Part 6 (1/2)

”Have you seen Hektor?” she asked him swiftly.

”A few moments ago. He left the palace.” He leaned toward her and whispered, ”You seem troubled, dear one.”

”This has been a difficult day,” she told him.

”There are many difficult days now. Hektor also seemed downcast. Is all well between you?”

Andromache paused before answering, and when she did, the words sounded hollow in her ears. ”There is love between us, Antiphones. Ultimately, therefore, all will be well. I have to believe that.”

”He adores you, so I hope you are right,” Antiphones said. Andromache looked into the big man's eyes and knew he wanted to say more.

But the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the king's son and chancellor, Polites. Stooping and balding, Polites seemed to age a year for every season that pa.s.sed. His face was pale, his eyes dark-ringed, his mouth permanently downturned. ”We need to speak, Antiphones,” he said.

”You forget your manners, Brother,” Antiphones admonished him. Only then did Polites notice Andromache. His tired face reddened with embarra.s.sment.

”I am sorry, Sister,” he told her. ”Please forgive me.”

”No need to apologize, Polites. You are obviously more in need of Antiphones' fellows.h.i.+p than I am. Therefore, I will leave you both to talk.”

Andromache left the megaron megaron and, trailed by two bodyguards, made her way back toward the palace of Hektor. Once she was outside, her problems returned to haunt her. She understood Hektor's fears. There had been honesty between them from the first, so he knew she loved Helikaon. Now the thought of his wife sailing across the Great Green with Helikaon must be burrowing into his mind like a maggot into an apple. and, trailed by two bodyguards, made her way back toward the palace of Hektor. Once she was outside, her problems returned to haunt her. She understood Hektor's fears. There had been honesty between them from the first, so he knew she loved Helikaon. Now the thought of his wife sailing across the Great Green with Helikaon must be burrowing into his mind like a maggot into an apple.

Her heart in turmoil, Andromache paused by a well. One of her guards, thinking she was thirsty, drew up a bucket. Andromache thanked him and sipped a little water from a wooden ladle. Thoughts of Kalliope suddenly filled her mind. Sweet, damaged, brave Kalliope. And she remembered the vile killers, the blazing farm, and Kalliope, standing tall on the hillside shooting arrows down at the a.s.sa.s.sins. Tears formed as she struggled to hold to that heroic image. But she could not, and cold reality made her see again the black shaft ripping into Kalliope. Now all that remained of her lover was the few bones Andromache had gathered from the ashes of the funeral pyre. They were contained in an ebony and silver chest beneath a window in her bedchamber.

Andromache had dreamed of returning the bones to the Blessed Isle and burying them in the tamarisk grove beside the temple of Artemis. Now the High Priestess planned to hurl Kalliope's bones into the pit and chain her spirit to serve the Minotaur forever.

”Are you well, lady?” asked Ethenos, the youngest of her guards. ”You are looking very pale.” He was a serious young man and a cousin to the murdered Cheon, who had died along with Kalliope on the day of the a.s.sa.s.sins.

”I am fine,” she told the fair-haired soldier. It was a lie.

Kalliope had adored the G.o.ddess Artemis, had prayed to her many times a day. Had that adoration been repaid in any way? Raped as a child, betrayed by her family, and then murdered by a.s.sa.s.sins. Not twenty years old when she died. Now, even after death, she was to be brutalized.

For a moment only Andromache thought of praying to the G.o.ddess, but the voice of her anguish screamed out then. You think Artemis or any of the G.o.ds cares a whit about your life or Kalliope's? Think on it! Have any of your prayers ever been answered? You think Artemis or any of the G.o.ds cares a whit about your life or Kalliope's? Think on it! Have any of your prayers ever been answered?

Suddenly Andromache smiled, but her thoughts were bitter. When she first had left Thera, she had wanted nothing more than to return to the Blessed Isle, to its simple life, with Kalliope. She had prayed for that and for the freedom she never had known before or since. And in her first unhappy days in Troy she had daydreamed about Helikaon taking her away on the Xanthos Xanthos and had prayed for that also. Now, like a knife twisting in her gut, the G.o.ds had decided she would have both prayers twistedly fulfilled. and had prayed for that also. Now, like a knife twisting in her gut, the G.o.ds had decided she would have both prayers twistedly fulfilled.

Cold anger coursed through her. The demiG.o.d would not have Kalliope, not even if the fate of worlds hung on it. Yes, she would take bones to Thera, but not those of her lover.

The decision made, she dropped the ladle into the bucket and walked on. At the palace she dismissed her guard, nodded to the soldiers at the side gates, then stepped through into the courtyard gardens. She saw Astyanax playing in the dirt, Hektor kneeling beside him.

Her love for Astyanax was like nothing she had ever experienced. It was as if he were tied to her with tender ropes. Each time she left him, even for a day, there was a dull ache in her heart. An entire winter without him would be close to unbearable. Her heart began to pound with increasing panic. She also feared for his life. She was afraid of traitors, spies, poison, and the dagger in the night.

Then the sun moved beyond the clouds and shone down on her child and the powerful man beside him. The two were disheveled and covered with dust, as if they had been rolling on the ground. They were kneeling, facing each other, engrossed in something in the dirt between them. The boy pointed to an insect or a leaf, perhaps, and raised his small face in inquiry to his father. The expression of love and tenderness on Hektor's face made a lump form in Andromache's throat.

The panic pa.s.sed. He loves Astyanax, she thought, and he will never stop. He will guard the boy with his life.

Quietly, unnoticed, she went into the palace.

CHAPTER FIVE.

MEN OF COPPER AND BRONZE.

Entering her high, airy apartments, Andromache greeted the two young handmaids who sat in an outer room embroidering heavy cloth. Both were Women of the Horse and wore hip belts crafted from bronze disks threaded with gold wire.

Andromache recalled the first day she had seen such a belt. Heavily pregnant, she had been walking with Hektor along the Street of Goldsmiths. A young woman with braided blond hair had been standing by a stall. Her tunic had been long and white, and around her hips there had hung a disk belt.

”I would like one of those,” Andromache said.

Hektor stared at her curiously. ”I think you do not know what the belt signifies,” he said softly.

”No, I do not,” she replied honestly.

”If ever you get one, it will mean I am dead.”

Andromache learned then of the Women of the Horse, wives and daughters of soldiers killed serving with the Trojan Horse. The belts were crafted from the breastplate disks of the fallen.

Andromache's handmaids were sisters, the raven-haired daughters of a warrior named Ursos who had died in the battle for Dardanos. They would work in the palace until suitable husbands were found from among the ranks of the Horse. The older one, Penthesileia, was tall with deep-set eyes and a strong chin. Her sister, Anio, younger and more nervous, was slight of build and pretty.

”Is there anything we can do for you, lady?” Penthesileia asked.

”No. Have you eaten?”

”Yes, lady,” Anio said. ”There is fresh bread in the kitchen. Shall I fetch some?”

Andromache smiled at her. The girl was fifteen years old and desperately eager to please. ”I need nothing at the moment,” she told her. ”Why don't you and your sister go for a walk. Familiarize yourselves with the palace.”

”We are your handmaids,” said stern Penthesileia. ”We must serve you.”

Andromache sighed. ”Yes, you are my handmaids, and you will also be my friends. You are not slaves. You are daughters of a hero. If I need you, I will call for you.”

”Yes, lady,” Anio answered. ”You have a guest waiting in your chambers. The princess Ka.s.sandra.” She suddenly looked nervous. ”She is”-she dropped her voice-”talking to herself.”

”She does that,” Andromache told her. ”Do not let it concern you.”

Walking through to her inner rooms, Andromache heard Ka.s.sandra speaking excitedly. ”I did not see it, Dios. I don't see everything.” She sounded distraught.

As Andromache entered the room, she saw Ka.s.sandra sitting and staring at a wall. Dressed in her usual black, her wild hair pulled roughly back with combs, she was alone.

Andromache took a deep breath and approached the girl. ”I'm so glad to see you, Ka.s.sandra,” she said, sitting beside her on the couch. ”I've missed you these past few months.”

Ka.s.sandra's head drooped forward, and she sighed. ”Did you know Vora died?” she asked.

”Who is Vora?”

Ka.s.sandra's eyes had a faraway look. ”Vora was a dolphin. She was very old. Cavala, her mate, sings of her. He will spend a year traveling the Great Green singing her song in every place she loved; then he will follow her to the ocean of the South Wind, and they will be together again.”

Andromache smiled. ”Perhaps he will swim to Thera with us.”