quickly.
Ahead Argurios stumbled. The Trojan soldier took him by the arm, supporting him.
Argurios did not – as Xander expected – pull away. When they reached the beach the Trojan thanked Argurios for the honour of his company. The Mykene remained grave.
‘What is… your name… soldier?’
‘Polydorus,’ he answered.
‘I shall… remember it.’
Xander looked around. He saw Andromache move away from a small group of women and walk across the sand towards them. She was wearing a thigh-length tunic of pale green, and her red hair was hanging loose to her shoulders. Xander thought her very beautiful. She smiled at him, and he blushed.
‘Welcome to the royal beach, Xander.’
‘What are those men looking for?’ he asked, pointing to the swimmers.
‘Nothing. They are swimming for the pleasure of it. Do you swim?’
‘Grandfather taught me. He said a sailor needed to be able to float.’
‘Well, today you will swim.’ She turned to Argurios. ‘And you, warrior.’
‘Why would… I swim?’ he asked. ‘There is… no purpose to it.’
‘A better purpose, perhaps, than repairing a paddock wall where there is no longer a paddock,’ she observed. ‘Come and sit for a while, and I will tell you of the Assyrian physician.’
She led them to a spot beneath a canopy. Argurios’ breathing was ragged, and he seemed grateful to be sitting down. ‘My father could not take deep breaths,’
said Andromache. ‘The physician told him to swim every day. He also taught him to breathe differently.’
‘How many… ways… can a man… breathe?’
‘I will show you. But first you will swim for a while with Xander. Gently and slowly. Do not over-exert yourself.’
‘This is… foolish. I should not… have come.’
‘But you did, warrior,’ said Andromache. ‘And if you want to be strong again you will do as I say.’
Xander expected Argurios to react angrily. But he did not. He looked into her green eyes. ‘I need… my strength,’ he said, at last. Rising wearily to his feet he struggled to remove his threadbare tunic. Xander helped him, and also untied his sandals. Argurios’ naked body was pale and skinny, and Xander saw many old, white scars on his shoulders, arms, chest and legs. The angry red wounds of his recent fight were hideous to look upon. Pus and blood were leaking from the gash in his side, and there were deep scabs on three other wounds. But as he turned to walk to the shoreline Xander noted there were no scars on his back.
‘Go with him, Xander,’ said Andromache. ‘He may need your help.’
Xander stripped off his tunic and sandals and caught up with Argurios as he waded into the blue water.
They swam together silently. Argurios struggled and gasped for breath. After a little while Andromache swam out to join them. She was still wearing the pale green tunic, but it clung so close to her body that she might as well have been naked, thought Xander, trying not to look at her breasts, and the raised nipples. She came alongside Argurios. ‘Lie back in the water,’ she said, ‘and I will support you.’ He obeyed her instantly. ‘And now I want you to close your eyes and relax your body. Then I want you to breathe very slowly. I want you to breathe in for the count of four and hold the breath for the count of six. Then let it out very slowly for the count of ten. Four, six and ten.’
Xander watched for a while, and then, growing hungry, he swam back to the beach, waded ashore and clothed himself. Then he walked to the food tables. There were dishes of figs, barley bread and salted octopus, cuts of meats, cheeses and various breads. There were jugs full of water, and others filled with wine. A tall, stoop- shouldered servant stood staring at him. ‘Are we allowed to eat?’ he asked the man.
‘What would you like, little fellow?’
Xander pointed to the bread, and asked for some cheese and figs. The man tore off a hunk of dark bread, then cut a section of cheese and placed it on a wooden platter with a handful of figs. ‘You might need something to wash that down,’
said the servant, with a smile. Lifting a jug he filled a clay cup with a golden liquid. ‘Try it,’ he said.
Xander sipped the drink. It was thick and deliciously sweet. He thanked the man and wandered back to the canopy to sit and eat. Andromache was still in the water with Argurios. Other people were moving on the beach now. A dark-haired man emerged from the water. For a moment Xander thought it was Helikaon, but it was not. Then a fair-haired young woman in a red gown came and sat beside him.
‘You must be Xander,’ she said. ‘Andromache told me of you.’
‘Yes, I am. Who are you?’
‘I am Laodike. Are you a friend of the Mykene?’
‘I don’t think he has any friends.’
‘But you like him.’
‘Yes. He saved my life.’
‘I would like to hear about that,’ she said.
So Xander told her the story of the storm. She listened intently, then glanced back at the water, watching Andromache and the warrior. ‘Why do you think he risked himself to save you?’ she asked, at last.
‘I don’t know. Odysseus says that is what heroes do. And Argurios is a hero.
Everyone knows that.’
‘I did not know it,’ she admitted. ‘But then Troy is full of heroes. No-one can be expected to know all their names.’
Andromache and Argurios emerged from the water. Rising, Xander gathered up Argurios’ tunic and ran down to the shoreline. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked.
‘Tired,’ answered the warrior, taking the tunic and slipping it over his head.
He turned towards Andromache. ‘I am grateful to you,’ he told her.
‘It sounds as if you are already breathing a little more easily,’ she observed.
‘I think I am.’
Several men approached them. Xander saw the man who looked like Helikaon. He seemed angry.
He halted before Andromache. ‘How dare you dishonour the house of Priam?’ he said.
iii
For Xander the moment was shocking, and frightening. He looked around and saw the anger on the faces of the men. Andromache also looked startled – even uncertain. Then her expression hardened.
‘I do not understand you, Dios,’ she said.
‘I am Prince Deiphobos. Only those of equal rank, or those I count my friends, can call me Dios. You are neither. And this beach is reserved for the use of the royal family. You are here as a guest, and had no right to bring a stranger to it. But that discourtesy pales beside the whorish display we have been forced to observe. We all know what disgusting excesses are practised by the priestesses of Thera. To bring them here is an affront that will not be tolerated.’
‘I invited Argurios,’ said Laodike, easing her way through the gathering crowd.
Xander heard the nervousness in her voice, and her eyes were downcast.
‘No more than one would expect, sister. You never were the sharpest arrow in the quiver.’
Laodike seemed to shrink beneath his contempt. Then Argurios stepped forward, and when he spoke Xander saw the shock register on the faces of everyone close by.
‘Have you finished, puppy dog?’ said Argurios. His tone was harsh and cold, and Dios took a sudden backward step. His face reddened. Argurios moved forward.
