I had never been presented to the emperor in Hattusas, but I had a vague idea of how to behave in the presence of royalty. I bowed deeply to the king, then to Hector and Paris, in turn. I caught Helen’s eye as I did so, and she seemed to smile slightly at me.
“Oh great king,” I began, “I bring you greeting from High King Agamemnon, leader of the Achaian host.”
Priam nodded and waggled the fingers of one hand, as if urging me to get through the preliminaries and down to business.
I did. “Great king, the Achaians are willing to leave your shores if you will return Helen to her rightful husband.”
It seemed as if nobody in the wide chamber breathed. The very air went still.
Then Priam wheezed, “And?”
“Nothing further, my lord. Return Helen and the war will end.”
Hector fixed me with a hard gaze. “No demand for tribute? No demand for Helen’s fortune to be returned?”
“No, my lord.”
Priam’s wizened face broke into a slow smile. “No demands except the return of Helen?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The old king turned toward Hector. “This is indeed a new and better offer.”
Hector frowned slightly. “Yes. With our army camped at their rampart. They know that we’ll be storming their camp and driving them into the sea.”
“At what cost?” Priam asked softly.
“I will never surrender my wife,” Paris snapped. “Never!”
“My lord,” I said, “I am a newcomer to this war. I know nothing of your grievances and rights. I have been instructed to offer you the terms for peace, which I have done. It is for you to consider them and make an answer.”
Paris was clearly angry. “We refused their insulting terms when Agamemnon and his host were pounding on our gates. Why should we even consider returning my wife to them, now that we have the barbarians penned up on the beach? In a day or two we’ll be burning their boats and slaughtering them like the cattle they are!”
Ignoring his son’s outburst, Priam asked me, “A newcomer, you say? Yet you claim to be of the House of Ithaca. When you ducked your head past the lintel of our doorway I thought you might be the one they call Great Ajax.”
I replied, “King Odysseos has taken me into his house hold, my lord king. I arrived on these shores only a few days ago.”
“And singlehandedly stopped me from storming the Achaian camp,” Hector said, somewhat ruefully. “Too bad Odysseos has adopted you. I wouldn’t mind having such a fearless man at my side.”
Surprised by his offer, I answered merely, “I fear that would be impossible, my lord.”
Priam stirred on his throne, coughed painfully, then said, “We thank you for the message you bring, Lukka of the House of Ithaca. Now we must consider before making answer.”
He gestured a feeble dismissal. I bowed again and backed away from the throne. The courtier who had brought me escorted me back to the door of the anteroom. The guards closed the heavy door behind me and I was alone in the small chamber. I went to the window and looked out at the colorful garden, so peaceful, so bright with flowers and humming bees intent on their morning’s work. No hint of war there. I found myself wondering what my wife was doing, and where my sons might be.
Useless daydreaming, I told myself. But still my thoughts wandered and my fears rose, dark and troubling.
Then a different picture formed in my mind: Agamemnon and his warriors raging through this palace, destroying this beautiful garden, slaughtering Hector and aged Priam and all the rest.
And Helen? What would they do with Helen? Return her to her husband, Menalaos? Would he take her back after her willing marriage to Paris? Or would she be killed along with all the others?
I clenched my fists and squeezed my eyes tight. I tried to regain the vision of my wife and sons.
“Lukka of the House of Ithaca.”
I wheeled from the window. A single soldier stood at the doorway, bareheaded, wearing a well-oiled leather harness rather than armor, a short sword at his hip.
“Follow me,” he commanded.
I went with him down a long hallway and up a flight of steps, then through several rooms that were empty of people, although richly furnished and decorated with gorgeous tapestries. They would burn well, I found myself thinking. Up another flight of stairs we went, and finally he ushered me into a comfortable sitting room with wide undraped windows that looked out onto a broad terrace and the distant dark blue sea. Lovely murals decorated the walls, scenes of peaceful men and languid women in a pastel world of flowers and gentle beasts.
The soldier closed the door and left me alone. But not for long. Through the door on the opposite side of the room, a scant few moments later, stepped the beautiful Helen.
20
She was breathtaking, there is no denying it. She wore a flounced skirt of shimmering rainbow colors with golden tassels that tinkled as she walked toward me. Her corselet was now as blue as the Aegean sky, her white blouse so gauzy that I could see the dark circles of the areolae around her nipples. She wore a triple gold necklace and more gold at her wrists and earlobes. Jeweled rings glittered on her fingers.
Behind her, standing just inside the doorway, stood an older, darker woman, in a hooded black robe that reached to the floor. Dark and silent as a specter, she watched me with eyes that seemed to glow from within the shadow of her hood. A servant, I thought, although she looked more like Death itself to me. I tried to ignore her, reasoning that Helen would not be alone with a man, especially an emissary from Agamemnon, the brother of her true husband.
Helen was tiny, almost delicate despite her hourglass figure. Her skin was like cream, unblemished and much lighter than the women I had seen in the Achaian camp. Lighter even than my wife’s, she who had been born in the mountains of the Hatti homeland. Helen’s eyes were as deeply blue as the Aegean, her lips lush and full, her hair the color of golden honey, with ringlets falling well past her delicate shoulders. One stubborn curl hung down over her forehead. She wore a scent of flowers: light, clean, yet beguiling.
She smiled at me and gestured toward a chair as she took a cushioned couch, her back to the open windows. I sat and waited respectfully for her to speak. She was a woman, of course, but she had been Queen of Sparta and was now a princess of Troy. No ordinary woman, she.
“You say you are a stranger to this land.” Her voice was low, melodious. I could understand how Paris or any other man would dare anything to have her. And keep her.
I nodded and found that I had to swallow once before I could speak. “My lady, I arrived here only two days ago.”
“You are a traveler, then?”
“Not by choice.”
She looked at me with a hint of suspicion in those clear blue eyes. “A warrior?”
“I have been a soldier in the army of the Hatti, my lady.”
She blinked with surprise. “You are a Hittite?”
“Yes, my lady.”
Suddenly Helen was filled with happiness. “The Hittites are sending troops here to help us!”
“I fear not, my lady. I am here to find my wife and young sons, who have been taken into slavery.”
She looked genuinely surprised. “How can that be?”
With a shake of my head, I replied, “It is a long tale, my lady. Best not to bore you with it.”
“I see.” She hesitated, then asked, “What gods do the Hittites worship?”
I was the surprised one now. I thought a moment. “Tesub, the Storm God, of course—”
