opened and he cried out. His arms had been splayed out and nailed to the wood of the gates. Blood was dripping from the puncture wounds, and he felt the bronze spikes grating on the bones of his wrists. He tried to straighten his legs, to take the strain from his mutilated arms.
Agonizing pain roared through him, and he screamed. His legs were bent unnaturally, and he realized his feet too had been nailed to the gates.
He saw that Helikaon was standing before him. All the other soldiers had gone.
‘Can you see the ships?’ asked Helikaon.
Habusas stared at the man, and saw that he was pointing down towards the beach.
The galleys of the invaders were drawn up there. Helikaon repeated the question.
‘I… see… them.’
‘Tomorrow at dawn all the women and children of this settlement will be on those ships. They are slaves now. But I will not single out your family, nor seek any vengeance upon them. They will live.’
With that he walked away. The wind picked up, catching the open gate and swinging it gently. Habusas groaned as the nails tore at his flesh. As the gate continued to move he saw that the bodies of his men had been moved. They had been dragged to houses nearby, their corpses nailed to doors or fences. Some had been spiked to walls, others hung by their necks from ropes strung from upper windows.
Then he saw the body of his son, lying on the ground, his arms laid across his belly. His head had lolled to one side. In the bright moonlight Habusas saw a glint of shining metal in the boy’s mouth. Someone had placed a ring of silver there, to pay the Ferryman.
Even through his pain Habusas felt grateful for that.
Fresh waves of agony ripped through him as cramp struck his twisted legs causing them to spasm. The weight of his body then sagged against his pierced wrists.
Habusas cried out. He tried to close his mind against the pain. How long, he wondered, will it take me to die?
Sometime tonight? Tomorrow? Would days pass? Would carrion birds feed on him while he writhed? Would he be forced to watch wild dogs feast on the flesh of his son?
Then he saw movement to his right. Helikaon was walking back across the open ground, a sword in his hand.
‘I am not Kolanos,’ he said. The sword lanced forward, spearing through Habusas’
chest and cleaving his heart.
And all pain faded away.
XXII
The Phrygian Bow
i
The autumn months drifted by with appalling lack of speed. Gloomy skies of unremitting grey, punctuated by ferocious storms and driving rain, dampened even Andromache’s fiery spirit. She endeavoured to fill her time with pleasurable activities, but there were few opportunities for the women of the palace to enjoy themselves. They were not allowed to ride horses, or attend evening entertainments in the town. There were no revels, no gatherings to dance and sing. Day by day she missed the isle of Thera more and more, and dreamt of the wild freedom she had enjoyed.
For a little while her boredom had been allayed by the arrival of a new, temporary night servant, a Thrakian girl, Alesia. She had been willing and compliant, but the closeness of her body in the wide bed had only served to remind Andromache of how much she missed Kalliope. When Alesia returned to her regular duties Andromache did not miss her, and made no attempt to seduce her replacement.
Just before year’s end Andromache acquired a Phrygian bow from the Lower Market.
It was a fine weapon, with a heavy pull that even Andromache found difficult at first to master. It was cunningly contrived from layers of flexible horn and wood, and with it she had bought a heavy wrist guard of polished black leather.
She took it out on the practice fields to the north of the city, where many of the Trojan archers honed their skills. It was a day of rare sunshine, and Andromache, dressed in a thigh-length white tunic and sandals, had enjoyed herself for most of the morning. The Trojan men had at first been polite, but patronizing. When they saw her skill they gathered round her, discussing the attributes of the bow.
The following day Andromache had been summoned before Priam, in his apartments.
The king was angry, and berated her for appearing before men of low class.
‘No highborn Trojan woman would walk semi-naked among peasants,’ he said.
‘I am not yet a Trojan,’ she pointed out, trying in vain to keep her anger in check.
‘And you might not ever be! I could send you home in disgrace and demand the return of your bride price.’
‘What a tragedy that would be,’ she retorted.
She had expected an explosion of rage. Instead the king suddenly burst into laughter. ‘By the gods, woman, you remind me of Hekabe, all spit and fire. Aye, you are very like her.’ She saw his gaze move to her breasts, and flow down over her body. The thin blue gown she was wearing suddenly seemed flimsy and transparent. He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘You cannot flout the customs of Troy,’ he continued, his face flushed, but his tone more conciliatory. ‘Palace women wear full gowns when in public. They do not shoot bows. You, however, may shoot your bow. The men were impressed by you, which is no bad thing. The families of ruling houses should always be impressive.’
‘It was easy to impress them,’ she said. ‘The bows you supply them with are inferior weapons. They do not have range or power.’
‘They have served us well in the past.’
‘It would surprise me if a shaft from a Trojan bow could pierce even a leather breastplate. More and more warriors these days are better armoured.’
The king sat quietly for a moment. ‘Very well, Andromache. This afternoon you will attend me in the palace gardens, and we will see how well the Trojan bows perform.’
Back in her own apartments, overlooking the northern hills, she found Laodike waiting. She had been less effusively friendly of late, ever since, in fact, the meeting with Hekabe. Andromache put it down to the shock of seeing her mother so weak and ill. But today she seemed even more sad. Usually bedecked in jewellery she was dressed in a simple, unadorned, ankle-length chiton of pale green. Her fair hair, normally braided with gold or silver wire, hung free to her shoulders. In a curious way, thought Andromache, the lack of extravagant gems actually made Laodike look more attractive, as if the glittering beauty of the gems served only to emphasize her plainness. Greeting her friend with a kiss on the cheek, she told her of Priam’s challenge.
‘He is seeking to shame you, you know,’ said Laodike quietly.
‘What do you mean?’
The young woman shrugged. ‘He does that. He likes to make people look foolish.
Mother is the same. That is why they were so well suited.’
Andromache sat by her, putting her arms round her friend. ‘What is wrong, Laodike?’
‘I am all right.’ Laodike forced a smile. ‘Have you heard from Helikaon?’
Andromache was surprised by the question. ‘Why would I hear from Helikaon?’
‘Oh, I don’t know. I wondered if he had sent a message and I hadn’t heard about it. Nobody tells me anything.’
‘No. As far as I know there have been no messages from Dardania.’
Laodike seemed a little happier. ‘They say he killed twenty Mykene at the temple square. He was like a young god. That’s what I heard. He had two swords and he killed all the assassins.’
