David Gemmell: Lord of the Silver Bow

‘I do,’ said a dark-haired young man, with keen grey eyes. Upon his face was a jagged cut, stitched but still leaking blood. ‘I am Kalliades.’

‘I shall send for physicians to tend your men. They will meet you at the beach.

My soldiers will escort you there now, and carry any of your wounded.’

‘We can carry our own wounded, Priam King.’

‘So be it. Your weapons will be returned to you at your ships. We will bury your dead, and they will be given honour.’

‘Argurios was my comrade,’ said Kalliades. ‘He gave me this cut to my face, and I will treasure the scar.’

‘And Kolanos?’

‘You want him taken to Agamemnon, Priam King?’

‘No. I would like to stand at my tower as your ships depart, and hear his screams echo across the Great Green. I would like to think that his suffering will be long, his pain excruciating, and his death assured.’

‘You have my oath on that, Priam King.’

Priam turned away and walked back to where Helikaon stood. ‘Will your vengeance be satisfied now, Aeneas?’

Helikaon glanced over at Kolanos. The man was terrified.

‘It is satisfied. That was an act of greatness. Argurios would have been proud of it.’

Surrounded by Trojan soldiers, the Mykene began to shuffle from the megaron.

Helikaon walked to where Hektor stood. The golden-haired warrior gave a broad smile, opened his arms, and drew Helikaon into a crushing embrace.

‘This time I really thought they’d killed you,’ said Helikaon.

‘Have you no faith, boy? You think a few Gypptos could finish me off? And how could I not come back, when father has taken such pains to find me a bride?’

Hektor glanced up at the gallery. ‘Is that her? By the gods, I hope it is.’

Helikaon gazed up at Andromache. She was standing there in her torn white chiton, her bow in her hand, her flame-coloured hair hanging free.

‘Yes,’ he said, his heart breaking, ‘that is Andromache.’

Then he turned away, and walked from the palace.

He followed the Trojan soldiers as they led the fifty Mykene to the beach and the waiting ships. Weary now, both in body and soul, he sat down on an upturned rowing boat and watched as surgeons and healers moved among the wounded.

Kolanos, his arms bound, was sitting alone on the beach, staring out to sea.

The light of pre-dawn began to glow in the east.

Several carts trundled down to the beach, bearing the armour and weapons of the Mykene.

It all seemed a dream now to Helikaon, the bloodshed and the horror, the battle in the megaron. It was hard to believe, in this quiet dawn, that men had died and that the fate of a kingdom had hung in the balance. And yet, despite all the drama and violence, it was not thoughts of battle that hung on his soul. All he could see was Andromache and Hektor. He was more than happy that his friend was alive. At any other time, though, he would have been exultant. Emotions warred within him. The return of Hektor had robbed him of the one joy he had fought for.

Anger touched him then. ‘I will not let this happen,’ he said, aloud, and pictured himself returning to the palace for Andromache. He could see Priam, and offer him anything to release Andromache to him. Reality blew across his thoughts like a chill wind. Priam would not release her. He had announced her to the Trojan multitudes. She was the price of a treaty with the king of Thebe Under Plakos.

Then I will steal her, he decided. We will sail across the Great Green, and make a life far from Troy.

And in doing so you will shame Hektor, cause strife and possible ruin in Dardania, and live your life in constant fear of reprisal and death.

Is this love, he asked himself? Is this the kind of life you would visit upon Andromache? To become a runaway, exiled from her family, an oath breaker, loathed and reviled? Helikaon felt as if all his strength had been leeched from him.

As the sky brightened the air became filled with the sounds of seabirds, swooping and diving over the bay, their calls sharp and hungry and full of life.

On the beach behind him the Mykene began to climb aboard their galleys. Injured men were lifted to the decks, then the weapons were hauled up in fishing nets.

Helikaon saw the bound Kolanos propelled roughly towards a vessel. He fell to his knees. A Mykene warrior kicked him, then dragged him to his feet.

With the dawn breaking the galleys were hauled out into the water, the last of the crew scrambling aboard. Helikaon watched as the masts were hoisted, and the oars run out. The Trojan soldiers marched back along the beach, and then up the long hill to the city gates.

As the galleys sailed off into the west a piercing shriek came echoing across the water. Then a scream of agony. And another. The awful sounds continued, growing more faint as the galleys rowed towards the headland.

Helikaon heard soft footfalls and swung to see Andromache walking towards him, a long green cloak around her shoulders. Rising from the upturned boat he opened his arms and she stepped into his embrace. He kissed her brow.

‘I love you, Andromache. Nothing will ever change that.’

‘I know. Our lives were never our own.’

He lifted her hand, and kissed the palm. ‘I am glad you came. I did not have the strength to seek you out in the palace. I would have committed some madness and damned us all.’

‘I don’t think you would,’ she said softly. ‘Laodike told me you love Hektor like a brother. You could do nothing to bring him shame. I know you, Helikaon.

And you should know me. I would never bring disgrace upon my family. We were both raised to duty – above all else.’

‘Such duty is a curse!’ he said, anger flaring once more. ‘There is nothing on earth I want more than to sail away with you, to live together, to be together.’

He looked up at the sky. The rising sun had streaked the clouds above with crimson and gold, but over the sea to the west the sky was brilliantly blue and clear.

‘I must go,’ said Andromache.

‘A little while longer,’ he urged her, taking her hand.

‘No,’ she said sadly. ‘With every moment my resolve is weakening.’ Drawing back her hand, she said, ‘May the gods grant you great happiness, my love.’

‘In letting me know you they already have. More than I have deserved.’

‘Will you come back for my wedding in the spring?’

‘Would you want me there?’

Tears fell then, and he saw her struggle to retain her composure. ‘I will always want you close to me, Helikaon.’

‘Then I will be there.’

Andromache turned away and stared out to sea. ‘Laodike and Argurios died hand in hand. You think they are together now? For ever?’

‘I hope so, with all my heart.’

Gathering her cloak around her she looked into his eyes. ‘Farewell then, King Aeneas,’ she said, and walked away.

‘Goodbye, goddess,’ he whispered. She heard him, and he saw her pause. Then she continued on without turning. He stood watching her until she reached the high gate.

She did not look back.

By the arrival of spring the land of Dardania was at peace.

Helikaon’s soldiers had eradicated the more persistent of the outlaw bands, and with greater communication between towns and settlements grievances were dealt with swiftly, before they had a chance to fester. Community leaders, with access to officials at Dardanos, no longer felt isolated, and the Feast of Persephone, welcoming the new season, was a happy one.

Queen Halysia had led the sacrifice procession to the cliff-top shrine, wearing the golden laurel crown, and carrying the Staff of Demeter. King Helikaon had walked beside her. The queen’s pregnancy was pronounced now, but no-one commented on it. The silence was hard to bear, for Halysia believed she knew what lay behind it. Either they pitied her, or they were hiding their revulsion.