in, he felt around for a spare tunic, then returned to the upper deck and removed the soldier’s calf-length linen garb. Donning his own clothes once more, he looked back at the palace.
It was a surprise that Kygones should have betrayed him. Not that they were friends, but the business they conducted together was profitable, and for the Fat King to collude in his murder he must have been offered a huge sum. No pirate could have afforded to bribe the king – not even Kolanos. No, the riches would have been promised on behalf of Agamemnon. Helikaon could make no sense of it. More than a year had passed since he had killed Alektruon, and he had done nothing since to offend the Mykene king. However, the reason for Agamemnon’s new enmity was secondary now. The real question was: how many other kings on the trade routes had been offered a fortune to conspire in his death? How many pirate chiefs? Or assassins?
His own father, Anchises, had been slain by such a man. And mutilated. The killer had slashed a sharp blade across the king’s throat, and then cut off his ear. How he had entered the palace remained a mystery. No guards reported seeing a stranger, though one man said he saw a shadow move on the high eastern wall.
He assumed it was a trick of the light.
Even now, nine years later, Helikaon still had agents scouring the towns and cities of the Great Green seeking clues to the assassin and the man who hired him.
Movement caught Helikaon’s eye. The Mykene galleys were being pushed back into the water, and he saw the blond Kolanos standing on the beach. The Mykene looked up, and their eyes met.
‘Enjoy your day, Golden One!’ shouted Kolanos. ‘It will be one to remember!’
Helikaon ignored him, and continued to watch as the Mykene crewmen swarmed aboard their vessels. The three black galleys were long and sleek, each with fifty rowers positioned on the upper decks. Bronze-headed rams had been fitted
to the prows. Kolanos was the last to wade out into the surf, and haul himself aboard his ship. Huge red eyes had been painted on the timbers of the upcurved prow, giving the galley a demonic appearance.
As the ships moved out into the bay, the rowers leaned in to their oars and the crews began to dismantle the masts. Helikaon knew then that they would be waiting for the Xanthos outside the bay. Galleys were more manoeuvrable in battle with their masts down. And they wanted him to know, otherwise they would have left their masts up until they were out of sight.
It was a challenge, and one that could not be ignored.
Kolanos had every reason to believe the day would be his. The Mykene galleys were smaller and faster than the Xanthos, and he had three times as many fighting men.
But he did not know of the genius of Khalkeus, the Madman from Miletos.
The sun cleared the eastern cliffs, turning the sky to coral and gold.
Striding back along the central deck, Helikaon climbed to the stern and gazed down on the beach, scanning the faces of his men.
Where in Hades is Ox? he thought.
XII
The Gathering Storm
i
An hour earlier Andomache had climbed the long cliff path, thinking of the seer who had predicted her destiny. Odysseus was right: the man had not been entertaining. Yet how had he known she was a priestess of Thera? Perhaps, she thought, I should have called out to the man with one sandal. She smiled. To discover what? That he was a farmer’s son from the low country, or married with seven noisy children? She walked on, her spirits lighter. The conversation with Odysseus had been more than pleasant. It was like water on a parched tongue to meet someone of wit and intelligence, who was also warm and amusing. The Fat King had a mind like a dagger, but there was no humanity in him – or none that she could perceive.
As she climbed the path she found herself thinking of the blue-eyed man who had been attacked. He was about to speak to her when the knifeman charged in. Andromache wondered what he was going to say. Would it have been a gentle greeting, or merely a coarse request for sex on the sand? She would never know. At the top of the stone steps she saw blood on the rocks. There was a smeared patch on the edge of the path, above the drop to the rocks below. Andromache ignored it and continued on to the fortress gates. Once through, she climbed the stairs to the apartments she had been allocated.
Her slim, dark-haired servant girl, Polysia, was waiting inside. In the torchlight she looked strained and nervous, and her relief at seeing Andromache was palpable. She ran forward. ‘Oh, where have you been? I was worried sick. I thought you had been abducted!’
‘I went for a walk on the beach,’ said Andromache.
‘You shouldn’t have. There has been murder tonight.’
Andromache nodded. ‘I know. When men are gathered together is there not always a murder, or a fight, or a rape?’
Polysia’s brows creased. ‘I don’t understand. Knowing that, why did you go?’
Andromache moved to the table and filled a clay goblet with wine and water. ‘Why not? I cannot change the world of men, and I have no wish to hide in a cave.’
‘I would have been in such trouble had you gone missing. The king would have had me whipped… or killed.’
Andromache put down her wine, walked over to the girl. A wisp of dark hair had fallen over her brow. Andromache brushed it back from her face, then leaned in and kissed her on the lips. ‘But I haven’t gone missing,’ she said. ‘I am here, and all is well.’ Polysia blushed. ‘And now you can go to your bed,’ Andromache told her. ‘I shall sleep for a while.’
‘Would you like me to stay with you?’
‘Not tonight. Go now.’
When Polysia had left Andromache walked to the balcony and gazed down on the beach below. Already the sky was lightening. She saw the three Mykene galleys being pushed out, men clambering aboard. Removing her clothes, she laid them over the back of a chair then climbed into the bed. Sleep came swiftly, and she dreamt of Kalliope. They were swimming in the bay at night. It was a good dream.
Then Kalliope began to call her Princess, which was strange, for they were all princesses on Thera.
‘Princess!’
Andromache’s eyes opened, and she saw Polysia by the bedside. Through the open balcony she could see the sky was clear and blue, the sun bright. Andromache struggled to sit, her mind disoriented. ‘Fetch me some water,’ she said. Polysia did so, and she drank deeply.
‘There is terrible trouble,’ said Polysia. ‘The king is furious, and there are soldiers on the beach.’
‘Slow down,’ Andromache urged her. ‘What trouble?’
‘More killings. One of the palace guards was stabbed and thrown from the cliff, and a sailor has been horribly mutilated. They cut off his head, someone told me.’
‘This is truly a savage place,’ whispered Andromache. Rising from the bed she walked naked to the balcony and breathed deeply. The air was fresh and cool.
‘You should come in. Someone might see you.’
Andromache turned. The dreams of Kalliope still burned in her, and her body felt warm and uneasy. ‘And what would they see?’ she asked the servant girl.
Once again Polysia blushed. ‘You are very beautiful,’ she whispered.
Andromache laughed. ‘Yesterday I was plain, and now everyone is telling me I am beautiful.’ Drawing Polysia to her feet she kissed her again. This time the girl’s lips parted, and the kiss was deep.
Then someone began pounding at the door. ‘Are you dressed?’ came a man’s voice.
