ii
Helikaon stood at the steering oar, adjusting his balance as the great ship clove through the waves. The dolphins had returned, leaping and diving alongside the vessel, and he watched them for a while, his normally restless mind relaxed and at peace. Only at sea could he find this exhilarating sense of freedom.
On land there were so many tedious distractions. With more than fifty ships in his fleet there were constantly problems to solve. Authorizations for repairs to galleys, reports to read from his captains, meetings with his senior scribes and treasurers, checking the tallies of cargo shipped against the goods or metals received in exchange. His lands too needed supervision, and though he had good men marshalling his horse herds, and patrolling his borders, there were still matters only he could resolve. His heart lifted as he thought of young Diomedes.
His half-brother was almost twelve now, and within a few years would be able to take on real responsibility. The blond-haired boy had begged to be allowed to sail on the Xanthos. His mother had forbidden it.
‘I am the king,’ Diomedes had said. ‘People should obey me.’
‘You will be king, and people will obey you,’ Helikaon had told him. ‘But for now, little brother, we must both obey the queen.’
‘It is not fair,’ complained Diomedes. ‘You sailed with Odysseus on the Penelope when you were young.’
‘I was three years older than you. However, the next time I see Odysseus I will ask him if you can sail with him one day.’
‘Would you do that? Oh, that would be wonderful. You would allow that, wouldn’t you, mama?’
The slender, golden-haired queen, Halysia, gave Helikaon a look of affectionate reproach. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘If Odysseus will have you.’
‘Oh, he will,’ said Diomedes, ‘for I am just as brave as Helikaon.’
‘Braver,’ Helikaon told him. ‘When I was your age I was frightened of everything.’
‘Even spiders?’
‘Especially spiders.’
The boy sighed. ‘Oh, Helikaon, I wish I could come to Troy with you. I’d like to meet great-uncle Priam, and Hektor. Is it true you are going to marry the beautiful Kreusa?’
‘No, it is not true. And what would you know about beautiful women?’
‘I know they are supposed to have big breasts and to kiss men all the time. And Kreusa is beautiful, isn’t she? Pausanius says she is.’
‘Yes, she is beautiful to look at. Her hair is dark and long and she has a pretty smile.’
‘Then why won’t you marry her? Great-uncle Priam wants you to, doesn’t he? And mother says it would be good for Dardania. And you said we both had to obey mother.’
Helikaon had shrugged, and spread his hands. ‘All this is true, little brother.
But your mother and I have an understanding. I will serve her loyally in all matters. But I have decided to marry only when I meet a woman I love.’
‘Why can’t you do both?’ asked the boy. ‘Pausanius has a wife and two mistresses. He says he loves them all.’
‘Pausanius is a rascal,’ said Helikaon.
Queen Halysia had stepped in to rescue him from the boy’s questioning. ‘Helikaon can marry for love because he is not a king, and does not have to consider the needs of the realm. But you, little man, will be a king, and if you are not a good boy I shall choose a wife for you who is dull and cross-eyed and buck-toothed… and bandy-legged.’
Diomedes had laughed, the sound rich and full of life. ‘I shall choose my own wife,’ he said, ‘and she will be beautiful. And she will adore me.’
Yes, she will, thought Helikaon. Diomedes would be a good-looking man, and his nature was sweet and considerate.
The wind was picking up and Helikaon leaned in to the steering oar. His thoughts turned to Priam’s favourite daughter. Kreusa was – as he had told Diomedes –
very beautiful. But she was also greedy and grasping, with eyes that shone only when gold was reflected in them.
But then, could she have been any different, he wondered, raised as she was in a loveless palace by a father who considered nothing of worth, save that which could be placed upon his scales.
Helikaon had no doubt that it was Priam who had ordered Kreusa to flatter and woo him. The lands of Dardania, directly north of Troy, had never been rich.
There were no mines supplying mineral wealth in gold, copper, silver or tin. But Dardania was fertile, and its grasslands fed horse herds of surprising strength and endurance. Corn was also plentiful. Helikaon’s growing wealth as a merchant prince had also financed the building of ports, allowing access to the trade goods of Egypte and all the lands to the south and west. Dardania was growing in wealth, and therefore power. Of course Priam would seek an alliance with his northern neighbour. No doubt in a few years Priam would seek to marry one of his daughters to Diomedes. Helikaon smiled. Perhaps strange little Kassandra, or gentle Laodike. The smile faded. Or even Kreusa. The thought of his little brother wed to such a creature was dispiriting.
Perhaps I am being unfair to her, he thought.
Priam had little time for most of the fifty children he had sired on his three wives and thirty concubines. Those he drew close had been forced to prove their value to him. His daughters were carelessly sold to foreign princes in exchange for alliances; his sons laboured either in his treasuries, or in the priesthood or the army. Of them all, he lavished what passed for affection on only two: Kreusa and Hektor. His daughter understood the secrets of gathering wealth; Hektor was unbeatable upon the battlefield. Both were assets that needed to be maintained.
It even seemed to amuse the old man that many of his children plotted his death, seeking to overthrow him. His spies would report on their movements, and then, just before they could act upon their plans, he would have them arrested. In the last three years Priam had ordered the deaths of five of his sons.
Pushing aside thoughts of Priam, Helikaon gazed up at the sky. It was a cloudless brilliant blue, and the southerly breeze remained strong and true.
Mostly, as summer ended, the prevailing winds were from the northwest, making the crossing a hard day’s work for the oarsmen. Not today. The Xanthos, sail billowing, cut through the waves, rising and falling with grace and power.
Helikaon saw Khalkeus pacing up and down the main deck, one hand holding his straw hat in place. Occasionally the pitch of the ship would cause him to stumble and grab for a deck rail. He was a landsman, and completely out of place at sea – which made it all the more strange that he should have designed and built a ship of such beauty.
Up at the prow, Zidantas left the makeshift tent where the shipwrecked man had been carried and made his way to the rear deck.
‘Will he live?’ asked Helikaon.
‘Yes. Tough man. He’ll survive – but it’s not him I’m worried about.’
Helikaon looked the giant in the eye. ‘You are always worried about something, Ox. You are never happy unless there is a problem to grind your teeth over.’
‘Probably true,’ admitted Zidantas, ‘but there’s a storm coming.’
Helikaon swung to gaze back towards the south. Zidantas’ ability to read the weather bordered on the mystical. The southern sky was still clear, and, at first, Helikaon thought the Ox might – at last – be wrong. Then he concentrated on the line of the horizon behind them. It was no longer clean and sharp, signalling rough water. He glanced at the black horse sail. The wind was still fresh and favourable, but it was beginning to gust. ‘How long?’ he asked.
Zidantas shrugged.
‘We’ll see it before we see land, and it will be upon us before we beach.’
The stocky figure of Khalkeus came marching towards them, head down. He climbed the three steps to the rear deck. ‘I have been thinking about what you said,’ he told Helikaon. ‘I think the fins may be the answer. As you
