The Song of Troy Read Online Free PDF Page A

covered his scalp in masses, his lashes were long and black, his black brows finely arched above eyes so dark I could not tell their colour, blue or brown.
    Hekabe tickled him beneath his perfect chin. ‘What will you call him, my lord?’
    ‘Paris,’ I said instantly.
    She flinched. ‘Paris? “Married to death”? It is an ominous name, my lord. Why not Alexandros, as we had planned?’
    ‘His name will be Paris,’ I said, turning away. She would learn soon enough that this child was married to death on the day of his birth.
    I left her higher on her pillows, the bundle cradled feebly against her swollen breasts. ‘Paris, my wee man! You are so beautiful! Oh, the hearts you will break! All women will love you. Paris, Paris, Paris…’

2
    NARRATED BY
    Peleus
    When my new kingdom of Thessalia was in order and I could trust those I left behind me in Iolkos to deal properly with my affairs, I went to the isle of Skyros. Weary, I craved the company of a friend, and as yet I had no friend in Iolkos who could rival King Lykomedes of Skyros. He had been lucky: he had never been banished from his father’s realm, as I had; nor fought tooth and nail to carve another kingdom for himself, as I had; nor gone to war to defend it, as I had. His forefathers had ruled his rocky island since the beginning of time and Gods and men, and he had succeeded to his throne after his father died lying in his own bed, surrounded by his sons and daughters, his wives and concubines; for the father of Lykomedes had adhered to the Old Religion, as did Lykomedes – no monogamy for the rulers of Skyros!
    Old Religion or New, Lykomedes could look forward to the same kind of death, whereas my chances were not so assured. I envied him his tranquil existence, but as I walked with him in his gardens I realised that he had entirely missed a great many of life’s pleasures. His kingdom and his kingship meant less to him than mine did to me; he carried out his work thoroughly and conscientiously, being both a softhearted man and an able ruler, but he lacked utter determination to hang onto what was his because no one had ever threatened to take anything off him.
    I knew in full the meanings of loss, of hunger, of desperation. And loved my hard-won new kingdom of Thessalia as he could never love Skyros. Thessalia, my Thessalia! I, Peleus, was High King in Thessalia! Kings owed me allegiance, I, Peleus, who had not set foot north of Attika until a few years ago. I ruled the Myrmidons, the Ant People of Iolkos.
    Lykomedes intruded. ‘You think of Thessalia,’ he said.
    ‘How can I keep my thoughts away?’
    He waved a white, languid hand. ‘My dear Peleus, I am not endowed with your powerful enthusiasms. Whereas I smoulder sluggishly, you burn bright and clear. Though I am content to have it so. Were you in my shoes, you would not have stopped until you owned every isle between Crete and Samothrake.’
    I leaned against a nut tree and sighed. ‘Yet I’m very tired, old friend. I’m not as young as I once was.’
    ‘A truth so obvious it doesn’t bear mentioning.’ His pale eyes surveyed me pensively. ‘Do you know, Peleus, that you have the reputation of being the best man in Greece? Even Mykenai has to notice you.’
    I straightened and walked on. ‘I am no more and no less than any other man.’
    ‘Deny it if you must, but it is true all the same. You have everything, Peleus! A fine big body, a shrewd and subtle mind, a genius for leadership, a talent for inspiring love in your people – why, you even have a handsome face!’
    ‘Continue praising me like this, Lykomedes, and I will have to pack up and go home.’
    ‘Be still, I’m done. Actually I have something I want to discuss with you. The paean of praise was leading up to it.’
    I looked at him curiously. ‘Oh?’
    He licked his lips, frowned, decided to plunge into troubled waters without further ado. ‘Peleus, you are thirty-five years old. You are one of the four High Kings in