[Troy 02] - Shield of Thunder

by David Gemmell

  “I was wondering why you were going to Lord Hektor unannounced.”

  “How do you know I am unannounced?”

  “He would have sent a carriage for you and a company of horse.”

  “You know him?”

  He shook his head. “He has spoken to me, but I do not know him. Great man, though.”

  “So everyone keeps telling me.”

  He glanced at her, then grinned. It made him seem suddenly boyish. “My brother serves with Hektor. Was with him at Kadesh.”

  “Yes, yes, a great warrior. I have heard it all before, Cheon.”

  “I wasn’t going to speak of war, lady. All men know Hektor is a fighter. His greatness, though, lies in the small things. He knows the names of his men, the names of their wives. My brother is not an officer. He spoke to Hektor once, as they sat by a stream. He told him of his pregnant wife. When the child was born, Hektor sent a gold cup as a birth gift.” He turned away. “I suppose that it doesn’t sound like much.”

  “Yes, it does,” Andromache said. “It would surprise me to learn that my father knew any soldier’s name. He would never consider sending a gift to one.” She stepped out into the sunlight and walked on. Cheon fell into step beside her. A breeze began to blow, and a few puffballs of cloud blocked the sun. As they made their way downhill, it was cooler, the breeze whispering over puddles from the previous day’s rain.

  At last they saw the farm and the horse pastures beyond. The main building was old, stone-built, single-storied, and flat-roofed. The three structures around it were timber-built and tall, with wide doors. One was obviously a stable; the other two, Andromache guessed, were either storehouses or barns.

  In front of the main house men were trying to catch a pig that had broken through a fence. The beast turned and charged at the men, scattering them. Then it slipped in the mud, rolled over, and collided with the broken fence. In that instant a huge man, bare-chested and mud-covered, hurled himself at the animal. It darted away, and the giant slithered face-first into the fence to loud laughter from his fellows.

  Andromache heard their laughter carried on the wind, and her heart lifted. As she and Cheon made their way down the hill, the men formed a semicircle around the pig, trying to herd it back behind the fence. But it ran at them again. This time the mud-covered giant timed his leap better, massive arms circling the pig’s shoulders. It grunted and struggled, but the man pinned it down. Amazingly, he then surged to his feet, the enormous pig in his arms. Slithering in the mud, he staggered into the enclosure.

  The others grabbed a fence rail and slid it into position. The man dropped the startled pig, then turned and ran back for the fence. Instantly the pig gave chase. The man reached the fence just ahead of the angry beast and vaulted it. He landed on a slick patch of mud and skidded from his feet. Once more laughter burst out. The man sat up, trying to brush the mud from his face and hair. Then he saw Andromache.

  Slowly Hektor climbed to his feet. “This is an unexpected pleasure,” he said.

  Andromache did not reply. Her mind fled back to the tent of the seer Aklides, who had predicted the three great loves of her life. The first was Helikaon. The second was the Oak.

  “And how will I know him?” she had asked.

  “He will rise from the mud, his body caked with the filth of pigs.”

  Andromache’s mouth was dry, her head spinning. The now familiar feeling of nausea swept through her. “We need to speak, you and I,” she managed to say.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  ANDROMACHE’S CHOICE

  Andromache waited in the cool of the main room, its windows shuttered against the bright sunlight. A young servant brought her a bowl of fruit and a jug of water. Sliced yellow fruit floated on the surface. The girl filled a cup and passed it to her. Andromache thanked her. She was slim and fair, with large blue eyes. For a moment Andromache was reminded of Kalliope. “You are very lovely,” she told the girl, reaching out and stroking her face.

  “Thank you, Princess,” the girl replied, and Andromache saw her pupils widen.

  How strange are the emotions, Andromache thought. Here I am, about to face my doom, and yet I can feel my blood stirring and the need in me to draw a servant into an embrace. With a soft sigh she turned away from the girl and looked around the room. The furnishings were functional, with not a sign of gilding or engraving. There were three long couches and five deep chairs. On the stone floor was a huge rug decorated with autumnal colors. Despite the lack of adornment, the room had a welcoming feel. Without the burden she now carried, it would be a place Andromache could enjoy.

  She sipped her water, trying to think of what to say when the Trojan prince returned from his bath. But her thoughts were clouded, random images intruding: Helikaon crying out in the ecstasy of delirium, Kalliope dancing on the Night of Artemis, herself standing on the upper gallery of the king’s megaron, shooting arrows down into the Mykene. So much had happened in these last few months.

  And now this. The seer’s vision must have been misinterpreted, she thought. Yes, he had seen this moment—no doubt about it—and had somehow, perhaps, sensed the power of Andromache’s emotions. Yet Hektor could not be a great love of her life. She felt no rush of blood when she gazed upon him, no yearning to touch him, to be close, to feel his lips upon hers.

  Moving to the far wall, she gazed up at the shield hanging there. It was an old piece, black oxhide stretched over a wooden frame. There was a white decoration at the center: a leaping stag.

  “It was carried by a Thrakian rebel,” Hektor said, entering the room behind her. “He gave it to me. I rather like it. Simple, well made.”

  She swung toward him. His golden hair was wet from the bath, and he was dressed in a tunic of pale gold. For a moment it seemed the large room had shrunk, and as he approached her, the size of him was daunting.

  “You move very quietly for a big man.”

  “I have learned to walk softly around women,” he said with a shy smile.

  “Or indeed not to walk around them at all.”

  His gaze shifted from hers. “I apologize, Andromache. I have neglected you.”

  “It is of no matter. I am here to ask you to release me from this duty of marriage.”

  He said nothing but filled a cup with water and drank. The silence lengthened. Andromache had not known what to expect, but she had thought there would be some angry response. Instead he gave a rueful smile and moved to a couch. “Come, sit,” he said gently. “Let us talk awhile.”

  “What is there to say?”

  Hektor regarded her gravely, and when he spoke, his tone was regretful. “If only it were that simple, I would grant your request in an instant. You are a fine, brave woman, and you deserve far more than I can offer. However, this match was not made by me but by Hekabe and Priam. I am as much bonded to their will as you are. In this we cannot escape our fate, Andromache.”

  “It is not a question of escape,” she told him. “I cannot wed you.”

  He gazed at her, and she felt the power of his blue eyes. “You love another. I can understand that. Not many of royal birth get to marry those they love.”

  “Yes, I love another,” she said, drawing in a deep breath, “but that is not the problem.” The moment was there, and she could avoid it no longer. “I am with child.” Her green eyes looked defiantly at him, awaiting the eruption of his righteous fury. But there was no angry outburst.

  “Father never did waste time,” he said. “And now you know Hektor’s shame.” He did not look at her but took a deep breath and leaned forward. “I have faced many dangers in my life and many fears, but this moment is the worst. Of course I can understand why you would not wish to wed me. Who would?”

  Andromache sat quietly for a moment. That he thought the father was Priam was obvious, but the rest left her nonplussed. Rising to her feet, she crossed the room to sit beside him.

  “I have not been bedded by Priam,” she told him. “I refused his advances.”

 
He turned toward her then, blue eyes locking to her green gaze. “Then who is the father?” The question was softly asked. In that moment several thoughts struck her. She was sitting close now to a man of enormous physical strength, yet she felt no threat. Instead there was a curious comfort in his nearness, and she was surprised by it. In all her thoughts of this meeting she had never expected to feel so… so safe. All tension faded from her, and sitting quietly in the shaded room, she told him of Helikaon’s sickness, and the words of the Prophet, and her foolishness in sharing his bed. He listened quietly. “So it is Helikaon you love?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he loves you?”

  “He said that he did when we both thought you were dead.”

  “And he has married Halysia. What foolish people we nobles are. Does he know of the child?”

  “No. Nor will he. He was delirious and believes it was a dream he had. He has no memory of our lying together.” And then the walls of her resistance crumbled to dust, and despair overwhelmed her. Tears began to flow, and she was sobbing. Hektor leaned toward her, drawing her close. Not since she had been a child in her father’s arms had she felt so protected. Hektor said nothing, merely holding her quietly, his hand gently patting her back as if she were a babe.

  After a while she managed to halt the sobs and draw in deep, shuddering breaths.

  Only then did Hektor speak. “Priam must not find out, Andromache. I love him, but he would have you walled alive or strapped into a box and hurled into the sea. His rages are towering, his punishments barbaric. But I do not know how we can fool him.”

  “Are you still willing to marry me?”

  Hektor smiled at her. “I can think of no greater honor for me.”

  Relief swept through her. “Then the problem is solved. The wedding is soon now. My pregnancy is new, and no one will question it if I give birth a few days early.”

  “The problem is not solved,” he said sadly. “Father will know the child is not mine.”

  “How?”

  Hektor leaned back from her. “You do not know, then?” He closed his eyes and turned away. “I have dreaded this moment,” he said. “It has hung over me, haunting even my dreams.”

  She reached out and took his hand. “If I am to be your wife, I will stand by you loyally. Nothing you tell me will be breathed to another.”

  For a while he remained silent. Then he walked to the table and poured himself a goblet of water. “I would sooner face armed men than have this conversation,” he said.

  “Then don’t have it,” Andromache said. “I do not want to cause you pain.”

  “No, it needs to be said. I may not be a man, but I am not a coward.” Returning to the couch, he sat alongside her. “Two years ago I was wounded and likely to die. Spear thrust into the groin. I regained my strength, but something vital was lost to me.” He took a deep breath. “I cannot father children, Andromache, or enter a woman. Only Priam and the surgeon knew this, and Priam had the surgeon strangled. He could not bear any to know his son’s shame.”

  Andromache stared at him, her fears and concerns diminished by the weight of his grief. “A man is not defined by his prick,” she said. His head jerked around, and she saw his surprise. “Yes,” she said with a smile, “even a priestess knows the vulgar words. The one-eyed snake, the red spear, the spitting serpent. Listen to me, Hektor. If I didn’t know before today, then I know now that you are a fine man. And I grieve for your loss, for I understand how men prize their parts, bragging about the size of them, the thickness of them. And I will not lie to you. Your loss will be my loss also. Understand this, though: I would sooner have a man with heart, who cares for others and will love my child, than an uncaring idiot with a stiff prick. Not a man? That is nonsense.”

  He turned to her and took her hand, lifting it to his lips. “I thank you for that,” he said. “It was gracious of you.”

  “No,” she said. “Do not allow yourself to believe I am some sycophant trying to please you. I am Andromache, and I speak the truth. Look into my eyes, Hektor, and tell me if you see a lie there.”

  She gazed at him frankly and watched him relax. “No,” he said at last. “I see no lie.”

  “Will you trust me to deal with this problem and not question my decision?” she asked him.

  “I will trust you,” he told her.

  “Good. Then have a carriage brought around to take me back to the city. And tomorrow I will move here so that we can sit and talk and learn of one another.”

  A little while later, as they stood beside the wagon, Hektor took her hand. “I will be a good husband to you, Andromache of Thebe,” he said.

  “I know that, Hektor of Troy,” she replied. Emotion surged in her again, and tears formed. “You will be my Oak,” she told him, her voice breaking.

  Ordering the driver to take her and Cheon to the gates of Priam’s palace, she sat back in her seat. Cheon, apparently sensitive to her need for reflection, said nothing during the journey. Once at the palace, she instructed him to wait for her, then strode through the megaron, telling a servant that she wished to see the king on a matter of urgency.

  This time she was not made to wait.

  Priam was in the queen’s apartments. He rose as she was ushered in, then waited until the servant had departed. “What is so urgent?” he asked.

  “I have been to see Hektor,” she said, and was struck by the physical similarity between the two men. Priam was not as hugely built, but the shape of his face and the power of his eyes were almost identical to his son’s.

  “And?”

  “I now understand why you pursue me.”

  “He told you? That must have been hard for him. So why are you here?”

  “You know why,” she said, anger in her voice.

  “You seek to dissolve this marriage?”

  “No. If I did, I would not survive. I would die like the surgeon who treated him.”

  He nodded. “You are an intelligent woman.”

  “I will grant your desire, but I have conditions.”

  “Name them. I will grant them all.” She could see the eagerness in his eyes now, his face flushing.

  “I will come to your bed only once in every full phase of the moon. I will do this until a doctor confirms I am with child. After that you will never attempt to bed me again. You agree?”

  “I agree.” He laughed then, opening his arms. “So come to me, Shield of Thunder.”

  And she stepped into his embrace.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE FEAR OF KALLIADES

  Workmen had labored all night under torchlight to complete the games areas. A large section of flat ground had been leveled and stamped to create a stadium for the runners and javelin throwers, the jumpers, the boxers, and the wrestlers. A long hippodrome had been created some four hundred paces west of the stadium, with a high embankment that was now set with benches and seats for the privileged. There the chariot and horse races would be held. The main judges’ dais had been erected at the hippodrome, with intricately fashioned seats of ivory and wood inlaid with gold. A second, smaller dais had been constructed at the stadium. The organization of the games, under the direction of the king’s son Polites, had been fraught with difficulties. No one had known how many competitors would seek to participate or, indeed, the size of the crowds. Initially Polites had thought a few hundred athletes would travel to Troy. Already there were more than a thousand. As to those wishing to enjoy the spectacle, the estimates had risen from six thousand to around sixteen thousand. Even that figure was beginning to look conservative.

  Polites paced back and forth before the smaller judges’ dais in the stadium. The dawn sun had not long cleared the horizon, and the last of the work was being completed, carpenters putting in place lines of benches, laborers dragging trestle tables from the backs of carts or hoisting linen canopies to shade the seating areas of the nobles.

  Sixteen thousand! Polites rubbed at his temples. The headache had been with him for
the last five days. Sixteen thousand people needing to eat, to urinate, to defecate, needing to be kept cool in the midday sun with supplies of water. For the common people there were latrine pits, but special buildings had been constructed where nobles could piss into pots like civilized folk.

  Polites strode across the stadium, passing under the columned roof of the new palaistra, where athletes would prepare. Closed off from public scrutiny, the competitors could discuss tactics with their trainers, or hire masseurs, or take cold baths. Here, too, were the rooms of Asklepios, where physicians and surgeons would tend those wounded in the more dangerous events. Cuts to the faces of boxers would be stitched here, and the broken limbs of charioteers would be set. The greatest number of injuries would result from the chariot races, especially the four-horse contests. Not so much, Polites knew, from collisions, but from the sharp turns at either end of the long, narrow track. The course was set between two strong posts. To minimize the distance traveled, a skillful charioteer would rein in the inner horses while giving the outer beasts their heads. This would swing the chariot around the posts at speed. However, timing was crucial. Two years earlier, in Thraki, Polites had witnessed a ghastly accident. The charioteer Kreunos, famous for his skill, had been in the lead when he had mistimed his turn. The hub of his wheel struck the post, splintering the axle and catapulting the chariot into the air. Entangled in the reins, Kreunos was helpless. The horses ran wild, and Kreunos was smashed into the rails separating the crowd from the racers. His right leg was almost torn from his body, and he died a few days later.

  Inside the palaistra Polites saw workmen filling the newly built baths under the guidance of the foreman, Choros, a slender Thrakian. Polites had come to trust the man implicitly. Beneath a gentle demeanor Choros was ferociously efficient, and only the very foolish gave less than their best when working for him.

  “Greetings, my lord,” Choros said. “Fear not, we will be ready.”

  “The regiments will be here soon,” Polites said. It was a redundant comment. Choros was well aware that this was the Day of the Judges. Polites’ mouth was dry, his heart hammering. Priam would be arriving soon after the regiments, and with him would be many of the guests. It would be appalling should anything go wrong on this first day. Priam would shame him before the kings.