Toward the end of the feast a storyteller was called out, a young man with tightly curled blond hair and the face of a girl. Kleitos disliked him the instant he walked before the assembly. He was obviously the soft-bellied son of a rich man who never had to fight for what he wanted or struggle to stay alive in a harsh world.
His voice, though, had range, and his story was well told. The tale itself was exceptional, but then, it had been devised by Odysseus, and Kleitos already had heard it from the master himself. Now, there was a man who could tell stories.
The girl-faced bard entertained the crowd with the exploits of the sea king and the sorceress and the battle with the dread one-eyed giant Cyclops. At the conclusion the bard opened his arms and bowed deeply to Alkaios. Applause thundered out, and the king tossed the man a pouch of copper rings.
In the silence that followed the performance Kleitos flicked a glance at Persion. The warrior nodded, then pushed himself to his feet.
“I have a grievance,” he said, his voice ringing out. “A blood grievance with a murderer seated at this table.”
Even though Andromache had been waiting for this moment, its arrival was shocking. She looked down the table at the young Mykene warrior. His dark eyes were shining, his expression one of exultation. He looked like a man of great determination, powerful and unbeatable. Andromache felt fear begin to swell. Fear cannot be trusted, she warned herself. It exaggerates everything. It is both treacherous and dishonest.
Despite those rational thoughts, when Andromache looked again at Persion, she still saw a warrior of almost elemental power. When she turned her gaze to Helikaon, he seemed altogether more human and therefore vulnerable. Closing her eyes, she summoned again the image of him fighting on the stairs, invincible and unconquerable. A sense of calm returned to her.
Alkaios called out: “A feast is a time of comradeship, Persion. Can this matter not wait until the morning?”
“In respect to you, Alkaios King, I have waited until the feast was concluded. However, the gods and Mykene honor demand that I seek retribution for the atrocities committed against my family, my land, and my king.”
Alkaios climbed to his feet. “And who do you seek retribution against?” he asked.
Persion drew himself up and stabbed out a hand, his finger pointing down the table. “I speak of Helikaon the vile and accursed,” he said.
Alkaios turned to Helikaon. “You are my guest,” he said, “and should you request it, the laws of hospitality demand that I refuse this man’s challenge to you.”
“I make no such request,” Helikaon answered, rising to his feet. “Might I inquire of my challenger which of his family have suffered at my hands?”
“The mighty Alektruon,” shouted Persion, “overcome by your warriors and beheaded by you, though first you put out his eyes to make him blind in Hades.”
Andromache heard murmurs from the crowd at this and saw some men staring coldly at Helikaon.
“The mighty Alektruon,” Helikaon told the company, “was, like all Mykene, merely a blood-hungry savage preying on those too weak to resist him. I killed him in single combat, then cut off his head. And yes, I pricked out his dead eyes before throwing the head overboard to be devoured by the fish. Perhaps one day I will regret that action. As it is, I regret not cutting out his tongue and ripping off his ears.”
Helikaon fell silent for a moment, then looked around the megaron, scanning the crowd. “You all know the reality of the Mykene honor this wretch speaks of. It lies in the ruins of your cities and towns, the rape and plunder of your women and lands. The arrogance of the Mykene is colossal. My accuser talks of the gods and Mykene honor as if the two are somehow linked. They are not. I believe with all my heart that the gods loathe and despise Agamemnon and his people. If I am mistaken, then let me die here, under the hand of this… this wretched creature.”
Persion shouted out an oath, drew his sword, and stepped away from the table.
“Put up your sword!” Alkaios demanded. “You invoked the gods, Persion, and now you will wait while all the rituals are observed. This duel will follow Olympian rules. Both fighters will be naked and armed with stabbing sword and dagger. Let the priest of Ares be summoned, and the women allowed to withdraw.”
Andromache sat very still as the other women rose and left the room. Alkaios looked at her. “You cannot stay, lady.”
“Nor will I go,” she told him.
Alkaios moved in close to her, his voice barely audible. “In this I must insist, Andromache. No woman must be present at a blood duel.”
“Helikaon is my friend, King Alkaios, and I will bear witness to these proceedings. Unless of course you wish to order the wife of Hektor dragged from your megaron.”
He gave a wan smile. “Sadly, sweet Andromache, the mention of your husband’s name no longer carries the weight it once did. Despite that, I will grant your request. Not through fear or thoughts of future gain. Simply because you are the wife of a great man and one I admire.”
Looking up, he summoned a soldier to him, a short, stocky man with a strong face and bright blue eyes. “Malkon,” he murmured, “the lady Andromache wishes to see the duel. Take her to the Whisper Room and ensure that no one disturbs her.”
Andromache rose to her feet and smoothed the folds of her green gown. There was so much she wanted to say to Helikaon, but her mouth was dry, her heart beating fast. His sapphire gaze turned to her, and he smiled.
“I will see you soon, lady,” he told her.
“You keep that promise,” she told him, then turned and followed the stocky soldier out of the megaron and along a corridor.
They came to a set of stone steps leading up through a narrow doorway to a rooftop overlooking the town and the sea. The wind was blowing fiercely. Andromache shivered. Malkon crossed the rooftop to a second doorway. Andromache followed him. The soldier entered the room. Andromache paused in the doorway, suddenly concerned. The room was dark and windowless. In the moonlight she could see the dark shape of Malkon by the far wall. He seemed to be kneeling. Then came another light, thin as a sword blade, from low in the wall, and Andromache saw that the soldier had removed a slim section of paneling. Malkon rose and and crept quietly back to the rooftop.
“If you stretch out upon the rug, lady,” he said, his voice a whisper, “you will be able to see the the center of the megaron. I will wait outside.”
Andromache glanced into the darkened room with its sliver of light and hesitated. “You wish to change your mind and return to your ship?” Malkon asked.
“No.” Stepping into the room, she crouched on the floor and edged in close to the sliver of light. It was coming from torches flickering in the megaron below. The field of vision was narrow, and she could just see the edge of the feast table and the central flagstones of the megaron. There were servants moving below, scattering dry sand on the floor. The sound of the sand striking the flagstones seemed loud in the room. One of the servants leaned in to another and whispered, “I’ll wager two copper rings on the Mykene.” The words echoed unnaturally in Andromache’s ears. So this is how the Whisper Room gained its name, she thought. Spies would lie here listening to conversation in the megaron below.