David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

At a distance of thirty paces the arrow tore into the straw deer at the belly. It was a poor shot. Had it been a real animal, the arrow would have ripped through its guts, causing an agonized death and ruining the meat. With a deer, she knew, the arrow needed to pierce both lungs. Death would then be swift, the meat tender. Calming herself, she sent four more shafts into the target. Those were better aimed.

“You are a fine shot,” came the voice of Antiphones. Andromache swung toward him, masking her irritation at having been interrupted.

“You are looking well, Antiphones,” she said. He was still colossally large but had shed a great deal of weight since the autumn. His face now looked healthy, and he no longer wheezed as he moved.

“Still fatter than five pigs, but I am working on it,” he replied. “As you know, Father has given me command of the Ilos regiment. By next spring I’m hoping to be able to mount a horse and ride out with the cavalry.”

She smiled. “I am glad he rewarded you, Antiphones. Had you not discovered the plot, we might all be dead now.”

His face stiffened, but then the smile returned, though a little forced, she thought. “Yes, Father was grateful. I have discovered, though, that his benevolence is always short-lived.”

“My own father is the same,” she said. “Perhaps all kings are. They feel they have nothing to be grateful for. People are born only to serve them; therefore, those who do so faithfully are only behaving as expected.”

“Well, at least he has taken a liking to you,” Antiphones said, easing himself down onto a stone bench in the shade of a flowering tree.

“It is not affection,” she told him. “It is merely lust—and a desire to have that which has been refused him.”

Antiphones shrugged. “You can continue to say no, Andromache. He may be many things, but he would not force a woman against her will.”

Andromache shook her head and laughed. “How naďve that sounds, Antiphones. What you mean is he would not force her down with the strength of his arms. You think the palace girls he beds or the daughters of the nobles spread their legs for him because of his charm? His golden hair is streaked with gray. He is old, Antiphones. Young girls do not clamor for the old. They share his bed because they must. Because he is the king and they are afraid of his wrath.”

“But you are not afraid of his wrath?”

“I fear no man.”

“Then you are safe from his advances.”

“Yes, but I still feel his eyes on me. I can almost hear his heartbeat quicken when I am close. I imagine it will stop when I am Hektor’s wife.”

“It hasn’t stopped him with other men’s wives,” Antiphones said softly, looking around in case any servants were close by.

“There are no whisperers here, Antiphones,” she said. “Surely he will stop. Is not Hektor his favorite son? Even Priam would not risk angering him.”

“Yes, he is the favorite,” Antiphones replied without bitterness. “For years that was hard for me to swallow. Harder for Agathon, for Polites. Hard for all the sons. How could any compete with the mighty Hektor?”

“Do you hate him?”

“Father?”

“No. Hektor.”

Antiphones shook his head. “No one ever hates Hektor. Even Agathon, who I discovered hated just about everyone in Troy. Including me, and I was his brother as well as his friend. Why do you ask? Do you dislike Hektor?”

“How can I dislike someone I have never really met?”

Antiphones looked confused. “But Hektor has been in Troy throughout the winter.”

“Yes, and somehow rarely where I am. Strange behavior for a man soon to be my husband.” She felt anger rise and tried to quell it. “But then the daughters of kings are merely breeding cows sold to the highest bidder. Why should a man wish to speak to a breeding cow?”

Antiphones chuckled. “I have never known a woman like you, Andromache.”

“A compliment, I trust?”

“You know, I am not sure. I was raised to believe women yearned to be subservient and longed to be dominated.”

“Had you been raised by Priam alone, that would be no surprise, but Hekabe is not a subservient queen, and I would imagine no man ever dominated her.”

“That is true,” Antiphones said. “Priam and Hekabe, passion and poison, strength and cruelty. She would eat her young for the sake of power.” Antiphones sighed. “What a loving family we are.”

Stepping away from him, she sent an arrow flashing down the garden and into the straw boar. Two more shafts sliced into the target.

“I notice you don’t shoot at the man,” Antiphones said, pointing toward the tallest of the straw targets.

“I don’t hunt men,” she said.

“Yet you killed the man trying to stab Father.”

She swung toward him. “I can hit a target eighty paces distant one hundred times in a hundred. Do men say, What a fine archer? No. Kill one assassin a mere thirty paces away and they are so impressed. What is this link between men and death, Antiphones? Why did I have to kill to become respected?”

“You do yourself an injustice, Andromache. It is not about killing. The man was running at Father, a spear in his hand. You had a heartbeat to react. You did not recoil. Fear and shock did not stiffen your limbs. You acted swiftly and surely while others froze. And your arrow was true.”

“As I said, a simple shot. Did you see Helikaon?”

“For a while. Then he fell asleep. He looks better today. There is color in his cheeks, and the fever has broken. He will recover. And he will need to… rather swiftly.”

“Why?”

“The city will soon be filled by warriors from the west, come to take part in the games. Helikaon is hated by them. Agamemnon has ordered his death. It is almost certain there will be more attempts on his life.” He drew in a deep breath. “And not just Helikaon. Many of the kings loathe one another. Before long the streets will be crawling with assassins.”

“But the games…” Andromache said. “By the laws of Olympos, any city that stages games in honor of the gods is neutral. All enmities are put aside. There will be a truce.” Antiphones was looking at her quizzically. “What is it? Am I suddenly speaking in a foreign language?”

“Almost. You are a curious mixture, Andromache. One moment you are speaking with authority about the nature of kings, and the next…” He hesitated, then shook his head. “You accused me of being naďve. Surely you must understand that the truce is illusory. Everyone knows it. Priam will have soldiers everywhere. All the family will walk surrounded by bodyguards. Agamemnon will have his Followers with him at all times, hands on daggers, ready to strike down anyone who gets too close to their king. It will be a time of tension and menace. Helikaon will be a prime target. Of that you can have no doubt. Once he is stronger, have him taken to his own palace.” He pushed himself ponderously to his feet.

“Perhaps he should go back to Dardania,” she said.

“He won’t do that. That would signify weakness to his enemies.”

“And seeing a stick-thin man tottering around in the sunlight will make them gasp at his strength?”

Antiphones laughed with genuine good humor. “You have a tongue on you like a whip. I am chastened, and I flee from your company.”

Andromache smiled. “It was good to talk with you, Antiphones. I hope you will visit me again. As long, of course, as it is considered seemly for a future brother to attend me in the absence of my betrothed.”

“Oh, no one will worry about me,” he said brightly. “It is well known that my tastes have never been for women. Pies, pastries, and handsome young men. No, Andromache, we do not have to concern ourselves with seemly behavior.” Stepping forward, he kissed her lightly on both cheeks. “And remember what I said. Speak to Gershom. He is a fighting man and will know how to protect Helikaon.”