Black Ships (35 page)

THE LAST BATTLE

W
e had nine and a half more years of peace. Our families grew and our lands expanded. Our ships fished the sea.

Wilos was a young man with a wife of his own, a cousin of Queen Lavinia who had been a baby in arms when the Rutoli killed her father. Kianna was as old as I had been when black ships came to Pylos.

And it was she who knew, of course. The Lady of the Dead speaks most clearly to the young and to the old.

I woke before dawn one morning in high summer and wondered what was wrong. Perhaps I had dreamed, but if I had I did not remember. I looked about the room. Markai and Karas had long since left the temple, but their younger sister slumbered nearby, her light brown hair spread around her on the pillow. Ila was not quite six, the daughter to the Shrine at last. She was clever and pretty, but I could see even at her age that she was not chosen. Whatever it was that lay so heavily on Kianna did not touch her at all.

Kianna. Her bed was empty. It must have been her movement that woke me. I got up and went out, into the main room of the temple.

The statues of the gods were white and silent in the predawn grayness, Aphrodite’s carven face giving me a secret smile as I passed Her. Kianna stood in the doorway, her back to me, silhouetted against the growing light. Sothis was setting behind the far horizon. I came up beside her. “Kianna?”

She shivered a little, pulling her wrap tighter around her. “I thought I heard my mother calling, but that’s impossible. She’s over there in her own house. I dreamed that she told me to go to the top of the hill where Poblios’ vineyards are and to be there when dawn came.”

A chill ran down me. I kept my voice even. “Then we had best do as she says, hadn’t we?”

Kianna looked at me sideways.

“Do you want your shoes?” I asked. I picked up my own sandals and tied them on.

She nodded. The strangeness had not left her face. “We should hurry,” she said.

Together, we climbed the terraced hill in the dawn. Young grapevines stretched in ranks, each clinging to the other, the first grapes beginning on the vine. Kianna loped ahead of me on her longer legs and straight feet, pushed by an urgency that I understood but did not feel.

At the top we paused. We were barely in time.

Making for the mouth of the river were ten ships. The rising sun caught them in the light, picked out the devices on their sails, glimmering off the
Chariot of the Sun.

One look was enough for me, and I thanked Her for Kianna’s quick legs and quicker mind. “Run!” I said. “Run straight to the king, and tell him Neoptolemos is come with ten ships!” She hesitated. “Run!” I said. “I will come behind. Every moment counts.”

She needed no more. Kianna took off like a young doe, threading through the vineyard far faster than I had ever thought to run.

The sun lifted red from the clouds. A death day, a red day, a day for blood.

Oh, Lady,
I prayed as I ran,
please let Neoptolemos never have heard of close-order drill.

By the time I reached the palace men were in arms. The king’s pages were running throughout the town, fetching from their beds all the men who had not heard the alarm. Silvius and two other youths were swinging onto wiry little Alban horses to ride out to all the farms that owed allegiance to Latium. He kicked his horse forward, then drew up sharply as he saw me in the gate.

“I’m sorry, Lady,” Silvius said.

I stepped back against the wall. “Don’t mind me. Go!”

His horse needed little urging, young and eager as he. One touch and they sprang forward again, a three-year-old stallion and a boy of twelve.

I hastened inside.

Neas was being helped into his breastplate by another of the youths. He looked around at me. “There you are, Sybil. Kianna told me what you said. Is there anything else?”

“They were making toward the river mouth,” I said. “But it looked as though some of the ships were heavy laden, and the summer has been dry. They don’t know the channels, and I doubt they can get them this far up the river, with it as low as it is.”

Neas nodded. “We’ll go down to meet them. The farther we can engage them from the fields, the better.”

All of our fields were laden with the harvest not to begin for several weeks yet.

Wilos came in, his wife stumbling after, her long hair down and tumbled across her back. He bent and kissed her, saying something I could not hear.

Neas saw my face. “Go,” he said. “See to your sons, Lady. This is the business of war.”

I went to Xandros’ house, into the rooms where I had so often stayed. I could hear the sounds of them arming from the courtyard. I hurried inside. Karas was getting his things together.

“Karas,” I said. I stopped. I could not think what to say next.

“I don’t really want to go, Mother,” Karas said. Fifteen and broad shouldered, there was no doubt that he would go. He had begun training in the drill when he joined
Dolphin
’s crew. “It’s not for fun. But I must.”

Markai came behind him to fasten his breastplate. He had the height Xandros and I both lacked, and at eighteen was as solid and as strong a young man as anyone could wish. The height, I thought, must be some legacy of his unknown Achaian grandfather, for none of us had it, but his common sense and level head was pure Xandros.

“I know,” I said. There was no pretext to keep my son safe at home when boys three years younger were about the business of war, even Silvius, whose life Neas treasured. And where should we be, if every mother did the same? Who should defend our fields and gates then? Neas was right. It was best to meet them as far from the town as possible.

Xandros came and kissed me, to the embarrassment of the boys. I touched his cheek with one hand and smiled into his eyes.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly. “I’ll look after the boys.”

“I know,” I said. I brushed his hair back from his brow. There was gray in it now, but it was as soft as ever.

He nodded. There was nothing else that needed to be said between us. We had said everything in nineteen years, everything there was to say, many times over. And I should never tire of saying it.

I embraced Markai and Karas in turns, thinking how strange it was to reach up into my sons’ arms. “Mind your father and be careful,” I said.

Markai did not roll his eyes, but I saw him catch Karas’ eye in a shared look.

Ila came shrieking in from the temple, her fair hair flying behind her. “I thought you were here!” She flung herself on Karas.

“I have to go, little sister,” he said, lifting her up, her legs around his bronze breastplate. He was the kinder of the boys, if not the most responsible.

Xandros detached her and kissed her. Her long hair was in knots again. How it could get knotted while she was sleeping was beyond me. “We’ll be back soon,” he said.

He smiled at me over her head. “Come on, boys.”

We followed them into the street, to the swift muster of men in the marketplace before the gate. Xandros began calling orders to
Dolphin
’s company, the boys falling in among the others. Though we now had five ships, and not all of the men were part of any crew, we still arranged drill in three companies, named for each of the three ships. They formed up on Bai, the right forward corner. There was silver in his beard now.

“All forward!” Neas called. “Open the gates!”

They marched out before the sun had risen an hour,
Seven Sisters,
then
Dolphin,
then
Pearl.
We watched until they were out of sight.

Kianna came and stood beside me and Ila. Together we watched the dust of their passage until we could see no more.

“Mother,” she said, “I could take Ila and get her some breakfast.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” I said. My voice sounded perfectly steady and normal.

Kianna was good. Her hands did not even shake, and she picked up Ila and swung her on her hip. “Let’s go have some bread and honey. It will be a long time before they come back.” She looked down at me. “Where will you be?”

“The palace,” I said. “That’s where I should be.”

I went into the great hall. Lavinia had the women making pallets around the walls and getting fresh bedding and cloths ready. Lide was with her, stooped and white haired. She looked at me and smiled.

“Two more good hands,” Lide said. “Where’s that acolyte of yours? We’ll need her.”

“She’ll be along in a while,” I said.

“Good.” Lide bustled off to tend to something, leaving me and Lavinia alone.

At not quite thirty, her beauty was fading. She had the kind of face that youth gives charm to, but the tightening of her skin brought sharpness and defined her features too clearly for beauty here. In Egypt, I thought, they would tell her that she would be beautiful in death. I shivered at the memory.

“What will happen?” she said quietly.

“My queen, I wish I knew,” I said. “I do not think it will all come to naught, but I cannot tell you anything more.”

Her back straightened. A dowager queen, regent for a boy of twelve, his father and brother slain. It could happen. The dice were still rolling.

“I should like you at my side, come what will,” she said. “As my lord and husband has ever held you.” Her eyes met mine.

“My queen, I am at your service,” I said. We had the measure of each other.

T
HE DAY WAS ENDLESS
. The sun climbed the sky and began its descent from the height. I did not feel Her. Death was not here, but there.

Sometime after noon one of the children came shouting to the palace that dust had been seen, followed by one of the messengers with the same news.

“I should stay here and keep all things in readiness,” Lavinia said, but I could see how she yearned for the walls.

“My queen,” I began.

“Oh, go on,” Lide said. “We’ve checked everything three times. I’ll stay right here. But it’s not as though the wounded are going to appear here unexpectedly.”

We went to the walls together, barely keeping a decorous pace as befitted a queen and an oracle.

Dust indeed. But was it our men returning, or Neoptolemos? It was some time before we could see with the sun in our faces.

Neas was at the head of the line, companies behind him. Wilos was leading
Seven Sisters’
company, first as always.

I heard Lavinia catch a quick breath. “Oh gods,” she whispered. “So few, oh gods so few.”

The companies seemed half the size they had been when they marched out, and now we could see the farm carts following.

“Carts,” I whispered.

The dust. I could not see any faces, begrimed and wreathed in dust as they were. I thought I recognized Kos’ burly form in the first rank of the third company. I did not see them. I couldn’t tell.

Kianna was beside me, and somehow her hand was gripping mine so tightly I heard the bones grind together.

A messenger had run ahead on weary feet, and below I heard the gates open. He came panting up the steps to the queen. “My Lady,” he said, “the king bids me to tell you that it is a victory. He himself slew Neoptolemos of Achaia in mighty combat, and the
Chariot of the Sun
will trouble us no more.”

I did not hear another word he said.

Markai was walking beside one of the carts, his head down. And I knew.

I don’t know how I got down the stairs and out the gates. A number of women were running out. I suppose I was one of them.

I knew.

Xandros lay in one of the carts, a cloak thrown over the ruin of his body, his unmarred face still and quiet. Karas lay on his shoulder, as he had slept as a baby, the torn side of his face down against his father’s shoulder. Someone had closed their eyes, though Karas’ lashes were sticky with blood. Markai walked beside them.

Somehow Neas was beside me, catching at me with his bloodied arms. He had run from the front of the column, I suppose. He was saying things that were meaningless. “It was the third charge. We were almost done. Xandros went down. I didn’t see what happened. I yelled at the boys to hold the line, not to break formation, to stay in the shield wall. Markai...”

Neas’ voice broke. “Markai obeyed me. He stood firm. But Karas...” He ducked his head, tears streaming down his face. “He ran to his father and was cut down. I told him to hold the line! I told him, Gull, but he didn’t listen. I yelled at him. He didn’t listen...”

Something loosened inside me, a great wail. I began screaming and couldn’t stop.

I
DID NOT SING
the Descent. My throat was closed from screaming, my voice raw. My hands shook and I could not paint my face.

I stood beside the biers while Kianna sang. The stars were coming in the night sky, and she had painted her face black and white, like the legends from the isles. Death stood veiled, black crowning her red hair held up with pins of copper, older than the bronze our fathers brought. Her voice was pure and true. Her hands were long and white. Twelve times she sang it at twelve pyres, so many were our dead.

Xandros and Karas lay together, the last pyre, father and son, lapped under a fine scarlet wool cloak that I thought dimly must have belonged to Neas, the work of weeks upon the loom.