Sparta, princess of Troy.
Helen. Was she really offering herself to me? A common soldier? A man with two young sons clinging to him? If I told her that I loved her, would she be pleased? Or would she scorn me? Then I realized that she must be lonely. After the mortal peril she’d been through, after seeing the man she loved spitted on Achilles’ spear, after watching Troy and its entire royal family destroyed, she was alone in the world, without a love, without a friend, without even the servant she had known since childhood.
She didn’t love me, of that I was certain. She couldn’t. It was impossible. But she needed me, and she knew that the best way to keep me loyal to her was through her body. Poletes had been right: she’ll snare me in her web of allurements. Or try to.
I watched the nearly full moon sink behind the darkened temple roofs before I closed my eyes in troubled sleep. It seemed merely a moment later when I felt Poletes get out of the bed, coughing and groaning.
“Are you all right?” I asked.
“No,” he said. “I’m old.” And he reached under the bed for the chamber pot.
Morning came bright and clear, the sky an almost cloudless blue. We were all up early and trooped down to the inn’s tavern for a breakfast of yogurt and honey, followed by hot barley cakes. Magro and the men came dragging in, bleary-eyed but grinning and joking to one another about their night’s adventures. They joined us for breakfast and ate heartily. Helen stayed in her room and had one of the innkeeper’s daughters bring breakfast to her.
I sent Magro and two of the men back into the city to trade our worn horses and donkeys for fresh mounts.
“These old swaybacks won’t fetch much,” Magro said, as the men walked the animals out of the stable. I couldn’t tell which looked the worse for wear, the animals or my men.
“Probably not,” I agreed, nodding, “but get what you can for them and buy new ones.” I handed him a small sack that held some of the baubles from Troy.
As Magro and the two others left, with the string of animals plodding slowly behind them, the innkeeper came bustling up to me.
“My lord,” he said grandly, “may I ask how do you intend to settle your account?”
He’d seen me hand the sack to Magro and now he wanted his own payoff.
I clasped him by the shoulder and walked him back toward the tavern. “I have little coin,” I explained, “but this should cover our debt to you, don’t you think?” And I pulled from the purse on my belt one of the jeweled rings I’d been carrying.
His eyes flashed wide momentarily, but he quickly covered his delight. Holding the ring up to the sunlight, where its emeralds flashed brightly, he couldn’t help but smile.
“This will do very nicely, my lord,” he said. “It will fetch a fine price at the agora.”
I thought for a moment about going down to the marketplace and converting a few more of our baubles into coin.
“And how long do you plan to stay with us, sir?” asked the landlord.
I made myself shrug. “A few days, perhaps less, perhaps longer.”
He bobbed his head up and down. “My inn is at your disposal, sir. Would you like to have one of my daughters tend to your children this day?”
“I think not. I want to see the city, and I know they’ll be curious about it also.”
“As you wish, my lord.”
I could see the thoughts running through his greedy mind. If I could pull a precious emerald ring out of my purse, what other treasures might I have in those boxes that we had carried up to my room? I realized that I couldn’t leave my room unguarded.
I detailed Hartu and Drako to stay at the inn and protect our goods. “Wear your swords,” I commanded them. “Let these busybodies see that you’re armed.”
They nodded blearily, their eyes bloodshot. I had to make an effort not to laugh at them. “You can stay in my room with the baggage and take turns napping. But wear your swords when you come out here.”
Then Helen came down, muffled in her royal-blue cloak. As if nothing had happened between us the previous day, she asked me, “Are we going to see the city?”
“We are,” I replied.
14
We made an odd pro cession as we walked through the streets of Ephesus: Helen, Poletes, my two children and I—plus Sukku, one of the Hatti soldiers we had picked up along our route from Troy.
Still muffled in her hooded cloak, Helen walked at my side. On my other side Poletes, strong enough now to walk, had tied a scarf of white silk across his useless eyes. He carried a walking stick, and was learning to tap out the ground ahead of him so that he could walk by himself. Still, he never strayed more than an arm’s length from me.
Lukkawi and Uhri ran ahead along the narrow, crooked streets, poking their heads into every doorway, chasing after every alley cat they saw, laughing and happy to be able to give free rein to their childish high spirits. Sukku plodded along behind them and never let them out of his sight.
Soon the streets widened into broad avenues paved with marble, which opened onto grand plazas flanked by gracious houses and shops bearing wares from Crete, Egypt, Babylon, even fabled India.
I saw only a few beggars on those avenues, although there were mimes and acrobats and other performers in each of the plazas, entertaining the people who, from their dress, seemed to come from the four corners of the world.
Ephesus was truly a city of culture and comfort, rich with marble temples and centers for healers to ply their craft and even a library that stored scrolls of knowledge. We walked slowly through the plazas and the growing throngs of people crowding into them. Then we came to the city’s central marketplace, and passed a knot of people gathered around an old man who was squatting on the marble paving blocks, weaving a spell of words, while his listeners tossed an occasional coin his way.
“A storyteller!” Poletes yelped.
“Not here,” I whispered to him.
“Let me stay and listen, Master Lukka,” he begged. “Please! I swear that I won’t speak a word.”
Reluctantly I allowed it. I thought I could trust Poletes’ word; it was his heart that I worried about. He was a storyteller, it was in his blood. How long could he remain silent when he had the grandest story of all time to tell to the crowd?
I decided to give him an hour to himself while Helen and I browsed through the shops and stalls of the marketplace. Even with Sukku watching after them, I kept an eye on little Uhri and Lukkawi; they kept disappearing into the crowds and then popping into sight again. Helen seemed delightedly happy to be fingering fine cloth and examining decorated pottery, bargaining with the shopkeepers and then walking on, buying nothing. I shrugged and followed her at a distance, my eyes always searching out my two boys.
The ground rumbled. A great gasping cry went up from the crowd in the marketplace. A few pots tottered off their shelves and smashed to the ground. The world seemed to sway giddily, sickeningly. In a few heartbeats the rumbling ceased and all returned to normal. For a moment the people were absolutely silent. Then a bird chirped and everyone began talking at once, with the kind of light fast banter that comes with a surge of relief from sudden terror.
My sons came running up to me, with Sukku trotting behind them, but by the time they were close enough to grasp my legs the tremor had ended. I assured them everything was all right.
Helen stared at me, her face white with apprehension.
“An earth tremor,” I said, trying to make my voice light, unafraid. “Natural enough in these parts.”
“Poseidon makes the earth shake,” she said in a near-whisper. But the color returned to her cheeks.
The marketplace quickly returned to normal. The crowd resumed its chatter. People bargained with merchants. My boys ran off to watch a puppet show. I could see Poletes across the great square of the market,
