Fall of Kings (22 page)

“I am Achilles,” he told her.

“You could be no other,” she replied.

For the next three days the men of the
Xanthos
helped Odysseus’ crew
clear away the bodies of the pirates and prepare the funeral pyres. Refugees
moved back from their hiding places in the hills, returning to their looted
homes. Andromache joined the women of Ithaka as they moved through the
megaron
and the surrounding rooms, scrubbing away the blood and clearing the
filth the pirates and their whores had left in their wake.

Little was seen of Penelope during that time, and Odysseus appeared only
rarely.

By the evening of the third day the palace was once more habitable. The
cleansing of homes brought a sense of normality, but many had lost loved ones,
and there was an air of despondency throughout the settlement.

The only surgeon on Ithaka had been killed by the attackers, and the wounded
were tended by Bias, Oniacus, and Andromache. All three had some experience with
herbs and medicinal plants.

Just before sunset on the fourth day, Penelope emerged from her rooms and
walked among the wounded, a bright scarf of gold wrapped around her shaved head.
She could not assist with the work, for her fingers had been splinted. But she
sat with the wounded, talking to them, praising their courage.

Old Sekundos was dying. Penelope went to where he lay on a pallet bed in the
sunshine. He had asked to be carried out so that he could see the Great Green
one last time.

When Penelope arrived, he smiled. “Too old… and slow,” he said. “Was a time…”

“Yes,” Penelope replied, her voice tender, “you were too old to win. But not
too old to save my life and that of my child.”

A faint smile touched the old man’s lips. “Always… wanted to be… in one of
Odysseus’ tales.” He looked up at the clear blue sky. “Beautiful day to
be… sailing,” he whispered.

Penelope’s vision blurred. “You are a hero, Sekundos. And I am sorry I spoke
of shame when we met.”

The old man rallied at the compliment. “You… remembered my name. That is… a
great honor for me,” he told the queen. Then, his strength fading, he looked up
at her. “You must leave me now. I have… a wish… to die alone. Just me… and the
Great Green.”

Penelope leaned down and kissed his brow. “May your journey be swift and the
Fields of Elysium welcoming.”

Just then Andromache emerged from the palace. “Walk with me,” said the queen,
then led the way up a gently sloping hill. Andromache saw that she was trembling
and her footsteps were unsteady. She took Penelope’s arm, and together they made
their way toward the crest of the hill.

“You are still weak,” Andromache said. “You should be resting.”

Penelope took a deep breath. “Odysseus does not ask, but I feel the
questioning eyes of others upon me. They all wonder what violation I suffered
and whether my pride has been shattered.”

“There is not a man alive who could take away your pride, let alone shatter
it,” Andromache said.

“Fine words from someone who does not know me.” The rebuke was spoken gently.

“I
do
know you,” Andromache told her. “From all that Odysseus told me
of you and from all that I have seen and heard since I have been here. All speak
of their love for you, their respect for you, and their pride in you.”

Penelope did not reply but led the way to a stone bench on a hill overlooking
the bay. The pirate ships were still drawn up below, as was the mighty
Xanthos.
The two women sat in silence for a while, and then Andromache
spoke. “Odysseus is a good man. I like him greatly.”

Penelope sighed. “He has not asked me what I suffered. I wonder at that.”

“Do not wonder too deeply,” Andromache warned her. “I saw Odysseus when the
Xanthos
arrived at the pirate isle. I have never seen a man so tormented,
so frightened. He feared losing you. Now he is saddened by your pain, but he
cannot hide the joy in his eyes that you are alive. He does not ask because all
that matters to him is that you are safe and he is with you.”

“He is a sentimental old fool,” Penelope said fondly.

Below them Odysseus and Helikaon walked from the palace. Odysseus glanced up
and waved. Penelope lifted a hand in response. Together the two men continued
down to the shoreline.

Penelope looked at the young woman beside her, seeing her face soften as she
gazed down at the two men.

“So,” the queen asked, “why is the wife of Hektor traveling the Great Green?”

Andromache told her of the purpose of their journey and the visit to Thera
with Kassandra, but as she spoke, her eyes followed Helikaon. A great sadness
touched Penelope then, for she saw the love in Andromache’s eyes.

“I am tired,” she said. “I think I will return to my rooms.”

Andromache helped her back to the palace, and once there, Penelope kissed the
younger woman on the cheek.

“Despite all that has happened,” she said, “I will treasure these last few
days. It has been good to see Helikaon and the Ugly One together again as
friends. And I am glad we met, Andromache.”

“As am I. I see now why Odysseus has such love for you.”

Penelope sighed. “We have been lucky. An arranged marriage that led to joys I
could not have dreamed of. Others are not so lucky. But love is to be cherished
wherever it is found. Sometimes, though, love can lead to great heartache and
pain beyond imagining. You understand what I am saying?”

Andromache flushed. “I think that I do.”

“When you reach Troy again, bring my greetings to Hektor, a man I have always
admired. A good man, a man of no malice or deceit. Tell him Penelope wishes him
well.”

“I will tell him,” Andromache answered coolly, but there was anger in her
eyes.

“Do not misunderstand me, my dear,” Penelope went on. “I do not judge you,
but we have spoken now, and I know you better. You are not sly or capricious,
and the path you are walking will eat away at your spirit. Odysseus told me of
Helikaon’s love for you. He tells me everything.”

Andromache’s anger faded. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

“Come inside. We will sit and talk,” Penelope told her.

In the queen’s apartments a fire had been lit, and they sat together on a
couch. Andromache talked of her first meeting with Helikaon and of the battle in
Priam’s palace. She spoke of Halysia and Dex. She told Penelope of Helikaon’s
sickness and the wound that would not heal.

“Then, one night, his fever broke,” she said.

“And you were with him?”

“Yes.” Andromache looked away.

“And no one else?”

Andromache nodded, and a silence grew between them. Penelope did not break it
but sat quietly, waiting. Andromache took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
“Hektor is a good man and my friend,” she said. “He loves my son.”

The shock of the words struck Penelope, though she did not show it.
He
loves my son.

“Does Helikaon know?”

“Know what?”

“That he is the father of your child?”

Andromache’s eyes widened as she realized what she had given away. “No, and
he must not! He cannot! All his life he has been racked by guilt, first about
his mother, who killed herself in front of him, then because he could not save
little Dio, then Halysia. This news would only cause him more torment.”

“Be calm, Andromache. We are friends, you and I. No word will come from me.
Not even to Odysseus. I promise you. Does Hektor know?”

“Yes, I told him from the very first,” Andromache replied, the words barely
audible. “But only he and I know, and now you. But it is vital that it does not
get back to Priam. He would kill Astyanax and me and hunt down Helikaon, too, if
he could. It is better this way. It is the only way. But it is so hard,” she
whispered.

“Oh, my dear, I am sorry for your heartache. But you must make a decision,
and there is only one to make. You know what it is.”

Andromache nodded, and tears began to fall. Penelope leaned in and put her
arm around the younger woman’s shoulder. There was nothing more to say.

On the beach below, Helikaon’s crew was loading supplies.

“You are heading for the Seven Hills?” Odysseus asked. Helikaon looked at him
but did not answer. Odysseus understood his friend’s reluctance to speak of his
plans. Despite the rescue of Penelope, they were still enemies.

“I’ll not betray you, lad,” the older man said. “Surely you know that.”

Helikaon nodded. “I know. The madness of war affects us all. Yes, I am going
there. What will I find? Are my men still alive, Odysseus?”

“Of course they are. It hurts me that you need to ask. When this war began, I
gathered all the people together and told them I would suffer no enmities, no
feuds. There are brigands and nomadic bands of tribesmen moving through the
land. There are raiders of the sea. They have enough enemies to fight without
warring among themselves.

“All is well there, Helikaon, and you will be welcomed as a friend by all the
people. I take it you seek tin.”

“Yes. We will need all we can find.”

“There are stores there. Take whatever you can carry.”

As they spoke, Bias came walking up to them. Helikaon looked up as he
approached, recalling the hatred in the man’s voice the last time they had met.

“I hope you burn, and your Death Ship with you.”

He did not look at Helikaon but spoke with Odysseus. “We have loaded most of
the supplies you ordered,” he reported, “but the pirates have left us with scant
reserves.”

“Tomorrow you can sail for Pylos,” Odysseus said, “and trade for more with
Nestor’s people.”

Bias nodded but did not leave. The silence grew; then he took a deep breath
and looked at Helikaon. “I do not take back what I said, Helikaon. But I thank
you for coming to our aid.” Without waiting for a reply, he walked away.

“A good man but unforgiving,” Odysseus said.

Helikaon shrugged. “Forgiveness should never be given lightly. How is
Penelope?”

“She is strong, far stronger than I. But I do not want to speak of what she
must have suffered before we arrived. To think of it fills me with a rage I can
hardly control.

“You spoke of the madness of war, and this attack on Ithaka is an example of
it. The son of Donkey Face wanted revenge, but even without that, the pirates
and raiders are growing in strength. As we gather to destroy Troy, our own
kingdoms are neglected. When we conquer—and we will conquer, Helikaon—what will
we come back to? I fear this conflict will consume us all. There will be no
victors then, and even the treasury of Troy will not contain enough gold to
rebuild what we have lost.”

Helikaon looked at his old friend. There was more silver than red now in his
hair and beard, and his face was lined and anxious.

“All that you say is true, Odysseus, save for the treasury of Troy. I have
not seen Priam’s hoard of gold, but it would have to be mountainous to maintain
the expense of this war. Gold passes from the city every day to hire
mercenaries, to bribe allies. And there is little coming in now; the traders are
leaving. If the fighting goes on much longer and you do take the city, you may
find nothing of real worth.”

“The thought had occurred to me,” Odysseus told him, nodding. “If that proves
true, then we are all doomed to poverty and ruin.”

He sighed again and looked into Helikaon’s blue eyes. “I hope I do not find
you in Troy when we take the city.”

“Where else would I be, Odysseus? The woman I love will be there, and I will
protect her with my life.”

“I fear for you, lad.” Odysseus looked suddenly weary. “You and Hektor are
the two greatest fighting men of Troy,” he said, his voice low. “What will
happen, do you think, when he discovers his wife is your lover?”

Helikaon pulled angrily away. Then his shoulders sagged. “Is it so obvious?”

“Aye, it is when you never stand close to her in a room or look at her when
you are in company, when you stare at the floor whenever she speaks but leave
for your rooms within heartbeats of each other. Before long—if not already—there
will not be a man among your crew who does not suspect.”

Odysseus laid his hand on Helikaon’s shoulder. “Take her back to Troy, then
leave the city. Defend the north, hold open the trade routes, fight battles at
sea. But stay away from her, lad, or I fear for the future of you both.”

The winter was the harshest that anyone living in Troy could recall. Storms
blown down from the north brought icy sleet and then, remarkably, snow. Icicles
formed on windows and walls, and out on the pastures north of the city, sheep,
trapped in snowdrifts, froze to death. Blizzards raged for twenty days, and even
when they passed, the routes remained blocked.

In the lower town there were deaths among the populace of the poorer
quarters. The price of food rose alarmingly as bad weather and rumors of war
caused the numbers of trade caravans from the east to dwindle. Priam ordered all
grain stores to ration supplies, and the city seethed with discontent.

Even in the worst of the winter refugees still fled the city, for the news
from the south was unremittingly bad. Hektor had won three battles, but
overwhelming numbers of the enemy had forced him back to Thebe Under Plakos, and
now that city, too, was under siege.

In the north a Mykene attack on Dardanos had been crushed by the general
Banokles and his Thrakians, aided by a regiment of mercenaries led by
Tudhaliyas, the banished son of the Hittite emperor. The battle had been close.
It would have been lost if the invasion fleet had not been caught in a storm.
Only a third of the ships had made it across the straits. The enemy force had
been reduced to four thousand men, not the twelve thousand who could have
stormed ashore.