David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

“Rations were short,” Kalliades recalled. “I remember digging up roots and ripping bark off trees to add to the stew.”

“Good fighters those Spartans. If there’d been more of them, we’d have been in real trouble.” Banokles laughed. “They must really have angered the gods, eh? First they get beaten in a battle, and then they end up with Menelaus as king.”

“I always liked him,” Kalliades said.

“Nothing to dislike,” Banokles agreed, “but the man’s as soft as puppy shit. He’s got a belly on him like a pregnant sow.”

“I talked to him once,” Kalliades said. “The night before we took Sparta. He was terrified and couldn’t stop throwing up. He said all he wanted was to be back at his farm. He’d been cross-breeding his herds with bulls from Thessaly. He claimed the milk yield from his cows had almost doubled.”

“Milk yield?” Banokles snorted. “By the gods, anyone can get to be a king these days.”

“They can if they are brothers of Agamemnon. But be fair to Menelaus. Though he was frightened, he still donned his armor and joined us in the attack. He didn’t have to. He could have waited with the rear guard.”

Banokles did not look convinced. Then he brightened. “You think there will be slave girls at Hektor’s palace?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Kalliades chuckled. “If there are, I doubt they’ll be ordered to rut with sailors.”

“They might, though.”

“Better, I think, to find a whore. That way you won’t risk offending Hektor.”

“Oh, good plan,” Banokles mocked. “Whores have to be paid for.”

Kalliades reached into the pouch at his side, and drew out five silver rings. Banokles was astonished. “How did you come by them?”

“Odysseus gave them to me. And he says there will be fifty more. I sold him the breastplate of Idomeneos.”

“It is worth more than fifty-five silver rings.”

Kalliades shook his head. “Not to me. Idomeneos is a king. I cannot demand he honor his debt. Odysseus can. It is that simple. Now, do you want the rings?”

Banokles grinned. “I want what they’ll buy,” he said.

“Well, first let us locate Hektor’s palace.”

The two friends left the gathering field and wandered back through the city.

“How many women will five silver rings buy me?” Banokles asked.

“I neglected to ask Odysseus about the price of whores.”

“Not like you to forget the important things,” Banokles observed. “Will you be coming whore hunting with me?”

“No. I’ll return to the beach. Odysseus has told Piria to sleep on the Penelope. She’ll be coming to the palace later.”

“Why?”

“Odysseus wants to find out if any of the other kings are staying close to Hektor’s palace. It could be dangerous for her if she is recognized.”

“So you will spend the night guarding her?” Banokles shook his head. Ahead, the road widened, and they saw a marketplace packed with stalls. There were shops there and several eating places with tables set out beneath brightly colored canopies. Banokles grabbed Kalliades by the arm. “Come on,” he said. “We need to talk.”

“We were talking.”

“I need a drink for this kind of conversation,” Banokles said. Kalliades followed him to a small table placed against a cool stone wall. Banokles ordered wine, filled a goblet, and drained it. “Are you moonstruck, Kalliades?” he asked.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do. You’ve fallen in love with her.”

“I am merely concerned for her safety.”

“And pig shit smells like jasmine! I like the girl, Kalliades, so don’t misunderstand me. She has courage and she has heart, and if it was in her nature, she’d make a fine wife. But it isn’t in her nature. You know as well as I do that the lover she is searching for is a woman.”

Kalliades sighed. “I didn’t choose to love her,” he said. “But I did choose to protect her, and I did promise to see her safely to her lover. I will do that, and then we will part.”

“Is that a promise?”

Kalliades poured himself a cup of wine and sipped it. The silence grew.

“I thought not,” Banokles said. “So what are you really hoping for? That her lover will turn her away? That she will fall into your arms? That you will take all her sorrow from her? It cannot happen. Brothers cannot do that for sisters. And that is how she sees you, how she will always see you.”

“I know that,” Kalliades replied. “I know that everything you say is true, and yet… I also know there is a reason why she came into my life. I cannot explain it, Banokles. I was meant to meet her. That is a truth that my soul understands.”

Looking into his friend’s pale eyes, he saw no similar understanding there. Then Banokles shrugged and smiled. “You do what you must, my friend. You go and walk in the moonlight with the woman you love. I’ll find someone who doesn’t love me and shag her until my eyes bulge.”

The tension between them evaporated, and Kalliades laughed. “That is a good plan,” he said. “Simple and direct, with clear objectives. I hope you can stick to it.”

“Why would I not?”

“Because when full of wine, you tend to look for brawls to take part in.”

“Not tonight,” Banokles said. “Tonight is for wine and women. I give you my oath on that.”

Many people spoke of their love for Troy, growing misty-eyed about its beauty. To Big Red it was just a city of stone, a place to earn silver rings and gold trinkets. The truth, she believed, was that this emotion men spoke of was merely love of wealth. Troy was rich, and those who prospered within it became wealthy. Even the old baker whose house she was walking wearily toward wore rings of gold and had a carriage to ferry him about the city. His breads and his cakes were purchased by the nobles and served at feasts and gatherings. The baker owned six slaves and a farm close to the city, which supplied his grain. He was a fine client. His erections were semisoft and easily dealt with, his gratitude rich and rewarding. At the end of a long day Red had no wish to spend time with a younger client.

She plodded through the back streets, the silver rings she had earned that day neatly threaded on a thong and hidden within the folds of her long red robe. Between the silver rings were thin pieces of wood to stop the metal from clinking as she moved. These streets in the lower town were seething now with cutpurses and thieves, most of them working for Silfanos, and although she paid—as did all the lower town whores—a monthly tribute to Silfanos, it was still sensible to hide her wealth. In a pouch at her side she carried a handful of copper rings in case some enterprising robber should accost her.

The day had been profitable, and were it not for the fact that the baker paid her in kind, she would have returned home and sat in her small garden with a jug of wine. There was, however, no food in her larder, and she had a taste for the honey cakes he made.

Her lower back ached as she walked, and she was hungry. The thought of the honey cakes drove her on.

Passing through a low alleyway, she emerged onto a small square. The sound of laughter carried to her, and she glanced across to where a group of men were sitting. One of them was Silfanos. He and three of his men were drinking with a young, powerfully built warrior in an old breastplate. It was obvious the blond man was drunk and happy. A man should always die happy, she thought. Once night had fully fallen and the streets were empty, Silfanos and his men would fall upon the drunk and rob him. The breastplate was probably worth a score of rings.