“How many days until we reach home?” asked Aletes.
“At least five, if this storm doesn’t break our course.”
When she was once again alone, Clytemnestra’s thoughts turned to the child she was carrying. She pressed her hand gently on her belly. In her bones, she knew the end of the great war loomed on the horizon. She could not let Agamemnon return to Mycenae. Not now. Not ever. If he were to make it home, he would without a doubt hunt her and her children down. He would never be satisfied with their banishment. He had too much pride. Under the stormy skies, she promised herself that she’d kill Agamemnon by her own hand, risking the retribution of the gods, before she let him touch any of her children ever again. A bolt of Zeus’ lightning ripped across the sky. The wind picked up, and the sea surged with power. It was time to finalize plans with Aegisthus.
TROY
Palace of Priam
THIRTEEN, lost son returned
1238 BCE
Lykaon’s horse plodded slowly along the cobble stone streets of Troy. The citadel was unrecognizable. Refugees filled the side alleys with their tattered tents and crowded around the public fountains. Excrement from men and animals alike dried in the sun, scrapped away only here and there. The air was stifling and putrid. He fought the urge to vomit as he and Eetion of Imbros pressed deeper into the heart of the royal city.
“Does my father know the decrepit state of Troy’s streets?” Lykaon asked.
“Nothing passes Priam’s attention,” Eetion answered, digging his heels into his horse. “These people have nowhere else to go. And there is nowhere for many of them to stay, except on the streets, or wherever they can find a corner.”
Lykaon gripped his horse’s reigns, wringing them into his palms until blisters formed. “What if he does not accept me into his household?”
“The king will not refuse his own flesh and blood a place at his table.”
“What if he—”
“I suggest you stop talking, until it is clear you must speak.”
The streets were noisy and chaotic, but they rode on in silence, passing a dozen or more make-shift tenements. They rode passed the curved street of bakers, then the wide lane of skilled leather workers, and finally through the quarter of potters and metal smiths. Upward the streets stretched on, upward toward the shining palace of Priam … and hopefully, home. Pray the gods I am welcomed. Lykaon feared his father’s rejection after his long absence, but dreaded the queen’s icy reaction most. She held the key to his existence.
It was Queen Hecuba, jealous of Priam’s concubines and whores, who ruled the palace with the power to send anyone away, including Priam’s bastards and their mothers. He recalled the day she sent his mother, Laothoë, back to her father, King of the Leleges, in disgrace. Lykaon’s royal lineage provided little protection in Priam’s court. The children of Hecuba ranked highest in honor and privilege, of that there had always been no question.
Eetion spurred his horse to trot. “Hurry, boy.” He pointed ahead of them. “See the citadel there? Soon, I will be a wealthy man, for all the troubles I have endured on your behalf.”
As Apollo’s light descended, they arrived at the gate of the palace. They’d traveled far and under precarious circumstances. Lykaon was certain they looked little better than the ragged refugees over-running the city.
A guard on the rampart hollered down to them, “What is your business with the palace?”
Lykaon nervously eyed the guards flanking the pillars of the gate. His horse, sensing his unease, whickered loudly and shook its head. He imagined Hecuba glaring from behind the guards.
Eetion called up, “I have urgent news for the king’s ears alone. He is expecting me. Let me pass.”
The guard’s laughter rang heavy, like an avalanche of stone. “Every man believes he’s entitled to see the king whenever he pleases. Do you carry a missive from the king?”
Lykaon shouted, “I am Lykaon, a son of Priam, returned from captivity.”
Eetion glared sideways at Lykaon. He should have known he would blurt out who he was. “I have rescued this boy and I’m here to return him safely into the king’s hands.”
The heavy, wooden gate opened, and six guards appeared to escort them directly to the great hall. The courtyard was shaded by citrus trees, tall, shaggy palms, and tented pavilions. Small children played together at the fountain, watched over by their nursemaids fanning themselves beneath an arbor. A few older boys practiced with wooden swords. He remembered when he was one of them. Carefree and oblivious to what it truly meant to be the second level of Priam’s sons. It seemed a lifetime ago since Lykaon had laid eyes on the impressive pillars and brightly painted walls of Priam’s palace. He took a seat at a bench near the central hearth. His body was now weary from the long and sometimes dangerous journey from Lemnos to Arisbe, and then south to Troy.
There was a great commotion at the northern entrance to the hall. A cortege of men and women followed closely behind an anxious king and queen. My father has aged. Lykaon spied the tall warrior armored in gold, an azure cape fluttering behind him, as he strode like a god behind Priam. Hektor, Prince and Defender of the citadel. I have little in common with my half-brother. In fact, he wondered if the strength of Priam’s line didn’t arise from Hecuba’s blood. Beside Hektor was his wife, carrying a tiny babe in her arms. And bringing up the rear of the solemn procession were Paris, Deiphobus, Cassandra, Helenus, and Polydorus and Polites.
Priam greeted him with open arms. “I would know that face anywhere. My son is returned.”
Relieved, Lykaon rushed to his father’s embrace. Grateful tears flooded his eyes and he was helpless to stop them. The long months of slavery had almost broken him, and now, in his father’s presence he felt safe enough to weep for his misfortune.
King Priam, empathy burning in his eyes, sought his elder son’s faces. “This is why we must drive the invaders back to their lands. How many more of my sons, your brothers, must suffer?”
“The women suffer as well,” Hecuba said, feigning compassion for Priam’s bastards. “Each of your sons has a wife … and mother. Tell us, Lykaon, what happened? We are privy only to the rumors.”
Queen Hecuba’s interest caught Lykaon off guard. “It was Achilles, my lady.”
“Tell us everything,” Queen Hecuba said, taking her place at her high chair on the dais. Priam sat beside her, and his siblings gathered close by, sitting on steps and benches.
Lykaon was nervous now with all the eyes on him. Family they were, but not always friendly. “A dozen of us were in an orchard cutting fresh branches for the chariot master outside of Lyrnessus. We did not even know the foreigners were close to the city, until they were on us, screaming that we throw down our weapons. But, of course, we would not. That’s when we were ambushed by Achilles and his Myrmidons. They dragged me through the mud by my hair. Humiliated me.”
Hektor grew intrigued by his encounter with Achilles. “You met Achilles face to face, yet live? I would have thought he’d kill every son of Priam he laid his hands on.”
“They spared me for the gold.”
Queen Hecuba got up and paced a few steps, her violet gown flowing behind her like a bubbling stream. “They make a profit of selling our people into slavery. It is reprehensible.” She knelt before Lykaon, tilting his dimpled chin up so he could see the revenge burning in her own eyes. “What do you seek, son of Priam?”
“I want Achilles to pay for what he did to me. I was sold by his word, humiliated by his commander, Patrokles―”
Hecuba nodded. “Revenge. You wish for revenge.”
“I do, my lady.”
The queen stood, staring each of her children in the eye. “And he shall have it.”
Eetion cleared his throat. “Now that I have returned your son, I will take my reward and return to my own home. If it pleases you, of course, King Priam.”
Priam clapped his hands. “First, we celebrate my son’s safe return.” Servants and slaves brought in tre
stle tables and benches. Wine flowed. The sweet, smoky aroma of roasting meat filled the air. “Lord Eetion, you will have your gold after we feast.”
“How can I refuse?” Eetion said, accepting a cup brimming with red wine. A slave pulled a bench, set with luxurious linens and pillows, behind him.
The king clapped him on the back. “You cannot.”
As the royal family settled into their couches, the queen raised her alabaster cup. “We give thanks to Apollo for your return.” A quiet cheer rose for Lykaon, and behind the smiles and well wishes, they all questioned Queen Hecuba’s toast. It was known she usually avoided any mention of Apollo. Her recent change of heart left her family wondering what had happened. Why raise Apollo above the other gods? Why Apollo at all?
When the palace settled into sleep, Priam entered his wife’s chamber. The oil lamps were still lit and he found her sipping wine on her balcony. “Hecuba.”
“Priam.”
Coming up beside her, he said, “You surprised me this evening.”
Glancing at him with a rare smile, she asked, “How so?”
Priam’s elbow brushed hers. “Your praise of Apollo. After all these years, I thought—”
Hecuba placed a cool hand on his. “Clearly, husband, you do not know everything about me.”
“You confuse me, woman.”
“Come to bed, Priam.”
“With you?”
Hecuba, her eyes sparkling, took Priam’s hand in hers and led him to her bed. She used Priam’s body as Apollo had used hers—complete abandon, void of love. Knowing that she would bring Achilles to his knees excited her and this was the only way she could share her secret. Men fought war with weapons forged of bronze, but women must use the weapons of the flesh. She’d brought a god to her side, not by sword or spear, but by the power she wielded between her thighs.
✽✽✽
MT. OLYMPUS
Thetis, her heart heavy with her son’s grief, marked the passing of the twelfth day by the brightest star in the heavens. She burst through the cresting waves as soon as Apollo’s light swept the azure sky with amethyst and gold, making a swift ascent to the farthest peak of Olympus. She knew Lord Zeus would be perched on his high seat of power, gazing at the mortal world ensconced below his feet. Long gone were the days that the Lord of Thunder would seek her attention at her private inlet. Long gone were the days of his tender and hungry kisses. She hoped that the love he bore her then would serve her now in her son’s time of need. A son that should have been his own.
The fresh snow crunched lightly beneath Thetis’ feet as she approached. Her damp hair crisped in the cold. Crystals formed about the hem her gossamer gown. “My Lord of Thunder.” Her clouded breath hung in the thin air.
Zeus exhaled a small breath of mist and rain. “Why have you come here, Thetis?” His heart ached in her presence. The mighty lord of Olympus balled his spear hand at his side. “You are forbidden.”
The nymph flung herself at his feet, grasping him about his knees in supplication, overcome by her sorrow. “My lord, if ever I have pleased you, I beseech you hear my prayer.”
The god’s hand reached for his former lover’s head, hovering slightly before laying it against her hair. The heat of his touch melted the snow from her long locks, releasing the dark tendrils to the wind. “You are as lovely as I remember.”
“Does our ancient love hold meaning for you still?”
“What troubles plague your heart, sweet nymph?”
“It is Achilles, Father Zeus.”
The god knelt down, cradling her head and lifting her chin so his eyes could find hers. “What of the Golden One?”
“He should have been ours, Lord Zeus, but you commanded me to marry a mortal. Had you loved me more, he would have been yours and his suffering would not exist.”
Zeus bristled at the reminder. “I could not allow it, no matter how much I loved you then.”
“I am alone in my grief. Cast from the palace of the mortal who planted Achilles in my belly. And now, I alone must plead for the life of my shining son.”
Moved by pity, he said, “Tell me what has happened.”
“Agamemnon has humiliated Achilles before the host of Greeks. Taken his prize, but she is more than that to him, I know it. It is hard for a man condemned to brief years to love, yet I know Achilles loves Briseis. As much as he can love, because war is in his blood. And Agamemnon has taken her.”
Zeus sat in silence, neither acknowledging her or her words. Then he asked, “What would you have me do?”
“Punish Agamemnon. Let the Trojans push the Greeks back to their ships. Give the Trojans victory after victory, until they see how much honor is due my son.” Thetis pressed her cause; Achilles’ life and legacy hung in the balance, and only Zeus could help him now. “Bow your head and make it so, or deny me. Do you fear Achilles now, son of a mortal? The prophecy you feared cannot come to pass. Am I to be the most dishonored immortal of them all?”
Zeus’ brushed her hair with his hand, curling a long lock of it around his finger. “You do not fathom my life here.” He gestured to the pointed mountain tops of Olympus. “See how my heavenly realm extends beyond your sight? Out there is a world you do not know. There is more … but no matter. What you ask of me sparks open war with Hera. She gives me no rest. Always accusing me of aiding the Trojans. Leave me, Thetis. Before she discovers that you have come with arms wrapped about my knees.”
Thetis reached a hand up, gently cupping the mighty god’s chin. “I beg you, my love, who was never my true lover. We know the truth, even if Hera does not accept it. I beg you, grant Achilles this honor.”
Zeus grasped her wrist, pulling it from his face. “You do not know the entire consequence. What you ask … what he asks—”
“He is to die at Troy. What else is worse than his death to endure?”
“I pity those who love him.” Zeus caressed Thetis’ pale cheek. “I have loved you, Thetis. Try to remember that when the end has come.”
“I promise,” the nymph said.
“All that you desire for your son will come to pass.”
The God of the Thunderbolt bowed his head and the peaks of Olympus trembled with his power. Snow shook free of the narrow peaks, sliding in blinding white waves down the sacred mountain.
As Thetis dove for the sea, the god’s words echoed in her ear. “I have loved you, Thetis. Try to remember that when the end has come.” She feared what he meant, but if Achilles’ died with his honor, she promised herself she would find a way to live out her days of lonely sorrow.
✽✽✽
Zeus returned with the speed of the wind to the shining hall of his palace where the crippled God of the Forge had prepared a lavish feast. The Olympians rose to greet their father, smiling and raising their crystal drinking cups in his honor.
Hera seethed behind her cup, because she had spied Thetis entreating Zeus. Touching him intimately. She was certain they hatched some plan together without consulting the rest of the gods. So she crooned silkily, “I see you are of a gentle mood, Lord Zeus. Lord husband. What can be the cause, I wonder?”
Zeus bristled at her words, his jaw twitching. He knew better than to trust her. “Clearly, wife, you aim to enlighten me on some matter.”
Hera’s eyes narrowed dangerously, full of accusation. “I saw you settling secrets with the nymph, while we all awaited your return. No doubt she seeks your influence for her son, Achilles. Your favorite.”
“You forget your place, Goddess. Why attempt to know my thoughts? My heart? They are jealous and unchanging. Unable to reason without flying into a rage. I must seek peace away from my own halls. If I decide to plot a course without you, it is none of your business.”
Hera softened a bit, so Zeus would listen. “I know the affection you have for Thetis. I know you gave her up to save us all from despair. That is why I fear any oath you make with her. Have you agreed to her request to aid Achilles and destroy the Greeks, while they sit idle at the b
each without the shining commander to lead them in battle?”
“And if your suspicions are right, Hera, what can be done about it? Do you claim the power to change a course I have set in motion? You are too suspicious. If I have made a plan with Thetis, then it is my will to do so. Although you are sister-wife to me, I command you to obey me. Now, sit down and speak no more against Thetis and Achilles.” The god’s icy stare scanned around the table, ensnaring each deity and filling them with dread. “None of them will protect you and hope to live, if I decide to choke you with my own hands.”
Hera sat in silence at the threat, knowing Zeus was right. None of them would lift a finger to help her, risking their positions on Olympus and their very existence. Zeus possessed the might to destroy them all. He had, after all, defeated Cronus, ushering in the reign of the Olympians. What would come after them? She had no idea, and didn’t wish to know.
Hephaestus leaned into his mother, whispering urgently to her, “What disaster are you trying to bring down on us? If you two are at each other’s throats over one mortal man, there will be war here, in the heavens. Seek Zeus’ good graces, I beg you. For all our sakes. Push aside your jealousy of the nymph. What is she compared to you?” He reached for a silver cup. “You recall what happened to me when I dared defend you? He threw me like a heavy stone, and I plunged toward Gaia for an entire day. My body smashed and broken in the dust below us. If not for the mortals on Lemnos, who healed me, you would be less one son.”
Hera knew he spoke the bitterest truth. She took the proffered cup from her son. She saw the horror of that dreadful day in Hephaestus’ eyes. Bitter tears glistened unshed her eyes. “You are right, my son. I will not risk your life again, nor any other Olympian.”
Hephaestus smiled, refilling Hera’s cup to the brim with sacred nectar. “Let us eat!” he cried out. “And sing! Apollo, brother, pick up your golden lyre. Grace us with your silver voice.”
Apollo laughed. “For you, brother, I will play.” The shining god plucked the taut strings. He beckoned the Muses to sing with him, and soon the melodies of the stars and sea filled the Olympian hall.
Rage of Queens (Homeric Chronicles Book 3) Page 10
