Zidantas. Then he remembered the awful sight of the head being drawn from the sack. Reaching the circle he called out to Oniacus. ‘I don’t know how I got here,’ he said. The man ignored him. Xander crouched down in front of the seated man, but Oniacus’ eyes did not register his presence.
‘Oniacus! Please talk to me!’ Stretching out his hand he tried to touch Oniacus on the arm. Strangely he could not feel anything under his fingers, and Oniacus did not notice his questing hand. So Xander sat quietly as Helikaon spoke on.
Then Oniacus rose and began to tell stories about Zidantas and Epeus. Xander looked around.
Four men were standing outside the circle, quietly watching the orations.
One of them was Zidantas. Xander ran over to him. ‘Please talk to me!’ he said.
‘Be calm, boy,’ said Zidantas. ‘Of course I will talk to you.’ He dropped to one knee and put his arms round Xander.
‘Oniacus wouldn’t speak to me. Have I done something wrong?’
‘You have done nothing wrong, son of Akamas. He cannot see you.’
‘Why? You can see me.’
‘Aye, I can.’
‘I thought you were dead, Zidantas. We all thought you were dead.’
‘What are you doing here, boy? Were you hurt in the fight?’
‘No. I went to Troy with Odysseus. That’s all I remember. I was sick. I am better now.’
‘His heart is failing,’ said a voice.
‘Did you hear that?’ Xander asked Zidantas.
‘Yes. You must go back to Troy. And swiftly.’
‘Can’t I stay with you? I don’t want to be alone.’
‘We are walking a dark road. It is not for you. Not yet. Listen to me. I want you to close your eyes and think of Troy, and where you were. You understand?
You are in a bed somewhere, or lying on a beach. There are people with you.’
‘I keep hearing the voice of Odysseus,’ said Xander.
‘Then close your eyes and think of him. Think of Odysseus, Xander. Do it now!
Think of life! Think of a blue sky and a fresh wind off the sea.’
Xander closed his eyes. He could still feel Zidantas’ arms round him, and a great warmth settled over him. Then Zidantas spoke again. ‘If you see my little Thea tell her she brought great joy to my heart. Tell her that, boy.’
‘I will, Zidantas. I promise.’
‘Can you hear my voice, lad?’ he heard Odysseus ask. ‘Listen to my voice, and come back to us.’
Xander groaned, and felt a weight upon his chest. His limbs were leaden and his mouth dry. He opened his eyes, and saw the ugly face of Odysseus leaning over him.
‘Ha!’ shouted the Ithakan king. ‘Did I not tell you? The boy has heart.’ He looked down at Xander and ruffled his hair. ‘You had us all fearful for a while.’
Odysseus helped him to sit, then lifted a cup of water to his lips. Xander drank gratefully. He looked around, and saw sunlight streaming through a window, down onto the bed in which he lay. Beyond Odysseus was a tall, thin man, in an ankle-length chiton of white. His hair was dark, and thinning at the temples, and he looked very tired. He approached Xander and laid a cool hand on the boy’s brow. ‘The fever is breaking,’ he said. ‘He needs to eat and rest. I shall have one of the helpers bring him a little food.’
‘How soon can he travel?’ Odysseus asked the man.
‘Not for a week at least. The fever could return, and he is very weak.’
After the man had gone Xander looked around the small room. ‘Where is this place?’ he asked.
‘It is a House of Serpents – a healing house,’ Odysseus explained. ‘You have been here five days. You remember any of it?’
‘No. All I remember is seeing Zidantas. He told me to come back to Troy. It seemed so real, but it was just a dream.’
‘Did you see any gates?’ asked Odysseus.
‘Gates?’
‘My Penelope tells me there are two kinds of dreams. Some come through a Gate of Ivory, and their meanings are deceitful. Others come through a Gate of Horn, and these are heavy with fate.’
‘I saw no gates,’ said Xander.
‘Then perhaps it was just a dream,’ said Odysseus. ‘I am going to have to leave you here, Xander. The season is almost gone, and I need to get back to my Penelope before winter.’
‘No!’ said Xander fearfully. ‘I don’t want to be alone again. Please don’t go!’
‘You won’t be alone, lad. The Xanthos is in the bay, and Helikaon is here. I shall get word to him about you. For now, though, you must rest, and do everything the healer tells you. Your strength needs to return.’
As he spoke, Xander realized how weak he felt. ‘What was wrong with me?’
Odysseus shrugged. ‘You had a fever. The healer said you might have eaten something bad, or breathed foul air. You are better now, though, lad. And you will be strong again. I can read the hearts of men, you know. I know the difference between heroes and cowards. You are a hero. You believe me?’
‘I don’t feel like a hero,’ Xander admitted.
Odysseus tapped the cheekbone under his right eye. ‘This eye is magical, Xander.
It is never wrong. Now, I ask again, do you believe me?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’
‘Then tell me what you are.’
‘I am a hero.’
‘Good. When doubt comes, as it always does, remember those words. Say them to yourself. And I will see you again in the spring, if the gods will it.’
ii
Argurios of Mykene was not a man given to introspection. His life had been one of service to his king and his people. He did not question the decisions of the ruler, or wonder about the rights and wrongs of war and conquest. For Argurios life was stark and uncomplicated. Powerful men ruled, weaker men became servants or slaves. It was the same with nations.
Yet within this simple philosophy he had also absorbed the code of Atreus King, Agamemnon’s father. Power with conscience, strength without cruelty, love of homeland without hatred for one’s enemies.
Hence Argurios had never tortured a foe, raped a woman, nor killed a child. He had burned no homes, nor sought to terrorize those he had defeated.
The events leading to the horror of Bad Luck Bay continued to haunt him. The murder of Zidantas was brutal and sadistic. He wanted to believe that Kolanos was merely a savage; a monster who stood apart from the fine men of the Mykene race.
But was he?
He had pondered this on the voyage with Odysseus, but had still not found an answer. Now, as he walked up the long hill towards the Scaean Gate, he did not marvel at the beauty of the city, or notice the glittering gold of the palace roofs. He was thinking of other generals who had gained favour with Agamemnon King, cruel and ruthless men whose atrocities were a stain upon the honour of the Mykene. He had heard stories during the past months that had chilled his blood.
A village had been massacred, the men tied to trees, their ribs cut open, their entrails held in place by sticks. The women had been raped and murdered. The Mykene general in charge of the attack had been Kolanos.
Argurios had gone to Agamemnon with the tale. The king had listened intently.
