David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

Andromache was too tired to play his games. “I will not be your mistress, Priam,” she said, standing, hoping he’d let her leave.

“I think you will.”

“Never. I am to wed your son Hektor. I do understand the nature of duty. I will be a dutiful wife.”

He sat back, smiling and relaxed again. “Sit down, girl. I will not touch you until you invite me to.”

“And that will be never!”

“Then I shall amuse myself by telling you a story. You might enjoy it, for it is about you. Many years ago—long before you were born—I visited Thera with my young and lovely queen. We were traveling to Kretos to see the king of the day, Deukalion, father of this braggart Idomeneos. There was a terrible storm at sea. It was feared the ship would founder. Hekabe was pregnant and sick. I don’t remember which child it was. We survived the storm, but we had to put in to Thera for a night. We offered pleasantries to the chief priestess, a hachet-faced woman, I recall. After the dreary duties were done, the queen wished to be closeted with a young seeress she knew from her days there as a priestess. The two spoke for hours, well into the night. Then the seeress—her name was Melite—walked with Hekabe to the prophecy flame. When the fumes overcame her, Melite fell to the floor and began to shout. Much of what she said was lost on Hekabe, for Melite shrieked out words in tongues that were unfamiliar to her. But just before Melite lost consciousness, her voice changed, becoming that of a young child. She then spoke a pretty verse. You want to hear it?”

Andromache was silent for a moment. Her interest was piqued. She, too, had known Melite and recalled only too well that the old woman had prophesied her departure from Thera weeks before the ship arrived with the message from Hekabe. “Yes, I will hear it,” she told him.

“I think you will find it interesting,” said the king. “ Beneath the Shield of Thunder waits the Eagle Child, on shadow wings, to soar above all city gates, till end of days, and fall of kings. Hekabe was very taken with the verse, but the meaning was hidden from her. For years she consulted mystics and seers. Then, in late winter two years back, she encountered a Hittite soothsayer. He finally interpreted the verse to Hekabe’s liking. The Shield of Thunder, he said, was not an object but a person. A woman. The Eagle Child would be born to her. As you know, the eagle is the symbol of kingship. So, this woman would bear the son of a king. To soar above all city gates means he will never be defeated in battle, and till end of days means his city will be eternal.”

“Even if the prophecy is a true one,” Andromache said, “there are hundreds of kings and thousands of young women who serve Athene. All of them would at some time have stood before her statue and effectively have been beneath the Shield of Thunder.”

“Indeed so.” Priam leaned forward. “But how many of them were born with the image of the shield upon their heads?”

Andromache sighed. “I was told of my birthmark, but that is all it is, lord: a patch of red skin with a slash of white upon it.”

Priam shook his head. “My ambassador, Heraklitos, was there that night. He saw the shield and heard the words of the priestess. But there is more. When Melite was babbling on Thera, she spoke of a woman with the strength of a man. Hekabe remembered that, albeit not swiftly enough. Your father’s people came from across the sea, and with them they brought many words of the western tongue. Andros for ‘man,’ and machos for ‘strength.’ Your name is derived from these two words. You are the Shield of Thunder, Andromache, and your child will be the son of a king. He will make my city greater, eternal and undying.”

“Suppose it is true,” Andromache said, rising, “and I do not believe it is, what makes you believe that you will be the father? You could die, Priam, and then Hektor will be king, and his son will be the Eagle Child. Had you not thought of that?”

“Oh, there is little in all of this that I haven’t thought of, Andromache. But you can go now. We will talk again once Hektor returns.” Turning away from her, he filled a goblet full of wine and drained it.

“Might I ask one question, sire?”

“Make it brief, for I am tired.”

“If I am the Shield of Thunder, why, then, did you send for my sister Paleste to be wed to Hektor?”

Priam sighed. “A stupid error of Heraklitos. He told us that Paleste was the child who bore the shield. He was very sick then, and his mind was not what it had been.”

“He was not wrong, lord. At my birth my mother named me Paleste, but my father changed it when he returned from his campaign.”

But Priam was not listening. Taking the jug of wine and the goblet, he walked back through the apartments to the bedroom, pushing shut the door behind him.

Andromache felt the nausea strike once more but swallowed it down. Sweat was on her brow as she left the apartments and made her way down to the megaron. A servant brought her some water, and she sat quietly, waiting for her stomach to settle.

She thought then of shy and gentle Paleste. How awful the workings of this city would have been to her. Did Priam seek to seduce her? Was she awed and frightened by the dying Hekabe? She suddenly shivered as the full import of Priam’s careless words struck home. Paleste had been “a stupid error.”

How convenient, then, that innocent Paleste, trusting and sweet, should have sickened and died.

Andromache rose from her seat and walked out into the cool night air. Cheon was waiting for her. As he approached her, Andromache fell to her knees and vomited on the path. The soldier was instantly beside her, supporting her. Twice more Andromache retched; then her head cleared and her stomach ceased to cramp.

“Do you need a physician?” Cheon asked, concern in his voice. Andromache shook her head.

They walked slowly through the empty streets, and Andromache felt stronger by the time they reached the gates of the palace. Once inside, she ordered a servant to bring her some bread and cheese, then went to her rooms.

Kassandra was sleeping on a couch, but she awoke when Andromache entered. “I was dreaming of dolphins,” the girl said, yawning.

Andromache sat beside her. “You spoke earlier of my sickness. You said it was not the fish.”

Kassandra leaned in and smiled. “It is the Eagle Child,” she whispered. “The son of Helikaon.”

The palace Agamemnon had been assigned overlooked the temple of Hermes and the bay beyond. The location was excellent, but the standard of workmanship, Agamemnon saw, was not of the highest quality. The finish on the dressed stone was clumsy, and many of the carvings seemed to have been completed in haste. Also, the architect must have been a man of little imagination, for huge windows had been set in the main apartments upstairs, facing west into the setting sun. In the height of summer the rooms would be like ovens.

Agamemnon sat now in the spacious walled garden, three guards close by, as his men searched through the fifteen rooms. The Mykene king did not expect them to find assassins hidden anywhere, but the search alone would keep his men focused on the dangers he faced. All the food in the kitchens had been removed and dumped, the wine poured away. Fresh food was being purchased in the market. Agamemnon gazed balefully over the garden. Garishly colored flowers had been planted, and their scent would draw insects.

“Whose palace is this?” he asked his aide.

“The king’s son, Polites.” Kleitos winced as he spoke, lifting his hand to massage his jaw. Three teeth had been broken when the renegade Banokles had attacked him. Two had been successfully pulled, but the third had snapped off at the gum line. The angry stump ached constantly.