A BOW FOR ODYSSEUS
Many people spoke of their love for Troy, growing misty-eyed about its beauty. To Big Red it was just a city of stone, a place to earn silver rings and gold trinkets. The truth, she believed, was that this emotion men spoke of was merely love of wealth. Troy was rich, and those who prospered within it became wealthy. Even the old baker whose house she was walking wearily toward wore rings of gold and had a carriage to ferry him about the city. His breads and his cakes were purchased by the nobles and served at feasts and gatherings. The baker owned six slaves and a farm close to the city, which supplied his grain. He was a fine client. His erections were semisoft and easily dealt with, his gratitude rich and rewarding. At the end of a long day Red had no wish to spend time with a younger client.
She plodded through the back streets, the silver rings she had earned that day neatly threaded on a thong and hidden within the folds of her long red robe. Between the silver rings were thin pieces of wood to stop the metal from clinking as she moved. These streets in the lower town were seething now with cutpurses and thieves, most of them working for Silfanos, and although she paid—as did all the lower town whores—a monthly tribute to Silfanos, it was still sensible to hide her wealth. In a pouch at her side she carried a handful of copper rings in case some enterprising robber should accost her.
The day had been profitable, and were it not for the fact that the baker paid her in kind, she would have returned home and sat in her small garden with a jug of wine. There was, however, no food in her larder, and she had a taste for the honey cakes he made.
Her lower back ached as she walked, and she was hungry. The thought of the honey cakes drove her on.
Passing through a low alleyway, she emerged onto a small square. The sound of laughter carried to her, and she glanced across to where a group of men were sitting. One of them was Silfanos. He and three of his men were drinking with a young, powerfully built warrior in an old breastplate. It was obvious the blond man was drunk and happy. A man should always die happy, she thought. Once night had fully fallen and the streets were empty, Silfanos and his men would fall upon the drunk and rob him. The breastplate was probably worth a score of rings.
Red moved on, but the drunk saw her and heaved himself to his feet. He staggered toward her. “Hold!” he called out. “Please!”
She stared at him malevolently, ready to brush aside any clumsy advance. He did not seek to touch her but stood open-mouthed before her. “By the gods,” he said, “I think you are the most beautiful woman I ever saw.”
“All women look beautiful to a man soused with wine,” she snapped.
“I’ve had wine before,” he said. “But I’ve never seen anyone like you. Here.” He pulled a silver ring from his pouch and thrust it into her hand.
“Take it back,” she said. “I have nothing for you.”
“No. That is for your beauty alone. Merely seeing you gladdens my heart. By the gods, it was worth traveling across the Great Green just to stand here and gaze upon you.”
Glancing beyond him, she saw the thin-faced Silfanos gesturing for her to depart. She nodded at him and moved away.
“What is your name?” the big man called out.
“I am called Red.”
“I am Banokles. We must meet again, Red.”
Ignoring him, she walked on. Silfanos was a wretch and a killer. If she and the drunk were to meet again, it would not be on this side of the Dark Road.
By the time she reached the house of the baker, the streets were dark. Red found she was still holding the silver ring the man had given her. She paused before the baker’s door and slipped the ring into her pouch. The fool had paid just to look at her. Despite herself, she was touched. Then anger swept over her. He was an idiot, she told herself.
The baker had prepared a tray of sweet cakes, but despite her hunger she ignored them, telling him how much she had looked forward to seeing him, stroking his face, and kissing his cheek. Putting his arm around her, he led her into his bedroom, then lay back as she cooed and stroked him.
“Why won’t you wed me, Red?” he asked her, as he had asked her many times before.
“Be content with what you have,” she told him.
“I want more, Red.”
“All men want more.”
“I cannot imagine a life without you.”
“Nor do you need to. I am here now.” With that she began to apply the skills of her twenty years as a whore. His happiness was complete within a few heartbeats. She lay beside him for politeness’ sake until he dozed, then walked out into his kitchen and ate several of the cakes. If he had been as good a lover as he was a baker, she would have wed him in an instant.
He had also prepared a basket of bread for her. Gathering it up, she left the house. She had intended to return home by a different route, having no wish to pass the body of the blond man or, worse, be there when Silfanos and his men were still in the act of murder. But she was tired and in no mood for a detour. She decided to creep to the edge of the square, peep around the corner, and then if necessary keep to the shadows, moving silently.
When she reached the corner, she could hear no sounds of laughter or song and guessed that the crime already had been committed. Peeping into the square, she was amazed to see the blond man still sitting there, nursing a cup of wine. Sprawled out on the ground around him were the bodies of four men. Involuntarily, she gasped. The warrior heard her and looked up.
“Red!” he shouted happily. “You came back!”
He stood up, then slumped back. “Oh,” she heard him say, “I think a little too much wine has flowed.”
Red moved across the square, scanning the bodies. Silfanos was not among them. “Are they dead?” she asked.
He considered the question solemnly. “Could be, I suppose.” He kicked out at the nearest man, who groaned. “Probably not, though.”
“Where is the other one?”
“Ran off. By the gods, I’ve seen hounds who couldn’t run that fast.” He chuckled, then burped. “It’s been a good day, Red. I’ve eaten my fill, shagged”—lifting his hand, he counted his fingers—“four times, and had a fine fight. Best of all, though, I’ve seen you.”
“You need to leave here,” she said. “The other man will come back, and he’ll bring more robbers with him.”
“I’ll swat them like flies,” he shouted, swinging his arm and falling off his seat. He grunted, then pushed himself to his feet. “Need a piss,” he said, lifting his tunic and urinating on the unconscious man lying closest to him. “Stupid thieves,” he muttered as he finished. “All the time I had rings they sat and drank with me. Then, when all the rings were gone, they sought to rob me.”
“They wanted your breastplate,” she said. “Now, come along. It is time to go.”
“I haven’t got any rings, Red. Nothing to give you.”
“Just walk with me, idiot!” she stormed. “Otherwise you’ll be lying here dead!” Stepping in, she took his arm and dragged him across the square. He grinned at her, then glanced down at the basket she was carrying.
“Oh, bread!” he said. “Can we stop and eat? I’m a little peckish.”
“In a while,” she assured him, pulling him on. “Where are you staying?”
“Palace,” he said. “Somewhere. With Kalliades. My friend.”
“I don’t know any Kalliades.”
They walked on through narrow alleys and side streets, emerging at last onto a broad avenue. “Need a little sleep now,” Banokles told her, slumping against the wall of a building.
Red heard the distant sound of angry shouts. “You can’t sleep here,” she said. “My house is close by. Can you walk that far?”
“With you? To your house?” Grinning at her again, he sucked in a huge breath and pushed himself away from the wall. “Lead on, beauty!”