Part 17 (2/2)

I held his head up slightly and gave him a sip of wine. ”It is true,” I said. ”You are blind.”

The moan he uttered would have wrenched the heart out of a marble statue.

”Agamemnon,” he said, many moments later. ”The mighty king took his vengeance on an old storyteller. As if that will make his wife faithful to him.”

”Try to sleep,” I said. ”Rest is what you need.”

He shook his head, and the cloth slid off, revealing the two raw burns where his eyes had been. I went to replace the cloth, saw that it was getting dry, and smeared more poultice on it from the bowl at my side.

”You might as well slit my throat, Orion. I'll be of no use to you now. No use to anyone.”

”There's been enough blood spilled here,” I said.

”No use,” he muttered as I put the soothing cloth over the place where his eyes had been. Then I propped his head up again and gave him more wine. Soon he fell asleep again.

Lukka stuck his head into the tent. ”My lord, King Odysseus wants to see you.”

I ducked out into the morning suns.h.i.+ne. Commanding Lukka to have a man stand watch over the sleeping Poletes, I walked over to Odysseus's boat and clambered up the rope ladder that dangled over its curving hull.

The deck was heaped with treasure looted from Troy. I turned from the dazzling display to look back at the city. Hundreds of tiny figures were up on the battlements, pulling down its blackened stones, working under the hot sun to level the walls that had defied the Achaians for so long.

I had to step carefully along the gunwale to avoid tripping over the piles of treasure covering the deck. Odysseus was at his usual place on the afterdeck, standing in the bright suns.h.i.+ne, his broad chest bare, his hair and beard still wet from his morning swim, a pleased smile on his thickly bearded face.

Yet his eyes searched mine as he said, ”The victory is complete, thanks to you, Orion.” Pointing at the demolition work going on in the distance, ”Troy will never rise again.”

I nodded grimly. ”Priam, Hector, Aleksandros-the entire House of Ilios has been wiped out.”

”All but Aeneas the Dardanian. Rumor had it that he was a b.a.s.t.a.r.d of Priam's. We haven't found his body.”

”He might have been burned in the fire.”

”It's possible,” said Odysseus. ”But I don't think he's terribly important. If he lives, he's hiding somewhere nearby. We'll find him. Even if we don't, there won't be anything left here for him to return to.”

As I watched, one of the ma.s.sive stones of the parapet by the Scaean gate was pulled loose by a horde of men straining with levers and ropes. It tumbled down to the ground with a heavy cloud of dust. Moments later I heard the thump.

”Apollo and Poseidon won't be pleased at what's being done to their walls.”

Odysseus laughed. ”Sometimes the G.o.ds have to bow to the will of men, Orion, whether they like it or not.”

”You're not afraid of their anger?”

”If they didn't want us to pull down the walls, we wouldn't be able to do it.”

I wondered. The G.o.ds are subtler than men, and have longer memories. I knew that Apollo was angry with me. How would his anger display itself?

”It's your turn to select your treasure from the spoils of the city,” Odysseus said. He gestured toward a large pile of loot at the stern of the boat. ”Take one-fifth of everything you see.”

I thanked him, and spent an hour or so picking through the stuff. I selected blankets, armor, clothing, weapons, helmets, and jewels that could be traded for food and shelter.

”The captives are down there, between the boats. Take one-fifth of them, also.”

I shook my head. ”I'd rather have horses and donkeys,” I told Odysseus. ”The children will be useless to us, and the women will merely cause fighting among my men.”

Odysseus eyed me carefully. ”You speak like a man who has no intention of sailing to Ithaca with me.”

”My lord,” I said, ”you have been more than generous to me. But no man in this camp raised a hand to help my servant last night. Agamemnon is a cruel and vicious animal. If I returned to your land, I would soon be itching to start a war against him.”

Odysseus muttered, ”That would be foolish.”

”Perhaps so. Better that our paths separate here and now. Let me take my men, and my blinded servant, and go my own way.”

The King of Ithaca stroked his beard for several silent moments, thinking it over. Finally he agreed. ”Very well, Orion. Go your own way. And may the G.o.ds smile upon you.”

”And on you, n.o.blest of all the Achaians.”

I never saw Odysseus again. When I returned to my tent, I told Lukka to send the men to pick up the loot I had chosen, and to find horses and donkeys to carry it-and us: I saw questions in his eyes, but he did not ask them. Instead he went to carry out my orders.

As the sun began to sink behind the islands on the western horizon, and we gathered around the cook fire for the final meal of the day, a young messenger came running up to me, breathless.

”My lord Orion, a n.o.ble visitor wishes words with you.”

”Who is it?” I asked.

The teenager spread both hands. ”I don't know. I was instructed to tell you that a n.o.ble of the royal house will visit you before the sun goes down. You should be prepared.”

I thanked him and invited him to share our meal. He seemed extraordinarily pleased to sit side by side with the Hatti soldiers. His eyes studied their iron swords admiringly.

A n.o.ble visitor from the royal house. One of Agamemnon's people? I wondered who was coming, and why.

As the long shadows of sundown began to merge into the purple of twilight, a contingent of six Achaian warriors marched toward our campfire, with a small, slim warrior in their midst. Either a very important person or a prisoner, from the look of it, I thought. The man in the middle seemed too small for any of the Achaian n.o.bles I had met. He wore armor buckled over a long robe, and had pulled the cheek flaps of his helmet across his face, as if going into battle. I could not see his face.

I stood and made a little bow. The mini-procession marched right up to my tent before stopping. I went to the tent and pulled open the flap.

”A representative of the High King?” I asked. ”Come to make certain that the old storyteller is truly blind?”

The visitor said nothing, but ducked inside the tent. I went in after him, feeling a seething anger rising in me. I had not slept in two days, but my smoldering fury at Agamemnon kept me awake and alert.

The visitor looked down at Poletes, lying on the straw pallet asleep, a greasy cloth across his eyes, the slits where his ears had been caked with dried blood. I heard the visitor gasp. And then I noticed that his hands were tiny, delicate, much too smooth to have ever held a sword or spear.

I grasped the visitor by the shoulders, swung him around to face me, and pulled off the helmet. Helen's long golden hair tumbled past her shoulders.

”I had to see...” she whispered, her eyes wide with fright.

I spun her around to face the prostrate old storyteller. ”Then see,” I said gruffly. ”Take a good look.”

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