Fall of Kings

by David Gemmell

  The black-haired giant was beside him now. Antinous had never seen such a deadly display of fighting skills, had not believed it was possible. The bronze warrior was fast, swaying away from plunging blades, his sword lancing out with impossible precision. The giant radiated invincibility, smashing his way into the ranks of the pirates, spilling men from their feet.

  Antinous backed away, seeking an escape route.

  Then he saw Odysseus advancing toward him, blood pouring from many cuts in his arms and shoulders. The stocky king hurled himself forward, scattering the pirates before him, and charged at Antinous.

  The pirate chief shouted a curse and leaped to meet him. Their swords clanged together. Odysseus’ left hand snaked out, grabbing the front of Antinous’ tunic and dragging him into a head butt that smashed his nose. Half-blinded, Antinous struggled to free himself from the older man’s grip, but he could not. Pain, hideous and burning, tore into his belly and up through his lungs. All strength fled from him. The sounds of battle receded in his ears. He found himself staring into the eyes of Odysseus and saw no pity there.

  The sword in his belly was half withdrawn, then twisted savagely.

  Agony ripped through the pirate chief. The blade was torn clear of him, his entrails flopping out. Hurled aside like a bloodstained rag, Antinous was dead before his body struck the floor.

  Old Sekundos, his face ashen with pain, dragged himself alongside Penelope. His strength failing, he sagged against the throne before slipping to the floor.

  Outside the palace fleeing pirates were met with a hail of arrows, then a charge led by Oniacus and a score of fighting men from the Xanthos. Three survivors broke clear, only to be met by a huge one-armed black man. Leaping forward, Bias stabbed the first in the neck, then plunged the blade into the chest of the second. The third man raced clear. A black-shafted arrow slammed into his back. He staggered forward for several paces, then pitched face-first to the ground.

  A group of pirates escaped through the side doors and dashed down to the beach. On the great galley Xanthos all was dark, and the survivors raced toward it, hoping to capture the ship. As they started to climb the trailing ropes, dark shapes appeared above them, and a hail of arrows ripped into them from the high deck. On the stern of the ship Andromache stood calmly, shooting shafts with others of the ship’s archers, her arrows slamming into the pirates with cold precision.

  Inside the palace the battle was over. Some of the pirates cried out for mercy. None was given.

  Odysseus dropped his sword and ran to his wife, kneeling alongside her. Swiftly he untied her hands; then, cradling her shaved head in his hands, he kissed her brow. There were tears in his eyes. “I am so sorry,” he said. “This is my fault.”

  Penelope clung to him with her good hand, and for a moment they were silent, close in each other’s arms, scarcely believing they were together again and safe.

  “I knew you would come, Ugly One. It was most foolish of you,” she murmured at last. Lifting her broken hand, she gently stroked his face. “And look at you, all cuts and bruises.”

  The bronze warrior approached them and lifted clear his helm. Penelope looked up into his sky-blue eyes.

  “I had thought there was little left in this world to surprise me,” she said. “But you prove me wrong. Welcome to my house, Helikaon.” She looked beyond him to the blood-spattered giant.

  “I am Achilles,” he told her.

  “You could be no other,” she replied.

  For the next three days the men of the Xanthos helped Odysseus’ crew clear away the bodies of the pirates and prepare the funeral pyres. Refugees moved back from their hiding places in the hills, returning to their looted homes. Andromache joined the women of Ithaka as they moved through the megaron and the surrounding rooms, scrubbing away the blood and clearing the filth the pirates and their whores had left in their wake.

  Little was seen of Penelope during that time, and Odysseus appeared only rarely.

  By the evening of the third day the palace was once more habitable. The cleansing of homes brought a sense of normality, but many had lost loved ones, and there was an air of despondency throughout the settlement.

  The only surgeon on Ithaka had been killed by the attackers, and the wounded were tended by Bias, Oniacus, and Andromache. All three had some experience with herbs and medicinal plants.

  Just before sunset on the fourth day, Penelope emerged from her rooms and walked among the wounded, a bright scarf of gold wrapped around her shaved head. She could not assist with the work, for her fingers had been splinted. But she sat with the wounded, talking to them, praising their courage.

  Old Sekundos was dying. Penelope went to where he lay on a pallet bed in the sunshine. He had asked to be carried out so that he could see the Great Green one last time.

  When Penelope arrived, he smiled. “Too old…and slow,” he said. “Was a time…”

  “Yes,” Penelope replied, her voice tender, “you were too old to win. But not too old to save my life and that of my child.”

  A faint smile touched the old man’s lips. “Always…wanted to be…in one of Odysseus’ tales.” He looked up at the clear blue sky. “Beautiful day to be…sailing,” he whispered.

  Penelope’s vision blurred. “You are a hero, Sekundos. And I am sorry I spoke of shame when we met.”

  The old man rallied at the compliment. “You…remembered my name. That is…a great honor for me,” he told the queen. Then, his strength fading, he looked up at her. “You must leave me now. I have…a wish…to die alone. Just me…and the Great Green.”

  Penelope leaned down and kissed his brow. “May your journey be swift and the Fields of Elysium welcoming.”

  Just then Andromache emerged from the palace. “Walk with me,” said the queen, then led the way up a gently sloping hill. Andromache saw that she was trembling and her footsteps were unsteady. She took Penelope’s arm, and together they made their way toward the crest of the hill.

  “You are still weak,” Andromache said. “You should be resting.”

  Penelope took a deep breath. “Odysseus does not ask, but I feel the questioning eyes of others upon me. They all wonder what violation I suffered and whether my pride has been shattered.”

  “There is not a man alive who could take away your pride, let alone shatter it,” Andromache said.

  “Fine words from someone who does not know me.” The rebuke was spoken gently.

  “I do know you,” Andromache told her. “From all that Odysseus told me of you and from all that I have seen and heard since I have been here. All speak of their love for you, their respect for you, and their pride in you.”

  Penelope did not reply but led the way to a stone bench on a hill overlooking the bay. The pirate ships were still drawn up below, as was the mighty Xanthos. The two women sat in silence for a while, and then Andromache spoke. “Odysseus is a good man. I like him greatly.”

  Penelope sighed. “He has not asked me what I suffered. I wonder at that.”

  “Do not wonder too deeply,” Andromache warned her. “I saw Odysseus when the Xanthos arrived at the pirate isle. I have never seen a man so tormented, so frightened. He feared losing you. Now he is saddened by your pain, but he cannot hide the joy in his eyes that you are alive. He does not ask because all that matters to him is that you are safe and he is with you.”

  “He is a sentimental old fool,” Penelope said fondly.

  Below them Odysseus and Helikaon walked from the palace. Odysseus glanced up and waved. Penelope lifted a hand in response. Together the two men continued down to the shoreline.

  Penelope looked at the young woman beside her, seeing her face soften as she gazed down at the two men.

  “So,” the queen asked, “why is the wife of Hektor traveling the Great Green?”

  Andromache told her of the purpose of their journey and the visit to Thera with Kassandra, but as she spoke, her eyes followed Helikaon. A great sadness touched Penelope then, for she saw the love in Androm
ache’s eyes.

  “I am tired,” she said. “I think I will return to my rooms.”

  Andromache helped her back to the palace, and once there, Penelope kissed the younger woman on the cheek.

  “Despite all that has happened,” she said, “I will treasure these last few days. It has been good to see Helikaon and the Ugly One together again as friends. And I am glad we met, Andromache.”

  “As am I. I see now why Odysseus has such love for you.”

  Penelope sighed. “We have been lucky. An arranged marriage that led to joys I could not have dreamed of. Others are not so lucky. But love is to be cherished wherever it is found. Sometimes, though, love can lead to great heartache and pain beyond imagining. You understand what I am saying?”

  Andromache flushed. “I think that I do.”

  “When you reach Troy again, bring my greetings to Hektor, a man I have always admired. A good man, a man of no malice or deceit. Tell him Penelope wishes him well.”

  “I will tell him,” Andromache answered coolly, but there was anger in her eyes.

  “Do not misunderstand me, my dear,” Penelope went on. “I do not judge you, but we have spoken now, and I know you better. You are not sly or capricious, and the path you are walking will eat away at your spirit. Odysseus told me of Helikaon’s love for you. He tells me everything.”

  Andromache’s anger faded. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

  “Come inside. We will sit and talk,” Penelope told her.

  In the queen’s apartments a fire had been lit, and they sat together on a couch. Andromache talked of her first meeting with Helikaon and of the battle in Priam’s palace. She spoke of Halysia and Dex. She told Penelope of Helikaon’s sickness and the wound that would not heal.

  “Then, one night, his fever broke,” she said.

  “And you were with him?”

  “Yes.” Andromache looked away.

  “And no one else?”

  Andromache nodded, and a silence grew between them. Penelope did not break it but sat quietly, waiting. Andromache took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Hektor is a good man and my friend,” she said. “He loves my son.”

  The shock of the words struck Penelope, though she did not show it. He loves my son.

  “Does Helikaon know?”

  “Know what?”

  “That he is the father of your child?”

  Andromache’s eyes widened as she realized what she had given away. “No, and he must not! He cannot! All his life he has been racked by guilt, first about his mother, who killed herself in front of him, then because he could not save little Dio, then Halysia. This news would only cause him more torment.”

  “Be calm, Andromache. We are friends, you and I. No word will come from me. Not even to Odysseus. I promise you. Does Hektor know?”

  “Yes, I told him from the very first,” Andromache replied, the words barely audible. “But only he and I know, and now you. But it is vital that it does not get back to Priam. He would kill Astyanax and me and hunt down Helikaon, too, if he could. It is better this way. It is the only way. But it is so hard,” she whispered.

  “Oh, my dear, I am sorry for your heartache. But you must make a decision, and there is only one to make. You know what it is.”

  Andromache nodded, and tears began to fall. Penelope leaned in and put her arm around the younger woman’s shoulder. There was nothing more to say.

  On the beach below, Helikaon’s crew was loading supplies.

  “You are heading for the Seven Hills?” Odysseus asked. Helikaon looked at him but did not answer. Odysseus understood his friend’s reluctance to speak of his plans. Despite the rescue of Penelope, they were still enemies.

  “I’ll not betray you, lad,” the older man said. “Surely you know that.”

  Helikaon nodded. “I know. The madness of war affects us all. Yes, I am going there. What will I find? Are my men still alive, Odysseus?”

  “Of course they are. It hurts me that you need to ask. When this war began, I gathered all the people together and told them I would suffer no enmities, no feuds. There are brigands and nomadic bands of tribesmen moving through the land. There are raiders of the sea. They have enough enemies to fight without warring among themselves.

  “All is well there, Helikaon, and you will be welcomed as a friend by all the people. I take it you seek tin.”

  “Yes. We will need all we can find.”

  “There are stores there. Take whatever you can carry.”

  As they spoke, Bias came walking up to them. Helikaon looked up as he approached, recalling the hatred in the man’s voice the last time they had met.

  “I hope you burn, and your Death Ship with you.”

  He did not look at Helikaon but spoke with Odysseus. “We have loaded most of the supplies you ordered,” he reported, “but the pirates have left us with scant reserves.”

  “Tomorrow you can sail for Pylos,” Odysseus said, “and trade for more with Nestor’s people.”

  Bias nodded but did not leave. The silence grew; then he took a deep breath and looked at Helikaon. “I do not take back what I said, Helikaon. But I thank you for coming to our aid.” Without waiting for a reply, he walked away.

  “A good man but unforgiving,” Odysseus said.

  Helikaon shrugged. “Forgiveness should never be given lightly. How is Penelope?”

  “She is strong, far stronger than I. But I do not want to speak of what she must have suffered before we arrived. To think of it fills me with a rage I can hardly control.

  “You spoke of the madness of war, and this attack on Ithaka is an example of it. The son of Donkey Face wanted revenge, but even without that, the pirates and raiders are growing in strength. As we gather to destroy Troy, our own kingdoms are neglected. When we conquer—and we will conquer, Helikaon—what will we come back to? I fear this conflict will consume us all. There will be no victors then, and even the treasury of Troy will not contain enough gold to rebuild what we have lost.”

  Helikaon looked at his old friend. There was more silver than red now in his hair and beard, and his face was lined and anxious.

  “All that you say is true, Odysseus, save for the treasury of Troy. I have not seen Priam’s hoard of gold, but it would have to be mountainous to maintain the expense of this war. Gold passes from the city every day to hire mercenaries, to bribe allies. And there is little coming in now; the traders are leaving. If the fighting goes on much longer and you do take the city, you may find nothing of real worth.”

  “The thought had occurred to me,” Odysseus told him, nodding. “If that proves true, then we are all doomed to poverty and ruin.”

  He sighed again and looked into Helikaon’s blue eyes. “I hope I do not find you in Troy when we take the city.”

  “Where else would I be, Odysseus? The woman I love will be there, and I will protect her with my life.”

  “I fear for you, lad.” Odysseus looked suddenly weary. “You and Hektor are the two greatest fighting men of Troy,” he said, his voice low. “What will happen, do you think, when he discovers his wife is your lover?”

  Helikaon pulled angrily away. Then his shoulders sagged. “Is it so obvious?”

  “Aye, it is when you never stand close to her in a room or look at her when you are in company, when you stare at the floor whenever she speaks but leave for your rooms within heartbeats of each other. Before long—if not already—there will not be a man among your crew who does not suspect.”

  Odysseus laid his hand on Helikaon’s shoulder. “Take her back to Troy, then leave the city. Defend the north, hold open the trade routes, fight battles at sea. But stay away from her, lad, or I fear for the future of you both.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  THE PEASANT AND THE PRINCESS

  The winter was the harshest that anyone living in Troy could recall. Storms blown down from the north brought icy sleet and then, remarkably, snow. Icicles formed on windows and walls, and out on the pastures n
orth of the city, sheep, trapped in snowdrifts, froze to death. Blizzards raged for twenty days, and even when they passed, the routes remained blocked.

  In the lower town there were deaths among the populace of the poorer quarters. The price of food rose alarmingly as bad weather and rumors of war caused the numbers of trade caravans from the east to dwindle. Priam ordered all grain stores to ration supplies, and the city seethed with discontent.

  Even in the worst of the winter refugees still fled the city, for the news from the south was unremittingly bad. Hektor had won three battles, but overwhelming numbers of the enemy had forced him back to Thebe Under Plakos, and now that city, too, was under siege.

  In the north a Mykene attack on Dardanos had been crushed by the general Banokles and his Thrakians, aided by a regiment of mercenaries led by Tudhaliyas, the banished son of the Hittite emperor. The battle had been close. It would have been lost if the invasion fleet had not been caught in a storm. Only a third of the ships had made it across the straits. The enemy force had been reduced to four thousand men, not the twelve thousand who could have stormed ashore.

  On midwinter’s day the king’s son Antiphones left his house in the lower town of Troy and trudged up the icy, nearly-deserted streets toward the city. A freezing wind was blowing, and even the sheepskin cloak he wore could not keep the cold from his bones.

  Passing through the Scaean Gate, he made his way up the stone stairway to the south battlements. As he climbed, he remembered the long days of illness after the palace siege four years before. Knifed nearly to death, he had fought to recover and to lose some of his prodigious weight by climbing the battlement steps over and over again. The first time he had tackled the west battlements, where the great wall was lowest. He had thought that he would pass out from pain and exhaustion. But over the months his strength had grown, and now, though he still weighed as much as any two men, he was as strong as any warrior in Troy.