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. Rumor 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 favor 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 in 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,” Helikaon said 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 rumors concerning the king and Andromache.”
“I have heard enough,” Helikaon said 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 there 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 knock 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 toward 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 would sink once more into her wounded heart.
The dawn breeze was cool with the promise of rain. It had been 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 on 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 traveled 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 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 around.
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 gray 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 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 the 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 around 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. With Anchises dead she was sure Aeneas would have her killed or kill her himself and her son with her. But he did not. He sailed away again after a few days, leaving Dio king and herself safe under the protection of Garus and old Pausanius. Those were the happiest years….
“Halysia, look at me. Look at me!”
She looked up, but it was not her father who held her. His eyes had been brown, these were blue. She remembered blue eyes….
“Halysia!” She felt strong hands shaking her. “It is I, Aeneas. Say ‘Aeneas.’”
“Aeneas.” She frowned and looked around at the treacherous cliff edge and the gray sea far below their feet. “What are you doing here?”
“Your maid saw you walking here. She feared for your life.”
“My life? I have no life.” He pulled her into his arms again, and she rested her cheek on his shoulder. “My son was my life, Aeneas,” she said calmly. “I have no life without him.”
“He walks in the green Fields of Elysia now,” he said. “He has your bodyguard … was it Garus?… to hold his hand.”
“Do you believe that?” she asked, searching his face.
“Yes, I do.”
“Do you believe also in the power of dreams?”
“Dreams?”
“When I lay… as I thought… dying I had many dreams, Aeneas. And all but one of them were terrifying. I saw blood and fire and a city burning. I saw the sea full of ships, carrying violent men. I saw war, Aeneas. I saw the fall of kings and the death of heroes. Oh… so much death.” She looked up at him. “Do you believe in the power of dreams?”
He led her away from the cliff top, and they sat on a green slope. “Odysseus says there are two kinds of dreams, some born of strong wine and rich food and some sent by the gods. Of course you dreamed of blood and war. Evil men had attacked you. Your mind was full of visions of vileness.”
His words flowed over her, and she clung to the hope they were true. They sat in silence for a while. Then she sighed.
“Garus loved me. I was going to ask if you would object to our marriage. They took both of my loves that night, Aeneas. My Dio and strong-hearted Garus.”
“I did not know. And, no, I would have offered no objection. He was a good man. But you are young still, Halysia, and beautiful. If the gods will it, you will find love again.”
“Love? I do so hope not, Aeneas. Yes, it was the only part of the dream that was bright and joyful. But if what I saw does come to pass, does it not mean that the other visions, of war and death, will also come true?”
“I have no answers for such fears,” he said. “What I do know is that you are the queen of Dardania and the people love you. No one will supplant you, and while I live no one will ever threaten you again.”
“They love me now,” she said sadly. “Will they love me still when the monster is born?”
“What monster?”
“The beast in my belly,” she whispered to him. “It is evil, Aeneas. It is Mykene.”
He took her hand. “I did not know you were pregnant. I am sorry, Halysia.” He sighed. “But it is not a monster. It is merely a child who will love you as Dio did.”
“It will be a boy, dark-haired and gray-eyed. I saw this, too.”
“Then he will be a prince of Dardania. People are bred to evil, Halysia. I do not believe it is born in them, no matter how they are conceived.”
She relaxed in his arms. “You are a good man, Aeneas.”
“My friends call me Helikaon. I would hope you are my friend.”
“I am your friend,” she said. “I always will be.”
He smiled. “Good. I will be leaving for Troy in a few days. I want you and Pausanius to continue meeting the leaders and resolving disputes. They trust you, Halysia. And now that they have witnessed my harshness, they will be more amenable to your wisdom. Are you ready to be queen again?”
“I will do as you ask,” she said. “For friendship.”
Then the vision came back to her, bright and shining. Helikaon was standing before her in a white tunic edged with gold, and in his hand was a bejeweled necklet.
Closing her eyes, she prayed with all her strength that he would never bring her that golden gift.
IV
The young Hittite horseman rode at a gallop across the plain, bent low over the horse’s neck, his imperial cloak of green and yellow stripes flowing behind him.
He glanced again at the dying sun and saw it closing on the horizon. He could not ride after dark in this unknown country, and he leaned forward on his horse to urge it on. He was determined to reach Troy before sunset.
He had been on the road for eight days and had used five horses, at first changing them daily at imperial garrisons. But in this uncharted western end of the empire there were no troops stationed on a regular basis, and this horse had to last him until he reached Troy. Since leaving Salapa, the last civilized city in the Hittite empire, he had followed the route he had memorized—keep the rising sun warm on your back, the setting sun between your horse’s ears, and af
ter four days you will see the great mountain called Ida. Skirt this to the north and you will reach Troy and the sea.
The messenger Huzziyas had never seen the sea. He had lived all his nineteen years in and around the capital Hattusas, deep in the heart of Hittite lands. This was his first important commission as an imperial messenger, and he was determined to fulfill it with speed and efficiency. But he was eager to gaze upon the sea when the emperor’s task was done. His hand crept to his breast again, and he nervously touched the message hidden in his leather tunic.
He was riding now across a flat green plain. He could see a plateau in front of him, the sun falling directly toward it. The last sunlight was shining off something on the heights of the plateau. Troy is roofed with gold, they had told him, but he had scoffed at that.
“Do you think me a fool?” he asked. “If it is roofed with gold, why do bandits not come and steal the roofs?”
“You will see,” they replied.
It was almost dark by the time he rode up to the city. He could see nothing but great shadowed walls towering above him. Suddenly, his confidence evaporated and he felt like a small boy again. He walked his tired horse around the south part of the walls, as instructed, until he reached the high wooden gates. One gate had been opened a little, and six riders awaited him, silent men clad in high-crested helmets and seated on tall horses.
He cleared his throat of the dust of travel and called out to them in the foreign words he had been schooled in. “I come from Hattusas. I have a message for King Priam!”
He was beckoned forward and rode slowly through the gate. Two horsemen rode in front of him, two at his sides, and two behind. They were all armed and armored, and they said nothing as they made their way through the darkened streets. Huzziyas looked curiously around him, but in the torchlight he could see little. Steadily, they climbed toward the citadel.
They passed through the palace gates and halted at a great building lined with red pillars and lit with hundreds of torches. The riders sat their horses and waited until a man clad in long white robes hurried out. He was gray-faced, and his eyes were red-rimmed and watery. He peered at Huzziyas.
[Troy 01] - Lord of the Silver Bow Page 34