Fall of Kings

CHAPTER TWELVE THE BEGGAR AND THE BOW

In the drafty megaron on wind-tossed Ithaka, the pirates were enjoying their nightly revels. Many stood out in the courtyard, seeking the warmth where Odysseus’ sheep roasted on spits, but most of them were in the hall, laughing, quarreling, eating, and drinking. A few already had slumped asleep on the cold stone floor. Occasionally a skirmish would break out, but no one had died yet this night, Penelope thought regretfully. And the numbers who were killed each day in those sudden knife fights were more than made up for by newcomers. More than a hundred of these scum of the seas had arrived in the last few days, drawn across the winter seas by tales of the hospitality on Ithaka. Added to their number were some Siculi tribesmen from the Fire Isle in the west, harsh, savage men with tattooed faces and weapons of curved bronze.

The queen sat chained to the carved wooden throne and tried, as she did each night, to distance herself from events around her. Though exhausted, she raised her shaved head high and held her gaze on the opposite wall, where the huge painted shield of Odysseus’ father hung unregarded. She tried to force her thoughts away from the pain of her broken fingers, the throbbing from her bound wrists, and the incessant itching of the lice-ridden rags she had been forced to wear.

Penelope tried to recall the happy days when she and Odysseus both had been young. She called to mind the face of her son Laertes. In the first years after he died she could see him only as he had been in the immobility of death, but now she found she could remember the precise hue of his eyes, feel the soft down of his cheek against her lips, and recall the exact expression on his face when his father came into the room. No day passed when she did not remember the boy, but thoughts of him now were calming and sweet, rescuing her for a few precious moments from this endless torment.

As always, her mind kept betraying her, raising fruitless hopes of Odysseus striding through the megaron doors, swinging his sword and carving a path to her, releasing her from her bonds, and taking her into the safety of his huge arms. It would be like one of his stories told in this very hall at night when the fire was banked high and she was surrounded by her loved ones. But then cold intelligence would flow across those hopes. Odysseus was older now, almost fifty. The days of great strength and inexhaustible stamina were behind him. His joints ached in the winter, and after a day of labor, he would sink down into a comfortable chair with the heavy, grateful sigh of the ancient.

The thief of time slowly was stealing the vitality from the man she loved. She knew that if he came, his aging body would betray him against these vile young men glorying in the power of their youth.

Then despair would strike, and she would plead: Don’t come, Ugly One! For once in your life do something sensible and stay away. Wait until the spring and bring an army to avenge me. Please don’t come to me now.

But he would come. She knew it with certainty. For all that he was wily, brilliant, and cunning, Odysseus would be blinded to reason by his love for her.

Her thoughts turned bleakly to suicide. If he knew she was dead, Odysseus still would come, but with a clearer mind bent only on vengeance. He would wait until he had raised a fleet and could kill every pirate on Ithaka ten times over. If she could get hold of a knife or a sharp stick, she could pierce her breast in an instant. Even as the thought came, she felt the babe move within her, and her eyes misted with tears. I could kill myself, but I cannot kill you, little one.

“Well, Your Highness, will you do us the honor of eating and drinking with us tonight?” asked the hated voice.

Penelope’s gaze reluctantly focused on the gaunt, cruel features of Antinous, her captor and tormentor, as he bowed elaborately before her. He was young, having hardly more than twenty summers, but he was clever and ruthless. The hint of insanity in his green eyes could be feigned, she thought, but it made the older pirates step around him with care. His hair was dark and long, and a single thin braid decorated with gold wire hung from his right temple.

In the nineteen endless days since the attack—days the queen had marked as carefully as she marked the kicking of the child inside her—Penelope had learned a lot about the pirates and their ways. Most were spiteful, stupid men who believed that cruelty and murder made them strong. They were undisciplined and prone to sudden outbursts of rage and violence. Of the five pirate leaders who had banded together under Antinous’ leadership to attack Ithaka, three were dead at Antinous’ hand. Another had been killed in a fight over a captured woman.

“Well, my lady? Shall I untie your hands and have food brought?” Antinous’ grinning face was inches from hers. She smelled meat on his breath but not wine, for he never drank.

Penelope ignored him. His hand snaked out, slapping her face hard and jarring her teeth. She could taste blood on her tongue. “Or shall I give you to my men tonight?” Antinous inquired softly, gesturing to the drunken rabble. “They will make you squeal.”

The queen focused her gaze on his too-calm eyes, eyes she would see in her dreams as long as she lived.

“Do as you will, pirate,” she said coldly. “I am Penelope, queen of Ithaka. My husband is the great Odysseus, and he is coming here to kill you. Hear the words of your death, Antinous.”

Antinous laughed lightly and stood back. “We are impatient for your husband’s arrival. I hear that he and a few old men like him are coming to rescue you. All across the Great Green I expect they are speaking of it.” He gestured again around the hall. “My fighters are young and strong and fearless. They will relish cutting out the heart of fat Odysseus.” Then he moved alongside her and whispered in her ear. “But first I will make him watch you die. He will see you raped by my men, then watch as I put out your eyes and cut his foul get from your belly.”

Despite the terror in her heart, Penelope forced a smile. “Your words mean nothing, blowhard. You are already dead. This I promise.”

There was movement in the doorway far down the hall, and she saw a new group enter. Eagerly she scanned their faces. There was a muscled giant she first thought was Leukon, but as he turned to her, she saw the violence in his eyes and realized he was just a killer.

Then she saw a face she knew. Sekundos! He was an old rogue Odysseus had had dealings with in happier days but was pirate scum nonetheless. No hope for her there. Others of his crew followed him in, ragged men in threadbare tunics. They looked more like beggars than pirates.

“Looking for rescue, Penelope?” Antinous asked her. “Old Sekundos is not a savior. Soft as puppy shit and close to senile, but he tells me he knows the island well—all the hidden places where your peasants and their women are cowering in fear.”

Penelope closed her eyes, seeking a few heartbeats of release from his presence. But she could not force his face from her mind and saw again the dreadful day he had come to Ithaka.

His eight galleys had sailed through the morning mist, and two hundred warriors had stormed ashore. The small garrison of thirty fighting men had battled valiantly all day, but by twilight all of her soldiers, most of them boys and ancients, had lain dead. The bodies of those brave men had been impaled on spikes on the beach for Odysseus to see when he arrived. The stench of rotting flesh on the breeze was appalling.

The pirate chief spoke again. Penelope opened her eyes. “And Sekundos will show us where the black savage is hiding,” he said. “I will have him brought here and slowly dismembered. You can watch him suffer and hear his screams.”

One-armed Bias had defended her through the long day of the attack, killing and wounding more than a dozen invaders until, as hope faded, he reluctantly had retreated on her stern orders, disappearing into the night like a phantom. Each day she heard whispers among the pirates of the dark demon who picked off sentries and lone stragglers. Antinous had scoured the island for him but had not found him.

Penelope had been dragged into her own palace and hurled to the floor before the young pirate chief. He had kicked her in the face and hauled her up by her hair. When she had tried to strike him, he had grasped her fingers, twisting them until two snapped. Then he had punched her to the ground. Half-dazed with pain, she had heard his cold voice.

“I am Antinous, son of a father murdered by Odysseus. I am here for vengeance.”

“Odysseus is no murderer,” she replied, spitting blood from her mouth.

“A foul lie. He was on a ship with Nestor and Idomeneos in a sea battle against my father.”

“Three kings in a sea battle? Ah, yes,” she said, staring up at his long, angular face. “Odysseus spoke of it often, and now I see the resemblance. Your father was the man known as Donkey Face.”

He had punched her again, breaking her nose, then had grabbed her hair, slapping her again and again. Finally, she had sunk unconscious to the floor and had awoken in a tiny cell.

Now she watched Sekundos the Kretan walk up to her, an old shield hanging loosely from his shoulder. He looked frightened, and there was sweat glistening on his bald head.

Glancing nervously at Antinous, he said, “Greetings, lady. I am sorry to see you brought so low.” She saw his gaze taking in her crippled fingers and the crusted blood around her eyes and mouth.

She smiled gently. “Greetings, Sekundos. The company you keep brings you only shame.”

“There is so much shame in my life, lady, that a little more would not weigh heavily on me.”

Antinous laughed and pushed the old pirate away. Then he turned toward Penelope. “You speak of shame in my presence, when I have treated you so well? I fear I must teach you manners!” He raised his left hand to strike her. At that moment there came a hissing sound, and a black-feathered arrow hurtling toward his head plunged instead through his forearm. Antinous cried out in pain and staggered back.

Penelope looked down the length of the hall.

In the far doorway, dressed like a beggar, stood Odysseus, the great bow Akilina in his hand. “And now, you cowsons,” he bellowed, “it is time to die!”

Shocked silence fell. No one moved. In that moment Odysseus calmly notched another arrow and let it fly. The shaft plunged through the throat of a yellow-haired tribesman, who fell back dead.

Pandemonium broke out. Some pirates tried to run for cover. Others grabbed their weapons and charged at the Ithakan king, but a huge dark-haired warrior carrying two swords stepped into their path. He slashed his sword through the throat of the first before ramming his second blade deep into the chest of the pirate alongside him.

Others of Odysseus’ disguised crew drew weapons and attacked. Odysseus ran toward the long feasting table in the center of the hall. A man reared up before him. Odysseus shoulder charged him to the floor, then leaped onto the table.

“I am Odysseus!” he shouted. “You are all dead men now!” His voice boomed like thunder, the words echoing from the rafters.

Achilles and the crew of the Bloodhawk were fighting furiously before the doors, forcing the enemy back toward the center of the hall. Odysseus sent a shaft through the skull of a tall pirate. Two more warriors scrambled onto the table and rushed at him. Odysseus swung Akilina like a club, cracking the bow against the face of the first. The man was hurled from the table. Odysseus twisted to one side and kicked the second man in the knee. The pirate screamed and fell.

A spear flew past Odysseus’ head. He shot an arrow into the chest of the man who had thrown it.

Standing by the throne, Antinous snapped off the arrow in his forearm and with a cry of pain dragged the shaft clear. His left hand was useless, the thumb paralyzed. Drawing a short stabbing sword, he shouted, “Odysseus! Watch your wife die!” Penelope shrank away as the sword blade lanced toward her throat—to be blocked by the shield of Sekundos. The old man’s sword slashed at him, but he was too slow, and Antinous swayed away from the blade.

“You treacherous cur!” Antinous hissed. “You brought them here! Now you can die with them.”

Antinous attacked. Sekundos blocked a thrust with his shield, but Antinous dropped to one knee, his sword slicing beneath the shield and cutting deeply into the old man’s thigh. Sekundos cried out and fell back. Antinous glanced down the long megaron. Odysseus had jumped off the table and thrown aside his bow. He now was fighting with a sword, slashing ferociously left and right, trying to force his way through to his wife.

The balance of the battle was shifting, Antinous realized. The advantage of surprise had been with Odysseus and his men, but that had passed, and the weight of numbers was beginning to tell. There had been almost one hundred fifty pirates in the megaron. The fighting men with Odysseus numbered only forty. They were being forced back slowly toward the great doors. They would have been overrun swiftly were it not for the giant black-haired warrior with the two blades. His strength was terrifying. Again and again his swords cut through defenses, bodies piling up around him.

Antinous turned his attention back to Sekundos, for the old man was advancing on him, shield held high, stabbing sword at the ready.

Antinous laughed. “Old fool, you should have quit the sea years ago. Your muscles are wasted, your speed gone, your bones brittle.”

Antinous darted in, making a feint toward the groin. Sekundos dropped his shield to block the blow. Antinous plunged his short sword over the shield and into the old man’s chest. Sekundos groaned and fell back, his shield clattering to the floor.

In the center of the hall Odysseus was surrounded by pirates, but he surged into them, shouting curses. “Take him alive!” Antinous shouted. “I want him alive!”

Suddenly the great doors were thrust open. More warriors came pouring in, screaming a battle cry.

“Penelope! PENELOPE!”

Antinous stood aghast as more and more fighting men swarmed into the palace. At their center was a warrior in a full-faced helm and breastplate of glittering bronze. He tore into the pirates, cutting down one man and then another.

In panic the pirates fell back once more. Some fled through the side doors to the servants’ quarters. Others retreated toward the throne. The bronze warrior and his men followed hard on their heels, his sword cutting and killing, blood spraying from the blade.

The black-haired giant was beside him now. Antinous had never seen such a deadly display of fighting skills, had not believed it was possible. The bronze warrior was fast, swaying away from plunging blades, his sword lancing out with impossible precision. The giant radiated invincibility, smashing his way into the ranks of the pirates, spilling men from their feet.

Antinous backed away, seeking an escape route.

Then he saw Odysseus advancing toward him, blood pouring from many cuts in his arms and shoulders. The stocky king hurled himself forward, scattering the pirates before him, and charged at Antinous.

The pirate chief shouted a curse and leaped to meet him. Their swords clanged together. Odysseus’ left hand snaked out, grabbing the front of Antinous’ tunic and dragging him into a head butt that smashed his nose. Half-blinded, Antinous struggled to free himself from the older man’s grip, but he could not. Pain, hideous and burning, tore into his belly and up through his lungs. All strength fled from him. The sounds of battle receded in his ears. He found himself staring into the eyes of Odysseus and saw no pity there.

The sword in his belly was half withdrawn, then twisted savagely.

Agony ripped through the pirate chief. The blade was torn clear of him, his entrails flopping out. Hurled aside like a bloodstained rag, Antinous was dead before his body struck the floor.

Old Sekundos, his face ashen with pain, dragged himself alongside Penelope. His strength failing, he sagged against the throne before slipping to the floor.

Outside the palace fleeing pirates were met with a hail of arrows, then a charge led by Oniacus and a score of fighting men from the Xanthos. Three survivors broke clear, only to be met by a huge one-armed black man. Leaping forward, Bias stabbed the first in the neck, then plunged the blade into the chest of the second. The third man raced clear. A black-shafted arrow slammed into his back. He staggered forward for several paces, then pitched face-first to the ground.

A group of pirates escaped through the side doors and dashed down to the beach. On the great galley Xanthos all was dark, and the survivors raced toward it, hoping to capture the ship. As they started to climb the trailing ropes, dark shapes appeared above them, and a hail of arrows ripped into them from the high deck. On the stern of the ship Andromache stood calmly, shooting shafts with others of the ship’s archers, her arrows slamming into the pirates with cold precision.

Inside the palace the battle was over. Some of the pirates cried out for mercy. None was given.

Odysseus dropped his sword and ran to his wife, kneeling alongside her. Swiftly he untied her hands; then, cradling her shaved head in his hands, he kissed her brow. There were tears in his eyes. “I am so sorry,” he said. “This is my fault.”

Penelope clung to him with her good hand, and for a moment they were silent, close in each other’s arms, scarcely believing they were together again and safe.

“I knew you would come, Ugly One. It was most foolish of you,” she murmured at last. Lifting her broken hand, she gently stroked his face. “And look at you, all cuts and bruises.”

The bronze warrior approached them and lifted clear his helm. Penelope looked up into his sky-blue eyes.

“I had thought there was little left in this world to surprise me,” she said. “But you prove me wrong. Welcome to my house, Helikaon.” She looked beyond him to the blood-spattered giant.

“I am Achilles,” he told her.

“You could be no other,” she replied.

For the next three days the men of the Xanthos helped Odysseus’ crew clear away the bodies of the pirates and prepare the funeral pyres. Refugees moved back from their hiding places in the hills, returning to their looted homes. Andromache joined the women of Ithaka as they moved through the megaron and the surrounding rooms, scrubbing away the blood and clearing the filth the pirates and their whores had left in their wake.

Little was seen of Penelope during that time, and Odysseus appeared only rarely.

By the evening of the third day the palace was once more habitable. The cleansing of homes brought a sense of normality, but many had lost loved ones, and there was an air of despondency throughout the settlement.

The only surgeon on Ithaka had been killed by the attackers, and the wounded were tended by Bias, Oniacus, and Andromache. All three had some experience with herbs and medicinal plants.

Just before sunset on the fourth day, Penelope emerged from her rooms and walked among the wounded, a bright scarf of gold wrapped around her shaved head. She could not assist with the work, for her fingers had been splinted. But she sat with the wounded, talking to them, praising their courage.

Old Sekundos was dying. Penelope went to where he lay on a pallet bed in the sunshine. He had asked to be carried out so that he could see the Great Green one last time.

When Penelope arrived, he smiled. “Too old… and slow,” he said. “Was a time…”

“Yes,” Penelope replied, her voice tender, “you were too old to win. But not too old to save my life and that of my child.”

A faint smile touched the old man’s lips. “Always… wanted to be… in one of Odysseus’ tales.” He looked up at the clear blue sky. “Beautiful day to be… sailing,” he whispered.

Penelope’s vision blurred. “You are a hero, Sekundos. And I am sorry I spoke of shame when we met.”

The old man rallied at the compliment. “You… remembered my name. That is… a great honor for me,” he told the queen. Then, his strength fading, he looked up at her. “You must leave me now. I have… a wish… to die alone. Just me… and the Great Green.”

Penelope leaned down and kissed his brow. “May your journey be swift and the Fields of Elysium welcoming.”

Just then Andromache emerged from the palace. “Walk with me,” said the queen, then led the way up a gently sloping hill. Andromache saw that she was trembling and her footsteps were unsteady. She took Penelope’s arm, and together they made their way toward the crest of the hill.

“You are still weak,” Andromache said. “You should be resting.”

Penelope took a deep breath. “Odysseus does not ask, but I feel the questioning eyes of others upon me. They all wonder what violation I suffered and whether my pride has been shattered.”

“There is not a man alive who could take away your pride, let alone shatter it,” Andromache said.

“Fine words from someone who does not know me.” The rebuke was spoken gently.

“I do know you,” Andromache told her. “From all that Odysseus told me of you and from all that I have seen and heard since I have been here. All speak of their love for you, their respect for you, and their pride in you.”

Penelope did not reply but led the way to a stone bench on a hill overlooking the bay. The pirate ships were still drawn up below, as was the mighty Xanthos. The two women sat in silence for a while, and then Andromache spoke. “Odysseus is a good man. I like him greatly.”

Penelope sighed. “He has not asked me what I suffered. I wonder at that.”

“Do not wonder too deeply,” Andromache warned her. “I saw Odysseus when the Xanthos arrived at the pirate isle. I have never seen a man so tormented, so frightened. He feared losing you. Now he is saddened by your pain, but he cannot hide the joy in his eyes that you are alive. He does not ask because all that matters to him is that you are safe and he is with you.”

“He is a sentimental old fool,” Penelope said fondly.

Below them Odysseus and Helikaon walked from the palace. Odysseus glanced up and waved. Penelope lifted a hand in response. Together the two men continued down to the shoreline.

Penelope looked at the young woman beside her, seeing her face soften as she gazed down at the two men.

“So,” the queen asked, “why is the wife of Hektor traveling the Great Green?”

Andromache told her of the purpose of their journey and the visit to Thera with Kassandra, but as she spoke, her eyes followed Helikaon. A great sadness touched Penelope then, for she saw the love in Andromache’s eyes.

“I am tired,” she said. “I think I will return to my rooms.”

Andromache helped her back to the palace, and once there, Penelope kissed the younger woman on the cheek.

“Despite all that has happened,” she said, “I will treasure these last few days. It has been good to see Helikaon and the Ugly One together again as friends. And I am glad we met, Andromache.”

“As am I. I see now why Odysseus has such love for you.”

Penelope sighed. “We have been lucky. An arranged marriage that led to joys I could not have dreamed of. Others are not so lucky. But love is to be cherished wherever it is found. Sometimes, though, love can lead to great heartache and pain beyond imagining. You understand what I am saying?”

Andromache flushed. “I think that I do.”

“When you reach Troy again, bring my greetings to Hektor, a man I have always admired. A good man, a man of no malice or deceit. Tell him Penelope wishes him well.”

“I will tell him,” Andromache answered coolly, but there was anger in her eyes.

“Do not misunderstand me, my dear,” Penelope went on. “I do not judge you, but we have spoken now, and I know you better. You are not sly or capricious, and the path you are walking will eat away at your spirit. Odysseus told me of Helikaon’s love for you. He tells me everything.”

Andromache’s anger faded. “I don’t know what to do,” she whispered.

“Come inside. We will sit and talk,” Penelope told her.

In the queen’s apartments a fire had been lit, and they sat together on a couch. Andromache talked of her first meeting with Helikaon and of the battle in Priam’s palace. She spoke of Halysia and Dex. She told Penelope of Helikaon’s sickness and the wound that would not heal.

“Then, one night, his fever broke,” she said.

“And you were with him?”

“Yes.” Andromache looked away.

“And no one else?”

Andromache nodded, and a silence grew between them. Penelope did not break it but sat quietly, waiting. Andromache took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Hektor is a good man and my friend,” she said. “He loves my son.”

The shock of the words struck Penelope, though she did not show it. He loves my son.

“Does Helikaon know?”

“Know what?”

“That he is the father of your child?”

Andromache’s eyes widened as she realized what she had given away. “No, and he must not! He cannot! All his life he has been racked by guilt, first about his mother, who killed herself in front of him, then because he could not save little Dio, then Halysia. This news would only cause him more torment.”

“Be calm, Andromache. We are friends, you and I. No word will come from me. Not even to Odysseus. I promise you. Does Hektor know?”

“Yes, I told him from the very first,” Andromache replied, the words barely audible. “But only he and I know, and now you. But it is vital that it does not get back to Priam. He would kill Astyanax and me and hunt down Helikaon, too, if he could. It is better this way. It is the only way. But it is so hard,” she whispered.

“Oh, my dear, I am sorry for your heartache. But you must make a decision, and there is only one to make. You know what it is.”

Andromache nodded, and tears began to fall. Penelope leaned in and put her arm around the younger woman’s shoulder. There was nothing more to say.

On the beach below, Helikaon’s crew was loading supplies.

“You are heading for the Seven Hills?” Odysseus asked. Helikaon looked at him but did not answer. Odysseus understood his friend’s reluctance to speak of his plans. Despite the rescue of Penelope, they were still enemies.

“I’ll not betray you, lad,” the older man said. “Surely you know that.”

Helikaon nodded. “I know. The madness of war affects us all. Yes, I am going there. What will I find? Are my men still alive, Odysseus?”

“Of course they are. It hurts me that you need to ask. When this war began, I gathered all the people together and told them I would suffer no enmities, no feuds. There are brigands and nomadic bands of tribesmen moving through the land. There are raiders of the sea. They have enough enemies to fight without warring among themselves.

“All is well there, Helikaon, and you will be welcomed as a friend by all the people. I take it you seek tin.”

“Yes. We will need all we can find.”

“There are stores there. Take whatever you can carry.”

As they spoke, Bias came walking up to them. Helikaon looked up as he approached, recalling the hatred in the man’s voice the last time they had met.

“I hope you burn, and your Death Ship with you.”

He did not look at Helikaon but spoke with Odysseus. “We have loaded most of the supplies you ordered,” he reported, “but the pirates have left us with scant reserves.”

“Tomorrow you can sail for Pylos,” Odysseus said, “and trade for more with Nestor’s people.”

Bias nodded but did not leave. The silence grew; then he took a deep breath and looked at Helikaon. “I do not take back what I said, Helikaon. But I thank you for coming to our aid.” Without waiting for a reply, he walked away.

“A good man but unforgiving,” Odysseus said.

Helikaon shrugged. “Forgiveness should never be given lightly. How is Penelope?”

“She is strong, far stronger than I. But I do not want to speak of what she must have suffered before we arrived. To think of it fills me with a rage I can hardly control.

“You spoke of the madness of war, and this attack on Ithaka is an example of it. The son of Donkey Face wanted revenge, but even without that, the pirates and raiders are growing in strength. As we gather to destroy Troy, our own kingdoms are neglected. When we conquer—and we will conquer, Helikaon—what will we come back to? I fear this conflict will consume us all. There will be no victors then, and even the treasury of Troy will not contain enough gold to rebuild what we have lost.”

Helikaon looked at his old friend. There was more silver than red now in his hair and beard, and his face was lined and anxious.

“All that you say is true, Odysseus, save for the treasury of Troy. I have not seen Priam’s hoard of gold, but it would have to be mountainous to maintain the expense of this war. Gold passes from the city every day to hire mercenaries, to bribe allies. And there is little coming in now; the traders are leaving. If the fighting goes on much longer and you do take the city, you may find nothing of real worth.”

“The thought had occurred to me,” Odysseus told him, nodding. “If that proves true, then we are all doomed to poverty and ruin.”

He sighed again and looked into Helikaon’s blue eyes. “I hope I do not find you in Troy when we take the city.”

“Where else would I be, Odysseus? The woman I love will be there, and I will protect her with my life.”

“I fear for you, lad.” Odysseus looked suddenly weary. “You and Hektor are the two greatest fighting men of Troy,” he said, his voice low. “What will happen, do you think, when he discovers his wife is your lover?”

Helikaon pulled angrily away. Then his shoulders sagged. “Is it so obvious?”

“Aye, it is when you never stand close to her in a room or look at her when you are in company, when you stare at the floor whenever she speaks but leave for your rooms within heartbeats of each other. Before long—if not already—there will not be a man among your crew who does not suspect.”

Odysseus laid his hand on Helikaon’s shoulder. “Take her back to Troy, then leave the city. Defend the north, hold open the trade routes, fight battles at sea. But stay away from her, lad, or I fear for the future of you both.”