So much time passed that Karpophorus began to think the man had fallen asleep.
Then his eyes opened.
‘All men choose to follow one path or another, Karpophorus. If I were to tell you that you were deluded, and that the Lord of the Dead did not call upon you, would you believe me? Answer honestly.’
‘No. The Great God has made me his servant.’
The man nodded. ‘Tell me, do you believe he would want you to kill children?’
‘No.’
‘Or women?’
‘I do not know. Does he want women slain?’
‘There will be no children or women. And you will kill no-one between the Feast of Demeter and the Feast of Persephone. When the land sleeps between the seasons you also will rest. And for each mission you undertake successfully you will offer half of your fee to benefit the poor and the needy.’ He pointed to the knife at Karpophorus’ side. ‘Give me the blade.’ Karpophorus pulled it clear and offered it to the seer. It was a fine dagger, the hilt embossed with silver thread, the pommel shaped like a lion’s head. ‘You will use only this dagger for your missions. Never poison, nor sword, nor rope. Not your hands, not a spear, not a bow. And when this dagger breaks, or is lost, you will serve the Great God no more with death. If any of these instructions be broken then your life will end within seven days.’
‘It will be as you say, holy one.’
Over the years Karpophorus had followed each instruction without complaint. In three cities there were houses of care for the poor and the destitute, funded by Karpophorus. Not one woman or child had fallen to his dagger, and the weapon was lovingly tended, and used only for his missions, lest the blade be damaged. He carried two other knives for general use, and these he had used in the Battle of Blue Owl Bay.
Tonight was the Feast of Demeter, and today the Lion-pommelled dagger would end Helikaon’s life on this earth.
He had watched the lord ride across the Scamander bridge that morning, on a horse borrowed from the king’s stable. The chances were that he would return it around dusk and then walk down through the town to the beach. He would pass through the square of the Hermes Temple. There would be crowds there.
It should not be difficult, Karpophorus thought, to kill him there. I will merely walk up, the dagger hidden in my sleeve. Helikaon will greet me with a smile. Then, swiftly and surely, I will let slip the dagger and slice it across his throat. Then I will merge with the crowds and be gone. Helikaon will be free to find the Elysian Fields and enjoy eternity in the company of gods and heroes.
Karpophorus sighed.
It should not be difficult to kill him there.
The slaying of Helikaon had proved far more difficult than any of his recent killings. The Golden One was a wary man, and sharp-witted; a thinker and a planner. Worse than this, though, Karpophorus realized, he was, in fact, reluctant to go through with the contract. Odd thoughts had been occurring to him lately, doubts and concerns. It had never happened before. Karpophorus loved his work, and felt immense pride that Hades had chosen him. But joining the crew of the Xanthos had unsettled him.
All his life Karpophorus had been a solitary man, comfortable in his own company. More than this, he positively disliked being surrounded by crowds. He had thought the journey on the Xanthos would be tense and unpleasant. Instead he had found a kind of solace. Oniacus had even hugged him on the beach yesterday, after Karpophorus told him he was quitting the crew. The sensation had been strange. Afterwards he tried to think of the last time he had been embraced. He couldn’t remember. He supposed his mother must have cuddled him at some point,
but try as he might, he could not recall a single touch from her. ‘You’ll be missed, Attalus,’ Oniacus had told him. ‘I know the Golden One sets great store by you. He will be sorely disappointed when he hears you are no longer with us.’
This kind of parting was alien territory to the assassin. It amazed him that he had found himself close to tears. Not knowing what to say he had trudged off, his copper wages in his pouch.
He had spent the night dozing in a doorway overlooking the palace entrance, and was awake with the dawn, watching for Helikaon.
Below the rooftop he heard children laughing and playing. Easing himself up, he glanced down at them. There were five boys, playing catch with a knotted ball of old rope. Then he saw another child, sitting apart from the others. He was thin and scrawny, and his face bore a sad look.
Don’t just sit there, thought Karpophorus. Go and join in. Do not set yourself apart. Make friends.
But the boy just sat and watched. Karpophorus felt a sinking of the spirits, and toyed with the idea of walking down and speaking to him. Yet he could not. What would I say, he asked himself? And why should he listen?
Then one of the other boys, a tall, slim lad with long auburn hair, left the group and sat beside the smaller child. He put his arm round his shoulder. Then the child smiled. The taller boy pulled him to his feet, and drew him to where the others were playing.
Karpophorus felt a great sense of gratitude. He sat watching them playing until they wandered off to their homes. The little boy was laughing. ‘Who knows now what you may become?’ whispered Karpophorus.
And the sadness returned.
In the failing light he saw a horseman heading back across the Scamander bridge.
It was too dark to make out his features, but he recognized Helikaon’s riding style, one hand holding the reins, the other resting lightly on his thigh.
Karpophorus watched him return the horse, talk for a while with the groom, and then enter the palace. A short while later, now wearing a tunic of dark leather, two bronze swords scabbarded at his side, he strode out towards the streets leading to the beach.
Slipping his dagger into his sleeve, Karpophorus climbed down from the rooftop and moved out to intercept him.
ii
As he walked towards the harbour Helikaon thought of Andromache. He could still feel the warmth of her body pressed against him in that hug, and the remembered scent of her hair filled him with longing. He wished now that he had sailed from Troy earlier, and had not visited the dying Hekabe.
He glanced at the sky, and the lowering clouds in the west, and wondered if he had committed some sin against Aphrodite, the love goddess. Perhaps he had sacrificed less to her than to the other gods. The irony of the situation was not lost on him. He had refused to marry, save for love, and now, having met the woman of his heart and his dreams, she was to wed another. Worse, she was to be married to his closest friend.
Now is not the time to dwell on it, he warned himself, as the shadows lengthened on the streets of Troy.
He passed through milling crowds of brightly dressed Trojans thronging the marketplaces, seeking the best deals from traders anxious to pack up their wares for the night. A whore smiled at him, cupping her heavy breasts, and licking her painted lips. He shook his head and her interest waned, her bright smile fading.
With the crowds behind him he moved more warily down the hillside towards the beach. Mykene spies would be well aware that this was his last day in Troy. They knew he would be sailing with the dawn. If another attack was planned, then it would be now, as he returned to the Xanthos.
A cool westerly breeze was blowing, and several drops of rain began to fall.
Helikaon gazed at the buildings ahead. He was approaching a narrow street, leading to the wide square fronting the Temple of Hermes, God of Travellers.
There would be many people there, sailors offering gifts for safe passage, and others about to take journeys
