Alexon doubted whether anyone present believed her. Despite his determination to stand by his sister, he was suddenly struck by a vision of an arrow embedding itself in the maid’s face. He walked over and whispered to Amathea. ‘Sister …’
She held up a hand. ‘That’ll do, girl!’
Lyra stopped and turned.
‘Back straight, head straight,’ instructed Amathea. ‘Then put the pear on top.’
The hunter was flexing his shoulders and wrists.
Lyra began to lift the pear then stopped. ‘Mistress … Mistress, please …’
‘Just put it on your head. I promise he won’t harm you.’
‘But …’ The girl was crying.
Amathea tutted. ‘Alexon, where are they from again?’
He knew she wouldn’t stop now. ‘Germania.’
‘So they worship …’
‘Aericura.’
Amathea raised her voice. ‘Aericura will watch over you.’
‘Mistress, how can you be sure?’
‘Do you give offerings? Say your prayers?’
‘I do.’
‘Then he will watch over you.’
‘She,’ said Alexon.
‘She will watch over you,’ said Amathea. ‘Be a good girl and just put the pear on your head. It will all be over soon and you can go back inside.’
‘Do you promise I’ll be all right, Mistress?’
Amathea was now struggling to sound pleasant. ‘I promise!’
The hunter exhaled loudly, then checked the arrow and nocked it against the string. He turned side on and raised the bow.
Alexon watched Kallikres. The sergeant was wringing his hands like an old woman.
Lyra placed the pear on the top of her head. She held it there for a moment then put her arms by her side.
The bowstring groaned as the hunter drew it back. He closed one eye. The only noise was the ever-present buzz of crickets in the grass.
‘By the gods, I can see his fingers shaking,’ said Kallikres.
The hunter lowered the bow and glared at him.
Kallikres turned to Amathea. ‘How can he make the shot if his hand is shaking? That poor girl …’
Without any prompting from his employers, Skiron walked over to Kallikres and stood beside him.
But now the hunter seemed unsure about continuing.
‘Can he do it or not, Skiron?’ snapped Amathea.
‘Perhaps one of the others?’ suggested Alexon.
After a brief consultation, Skiron answered. ‘No, Mistress. If one of the others does it and … something goes wrong, it will cause a problem between them.’
Lyra reached for the pear. ‘Should I …’
‘Don’t move!’ yelled Amathea. ‘I was told fifty paces.’ She pointed at the hunter. ‘This is thirty. Tell him to fire now.’
The hunter needed no translation. He raised the bow and drew the string back once more.
Lyra checked that the pear wouldn’t fall then clasped her hands and closed her eyes.
Alexon and everyone else behind the Iturean was watching his fingers on the string. They were shaking, the tip of the arrow too.
The hunter let go.
The arrow flashed away and thumped into the turf well behind Lyra. It had missed the top of her head by at least a foot.
The hunter spoke.
‘A sighter,’ explained Skiron. ‘Now the real shot.’
Kallikres looked away and ran a knuckle across his brow.
Lyra was already reaching for the pear. ‘Is that it? Can I come back now?’
Skiron yelled at her to stand perfectly still.
Once more the bow was drawn. The hunter cocked his head to one side then lowered the weapon. This time nobody needed an explanation; a low-flying flock of noisy geese were flapping across the copse of conifers to the right. The only person who didn’t watch them was Lyra, who didn’t dare move.
Alexon peered at her. He couldn’t see any tears now but her tunic was wet upon her thighs. He wanted this to be over.
Back came the string again. The hunter’s fingers seemed to be steadier this time. He let go.
Alexon did not hear the arrow hit. All he saw was the girl’s hand fly up towards her head. Then her legs went and she collapsed on to the grass.
Kallikres staggered over to the side of the terrace and threw up into a flower bed.
Alexon and his sister watched as the hunters and Skiron ran down the steps then across the meadow.
‘Oh,’ said Amathea.
‘Is she moving?’ asked Alexon.
‘I think so.’
‘By the great and honoured gods,’ muttered Kallikres.
Skiron and the Itureans knelt in front of Lyra.
‘Well?’ asked Amathea. ‘Did he hit it?’
Skiron turned. ‘He did, Mistress.’
‘Bring it to me,’ instructed Amathea. ‘I want to see it.’
One of the hunters slapped the girl and a moment later her head came up. Then two of the men lifted her, one taking her under the arms, one by the legs. While they carried her towards the terrace, Skiron recovered the pear.
Amathea and Alexon walked over as the hunters reached the top of the steps. Lyra was looking at her mistress; everyone else was looking at her. Her face was so pale it appeared almost grey. The arrow tip had carved a thick line across the top of her head where her blonde hair parted. The flesh was horribly red.
‘Is it bad?’ asked Lyra.
‘It will stitch up,’ said Amathea.
The Iturean muttered a curse in his own language.
‘You’ll hardly be able to see it under all that hair,’ added Amathea.
Skiron spoke to the hunters as he came up the steps. They took the girl inside and he handed Amathea the pear, or rather the two halves of it.
‘A fine shot,’ she said. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Kallikres?’
The sergeant said nothing.
‘Without a drink inside him, I’m sure he could do the same at fifty paces. Are you all right? You’re almost as pale as the girl.’
Kallikres gripped his stomach. ‘May I go?’
‘Of course. As long as we can be assured that you’ve understood the point of all this. Once my brother and I begin something, we always see it through to the end. We expect the same from you.’
Kallikres nodded then walked away down the steps.
Suddenly Alexon and Amathea were alone. ‘Sister, though I’m not sure that was entirely necessary, we seem to have made quite an impression on our guest.’
‘You disappoint me, brother. I told you that we must always appear united when in the company of subordinates. You questioned me.’
‘I’m sorry, Amathea. You’re right.’
‘I’m going to my room.’
He knew what that meant.
She was already on the balcony when he arrived. Alexon bolted the door and walked over to her. He had waited for an hour before coming up. Of their many routines this was the most established; it only increased the longing, the power of which amazed him every time.
Amathea was facing him but looking over the side of the balcony.
‘Anyone there?’ he asked.
‘Only one of the girls. She won’t see you.’
‘You must try to be quiet, Amathea.’
‘I shall do as I please.’
She stretched her arms out along the iron railing, fingers sliding on the metal. The diaphanous robe clung to her thighs, her form surrounded by the pink flowers and vivid green leaves that covered the balcony.
‘Am I beautiful?’
‘The blooms fade into insignificance beside you.’
Neither of them had ever touched anyone else. They found the very thought ridiculous.
‘I am yours,’ said Amathea.
‘And I am yours.’ Alexon dropped to his knees in front of her. He circled her ankles with his hands then slid them up, the robe bunching on his arms as he reached higher.
III
The coast road rarely strayed more than a hundred yards from the sea. It ran over countless rocky headlands and bridged ravines where water hissed and rumbled below. The only difficult section was north of Berytus, where the road steepened and twisted high above what was known colloquially as the Dog River. There they had passed the ancient statue of a wolf which was supposed to howl warnings to the locals if enemies approached. Some of the inscriptions on the rocks there were five hundred years old, dating back to when the Phoenicians had controlled the region.