Troy: A Brand of Fire

by Ben Blake

  *

  “Be welcome to Troy,” Priam said. “We are honoured that you accepted our invitation. Now you are here, I am certain we can find a solution to the disagreements that bedevil us.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Nestor agreed.

  The other two kings seemed content to let him be their spokesman. Menestheus was staring around at the blue and gold patterned throne room in obvious interest, paying more attention to that than to Priam. As for Menelaus, he bristled whenever he looked at the Trojan king, or at Hector where he stood beside the dais. Their hosts must have noticed that, but they could pretend not to, at least. That wouldn’t be the case if he spoke. Probably it was better to let him smoulder in silence for the moment.

  “My son Lycaon has arranged for you to be given houses in the upper city.” Priam indicated another man by the dais, a blond fellow with callused hands. “Servants have also been provided, of course. I suggest you rest for a day or two. The journey must have been wearying.”

  Nestor barely stopped himself from frowning. A voyage across the Aegean Sea was hardly tiring at all, for a lord. The rowers worked hard for three days, perhaps four if the wind was unhelpful, but a passenger didn’t have to do anything except watch the sea slide by. Nights were spent sleeping on an island shore, in a tent rather than a palace to be sure, but even so it was hardly cause for exhaustion. Priam must know that. It was an odd comment for him to make.

  Unless he simply wanted to delay any talks for the day or two he’d mentioned. But that made no sense. Why invite three Greek kings to Troy and then postpone the suggested discussion?

  “That would be pleasant,” Nestor said. He kept his unease hidden behind a bland smile. More than one could play at secrets.