When she emerged at the top it was with a sense of relief. The brightness of the low sun hurt her eyes and the wind buffeted her hair, and for a moment she was disorientated. She looked around slowly, steadying her breathing.
The wooden roof was half the size of the king’s megaron, yet empty bar four guards, one at each corner of the tower, motionless, staring outward. A tall, wide-shouldered man was standing on the battlements of the southwest wall, the wind blowing through his long silver-gold hair.
He was powerfully built and deeply tanned. He wore a blue full-length tunic and, despite the coolness of the dawn, his tanned, muscular arms were bare. He was in profile to her and she saw a high, beaked nose and strong jaw. He didn’t appear to have seen her and she stood uncertain.
‘Well, are you going to stand there all day, girl?’ he said, not turning.
Andromache walked over to him and stood, head bowed. ‘I am Andromache of Thebe.’
The king turned suddenly. She was surprised at how young and vital he was. His height and the width of his shoulders dominated her, and his physical presence was colossal.
‘Have you not been taught how to address your king, girl? On your knees.’ He loomed over her and she was almost forced to her knees by his presence alone.
Instead she straightened her back. ‘In Thebe Under Plakos we do not bow the knee to anyone, not even the gods.’
Priam leaned in close so she could see the yellowish whites of his eyes and smell the morning wine on his breath. He said quietly, ‘You are not in little Thebe now. I will not tell you again.’
At that moment there was a clattering on the staircase and a Royal Eagle climbed onto the roof. His helmet bore the black and white crest of a captain. He strode quickly to the king.
‘Lord.’ He glanced at Andromache and hesitated. Priam gestured impatiently for him to go on. ‘Lord, we have him! Someone must have warned him, for he had almost made it to the Egypteian ship. He is being questioned now.’
‘Excellent! I shall attend the questioning later.’ The king was once more looking down at the bay. ‘Is that monstrosity Helikaon’s new ship?’
‘Yes, sir, the Xantbos. It arrived late last night.’
Andromache’s interest quickened. She watched Priam closely but could not see from his expression whether he considered it good news or bad. After a moment he dismissed the captain and turned to regard Andromache again. ‘Let me show you my city,’ he said, then sprang lightly up onto the high battlement wall, before turning and holding out his hand to Andromache.
She did not hesitate, and he took hold of her wrist, drawing her up to stand alongside him. The wind buffeted her, and she glanced down at the awesome drop.
‘So, you will not kneel to me?’ he said.
‘I will kneel to no man,’ she answered, preparing herself for the push that would send her toppling to her death, and ready to haul him with her.
‘You interest me, girl. There is no fear in you.’
‘Nor in you, apparently, King Priam.’
He looked surprised. ‘Fear is for weaklings. Look around you. This is Troy. My Troy. The richest and most powerful city in the world. It was not built by fearful men, but by men with imagination and courage. Its wealth grows daily, and with it the influence that wealth brings.’
Suddenly, to Andromache’s surprise, the king reached out and weighed her left breast in his hand. She did not flinch.
‘You will do,’ Priam said, taking his hand away and waving his dismissal. ‘You will breed strong children for me.’
An icy worm of fear slithered into her heart. ‘For your son Hektor, I think you mean, my king,’ she corrected, her voice harder than was wise.
More quickly than she could have expected he stepped towards her, looming over her again. ‘I am your king,’ he whispered in her ear, his breath hot and wet.
‘And Hektor is not here. He may well not return until the spring.’
The prospect of being confined to Priam’s palace through the long weeks of winter filled Andromache with dismay.
‘You may go now,’ said Priam, turning away from her and staring out over the bay.
Andromache leapt lightly down to the ramparts and walked to the stairway. Then Priam called out to her. She turned towards him.
‘You are still a virgin, I take it?’
‘I am who I am, King Priam,’ she replied, unable to keep the anger from her voice.
‘Then remember who you are, and what you are,’ he advised. ‘You are the property of Priam, until he decides you should become the property of another.’
XVIII
The House of Serpents
i
The House Of Serpents was larger than xander had first imagined. There were four immense buildings, set in a square with an open garden area at the centre, in which an altar had been erected to the god Asklepios.
There were people everywhere, women in long green gowns, men dressed in white tunics, priests in flowing robes of blue and gold. Then there were crowds of supplicants, queuing before three tables set close to the altar. Everyone in the queues carried an offering, some holding caged white doves, others bearing perfumes, or gifts of copper or silver. Xander saw that each supplicant was given a small square of papyrus, which he or she held to their lips before dropping it into a large copper container beside the priest at the table.
Mystified, Xander moved on through the crowd, wandered around the garden, then decided to return to his room.
Except that he had no idea where it was. All four of the buildings looked exactly the same. He entered one, followed a corridor, and found himself in a i huge, round chamber. There were statues of the gods set into alcoves. At the foot of each statue was a deep cup of silver, and a small brazier, filled with glowing coals. He recognized the statue of Demeter, Goddess of Fertility, for she carried a basket of corn in one hand, and the babe Persephone held against her breast. Others he could not identify. The air was full of incense, and he saw two priests moving to each of the statues. The first poured libations of wine into the silver cups, and the second sprinkled papyrus squares onto the fires in the braziers.
Then Xander understood. The supplicants’ squares were being offered to the gods.
He wondered how Demeter would know from the ashes exactly what each worshipper had asked for.
Moving out of the temple area he saw Machaon, the healer priest who had tended him. Xander called out and Machaon turned his head. He was tall and stoop-shouldered, with short dark hair thinning at the temples. His eyes looked tired.
‘I see you are feeling stronger, Xander,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
‘Do not over-exert yourself. You are still recovering.’
‘Yes, sir. Can you tell me where my room is?’
Machaon smiled. ‘The house is like a labyrinth. It takes time to find your way around. Do you read symbols?’
‘No, sir.’
