Lord of the Silver Bow t-1

by David Gemmell

  Inadvertently Cthosis looked up. ‘Released, lord?’ Ahmose was not a handsome man. His face was too rugged, the nose too prominent, the chin too broad. And it had a cleft in it that looked like a scar. But his eyes were dark and magnificent.

  ‘Best you leave tonight,’ said the prince softly. ‘I would suggest travelling to a far place.’ He placed a pouch in Cthosis’ good hand. ‘There is gold there, and a few baubles, rings and such like. I am told they have some value.’ Then he had left.

  The pouch contained fourteen small gold ingots, and several rings set with precious stones. There was also an emerald the size of a dove’s egg. With this fortune Cthosis had travelled to Dardania.

  The shouting began again in the great throne room, jerking Cthosis back to the present. He glanced around the crowd. Many nationalities were represented here.

  He saw Hittites, in their curious woollen leggings, Phrygians, tall and red-headed, Samothrakians, Mykene, Lydians. All wore the clothes of their races.

  Three Babylonians were standing on the far side of the throne room, their beards curled with hot irons. How foolish was that in this wet, autumn climate? There were Trojans – horse traders and chariot makers – who had fallen foul of Priam and made their home in Dardania. They also stood apart, staring disdainfully at the noisy throng.

  ‘You miserable son of an ugly pig!’ someone shouted.

  An odd insult, Cthosis thought. Would it be a compliment to be called the son of a beautiful pig? The two men flew at one another.

  Blows were struck and they fell, struggling, to the stone floor.

  Cthosis considered leaving. No-one would notice the absence of a single merchant among so many angry men. But he did not. He was interested to see this new king.

  He had heard much of Helikaon the trader, and a little of Helikaon the fighter.

  But all he knew of the man’s nature was contained in the story of how he had put aside his rights to the throne in favour of the child, Diomedes, his half-brother. Such an action did not speak highly of his ambition, or indeed of his ruthlessness.

  And ruthlessness was what was required now. Helikaon needed to enter this throne room dressed in armour, and carrying a sword of fire, to quell this mob.

  The two fighting men were dragged apart, still yelling abuse at one another.

  Then the great doors opened, and soldiers marched into the throne room. Garbed in bronze breastplates and helmets, and carrying long spears and deep shields, they formed two lines and stood silently with their backs to the walls. The crowd fell silent and glanced back towards the doors. Cthosis saw a slim young man enter. His long dark hair was tied back from his face by a single strip of leather. His tunic was a pale, listless green, with a blue tinge. Probably privet berries, thought Cthosis, and not enough salt in the boil.

  The young man stepped up to the dais at the far end of the throne room, and halted beside a long table. Then he turned and surveyed the crowd. Men were still talking to one another, and another argument broke out. The young man raised his hand. Immediately all the soldiers began to hammer their spears against their bronze shields. The sudden noise was startling.

  Silence fell on the hall.

  ‘I thank you all for coming. I am Helikaon the king,’ said the young man.

  ‘I hope it’s worth our while,’ shouted someone from the back.

  ‘Let us be clear about something,’ said Helikaon, his voice displaying no anger.

  ‘There will be no interruptions when I speak. The next man whose voice cuts across mine will rue it. I will call upon each of you to voice his thoughts, and – equally – no-one will interrupt you as you speak. That is the only way we will achieve unity.’

  ‘Who says we need unity?’ called out the same man.

  Helikaon raised his hand. Two soldiers moved forward, grabbing the speaker – a red-headed Phrygian – and hauling him from the throne room. ‘Now all of you here,’ continued Helikaon, ‘have grievances. There are enmities, hatreds, discords. We are here to put an end to them. And we will achieve this by discussing our grievances and solving them. Almost all of you men come from lands far away. But when you die your bodies will go into the earth of Dardania, and become part of it. And your spirits will reach out and touch your children, and they too will become the land. They will be Dardanians. Not Phrygians, Maeonians, Trojans, Lydians, but Dardanians.’

  Helikaon fell silent as a soldier, carrying a small sack, moved through the crowd. He advanced to the dais and waited. Helikaon gestured him forward. The man stepped up to the dais, opened the sack, and lifted out a severed head. Cthosis blinked when he saw it. Then the soldier laid the head on the table, where the dead eyes stared out at the crowd. Blood oozed from the mutilated neck, and dripped to the stone floor. It was the head of the red-headed man who only moments before had been hauled from the throne room. ‘Now what I intend to do,’ said Helikaon, his voice still calm and agreeable, ‘is to call each of you forward to speak your minds. I do not do this in any order of preference, and you should not consider yourself slighted if you are not called until later. Are there any questions?’

  The men stood in shocked silence, staring at the head upon the table. ‘Good,’ said Helikaon. ‘Then let us begin. I will speak first. Every man here lives or dies upon my sufferance. Every man here dwells upon my land, and is subject to my laws. Obey those laws and you will prosper. You will be protected by my soldiers, and your wealth will grow. You will be able to come to me, or my generals, and seek help when you need it. Disobey my laws and you will come to rue it. Now what are these laws? They are simple. You will render to me the king’s due from your profits, or your crops, or your herds. You will not take up arms against me, or against any other man under my protection. And that is all men who obey my laws. There will be no blood feuds. Grievances will be brought before me, or those appointed by me. That is where judgements will be sought. Those judgements will be final. Should a man commit murder, I will see him dead, and his entire family sold into slavery. His lands, his goods and his chattels will revert to me.’

  Cthosis listened as the young man continued to speak. Not a sound came from anyone else in the throne room. Helikaon did not refer to the dead man, or even so much as glance at the severed head. The contrast between his measured words and the ghastly image was chilling. When at last he finished speaking he called out for a scribe to be sent for. A middle-aged man with a twisted back entered the room and nervously made his way forward. He was carrying a wicker basket full of soft clay tablets. A soldier brought him a chair and he sat quietly at the end of the table, as far from the severed head as he could. ‘This man,’ said the king, ‘will write down your grievances, and I will examine them later, and give judgement.’ He pointed to a tall, bearded Phrygian. ‘Now we shall begin the discussion. First say your name, then speak your grievance.’ The man cleared his throat. ‘If I speak, lord, and you do not like what you hear, will my head also grace your table, like my poor brother’s?’

  ‘You may speak freely. There will be no recrimination. Begin with your name.’

  ‘I am Pholus of Phrygia, and I breed horses for sale in Troy. My people have a settlement a day’s ride from the fortress, and we have water rights, granted by Queen Halysia. Some months back a cattle trader drove his herds onto our lands.

  When my brother remonstrated with him he was beaten with cudgels. The cattle muddied the water, and collapsed the stream banks. How can I breed horses without water?’

  And so it went on.

  Cthosis stood quietly as one man after another spoke of problems, fears, and the reasons for discord with neighbours. The king listened to them for several hours, then called a halt, telling them they would meet again tomorrow. Then he invited them to join him at a feast later in the main courtyard, and with that he strode from the dais towards the far doors.

  As he came abreast of Cthosis he paused. ‘That is a very fine gown, my friend,’

  he said. ‘I have never seen the like.’ He stepped forwar
d and sniffed. ‘There is no smell from the dye. It has already been washed?’

  ‘Indeed, lord. Three times.’

  ‘Extraordinary. Where did you acquire it?’

  ‘It is from my own cloth, and my own dye, lord.’

  ‘Even better. We shall find time to talk. A cloth of jet will earn gold in every country around the Great Green.’

  He smiled at Cthosis, and walked away.

  The soldiers filed out after him, and the doors closed. For a moment no-one said anything. Then the Phrygian horse breeder walked to the dais, dropped to his knees, and laid his hand on the severed head. ‘You never learned how to listen, little brother,’ he said. ‘But you were a good lad always. I shall miss you greatly.’

  He picked up the sack, then stood by, uncertain. Cthosis approached him.

  ‘I do not believe the king would object if you removed your brother’s head,’ he said.

  ‘You think so?’

  ‘I am sure of it.’

  The man sighed. ‘He paid a heavy price for a few ill-spoken words.’

  ‘Indeed he did.’

  Cthosis left the hall and strolled out to the courtyard. Many of the leaders were now gathered together and talking quietly. Cthosis eased his way through the group, heading out towards an open area overlooking the cliff path leading up to the fortress gates.

  A line of men was moving through the gates, carrying baskets of food, ready for the feast.

  Idly he watched them. Then his interest quickened. A big man was coming through the gate, carrying a sheep upon his shoulders. Cthosis walked swiftly down towards him, fully expecting to be wrong in his identification. As he came closer his heart began to beat rapidly. He was heavily bearded now, but there was no mistaking those magnificent eyes. It was Prince Ahmose.

  What wonder was this? The second in line to the Great Pharaoh was working as a servant in the fortress of Dardanos.

  The big man saw him and smiled. ‘It seems you have done well for yourself, eunuch,’ he said.

  Cthosis lowered his head and bowed. ‘Oh, no need for that,’ said Ahmose. ‘As you can see, I am no longer the pharaoh’s grandson. I am, like you, a man with a price on his head.’ ‘I am sorry, lord. You were kind to me.’ ‘No need for pity.

  I am content. Do you serve here?’ ‘No, lord. I am a merchant. I make and sell cloth. It would be an honour to fashion you a tunic’

  ‘You may stop calling me lord – Cthosis, isn’t it?’ ‘Yes, lord. Oh… I am sorry.’ Ahmose laughed. ‘I am known now as Gershom.’ ‘How strange,’ said Cthosis. ‘A long time since I heard that word. My people use it to describe foreigners.’

  ‘That is why I chose it. You are one of the desert folk?’ ‘Yes… well, I was once. Before my father sold me to the palace.’ ‘A curious race,’ said Gershom.

  ‘However, I cannot stand here talking of old times. There is work to be done for your feast.’ He clapped Cthosis on the shoulder. ‘Rameses was furious when he found out I’d freed you. It cost me two hundred talents of silver and my best war horse.’

  ‘I will always be grateful, lord. If ever you need anything .. .’ ‘Don’t make promises, my friend. Those who are discovered to have aided me will face a harsh reckoning.’

  ‘Even so. Should you ever need anything you have only to ask. All that I have is at your disposal.’

  ii

  Helikaon left the assembly and strode through the palace. The old general Pausanius tried to intercept him, but he shook his head and waved the man away.

  Climbing the worn steps to the battlements he tilted his head to the sky, drawing in deep, calming breaths. His stomach began to settle.

  Noticing a sentry watching him, he moved back inside, making his way through to the old royal apartments, and his childhood rooms. Dust lay over the floor, and there were cobwebs across the balcony entrance. Brushing them aside, he stepped out. The ancient, rickety chair was still there, the wood paled and cracked by the sun. Kneeling down, he traced his fingers over the carved horse in the backrest.

  This was the throne he had sat upon as a child, king of a pretend world, in which all men were contented, and there were no wars. He had never, in those days, dreamed of battle and glory. Moving back from the chair he slumped down to the cold stone, and rested his head on the low balcony rail. Closing his eyes he saw again the severed head on the table. It merged with that of Zidantas.

  He could almost hear Ox speak. You think that boy in the hall deserved to die, so that you could make a point? Could you not have won them over with the conviction of your words, the power of your mind? Does it always have to be death, with you?

  Helikaon stared at the chair, picturing the little boy who had sat there.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he told him, ‘such deeds are necessary. I once saw Odysseus cut open a crewman’s chest, in order to pull out an arrow head that had lodged there. Sometimes the evil needs to be cut free.’

  Do not seek to fool yourself, said the voice of Ox. Do not rationalize your evil, and seek to make it something good. Yes, the men will follow you now. Yes, the realm is safe from discord. Yes, you are a king. Your father would be so proud of you!

  Helikaon’s anger rose. It is not Ox talking to you, he told himself. It is your own weakness. The man was warned and chose to ignore it. His death achieved more in one blood-drenched moment than a torrent of words could have. And that is the truth of it!

  The truth is a many-costumed whore, came Odysseus’ voice in his mind. Seems to me she will offer a man valid reasons for any deed, no matter how ghastly.

  A rumble of thunder came from the distance, and a cold wind began to blow.

  Helikaon pushed himself to his feet and took a last look around the home of his childhood, then walked out, and down to the lower apartments, where the wounded men of his crew were being cared for. He stopped and spoke to each man, then went in search of Attalus.

  He found him in a side garden, his chest and side bandaged. Sitting alone in the shadows of a late-flowering tree, he was whittling a length of wood. Helikaon approached him.

  ‘The surgeon says you were lucky, my friend. The knife missed your heart by a whisker.’

  Attalus nodded. ‘Lucky day for you too,’ he said.

  ‘It always helps when good friends are close by. It surprised me to see you there. Oniacus tells me you had decided to quit the crew.’

  ‘Surprised me too,’ admitted Attalus. Helikaon sat alongside him. The man continued to whittle.

  ‘If you want to leave for Troy when you are well, I will see you are given a good horse and a pouch of gold. You are welcome, though, to stay in Dardanos, and enjoy my hospitality for the winter.’

  Attalus put down his knife, and his shoulders sagged. ‘You owe me nothing.’

  ‘I owe any man who chooses to fight alongside me – most especially when he is no longer a member of my crew.’

  ‘I just got drawn in, that’s all. Had my own reasons for being there.’ Attalus sat silently for a moment. Then he looked at Helikaon. ‘It is not over, you know.’

  ‘I know that. The assassin Karpophorus has been paid to end my life. They say he is the finest killer on the Great Green. He was also the man who murdered my father. Here in this very fortress.’

  ‘Oniacus told me no-one knew who killed Anchises.’

  Helikaon sat down opposite Attalus. ‘I only found out recently.’ He gazed around the garden. ‘This is a peaceful place. I used to play here as a child.’

  Attalus did not respond, and returned to his whittling.

  ‘Rest and regain your strength, Attalus. And if you need anything, ask and it will be supplied for you.’ Helikaon stood up, ready to leave.

  ‘I am not a good man,’ said Attalus suddenly, his face reddening. ‘Everyone treats me like a good man. I don’t like it!’

  The outburst surprised Helikaon. Attalus had always seemed so calm and in control. Resuming his seat, he looked at the crewman. He was tense now, and his eyes looked angry. ‘We are none of us go
od men,’ said Helikaon softly. ‘Today I had a man killed merely to make a point. He may well have been a good man. We are all flawed, Attalus. We all carry the weight of our deeds. And we will all answer for them, I think. All I know of you is that you have proved a loyal crewman, and a brave companion. I also know you were hired by Zidantas. The Ox was a fine judge of fighting men. Your past means nothing here. Only the deeds of the present and the future.’

  ‘Past, present and future, it is all the same,’ said Attalus, his shoulders slumping. ‘They are what they are. We are what we are. Nothing changes.’

  ‘I don’t know if that is true. My life has changed now three times. Once when I was a small child and my mother died. Once when Odysseus came and took me aboard the Penelope. And then when my father was murdered. That still haunts me. I left here as a frightened boy. My father told me he loathed me. I came back as a man, hoping that he would be proud.’ Helikaon fell silent, surprised at himself for sharing his thoughts with a relative stranger. He saw that Attalus was looking at him. ‘I don’t usually talk like this,’ he said, suddenly embarrassed.

  ‘A man who tells his child he loathes him,’ said Attalus, his voice trembling, ‘isn’t worth rat’s piss. So why care whether he would have been proud or not?’

  Sheathing his dagger he threw aside the whittled wood and rose to his feet. ‘I’m tired. I’ll rest now.’

  Helikaon remained where he was as the slim sailor returned to the fortress.

  Not worth rat’s piss.

  The simple truth of the words cut through years of hidden anguish. The weight of regret suddenly lifted. Anchises had never been a father to him, had cared nothing for him. He was cold-hearted, and manipulative, and had spent years tormenting a lost and lonely child. Attalus was right.

  And the dark shadow of Anchises melted from his mind like mist in the sunlight.

  XXVI

  Aphrodite’s Leap

  i

  That autumn and winter in Dardania were the worst in living memory. Fierce storms lashed the coastline. Swollen rivers burst their banks, bringing down bridges. Several low-lying villages were washed away in the floods. Into this chaos came bands of outlaws and rogue mercenary groups, preying on the populace. Helikaon travelled the land leading troops to hunt them down. Three battles were i fought before midwinter. Two were indecisive, the mercenaries escaping into the mountains. The third saw a mercenary force of some seven hundred men routed.