Fall of Kings

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE THE FLIGHT FROM THERA

Andromache was watching clouds of birds in the sky over Thera, wondering what kind they were. They were small and black, and there were thousands of them, swirling, diving, climbing, splitting into two clouds, then three, then four, then coming together again in smooth graceful flight. All the crewmen of the Xanthos were watching, and the ship was drifting in the warm morning breeze. Suddenly, as if under orders, the birds formed a single flock and headed away from the island. For a heartbeat they were over the ship, myriads of them blocking the light. Crewmen ducked instinctively. Then the birds had passed, racing for the north, and they soon vanished from sight.

The oarsmen picked up the beat again, and the Xanthos glided on toward the Blessed Isle. Andromache sat back on the wooden bench at the mast and peered down into the lower deck, where the boys were playing happily. She smiled to herself. For the first few days of their voyage she had watched them all the time, frightened that one would fall overboard. But she had found that on the Xanthos the boys had more than sixty fathers watching out for them. The oarsmen, most of whom had children of their own, treated them as they would their own sons, playing games with them and telling them stories of the sea. Sometimes they would sit the two boys on the rowing benches and let them pretend to row the great galley.

Astyanax and Dex had thrived during their time at sea. They were both nut-brown from being in the sun all day, and Andromache was sure they both had grown taller in those few days. Dex was still watchful, a little shy and slower to laugh than his brother. Astyanax was bold and sometimes reckless, and whenever he was on the open upper deck, Andromache watched him with the anxious eyes of mother love.

Since leaving Troy, Helikaon had set a fast pace toward Thera. His intention was to stop briefly at the Blessed Isle to take Kassandra on board, then sail on to Ithaka, where Kalliades and Skorpios would leave the ship. Then the Xanthos would make the long voyage, perhaps for the last time, to the Seven Hills in time for winter.

Once at sea and safely out of Trojan waters, they had no reason to race to Thera, yet Andromache felt a feeling of urgency all the time. She could not understand it. They no longer had to fear the Mykene, and the weather was mild and still, but she suffered a constant sense of subdued panic, as though they were late for something. Helikaon felt it, too, he admitted, and they believed that the rest of the crew did, although it never was discussed.

Andromache stood and walked down the aisle to the foredeck, where the two warriors were resting. She liked the fair-haired rider Skorpios. He was unlike any soldier she ever had met. She would talk to him in the long idle evenings spent on rocky shores and sandy beaches. The young man knew the names of birds and the small creatures in the rock pools. He had his own names for the star pictures in the night sky and would tell her tales of them. He had bought a set of pipes from a trader on Lesbos and sometimes would play soft laments as the sun set. He told her stories of his childhood, sad ones about his brutal father and careworn mother and happier ones about his brothers and sisters and the daily life in their village. He planned to leave the Xanthos at Ithaka, but she hoped he would go with them to the Seven Hills.

Kalliades looked up as she approached, and she gave him a warm smile. Rested by the voyage, his leg at last had started to heal. Each day she had dressed his wound, until this day she had thrown away the spent healing plant Xander had placed on it.

A sailor shouted, “Dolphins!” and she looked to where he pointed. They often saw a dolphin or two on their travels, and she wondered at the excitement in his voice. Then she realized he was pointing to not one dolphin or two but to hundreds of them, passing the ship to starboard, their sleek gray backs rising and falling as they surged toward the north.

“Doffizz, doffizz!” she heard one of the boys cry, and they ran up on deck and raced to the rail. She saw two crewmen catch them and hold them securely as they craned their necks to watch the creatures pass.

“Unusual,” murmured Kalliades, who had stood up to watch. He sat down again, but Skorpios continued gazing at the sea until long after the dolphins had disappeared. When he sat down, his face was flushed with excitement like the boys’.

“I have never seen dolphins before,” he explained. “In fact, I have never been to sea before, except to cross the Hellespont.”

“Then you have never seen Thera, the Blessed Isle,” she told him. “It is unique.”

“How so?” he asked, peering at the island looming ahead of them. “Because no men are allowed there?”

“Partly,” she told him. “But it is fashioned like no other island. It is in the shape of a ring, with just one gap where the ships sail in. In the center is a wide round harbor, which is very deep. No ships can anchor there, for the stone anchors will not reach the bottom. In the center of the harbor is a small black isle called the Burned Isle.”

Soon they were passing into the harbor, and Kalliades, who was watching ahead, commented, “Not such a small island!”

Andromache looked around and gasped. The Burned Isle, black and gray like a pile of coals, was twice the size she remembered. It now filled more of the harbor, and the Xanthos had to skirt it to reach the Theran beach. From its summit she could see thick black smoke arising and trailing off toward the east. She looked back to the aft deck, where Helikaon and Oniacus were talking urgently, pointing and gazing at the growing isle with wonder.

Young Praxos shouted, “Ship ahead, lord!”

Andromache could see a galley drawn up on the far beach. She could make out nothing of it at that distance, but within moments sharp-eyed Praxos cried, “It is the Bloodhawk, Golden One!”

Odysseus! What good fortune! Andromache smiled. But at that instant she heard the rumble of an earthquake beneath them. The sea churned, and she saw a landslip on the Burned Isle go crashing into the water. The waves it created lashed the Xanthos, and the ship rocked back and forth. Andromache looked to the children, but they were both safely on the lower deck. She gazed up at the isle again and shivered.

Within a short time the Xanthos had reached the beach, and crewmen were shinnying down ropes, ready to draw the ship up alongside the Bloodhawk. Helikaon slid down a rope, and a ladder was thrown over the side for Andromache. When she reached the beach, Odysseus was waiting, one arm around Helikaon’s shoulders. They both were grinning at her, and she smiled back. With a touch of sadness she saw that the Ithakan king’s once-red hair was now silver.

He took her hand and kissed it. “By Zeus, goddess, it does my old heart good to see you both safe. I heard Troy was taken and overrun, but there was no word of survivors. I’ll wager you have a stirring tale to tell me!”

“Indeed we have, Odysseus, but it is a tale of sadness, too,” Helikaon replied, gazing fondly at his old friend. “What are you doing here? We thought you would be safe in the arms of Penelope by now.”

“Would that I were. I have a son I have not yet seen. But I came to rescue Kassandra. With Troy taken, Mykene scum have no reason to respect the sanctity of Thera. But the place seems abandoned.” He looked around. “We arrived at sunset last night, and we have seen no one. There is always a priestess to greet arriving ships.” He shrugged. “I was debating defying the demigod and climbing to the Great Horse myself. Then we saw the Xanthos.”

At his words a chill passed through Andromache, and the feeling of urgency returned full force. It was as much as she could do not to go running up the steep cliff path.

To Helikaon she said swiftly, “I will go find Kassandra and bring her to the ship.”

“If she is still here,” her lover replied, gazing up and frowning at the top of the island, where the horse’s head could just be seen.

“I know she is here,” she told him, “though I do not know why she has not come to greet us.” She saw his expression and guessed what he was thinking. “You must not anger the Minotaur by climbing to the temple. I will go and find her.”

Helikaon glanced at the sky, then took her hand. “If you have not returned by noon, I will come get you, and no demigods or monsters will prevent me.”

“And I will come with him,” Odysseus added. “There’s something dangerous about this island now, and it’s not the danger of violent men.” He shivered in the sunlight and nodded toward the Burned Isle. “And tell me that island is growing, and it is not just a delusion of old age.”

Andromache replied, “They say the Burned Isle only rose from the sea a hundred years ago. And yes, you are right. It is growing very fast, and I fear it is a bad omen. I will make haste.”

With a smile for Helikaon, she turned and strode across the beach of black sand, then started up the cliff path, her old rope-soled sandals carrying her surely. Halfway up she stopped and looked down on the men and the ships below. Her gaze traveled to the Burned Isle, and she was shocked to see it was nearly as high as the cliffs of the ring island. Smoke was rising from the summit, and the air was thick with it. On her arms and shoulders was a light sprinkling of gray dust. She hurried on, dread and foreboding pushing her along with whips of fire.

As she reached the top of the cliff, she paused again, gazing up at the Great Horse. The colossal white temple seemed to sway above her, and she wondered if it was she who was swaying. Then, with a deep rumble that made her teeth ache, another earthquake rippled across the isle. Andromache threw herself down and clung to the rocky ground, fearing it would tip and throw her back down the cliffs. She heard a whoosh of wings and a raucous screeching. Looking behind her, she saw a huge flock of gulls flying past the edge of the cliffs, heading south.

“All the creatures are leaving the island,” said a voice. “Even the birds of the air and the fish of the sea.”

Andromache scrambled to her feet. Walking toward her slowly from the Great Horse temple was the First Priestess. Iphigenia saw the surprise on her face and chuckled.

“You thought me long dead, Andromache. Well, I will make old bones soon, but my time has not yet come.”

“I am glad to see it,” Andromache replied, and it was true. Iphigenia looked older than the world, but the gleam in her eye was as intelligent and calculating as ever.

Andromache gazed around. “Are the women all leaving the island, too? It seems deserted.”

Iphigenia frowned. “When the earthquakes started at the time of the Feast of Artemis, Kassandra convinced all the girls the island would be destroyed. With her dreams and her visions she can be very persuasive, your sister. One by one they left despite all my efforts to stop them. The last one, little Melissa, departed two days ago.” She gave a barking cough that Andromache recognized as a laugh. “She even took the donkeys, saying she did not want them to suffer when the end came. A ship full of donkeys.” She shook her head. “Foolish girl,” she said tenderly.

“How is Kassandra?”

Iphigenia looked at her with compassion, and Andromache wondered why she ever had thought the old woman unfeeling.

“She is dying, Andromache. Her visions… they injure her mind and give her hideous fits. Each fit takes something vital from her, and they have been getting more frequent. She is very frail, but the visions go on relentlessly.”

“Where is she? I must help her.”

“She is in the temple. Walk with me, my dear.”

Andromache’s sense of panic was almost uncontrollable now. Nevertheless, she took the old priestess’ arm and walked with her slowly into the dark building.

Kassandra was lying on a narrow bed in a corner of the high bleak chamber. It was dark and very cold. The only windows were high above, and she was staring at the dusty shafts of light they shed, her mouth moving as if in conversation.

“Kassandra,” Andromache said gently.

After a long delay her sister looked at her. Andromache was shocked to see her condition. She was dirty, and her hair was in rats’ tails. She was skeletally thin, and looking into her fevered eyes was like staring into a black furnace.

“Is it time?” she asked feebly. “Can I go now?”

There was a jug of water and a goblet beside her, so Andromache filled the goblet, then gently lifted her sister up and dribbled some water into her mouth. After a few mouthfuls Kassandra drank greedily, holding on to the goblet, water running down her filthy gown onto the floor.

“Andromache,” she said at last, clutching at her with bony fingers. “I’m so glad you’ve come. There is much to tell you and little time.”

“Listen to me, Sister,” Andromache urged her. “You must come with me. I will take you to the Xanthos. It is here, with Helikaon. We will travel together again.”

“She is too ill to be moved,” Iphigenia told her reprovingly.

“I will bring men from the Xanthos. Helikaon will come and fetch you, my love.”

“Men will not defile this temple,” the old priestess barked. “Do not be so arrogant, Andromache, as to bring down the god’s wrath on us.”

“Then I will carry her myself,” Andromache told her defiantly.

“Listen, Andromache. You never listen,” Kassandra cried, pulling her close. “I am dying, and I have always known I would die here. You know that. I told you so many times. It is my fate, and I rejoice in it. I will see Mother again. She is waiting for me just beyond, so close that I can almost touch her. She knows I am coming. It is my fate. You must let me be.”

Andromache felt tears running down her face, and Kassandra brushed them gently away. “Tears for me, Sister? You cried for Hektor, too. I saw you.

“They never should have killed him, you see. Hektor and Achilles were the last great heroes. And after the Age of Heroes comes the Age of Darkness.” Kassandra seemed to gain strength as she spoke. “Even now they are coming down from the north, the barbarians, sweeping through the lands of the western kings. Soon they will learn the secret of the star metal; then nothing will stop them. Within a generation they will tear down the stone palaces of the mighty. In the Lion’s Hall where the heroes walked there will be only rats and beetles feeding; then green grass will cover the ruins, and sheep will graze there.”

“But what of Troy, Sister?”

“Troy will be a place of legend. Only the names of its heroes will live on.”

“Did they all die?”

But Kassandra had paused, listening to her voices. “Astyanax and Dex,” she asked suddenly. “Are they safe?”

“Yes, they are safe. Was Melite’s prophecy true, Sister? Is Astyanax the Eagle Child?”

Kassandra smiled then. Her manner became less anxious, and her voice was that of a normal young woman, the passion and urgency gone. “Prophecies are slippery things,” she told Andromache, patting her hand. “Like oiled snakes. Priam and Hekabe searched for many years for the meaning of Melite’s words. Finally they found a soothsayer who interpreted them to their liking. He told them the prophecy meant that a king’s son born to the Shield of Thunder—you—would never be defeated in battle and that his city would be eternal.”

“But you do not believe that?” Andromache asked. “Is Astyanax not the Eagle Child? Priam believed he would found a dynasty.”

Kassandra laughed, and the sound was bright and merry and echoed off the roof and walls of the temple. For a moment the dust motes seemed to dance in the shafts of light.

“Like his father Hektor, Astyanax will have no sons,” she said, smiling at the paradox. “But because of him a dynasty will be founded, and it will last a thousand years. It is true, Andromache. I have seen it set in the stones of the future.”

“But that is not the prophecy of Melite.”

“No, it is the prophecy of Kassandra.”

A shudder ran through the temple as another small earthquake hit, and a corner of the temple roof gave way, collapsing to the floor, sending a new cloud of dust boiling around the chamber.

“You must go now,” Kassandra told her. They looked at each other calmly. Andromache felt the turmoil in her heart cease, and acceptance took its place. She nodded, then embraced her sister for the last time. But Kassandra suddenly pulled away from her, her eyes wild again.

“Go now!” she shouted, flailing her arms. “Agamemnon is coming! You must go now!” She pushed urgently at Andromache until her sister stood up.

“Agamemnon?”

“He is coming to rescue me,” Iphigenia explained. “Kassandra tells me he will be here before noon, with a fleet. I will return with him to Mykene.”

Andromache hesitated no more but ran to the door, pausing for a last wave to Kassandra. But the girl had turned away and was speaking to her unseen friends again. Andromache picked up her skirts and raced from the temple toward the cliff path.

On the beach Helikaon watched as Andromache strode away up the path toward the temple. Her back was straight, and her hips swayed delightfully under the flame-colored dress.

Odysseus observed him, grinning. “You are a fortunate man, Helikaon.”

“I have always been fortunate in my friends, Odysseus. You taught me to face my fears and conquer them. Andromache taught me that life can be savored only if you look to the future and leave vengeance to the gods.”

“A good woman and a fine philosophy,” Odysseus agreed. “And if Agamemnon were to walk up this beach now?”

“I would kill him in a heartbeat,” Helikaon admitted with a grin. “But I will no longer seek out revenge and let it rule my life.”

“You are sailing to the Seven Hills for the winter?”

Helikaon nodded. “The Trojan fleet has gone ahead of us. With all the extra men in the settlement, there will be a great deal to do.”

“Many men and not enough women,” Odysseus observed. “There will certainly be work for you to do, arbitrating disputes and settling grievances. Try to do it without severing their heads from their bodies.”

Helikaon laughed, and the feeling of urgency in his chest eased.

Then he saw Kalliades and Skorpios walking toward them, and his heart sank. He had tried to persuade the two warriors to stay on the ship to the Seven Hills, but he could guess what they had come to ask.

“Kalliades!” Odysseus cried. “It is good to see you! Where is our friend Banokles?”

“He fell at Troy,” Kalliades told him.

“Then I wager he took a good few of the enemy with him.”

“Banokles never did things by halves. He was a brave man and a fine comrade. He often spoke of the Hall of Heroes. I’m sure he is supping there now with Hektor and Achilles and telling them what a fine warrior he is.”

The other men smiled. Then Kalliades told Odysseus, “This is Skorpios of the Trojan Horse. We both wish to go to Ithaka. Will you grant me passage one last time, Odysseus?”

“Aye, lad, with pleasure. And you can tell me tales of the fall of Troy to pay your way.”

The tall warrior unstrapped his sword belt and held it out to Helikaon.

“I owe you my life, lord, and I owe it to Argurios, too. Take the sword of Argurios with you. It belongs to the people of Troy, not one wandering Mykene.”

Helikaon received it silently. He slid the sword out of the scabbard and gazed at it with awe. “It is a wondrous gift. But will you not need it, my friend?”

“I do not yet know the shape of my future, Golden One, but I know I will not be carving it out with a sword.”

They sat on the black sand then. Kalliades spoke of the last days of Troy, and Helikaon told Odysseus of the escape from the city. The sun was rising fast toward noon when Helikaon spotted the flame of Andromache’s dress on the cliff path. She appeared to be hurrying, though she was treading with care on the treacherous slope. There was no sign of Kassandra.

He stood and strode over to meet her. As he did so, he saw dozens of rats running from their holes in the base of the cliff and scurrying toward the sea.

“Where is Kassandra?” he asked, taking Andromache’s hand.

“She will not come. She is dying.”

As Helikaon frowned and moved toward the path, Andromache stopped him. “She wants to die here. She says it is her fate. She will not come, and it would not be right to make her.”

“Then I will go and say goodbye to her.”

She grabbed his arm. “She says Agamemnon is coming with a fleet. He will be here by noon. I know you do not believe her predictions. It is her destiny never to be believed. But the First Priestess confirms her brother is coming for her. We must leave, my love, as fast as we can.” There was an edge of panic in her voice.

He looked up the cliff path but turned back to her, the woman he loved above all others. “As always, I will take your advice. Come.”

As they walked back to the ship, Helikaon shouted to his crew to get ready. He quickly told Odysseus the news, and without a parting word the Ithakan king hurried to the Bloodhawk. Helikaon felt something brush against his foot and looked down. There were more rats heading for the ships, dozens of them, running over his feet and climbing the ship’s trailing ropes.

He heard cries as the crew spotted them, and he looked back up the beach. The black sand now was swarming with thousands of the creatures. And they all were heading for the two ships.

There were shouts and curses from the crew of the Xanthos as the rodents started scrambling on board. Men were leaping about, skewering rats on their swords, but more and more were climbing onto the ship all the time.

“Don’t try to kill them all!” Helikaon bellowed. “Get the ship off the beach!”

He handed Andromache quickly up the ladder. He saw that her face was pale with anxiety for her boys as she stepped onto the rat-infested ship. Then, trying to ignore the creatures running over his feet and biting his legs, Helikaon put his shoulder to the hull with others from his crew. He saw crewmen running from the Bloodhawk to help move the Xanthos. Slowly the great bireme began to shift. Then, with a rasp of wood on sand, she moved into the sea and floated free, surrounded by swimming rats.

The Bloodhawk crewmen ran back to their ship, and Helikaon went with them. It was impossible to run through the carpet of rats without treading on them, and the men slipped and slid on squashed bodies and rodent blood. They leaned into its planks and within heartbeats pushed the smaller ship into the water. Helikaon climbed on board. Men were killing the rats frantically, stabbing them with swords and daggers and throwing them overboard. Fewer were getting onto the ship as she drifted out into clear water. Helikaon glanced at the Xanthos. She also was floating clear, and the oars were being run out.

He skewered a dozen more rodents and threw their carcasses in the water. Then he walked over to Odysseus, who still was energetically stabbing any rat he could see.

“This will make a fine tale for you, my friend,” Helikaon told him, laughter bubbling up as he watched the fat king dancing about, impaling rats on his sword.

Odysseus stopped, panting, and grinned. “I need no more tales, even rats’ tales,” he countered. “Stories are always buzzing in my head like a hive full of bees!”

Then his expression sobered. “Get back to your ship, Helikaon. We must both make haste. We cannot take on an entire Mykene fleet.”

Helikaon stepped forward and embraced his old mentor for the last time. “Good sailing, my friend.”

Odysseus nodded. “Look for me in the spring,” he promised.

With a parting salute to Kalliades and Skorpios, Helikaon ran to the foredeck and dived into the sea. As he swam toward the Xanthos, he tried to ignore the floating carpet of dead and dying rats and the scratching of claws as drowning animals tried to scramble onto his back. He grabbed the rope his crew had lowered for him and climbed onto the deck. Only then did he allow himself to shudder and brush phantom rats from his shoulders.

He looked around. Andromache stood at the mast, gazing up at the Great Horse. Oniacus was ready at the steering oar. The oar smen watched Helikaon, waiting for his words.

“By the mark of one!” he shouted, and the oar blades sliced into the water. Following the Bloodhawk, the Xanthos left the island as the sun rose toward noon.