Vengeance of Orion Part 7

I could feel the air in the chamber change. The eager expectation died. A somber reaction of gloom settled on them all.

"But this is nothing more than Agamemnon has offered in the past," wheezed Priam.

"And which we have steadfastly refused," Hector added.

Aleksandros laughed. "If we refused such insulting terms when the Achaians were pounding at our gates, why should we even consider them now, when we have the barbarians penned up at the beach? In a day or two we'll be burning their ships and slaughtering them like the cattle they are."

"I am a newcomer to this war," I said. "I know nothing of your grievances and rights. I have been instructed to offer the terms for peace, which I have done. It is for you to consider them and make an answer."

"I will never surrender my wife," Aleksandros snapped. "Never!"

Helen smiled at him and he reached up to take her hand in his.

"A newcomer, you say?" Priam asked, his curiosity p.r.i.c.ked enough to light his eyes. "Yet you claim to be of the House of Ithaca. When you first ducked your head past the lintel of our doorway I thought you might be the one they call Great Ajax."

I replied, "Odysseus has taken me into his household, my lord king. I arrived on these sh.o.r.es only a few days ago..."

"And single-handedly stopped me from storming the Achaian camp," Hector said, somewhat ruefully. "Too bad that Odysseus has adopted you. I wouldn't mind having such a fearless man at my side."

Surprised by his offer, and wondering what it might imply, I answered merely, "I fear that would be impossible, my lord."

"Yes," Hector agreed. "Too bad, though."

Priam stirred on his throne, coughed painfully, then said, "We thank you for the message you bring, Orion of the House of Ithaca. Now we must consider before making answer."

He gestured a feeble dismissal. I bowed again and went back to the anteroom. The guards closed the heavy door behind me.

I was alone in the small chamber; the courtier who had guided me earlier had disappeared. I went to the window and looked out at the lovely garden, so peaceful, so bright with flowers and humming bees intent on their morning's work. No hint of war there: merely the endless cycle of birth, growth, death, and rebirth.

I thought about the words the Golden One had spoken to me. How many times had I died and been reborn? To what purpose? He wanted Troy to win this war, or at least survive the Achaian siege. Therefore my desire was the same as Agamemnon's: to crush Troy, to burn it to the ground, to slaughter its people and destroy it forever.

Destroy that garden? Burn this palace? Slaughter Hector and aged Priam and all the rest?

I clenched my fists and squeezed my eyes tight. Yes! I told myself. Just as the Golden One would slaughter Odysseus and old Poletes. Just as he burned my love to death.

"Orion of Ithaca."

I wheeled from the window. A single soldier stood at the doorway, bareheaded, wearing a well-oiled leather harness rather than armor, a short sword at his hip.

"Follow me, please."

I followed him down a long hallway and up a flight of stairs, then through several rooms that were empty of people, although richly furnished and decorated with gorgeous tapestries. They will burn nicely, I found myself thinking. Up another flight we went, and finally he ushered me into a comfortable sitting room, with undraped windows and an open doorway that looked out on a terrace and the distant sea. Lovely murals decorated the walls, scenes of peaceful men and women in a pastel world of flowers and gentle beasts.

The soldier closed the door and left me alone. But not for long. Through the door on the opposite side of the room, a scant few moments later, stepped the beautiful Helen.

Chapter 10.

SHE was breathtaking, there is no denying it. She wore a flounced skirt of shimmering rainbow colors with golden ta.s.sels that tinkled as she walked toward me. Her corselet was now as blue as the Aegean sky, her white blouse so gauzy that I could see the dark circles of the areolae around her nipples. She wore a triple gold necklace and more gold at both wrists and earlobes. Jeweled rings glittered on her fingers.

She was tiny, almost delicate, despite her hour-gla.s.s figure. Her skin was like cream, unblemished and much lighter than the women I had seen in the Achaian camp. Her eyes were as deeply blue as the Aegean, her lips lush and full, her hair the color of golden honey, with ringlets falling well past her lovely shoulders. One stubborn curl hung down over her forehead. She wore a scent of flowers: light, clean, yet beguiling.

Helen smiled at me and gestured toward a chair. She took a cushioned couch, her back to the open windows. I sat and waited for her to speak. In truth, just looking at her against the background of the blue sky and bluer sea was a feast that seemed too good for mere words.

"You say you are a stranger to this land." Her voice was low, melodious. I could understand how Aleksandros, or any other man, would dare anything to have her. And keep her.

I nodded and found that I had to swallow once before I could speak. "My lady, I arrived on a boat only a few days ago. Before then, all I knew of Troy was... stories told by wayfarers."

"You are a sailor, then?"

"Not really," I said. "I am a... traveler, a wanderer."

She looked at me with a hint of suspicion in those clear blue eyes. "Not a warrior?"

"I have been a warrior, from time to time, but that is not my profession."

"Yet it may be your destiny."

I had no answer for that.

Helen said, "You serve the G.o.ddess Athene." It was not a question. She had excellent intelligence sources, apparently.

Nodding, I replied, "That is true."

She bit her lower lip. "Athene despises me. She is the enemy of Troy."

"Yet her statue is honored..."

"You cannot fail to honor so powerful a G.o.ddess, Orion. No matter how Athene hates me, the people of this city must continue to placate her as best they can. Certain disaster will overtake them if they do not."

"Apollo protects the city," I said.

She nodded. "Yet I fear Athene." Helen looked beyond me, looking into the past, perhaps. Or trying to see the future.

"My lady, is there some service you wish me to do for you?"

Her gaze focused on me once again. A faint smile dimpled her cheeks. "You wonder why I summoned you?"

"Yes."

The smile turned impish. "Don't you think that I might want a closer look at such a handsome stranger? A man so tall, with such broad shoulders? Who stood alone against Hector and his chariot team and turned them away?"

I bowed my head slightly. "May I ask you a question, my lady?"

"You may-although I don't promise to answer."

"All the world wonders: Did Aleksandros actually abduct you, or did you leave Sparta with him willingly?"

Her smile remained. It even grew wider, until she threw her head back and laughed a hearty, genuinely amused laugh.

"Orion," she said at last, "you certainly don't understand the ways of women."

I may have blushed. "That's true enough," I admitted.

"Let me tell you this much," Helen said. "No matter how or why I accompanied Aleksandros to this great city, I will not willingly return to Sparta." Before I could reply she quickly added, "Not that I harbor ill feelings for Menalaos, my first husband. He was kind to me."

"But Aleksandros is kinder?"

She spread her arms. "Look about you, Orion! You have eyes, use them. What woman would willingly live as the wife of an Achaian lord when she could be a princess of Troy?"

"But Menalaos is a king..."

"And an Achaian queen is still regarded less than her husband's dogs and horses. A woman in Sparta is a slave, be she wife or concubine, there is no real difference. Do you think there would be women present in the great hall at Sparta when an emissary arrives with a message for the king? Or at Agamemnon's Mycenae or Nestor's Pylos or even in Odysseus's Ithaca? No, Orion. Here in Troy women are regarded as human beings. Here there is civilization."

"Then your preference for Aleksandros is really a preference for Troy," I said.

She put a finger to her lips, as if thinking over the words she wished to use. Then, "When I was wed to Menalaos I had no say in the choice. The young lords of Achaia all wanted me-and my dowry. My father made the decision. If, the G.o.ds forbid, the Achaians should win this war and force me to return to Sparta with Menalaos, I will again be chattel."

"Would you agree to return to Menalaos if it meant that Troy would be saved from destruction?"

"Don't ask such a question! Do you think Agamemnon fights for his brother's honor? The Achaians are intent on destroying this city. I am merely their excuse for attacking."

"So I have heard from others, in the Achaian camp."

"Priam is near death," Helen said. "Hector will die in battle; that is foretold. But Troy itself need not fall, even if Hector does."

And, I thought, if Hector dies Aleksandros will become king. Making Helen the queen of Troy.

She fixed me with her eyes and said, "Orion, you may say this to Menalaos: If he wants me to return to him, he will have to win me by feats of battle. I will not go willingly to a man as the consolation prize for losing this war."

I took in a deep breath. She was far wiser than I had a.s.sumed. She unquestionably wants Troy to win this war, wants to remain in this city so that one day she can be its queen. Yet she wants to tell her former husband that she will come back to him-if he wins! She's telling him, through me, that she will return to Sparta and be the docile Achaian wife-if and when Troy is burned to the ground.

Clever woman! No matter who wins, she will protect her own lovely skin.

We chatted for a few moments more, but it was clear that Helen had imparted the message she wanted me to bear back to the Achaians. Finally she rose, signaling that our meeting was ended. I got to my feet and went to the door by which I had entered the chamber. Sure enough, the guard was outside waiting to escort me back to the king's audience hall.

No one was there except the courtier who had been with me earlier in the morning. The columned hall was empty, echoing.

"The king and royal princes are still deliberating on your message," he whispered. "You are to wait."

I waited. We strolled through several of the palace's halls and chambers and finally out into the big courtyard we had come through that morning. The hot sun felt good on my bare arms.

Out of curiosity I walked across the garden to the small statue of Athene. It was barely the length of my arm, and obviously very old, weathered by many years of rain and wind. Unlike the other, grander statues, it was unpainted. Or, rather, the original paint had long since worn away and had never been replaced.

Athene. The warrior G.o.ddess was dressed in a long robe, yet carried a shield and spear. A plumed helmet rested on the back of her head, pushed up and away from her face.

I looked at that face and the breath gushed out of me. It was her her face, the face of the woman I had loved. The face of the G.o.ddess that the Golden One had killed. face, the face of the woman I had loved. The face of the G.o.ddess that the Golden One had killed.

Chapter 11.

SO it was true. The G.o.ds are not immortal. Just as the Golden One had told me. And I knew that he had not lied about the rest: The G.o.ds are neither merciful nor beneficent. They play their games and make up their own rules while we, their creatures, try to make sense of what they do to us.

The rage burned in me. They are not immortal. The G.o.ds can be killed. I can kill the Golden One. And I will, I promised myself anew. How, I did not know. When, I had no idea. But by the flames that burned inside me I swore that I would destroy him, no matter how long it took and no matter what the cost.

I swung my gaze around the graceful flowered courtyard of Priam's palace. Yes, this is where I would start. He He wants to save Troy, to make it the center of an empire that spans Europe and Asia. Then I will destroy it, crush it, slaughter its people, and burn its buildings to the ground. wants to save Troy, to make it the center of an empire that spans Europe and Asia. Then I will destroy it, crush it, slaughter its people, and burn its buildings to the ground.

"Orion."

I blinked, as though waking from a dream. Hector stood before me. I had not seen him approaching.

"Prince Hector," I said.

"Come with me. We have an answer for Agamemnon.

I followed him into another part of the palace. As before, Hector wore only a simple tunic, almost bare of adornment. No weapons. No jewelry. No proclamation of his rank. He carried his n.o.bility in his person, and anyone who saw him knew instinctively that here was a man of merit and honor.

Yet, as I matched him stride for stride through the halls of the palace, I saw again that the war had taken its toll of him. His bearded face was deeply etched by lines around the mouth and eyes. His brow was creased and a permanent notch of worry had worn itself into the s.p.a.ce between his eyebrows.

We walked to the far side of the palace and up steep narrow steps in murky darkness lit only by occasional slits of windows. Higher and higher we climbed the steep, circling stone steps, breathing hard, around and around the stairwell's narrow confines until at last we squeezed through a low square doorway onto the platform at the top of Troy's tallest tower.

"Aleksandros will join us shortly," said Hector, walking over to the giant's teeth of the battlements. It was almost noon, and hot in the glaring sun despite the stiff breeze from the sea that huffed at us and set Hector's brown hair flowing.

From this high vantage I could see the Achaian camp, dozens of long black boats drawn up on the beach behind the sandy rampart and trench I had helped to dig barely forty-eight hours earlier. The Trojan army was camped on the plain, tents and chariots dotted across the worn-bare soil, cook fires sending thin tendrils of smoke into the crystalline sky. A fair-sized river flowed across the plain to the south and emptied into the bay. A smaller stream pa.s.sed to the north. The Achaian camp's flanks were anch.o.r.ed on the two riverbanks.

Beyond the gentle waves rolling up onto the beach I saw an island near the horizon, a brown hump of a worn mountain, and beyond that another hovering ghostlike in the blue hazy distance.

"Well, brother, have you told him?"

I turned and saw Aleksandros striding briskly toward us. Unlike Hector, his tunic looked as soft as silk and he wore a handsome royal-blue cloak over it. A jeweled sword was at his hip, and more jewels flashed on his fingers and at his throat. His hair and beard were carefully trimmed and gleamed with sweet-smelling oil. His face was unlined, though he was not that many years younger than his brother.

"I was waiting for you," said Hector.

"Good! Then let me give him the news." Smiling nastily, Aleksandros said to me, "You may tell fat Agamemnon that King Priam rejects his insulting offer. Moreover, by this time tomorrow our chariots will be riding through your camp, burning your boats and slaying your white-livered Achaians until nothing is left but ashes and bones. Our dogs will feast well tomorrow night."

I kept my face immobile.

Hector made the tiniest shake of his head, then laid a restraining hand on his brother's blue-cloaked shoulder. "Our father is not feeling well enough to see you again. And although my brother's hot words may seem insulting, the answer that we have for Agamemnon is that we reject his offer of peace."