David Gemmell - Lord of the Silver Bow

‘I don’t like her. She gives false prophecies.’

‘If they were false,’ said Andromache, ‘then surely people would realize it, when they failed to come true.’

‘No, she is very clever,’ said Kassandra. ‘Pandates the merchant went to her last year to ask if his wife would ever become pregnant. She told him the gods favoured him, but they required his patience. She said he would have a son, as long as he did nothing to offend the gods. Pandates was drowned when his ship sank. She said that he had offended Poseidon.’

‘Perhaps he had,’ offered Andromache.

‘After tonight,’ said Kassandra, ‘she will speak the truth, and her prophecies will be real. But no-one will hear them.’

It seemed to Andromache that holding a conversation with Kassandra was not dissimilar to trying to catch a butterfly. Every time you thought you had it in your grasp it fluttered away. ‘There are not many women here,’ she ventured.

‘Did Hektor have no female friends?’

‘Everyone loved Hektor,’ replied Kassandra. ‘They will be so happy when he comes home. Keep your bow ready.’

Laodike moved across to join them. She was wearing a bright yellow gown, and her fair hair had been braided with gold wire.

‘This is not the place for an archery display,’ she said, frowning.

‘I know. I will explain later. I see Kreusa isn’t here.’

‘She always arrives late,’ said Laodike. ‘Kreusa likes to make a dramatic entrance. She will be disappointed, I think. There are so few people here. The wives of father’s closest counsellors, but none of Hektor’s friends.’ She leaned in close. ‘Oh dear, the priestess is about to speak, and the drab part of the evening begins.’

‘She will not speak for long,’ whispered Kassandra, backing away, her face pale.

Suddenly she turned and darted back along the corridor.

The silver-haired priestess held the ceremonial gold helmet above her head and began to chant: ‘Athene, hear your children! Goddess of Wisdom, hear your followers. Let our words and our grief flow to you, and bring us peace and understanding in these days of sorrow.’

Just then the far doors burst open, and Thrakian soldiers surged into the room, swords and spears in their hands. The women stood shocked. No men were allowed into the women’s quarters, and certainly no male could invade a sacred ceremony.

The priestess was outraged. She rushed at them, screaming for them to leave at once, or face the curse of Athene. What followed then stunned Andromache. A burly Thrakian lashed out at her, sending the priestess sprawling to the floor, the ceremonial helm clattering away to strike a table leg. For a moment there was shocked silence. Then the priestess pointed at the man. ‘May the goddess strike you down, and curse your family for nine generations!’ she shrieked.

The man laughed – and then his sword slashed down. The priestess threw up her arm, and the bronze blade hacked into it, spraying blood. A second cut tore open her throat. Women began to scream and run. Soldiers rushed at them, dragging them back.

Then Laodike ran towards the warrior who was still stabbing his sword into the squirming priestess. ‘You cowardly dog!’ she shouted.

‘You want to bleed too, bitch?’ he responded, charging towards her. Andromache swiftly notched an arrow to her bow and drew back on the string. As the soldier reached Laodike, his sword raised high, a black-feathered shaft plunged through his eye. He staggered back several steps, dropping his sword, then slumped to the floor.

‘Laodike!’ yelled Andromache. The young woman started to run towards her. A Thrakian soldier hurled a spear, which took her in the back. Laodike screamed and stumbled. Andromache shot the spearman through the throat. More Thrakians pushed through into the gathering hall. Laodike half fell against Andromache. A soldier charged at them. Andromache loosed a shaft that tore through the man’s leather breastplate, spearing his chest. He faltered, then came on, sword raised. With no time to draw the string Andromache dropped the bow and stepped forward to meet him, the shaft held like a dagger in her hand. Weakened by the arrow in his chest the soldier gave a feeble thrust. Andromache parried the blow with her arm, then plunged the bronze-headed arrow into the man’s neck. He fell back with a gargling cry.

Sweeping up her bow Andromache notched another shaft to the string. She glanced down at Laodike, who had fallen to the floor, and was trying to crawl towards the corridor, the long black spear still embedded in her back.

Other women ran past Andromache. All was pandemonium.

Then soldiers appeared from behind – Royal Eagles led by Helikaon. They surged into the Thrakians.

Andromache ran to where Laodike was crawling. Grabbing the spear she tore it loose. Laodike cried out, then slumped down. Hurling the spear aside, Andromache tugged at Laodike’s arm, dragging her to her feet. ‘Lean on me,’ she urged her.

‘We must get away from here.’

More Eagles ran into the fray. Andromache struggled on towards the double doors leading to the steps up to the queen’s apartments. Several Eagles were already there. One of them left his post and swept Laodike into his arms.

‘Get her to safety,’ ordered Andromache.

‘There is nowhere safe tonight,’ he said grimly. ‘But I’ll carry her upstairs.

We’ll hold these doors as long as we can.’

Helikaon and the Eagles battled their way into the gathering hall. The Trojans were all veterans and fought with ruthless efficiency. Well armoured, with shields and helms, they drove the Thrakians back towards the double doors leading to the outer gates. The twenty defenders were heavily outnumbered, but the Thrakians, without shields and in their light city armour of leather breastplates and helmets, took terrible losses. Helikaon fought with cold fury, his two swords cutting and plunging with awesome speed. The leading Thrakians fell back in disarray, then turned and ran into more of their comrades, still trying to force an entry. This led to a chaotic scene as panicking soldiers struggled to push their way through their own ranks. The Eagles rushed in, sinking their swords into unprotected backs and necks. The Thrakians broke, and streamed away from the double doors. Helikaon yelled an order to the Eagles to pull back. Most obeyed him, but four men, battle lust having overtaken them, continued after the Thrakians. Back inside the gathering hall Helikaon ordered the double doors pushed shut. There were two wooden brackets for a locking bar, but the bar itself was nowhere in sight. It had not been needed for decades, and had obviously been removed. Helikaon sent two Eagles in search of it. The sounds of fighting in the corridor beyond had ceased now, and Helikaon guessed the Thrakians had turned on the four chasing Eagles. There was little time left to bar the doors. Soon the Thrakians would regroup.

‘Gather up those spears,’ he called out, pointing to the weapons of the dead Thrakians. The Eagles rushed to obey, and nine thick-shafted spears were wedged into the locking brackets.

‘It will not hold for long,’ said an Eagle. Helikaon gazed around the hall. More than forty Thrakians had died here, but there were also the bodies of eight Eagles and five women, two of them elderly. Four more of the Eagles carried wounds.

‘There is nothing more we can do here,’ said Helikaon, and led them back to the second set of double doors, leading to the queen’s apartments and the king’s megaron. Here the locking bar had been found and he ordered the heavy oak doors closed and barred.

Leaving two Eagles to watch the doors, he climbed the stairs to the queen’s apartments. In the largest of the rooms he found the surviving women. Some were looking frightened, others shocked and uncertain. Laodike lay on a couch, flanked by Kassandra and Andromache. Blood had soaked the embroidered cloth beneath her. Sheathing his swords Helikaon moved towards them.