Troy 03 - Fall of Kings Read Online Free PDF Page A

air.
    “You cannot complain,” he told himself aloud. Fifty years old, and only now does the trembling start. Karpithos had endured the tremors for close to twenty years before his sight had failed.
    Time drifted by, and Khalkeus, never a patient man, began to grow more irritated. Rising from the couch, he walked out into the night air.
    Black smoke was drifting up from the center of the fortress, where the kitchens still smoldered.
    Despite their obvious enthusiasm for destruction, Khalkeus thought, the enemy had been largely incompetent. Many of the burned buildings had suffered superficial damage only. And the support struts of the bridge called Parnio’s Folly had been ignored by the Mykene. They had hacked at the bridge planks with ax and sword to weaken them, then poured oil on the flat timbers before setting them ablaze. The idiots had not realized it was the support struts, set deeply into the cliffs on both sides, that gave the structure its strength. Whoever had designed them had been a master at his craft. With them still in place, undamaged by fire, the bridge could be rebuilt within days.
    Khalkeus glanced to his right. In the moonlight he saw three men hauling a wide handcart. The bodies of several women and children had been laid on the cart. A wheel struck an uneven patch on the road, causing the vehicle to shudder. One of the dead women slid sideways. The movement caused her torn tunic to ride up, exposing her buttocks. Instantly the three men stopped pulling the cart, and one of them hurried back to cover her nakedness.
    How strange, Khalkeus thought. As if she would care.
    Khalkeus wandered back into the
megaron.
Several servants were placing fresh torches in brackets on the wall. Khalkeus called out to one of them. “You there! Bring me some bread and wine.”
    “And you are?” the man asked, his tone surly.
    “Hungry and thirsty,” Khalkeus replied.
    “Are you a guest of the king?”
    “Yes. I am Khalkeus.”
    The servant grinned. “Truly? The Madman from Miletos?”
    Khalkeus sighed. “I am not from Miletos, but yes, that is what some idiots call me.”
    The man brought him a platter of black bread, some cheese, and a jug of watered wine. The bread was not fresh, but smeared with the cheese, it was palatable enough. Khalkeus sipped his wine and glanced toward the great doors and the moon shadows beyond them. He wished Helikaon would come so that he could conclude his business here and head back to Troy and his new forges.
    His first attempts at smelting metal from the red rocks had proved disappointing. Even the hottest furnace had produced a useless spongy gray mass. The fires, he decided, needed to be even hotter, and to that end Khalkeus had ordered the construction of a new furnace on the northern plateau of Troy, where the wind was keen.
    But he needed more time and more gold.
    He was convinced that Helikaon would understand. If Khalkeus succeeded, the rewards would be colossal. Swords, spears, arrowheads, and armor could be fashioned from the red rocks, which were plentiful all across the east. No need for expensive tin to be shipped from far islands beyond the Great Green or soft copper from Kypros and other Mykene-held lands. Metal implements—plows, nails, barrel ties—could be produced at a fraction of the price of bronze.
    The blazing torches were replaced twice before Helikaon returned. Flanked by five young men, he strode into the building, shouting for a servant to bring water. His handsome face was smeared with grime, his long dark hair tied back in a ponytail that reached his shoulders. Moving to the carved throne, the young king slumped down, leaned back, and closed his eyes. Several of the men with him began speaking. Khalkeus listened as they complained of the insurmountable difficulties facing them.
This
could not be done because of
that,
and
that
was impossible because of
this.
Khalkeus felt his irritation flare. Stupid men with lazy minds. Instead of solving problems,