“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.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE CALL OF DESTINY
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 fo
r 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.”
Despite his lightness of tone, Helikaon felt tense and anxious as they walked back to the campfires. He stared at the Egypteian ship. No one was moving around it, the crew all asleep on the beach. Gershom added dry sticks to the glowing coals of a fading fire. Flames sprang up. He stretched himself out on the sand and fell asleep almost instantly.
Helikaon swirled a thick blanket around his shoulders and seated himself close to the small blaze. Clouds started forming in the eastern sky, and the sky grew darker as the moon was obscured. Before long a light rain started to fall. Helikaon sat alone, heavy of heart.
Like Zidantas before him, the big Egypteian had excavated a deep place in Helikaon’s heart, and the Dardanian king found himself grieving for the loss of his friend, suddenly sure that the desert folk would come for him in the morning. Since the Xanthos had rescued him from the sea, Gershom had become an invaluable crewman on the galley and Helikaon’s right-hand man and friend, one to whom he entrusted not only his life but his feelings, his fears and hopes. The man had saved Helikaon on several occasions, both in battle and when he had brought the Prophet with healing maggots to cure him after the assassination attempt.
Remembering that time, when he had lain helpless in Hektor’s palace and Andromache had nursed him, brought thoughts of his lover back, and he turned and looked up again at the cliff path in the hope of seeing her walking down. But it was too dark and wet to see well, and he shrugged the blanket closer around him and waited patiently for first light.
It was nearly dawn, and campfires were glittering like stars on the beach far below, guiding her way as Andromache trod down the cliff path. The ground was uneven, the trail in places narrow and broken. Lowering clouds had covered the moon, and the journey back to the ship was becoming perilous. It began to rain, lightly at first, but soon the path became slick and treacherous. The the wind picked up, tugging at her green dress and the borrowed cloak she wore.
Now the rain came pelting down, sharp and cold, stinging the skin of her face and hands. She moved on even more slowly, one hand tracing along the crumbly cliff wall. Her sandaled feet slipped and slid on the wet ground. Anxious though she was to return to Helikaon and the Xanthos, she finally was forced to stop. Crouching against the cliff wall, she drew her cloak around her.
Alone on the cliff path, she found herself thinking back over the events of the day. She had dreaded seeing Iphigenia again, remembering her dislike of the cold, hard-faced Mykene woman. Now she saw her differently. Was it just that she was dying? Did that knowledge allow her to see the old woman with clearer eyes? Or was it merely pity that had changed her perception of the priestess?
Most of the women sent to Thera had no wish to serve the demigod, and many of them wept at being removed from the world they knew, a world of dreams, of hopes, of love and family. Perhaps Iphigenia had been such a woman once. Andromache saw again the moment Kassandra had knelt beside the priestess and rested her head on Iphigenia’s lap. Iphigenia had reached out and stroked the girl’s hair. Andromache had looked into her face then and thought she saw regret there. Did Iphigenia, in that one caress, think of an empty life, robbed of the chance to have her own children?
The rain began to die down, and Andromache was preparing to resume her descent when she saw a movement above her. It was Kassandra, strolling along the very edge of the path. Andromache’s breath caught in her throat. Kassandra spotted her and waved.
“It is a beautiful night,” she cried. “So exciting!”
Andromache reached out and drew the girl to her. “What are you doing here? It is dangerous.”
“I needed to see you before you left. Did you speak with Kalliope?”
Andromache sighed. She had buried her bones beneath a tree, and she had wept at memories of their love. “Yes,” she said, her voice breaking, “I told her that I missed her and that I would remember her always. Do you think she heard me?”
“I don’t know. I wasn’t there,” Kassandra replied brightly. “I tried to speak to Xidoros, but he is not here. Do you think it is because men are not allowed on the isle?”
Andromache hugged the girl and kissed her. “Are you going to be happy here?” she asked.
Kassandra squirmed away. “You need to tell Helikaon something,” she said urgently. “He must go to the pirate islands. Odysseus will be there. And Achilles.”
“We are not here to fight battles, Kassandra.”
“But Ithaka has been invaded, and Penelope is held prisoner. She has been beaten and tormented. Odysseus will go there and die if Helikaon does not help him.”
The wind faltered, and a cold silence fell on the cliffside. Andromache almost could hear her own heart beating. Odysseus was Helikaon’s oldest friend, but he was now an enemy. If he and Achilles were to die, it would weaken the Mykene forces, perhaps fatally, and maybe save Troy. The silence grew, and she saw that Kassandra was watching her. Guilt touched her.
“I need to think on this,” she said, unable to meet her sister’s pale gaze.
“What is there to think on?” the girl asked. “Penelope is a wonderful woman, and she is carrying the son of Odysseus.”
“It is not just about Penelope. There are other factors. The survival of Troy, for one.”
“Other factors,” Kassandra said softly. “How strange people are.”
Andromache flushed. “There is nothing strange about desiring to protect those we love.”
“That is my point. Helikaon loves Odysseus and Penelope. You know that if you tell him, he will rush to their aid just as he risked his life to come for you when the Mykene attacked Troy. He is a hero, and he will always desire to protect those he loves.”