Song of Princes (Homeric Chronicles #1) (38 page)

THE BLACK HULLS
of the Myrmidons appeared silhouetted against the faint pink light of dawn. Palamedes rubbed his eyes; he couldn’t believe he was actually seeing Achilles’ fleet. So many days had passed that he’d begun to wonder, privately of course, if the golden warrior would come at all. He’d been commanded to watch the horizon line sending word to Agamemnon directly at any sign of Achilles. Palamedes sent the boy, Nax, straightaway to the great king’s tent.

Nothing stirred in the camp. The boy heard the occasional snores and coughs, and ran passed several unattended campfires smoldering to their last embers. The young messenger ran the entire way to Agamemnon’s tent, his lungs burning and his breath short when he stopped at the two guards posted at the entrance.

“What do you want?” grumbled one of the guards. “It’s fucking early to be waking the king, don’t you think Cletus?”

“Too fucking early to be bothering anyone. Go away. The king’s not interested in boys. At least not this early!” Cletus chuckled and poked the boy with the butt end of his spear. “Get out of here before—”

“Palamedes sent me,” the boy said, unmoving.

“For fuck’s sake, why didn’t you say so in the first place?” Cletus demanded.

The boy stood silent.

“By the balls of Zeus, speak the fuck up. What does Palamedes want?”

“I’m only to tell the king. No one else.”

Cletus rolled his eyes at his comrade, “Do you believe this shit? Who does Palamedes think his is? Better than the rest of us?”

“Pl...please,” the boy stammered, “Pala…medes will beat me if I don’t do as he says. I must speak directly to—the king.”

“By all means, enter at your own risk boy. You little shit.” Cletus parted the tent flap and roughly shoved the boy into the darkness of the tent.

No lamps were lit. The air reeked of sour sweat and stale wine and vomit. He pinched his nose closed. He stood for a moment allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimness. He heard a groan on his left and figured that to be where the king must be sleeping. He took tentative steps in that direction.

Out of the dark, the sharp point of a sword blade pricked his chest. “Who are you? And what are you doing wondering about in my tent?” the voice thick with wine and sleep fell heavy in the shadows.

“I’m called Nax. Palamedes has sent me.”

Agamemnon sat upright, rubbing the stupefied haze of night from his eyes and pulled up a clay pot from under his pallet to piss away the previous night’s wine.

“Is it Achilles? Has that son of a sea hag finally decided to grace us with his fucking presence?”

“Yes, sire. Palamedes has seen the black sails on the water. Achilles is coming.”

“Take this pot and empty it.” Nax stood staring at the basin. “Hurry up you little blood rag. Go!”

Nax grabbed the stinking piss pot, steam rising from the contents, and bolted out the tent without looking back, cursing to under his breath as the contents splashed over his hands. He could hear Agamemnon roaring orders behind him.

“Where in Hades is Kalchas?! Bring him here!”

ACHILLES AND THE
Myrmidons anchored at Aulis as the sun slipped passed its zenith, beating heat into the sand and rocks until the ground blurred with mirage. The arriving fleet rowed ashore, sweating and exhausted and headed for the main encampment in want of food and strong drink with Achilles leading the way. Talk of Achilles had, until that very moment, been more myth than reality, and to see the golden warrior walk among them bolstered the Greeks’ courage and commitment to the war. The son of Peleus carried himself like a king.

Patrokles elbowed his lord. “It seems you have admirers.”

“I have asked for none,” Achilles said flatly.

“Clearly, you left your mirth back at the ship.”

Achilles frowned. “Indeed, I have.”

“My lord, you will survive Agamemnon.”

“Of that, I have no doubt.” Achilles didn’t wait for the guards to announce his arrival at Agamemnon’s tent, he simply walked passed them and entered.

The great king turned, and seeing Achilles, fell to pleasantries. “Greetings, Achilles! At long last you have come.”

Achilles took in the sumptuous surroundings of Agamemnon’s tent. Silk panels divided the tent into large rooms set with lavishly decorated and inlaid furnishings. Achilles shook his head. He wasn’t impressed by this show of wealth, disregarding the morale of the gathering armies. “Greetings, Agamemnon. I see you have brought your palace with you.”

Ignoring the reproach, Agamemnon replied, “It pleases me that you have come to our aid.”

Achilles approached the great king. “It pleases you,” he said flatly. Then, he pulled a chair from a nearby table and sat down. He motioned Patrokles to take the seat next to him. “You have wine?” the golden warrior asked Agamemnon. “We have traveled far, rowing most of the sea beneath us without the wind. What curse have you brought upon yourself? I am thirsty for good wine.”

The great king took a seat opposite his guest, again ignoring Achilles’ accusation. “Bring wine.”

“My men are also tired. They require food and wine, as well.”

“A good captain always looks after his men. Palamedes will see to your crew. How many are your numbers? Palamedes!”

The servant entered. “Yes, my lord?”

“See that all Achilles’ men have what food and drink they require.”

“Yes, my lord.” Palamedes disappeared as quickly as he’d arrived.

“I have not come because you have summoned me. I made no oath on your brother’s behalf. I owe you no allegiance or obeisance.”

Agamemnon’s jaw twitched. “Then, why have you come?”

“It is my destiny to fight at Troy. Your war suits my purpose.”

The great king drained his cup. “More wine.” A boy filled his waiting bowl. “You mean to lead your Myrmidons as a separate contingent?”

“I do.”

“That will not sit well with the other captains. They have relinquished their authority to me, as commander of this army. You would set yourself above the rest?”

Achilles leaned across the table looking the great king in the eye. “I am above the rest, Agamemnon.”

“You have too much pride. Too much gall for my taste.”

Achilles pushed his chair back. “We can leave by first light, if that is your final word.” Patrokles followed suit.

Agamemnon held up his hand. “Patience, Achilles. Sit.”

“There is nothing further to discuss.” Achilles signaled the boy for more drink. The golden warrior took the amphora and drank straight from the jar. It cooled his rising anger and irritation with the fat king. Once drained of the scarlet nectar, he handed it back to the waiting youth. “What is your name, boy?”

“Nax. They call me Nax.” The boy stood in awe, wide eyes staring and mouth agape at the legendary warrior who asked him personally for his name.

“Close your mouth, boy, flies will gather and put worms in your belly,” Achilles teased. “I am but a man.” He reached out a lion’s paw, tussling the boy’s already disheveled hair. Nax immediately closed his mouth. “We are with you, if I command my men. If you cannot abide that, then you go to Troy without me. Remember, I was not fool enough to bow before Tyndareus and promise my life for the chance to fuck a whore.” Without formal dismissal, Achilles left the tent, Patrokles following close behind.

“The gods truly fuck me,” Agamemnon said to himself. Nax poured more wine. The king had forgotten about the boy. “Get out!” Agamemnon bellowed. “Get out!”

FOR THE SECOND
time that day, Nax ran as fast as his scrawny legs could carry him. He ran as far as he could get from the great king’s tent. He ran all the way to the beached ships lined up in the bay. Since Achilles’ arrival, the gathering fleet looked like an island of floating wood. Nax could see the sea between the gaps of the rounded hulls. Affixed over each skillfully crafted prow sat a carved fish or bird pointing the wind’s direction. Nax noticed there was no movement at all in the air. It had been weeks without a steady breeze, he guessed this was why they lingered at Aulis.

None of the soldiers took notice of him. And he didn’t care. They busied themselves with drinking and gambling, polishing their shields and greaves, and some simply lay napping, sprawled out on their himations catching the thin shade cast by the hulking beached ships. Nax walked beyond the fleet of triremes, further from the encampment than he’d ever been. The bay of Aulis was protected by a half circle of rocks stretching out to sea on either side. Nax walked until he reached the furthest rock wall and climbed up it. The open ocean, flashing blue and green, beckoned him and he jumped down into the wet sand. He looked up the rocks, backed up several steps, trying to see if he could catch sight of the Greek ships. He couldn’t see them, not even the tops of the masts. He turned his attention to the deserted beach ahead of him. The white sands called to him, and he took off running for joy, for freedom. He ran through a flock of sea birds sleeping in the sun. They fluttered wildly around him, some took flight, some squawked and circled back to scold him. The boy picked up a small pebble and threw it at a bird, pegging it squarely on its back. The target flapped its wings at the insulting blow. He picked up a larger rock. It felt good to pick on something that couldn’t hurt him back.

Just then, a female voice whispered in his ear. “That is not very nice, you know.”

Nax turned his head and saw no one, except a very large white bird with a long narrow beak. So, he resumed pestering the sea birds with pebbles.

“I told you that is not very polite,” said the silver voice.

This time, when Nax looked over his shoulder, he saw a beautiful woman sitting directly behind him. He dropped the stones from his hand. “I meant no harm. They’re just birds,” he said.

“Your intent does not matter. Whether a man means offense or not, does not excuse the offense.” The woman stood up and Nax knew that she was no mere woman. Her gown shimmered blue and silver and was as thin as a cascade of water over her nude body. Sea shells were braided through her hair and her eyes shone as green as moss covered rocks. Bangles of pearls hung from her earlobes and about her neck. She laughed at his wide brown eyes. “Fear me not, child. I am Thetis, mother of Achilles.”

The boy’s eyes grew even larger.

The nymph smiled. “You will catch flies or worse with your mouth open.”

Nax clamped his lips tightly together remembering what Achilles said about the worms. He gagged on the idea. “I hate worms.”

“I see Achilles has already spoken with you.”

“Yes, my lady. Well, sort of…I mean about the flies…I gave him wine in Agamemnon’s tent. Are you immortal?” Nax asked.

Thetis bowed her head at him. “I am.”

“By the balls of Zeus!” Nax jumped up and down. “My first goddess! I never thought a goddess would show herself to me. I’m just a slave. I’ve never been to a temple. Never offered anything to the gods...I don’t have anything to call my own. I figured what would a god ever need with me?”

“We do not always appear the way you expect.”

Nax stood dumbly smiling at her. He didn’t know what else to do. He was embarrassed that he’d been caught by Achilles’ mother throwing rocks at the birds. How could he explain that he was just mad about being yelled at by Agamemnon? How could he explain that to an immortal?

“Will you help me Knaxon?”

“How do you know my real name? No one but my mother ever called me that.”

“I know many things child. I know you are called Knaxon by birth. I also know you will help me guard my son.”

“Me? Guard Achilles?” The boy laughed so hard snot blew from his nose. Without thinking, he wiped the slime on the hem of his tunic. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“My son keeps very few friends, Knaxon. What is your age, do you know?

Nax stretched as tall as he could. “Fifteen winters.”

“Good. My son will need an attendant smart enough to watch those who would plot against him. Are you loyal, Knaxon?”

“I’ve never had cause to be loyal about anything. I’ve always been ordered about. I do as I’m told. Don’t like getting beat.”