At the top of the stone steps she saw blood on the rocks. There was a smeared patch on the edge of the path above the drop to the rocks below. Andromache ignored it and continued on to the fortress gates.
Once through, she climbed the stairs to the apartments she had been allocated. The slim, dark-haired servant girl Polysia was waiting inside. In the torchlight she looked strained and nervous, and her relief at seeing Andromache was palpable. She ran forward. “Oh, where have you been? I was worried sick. I thought you had been abducted!”
“I went for a walk on the beach,” said Andromache.
“You shouldn’t have. There has been murder tonight.”
Andromache nodded. “I know. When men are gathered together, is there not always a murder, or a fight, or a rape?”
Polysia’s brows creased. “I don’t understand. Knowing that, why did you go?”
Andromache moved to the table and filled a clay goblet with wine and water. “Why not? I cannot change the world of men, and I have no wish to hide in a cave.”
“I would have been in such trouble had you gone missing. The king would have had me whipped . . . or killed.”
Andromache put down her wine and walked over to the girl. A wisp of dark hair had fallen over her brow. Andromache brushed it back from her face, then leaned in and kissed her on the lips. “But I haven’t gone missing,” she said. “I am here, and all is well.” Polysia blushed. “And now you can go to your bed,” Andromache told her. “I shall sleep for a while.”
“Would you like me to stay with you?”
“Not tonight. Go now.”
When Polysia had left, Andromache walked to the balcony and gazed down on the beach below. Already the sky was lightening. She saw the three Mykene galleys being pushed out, men clambering aboard. Removing her clothes, she laid them over the back of a chair and then climbed into the bed. Sleep came swiftly, and she dreamed of Kalliope. They were swimming in the bay at night. It was a good dream. Then Kalliope began to call her “Princess,” which was strange, for they were all princesses on Thera.
“Princess!”
Andromache’s eyes opened, and she saw Polysia by the bedside. Through the open balcony she could see that the sky was clear and blue, the sun bright. Andromache struggled to sit, her mind disoriented. “Fetch me some water,” she said. Polysia did so, and she drank deeply.
“There is terrible trouble,” said Polysia. “The king is furious, and there are soldiers on the beach.”
“Slow down,” Andromache urged her. “What trouble?”
“More killings. One of the palace guards was stabbed and thrown from the cliff, and a sailor has been horribly mutilated. They cut off his head, someone told me.”
“This is truly a savage place,” Andromache whispered. Rising from the bed, she walked naked to the balcony and breathed deeply. The air was fresh and cool.
“You should come in. Someone might see you.”
Andromache turned. The dreams of Kalliope still burned in her, and her body felt warm and uneasy. “And what would they see?” she asked the servant girl.
Once again Polysia blushed. “You are very beautiful,” she whispered.
Andromache laughed. “Yesterday I was plain, and now everyone is telling me I am beautiful.” Drawing Polysia to her feet, she kissed her again. This time the girl’s lips parted, and the kiss was deep.
Then someone began pounding at the door. “Are you dressed?” came a man’s voice. She recognized it as Kygones’.
“Wait a moment,” she called. Polysia helped her into her long green gown, and then the servant ran to the door, opened it, and stepped back, head bowed.
Kygones entered. His face was pale, and tension clung to him like a cloak. “You will be leaving for Troy today,” he said. “Gather your belongings and I will take you to the beach.”
“It should be an exciting walk,” she said. “I understand someone is killed every few moments on your beaches.”
His face hardened. “Last night was exceptional,” he said. “We are not savages here.”
“But someone was beheaded, I understand.”
“Be ready as soon as you can,” he said, and stalked from the room.
Andromache turned back to Polysia. “I think you would enjoy life on Thera,” she told her.
“I wish you were not leaving,” the girl answered sadly.
“Perhaps we will meet again. I hope so. Now help me gather my belongings, Polysia. The king is impatient.”
II
Kygones was in no mood for conversation as he walked down the hill path alongside Andromache. Twenty soldiers followed them, two of them carrying the chests containing Andromache’s clothes. As he walked, Kygones kept his hand on the hilt of the bronze sword Helikaon had given him. He was hoping it would not be necessary to use it.
How in the name of Zeus had the Golden One known the assassins would be waiting?
The Fat King wished he had never listened to Kolanos or allowed thoughts of Agamemnon’s gold to tempt him. The gold was worth more than two years of trading with Helikaon’s ships, and the Golden One’s death would not affect his profits severely. Someone else would have inherited the ships, and they would still use Blue Owl Bay. It had seemed so simple. Keep his soldiers back and allow Kolanos to kill Helikaon on the beach. When that had failed, he had invited the Golden One to the palace. Surely the assassins on the cliff path could kill him. But no. That left only the trip back to the beach.
Kygones had even managed to divest Helikaon of his sword, and still he had evaded assassination. The king shivered and wondered if the gods themselves were protecting the Golden One.
The biggest question, however, and the one that filled his mind as he walked to the shore was: Does he know?
And then there were the other deaths. The palace guard’s murder was senseless. It took no great wit to realize that Kolanos or one of his men, angry at missing the chance to kill Helikaon, had vented his fury on the poor unfortunate who had switched clothes with him.
But the headless corpse. That was another matter entirely. The body had been covered in cuts and burns and had been disemboweled before the beheading. The wrists were bound, the skin around the binding ripped and torn, showing how the tortured man had writhed and struggled in his agony.
It was an act of barbarity that even Kygones found hard to take. Kill a man, yes, but torture and mutilation? No civilized man should involve himself in such vileness. What would be the effect on Helikaon? he wondered. He glanced back at his soldiers. They had been warned to watch for any sign of hostility.
The beach was still crowded, but there was little movement, and the mood there was somber. Word obviously had spread. Kygones struggled to stay calm as he approached the Xanthos. Helikaon was standing talking with the Ithakan king, Odysseus. In the background Kygones could hear the sound of hammers and saws coming from the great ship. He looked up, but the decks were too high to see where the noise originated. Helikaon and Odysseus ceased their conversation as Kygones came closer.
The king looked into Helikaon’s eyes and shuddered inwardly. His gaze was cold, and it seemed to the king that the temperature dropped as those eyes met his.
“I regret the death of your man,” said the king. Helikaon did not reply for a moment, and the silence grew. Kygones saw that he was staring intently at Hektor’s bride to be. “Allow me to introduce Andromache, daughter of the king of Thebe Under Plakos.”
“You are to marry Hektor?” he said.
“That is my father’s command,” she replied.
He fell silent again, and Kygones pressed on. “You agreed last night to offer her passage to Troy.”
Helikaon did not look at the king. His gaze remained locked on the face of Andromache. “You must travel with Odysseus,” said Helikaon. “Three warships are waiting outside the bay. They will seek to finish what they began last night.”
Kygones spoke again. “Kolanos is . . . a savage. He is no longer part of my fleet.”
S
till the Golden One failed to respond. Instead he turned away to stare out to sea. Then followed a moment so bizarre that Kygones’ stomach turned. The prince knelt down by a blood-drenched sack in the sand. Opening it, he lifted forth a severed head. It had been mutilated, the eyes gouged out. Congealing blood covered the stump of the neck and stained Helikaon’s hands.
“You remember my friend Zidantas,” he said, his voice conversational and calm, his expression unchanged. Shifting his hold, Helikaon held the head against his chest. The movement caused a severed vein to open. Blood dripped sluggishly onto his blue tunic, but he did not seem to notice. In the silence that followed Kygones could hear his own heart beating. Then Helikaon spoke again. “Zidantas came to this place in good faith, seeking rest for the night. He came to this bay because it is well known that King Kygones keeps it safe. His soldiers patrol it. They are everywhere, preventing fights. Not last night, though. Last night this good man was lured away from your palace. Then he was tortured. Then he was killed.”
Kygones’ throat was dry. He licked his lips. “I explained about the lack of soldiers,” he said. “And I share your pain at the loss of a crewman. However, think of Andromache, my friend. This grisly display must surely be upsetting for her.”
Helikaon seemed puzzled. “Are you upset, goddess?” he asked. “Does the sight of my friend Zidantas cause you distress?”
“No,” she answered calmly. “I did not know him. He must have been a good man, though, for his loss to hurt you so.”
Kygones saw the softness of her words breach Helikaon’s defenses. A muscle in the prince’s cheek twitched as he fought for control. Lifting the head to his face, he kissed the brow and then returned it to the bloody sack. “Yes, he was a good man,” he said. “Father to six daughters. He was loyal and he was brave, and he deserved better than to die like this, murdered by Mykene savages.”
“Yes, he was murdered by savages,” said a voice. “Do not seek to brand all Mykene with this monstrous act.”
Kygones swung to see the warrior Argurios moving through the crowd.
“You are not welcome here,” said Helikaon. “I see your friend Glaukos has left with Kolanos and his murderers. Perhaps you should have joined them. Then we could have met at sea, and you could have tried for your revenge.”
“It is true that I wish to avenge Alektruon,” said Argurios. “But I would do it facing you, sword to sword. I am no backstabber, Helikaon, and no torturer, either.”
“Ah,” said Helikaon, “a good man, then, and a hero. Perhaps you would like to accompany us as we hunt down Kolanos and bring him to justice. We will not have far to go.”
Kygones saw Argurios’ expression harden. “Kolanos deserves to die,” he said, “but I cannot raise my sword against another Follower. I will, however, report this atrocity to my king. You should remember, though, Helikaon, that Kolanos is not the first to sever a head and put out the eyes.”
Helikaon nodded. “There is truth in that, though it is a Mykene truth, and that means it is twisted beyond recognition. Alektruon was a barbaric murderer, killed cleanly in single combat after an unprovoked attack on a neutral vessel. Zidantas was a sailor, overpowered and tortured. His hands were bound. The blood on his face shows his eyes were gouged out while he still lived.” Helikaon paused and then spoke again. “Last night you proved your honor and saved my life. For that I am in your debt. Therefore, you are safe, Argurios. However, as I said before, you are not welcome here.”
Kygones looked at the Mykene warrior, who was standing stiffly, his hand on his sword. Argurios spun on his heel and stalked away.
Heikaon swung back to Kygones. “This is no longer a safe haven for honest sailors,” he said. “My ships’ captains will be instructed to avoid your bays.” With that he took up the blood-drenched sack and strode to the Xanthos.
Kygones felt sick. The loss of income from Helikaon’s fifty ships would be a huge blow to his treasury. Within a year he would be unable to pay his mercenaries, and that would mean the bandits in the high country would begin once more to raid caravans passing through his territory. More loss of income.
Men from the Xanthos and the Penelope moved forward to push the great ship from the beach. As it floated clear, the last of the crew swarmed up the ropes and the rowers took up their positions. The mysterious hammering continued. As the Xanthos inched back and then swung, Kygones saw that several wooden structures were being added to the decks. But by now the king did not care what they were building. He felt as if he had been stabbed and his lifeblood was flowing to the beach.
Odysseus spoke then, his words cold. “Ithakan ships will beach here no more, either, Kygones. When word gets out, others will come to the same conclusion.”
Kygones did not reply, and Odysseus strode away. All along the beach there was an unusual lack of activity. No other ships were being launched. They all knew what was about to take place beyond the bay.
And they would wait until the battle was over.
III
Andromache remained silent as she walked alongside Odysseus. The interplay between the men had been fascinating to observe, and there were undercurrents she could not identify. Kygones had been nervous when he approached Helikaon. Why should that be? Although she disliked the Fat King, he was not a timid man or one easily frightened. On the walk to the beach he had been tense and had warned his men to watch for signs of hostility. Why would he expect hostility? It was not his soldiers who had attacked Helikaon. Odysseus, too, seemed different today: sadder and older. She glanced at him as they walked to the remains of the Penelope’s campfire. He looked fearful, his face pale and his manner subdued.
There was a group of men around the fire as they approached, along with a tawny-haired young boy, his face ashen and his eyes wide.
Odysseus knelt down by him. “The Penelope is a good ship, Xander, a ship of legend. You will be able to tell your grandchildren you sailed on her.”
The boy looked up. “Why did they do that to Zidantas?”
“Listen to me, lad. You could spend a lifetime trying to understand the works of evil men. Their joys are not ours. They love to inflict pain, create suffering, cause harm and death. It empowers them, for beneath the skin they are empty and worthless. Zidantas will walk the Elysian Fields in eternal sunshine, for the gods love a good man.”
“I just want to go home,” the boy said miserably.
“Me, too,” Odysseus told him. “But for now go and get yourself some breakfast and bring me a slab of sweet pie from the stall yonder.”
Two soldiers arrived and laid Andromache’s chests down on the sand. She thanked them, and they moved away. Then Odysseus turned and watched the Xanthos sailing across the bay.
He wandered down to the shoreline. Andromache joined him there, and they stood in silence for a while, watching the new sun reflected in fragmented gold on the blue of the sea.
“What is wrong, Odysseus?” she asked him. “Is it the coming battle? Do you fear for your friend?”
Odysseus shivered suddenly. “I am filled with fear, but not for his safety. Helikaon is a fighter, but there are depths to the man that should never be plumbed.”
“I do not understand you.”
He sighed. “Sometimes when a fear is voiced the gods are listening, and they make it real. So let us wait and see whether my fears are groundless.”
Andromache stood with him as the Xanthos was eased back from the bay into deeper water. After a while Xander returned with a slab of pie. Odysseus thanked him. When the boy had gone, the Ithakan king stood silently.
“Why did they do that to his friend?” asked Andromache.
“To make Helikaon angry, to rob him of reason, to draw him out in a rage.” He swore softly. “Mostly, though, Kolanos did it because he likes to inflict pain. He is a wretch.”
“It seems to have succeeded. Helikaon does seem . . . broken by the loss.”
“It won’t succeed. I know Helikaon. When he sails out, his mind will be calm.” He f
orced a smile. “He called you ‘goddess’ again.”
“I know. It surprises me that I have not heard his name before.”
“Ah, you probably have. Helikaon is what his friends call him. His name is actually Aeneas, and he is a prince of Dardania.”
“You are right, Odysseus, I have heard that name. The man who didn’t want to be a king.”
“Far more to it than that,” said Odysseus. “Less about what he might have wanted and more about honoring his father. Not that the bastard deserved such a son. Anchises was a vile man. Should have been born with scaled skin like a lizard. He had dispossessed Helikaon and had named his other son, Diomedes, as his heir.”
“Why?”
“A long story. I’ll tell you about it on the voyage to Troy. However, Anchises was murdered on the night we sailed into his bay. Helikaon had been a crew member on the Penelope for two years, and we had just beached below his father’s fortress. The assassin struck that night. With the king dead and the named heir still an infant, the situation was ripe for civil war. A nation can have only one king. And you know what would happen in most kingdoms?”
“The child and his mother would be killed,” said Andromache. “Or men loyal to the queen would try to assassinate Helikaon.”
“Exactly. Some of the queen’s followers arrived on the beach, intent on killing him. Other loyal men gathered around to stop them. The men of the Penelope had weapons in their hands. They would have fought for Helikaon, for they loved him. Still do. There should have been a battle.” Odysseus chuckled. “By the balls of Ares, you know what he did? At seventeen! He ordered everyone to sheathe their weapons, approached the men who had come to kill him, and told them to take him to the queen. She was in her apartments, surrounded by loyal guards. She was terrified, for Halysia, though a sweet girl, is not a strong woman. Helikaon told her that the child would be safe and that she would not be harmed. He then pledged to follow his father’s wishes and swore allegiance to Halysia and Diomedes. He was standing there unarmed, completely in her power, yet he had won. His authority had overwhelmed them all. That and the sincerity he radiated. Over the next few months he reorganized the kingdom and appointed new counselors to serve the queen. No battles, no civil war, no killings. Unusual, you agree?”