David Gemmell - Lord of the Silver Bow

‘Kassandra is at the palace,’ said Axa, peering short-sightedly at her sewing.

‘She returned yesterday. The gossip is that the queen lost her temper with her.

She kept saying that Hektor will come back from the dead. Must be difficult for a mother to have a child with a blighted soul.’

‘Her soul is not blighted,’ said Andromache. ‘Paris told me that Kassandra almost died as a babe. She had the brain fire.’

‘Poor mite,’ said Axa. ‘My boy will not suffer that. I have a charm. It carries the blessing of Persephone. Mestares bought it.’ As she spoke her husband’s name Axa ceased her sewing, her plain, plump face crumpling in sorrow. Andromache sat beside her. There was nothing she could say. The arrival of the emperor had put paid to all hopes that Hektor and his men would return.

Axa brushed away her tears with a callused hand. ‘This won’t do. Won’t do at all,’ she said. ‘Must get you looking nice for the gathering.’

‘Andromache!’ A door slammed and there was a rattle of curtains, then Kassandra appeared in the doorway, her dark curls dishevelled and the hem of her long blue gown dragging on the floor. ‘I want to go to the gardens. Laodike won’t let me.

She keeps telling me off.’

Laodike appeared behind her. ‘Kassandra, don’t bother Andromache. This is a time of sadness. We must be quiet and stay in the women’s quarters.’

‘You’re not sad.’ Kassandra’s blue-grey eyes flashed at her sister. ‘Your heart is singing like a bird. I can hear it.’

Laodike flushed, and Andromache gave her a quick smile. She had guessed there was someone in Laodike’s life. Her confidence had increased over these last few weeks, and her happiness yesterday had been wonderful to see. She had hoped Laodike would confide in her, but she had seen little of her, and when they did speak the subject of love was not raised. Andromache guessed she might have formed an attachment for one of the soldiers, hence the need for secrecy.

‘My heart is not singing, wicked child!’ exclaimed Laodike. ‘You really are irritating! And I have so much to do. I am to greet the priestess, and she is a daunting woman.’

‘Leave Kassandra with me,’ said Andromache. ‘I enjoy her company.’

Laodike sighed. ‘That’s because you have not had to endure it for any length of time.’ She gave a hard stare at Kassandra, but it softened as the child cocked her head and smiled back at her sister.

‘I know you love me, Laodike,’ she said.

‘You don’t know anything!’ She turned to Andromache. ‘Very well, I shall leave her with you. But be warned, by this evening you will have grey hairs and lines upon your face.’

After Laodike had gone Andromache said, ‘I don’t see why we can’t take a stroll in the gardens. Come, Axa, give me the gown. A little fraying on the hem does not worry me. No-one will be looking at my feet.’

Axa was obviously unhappy with the decision, but passed the garment to Andromache, who stripped off the green robe she was wearing and donned the white. Axa brought her an ornate belt, decorated with silver chains.

Leaving the apartment the trio walked down the corridors of the women’s quarters, through the high oak doors decorated with gold and ivory. Beyond these was a staircase leading up to the queen’s apartments, followed by another set of stairs which descended into Priam’s megaron. Servants were bustling about making ready for the night’s great feast. Already guests were arriving, and Andromache spotted Polites and Dios, the latter giving her a scalding look. Dios still harboured resentment over the incident at the beach, and had not offered her a polite word since.

‘Why do people eat lots of roast meat when someone dies?’ Kassandra asked, watching the servants toiling with huge slabs of beef.

Andromache shrugged. ‘It is tradition. When a hero like Hektor dies the men like to sit together and tell stories of his greatness. The gods are said to take part, and they are invited to eat and drink in tribute to the warrior.’

Andromache looked around the megaron. She had been here several times, but had never had the chance to truly study it. The walls were heavy with arms and armour. Axa, who searched now for every opportunity to please her, started explaining the pieces decorating the walls. ‘Those,’ she said, pointing to the far wall, ‘are all weapons of Herakles. Those are his spears, and that is the great hammer he used to knock down the west wall.’

Andromache gazed up. Above their heads were five shields. Four were brightly polished, but the middle one was battered and untended, its style archaic. Wide at the top and tapering at the waist, it was intricately worked and plated with ten circles of bronze. Crowning the shield was a giant serpent with nine heads, and a warrior armed with sword and flaming brand. The shield strap was edged and circled with a silver snake.

‘That is magnificent,’ she said.

‘That is the shield of Ilos, one of the great warriors of Troy,’ Axa explained happily. ‘There is a legend that says only the greatest hero can take it down from the wall. The king offered it to Hektor, but he refused. Prince Agathon asked for it last year, after winning a battle in the east. The king said that if Hektor did not consider himself worthy of it, then no man was.’

‘That may change now,’ said Andromache. ‘I imagine Agathon will succeed Priam?’

‘Priam will outlive all his sons,’ Kassandra said suddenly, her high voice cold and detached. Andromache felt the hairs on her arms stand up and a shiver ran like sweat down her spine. The child’s eyes suddenly became wide and frightened.

‘There is blood on the walls,’ she cried, then bolted away, back up the stairs towards the queen’s apartments. They heard her sandals slapping on the stone steps as she ran. Leaving Axa where she was, Andromache set out after the fleeing girl.

But Kassandra was running fast, sidestepping the servants, twisting and weaving through the crowd. Andromache followed as swiftly as dignity allowed. She could hardly hitch up her ankle-length gown and give chase, so she walked on until she reached the women’s quarters and her own apartment. The door opened, and Kassandra stepped out, carrying Andromache’s bow and quiver of arrows.

‘You will need these,’ she said. ‘They are coming.’

A brisk wind had begun to blow as Argurios made his way up towards the palace of Priam. In the marketplace traders were struggling to take down the linen or canvas covers on their stalls. The cloth billowed, and one tore itself loose and lifted into the air, like a sail. Several men ran after it, and there was much laughter from the many onlookers.

The sun was setting over the distant isles of Imbros and Samothraki, and rain clouds were scudding over the city.

Argurios walked on across the square before the Temple of Hermes, the wind buffeting him. He hoped he would make it to the palace before the rain came. He did not relish the thought of standing before King Priam with water dripping from his armour.

Truth to tell he did not relish the thought of standing before the man at all.

For as long as he could remember Argurios had found conversation awkward.

Invariably he would say something that alienated a listener, or, at best, gave the wrong impression. He had been able to relax with very few people. One had been Atreus the king, and Argurios still missed him.

He recalled the night at the battlesite campfire. Argurios had been drawn into a furious row with one of Atreus’ generals. Afterwards the amused king had sat him down, urging him to breathe deeply and find calm. Atreus had struggled not to laugh, which made Argurios all the more angry.