03 - Fall of Kings Read online

  “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 Andromache’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 north 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.

  He had no idea why his brother Polites had asked to meet him on the Great Tower of Ilion. Antiphones had not been up there since he was a child. Priam had forbidden it. “The roof would collapse under you, boy,” he had said, “and it would be an engineering nightmare to rebuild.”

  On the south wall, above the Scaean Gate, he paused for a moment, then opened the oak door in the side of the great tower and entered its blackness. There he waited until his eyes got accustomed to the gloom. The steps crafted on the inner wall of the tower rose up to his left.

  When he finally emerged high on the wooden roof of the tower, the wind hit him like an ax. The four guards manning the corners of the tower stood braced, enduring the cold. Polites, his skinny frame enveloped in a heavy cloak and his thinning hair covered by a sheepskin cap, came hurrying over to him, pushed by the wind from the north.

  “Thank you for meeting me here, Brother,” he said, half his words snatched away as they left his mouth. “Are you well?”

  “Let us leave mutual inquiries about our health to a more appropriate time,” Antiphones yelled. “What are we doing here?”

  “As usual, I am seeking your advice, Brother.” Placing his hand on Antiphones’ shoulder, he urged him over to the side of the tower overlooking the lower town and the bay. The wide battlemented wall offered shelter for the lower part of his body, but still Antiphones scarcely could suck in his breath in the wind. He cupped his hand over his mouth so that he could breathe.

  “Our father has chosen to make a fool of me again,” Polites said close to Antiphones’ ear. “He summoned me yesterday and told me that he was making me his strategos and that I must plan the defense of Troy. I have spent a sleepless night, Brother.”

  Antiphones nodded. “And why are we on the great tower?” he gasped.

  “From here we can see all of Troy and its surroundings. We can see where the invaders will come, and we can plan our defense.”

  Antiphones grunted. He grabbed hold of his brother’s skinny arm and dragged him back to the top of the tower staircase.

  “Come with me, Polites!”

  Turning his back and making no effort to see if his brother was following him, he descended into the dark, mercifully windless tower and made his way back down to the wall. Emerging into the light, he descended the battlement steps.

  Calling a gate guard, Antiphones ordered, “Fetch me a chariot!” The man nodded and raced off toward the palace.

  Antiphones walked out through the open Scaean Gate. Only then, looking over the lower town once more, did he turn to his brother.

  “In order to defend the city we must think like the invader,” he told him. “We cannot think like Agamemnon standing on the great tower. We must go where he would go, see what he would see.”

  Polites nodded, his face downcast. “You are right. I am no good at this. That is why Father chose me. To make a fool of me. As he did for Hektor’s wedding games.”

  Antiphones shook his head. “Brother, you are not thinking this through. True, Priam has made fools of us in the past. He made me his captain of horse when I was so colossally fat, I would have broken the back of one of Poseidon’s immortal horses. But in this he knows what he is doing. When the Mykene come, he has to be ready. They could be here on our shores by spring. We might have just days before we see their ships. He has not chosen you to make a fool of you. He has chosen you because he thinks you are the right man for this task. You have to understand this.”

  “In spite of the games?” Polites asked.

  “Because of the games, my friend. The games were important to him. He wanted Agamemnon and his crew of rabble kings to see how the Trojans could organize themselves. He believed you could do it. And you did him proud. You got thousands of men to their correct events on the right days at the right times. They were all fed and housed. It was a great success. You were too anxious at the time to see it.”

  “There were a few fights,” Polites said, reassured a little by the praise.

  “There were more than a few fights.” Antiphones laughed. “I witnessed a score myself. Yet the games were not disrupted, and everyone went home satisfied. Except King Eioneus”—he shrugged—“and the two men killed in the chariot races. And that Kretan fistfighter Achilles killed with one blow.”

  He laughed and clapped his brother on the back.

  “I don’t see it,” Polites said miserably. “Yesterday I met the generals Lucan and Thyrsites. They were speaking in a language I could not understand.”

  Antiphones chuckled. “Soldiers like to speak their own private language.”

  A chariot came into sight, clattering through the gateway. Antiphones dismissed the charioteer and took up the reins. “Come, Polites,” he said. “Let us take a ride together.”

  Polites climbed aboard. Antiphones flicked the reins, and the chariot set off through the lower town past the rabbit warren of streets and alleyways under the great walls. Once across the fortification ditch around the lower town, Antiphones drove the chariot down the gently sloping road and across the snow-carpeted plain of the Scamander until they reached the river. It was in full winter spate, and its floodwaters lapped around the chariot wheels before they reached the wide wooden bridge. Antiphones drew the horses to a halt and climbed down. Standing at the center of the bridge, they looked back the way they had come.

  “Now what do you see?” the big man asked.

  Polite
s sighed. “I see a great city on a plateau surrounded by walls which are impregnable.” He glanced at Antiphones, who nodded encouragingly. “I see the lower town which lies on sloping ground, mostly to the south of the city. This can be defended, but if the numbers of defenders are too few or the invaders too many, then it can be taken, street by street, building by building. Taking it will be very costly to both sides, but it can be done. Father is thinking of widening the fortification ditch around the town, which will mean pulling down many buildings. But he fears it will send the wrong message. If the people believe Agamemnon is definitely coming, they will flee the city in even greater numbers, and the treasury will suffer.”

  Antiphones shrugged. “Agamemnon will come, anyway. What else do you see?”

  “All around us, to the east, west, and south, I see a wide plain, ideal for cavalry warfare. The Trojan Horse would destroy any troops exposed on this plain. None could stand against them.” As Polites gazed at the city, Antiphones saw his expression change.

  “What is it?” the big man asked.

  “The Trojan Horse,” Polites answered. “Thousands of horses. We could not stable them in the upper city. There would not be enough feed. Nor could we leave them in the lower town and the barracks there. What if the town fell?”

  “Now you are thinking,” Antiphones told him, though the problem had not occurred to him before. The Trojan Horse was a mobile army, best suited to fast movement, surprising enemy forces. It would be useless in a siege. Fear touched his heart then.

  Polites was staring intently at the land around the city and down to the Bay of Troy. “We will need more horsemen,” he said. “Outriders and scouts. Hektor and his men will have to remain outside the city, constantly moving, then hitting the enemy where least expected.” Polites’ brow furrowed. “How, then, can we supply them with food and fresh weapons, arrows and spears?”

  “You are going too fast for me,” Antiphones told him. “How can we survive with our army outside the city?”