David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

The birth had been difficult, as Hekabe had predicted. Andromache’s narrow hips had seen to that. The labor had taken most of a night and the following morning, the pain harsh and rending. Yet it was not the moment when they laid the babe in her arms that always brought a lump to her throat when she recalled it. It was the time, some days later, on a bright cool morning, when he had looked up at her. His eyes were a brilliant sapphire blue.

Helikaon’s eyes.

Axa’s voice cut through her memories. “Kassandra was here to see you,” she said.

“Kassandra? Where is she?”

“You needed your sleep. I didn’t want to disturb you. So I sent her away,” Axa said, a little defiantly.

“ You sent her away?” Andromache almost smiled. The princess Kassandra, daughter of the king, sent away by a servant. Then a small fear struck her. “If King Priam hears of such an affront, he is likely to order you beaten. Send a servant to ask her to come back. No, better still, go and ask her yourself.”

Axa, looking contrite, gathered up her sewing bag and left the terrace. As she went, Andromache heard her mutter, “She won’t come.”

Andromache thought she was probably right. Kassandra had been difficult as a child. Her feyness and gift of prophecy had always made people shy away from her. Even those who loved her, like Andromache and Helikaon, feared her uncanny ability to predict the future. Now the girl was fourteen, and since the death of her mother she had turned in upon herself, becoming quieter and more reserved. As a child she had always spoken up boldly; now she guarded her words with a care that was almost painful to watch. She stayed in the shadows of the women’s quarters and the temple of Athene, and Andromache saw less and less of her.

It was Kassandra who had sparked Andromache’s most recent argument with Priam. The king had announced that the girl was to be dedicated to the isle of Thera, as her mother Hekabe and Andromache herself had been. Kassandra had accepted the decision without complaint, but Andromache had been furious when she heard.

She had confronted Priam in the megaron, the scene of so many of their battles. He had watched her as she walked the length of the great hall to stand before him, his eyes roving over her body. She had heard the king was ailing, but he looked strong, though he wore a wine-stained robe and his eyes were unnaturally bright.

“Andromache,” he said, “you are a stranger to my palace these days. But I can guess why you are here. You have not come to pay respects to your king. Interfering, I suppose, as always.”

“I heard Kassandra is to be dedicated to the Blessed Isle,” she said quietly. “I thought you might seek to consult me, as I spent two years there.”

He laughed. “And what would you have said, Daughter, had I consulted you?”

“I would have said, Father, that the journey to Thera is too dangerous. I had a friend who suffered the horror of rape and the threat of death from pirates. And there are now enemy fleets in those waters.”

“A friend?” He sneered. “You talk of Kalliope the runaway, whose treachery to her calling created the need for me to send my daughter to replace her. Still, what else could one expect from the daughter of Peleus—a family steeped in treachery and vileness.”

Andromache’s response was instant and icy. “Had it not been for the treachery of Kalliope, I would now be moldering in a tomb, and my son would never have opened his eyes on the world.”

At the mention of Astyanax his expression softened. “It was always intended,” he said, “that Kassandra would serve the Sleeping God. Her mother Hekabe wished it, and Kassandra herself foretold it.”

“You never believe Kassandra’s predictions,” she said angrily.

“No, but you do.”

Andromache knew that was unanswerable. She had spoken to Priam in the past about the accuracy of Kassandra’s prophecies. She could not now argue that the girl was wrong.

“She will be escorted to Thera by Helikaon’s fleet,” Priam said, “early next spring. Nothing you can say will alter my decision.”

A slight breeze was blowing through the balcony window, and Andromache rose from her couch, stretching out her arms. She heard a sound on the terrace behind her and turned, expecting to see Kassandra, but saw instead the dark-haired Prince Dios step out from the shade of the palace.

“Dios!” She almost ran to greet him, and he held both of her hands in his. “You are back quickly. What news from Thebe?”

“Your father is well, Andromache. And your brothers. They are preparing for war, but they are all safe as yet.”

“Is there news of Hektor?” she asked. “I inquire every day, but no one seems to know.”

“The situation in Thraki is confused by the civil war,” he said. “And it is hard to estimate the truth of any information we receive. Hektor and the Trojan Horse were fighting in the mountains the last we heard.”

“How can the Thrakians be fighting among themselves when the threat from Mykene is so great?” she said angrily. “It is so stupid.”

“How much do you know of Thraki’s recent history?”

“Very little,” she admitted. “King Eioneus was a good ruler, and there were no wars. Now the land is beset by rebellion.”

Dios sat down on the couch and poured himself a goblet of water. “Shall I tell you of Thraki, or shall we talk of happier matters?”

“Matters more seemly for the ears of women?”

Dios laughed. “You are not like most women, Andromache, and I will not be drawn into such a pit of scorpions.”

“Then tell me of Thraki.”

“The problem is both tribal and historical,” he replied. “There are several tribes occupying Thrakian lands, but the two most prominent are the Kikones and the Idonoi. Before you were born, Eioneus—a Kikones king—conquered the eastern tribes of the Idonoi, absorbing their lands into a greater Thrakian federation. To ensure his success he slaughtered thousands. Most of the Idonoi leaders were executed, and the royal line was wiped out. Eioneus tempered this savagery with generosity to the captured cities, allowing them some self-rule. And he also established profitable trade routes that brought wealth to the Idonoi, thus securing an uneasy peace for a generation. However, Eioneus’ death in Troy during your wedding games unleashed old tribal rivalries. The Idonoi are now backed by Agamemnon and, spurred by him, have risen against Rhesos, seeking to win back their ancestral lands and be free of Kikones domination.”

“To be replaced,” Andromache said, “by Mykene domination.”

“Indeed, but old hatreds sit deep.”

“Hektor speaks highly of Rhesos,” Andromache said. “Surely the two of them can conquer?”

Dios considered the question. “Rhesos is a fine young man and would be a good king if his people would let him. But even without outside agitators and Mykene reinforcements the civil war would have been hard to win. And with enemy troops pouring in from Thessaly and Makedonia, his situation is dire. Already loyal troops are outnumbered five to one. Hektor wants Rhesos to hold the plain of Thraki and the land east of the river Nestos as a buffer between the Mykene and the Hellespont. But it is looking increasingly impossible.”

“Hektor is known for achieving the impossible,” she pointed out.

“Indeed he is. The sad truth, though, is that Hektor could win a score of battles and still not win the war there, whereas he only has to lose one and Thraki falls.” He smiled at her, and once again she saw the resemblance to Helikaon. Their fathers were cousins, and the blood of Ilos ran strongly in both. As she thought of Helikaon, her mind went back to the sleeping child, and as if he read her thoughts, Dios said, “ Now let us talk of happier matters. How is the boy?”