03 - Fall of Kings Read online

  Kassandra’s head drooped forward, and she sighed. “Did you know Vora died?” she asked.

  “Who is Vora?”

  Kassandra’s eyes had a faraway look. “Vora was a dolphin. She was very old. Cavala, her mate, sings of her. He will spend a year traveling the Great Green singing her song in every place she loved; then he will follow her to the ocean of the South Wind, and they will be together again.”

  Andromache smiled. “Perhaps he will swim to Thera with us.”

  “No. He is frightened of Thera. He won’t go there. I am frightened of it, too. I never expected to be.” Kassandra sighed and leaned forward, her hands on her lap. She looked just like a child again.

  Andromache put her arm around Kassandra’s shoulder. “There is no need for fear. Thera is a place of beauty and serenity. You will like it there.”

  “Thera is where the world will end,” Kassandra whispered. “I will rise into the sky like an eagle, and three kings will die with me…” Her voice tailed away.

  Andromache kissed her cheek. “Why not come to the gardens with me. We can shoot our bows. You used to enjoy that. It will lift your spirits.”

  Kassandra straightened and suddenly smiled. “Of course!” she said. “We must prepare them. It can begin now. I would like that. It’s very important!”

  She ran to the far wall and took two bows and two quivers of arrows down from the rack. Then she rushed into the outer room. Andromache followed. Kassandra ran to the sisters.

  “Put down the embroidery,” she ordered them, then pushed the bows into their hands. “You must learn to shoot! The Women of the Horse with shaft and bow!” She swung back to Andromache. “You see? You see, Andromache?” Her head jerked, and she turned away. “What? Yes…” she said to the wall. Then she nodded and sighed.

  Looking into Andromache’s eyes, she smiled sadly. “Too soon,” she said. “But you will remember, Andromache? The Women of the Horse? You will teach them the bow?”

  “Be calm, little sister,” Andromache said softly. The girls were standing very still, their eyes watchful. Andromache put her arms around Kassandra’s slender shoulders. “Come, let us take our bows and go to the garden,” she said, retrieving the weapons from the sisters.

  “You will remember?” Kassandra cried.

  “I will. I promise. I will teach them to shoot.” Turning to the sisters, she asked, “Would you like to learn the bow?”

  “I can shoot a little,” Penthesileia answered. “Father taught me. And yes, I would enjoy taking up a bow again.”

  Andromache felt the tension fade from Kassandra. The young princess looked at Penthesileia and smiled. “You will be a warrior woman of Troy, and great songs will be sung of your bravery.” Pulling away from Andromache, she said: “We will not need the bows now.”

  Andromache returned the weapons to the inner chamber and led Kassandra through the palace and into the gardens, where the shadows were lengthening. Hektor saw them and walked over, Astyanax sleeping in his arms.

  Andromache smiled at her husband, who leaned in and kissed her. “I am sorry for your hurt today,” she told him.

  Hektor nodded. “It is already forgotten.” She knew it was a lie, but it was meant well.

  Kassandra stepped up to him. She took his free hand and kissed it and held it against her cheek. “I will not see you after tonight. You will remember me kindly, won’t you? Not as a little madwoman.” Tears suddenly fell to her cheeks.

  Instantly Hektor passed the sleeping boy to Andromache and took Kassandra into his arms.

  “I will miss you,” he said, kissing her brow. “I love you, and I always have. You are my little sister, and I treasure you.”

  “I am not mad, Hektor. I do see things.”

  “I know.”

  In the still silence that followed a soldier burst through the courtyard gates and ran across the garden toward them. “Hektor! Lord Hektor!” He stopped and hesitated as if suddenly aware of the impact of his news.

  “Well?” said Hektor, releasing Kassandra and facing the soldier. “Speak, Mestares, my friend! No one is going to slice out your tongue.”

  “It is Dios, lord. He has been killed. Murdered in the lower town.”

  For a moment there was silence. Then Andromache realized she could hear the sound of her heart beating. Her friend Dios dead? It seemed impossible.

  “It was the Mykene merchant Plouteus,” Mestares explained. “He and his sons. They attacked him in the marketplace. Plouteus was killed by someone in the crowd. One of his sons fled; the other was captured. Paris was there. He will know more than I.”

  “Paris? Was he hurt?”

  “No, lord,” the soldier replied.

  A female servant came into the garden and hurried up to them. “Lord Hektor,” she cried. “The king has sent for you.”

  Hektor’s face was ashen, and he left the garden without a word of farewell to Andromache or Kassandra.

  The servant girl approached Andromache. “Shall I take the boy, lady?” she asked softly.

  Andromache nodded and passed the child to her. Astyanax moaned a little and then settled his head on the girl’s shoulder.

  As the servant moved away, a cool breeze whispered across the garden, rustling the dried leaves on the pathway. Andromache saw that Kassandra was standing there, her large blue-gray eyes full of tears.

  “You knew he was dead, didn’t you?” Andromache said. “You were speaking to his spirit.”

  Kassandra nodded. “The fat merchant had weak eyes. He thought Dios was Helikaon.”

  Andromache recalled seeing Dios earlier that day. He had been wearing a white tunic similar to Helikaon’s. Odysseus once had remarked on the resemblance between the two men. “They look alike,” he had said, “but they are very different. They are copper and bronze. Both have value.” His eyes had twinkled mischievously. “In a whorehouse a man needs copper rings to buy his pleasure. In battle, though, a man needs sharp bronze in his hand. Helikaon is bronze. Dios is copper.”

  Kassandra’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Dios will be honored in death. His bones will lie in the city he loved. That is important, you know.”

  “Yes,” Andromache said. “I am sure that it is.”

  Kassandra leaned in close. “Kalliope wants you to take her home. You can carry her back to the tamarisk grove, where she was most happy, where she sat with you on that midsummer’s night. You remember?”

  Andromache could not answer, but she nodded, tears coursing down her face.

  “You can speak to her there,” Kassandra said. “You will feel her in your heart.”

  Andromache shook her head. “No,” she said, “I cannot take her home. I will not allow her spirit to be chained.”

  Pale predawn light shone through high windows as Andromache kissed her sleeping son and allowed herself a few heartbeats to enjoy the warmth of his cheek against her face. Then she stood and strode from her apartments.

  Dressed in an ankle-length tunic of yellow wool and wrapped in a heavy gray-green cloak, Andromache made her way through the quiet palace and out into the night. Kassandra was waiting at the portico, her slight figure also enveloped in a dark cloak. Close by, servants held torches, lighting a four-seat chariot. Horses shifted nervously and whinnied softly in the flickering light.

  Suddenly Hektor appeared out of the gloom. In full armor and ready for travel, he picked up Kassandra and swung her high like a child before placing her gently into the chariot. She looked flustered and pleased. Then he kissed Andromache and handed her into the vehicle, too. She smiled down at him and touched his cheek. They had talked long into the night. Today he would ride south to protect her father’s lands while she sailed enemy seas to Thera.

  “May the gods keep you from harm,” he said, “and bring you back to me.”

  The charioteer touched the reins lightly to the horses’ backs, and, surrounded by a troop of cavalry, the chariot set off down the stone road toward the bay.

  The two women held on ti
ghtly as the vehicle bumped through the wakening streets. At the Scaean Gate they paused as the great gate was opened, and the noise of the wooden wheels, creaking harness, and snorting horses died down.

  Sadness settled on her as she thought again of Dios. She regretted missing the ritual farewell the next day but promised herself that wherever the Xanthos beached that night, she would speak her own words of goodbye to his shade. The chariot lurched forward. Andromache grabbed the rail as the vehicle thundered toward the beach.

  And there, in the distance, she saw the mighty Xanthos. Twice the size of any ship on the King’s Beach, the Xanthos lay half-in, half-out of the water, resting slightly to one side. Despite the great bulk, the warship had grace and beauty. As the chariot clattered down to the beach, drawing up close to the Xanthos, the first rays of the rising sun speared over the horizon, turning the polished oak timbers to gold.

  The Xanthos, still and serene, was surrounded by people: crewmen shinnying up ropes to the top deck, beachmasters and their workers loading cargo, early-rising fishermen and home-going whores lingering to watch the launch.

  As she got down from the chariot, Andromache wondered for a moment how they were going to get on board, but as they neared the ship, a sturdy wooden ladder was passed down to the sand at the stern. At the top she could see the reassuring figure of Gershom leaning down over the rail. He waved and called out a greeting.

  Then curly-haired Oniacus trudged across the sand. “Can you manage, lady? You can sit in a sling if you prefer.”

  “To be hauled up like livestock, Oniacus? My sister and I can manage a ladder.” She softened the sharp words with a smile, remembering that the man only recently had lost his family at Dardanos.

  “The rest of your belongings are already aboard,” he said. “They are stored at the rear of the lower deck.”

  “And the ebony box?” she asked.

  Oniacus nodded. “Safe, lady, alongside your luggage. Your bow is there also, and two fine quivers. Let us hope you do not find use for them—beyond practice, I mean.”

  Andromache saw that Kassandra was about to speak and cut across her. “Thank you, Oniacus,” she said. “We also took your advice and brought extra warm clothing. Oiled woolen cloaks and leggings.”

  “That is good. The weather may be savagely cold and wet.”

  Andromache took Kassandra by the arm and led her to the ladder. “You go up first,” she told her. “I will follow and steady your foot if you slip.”

  Kassandra laughed. “You think I am some drooling defective who has never climbed a ladder?” Lifting the hem of her dark ankle-length tunic, she almost ran up the ladder, taking Gershom’s hand and leaping over the rail. Andromache followed her.

  Safely on the aft deck by the carved steering oar, Andromache immediately glanced around for sight of Helikaon. He was not yet aboard, and she felt a pang of disappointment. The crewmen amidships were hauling aboard cargo: bales of embroidered cloth, sturdy wooden chests, nets full of bread and fruit, and hundreds of small amphorae strung together with twine and padded with straw. Other crewmen then lowered the goods to the hold.

  Oniacus vaulted over the deck rail and opened a hatch in the deck by Andromache’s feet. Climbing down to the second oar deck, he called out greetings to the men below. The buzz of conversation continued as the oarsmen began to swap stories and catch up on news of their comrades. All of them seemed cheerful at the prospect of getting under way.

  Andromache felt it, too, the exhilaration running through the golden ship. She glanced at Kassandra. The girl’s eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and she gazed around with wonder. Because of her strangeness it was easy to forget that Kassandra was little more than a child—and a child about to embark on a great adventure.

  “Let us get you both settled,” Gershom said. “We are sailing soon.” He stared hard at Kassandra as if he knew her. “Come,” he said, then led the two women along the central aisle.

  Andromache could see some of the Xanthos’ battle scars. There were fire-blackened rows of decking that needed renewal, and part of the starboard rail had been repaired roughly with planks. Three carpenters were busy replacing a section of rail on the port side. They were hammering feverishly.

  As she reached the tabernacle, the box at the center of the ship into which the mast sank securely, Andromache saw that a circular wooden seat had been built around the thick oak mast. Plaited ropes had been fixed as handholds. There were half-finished carvings around the edges of the seat.

  “We are expecting some rough weather,” Gershom explained. “Even the most experienced sailors can feel nausea in winter storms. The center of the ship heaves about least in rough seas. Come here if you feel unwell or if a storm is looming.”

  Andromache nodded and glanced at Kassandra. She looked a little frightened now, and her face had turned pale. Gershom continued on toward the foredeck. Glancing down through open hatches, Andromache could see the oarsmen taking their places in the rowing seats on the lower deck. They were laughing and shouting and passing water skins back and forth. They kept their eyes averted, but she knew they were all aware of the two princesses walking above their heads.

  On the foredeck a yellow canopy had been set up to make a private space for the women. Gershom explained that this was where the pair could sleep and spend their days during the voyage. Andromache was used to such arrangements on her trips to and from Thera, but Kassandra looked aghast.

  “It’s so small,” she whispered to Andromache.

  Andromache was about to point out that the Xanthos’ foredeck was roomier than any other on the Great Green, when silence fell over the ship. She looked back to see Helikaon climbing onto the aft deck. His long dark hair had been tied back in a ponytail, and he was wearing a simple tunic of faded blue. A change came over the crew, a quiet that spoke more of respect than of fear, she believed. She sensed the power in him. It called out directly to her blood, and she tore her gaze away, her face reddening.

  Eight burly crewmen ran to the foredeck and, splitting up into two teams of four, untied two long ropes fastened to a thick support. Andromache was intrigued. “What are they doing?” she asked Gershom.

  “Getting ready to haul up the anchors. The Xanthos is a heavy beast and hard to launch. We drop the anchors a little way from our mooring place; then, when the men heave on the ropes, it helps pull the hull into the water.”

  From all over the King’s Beach Andromache watched men come running. Crewmen from other ships, fishermen, beachmasters, even foreign traders all worked together, putting their shoulders to the golden hull of the Xanthos to push her out into the bay.

  For a moment it seemed the ship would not move. Then a voice shouted, “Again!” There was a pause, the timbers creaked, there was a deep groaning sound, the ship moved forward a pace, then another, then suddenly slid into the water, and they were free and afloat. The men on the foredeck tied off their ropes, leaving the stone anchors sluicing water on specially strengthened sections of planking.

  The people on the beach cheered as the eighty oars were run out. Then came the deep voice of Oniacus from belowdecks, supplying a rhythmic beat for the rowers.

  “One was an oarsman,

  They say he was a bad man,

  One was a slinger,

  And certainly a sad man.

  One was a whoreson,

  They say he was a madman,

  One was a singer

  Who never was a glad man.”

  The Xanthos moved smoothly away from the beach. The wind was from the north, from Thraki, and the galley made slow progress for a while as the oarsmen battled the strong headwind to get out of the shallow Bay of Troy. The ship moved as if through glue.

  “Let’s pick it up, you lazy cowsons!” Oniacus yelled. “Mark of four!”

  “One had a sword trick,

  One had a treasure,

  One had a big prick,

  One had the pleasure.”

  The oars sliced into the churning water and
the ship picked up speed, but it was heavy going, the tide and the wind seeking to drive the great vessel back toward Troy. The two women stood hand in hand watching the Golden City recede slowly behind them.

  “I will never see Troy again,” Kassandra said. Andromache had heard her speak those words before, and she had no answer, so she said nothing but put her arm around her and gently turned her so that they faced the way they were traveling.

  “We must look forward,” she said, “not dwell on our sadness.” The image of her son’s sleeping face invaded her mind and tore at her heart.

  “The ship is very slow,” Kassandra said, staring at the muddy water creeping by below them. She seemed disappointed.

  “We will soon be reaching the cape,” Andromache replied. “After that you will see your dolphin bay and King’s Joy.”

  The Cape of Tides was the farthest point north they had to travel. After that the ship would turn south for the long voyage down the coast. As the Xanthos cleared the Bay of Troy, the fierce current in the straits snatched at her. The vessel lurched and then picked up speed. The prow began to swing. The skill of the oarsmen came into play, with those on the port side, closest to the land, dipping their blades and pulling hard and those on the starboard lifting their oars clear. The Xanthos straightened. Gershom shouted an order, and six crewmen sprang to haul up the yard. The great sail was unfurled, flapping ferociously against its stays, and as the black horse came into view, the men all shouted. The rowers drew in their oars. The strong north wind filled the sail.

  And the Xanthos leaped forward on its journey south.

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE GREAT CIRCLE

  Clouds had begun to gather as the Xanthos sailed south down the coast, heading toward the distant chain of islands known as the Great Circle. Standing at the prow, Gershom stared at the sky, his mood brittle. Though he did not speak of it, he still had nightmares of shipwrecks and drowning in which he clung again to the driftwood with bleeding fingers as the storm raged around him. The big man shivered at the memory and focused on the dark, lowering clouds.