The Song of Troy by Colleen McCullough Page B

you,’ he said without turning.
    I sighed. ‘What have I done now?’
    ‘Nothing deserving censure. I was merely told to bid you to come to a meeting tonight after supper.’
    ‘I can’t. I have a prior engagement.’
    ‘You had better break it. The message comes from Father.’
    ‘Bother! Why me?’
    ‘I have no idea. It’s a very small group. Just a few of the imperial sons, plus Antenor and Kalchas.’
    ‘An odd assortment. I wonder what’s the matter?’
    ‘Go, and you’ll find out.’
    ‘Oh, I will, I will! Are you invited?’
    Helenos did not answer. His face had twisted, his eyes taken on the peculiar inward gaze of the mystic. Having seen this visionary trance before, I recognised it for what it was, and stared in fascination. Suddenly he shuddered, looked normal again.
    ‘What did you see?’ I asked.
    ‘I could not see,’ he said slowly, wiping sweat from his brow. ‘A pattern, I sensed a pattern… The beginning of a twisting and turning that will go to an inevitable end.’
    ‘You must have seen something, Helenos!’
    ‘Flames… Greeks in armour… A woman so beautiful she must be Aphrodite… Ships – hundreds and hundreds of ships… You, Father, Hektor…’
    ‘Me? But I’m not important!’
    ‘Believe me, Paris, you are important,’ he said in a tired voice, then got up abruptly. ‘I must find Kassandra. Quite often we see the same things, even when we are not together.’
    But I too felt a little of that dark, webbed Presence, and shook my head. ‘No. Kassandra will destroy it.’
    Helenos was correct in that the group was very small. I was the last to arrive, took a place on the end of the bench whereon sat my brothers Troilos and Ilios – why them? Troilos was eight years old, Ilios only seven. They were my mother’s last two children, both named for the shadow man who had taken the throne from King Dardanos. Hektor was there. So too was our eldest brother of all, Deiphobos. By rights Deiphobos ought to have been named the Heir, but everyone who knew him – including Father – understood that within a year of ascending the throne he would bring everything down. Greedy, thoughtless, passionate, selfish, intemperate – those words were used of Deiphobos. How he hated us! Especially Hektor, who had usurped his rightful place – or so he saw it.
    The inclusion of Uncle Antenor was logical. As Chancellor he attended every meeting of any sort. But why Kalchas? A very disturbing man.
    Uncle Antenor was glaring at me, and not because I arrived last. Two summers ago on Ida I had loosed an arrow at a target pinned to a tree just as a wind boiled up out of nowhere; it deflected my dart far off to one side. I found it lodged in the back of Uncle Antenor’s youngest son by his most beloved concubine; the poor lad had been hiding to spy on a shepherdess bathing naked in a spring. He was dead, and I guilty of involuntary murder. Not a crime in the true sense, but still a death which had to be expiated. The only way I could do that was to journey abroad and find a foreign king willing to undertake the ceremonies of purification. Uncle Antenor had not been able to demand vengeance, but he had not forgiven me. Which reminded me that I still had not taken that journey abroad to find that foreign king. Kings were the only priests qualified to conduct the rites of purification from accidental murder.
    Father rapped the floor with the butt of his ivory sceptre, its round head flashing green because it contained a huge and perfect emerald. ‘I have called this meeting to discuss something which has gnawed at me for many years,’ he said in his firm, strong voice. ‘What brought it to the forefront of my mind was the realisation that my son Paris was born on the very day it happened, thirty-three years ago. A day of death and deprivation. My father Laomedon was murdered. So too were my four brothers. My sister Hesione was abducted, raped. Only the birth of Paris saved it from being the darkest