Paris gently thumbed his newborn son’s chin. “The dip. I did not realize it such a prominent feature.”
“A handsome one,” Oenone sighed, contentment coursing through her at the sight of her husband and child together.
“What shall we call him?”
“Corythus,” Oenone said.
“A good strong name,” Paris said. He tucked the edge of the swaddling cloth under his son’s tiny dimpled chin. “Someday, you will see the world from atop the Great Wall. You will see the land of your father and grandfathers. It is a sight little one.”
“You are not going to take him from me, are you?” Fear rose in Oenone’s heart like a dark cloud. “You cannot take him from me.”
“Peace, Oenone. He belongs with you. But someday he will see the palace and the world of Troy.” Paris returned the squirming baby to his mother. Oenone pulled her chiton so Corythus could take her breast.
“Paris, I have seen an awful image in my mind.”
“What have you seen?” Paris asked.
“I am afraid to speak it aloud, my mortal. It is all smoke and fire.”
“Tell me. I am not afraid to hear it,” Paris said.
A silver tear slid from Oenone’s eye and turned to crystal. “There will be a great warrior who comes to Troy. He will carry a sacred spear of Pelian ash. And he will lay the city to dust.”
“You sound like Cassandra with all her ill tidings. No one can bring Troy to its knees. The city is well-guarded. Fortified by a wall built by the gods themselves. Our Hittite allies and all the other cities stand behind us.”
The smell of smoke filled her nostrils. She knew the end would bring more pain than she could bear, than any survivors could bear. Knowing that her beloved would forsake her before the end stole the joy she should be having. Oenone pushed the dreadful image of Troy in ruin aside. She forced her vision into the deepest, darkest part of her mind. She reasoned that she could be wrong. She wanted to be wrong.
She watched as Paris kissed his son’s little hand with its fingers wrapped around his thumb. Father let me be wrong.
ACHILLES DUG HIS heels into the sides of his horse spurring him on through the surf. The beast’s heavy hooves pounded into the wet sand and its silver mane whipped across his face as he leaned over its powerful neck. The moon lit a narrow rippled path across the water like an arrow aimed at the dark horizon. Dark cloudless skies passed above rider and horse as the darkness grew. Since arriving in Skyros years ago, he’s been forced to hide among the women, wearing women’s clothing as a guise keeping his existence a secret from the outside world. His mother had insisted, she’d wept, and she’d begged him to do her bidding without question. He had obeyed. Riding under night’s cloak was the only time Achilles could cast the falsehood aside without breaking his oath to his mother.
He rode until he came to a cave partially hidden by an outcropping of rocks along the shore. The horse knew the way into the cave without being prodded. Achilles dismounted into the soft sand.
“Easy.” He wrapped the reigns around a tall standing rock. He pulled a bright red apple from his side pouch. “Your favorite.” The horse nipped at the fruit before grabbing it between its teeth. Achilles scratched his mount between the eyes.
He stretched his back and shoulders. “Time to put muscle and bone to use, Melias.” The horse stomped a hoof. He retrieved his sword and shield from their hiding place. The practice weapons were not of good quality, but heavy enough to train with while he waited for his mother to release him from this prison. He never expected to be in Skyros this long. The years had dragged on and now he found himself itching for a reason to leave. Most days he thought of little else. Achilles hefted the shield on his left arm and picked up the sword with the right. He sliced the blade through the air at imagined foe. He danced with imagined enemies until his skin glistened with sweat and his blood pounded in his ears. The night stretched to almost morning before he rested.
“Truth, Melias...I long for war. What good is all this practice if there is no war? What adventure is here in Skyros? None.”
The horse shook its mane.
“You are right. There is Deidamia. She has been pleasant enough. Beautiful,” Achilles grinned. “And she is willing.” He sat watching the sky push from purple to pale watered wine. “Time to return to the palace.” He replaced the weapons in their hiding spot and mounted his horse. Melias shook his neck nervously. “Calm boy, calm.” Achilles placed a steady hand on the horse’s neck. A light sea mist floated into the cave. Then, Melias stomped his hooves forcing Achilles to look down. The sandy floor of the cave was now wet. He smiled and turned. “Mother?”
Thetis rose up from the mist. “Yes, my son.” Achilles dismounted and faced his mother. Thetis embraced her golden warrior warmly. “I have missed you, Achilles.”
“And I, you,” he said.
“How do you fare, here, in Skyros? In the court? All is well?” Theists asked, smoothing a stray lock of hair from his face.
“I am well, Mother. Life at court is...boring...but I suspect you know that already. Is it time to leave this place? My hands itch for real opponents. Battle! It is time to tell me why I must hide who I am.”
The goddess took in her son’s massive frame. “It must be difficult to hide your form beneath the folds of a woman’s gown.”
Achilles laughed. “I am told I make a most fetching woman.”
Thetis sighed deeply. “Oh, my son. How do I tell you why you are here? I fear I know your decision even before I have voiced the alternative fates you have been given.”
“Mother, I must know for I can no longer remain on this island. The very air suffocates me.”
“Then I will speak. You possess a dual nature. The blood of immortals and mortals flows through you. Because of this, you have been given a choice, rarely granted, to steer the direction of your star,” she paused. “In the long days to come, the Greeks will bring war to the Great Wall of Troy. It is there that death will claim you. You will not return to the house of your father.”
“Is this war to happen in my old age? Dying an old man swinging my sword...I can think of no better way to end my days.”
“No, Achilles. The war is not far away. It is why you are hidden. I have no wish for death to swallow up your youth.”
“That is a dark premonition indeed,” Achilles said. He furrowed his brow in displeasure. “To die young and have wasted years here, on this island? That is a cruel trick to play with my life.”
“There is more. Your early death will bring you great renown. Your glory will have no end.”
“The silver beneath the dark. But you spoke of two fates.”
The goddess touched his shoulder. “If you stay, refuse to go to war, you will live a long life. Longer than any mortal because my blood runs through you. You will prosper and fall into obscurity, as is the fate of all mortals. To be forgotten when memory fades.”
“Obscurity...,” Achilles muttered the word. “A darker fate than early death.”
“I only ask that you not make the choice in haste, for once you begin down either path you set your destiny in motion. There can be no going back.”
Achilles nodded in understanding. “I promise to consider all.”
“That is all I can ask,” the goddess said. “I must go. The sea calls me home.”
“Mother?”
“Yes?”
“Will you ever return to him? Peleus, I mean?”
She smiled, but did not answer and disappeared into the rising fog.
Achilles remounted his steed and urged him on to full gallop. He stretched over the horse hitting their great stride splashing sea and sand behind them.
“PLAY THE SONG again, Achilles,” Deidamia pleaded. “It was beautiful.”
“If you wish.” He leaned over the pillow. “Kiss me first.”
Deidamia turned her face from her lover. “You say that to all my sisters.”
“What? You know I bear love for you, do you not?”
“You address them all with similar affection. You do not truly love me.”
Achilles wrinkled his nose. “With you it is from my heart.”
The princess looked up at him through thick dark lashes, her eyes moist with unshed tears. “Do you speak sincerely?”
He knew that a part of him meant the words, but the wild darkness inside cried out for freedom and blood and bronze. He recalled Chiron’s words that one day he would ride his father’s immortal steeds, Xanthus and Balius, into battle sacking cities and cutting his enemies low. He realized this must be the war with Troy his mother warned him about. He knew that he had little desire for domestic life, yet early death held little to be desired either. But to fall into obscurity meant his name would be forgotten and no deed accomplished by his own hand would be worthy of mention.
Achilles looked into Deidamia’s face and wasn’t sure he could ever love just one woman. He loved them all too much. Peleus had often chastised him for doing so. He certainly couldn’t remain in Skyros forever. “I mean the words as much as I can,” he said. He observed the hurt in her eyes and quickly added, “You know I am here only until I am released by my mother.”
“I know...I had hoped...that you would stay.”
“Nothing can keep me here forever,” he said.
“What if you had family...here, in Skyros?” Deidamia asked shyly.
“I have no family here. Too many years have I spent training and living far from my rightful home. I long to fight real battles. Go to war. One day I will follow my father to the throne, who would respect me if I am untried at warfare?”
“But, what if you did?” she asked again.
“My father would never leave Phthia. My mother would not be confined to walls when the water is her true home. And I have no children.”
Deidamia’s cheeks flamed. “You will,” she whispered.
Achilles sat back. “You are with child?”
The words fairly choked her. “Yes. I am carrying your child.”
He hadn’t expected this but realized, now, that he should have. “Have you told your father?”
“No.”
“We will tell him together then.” His honor would allow nothing less.
Deidamia flung her arms around his neck and cried. “Gratitude, Achilles. I thought you may be displeased. Cast me aside. Not want me.”
He pulled her close to comfort her. “All will be fine, Deidamia. It will be fine.” He spoke the words to comfort himself as much as her. His mother’s warning still swam about his head.
ACHILLES WATCHED KING Lycomedes pace in front of his grand chair like a caged lion. He feared no physical reprisal from him, but he had concern for Deidamia. He had taken the princess without the king’s consent or knowledge, producing a child. Achilles knew he had violated the sacred understanding of hospitality granted him in Skyros.
The king finally spoke. “I granted your mother and your father’s wish to secret you away among my family...to hide you among the very treasures I hold dear. And you repay my kindness by stealing my daughter’s virtue?”
“I have no excuse for my actions under your hospitality. I offer my apology.”
“You should better beg my forgiveness before you feel the weight of my blade on your neck.”
“Death would be a harsh punishment for a son of Peleus.”
“You threaten me with your father’s name? Is that not a noble move?!” Lycomedes laughed out loud. “You disrespect me, then have nerve to threaten me?”
“I meant only that death would be too harsh a punishment, for I took your daughter out of love.”
“What are you proposing, Achilles? Marriage? Marriage without your father’s consent? Now, that would be an offense I have no inclination of explaining at the point of a blade.”
“My father would be more outraged at the former, and more accepting of the latter. He will be pleased with both my choice of bride and the child.”
Lycomedes considered Achilles’ words, his sincerity. “How many summers do you have?”
“Seventeen, my lord.”
The king considered his age. “You are young for a husband. I would have preferred an older, wiser man for my daughter. The deed is done, however.” He resumed pacing. “Fine, we shall have a wedding. This very night, we shall have a wedding.”
“So be it,” Achilles said. His mother’s words loomed in the back of his mind. If I take her to wife, am I consigning myself to a life of nothingness? No glory? He worried that this marriage might set in motion a fate he did not want. But, if he refused to marry the princess, he just might meet an earlier death than prophesied.
The king clapped his hands. A thin servant woman appeared. “Fetch Deidamia to me. At once.” The servant disappeared. “Off with you, Achilles. I have much to do.”
“My lord,” Achilles nodded. “I will see you when I come to claim my wife.” With that, the golden warrior departed, lost in his own concern for the future.
THESEUS SPIED THE girl dancing in the temple of Artemis. Rumors of the beauty and grace of Tyndareus’ youngest daughter had reached far beyond the kingdom of Sparta. It was widely rumored also that Tyndareus was not the girl’s father, that Zeus himself had sired her. Now that he’d seen her with his own eyes, he had no doubt that this lovely creature carried immortal blood. Everything about her moved as perfection. Her hands and arms graceful, her hair golden and hung loosely to her hips, her bare feet stepping to the music moved with unnatural grace. His loins stirred with heated desire. He knew he must have her. He deserved her after all the shit the gods had put him through. He sat on the throne of Athens without a proper queen, and he would steal one if he must... it was honorable to steal a bride...especially one who’s father was surely Zeus.
“Well, what do you think?” Pirithous asked.
“That I have found my wife. None is as fair as that Helen.”
Pirithous shook his head. “You are an old man. She on the verge of womanhood by the glance. Why not chose the elder girl there?”
“I want who I want.” Theseus narrowed his eyes at his friend. “And this is fine talk from a man who wishes Persephone as bride. You imagine sneaking off with her an easier task?”
“You have a plan, then?”
Theseus was already plotting strategy. “Tyndareus will follow hospitality. He will invite us to dine. We must make certain he drinks plenty of wine.”
“Easily done if rumor holds true. Where will you take her? You cannot settle her in Athens.”
“My mother’s house in Aphidnae will be safe enough,” Theseus said.
“It is settled. A daughter of Zeus for us both.”
“SIT! LET US eat and drink until we fall on our faces!” Tyndareus laughed, as he welcomed his guests with a feast fit for kings. Lamp light and torches burned brilliantly in the dimming light of day. Mounds of meat and cheese filled platters on long tables. Amphorae of wine had been brought up from cool cellars and stood ready like infantry to attack the guests with merriment and forgetfulness. “You remember my sons, Pollux and Castor?”
“They have grown to men since last I saw them,” Theseus answered. He immediately grew concerned. By the look of the twins, they were hardened warriors. He and Pirithous would have to stay clear of them for they most certainly kept watchful eyes upon their sister. “Lady Leda, it is an honor to be in your presence once again.” Theseus purposefully ignored the young Helen although her beauty stung his peripheral sight.
“Has it been so long, Lord Theseus?”
“It has.”
“I hear you have been an adventurer of late. Is that so?” Queen Leda asked politely.
“There have been many stories, my lady...best you...believe them all.” Theseus’ eyes twinkled recalling his mischief and mayhem.
The queen nodded knowingly. “I am certain I shall. Perhaps, our singer will regale us with a poem or two about the great king Theseus.”
“I have no need to call attention to my deeds. I am afraid not all ar
e pleased to hear the tales.”
Pirithous chimed in, “No they are not. Those—”
“Enough...story telling on my account,” Theseus interrupted. If he was to succeed tonight, it was better that his hosts not think of him as a threat.
HELEN AND HER maid walked through the courtyard talking quietly, their shoulders occasionally rubbing together as they whispered. Theseus and his accomplice spied the pair from behind manicured shrubs and an oversized potted olive tree. As the girls came closer, Pirithous reached for his dagger. Theseus grabbed Pirithous’ hand and shoved it down. “Not now, you idiot!” he spat between clenched teeth. “They have not seen us.”
“It is only a precaution,” Pirithous whispered angrily. “You remember what happened last—”
“If you speak again, I swear by the balls of Zeus I will kill you myself.”
Helen and her maid were about to pass into the darkness edging the courtyard, when the spies startled them from behind. Theseus seized Helen, stifling her cry for help with a heavy hand over her mouth. The princess struggled against the iron grip around her waist but she was no match for such strength. “Easy, girl. I bring no harm to you,” the masculine voice whispered against her ear. Helen tried in vain to pull her body free, but the man held her hard against his chest. She bit the side of his hand covering her mouth, but her attacker didn’t flinch. Within moments, her body heaved in exhaustion and she ceased her muffled cries. “I will not harm you or your family if you come away without claiming attention to yourself. If you scream and bring the guards or your twin brothers, I swear by Zeus I will slit your family’s throats one by one. Do you understand?”
Helen peered into the visage shrouded by cloak and cover of night. “King Theseus? Is that you?” she asked, honeyed innocence dripping from every word. Her captor tightened his iron grip around her waist until she couldn’t find her breath and the world swam before her.
Helen slumped in Theseus’ arms. The maidservant still struggled against Pirithous. The Athenian king hefted Helen an arm, took two heavy steps toward his accomplice and clobbered the women behind her head with his free hand. She slid quietly from Pirithous’ hold to a messy heap on the ground.
Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) Page 23
