who would be seeking the blessing of the god.
A perfect place to ambush a single man in sight of his ship.
He felt the tension rise in him as he entered the street before the temple.
Ahead he saw a man, hooded and cloaked. The man turned away sharply and walked back towards the square.
A cold anger settled on Helikaon. This was the scout, then. His appearance in the square would tell the others that Helikaon was approaching. How many would be waiting? His heart began to beat faster. They would want to be sure this time. Eight or ten killers would rush him. Certainly no more. A larger group would get in each others’ way. Ten, he decided, would be the maximum. At least two would run behind, to block a retreat back along the street he now walked.
The others would circle him, then rush in.
Helikaon paused and whispered a prayer to the war god. ‘I know these Mykene worship you above all gods, mighty Ares, but the men in this square are cowards.
I ask your blessing upon my blades today.’
Then he walked on.
At the entrance to the square he glanced left and right. As he walked on he saw two hooded men angling around behind him, blocking his retreat.
He saw Attalus moving through the crowd towards him.
At that moment four men threw off their cloaks, drew swords and rushed at him.
They were wearing leather breastplates and round leather helmets. Helikaon drew his two swords and leapt to meet them. All around, the crowd scattered. Other Mykene rushed in. Helikaon blocked a savage thrust, plunging his blade through an attacker’s throat. A sword blade hammered against his side. The pain was intense – but the hidden ivory discs within the leather tunic prevented his ribs being smashed. Helikaon swung his sword against the Mykene’s leather helmet. The blade sliced down through the flesh of the man’s face, snapping the jaw bone.
Helikaon kept moving, cutting and parrying. Despite concentrating on the men coming against him he was aware of Oniacus and the hand-picked fighting men of the crew rushing from their hiding places and attacking the Mykene. The ringing clash of sword upon sword echoed in the square. The crowd had drawn back, leaving the central area to the combatants. Flipping his right-hand blade, and holding the short sword now as a dagger, Helikaon parried a thrust with his left-hand sword, then plunged the right down through the attacker’s collar bone.
The blade sank deep, and a ghastly scream tore from the Mykene’s throat.
Helikaon spun and saw Attalus ram a dagger through the eye of a Mykene. There was blood on Attalus’ tunic.
Now it was the Mykene who sought to flee. Helikaon saw a tall warrior cut down a crewman and run towards the narrow street.
Gershom cut off his retreat, the club of Zidantas thundering into the man’s face. The Mykene was hurled from his feet, his skull smashed.
Two other attackers threw down their weapons, but they were ruthlessly slain.
Helikaon saw Attalus tottering towards him, his dagger dripping blood. The man staggered. Dropping his swords Helikaon stepped in to meet him. The injured man fell into his arms. Helikaon laid him down on the stone. Attalus’ hand flapped, the dagger blade scraping across Helikaon’s tunic. ‘It is all right, Attalus,’
said Helikaon, taking the blade from the man’s hand. ‘The fighting is over. Let me see your wound.’
There was a deep puncture just above the right hip, and blood was pouring from it. Then Helikaon saw a second wound in the chest. It was bleeding profusely.
Oniacus crouched down alongside Helikaon. ‘Eight dead Mykene, but we lost five, with three more carrying wounds.’
‘You have a healer waiting at the Xanthos?’
‘Aye, Golden One, just as you ordered.’
‘Then let us get the wounded aboard.’
‘Give me… my dagger,’ whispered Attalus.
Helikaon laid his hand on the man’s shoulder. ‘You must rest, Attalus. Do not exert yourself. Your dagger is safe. I will look after it for you.’
‘Looks like you are staying with us after all, Attalus, my friend,’ said Oniacus. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll have those scratches dealt with in no time.’
Helikaon stood and gazed around the temple square. People were gathering now, staring at the bodies. A troop of Trojan soldiers came running into sight, spreading out, swords drawn. Helikaon strode towards them. The officer approached him. Helikaon did not know the man.
‘What happened here?’ demanded the officer.
‘Mykene assassins tried to kill me.’
‘And why would they do that?’
‘I am Aeneas of Dardania, known as Helikaon.’
Instantly the officer’s attitude changed. ‘My apologies, lord. I did not recognize you. I am new to the city.’ He glanced at the corpses, and the wounded crewmen. ‘Did any of the assassins escape?’
‘None that I saw.’
‘I will need to make a report to my watch commander.’
‘Of course,’ said Helikaon, and outlined the attack. As he concluded the officer thanked him and began to turn away. ‘Wait,’ called Helikaon. ‘You have not asked me why the Mykene should want me dead.’
The officer gave a tight smile. ‘Oh, I have been in the city long enough to understand why,’ he answered. ‘You stain the Great Green with their blood.’
Helikaon returned to his men. Stretcher bearers carried three badly wounded crewmen away to the House of Serpents, while others were helped down to the beach where the physician Machaon waited. The five corpses were also carried to the beach and laid out on the sand close to the Xanthos. Helikaon knelt alongside each of the bodies, placing silver rings in their mouths.
‘Why do you do that?’ asked Gershom.
Helikaon rose. ‘Gifts for Charon the Ferryman. All spirits must cross the Black River to reach the Fields of Elysia. He ferries them.’
‘You believe that?’
Helikaon shrugged. ‘I don’t know. But the gifts also honour the dead, and are tributes to their bravery.’
A tall, silver-haired man, wearing a long white cloak bearing the horse insignia of the House of Priam, approached them and bowed.
‘My lord Aeneas, I come from the king with grim news.’
‘Is Priam ill?’
‘No, lord. The news is from Dardania.’
‘Then speak, man.’
The messenger hesitated, then took a long, deep breath. He did not meet Helikaon’s gaze. ‘Word has reached us that a force of Mykene pirates, under cover of darkness, broke into the citadel at Dardanos.’ He hesitated. ‘It was not a plunder raid. It was a mission of murder.’
Helikaon stood very quietly. ‘They were seeking me?’
‘No, lord. They were hunting the boy king.’
A cold fear settled on Helikaon’s heart. ‘Tell me they did not find him.’
‘I am sorry, lord. They killed Diomedes and raped and stabbed his mother. She still lives, but it is feared not for long.’
Several men, Oniacus among them, had gathered round. No-one spoke. Helikaon fought for control. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was the bright, smiling face of Diomedes, sunlight glinting on his golden hair. The silence grew.
‘The pirates were beaten back, lord. But most of them made it to the beach and their waiting ships.’
‘How did the boy die?’
‘They soaked his clothing in oil, set fire to him, and hurled him from the cliffs. The queen’s clothing was also drenched in oil, but General Pausanius and his men fought their way to her. The Mykene had no time to burn her,
