Lord of the Silver Bow t-1

by David Gemmell

  With Anchises dead she was sure Aeneas would have her killed, or kill her himself, and her son with her. But he didn’t. 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 grey 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 Elysium 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 dreamt 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 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?’

  ‘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 grey-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 standing before her in a white tunic edged with gold, and in his hand a bejewelled 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 was closing on the horizon. He could not ride after dark in this unknown country, and 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 must last him until he reached Troy. Since leaving Sallapa, 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 after 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 fulfil 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 papers 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 towards 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 this. ‘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 round the south 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 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 armoured 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 towards 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 grey-faced and his eyes were red-rimmed and watery. He peered at Huzziyas.

  ‘You are an imperial messenger?’ he snapped.

  Huzziyas was relieved he spoke the Hittite tongue.

  ‘I am,’ he answered with pride. ‘I have travelled day and night to bring an important message to the Trojan king.’

  ‘Give it to me.’ The man held out his hand, gesturing impatiently. The Hittite took out the precious paper. It had been wrapped round a stick and sealed with the imperial seal, then placed in a hollow wooden tube and sealed again at each end. Huzziyas ceremoniously handed the tube to the wet-eyed man, who almost snatched it from him, merely glancing at the seals before breaking them and unrolling the paper.

  He frowned and Huzziyas saw disappointment on his face.

  ‘You know what this says?’ he asked the young man.

  ‘I do,’ said Huzziyas importantly. ‘It says the emperor is coming.’

  XXVII

 
; The Fallen Prince

  i

  In the days following her first meeting with Argurios, Laodike had found herself thinking more and more of the Mykene warrior. It was most odd. He was not good-looking, like Helikaon or Agathon. His features were hard and angular. He was certainly not charming, and seemed possessed of no great wit. And yet he had i begun to dominate her thoughts in a most disconcerting manner.

  When he had been beside her on the beach she had experienced an almost maternal longing, a desire to help him regain his physical strength, to watch him become again the man he had been. At least, that was how it had begun. Now her thoughts were more obsessive, and she realized she was missing him.

  Xander had told her of the soldier who had walked Argurios to the beach, saying that he had treated him with great respect. Laodike knew Polydorus and had called out to him one afternoon, when the blond-haired soldier was off duty and walking through the palace gardens.

  ‘It is a fine day,’ she began. ‘For the time of year, I mean.’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ he answered. ‘Is there something you need?’

  ‘No, not at all. I wanted to… thank you for your courtesy towards the wounded Mykene. The boy, Xander, spoke of it.’

  Now he looked bemused and Laodike felt embarrassment swelling. ‘I am sorry. I am obviously delaying you. Are you going into the lower town?’

  ‘Yes, I am meeting the parents of my bride-to-be. But first I must find a gift for them.’

  ‘There is a trader,’ she said, ‘on the Street of Thetis. He is a silversmith, and crafts the most beautiful small statues of the goddess Demeter, and the babe Persephone. It is said they are lucky pieces.’

  ‘I have heard of him, but I fear I could not afford such a piece.’

  Now Laodike felt foolish. Of course he couldn’t. He was a soldier, not a nobleman with rich farms, or horse herds, or trading ships. Polydorus waited, and the moment became awkward. Finally she took a deep breath. ‘What do you know of the Mykene?’ she asked.

  ‘He is a great warrior,’ answered Polydorus, relaxing. ‘I learned of him when I was still a child. He has fought in many battles, and under the old king was twice Mykene champion. You have heard of the bridge of Partha?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘The Mykene were in retreat. A rare thing! They had crossed the bridge, but the enemy were close behind. Argurios stood upon the bridge and defied the enemy to kill him. They came at him one at a time, but he defeated every champion they sent.’

  ‘Why did they not all just rush at him in a charge? One man could not have stopped them all, surely?’

  ‘I suppose that is true. Perhaps they valued his courage. Perhaps they wanted to test themselves against the best. I do not know.’

  ‘Thank you, Polydorus,’ she said. ‘And now you must go and find that gift.’ He bowed his head and turned away. On impulse she reached out and touched his arm.

  The young soldier was shocked. ‘Go to the silversmith,’ she said, with a smile.

  ‘And tell him I sent you. Pick a fine statue and instruct him to come to me for payment.’

  ‘Thank you. I… do not know what to say.’

  ‘Then say nothing, Polydorus,’ she told him.

  That afternoon she had walked down to the House of Serpents, ostensibly to collect more medicines for Hekabe. In fact, though, she wandered the grounds until she caught sight of Argurios. He was chopping wood. She stood in the shadows of a stand of trees and watched him. He had put on weight, and his movements were smooth and graceful, the axe rising and falling, the wood splitting cleanly.

  She stood for a while, trying to think of what she might say to him. She wished she had worn a more colourful dress, and perhaps the gold pendant with the large sapphire. Everyone said it was a beautiful piece. Then grim reality struck home, and her heart sank. You are a plain woman, she told herself. No amount of gold or pretty jewellery can disguise it. And you are about to make a fool of yourself.

  Turning away she decided to return to the palace, but she had taken no more than a few steps before the healer Machaon came round the corner of a building and saw her. He bowed deeply. ‘I did not know you were here, Laodike,’ he said. ‘Has your mother’s condition worsened?’

  ‘No. I was just… out walking,’ she replied, reddening.

  He glanced beyond her to where Argurios was still working. ‘His recovery is amazing,’ he said. ‘His breathing is almost normal, and his strength is returning at a fine rate. Would that all those I treated showed such determination. How goes it, Argurios?’ he called out.

  The Mykene thunked the axe into a round of wood, and swung to face them. Then he walked across the grass towards them. Laodike tried to breathe normally, but felt panic rising.

  ‘Greetings,’ said Argurios.

  ‘And to you, warrior,’ she said. ‘I see that you are almost well.’

  ‘Aye, I feel power in me again.’

  Silence fell. ‘Ah well,’ said Machaon, with a knowing smile, ‘I have patients to see to.’ Bowing once more, he went on his way.

  Laodike stood very quietly, not knowing what to say. She looked at Argurios. His cheeks were shaved, the jutting chin beard trimmed, and sweat gleamed on his bare chest. ‘It is a fine day,’ she managed. ‘For the time of year, I mean.’ The blue sky was streaked with clouds, but at that moment the sun was shining brightly.

  ‘I am glad you came,’ he said suddenly. ‘I have been thinking of you constantly,’ he added, his tone awkward, his gaze intense.

  In that moment Laodike’s nervousness vanished, and she felt a sense of calm descend on her. In the silence that followed she saw Argurios becoming ill at ease. ‘I never did know how to speak other than plainly,’ he said.

  ‘Perhaps you would like to walk for a while in the sunshine. Though, first, I suggest you put on your tunic’

  They walked through the gardens and out into the lower town. Argurios said little, but the silence was comfortable. Finally they sat on a stone bench beside a well. Glancing back, she saw that two men had followed them, and were now sitting on a wall some distance away. ‘Do you know them?’ she asked, pointing.

  His expression darkened. ‘They have been hired by Helikaon to protect me. There are others who come at night, and stand beneath the trees.’

  ‘That was kind of him.’

  ‘Kind!’

  ‘Why does it make you angry?’

  ‘Helikaon is my enemy. I have no wish to be beholden to the man.’ He glanced at the two bodyguards. ‘And any half-trained Mykene soldier could scatter those fools in a heartbeat.’

  ‘You are proud of your people.’

  ‘We are strong. We are unafraid. Yes, I am proud.’ A group of women carrying empty buckets approached the well. Laodike and Argurios moved away, up the slope towards the Scaean Gate. Passing through it they climbed to the battlements of the great wall and strolled along the ramparts.

  ‘Why were you banished?’ asked Laodike.

  He shrugged. ‘Lies were told and believed. I can make little sense of it. There are men at the royal court with honeyed tongues. They fill the king’s ear with flattery. The old king I could talk to. Atreus was a warrior – a fighting man.

  You could sit with him at a campfire, like any other soldier.’

  Another silence grew. It did not bother Laodike, who was enjoying his company, but Argurios became increasingly uncomfortable. ‘I have never known how to talk to women,’ he said awkwardly. ‘I do not know what interests them. At this moment I wish I did.’

  She laughed. ‘Life,’ she told him. ‘Birth and growth. Flowers that bloom and fade, seasons that bring sunshine or rain. Clothes that mirror the beauty that is all around us, the blue of the sky, the green of the grass, the gold of the sun. But mostly we are interested in people. In their lives and their dreams. Do you have a family back in Mykene?’

  ‘No. My parents died years ago.’

  ‘Not a wife at home?’

  ‘No.’

  Laodike let the s
ilence grow once more. She gazed out over the bay. There were few ships now, save for some fishing boats. ‘You were very rash with Dios,’ she said.

  ‘I did not like the way he spoke to you,’ he told her, and she saw anger again in his eyes.

  The sun was low in the sky and Laodike turned. ‘I must be getting back,’ she said.

  ‘Will you visit me again?’ His nervousness was obvious, and it filled her with a confidence she rarely experienced in the company of men.

  ‘I might come tomorrow.’

  He smiled. ‘I hope you do,’ he told her.

  For the next ten days she came every day and they walked the great walls together. There was little conversation, but she enjoyed those times more than any she could remember. Especially the moment she slipped on a rampart step, and his arm swept round her before she could fall. Laodike leaned in to him then, her head upon his shoulder. It was exquisite, and she wished it could last for ever.

  ii

  Andromache thought she had never seen such a tall man as the Hittite emperor.

  Hattusilis was even taller than Priam, and of much the same age, but he stooped as he walked and Andromache was sure he had bad feet, for he shuffled a little as if anxious not to lift them far from the ground.

  He was thin to the point of emaciation, his hair oiled black and partly covered by a close-fitting cap. He glanced around Priam’s great, gold-filled megaron, looking strangely out of place in his simple, unadorned leather riding clothes.

  He had ridden into the city, but Andromache knew the Hittite force had been camped out on the plain of the Simoeis overnight while the emperor rested, and that he had travelled much of the way from his capital in a rich and comfortable carriage.

  Hattusilis carried two curved swords, one at his waist, the other unsheathed in his hand, and Andromache wondered at the frenzied negotiations that had taken place between the two sides since dawn to agree to that. He was attended by a retinue of eunuchs and counsellors, all wearing colourfully patterned kilts clasped at the waist with belts of braided gold wire, some attired in bright shawls, others bare-chested. All were unarmed, of course.