The Hittite - Ben Bova [103]
The candle by the cot had burned down to a flickering stub. Through the flap in my tent I could see the sky starting to turn a pinkish gray with the first hint of dawn. Poletes’ breathing suddenly quickened and he made a grab for the cloth covering his eyes. I was faster and gripped his wrists before he could hurt himself.
“Master Lukka?” His voice was cracked and dry.
“Yes,” I said. “Put your hands down at your sides. Don’t reach for your eyes.”
“Then it’s true? It wasn’t a nightmare?”
I held his head up slightly and gave him a sip of water. “It’s true,” I said. “You’re blind.”
The moan he uttered would have wrenched the heart out of a marble statue.
“Agamemnon,” he said, many moments later. “The mighty king took his vengeance on the lowly storyteller. As if that will make his wife faithful to him.”
“Try to sleep,” I told him. “Rest is what you need.”
He shook his head and the cloth slid off, revealing two raw burns where his eyes had been. I went to replace the cloth, saw that it was getting dry, and smeared more poultice on it from the bowl at my side.
“You might as well slit my throat, Master. I’ll be of no use to you now. No use to anyone.”
“There’s been enough blood spilled here,” I said.
“No use,” he muttered as I put the soothing cloth over the place where his eyes had been. Then I propped up his head again and gave him more wine. He soon fell asleep once more.
Magro stuck his head into my tent. “Lukka, King Odysseos wants to see you.”
I stepped out into the brightening morning. Commanding Magro to watch over my sons and the sleeping Poletes, I walked swiftly to Odysseos’ boat and clambered up the rope ladder that dangled over its curving hull.
The deck was heaped with treasure looted from Troy. I turned from the dazzling display to look back at the city. The fires seemed to have died down, but hundreds of tiny figures were already at work up on the battlements, pulling down the blackened stones, working under the rising sun to level the walls that had defied the Achaians for so long.
I had to step carefully along the gunwale to avoid tripping over the piles of treasure spread over the deck. Odysseos was at his usual place on the afterdeck, standing in the golden sunshine, his broad chest bare, his hair and beard still wet from his morning swim. He had a pleased smile on his thickly bearded face.
Yet his eyes searched mine as he said, “The victory is complete, thanks to you, Hittite.” Pointing to the demolition work going on in the distance, he added, “Troy will never rise again.”
I nodded grimly. “Priam, Hector, Paris— the entire House of Ilios has been wiped out.”
“All but Aeneas the Dardanian. Rumor has it that he was a bastard of Priam’s. We haven’t found his body.”
“He might have been consumed in the fire.” Like my wife, I thought. But I held my tongue. No sense making an enemy of this man who had taken me into his house hold.
“It’s possible,” said Odysseos. “But I don’t think it’s terribly important. If Aeneas lives, he’s hiding somewhere nearby. We’ll find him. Even if we don’t, there won’t be anything left here for him to return to.”
As I gazed out toward the distant city, one of the massive stones of the parapet by the Scaean Gate was pulled loose by a horde of slaves straining with levers and ropes. It tumbled to the ground with a heavy cloud of dust. Moments later I heard the thump.
“Apollo and Poseidon won’t be pleased with what’s being done to the walls they built,” I said.
Odysseos laughed. “Sometimes the gods have to bow to the will of men, Hittite, whether they like it or not.”
“You’re not afraid of their anger?”
He shrugged. “If they didn’t want us to pull down the walls, we wouldn’t be able to do it.”
I wondered. The gods are subtler than men, and have longer memories.
Odysseos mistook my silence. “I heard about your wife,” he said, his voice grave. “I’m sorry you weren’t able to save her.”
“I found my sons,” I replied tightly. “They’re safe with my men now.”
“Good.” He gestured toward a large pile of loot at the stern of the