Fall of Kings Page 10

  “Why would he hide?” she asked, cocking her head to one side.

  “I think you frighten him,” he joked.

  “Yes, I do,” she answered seriously. “I can’t help that. Can I finish your bread?”

  “Of course you can. But there is more bread and good broth at the cookfire.”

  “Yours will taste better,” she told him. “Other people’s food always does.”

  Removing her cloak, she laid it on the sand like a blanket and sat down. As Helikaon watched her eat, he was touched by sadness. For all her father’s wealth and her own intelligence and beauty, Kassandra was forever lonely, locked in a world of imagined ghosts and demons. Will they truly care for her on Thera? he wondered. Will she find happiness there?

  The dark-haired princess finished the bread in silence, shook the sand from her cloak, and swirled it around her shoulders. Stepping in, she kissed Helikaon on the cheek. “Thank you for the bread,” she said, then spun and ran down the beach toward the ship.

  For three days the Xanthos sailed on, untroubled by bad weather or enemy ships. On the fourth day three Kretan galleys gave chase, but with the wind at her back the Xanthos raced clear of them. It was some days later before the first heavy rain of the voyage arrived. The sea began to surge, the wind picked up, and storm clouds gathered overhead. Then, with a clap of thunder, the heavens opened.

  Andromache and Kassandra took refuge in the tent prepared for them on the forward deck, but a fierce gust of wind tore through the canvas. With the ship tossing and sliding, Andromache hooked her arm through a safety rope and drew Kassandra to her.

  She heard Helikaon shouting out orders to the oarsmen, his voice firm. Crewmen ran to furl the black horse sail, straining at the ropes. Twisting around, Andromache glanced back, seeking Helikaon. He was standing on the rear deck, gripping the rail, his long dark hair streaming out in the storm wind like a banner.

  Lightning flashed overhead, and the rain lashed down. Kassandra cried out, though not in fear. Andromache saw that her eyes were shining with excitement. A huge wave burst over the prow, a wall of water striking the two women. Kassandra was torn free of Andromache’s grip. Landing on her back, she struggled to rise. The prow of the Xanthos was lifted by another wave. Kassandra fell back heavily, her body spinning down the rain-swept deck.

  From his position on the seat by the mast Gershom saw the girl fall. There was little danger of her being swept overboard, but spinning as she was, he feared she would crack her skull against a rowing bench. A child as frail as Kassandra easily could break her neck in such an accident.

  With the ship being tossed like driftwood, Gershom knew there was no way to reach her on foot. Releasing his hold on the safety rope, he flung himself to the deck and dived toward the girl. Kassandra cannoned into him. Gershom threw his arm around her waist, drawing her to him. The Xanthos pitched again, hurling them both against the mast. Gershom managed to twist his body to take the impact on his shoulder. Grunting with pain, he threw out an arm. His hand struck something hard, and his fingers closed around it. It was the base of the circular seat constructed around the mast. Rolling to his knees, he lifted Kassandra to the seat. “Take hold of a rope,” he ordered her. Kassandra did so, and Gershom hauled himself to the seat alongside her.

  The weather worsened, the rain becoming torrential. Gershom could see the rowers straining at their oars and heard Helikaon shouting more orders to them. Glancing to port, Gershom saw the outline of a rocky outcrop. Slowly, battling against the wind, the Xanthos moved behind the shelter of the headland.

  Protected from the worst of the wind by high cliffs, the Xanthos steadied. Helikaon ordered the oars shipped and the anchors lowered. The rowers stood up from their benches, stretching their muscles and walking the deck.

  After a while the rain eased, and patches of blue could be seen in the sky. Gershom glanced down at the dark-haired girl snuggled against him. “You are safe now,” he told her, hoping she would move away.

  “I was always safe,” she replied, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Foolish girl! Your neck could have been snapped like a twig.”

  She laughed then. “I am not intended to die on this boat.”

  “That’s right. Helikaon tells me you are going to live forever.”

  She nodded and smiled. “So will you.”

  “That is a thought to cherish. I have never liked the idea of dying.”

  “Oh, you will die,” she said. “Everyone dies.”

  Gershom felt his irritation rise and tried to quell it. The girl was, after all, moon-touched. Yet the question had to be asked. “How can I both live forever and die?” he asked.

  “Our names will live forever.” She frowned and cocked her head to one side. “Yes, yes,” she said. “‘Forever’ is inaccurate. There will come a day when there is no one left to remember. But that is so, so far away, it might as well be forever.”

  Gershom asked, “If I am dead, why would I care that my name is known by strangers?”

  “I did not say you would care,” she pointed out. “Do you know where we are?”

  “Inside the Great Circle. Helikaon says we will soon reach Thera.”

  Kassandra pointed to the headland. “That is the isle of Delos, the center of the circle. It is a holy site. Many believe Apollo and Artemis were born there.”

  “But not you?”

  She shook her head. “The sun and the moon did not grow like flowers upon the sea. But Delos is a holy site. There is strong power there. I can feel it.”

  “What kind of power?”

  “The kind that speaks to the heart,” she told him. “You have experienced it, Gershom. I know that you have.” Kassandra smiled. “Tonight I shall build a prayer fire, and you will sit with me under starlight. Then you will begin to know.”

  Gershom pushed himself to his feet. “You can build your fire where you like, Princess, but I will not be sitting there. I have no wish to see what you see. I just want to live, to draw in breath, and to drink sweet wine. I want to take a wife and raise sons and daughters. I do not care about my name living forever.”

  With that he walked away from her, striding toward the rear deck.

  It was late in the afternoon before the storm completely cleared. Helikaon glanced at the red-streaked sky. The winter sun was falling rapidly, and soon it would be dark. “Rowers to your positions,” he called out. The men hurried to their benches, unlashed the oars, and ran them out. Oniacus sent teams fore and aft to raise the anchors. Then he climbed to the rear deck and took up his position at the steering oar.

  “South,” Helikaon told him.

  “At the call of three,” Oniacus shouted to the rowers. “One—ready! Two—brace! Three—and PULL!” Eighty oars sliced into the water, and the Xanthos surged away from the small island and out toward open water. “And…pull! And…pull! And…pull!”

  Oniacus continued to sound the rhythm for a while. Then, with the oarsmen rowing in perfect unison, he let his voice fade away.

  As they cleared the headland, Helikaon saw several fishing boats in the distance but no sign of enemy warships. The wind was favorable, and six sailors were standing alongside the mast, ready to raise the yard and unfurl the sail. The men looked to Helikaon, but he shook his head. “Not yet. Stand easy,” he called out. Walking to the port side, he stared down at the two banks of oars. They were rising and falling in perfect rhythm. Then he moved to starboard and studied the movement.

  “It is oar six, lower starboard,” Oniacus said.

  “Yes,” Helikaon replied. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “Hatch cover slammed on his finger. Nothing serious. Probably lose the nail.”

  Gershom, who had joined them, stared over the side. “I can see nothing wrong with oar six,” he commented.

  “Look harder,” Helikaon told him.

  The Egypteian narrowed his eyes. “I cannot see what you see,” he admitted at last.

  “The rhythm is fine, but the oar is
not biting as deeply as it should. There is a slight imbalance in our forward motion. If you close your eyes, you will feel it.”

  Helikaon saw Gershom staring at him disbelievingly. “It is not a jest, my friend.”

  Gershom swung to Oniacus. “You could feel this…this imbalance from one oar in eighty? Speak truly now!”

  Oniacus nodded. “The pain in his hand is causing him to jerk slightly as he dips his oar. I told him to rest it today, but he is a proud man.”

  Several black-headed gulls appeared overhead, swooping and diving. “Did you feel that?” Gershom said suddenly.

  “What?” Oniacus asked.

  “One of the gulls shit on the deck. Wait while I adjust my stance to take in the new weight distribution.”

  Oniacus laughed. “We are not mocking you, Gershom. If you had spent as many years as we have aboard ship, you, too, would feel every small change in the performance of the Xanthos. As our supplies dwindle and we ride higher in the water, or if the sail is wet, or the oarsmen weary.”

  Gershom seemed unconvinced, but he shrugged. “I will take you at your word. So where are we heading tonight?”

  “Perhaps Naxos, perhaps Minoa. I have not yet decided,” Helikaon said.

  “A good trading settlement on Kronos Beach,” Oniacus put in.

  “And a Kretan garrison,” Helikaon replied.

  “True, but local militia. I’ll wager they wouldn’t object to a little profit. And I am tired of dried meat and thin broth. You will recall there is a fine baker there.”

  “Oniacus has convinced me,” Gershom said. “Where is Kronos Beach?”

  “On the island of Naxos,” Helikaon told him.

  “The largest island of the Great Circle,” Oniacus added. “A place of great beauty. It is where I met my wife.”

  An uncomfortable silence followed. Then Helikaon spoke. “Oniacus is right,” he told Gershom. “It is a beautiful island, but Minoa may be the safer alternative. The king there has not yet declared himself in the war. He is a canny man and will wait until he is sure which side will be victorious. More important, he has only five war galleys and will be in no hurry to attack the Xanthos.”

  Moving away from Gershom, Helikaon signaled the men standing by the mast to raise the yard and unfurl the sail. Once the black horse fluttered into view, Oniacus called out the order to ship oars.

  The rain began again, lightly spattering the deck. Helikaon stared down toward the prow. The small tent had been repaired, and he could see Andromache and Kassandra standing by the rail.

  “Has Andromache done something to offend you?” Gershom asked.

  “Of course not. Why would you think that?”

  “You have hardly spoken to her on the voyage.”

  It was true, but he did not wish to speak of it to Gershom. Instead he strolled down the central aisle toward the two women. As he came closer, he saw they were watching a dolphin. Andromache looked up as he approached, and he felt the power of her green eyes. But it was Kassandra who spoke.

  “Cavala is still with us,” she said, pointing at the dolphin.

  “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” he asked her.

  “No. Gershom caught me. He is very strong.” She shivered. “I wish we had a fire. It is very cold.”

  Helikaon saw that her lips were blue. Shrugging off his heavy cloak, he draped it over her shoulders. She drew it tightly around her.

  “Sit in the tent for a while, away from the wind,” he advised.

  She smiled up at him. “Are you worried about me? Or do you want to speak privately to Andromache?”

  “I am worried about you, little cousin.”

  “Then I will,” she said. “For you.”

  Ducking her head, she disappeared into the small tent. Helikaon was suddenly nervous. He met Andromache’s gaze. “I have rarely felt this awkward,” he said.

  “Is this why you have avoided me since the voyage began?” Her gaze was cool, and there was suppressed anger in her voice.

  “Yes,” he admitted. “I do not know how to…” His voice tailed away. What could he say? That all his life he had dreamed of finding love and that she was the embodiment of that dream? That every day since he had met her she had been in his heart? That upon falling asleep at night her face shimmered in his mind, and upon waking his first thoughts were of her?

  He sighed. “I cannot say what is in my heart,” he said at last. “Not to the wife of a dear friend and the mother of his son.”

  “Yes,” she said, “the son of the man I love—and love with all my heart.”

  The words, spoken with such intensity and passion, tore into him. He stepped back from her. “I am glad for you,” he managed to say. He saw there were tears in her eyes.

  Swinging away from her, he returned to the rear deck.

  Gershom looked at him closely. “Are you all right? You are ashen.”

  Helikaon ignored him and turned to Oniacus. “Southwest to Minoa,” he ordered.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE TRUTH OF PROPHECY

  Alkaios the king was not an ambitious man. The island of Minoa, with its rich fertile soil, supplied enough wealth to keep him and his three wives happy. Regular income from trading cattle and grain enabled him to maintain a small fighting force: five war galleys to patrol the coast and five hundred soldiers to defend the land. Neither the galleys nor the small army was strong enough to make the kings of neighboring islands fear invasion or so weak that they encouraged the same kings to consider attacking Minoa.

  At twenty-eight years of age Alkaios was content with his life.

  Success, as the king had discovered many years before, lay in harmony and balance. That path had not been easy for Alkaios. As a child he had been passionate and outspoken, much to the chagrin of his father, who had impressed on him the need to control his emotions. All decisions, his father had maintained, had to be based on rational thought and careful consideration. His father continually had mocked him for his inability to think clearly. At the age of twenty Alkaios finally had realized that his father was right. The understanding that followed freed him, and he went to his father, thanked him, plunged a dagger into his heart, and became king.

  After that no one mocked him, and harmony and balance abounded. On the rare occasions when someone put that harmony under threat, he found the dagger to be a source of instant relief.

  Not today, though, Alkaios thought irritably. Today there was little balance to be found.

  The previous day he had been preparing to move to his summer palace on the western coast, away from the harsh northern winds of winter. Two of his wives were pregnant, the third delightfully barren. The trading season had been, despite the war, more profitable than last summer. The gods had, it seemed, smiled upon Alkaios.

  Then the Mykene galley had returned, and now, his journey to the southwest delayed, he was forced to play the genial host with two of Agamemnon’s creatures, one a snake and one a lion. Both were dangerous.

  The pale-eyed Mykene ambassador Kleitos was pointing out how greatly Agamemnon King would appreciate it if next summer’s Minoan grain could be used to feed the armies of the west once the invasion of Troy began.

  The voice of Kleitos droned on. Alkaios was barely listening. He had heard it before. Minoan grain was shipped all over the Great Green, and the profits were high. Supplying Agamemnon would be, as Kleitos so disingenuously put it, an “act of faith.” The profits for Alkaios, he maintained, would be handsome, and paid from the sacked treasury of Troy. Alkaios had suppressed a smile at that. As his father once had said, “You don’t pull a lion’s teeth until you see the flies on its tongue.” At the thought of lions Alkaios flicked a glance at the second Mykene, the warrior Persion.

  Powerfully built, with a black forked beard, Persion stood silently by, one hand on his sword. Alkaios knew his type. The arrogance in his dark eyes spoke of victories. This was a warrior, a killer, and probably at times an assassin. Persion stood unblinking and statue-still, his presenc
e a mute warning: Those who went against Agamemnon’s wishes did not survive very long.

  Alkaios leaned back in his chair and called for more wine. A servant crossed the floor of the megaron and filled his cup. A cold breeze was blowing through the old building, and Alkaios strolled to a burning brazier set near the north wall. Kleitos followed him.

  “This war will be won in the summer,” he said. “The greatest fleet ever seen will bring seventy thousand men to the walls of Troy. The city cannot withstand our might.”

  “Interesting,” Alkaios mused. “Do I not recall a similar comment from you last year?”

  “There have been unexpected setbacks,” Kleitos answered, his lips thinning. “There will be no more, I can assure you.”

  Alkaios smiled inwardly. “Forgive me,” he said mildly. “You are assuring me you are expecting no further unexpected setbacks? If you had expected them in the first place, they would not have been unexpected. That is the very nature of surprise, Kleitos. That it is always unexpected. So, essentially, you are maintaining that Prince Hektor and his Trojan Horse, and wily Priam, and deadly Aeneas have no capacity left to surprise you. Bold assertions, if I may say so.”

  Kleitos blinked, then his eyes narrowed. “I am a soldier. Word games do not interest me. What I am saying, Alkaios King, is that Troy is doomed.”

  “I expect you are correct,” the king responded amicably. “However, only last year I was speaking to King Peleus of Thessaly. He told me how much he was looking forward to destroying the Trojan Horse and forcing the braggart Hektor to kiss the dirt at his feet. I heard only yesterday that they met at Carpea, but I do not recall hearing of any dirt kissing.”

  He could see that Kleitos was growing angry and knew it would not be long before soft words gave way to hard threats. It annoyed him that he would have to find a way to placate the creature. To irritate Agamemnon’s ambassador was enjoyable but not wise.

  The conversation was interrupted by a pounding on the wide door of the megaron. A servant swiftly pulled it open just long enough to allow a stocky soldier to enter. Alkaois saw that it was his captain of cavalry, Malkon. A strong breeze blew through the building. Cinders danced up from the brazier, causing Kleitos to step back. Malkon advanced toward the king. He was a short, wide-shouldered man wearing a breastplate of bronze. Thumping his fist against the armor, he bowed his head to Alkaios.