David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

He thought about the question as he stared out over the wine-dark sea. “Nothing of real worth can ever be bought,” he said at last. “Love, friendship, honor, valor, respect. All these things have to be earned.”

“Speaking of honor, I see that Idomeneos has not yet given you the breastplate.”

“No, he has not,” Kalliades said, anger rising. Why would a man with the wealth of Idomeneos seek to cheat a simple warrior of a sword?

They sat in silence for a while, then she took her cloak and moved to the fire, adding the last of the fuel. Kalliades watched her stretch herself out, pillowing her head on her arm.

Time drifted by, but he was not tired. The fighter Leukon was sitting alone, away from the crew. Kalliades rose and walked across to him.

“What do you want?” Leukon asked, as Kalliades sat down beside him on a flat rock. “Come to gloat?”

“Why would I gloat?” Kalliades asked. “You were winning easily, and then you decided to lie down.”

“What?”

“You were not unconscious. Banokles was exhausted at the end. He had little strength left, certainly not enough to punch you from your feet.”

“Keep your voice down! Otherwise you will lose that shining breastplate.”

“So why?” Kalliades whispered.

“Odysseus told me to.”

“That does not answer my question.”

Leukon sighed, then pointed across to another campfire farther along the beach. “Did you see the big man with the forked red beard who came and watched the fight?”

Kalliades recalled the man. He was huge and had stood watching the bout, his massive arms folded across his chest. “What of him?”

“That was Hakros. He is the champion of Rhodos and a ferocious fighter. Last summer in Argos he killed a man in a bout. Smashed his skull.”

“What of it?”

“He and I will probably fight each other in Troy. There will be big wagers made. All the bigger now that Hakros has seen me beaten. Losing to Banokles means gold to Odysseus—and to me.”

Kalliades swore softly. “That was not a good deed,” he said.

Leukon shrugged. “No harm done. Banokles gained a few bruises, and I feel as if several boulders have been bounced from me. You got a breastplate, and he thinks he’s a champion.”

“Yes, he does,” Kalliades said coldly. “And now he will go to Troy, where some other fine fighter, like Hakros, will break his bones or perhaps kill him.”

Leukon shook his head. “There won’t be more than four—maybe five—men who could take him. He’s strong, and he’s tougher than he has any right to be. If he could learn a few good moves, he’d do all right. He’ll win several of the preliminary bouts and, with a few wagers, make himself some gold.”

“It will be many days to Troy,” Kalliades said, “and many nights on beaches such as this. I want you to train him, to show him some of those moves.”

Leukon laughed. “And why would I do that?”

“There could be two reasons,” Kalliades said. “One, it would be an act of good fellowship. Two, I could tell Banokles you threw the fight and shamed him. He would then be obliged to challenge you again, this time with swords and to the death. I don’t know what kind of swordsman you are, Leukon, but I’d wager Banokles would kill you in a heartbeat. However, I am a fine judge of men, and I know you will do what I ask because you have a good heart.”

Leukon chuckled. “I’ll train him. But not for fear and not for good-heartedness. I need the practice. He will do everything I tell him?”

“Yes.”

“And is he a fast learner?”

Now it was Kalliades who laughed. “It would be easier to teach a pig to dance or a dog to shoot a bow.”

Men from various crews approached Odysseus, requesting a tale, but he turned them away. He felt a heaviness of heart and had no wish to entertain crowds. So he left the campfire and wandered away down the beach, pausing before the Xanthos, the huge warship of Helikaon. He saw Hektor walking toward him. The Trojan was unaware of the admiring, envious glances from the sailors who sat close by. It was one of the traits Odysseus liked about him. There was in Hektor an innocence and a gentleness of spirit, surprising in any warrior but astonishing in the son of a king like Priam.

Odysseus waited until the Trojan reached him, then led him along the seashore, away from the crowds.

“There are a great many disappointed men here tonight,” said Hektor.

Odysseus glanced up at the taller man. “I am in no mood for storytelling. So why are you sailing the Great Green so close to your wedding feast?”

“Father sent me. He was concerned about pirates attacking the wedding guests. With Helikaon…” He hesitated. “With Helikaon injured, he thought that word of my involvement would inspire a little fear in them.”

“Injured?” Odysseus put in, his heart leaping. “I was told he was dead.”

“Do not let your hopes soar, Odysseus. He was stabbed twice. One wound has healed, but the second blow pierced his armpit and a lung. It is this wound that will not heal. There is corruption there.”

“Who is attending him?”

“The priest Machaon. He is good with wounds. He tended me two years ago, when I almost died. And Andromache will not leave his side.” Odysseus looked up sharply. “She is a fine woman,” Hektor continued. “I like her.”

“So I should hope—since you will be spending the rest of your life with her.”

Hektor fell silent and stood staring out to sea. Odysseus glanced at the young man. There was something wrong here. Hektor seemed distant, and Odysseus sensed a great sorrow in him. Was it fear for Helikaon? The two were great friends.

Hektor glanced back at the campfire. “I do not like Idomeneos,” he said. “The man is a lizard. I doubt he will surrender his breastplate to the young Mykene.”

“No, he won’t,” Odysseus said. “But I will make good on his promise.”

“You are a strange man, sea uncle.”

Odysseus chuckled. “You first called me that fifteen summers back. That was a good voyage.”

“I have fond memories of it. Helikaon and I used to swap stories about you. He told me how you tricked him into diving from that cliff by pretending you couldn’t swim. He will always be grateful for that. He said you made him a man.”

“Pish! He would have found his way without me. Might have taken a little longer, is all.”

Hektor sighed, and the smile left his face. “He is dying, Odysseus. I hear myself say the words, and I still can’t believe them.”

“He may surprise you yet. Men like Helikaon do not die easily.”

“You have not seen him, Odysseus. He fades in and out, sometimes knowing where he is but mostly floating in delirium. He is stick-thin and fever-ridden.”

“And is this why you are suffering?”

“In part.” Hektor picked up a stone from the beach and sent it skimming over the water. “War is coming. That’s what Father says. I think he is right. He usually is.”

Odysseus looked at the young man, knowing instantly that his question had been deflected. Hektor never could lie. Whatever it was that had brought him low, the young prince had no wish to speak of it.

“There is always talk of war,” Odysseus said. “Perhaps wisdom will prevail.”

Hektor shook his head. “Not wisdom but gold. Many of the allies Agamemnon needs are fed wealth by my father. That is why the gathering at Sparta came to nothing. It will not last. Agamemnon will find a way to unite the kings, or he will kill those who oppose him. Either way he will bring his armies to our gates.” He skimmed another stone, then dropped to his knees to hunt for more. “Do you still carve Penelope’s face in the sand?” he asked.