Lord of the Silver Bow t-1

by David Gemmell

  One huge half-naked bodyguard, so muscle-bound that Andromache decided he was more ornament than use, stood close to the emperor’s shoulder.

  Hattusilis III, emperor of the Hittites, advanced halfway down the megaron, then stopped. Priam, standing in front of his carved and gilded throne, walked forward to meet him, flanked by Polites and Agathon. There was a pause while the two men locked eyes, then Priam bowed briefly. Had the Trojan king ever bowed to anyone before? Andromache doubted it. It was only his concern for Hektor that persuaded him to make this gesture, she guessed, even to his emperor.

  ‘Greetings,’ said Priam loudly, but without enthusiasm. ‘We are honoured to welcome you to Troy.’ Each courteous word seemed to cost him effort. He added flatly, ‘Our people rejoice.’

  A small bald-headed man wearing striped robes of yellow and green spoke quietly to the emperor. Andromache realized this was the translator.

  The emperor smiled thinly and spoke. The little man said, ‘Troy is a valued vassal kingdom to the great Hittite empire. The emperor takes a kindly interest in his subjects.’

  Priam’s face grew red with anger. He said, ‘This vassal is honoured to fight the emperor’s battles for him. We are told the Trojan Horse won a great victory at Kadesh for the emperor.’

  Hattusilis replied, ‘The greater Hittite army has crushed the ambitions of the pharaohs for generations to come. We are grateful to Troy for its brave cavalry.’

  Priam could contain his impatience no longer. ‘My son has not returned from Kadesh. Do you bring news of him?’

  Hattusilis handed the unsheathed sword to the muscle-bound bodyguard, then placed both his hands upon his heart. The megaron fell silent. The bald translator said, ‘We regret Hektor is dead. He died a valiant death in the cause of the Hittite empire.’ The emperor spoke again. ‘Hektor was a good friend to us. He fought many battles for the empire.’ His dark gaze rested on Priam’s stricken face, and Andromache saw genuine concern there. ‘We grieve for him as if he were our own son.’

  Andromache heard a soft sigh from beside her, and she put her arm round Laodike as the young woman sagged against her. Hektor dead, she thought. Hektor is really dead. Her mind buzzed with possibilities but she ruthlessly pushed them away to listen to Priam’s words.

  The king looked straight into the black eyes of the emperor. ‘My son cannot be dead,’ he said, but there was a tremor in his voice.

  Hattusilis gestured and two unarmed Hittite soldiers struggled forward with a heavy wooden chest. At a nod from the emperor they unbarred it and flung back the lid, which clanged hollowly against the stone floor.

  The emperor said, ‘His body was discovered with those of his men. They had been trapped, surrounded and killed by the Egypteians. By the time he was found his body had decayed, so I have returned his armour to you as proof of his death.’

  Priam stepped forward and reached into the chest. He took out a huge bronze breastplate decorated with silver and gold. From where Andromache stood she could see that the pattern represented a golden horse racing across silver waves. Laodike said in a small breathless voice, ‘Hektor. It is Hektor’s.’

  Hattusilis stepped forward and took from the chest a heavily decorated gold urn.

  ‘Following the custom of your people we burned the body and placed Hektor’s bones in this vessel.’

  He held it out. When Priam did not move Polites darted forward and took the golden urn from the emperor’s hands.

  Never in her life had Andromache felt such a confusion of emotions. She grieved for Laodike’s pain at the death of her brother, for the loss on the faces of the people gathered around the megaron, the soldiers, counsellors and palace servants. She even grieved for Priam as he stood there holding the breastplate, a stunned look on his face, desolation in his eyes as he stared at the funeral urn.

  Yet in her heart joy welled up irresistibly. Her hands flew to her throat for fear she would cry out for gladness. She was free!

  Then Priam turned away from the emperor and walked with halting steps to his throne. Hugging the breastplate to his chest he slumped down. A gasp of shock came from the Hittite retinue. No-one sat in the presence of the emperor.

  Andromache glanced at Agathon, expecting the prince to step in and ease the situation, but he was standing, almost mesmerized, staring at his father, his expression torn between sadness and shock. Andromache felt for him. Then the dark-haired Dios moved smoothly forward, bowing deeply to Hattusilis.

  ‘My apologies, great lord. My father is overcome with grief. He intends no disrespect. Priam, and the sons of Priam, remain, as always, your most loyal followers.’

  The emperor spoke, and the translator’s words echoed in the silent megaron.

  ‘There is no slight. When a great hero falls it becomes men to show their feelings truly. Hektor’s courage did indeed turn the battle in our favour. I would have expected no less from him. That is why I felt it right to come myself to this far city, so that all would know that Hektor was honoured by those he served most heroically.’

  With that the emperor swung on his heel and walked from the megaron.

  iii

  Shortly before dark a hooded and cloaked figure slipped out through the Dardanian Gate into the lower town. One of the gate guards caught a glimpse of the man’s face and turned to speak to his colleague, but the other soldier was part-way through a good joke about a Hittite, a horse and a donkey, so the first guard laughed and said nothing. There was no reason to question anyone leaving the citadel, after all.

  The hooded man made his way through the eastern quarter to where the city engineers had been digging a wide fortification ditch, designed to stop the advance of horses and chariots. Houses all along the line of the trench had been emptied to permit the work. But the digging had revealed a horde of burial jars, dating from many generations ago, which were now being carefully dug up and moved to another site south-east of the city.

  In the grey twilight the man identified a white house with a yellow mark like a paw-print on the door. Looking around him, he entered the abandoned house swiftly, and waited in the shadow of an inner doorway. A short while later two others entered. ‘Are you here?’ a man with thin reddish hair asked quietly.

  The hooded man stepped from the shadows. ‘I am here, Erekos,’ he said.

  The Mykene ambassador’s voice betrayed his anxiety. ‘No names, if you please, Prince.’

  The hooded man snorted. ‘This meeting-place is well chosen. No-one will come within a hundred paces of it. They fear the shades of the dead are lingering around the burial ground.’

  ‘Perhaps they are right,’ said the ambassador nervously.

  ‘Let us not waste time on religious debate,’ snapped the third man, a tall, white-haired warrior. ‘The death of Hektor is a gift from the gods. We must seize the chance now.’

  There was silence for a moment.

  ‘And what of the Hittites, Kolanos?’ the hooded man said coldly. ‘You think we should spark a revolution while the emperor is in Troy? Do you have any idea of the numbers of troops his sons could bring? And they would cry out for joy at the opportunity. Troy’s independence is based on three simple facts. We pay enormous taxes to fund the Hittite wars, we are far distant from the centre of their empire, and we send the finest warriors to aid them. But there are those who look upon Troy with great envy and greed. We must offer them no insult, no opportunity to seek our ruin.’

  ‘This is all true, Prince,’ put in Erekos, ‘but even if we wait for the emperor’s departure, will he not send men to the aid of Priam?’

  ‘Not if Priam is dead,’ said the hooded man. ‘It is well known that Hattusilis has little liking for him. But then who does? The emperor has far more important worries than domestic problems in Troy. The Hittite army leaves at dawn. When Hattusilis hears Priam is dead I will send a rider to him, pledging my continued allegiance. He will, I believe, accept it. We must be patient and wait nine more days.’

  ‘It is easy for you to be pa
tient, sitting in your palace,’ sneered Kolanos.

  ‘But it is not so easy to conceal four galleys off the coast for so long.’

  ‘Easy?’ snapped the hooded man. ‘Nothing about this venture will prove easy. I have troops loyal to me – but that loyalty will wear thin when the murders begin. Easy? You think it will be easy to defeat the Eagles? Every one of them is a veteran of many battles. They were promoted for their courage and for their fighting abilities. They were trained by Hektor.’

  ‘And like Hektor they will die. They have not come against Mykene warriors before,’ replied Kolanos. ‘I have the best with me. Invincible. The Eagles will fall.’

  ‘I hope you are right,’ said the prince. ‘We will also have the advantage of surprise. Even so it is vital that we do not deviate from the plan. Apart from the Eagles the only people to die will be the men inside the megaron when we attack: Priam, and those of his sons and counsellors who will be there. The deaths must be swift, and the palace taken by dawn.’

  ‘Why wait nine days?’ asked Erekos. ‘Do you need so long?’

  ‘The king has been rotating the troops who guard the Upper City,’ answered the prince. ‘I will need the time to ensure both regiments are loyal to me.’

  ‘With two thousand troops against a hundred or so Eagles why do you need us at all?’ Kolanos asked.

  ‘I will not have two thousand troops. You need to understand the complexities here, Kolanos. My regiment will fight for me without question. Other Trojan units will serve me loyally once I am king. The regiment guarding the walls will be led by one of my men. He will ensure they keep the gates closed and remain at their posts. But not even he could command them to attack the palace and kill the king. Why do I need you and your men? Because Trojan troops should not be used in the slaughter of Priam and his sons. My regiment will take the two palace gates, hold the walls, and do battle with the Eagles. Then, when the King and his followers are safely contained in the palace itself, you and your Mykene will assault the megaron and kill all men within.’

  ‘What of the royal daughters and the women of the palace?’ asked Kolanos.

  ‘Your men can take their pleasures with the servants. No royal daughters are to be harmed in any way. Enjoy the others as you will. There is one woman, however, named Andromache. She is tall, with long red hair, and cursed with too much pride. I am sure your men will find a way to humble her. It would please me to hear her beg.’

  ‘And you will. I promise you,’ said Kolanos. ‘There is nothing quite so sweet after a battle as the squealing of captured women.’

  Erekos spoke: ‘Thoughts of rape should be left until the battle is over, Kolanos. Tell me, Prince, what of the other troops close to the city? The barracks in the Lower Town contain a full regiment, and there is a cavalry detachment based on the Plain of Simoeis.’

  The prince smiled. ‘As I said, the gates will be closed until dawn. I know well the generals commanding the other regiments. They will swear allegiance to me – if Priam is dead.’

  ‘Might I ask one favour?’ said Kolanos.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘That the traitor Argurios be invited to the megaron that night.’

  ‘Are you insane?’ snapped Erekos. ‘You want the greatest warrior of the Mykene facing us?’

  Kolanos laughed. ‘He will be unarmed. Is that not so, Prince?’

  ‘Yes. All weapons will be left at the gate. The king allows no swords or daggers in his presence.’

  But Erekos was not convinced. ‘He was unarmed when he defeated five armed assassins. It seems to me an unnecessary risk. Many of the warriors with you hold him still in high regard. I urge you to withdraw this request, Kolanos.’

  ‘Agamemnon King wants him dead,’ said Kolanos. ‘He wants him cut down by his former comrades. It will be a fitting punishment for his treachery. I will not withdraw my request. What say you, Prince?’

  ‘I agree with Erekos. But if you wish it I shall see that he is there.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then it will be done.’

  XXVIII

  Of Ancient Gods

  i

  Gershom had never enjoyed riding. In Egypte the horses had been small, their buttock-pounding gait bruisingly uncomfortable for a heavy man. He had also felt faintly ludicrous, his long legs hanging close to the ground. But the Thessalian-bred horse he now rode was a joy. Just under sixteen hands, golden-bodied, with white mane and tail, it all but flew across the terrain. At full run there was little upward movement of the beast’s back and Gershom settled down to revel in the speed. Helikaon rode alongside him, on a mount the twin of Gershom’s own. Together they thundered across the open ground under a pale, cloudy sky. At last Helikaon slowed his horse, then patted its sleek neck.

  Gershom drew alongside.

  ‘Magnificent beasts,’ he said.

  ‘Good for speed,’ said Helikaon, ‘but poor for war. Too skittish and prone to panic when swords clash and arrows fly. I am breeding them with our own ponies.

  Perhaps their foals’ temperament will be less nervous.’

  Swinging their mounts, they rode back to where they had left the baggage pony.

  The beast was grazing on a hillside. Helikaon gathered the lead rope, and they set off again towards the southwest.

  Gershom was happy to be on the move again. The fortress of Dardanos – despite i being a rough dwelling place compared to the palaces back home – was still a reminder of a world he had lost, and he was glad of the chance to accompany the Golden One back to Troy.

  ‘I do not think that merchant would have betrayed me,’ he said, as they rode.

  ‘Perhaps not knowingly,’ said Helikaon, ‘but people gossip. Troy is larger, and there is less chance of your being recognized.’

  Gershom glanced around at the bleak landscape. The old general, Pausanius, had warned Helikaon that there were bandits abroad in these hills, and had urged him to take a company of soldiers, as a personal guard. Helikaon had refused.

  ‘I have promised to make these lands safe,’ he had said. ‘The leaders know me now. When they see the king riding through their communities without armed escort it will give them confidence.’

  Pausanius had been unconvinced. Gershom did not believe it either.

  Once they were travelling together he became convinced that Helikaon had needed to get away from Dardanos, and all the trappings and duties of royalty. Yet with each mile they rode Helikaon grew more tense.

  That night, as they camped in the foothills, beneath a stand of cypress trees, Gershom said, ‘What is worrying you?’

  Helikaon did not answer, merely added dry wood to the small campfire, then sat quietly by it. Gershom did not press the question further. After a while Helikaon spoke. ‘Did you enjoy being a prince?’

  ‘Aye, I did – but not as much as my half-brother, Rameses. He was desperate to become pharaoh, to lead Egypteian armies into battle, to build his own great pillars at the Temple of Luxor, to see his face carved on massive statues. Me, I just loved being fawned upon by beautiful women.’

  ‘Did it not concern you that the women only fawned upon you because they were obliged to?’

  ‘Why would that be a concern? The result is the same.’

  ‘Only for you.’

  Gershom chuckled. ‘You Sea People think too much. The slave women at the palace were there for my pleasure. That was their purpose. What did it matter whether or not they desired to be slave women? When you are hungry and you decide to kill a sheep do you stop and wonder how the sheep feels about it?’

  ‘An interesting point,’ observed Helikaon. ‘I will think on it.’

  ‘It is not a point to think on,’ argued Gershom. ‘It was supposed to end the debate, not widen it.’

  ‘The purpose of debate is to explore issues, not end them.’

  ‘Very well. Then let us debate the reason for your original question. Why did you ask if I enjoyed being a prince?’

  ‘Perhaps I was just making conversat
ion,’ said Helikaon.

  ‘No. The first reason was to deflect me from questioning you about your concerns. The second was more complex, but still linked to the first.’

  ‘Well, now you have me intrigued,’ said Helikaon. ‘Enlighten me.’

  Gershom shook his head. ‘You need enlightenment, Golden One? I think not. Back in Egypte there are statues of mythical beasts that used to fascinate me.

  Creatures with the heads of eagles, the bodies of lions, the tails of serpents.

  My grandfather told me they actually represented men. We are all of us hybrid beasts. There is the savage in us, who would tear out an enemy’s heart and devour it raw. There is the lover, who composes songs to the woman who owns his soul. There is the father, who holds his child close, and would die to protect it from all harm. Three creatures in one man. And there are more. In every one of us is the total of all we have ever been, the sullen child, the arrogant youth, the suckling babe. Every fear endured in childhood is lodged somewhere in here.’ He tapped his temple. ‘And every act of heroism or cowardice, generosity or meanness of spirit.’

  ‘This is fascinating,’ said Helikaon, ‘but I feel as if I have just sailed into a mist. What is the point you are making?’

  ‘That is the point I am making. Our lives are spent sailing in the mist, hoping for a burst of sunlight that can make sense of who we are.’

  ‘I know who I am, Gershom.’

  ‘No, you don’t. Are you the man who concerns himself about the secret desires of slave women, or the man who cuts the head from a farmer who speaks out of turn?

  Are you the god who rescued a child on Kypros, or the madman who burned to death fifty sailors?’

  ‘This conversation has lost its appeal,’ said Helikaon, his voice cold.