Helikaon had the leaders executed, the hundred or so survivors sold into slavery.
Messengers from Troy brought no good news. Hektor was still missing, even though the brief war between the Hittite empire and Egypte was over. The last anyone had seen of the Trojan prince he had been facing impossible odds, with no escape route. Helikaon did not believe Hektor was dead. The man was vibrant with life.
If a mountain fell on him he would burrow his way out. If the sea rose over him, he would emerge riding a dolphin.
Hektor was invincible.
Even so, as the weeks went by, a gnawing worry gripped him.
What if the inconceivable proved to be true?
Priam was hated by most of his sons, and many of his followers. If he was toppled civil war would follow. All alliances would be voided. The war would inevitably spread to encompass all the lands of the eastern coastline, as Priam’s warring sons forged new alliances. Trade would suffer, the flow of wealth drying up. Merchants, farmers, traders, cattle breeders would see their profits tumble. Without markets for their goods they would release workers. More and more people would find themselves without the means to buy food. This in turn would lead to unrest, and the swelling of outlaw bands. Agamemnon and the Mykene would be jubilant. How much more simple their plans would become if the armies of the east tore into each other in a great bloodletting.
As the first cold winds of winter blew in from the north, Helikaon was back at the fortress of Dardanos. The queen, Halysia, had recovered from her physical wounds, but rarely ventured out into the public eye. Helikaon tried to draw her in to the running of the realm, but she refused. ‘Everyone knows what was done to me,’ she said. ‘I see it in their eyes.’
‘The people love you, Halysia. And so they should. You are a caring queen. The works of evil men have not changed that.’
‘Everything has changed,’ she said. ‘The sun no longer shines for me.’
He had left her then, for he had no words to pierce the walls of her sorrow.
That afternoon Pausanius came to him, telling him a Mykene ambassador had arrived from Troy.
‘You want me to send him away?’ The old general looked nervous.
‘Why would I do that?’
‘He may have learned of the attack on Pithros.’
‘I am sure that he has.’
‘You do not fear war with the Mykene?’
‘Bring him to me, Pausanius, and then remain, but say nothing.’
The ambassador was a slender, red-headed man, who introduced himself as Erekos.
He entered the megaron and offered no bow.
‘Greetings, King Helikaon. I hope I find you well.’
‘Indeed you do, Erekos. How may we assist you?’
‘We have received disturbing news, king, from the island of Pithros. A ship beached there recently and found hundreds of corpses. All the houses were empty and plundered, and most of the women and children removed.’
‘Consider it my gift to King Agamemnon.’
‘Your gift? The island of Pithros is Mykene land.’
‘Indeed it is, and so it remains,’ said Helikaon. ‘It had also become a pirate haven, and from its bays their galleys attacked merchant vessels, or raided coastal settlements. You will know that my own fortress was attacked, and my brother slain.’ Helikaon paused and watched the man. Erekos looked away.
‘Yes, the news of the… atrocity… reached us. Appalling. But you had no right to bring troops to a Mykene island, without first seeking the permission of Agamemnon King.’
‘Not so, Erekos. My father, Anchises, forged a treaty with King Atreus. In it both nations pledged to support the other against pirates and raiders. What greater support could I offer the son of Atreus, than to expel pirates from a Mykene island, and to make the Great Green safer for Mykene trading ships?’
Erekos stood silently, his face pale. ‘You wish me to convey to my king that you invaded Mykene lands as a gift to him?’
‘What else could it be but a gift?’ asked Helikaon. ‘Two hundred dead pirates and an island returned to Mykene rule. And you can assure your king that come the spring my fleet will continue to hunt pirates and kill them wherever they find them.’
‘You will not again invade Mykene lands, King Helikaon.’
‘Mykene lands?’ responded Helikaon, feigning surprise. ‘By the gods, have pirates conquered even more Mykene territory? This is grim news.’
‘No territory has been conquered,’ replied Erekos, his voice becoming shrill. He took a deep, calming breath. ‘What I am saying, King Helikaon, is that the Mykene will deal with any pirates who might seek to hide on Mykene lands.’
‘Ah, I see,’ said Helikaon, nodding. ‘It is a question of martial pride. I understand that, and would wish to cause King Agamemnon no embarrassment. He has suffered so much of late. It must be galling for him.’
‘Galling? I do not understand.’
‘Two of his Followers turning rogue. First Alektruon, who I understand was a favourite of the king. Then Kolanos becoming a pirate. Oh – and I almost forgot – then there is Argurios, who I understand has been declared a traitor and an outlaw. And now to discover that pirates had overrun a Mykene island…’
Helikaon shook his head, adopting an expression of sympathy. ‘It will make him wonder what disasters are yet to befall him. However, you can assure the king of my friendship. Now, will you stay and dine with us, Erekos?’
‘No, King Helikaon – though I thank you for your courtesy. I must return to Troy. There are matters there that need my attention.’
After Erekos had left Pausanius stepped forward, a wide smile on his face. ‘I enjoyed that, my king. It was all I could do not to laugh out loud.’
‘Agamemnon will not laugh when he hears of it.’
‘You think he will declare war on us?’
‘I doubt it. How can he make war on a friend who has aided him?’
‘But they were his pirates.’
‘Indeed they were. We know it, he knows it, but other kings around the Great Green do not. If he makes war on Dardania, following an attack on pirates, it will be an admission that he is behind the pirate raids.’
‘I hope you are right, my king.’
ii
On midwinter’s night another messenger arrived from Troy. Nasiq was a young Phrygian scribe employed by one of Helikaon’s merchant allies. He brought scrolls and messages concerning the needs of the coming trading season, and accountings of the previous trading year. More than this, though, he was a raconteur and an outrageous gossip. Helikaon always enjoyed his winter visits.
‘What news, Nasiq, my friend?’ he asked, as they sat down to eat in the king’s apartments.
The slender Phrygian lifted a small delicacy from a silver plate. It was minced lamb, wrapped in a vine leaf. He sniffed at it, then took a bite. ‘Oh, my dear, there is so much to tell. Who would you like to hear of first?’
‘What of Hektor?’
‘No word. Many of the Trojan Horse have now returned to the city. Others remained around Kadesh with Hittite soldiers, searching for him. It does not look as if there will be good news. The last time anyone saw him he and around fifty of his men were surrounded and outnumbered, and night was falling.’
‘What is the mood in the city?’
‘Fractious. Two of Priam’s sons – Isos and Pammon – have fled the city. They were about to be arrested, I understand.’
‘I know them both. Neither has the wit to organize a revolt, or the following to inspire insurrection.’
‘I agree. They would be serving someone else. Fat Antiphones has been stripped of his titles and ordered not to leave his palace. He was seen meeting in secret with the Mykene ambassador, Erekos.’
‘I met him,’ said Helikaon. ‘A cold and unpleasant man. It would surprise me, however, to learn that Antiphones was a traitor. He is more interested in food than power. Polites is a possibility. He is no warrior, but he has a sharp mind.’
�
�And Priam is said to enjoy riding his wife. Rumour has it that Polites’ two sons share an interesting trait. Their father is also their grandfather.’
Helikaon chuckled and shook his head. ‘You really are a dreadful gossip, Nasiq.
It shames me that I am amused by it.’ His smile faded. ‘However, Polites is a possibility, as is Agathon.’
‘Agathon has always been as loyal as Hektor,’ Nasiq pointed out.
‘Largely because of Hektor. They are great friends. But Priam does not favour Agathon. Never has. He judges him against Hektor. I remember once the king saying publicly that Agathon and Hektor were like two identical statues, save that one was cast in gold, the other copper.’ Helikaon swore. ‘Priam is an unpleasant man, and always finds exactly the right insult to wound the deepest.’
‘Is there anyone in high position that Priam has not insulted?’ queried Nasiq.
‘Probably not. Let us talk of other news. What of Andromache?’
‘Ah, wonderful stories!’ Nasiq hesitated. ‘Are you friends with the lady?’
‘What difference would that make to the stories?’
‘I’m not sure. She is the talk of Troy… for many reasons. Some high, some low.’
‘I want no low tales concerning her,’ said Helikaon sharply. The wind blew in from the open balcony, causing a lamp to gutter. He rose and pulled the doors closed, then relit the lamp. Nasiq sat silently for a few moments more. Then he gave a wry smile.
‘Rather a large difference then.’
Helikaon relaxed. ‘Begin your tale,’ he said.
‘Very well. You heard she saved the king’s life?’
Helikaon was shocked, then he chuckled. ‘Is there some fine and witty line that ends this Odyssean fable?’
‘No, it is true,’ insisted Nasiq. Helikaon listened as the Phrygian told the story of the archery tourney, and how Andromache had killed the assassin. ‘The traitor had reached the king and was poised to strike him down when Andromache’s arrow pierced his heart. The king praised her before the crowd, saying she was indeed a fit bride for his Hektor.’
‘By the gods,’ whispered Helikaon, ‘she is a woman to treasure.’
‘Prince Agathon obviously agrees with you. It is said he has asked Andromache to marry him, if Hektor does not return.’
‘Has she… accepted Agathon’s advances?’
‘I have no knowledge that she has or she hasn’t,’ answered Nasiq. ‘Of course she would be a fool not to. He is young, rich, and… depending on circumstances…
could one day be king.’
‘What else can you tell me of Andromache?’
Nasiq chuckled. ‘She swam with a naked man, in front of the royal princes.’
‘Is this gossip, or reality?’ asked Helikaon, holding back his anger.
‘Reality, my lord. A friend of mine was on the royal beach at the time. The king’s daughter, Laodike, had invited a wounded Mykene warrior to the beach. All skin and bone he was, apparently. Hardly able to breathe. Andromache went swimming with him.’
‘Argurios,’ said Helikaon.
‘Yes, that was the man. Famous, they say.’
‘Go on.’
‘When they emerged from the water Prince Deiphobos harangued her, and then the Mykene challenged him. It should have been amusing. A tottering skeleton demanding a sword. But he frightened Deiphobos. Agathon came to his rescue and calmed the situation. Who else would you like to hear of?’
‘Was that what you meant by low tales?’
Nasiq leaned back. ‘Now you are drawing me into dangerous territory, Golden One.
You have already made it clear the lady is a friend of yours, and you want to hear no ill of her. So what would you have me say?’
Helikaon sat silently for a moment. ‘Tell me all,’ he said, at last.
‘When I arrived here earlier the palace servants were talking of a man who offended you at a recent meeting. They said his head was put on display. I am rather fond of my head.’
‘Your head is safe, Nasiq. You are too good a gossip to kill. My winter evenings would be dull indeed without you.’
‘Very well – but remember you asked. Kreusa claimed to have discovered her frolicking naked with a female servant. This was reported to the king, who had the servant whipped, and then dismissed from the palace. Andromache was furious and accosted Kreusa publicly. Kreusa slapped her, and Andromache hit her with her fist. Said to have been a fine blow. An uppercut, according to one witness.
Kreusa was knocked senseless and had to be carried to her bed. Everyone expected Andromache to be sent back in shame to her father. Priam chose to ignore the incident. Probably because he owed her his life. Now the palace is seething with rumours concerning the king and Andromache.’
‘I have heard enough,’ said Helikaon stiffly. ‘How is Queen Hekabe?’
‘She continues to cling to life. She is even entertaining guests. The youngest daughter of the king of Sparta is staying at the palace. Ostensibly she is here to find a suitable husband. The belief though is that her father sent her away to keep her safe. Mykene armies are massing on Sparta’s borders. There is likely to be a war in the spring. And Sparta’s small army cannot stand against Agamemnon’s forces.’
Just then there was a soft knocking at the outer door. The old general Pausanius entered.
‘My apologies for disturbing you, lord,’ he said. ‘I need to speak to you…
privately.’
Nasiq rose. ‘Matters of state must always take precedence,’ he said, with a smile at Pausanius. Then he left the room.
‘What is wrong?’ asked Helikaon.
‘The queen has left her apartments. Her handmaiden says she saw her walking towards Aphrodite’s Leap.’ The old general paled. ‘I am sorry, my king. That was crass of me.’
‘I will find her,’ said Helikaon.
iii
As she walked the high rocky path in the faint light of dawn, Halysia could barely distinguish between the mist rising from the crumbling cliff edge under her bare feet and the dark fog lying across her mind. People talked of broken hearts, but they were wrong. Broken was somehow complete. Finished. Over. The real sensation was of continual breaking. An everlasting wound, sharp and jagged, like claws of bronze biting into the soft tissue of the heart. The mind became a cruel enemy, closing off reality for brief periods. Sometimes she would forget that Dio had been murdered. She would look at the sunlit sky and smile, and wonder – just for a moment – where he was. Then the truth would plunge home, and the bronze talons cleave once more into her wounded heart. The dawn breeze was cool with the promise of rain. It was a long time since she had walked this path. Aphrodite’s Leap they called it, though the words had been whispered behind the old king’s back. His first wife had thrown herself from this cliff onto the unforgiving rocks hundreds of feet below. Halysia had heard the tale many times.
Wandering to the cliff edge she peered down. Mist was heavy upon the sea, and she wondered how it would feel to let go, to plummet down and end the agony of her life.
Thoughts of the past stirred in her. She remembered the bright days of her childhood in Zeleia when she and her brothers rode with the horse herds in summer, taking them from water pastures beside the dark river Aesipos to the cities of the coast. For days her feet would barely touch the ground as she travelled wrapped in a warm blanket on a gentle mare, listening to the night sounds across the plains.
Dio was already a fearless rider and she had planned to take him on a night journey, to camp out under the cold stars…
The sky was lightening, but the fog grew darker on her mind. She faltered to a halt and fell to her knees, her strength running out like water from a cup. She thought she heard a sound, running steps behind her, but she could not move to look round.
Her tortured mind returned again to the past, to comforting thoughts of her first arrival at Dardanos. True, she had not been happy then; she was just seventeen and homesick and frightened of the grey old man she was to
marry. But now she always thought of it as a good time, because she was quickly pregnant with Dio. Anchises was not a bad husband, not unkind, and once Aeneas had been banished from his thoughts she was the mother of the son in whom he placed all his hopes. He gave Dio a toy horse, she recalled with a smile, that he had carved himself from pale wood. It was a crude thing, for he had little skill with his hands, but he had decorated it with gold leaf on mane and tail, and it had sky-blue chips of lapis lazuli for eyes.
She remembered the blue eyes of Garus, her personal bodyguard. He had soft blond eyelashes that lay gently on his cheek as he slept. She liked to wake him, to see the pale lashes open, to see his eyes rest on her in love and wonder.
He had fallen in the last desperate struggle, a spear through his chest, a sword in his belly, still trying to protect her and her son. He was dead before they all raped her. She was glad of that. He was dead before they flung Dio from the high walls.
She heard a thin keening sound. It was her own voice, but she knew of no way to stop it.
‘Halysia!’ Another voice in the fog. ‘Halysia!’
She thought back to her childhood and her father holding her in his arms, smiling down at her. He smelled of horses, of their pungent hides he always wore. She reached up and pulled the greasy braids of his beard. He laughed and clutched her fiercely to his chest.
She felt his arms round her now, gentle and tender.
‘Halysia. It is Aeneas. Come back to me.’
Aeneas. They called him Helikaon. There were many Aeneases, many Helikaons in her mind. There was the shy, frightened youth she had barely noticed, consumed as she was in her love for her baby. He disappeared one day on a foreign ship, and Anchises said he would not return. But he did, on a day of great terror.
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