He saw Hittites, in their curious woollen leggings, Phrygians, tall and red-headed, Samothrakians, Mykene, Lydians. All wore the clothes of their races.
Three Babylonians were standing on the far side of the throne room, their beards curled with hot irons. How foolish was that in this wet, autumn climate? There were Trojans – horse traders and chariot makers – who had fallen foul of Priam and made their home in Dardania. They also stood apart, staring disdainfully at the noisy throng.
‘You miserable son of an ugly pig!’ someone shouted.
An odd insult, Cthosis thought. Would it be a compliment to be called the son of a beautiful pig? The two men flew at one another.
Blows were struck and they fell, struggling, to the stone floor.
Cthosis considered leaving. No-one would notice the absence of a single merchant among so many angry men. But he did not. He was interested to see this new king.
He had heard much of Helikaon the trader, and a little of Helikaon the fighter.
But all he knew of the man’s nature was contained in the story of how he had put aside his rights to the throne in favour of the child, Diomedes, his half-brother. Such an action did not speak highly of his ambition, or indeed of his ruthlessness.
And ruthlessness was what was required now. Helikaon needed to enter this throne room dressed in armour, and carrying a sword of fire, to quell this mob.
The two fighting men were dragged apart, still yelling abuse at one another.
Then the great doors opened, and soldiers marched into the throne room. Garbed in bronze breastplates and helmets, and carrying long spears and deep shields, they formed two lines and stood silently with their backs to the walls. The crowd fell silent and glanced back towards the doors. Cthosis saw a slim young man enter. His long dark hair was tied back from his face by a single strip of leather. His tunic was a pale, listless green, with a blue tinge. Probably privet berries, thought Cthosis, and not enough salt in the boil.
The young man stepped up to the dais at the far end of the throne room, and halted beside a long table. Then he turned and surveyed the crowd. Men were still talking to one another, and another argument broke out. The young man raised his hand. Immediately all the soldiers began to hammer their spears against their bronze shields. The sudden noise was startling.
Silence fell on the hall.
‘I thank you all for coming. I am Helikaon the king,’ said the young man.
‘I hope it’s worth our while,’ shouted someone from the back.
‘Let us be clear about something,’ said Helikaon, his voice displaying no anger.
‘There will be no interruptions when I speak. The next man whose voice cuts across mine will rue it. I will call upon each of you to voice his thoughts, and – equally – no-one will interrupt you as you speak. That is the only way we will achieve unity.’
‘Who says we need unity?’ called out the same man.
Helikaon raised his hand. Two soldiers moved forward, grabbing the speaker – a red-headed Phrygian – and hauling him from the throne room. ‘Now all of you here,’ continued Helikaon, ‘have grievances. There are enmities, hatreds, discords. We are here to put an end to them. And we will achieve this by discussing our grievances and solving them. Almost all of you men come from lands far away. But when you die your bodies will go into the earth of Dardania, and become part of it. And your spirits will reach out and touch your children, and they too will become the land. They will be Dardanians. Not Phrygians, Maeonians, Trojans, Lydians, but Dardanians.’
Helikaon fell silent as a soldier, carrying a small sack, moved through the crowd. He advanced to the dais and waited. Helikaon gestured him forward. The man stepped up to the dais, opened the sack, and lifted out a severed head. Cthosis blinked when he saw it. Then the soldier laid the head on the table, where the dead eyes stared out at the crowd. Blood oozed from the mutilated neck, and dripped to the stone floor. It was the head of the red-headed man who only moments before had been hauled from the throne room. ‘Now what I intend to do,’ said Helikaon, his voice still calm and agreeable, ‘is to call each of you forward to speak your minds. I do not do this in any order of preference, and you should not consider yourself slighted if you are not called until later. Are there any questions?’
The men stood in shocked silence, staring at the head upon the table. ‘Good,’ said Helikaon. ‘Then let us begin. I will speak first. Every man here lives or dies upon my sufferance. Every man here dwells upon my land, and is subject to my laws. Obey those laws and you will prosper. You will be protected by my soldiers, and your wealth will grow. You will be able to come to me, or my generals, and seek help when you need it. Disobey my laws and you will come to rue it. Now what are these laws? They are simple. You will render to me the king’s due from your profits, or your crops, or your herds. You will not take up arms against me, or against any other man under my protection. And that is all men who obey my laws. There will be no blood feuds. Grievances will be brought before me, or those appointed by me. That is where judgements will be sought. Those judgements will be final. Should a man commit murder, I will see him dead, and his entire family sold into slavery. His lands, his goods and his chattels will revert to me.’
Cthosis listened as the young man continued to speak. Not a sound came from anyone else in the throne room. Helikaon did not refer to the dead man, or even so much as glance at the severed head. The contrast between his measured words and the ghastly image was chilling. When at last he finished speaking he called out for a scribe to be sent for. A middle-aged man with a twisted back entered the room and nervously made his way forward. He was carrying a wicker basket full of soft clay tablets. A soldier brought him a chair and he sat quietly at the end of the table, as far from the severed head as he could. ‘This man,’ said the king, ‘will write down your grievances, and I will examine them later, and give judgement.’ He pointed to a tall, bearded Phrygian. ‘Now we shall begin the discussion. First say your name, then speak your grievance.’ The man cleared his throat. ‘If I speak, lord, and you do not like what you hear, will my head also grace your table, like my poor brother’s?’
‘You may speak freely. There will be no recrimination. Begin with your name.’
‘I am Pholus of Phrygia, and I breed horses for sale in Troy. My people have a settlement a day’s ride from the fortress, and we have water rights, granted by Queen Halysia. Some months back a cattle trader drove his herds onto our lands.
When my brother remonstrated with him he was beaten with cudgels. The cattle muddied the water, and collapsed the stream banks. How can I breed horses without water?’
And so it went on.
Cthosis stood quietly as one man after another spoke of problems, fears, and the reasons for discord with neighbours. The king listened to them for several hours, then called a halt, telling them they would meet again tomorrow. Then he invited them to join him at a feast later in the main courtyard, and with that he strode from the dais towards the far doors.
As he came abreast of Cthosis he paused. ‘That is a very fine gown, my friend,’
he said. ‘I have never seen the like.’ He stepped forward and sniffed. ‘There is no smell from the dye. It has already been washed?’
‘Indeed, lord. Three times.’
‘Extraordinary. Where did you acquire it?’
‘It is from my own cloth, and my own dye, lord.’
‘Even better. We shall find time to talk. A cloth of jet will earn gold in every country around the Great Green.’
He smiled at Cthosis, and walked away.
The soldiers filed out after him, and the doors closed. For a moment no-one said anything. Then the Phrygian horse breeder walked to the dais, dropped to his knees, and laid his hand on the severed head. ‘You never learned how to listen, little brother,’ he said. ‘But you were a good lad always. I shall miss you greatly.’
He picked up the sack, then stood by, uncertain. Cthosis approached him.
‘I do not believe the king would object if you removed your brother’s head,’ he said.
‘You think so?’
‘I am sure of it.’
The man sighed. ‘He paid a heavy price for a few ill-spoken words.’
‘Indeed he did.’
Cthosis left the hall and strolled out to the courtyard. Many of the leaders were now gathered together and
