and, in that moment, had become a servant of Hades. It was the single greatest moment of his life, and it changed his destiny.
He thought again of Helikaon. He couldn’t kill him today, for Oniacus had ordered him to be the Golden One’s bodyguard. In order to remain close to Helikaon Karpophorus had joined the crew in Kypros, and – as a crew member – had sworn an oath of loyalty. Such matters were not to be taken lightly, which was why he had fought ferociously alongside the Golden One at the Battle of Blue Owl Bay.
But the deed could not be put off for much longer. The feast of Demeter was tomorrow night. He would quit the ship later today, and then kill Helikaon tomorrow.
Satisfied with his decision, he stretched out on the bench and fell into a dreamless sleep.
iii
Helikaon passed through the doorway into the king’s megaron, a massive hall where petitioners waited in the hope of bringing their disputes before the king. There were merchants there, and commoners. It was packed and noisy, and Helikaon moved across it swiftly. A Royal Eagle in bright armour, with a white-crested helmet, opened the side door to the palace gardens, and Helikaon stepped out into the sunlight. There were stone walkways here, flowing around areas of brightly coloured flowers, and several sets of stone seats, shaded by an intricate series of climbing plants, growing between thick wooden roof slats. There were people waiting here also, but these were of the royal line. Helikaon saw two of Priam’s sons there, the king’s chancellor Polites, and fat Antiphones. Polites was sitting in the shade, a mass of papyrus scrolls on his lap. Both men wore the ankle-length white robes and belts of gold that marked their rank as ministers of the king. It had been almost a year since Helikaon had last seen them. Polites looked tired, almost ill. His pale hair was thinning, and his eyes were red- rimmed. Antiphones was even larger than Helikaon had remembered, his belly bulging over his wide golden belt, his face flushed and bloated, his eyes heavily pouched. Hard to believe, thought Helikaon, that both were still in their twenties.
Antiphones saw him first and grinned broadly. ‘Ho, Aeneas!’ he called out.
‘Welcome back!’ Stepping forward swiftly for such a large man, he embraced Helikaon, kissing his cheeks. The man’s strength was prodigious and Helikaon thought his ribs might snap. Then Antiphones released him. Polites did not rise, but smiled shyly. ‘Your adventures are the talk of Troy,’ continued Antiphones.
‘Sea battles and burning pirate ships. You live a life that is not dull, my friend.’
‘It is good to be back.’
Helikaon noted the use of the word pirate, and added no comment. Troy was still allied to Mykene, and no- one was going to risk causing offence to Agamemnon. He chatted to them for a while, learning that Priam was ‘at rest’, which meant he was rutting with some servant girl, or the wife of one of his sons. Polites seemed nervous and ill at ease. Perhaps it is your wife, thought Helikaon.
‘What news of the city?’ he asked them. He watched their expressions change, as if masks had fallen into place.
‘Oh,’ said Antiphones, ‘it is much the same. Have you seen Hektor’s bride?’
‘We met.’
‘Hard woman. Eyes like green flint. A Thera priestess, no less! Thin as a stick.
Nothing to get hold of there!’
Helikaon had no wish to discuss Andromache with them. Ignoring the comment he said, ‘Any news of Hektor?’
‘Only rumour,’ said Polites, dabbing at his watery eyes with the white sleeve of his gown. ‘A trader reported that a huge battle was being waged. No-one knows who won.’
‘Hektor won,’ insisted Antiphones. ‘Hektor always wins. He may be dull in conversation, and unable to tell a fine wine from a cup of cow piss, but he never loses a fight. Don’t you find it baffling?’
‘In what way?’
‘Ever the diplomat, Polites!’ said Antiphones scornfully. ‘You know full well what I mean. We both grew up with Hektor. He never liked to fight, not even childish scraps. Always reasonable, good-natured, grinning like an oaf. How in the name of Hades did he turn out to be such a warrior?’
Helikaon forced a smile. ‘Come, come, Antiphones! I remember when you were the fastest runner in Troy. Might not a similar question be asked? How did such a beautiful athlete become so fat?’
Antiphones also smiled, but his eyes were hard. ‘You have a point, Aeneas.
Hektor is what Hektor is. The beloved heir. Good for him, I suppose. But there is more to running a city than a warrior might suppose. When crops fail, or disease strikes, it will matter not a jot if the king can steer a chariot through a melee, or lop the head from an enemy.’
‘Which is why Hektor is lucky to have brothers like you.’
A servant appeared and halted before Helikaon. ‘The king is ready to see you, lord Aeneas,’ he said. Helikaon thanked the man, and followed him back into the palace through a side door, and towards a wide flight of stairs leading to the queen’s apartments at the top of the building.
‘Is the queen in residence?’ he asked the servant.
‘No, lord, she is still at the summer palace. But King Priam has taken to…
resting in her apartments during the day.’
Two Royal Eagles were standing before a doorway at the top of the stairs.
Helikaon recognized one of them, a powerfully built warrior named Cheon. The soldier nodded a greeting and smiled as he opened the door to the queen’s apartments, but he did not speak.
Helikaon entered the room and Cheon pulled the door shut behind him. Long curtains of gauze were fluttering in the mild breeze from the wide window, and the room smelt of heavy perfume. Through an open doorway Helikaon could see an unmade bed. Then a young woman emerged, her face flushed, her eyes downcast.
Easing past Helikaon she opened the door and left.
Then Priam appeared, a large golden goblet in his hand, a golden flagon in the other. Moving to a wide couch he sat down, drained the goblet and refilled it.
‘Well, come and sit down,’ he said, gesturing to a chair on the other side of a low table. ‘Unless, of course, you have plans to rush through my city burning Mykene pirates.’ Helikaon sat and looked at the king. There seemed to be more silver in the gold of his hair, but he was still a powerful figure.
‘Have you heard that Agamemnon was in Miletos?’ asked Priam.
‘No. He’s a long way from home.’
‘He’s been travelling greatly these last two years. Thraki, Phrygia, Karia, Lykia. Offering gifts to kings, declaring friendship and making alliances.’
‘Why would he need alliances on this side of the Great Green?’
‘Why indeed?’ The king fell silent. He leaned back. ‘You saw the girl?’
‘Yes.’
‘Pretty – but dull. Was a time when all women seemed to be creatures of fire and passion. You could spend a glorious day rutting. Now it’s all: “Yes, Great King, whatever pleases you, Great King. Would you like me to bark like a dog, Great King?” Why is that, do you think?’
‘You already know the answer,’ Helikaon told him.
‘Then humour me.’
‘No. I did not come here to argue with you. Why is it you always desire conflict when we meet?’
‘It is not about desire,’ said Priam. ‘It is merely that we don’t like each other. Shall I tell you what you were thinking when I asked the question?’
‘If it pleases you.’
‘In past days the girls made love to Priam, the beautiful young man. Now they just seek to serve Priam the randy old king. Am I right?’
