The Hittite Read Online Free PDF Page B

looking for a free meal.”
    “ We are trained Hatti soldiers,” I said evenly. “ We can be of great help to your king.”
    He planted his fists on his hips. “A dozen more mouths to feed, that’s all I see here.”
    I drew myself up to my full height, several fingers taller than he. “Are you going to announce our presence to your High King or not?”
    He tried to outstare me, but soon blinked and looked away. “To the High King? You must be mad. I’ll tell his chief steward, he’s the one who’s always sending boats back to Argos for more warriors.”
    “Fair enough,” I said, deciding to accept his decision.
    “You,
thes
,” he growled at Poletes. “Get back to the work gang, where you belong.”
    Poletes turned to me, his big frog’s eyes silently begging, like a sorrowful puppy.
    “He’s with me,” I heard myself say, even as I thought it was foolish to be so softhearted. A Hatti soldier should be made of sterner stuff.
    “Him?” Thersandros guffawed. “He’s nothing but a worthless
thes
.”
    “He’s my servant,” I said evenly.
    “You can’t—”
    “He’s my servant,” I repeated, with more iron in it.
    Thersandros shrugged and muttered, “Suit yourself, then. Find yourselves a fire for the night. Over there will do.” He pointed to a handful of men sprawled around one of the cook fires. “Tell them Thersandros said they should share what they can with you.”
    I tried to hold back the anger that rose in me. Sending a pack of strangers to soldiers already huddling by their evening fire and ordering them to “share what they can” is an excellent way to start a fight.
    Yet even as I stood before Thersandros, struggling to keep my temper, my eye chanced on the line of women who were carrying food and drink into Agamemnon’s cabin.
    They were slaves, I knew. Most of them were young and slim, some were even pretty.
    The third one in the line was my wife.

8

    I started to call out to her, but she disappeared into the cabin before I could gather my wits and utter a sound. I started toward the lodge, but Thersandros grabbed my arm.
    “You can’t go in there!” he snapped, frowning at me. “That’s the High King’s quarters.”
    “That woman is my wife,” I said.
    His frown changed into a look of sheer disbelief. “Those are slaves, Hittite. The High King’s slaves, at that.”
    I pulled free of his grip. “She’s my wife,” I insisted.
    Thersandros pointed to the guards in polished bronze armor standing on either side of the hut’s doorway. “They’ll spit you on your spears if you try to go in there.”
    “Then you go in and bring her out to me.”
    “Me?” He broke into a bitter, barking laugh. “The High King doesn’t give up his slaves, Hittite. Not to me and certainly not to the likes of you.”
    He dragged me away from the cabin, back toward my men. “I’ll ask about her for you,” he said, grudgingly. “Don’t expect a miracle.”
    My blood was hot. I gripped the pummel of my sword, thinking that I could slice this Thersandros’ liver out of him before he knew what hit him. Then, with my squad of men, I could break past those guards and take my wife out of Agamemnon’s lodge, out of slavery.
    And then what? I asked myself. Twelve men against the whole Achaian camp? Madness. And where were my sons? What would happen to them if I started a brawl here in the camp? How could I save them, protect them, if I were killed battling like a hotheaded fool?
    So I forced myself to remain silent, to walk slowly away from Thersandros and back toward my waiting men, seething with rage, trembling with the effort to control myself.
    Aniti is alive, I told myself. A slave, but still alive. Where are my sons? I wondered. A bitter voice in my mind answered. Already dead, most likely. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to silence that voice.
    Poletes broke my train of thoughts. Pointing to the Achaians gathering around their fire, he said, “Let’s get something to eat