‘Mykene are always rude,’ said Laodike. ‘They are bred without manners. Let us go, Andromache. It is too hot to be standing here.’
‘Yes, you go back inside,’ Andromache told her. ‘I will sit for a little while with this warrior.’
Laodike nodded. ‘I will wait for you beneath the arbour trees.’ Without a word to Argurios she walked away.
‘You should… go with her,’ said Argurios. ‘We have… nothing to… talk about.’
‘Sit down before you fall down,’ ordered Andromache, seating herself on the stone wall. Argurios slumped down beside her, surprised at himself for obeying a woman. Shame touched him. Even in this small matter he was no longer a man. ‘I know what you need,’ she said.
‘What I need?’
‘To make you strong again. When I was younger my father was in a battle. A horse fell, and rolled on him. After that he – like you – could scarcely breathe. He tottered around like an old man. It went on for months. Then one day we heard of a travelling physician. He was healing people in local villages, while on his way to Egypte. He was an Assyrian. We brought him to my father.’
‘He… cured him?’
‘No. He showed my father how to cure himself.’
Argurios wiped the sweat from his eyes and looked at the young woman. His vision was hazy, his breathing ragged. Yet hope flared in his heart. ‘Tell me,’ he said.
‘I will show you, Argurios. Tomorrow morning, whatever the weather, I will send a cart for you. It will bring you to cliffs above a beach. Bring Xander with you, for I would like to see the boy again. And now I will leave you to finish your work.’ She rose.
‘Wait!’ said Argurios, painfully heaving himself to his feet. ‘Take me… to the… king’s daughter.’
She walked slowly alongside him. He staggered twice, and felt her arm link through his. He wanted to shrug it away, but her strength kept him upright. It was not a long walk, and yet Argurios felt exhausted by the time they reached the shaded arbour. Laodike was sitting on a bench. Argurios struggled for breath. ‘Not… all… Mykene … are ill mannered. I apolo… gize for my lack… of courtesy. I have… always been uncomfortable around… women.
Especially… beautiful women.’
He expected a harsh response, but instead her expression softened. Leaving the bench she stood before him. ‘Your apology is accepted,’ she said, ‘and I, too, am sorry for the curtness I showed you. You have been badly wounded and I should have realized you were suffering.’
Argurios could think of nothing else to say, and, as the silence grew, the moment became awkward. Andromache spoke then. ‘I have invited Argurios to join us tomorrow. It will aid his healing.’
Laodike laughed. ‘Do you sit awake at night planning events that will annoy father?’ she asked.
ii
Xander enjoyed working in the House of Serpents. He felt useful and needed.
People always seemed pleased to see him, and, as the weeks passed, he learned more about herbs and medicines, treatments and diagnosis. The application of warm, wet towels reduced fevers, the shredded and powdered barks of certain trees could take away pain. Festering sores could be healed by the application of wine and honey. Eager to learn more, he followed Machaon around, watching as he splinted broken bones, or lanced cysts and boils.
Yet despite his enthusiasm for all matters medical he was pleased today to be out in the open air, travelling in the wide cart with Argurios. The sky was cloudy with the promise of rain, but the sun was shining through, and the air was fresh with the smells of the sea.
He glanced at Argurios. The Mykene looked so ill. His face was drawn, and so thin it made him look like an old, frail man. Xander had helped him shave this morning, cutting away the stubble on his cheeks, and trimming the chin beard. He had combed his long dark hair, noting the increase of grey along the temples.
The youngster struggled to remember the iron-hard warrior who had saved him on the Xanthos.
In the weeks since the attack Argurios’ recovery had been painfully slow.
Machaon told Xander that one of the wounds had pierced Argurios’ lung, and come perilously close to the heart. And there had been much bleeding internally.
‘He will recover, though?’ Xander had asked.
‘He may never regain his former strength. Often deep wounds turn bad, and vilenesses can form.’
Xander looked round. The cart was crossing the wide, wooden Scamander bridge. He wondered if they were heading for the white palace he could see on the cliff top to the southwest. It was said that the queen lived in King’s Joy, with some of her daughters.
The cart hit a broken stone on the road and jolted. Argurios winced. ‘Are you all right?’ asked Xander.
Argurios nodded. He very rarely spoke, but each evening when Xander visited him he would sit quietly as the boy told him of the day’s work among the sick, listening as Xander talked of herbs and discoveries. At first Xander had thought him bored. ‘Am I babbling, Argurios?’ he had asked, one evening. ‘Grandfather says I chatter too much. Shall I leave you?’
Argurios had given a rare smile. ‘You chatter on, boy. When I am… bored…
I’ll tell you.’
The cart left the road and angled out along a narrower road leading to the cliffs. There were two Eagles there, sitting beneath the branches of a gnarled tree, sunlight glinting on their armour of bronze and silver. They rose as the cart approached.
The driver, a crook-backed man with a thick white beard, said: ‘Guests of the lady Andromache.’
One of the soldiers, a tall young man, wide-shouldered, and wearing a helmet with a white horsehair crest, walked up to the cart. ‘You’d be Xander,’ he said.
‘Yes.’
The young soldier moved past the boy and stared hard at Argurios. His brows furrowed. ‘By the gods, man, you look all in. Will you need help to get to the beach?’
‘No.’ Argurios hauled himself upright, then climbed down from the cart.
‘I meant no offence, warrior,’ said the soldier. ‘I was wounded myself two years ago, and had to be carried by my comrades.’
Argurios looked at the man. ‘Where was… the battle?’
‘In Thraki. Took a lance-thrust in the chest. Smashed my breastplate, broke several ribs.’
‘Tough fighters…Thrakians.’
‘True. No give in them. We have a regiment of them here now.’ The man chuckled.
‘Sooner have them with me than against me.’
Argurios walked away. Xander followed. The cliff path was steep, but fairly wide. Even so, if Argurios were to stumble he would pitch over the edge and plummet to the rocks far below. The young soldier came alongside.
‘I would consider it an honour, Argurios, if you would allow me to walk with you to the beach.’
Argurios straightened at the sound of his name. ‘You… know of me?’
‘All soldiers know of you, man. I was told the story of the Bridge of Partha when I was a boy. They say you held the bridge all morning.’
‘Not that… long,’ said Argurios. ‘But… by the gods… it felt… like it.’
He gathered himself, then looked at the warrior. ‘Let us… walk, then.’
Xander followed as the two men made their slow way down to the beach. He could see there were already people on the sand, and several men were swimming. Xander wondered what they were looking for. Perhaps they were hunting for shellfish, he thought. Yet they seemed to be swimming aimlessly. They neither dived deep, nor headed for the shore. Others waded into the sea, and Xander could hear the sound of laughter.
There were five yellow canopies set up below the cliffs and close by were tables laden with food and drink. The canopies were very bright – almost as gold as the sun. Xander remembered his mother dying cloth yellow, using the skins of onions, or crocus pollen. But the cloth never had the lustre of these canopies. And it faded so
