Gershom felt his anger swell. ‘I see,’ he said. ‘So the issues that can be debated are only those that do not affect the actions of the Golden One. Now you are truly becoming a king, Helikaon. Next you will surround yourself with sycophants who whisper to you of your greatness, and offer no criticism.’
Gathering up his blanket he lay down, facing the fire, his heart hammering. The night was cold, and he could scent rain on the breeze. He was annoyed at himself for reacting with such anger. Truth was, he was fond of the young king, and admired him greatly. Helikaon was capable of great kindness and loyalty. He was also courageous and principled. These attributes were rare, in Gershom’s experience. But he also knew the dangers Helikaon would face as his power grew.
After a while he threw back his blanket and sat up. Helikaon was sitting with his back to a tree, a blanket round his shoulders. ‘I am sorry, my friend,’ said Gershom. ‘It is not my place to harangue you.’
‘No, it is not,’ Helikaon replied. ‘But I have been thinking of what you said, and there was truth in it. Your grandfather is a wise man.’
‘He is. Do you know the story of Osiris and Set?’
‘Egypteian gods at war with one another?’
‘Yes. Osiris is the hero god, the Lord of Light. Set is his brother, a creature vile and depraved. They are in a constant war to the death. My grandfather told me of them when I was young. He said that we carry Osiris and Set struggling within us. All of us are capable of great compassion and love, or hatred and horror. Sadly we can take joy from both.’
‘I know that is true,’ said Helikaon. ‘I felt it as those sailors burned. The memory of it is shameful.’
‘Grandfather would say that when you burned those sailors Set was dominant in your soul. It is Osiris who feels the shame. That is why you dislike being king, Helikaon. Such power brings Set closer to total control. And you fear the man you would become if ever the Osiris in you was slain.’
Gershom fell silent. Helikaon added fuel to the fire, then walked to the pack pony and brought back some bread and dried meat. The silence grew as the two men ate. Then Helikaon stretched himself out by the fire, and covered himself with his cloak.
Gershom dozed for a while. The night grew colder, and a clap of thunder sounded.
Lightning blazed across the heavens. Helikaon awoke and the two men ran to where the horses were tethered. The beasts were frightened, ears flat to their skulls.
Helikaon and Gershom led them away from the trees and out onto open ground.
Rain began to fall, slowly at first, then in a torrent.
Lightning flashed, and by its light Gershom saw a cave high up on the hillside.
He beckoned to Helikaon and they led the mounts up the slope. It was not easy.
The golden horses – as Helikaon had warned – were skittish, rearing constantly and trying to break free. The little baggage pony was calmer, but even he dragged back on the lead rope when the thunder crashed. Both men were weary when they finally reached the cave.
Leading the horses inside, they tethered them. Then the two men sat at the cave mouth, watching the storm wash over the land.
‘I used to enjoy storms,’ said Gershom. ‘But since the shipwreck…’ He shivered at the memories.
‘It will pass swiftly,’ said Helikaon. Then he looked at Gershom. ‘I thank you for your honesty.’
Gershom chuckled. ‘Always been my curse – to speak my mind. Hard to think of anyone I haven’t insulted at some time or other. Are you planning to stay long in Troy?’
Helikaon shook his head. ‘I will attend the funeral feast for Hektor.’ He shivered suddenly. ‘Just saying the words chills the soul.’
‘You were friends?’
‘More than friends. I still cannot accept that he is gone.’ He smiled suddenly.
‘Some five years ago I rode with Hektor. Priam had sent him and two hundred of the Trojan Horse to Thraki, to aid a local king against some raiders. We were pursuing an enemy force through woodland and they caught us in an ambush. Once we had fought our way clear we realized Hektor was not with us. Someone then recalled seeing him struck in the head by a hurled rock. Night was falling, but we rode swiftly back to the battle site. The bandits had removed the bodies of their fallen. Six of our dead were there, but Hektor was not among them. We knew then that he had been taken. The Thrakians were known to torture their captives, slicing off fingers, putting out eyes. I sent out scouts and we went in search of their camp. We found it just before dawn, and as we crept forward we could hear the sounds of merriment. And there, standing tall in the firelight, a huge cup of wine in his hand, was Hektor. He was regaling the drunken raiders with ribald stories, and they were shrieking with laughter.’ Helikaon sighed. ‘That is how I will remember him.’
‘But you have a second reason for this journey,’ said Gershom.
‘Are you a seer, Gershom?’
‘No. But I saw you talking to Hektor’s betrothed, and I heard you call her goddess.’
Helikaon laughed. ‘Yes, I did. I fell in love with her, Gershom. If she feels the same I mean to make her my wife, though I will probably have to offer Priam a mountain of gold for her.’
‘If she feels the same?’ echoed Gershom. ‘What difference does it make? Buy her anyway.’
Helikaon shook his head. ‘You can buy gold that is bright as the sun, and diamonds as pale as the moon. But you cannot buy the sun. You cannot own the moon.’
ii
As dawn approached Laodike wrapped herself in a shawl and walked out of the palace. The streets were silent and empty, save for a few stray dogs seeking scraps. She liked walking, particularly in the fresh air of the early morning, and thought she must know more about the city and its everyday life than any soldier or common worker. She knew which baker had the first loaves fresh and aromatic outside his bakery before dawn. She knew the prostitutes and their regular patrols as well as she knew those of the Trojan regiments. She knew when the first lamb was born on the hillside at the end of winter because Poimen the ancient shepherd, blessed with four generations of sons, would open his only jug of wine of the year and get rolling drunk, then sleep it off in the street in the dawn air, barred from his home by his tiny ferocious wife. Laodike walked on out of the town, her sad steps taking her across the new defensive ditch by a bridge, then down towards the Scamander. Mist lay heavy and grey in the river valley. Beyond it the hills were touched with pink still, though the sun was rising in the sky behind her. She could hear no sounds but the crowing of cocks and the bleating of sheep in the distance. She walked on towards the tomb of Ilos, on a small hill between the city and the river. Ilos was her great-grandfather and a hero of Troy. Hektor would often come here and talk to his ancestor when he was troubled. So she came now, hoping to find comfort.
She plodded up to the small cairn of rocks and sat down on the short, sheep-cropped grass, facing the city. Her body no longer busy, her grief overwhelmed her again and tears welled in her eyes. How could he be dead? How could the gods be so cruel? Laodike could see him now, his infectious smile lifting her heart, the sun glinting on the gold of his hair. He was like the dawn, she thought. Whenever he entered a room spirits lifted. When she was young and frightened Hektor was always the rock she would run to. And he was the man who would have persuaded Priam to allow Argurios to marry her.
Shame touched her then, and with it the weight of guilt. Are you sad because he has passed to the Elysian Fields, or are you thinking of yourself, she wondered? ‘I am so sorry, Hektor,’ she whispered. Then the tears flowed once more. A shadow fell across her and she looked up. The sun was behind the figure, bright and dazzling, and, just for a moment, as her tear-swollen eyes took in the glinting breastplate, she thought it was the ghost of her brother, come to comfort her. Then he knelt beside her, and she saw it was Argurios. She had not seen him for five days now, and she had sent him no message.
‘Oh, Argurios, I cannot stop weeping.’
His arm curved round her shoulder.
‘I have seen the same throughout the city. He must have been a great man, and I am sorry I did not know him.’
‘How did you know I would be here?’
‘You told me that when troubles were weighing heavy you liked to walk through the city in the dawn light. You talked of an old shepherd in these hills.’
‘And how did you guess I would be here today?’
‘I did not. I have been at the Scaean Gate every day at dawn for the last five days.’
‘I am sorry, Argurios. It was thoughtless of me. I should have sent a messenger to you.’
There was a silence between them, and then Laodike asked, ‘Where are your bodyguards?’
He smiled, a rare event. ‘I am stronger now, and faster. I walked through the city a few days ago, then doubled back and came upon them. I told them I had no more need of their services, and they agreed to leave me be.’
‘Just like that? So simply?’
‘I spoke to them… firmly,’ he said.
‘You frightened them, didn’t you?’
‘Some men are easily frightened,’ he replied.
His face was inches away from hers, and as she looked into his eyes Laodike felt the pain and sorrow of the last few days ease away. This was the face she had so often summoned to mind. His eyes were not just brown, as she’d remembered, but had flecks of hazel and gold in them, and his eyebrows were finely shaped. He watched her steadily and she lowered her gaze. There was a warm flowering in the pit of her belly and she became aware of the rub of cloth against her skin.
She felt a touch on her arm and saw his hand lightly graze her skin, barely stirring the fair hairs. The warmth in her belly flared.
Reaching up she began to untie the thongs holding Argurios’ breastplate in place. His powerful hand closed over hers. ‘You are a king’s daughter,’ he reminded her.
‘You do not want me?’
His face was flushed. ‘I never wanted anything so much in all my life.’
‘The king will never allow us to wed, Argurios. He will order you from Troy. He will send me away. I cannot bear the thought. But we have this moment. This is our moment, Argurios!’ His hand fell away. Even as a child she had helped Hektor don and remove his armour. I have few skills, she thought to herself, but taking off a cuirass is one of them. Her nimble hands untied the thongs and Argurios lifted the breastplate clear.
Unbuckling his sword and laying it by the breastplate, he led her into the circle of stones by the tomb of Ilos, and they lay together on the grass. He kissed her then, and for a long time made no other move. Taking his hand she lifted it to her breast. His touch was gentle – more gentle in that moment than she desired. Her lips pressed against his, her mouth hungry to taste him. His hands became less hesitant, pulling at her gown, lifting it high. Laodike raised her arms and he threw the gown clear. Within moments they were both naked.
Laodike revelled in the feel of his warm skin against hers, the hard muscles under her fingers. Then came the swift pain of entry, and the exquisite sense of becoming one with the man she loved.
Afterwards she lay in a daze of joy and satisfaction, her body warm and fulfilled, her mind swimming with shame and exhilaration. Slowly she became aware of the grass under her and the uneven ground pressing into her back.
She lay with her head in the crook of Argurios’ shoulder. She realized he had not spoken for a while. She twisted to look up at him, thinking him asleep, but he was staring up at the sky, his face, as always, grave.
Laodike was suddenly filled with foreboding. Was he regretting his actions?
Would he leave her now? He turned to look down at her. Seeing the look on her face, he said, ‘Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?’
‘No. It was wonderful.’ Feeling foolish, but unable to stop herself, she said, ‘It was the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me. The maidservants told me…’ She hesitated.
‘Told you what?’
‘Told me… told me it was painful and unpleasant. It was a bit painful,’ she conceded, ‘but it wasn’t unpleasant.’
‘It wasn’t unpleasant,’ he repeated, smiling a little. Then he kissed her again, long and tenderly.
She lay back, all doubts in her mind vanished. The look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know. She had never been so happy. She knew this moment would live with her for the rest of her life.
Suddenly she sat up, her shawl falling from her naked breasts, and pointed to the east.
A great flock of swans were beating their way on silent white wings over the city towards the sea. Laodike had never seen more than one or two swans before and she was awestruck by the sight of hundreds of the great birds flying overhead, for a moment blotting out the sunlight like a living cloud.
They watched silently as the flock winged its way to the west, disappearing at last into the grey mist on the horizon.
Laodike felt a touch on her bare leg and looked down. A soft white feather lay curled on her skin, motionless as though it had always been there. She picked it up and showed it to her lover.
‘Is it an omen?’ she wondered.
‘Birds are always omens,’ he said softly.
‘I wonder what it means.’
‘When a swan mates it is for life,’ he said, pulling her to him. ‘It means we will never be parted. I will speak to your father tomorrow.’
‘He will not see you, Argurios.’
‘I think he will. I have been invited to the funeral gathering tomorrow night.’
Laodike was surprised. ‘Why? As you said, you did not know Hektor.’
‘I said the same to the messenger who came to the temple two days ago. He told me that Prince Agathon had requested my presence.’
‘That was all he said?’
‘No, there was abundant flattery,’ he told her. Laodike laughed.
‘About being a great warrior and a hero, and it being fitting that you should attend?’
‘Something similar,’ he grunted.
‘It is a great honour to be invited. There is already discord in the family. My father has upset a number of his sons, who will not be present. Antiphones is out of favour, as is Paris. And there are others.’ She sighed. ‘Even at such a time he still plays games with people’s feelings. Do you really think he will listen to you, Argurios?’
‘I do not know. I have little to offer, save my sword. But the sword of Argurios has some value.’
She leaned in to him, her hand sliding down his flanks. ‘The sword of Argurios has great value,’ she told him.
XXIX
The Blood of Heroes
i
Antiphones watched from an upper window as his visitor left, a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. He turned to the hearth where a platter of smoked fish and corn cakes lay cooling. He munched some fish and washed it down with a swig of undiluted wine, sweet and thick. His fears eased a little, but he knew they would return. He had caught himself in a net of his own making. He had always liked and admired Agathon. Though they had different mothers, they were much of an age and had played together as children. They even looked similar then, with blond hair and blue eyes. Priam’s three eldest sons – Hektor, Agathon and Antiphones – were often mistaken for one another by visitors to the king’s megaron, and he winced as he recalled Priam saying to his guests, ‘Alike in looks but not in character. Remember: Hektor the brave, Agathon the sly, and Antiphones the stupid!’ His visitors would snigger politely, and the king would smile his cold smile and study the reactions of the three boys. Antiphones knew he wasn’t stupid. As the years passed he came to realize he was sharper than most people he knew. It was he who first understood it was better to ship wine from Lesbos than to grow vines on the land north of the city best used for horse paddocks. Breeding strong horses and sending them all round the Great Green raised more for Priam’s treasury than trading in wine. It was he who suggested reorganizing the treasury and keeping an inventory of the king’s wealth in the script learned from the Hittites and
written on Gyppto papyrus. As a result of all this, with typical cruel humour, Priam had made Polites his chancellor and fat Antiphones Master of the Horse. He knew people laughed when they heard his title; few bothered to hide it. It had been many years since he had been able to mount a horse.
He walked to the window again and looked down on the quiet street. Unlike most of the king’s sons, he chose to live in the lower town, close to the bakers, wine merchants and cheese makers he loved. Each afternoon, after his nap, he would stroll down through the streets and wander among the food stalls, taking his choice from the ripest figs and the sweetest honey cakes. Sometimes he would walk slowly down to the far side of town to where a young woman called Thaleia offered spiced pomegranates and walnuts glazed with honey. It was an effort to get that far, but he could not ride and he feared being carried in a litter in case it broke. This had happened once two years ago. He still felt the shame of it and had not travelled in one since.
But that shame was as nothing to what he felt now.
When he had been made aware of the plot to kill the king he had joined in with zeal. Priam was a tyrant, and tyrannicide was an honourable mission. The king gathered wealth to himself at the expense of all else in the city. Antiphones, with his knowledge of the treasury, had best reason to know that. Children in the lower town starved in winter, slaves in the fields died of exhaustion in summer, yet Priam’s treasure house was bursting with gold and precious gems, most of it covered with the dust of ages. Hektor, defending his father, would say, Yes, the king can be harsh, but he never scrimps in his defence of the city. Yet Antiphones knew this not to be true. The Thrakian mercenaries were grossly underpaid, and the city engineers had still not been instructed to rebuild the weak west wall.
With Hektor dead, all restraint on Priam’s acquisitiveness would be gone.
Antiphones had been asked to join the rebellion because Agathon recognized in him the skills they would need to reorganize the administration of the city, renegotiate treaties with neighbouring kings, and rethink their defences. For the last few days he had made feverish plans, staying up into the depths of the night working on his dreams for the future of Troy once his father was dead. But today’s meeting with Agathon had toppled his hopes and plunged him into despair.
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