David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

Gray One shuffled out from a corner of the megaron, wringing her old hands, her face creased with worry. “I could not find him, lady. I’m sorry. He runs so fast, I can’t keep up with him.”

“Have you searched the stable? He hides in the straw, I understand.”

“Yes, lady. He was not there.”

Behind the door Dexios sat frozen for a few heartbeats, scarcely able to believe his ears. Sun Woman was asking for him? She wanted him ? He jumped to his feet, ready to run to her, but in his excitement and confusion he pushed against the oak door instead of pulling, and it closed silently, the locking bar snicking into place. It was shut fast.

He beat his hands against the oak. “I’m here. Here I am!” he cried. But they could not hear him.

Panicking now, he pummeled the door with his small fists. “Here I am! Open the door! Please open the door!”

A soldier, sword in hand, suddenly dragged the door open. Dexios, his face a mask of tears, stood framed in sunlight as everyone in the megaron stared at him.

Falling to his knees in front of Halysia, queen of Dardania, he said, “Here I am, Mama. Don’t be angry.”

The black bullock, bright blood gouting from its throat, fell to the courtyard floor. Its windpipe severed, it made no sound apart from a dying wheeze. Its legs thrashed weakly, then it was still. The priest of Apollo, a young man naked save for a loincloth, handed the ritual knife to his assistant and started to recite the words of worship to the Lord of the Silver Bow.

Halysia closed her mind to the sight and stench of blood and followed the familiar words for mere moments before her thoughts turned once more to her duties.

She noticed the boy was still beside her, and a spasm of irritation ran through her. Why was he here? Why had Lila not taken him back to his room? He was looking up at her from time to time, fair hair flopping back from his face. She always avoided looking at his face, his dark eyes.

She wished Helikaon were there. She had been queen in Dardania for fifteen years, first as a frightened child, then a young mother, then a widow, her heart stricken nearly to death by the murder of her son. Each day she calmly discussed with her counselors the peril that faced them from the north and from the sea. They listened to her plans and suggestions and carried out her orders. But even old Pausanius had no idea of the freezing fear that gripped her heart each time she imagined a second Mykene raid. She saw once again the blood-covered warriors entering her bedchamber, killing her lover Garus, dragging her screaming to the cliff top, her son Dio beside her, and the horror that followed. She remembered the dark-eyed brute, a Hittite she was told, who had raped her. She remembered the agonized cries of her child as he died.

She could not look at the small boy beside her, could not hold his hand, could not embrace him. She wished he had never been born. She wished he would go away. When he was older, she would send him to Troy on some pretext, to be brought up with the royal children there.

She glanced down and saw him looking up at her, an expression on his face she could not interpret. Was he frightened of her? Did he even know who she was? She realized she understood this boy’s thoughts less well than she understood those of the horses she loved. The dark eyes bored into her, full of some unexpressed need, and she turned angrily from their gaze. She signaled to Lila, and the old nursemaid hurried to take the child away.

The ritual ran slowly to its conclusion, and as the priests set about dismembering the bullock, Halysia walked back into the palace, flanked by her senior officers: old Pausanius; his grandnephew, the red-haired Menon; the annoying Trojan Idaios; and his two young aides.

She had only one more duty today: the daily briefing on the course of the war. In an anteroom off the megaron she sank to a couch while the five officers stood around her. The doors were closed against the ears of servants.

“Well, Pausanius, what have you to report today?”

The old general cleared his throat. He was past eighty now and had served the rulers of Dardania for more than sixty years. These days there was always a look of concern on his weather-beaten face.

“No news from Thraki, lady. No messengers have arrived for five days.”

She nodded. A Dardanian infantry force had traveled to Thraki with the Trojan Horse. No news was to be expected this soon, yet every day Halysia feared she would hear they had been wiped out and Mykene and Thrakian rebels were galloping for the straits. But her voice was calm when she asked, “And the horse messengers? My plans have been completed?”

Pausanius hesitated for a moment and cleared his throat again. “Yes, lady. It will be as you order. Within a few days our plans will be complete.”

In Helikaon’s absence, Halysia had taken it upon herself to set up a team of king’s riders throughout Dardania, modeled on those of the Hittites, with armed staging posts a day’s ride apart. Her plan was to have riders carrying messages constantly to and from Troy, sharing intelligence with Priam on the progress of the war. Teams of horsemen would also carry messages to Dardanos’ eastern allies in Phrygia and Zeleia.

Pausanius had been doubtful at first, unhappy at taking skilled horsemen from the army and from the defense of the city.

“Communication is everything,” she had told him. “If the Mykene come, we must have as much warning as possible. The king’s riders have orders to fall back to the city in advance of any invasion. They will give us the early warning we need.”

The old man had followed her orders, and horsemen had been chosen from among the Dardanian forces. They were mostly very young, hardly more than boys, but they had been brought up among horses, as she had been herself, so that riding came more naturally to them than walking. She had spoken to each one individually, and their pride at their special task shone from them.

“I have one concern, lady,” said Idaios.

Halysia’s heart sank, though she maintained a look of cool interest. “And what is that, Idaios?”

The officer stood with his fellow Trojans to one side of the anteroom. The three men had been sent by Priam, in Helikaon’s absence, to advise and support the defense of Dardanos. Their only achievement so far, as Halysia saw it, was to hinder and question every decision she made. The speaker, Idaios—a short, stocky man who wore a drooping blond mustache to hide his broken front teeth—was believed to be an illegitimate son of Priam.

“Forgive me, lady,” he said, “but you know my opinion on these messengers. King Priam”—he paused to give everyone time to consider his important connections—“agrees with me that information is priceless and should be closely guarded, not spread around the countryside in the mouths of young men we have no reason to trust.”

Halysia said tiredly, “Yes, we know your opinion, Idaios. We have been through this before. These young men have been chosen not only because they are good riders but because they are intelligent and sharp-witted. They are all Dardanians and loyal to their king. They cannot carry writing because most of the people they carry messages to cannot read script. We trust them to deliver messages accurately and only to the people they are intended for.”

Pausanius put in irritably, “One of my grandsons was chosen as a king’s rider. Are you suggesting he is a traitor?”

Idaios bowed to the old general. “No one questions the loyalty of young Pammon, General. I am merely pointing out that the possibility for treachery exists where information is too freely bandied about.”

Halysia held up her hands. “This subject is closed for discussion. Let us talk of the five settlements.”