Shield of Thunder (21 page)

Kassandra tugged back on the string, which broke, spilling the arrow to the ground.

In that moment a servant came into sight. “Lady Andromache, there is a messenger from the king to see you.”

Andromache thanked the man, then took the broken weapon from Kassandra’s hand. “Very well, you were right, little seeress. Perhaps you would like to tell me why the king wishes to see me.”

“He wants you in his bed,” Kassandra said. “He is going to seduce you.”

“That is not prophecy,” Andromache replied. “I would think everyone in the palace has guessed his intention. He is not discreet with his compliments. Tell me something no one could possibly know.”

“That’s a silly game,” Kassandra said. “If nobody knows, then you would not know it, either. Then, when I told you, there would be no way to prove it. Like if I told you that a sparrow had died on the roof of the palace and had been eaten by a crow. Anyway, why do you want to test me?”

Andromache sat down on a stone bench. “I suppose I would like to know if the voices are real or imaginary.”

Kassandra shook her head. “No, you
want
them to be made up. Everybody wants them to be made up. I told Father that Hektor wasn’t dead. He was angry and shouted at me. But Hektor wasn’t dead. He came home, just like I said. Father thinks it was a coincidence. I told you that you would need your bow and put it in your hand on the night the Thrakians later attacked. No one ever believes in my gift, Andromache. No matter what I tell them.”

Andromache drew the girl to her and kissed her cheek. “Sadly, I think you are right, Kassandra. We all get frightened by prophecy. So from now on I will not question your powers or seek to test you. And I will teach you to use the bow. I will, won’t I?”

“Yes, you will,” Kassandra answered, with a shy smile.

“And now I must go and resist your father’s charms. You stay here and flirt with Teachos. I shall be back before sunset.”

“Take some water with you,” Kassandra said. “The sickness will come again as you walk.”

“I shall avoid the salt fish in future,” Andromache told her.

“It isn’t the fish,” the child replied.

∗ ∗ ∗

Andromache crossed the square in front of the great temple to Athene with its copper and amber doors and paused for a moment at the base of the huge statue to the goddess. Elaborately carved, it showed Athene in her war helm, holding a spear in one hand, the shield of thunder at her feet. Andromache gazed at the stone shield. It was perfectly round, and a lightning bolt had been carved upon its center.

“You always pause here,” said the soldier Cheon. “Then you reach up and touch the shield. Why do you do that?”

“Why do you always tug on your ear before asking a question?” she countered.

He gave a boyish grin. “I was not aware of it. Is Athene the patron goddess of your home city?”

“No, Hermes has pride of place there. My father loves wealth, and Hermes is the god of travelers and merchants. But my mother was a follower of the goddess. She learned the mysteries. On the night of my birth she almost died, but a priestess of Athene saved her—and me.”

Andromache walked on, thinking of the long-ago day when she had sat on her mother’s knee and heard of that terrible night. “You were blessed by the goddess, dear heart. She flew over the palace disguised as an eagle,” Olektra had told her.

“How do we know that?”

“Many people saw her.”

“They saw an eagle. How did they know it was the goddess, Mother?”

Olektra had looked momentarily uncertain. Then she had smiled. “You’ll understand when you are older and wiser.”

“But do
you
understand, Mother?”

Olektra had hugged her close and whispered in her ear. “Perhaps I will when
I
am older and wiser.”

Andromache smiled at the memory.

From the upper city she could see all Troy laid out before her, the shining roofs of its carved and decorated palaces, its wide streets, its high golden walls and towers, the Great Tower of Ilion dwarfing them all. Beyond there was the lower town, and beyond that the Bay of Troy, crowded with ships. To the southwest she could see Hekabe’s summer palace, King’s Joy, shining whitely in the sunlight. In the distance she could just make out the black dots that were galleys on the Great Green.

She glanced at Cheon. Although the square around them was not busy, one hand lay on his sword hilt and his eyes constantly watched for peril.

Her stomach moved with nausea again, and she stood quietly for a moment until the feeling ebbed. Then she set off, striding quickly toward Priam’s palace.

The place was in turmoil, the red-pillared portico seething with people. Royal guards—the King’s Eagles in armor of bronze and silver—were questioning them, then letting them in one at a time. Andromache slipped through the line of warriors, smiling her thanks at the armored Eagle who recognized her and stepped aside, ushering her in. The
megaron
beyond was more crowded than she had ever seen it. Merchants and petitioners waited in huddles, watched by soldiers; slaves ran around on errands; and scribes moved back and forth, their wicker baskets filled with soft clay tablets. There were royal courtiers, counselors to the king, foreign visitors in outlandish costumes, and soldiers everwhere.

“Shall I stay with you, lady?” Cheon asked, frowning at the throng.

“No, I’ll be all right. Go and get something to eat. I’ll be here awhile.”

He dipped his head and moved back toward the
megaron
entrance. She knew he would be there waiting for her when she came out, whenever that was.

Andromache looked around for someone she knew. She saw the king’s chancellor, Polites, coming down the stone steps from the queen’s apartments and tried to move through the crowd toward him, but a portly merchant stepped on her foot and she nearly lost her balance. She scowled at the clumsy fat man, but he, not knowing her, merely glanced past her.

Then came a welcome voice. “Sister, let me get you out of here.”

“Dios! What a bear pit this is!”

Hektor’s half brother smiled at her with genuine affection. She was reminded of their first meeting, when he had confronted her on the royal beach, accusing her of immodesty. “Prince Deiphobos” he had insisted she call him, standing on his dignity in front of his courtiers. Then had come the day of the siege. Dios had changed that day, as had so many others. Guarding the stairs, placing his body and his life in front of his king, he had grown in everyone’s eyes. Now he was less arrogant, and his ever-present mob of lickspittle flunkeys and courtiers had melted away. He had become a good friend to Andromache during the long winter.

“Come out into the gardens,” he said, taking her arm. “It’s not so bad out there. Where is your bodyguard?”

“I sent him away. I thought he would not be needed in here with all these soldiers.”

He shook his head and laughed. “Andromache, why do you always seek trouble? You are surrounded by a press of people, so you send your guard away. It is true that if you were attacked, about a hundred Eagles would fall on the attacker and kill him, but that might be too late for you. It was almost too late for Helikaon, remember?” His face sobered. “How is he now?”

“Better, much better. He has returned to the House of Stone Horses and will go back to Dardanos soon.”

“I am glad to hear it. Now, why are you here?”

“Priam wishes to see me.”

“Does he?” A cloud passed over Dios’ face, and she felt his concern. Does everyone know of Priam’s intentions for me? she wondered. Dios said, “He has been closeted with Agamemnon for most of the day. You might have a long wait.”

“It is the king’s privilege to keep his subjects waiting,” she said, but in her heart she was angry at Priam’s games. Bile rose again in her throat, and she swallowed it down.

Protected by high walls from Troy’s ever-present wind, the royal gardens smelled of fragrant flowers and salt sea air. On the far side of the gardens Andromache spotted Kreusa, Priam’s favorite daughter. The dark-haired beauty saw Dios and, smiling, started to walk toward him; then she noticed Andromache and scowled, turning abruptly back the way she had come. Not for the first time Andromache wondered about Kreusa. Where had she been on the night of the siege? It was said that she was at a friend’s house, that she was late leaving and was warned of the attack before she reached the palace. Priam called it the mercy of the gods. Andromache called it highly suspicious.

“I hate to leave you here, Andromache,” Dios said, “but Polites and I must attend the king. Can I have some food or drink sent out?”

She declined, then watched him walk back into the
megaron.

The afternoon passed slowly into evening, and torches were lit in the gardens. The crowds finally drifted away. The air cooled, and Andromache wrapped her green shawl around her. The moon rose above the palace roof, and still she sat, her anger simmering. She thought of returning to Hektor’s palace but knew Priam would only call her out in the depths of the night instead. So she waited, quelling the rage in her heart and the nausea in her belly.

At last she saw a tall Eagle walking toward her through the torchlight.

“The king will see you now, lady,” he said. “He is in the queen’s apartments.” His eyes shied away from her. It was common palace knowledge that Priam used the apartments for assignations with women, be they palace slaves or noblewomen.

She followed the soldier back into the
megaron
and up the great stone staircase. She had not been to the queen’s apartments since the night of the siege. The remembered sounds of battle echoed in her mind: the clash of metal, the grunting of the warriors, and the cries of the wounded. She passed through the room where Laodike had died. It was empty now, cold and silent. A single faded rug lay on the stone floor, and dust motes swam in the air, swirling in the light from the torches.

The Eagle led her to a large room draped with heavy tapestries. There was a wide bed, several cushioned couches, and a table heaped with sweetmeats. It was warm and stuffy. Servants were clearing away food and bringing fresh flagons of wine. Priam sat on one of the couches. He looked tired and much older than when they had first met, she thought.

“Andromache. I am sorry to keep you waiting.” He gestured to a couch, and she sat down, looking around her.

“You entertained Agamemnon here?”

“Man to man,” he said, shrugging. “We quaffed wine together and laughed. If I greet visiting dignitaries in the
megaron,
they feel immediately subordinate.”

“What is wrong with making Agamemnon feel subordinate? I hear he is a snake.”

“Oh, yes, he is a snake. But a dangerous snake.” He smiled wearily. “So I charm him and play him sweet music. Until I am ready to cut his head off. Will you take some wine?”

“Water would be good.”

He stood and served her himself with a goblet of water. She noticed that the servants had all left the chamber and they were alone.

“You visited Hekabe yesterday,” the king said. “How is she?”

Andromache thought of the ruin that was the dying queen: yellow skin stretched like thin papyrus on brittle bones, a voice like the rustle of dead leaves on an icy pond, feverish black eyes that pierced you like a spear.

“She is determined on seeing her favorite son wed,” she answered. “I have no reason to think she will not do that.”

“Is she in pain?”

Andromache raised questioning eyes to the king. “Have you never asked that of anyone before?”

“I cannot chat about the queen’s condition with anyone passing through the palace. That is why I ask you.” Priam’s face showed sadness. “You must understand, Andromache, she was a woman I honored above all others.”

Then, thought Andromache, you should show that honor by visiting her in her dying days. She bit her lip and remained silent.

Priam took a swig of wine and leaned toward her, looking into her eyes. “Why do you think I summoned you here tonight?” he said, changing the subject.

“To ask after your dying wife?”

Priam flushed. “Your thoughts are like ice, and your words a spear. That is the reason I value you. One of the reasons,” he added, smiling a little. His eyes strayed to her long strong legs and slender hips. “You are a beautiful woman, Andromache. Most men value golden-haired milkmaids with simpering smiles and buxom hips. You have the stern beauty of Athene. It fires my blood. You know this.”

Andromache was too tired to play his games. “I will not be your mistress, Priam,” she said, standing, hoping he’d let her leave.

“I think you will.”

“Never. I am to wed your son Hektor. I
do
understand the nature of duty. I will be a dutiful wife.”

He sat back, smiling and relaxed again. “Sit down, girl. I will not touch you until you invite me to.”

“And that will be never!”

“Then I shall amuse myself by telling you a story. You might enjoy it, for it is about you. Many years ago—long before you were born—I visited Thera with my young and lovely queen. We were traveling to Kretos to see the king of the day, Deukalion, father of this braggart Idomeneos. There was a terrible storm at sea. It was feared the ship would founder. Hekabe was pregnant and sick. I don’t remember which child it was. We survived the storm, but we had to put in to Thera for a night. We offered pleasantries to the chief priestess, a hachet-faced woman, I recall. After the dreary duties were done, the queen wished to be closeted with a young seeress she knew from her days there as a priestess. The two spoke for hours, well into the night. Then the seeress—her name was Melite—walked with Hekabe to the prophecy flame. When the fumes overcame her, Melite fell to the floor and began to shout. Much of what she said was lost on Hekabe, for Melite shrieked out words in tongues that were unfamiliar to her. But just before Melite lost consciousness, her voice changed, becoming that of a young child. She then spoke a pretty verse. You want to hear it?”

Andromache was silent for a moment. Her interest was piqued. She, too, had known Melite and recalled only too well that the old woman had prophesied her departure from Thera weeks before the ship arrived with the message from Hekabe. “Yes, I will hear it,” she told him.