Fall of Kings (19 page)

When the two visitors finally arrived, they stepped out of bright sunlight
into the temple and stood blinking as their eyes adjusted to the gloomy
interior. Andromache, her hair shining red in the light from the doorway, was
dressed in green and carried only an ivory box. Kassandra’s dark hair also was
unbound. Her face was pale and gaunt and her eyes feverish as she squinted in
the near darkness. On the floor she dropped an old canvas sack.

Kolea stepped forward. “My lady, these are—”

“I know who they are,” Iphigenia said forbiddingly. “You may go now.” The
girl bobbed her head and fled back to the sunlight.

Pushing herself to her feet, Iphigenia stepped toward Andromache. “I am glad
your sense of duty has not deserted you,” she said. Then she paused, for
Andromache was staring at her intently, her expression one of sadness. For a
moment this confused the old priestess, and then realization dawned.

“Do I look so shocking?” she asked coldly.

“I am sorry to find you unwell,” Andromache told her. The sincerity in her
words touched Iphigenia.

“I have been ill, but let us not dwell on the matter. You arrival is a
surprise. We expected you in the spring.”

“A ritual to appease the Minotaur should not be so long delayed,” responded
Andromache, and Iphigenia saw her expression change. Gone was the concern for
her health, replaced by a look of defiance Iphigenia remembered well.

“You brought Kalliope’s remains?”

“I have.” Andromache put the ivory box on the ground and was about to open
it, when Kassandra stepped forward and laid her sack down at Iphigenia’s feet.

“
These
are Kalliope’s bones.” Kassandra bent down to the sack and drew
forth a dull gray cloth. Unwrapping it, she revealed a shining white thigh bone
and a skull.

Iphigenia looked from one woman to the other.

Andromache was ashen. “How could you do this?” she asked Kassandra.

“Because Kalliope asked me to,” the girl replied. “She wanted to come home to
the Beautiful Isle, where she was happy. She wants to be laid in the earth of
the tamarisk grove, close to the shrine to Artemis.”

“You don’t realize what you have done,” Andromache stormed, stepping forward,
fists clenched. For a moment Iphigenia thought she would strike the girl.
Instead she reached out and took the bones from Kassandra’s hands, clutching
them to her.

She glared defiantly at Iphigenia. “You will not have her. Not her bones, not
her spirit.”

Iphigenia ignored her and called to Kassandra. “Come here, child. Let me look
at you.” Kassandra stepped forward, and Iphigenia took her hands.

She spoke softly to the girl. “The tamarisk grove, you say?”

“Yes.”

“And you knew I had no intention of chaining her spirit?”

“I knew. This was not about bones but about luring Andromache to Thera.”

“Yes, it was. And I have both succeeded and failed,” Iphigenia said, reaching
up and stroking a dark lock of hair back from Kassandra’s brow.

“So much has been spoken about you, child, and I see now that most of it was
nonsense. You may be moon-touched, but Artemis has gifted you with the sight. So
tell Andromache why I wanted her here.”

Kassandra turned to her sister. “She wanted to save you from Agamemnon, not
deliver you to him. But she thought you would arrive here in the spring when the
sailing season starts again, just before the siege begins. Then there would be
no way for you to return, and you would be forced to remain here.”

“For what purpose?” Andromache demanded. “Do you care so much for me, lady?”
she asked sarcastically.

Iphigenia released Kassandra’s hands. “The Blessed Isle remains free only
because its leaders have always been strong, fearless, and unafraid of the world
of men. I am dying, Andromache. You can see that. Thera will need a new leader
soon. I had hoped it would be you.”

Andromache fell silent and stood staring into Iphigenia’s face. Finally she
spoke gently. “But I am married now, and I have a son.”

“And neither of them will survive the onslaught on Troy,” Iphigenia replied
gravely. “You will die, too, or face slavery if you remain there.”

Anger rose again in Andromache’s eyes.

“That may be the
Mykene
view,” she replied, “but it is not mine.
Firstly, there is Hektor and his Trojan Horse. Then there are our allies of
courage, like Helikaon and my father, Ektion. But even aside from the men of
war, there must be some among the enemy who will draw back even now from the
folly of pride and envy that is Agamemnon.”

Iphigenia’s shoulders sagged, and she returned to her chair with relief.

“Pride?” she asked quietly. “You think it is pride that drives Agamemnon? It
is not, and it is why this war cannot be brought to a peaceful conclusion.”

Kassandra sat down at Iphigenia’s feet, resting her dark head on the old
woman’s thigh.

“Why, then?” Andromache asked. “And do not tell me about poor Helen and the
great love Menelaus has apparently developed for her.”

Iphigenia gave a cold smile. “No, Helen has no real part to play here, though
if Priam
had
returned her, then Agamemnon’s armies would not have been so
mighty. But that is of no import now.” She looked into Andromache’s green eyes.
“Do you know what my father had painted upon his shield?”

Andromache frowned. “It was a snake, I am told.”

“A snake eating its own tail,” Iphigenia added. “Atreus had a dry sense of
humor. His generals were constantly urging him to attack and conquer other
lands. My father fought many battles, but only against those who were
threatening us. An army is like a great snake. It must be fed and motivated. The
more lands a king controls, the greater his army needs to be. The greater the
army, the greater the amount of gold needed to maintain it. You see? As the
conqueror strides into each captured city, his treasury grows,
but
so
must his army in order to hold the conquered land. Atreus understood this, hence
the snake. For when an army is not fed, or paid, or motivated, it will turn upon
itself. Therefore, the conqueror is forced to take his wars farther and farther
from his homeland.”

Iphigenia lifted a hand and called out. Instantly a priestess emerged from
behind a column and ran forward. “Water,” Iphigenia demanded. The priestess ran
the length of the hall, returning swiftly with a pitcher and a silver cup.
Iphigenia took the cup from her.

Iphigenia drank deeply, then returned her attention to Andromache. “Agamemnon
no longer has a choice. He must build an empire or fall to a usurper from within
his own army.”

“But there are gold mines in Mykene land,” Andromache argued. “Everyone knows
Agamemnon is rich even without conquest.”

“Yes, three mines,” Iphigenia said. “Only one of them now produces enough
color to maintain even the miners. The largest, and once the richest, collapsed
upon itself two seasons ago.”

Andromache was shocked. “You are saying Agamemnon has
no
gold?”

“He has
plundered
gold, but not enough. He has
borrowed
gold,
but not enough. He has
promised
gold, and far too much. His only hope is
for Troy to be defeated and the riches of the city to fall into his hands. And
it will, Andromache. The armies he brings will be as many as the stars in the
sky. With them will be Achilles—like Hektor, unbeaten in battle. And wily
Odysseus, fox-cunning and deadly in war. Old Sharptooth will be there. Greedy he
may be, but Idomeneos is a battle king to be feared. Troy cannot withstand them
all.”

“All that you say may be true,” Andromache said. “But you know I would
not—could not—desert my son.”

“Of
course
I know,” Iphigenia told her sadly. “In the spring you would
have had no choice, and by summer’s end nothing to return to. But now I cannot
save you. I am tired now, Andromache. But you are young and strong. So take
Kalliope’s bones to the tamarisk grove and pour wine in remembrance of her. I
liked her, you know. She suffered much before she came here.”

Iphigenia held out her arm to Kassandra. “Support me, child, and help me to
my bedchamber. I fear the strength is almost gone from these old bones.”

Kassandra put her arm around her. “One day we will have no bones,” the girl
said happily, “and our dust will swirl among the stars.”

Helikaon slept fitfully that night, concern for Andromache disturbing his
rest and coloring his dreams. He found himself in darkness, as if at the bottom
of a deep well, and he could see Andromache high above him, framed by light, her
hair wild around her head, her hands reaching out to him. Then she was in his
arms, and he could feel the curves of her body and smell salt in her hair, but
she was as cold as stone, and he realized she was soaking wet, her face pale and
lifeless. He cried out, but his voice was thin, like a distant gull, and he
could not help her.

He awoke with a groan and threw back his blankets. The fire had burned low,
and it was cold on the beach. All around him were sleeping men who were huddled
close together for extra warmth. Helikaon glanced up at the great horse on the
cliff above. It was a clear night, the stars bright around a crescent moon, and
the face of the horse shone balefully in the moonlight.

He shivered and stood, rubbing warmth into his bare arms. He would not sleep
again. He would watch for Andromache and be ready to climb the cliff path to
find her. He had told himself he would wait until the first light of dawn, but
he was impatient to see her again and anxious for her safety.

He looked around. To his left, down by the shoreline, he saw a powerful
figure standing staring out to sea. Gershom had seemed withdrawn these last
days, spending much time on his own.

Anxious for conversation to divert his thoughts from Andromache, Helikaon
picked his way carefully around the sleeping men and walked across the black
sand of the beach. Gershom heard his approach and turned to meet him.

“You were wrong about her, Golden One,” he said. “She has the sight.”

Helikaon raised his eyebrows and smiled. “She read your palm?”

“No. She opened my mind.” Gershom shook his head and gave a harsh laugh.
“Nothing I say could convince you.”

“You are probably right. But you are troubled, and we are friends. So speak
anyway.”

“In a cave on Minoa I learned who I am.”

“What was to learn? You are a runaway Gyppto prince.”

“No, Helikaon, I am a changeling. The child my mother bore was stillborn. A
servant carried the babe’s body down to the riverbank. There she was met by two
desert people… slaves. They gave her a baby to replace the dead boy. They gave
her… me.”

“Kassandra told you this?”

“No, she showed me. She made a fire and burned opiates upon it. When I
breathed the smoke, it filled my mind with visions.”

“How can you know they were true?”

“Believe me, Golden One, I
know.
I saw so much.” He sighed heavily.
“Destruction and despair. I saw Troy, and I saw you…”

“Do not speak of Troy, my friend,” Helikaon said quickly. “I know in my heart
what will befall the city. I need no prophecies, whether true or false.”

“Then I will offer none. But I understand now why you have sent so many of
your people across the sea to the Seven Hills. A new land and a new nation, far
from the wars and the treacheries of the old empires.”

“It is just a settlement, Gershom, and the people there are from many nations
and races. They bicker constantly. Only luck and the blessings of the gods have
stopped them from ripping each other to pieces. The settlement will probably not
survive more than a few seasons.”

“No, Helikaon, you are wrong. The hardships they face will bind the people
together. They will endure. I promise. You will see.” Gershom smiled. “Well,” he
went on, “
you
may not see—I do not know that—but your sons will, and
their descendants.”

Helikaon looked at his friend. “You are beginning to make me uncomfortable.
Have you become a seer now?”

“Yes, I have, and I know I must travel to the desert and then return to
Egypte.”

“The pharaoh will kill you if you go back!” Helikaon said. Concern for his
friend welled up to vanquish his own anxieties. “I think Kassandra has poisoned
your mind,” he argued.

“No, do not think that. She is a sweet, sad, broken child. But her visions
are true. I believe what I saw was also true. We will know before the dawn.”

“What will we know?”

Gershom pointed to the Egypteian ship drawn up farther along the beach. “If
what I saw was real, then I will be summoned to sail upon that vessel tomorrow.”

Helikaon suddenly shivered, the cold night seeping into his bones like
freezing water.

“Let us stop this now!” he cried. “You are talking madness, Gershom. Tomorrow
we will all sail for the Seven Hills, and you can put all thoughts of Kassandra
and visions from your mind.”

Gershom looked into Helikaon’s eyes. “What is it that frightens you about
prophecy, my friend?” he asked softly.

“I am not frightened by it. I just do not believe it. I, too, have consumed
opiates and seen the whirling colors. I have seen people’s faces suddenly
blossom like flowers and heard dogs yapping in strange tongues I could almost
understand. I saw a man once who dropped down to the floor and turned into a
score of frogs. Do you think he really turned into frogs? Or did the opiates
confuse my mind?”

“They confused your mind,” Gershom agreed. “As indeed they may have confused
mine. I will not argue that. If no one comes for me from that ship, Golden One,
then I will board the
Xanthos
and rejoice.”

“Good,” Helikaon said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “And after dawn,
when we sail, I will mock you for this conversation. Now let us get back to a
fire. This sea breeze is chilling my blood.”