David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

Gershom shook his head. “You do not convince me, Helikaon. You rationalize your actions, and because the end result is favorable, you become right. However, the dog could have been suffering with toothache or been rabid and therefore would not have acted according to its training. The horses might not have scented its purpose. Horses are not generally considered to be great thinkers. Your method of dealing with the situation involved danger. Mine—to stab the beast—would have achieved the same end result with no risk.”

“Except you would have killed a fine dog,” Helikaon pointed out.

“It is not my dog.”

As they were speaking, two men came walking in from the fields. Both were broad-shouldered and redheaded, though the first man was older and there was gray in his hair.

“You seeking me?” he asked.

Helikaon eased himself to his feet. “No. We were merely riding and sought to rest here awhile.”

“Ah, well, you are welcome,” the farmer said. “Lucky, though. Cerberos there took a lump out of the last traveler who arrived unannounced.” Gershom’s laughter boomed out. “It wasn’t amusing,” the farmer grumbled. “Cost me two sheep in compensation. He’s getting old and forgetting his training. Are you heading up to the city?”

“Yes.”

“Best avoid the low woods. Been an accident there, and there are soldiers swarming everywhere, stopping travelers and asking questions.”

“What happened?” Helikaon asked.

“Some foreigner fell from his horse and died. Important man. Come for the wedding feast, I expect. Anyways, I am losing daylight standing here, so you’ll need to excuse me. Here, Cerberos,” he called, and the black hound padded after him as he walked off.

“Do not say a word,” Helikaon warned Gershom.

“What could I say? I who was born in a royal palace and look but do not see?”

Helikaon sighed. “How long are you going to hold this over my head?”

“Difficult to say. Most of the summer, for sure.”

Helikaon laughed then and swung onto his horse. “For that you can eat my dust all the way to the palace,” he said, heeling his mount into a run.

Gershom set off after him. Both horses were powerful and fast, but Gershom was considerably heavier than the Dardanian king and could not close the gap. Only as they came closer to the city did Helikaon slow his horse and allow Gershom’s mount to canter alongside. There was good color in Helikaon’s cheeks, and his mood seemed to have lifted. As they crested a hill, the bay beyond came into sight, brilliantly blue in the sunshine. A light breeze was blowing over the hills. Helikaon reined in his mount and sat staring out over the sea. Gershom saw his mood change once more, his expression hardening.

“What is it?” he asked.

“There is a man coming to Troy whom I have sworn to kill.”

“Well, your strength is returning fast. A few more weeks and you will be able to challenge him.”

Helikaon said nothing more and heeled his horse. By the time they reached the palace, his strength was gone, and he took to his bed. Gershom returned the mounts and while at the stables heard that the king of Thraki, Eioneus, had been the man killed in the fall from the horse. He had been riding ahead of his companions, and when they rounded a bend in the path, they found him sprawled on the ground, his horse standing close by.

The death was considered an ill omen for the coming wedding, and an evening of tribute was being arranged by King Priam, to be held in the temple of Poseidon in five days, when all the kings of west and east were hoped to be present. The Mykene king, Agamemnon, had volunteered to speak the words of praise for the departed.

The awful knowledge that she was pregnant filled Andromache’s days and sleepless nights with anger and self-loathing. How could she have done something so stupid? How could the gods have punished her so harshly?

She tried to convince herself she had slid into Helikaon’s bed only to follow the advice of the Prophet, putting a warm body next to the dying man to draw him back to life. But Andromache had never been swayed by self-deceit. Almost from the moment she had seen Helikaon on the beach at Blue Owl Bay, she had yearned to be close to him, naked, skin on skin. Even now, with the dreadful consequences of her action hanging over her like a storm bird, she felt the thrill of that moment.

Her maid, Axa, was moving through the apartments, chattering as she gathered up discarded clothing. She was in a happy mood, as she had been throughout the winter. Her husband, feared dead with Hektor, was home again, and Axa’s joy was complete. Her babe was healthy, her man was alive, and the world shone with delight.

“Perhaps the saffron gown today,” she said. “The sun is shining, and I could braid your hair with golden wire. That would catch the light.”

“I want no braid today,” Andromache said. “And the yellow is too bright. Bring me the pale green.”

“You always wear green,” Axa complained. “Did you see the Xanthos on the bay yesterday? Perhaps the lord Hektor will come to visit now. The yellow gown will dazzle him.”

“I do not want him dazzled. And he will not come.”

Axa looked puzzled. “You think not?”

Andromache turned toward her. “How many times has he visited his own palace since I have been here?”

“Several times. I saw him once.”

“He came to see Helikaon, and always when I was absent.”

“Oh, I am sure he—”

“Please, Axa, make no excuses. This is an arranged marriage that Hektor obviously does not want. My guess is he will go to his farm and I will not see him until the wedding feast.”

Axa’s face fell. “Oh, you mustn’t think that, my lady. Hektor is a wonderful man. Mestares worships him. He told me Hektor thinks you the most beautiful woman.”

“So beautiful that he cannot bear to spend time with me. Enough of this. You are right—let it be the saffron gown.” Andromache had no wish to wear such a bright color but knew acquiescence would deflect Axa. The plump maid beamed happily and rushed off to fetch the robe.

Andromache walked out onto the balcony. It was still in shadow, but she could see sunlight dappling the city and hear the sounds of workmen preparing the games area. Farther off she saw men building an embankment along the length of the hippodrome, where the chariot and horse races would be held. The city was becoming filled with travelers and contestants eager to win gold in the games. The plain to the north had become a city of tents and hastily built huts.

A feeling of nausea swept over her, and she took a deep breath.

Back on Thera she had walked with the other priestesses on the slopes of the angry mountain, chanting hymns to placate the Minotaur rumbling beneath the ground. She felt now a similar danger. On the surface she was Andromache, virgin princess of Thebe, about to wed the heir to the throne of Troy. But growing within her was her own Minotaur, whose presence, when known, would bring about her destruction.

When Priam discovered her infidelity, he would have her killed. The king, despite his desire for her, could be ruthless. He had in recent years ordered the deaths of several wayward sons. And with her his rage would be towering, for she had spurned his advances on what he would see now as merely the pretext of honor. She would, in his eyes, have sought to fool him. Priam’s ego would not tolerate that.

So what can I do? she wondered. Go to Helikaon? Tell him his dream was no dream at all? Her heart sank. He would seek to protect her and earn the enmity of Priam. Could Dardania’s small army stand against the might of Troy? She knew the answer.

Andromache thought then of Hektor. She could try to seduce him. If she was successful, he would believe the child was his. Even as the thought came to her, she dismissed it. All her life she had believed in honesty, especially between lovers. Andromache had never lied to Kalliope. How, then, could a marriage begin with such a lie? It would sit like poison in the heart. No, there was only one honorable course—go to Hektor, admit everything, and accept what followed as the will of the gods.