Iphigenia held out her arm to Kassandra. “Support me, child, and help me to my bedchamber. I fear the strength is almost gone from these old bones.”
Kassandra put her arm around her. “One day we will have no bones,” the girl said happily, “and our dust will swirl among the stars.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE CALL OF DESTINY
Helikaon slept fitfully that night, concern for Andromache disturbing his rest and coloring his dreams. He found himself in darkness, as if at the bottom of a deep well, and he could see Andromache high above him, framed by light, her hair wild around her head, her hands reaching out to him. Then she was in his arms, and he could feel the curves of her body and smell salt in her hair, but she was as cold as stone, and he realized she was soaking wet, her face pale and lifeless. He cried out, but his voice was thin, like a distant gull, and he could not help her.
He awoke with a groan and threw back his blankets. The fire had burned low, and it was cold on the beach. All around him were sleeping men who were huddled close together for extra warmth. Helikaon glanced up at the great horse on the cliff above. It was a clear night, the stars bright around a crescent moon, and the face of the horse shone balefully in the moonlight.
He shivered and stood, rubbing warmth into his bare arms. He would not sleep again. He would watch for Andromache and be ready to climb the cliff path to find her. He had told himself he would wait until the first light of dawn, but he was impatient to see her again and anxious for her safety.
He looked around. To his left, down by the shoreline, he saw a powerful figure standing staring out to sea. Gershom had seemed withdrawn these last days, spending much time on his own.
Anxious for conversation to divert his thoughts from Andromache, Helikaon picked his way carefully around the sleeping men and walked across the black sand of the beach. Gershom heard his approach and turned to meet him.
“You were wrong about her, Golden One,” he said. “She has the sight.”
Helikaon raised his eyebrows and smiled. “She read your palm?”
“No. She opened my mind.” Gershom shook his head and gave a harsh laugh. “Nothing I say could convince you.”
“You are probably right. But you are troubled, and we are friends. So speak anyway.”
“In a cave on Minoa I learned who I am.”
“What was to learn? You are a runaway Gyppto prince.”
“No, Helikaon, I am a changeling. The child my mother bore was stillborn. A servant carried the babe’s body down to the riverbank. There she was met by two desert people… slaves. They gave her a baby to replace the dead boy. They gave her… me.”
“Kassandra told you this?”
“No, she showed me. She made a fire and burned opiates upon it. When I breathed the smoke, it filled my mind with visions.”
“How can you know they were true?”
“Believe me, Golden One, I know. I saw so much.” He sighed heavily. “Destruction and despair. I saw Troy, and I saw you…”
“Do not speak of Troy, my friend,” Helikaon said quickly. “I know in my heart what will befall the city. I need no prophecies, whether true or false.”
“Then I will offer none. But I understand now why you have sent so many of your people across the sea to the Seven Hills. A new land and a new nation, far from the wars and the treacheries of the old empires.”
“It is just a settlement, Gershom, and the people there are from many nations and races. They bicker constantly. Only luck and the blessings of the gods have stopped them from ripping each other to pieces. The settlement will probably not survive more than a few seasons.”
“No, Helikaon, you are wrong. The hardships they face will bind the people together. They will endure. I promise. You will see.” Gershom smiled. “Well,” he went on, “you may not see—I do not know that—but your sons will, and their descendants.”
Helikaon looked at his friend. “You are beginning to make me uncomfortable. Have you become a seer now?”
“Yes, I have, and I know I must travel to the desert and then return to Egypte.”
“The pharaoh will kill you if you go back!” Helikaon said. Concern for his friend welled up to vanquish his own anxieties. “I think Kassandra has poisoned your mind,” he argued.
“No, do not think that. She is a sweet, sad, broken child. But her visions are true. I believe what I saw was also true. We will know before the dawn.”
“What will we know?”
Gershom pointed to the Egypteian ship drawn up farther along the beach. “If what I saw was real, then I will be summoned to sail upon that vessel tomorrow.”
Helikaon suddenly shivered, the cold night seeping into his bones like freezing water.
“Let us stop this now!” he cried. “You are talking madness, Gershom. Tomorrow we will all sail for the Seven Hills, and you can put all thoughts of Kassandra and visions from your mind.”
Gershom looked into Helikaon’s eyes. “What is it that frightens you about prophecy, my friend?” he asked softly.
“I am not frightened by it. I just do not believe it. I, too, have consumed opiates and seen the whirling colors. I have seen people’s faces suddenly blossom like flowers and heard dogs yapping in strange tongues I could almost understand. I saw a man once who dropped down to the floor and turned into a score of frogs. Do you think he really turned into frogs? Or did the opiates confuse my mind?”
“They confused your mind,” Gershom agreed. “As indeed they may have confused mine. I will not argue that. If no one comes for me from that ship, Golden One, then I will board the Xanthos and rejoice.”
“Good,” Helikaon said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. “And after dawn, when we sail, I will mock you for this conversation. Now let us get back to a fire. This sea breeze is chilling my blood.”
Despite his lightness of tone, Helikaon felt tense and anxious as they walked back to the campfires. He stared at the Egypteian ship. No one was moving around it, the crew all asleep on the beach. Gershom added dry sticks to the glowing coals of a fading fire. Flames sprang up. He stretched himself out on the sand and fell asleep almost instantly.
Helikaon swirled a thick blanket around his shoulders and seated himself close to the small blaze. Clouds started forming in the eastern sky, and the sky grew darker as the moon was obscured. Before long a light rain started to fall. Helikaon sat alone, heavy of heart.
Like Zidantas before him, the big Egypteian had excavated a deep place in Helikaon’s heart, and the Dardanian king found himself grieving for the loss of his friend, suddenly sure that the desert folk would come for him in the morning. Since the Xanthos had rescued him from the sea, Gershom had become an invaluable crewman on the galley and Helikaon’s right-hand man and friend, one to whom he entrusted not only his life but his feelings, his fears and hopes. The man had saved Helikaon on several occasions, both in battle and when he had brought the Prophet with healing maggots to cure him after the assassination attempt.
Remembering that time, when he had lain helpless in Hektor’s palace and Andromache had nursed him, brought thoughts of his lover back, and he turned and looked up again at the cliff path in the hope of seeing her walking down. But it was too dark and wet to see well, and he shrugged the blanket closer around him and waited patiently for first light.
It was nearly dawn, and campfires were glittering like stars on the beach far below, guiding her way as Andromache trod down the cliff path. The ground was uneven, the trail in places narrow and broken. Lowering clouds had covered the moon, and the journey back to the ship was becoming perilous. It began to rain, lightly at first, but soon the path became slick and treacherous. The the wind picked up, tugging at her green dress and the borrowed cloak she wore.