The Hittite - Ben Bova [105]
“Let’s take a swim,” I said, making myself smile at them.
They made no move, no response.
Getting slowly to my feet, I said, “In the water. We’ll pretend we’re dolphins.”
“Mama told us not to go into the water,” little Uhri said in his high child’s voice.
“Not above our knees,” added Lukkawi.
Nodding, I replied, “That’s all right. I’ll hold you. We’ll look for fish.”
I scooped Uhri up in one arm; he was as light as a little bird. I looked down at Lukkawi and offered him my free arm. He hesitated a moment, then reached up and allowed me to lift him off the sand. Both boys clutched at my neck and I stood there for a brief moment, my heart thumping beneath my ribs, my sons in my arms.
And my heart melted. These were my sons. They trusted me to protect them, to provide for them, to show them how to become men. I felt a lump in my throat that I’d never known before.
“We’re going into the water now,” I told them, my voice strangely husky. “It’s all right. I’ll hold you. You’ll be safe.”
Slowly I waded into the water. Up to my knees. Up to my waist. When the boys’ feet touched the water they both squirmed.
“It’s cold!”
“No, no. That’s only the way it feels at first. You’ll get used to it and then it will feel warm.”
I held them tightly and moved very slowly into deeper water. Uhri let go of me with one hand and splashed a wave into his brother’s face. Lukkawi splashed back. In a few heartbeats they were laughing and splashing, drenching me and each other.
We laughed and played together. Before long the boys were paddling happily in the water.
“Look! I’m a fish!” Lukkawi shouted, and then he squirted out a mouthful of water.
“Me too!” cried Uhri.
I sat on the sea bottom, only my head and shoulders above the waves, and watched my sons playing in the water. It was strange. I hardly knew these boys, yet once they clung to me, once they trusted me in the water, I felt as if they were truly mine forever. My father had been right. Flesh of my flesh: these boys were my sons and I would protect them and teach them and help them all I could to grow into strong, self-reliant men.
When I told them it was time to get out of the water they both squalled with complaint. But when I said that I was hungry, they quickly agreed that they were hungry, too. They shivered as we walked back to the tents, despite the warm noontime sunshine. I stripped off their wet rags, rubbed them down with woolen blankets and found decent shifts for them to wear. They were too big, of course: Uhri’s dragged on the ground until I got one of the women to stitch a hem on it.
We ate with my men: chunks of broiled goat and warm flat bread. The boys drank water, the men wine. There was plenty of meat to be had, since the sacrifices of the previous night.
That made me think of Aniti again, and my guts clenched inside me. I told myself that there was nothing I could do about her. I had tried my best to save her and failed. Now I had my two sons to take care of. What’s done is done and not even the gods can unravel it. Yet my insides burned.
Until my mind pictured Helen’s incredible face and golden hair. What’s happened to her? I found myself wondering. Does she still live?
After our noonday meal I looked in on Poletes. He was awake, lying on his back on my cot, his eyes covered by a poultice-smeared rag.
“How do you feel?” I asked him.
For a few heartbeats he made no reply. Then, “The pain is easing, Master Lukka.”
“Good. Tomorrow we leave this wretched place.”
“Will you put me out of my misery then?”
The thought hadn’t occurred to me. “No. You’ll come with us.”
“I’ll be nothing but a burden to you.”
“You’ll come with us,” I repeated. “We might need you.”
“Need me?” he sounded genuinely surprised at the thought. “Need me for what?”
“To tell the tale of Troy, old windbag. When we come to a village the people will gather ‘round to hear your voice.”
Again he fell silent. At last he murmured, “At least Agamemnon didn