Part 30 (1/2)
”Come, stand with me and gaze upon our city.” He held out his hand, and she took it. He drew her out onto the balcony. She gazed sideways at his profile, the high beaked nose and firm jaw, and wondered if mischievous G.o.ds had transported her back to her first days in Troy.
”Tell me of the Eagle Child,” he demanded, his voice strong. And he quoted the prophecy of Melite: ”Beneath the s.h.i.+eld of Thunder waits the Eagle Child on shadow wings, to soar above all city gates till end of days and fall of kings.”
”Astyanax, they call him,” he went on. ”Lord of the city. Foolish old women try to touch his tunic as he walks in the streets, I'm told. He is the hope of Troy.” His voice changed and became more urgent. ”He must stay in the city, Andromache.”
She was about to agree with him when he grabbed her by the arms, pus.h.i.+ng her against the stone balcony. ”I will not let him leave Troy!” he rasped, his voice angry in her ear. ”I know what you're thinking, girl! You will smuggle him out of the gates, bundled in a basket, just a soldier's wh.o.r.e with a bag of clothes. But you will not. I will have him guarded night and day. My Eagles will see that you do him no harm!”
With manic strength he lifted her off her feet, attempting to push her over the wide stone wall of the balcony. ”I will stop you now!” he cried. ”You will not take him!”
She tried to fight against him, but her arms were pinned, and she was helpless as he pushed her out over the high drop to the stones below. Forcing herself to stay calm, she made herself go limp in his arms. Recalling her last interview with Queen Hekabe, she whispered seductively to him the words she had heard, though they meant little to her, ”Where do we sail today, my lord? The Scamandrios Scamandrios is waiting.” is waiting.”
His body jerked with shock, and he released her. Andromache dragged herself back to safety, her heart pounding, and stepped away from him, watching him carefully.
”Hekabe?” he asked her uncertainly, his voice quavering, his eyes pained and confused.
”Go to your rest, my husband,” she said softly. ”I will join you in a heartbeat.”
Priam hesitated and then shuffled over to his wide bed, lifting his feet up with effort, and lay there as obedient as a child. Andromache gazed at him, emotions warring in her breast. Fear of the powerful king on the balcony quickly gave way to pity for the confused old man. She hurried from the room.
Deep in thought, she was walking down a torchlit corridor when a voice behind her said, ”Lady, are you all right?”
Turning swiftly, her nerves in a jangle, she saw that it was Kalliades. She realized she must have looked flushed and disheveled, and she collected her thoughts.
”I am glad you are here, Kalliades,” she told him. ”I wish to talk with you. I need any bows and arrows you can spare brought to me in the palace gardens tomorrow. I am going to teach the Women of the Horse to shoot.”
”Women of the Horse?” he queried, frowning.
”They are daughters of riders of the Trojan Horse who died in the service of the city. They are given places in the royal household. My two handmaids are the daughters of a rider called Ursos.”
”I knew Ursos,” Kalliades replied. ”A good man. He died in the battle for Dardanos.”
”His daughters are among many young women still in the city. If the walls fall, their fate will be appalling. I would like to teach them how to defend themselves.”
The warrior looked gravely at her, as if reluctant to say what he was thinking.
”Speak your mind, Kalliades,” she demanded.
”When the enemy armies come, lady, they will come in the thousands. A bow and arrow will make little difference to a woman's fate.” He looked down, unwilling to meet her eye.
”You were at the palace siege,” she said to him.
”I was with the Mykene invaders, with Banokles. It is well known, but that part of our lives is past.”
”I did not mention it to embarra.s.s you. Did you see me there?”
He nodded. ”With your bow you killed and injured many of our men.” He paused and then said, ”You were magnificent, lady.”
She blushed at his unexpected words.
”But,” he went on, ”we Mykene came ready for hand-to-hand combat. There were few bowmen in our ranks. Had there been, you would have been a dead woman.”
She accepted the truth of his words but said, ”Kalliades, if you were being attacked by armed men, would you rather be completely helpless or armed with a bow?”
Kalliades nodded. ”I will see you have the bows and arrows you need. It can do no harm. How many?”
”There are more than thirty Women of the Horse in the city still.”
”I will let you have what we can spare. But we must not leave our bowmen short.”
Deep in thought, Kalliades left the palace and strolled back through the quiet city to the east wall. He followed it along to the East Tower, where he climbed the steps to the battlements. Men of the Scamandrian regiment were sitting around, talking quietly, eating, playing games of chance. Many were fast sleep on the hard stones, as only veteran soldiers could sleep in the most uncomfortable conditions.
Kalliades looked for Banokles, but there was no sign of his friend, so he eased himself down, back against the battlements, legs outstretched. He sighed and closed his eyes gratefully. He thought about Andromache's words about bowmen. It was not true, although there was nothing to be gained by arguing with the woman. If he were unarmed and facing armed men, he would rely on his strength and his skills as a fighter rather than on a flimsy bow. His distrust of bowmen was deeply ingrained. The warriors of Mykene despised archers, slingers, or anyone who fought from a distance. True warriors armed themselves with sword or dagger, spear or lance, facing their enemies eye to eye. He remembered Kolanos killing the great Argurios with a coward's arrow, and even after all this time, the gorge rose in his throat at the thought. He had asked Father Zeus to curse Kolanos for that act. He smiled grimly, recalling Kolanos' agonized death.
It did no harm giving serving women bows to play with, he thought. It would keep them occupied and take their minds off their fate. And Andromache had been right about one thing: It took only a single arrow to kill a king.
Kalliades gradually became conscious that someone was looking at him and opened his eyes. A young soldier with floppy flaxen hair was standing in front of him.
”Yes, soldier?” he said, closing his eyes again.
”Lord, General,” the lad stammered.
”I am not a lord, and I am not a general. I am a simple soldier. Speak up.”
”You wanted to see me,” the youngster said. Kalliades opened his eyes. The young soldier was nodding vehemently as if confirming his own words.
”I did? Why, who are you?”
”I am Boros, sir. Boros the Rhodian they call me.”
Daylight dawned. Kalliades grinned. ”You are the soldier with the tower s.h.i.+eld!”
”Yes, I am, sir, although I lost it in the retreat from the river.” Boros hung his head. ”My brother gave it to me. I was sorry to lose it. It was a good s.h.i.+eld.”
”Sit down, lad. You saved my life. I only wanted to thank you. I would not have recognized you.”
The soldier blushed and sat down nervously beside Kalliades. ”I was told you were looking for me. I didn't know why. I thought I had done something wrong.”
Kalliades laughed. ”But that was long ago, in the spring. You managed to avoid me for all this time?”
Boros smiled nervously, then rubbed at his left eye. ”I was injured. I broke a leg and was in the house of healing. It took a long time to knit.” He rubbed at his eye again.
”Is something wrong with your eye, Boros?”
”No, nothing. I had a blow to the head once. It aches sometimes, that's all.”
”I know what you mean,” Kalliades replied. ”I suffered this sword cut to my face...a long time ago. My face still hurts in cold weather or when I'm tired.”
They sat in companionable silence for a while, then Boros asked, ”I have never been in a siege, sir. Will they slaughter everyone if they break in?”
Kalliades nodded. ”They will, lad. Pent-up frustration and blood l.u.s.t make men do truly terrible things. They will kill the soldiers, anyone in armor, cleanly. That is the Mykene way. But the people of the city, the refugees, men, women, and children, face a ghastly fate.”