stupid. Or at least that was what he had thought.
Now he knew otherwise. Kygones had hired the Mykene to patrol his waters, and he had done so cheaply. In the moment that Kygones let slip the price, Helikaon knew he was betrayed. Mykene fighting men like Kolanos did not sell their services without receiving a good blood price. They would earn more by piracy and raiding. They had accepted sixty rings because there was something larger and more valuable offered to balance the fee.
His own life.
Everything fell into place then. The loss of five hundred men to the Hittite army would not have depleted Kygones’ force so greatly as to reduce the number of men patrolling the beach. And even if it had, there would still have been soldiers around the crowd when Odysseus told his tale. In fact there had been none.
Also there had been too few torches on the cliff path, and no soldiers there i either.
Kygones needed no extra galleys. He had merely delayed Helikaon so that Argurios and Glaukos would return without him. There was now no need to find the captain of the guard. Helikaon knew what had happened. Zidantas had been told Helikaon was staying the night at the palace. Ox had therefore returned to the beach.
The crowning moment of the betrayal had been when Kygones deprived Helikaon of his only weapon. He felt his anger rise – not at Kygones, but at himself. How could he have been so foolish? All the clues had been there, and he had not seen them. He stood for a while, until the anger passed, and he began to think more clearly. Kolanos would have sent more men to wait on the cliff path, so either he remained where he was until the dawn, or he found another way down. At first the thought of staying at the palace seemed the more obvious solution. Surely Kygones would not risk angering Troy by actively participating in the death of one of its allies. Yet, as he thought it through, he realized he could be killed in the palace, and his body dumped on the cliff path. Kygones might already have issued orders to trusted men.
Once on the beach, surrounded by his own men, Helikaon would be safe. But how to get there?
ii
The Mykene warrior Kolanos had never been a patient man. The night was almost gone, and his men had not returned. So, donning sword and helmet, he walked swiftly along the beach, following the line of the cliffs towards the path. The moon emerged from behind a thin screen of clouds. He saw then that his tunic was spattered with blood, spray patterns dotting the pale fabric. There was blood also on his hands. Pausing, he scooped up some sand to rub them clean. Most of the sailors on the beach were asleep, save for a few sitting around fading campfires playing knucklebone dice. To his right was the Xantbos campfire. He saw Argurios sitting there, staring out at the sea. Anger flared. He had never liked the man. His notions of honour were ludicrous. Enemies were to be killed by whatever means. How he could have defended Helikaon was a mystery Kolanos would never understand. When Agamemnon heard of it he would be furious. And Kolanos would ensure the king did hear of it. Argurios might revel in his role as a Follower now, but he would be stripped of that honour. With luck, depending on Agamemnon’s mood, he might also be declared outside the law, his estates forfeit, a blood price on his head. Irritation touched him then. That would be too much to hope for. Argurios, for all his stupid clinging to the rituals of the past, was still a Mykene hero. Kolanos strode up the cliff path. Near the top, almost within sight of the palace gates, he found the five men he had assigned to kill Helikaon. They were half hidden in the shadows of a deep cleft in the rock. Kolanos approached them. The bulky form of Habusas the Assyrian stepped into the moonlight. ‘No sign of him, lord,’ he said.
‘Has anyone passed?’
‘A few sentries. Some whores.’
Kolanos moved back into the shadows. Habusas followed him, keeping his voice low. ‘Maybe he stayed the night.’
‘If he does Kygones will have him killed, and his body thrown to the beach. Let us hope he comes. I want to see the bastard’s face when my knife rips out his eyes.’
‘Someone coming!’ whispered one of the men. Kolanos peered through the gloom. A soldier wearing a conical helmet and carrying a club on his shoulder was strolling down from the palace.
‘Go and ask him about Helikaon,’ ordered Kolanos.
Habusas called out to the man, then walked across. They spoke for a little while, then Habusas returned.
‘He said the Trojan went back to the king’s apartments. That’s all he knew.’
Kolanos glanced at the sky. There was no more than an hour of darkness left.
‘We’ll wait a while longer,’ he said.
Time drifted by. Kolanos’ irritation grew. Had Kygones changed his mind? Had he decided not to kill Helikaon?
Then Habusas lightly tapped his arm and pointed up the trail. A man wearing a dark chiton had emerged from the palace gates, and was beginning the walk down to the beach.
‘Grab him and pin his arms,’ said Kolanos, drawing his knife.
As the figure came closer Habusas stepped out, blocking the way. Other men moved around the startled newcomer, hustling him to stand before Kolanos.
His dark hair was close-cropped, his face heavy and fleshy. Kolanos swiftly sheathed his blade. ‘Where did you get that tunic?’ he asked roughly, recognizing the gold embroidery round the neck and sleeves. Instead of answering, the man turned to run. Habusas and two of the Mykene grabbed him and hauled him back to face Kolanos.
‘I asked you a question. Answer it!’
‘From the Trojan prince, lord.’
‘Why did he give you his garment?’
‘We exchanged clothes. I am a soldier of the king. He said he wanted to play a joke on his friends, and borrowed my uniform and my club. He said I could come down to the beach tomorrow and he would return everything.’
Bile rose in Kolanos’ throat. Stepping back he looked at Habusas. ‘Send this man to the beach. By the fast route.’
The Mykene dragged the struggling soldier to the cliff edge. In desperation he clawed at them. Habusas punched him twice, half stunning him. Kolanos ran in, knife in hand, and plunged the blade through the man’s chest, then dragged it clear. Mortally wounded, the soldier fell to his knees. The Mykene rushed in and kicked him from the cliff edge. His body plummeted down to the rocks below.
The sky was growing lighter now.
‘No more knives in the dark,’ said Kolanos. ‘We will take him at sea.’
iii
Helikaon stepped off the cliff path and strode across the rocky sand. He was tired now, but lifted by the fact that he had fooled the Mykene. Kolanos himself had been waiting there in the dark, with five of his men. It was a great compliment that they believed such force would be necessary.
The conical helmet slid sideways on his head, for he had not tightened the chin straps, and the bronze- reinforced leather breastplate was too large, chafing the skin of his shoulders. He felt clumsy as he walked across the beach towards the Xanthos fire. Then he stumbled, the strap of his right sandal snapping. Kicking it clear, he walked on.
Most of the men were asleep when he approached. Pulling off the helm, he tossed it to the sand, then unbuckled the breastplate. Oniacus saw him. ‘You were better dressed when you set out,’ he volunteered.
‘Long day tomorrow – you should be sleeping,’ Helikaon told him, then strolled off to the Xanthos. He climbed onto the rear deck. Two men were sleeping there, a third keeping watch. Helikaon opened a deck hatch and stepped down into the stygian gloom below. He found his chest more by feel than sight and lifted the lid. Reaching
