which, I suppose, is why they stabbed her. No-one knows who led the raid, save that it was a young warrior with white hair.’
Helikaon walked away from the messenger and the silent crew and stood staring out to sea. Oniacus joined him.
‘What are your orders, my king?’ he asked.
‘We sail tonight. We are going home to Dardanos,’ Helikaon told him.
Part Three
THE STORMS OF WINTER
XXI
The Man at the Gate
Habusas the Assyrian sat on the cliff top, gazing out over the sea. To the northeast the high mountained isle of Samothraki was bathed in sunshine, but here, above the small island of Pithros, heavy clouds cast dark shadows over the cliffs and the rugged land behind them. The sea below was rough and churning, fierce winds buffeting the waves. Habusas lifted the wine jug to his lips and drank. It was cheap wine, and coarse, but none the less satisfying. Behind him he could hear the laughter of his children, the three boys chasing each other, long sticks in their hands – pretend swords for pretend warriors. One day, he thought proudly, they will sail with me, and the swords will be real.
It had been a good season, with fine raiding. Kolanos had led them to many victories, and Habusas had returned to the winter isle with a huge sack of plunder. There were golden torques and wristbands, brooches of silver and lapis lazuli, rings set with carnelian and emerald. Yes, a fine season – save for the horror of Blue Owl Bay. A lot of good men had died that day, their bodies burnt and blackened.
Still, they had revenged themselves in the attack on Dardanos. Habusas recalled with pleasure watching the young king, his clothes ablaze, fall screaming from the cliff. More pleasurable still, though, was the memory of the queen. Sex was always good, but the pleasure was heightened immeasurably when the woman was unwilling. Indeed, when she begged and pleaded to be spared.
And how she had pleaded!
Habusas had been surprised when he had heard she had survived. Normally deadly with a dagger, he could only suppose that the necessity for speed had caused his blade to miss her heart. The queen’s soldiers had fought their way through more swiftly than anticipated. It was a shame, for he and the others had drenched her clothes with oil, and it would have been fitting to watch her plummet in flames to join her son.
He thought of Helikaon. It warmed his heart to imagine the anguish he was suffering.
The last ship to arrive at Pithros, some three weeks back, brought news from the mainland. Helikaon had arrived back in Dardanos. Everywhere there was uproar and unrest. The murder of the boy king had unsettled the people – exactly as Kolanos had forecast.
And how galling it would be for Helikaon to know that the men who attacked the fortress were now wintering in the safety of Pithros, protected by both the angry sea and the fact that the island was Mykene. Even if he could convince his warriors to brave the wrath of Poseidon, Helikaon could not attack the island without bringing upon himself a war he could not win.
Kolanos had promised his men they would raid Dardanos again come the spring – this time with fifty ships and more than a thousand warriors. Habusas was glad the queen was still alive. He could picture her terror as she saw the warriors coming towards her again, and almost hear her cries for mercy as they ripped the clothes from her back. He felt a quickening of the blood. He had never raped a queen before. Though the pounding of royal flesh was exactly like his other conquests, the knowledge of her status had excited him greatly.
Habusas swung round to watch the sun begin to set in the west. His three sons gathered round him, and he hugged them. They were good boys, and he loved them dearly.
‘Well, you rascals,’ he said, ‘time to get you home for your supper.’
The oldest boy, Balios, pointed out to sea. ‘Look, father, ships!’
Habusas narrowed his eyes. In the far distance, towards the east, he saw four vessels, their oars beating powerfully. Well they might, he thought, for darkness was falling and they would not want to be at sea come nightfall. Why they were at sea at all at this dangerous time was a mystery. Their season must have been lean, and the captains desperate for plunder.
Habusas hoped they had been lucky, for some of their riches would flow to him.
Habusas owned all the whores on Pithros. A feeling of great satisfaction swept over him. He had three fine sons, a loving wife, and burgeoning wealth. In truth these foreign gods had blessed him. And so they should, he thought. Before every voyage he offered sacrifices to all of them, bullocks for Zeus, Hera, Poseidon and Ares, lambs for Demeter, Athene, Artemis and Aphrodite, goats for Hephaistos, Hermes and Hades. Even the lesser deities received libations from him, for he wanted no ill will from the Fates, or the mischievous Discord.
Habusas was a deeply religious man, and the gods had rewarded his piety.
His youngest son, six-year-old Kletis, was running along the edge of the cliff path. Habusas called out to him to be careful, then urged Balios to take his hand.
‘Why must I always look after him?’ argued Balios. He was thirteen, almost a man, and beginning to tear at the bonds of childhood. ‘Why not Palikles? He never has to do any work.’
‘Yes, I do!’ retorted Palikles. ‘I helped mother gather the goats while you hid in the haystacks with Fersia.’
‘Enough arguing,’ snapped Habusas. ‘Do as you are told, Balios.’
The thirteen-year-old ran forward and snatched at little Kletis, who wailed miserably. Balios made to cuff him.
‘Do not touch your brother!’ shouted Habusas.
‘He is so irritating.’
‘He is a child. They are meant to be irritating. Have I ever struck you?’
‘No, father.’
‘Then follow my lead.’
Balios stalked off, dragging the unwilling Kletis behind him. ‘So,’ whispered Habusas to ten-year-old Palikles, ‘your brother is chasing the lovely Fersia.’
‘Won’t have to chase much,’ muttered Palikles. ‘She’s worse than her mother.’
Habusas laughed. ‘Let us hope so. The mother is one of my best whores.’
Palikles stopped walking and stared out to sea. ‘More ships, father,’ he said.
Habusas saw that the original four galleys were now close to the beach, but behind them were seven more.
Thunder clouds were gathering, and the sea was growing increasingly angry.
From a little way ahead Balios shouted out. ‘Five more, father!’ He was pointing towards the north, past the jutting headland.
Fear struck Habusas like a spear of ice. And he knew in that moment that Helikaon was coming on a mission of vengeance. Sixteen ships! At the very least eight hundred enemy warriors were about to invade. He stood very still, almost unable to accept what his eyes were seeing. Only a madman would bring a fleet across the Great Green in the storm season. And how could he hope to escape the wrath of the Mykene? Habusas was no fool. Putting himself in Helikaon’s place he swiftly thought it through. The Dardanian’s only hope of avoiding a war lay in leaving no-one alive to name him as the attacker.
He will have to kill us all! Helikaon’s men will sweep across the island, butchering everyone.
Habusas began to run down towards the town and the stockade, the boys trailing after him.
