For the Most Beautiful (12 page)

There was a pause, then Lygdon bowed his head, his face impassive. ‘As you wish, Princess.'

Together, we hastened towards the doors to the palace. They were open and Lygdon heaved them shut behind us, with a great creaking of hinges, then led me quickly down a long corridor, through the open courtyard, the sky above it tinged with a blazing red glow, and into the empty Great Hall. It was dark in there, and only a few rays of moonlight drifting through the high slit windows illuminated the four red columns around the hearth, the washed-out paintings on the walls and a stone altar to Apulunas, bearing a small ivory statue of the Great God and some food offerings.

Lygdon placed me beside the altar, trusting to the sanctuary of the gods. Then he walked heavily to the double bronze doors, and stood, feet planted, in front of them, holding his massive two-headed axe before him. ‘It shouldn't be long before the prince returns,' he said.

The palace around us was eerily quiet. The sound of my breathing was heavy in my ears, and the scent of incense and smoke hung around the altar from the last offering to the gods. Time moved slowly. I watched a moonbeam approach me slowly across the painted tiles of the floor.

Suddenly a loud, echoing crash resounded through the halls of the palace.

‘What was that?'

I started up. Lygdon was staring at the closed doors of the Great Hall.

The sound came again – a shuddering, bellowing crash, like an earthquake.

‘Lygdon – what is happening?' I demanded again, clutching at the edges of the altar.

He turned back to me, gripping the handle of his axe. ‘It sounds – it sounds as if—' He shook his head.

‘Yes?'

‘It sounds as if the Greeks are ramming the gates of the upper city.'

My mouth went dry. ‘What shall we do?' I whispered.

Before Lygdon could answer, a splintering blast of breaking wood split the air, then a creaking, shuddering, heaving sound as the gates were forced open, followed by cheers and roars and the pounding of feet against earth.

‘They're in,' Lygdon said, stunned. ‘The Greeks are through.' He turned to me. ‘Come with me, Princess, quickly – we have to get you to the back gate.'

I could hear Lyrnessan soldiers in the corridors beyond the Great Hall regrouping, interspersed with sounds of clashing metal that sent a chill of terror through my entire body. I prayed with all my heart that one of them was Mynes, that he was still alive …

I slipped from the altar, numbly, my legs barely moving beneath me.

Lygdon placed his hand upon the bolt of the door and held out his other arm towards me. ‘Come, Princess, quickly!'

I could hear fighting, the clash of swords and spears ringing through the echoing halls of the palace, nearer and nearer. I half ran, half stumbled towards Lygdon …

And then I froze.

The whole palace was suddenly deathly silent.

And the silence was more terrifying still because it meant there was no one left to fight. None, except Lygdon.

Then came the sound.

Boo-oom.

The hall reverberated with physical shock. Something had struck the double bronze doors with enough force to make a visible dent in the moulded metalwork.

Lygdon leapt away and raised his axe, tightening his grip. I fell back towards the altar, my fingers white as I clung to the riveted edge.

Then it came again.

Boo-oom.

The dent was larger, hollow, caving in.

Boom. Boom. Boom.

And then—

A fist punched through the door with impossible strength, and the metal gave a shattering, booming sound like the crashing of a wave on to the shore as it split. Two hands thrust through and pulled away the bronze, ribboning it into curving folds of shining metal as easily as if it were soft clay. And in the hole there stood a man.

And yet it was not a man. His eyes glittered in the dark, the skin of his arms and chest tight over smooth muscles, like a shining young snake. His strangeness was painfully gorgeous, his slim height framed by the gap in the door.

There was a second of silence in which Lygdon took in the full impact of the man before him. Then he let out a whisper, like the slice of a blade on the air: ‘Achilles.'

The man reared towards the ceiling as Lygdon charged – and it was so fast I did not even see it, beyond a flash of steel and the spurt of blood from Lygdon's neck. Achilles was past him before he had even hit the floor.

My skin was wet with the cold sweat of fear, my fingers slipping against the stone of the altar, every instinct screaming at me to run, yet I knew I had nowhere to go. The beam of moonlight filtered down from the circular opening in the roof above the hearth directly on to the altar top, and caught my thin white robe in its glow.

Achilles saw me. I felt his dark eyes lock on to mine and I knew that the end had come, and I prayed for death. Death over slavery. Anything over becoming a Greek slave.

‘Apulunas, god of the Trojans, our protector,' I whispered, through the dry spittle on my lips, and I made the sign of the goddess of luck again with my fingers, my hands trembling violently, ‘help me now. Help me.
Help me
.'

There was a sudden sound of battle cries and clashing bronze, and then, the next moment, a loud crash.

I looked at the entrance to the room. The bronze doors were being pushed from the other side, bulging with the weight of the warriors pressing against them, and then, at last, with a loud
crack
, their hinges snapped, pressed through by the men spilling into the room. The last of the Lyrnessans were pouring into the Great Hall, fighting ferociously even as they were being driven back by the overwhelming forces of the Greeks.

Slowly, Achilles moved towards me. My heart was racing in my throat. I could not move.

There was nowhere else to go.

‘Apulunas,' I whispered again, my voice hoarse and strangled, ‘
help me now
.'

Achilles was walking faster, his black eyes boring into mine. The sound of the battle was terrifying, metal scraping on metal, the hard tang of blood on the air and the strangled cries of the wounded. Lyrnessan soldiers were attacking him from every side, but Achilles swatted them away, like flies, with a single sharp thrust of his sword, not moving his gaze.

I stared panic-stricken into the mass of fighting bodies. ‘Help,' I muttered, my voice shrill with fear. ‘
Help.
'

A figure in the crowd flashed into view behind Achilles. He was forcing his way through the soldiers with almost demonic ferocity, hacking right and left with a sword and an oval-shaped shield.

Achilles was weighing his sword easily in his hand.

Behind him, closer and closer, I saw the other figure slashing and thrusting, diving through the mass of bodies, blood running down the nose of his helmet, the red and gold crest dyed crimson with gore.

Red and gold.

My heart leapt to my mouth.

It was Mynes.

He was only a few feet from Achilles now. His sword was raised high above his head, his eyes blazing with fury as he bellowed my name. A little closer, and he would bring his sword down and smash it through Achilles' skull.

Achilles did not even turn to look. In one moment he spun on his heel faster than a breath of wind and thrust his sword into Mynes' chest.

I saw Mynes ripple with the shock as it impacted on his breastplate, watched it pierce through his ribs and into his heart.

‘
Mynes!
'

It cannot be true. Let it not be true.

‘Mynes –
no
—' I jumped from the altar, my hair sticking to my face as I fought my way towards him, oblivious of the battle that raged ahead, the flash of swords and spears, the cries of the wounded. All I could see was my husband, the sword of Achilles sticking through his heart, and a pool of bright scarlet blood spreading on the floor around his feet.

He collapsed to his knees.

‘
Mynes!
' I screamed again, and I pushed more frantically through the packed crowd of battling warriors, oblivious to the battle-axes swishing over my head and the clanking of metal hammering at my ears as sword struck sword. ‘Mynes – don't die—'

Suddenly I felt a hand grip my arm, so strong that it almost wrenched my shoulder from the socket and punched all the air from my lungs.

‘Let me
go
!' I screamed, thrashing wildly, struggling and kicking and biting like a wild animal, desperate to be free.

In front of me Mynes' face was deathly pale. Achilles tightened his grip around my arm so I could hardly move.

‘
Mynes!
' I screamed, but my voice was lost in the din of the battle.

Mynes' eyes fluttered slightly.

‘
Mynes!
'

But it was too late. He gave one last gasp, one last shudder, and then he fell forwards on to the floor.

He was dead.

‘
No!
' I shrieked, my whole body racked with sobs, fighting to get free with every last ounce of strength I possessed. ‘No – my husband—'

But Achilles had had enough.

I felt his hand gripping my neck, his fingers pressing agonizingly into my flesh, and I wondered for one moment if he was going to strangle the life out of me. But then I felt his muscles tense, felt myself flung back through the air towards the altar with more than mortal force. My skull slammed into the stone edge of the block, the pain seared through my head and into my eyes, then dissolved into nothing.

My world went black.

Cassandra and I were seated in her chamber on the seat beneath the window, looking out over the moonlit Trojan bay and the shore, where the watch-fires of the Greeks were glimmering before their ships' prows. We had talked ourselves to silence, wondering what the Greeks were planning, how long it would be before they attacked Troy and which other cities they were going to fall upon while they prepared. Now it was almost the hour for the evening feast. Cassandra was to stay in her rooms – she had the food sent up to her from the kitchens, these days. Since she had fainted on the walls she had preferred not to suffer the taunts and gossip of the court – but she had insisted, despite my protests, that I should not stay with her, that I was to go and enjoy myself.

Cassandra stood and took my hand. ‘Come,' she said, turning away from the window. ‘I cannot think any more about the Greeks. I will have Lysianassa dress your hair for you.' She led me over to her table and set me on the small carved stool, then beckoned to her slave.

Lysianassa moved over from the door and knelt at her mistress's feet.

‘I want you to dress Krisayis' hair.' She glanced at me. ‘And her eyes. And use my new Egyptian perfume – the one the pharaoh's ambassador brought.'

The cosmetics were laid out on the table in dozens of little alabaster pots, each so much more costly than anything I had ever owned. ‘I cannot,' I said, twisting round to look up at my friend. ‘They are lovely,' I picked up a small pot filled with powdered green malachite and gazed at the bright colour, ‘but …'

Cassandra leant down to whisper in my ear. ‘If you look your most beautiful at the feast, then perhaps Troilus will ask for your hand this very night.'

I stared up at her in surprise, my heart leaping in my chest. ‘I never told you I was thinking of marriage!'

Cassandra grinned at me. ‘Oh, Krisayis, it is written all over your face. Anyone who knows you would be able to see it.' She took my hand and squeezed it. ‘And Troilus could not wish for a lovelier wife.'

‘Do you really think so?' I breathed, as if I was afraid someone might hear us, though in truth there was only Lysianassa in Cassandra's chambers. ‘Do you truly think he might consider marriage? Even – even though I am only the daughter of a priest? And with a war outside our gates?'