He stood and walked over to Hippolyta. He was tall and wide-shouldered. His golden beard poured down his chest like a glittering wave. His long white robe was trimmed in purple and cinched in by a silver belt studded with red and green stones.
In spite of herself, Hippolyta was impressed. Surely Zeus himself looks no more kingly.
“She’s here because of the baby,” Dares said.
The king leaned over and looked at the child, who reached out for his beard. “Why should this child concern me?”
“I must speak privately with you, King of Troy,” Hippolyta said. “My mother, Otrere, commands it of me.”
At her mother’s name, King Laomedon looked up, for a moment startled. Then he snapped his fingers to summon one of the girls.
“Take the child, Artemesia. Treat it well till I ask for it again,” he commanded.
“It’s a boy,” Hippolyta said, handing the baby to the girl. “His name is Podarces.” Strange, she thought, how reluctant I am to give up this little burden now.
“All of you but this little barbarian leave me,” commanded Laomedon.
“Your Majesty, are you certain—” Dares began.
Hippolyta wondered whether he wanted to stay for her protection—or the king’s. She was about to say she could handle herself when Laomedon interrupted.
“Check the defenses on the north wall, Dares.” He waved his hand. “I need no help from you here.”
Dares bowed low and, with a final warning glance at Hippolyta, left the chamber.
CHAPTER NINE
KING LAOMEDON
THE KING WALKED OVER to a table and poured himself a cup of wine. He did it with deliberate slowness, like a great beast deciding its next move.
When at last he looked up, he asked, “What is your name, daughter of Otrere?”
“Hippolyta,” she answered. “Princess of the Amazons.”
“But not the oldest of Otrere’s brats,” he said.
“Second oldest,” she admitted.
He didn’t say anything for a long moment but drained the cup of wine halfway. Hippolyta felt every bit of the time stretching out, like a leash around her neck.
“Otrere,” Laomedon mused. “Lovely copper hair. Amber eyes. Nice smile. We spent some time together. Twice.” He grinned, and the wine glistened on his lips.
Hippolyta hated the way he spoke of her mother, as if she were a broodmare he’d owned.
“We last met some months ago, on the Phrygian border by Aphrodite’s grotto.” The smile grew broader as he remembered. “I asked her to stay longer, for she matches me in spirit. I like that. But she would not. You Amazons are a restless lot.” Now the smile was incandescent, like a candle before it burns down a house. “Take her my warmest regards when you go.”
“She needs more than your”—Hippolyta spit out the next two words as if they were some filth in her mouth—“warmest regards.” Drawing in a deep breath, she said, “She needs more because of that child of yours.”
“The child you brought?”
He’s toying with me, Hippolyta thought. He knows very well the child is his. But she couldn’t think why he should be doing so.
“Yes,” she said, “your son. Do you deny that he is yours, King Laomedon?”
He shrugged, finished the wine, and set the cup back on the table. “I saw a resemblance to her. Not to me. Still, she has no reason to lie about such a thing. So, you’ve brought him to his father’s house, as is your custom. Very well, princess, you’ve done your duty. If you go to the kitchens, they will feed you before you leave.”
He reached across the table to a bowl of grapes and plucked several, ready to pop them into his mouth.
Hippolyta walked over and almost put her hand on his arm, before thinking better of it. “My mother needs your help,” she pressed. “The mother of your son, Podarces, needs your help.”
He paused, a grape halfway to his lips. “My help? Amazons never ask for help from men. They just use them to beget children and leave.” There was an undertone of anger in his voice, as if some anger with Otrere’s refusal to stay with him lingered.
“Because Mother wouldn’t sacrifice the boy on Artemis’ altar but sent him here instead, she’s been cast in prison,” Hippolyta told him.
This time the king looked at her with great interest. “But when she sent me Tithonus, there was no such trouble,” he said.
Tithonus! That little … brat? The other brother? Hippolyta could not believe it. But she had to answer quickly and not show her surprise.
“It’s against our laws for a queen to bear more than one live son,” Hippolyta said, her voice barely a whisper. She would not tell him why.
A mocking smile lit Laomedon’s handsome face and changed it horribly. “Now we come to it! You Amazons thrive on superstitions, like crows feeding on dead flesh. Ha!”
Why, he’s just as brutish and selfish as any man, only with a prettier face. Oh, Mother, how could you have let that face seduce you? Hippolyta thought. But then she realized she was being unfair. Her mother had sought out a king to her queen, power to her power, beauty to her beauty. Her only interest had been to bring forth a strong, handsome child. She had not expected a boy.
But Laomedon was still Hippolyta’s only hope. She would have to put aside her disgust for him and beg for her mother’s life. “Queen Otrere has been stripped of her throne and will be tried for sacrilege.”
He popped a grape in his mouth. For a moment he savored the grape. “It is of no interest to me.” He glanced down, savoring the look of astonishment on her face. “And what would you have me do, little princess? Lead an army into Amazon country and set Otrere back on her throne? Leave my own city unguarded, my people unprotected, to march my troops through our enemies and into a barbaric country to settle a quarrel between savage women? Do you think I’m mad?”
“My mother has given you a child,” Hippolyta cried. “No, she has given you two children.”
“So have many women. I will not go to war for them.”
“So she means nothing to you?”
Raising an eyebrow, he said with slow deliberateness, “My horse means something to me. When he dies, I will get another. I value my sword, my shield, my guard.”
Hippolyta couldn’t contain her anger any longer. The man had mocked her, her mother, her people. She lashed out an arm and knocked the bowl of fruit from the table. Grapes flew in all directions.
“You’re no king!” Hippolyta raged. “The lowest beggar in the streets has more honor than you.”
“Guards!” he thundered. But even before the doors could be flung open, he grabbed her by the hair and threw her to the floor. “I am the king, and I will decide what is honorable here in Troy.”
She looked up, more surprised than hurt. “May the gods curse you, King Laomedon.”
His face darkened. “They already have.”
Just then the guards burst in.
Laomedon ran a hand down his tunic, smoothing it. “Take her to the cells.”
The guards seized Hippolyta by the arms and yanked her to her feet. She struggled against them, but they were too strong.
“You needn’t be gentle,” the king said as the men bundled her out of the door. “She’s an Amazon, which means she has no tender female sensibilities to injure.”
They hauled her out of a back entrance and across a bare yard where soldiers were practicing with their spears. She tried to kick at the men who held her, but they were used to such tactics.
One of the spear handlers yelled out, “Leave her with us for an hour, Caracus, we’ll show her how to behave.”
But the guards didn’t reply, merely dragged her to a large stone building standing on the other side of the courtyard. There they hauled her through a thick wooden gate and on inside.