The Hittite - Ben Bova [36]
The young prince on Priam’s left had to be Paris, I thought. Helen leaned against the intricately carved back of Paris’ chair, resting one hand on his shoulder. It took an effort for me to look away from her and study Paris. He was almost prettily handsome, darker of hair than his older brother, his neatly trimmed beard seemed new, thin. He looked up at her and she smiled dazzlingly at him. Then they both turned their gaze toward me as I approached the throne. Helen’s smile disappeared the instant Paris looked away from her. She regarded me with cool, calculating eyes.
Priam was older even than aged Nestor, and obviously failing. His white beard was thin and ragged, his long hair also, as if some wasting disease had hold of him. He seemed sunk into his robe of royal purple as he sat slumped on his gold-inlaid throne, too tired even this early in the morning to sit upright or lift his arms out of his lap.
The wall behind his throne was painted in a seascape of blues and aquamarines. Graceful boats glided among sporting dolphins. Fishermen spread their nets into waters teeming with every kind of fish.
“My lord king,” said Hector, dressed in a simple white tunic, “this emissary from Agamemnon brings another offer of peace.”
“Let us hear it,” breathed Priam, as faintly as a sigh.
They all looked to me.
I glanced at the assembled nobility and saw an eagerness, a yearning, a clear hope that I carried an offer that would end the war. Especially among the women I could sense the desire for peace, although I realized that the old men were hardly firebrands.
I had never been presented to the emperor in Hattusas, but I had a vague idea of how to behave in the presence of royalty. I bowed deeply to the king, then to Hector and Paris, in turn. I caught Helen’s eye as I did so, and she seemed to smile slightly at me.
“Oh great king,” I began, “I bring you greeting from High King Agamemnon, leader of the Achaian host.”
Priam nodded and waggled the fingers of one hand, as if urging me to get through the preliminaries and down to business.
I did. “Great king, the Achaians are willing to leave your shores if you will return Helen to her rightful husband.”
It seemed as if nobody in the wide chamber breathed. The very air went still.
Then Priam wheezed, “And?”
“Nothing further, my lord. Return Helen and the war will end.”
Hector fixed me with a hard gaze. “No demand for tribute? No demand for Helen’s fortune to be returned?”
“No, my lord.”
Priam’s wizened face broke into a slow smile. “No demands except the return of Helen?”
“Yes, my lord.”
The old king turned toward Hector. “This is indeed a new and better offer.”
Hector frowned slightly. “Yes. With our army camped at their rampart. They know that we’ll be storming their camp and driving them into the sea.”
“At what cost?” Priam asked softly.
“I will never surrender my wife,” Paris snapped. “Never!”
“My lord,” I said, “I am a newcomer to this war. I know nothing of your grievances and rights. I have been instructed to offer you the terms for peace, which I have done. It is for you to consider them and make an answer.”
Paris was clearly angry. “ We refused their insulting terms when Agamemnon and his host were pounding on our gates. Why should we even consider returning my wife to them, now that we have the barbarians penned up on the beach? In a day or two we’ll be burning their boats and slaughtering them like the cattle they are!”
Ignoring his son’s outburst, Priam asked me, “A newcomer, you say? Yet you claim to be of the House of Ithaca. When you ducked your head past the lintel of our doorway I thought you might be the one they call Great Ajax.”
I replied, “King Odysseos has taken me into his house hold, my lord king. I arrived on these shores only a few days ago.”
“And singlehandedly stopped me from storming the Achaian camp,” Hector said, somewhat ruefully. “Too bad Odysseos has adopted you.