face was pale, and there was sweat upon his brow.
Although a young man, he was already losing his hair, and his shoulders were rounded. ‘Greetings to you, king’s daughter,’ he said. ‘It is always a pleasure to see you. And you, Andromache of Thebe.’
‘How is Xander faring?’ Andromache asked. The young physician smiled.
‘He is a fine lad, with great sensitivity. I have him working with the dying. He has a talent for lifting their spirits. I am glad he stayed with us.’ He turned
to Laodike, and handed her a small, cloth-wrapped package. ‘These should last for another week or so. Be advised, though, that soon even these powerful opiates will not keep the pain at bay.’
‘Mother says she is feeling a little better,’ said Laodike. ‘Perhaps her body is healing.’
He shook his head. ‘She is past healing. Only her strength of mind and the courage of her spirit keeps her in these lands of the living. There is a small phial in the package. It is stoppered with green wax. When the pain becomes unbearable – and it will –break open the phial and mix it with wine. Then get your mother to drink it.’
‘And that will take away the pain?’
His brows furrowed. ‘Yes, Laodike. It will take away the pain. Permanently.’
‘Then why can she not have it now? Her pain is very great.’
‘I am sorry, I am not making myself clear. The phial is to be used to help your mother at the end. Once she has drunk it she will fall into a deep sleep, and pass peacefully to the world beyond.’
‘Are you saying it is poison?’
‘That is exactly what I am saying. During the last days your mother will be in dreadful agony. The pain will be excruciating, and beyond her ability to cope with. You understand me? At this point she will have only hours left to live.
Better, I think, if you rescue her from that suffering. It is, however, your choice.’
‘I couldn’t poison mother,’ said Laodike.
‘Of course you couldn’t,’ said Andromache. ‘However, you can tell her exactly what the gentle Machaon has told you. And you can give her the phial. Let her make the choice.’
‘Thank you, Lady Andromache,’ said Machaon. ‘Yes, that is of course the correct course.’ He looked at her and seemed about to speak.
‘Was there something else?’ she asked.
‘I understand you travelled with the Mykene warrior Argurios.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘A hard man and unpleasant.’
‘Ah! Then I shall not trouble you with my problem concerning him. I thought, perhaps, you might be… friends.’
‘How is it,’ she asked, ‘that a physician is having trouble with a travelling warrior?’
‘Did you not hear? He was attacked by other Mykene. His wounds were grievous. He is still likely to die of them. But I cannot make him rest, my lady. He insists on working for his bread and for the right to sleep here. I have explained that all costs have been met by the lord Helikaon, but this only seems to anger him.
He has been sawing wood, carrying water. All kinds of menial duties, for which we have servants. He has torn open his stitches many times through such – and other – ill-advised exercise. I have tried to explain to him that his body was savagely damaged. He cannot breathe well, and becomes dizzy with any exertion.
Yet he will not listen. I fear he is going to collapse and die, and then the lord Helikaon will view me with displeasure.’
‘We will speak to him, Laodike and I,’ said Andromache. ‘Where is he?’
‘I saw him a little while ago, beyond the House of Earth. He is trying to repair an old wall. There is no need. The wall no longer serves any real purpose. Yet he carries large stones, and exhausts himself.’
Machaon gave them directions and the two women walked off. Laodike was not happy.
‘I do not like Mykene,’ she said. ‘I don’t care if he dies.’
‘He helped Helikaon at the Bay of Blue Owls,’ said Andromache. ‘He killed a Mykene assassin. Perhaps that is why he was attacked.’
‘I expect he had unpleasant reasons for doing what he did,’ said Laodike.
‘Mykene always do.’
XXIII
The Wounded Lion
i
Argurios could hardly breathe. It was if the gods had placed a gate in his chest, and no air was reaching his lungs. White lights danced before his eyes and dizziness threatened to bring him down. He staggered on for several paces, his arms burning with the weight of the rock. Even his legs were trembling and painful, especially the calves. Grimly he struggled on, lowering the rock to the breach in the ancient wall. His vision began to swim, forcing him to sit down.
He gazed down at his trembling hands.
Nothing in his life had prepared him for the horror of such weakness. He had seen friends die in battle, and others struck down by wasting fevers. But always he had remained strong. He could run for miles, in full armour, and then fight a battle. His stamina was legendary. Yet now he struggled to lift a few pitiful rocks onto a ruined wall.
Sweat dripped into his eyes and he was too weary even to wipe it away.
He glanced across the old paddock, and saw the two men sitting in the shade.
Both were armed with swords and daggers. Over the weeks he had tried to approach them, but they faded back from him, and he did not have the stamina to give chase. At first he had thought them to be more killers, ready to strike him down and claim the bounty from Erekos. The boy, Xander, had told him not to concern himself.
‘Who are they, then?’
Xander became ill at ease. ‘I am not supposed to say.’
‘But you have. So tell me.’
‘They are here to protect you.’
Argurios had learned then that they were men hired by Helikaon. It was a sickening discovery. ‘You told me… he was glad I was dying,’ said Argurios.
The boy looked crestfallen. ‘He told me to say that. He thought it would make you fight for life.’
Argurios swore softly. The world had gone mad. Friends and countrymen wanted him dead. Enemies hired men to keep him alive. Somewhere on Olympos the gods were laughing at this grotesque jest.
As the weeks passed, and his condition did not improve, Argurios found himself wishing they were Mykene assassins. At least then he could end his life in battle.
A shadow fell across him, and he looked up. Two women were standing there, the sun behind them.
‘What… do you want?’ he asked gruffly, thinking them to be priestesses coming to chide him.
‘A courteous greeting would be pleasant,’ replied Andromache. With an effort Argurios pushed himself to his feet.
‘The sun was… in my eyes,’ he said, between shallow breaths. ‘I did not…
recognize you.’
He saw the shock of his condition register on her face. Argurios had lost weight, and his eyes were sunken and dark-rimmed, his arms and legs thin and wasted. ‘Let us all sit,’ said Andromache. ‘This is my friend, the king’s daughter, Laodike.’
Argurios blinked away sweat and looked at Laodike. She was tall, with long fair hair, and in her eyes he saw disdain. Swinging back to Andromache he asked: ‘Why are… you here?’
