Fall of Kings (12 page)

The girl ran to the starboard rail and called out.

The dolphin gave a high-pitched cry, as if answering her, then leaped high
into the air, spinning as it rose. Drops of water sprayed from its body, the
bright sunlight turning them to diamonds.

It swam alongside the ship for a while, occasionally leaping and diving, but
when the
Xanthos
swung toward a protected bay, it gave a last cry and
then disappeared toward the west.

Gershom saw that the dark-haired girl once more was looking at him. She
looked so sad, and Gershom was suddenly sorry for her. He lifted his hand and
waved at her.

She answered him with a smile, then turned away.

The moon was high and the night cold as Helikaon, wrapped in a heavy coat of
dark wool, climbed to the top of the cliffs overlooking the southern sea. Most
of the crewmen were sleeping on the beach below, huddled together for warmth.
Others, much to the annoyance of the cooks, were crouched close around the early
breakfast fires burning on the sand.

It would get much colder yet, Helikaon knew. There would be ice and snow in
the Seven Hills and sleet storms along the way. Squatting down away from the
wind, he stared out to sea, picturing the route along the coast and then through
the Great Circle to Thera. With luck they would encounter no war fleets this
late in the year, and few pirate captains would have the nerve to attack the
Xanthos.

No, the dangers would come farther west and on the journey home. He sighed
and corrected himself. Dangers from the sea, anyway. His thoughts darkened as he
recalled the merchant Plouteus. A good, honest man and a shrewd trader. Helikaon
never would have considered him a threat, and Gershom was right: The fat
merchant
would
have gotten close enough to make a mortal strike. How many
others had been approached, hired, threatened, or suborned? Were there men on
this ship waiting for the opportunity to kill him?

He thought again of the merchant’s son Perdiccas. He had been babbling and
begging by the time Helikaon had arrived in the cells. One of his eyes had been
burned out, and he was bleeding from a score of shallow wounds. The torturers
were weary and disgusted with the lack of information. At first they had thought
the lad was showing great bravery, but then they had discovered he actually knew
nothing and they had been wasting their time and their skills.

Helikaon knelt beside the weeping Perdiccas. “Do you remember me?” he asked
softly.

“I do… I am so sorry, lord. So sorry.”

“Why was the attack so hurried? You could have come to my home or waited for
nightfall. Why in bright daylight?”

“Father was told you were sailing south either that day or the next. There
was no time for planning.” He burst into tears again. “Please forgive me,
Helikaon.”

“I forgive you. You stood by your father. What else could you do?”

“Will the torture end now?

“I think that it will.”

“Thank the gods.”

Helikaon had left him then, climbing away from the stench of the dungeons and
out into bright sunlight. Perdiccas would not be thanking the gods when they
dragged him out and threw him, bound and gagged, onto the funeral pyre of the
man he had murdered.

He thought over what the doomed young man had told him. The Mykene had known
he was sailing south. Did that mean there was a traitor on board the
Xanthos
or within Priam’s inner circle? Or could it simply be a sailor bragging to a
whore about his coming travels and the whore passing on the information to a
Mykene spy?

If it was the latter, there was no harm done. No one on the crew knew their
destination, only that they were heading south. If, however, there was a traitor
within the palace, the enemy would know he was heading for Thera.

The wind dropped. The eastern sky was growing paler now, the dawn
approaching. In that moment Helikaon heard the sound of furtive movement.
Stepping swiftly to his left, he drew his sword and spun.

A few paces away a shaggy goat rose on its hind legs and leaped for the
shelter of the rocks. Helikaon smiled, sheathed his sword, and made his way back
along the cliff top. He paused to gaze down on the
Xanthos,
his thoughts
a mixture of joy and regret. She was the ship of his dreams, and he still
remembered everything about the first day of her voyage, from the clumsy crewmen
who dropped an amphora of wine to the sudden wind that blew Khalkeus’ hat over
the side. What a day that had been! The crewmen were terrified of sailing the
Death Ship. Even Zidantas, who always claimed to fear nothing, was ashen when
the storm struck.

Zidantas!

Murdered and beheaded by the Mykene. As Dios had been murdered, and
Pausanius, and Argurios and Laodike. And little Dio and his mother, Halysia.

The memories were painful, but there was no anger in him as he stood in the
pale light of the predawn. It was as if the ghosts of the past were floating
around him, offering silent comfort and continued friendship. “You are growing
maudlin,” he warned himself aloud. “The dead are gone, and you are alone here.”

Even so he felt calmer than he had for a long, long time.

On the beach men were stirring, heaping wood on the fires, seeking to banish
the cold of the night. Helikaon saw Andromache rise from her blankets. His
heartbeat quickened as he remembered the kiss they had shared on the night of
battle in the
megaron.
Angrily he tore his gaze from her. Do not think of
that night, he warned himself.

Movement out to sea caught his eye. The crews of two small fishing boats were
casting weighted nets in the waters beyond the bay. Helikaon watched them for a
while. The boats were old, probably built in the days when the grandfathers of
the fishermen were young men, full of hopes and dreams.

Wars come and go, he thought, but there will always be fishermen.

Strolling down the cliff path, he leaped to the sand and made his way to a
cookfire. A sailor ladled broth into a wooden bowl and passed it to him.
Helikaon thanked him, took a hunk of bread, and walked farther along the beach.

Sitting on a rock, he slowly ate his breakfast. Kassandra came strolling
toward him, her cloak trailing in the sand. “I am looking for your friend,” she
said. “Where is he?”

After a moment Helikaon realized she meant the goat. “Perhaps he is hiding.”

“Why would he hide?” she asked, cocking her head to one side.

“I think you frighten him,” he joked.

“Yes, I do,” she answered seriously. “I can’t help that. Can I finish your
bread?”

“Of course you can. But there is more bread and good broth at the cookfire.”

“Yours will taste better,” she told him. “Other people’s food always does.”

Removing her cloak, she laid it on the sand like a blanket and sat down. As
Helikaon watched her eat, he was touched by sadness. For all her father’s wealth
and her own intelligence and beauty, Kassandra was forever lonely, locked in a
world of imagined ghosts and demons. Will they truly care for her on Thera? he
wondered. Will she find happiness there?

The dark-haired princess finished the bread in silence, shook the sand from
her cloak, and swirled it around her shoulders. Stepping in, she kissed Helikaon
on the cheek. “Thank you for the bread,” she said, then spun and ran down the
beach toward the ship.

For three days the
Xanthos
sailed on, untroubled by bad weather or
enemy ships. On the fourth day three Kretan galleys gave chase, but with the
wind at her back the
Xanthos
raced clear of them. It was some days later
before the first heavy rain of the voyage arrived. The sea began to surge, the
wind picked up, and storm clouds gathered overhead. Then, with a clap of
thunder, the heavens opened.

Andromache and Kassandra took refuge in the tent prepared for them on the
forward deck, but a fierce gust of wind tore through the canvas. With the ship
tossing and sliding, Andromache hooked her arm through a safety rope and drew
Kassandra to her.

She heard Helikaon shouting out orders to the oarsmen, his voice firm.
Crewmen ran to furl the black horse sail, straining at the ropes. Twisting
around, Andromache glanced back, seeking Helikaon. He was standing on the rear
deck, gripping the rail, his long dark hair streaming out in the storm wind like
a banner.

Lightning flashed overhead, and the rain lashed down. Kassandra cried out,
though not in fear. Andromache saw that her eyes were shining with excitement. A
huge wave burst over the prow, a wall of water striking the two women. Kassandra
was torn free of Andromache’s grip. Landing on her back, she struggled to rise.
The prow of the
Xanthos
was lifted by another wave. Kassandra fell back
heavily, her body spinning down the rain-swept deck.

From his position on the seat by the mast Gershom saw the girl fall. There
was little danger of her being swept overboard, but spinning as she was, he
feared she would crack her skull against a rowing bench. A child as frail as
Kassandra easily could break her neck in such an accident.

With the ship being tossed like driftwood, Gershom knew there was no way to
reach her on foot. Releasing his hold on the safety rope, he flung himself to
the deck and dived toward the girl. Kassandra cannoned into him. Gershom threw
his arm around her waist, drawing her to him. The
Xanthos
pitched again,
hurling them both against the mast. Gershom managed to twist his body to take
the impact on his shoulder. Grunting with pain, he threw out an arm. His hand
struck something hard, and his fingers closed around it. It was the base of the
circular seat constructed around the mast. Rolling to his knees, he lifted
Kassandra to the seat. “Take hold of a rope,” he ordered her. Kassandra did so,
and Gershom hauled himself to the seat alongside her.

The weather worsened, the rain becoming torrential. Gershom could see the
rowers straining at their oars and heard Helikaon shouting more orders to them.
Glancing to port, Gershom saw the outline of a rocky outcrop. Slowly, battling
against the wind, the
Xanthos
moved behind the shelter of the headland.

Protected from the worst of the wind by high cliffs, the
Xanthos
steadied. Helikaon ordered the oars shipped and the anchors lowered. The rowers
stood up from their benches, stretching their muscles and walking the deck.

After a while the rain eased, and patches of blue could be seen in the sky.
Gershom glanced down at the dark-haired girl snuggled against him. “You are safe
now,” he told her, hoping she would move away.

“I was always safe,” she replied, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Foolish girl! Your neck could have been snapped like a twig.”

She laughed then. “I am not intended to die on this boat.”

“That’s right. Helikaon tells me you are going to live forever.”

She nodded and smiled. “So will you.”

“That is a thought to cherish. I have never liked the idea of dying.”

“Oh, you will die,” she said. “Everyone dies.”

Gershom felt his irritation rise and tried to quell it. The girl was, after
all, moon-touched. Yet the question had to be asked. “How can I both live
forever and die?” he asked.

“Our
names
will live forever.” She frowned and cocked her head to one
side. “Yes, yes,” she said. “‘Forever’ is inaccurate. There will come a day when
there is no one left to remember. But that is so, so far away, it might as well
be forever.”

Gershom asked, “If I am dead, why would I care that my name is known by
strangers?”

“I did not say you would care,” she pointed out. “Do you know where we are?”

“Inside the Great Circle. Helikaon says we will soon reach Thera.”

Kassandra pointed to the headland. “That is the isle of Delos, the center of
the circle. It is a holy site. Many believe Apollo and Artemis were born there.”

“But not you?”

She shook her head. “The sun and the moon did not grow like flowers upon the
sea. But Delos is a holy site. There is strong power there. I can feel it.”

“What kind of power?”

“The kind that speaks to the heart,” she told him. “You have experienced it,
Gershom. I know that you have.” Kassandra smiled. “Tonight I shall build a
prayer fire, and you will sit with me under starlight. Then you will begin to
know.”

Gershom pushed himself to his feet. “You can build your fire where you like,
Princess, but I will not be sitting there. I have no wish to see what you see. I
just want to live, to draw in breath, and to drink sweet wine. I want to take a
wife and raise sons and daughters. I do not care about my name living forever.”

With that he walked away from her, striding toward the rear deck.

It was late in the afternoon before the storm completely cleared. Helikaon
glanced at the red-streaked sky. The winter sun was falling rapidly, and soon it
would be dark. “Rowers to your positions,” he called out. The men hurried to
their benches, unlashed the oars, and ran them out. Oniacus sent teams fore and
aft to raise the anchors. Then he climbed to the rear deck and took up his
position at the steering oar.

“South,” Helikaon told him.

“At the call of three,” Oniacus shouted to the rowers. “One—ready! Two—brace!
Three—and PULL!” Eighty oars sliced into the water, and the
Xanthos
surged away from the small island and out toward open water. “And… pull!
And… pull! And… pull!”

Oniacus continued to sound the rhythm for a while. Then, with the oarsmen
rowing in perfect unison, he let his voice fade away.

As they cleared the headland, Helikaon saw several fishing boats in the
distance but no sign of enemy warships. The wind was favorable, and six sailors
were standing alongside the mast, ready to raise the yard and unfurl the sail.
The men looked to Helikaon, but he shook his head. “Not yet. Stand easy,” he
called out. Walking to the port side, he stared down at the two banks of oars.
They were rising and falling in perfect rhythm. Then he moved to starboard and
studied the movement.