David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

Axa returned and helped her into the saffron gown. It was a beautiful dress threaded with delicate golden wire and silver embroidery.

“I am going to take a walk,” she said as Axa knelt down to tie the thongs of her sandals.

“Shall I come with you?”

“No, Axa. I will not need you anymore today. Go home and see your babe.”

“He is growing well,” Axa said, “and he is going to be handsome like my Mestares, not dull and plain like me.”

Andromache stared down into Axa’s moon face and felt a lump in her throat. “Axa, you are not plain. Everything you are shines from your face: your strength, loyalty, love, and courage.”

Axa blushed. “You say the strangest things sometimes, my lady,” she said. “Now, what about gold thread in your hair?”

“No, I shall let it fall free.”

Axa rose and stared at Andromache’s flame-red hair. “The sun has caught it,” she noted critically. “There are golden streaks in it. You should wear a veil more often.”

Andromache laughed, her mood lightening momentarily. “You are never satisfied, Axa. One moment you want to put gold in my hair, and then you complain because it is already there.”

“You know what I mean,” Axa argued. “Only peasant women have such streaks in their hair, because they are out in the sun all day.”

“Then I must be a peasant,” Andromache said. “Now be off with you.”

At the palace gates she saw Cheon sitting quietly on a bench, his glittering bronze helm beside him, his breastplate gleaming in the sunshine. He rose as she approached.

“Are we going to the tomb?”

“No. We are walking to Hektor’s farm.”

“It is a fair distance in this heat, lady. Shall I call for a chariot?”

“I like to walk.”

He said no more, and together they strolled out into the city. Cheon donned his helmet. It was a full-faced helm that, happily for Andromache, made conversation nearly impossible. Cheon led the way through the crowds in the city center, and then through the Dardanian Gate and onto the stone road beyond.

Cheon was right. The walk was long in such heat, and by midday they were still far from their destination. Andromache’s pride would not let her admit her error, and she strode on, sweat staining the saffron robe, her sandals chafing her ankles. Cheon glanced at her.

“If you do not object, lady,” he said, removing his helm, “I would appreciate a halt in the shade.”

She looked at him and smiled. “You are a gracious man, Cheon, and there is not a bead of sweat upon you. And yes, thank you, I would really like to rest awhile.”

He grinned at her, then pointed to a small stand of trees. A white shrine had been set there. Within an alcove there was a statue of a woman holding a bow. Dried flowers bedecked it. Reaching out, Andromache stroked the statue and smiled. It reminded her of Kalliope. Just behind the shrine she heard the sounds of running water. She moved through a screen of bushes and found a stream bubbling over white stones. Kneeling down, she cupped her hands and drank. The water had an indefinable aftertaste that was not entirely pleasant. Cheon stood by, his hand on his sword hilt.

“You are not drinking?” she asked him.

“I am not thirsty.”

She dipped the sleeve of her gown into the stream and dabbed some water to her face, then rose to stand beside him in the shade. “Whose shrine is this?”

“The mother of the wrestler Archeos built it to honor the goddess Artemis. It is said Archeos won more games than any man living.”

“He was a Trojan?”

“No, lady. He was from Samothraki.” He tugged at his ear and seemed about to speak. Then he drew in a breath and stepped away from her.

“What is it you wish to ask?” she said.

“I was wondering why you were going to Lord Hektor unannounced.”

“How do you know I am unannounced?”

“He would have sent a carriage for you and a company of horse.”

“You know him?”

He shook his head. “He has spoken to me, but I do not know him. Great man, though.”

“So everyone keeps telling me.”

He glanced at her, then grinned. It made him seem suddenly boyish. “My brother serves with Hektor. Was with him at Kadesh.”

“Yes, yes, a great warrior. I have heard it all before, Cheon.”

“I wasn’t going to speak of war, lady. All men know Hektor is a fighter. His greatness, though, lies in the small things. He knows the names of his men, the names of their wives. My brother is not an officer. He spoke to Hektor once, as they sat by a stream. He told him of his pregnant wife. When the child was born, Hektor sent a gold cup as a birth gift.” He turned away. “I suppose that it doesn’t sound like much.”

“Yes, it does,” Andromache said. “It would surprise me to learn that my father knew any soldier’s name. He would never consider sending a gift to one.” She stepped out into the sunlight and walked on. Cheon fell into step beside her. A breeze began to blow, and a few puffballs of cloud blocked the sun. As they made their way downhill, it was cooler, the breeze whispering over puddles from the previous day’s rain.

At last they saw the farm and the horse pastures beyond. The main building was old, stone-built, single-storied, and flat-roofed. The three structures around it were timber-built and tall, with wide doors. One was obviously a stable; the other two, Andromache guessed, were either storehouses or barns.

In front of the main house men were trying to catch a pig that had broken through a fence. The beast turned and charged at the men, scattering them. Then it slipped in the mud, rolled over, and collided with the broken fence. In that instant a huge man, bare-chested and mud-covered, hurled himself at the animal. It darted away, and the giant slithered face-first into the fence to loud laughter from his fellows.

Andromache heard their laughter carried on the wind, and her heart lifted. As she and Cheon made their way down the hill, the men formed a semicircle around the pig, trying to herd it back behind the fence. But it ran at them again. This time the mud-covered giant timed his leap better, massive arms circling the pig’s shoulders. It grunted and struggled, but the man pinned it down. Amazingly, he then surged to his feet, the enormous pig in his arms. Slithering in the mud, he staggered into the enclosure.

The others grabbed a fence rail and slid it into position. The man dropped the startled pig, then turned and ran back for the fence. Instantly the pig gave chase. The man reached the fence just ahead of the angry beast and vaulted it. He landed on a slick patch of mud and skidded from his feet. Once more laughter burst out. The man sat up, trying to brush the mud from his face and hair. Then he saw Andromache.

Slowly Hektor climbed to his feet. “This is an unexpected pleasure,” he said.

Andromache did not reply. Her mind fled back to the tent of the seer Aklides, who had predicted the three great loves of her life. The first was Helikaon. The second was the Oak.

“And how will I know him?” she had asked.

“He will rise from the mud, his body caked with the filth of pigs.”

Andromache’s mouth was dry, her head spinning. The now familiar feeling of nausea swept through her. “We need to speak, you and I,” she managed to say.

Andromache waited in the cool of the main room, its windows shuttered against the bright sunlight. A young servant brought her a bowl of fruit and a jug of water. Sliced yellow fruit floated on the surface. The girl filled a cup and passed it to her. Andromache thanked her. She was slim and fair, with large blue eyes. For a moment Andromache was reminded of Kalliope. “You are very lovely,” she told the girl, reaching out and stroking her face.