‘Assaracus!” Brutus hissed, and Assaracus nodded, threw aside his disguise, and took some twelve men to secure the immediate area and silence any guards on the walls.
When his soft whistle told Brutus the guards had been dealt with, Brutus signaled one of the Trojans waiting at the gates.
The man opened the gate, slipped outside, and mimicked the soft call of a rock partridge.
Instantly, scores of shapes rose silently from their hiding places behind the vines in the fields to either side of the road leading to the gate, and moved forward.
PANDRASUS SLEPT BADLY. HE TOSSED AND TURNED, twisting the fine linen of his sheets into sweat-matted ropes, and causing his concubine, already wearied by the king’s temper during his earlier waking hours, to slip from the bed and sit wakeful in a chair by the window.
When the door opened, and the shapes of strange men slipped into the chamber, she gave a small squeak of terror and drew her hands to her mouth, but already cowed into a total subjection by years of Pandrasus’ mistreatment, made no other movement or sound.
The men hesitated an instant at the sight of her, but realized that she would pose no threat.
The next moment they had dragged the naked, sleep-confused king from his bed. Pandrasus fell to the floor, shouting with anger.
‘Silence him as best you can,” Brutus said, “although not permanently, then bring him to the megaron once I send word that the palace is secured.”
CbAPGGR FIFCGGN coRnelia speaks HAD WAITED ATOP THE WALLS BY THE GATES, WANT ing to be the first to welcome home my victorious father and, of course, my soon-to-be-lover-and-husband, Melanthus. If I had not lost my virginity in the morning, then I was certain I would lose it during the coming night.
While I waited I lost myself to daydreams of Melanthus, of his sweet wondrous face, his strong, lithe, exciting body. I remembered how I had felt when he had seized me and caressed my breasts—the sensual flare in my belly, the weakness in my thighs—and as I remembered the sensations flared all over again, and I had to lean against the wall, weak and trembling at the thought of finally bedding my hero.
As hero he surely would be! I had no doubt that Melanthus would have killed ten thousand Trojans—for how could they stand against such as he! My love would return, drenched in the blood of his despicable enemies, and I would wash it from him, slowly, and with many a lingering caress.
At the thought, my face must have grown even more dreamy, for the two sentries standing guard a few paces away grinned at me in a most unseemly manner.
I brought myself under control, wondering if I should remark on their insolence, or if that might only serve to embarrass me further, when the taller oi them suddenly looked at something beyond the wall.
He swore—quite foully—and grabbed at his companion.
The next instant both were gone, clambering down the ladders leading t the gate.
I looked over the wall, and gasped.
Four or five chariots were hurtling down the road. The charioteers an archers were huddled deep within the body of the chariots, almost as if they were desperate to hide from something, and the horses ran as if possessed, their training and war dignity entirely forgotten.
The sight was so astounding I merely frowned, unable to comprehend what was happening.
Had the horses panicked, and bolted for their stables?
But how could that be? All the warhorses had been trained for years, and were experienced in battle.
Well… in the mock battles my father had arranged… and surely they were more warlike than the real thing?
If the fault lay not with the horses, then had the men controlling them panicked, and caused their horses to dash for home?
But that was even more incomprehensible, for all my father’s warriors were brave beyond belief, and the best warriors in all of Greece.
Had not my father told me thus on countless occasions?
There was movement below me, at the gates, and I realized they were being opened. I returned my gaze to the chariots, now very close, and I realized with a horrifying lurch in the pit of my belly that one of them contained my father.
His face wore an expression I had never seen before, and which I had never thought would fit my father’s features—fear.
‘SHUT THE GATES!” MY FATHER SCREAMED, EVEN AS I was still making my way down the ladders to the court just inside the gates. ” Shut the cursed gates!”
If his face had showed fear, then his voice revealed defeat, and that was so incomprehensible to me that as I reached the ground and walked toward where my father stood by the heaving horses of his chariot, my legs gave way beneath me, and I crumpled to the ground.
‘Cornelia!” my father cried as he caught sight of me. “Daughter! What do you here? Get back to the palace! Go! Go!”
‘Father.” I reached for the hand he extended to me, and managed to regain my feet. “What is wrong?
Why…” I stumbled to a halt, not knowing what should follow that “Why?”
‘Trickery! Magic! Foulness!” my father spat, and I frowned all the more, for I could understand none of this.
‘Where is Melanthus?” I asked.
‘Dead, most like,” my father said, shoving me into the hands of one of the guards. “Get her to the palace, and keep her under close care, or I will take your life for your negligence. Now !”
And so I was dragged off without a chance to further question my father.
Melanthus? Dead? How could that be?
‘Melanthus?” I whispered, in shock, I think, as the guard eventually handed me into the care of Tavia.
“How can that be?”
My father must be wrong… and that thought was almost as unintelligible as the one that proposed my beloved hero might be dead.
TAVIA EVENTUALLY DISCOVERED WHAT NEWS THERE was. The Trojans had tricked my father into a trap, and then used the black arts—as would cowards—to ensnare my father’s army in a slaughter. My father escaped, but only because of his heroism and skill, while most others had died.
Melanthus? Dead? My mind could not grasp that concept, and could not pass beyond that concept. I thought nothing of the greater implications of this defeat, had no thought of the other men I knew that must have died, but only tried without success to grasp the concept that Melanthus might be dead.
This could not happen. Not to me. Not to my beloved Melanthus. No. No…
For hours, all through the afternoon and into the night, Tavia held me as we lay on my bed. She whispered nothingnesses to me, and stroked my brow with soft hands, and begged me to eat and drink to maintain my strength.
And when I responded to none of that, she tried to shame me into responding by suggesting that I behaved in a manner most unbecoming to a woman of my nobility and station.
At that I wrenched myself away from her. All I wanted to do was think about Melanthus, to find some means of explaining away my father’s news.
‘My dear,” said Tavia, “he must be dead. So few returned… and he is not among them… I know you adored him, but he was but a boy, and—”
‘Get out!” I yelled, bursting into tears. “Go! I don’t want to hear that !”
She went, and I fell back to the bed and succumbed to such a fit of sobbing that I thought my heart would burst. He was not dead! He could not be! I remembered how we had caressed earlier in the day, I remembered the crushing of his mouth against mine, and I vowed that if Melanthus was dead, then I would allow no man to kiss me again.
There was no one who could ever take Melanthus’ place. No one who could match him in nobility and bravery and prowess.
‘If not you,” I eventually sniveled, blowing my nose on the hem of my skirt, “then no one. No one save you, beloved Melanthus, shall ever lay his mouth to mine!”
Slightly hysterical that vow may have been, but it made me feel better. After all, as a vow it was assuredly quite useless. Melanthus could not be dead. I would wake in the morning and he would be here, and he would fall to the bed beside me, and…
I drifted off to sleep, content that I should pass the night in dreams of Melanthus.
Instead, I dreamed most peculiarly. I found myself standing in a stone hall, of such construction and such overwhelming beauty that I am sure it was of the gods’ making. Above me glowed a golden vaulted roof, to either side of me soared great stone arches that lined the shadowy side aisles of the hall.