Laodike smiled, her face instantly radiant with happiness. “Oh, Argurios,” she said. “I was dreaming of you.”
“Was it a good dream?” he asked her.
“Yes. All my dreams of you are wonderful.”
“And what did you dream?”
“It was our house. I have been to see it. You will… love it. It has a deep garden and a fountain. There are flowering trees against the western wall. We can sit there in the evenings when the sun sets.”
“I will look forward to that, my love.”
“Did you see Father?”
“Yes. Everything is well, Laodike.”
“We will not be parted, then?”
Argurios opened the small pouch at his sword belt and lifted out the crumpled swan feather.
“You kept it!” she whispered.
“Yes. I kept it. We will never be parted. Not even in death.” Placing the feather in her hand, he closed his fingers around hers. With the last of his strength he eased himself down to the floor, laying his head upon her breast.
“I am so happy, Argurios,” she said. “I think I’ll sleep a little now.”
“We’ll both sleep. And when we awake you can show me the garden.”
II
Kalliades ran back into the megaron, his mind racing. With enemy troops coming in behind them and an undefeated force still holding the upper levels, the insurrection was doomed. Casting his veteran’s eye around the palace, he knew it could not be defended for long. The megaron was almost a hundred paces long and some fifty wide, too large to resist a superior force, as the Trojans had discovered only a few hours before. Now the roles were about to be reversed except that the Mykene would not be able to retreat to the upper levels. They would be assailed on two fronts: through the great doors and from the gallery above. He scanned the columned walls. Their only hope, albeit a transient one, would be to form a shield wall.
All around him lay Mykene wounded having their wounds stitched or plugged with cloth. He called out to the men closest by. “Get the wounded together! More Trojans are coming!”
Instantly warriors began helping their comrades to their feet or carrying them back to the shelter of the wall. Then they began to gather shields and helmets. Kalliades ran the length of the megaron to the rear of the hall, where the battle of the stairs was still raging. Argurios was still fighting there, but Kalliades did not look up at him. Instead he sought out Kolanos. He saw the general standing in the shelter of a great column, his bow bent. An arrow flashed toward the stairs. Kalliades flicked his glance to the left, seeing the shaft punch home in Argurios’ side.
“I have you, you bastard!” said Kolanos gleefully.
Kalliades came alongside him. “Trojan reinforcements are upon us,” he said. “The city gates are open, and the Thrakians have fled.”
He saw fear in Kolanos’ eyes. “Where is Prince Agathon?”
Kalliades shrugged. “Gone. I don’t know where. We need to make a stand. I have started a shield wall.”
“A stand? I’ll not die here!” Kolanos threw away the bow and headed down the megaron, racing toward the open doors. Kalliades followed him, awaiting orders.
But there were none. The general ran out into the courtyard. Kalliades paused in the doorway, wondering what the man was doing. Then he realized. Kolanos was trying to flee the palace before the enemy arrived. He was almost at the gates when Trojan soldiers appeared. Kolanos spun around and fled back to where Kalliades waited, pushing past him and into the palace. There he stood, his eyes wide and staring, his face a mask of panic.
Kalliades’ loathing for the man swelled further. Pulling away from the general, he sprinted back to the mass of fighting men below the stairs. “Back! Back!” he yelled. “We are betrayed! Form a shield wall! Now!”
The first man he saw was Banokles. He had lost his helmet, and his face was gray with pain. A sword blade had cut through his arm and was jutting from his bicep.
“Pull this damn thing out!” he urged Kalliades.
Kalliades wrenched the blade clear. Banokles swore loudly. “Shield wall!” shouted Kalliades once more, his voice carrying over the fighting. Years of harsh discipline cut through the battle lust, and the Mykene began to stream back from the stairs.
Swinging his shield to his forearm, Kalliades moved with them. Trojan soldiers were pouring through the doors, armed with spear and sword. Kolanos had retreated behind some twenty men with shields and spears, and other Mykene ran to join them, forming a tight wall around their wounded.
A group of seven warriors made a charge at the doors, seeking to block the entrance. Kalliades saw a huge golden-haired Trojan enter, carrying two swords. He was helmetless and wearing an ordinary breastplate. On either side of him were shield bearers, protecting his flanks. Kalliades expected to see the man swept aside by the Mykene charge. Instead he tore into the seven warriors, killing two and punching a third from his feet. There had been many shocks that night, but this stunned Kalliades. The Trojan did not fight like a man but advanced like a tempest, invincible and unstoppable.
A great cheer went up from the people on the gallery, a sound rich and joyous. Then they began to chant.
“Hektor! Hektor! Hektor!”
Kalliades suddenly felt cold. He shivered as he watched the great Trojan warrior charge into the warriors facing him.
A Mykene stabbed at Hektor with a spear, but he sidestepped the thrust and drove his sword through the attacker’s skull. The blade stuck fast. Two more Mykene rushed at him. A shield bearer blocked the charge of the first, but the Trojan met the second head-on. As the Mykene opened his shield to stab out with his spear, Hektor stepped inside and delivered a punch to the man’s helmet. It rang like a bell, and the warrior was hurled from his feet. The remaining Mykene fell back to join the shield wall as more and more Trojans swarmed into the megaron.
Kalliades killed a soldier, knocked another to the floor, then took up his place alongside Banokles.
With the shield wall at last in place and bristling with spears, the Trojans fell back momentarily, pinning down the Mykene but making no attack.
“So that’s Hektor,” said Banokles. “Always wondered if he was as good as the legends say. Big bastard, isn’t he?”
Kalliades did not reply. The Mykene were finished now. Fewer than fifty warriors were left. True, they would take a few score more Trojans with them, but they could not fight their way out of this mess.
“You think this could get any worse?” asked Banokles.
Kalliades saw King Priam walk out into the megaron, flanked by Royal Eagles. The vile Helikaon was with him. The king cried out Hektor’s name, and the giant walked over to him, embracing the older man. The moment was almost dreamlike. The Mykene were waiting to die, surrounded by a furious enemy, yet two men were embracing and laughing. The Trojans continued to shout Hektor’s name.
The golden-haired warrior raised his arms, acknowledging their tribute, then swung back to stare with cold eyes at the surviving Mykene.
“I don’t see Argurios,” said Banokles. “That’s a small blessing. Wouldn’t want both him and the Man Killer against me.”
“Kolanos shot him with an arrow.”
“Damn! No way for a great man to go down.”
“May Zeus hear that and curse Kolanos for it,” Kalliades replied in a low voice. “Maybe Argurios will wait for us on the dark road and we’ll journey together.”
“I’d like that,” said Banokles.
The voice of Kolanos called out: “Priam King, may we speak under a truce?”
The king stepped back from his son and stared hard at the general. Then he gestured for him to come forward. Kolanos eased himself through the front rank and walked through the Trojan line.
“If he can talk us out of this, I’ll kiss the man,” said Banokles.
“Your lips would turn black,” muttered Kalliades.
XXXVI
THE KING’S WISDOM
Helikaon watched the hated Mykene w
alk from the shield wall. His hand gripped his sword hilt more tightly, and he fought to control the rage swelling within him. This man had tortured Zidantas, had murdered young Diomedes, and now had killed Argurios. Every instinct in Helikaon urged him to step out and slash his head from his shoulders.
Yet he had asked for a truce, and it had been granted. Honor demanded that he be allowed to speak. After that I will kill you, thought Helikaon.
Kolanos approached the king and offered a bow. “Your men have fought well, Priam King,” he said.
“You have no time for idle chatter,” replied the king. “Speak—and then return to your men and prepare to die.”
“I will speak. A wise man knows when his luck is played out,” Kolanos answered, keeping his voice low. “We can no longer win. The Fates were against us. We can, on the other hand, kill perhaps another hundred of you. I can prevent that. I can also offer my services to Troy, Priam King.”
Priam stood silently, observing the Mykene. “How can you prevent your men from fighting?” he asked at last. “They know they are doomed.”
“I can tell them you have agreed to let them go if they surrender their weapons. Once disarmed, you can kill them at little cost to yourself.”
“A noble act,” Priam said with a sneer.
“They are, as you say, doomed anyway. At least this way no more Trojans will die.”
“And you will live.”
“Indeed. I can be of great use to you. I know all of Agamemnon’s plans for these eastern lands. I know where he intends to strike and what kings he has won over to his cause. I know the names of all of Prince Agathon’s allies in Troy: who he was to promote and who he was to draw into his inner circle.”
“Valuable information, indeed,” said Priam.
“Do I have your word that my life will be spared?”
“You have my guarantee that not a single Trojan will raise a weapon against you.”
“How about Dardanians?” asked Kolanos, flicking a glance at Helikaon.
“No one who fights for me will harm you,” Priam promised.
“No!” said Helikaon. “I will not be bound by this promise. The man is a snake and deserves death.”
“In my palace you will obey me, Aeneas,” snapped Priam. “Your feud with Kolanos can wait. I’ll not lose a hundred more brave men for the sake of your vengeance. Do I have your word on this—or do I need to have you restrained?”
Helikaon looked into Kolanos’ pale eyes and saw him grin. It was too much to bear. His sword came up. Priam stepped between them. Two Eagles grabbed Helikaon’s arms.
Priam moved in close. “You have fought well for me, Aeneas, and I am grateful. Do not allow your rage to ruin everything. Look around you. There are young soldiers here who could be dead or crippled in the next few moments. These young men have wives and families or sweethearts or babes. They do not need to die to feed your revenge.”
Helikaon relaxed. “In your palace tonight I will not kill him. That is all I will promise.”
“That is good enough,” said Priam. “Release him.” Helikaon sheathed his sword. Turning back to the Mykene, Priam said, “Very well, Kolanos. Have your men surrender their weapons.”
Kolanos bowed and returned to his men. There was some discord when he told them they were to be disarmed. Helikaon saw a young man with a wound to his face urging the soldiers to refuse the order. Kolanos calmly assured them that the weapons would be returned to them at the beach, before they boarded their ships. Helikaon could see that many of the warriors did not like this turn of events. Their faces showed their indecision. These were fighting men who did not give up their weapons lightly. Yet here was their general, praising their bravery and offering them life. It seemed too good an offer to refuse.
Trojan soldiers moved in among the Mykene, removing shields, spears, swords, and helmets. Finally even the breastplates were unbuckled, and all the weapons laid at the center of the megaron in a huge pile. Stripped of their armor, the Mykene were no longer terrifying, merely a group of young men awaiting their fate. Kolanos returned to stand alongside Priam.
The king called out an order, and the Trojans surrounding the Mykene leveled their lances. Realization hit the Mykene then. There was to be no release, and now, disarmed, they were to be slaughtered. Then Priam stepped forward.
“Men of Mykene,” he said coldly, “I am Priam King of Troy, and I hate you all with a depth of loathing you could not begin to imagine. My daughter Laodike lies dead in the queen’s apartments. Many of my friends and loyal counselors walked the dark road tonight. Now your general has sold you to die, defenseless like sheep. To gain his own freedom he has betrayed you all.” Priam swung to Kolanos. “You have any last words for your men?”
Kolanos shook his head.
Priam gazed at the grim, defiant faces of the Mykene. “Now understand me. I would rejoice to see your bodies slashed, your throats open, your blood spurting. It would gladden my heart to hear your screams. Instead I am going to allow you to walk to your ships. I will return your weapons, and you will live.”
Helikaon saw the shock on their faces. “Aye, you heard me right,” continued Priam, anger causing his voice to tremble. “I will tell you why you are spared. A great man died here tonight, and as he was dying, I asked him if there was anything I could do for him or his family. He said that he had no family but that if he had the strength he would walk down to this megaron and rescue you. For you were his comrades. Yes, you know of whom I speak. Argurios wanted you to live. Now, make no mistake. I want you to die. The king of Troy wants you to die. But this is the night of Argurios. On this night he is greater than kings. So you live.”
A silence fell, and Priam turned and pointed at Kolanos. “Bind him!” he ordered. Soldiers leapt on the Mykene general, pinning his arms behind him.
“I had your promise!” shouted Kolanos.
“Yes, you did, and I will keep it. Not a Trojan will lay a hand on you. You betrayed these brave men, and you offered to betray your king. Yes, Kolanos, I would love to know the plans of Agamemnon. However, as I said, this is the night of Argurios. I think he would like you to travel back with your men. Perhaps they will keep you alive to explain yourself to your king. Perhaps not.” Priam strode through the Trojan lines until he stood directly before the Mykene. “Who commands now?” he asked.
“I do,” said a dark-haired young man with keen gray eyes. Upon his face was a jagged cut, stitched but still leaking blood. “I am Kalliades.”
“I shall send for physicians to tend your men. They will meet you at the beach. My soldiers will escort you there now and carry any of your wounded.”
“We can carry our own wounded, Priam King.”
“So be it. Your weapons will be returned to you at your ships. We will bury your dead, and they will be given honor.”
“Argurios was my comrade,” said Kalliades. “He gave me this cut to my face, and I will treasure the scar.”
“And Kolanos?”
“You want him taken to Agamemnon, Priam King?”
“No. I would like to stand at my tower as your ships depart and hear his screams echo across the Great Green. I would like to think that his suffering will be long, his pain excruciating, and his death assured.”
“You have my oath on that, Priam King.”
Priam turned away and walked back to where Helikaon stood. “Will your vengeance be satisfied now, Aeneas?”
Helikaon glanced over at Kolanos. The man was terrified.
“It is satisfied. That was an act of greatness. Argurios would have been proud of it.”
Surrounded by Trojan soldiers, the Mykene began to shuffle from the megaron. Helikaon walked to where Hektor stood. The golden-haired warrior gave a broad smile, opened his arms, and drew Helikaon into a crushing embrace.
“This time I really thought they’d killed you,” said Helikaon.
“Have you no faith, boy? You think a few Gypptos could finish me off? And how could I not come back when Father has tak
en such pains to find me a bride?” Hektor glanced up at the gallery. “Is that her? By the gods, I hope it is.”
Helikaon gazed up at Andromache. She was standing there in her torn white chiton, her bow in her hand, her flame-colored hair hanging free.
“Yes,” he said, his heart breaking, “that is Andromache.”
Then he turned away and walked from the palace.
He followed the Trojan soldiers as they led the fifty Mykene to the beach and the waiting ships. Weary now in both body and soul, he sat down on an upturned rowing boat and watched as surgeons and healers moved among the wounded. Kolanos, his arms bound, was sitting alone on the beach, staring out to sea.
The light of predawn began to glow in the east.
Several carts trundled down to the beach, bearing the armor and weapons of the Mykene.
It all seemed a dream now to Helikaon: the bloodshed and the horror, the battle in the megaron. It was hard to believe in this quiet dawn that men had died and that the fate of a kingdom had hung in the balance. And yet, despite all the drama and violence, it was not thoughts of battle that hung on his soul. All he could see was Andromache and Hektor. He was more than happy that his friend was alive. At any other time, though, he would have been exultant. Emotions warred within him. The return of Hektor had robbed him of the one joy he had fought for.
Anger touched him then. “I will not let this happen,” he said aloud, and pictured himself returning to the palace for Andromache. He could see Priam and offer him anything to release Andromache to him. Reality blew across his thoughts like a chill wind. Priam would not release her. He had announced her to the Trojan multitudes. She was the price of a treaty with the king of Thebe Under Plakos.