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 helms. Finally even the breastplates were unbuckled, and all the weapons laid at the centre of the megaron in a huge pile. Stripped of their armour 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 levelled 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 counsellors walked the dark road tonight. Now your general has sold you to die, defenceless 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 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 grey 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 honour.’
‘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 taken 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-coloured 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, both in 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 pre-dawn began to glow in the east.
Several carts trundled down to the beach, bearing the armour 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.
Then I will steal her, he decided. We will sail across the Great Green, and make a life far from Troy.
And in doing so you will shame Hektor, cause strife and possible ruin in Dardania, and live your life in constant fear of reprisal and death.
Is this love, he asked himself? Is this the kind of life you would visit upon Andromache? To become a runaway, exiled from her family, an oath breaker, loathed and reviled? Helikaon felt as if all his strength had been leeched from him.
As the sky brightened the air became filled with the sounds of seabirds, swooping and diving over the bay, their calls sharp and hungry and full of life.
