She disappeared from sight, then was swiftly back, calling down to him, “It is secure!”
He cautiously leaned his weight on the rope, and it held firm. Within heartbeats he had shinnied up it and was over the window ledge.
Andromache fell into his arms. Only then did he allow himself to believe fully that she was still alive. He pressed his face into her hair. It smelled of smoke and flowers. “I love you,” he said simply.
“I can’t believe you are here,” she answered him, gazing into his eyes. “I feared I would never see you again.”
There were tears in her eyes, and he pulled her close, feeling her heart beating. For a long moment time slowed. He forgot about the war and surrendered himself to their embrace. The fears that had been plaguing him, that he would find her dead, their sons murdered, evaporated as he held her close and their hearts beat as one.
“Dex?” he whispered. She drew away from him and took his hand. She led him to the little bed in the next room where the two boys lay. He bent down to look into his son’s face and touched his fair hair.
When he turned back to Andromache, her face had become grave. They walked back out of the room, and then she put her arms around him and drew a deep breath. She said, “My love, there is something I must tell you.”
At that moment, the door of the chamber opened and two warriors burst in. Kalliades and Banokles stopped in shock. Helikaon did not know which surprised them more, his presence in the room or the fact that he was holding Andromache in his arms.
Kalliades recovered first. “Helikaon! You come unlooked for!” He glanced toward the window, seeing the knotted rope.
Helikaon said quickly, “Do not expect an army to come swarming up the walls. I come to you alone. But you have my sword if it will make a difference.”
“You will always make a difference, lord,” Kalliades said, “though the situation is grave.”
“Tell me.”
“Agamemnon has thousands waged against us. We number less than a hundred. They have taken the palace wall. It is taking them a while to break through the megaron doors, but they cannot last much longer.”
Helikaon remembered that Priam had had the doors renewed after the previous siege. They were fashioned from three layers of oak, cross-grained, reinforced with metal bars that locked into holes in the floor and ceiling. It was unlikely they could be forced, only hacked slowly to pieces.
“The king?” he asked.
“Priam and all his sons are dead. Astyanax is king.”
Andromache cast Helikaon an agonized glance and looked toward the window. He nodded. “I have a duty here,” he told her. “Then we will save the children.”
The warriors walked through the palace to the megaron, where Helikaon was proud to see order and calm, though the air was thick with the scent of death. There were a hundred heavily armored soldiers, most of them wounded and bloodstained, all so exhausted that they barely could stand. A few stood facing the doors, where even now the wood was starting to splinter under the heavy heads of axes. Most sat or lay, conserving their energy, too tired to speak. But one of them, in the armor of an Eagle, scrambled up as they passed.
“Helikaon!” he cried.
Helikaon turned and smiled. “Polydorus, it is pleasant to see you alive.”
“Have your brought an army, my friend?”
“No. I bring only my sword.”
“Then you bring us hope. There is little enough here now.”
Helikaon nodded. Looking down, he saw horse droppings on the floor. He frowned. “Horses?” he asked.
Banokles grinned. “There are a few left. I’ve had them locked away somewhere safe.”
“Who commands here?” Helikaon asked. “Lucan?”
Banokles shook his head and grunted. “Lucan fell at the Scaean Gate. Tough old bastard. Thought he’d live forever.”
He told Helikaon curtly, “You’re the only king on this side of those doors.”
But Helikaon shook his head. “You have fought for this city all summer, General. You know every man here and what he is capable of. You command here. I am just a foot soldier, Banokles. My sword and my life are yours.”
Banokles sighed and shot a glance at Kalliades, who threw his head back and laughed. The laughter rang around the megaron, and men turned their heads at the unaccustomed sound. “Tell us your plan, then, General,” Kalliades asked his friend, grinning.
“There are thousands of the bastards, most of them Mykene veterans,” Banokles replied. “Not one soft-bellied puker among them. We’re just a hundred. When the thunder rolls, they’ll have the better of us. But by the bloody spear of Ares we’ll make them pay for every step they take!”
The hundred defenders stood in line three deep facing the doors. In the front two lines were the last of the Eagles. Front and center was Helikaon, wearing the armor of a Royal Eagle, with Banokles and Kalliades. Behind them stood Polydorus. Out in front, on either side of the doors, were two Thrakian archers.
Andromache was on the gallery watching them, bow in hand. She remembered the last time the four men had been together in this megaron, when Banokles and Kalliades had fought for the Mykene and Helikaon and Polydorus had defended the stairs. She wondered at the irony of life and the tyrannical whims of the gods that had brought them together again.
She could see Helikaon’s profile and saw him turn his head briefly to glimpse her. She wondered if this would be her last sight of him alive. She knew he had come there with the intention of rescuing her. Yet once here, he could not leave friends and comrades to fight on without him. In the heat of the battle he would forget about her and her boys. For a moment only she felt sorry for herself. To be in his arms once again and then to have him snatched away by duty and loyalty seemed so cruel. Then she hardened her heart. Helikaon must follow his duty, and he would live or die. Her duty this day was to fight until the battle was lost, then escape with her sons somehow down the cliff. She thought again of Kassandra’s words, “We will meet again, Sister, before the end,” and took courage from their message.
The ax heads tearing relentlessly at the heavy oak doors finally had cut a hole. She could see movement on the other side. Then she saw Banokles step forward from the front line, hefting a lance, and with astonishing accuracy and strength throw it through the gap. There was an explosion of curses on the other side, and the Trojans all cheered. The cry was taken up all around the megaron: “Banokles! Banokles! BANOKLES!”
Then the hole in the door was hacked wider, and warriors started forcing their way through. The two archers loosed arrow after arrow into them. Six Mykene fell before their comrades managed to get as far as the Trojan line. At first they only climbed in one at a time, and the men on the front line dispatched them with ease. Then they started pouring in and succeeded in releasing the metal bars. The ruined doors groaned open.
Andromache watched with pride and fear as the small band of Trojan fighters held back the forces of Agamemnon. Despite the power of the Mykene attack, the slaughter was terrible in their ranks. Helikaon, Kalliades, and Banokles fought with cool efficiency, each armed with shield and sword. Every attacker fell swiftly to their blades, and for a moment Andromache gave in to hope. Then she looked through the doors and saw the ranks of the enemy, all armed to the teeth, ready to replace their fallen comrades. All hope drained away.