Xander crossed the now deserted gardens and found his room. He was feeling dreadfully tired and weak. On trembling legs he made it to his bed and lay down.
The room seemed to be moving, as if it was on a ship. As he lay there he heard his door open and a figure came into sight.
It was Helikaon. Xander struggled to rise.
‘Stay where you are, boy,’ said the Golden One, sitting down on the bed.
‘Thank you, lord.’
‘The Xanthos is sailing for Dardania soon. Machaon believes you should stay here for the winter. He says it will take time for your strength to return.’
Xander did not reply. He was both relieved and disappointed. He had loved being part of the crew, but he dreaded another battle, and still had nightmares about burning men.
Helikaon seemed to read his thoughts. ‘I am truly sorry that your first voyage should have seen such tragedy. Odysseus tells me you saw Zidantas while you were in your fever.’
‘Yes, lord. Everyone was on the beach, and he was standing with some other men close by. One of them was Epeus.’
‘Epeus died in the battle,’ said Helikaon. ‘Did Zidantas speak to you?’
‘Yes. He told me to think of life and to come back to Troy. I wanted to go with him, but he said he was walking a dark road. He asked me to tell his daughter Thea that she gave him great joy.’
Helikaon sat silently for a few moments. ‘I think it was not a dream, Xander,’
he said at last. ‘I think it was a true vision. I will leave gold with the temple to pay for your keep. In the spring I will still have a place for you among my crew. There is something you can do for me, in return.’
‘Anything, lord.’
‘Argurios is here. He was stabbed, and I am told he is dying. I want you to visit him, see to his needs. I have hired other men to watch over him, to prevent the killers returning. Will you do this for me?’
‘Yes, lord, but Argurios does not like me.’
‘It would surprise me to find that Argurios liked anyone.’
‘What can I do?’
‘He is refusing to eat or drink. So, bring him food and water.’
‘Why doesn’t he want to eat?’
‘Evil men have taken away all that he has. I think a part of him does not want to live.’
‘I can’t make him eat, lord.’
‘Tell him you spoke to me and I laughed when I heard of his plight. Tell him I said that one less Mykene warrior in the world was a matter to be celebrated.’
‘He will hate you for that, won’t he?’
Helikaon sighed. ‘Yes, I expect he will. Go and find him when you are rested. He is in Air, and his room is close to the portico entrance.’
ii
Karpophorus the assassin followed Helikaon up the hill towards the palace. It had been almost twenty years since he had killed anyone in Troy. The city had changed greatly since then, expanding in almost every direction. His last assassination here had seen him escape across a pasture into a small wood. The pasture now boasted scores of small houses lining narrow streets, and the wood had been chopped down to make way for a barracks. The imposing house of the merchant he had slain was also gone. That was a shame, he thought, for it had been well constructed, with pleasing lines.
A little way ahead Helikaon paused beside a clothing stall, and chatted to the owner. Karpophorus hung back, watching the exchange. The sun was bright over the golden city, and there were many people gathered in the market place.
How curious, he thought, that Helikaon should seem so relaxed here. He knew there were Mykene in the city, and at any time a killer could attack him.
Karpophorus scanned the crowd with suspicious eyes, seeking out any possible attacker, looking for signs of tension in the faces. He was determined that no other assassin should claim his prize.
Then Helikaon moved on.
Karpophorus followed him up another hill towards the golden-roofed palace of Priam.
It was then that he spotted a young man emerging from between two buildings. He was dark-haired, and slim, wearing a green tunic and sandals. There was a knife at his belt. Karpophorus had seen him in the crowd at the market. Increasing his pace Karpophorus closed the distance between them. As Helikaon turned another corner the newcomer slowly drew his dagger and stepped after him.
His own blade flashing into his hand Karpophorus broke into a run.
When he rounded the corner he saw the young man spread-eagled on the street, Helikaon standing above him.
‘My apologies,’ said Karpophorus. ‘I was a little slow.’
‘Nonsense, Attalus. It was my fault for ordering you to hang back.’ Helikaon grinned at him. ‘Let us hope that this fool is the best they have.’
‘Indeed,’ agreed Karpophorus.
The young man was still alive and conscious, though his knife was now in Helikaon’s hand. He glared up at the Golden One with a look of pure hatred.
Helikaon tossed the knife to the street and walked on. Karpophorus followed.
They walked in silence to the palace citadel, and Helikaon approached the guards at the double gates, then they passed under the shadow of the walls above and emerged onto a wide paved courtyard. ‘I shall be some time in the palace,’
Helikaon told him, ‘so go and get yourself some food. I will meet you at the entrance at dusk.’
Helikaon strolled towards the red columns of the palace entrance and Karpophorus found a place in the shade. He sat on a stone bench alongside a sweet-smelling climbing plant with purple flowers. It was pleasant here and he relaxed. It had been a relief to see the Penelope sail that morning. Ever since Bad Luck Bay Karpophorus had been forced to plan his every step. Odysseus knew his face, and would no doubt have guessed that he was stalking Helikaon.
As a passenger on the Penelope some nine years ago Karpophorus had been surprised when the Ithakan king approached him after they had beached one night.
As was his style, Karpophorus had found a place to sleep away from the men, and was sitting looking at the stars when Odysseus walked up. The ugly king had sat down on a rock close by. ‘I know you,’ he had said.
The shock had been great. Karpophorus’ main talent lay in his anonymity. He had the kind of face no-one remembered, and merely by tying back his dark hair, or growing a chin beard, could change his appearance dramatically. And he had not met Odysseus before this trip to Dardania.
He had hedged. ‘How so?’
The king had laughed. ‘A friend of mine hired you. I saw you leaving his house one day. It is said you are the finest assassin in all the world, Karpophorus.
You never fail.’
‘You mistake me for someone else.’
‘I don’t make that kind of mistake,’ said Odysseus. ‘And I would like to hire you.’
‘It is said you are a man without enemies. Who would you possibly want killed?’
Odysseus had shrugged. ‘I don’t care. I just want to be able to say I once hired the great Karpophorus.’
‘You don’t care who dies?’
‘Not a jot.’
‘You are suggesting I just kill anyone and then seek payment from you?’
‘Hmm,’ mused the ugly king. ‘I can see how that would be a little too random.’
He sat silently for a moment. ‘All right, how about this: I will hire you to kill the next person who seeks to hire you.’
‘I already know who seeks to hire me, and he is a powerful man and well protected. The cost of my services is in direct proportion to the risk I take.’
‘Name a fee.’
‘You don’t want to know who it is?’
‘No.’
Now it was Karpophorus who fell silent. He glanced back along the beach, to where the men were sitting round the fire. His gaze fell on the dark-haired young prince who travelled with Odysseus. And here was the difficulty. He had seen on the voyage so far that Odysseus was fond of the youth. Had the ugly king guessed that Karpophorus was being hired to kill him? I
f he had, and Karpophorus refused to accept his offer, then Odysseus would have him killed here on this beach. He looked up at Odysseus, meeting his gaze. The man was clever. He was seeking to save the young man by murdering his father, and yet, if Karpophorus was captured, there would be no blood feud. For the Ithakan king was, after all, only hiring Karpophorus on a whim, to kill someone anonymous.
‘How will you know the deed is done?’ asked Karpophorus, continuing the charade.
‘Cut off the man’s ear and send it to me. I will take that as proof of completion.’
‘It will cost a sheep’s weight in silver.’
‘I agree – but then we have very thin sheep on Ithaka. One other thing. The man we are talking of may already have named the person he wants dead. Or he may name him before you fulfil your promise to me.’
‘That is a possibility.’
Odysseus’ eyes grew cold. In that moment Karpophorus had seen the briefest glimpse of the man legend spoke of, the young reaver who had terrorized settlements all across the Great Green. In the days of his youth Odysseus had built a formidable reputation as a fighting man and a killer. Karpophorus had stayed very calm. His life, at that moment, was flickering like a candle in a storm. One wrong word now and it would be extinguished.
‘I think,’ said Odysseus, ‘it would be unwise to accept an offer from a man you are going to kill. You agree?’
‘Of course.’
‘Excellent.’
They had then agreed the manner of the payment. In the background the men of the Penelope were laughing. Karpophorus looked over to see the dark-haired young prince engaged in a mock wrestling bout with Odysseus’ first mate, Bias.
‘A fine lad,’ said Odysseus. ‘Reminds me of a young sailor who once served with me. He was murdered. It took me five seasons to find the killer. I left his head on a spear. My Penelope always tells me I am an unforgiving man, and I should learn how to put aside grudges. I wish I could.’ He shrugged. ‘But we are what we are, Karpophorus.’ Then he had clapped his meaty hand on Karpophorus’
shoulder. ‘I am glad we had this little talk.’
It had irked Karpophorus to have been outmanoeuvred by the ugly king, and now, with the promise of Agamemnon’s gold, it seemed fitting that the original wishes of Anchises the king would be honoured.
Helikaon would – at last – fall to the blade of Karpophorus.
He had originally planned to kill him in Kypros, and had followed him in the darkness to a high cliff top. The storm had come then, and Helikaon had walked to the cliff edge, and stood, arms raised, as if preparing to dive to the rocks below. Karpophorus had moved silently between the great stones of the shrine. No need for a blade. Just a swift push and the man would plummet into eternity.
Then the child had appeared. Karpophorus had faded back into the shadows, and listened as the terrified little girl spoke of her mother. With Helikaon kneeling by the girl it would have been a simple matter to step forward and bury a knife blade between his shoulders. Yet he could not take a life in front of a child.
Karpophorus thought back to the night in Kypros. He had learned a lot, both about Helikaon and about himself. Arrogance had crept in. It was almost a deadly lesson. Helikaon had known he was followed, and had set men outside the walls.
And the Golden One had almost trapped him in the garden. He shivered with pleasure at the remembered excitement.
A sudden burst of moonlight had shone on Helikaon as he raced to intercept him.
Karpophorus had made it to the wall, and into the darkness beyond. Then he had glimpsed Zidantas. The big man did not see him in the shadows. Then other men had appeared. Karpophorus had needed all his skills to evade them.
He sat in the shade, remembering, and began to doze. A shadow fell across him and he woke instantly, his dagger in his hand. The elderly servant standing before him almost let slip the tray of food and drink he held. Karpophorus sheathed his blade. ‘Your master bade me bring you refreshment,’ said the servant, sternly, laying the tray on the bench. There was a flagon of cool water and a goblet, alongside a loaf of bread and slices of salt-dried fish.
The servant left him without a word and Karpophorus ate and drank. His liking for Helikaon swelled. Here was a nobleman who considered the welfare of the men who served him. He must have glanced down from one of the upper windows and seen Karpophorus waiting. Such a man would be made most welcome by the All Father when Karpophorus delivered his spirit to Him. In a way, Karpophorus decided, the killing of Helikaon was a gift to the man.
Pleased with the thought, he settled back to doze once more, and remembered the first man he had killed. It had been an accident. Karpophorus had been working in the stone quarry. His chisel blade had snapped, and flown up. It caught the man working alongside him in the throat, opening the jugular. He had died writhing on the dust of the quarry. Karpophorus had been horrified, but a priest later put his mind at rest. His words remained with the assassin still. ‘Hades, the Lord of the Dead, knows the moment of our birth, and the day and the moment of our death. It is written thus, that each man has a certain span allocated to him by Hades. And when that span is done his body returns to the earth.’
‘So no-one dies except at their allotted time?’
‘Exactly.’
‘Then the Lord of the Dead used me to take his life?’
‘Yes, indeed, my boy. So you should feel no guilt.’
Guilt was the last thing he felt. The young Karpophorus was invigorated. He had been touched by the gods, and, in that moment, had become a servant of Hades. It was the single greatest moment of his life, and it changed his destiny.
He thought again of Helikaon. He couldn’t kill him today, for Oniacus had ordered him to be the Golden One’s bodyguard. In order to remain close to Helikaon Karpophorus had joined the crew in Kypros, and – as a crew member – had sworn an oath of loyalty. Such matters were not to be taken lightly, which was why he had fought ferociously alongside the Golden One at the Battle of Blue Owl Bay.
But the deed could not be put off for much longer. The feast of Demeter was tomorrow night. He would quit the ship later today, and then kill Helikaon tomorrow.
Satisfied with his decision, he stretched out on the bench and fell into a dreamless sleep.
iii
Helikaon passed through the doorway into the king’s megaron, a massive hall where petitioners waited in the hope of bringing their disputes before the king. There were merchants there, and commoners. It was packed and noisy, and Helikaon moved across it swiftly. A Royal Eagle in bright armour, with a white-crested helmet, opened the side door to the palace gardens, and Helikaon stepped out into the sunlight. There were stone walkways here, flowing around areas of brightly coloured flowers, and several sets of stone seats, shaded by an intricate series of climbing plants, growing between thick wooden roof slats. There were people waiting here also, but these were of the royal line. Helikaon saw two of Priam’s sons there, the king’s chancellor Polites, and fat Antiphones. Polites was sitting in the shade, a mass of papyrus scrolls on his lap. Both men wore the ankle-length white robes and belts of gold that marked their rank as ministers of the king. It had been almost a year since Helikaon had last seen them. Polites looked tired, almost ill. His pale hair was thinning, and his eyes were red-rimmed. Antiphones was even larger than Helikaon had remembered, his belly bulging over his wide golden belt, his face flushed and bloated, his eyes heavily pouched. Hard to believe, thought Helikaon, that both were still in their twenties.
Antiphones saw him first and grinned broadly. ‘Ho, Aeneas!’ he called out.
‘Welcome back!’ Stepping forward swiftly for such a large man, he embraced Helikaon, kissing his cheeks. The man’s strength was prodigious and Helikaon thought his ribs might snap. Then Antiphones released him. Polites did not rise, but smiled shyly. ‘Your adventures are the talk of Troy,’ continued Antiphones.
‘Sea battles and burning pirate ships. You live a life that is not dull, my friend.’
<
br /> ‘It is good to be back.’
Helikaon noted the use of the word pirate, and added no comment. Troy was still allied to Mykene, and no-one was going to risk causing offence to Agamemnon. He chatted to them for a while, learning that Priam was ‘at rest’, which meant he was rutting with some servant girl, or the wife of one of his sons. Polites seemed nervous and ill at ease. Perhaps it is your wife, thought Helikaon.
‘What news of the city?’ he asked them. He watched their expressions change, as if masks had fallen into place.
‘Oh,’ said Antiphones, ‘it is much the same. Have you seen Hektor’s bride?’
‘We met.’
‘Hard woman. Eyes like green flint. A Thera priestess, no less! Thin as a stick.
Nothing to get hold of there!’
Helikaon had no wish to discuss Andromache with them. Ignoring the comment he said, ‘Any news of Hektor?’
‘Only rumour,’ said Polites, dabbing at his watery eyes with the white sleeve of his gown. ‘A trader reported that a huge battle was being waged. No-one knows who won.’
‘Hektor won,’ insisted Antiphones. ‘Hektor always wins. He may be dull in conversation, and unable to tell a fine wine from a cup of cow piss, but he never loses a fight. Don’t you find it baffling?’
‘In what way?’
‘Ever the diplomat, Polites!’ said Antiphones scornfully. ‘You know full well what I mean. We both grew up with Hektor. He never liked to fight, not even childish scraps. Always reasonable, good-natured, grinning like an oaf. How in the name of Hades did he turn out to be such a warrior?’
Helikaon forced a smile. ‘Come, come, Antiphones! I remember when you were the fastest runner in Troy. Might not a similar question be asked? How did such a beautiful athlete become so fat?’
Antiphones also smiled, but his eyes were hard. ‘You have a point, Aeneas.
Hektor is what Hektor is. The beloved heir. Good for him, I suppose. But there is more to running a city than a warrior might suppose. When crops fail, or disease strikes, it will matter not a jot if the king can steer a chariot through a melee, or lop the head from an enemy.’
Lord of the Silver Bow t-1 Page 23
