was attended by a retinue of eunuchs and counsellors, all wearing colourfully patterned kilts clasped at the waist with belts of braided gold wire, some attired in bright shawls, others bare-chested. All were unarmed, of course.
One huge half-naked bodyguard, so muscle-bound that Andromache decided he was more ornament than use, stood close to the emperor’s shoulder.
Hattusilis III, emperor of the Hittites, advanced halfway down the megaron, then stopped. Priam, standing in front of his carved and gilded throne, walked forward to meet him, flanked by Polites and Agathon. There was a pause while the two men locked eyes, then Priam bowed briefly. Had the Trojan king ever bowed to anyone before? Andromache doubted it. It was only his concern for Hektor that persuaded him to make this gesture, she guessed, even to his emperor.
‘Greetings,’ said Priam loudly, but without enthusiasm. ‘We are honoured to welcome you to Troy.’ Each courteous word seemed to cost him effort. He added flatly, ‘Our people rejoice.’
A small bald-headed man wearing striped robes of yellow and green spoke quietly to the emperor. Andromache realized this was the translator.
The emperor smiled thinly and spoke. The little man said, ‘Troy is a valued vassal kingdom to the great Hittite empire. The emperor takes a kindly interest in his subjects.’
Priam’s face grew red with anger. He said, ‘This vassal is honoured to fight the emperor’s battles for him. We are told the Trojan Horse won a great victory at Kadesh for the emperor.’
Hattusilis replied, ‘The greater Hittite army has crushed the ambitions of the pharaohs for generations to come. We are grateful to Troy for its brave cavalry.’
Priam could contain his impatience no longer. ‘My son has not returned from Kadesh. Do you bring news of him?’
Hattusilis handed the unsheathed sword to the muscle-bound bodyguard, then placed both his hands upon his heart. The megaron fell silent. The bald translator said, ‘We regret Hektor is dead. He died a valiant death in the cause of the Hittite empire.’ The emperor spoke again. ‘Hektor was a good friend to us. He fought many battles for the empire.’ His dark gaze rested on Priam’s stricken face, and Andromache saw genuine concern there. ‘We grieve for him as if he were our own son.’
Andromache heard a soft sigh from beside her, and she put her arm round Laodike as the young woman sagged against her. Hektor dead, she thought. Hektor is really dead. Her mind buzzed with possibilities but she ruthlessly pushed them away to listen to Priam’s words.
The king looked straight into the black eyes of the emperor. ‘My son cannot be dead,’ he said, but there was a tremor in his voice.
Hattusilis gestured and two unarmed Hittite soldiers struggled forward with a heavy wooden chest. At a nod from the emperor they unbarred it and flung back the lid, which clanged hollowly against the stone floor.
The emperor said, ‘His body was discovered with those of his men. They had been trapped, surrounded and killed by the Egypteians. By the time he was found his body had decayed, so I have returned his armour to you as proof of his death.’
Priam stepped forward and reached into the chest. He took out a huge bronze breastplate decorated with silver and gold. From where Andromache stood she could see that the pattern represented a golden horse racing across silver waves. Laodike said in a small breathless voice, ‘Hektor. It is Hektor’s.’
Hattusilis stepped forward and took from the chest a heavily decorated gold urn.
‘Following the custom of your people we burned the body and placed Hektor’s bones in this vessel.’
He held it out. When Priam did not move Polites darted forward and took the golden urn from the emperor’s hands.
Never in her life had Andromache felt such a confusion of emotions. She grieved for Laodike’s pain at the death of her brother, for the loss on the faces of the people gathered around the megaron, the soldiers, counsellors and palace servants. She even grieved for Priam as he stood there holding the breastplate, a stunned look on his face, desolation in his eyes as he stared at the funeral urn.
Yet in her heart joy welled up irresistibly. Her hands flew to her throat for fear she would cry out for gladness. She was free!
Then Priam turned away from the emperor and walked with halting steps to his throne. Hugging the breastplate to his chest he slumped down. A gasp of shock came from the Hittite retinue. No-one sat in the presence of the emperor.
Andromache glanced at Agathon, expecting the prince to step in and ease the situation, but he was standing, almost mesmerized, staring at his father, his expression torn between sadness and shock. Andromache felt for him. Then the dark-haired Dios moved smoothly forward, bowing deeply to Hattusilis.
‘My apologies, great lord. My father is overcome with grief. He intends no disrespect. Priam, and the sons of Priam, remain, as always, your most loyal followers.’
The emperor spoke, and the translator’s words echoed in the silent megaron.
‘There is no slight. When a great hero falls it becomes men to show their feelings truly. Hektor’s courage did indeed turn the battle in our favour. I would have expected no less from him. That is why I felt it right to come myself to this far city, so that all would know that Hektor was honoured by those he served most heroically.’
With that the emperor swung on his heel and walked from the megaron.
iii
Shortly before dark a hooded and cloaked figure slipped out through the Dardanian Gate into the lower town. One of the gate guards caught a glimpse of the man’s face and turned to speak to his colleague, but the other soldier was part-way through a good joke about a Hittite, a horse and a donkey, so the first guard laughed and said nothing. There was no reason to question anyone leaving the citadel, after all.
The hooded man made his way through the eastern quarter to where the city engineers had been digging a wide fortification ditch, designed to stop the advance of horses and chariots. Houses all along the line of the trench had been emptied to permit the work. But the digging had revealed a horde of burial jars, dating from many generations ago, which were now being carefully dug up and moved to another site south-east of the city.
In the grey twilight the man identified a white house with a yellow mark like a paw-print on the door. Looking around him, he entered the abandoned house swiftly, and waited in the shadow of an inner doorway. A short while later two others entered. ‘Are you here?’ a man with thin reddish hair asked quietly.
The hooded man stepped from the shadows. ‘I am here, Erekos,’ he said.
The Mykene ambassador’s voice betrayed his anxiety. ‘No names, if you please, Prince.’
The hooded man snorted. ‘This meeting-place is well chosen. No-one will come within a hundred paces of it. They fear the shades of the dead are lingering around the burial ground.’
‘Perhaps they are right,’ said the ambassador nervously.
‘Let us not waste time on religious debate,’ snapped the third man, a tall, white-haired warrior. ‘The death of Hektor is a gift from the gods. We must seize the chance now.’
There was silence for a moment.
‘And what of the Hittites, Kolanos?’ the hooded man said coldly. ‘You think we should spark a revolution while the emperor is in Troy? Do you have any idea of the numbers of troops his sons could bring? And they would cry out for joy at the opportunity. Troy’s independence is based on three simple facts. We pay enormous taxes to fund the Hittite wars, we are far distant from the centre of their empire, and we send the finest warriors to aid them. But there are those who look upon Troy with great envy and greed. We must offer them no insult, no opportunity to seek our ruin.’
‘This is all true, Prince,’ put in Erekos, ‘but even if we wait for the emperor’s departure, will he not send men to the aid of Priam?’
‘Not if Priam is dead,’ said the hooded man. ‘It is well known that Hattusilis has little liking for him. But then who does? The emperor has far more important worries than domestic problems in Troy. The Hittite army leaves at dawn. When Hattusilis hears Priam is dead I will send a rider to him, pledging my continued allegiance. He will, I believe, accept it. We must be patient and wait nine more days.’
