Zidantas!
Murdered and beheaded by the Mykene. As Dios had been murdered, and Pausanius, and Argurios and Laodike. And little Dio and his mother, Halysia.
The memories were painful, but there was no anger in him as he stood in the pale light of the predawn. It was as if the ghosts of the past were floating around him, offering silent comfort and continued friendship. “You are growing maudlin,” he warned himself aloud. “The dead are gone, and you are alone here.”
Even so he felt calmer than he had for a long, long time.
On the beach men were stirring, heaping wood on the fires, seeking to banish the cold of the night. Helikaon saw Andromache rise from her blankets. His heartbeat quickened as he remembered the kiss they had shared on the night of battle in the megaron. Angrily he tore his gaze from her. Do not think of that night, he warned himself.
Movement out to sea caught his eye. The crews of two small fishing boats were casting weighted nets in the waters beyond the bay. Helikaon watched them for a while. The boats were old, probably built in the days when the grandfathers of the fishermen were young men, full of hopes and dreams.
Wars come and go, he thought, but there will always be fishermen.
Strolling down the cliff path, he leaped to the sand and made his way to a cookfire. A sailor ladled broth into a wooden bowl and passed it to him. Helikaon thanked him, took a hunk of bread, and walked farther along the beach.
Sitting on a rock, he slowly ate his breakfast. Kassandra came strolling toward him, her cloak trailing in the sand. “I am looking for your friend,” she said. “Where is he?”
After a moment Helikaon realized she meant the goat. “Perhaps he is hiding.”
“Why would he hide?” she asked, cocking her head to one side.
“I think you frighten him,” he joked.
“Yes, I do,” she answered seriously. “I can’t help that. Can I finish your bread?”
“Of course you can. But there is more bread and good broth at the cookfire.”
“Yours will taste better,” she told him. “Other people’s food always does.”
Removing her cloak, she laid it on the sand like a blanket and sat down. As Helikaon watched her eat, he was touched by sadness. For all her father’s wealth and her own intelligence and beauty, Kassandra was forever lonely, locked in a world of imagined ghosts and demons. Will they truly care for her on Thera? he wondered. Will she find happiness there?
The dark-haired princess finished the bread in silence, shook the sand from her cloak, and swirled it around her shoulders. Stepping in, she kissed Helikaon on the cheek. “Thank you for the bread,” she said, then spun and ran down the beach toward the ship.
For three days the Xanthos sailed on, untroubled by bad weather or enemy ships. On the fourth day three Kretan galleys gave chase, but with the wind at her back the Xanthos raced clear of them. It was some days later before the first heavy rain of the voyage arrived. The sea began to surge, the wind picked up, and storm clouds gathered overhead. Then, with a clap of thunder, the heavens opened.
Andromache and Kassandra took refuge in the tent prepared for them on the forward deck, but a fierce gust of wind tore through the canvas. With the ship tossing and sliding, Andromache hooked her arm through a safety rope and drew Kassandra to her.
She heard Helikaon shouting out orders to the oarsmen, his voice firm. Crewmen ran to furl the black horse sail, straining at the ropes. Twisting around, Andromache glanced back, seeking Helikaon. He was standing on the rear deck, gripping the rail, his long dark hair streaming out in the storm wind like a banner.
Lightning flashed overhead, and the rain lashed down. Kassandra cried out, though not in fear. Andromache saw that her eyes were shining with excitement. A huge wave burst over the prow, a wall of water striking the two women. Kassandra was torn free of Andromache’s grip. Landing on her back, she struggled to rise. The prow of the Xanthos was lifted by another wave. Kassandra fell back heavily, her body spinning down the rain-swept deck.
From his position on the seat by the mast Gershom saw the girl fall. There was little danger of her being swept overboard, but spinning as she was, he feared she would crack her skull against a rowing bench. A child as frail as Kassandra easily could break her neck in such an accident.
With the ship being tossed like driftwood, Gershom knew there was no way to reach her on foot. Releasing his hold on the safety rope, he flung himself to the deck and dived toward the girl. Kassandra cannoned into him. Gershom threw his arm around her waist, drawing her to him. The Xanthos pitched again, hurling them both against the mast. Gershom managed to twist his body to take the impact on his shoulder. Grunting with pain, he threw out an arm. His hand struck something hard, and his fingers closed around it. It was the base of the circular seat constructed around the mast. Rolling to his knees, he lifted Kassandra to the seat. “Take hold of a rope,” he ordered her. Kassandra did so, and Gershom hauled himself to the seat alongside her.
The weather worsened, the rain becoming torrential. Gershom could see the rowers straining at their oars and heard Helikaon shouting more orders to them. Glancing to port, Gershom saw the outline of a rocky outcrop. Slowly, battling against the wind, the Xanthos moved behind the shelter of the headland.
Protected from the worst of the wind by high cliffs, the Xanthos steadied. Helikaon ordered the oars shipped and the anchors lowered. The rowers stood up from their benches, stretching their muscles and walking the deck.
After a while the rain eased, and patches of blue could be seen in the sky. Gershom glanced down at the dark-haired girl snuggled against him. “You are safe now,” he told her, hoping she would move away.
“I was always safe,” she replied, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Foolish girl! Your neck could have been snapped like a twig.”
She laughed then. “I am not intended to die on this boat.”
“That’s right. Helikaon tells me you are going to live forever.”
She nodded and smiled. “So will you.”
“That is a thought to cherish. I have never liked the idea of dying.”
“Oh, you will die,” she said. “Everyone dies.”
Gershom felt his irritation rise and tried to quell it. The girl was, after all, moon-touched. Yet the question had to be asked. “How can I both live forever and die?” he asked.
“Our names will live forever.” She frowned and cocked her head to one side. “Yes, yes,” she said. “‘Forever’ is inaccurate. There will come a day when there is no one left to remember. But that is so, so far away, it might as well be forever.”
Gershom asked, “If I am dead, why would I care that my name is known by strangers?”
“I did not say you would care,” she pointed out. “Do you know where we are?”
“Inside the Great Circle. Helikaon says we will soon reach Thera.”
Kassandra pointed to the headland. “That is the isle of Delos, the center of the circle. It is a holy site. Many believe Apollo and Artemis were born there.”
“But not you?”
She shook her head. “The sun and the moon did not grow like flowers upon the sea. But Delos is a holy site. There is strong power there. I can feel it.”