Stella Gemmell - Fall of Kings

For a moment there was silence. Then Andromache realized she could hear the sound of her heart beating. Her friend Dios dead? It seemed impossible.

“It was the Mykene merchant Plouteus,” Mestares explained. “He and his sons. They attacked him in the marketplace. Plouteus was killed by someone in the crowd. One of his sons fled; the other was captured. Paris was there. He will know more than I.”

“Paris? Was he hurt?”

“No, lord,” the soldier replied.

A female servant came into the garden and hurried up to them. “Lord Hektor,” she cried. “The king has sent for you.”

Hektor’s face was ashen, and he left the garden without a word of farewell to Andromache or Kassandra.

The servant girl approached Andromache. “Shall I take the boy, lady?” she asked softly.

Andromache nodded and passed the child to her. Astyanax moaned a little and then settled his head on the girl’s shoulder.

As the servant moved away, a cool breeze whispered across the garden, rustling the dried leaves on the pathway. Andromache saw that Kassandra was standing there, her large blue-gray eyes full of tears.

“You knew he was dead, didn’t you?” Andromache said. “You were speaking to his spirit.”

Kassandra nodded. “The fat merchant had weak eyes. He thought Dios was Helikaon.”

Andromache recalled seeing Dios earlier that day. He had been wearing a white tunic similar to Helikaon’s. Odysseus once had remarked on the resemblance between the two men. “They look alike,” he had said, “but they are very different. They are copper and bronze. Both have value.” His eyes had twinkled mischievously. “In a whorehouse a man needs copper rings to buy his pleasure. In battle, though, a man needs sharp bronze in his hand. Helikaon is bronze. Dios is copper.”

Kassandra’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Dios will be honored in death. His bones will lie in the city he loved. That is important, you know.”

“Yes,” Andromache said. “I am sure that it is.”

Kassandra leaned in close. “Kalliope wants you to take her home. You can carry her back to the tamarisk grove, where she was most happy, where she sat with you on that midsummer’s night. You remember?”

Andromache could not answer, but she nodded, tears coursing down her face.

“You can speak to her there,” Kassandra said. “You will feel her in your heart.”

Andromache shook her head. “No,” she said, “I cannot take her home. I will not allow her spirit to be chained.”

Pale predawn light shone through high windows as Andromache kissed her sleeping son and allowed herself a few heartbeats to enjoy the warmth of his cheek against her face. Then she stood and strode from her apartments.

Dressed in an ankle-length tunic of yellow wool and wrapped in a heavy gray-green cloak, Andromache made her way through the quiet palace and out into the night. Kassandra was waiting at the portico, her slight figure also enveloped in a dark cloak. Close by, servants held torches, lighting a four-seat chariot. Horses shifted nervously and whinnied softly in the flickering light.

Suddenly Hektor appeared out of the gloom. In full armor and ready for travel, he picked up Kassandra and swung her high like a child before placing her gently into the chariot. She looked flustered and pleased. Then he kissed Andromache and handed her into the vehicle, too. She smiled down at him and touched his cheek. They had talked long into the night. Today he would ride south to protect her father’s lands while she sailed enemy seas to Thera.

“May the gods keep you from harm,” he said, “and bring you back to me.”

The charioteer touched the reins lightly to the horses’ backs, and, surrounded by a troop of cavalry, the chariot set off down the stone road toward the bay.

The two women held on tightly as the vehicle bumped through the wakening streets. At the Scaean Gate they paused as the great gate was opened, and the noise of the wooden wheels, creaking harness, and snorting horses died down.

Sadness settled on her as she thought again of Dios. She regretted missing the ritual farewell the next day but promised herself that wherever the Xanthos beached that night, she would speak her own words of goodbye to his shade. The chariot lurched forward. Andromache grabbed the rail as the vehicle thundered toward the beach.

And there, in the distance, she saw the mighty Xanthos. Twice the size of any ship on the King’s Beach, the Xanthos lay half-in, half-out of the water, resting slightly to one side. Despite the great bulk, the warship had grace and beauty. As the chariot clattered down to the beach, drawing up close to the Xanthos, the first rays of the rising sun speared over the horizon, turning the polished oak timbers to gold.

The Xanthos, still and serene, was surrounded by people: crewmen shinnying up ropes to the top deck, beachmasters and their workers loading cargo, early-rising fishermen and home-going whores lingering to watch the launch.

As she got down from the chariot, Andromache wondered for a moment how they were going to get on board, but as they neared the ship, a sturdy wooden ladder was passed down to the sand at the stern. At the top she could see the reassuring figure of Gershom leaning down over the rail. He waved and called out a greeting.

Then curly-haired Oniacus trudged across the sand. “Can you manage, lady? You can sit in a sling if you prefer.”

“To be hauled up like livestock, Oniacus? My sister and I can manage a ladder.” She softened the sharp words with a smile, remembering that the man only recently had lost his family at Dardanos.

“The rest of your belongings are already aboard,” he said. “They are stored at the rear of the lower deck.”

“And the ebony box?” she asked.

Oniacus nodded. “Safe, lady, alongside your luggage. Your bow is there also, and two fine quivers. Let us hope you do not find use for them—beyond practice, I mean.”

Andromache saw that Kassandra was about to speak and cut across her. “Thank you, Oniacus,” she said. “We also took your advice and brought extra warm clothing. Oiled woolen cloaks and leggings.”

“That is good. The weather may be savagely cold and wet.”

Andromache took Kassandra by the arm and led her to the ladder. “You go up first,” she told her. “I will follow and steady your foot if you slip.”

Kassandra laughed. “You think I am some drooling defective who has never climbed a ladder?” Lifting the hem of her dark ankle-length tunic, she almost ran up the ladder, taking Gershom’s hand and leaping over the rail. Andromache followed her.

Safely on the aft deck by the carved steering oar, Andromache immediately glanced around for sight of Helikaon. He was not yet aboard, and she felt a pang of disappointment. The crewmen amidships were hauling aboard cargo: bales of embroidered cloth, sturdy wooden chests, nets full of bread and fruit, and hundreds of small amphorae strung together with twine and padded with straw. Other crewmen then lowered the goods to the hold.

Oniacus vaulted over the deck rail and opened a hatch in the deck by Andromache’s feet. Climbing down to the second oar deck, he called out greetings to the men below. The buzz of conversation continued as the oarsmen began to swap stories and catch up on news of their comrades. All of them seemed cheerful at the prospect of getting under way.

Andromache felt it, too, the exhilaration running through the golden ship. She glanced at Kassandra. The girl’s eyes were bright, her cheeks flushed, and she gazed around with wonder. Because of her strangeness it was easy to forget that Kassandra was little more than a child—and a child about to embark on a great adventure.