David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

“It is getting dangerous to be neutral these days. Old Eioneus was neutral. I hear he fell from his horse and died.”

“A tragic loss for his people,” Agamemnon said. “And I fear he will not be the last. I am told that another of us is to be declared an enemy of Troy. Whoever it is will be lucky to leave the city alive.”

“You are suggesting Priam killed Eioneus?”

“I had no quarrel with him. Perhaps he was preparing to renounce his alliance with Troy.”

Odysseus did not believe the lie for a moment, but he kept his own counsel. “And who is this other enemy to be named?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I wish I did. It is a most odd story.”

Just at that moment there came a great roar from the crowd as the runners were called to the starting line at the western end of the track. The Lord of the Games lifted his arm. The vast crowd fell silent. “Away!” shouted the lord. The twenty runners sped out, sprinting toward the finishing post. Several judges were waiting there to note the first five to cross the line. They would progress to the next round.

Kalliades finished second. Other races followed. Odysseus watched them, sometimes wagering with Idomeneos and Nestor. Then he left the enclosure and walked around the stadium to where the later rounds of the javelin were being contested. Bias was throwing well, but Odysseus saw the black man rubbing at his shoulder. He looks weary now, Odysseus thought. By the later rounds his shoulder will be a sea of pain.

Then, some distance away, standing close to Priam, he saw Helikaon. His heart lifted, and he waved to catch Helikaon’s eye. He was convinced he had, for the dark-haired young man glanced in his direction, though he then turned away. Odysseus watched as he eased his way back through the throng until he was out of sight.

The boy looks thin and weary, he thought. And with so many Mykene in Troy, he should not be out in public. But I will lift his spirits when we speak. Helikaon would be glad to know that supplies of tin from the Seven Hills had exceeded expectations and the profits from the last season had been enormous.

Hungry now, Odysseus made his way to a food stall, where he stood in the shade munching on a Trojan delicacy: meat and herbs wrapped in a broad leaf that had been marinated in wine. Then he walked back around the stadium, coming at last to the enclosure where Agamemnon was standing with King Peleus and his tall son, Achilles.

Odysseus looked at the fleshy king and thought of Piria and of how she had hacked away her blond locks as a child. He knew, as did many of the kings of the west, of the man’s abhorrent sexual tastes, but he knew now of one more evil committed by him.

Now look what you made me do, slut.

Appalling enough to have raped the child, but to make her believe it was somehow her fault was vile beyond belief.

“Well met, Odysseus,” Peleus said, thrusting out his hand.

“You must forgive me,” Odysseus replied, avoiding the handshake. “I have been munching on sweetmeats, and my hands are sticky with honey.” He swung to Achilles. “Good to see you, lad. The word is you will be champion of the games.”

“There is no real competition,” the young man said sourly. “Save perhaps your man, Leukon.”

“He is a canny fighter.”

More races began. Peleus and Achilles wandered away to stand with Idomeneos and the Athenian king, Menestheos.

Agamemnon leaned toward Odysseus. “You are not overly fond of Peleus?”

“I hardly know him. So tell me of this enemy of Troy.”

“I have the story in fragments only. Given time I will learn more. You recall the assassin Karpophorus?”

“By reputation only.”

“He died stabbing the ghastly Helikaon. He did not die immediately, however. It seems that Karpophorus was also responsible for the murder of Helikaon’s father.” Odysseus felt suddenly cold, and his belly tightened. “What is it?” Agamemnon asked, his dark eyes watching the Ugly King.

“Too many sweetmeats,” Odysseus answered. “Go on.”

“There is little more that I can tell. Karpophorus told Helikaon the identity of the man who ordered his father’s death. Helikaon passed the information to Priam. As you know, Priam was blood kin to the father. Cousin or suchlike. So honor demands he declare the man who hired the killer an enemy of Troy. Now, I doubt the man is a mere merchant, so it is likely he is a king. The question is, Who? Anchises was not an enemy to the Mykene. There is a dark mystery here, I think.”

Odysseus saw that Agamemnon was staring at him intently. “I don’t doubt light will shine upon it soon,” he said, moving away. Then he caught sight of Kalliades and Banokles strolling close by. Stepping out, he called the two friends to him. Banokles had a swelling under his right eye and a cut lip, but he was in a fine mood.

“Did you see me, Odysseus?” he asked. “Downed that Hittite six times.” He lifted his fist. “Hammer of Hephaistos!”

“You did well,” the king said. “Are you returning to the palace now?”

“No,” Banokles said. “I’m off to the lower town to meet a friend.”

“I’m heading for the Penelope. I’d be grateful for your company,” Odysseus said, staring at Kalliades. The warrior’s eyes narrowed. Then he nodded.

“And we would be privileged to walk with you, Odysseus King.”

“We would?” Banokles queried.

“The Law of the Road,” Kalliades told him.

“Stay close and watchful,” Odysseus said, setting off toward the upper city. The two warriors fell in behind him.

As he walked, a cold anger began in Odysseus, far more powerful than the volcanic rages for which he was renowned. It ate into him, burrowing deep, awakening thoughts and feelings he had put behind him almost fifteen years before.

Priam now knew that Odysseus had hired Karpophorus to kill Helikaon’s father.

As a result, he was to be declared an enemy of Troy. This in itself would have been a matter of great regret for the Ithakan king, but it was understandable.

But Priam had not been satisfied with the honorable course, summoning Odysseus to the palace and banishing him from Troy. Instead he had set out to humiliate and shame him. The icy anger swelled, seeping through his body. What had to follow now was obvious. During the games Priam would set out to divide the kings of the west, to bribe and coerce the weaker or greedier elements. He could not allow Odysseus to leave Troy alive to ally with Agamemnon. Priam would know that Nestor of Pylos and perhaps even Idomeneos would be swayed if Odysseus joined the ranks of the Mykene plotters.

As Odysseus walked, he watched faces in the crowd, seeking any sign of tension, anyone who looked too long or too hard at him. Glancing to his left, he saw Kalliades doing the same. To his right Banokles was walking warily, also scanning the crowd for signs of trouble.

Pushing thoughts of assassination from his mind, he returned to the larger problem. There has to be some way to resolve this, he thought. You are Odysseus, the thinker, the planner. You are known for your cunning and your stratagems. One by one he considered courses of action. What if he went to Priam and tried to set the matter right? Priam would not listen. Odysseus had caused the death of blood kin. Blood demanded blood.

What else to do? He could gather his men, slip out of Troy at dawn, then make his way back to Ithaka on the other side of the Great Green. And then what? Live the rest of his life in fear of assassins sent by Priam? Then there was Helikaon. The fact that he had gone to Priam meant that he, too, would declare Odysseus an enemy. The dread Xanthos would sail the Great Green hunting down Ithakan ships, as would the other fifty galleys under Helikaon’s control. If they blocked the trade route to the Seven Hills, Ithaka would within a year—two at the most—be poverty-stricken and ruined.