Shield of Thunder

CHAPTER FIFTEEN THE EAGLE CHILD

Antiphones stood on the beach, his brother Polites beside him, with several courtiers in attendance. He was there to greet the Mykene king but soon realized Agamemnon would not leave his ship until Priam deigned to make an entrance.

The heat was strong, and Antiphones began to sweat. His vast bulk was bearing down on his knee joints, which were beginning to ache. Beside him the skinny Polites was dabbing at the bald spot on his crown with a piece of embroidered linen. Neither man spoke, and Antiphones wished he could be anywhere but there.

He looked up at the prow of the black galley, where he could see a round-shouldered man with a black chin beard. Was this the dreaded Agamemnon, butcher of cities? Antiphones sighed. Though he was losing weight fast, he was still grotesque in his own eyes, a soft, plump creature other men looked upon with either scorn or pity.

That he had become a hero during the attack on the city the previous autumn meant little to him, for when men referred to his slaying of the assassins and his warning of the raid on Priam’s palace, they spoke of the “fat hero.”

Even in that they were wrong, he thought darkly.

He remembered the day Father had come to his sickbed, where he was recovering from the stab wounds he had suffered, wounds that would have killed a thinner man. The blades had been defeated by the wealth of flesh guarding his body.

Priam had walked into the room and stood by the bed, regarding his son with eyes that shone with both contempt and concern.

“Well, boy, I am told you acted with courage. I must say I am surprised.”

“Why would that be, Father? Am I not the son of Priam and the brother of Hektor?”

Priam had shrugged. “Let us not argue, Antiphones. Let us merely say I misjudged you. Helikaon tells me that without your warning we would not have been able to shut the gates in time. Then the Thrakians would have been upon us before we had a chance to muster a defense.”

“That was all he told you?”

“Is there more?”

“There is always more, Father.” Anger had ripped through him then, making his wounds burn. “Would you like to hear it?”

“Well, I am here, so I might as well,” the king answered, sitting down on the bed. “Will there be more surprises?”

“I plotted with Agathon to kill you. I only turned away at the last because he planned to murder all my brothers and their families.” Antiphones had expected rage and then that soldiers would be summoned to drag him from the bed and murder him. Instead, Priam merely shrugged.

“I knew that,” the king said. “No other way you could have learned of his plans. I take it you were foolish enough to confront him, hence the assassins?”

“Yes. Foolish Antiphones. I thought I could reason with him. Just kill the old man, Agathon. No need for innocent people to die. Just one ghastly old man.”

Priam laughed then, his manner changing. “Agathon would have made a terrible king, Antiphones. You would have been better. You have a sound mind and a fine grasp of the intricacies of trade and the acquisition of profits.”

“Really? And that is why you made Polites your chancellor? A man who needs to kick off his sandals to count to twenty? That is why you chose me to be your master of horse, a fat man who could not ride? You are a monster, and I hate you.”

“Nothing wrong with hate, boy,” Priam said indifferently.

“So what now, Father? Banishment? Death?”

“I considered death—had you not admitted to me your part in the plot. As it is, I am rather proud of you. Which, as you can imagine, is a rare thing where you are concerned. I am giving you command of the Ilos regiment.”

“Why?”

Priam stood and stared down at him. “I am a king, boy. Kings never have to explain. You want the command?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Well, you rest and recover. We’ll talk more when you leave the houses of healing.” He walked to the door, then swung back. “I take it there will be no more plots from you?”

Without waiting for an answer he was gone.

Back at his own house some weeks later, Antiphones had found that his servants had prepared a feast for him, loading the tables with his favorite sweetmeats and pies. He had stared at them with no longing, which surprised him.

Little Kassandra had been there. The twelve-year-old had looked at him with serious eyes. “I did tell them, Antiphones, but they didn’t believe me.”

“What did you tell them, sweet girl?”

“That you would have no taste for such food again.”

“And how did you know that?”

“Xidoros told me. He said you had spent years eating your pain, and you could never be filled. Now the pain is gone, and you are no longer hungry.”

Antiphones had kissed her on the brow and questioned her no further. Xidoros had been her first teacher, and he had died four years before.

The imaginary spirit had been correct, though. His taste for sweetmeats had vanished. However, years of excess would take more than a few months to overcome. He stood now on the beach, his joints aching, sweat coursing down his face, wishing that he could sit down.

Then, thank the gods, his father’s chariot came into sight.

Now there was movement on the ship, and several men lowered themselves to the beach. The first was the man with the black chin beard; the second a florid-faced middle-aged man, clean-shaven. The third was a god!

Antiphones stared at the young warrior in the white, gold-edged tunic. His body was lightly tanned, his muscles sleek and well defined. His face was the most beautiful Antiphones had ever seen, deep dark eyes over high cheekbones, full lips above a strong chin. Antiphones could not stop staring at him. His mouth was dry, and all thoughts of pain in his joints disappeared in an instant. Other men, officers of Agamemnon, climbed down to join their lord. Antiphones tore his gaze from the beautiful young man and tried to concentrate on the meeting of kings.

“At last you return to Troy,” Priam said, stepping in and throwing a powerful arm around Agamemnon’s shoulder. “When last I saw you here, you were no taller than a jackrabbit and clinging to your father’s cloak. Welcome back, Agamemnon. May your visit be a happy one and rich with the company of friends.”

“It is always good to be among friends,” Agamemnon said. “It is good to be here and to be able to tell you in person of my sorrow that Mykene renegades should have joined your son in his revolt. You should know that I had them put to death upon their return. I take it that is why you freed them, so that justice could be served by my own hand.”

“I freed them because they weren’t worth killing,” Priam said with a wide smile. “They fought like children. Quite the worst fighters I’ve ever seen. By Athene, I’d be ashamed if they were part of my army. No wonder they were renegades. No king worth the name would have such men under his command. But enough of chatter in the sunshine.”

Antiphones listened to the exchange and suppressed a smile. The Mykene invaders had been the elite of Agamemnon’s forces and had fought like lions.

“Let me introduce my sons, Antiphones and Polites,” Priam said. The introductions went on until Antiphones stood before the godlike Achilles.

“I have heard wonderful tales of your bravery,” Antiphones said. “It is a great honor to have you in our city.”

Achilles smiled at him, seeming to appreciate the warmth of the greeting. “I, too, have heard of the wonders of Troy,” he said. “Where is your great hero, Hektor?”

“At sea, hunting pirates. He should be here within the next few days. At least I hope so, or he will miss his own wedding celebrations.”

“Will he participate in the games?”

“I do not believe that he will.”

“Ah, that is a shame,” Achilles said. “Now my victory will not be as sweet.”

“But it will be wondrous to see,” Antiphones said. “I shall look forward to it.”

Achilles seemed puzzled and leaned close. “You are so sure of my winning?”

“I cannot believe any man could ever defeat you,” Antiphones answered.

“Not even Hektor?”

“That I could not say,” answered Antiphones honestly. “Hektor is not a man. He is like you—a young god. Mere mortals cannot make judgments on such matters.”

Achilles laughed. “I like you, Antiphones. Come dine with us one evening.” Then he moved away.

Priam took Agamemnon in his chariot, while the other officers and dignitaries walked up the slope toward the great gate.

Antiphones remained where he was, lost in the wonder of the moment.

“They hate each other,” Kassandra cried, pointing from the high wall down toward the chariot carrying her father and the Mykene king. “Look at all that red mist flowing around them and behind them like a great cloak.”

Andromache smiled down at the fey child and stroked her dark hair. Kassandra looked up at her and grinned. In that moment Andromache saw that Kassandra’s childhood was passing. She was in her thirteenth year, and already there were tiny breasts showing under her thin tunic and her hips were no longer quite as thin. “I don’t see any mist,” Andromache said.

“Of course you don’t. Silly of me.” She leaned far out over the wall, trying to see as the golden chariot passed through the gates beneath.

“Be careful,” Andromache said, reaching out and taking her arm.

“I shall not fall,” Kassandra told her, then ran back across the battlements to watch the chariot moving on toward the upper city. “Helikaon is unhappy,” she said suddenly.

“He has been ill. He is recovering now.”

“Helen says he asked for you but you would not go to him.”

“Then Helen says too much,” Andromache snapped. The sunshine was bright, and Andromache felt a sudden nausea. It was the third time that day.

“Oh, look, there is fighting on the beach again,” Kassandra said. “Lots of men whacking each other with fists and sticks.” She laughed. “And there go the soldiers, dragging them apart. What fun!”

Andromache moved into the shade of the high gate tower and sat down, breathing deeply and slowly.

Kassandra came and sat beside her. “You are looking very pale,” she said.

“I ate smoked fish yesterday. It must have been bad.”

Kassandra moved closer, laying her head on Andromache’s shoulder. “Your bodyguards are very handsome,” she whispered. “I like Cheon.”

The nausea passed. Andromache sighed and looked up at the tall young soldier standing some ten paces distant with his comrade Teachos. As Antiphones had foreseen, Priam had ordered all the royal family to be accompanied by guards during the games and the wedding celebrations. Cheon and Teachos were pleasant enough company, though Andromache would have preferred the more gregarious Polydorus. His conversation was always bright and engaging. However, he had been assigned to Helen.

“You like Cheon because he winks at you,” Andromache said.

Kassandra giggled. “He has beautiful forearms,” she said. “I love the way the muscles ripple on them.”

“You sound like a girl in love,” Andromache said.

“Oh, no, I don’t love him,” Kassandra replied with great seriousness. “Anyway, there wouldn’t be any point. Cheon will be dead long before me, and I won’t live very long.”

“You shouldn’t say such things,” Andromache admonished her.

“Why does everyone become so agitated about death?” asked Kassandra, sitting up and looking into Andromache’s eyes. “Everyone dies.”

“Not everyone dies young, Kassandra.”

“Laodike did.”

“Laodike was killed by evil men. I don’t want to talk of it.”

“It wasn’t your fault, you know. She was dying from the moment the spear struck her.”

Andromache pushed herself to her feet. “It is too hot out here. Let’s go back to the palace. We can sit in the garden.”

“Will you show me how to use your bow?”

“Yes.”

The child smiled happily, but then her expression changed. She cocked her head as if listening to someone. Then she nodded and sighed. “You won’t be able to,” she said. “When we get to the palace, a messenger will tell you Father wants to see you.”

“Whom are you listening to?”

“Xidoros.”

“Has Xidoros nothing better to do than haunt small girls?”

“I suppose it would be very tedious for him,” Kassandra said, “if it was just me. But he has lots of other spirits to talk to.”

Andromache asked no more questions. Conversations with Kassandra were always difficult. The child had been struck down by a brain fever when very young and since then had heard voices. Sometimes she seemed almost normal, as when speaking about Cheon. Mostly, though, her thought processes were unfathomable.

Together they walked down the gatehouse steps, emerging into the shadows of the Scaean Gate. Crowds were moving through, and Andromache waited for Cheon and Teachos to move ahead, clearing a way. Then they slowly strolled back through the upper city and on to the palace of Hektor.

Andromache left the guards in the main entrance and took Kassandra through to the garden. Fetching her bow and her quiver, she called the girl to her. “You see, there is no messenger from Priam, and I am going to teach you the bow.” She notched an arrow to the string, then handed the weapon to the child. “Draw back upon the string as far as you can and then sight it toward the straw deer.”

Kassandra tugged back on the string, which broke, spilling the arrow to the ground.

In that moment a servant came into sight. “Lady Andromache, there is a messenger from the king to see you.”

Andromache thanked the man, then took the broken weapon from Kassandra’s hand. “Very well, you were right, little seeress. Perhaps you would like to tell me why the king wishes to see me.”

“He wants you in his bed,” Kassandra said. “He is going to seduce you.”

“That is not prophecy,” Andromache replied. “I would think everyone in the palace has guessed his intention. He is not discreet with his compliments. Tell me something no one could possibly know.”

“That’s a silly game,” Kassandra said. “If nobody knows, then you would not know it, either. Then, when I told you, there would be no way to prove it. Like if I told you that a sparrow had died on the roof of the palace and had been eaten by a crow. Anyway, why do you want to test me?”

Andromache sat down on a stone bench. “I suppose I would like to know if the voices are real or imaginary.”

Kassandra shook her head. “No, you want them to be made up. Everybody wants them to be made up. I told Father that Hektor wasn’t dead. He was angry and shouted at me. But Hektor wasn’t dead. He came home, just like I said. Father thinks it was a coincidence. I told you that you would need your bow and put it in your hand on the night the Thrakians later attacked. No one ever believes in my gift, Andromache. No matter what I tell them.”

Andromache drew the girl to her and kissed her cheek. “Sadly, I think you are right, Kassandra. We all get frightened by prophecy. So from now on I will not question your powers or seek to test you. And I will teach you to use the bow. I will, won’t I?”

“Yes, you will,” Kassandra answered, with a shy smile.

“And now I must go and resist your father’s charms. You stay here and flirt with Teachos. I shall be back before sunset.”

“Take some water with you,” Kassandra said. “The sickness will come again as you walk.”

“I shall avoid the salt fish in future,” Andromache told her.

“It isn’t the fish,” the child replied.

Andromache crossed the square in front of the great temple to Athene with its copper and amber doors and paused for a moment at the base of the huge statue to the goddess. Elaborately carved, it showed Athene in her war helm, holding a spear in one hand, the shield of thunder at her feet. Andromache gazed at the stone shield. It was perfectly round, and a lightning bolt had been carved upon its center.

“You always pause here,” said the soldier Cheon. “Then you reach up and touch the shield. Why do you do that?”

“Why do you always tug on your ear before asking a question?” she countered.

He gave a boyish grin. “I was not aware of it. Is Athene the patron goddess of your home city?”

“No, Hermes has pride of place there. My father loves wealth, and Hermes is the god of travelers and merchants. But my mother was a follower of the goddess. She learned the mysteries. On the night of my birth she almost died, but a priestess of Athene saved her—and me.”

Andromache walked on, thinking of the long-ago day when she had sat on her mother’s knee and heard of that terrible night. “You were blessed by the goddess, dear heart. She flew over the palace disguised as an eagle,” Olektra had told her.

“How do we know that?”

“Many people saw her.”

“They saw an eagle. How did they know it was the goddess, Mother?”

Olektra had looked momentarily uncertain. Then she had smiled. “You’ll understand when you are older and wiser.”

“But do you understand, Mother?”

Olektra had hugged her close and whispered in her ear. “Perhaps I will when I am older and wiser.”

Andromache smiled at the memory.

From the upper city she could see all Troy laid out before her, the shining roofs of its carved and decorated palaces, its wide streets, its high golden walls and towers, the Great Tower of Ilion dwarfing them all. Beyond there was the lower town, and beyond that the Bay of Troy, crowded with ships. To the southwest she could see Hekabe’s summer palace, King’s Joy, shining whitely in the sunlight. In the distance she could just make out the black dots that were galleys on the Great Green.

She glanced at Cheon. Although the square around them was not busy, one hand lay on his sword hilt and his eyes constantly watched for peril.

Her stomach moved with nausea again, and she stood quietly for a moment until the feeling ebbed. Then she set off, striding quickly toward Priam’s palace.

The place was in turmoil, the red-pillared portico seething with people. Royal guards—the King’s Eagles in armor of bronze and silver—were questioning them, then letting them in one at a time. Andromache slipped through the line of warriors, smiling her thanks at the armored Eagle who recognized her and stepped aside, ushering her in. The megaron beyond was more crowded than she had ever seen it. Merchants and petitioners waited in huddles, watched by soldiers; slaves ran around on errands; and scribes moved back and forth, their wicker baskets filled with soft clay tablets. There were royal courtiers, counselors to the king, foreign visitors in outlandish costumes, and soldiers everwhere.

“Shall I stay with you, lady?” Cheon asked, frowning at the throng.

“No, I’ll be all right. Go and get something to eat. I’ll be here awhile.”

He dipped his head and moved back toward the megaron entrance. She knew he would be there waiting for her when she came out, whenever that was.

Andromache looked around for someone she knew. She saw the king’s chancellor, Polites, coming down the stone steps from the queen’s apartments and tried to move through the crowd toward him, but a portly merchant stepped on her foot and she nearly lost her balance. She scowled at the clumsy fat man, but he, not knowing her, merely glanced past her.

Then came a welcome voice. “Sister, let me get you out of here.”

“Dios! What a bear pit this is!”

Hektor’s half brother smiled at her with genuine affection. She was reminded of their first meeting, when he had confronted her on the royal beach, accusing her of immodesty. “Prince Deiphobos” he had insisted she call him, standing on his dignity in front of his courtiers. Then had come the day of the siege. Dios had changed that day, as had so many others. Guarding the stairs, placing his body and his life in front of his king, he had grown in everyone’s eyes. Now he was less arrogant, and his ever-present mob of lickspittle flunkeys and courtiers had melted away. He had become a good friend to Andromache during the long winter.

“Come out into the gardens,” he said, taking her arm. “It’s not so bad out there. Where is your bodyguard?”

“I sent him away. I thought he would not be needed in here with all these soldiers.”

He shook his head and laughed. “Andromache, why do you always seek trouble? You are surrounded by a press of people, so you send your guard away. It is true that if you were attacked, about a hundred Eagles would fall on the attacker and kill him, but that might be too late for you. It was almost too late for Helikaon, remember?” His face sobered. “How is he now?”

“Better, much better. He has returned to the House of Stone Horses and will go back to Dardanos soon.”

“I am glad to hear it. Now, why are you here?”

“Priam wishes to see me.”

“Does he?” A cloud passed over Dios’ face, and she felt his concern. Does everyone know of Priam’s intentions for me? she wondered. Dios said, “He has been closeted with Agamemnon for most of the day. You might have a long wait.”

“It is the king’s privilege to keep his subjects waiting,” she said, but in her heart she was angry at Priam’s games. Bile rose again in her throat, and she swallowed it down.

Protected by high walls from Troy’s ever-present wind, the royal gardens smelled of fragrant flowers and salt sea air. On the far side of the gardens Andromache spotted Kreusa, Priam’s favorite daughter. The dark-haired beauty saw Dios and, smiling, started to walk toward him; then she noticed Andromache and scowled, turning abruptly back the way she had come. Not for the first time Andromache wondered about Kreusa. Where had she been on the night of the siege? It was said that she was at a friend’s house, that she was late leaving and was warned of the attack before she reached the palace. Priam called it the mercy of the gods. Andromache called it highly suspicious.

“I hate to leave you here, Andromache,” Dios said, “but Polites and I must attend the king. Can I have some food or drink sent out?”

She declined, then watched him walk back into the megaron.

The afternoon passed slowly into evening, and torches were lit in the gardens. The crowds finally drifted away. The air cooled, and Andromache wrapped her green shawl around her. The moon rose above the palace roof, and still she sat, her anger simmering. She thought of returning to Hektor’s palace but knew Priam would only call her out in the depths of the night instead. So she waited, quelling the rage in her heart and the nausea in her belly.

At last she saw a tall Eagle walking toward her through the torchlight.

“The king will see you now, lady,” he said. “He is in the queen’s apartments.” His eyes shied away from her. It was common palace knowledge that Priam used the apartments for assignations with women, be they palace slaves or noblewomen.

She followed the soldier back into the megaron and up the great stone staircase. She had not been to the queen’s apartments since the night of the siege. The remembered sounds of battle echoed in her mind: the clash of metal, the grunting of the warriors, and the cries of the wounded. She passed through the room where Laodike had died. It was empty now, cold and silent. A single faded rug lay on the stone floor, and dust motes swam in the air, swirling in the light from the torches.

The Eagle led her to a large room draped with heavy tapestries. There was a wide bed, several cushioned couches, and a table heaped with sweetmeats. It was warm and stuffy. Servants were clearing away food and bringing fresh flagons of wine. Priam sat on one of the couches. He looked tired and much older than when they had first met, she thought.

“Andromache. I am sorry to keep you waiting.” He gestured to a couch, and she sat down, looking around her.

“You entertained Agamemnon here?”

“Man to man,” he said, shrugging. “We quaffed wine together and laughed. If I greet visiting dignitaries in the megaron, they feel immediately subordinate.”

“What is wrong with making Agamemnon feel subordinate? I hear he is a snake.”

“Oh, yes, he is a snake. But a dangerous snake.” He smiled wearily. “So I charm him and play him sweet music. Until I am ready to cut his head off. Will you take some wine?”

“Water would be good.”

He stood and served her himself with a goblet of water. She noticed that the servants had all left the chamber and they were alone.

“You visited Hekabe yesterday,” the king said. “How is she?”

Andromache thought of the ruin that was the dying queen: yellow skin stretched like thin papyrus on brittle bones, a voice like the rustle of dead leaves on an icy pond, feverish black eyes that pierced you like a spear.

“She is determined on seeing her favorite son wed,” she answered. “I have no reason to think she will not do that.”

“Is she in pain?”

Andromache raised questioning eyes to the king. “Have you never asked that of anyone before?”

“I cannot chat about the queen’s condition with anyone passing through the palace. That is why I ask you.” Priam’s face showed sadness. “You must understand, Andromache, she was a woman I honored above all others.”

Then, thought Andromache, you should show that honor by visiting her in her dying days. She bit her lip and remained silent.

Priam took a swig of wine and leaned toward her, looking into her eyes. “Why do you think I summoned you here tonight?” he said, changing the subject.

“To ask after your dying wife?”

Priam flushed. “Your thoughts are like ice, and your words a spear. That is the reason I value you. One of the reasons,” he added, smiling a little. His eyes strayed to her long strong legs and slender hips. “You are a beautiful woman, Andromache. Most men value golden-haired milkmaids with simpering smiles and buxom hips. You have the stern beauty of Athene. It fires my blood. You know this.”

Andromache was too tired to play his games. “I will not be your mistress, Priam,” she said, standing, hoping he’d let her leave.

“I think you will.”

“Never. I am to wed your son Hektor. I do understand the nature of duty. I will be a dutiful wife.”

He sat back, smiling and relaxed again. “Sit down, girl. I will not touch you until you invite me to.”

“And that will be never!”

“Then I shall amuse myself by telling you a story. You might enjoy it, for it is about you. Many years ago—long before you were born—I visited Thera with my young and lovely queen. We were traveling to Kretos to see the king of the day, Deukalion, father of this braggart Idomeneos. There was a terrible storm at sea. It was feared the ship would founder. Hekabe was pregnant and sick. I don’t remember which child it was. We survived the storm, but we had to put in to Thera for a night. We offered pleasantries to the chief priestess, a hachet-faced woman, I recall. After the dreary duties were done, the queen wished to be closeted with a young seeress she knew from her days there as a priestess. The two spoke for hours, well into the night. Then the seeress—her name was Melite—walked with Hekabe to the prophecy flame. When the fumes overcame her, Melite fell to the floor and began to shout. Much of what she said was lost on Hekabe, for Melite shrieked out words in tongues that were unfamiliar to her. But just before Melite lost consciousness, her voice changed, becoming that of a young child. She then spoke a pretty verse. You want to hear it?”

Andromache was silent for a moment. Her interest was piqued. She, too, had known Melite and recalled only too well that the old woman had prophesied her departure from Thera weeks before the ship arrived with the message from Hekabe. “Yes, I will hear it,” she told him.

“I think you will find it interesting,” said the king. “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. Hekabe was very taken with the verse, but the meaning was hidden from her. For years she consulted mystics and seers. Then, in late winter two years back, she encountered a Hittite soothsayer. He finally interpreted the verse to Hekabe’s liking. The Shield of Thunder, he said, was not an object but a person. A woman. The Eagle Child would be born to her. As you know, the eagle is the symbol of kingship. So, this woman would bear the son of a king. To soar above all city gates means he will never be defeated in battle, and till end of days means his city will be eternal.”

“Even if the prophecy is a true one,” Andromache said, “there are hundreds of kings and thousands of young women who serve Athene. All of them would at some time have stood before her statue and effectively have been beneath the Shield of Thunder.”

“Indeed so.” Priam leaned forward. “But how many of them were born with the image of the shield upon their heads?”

Andromache sighed. “I was told of my birthmark, but that is all it is, lord: a patch of red skin with a slash of white upon it.”

Priam shook his head. “My ambassador, Heraklitos, was there that night. He saw the shield and heard the words of the priestess. But there is more. When Melite was babbling on Thera, she spoke of a woman with the strength of a man. Hekabe remembered that, albeit not swiftly enough. Your father’s people came from across the sea, and with them they brought many words of the western tongue. Andros for ‘man,’ and machos for ‘strength.’ Your name is derived from these two words. You are the Shield of Thunder, Andromache, and your child will be the son of a king. He will make my city greater, eternal and undying.”

“Suppose it is true,” Andromache said, rising, “and I do not believe it is, what makes you believe that you will be the father? You could die, Priam, and then Hektor will be king, and his son will be the Eagle Child. Had you not thought of that?”

“Oh, there is little in all of this that I haven’t thought of, Andromache. But you can go now. We will talk again once Hektor returns.” Turning away from her, he filled a goblet full of wine and drained it.

“Might I ask one question, sire?”

“Make it brief, for I am tired.”

“If I am the Shield of Thunder, why, then, did you send for my sister Paleste to be wed to Hektor?”

Priam sighed. “A stupid error of Heraklitos. He told us that Paleste was the child who bore the shield. He was very sick then, and his mind was not what it had been.”

“He was not wrong, lord. At my birth my mother named me Paleste, but my father changed it when he returned from his campaign.”

But Priam was not listening. Taking the jug of wine and the goblet, he walked back through the apartments to the bedroom, pushing shut the door behind him.

Andromache felt the nausea strike once more but swallowed it down. Sweat was on her brow as she left the apartments and made her way down to the megaron. A servant brought her some water, and she sat quietly, waiting for her stomach to settle.

She thought then of shy and gentle Paleste. How awful the workings of this city would have been to her. Did Priam seek to seduce her? Was she awed and frightened by the dying Hekabe? She suddenly shivered as the full import of Priam’s careless words struck home. Paleste had been “a stupid error.”

How convenient, then, that innocent Paleste, trusting and sweet, should have sickened and died.

Andromache rose from her seat and walked out into the cool night air. Cheon was waiting for her. As he approached her, Andromache fell to her knees and vomited on the path. The soldier was instantly beside her, supporting her. Twice more Andromache retched; then her head cleared and her stomach ceased to cramp.

“Do you need a physician?” Cheon asked, concern in his voice. Andromache shook her head.

They walked slowly through the empty streets, and Andromache felt stronger by the time they reached the gates of the palace. Once inside, she ordered a servant to bring her some bread and cheese, then went to her rooms.

Kassandra was sleeping on a couch, but she awoke when Andromache entered. “I was dreaming of dolphins,” the girl said, yawning.

Andromache sat beside her. “You spoke earlier of my sickness. You said it was not the fish.”

Kassandra leaned in and smiled. “It is the Eagle Child,” she whispered. “The son of Helikaon.”