The Hittite - Ben Bova [110]
Yet at night as I lay on the cold, hard ground I cursed myself for a fool. I knew that if I wanted her she would yield to me. What choice would she have? But I couldn’t take her that way. No matter the urges of my body, I could not force myself on her. Each night I felt more miserable, more stupid. And each night I dreamed of Helen, although sometimes her face changed to Aniti’s.
Poletes slowly grew stronger, and began to learn how to feel his way through his blindness. He was very good with my sons, amusing them for hours with his endless trove of stories about gods and heroes, kings and fools.
The boys were a constant source of joy for me. And worry. Too innocent to understand the dangers we faced, they played rough-and-tumble games whenever we camped. On the march they ran alongside our carts or begged rides on the horses, then returned to their wagon with Poletes or Helen. But even then they kept themselves busy turning empty flour sacks into tents, broken tools into magic swords. It never ceased to amaze me how little boys could turn almost anything into a toy.
I tried to keep them out of sight when we were in a village or town. And I insisted that Helen stay well hidden among the sacks and bundles in the wagons. She grew impatient, of course, as women will.
“But no one knows of me here,” she said as we approached the city of Ti-smurna. “We’re hundreds of leagues from Troy.”
I was sitting on the wagon’s highboard beside her, working the donkeys’ reins. Behind us, among the bales and baggage, Poletes was spinning a tale about Herakles to my two eagerly listening boys. The men were riding the horses up ahead of us and the other wagon was trundling along in the rear, with the string of extra horses ambling along behind.
I shook my head. “How do you know that Menalaos or some other Achaians haven’t come to this city in search of you?”
She was wearing a simple shift, and the long weeks on the road had thinned her face somewhat. Her flawless skin was coated with dust, but her glorious hair shone in the sunlight like a torrent of gold.
Helen laughed at my fears. “ We left Ilios before Menalaos realized I was gone, Lukka. He couldn’t have gotten here ahead of us.”
“Couriers ride fast horses,” I said.
“We would have seen them on the road long before this,” she countered.
“Ships travel faster still.”
That stopped her. She knew that Menalaos had dozens of boats to send in search of her, if he wished. Even though we had traveled along the coast road most of the way, the road cut well inland in several places. A boat could have passed and we would never have seen it.
But Helen replied, “He’d never send one of his precious boats to seek me. He’d never admit I’d gotten away from him once again. No, Lukka, he’s telling everyone he killed me and burned my body. He’s not trying to find me.”
I nodded wearily. It was no use arguing with her. She was determined to believe what she wanted to believe. But I still felt that uneasy prickling sensation that warned me we were being followed.
Ti-smurna was a sizable city, the largest in the land of the Arzawa, who had been vassals of the Hatti emperor until the empire dissolved in civil war. I decided to bypass it. The men grumbled; they had been looking forward to finding a decent inn and sleeping under a roof for a change. With women. Helen became angry at my decision.
“You’re being foolish!” she snapped at me. “You’re frightened of shadows.”
I said nothing. A man doesn’t argue with an angry woman. I let her rant. Poletes talked to her that evening, while we camped within sight of the city’s walls.