Even in that they were wrong, he thought darkly.
He remembered the day Father had come to his sickbed, where he was recovering from the stab wounds he had suffered, wounds that would have killed a thinner man. The blades had been defeated by the wealth of flesh guarding his body.
Priam had walked into the room and stood by the bed, regarding his son with eyes that shone with both contempt and concern.
“Well, boy, I am told you acted with courage. I must say I am surprised.”
“Why would that be, Father? Am I not the son of Priam and the brother of Hektor?”
Priam had shrugged. “Let us not argue, Antiphones. Let us merely say I misjudged you. Helikaon tells me that without your warning we would not have been able to shut the gates in time. Then the Thrakians would have been upon us before we had a chance to muster a defense.”
“That was all he told you?”
“Is there more?”
“There is always more, Father.” Anger had ripped through him then, making his wounds burn. “Would you like to hear it?”
“Well, I am here, so I might as well,” the king answered, sitting down on the bed. “Will there be more surprises?”
“I plotted with Agathon to kill you. I only turned away at the last because he planned to murder all my brothers and their families.” Antiphones had expected rage and then that soldiers would be summoned to drag him from the bed and murder him. Instead, Priam merely shrugged.
“I knew that,” the king said. “No other way you could have learned of his plans. I take it you were foolish enough to confront him, hence the assassins?”
“Yes. Foolish Antiphones. I thought I could reason with him. Just kill the old man, Agathon. No need for innocent people to die. Just one ghastly old man.”
Priam laughed then, his manner changing. “Agathon would have made a terrible king, Antiphones. You would have been better. You have a sound mind and a fine grasp of the intricacies of trade and the acquisition of profits.”
“Really? And that is why you made Polites your chancellor? A man who needs to kick off his sandals to count to twenty? That is why you chose me to be your master of horse, a fat man who could not ride? You are a monster, and I hate you.”
“Nothing wrong with hate, boy,” Priam said indifferently.
“So what now, Father? Banishment? Death?”
“I considered death—had you not admitted to me your part in the plot. As it is, I am rather proud of you. Which, as you can imagine, is a rare thing where you are concerned. I am giving you command of the Ilos regiment.”
“Why?”
Priam stood and stared down at him. “I am a king, boy. Kings never have to explain. You want the command?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Well, you rest and recover. We’ll talk more when you leave the houses of healing.” He walked to the door, then swung back. “I take it there will be no more plots from you?”
Without waiting for an answer he was gone.
Back at his own house some weeks later, Antiphones had found that his servants had prepared a feast for him, loading the tables with his favorite sweetmeats and pies. He had stared at them with no longing, which surprised him.
Little Kassandra had been there. The twelve-year-old had looked at him with serious eyes. “I did tell them, Antiphones, but they didn’t believe me.”
“What did you tell them, sweet girl?”
“That you would have no taste for such food again.”
“And how did you know that?”
“Xidoros told me. He said you had spent years eating your pain, and you could never be filled. Now the pain is gone, and you are no longer hungry.”
Antiphones had kissed her on the brow and questioned her no further. Xidoros had been her first teacher, and he had died four years before.
The imaginary spirit had been correct, though. His taste for sweetmeats had vanished. However, years of excess would take more than a few months to overcome. He stood now on the beach, his joints aching, sweat coursing down his face, wishing that he could sit down.
Then, thank the gods, his father’s chariot came into sight.
Now there was movement on the ship, and several men lowered themselves to the beach. The first was the man with the black chin beard; the second a florid-faced middle-aged man, clean-shaven. The third was a god!
Antiphones stared at the young warrior in the white, gold-edged tunic. His body was lightly tanned, his muscles sleek and well defined. His face was the most beautiful Antiphones had ever seen, deep dark eyes over high cheekbones, full lips above a strong chin. Antiphones could not stop staring at him. His mouth was dry, and all thoughts of pain in his joints disappeared in an instant. Other men, officers of Agamemnon, climbed down to join their lord. Antiphones tore his gaze from the beautiful young man and tried to concentrate on the meeting of kings.
“At last you return to Troy,” Priam said, stepping in and throwing a powerful arm around Agamemnon’s shoulder. “When last I saw you here, you were no taller than a jackrabbit and clinging to your father’s cloak. Welcome back, Agamemnon. May your visit be a happy one and rich with the company of friends.”
“It is always good to be among friends,” Agamemnon said. “It is good to be here and to be able to tell you in person of my sorrow that Mykene renegades should have joined your son in his revolt. You should know that I had them put to death upon their return. I take it that is why you freed them, so that justice could be served by my own hand.”
“I freed them because they weren’t worth killing,” Priam said with a wide smile. “They fought like children. Quite the worst fighters I’ve ever seen. By Athene, I’d be ashamed if they were part of my army. No wonder they were renegades. No king worth the name would have such men under his command. But enough of chatter in the sunshine.”
Antiphones listened to the exchange and suppressed a smile. The Mykene invaders had been the elite of Agamemnon’s forces and had fought like lions.
“Let me introduce my sons, Antiphones and Polites,” Priam said. The introductions went on until Antiphones stood before the godlike Achilles.
“I have heard wonderful tales of your bravery,” Antiphones said. “It is a great honor to have you in our city.”
Achilles smiled at him, seeming to appreciate the warmth of the greeting. “I, too, have heard of the wonders of Troy,” he said. “Where is your great hero, Hektor?”
“At sea, hunting pirates. He should be here within the next few days. At least I hope so, or he will miss his own wedding celebrations.”
“Will he participate in the games?”
“I do not believe that he will.”
“Ah, that is a shame,” Achilles said. “Now my victory will not be as sweet.”
“But it will be wondrous to see,” Antiphones said. “I shall look forward to it.”
Achilles seemed puzzled and leaned close. “You are so sure of my winning?”
“I cannot believe any man could ever defeat you,” Antiphones answered.
“Not even Hektor?”
“That I could not say,” answered Antiphones honestly. “Hektor is not a man. He is like you—a young god. Mere mortals cannot make judgments on such matters.”
Achilles laughed. “I like you, Antiphones. Come dine with us one evening.” Then he moved away.
Priam took Agamemnon in his chariot, while the other officers and dignitaries walked up the slope toward the great gate.
Antiphones remained where he was, lost in the wonder of the moment.
“They hate each other,” Kassandra cried, pointing from the high wall down toward the chariot carrying her father and the Mykene king. “Look at all that red mist flowing around them and behind them like a great cloak.”