Suddenly the child began to cry. Andromache laid the bow on a couch, set by the corridor wall, and sat down, drawing Kassandra to her. Hugging the girl and kissing her dark hair she tried to calm her. She had heard many stories of the fey child, and knew there was nothing she could say to pierce the veils of illusion. So she waited for the tears to pass, and held her close.
They sat there for some time. ‘I don’t want to see so much,’ said Kassandra, drawing away, and sitting with her back to the wall. ‘I hate it. I can’t tell sometimes what is now and what was then.’’
‘This is now,’ said Andromache. ‘You and I sitting here.’
‘You and I,’ repeated Kassandra. She glanced across the corridor. ‘Look there.
What do you see?’
Andromache followed the line of her pointing finger. ‘I see a tapestry hanging from the wall. Very pretty embroidery.’
‘No! In front of the tapestry.’
‘The corridor?’
Kassandra’s shoulders sagged. Andromache saw her smile at nothing, and give a little wave. ‘What is it that you see?’ she asked.
‘It doesn’t matter. The dolphins told me the sea is changing. They are frightened. I am frightened too. Everything is changing, Andromache.’
‘Why did you say that Helikaon loves me? Is it something he said?’
Kassandra gave a shy smile. ‘I love Helikaon. I used to watch him sleeping.
Helikaon is in the now. He is the Lord of the Silver Bow.’
‘You think Helikaon is Apollo?’
‘No, silly! Helikaon is Helikaon.’
Andromache smiled at the child. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘No-one does. Well, no-one who feels the rain, or the sun’s heat.’
‘Isn’t that everyone?’
‘We must be going! Keep your bow ready. We must rescue Laodike. We must bring her to the shield bearer.’
Andromache could think of no more to say to this strange child, so they walked together in silence through to the Hall of Gathering.
A small crowd of some twenty women were already there, dressed in flowing gowns, and bedecked in jewellery of gold and silver. Servants moved among them, bearing trays of golden cups brimming with wine. Andromache saw Laodike and waved. By the great double doors stood a tall, silver-haired woman, carrying a small ceremonial helmet of bright gold. ‘That is the priestess,’ whispered Kassandra.
‘I don’t like her. She gives false prophecies.’
‘If they were false,’ said Andromache, ‘then surely people would realize it, when they failed to come true.’
‘No, she is very clever,’ said Kassandra. ‘Pandates the merchant went to her last year to ask if his wife would ever become pregnant. She told him the gods favoured him, but they required his patience. She said he would have a son, as long as he did nothing to offend the gods. Pandates was drowned when his ship sank. She said that he had offended Poseidon.’
‘Perhaps he had,’ offered Andromache.
‘After tonight,’ said Kassandra, ‘she will speak the truth, and her prophecies will be real. But no-one will hear them.’
It seemed to Andromache that holding a conversation with Kassandra was not dissimilar to trying to catch a butterfly. Every time you thought you had it in your grasp it fluttered away. ‘There are not many women here,’ she ventured.
‘Did Hektor have no female friends?’
‘Everyone loved Hektor,’ replied Kassandra. ‘They will be so happy when he comes home. Keep your bow ready.’
Laodike moved across to join them. She was wearing a bright yellow gown, and her fair hair had been braided with gold wire.
‘This is not the place for an archery display,’ she said, frowning.
‘I know. I will explain later. I see Kreusa isn’t here.’
‘She always arrives late,’ said Laodike. ‘Kreusa likes to make a dramatic entrance. She will be disappointed, I think. There are so few people here. The wives of father’s closest counsellors, but none of Hektor’s friends.’ She leaned in close. ‘Oh dear, the priestess is about to speak, and the drab part of the evening begins.’
‘She will not speak for long,’ whispered Kassandra, backing away, her face pale.
Suddenly she turned and darted back along the corridor.
The silver-haired priestess held the ceremonial gold helmet above her head and began to chant: ‘Athene, hear your children! Goddess of Wisdom, hear your followers. Let our words and our grief flow to you, and bring us peace and understanding in these days of sorrow.’
Just then the far doors burst open, and Thrakian soldiers surged into the room, swords and spears in their hands. The women stood shocked. No men were allowed into the women’s quarters, and certainly no male could invade a sacred ceremony.
The priestess was outraged. She rushed at them, screaming for them to leave at once, or face the curse of Athene. What followed then stunned Andromache. A burly Thrakian lashed out at her, sending the priestess sprawling to the floor, the ceremonial helm clattering away to strike a table leg. For a moment there was shocked silence. Then the priestess pointed at the man. ‘May the goddess strike you down, and curse your family for nine generations!’ she shrieked.
The man laughed – and then his sword slashed down. The priestess threw up her arm, and the bronze blade hacked into it, spraying blood. A second cut tore open her throat. Women began to scream and run. Soldiers rushed at them, dragging them back.
Then Laodike ran towards the warrior who was still stabbing his sword into the squirming priestess. ‘You cowardly dog!’ she shouted.
‘You want to bleed too, bitch?’ he responded, charging towards her. Andromache swiftly notched an arrow to her bow and drew back on the string. As the soldier reached Laodike, his sword raised high, a black-feathered shaft plunged through his eye. He staggered back several steps, dropping his sword, then slumped to the floor.
‘Laodike!’ yelled Andromache. The young woman started to run towards her. A Thrakian soldier hurled a spear, which took her in the back. Laodike screamed and stumbled. Andromache shot the spearman through the throat. More Thrakians pushed through into the gathering hall. Laodike half fell against Andromache. A soldier charged at them. Andromache loosed a shaft that tore through the man’s leather breastplate, spearing his chest. He faltered, then came on, sword raised. With no time to draw the string Andromache dropped the bow and stepped forward to meet him, the shaft held like a dagger in her hand. Weakened by the arrow in his chest the soldier gave a feeble thrust. Andromache parried the blow with her arm, then plunged the bronze-headed arrow into the man’s neck. He fell back with a gargling cry.
Sweeping up her bow Andromache notched another shaft to the string. She glanced down at Laodike, who had fallen to the floor, and was trying to crawl towards the corridor, the long black spear still embedded in her back.
Other women ran past Andromache. All was pandemonium.
Then soldiers appeared from behind – Royal Eagles led by Helikaon. They surged into the Thrakians.
Andromache ran to where Laodike was crawling. Grabbing the spear she tore it loose. Laodike cried out, then slumped down. Hurling the spear aside, Andromache tugged at Laodike’s arm, dragging her to her feet. ‘Lean on me,’ she urged her.
‘We must get away from here.’
More Eagles ran into the fray. Andromache struggled on towards the double doors leading to the steps up to the queen’s apartments. Several Eagles were already there. One of them left his post and swept Laodike into his arms.
‘Get her to safety,’ ordered Andromache.
‘There is nowhere safe tonight,’ he said grimly. ‘But I’ll carry her upstairs.
We’ll hold these doors as long as we can.’
iv
Helikaon and the Eagles battled their way into the gathering hall. The Trojans were all veterans and fought with ruthless efficiency. Well armoured, with shields and helms, they drove the Thrakians back towards the double doors leading to the outer ga
tes. The twenty defenders were heavily outnumbered, but the Thrakians, without shields and in their light city armour of leather breastplates and helmets, took terrible losses. Helikaon fought with cold fury, his two swords cutting and plunging with awesome speed. The leading Thrakians fell back in disarray, then turned and ran into more of their comrades, still trying to force an entry. This led to a chaotic scene as panicking soldiers struggled to push their way through their own ranks. The Eagles rushed in, sinking their swords into unprotected backs and necks. The Thrakians broke, and streamed away from the double doors. Helikaon yelled an order to the Eagles to pull back. Most obeyed him, but four men, battle lust having overtaken them, continued after the Thrakians. Back inside the gathering hall Helikaon ordered the double doors pushed shut. There were two wooden brackets for a locking bar, but the bar itself was nowhere in sight. It had not been needed for decades, and had obviously been removed. Helikaon sent two Eagles in search of it. The sounds of fighting in the corridor beyond had ceased now, and Helikaon guessed the Thrakians had turned on the four chasing Eagles. There was little time left to bar the doors. Soon the Thrakians would regroup.
‘Gather up those spears,’ he called out, pointing to the weapons of the dead Thrakians. The Eagles rushed to obey, and nine thick-shafted spears were wedged into the locking brackets.
‘It will not hold for long,’ said an Eagle. Helikaon gazed around the hall. More than forty Thrakians had died here, but there were also the bodies of eight Eagles and five women, two of them elderly. Four more of the Eagles carried wounds.
‘There is nothing more we can do here,’ said Helikaon, and led them back to the second set of double doors, leading to the queen’s apartments and the king’s megaron. Here the locking bar had been found and he ordered the heavy oak doors closed and barred.
Leaving two Eagles to watch the doors, he climbed the stairs to the queen’s apartments. In the largest of the rooms he found the surviving women. Some were looking frightened, others shocked and uncertain. Laodike lay on a couch, flanked by Kassandra and Andromache. Blood had soaked the embroidered cloth beneath her. Sheathing his swords Helikaon moved towards them.
A middle-aged woman stepped into his path. ‘What is happening?’ she asked him, grabbing his arm. She was frightened and trembling, her face unnaturally pale.
‘We are being attacked,’ he told her, his voice calm. ‘There are wounded men who need aid. There will be more. Can you search the apartments for needles and thread, and tear up linens for bandages?’
Her expression calmed. ‘Yes, I can do that.’
‘Good. Organize the other women, ready to tend those who will need it.’
‘Who is behind this treachery?’ she asked.
‘Agathon.’
She frowned and shook her head. ‘I always liked him,’ she said.
‘So did I.’ Moving past her he knelt by the couch. There was a great deal of blood, and Laodike seemed to be sleeping. He glanced at Andromache.
‘A spear,’ she whispered. ‘It took her low in the back. I have stopped the bleeding and her heartbeat is strong. I think she will recover. ‘
Helikaon reached out and gently brushed a wisp of hair back from Laodike’s brow.
Her eyes opened.
‘Helikaon!’ she cried, with a wide smile. ‘Are the traitors slain?’
‘Not yet.’
‘They killed the priestess. It was dreadful. Were they drunk?’
‘No, Laodike. There is a plot to kill your father.’
‘Antiphones or Dios,’ she said. ‘Or both.’
‘No. Agathon.’
‘Oh, no,’ she whispered. ‘No, it cannot be true.’
‘Sadly it is. He had Antiphones stabbed, and he has ordered the deaths of everyone inside the palace.’
‘He and you were friends,’ said Laodike. ‘I don’t understand. Is Argurios here?’
‘Yes. He is down in the courtyard, organizing the defences.’
‘Defences?’ She seemed bemused.
‘Agathon’s Thrakians have surrounded the palace – and there is a Mykene force coming to aid them.’
‘What about our troops?’
‘The soldiers inside the city are loyal to Agathon. It will be a long night, I think.’
Laodike sighed, then winced. ‘If feels as if I have been kicked by a horse,’ she complained.
‘Stab wounds are like that,’ he told her. ‘And now I must go. You rest now and gather your strength.’
‘Yes, I will. I am very tired. Tell Argurios to be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to him.’
‘Argurios?’ Helikaon glanced at her quizzically.
‘We will be wed,’ she said. ‘It is our destiny.’
Helikaon smiled, then leaned forward and kissed Laodike’s brow. ‘I am happy for you,’ he told her. Then he stood. Andromache rose alongside him. ‘Walk with me a little way,’ he said.
Moving through the apartment they emerged onto a gallery above a wide stairway leading down to the king’s megaron. Below they could see men arming themselves with weapons and shields from the walls.
‘I am glad you came,’ said Andromache.
Helikaon looked into her green eyes. ‘I came for you,’ he said.
‘Why?’
‘I think you know.’
‘Perhaps. But there may be little time left to hear the words.’
Taking her hand he lifted it to his lips. He had expected the words to come haltingly, but they did not. ‘I love you, Andromache,’ he said. ‘I have loved you since that first moment on the beach at Blue Owl Bay. You have been in my heart and my mind constantly since that night. If we survive here, will you come back to Dardania with me?’
‘Yes,’ she said simply.
He kissed her. As their lips met all thoughts of peril vanished from his mind.
Nothing else existed, and he knew that this exquisite moment would remain etched in his memory for the rest of his life.
As they finally drew back from one another cold reality rushed in.
The rest of his life. It was likely to be no more than a single night.
‘What are you thinking?’ she whispered.
He smiled. ‘All my life I have been waiting for this moment, only I did not know it. I was thinking that I would rather be here now, standing with you, than anywhere else on the Great Green.’
XXXII
Spears in the Night
i
With the gates closed, and the initial burst of combat behind him, Argurios stood in the courtyard before the palace. On the walls above him some forty Eagles, armed with Phrygian bows, were waiting for the next attack. Behind him he could hear orders being shouted within the king’s megaron. Argurios stood silently, heavy of heart.
He had come here, as a Mykene outlaw, determined to seek Priam’s permission to wed his daughter. Now he was caught up in a civil war. The thought of battle did not disturb him. His whole adult life had been honed in combat. What troubled him, as he stood quietly in the calm before the onslaught, was that Mykene warriors were coming. If Agamemnon had agreed to support Agathon with a small force, it would be made up of the finest warriors of his army. Argurios would have fought beside most of them, celebrated victories with them, commiserated with them when mutual comrades fell. Faces swarmed before his mind’s eye: Kalliades the Tall, Menides Spear Carrier, Banokles One Ear, Eruthros the Joker, Ajax the Skull Splitter…
Were they, even now, marching towards the citadel?
And if they were, how could he, as a Mykene warrior, take up arms against them?
Could he stab Tall Kalliades and watch him fall? Could he send Banokles into the Underworld?
Yet these same men were coming to kill the father of the woman he loved. And what would be her fate if they succeeded? This was, at least, a question he could answer. Though Argurios himself had never raped a woman he knew that such activity was common after a battle.
Anger built in him at the thought of such a fate for Laodike. No, I
will not allow that, he decided. I would cut the heart from Agamemnon himself rather than see Laodike hurt.
Moving swiftly to the foot of the rampart, he climbed the twenty steps to where Polydorus was crouched down behind the crenellated wall. Argurios raised his head above the parapet, swiftly scanning the open ground beyond. There were no warriors in sight, though he could see men massing in the shadows of the narrow streets some eighty paces away.
‘They will be seeking ladders,’ said Argurios.
‘They will find plenty of them,’ replied Polydorus. ‘There is always new building work in Troy.’
The walls themselves were no more than the height of two tall men. If the enemy set wagons against them, they would be able to leap from them and haul themselves over the battlements. Argurios glanced back at the palace. Above and to the left of the doors was a long balcony, with high windows. Once the enemy opened the gates they could bring their ladders to the palace walls and scale them, entering the building from above. With enough men Argurios could have held the outer walls for days. Similarly, with three hundred hardened warriors he could defend the palace against a horde. It was galling to have such a fortress, and too few soldiers to keep it secure.
‘I am going inside,’ he told Polydorus. ‘I need to study the megaron and plan for its defence. If they attack before I return loose several volleys into them, and hold the first assault. That is vital.’
‘We will hold, Argurios,’ muttered Polydorus. ‘All night if we have to.’
‘It will not be all night. I will explain more when I return.’
Polydorus smiled. ‘Something to tell my children when they grow, eh? I fought beside Argurios.’
‘You have children?’
‘Not yet. But a man must think ahead.’
Argurios ran down the steps and across the courtyard. Inside the megaron all but the main doors had been barricaded. He saw Priam sitting on his throne, dressed in elaborate armour, decorated with gold and silver, a high-crested helmet upon his lap. Everywhere there were armed men. They had almost stripped the walls of shields and spears. Alongside the king stood Prince Dios. He wore no armour, though a sword was belted by his side.
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