talking quietly. Cthosis eased his way through the group, heading out towards an open area overlooking the cliff path leading up to the fortress gates.
A line of men was moving through the gates, carrying baskets of food, ready for the feast.
Idly he watched them. Then his interest quickened. A big man was coming through the gate, carrying a sheep upon his shoulders. Cthosis walked swiftly down towards him, fully expecting to be wrong in his identification. As he came closer his heart began to beat rapidly. He was heavily bearded now, but there was no mistaking those magnificent eyes. It was Prince Ahmose.
What wonder was this? The second in line to the Great Pharaoh was working as a servant in the fortress of Dardanos.
The big man saw him and smiled. ‘It seems you have done well for yourself, eunuch,’ he said.
Cthosis lowered his head and bowed. ‘Oh, no need for that,’ said Ahmose. ‘As you can see, I am no longer the pharaoh’s grandson. I am, like you, a man with a price on his head.’ ‘I am sorry, lord. You were kind to me.’ ‘No need for pity.
I am content. Do you serve here?’ ‘No, lord. I am a merchant. I make and sell cloth. It would be an honour to fashion you a tunic’
‘You may stop calling me lord – Cthosis, isn’t it?’ ‘Yes, lord. Oh… I am sorry.’ Ahmose laughed. ‘I am known now as Gershom.’ ‘How strange,’ said Cthosis. ‘A long time since I heard that word. My people use it to describe foreigners.’
‘That is why I chose it. You are one of the desert folk?’ ‘Yes… well, I was once. Before my father sold me to the palace.’ ‘A curious race,’ said Gershom.
‘However, I cannot stand here talking of old times. There is work to be done for your feast.’ He clapped Cthosis on the shoulder. ‘Rameses was furious when he found out I’d freed you. It cost me two hundred talents of silver and my best war horse.’
‘I will always be grateful, lord. If ever you need anything .. .’ ‘Don’t make promises, my friend. Those who are discovered to have aided me will face a harsh reckoning.’
‘Even so. Should you ever need anything you have only to ask. All that I have is at your disposal.’
ii
Helikaon left the assembly and strode through the palace. The old general Pausanius tried to intercept him, but he shook his head and waved the man away.
Climbing the worn steps to the battlements he tilted his head to the sky, drawing in deep, calming breaths. His stomach began to settle.
Noticing a sentry watching him, he moved back inside, making his way through to the old royal apartments, and his childhood rooms. Dust lay over the floor, and there were cobwebs across the balcony entrance. Brushing them aside, he stepped out. The ancient, rickety chair was still there, the wood paled and cracked by the sun. Kneeling down, he traced his fingers over the carved horse in the backrest.
This was the throne he had sat upon as a child, king of a pretend world, in which all men were contented, and there were no wars. He had never, in those days, dreamed of battle and glory. Moving back from the chair he slumped down to the cold stone, and rested his head on the low balcony rail. Closing his eyes he saw again the severed head on the table. It merged with that of Zidantas.
He could almost hear Ox speak. You think that boy in the hall deserved to die, so that you could make a point? Could you not have won them over with the conviction of your words, the power of your mind? Does it always have to be death, with you?
Helikaon stared at the chair, picturing the little boy who had sat there.
‘Sometimes,’ he told him, ‘such deeds are necessary. I once saw Odysseus cut open a crewman’s chest, in order to pull out an arrow head that had lodged there. Sometimes the evil needs to be cut free.’
Do not seek to fool yourself, said the voice of Ox. Do not rationalize your evil, and seek to make it something good. Yes, the men will follow you now. Yes, the realm is safe from discord. Yes, you are a king. Your father would be so proud of you!
Helikaon’s anger rose. It is not Ox talking to you, he told himself. It is your own weakness. The man was warned and chose to ignore it. His death achieved more in one blood-drenched moment than a torrent of words could have. And that is the truth of it!
The truth is a many-costumed whore, came Odysseus’ voice in his mind. Seems to me she will offer a man valid reasons for any deed, no matter how ghastly.
A rumble of thunder came from the distance, and a cold wind began to blow.
Helikaon pushed himself to his feet and took a last look around the home of his childhood, then walked out, and down to the lower apartments, where the wounded men of his crew were being cared for. He stopped and spoke to each man, then went in search of Attalus.
He found him in a side garden, his chest and side bandaged. Sitting alone in the shadows of a late-flowering tree, he was whittling a length of wood. Helikaon approached him.
‘The surgeon says you were lucky, my friend. The knife missed your heart by a whisker.’
Attalus nodded. ‘Lucky day for you too,’ he said.
‘It always helps when good friends are close by. It surprised me to see you there. Oniacus tells me you had decided to quit the crew.’
‘Surprised me too,’ admitted Attalus. Helikaon sat alongside him. The man continued to whittle.
‘If you want to leave for Troy when you are well, I will see you are given a good horse and a pouch of gold. You are welcome, though, to stay in Dardanos, and enjoy my hospitality for the winter.’
Attalus put down his knife, and his shoulders sagged. ‘You owe me nothing.’
‘I owe any man who chooses to fight alongside me – most especially when he is no longer a member of my crew.’
‘I just got drawn in, that’s all. Had my own reasons for being there.’ Attalus sat silently for a moment. Then he looked at Helikaon. ‘It is not over, you know.’
‘I know that. The assassin Karpophorus has been paid to end my life. They say he is the finest killer on the Great Green. He was also the man who murdered my father. Here in this very fortress.’
‘Oniacus told me no-one knew who killed Anchises.’
Helikaon sat down opposite Attalus. ‘I only found out recently.’ He gazed around the garden. ‘This is a peaceful place. I used to play here as a child.’
Attalus did not respond, and returned to his whittling.
‘Rest and regain your strength, Attalus. And if you need anything, ask and it will be supplied for you.’ Helikaon stood up, ready to leave.
‘I am not a good man,’ said Attalus suddenly, his face reddening. ‘Everyone treats me like a good man. I don’t like it!’
The outburst surprised Helikaon. Attalus had always seemed so calm and in control. Resuming his seat, he looked at the crewman. He was tense now, and his eyes looked angry. ‘We are none of us good men,’ said Helikaon softly. ‘Today I had a man killed merely to make a point. He may well have been a good man. We are all flawed, Attalus. We all carry the weight of our deeds. And we will all answer for them, I think. All I know of you is that you have proved a loyal crewman, and a brave companion. I also know you were hired by Zidantas. The Ox was a fine judge of fighting men. Your past means nothing here. Only the deeds of the present and the future.’
‘Past, present and future, it is all the same,’ said Attalus, his shoulders slumping. ‘They are what they are. We are what we are. Nothing changes.’
‘I don’t know if that is true. My life has changed now three times. Once when I was a small child and my mother died. Once when Odysseus came and took me aboard the Penelope. And then when my father was murdered. That still haunts me. I left here as a frightened boy. My father told me he loathed me. I came back as a man, hoping that he would be proud.’ Helikaon fell silent, surprised at himself for sharing his thoughts with a relative stranger. He saw that Attalus was looking at him. ‘I don’t usually talk like this,’ he said, suddenly embarrassed.
