‘Yes, he is brave, but love requires a different kind of courage, Andromache.’
She smiled. ‘That makes no sense to me.’
Odysseus shrugged. ‘There is one act a warrior prays he will never be forced to submit to, and yet must if he is to know love.’
‘This is another riddle, and I am not good with riddles,’ she said.
‘Few are. Warriors fear surrender. They are proud and defiant. They will fight to the death for what they believe in. They will struggle to conquer. Love is not about conquest. The truth is a man can only find true love when he surrenders to it. When he opens his heart to the partner of his soul and says: “Here it is! The very essence of me! It is yours to nurture or destroy.” ‘
Andromache looked into the face of the ugly king, and felt a great warmth for him. ‘Ah, Odysseus,’ she said. ‘Now I see why Penelope loves you.’
He reddened. ‘I talk too much,’ he grumbled.
‘You think Helikaon is frightened to love?’
‘He is a fine man. But he was once a child of tragedy and sorrow. It left its mark on him.’
They stood in silence for a while. Then Andromache said, ‘He is a friend of Hektor, you said.’
‘More than that. They are closer than brothers. For a year Helikaon lived in Troy, building his fleet. He stayed with Hektor. Even rode with the Trojan Horse once, so I’m told. They are a sight to see. Best horsemen anywhere. You like horses?’
‘I love to ride.’
‘Then you will adore living with Hektor. No-one knows more about horses, or breeds finer mounts. Horses are his passion.’
‘Now that is a disquieting thought,’ she said, drily.
Odysseus laughed. ‘And following on from your comment last night: Hektor doesn’t get drunk, and only belches to be polite. As to rushing off to wars, I never met a man who likes war less, or does it better. Left to himself Hektor would stay on his horse farm and never ride to battle.’
‘You like him.’
‘Aye, I do, Andromache. In a violent world he is the bright morning after a storm. He will do his best to make you happy.’
‘My happiness is not in the gift of others. I will be happy, or I will not be happy. No man will supply it, or deprive me of it.’
‘You live by a hard philosophy, Andromache. You are right, though, in that not one of us is responsible for the happiness of others. Ironically, we can be responsible for another’s unhappiness.’ He glanced out to the bay, to see the Xanthos moving out onto open sea.
‘I think they will rue what they did to Zidantas,’ he said. Then he sighed. ‘We may all come to rue it.’
XIII
The Ship of Flames
i
On The deck of the Xanthos the crew were working feverishly. Four more of Khalkeus’ new weapons had been carried from the hold in sections and were now, under the watchful eye of Oniacus, being bolted to the deck. Men not working on construction were donning leather breastplates and helmets, and gathering up bow, quiver and sword. Helikaon buckled on his bronze armour. Out of the corner of his eye he saw a powerful black-bearded figure approach. His heart lifted, and for a moment he thought it was Zidantas. Then, as the harsh realization of Ox’s death struck him anew, his stomach twisted. The Egypteian, Gershom, moved alongside him.
‘You should have stayed ashore,’ said Helikaon, more harshly than he intended.
‘Only fighting men are needed here.’
The man’s dark eyes flashed with anger. ‘I am no sailor, Helikaon, but you will find I know how to fight.’
‘Show me your hands.’ Gershom held them out. Both were bandaged, and there was blood seeping through the linen. ‘You couldn’t grip a sword.’
‘No,’ admitted Gershom. ‘But by your leave I will carry the club of Zidantas. I knew him only a day, but he came into the sea for me and I owe him. And Oniacus tells me that Zidantas always stood by you in a fight.’
Helikaon nodded. ‘Yes, he did.’ He took a deep breath. ‘It will be as you say, Gershom. Remain close to me.’ Then he called out to Oniacus. The black-haired oarsman ran to the rear deck.
‘You know what to expect outside the bay?’ asked Helikaon.
‘Poseidon’s Trident, I would think,’ answered Oniacus.
‘That would be my guess also,’ Helikaon agreed. ‘Kolanos will have the command ship, so he will be the first prong, and furthest from us. As soon as we are in sight of him I want oars at six. We will close on him at maximum speed.’
Oniacus looked worried. ‘That will leave both the other galleys with sight of our beams,’ he observed. ‘If they come at us fast we could be breached.’
Helikaon ignored the comment. ‘I want men with ropes and hooks at prow and stern, along with ten of our best fighters, ready to grapple.’
Oniacus nodded. ‘You think the Crippled Swan will work against three enemies?’
‘No. We’ll need to take out at least one with the Fire Hurlers. Concentrate on i the command ship. It must be forced back, otherwise we could be rammed on two sides. I think the Xantbos could withstand it, but each of those galleys carries more than fifty fighting men. If they all close with us we’ll be outnumbered more than two to one.’
‘I’ll be on the prow weapon myself. I won’t miss, Golden One.’
Oniacus had been the most proficient of the men trained secretly in Kypros on the new weapons. The men chosen had been the steadiest and least excitable. It was vital, Helikaon knew, that no careless sailor was put in charge of nephthar.
The acrid, foul-smelling liquid was highly flammable, and almost impossible to douse once lit. It burned even more brightly when water was added to it. The Xantbos carried eighty clay balls, wax-sealed, filled with the precious liquid.
Each ball, the size of a man’s head, cost the equivalent of five good horses, eight oxen, or twenty untrained slaves. And an accident could turn the Xantbos into a ship of flame.
‘Make sure the men know exactly what we plan,’ Helikaon warned. ‘We won’t know until the last moment which galley we’ll Swan. I don’t want to see our oars splintered as we turn, or a nephthar ball dropped.’
‘Yes, lord,’ answered Oniacus.
Helikaon walked back to where the nail-studded club of Zidantas had been laid by the steering oar. Hefting it, he passed it to Gershom.
‘Find yourself a breastplate and helmet,’ he said, ‘and then return here.’
Gershom moved away and Helikaon turned to the steersman, the straggly-bearded Epeus. ‘Where is your shield?’
‘I forgot it, lord.’
‘Fetch it now,’ ordered Helikaon, stepping in and laying his arm over the oar.
‘You’ll be the man every Mykene bowman will try to bring down.’
‘They’ll not hit me,’ replied Epeus, with a wide smile. ‘A seer told me last night that I’d live to be eighty years old, with ten sons and thirty grandchildren.’
‘May he be proved right,’ said Helikaon. ‘Now get your shield.’
As the steersman ran down to the main deck Helikaon stared out over the bay, and the open sea beyond.
