Shield of Thunder (28 page)

“Do not think me a fool for being so tricked, Andromache,” she said. “It was the medicine that made me stupid. Ah, well, you have avenged your sister, and that is honorable. I would have done the same in your place. You see, I was right. We are very alike.” She looked into Andromache’s green eyes and saw a flash of anger there.

“If I believed that to be true, Hekabe, I would have taken the poison myself. This is not for Paleste, though perhaps it should have been, for she was sweet and kind and loving and deserved better than to be drawn into your world of deceit, treachery, and murder. This is for Odysseus, a fine man, good and proud, and for Antiphones, who is my friend, and for who knows how many other innocents your evil would seek to destroy.”

“Innocents?” Hekabe replied, her voice rich with contempt. “On the mountains of ambition there are no innocents. You think Priam would still be king if I had viewed the world through such naïve eyes? You think Troy would have survived against the avarice of powerful kings had I not dealt with them, bribed them, seduced them, befriended them, and killed them? You want to live among the
innocents,
Andromache, among the sheep? Yes, in every peasant village they will live their loving lives, among true friends, and they will sing and dance together on feast days and weep when their friends and loved ones die. Sweet little sheep. Brings a tear to my eye. We are not sheep, stupid girl! We are lions. We are wolves. We devour the sheep, and we rend and tear at each other. Just as you have done—and will do again when needs must.”

“You are wrong, Hekabe,” Andromache told her. “I may be stupid, as you say, to believe in honor and friendship and loyalty without price. But these are virtues to be cherished, for without them we are no more than beasts roaming the land.”

“Yet you pretended to befriend me,” Hekabe said, her mind beginning to swim. “You lied and you cheated your way into my favor. Is this honor?”

“I did not pretend, Mother,” she heard Andromache say, her voice breaking. “I have liked you from the moment we met, and I admire your strength and your courage. May the gods grant you rest and peace.”

“Rest and peace! You foolish, foolish girl. If Odysseus lives, then Troy will face ruin.” Hekabe fell back into her chair, her eyes staring up at the blue of the sky. Her thoughts were of plans wrecked on the shores of other people’s weakness and error. And then she found herself once more upon the deck of the
Scamandrios,
and up ahead she could see a golden figure shining with a dazzling light. She thought it must be Priam, and her joy soared. “Where do we sail today, my lord?” she whispered.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THE SACKER OF CITIES

A full day of mourning was declared by Priam. All contests ceased, and the market traders were refused permission to sell their wares. A hundred bulls, sixty goats, and two hundred sheep were sacrificed to Hades, Lord of the Underworld, with the meat then hauled off to feed the thousands thronging the hillsides around the city. Hekabe’s body was carried back into the palace, wrapped in robes of gold, and laid in state in the queen’s apartments.

The high priest of the temple of Zeus maintained that even the heavens wept, for dark clouds gathered, with rain pouring down for most of the day.

Some priests whispered that the death of the queen was an ill omen for the wedding of her son, but those views were not widely spoken.

In the palace of Polites, the Mykene king, Agamemnon, struggled to conceal his delight at the news. Hekabe was a fearsome opponent whose agents had caused the deaths of a number of Mykene spies. In the past her counsel had checked many of Priam’s more rash decisions. Without her Priam was weakened, and Agamemnon’s invasion plans could move ahead more smoothly.

The doors in the main room had been closed and guarded for most of the afternoon, and the words spoken there could not be overheard. The gathered kings talked of logistics and supply, the movements of armies, and the defenses of the city.

Agamemnon listened as they spoke, offering little. He knew how the war should be fought, and most of his plans were already moving forward in secret. There was, however, no harm in letting others put forward ideas, allowing them to believe they were more important to the project than was the actuality. Idomeneos had spoken at length, as had Peleus.

Odysseus had said little, nor had he offered any objections to the wilder ideas of Idomeneos. Still, even if Odysseus was more the storyteller than the strategist, at least he had drawn the others in, and more would follow. There were now sixteen rulers pledged to the war, with 470 ships and close to sixty thousand fighting men. Agamemnon glanced at Idomeneos. There was still a chance the Kretan king would draw back at the last, bribed by Priam’s gold. Idomeneos would always be for sale to the highest bidder. It was the nature of the man, bred as he was from peasants. Agamemnon transferred his gaze to the elderly Nestor. He was not of peasant stock, yet his mind also sang with the music of commerce. The war would cost him in trade goods and gold. But he would join with them, especially now that Odysseus had declared himself.

What a boon that had been. The Ugly King, accompanied by five bodyguards, had arrived at the palace the previous evening. Agamemnon had invited him in, and the two men had walked through to a small side room.

“I cannot stay this evening,” Odysseus said. “There are matters I must attend to. I came merely to tell you that Ithaka, with fifty ships and two thousand men, will be available to you, Agamemnon.”

Agamemnon stood silent a moment, looking into his eyes. Then he said, “That is good to hear, though I must say I am surprised.”

“We will talk more,” Odysseus said grimly. “Do you have plans for tomorrow eve?”

“None that cannot be changed.”

“Then I shall come here with Idomeneos and Nestor.”

“They are also with us?”

“They will be.”

Agamemnon thrust out his hand. “I bid you welcome, Ithaka,” he said. “You are a brother now to the Mykene. Your troubles are our troubles, your dreams our dreams.”

Odysseus took his hand. The grip was strong. “I am grateful, Mykene,” he replied solemnly. “With this bonding of hands your enemies become our enemies, your friends our friends.”

Inside the main room now the king of Thessaly was drunk, his head lolling back on his chair. “Farewell to the old witch,” he said, raising his cup.

“Do not gloat, my friend,” Agamemnon said. “Even in the midst of enmity we should feel some sympathy for Priam, for it was said he had great love for her.”

“A pox on sympathy,” Peleus muttered. “The old hag outlived her time.”

“We all do,” Odysseus said. “Some sooner than others.”

Peleus sat up in his chair, his bleary eyes on the Ithakan king. “What does that mean?” he snarled.

“Did it seem I was speaking in some obscure Hittite dialect?” Odysseus countered, his tone bored.

Peleus observed him malevolently. “I never liked you, Odysseus,” he said.

“Hardly surprising. You’ve never liked anyone this side of puberty.”

Peleus surged out of his chair, scrabbling for his dagger. Agamemnon moved with speed to stand between the men. “Now, that is enough, my friend,” he said, grasping Peleus by the wrist. “It is not necessary for us to like one another. There is a common enemy who requires our focus.” He felt Peleus relax and sensed the man was grateful to have been blocked. The Mykene king turned to Odysseus. “Your mood has been foul all evening. Walk with me in the garden. The air will clear your mind.”

Pushing open the doors as he spoke, Agamemnon strolled out into the cool of the evening. The Ugly King followed him. The guards moved back out of earshot.

“Are you still torn, Odysseus?” Agamemnon asked softly.

“Emotions are complex beasts. I loathe Peleus. I like Hektor and Helikaon. Now Peleus is my ally and my two friends are my foes. Of course I am torn. But my course is set, my sail rigged. They have declared me an enemy of Troy, and now they will discover what that means.”

Agamemnon nodded. “You speak of Helikaon. Tonight my men will kill him.” It was a lie, but Agamemnon needed to see his reaction.

Odysseus laughed. “I think you will try at some time,” he said. “It is a sensible plan. Helikaon is a fine fighter, a good general, and a brilliant sailor. But it will not be tonight.”

“Not tonight? Why?”

“Two reasons. One, you are unsure of me, Agamemnon. I could leave here and warn the boy. That might mean your men being taken alive and implicating you. Or, if they succeeded, I could go to Priam with information about your plot and you would be dragged to justice for breaking the truce. Priam’s gratitude might then extend to putting aside his enmity and declaring me a friend once more.”

Agamemnon nodded. “You have a sharp mind, Odysseus.”

“Yes, I do.” He looked at Agamemnon and sighed. “I would tell you to put your fears aside concerning me, but it is not in your nature. So I will continue to speak frankly until you realize that my alliance is a true one. I hope Helikaon survives. Yet in order for us to succeed in this venture, Dardania must be in turmoil. Only then can your troops cross the Hellespont from Thraki and invade to the north of Troy.”

Agamemnon blinked and felt shock flow through him with needles of ice. No one knew of his troops moving into Thraki. If it was discovered before the end of the games, he would never leave Troy alive.

“I don’t know of what you speak,” he managed to say.

“Let us play no games, Agamemnon. Troy cannot be taken by frontal assault. You could camp an army across the Scamander, as Idomeneos suggests, and the roads north and east would remain open, supplies and mercenaries flowing in. To fully surround Troy you would need a hundred times more soldiers than any of us possess. The feeding of such a multitude would require thousands of wagons and, more important, farmlands and stock and slaves to gather crops. An army of that size would denude the land all the way to the horizon and cause consternation in the Hittite capital. Being huge, it would be difficult to manage and slow to respond to threat. Troy’s allies would attack its flanks, severing its supply routes. Hektor and the Trojan Horse would sally out from the city, striking like lightning, then fleeing back behind the walls. Within a season our treasuries would be bare, our armies demoralized. Then what if the Hittites won their own civil war, freeing their forces to come to the aid of Troy?

“No, Agamemnon, there is only one way to take this city. It needs to be slowly squeezed from above and below, with the sea routes blocked. North is Dardania, south Thebe Under Plakos. Dardanos guards the Hellespont, and across the narrow straits there is Thraki, an ally of Troy. So first you must take Thraki and hold it, preparing it to be a supply base for our troops. Only then can an invasion force cross the Hellespont into Dardania and continue to be resupplied. In the south it will be more simple. Troops and supplies can be shipped from Kos, Rhodos, and Miletos. Then Thebe Under Plakos can be taken, closing off the routes through the Ida mountains and preventing the coming of reinforcements from the Fat King, Kygones, in Lykia and others friendly to Troy.”

Agamemon looked at Odysseus as if seeing him for the first time. The broad face, which had seemed so jovial, was now hard, the eyes glittering. Power radiated from him. “Your words are fascinating,” Agamemnon said, playing for time. “Do go on.”

Odysseus laughed. “Fascinating they may be, but you already know all that I am about to say. For you understand strategy as well as any man alive. This is not a city to be raided and sacked in the course of a few days or even a few seasons. But it cannot take too long. We both know that.”

“And why would that be?”

“The gold, Agamemnon. Priam’s mighty coffers. He will need gold to hire mercenaries, to buy allies. If we block his trade, his income will wither, and slowly his treasury will be sucked dry. I do not want to fight my way into a ruined city in ten years’ time to find it barren. Do you?”

Agamemnon said nothing for a while. Then he signaled to a guard to bring them some wine. As they drank, he said, “I have misjudged you, Odysseus. For that I apologize. I saw only the genial storyteller. Now I truly understand why you were once called the Sacker of Cities. All that you say is true.” He paused. “Tell me, what do you know of the Shield of Thunder?”

Now it was Odysseus’ turn to be surprised. “Athene’s shield? What of it?”

Agamemnon watched him closely, but Odysseus obviously knew nothing. “One of my priests suggested we make sacrifice to Athene and ask for the Shield of Thunder to protect our efforts. I wondered if you’d heard any tales concerning it.”

Odysseus shrugged. “Only what every child is taught. The shield was given to Athene by Hephaistos, which angered Ares, for he desired it. Ares was so enraged, he smashed Hephaistos’ foot with a club. But I have never heard of anyone calling for protection from the shield before. Still, why not? Sacking this citadel will require all the help we can get. Worth a few bulls at least.”

Later, when his guests had gone, Agamemnon climbed to the roof of the palace and seated himself in a wide wicker chair beneath the stars. His thoughts roamed over the events of the last few days, reexamining them. Time and again, though, he returned to the conversation two nights before, when the Trojan prince Antiphones had joined them for supper. The fat man had been dazzled by the splendor of Achilles and had sat staring at him as if moonstruck. Much wine had flowed, and Antiphones, eager to entertain Achilles, had told many amusing stories. As Agamemnon had instructed, Achilles flattered the Trojan prince, hanging on his every word, laughing at his jests. Nevertheless they had learned little, even with Antiphones drunk, until Achilles had talked admiringly about Troy and its wonders.

“It is a great city,” Antiphones said. “Immortal soon.”

“How will it be immortal, my friend?” Achilles asked him as Agamemnon sat quietly back in the shadows.

“There is a prophecy. Priam and Hekabe believe it, and many seers have declared it to be true.” And then he had quoted a verse:
“Beneath the Shield of Thunder waits the Eagle Child, on shadow wings, to soar above all city gates, till end of days, and fall of kings.”

“Interesting,” Achilles said. “And what does it mean, this doggerel verse?”

“Ah!” Antiphones said, tapping his nose. “Secret. Hekabe’s secret. I shouldn’t know it, really. But sweet Andromache told me.” He chuckled, then drained his cup. “A fine girl. She’ll…be a splendid wife for…Hektor.”

“I heard she killed an assassin as he was about to murder Priam King,” Agamemnon put in softly.

“Shot him through the heart,” Antiphones said. “Stunning girl! Deadly with the bow. She is my friend, you know. Sweet Shield of Thunder.” His face had fallen then, and he had wiped his fat hand across his mouth, as if pushing back the words. Then he had heaved himself to his feet. “Need to…go now,” he said. At a signal from Agamemnon, Achilles had helped Antiphones from the palace and walked him back to his own apartments.

Agamemnon had sent for his advisers and questioned them about the prophecy. None had heard of it. For most of the following day the words had continued to haunt him. Messages were sent out to Mykene spies and informers to gather all information on Andromache. Finally they located a merchant who once had been based in Thebe Under Plakos and knew something of the royal family there. He told the story of the child born with a curious birthmark on her skull, round like a shield, with lightning through the center.

So, then, Andromache was the Shield of Thunder, and the Eagle Child who would soar above all city gates would be her son by Prince Hektor. Priam and Hekabe were setting great store by this prophecy. It was obviously false, for all true followers of the gods knew that the Shield of Thunder sported a snake, not the lightning bolt these eastern kingdoms believed. Even so,
they
believed in the prophecy.