David Gemmell - Lord of the Silver Bow

Andromache looked at her. Their eyes met. The girl grinned and raised her eyebrows. Then she winked at Andromache, who smiled back at her and walked on.

Moving through the packed stalls she saw that they were mostly covered with cheap and ill-made items. A man approached her, lifting his tunic and waggling his manhood at her. ‘How much for a ride, girl?’ he asked. Andromache stared hard at the stiffening penis, then transferred her green gaze to the man.

‘The last time I saw something that small it was crawling out of an apple,’ she said. Peals of laughter came from two women close by.

‘It’s getting even smaller now!’ one of them called.

Andromache walked on, easing her way through the throng. Some distance away a crowd was gathering round a man standing on an empty stall. Great cheers went up as he raised his arms.

‘Want to hear a true story?’ he bellowed.

‘No, we want to hear one of yours,’ yelled someone in the crowd. The man’s laughter boomed out.

‘Then I’ll tell you of a dread monster, with only one eye. Tall as ten men, and teeth sharp and long as swords.’

And the crowd fell silent.

Helikaon always enjoyed the performances Odysseus gave. He did not just recount tall tales, but acted them too. As now, with four men lifting the wooden stall, heaving it back and forth to represent a tilting deck. Balanced upon it, Odysseus roared out a tale of a mighty storm that carried the Penelope to an enchanted isle. In the background some of the Penelope’s crew banged drums to imitate thunder, while others whistled shrilly at intervals. Helikaon had not heard this story before, and settled back to enjoy the surprises. Odysseus suddenly leapt from the stall. ‘And we were upon a strange beach,’ he said, ‘and just beyond it the tallest trees I ever saw, twisted and gnarled. Just when we thought we were safe there came a terrifying voice.’

From the back of the crowd six of the Penelope’s crew all cried out in unison: ‘I smell blood!’ A flicker of enjoyable panic swept through the throng. The timing had been perfect.

‘Twas a massive creature, with a single eye in the centre of its head. Its teeth were long and sharp. It ran from the trees and caught one of my men by the waist, hauling him high. Then those terrible teeth ripped him apart.’

At that moment Helikaon saw several of Kolanos’ crew working their way through the throng, moving ever closer to him. His eyes scanned the crowd, and he picked out Zidantas, Oniacus and several of the Xanthos’ men, also manoeuvring their way towards him, while keeping wary eyes on the Mykene.

Odysseus was in full voice now, recounting the adventure with the Cyclops. Sweat gleamed on his face, and dripped from his beard. The audience was entranced, the performance – as always – boisterous, energetic and captivating.

Helikaon looked around. None of the Fat King’s soldiers were close by. The Mykene were apparently unarmed, but one of them was wearing a jerkin of leather, which could conceal a knife. The chances were the Mykene would do nothing. The Fat King was merciless with any who broke his laws. Much of his wealth came from the ships that beached upon his bays, and the main reason they chose to stay was the reciprocal guarantee of safety for their crews and cargoes.

Even so it made sense to be cautious. Helikaon eased his way back into the audience, then cut to the left, seeking to circle the crowd and link with Zidantas.

Then he saw the woman.

She was standing just back from the gathering, dressed in a long cloak of green and an embroidered gown. It was difficult by fire and moonlight to see the colour of her hair, but it was long, thickly curled, and drawn back from her face. And such a face! She looked like a goddess. Not pretty, but awesomely beautiful. Helikaon’s mouth was dry. He could not stop looking at her. She saw him, and he felt the power of her eyes. The look was cool, and yet strangely challenging. He swallowed hard, and stepped towards her. In that moment her expression changed, her eyes flickering beyond him. Helikaon spun. The man with the leather jerkin was behind him, a knife in his hand. The assassin darted forward. Swaying aside from the thrusting blade, Helikaon grabbed the attacker’s wrist, pulling him away from the crowd, then stepped in and smashed a head butt to the man’s nose. Stunned, blood pouring from his nostrils, the assassin fell back. Helikaon followed in, butting him again. The assassin’s knees gave way and he dropped to the sand, the knife slipping from his fingers. Helikaon swept it up, plunging the sharp blade into the man’s throat, then ripping it clear. Blood spurted through the air.

With Odysseus’ tale still captivating the audience, no-one in the crowd had seen the brief exchange. The body lay, blood gushing at first, then pumping more slowly as the man died. Rising to his feet Helikaon looked around for further attackers, but it was Zidantas who emerged from the crowd.

‘I am sorry,’ he said, looking crestfallen. ‘I should have been by your side.

They played it neatly, though. We were watching the wrong men.’

Helikaon stood silently, looking down at the dead man. The man was young, his hair curly and dark. Somewhere there would be a wife, or a lover, and parents who had nurtured him. He had played games with other children, and had dreamed of a future bright with promise. Now he lay here on the sand, his life ended.

Helikaon’s thoughts were bleak.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Zidantas.

Helikaon turned back to where the woman had been standing. But she was gone. He shivered. Then the familiar post-battle head pain began, a throbbing ache emanating from the back of his neck and spreading up over the crown of his head.

He realized Ox was looking at him, an expression of concern on his face.

‘I am fine, Ox.’

Zidantas looked unconvinced. Oniacus pushed through the crowd to join them.

‘The Mykene have returned to their galleys,’ he said. Then he saw the dead man and swore. ‘I am sorry, lord, I should have been here. They fooled us by—’

‘I have already explained,’ snapped Zidantas. ‘Still, no harm done. One less Mykene in the world. All in all a good night.’

Thunderous cheering broke out as Odysseus finished his tale. Oniacus swore. ‘I missed the ending,’ he complained.

‘So did he,’ said Helikaon, pointing to the corpse. ‘Let us move away.’ Tossing the dagger alongside the body he walked back to the Xanthos campfire. Behind them someone shouted, and a crowd gathered round the corpse. Helikaon picked up a water jug and drank deeply. Then he poured water over his hands, washing the blood clear. In the firelight he saw that more blood had spattered over his tunic.

Odysseus wandered over to the fire. He was carrying a linen cloth, and wiping sweat from his face. He slumped down alongside Helikaon.

‘I am getting too old for these athletic performances,’ he said. ‘I need to have a strong word with those sheepshaggers who held the stall. Damned if they weren’t trying to toss me onto the beach.’

He did look tired. Helikaon threw his arm round the older man’s shoulder. ‘There will be gloom over the whole world if you ever stop telling your tales.’

‘Aye, it was a good audience tonight. I used to tell that story with two Cyclops. Strange how one works better. More… more terrifying, and yet, somehow, pathetic’ He leaned in close to Helikaon. ‘I take it the dead man was one of Kolanos’ crew?’

‘Yes.’

‘Never liked Kolanos. Was at a feast with him one time. Never heard him fart at all. Can’t trust a man who doesn’t fart at a feast.’ Helikaon laughed aloud.

‘Don’t treat him lightly, though, lad,’ Odysseus continued. ‘He is a man of great malice. Back in Mykene he is known as the Breaker of Spirits.’