David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

Helikaon stood silently staring at the woman he loved. She was wearing an ankle-length gown of shimmering yellow and a belt of gold. Her long red hair had been bound with golden wire and was held back from her face by a golden circlet upon her brow. Her beauty struck his heart like a lance.

“Are you going in?” Gershom asked.

“No, you would not be allowed to enter. We will stay together,” Helikaon replied.

Gershom chuckled. “Believe me, my friend, I would prefer you to go in. Walking around with you, watching for assassins, is shredding my nerves. I will meet you here after Achilles has won his bout.”

Taking a deep, calming breath, Helikaon walked past the guards and entered the enclosure. Priam saw him and smiled a greeting. Seeing the king brought back the events of the previous night. Odysseus had responded to the taunts of Priam with words of war. And in that moment, Helikaon knew, the world had changed. He remembered then the vision of his wife, Halysia, of flames and battle and a fleet of ships on a sea of blood.

A sense of unreality gripped him now. No more than fifty paces distant the kings of the west were in their own enclosure, watching athletes and joking among themselves: Odysseus, Agamemnon, Idomeneos, and the Athenian king Menestheos, still sporting his laurel crown. Close by were Peleus of Thessaly, Nestor of Pylos, Pelemos the Rhodian ruler, and tall Agapenor of Arcadia. These men would leave Troy and sail back to their homelands, there to gather armies and return. There would be no friendly contests then, no competition for laurel wreaths. Armored in bronze, sharp swords in their hands, they would seek to slaughter or enslave the very people who now watched happily as their future killers raced against one another. As the footrace was won by a slender Mykene, the crowd cheered and clapped their hands. They could be cheering the man who would one day slit their throats and rape their wives.

Helikaon eased back to the rear of the enclosure, where servants stood ready to offer cool drinks to the nobles. Taking a cup, he sipped the contents. It was the same mixture of fruits and spices being served in the hippodrome. Then he saw Andromache rise from her seat and walk back toward him. His heart began to race, his breath catching in his throat, his mouth instantly dry. Andromache accepted a cup of water from a servant, then, without acknowledging Helikaon, started to walk back to her seat.

“You look beyond beautiful,” Helikaon said.

She paused, her green eyes observing him gravely. “I am happy to see your strength improving, King Aeneas.”

Andromache’s tone was cool, and despite her physical closeness, he felt as distant from her as the moon from the sun. He wanted to find some words to bring her close, to make her smile at least, but he could think of nothing. Just then Priam moved into his line of sight. He crossed to Andromache and slid his arm around her waist, broad fingers resting on the curve of her hip. Helikaon felt his stomach tighten at the familiarity and was surprised to see Andromache accept the touch without complaint.

“Are you enjoying your day, my daughter?” Priam asked, leaning over to kiss her hair.

“In truth, I am looking forward to returning to the farm tonight.”

“I thought you might stay at the palace,” he said.

“That is kind of you, but I am weary. The farm is quiet and cool, and I enjoy it there.”

Helikaon saw the disappointment in Priam. The king’s gaze swung to him. “You are looking better, Aeneas. It is good. What did you think of the words of Odysseus last night? You think I should fear his flea bite?”

“Yes, I think you should,” Helikaon told him. “Of all the enemies to choose, you have picked the most dangerous in Odysseus.”

“I did not choose him,” Priam snapped. “He slew my blood kin. Your own father. I would have thought that would have earned your hatred.”

“He is my enemy now,” Helikaon agreed. “That will have to suffice, for I could never hate him.”

“I thought the dagger had entered your chest, not sliced off your balls,” Priam hissed, his pale eyes glinting with anger.

Helikaon’s reply was icy. “I see your desire to make new enemies has not yet been sated. Have you not enough already, Uncle? Or do you seek to drive me into the camp of Agamemnon?”

“True! True!” Priam replied, forcing a smile. “We should not fall out, Aeneas. My words were hasty and ill judged.” With a final lingering caress of Andromache’s waist he moved back to his seat to watch the games.

Andromache lifted her cup of water and sipped it. Then she glanced at Helikaon. “You are truly an enemy now to Odysseus?” she asked.

“Not from choice,” he said, “for I love him deeply.”

“And he will be a great enemy,” she said, her voice low.

“Indeed he will. Agamemnon is blood-hungry and greedy. Odysseus is a thinker and a planner. The war he brings will be many times more threatening than anything Agamemnon could initiate.”

“I spoke to Hekabe before she died. She said he was a threat. I did not believe it. When will you be returning to Dardanos?”

“Tomorrow, after the games are concluded. Unless Agamemnon has other plans. Mykene spies have been circling my palace. Assassins will probably follow.”

She paled then, and fear showed in her eyes. “Why do you tell me this?”

He leaned toward her. “To see if there is any trace of concern in your eyes. We declared our love for one another, Andromache. The Fates decreed we could not be together, but that love has not died—at least not in me. Yet you have become cold, and I know no reason why that should be.”

“It is not seemly to talk of love on my wedding day,” she said, and he thought he detected sorrow in her voice. “I know what is in my heart. I know what my soul cries out for. But I also know I cannot have what I desire, and to think of it and to talk of it does not help ease the pain. Go home to your wife, Helikaon, and I will return to my husband .” She turned away, paused, then swung back to face him. “I do not worry about these assassins, Helikaon,” she said. “I know you. You can be kind, and you care for those close to you. But you are also a killer, cold and deadly. When they come, you will slay them without mercy.” And then she turned away.

As the day wore on, the heat began to mount, the sun blazing down from a clear sky, the breeze fading away. The final of the archery tourney was won by the young Trojan soldier Cheon, who narrowly put Meriones into second place.

As the day neared its end, the ropes holding back the crowds were released, and thousands of spectators moved across the stadium, eager to see the last event and watch the mighty Achilles claim the champion’s crown.

Helikaon watched the Thessalian prince stride across the open ground. He was wearing a short kilt of fine pale leather, his upper body bare to the sunlight, his raven hair drawn back from his face. The crowd followed him, but not pressing in too closely. He looked, Helikaon thought, like a lion surrounded by sheep. The Dardanian glanced around, seeking out the challenger, but there was no sign of him. Achilles halted before the two thrones and stood quietly.

The kings of the west, led by Agamemnon, left their enclosure and strode across the open ground, the crowd parting for them. Odysseus walked forward to stand before Priam.

“I have just learned,” he said loudly, “that my fighter, Leukon, has suffered an injury. He tripped and fell on the way here, breaking two of his fingers. He cannot fight today.” A roar of disappointment went up from the crowd. Helikaon felt his stomach tighten. He did not believe for a moment that the story was true, and he sensed danger looming.