Her thoughts floated free, and she returned to the days when she and her lord had sailed the Great Green. They had lived aboard ship, and her memories were sea-green, the taste of salt upon her lips. Young and in love, they visited verdant isles and cities of stone, meeting kings and pirates, sleeping in beds of ivory and gold or on cold beaches under the stars. She tried to remember the name of the ship that carried them, but it was out of reach.
Unaccustomed sadness touched her.
“Scamandrios!” she said suddenly. “That was it, Scamandrios.”
Andromache looked curious. “Who was that, Mother?”
Hekabe shook her head, confusion fogging her mind again. “I don’t remember now. Perhaps he was a king. We met so many kings. They were like gods in those days. They are small and petty men now…
“Tell me of the games,” she said, rallying, her mind fighting the dulling drugs. “What is the gossip? Are these small kings killing each other yet? A good games always ends with some deaths. A few minor thrones change hands. It is the way of the world. I hear the king of Thraki is dead already. Agamemnon’s responsible for that, I have no doubt. Have you met Agamemnon? He’s not the man his father was, they say.”
“The games have barely started,” Andromache said. “I have not heard much gossip. Although,” she said, smiling a little, “I heard Odysseus lost the archery tourney. He was not allowed to use his own great bow, and the one he was given broke. He was said to be very angry.”
Hekabe felt a surge of anger in her frail breast. “Odysseus,” she said malevolently. “He will not see Ithaka again. I will see to that.”
“What do you mean?”
“Hah! Odysseus the tale spinner. Odysseus the buffoon. That is how people see him these days. But I know him of old. He is a cold killer. He paid an assassin to murder Anchises. Blood kin to Priam.”
“How can you know this?” The girl’s face looked sickly under the yellow awning. “Not Odysseus.”
“The assassin, the same one who wounded Helikaon, told Helikaon so with his dying breath. And Helikaon himself told Priam.”
“It is nonsense,” Andromache said. “What would Odysseus have gained from such an act?”
Hekabe leaned back in her chair. “That is what Priam wonders. All his advisers are mystified. They talk of ancient feuds and trade agreements. Stupid men! The answer is there for any with the wit to see it. Odysseus loves Helikaon. Perhaps the boy was his catamite. Who knows? Anchises loathed the boy and dispossessed him. I knew Anchises. He was a sound ruler and a man with no sentiment. It was probable he would have had Helikaon quietly murdered. Odysseus is wily, and he would have guessed this. So, to save the boy, he had the father slain.”
“He did it to save Helikaon’s life?”
“Of course.”
“Why should that make him an enemy of Troy?” Andromache asked. “Helikaon is our friend, and if you are right, Odysseus saved him.”
“I care nothing about the murder of Anchises,” Hekabe answered. “Neither does Priam. But before this war begins we must be sure of our friends and eliminate all possible outside threats. Odysseus’ part in the death of Anchises has given us the opportunity to kill him without alienating our allies.”
“I do not understand,” Andromache whispered, obviously mystified. “Odysseus is neutral. Why would he be a threat?”
Hekabe sighed. “You have much to learn, child, about the nature of politics. It is not about what Odysseus is now. It is the danger he represents for the future. If his lands were closer to Troy, we could bind him to us with gold and with friendship. But he is a western king with close links to the Mykene. And yes, there is a small chance that he would remain neutral. But we cannot risk the future of Troy on a small chance. The truth is that once the war became inevitable, Odysseus had to die. Agamemnon is a man of battles and will be a worthy foe, but we can defeat him. But Odysseus is crafty and a planner. More than this he is a charismatic leader, and where he leads, other kings will follow. We cannot risk him joining with Agamemnon.”
“Then you always intended to murder Odysseus?” said Andromache.
“Of course. I have invited him to attend me here this eve. He will suspect nothing of a dying old woman. They say the Ugly King is cunning, but he has never dealt with Hekabe. He will leave King’s Joy alive—and then sicken and die back in his bed. Stay with me, Andromache. You can chat and laugh with him and put him at his ease. He will be here soon.”
She nodded her head again in satisfaction, thinking of the poison phial that had long been her servant and friend. “Rulers are never short of enemies, Andromache,” she said. “We must be ruthless in order to survive. Kill them all. Tonight Odysseus will die, and tomorrow I will have fat Antiphones here. Priam is a fool to have forgiven him for his treachery. A man who betrays you once will do so again, when the time suits him.”
Hekabe’s mouth was dry once more, and her goblet empty. “Andromache, fill my water goblet. I don’t know where the servants are.”
The girl was gone for some time. Hekabe dozed in the sunlight. She awoke suddenly with Andromache beside her again. Her new daughter carefully poured a small phial of medicine into the goblet, added water, then handed it to her. The queen drank gratefully. The bitter taste of the medicine was sharp upon the tongue, and there was an unaccustomed aftertaste that Hekabe could not identify. She sat in silence as the medicine began to dull the agonies. After a while, miraculously, all traces of pain vanished. She felt free for the first time in months.
“This medicine is new,” she said, her mind beginning to clear.
“Machaon gave it to Laodike last autumn,” Andromache said. “Is your pain gone now?”
“It is. I almost feel I could dance.” Hekabe smiled. “It is a beautiful day, don’t you think?”
“I am with child,” Andromache said calmly. “And the father is not Priam.”
Hekabe frowned. “Not Priam?”
“The father of my child is Helikaon. Now tell me about Paleste.”
Hekabe’s eyes narrowed. Was the girl insane? When Priam found out about her deceit, he would be furious. “Foolish girl,” she hissed. “You have doomed Helikaon and the child. Priam will have them killed. If you are lucky, he will keep you alive to fulfill the prophecy. I thought you were sharper than your sister. It seems Ektion’s daughters are as stupid as each other.”
Andromache knelt by the old woman’s side. “You do not understand, Hekabe. I slept with Priam so he would think this child is his. The king will never know. Now tell me how you killed Paleste.”
Hekabe saw again the image of the agonized child, and her lip curled. “She was a mistake, a stupid mistake by the fool Heraklitos. She was nothing. The future of Troy’s family was all that mattered. It must be protected. Paleste was nothing,” she repeated.
Andromache sat back on her haunches and looked at her for a moment. Hekabe thought there were tears in her eyes, but her own vision had misted. She looked around her feebly.
“Where is Paris?” she asked.
“Gone with Helen to watch the games.”
“There are no servants. Where are the servants?”
“I told them to leave us alone.”
Andromache stood up and dusted down her gown, as if preparing to leave. The phial she had left on the table she dropped into a pouch at her side.
Then, like sunlight piercing the mists of morning, Hekabe’s mind finally cleared. Medicine given to Laodike months before. Strong medicine. Why had she not been offered it before? Understanding swept through her. It was meant to have been the gift of release, when the pain became unbearable. She knew then what the aftertaste had been. Hemlock! Hekabe rested her hand on her skinny thigh and pressed the flesh. She could feel nothing. Death was creeping along her veins. She sighed.