“I am terribly sorry, my lord. I only asked because we are looking after your horses, and we’ll need to arrange things according to your plans. If you’re off again this afternoon, we’ll just wipe them down and feed and water them, but not—”
“We leave tomorrow, early,” Alexos says, tired of this conversation.
“Very good, Your Grace. We’ll have them all bridled and ready to go first thing in the morning.”
“You do that,” Leander says. “And if you say another word I may have to cut out your tongue.”
The groom ducks his head and doesn’t speak again, just attends to his work. And he does a good job of it, too. By the time Alexos’ boots are gleaming and the groom has slunk away, he has his strength back, more or less.
“Well, I’m off,” he says without much enthusiasm.
“Shall I come with you?”
“No, I have Pitheus. And to be honest, I need some time alone to prepare myself.”
“I understand.”
“But I’d like you to stay with me tonight—wherever my father decides to put me.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll send for you when it’s over.”
Leander nods agreement and gives Alexos a sympathetic smile. “At least you’re all buffed and shiny for your conference with the king.”
“Oh, I assure you, Leander, my father will not notice my boots.”
18
EKTOR IS STANDING WHEN Alexos comes in—always a dangerous sign. The way he leans forward, his large hands gripping the corners of his worktable, he looks like a wild beast ready to pounce.
“What in the name of Zeus are you doing here?” he says. His voice is so abrasive it would have felt like an assault even without the stinging words. And for a moment Alexos is powerless to speak. Then suddenly rage is rising in his belly.
“Why, thank you, Father,” he says. “I’m delighted to see you as well. And how nice to find you so pleasantly housed, even here on the borderlands—every comfort, stylish decorations, my goodness!” He looks pointedly at the fresco on the wall opposite the entry door, his head cocked with feigned amazement. “And what exactly are those frolicsome maidens meant to be—wood nymphs?”
Ektor is stunned. This sort of thing has never happened before. “I have no idea,” he says, almost defensive. “That’s been there since my great-grandfather’s time. It’s nothing to do with me.”
“Charming, though—all that ivory skin, soft eyes, flowing hair . . .”
“Alexos!”
“And the whole day off from fighting to enjoy it all. How very nice for you.”
There is a long, cold silence while the king recovers from this unthinkable exchange. “Well, if you’ve come to see blood, my boy, then you ought to have been here yesterday. By the gods, I should have had you strangled at birth! Now sit down and tell me why you’re here.”
“No need. I won’t be long.”
“I said sit!”
Chastened and more or less returned to sanity, Alexos pulls up a chair. His father sits too, folding his hands on the table and waiting with exaggerated impatience while Alexos does his thing with the brace and leans his cane against the table.
“By ancient tradition,” Ektor says in his lecturing voice, “just as we declare a truce every night, we don’t fight on the feast days of the gods. Today, as it happens, is dedicated to Hephaestus, which now that I think of it is rather fitting—that you should arrive on his particular day.” This is a jibe and a cruel one. Ektor delivers it with a smile.
“Because Hephaestus is a cripple, you mean? Like me?”
“Indeed. And yet he is also immensely powerful.”
Alexos can’t think of a response. Nor does he know what his father intended by that business about Hephaestus, except obviously to wound him. He speeds on to his business, the sooner to be gone.
“I’ve come with a simple request,” he begins. “And as I believe it’s the only favor I’ve ever asked of you, I hope you’ll do me the kindness of granting it.”
“I’ll decide when I know what the favor is.”
“All right. I want one of your men transferred to the Royal Guard on special assignment to me. I assure you, Father, you won’t miss him.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Who is it?”
“One of the warm bodies in your pitchfork brigade.”
“The auxiliary?”
“Yes. Though I’m told this particular warm body has both a homemade lance and a knife. I don’t suppose that makes a difference.”
“Alexos, I can’t transfer a peasant to the Royal Guard!”
“I would think, as king of Arcos, you could do anything you like. And since I ask you as a personal favor, the only one I have ever—”
“Oh, you are so tedious!”
“Just transfer the man and I’ll go. He’s nothing at all to you.”
“Does he have a name, this peasant with a lance?”
“He does. Peles of Attaros.”
The king gapes. “That fellow? The runner?”
“Yes.”
“He’s in my auxiliary?”
“He is, though he’s not yet eighteen. Apparently your recruiters dismissed that as a technicality. He’ll be eighteen eventually—if he lives that long.”
“Bloody hell!”
“My thoughts exactly. And seeing as he was the champion of the festival races, you might make an exception in his case—bend the rules, give him some sort of promotion.”
“Ha!” The king is half amused, half amazed. “Peles of Attaros, in my auxiliary!”
“If you’ll just write out the order, I’ll see to the rest. I know you’re a busy man.”
The king takes a tablet and stylus and hastily begins to write.
“What will you do with him when you get him home?”
“I want him to help me with my running style.”
Ektor stares at his son, appalled.
“That was a joke, Father.”
“It wasn’t funny.”
“No, I suppose not.”
“That should do it,” Ektor says, handing the finished order to Alexos. “Give this to one of the officers downstairs; they’ll send someone to find your man. Do you suppose he knows how to ride?”
“I doubt he’s had the chance to learn. But he’s a natural athlete. He’ll pick it up quickly.”
“I expect so. Gods, what a beautiful runner he was!”
“Yes. I remember. Thank you, Father.” Alexos rises, eager to go.
“I hope you don’t plan to leave this afternoon. The nearest shelter is six hours away.”
“We’ll go first thing in the morning.”
“Good. There’s a room for guests just down the hall. I’ll have it set up for you.”
“That’s all right. I can stay with my men.”
“Your men?”
“My companions, my friends.”
“Your friends?”
“Yes, I have friends now. Isn’t that a wonder?”
Things had been going so well, with that easy talk about Peles the beautiful runner, and now his unaccountable temper has popped up again and ruined everything.
“Are they the ones who taught you to be so rude and disrespectful?”
“No, I’m afraid I learned that all by myself.”
“I wouldn’t be proud of it.”
“I’m not.” Alexos feels sick; he desperately wants to leave, but apparently his father isn’t finished with him yet.
“As it happens, Alexos, you cannot refuse the king’s invitation.” He states this as if it were a matter of law. Maybe it is. “You may ask one of your friends to join you if you like, in addition to your personal guard, of course. The accommodations will suffice.”
“Thank you, Father. I’ll bring Leander.”
“Excellent choice. I’ve had my eye on that boy for a while. A little high-spirited, but he’ll settle down. He’s by far the best of your class, I think.”
Another jibe. Alexos consc
iously ignores it.
“And I would like Peles to stay with me, too. He’ll be a bit confused by his sudden change of fortune. There are things I’ll need to explain before we leave in the morning. And if he is to serve me, we might as well start right away.”
“That’s reasonable. Anything else?”
“No. Thank you, Father. I’ve been insufferably rude.”
“Yes, you have.”
“I don’t know what came over me.”
To his surprise, Ektor leans back in his chair and laughs.
“I do,” he says. “You’re finally growing up, learning to stand on your own two feet—if you’ll pardon the allusion—and speak your mind. And I must say, Alexos, it’s really about time!”
19
PELES IS WAITING IN the guest room when Alexos returns from supper. He’s standing, stiff and straight, like a sentry on duty. Apparently he thought it improper to sit in the bedchamber of a prince. And his hands are clasped behind his back, as if to say that though he’s been here alone for a good long while, he hasn’t touched anything at all.
Now, seeing Alexos, he sinks to one knee, hand on heart, head bowed. “Your Highness,” he says.
“Welcome, Peles,” Alexos replies. “You remember Leander?”
“I do, Your Highness.” Peles, still kneeling, bows to Leander.
“And these three gentlemen constitute my personal guard: Nestor, Pitheus, and Silanos. Gentlemen, this is Peles, champion of the festival race.”
More bowing. Subtle glances exchanged among the guards.
“Now, Peles, please sit and we will talk.”
But Peles doesn’t sit. He is still kneeling. “I wish to thank you for your kindness, Your Highness,” he says. “It is quite beyond imagining.”
“You are welcome, Peles. It was my pleasure to help you. Now, since we are making a beginning and will be together much of the time from now on, I would like to make a couple of requests.”
“Of course, Your Highness.”
“First, please get up. And once you’ve done that, please sit down. Take that stool over there. It’s perfectly proper, I assure you.”
When Peles is reluctantly seated, perched on the very edge of the seat, as if not wanting to take too much of it, Alexos continues. “Second, if you wouldn’t mind terribly, you can dispense with the Your Highnesses—except on public occasions, of course. Do as Leander does. Follow his lead.”
“Please excuse me, my prince, but what is appropriate for a great nobleman’s son would surely not apply to the likes of me.”
“The likes of you?” Leander says, all cheerful amazement. “The champion of the festival race, you mean? Come now, Peles! I’ll grant that you are greatly my inferior in birth. But we ran a fair race, did we not? I did my very best, yet you were the winner. So why don’t we just say that the two balance each other out?”
Peles is unable to say anything to this. He looks terrified and confused.
“Excellent,” Alexos says, moving on. “Now I have asked that you be assigned to my particular service. I will need you to assist me in personal ways, just as my friends do. I will also want your advice and guidance on certain matters.”
“You want advice from me?”
“Yes. You know far more about the land and the people of Arcos than I do—more than any of us, really. You’ve seen for yourself how we live at court. Well, that has been more or less our sole experience of the world. Our travel through the countryside has been quite a revelation, but it’s only a beginning. We saw what you did with the roads in your region and were very impressed. I imagine you have other ideas about ways we could make the kingdom work more efficiently for the betterment of all.”
Peles’ jaw hangs open and he’s blinking wildly. “Well, yes,” he stammers. “I will gladly tell you what I know . . . would you mind if I called you ‘my lord’?”
“Only once out of every—let’s say, ten sentences. How would that be?”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what a sentence is, my lord.”
“Well, you just spoke one. And then I spoke one. This is another. When you say something and it comes to an end, that’s a sentence.”
“I understand, Your Majesty. I will try to count them.”
“Please don’t, Peles. Just treat me like a normal person most of the time. How would that be? It’s what I would prefer.”
“Yes, my— Yes.”
“Good. Now before I forget, we met your mother while we were in Attaros. She told us you were here. She asked me to tell you that you are the best boy that ever was and that she is proud of you.”
There is a long silence. Then, “She is a fond mother.”
“So she is. You’re lucky to have her.”
“I am, sire.” He purses his lips, as if there was something more he’d like to say, but isn’t sure whether it would be proper. Alexos raises his brows and holds out a hand, inviting him to speak.
“I just wanted to tell you, my lord, how very sorry I am about what happened at the race. I saw how flushed you were, feverish-like, and I noticed that your legs were trembling. I knew there was something amiss, that you were probably very sick. I ought to have stopped and helped you instead of finishing the race. It has gnawed at my conscience ever since, especially after I heard that it was the summer sickness you had. My brother died of it, you see, and so I knew what a terrible illness it is. That you kept on running and finished the race is past imagining.”
“Well, your conscience may be clear. Nothing you could have done would have made the slightest difference. Even my physician, who is quite the best in the world, could not cure me, only help me to recover. Whereas your winning the race—no offense, Leander—was the only good thing to come out of that very bad day. And, Peles, I’m sorry about your brother. I didn’t know. Your mother said you were her only son.”
“I am now, my lord.”
“A terrible loss.” Alexos cringes at his own trite, inadequate words.
“It was. He was the sweetest boy. But then, you lost a brother, too, so you will understand.”
Alexos sucks in breath and turns his head away. Peles sees immediately that he’s made a mistake. Leander quickly changes the subject. “You’ll be glad to hear,” he says to Peles, “that we’ll be passing through Attaros on our return to the capital. We thought we might break our journey there if the village folk will put us up.”
“Of course they will,” Peles says, impressed by the subtlety and tact with which Leander had given Alexos time to compose himself. It’s not the sort of thing he’s come to expect from highborn folk, who are generally impatient and rude.
“Well, it’s decided then,” Leander says. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever ridden a horse before?”
“No, my lord. We have no horses at all.”
“Not even one to pull a plow?”
“We had an ox till recently. Two are better, but we just had the one. He was shared by everyone in the village. Then he died and we have not been able to replace him. I had planned to save up my wages and send them home to Mother so she could buy a new one.”
“Well,” Alexos says, “with your new promotion, your wages will be substantially higher than they are at present. I’ll give you an advance on your earnings so you can give it to your mother when we pass through Attaros. How much to buy an ox?”
“Three silver stater, I would guess. But that is a vast amount, my—”
“It will not be a problem, I assure you.”
“You are most astonishingly kind.”
“It’s your money; you will earn it through honest work. And it seems so much more practical to do it now, so the villagers can get the ox in time to do some planting before it’s too late in the season.”
“Yes, Your Majesty, that is true.”
“Good. Now, we leave tomorrow, first thing. If there are any belongings you want to fetch, you’d best run get them now.”
“I have nothing, sire, except my pallet and a knife. I gave my lance to a frien
d in the auxiliary. I hope that was all right. I thought it a shabby thing to carry in such fine company. And my friend had nothing at all.”
“You did right, Peles. He needs it and you do not. The king’s guard will provide you with a proper sword and lance and teach you how to use them, though I doubt you’ll ever need to. I have trained swordsmen already. You I want for your good mind and excellent heart.”
Peles purses his lips again, his brow furrowed.
“What is it?” Alexos asks.
“It’s nothing, my lord. It’s just that I am overcome, you see. For I never expected to meet with such goodness in the world—certainly not among the highest of the high. And when you said, just now, that I had an excellent heart, it near brought tears to my eyes. For you have one of your own, my prince, and I wondered if perhaps you didn’t quite know that about yourself, being so earnestly set upon doing everything perfectly and setting your goals so high.”
Alexos and Leander both gape at him, openmouthed.
“By the gods, Alexos,” Leander says when he is finally able to speak, “how have we managed without this fellow all this time?”
Alexos lies on his cot, eyes open in the darkness, listening to the soft, even breaths of four sleeping souls in a single room, with the occasional cough, snuffle, snort, or rustle as one of them turns over. Outside the door, Pitheus keeps watch.
Whatever night sounds there are on the borderlands, Alexos can’t hear them. The king’s headquarters building is not in the traditional style: wrapped around a courtyard with the doors and windows opening onto an inner garden. It’s more like a very large, two-story box. And though there are air vents high on the walls, the room has no windows at all, only a single door. Alexos assumes this is for security.
The principal rooms for living and sleeping, including the king’s apartments and the guest room where Alexos now lies, are all upstairs. The offices are below, where the business of war is conducted. It’s an efficient design, he supposes, but it would be wearing after a while, living in a windowless box. He wonders if, when his time comes, he might not prefer to sleep in a tent. It would be cold in the winter, but at least he could hear the wind.
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