. Then she looked up. The great tower of Ilion, standing proud at the south wall of Troy, was almost twice as high as the main city walls and was by far the tallest building she had ever seen. As she walked down the hill toward it, she could see the ever-present guards on its roof. They looked like tiny insects, the rising sun glinting off their helmets and spear tips.

  When she had asked Axa about her summons to the great tower, the maid had been strangely reticent. “It must be a great honor,” she had said doubtfully. “King Priam sometimes goes there to look over his city and to scan the sea and land for invaders. He is watchful for his people.”

  “Does he usually greet visitors on the great tower of Ilion?”

  Axa blushed and refused to meet her eyes. “I don’t know. I don’t know what the king does. It is the highest point in the city. It must be a great honor,” she repeated.

  Andromache caught a look of dismay on her maid’s face, and she put her arms around her and hugged her close.

  “I have a head for heights,” she reassured the woman. “Don’t worry.”

  They entered the huge square tower at its base, just inside the Scaean Gate. The stone wall was very thick, and inside the tower it was cold and damp. Andromache saw a narrow flight of stone stairs spiraling up into the darkness. She looked up and saw that the tower was merely a dank square shaft of empty air illuminated at intervals by holes punched through the thickness of the walls. The stairs hugged the inside walls in a series of sharp inclines, followed by horizontal walkways to the next rise, until they reached a tiny square of light high above. There was no handrail. Torches flickered in wall brackets, and one of the soldiers lit a brand to carry up the steps.

  “Do you wish me to come with you, my lady?”

  Andromache saw that Axa’s eyes were huge and frightened in the torchlight, her hands straying unconsciously to her swollen belly. “No. Stay here. Wait for me,” Andromache replied.

  “Do you want the water?” Axa started to unsling the water skin she held on her hip.

  Andromache thought for moment and then told her, “No, keep it. I might want it later.”

  She realized the two soldiers were preparing to escort her up. She held out her hand. “Give me the torch,” she demanded.

  The torch carrier, unsure, casting an eye at his fellow, passed the brand to her.

  “Stay here,” she told them curtly, and before they could move she set off swiftly up the stairs, stepping lightly on the shiny stone.

  On and up she climbed, her legs, strengthened by her many hours of walking or running on Thera, pushing her up the steep flights. Each step was nearly knee-high, and she felt her body enjoying the exercise, her thighs and calves thrilling to be worked so hard. She had never suffered from the sickness sparked by heights, but she was not tempted to look down to see how far she had climbed. She looked up instead, toward the small square of light.

  She felt she had the measure of the old king now. He had asked her to the tower to daunt her, perhaps to humiliate her, hoping she would collapse in tears at the foot of the tower and have to be carried up like a child. She was amazed that a king with such power, such riches, should feel the need to prove his superiority over a young woman. Petty bullies I can deal with, she thought.

  The steps became narrower as she neared the top, and they seemed much more worn and slick with damp. She became conscious of the dark abyss to her right and placed her feet more carefully as she climbed. She wondered why the stairs would be most worn at the top of the tower. Then she realized and laughed. She stopped and held her torch high. Thirty or so steps below her, on the other side of the tower, was a dark recess. In it there was a narrow door. She had not seen it as she passed. It must be a door leading to the battlements of the south wall. The old man would have come that way, leaving her to climb the full height of the tower. Priam, she thought, already I do not like you.

  When she emerged at the top, it was with a sense of relief. The brightness of the low sun hurt her eyes and the wind buffeted her hair, and for a moment she was disoriented. She looked around slowly, steadying her breathing.

  The wooden roof was half the size of the king’s megaron yet empty except for four guards, one at each corner of the tower, motionless and staring outward. A tall, wide-shouldered man was standing on the battlements of the southwest wall, the wind blowing through his long silver-gold hair.

  He was powerfully built and deeply tanned. He wore a blue full-length tunic, and despite the coolness of the dawn, his tanned, muscular arms were bare. He was in profile to her, and she saw a high beaked nose and a strong jaw. He did not appear to have seen her, and she stood uncertainly.

  “Well, are you
going to stand there all day, girl?” he said, not turning.

  Andromache walked over to him and stood, head bowed. “I am Andromache of Thebe—”

  The king turned suddenly. She was surprised at how young and vital he was. His height and the width of his shoulders dominated her, and his physical presence was colossal.

  “Have you not been taught how to address your king, girl? On your knees.”

  He loomed over her, and she was almost forced to her knees by his presence alone. Instead she straightened her back. “In Thebe Under Plakos we do not bow the knee to anyone, not even the gods.”

  Priam leaned in close so that she could see the yellowish whites of his eyes and smell the morning wine on his breath. He said quietly, “You are not in little Thebe now. I will not tell you again.”

  At that moment there was a clattering on the staircase and a Royal Eagle climbed onto the roof. His helmet bore the black-and-white crest of a captain. He strode quickly to the king.

  “Lord.” He glanced at Andromache and hesitated. Priam gestured impatiently for him to go on. “Lord, we have him! Someone must have warned him, for he had almost made it to the Egypteian ship. He is being questioned now.”

  “Excellent! I shall attend the questioning later.” The king was still looking down at the bay. “Is that monstrosity Helikaon’s new ship?”

  “Yes, sir, the Xanthos. It arrived late last night.”

  Andromache’s interest quickened. She watched Priam closely but could not see from his expression whether he considered it good news or bad. After a moment he dismissed the captain and turned to regard Andromache again.

  “Let me show you my city,” he said, then sprang lightly up onto the high battlement wall before turning and holding out his hand to Andromache.

  She did not hesitate, and he took hold of her wrist, drawing her up to stand alongside him. The wind buffeted her, and she glanced down at the awesome drop.

  “So you will not kneel to me?” he said.

  “I will kneel to no man,” she answered, preparing herself for the push that would send her toppling to her death and ready to haul him with her.

  “You interest me, girl. There is no fear in you.”

  “Nor in you, apparently, King Priam.”

  He looked surprised. “Fear is for weaklings. Look around you. This is Troy. My Troy. The richest and most powerful city in the world. It was not built by fearful men but by men with imagination and courage. Its wealth grows daily, and with it the influence that wealth brings.”

  Suddenly, to Andromache’s surprise, the king reached out and weighed her left breast in his hand. She did not flinch.

  “You will do,” Priam said, taking his hand away and waving his dismissal. “You will breed strong children for me.”

  An icy worm of fear slithered into her heart. “For your son Hektor, I think you mean, my king,” she corrected, her voice harder than was wise.

  More quickly than she could have expected, he stepped toward her, looming over her again. “I am your king,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot and wet. “And Hektor is not here. He may well not return until the spring.”

  The prospect of being confined to Priam’s palace through the long weeks of winter filled Andromache with dismay.

  “You may go now,” said Priam, turning away from her and staring out over the bay.

  Andromache leapt lightly down to the ramparts and walked to the stairway. Then Priam called out to her. She turned toward him.

  “You are still a virgin, I take it.”

  “I am who I am, King Priam,” she replied, unable to keep the anger from her voice.

  “Then remember who you are and what you are,” he advised. “You are the property of Priam until he decides you should become the property of another.”

  XVIII

  THE HOUSE OF SERPENTS

  I

  The House of Serpents was larger than Xander had first imagined. There were four immense buildings set in a square with an open garden area at the center in which an altar had been erected to the god Asklepios.

  There were people everywhere: women in long green gowns, men dressed in white tunics, priests in flowing robes of blue and gold. Then there were crowds of supplicants lining up before three tables set close to the altar. Everyone in the lines carried an offering, some holding caged white doves and others bearing perfumes or gifts of copper or silver. Xander saw that all the supplicants were given a small square of papyrus, which they held to their lips before dropping it into a large copper container beside the priest at the table.

  Mystified, Xander moved through the crowd, wandered around the garden, and then decided to return to his room.

  Except that he had no idea where it was. All four of the buildings looked exactly the same. He entered one, followed a corridor, and found himself in a huge round chamber. There were statues of the gods set into alcoves. At the foot of each statue was a deep cup of silver and a small brazier filled with glowing coals. He recognized the statue of Demeter, goddess of fertility, for she carried a basket of corn in one hand and the babe Persephone held against her breast. Others he could not identify. The air was full of incense, and he saw two priests moving to the statues. The first poured libations of wine into the silver cups, and the second sprinkled papyrus squares onto the fires in the braziers.

  Then Xander understood. The supplicants’ squares were being offered to the gods. He wondered how Demeter would know from the ashes exactly what each worshipper had asked for.

  Moving out of the temple area, he saw Machaon, the healer-priest who had tended him. Xander called out, and Machaon turned his head. He was tall and stoop-shouldered, with short dark hair thinning at the temples. His eyes looked tired.

  “I see you are feeling stronger, Xander,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Do not overexert yourself. You are still recovering.”

  “Yes, sir. Can you tell me where my room is?”

  Machaon smiled. “The house is like a labyrinth. It takes time to find your way around. Do you read symbols?”

  “No, sir.”

  “You are in Fire Seven. Each building here is marked by a different symbol, and each room has a number.” He pointed to the closest door. “The first symbol on the door represents the element after which the area was named.” Xander peered at the symbol carved into the wood. “What does it look like to you?”

  “Like a bow,” Xander answered.

  “I suppose it does,” agreed Machaon. “In fact the upturned half circle is a cup. So this building is Water. The mark below it is the number of the room. To the north is Earth, and the symbol there is a full circle, for all things come from the earth and return to the earth. Fire is directly across the garden from here, and on each door you will see another half circle, resting downward on a straight line. This represents the rising sun. Air is the building to your left. On its walls you will see another half circle standing upright like a sail in the breeze.”

  “Thank you, sir. How do the gods know who kissed the papyrus?”

  Machaon smiled. “The gods see all, Xander. They know what is in our hearts and in our minds.”

  “Why, then, do they need the papyrus at all?”

  “It is a ritual of worship, an indication of respect and adoration. We will talk about that tomorrow when I visit you. And now I must continue my work.” Machaon rose. “You may walk around for a while. But try not to get in anyone’s way.”

  Xander crossed the now-deserted gardens and found his room. He was feeling dreadfully tired and weak. On trembling legs he made it to his bed and lay down. The room seemed to be moving as if it were on a ship. As he lay there he heard his door open, and a figure came into sight.

  It was Helikaon. Xander struggled to rise.

  “Stay where you are, boy,” said the Golden One, sitting down on the bed.

  “Thank you, lord.”

  “The Xanthos is sailing for Dardania soon. Machaon believes you should stay here for the winter.
He says it will take time for your strength to return.”

  Xander did not reply. He was both relieved and disappointed. He had loved being part of the crew, but he dreaded another battle and still had nightmares about burning men.

  Helikaon seemed to read his thoughts. “I am truly sorry that your first voyage should have seen such tragedy. Odysseus tells me you saw Zidantas while you were in your fever.”

  “Yes, lord. Everyone was on the beach, and he was standing with some other men close by. One of them was Epeus.”

  “Epeus died in the battle,” said Helikaon. “Did Zidantas speak to you?”

  “Yes. He told me to think of life and to come back to Troy. I wanted to go with him, but he said he was walking a dark road. He asked me to tell his daughter Thea that she gave him great joy.”

  Helikaon sat silently for a few moments. “I think it was not a dream, Xander,” he said at last. “I think it was a true vision. I will leave gold with the temple to pay for your keep. In the spring I will still have a place for you among my crew. There is something you can do for me, in return.”

  “Anything, lord.”

  “Argurios is here. He was stabbed, and I am told he is dying. I want you to visit him, see to his needs. I have hired other men to watch over him, to prevent the killers from returning. Will you do this for me?”

  “Yes, lord, but Argurios does not like me.”

  “It would surprise me to find that Argurios liked anyone.”

  “What can I do?”

  “He is refusing to eat or drink, so bring him food and water.”

  “Why doesn’t he want to eat?”

  “Evil men have taken away all that he has. I think a part of him does not want to live.”

  “I can’t make him eat, lord.”

  “Tell him you spoke to me and I laughed when I heard of his plight. Tell him I said that one less Mykene warrior in the world was a matter to be celebrated.”

  “He will hate you for that, won’t he?”

  Helikaon sighed. “Yes, I expect he will. Go and find him when you are rested. He is in Air, and his room is close to the portico entrance.”