Marion Zimmer Bradley's Sword of Avalon (27 page)

The city’s former owners had not taken their cattle with them, so despite all the discomforts, there was plenty of meat, even for the slaves. Velantos had filled out again, and Woodpecker had put on more inches. He was taller than his master now, taller than most of Aletes’ men, though some of the royal guard were from some northern land where they grew long of limb and light of hair.

King Aletes himself was a rather small man who wore the tall cap of kingship so habitually it was rumored he slept with it on. His queen, who was Doridas’ daughter, sat on a stool beside him. He had put aside his northern wife and married the Korinthian princess in order to legitimize his rule. Woodpecker pitied the girl, who was even younger than he was, but at least she did not have to watch her father and uncle paraded on display at this informal meal. Aletes’ first marriage had produced a daughter called Leta, a sallow, brown-haired adolescent with her father’s big nose who sat at her youthful stepmother’s side. Woodpecker wondered how they got along. From all he had heard, most of Aletes’ life had been spent in a series of army camps. Perhaps the girl was so glad to live in a house she did not care who ruled it.

He tossed the beef bone to one of the hounds that Aletes kept in the hall and carefully wiped his mustache. It was still a little wispy, and the beard was no more than a fringe. It was coming in a much brighter red than the rest of his hair. The elaborate plucking and shaving by which the nobles tended their facial hair was not for him, but at least a smith could make his own razor, and he and Velantos kept each other trimmed.

As he passed Velantos the wine jug, the twanging lyre ceased and the megaron grew still. Aletes had risen, swaying a little. He did not water his wine.

“Cold enough for you?” The king laughed. Woodpecker shivered refex ively. There had been a scattering of snow on the ground that morning and tonight would likely bring more. Their bench was at the very edge of the room, near the door. An icy draft stirred his hair.

“You southern men know nothing about cold! In Thessalia snow covered the fields, but even that’s nothing to what they have in the north. In my youth I was a great traveler—” Wine sloshed from the golden cup as he gestured. Woodpecker took a drink from his own mug and sat back, wondering which of the stories they were about to hear again.

“I crossed the great mountains that hold up the sky, so tall they bear snow all year around, looking for the copper mines in the region beyond. And then I went even farther, into a land of mighty trees. I was a guest that winter of the king of the Tuathadhoni at Bhagodheunon. That was snow! Heaped up in drifts all the way to the thatching! It lasted until the Turning of Spring!

“He made me his guest-friend. Gave me gifts when the weather warmed at last, and sped me on my way. And when the time came for the Children of Erakles to return, I sent word to him, and he gifted me with good fighting men—” He gave a nod to the benches where his bodyguard were lingering over their wine. “Now the time has come to repay his generosity. A new messenger has come with agreements from the king.

“My daughter Leta shall cross the great mountains to marry the son of King Maglocunos, and with her shall go bridewealth from the treasure of Korinthos—gold and bronze, a chariot and horses from Thessalia, and a master smith of the Middle Sea!”

Woodpecker felt Velantos stiffen and cast him a quck look—clearly this was a surprise to him as well.

“The trade of the north will come to Korinthos,” the king proclaimed, “and the trade from the rich lands to the south that our allies now rule. Ships shall come to the isthmus from east and west. We sit at the crossroads of the world, and we will make Korinthos wealthy beyond our dreams!”

The warriors surged to their feet with a mighty shout, cups raised high, and then, still chattering, began to stream out of the megaron. The little queen and the princess rose as well. Woodpecker wondered if
Leta
had been informed of the honor in store for her before this announcement was made. Her face showed no reaction, but she had clearly learned to hide her thoughts at an early age. He sympathized.

Velantos rose and picked up the striped blanket that served him as a cloak during the day. “You go—get a fire going in the brazier. I am going to talk to the king.”

“Be careful.” Frowning, Woodpecker watched the older man limp across the tiled floor and bow before the throne. Then he shrugged himself into his own wraps and went through the prodomos to the court beyond. As he turned down the staircase to the small chamber that he shared with Velantos, he caught sight of a woman—no, two females, one carrying a lantern, passing through the lower gate.

Where could they be going in this weather and at this hour? Silently he followed. The tiny flicker of light was bobbing down the path that led to the shrine of the Lady of the Doves. He had visited it once himself to make a thank offering after one of the serving maids had initiated him into the Lady’s Mysteries. That had been on a sunny summer morning. It would be freezing down there now, with no shelter but the perimeter wall and the few cypresses that clung to the side of the hill. They would be lucky if the wine stayed liquid long enough to pour a libation.

The statue was a weather-worn stone whose contours barely suggested breasts and the cleft between curving thighs. But each year they gave her a new spear and shield. Up here on the akropolis even the Lady who presided over love had weapons, but perhaps that was just as well. In the marriage to which Leta was going, she might need to be armed.

 

 

 

“MY LORD, I BEG the favor of a few words with you,” Velantos said in a low voice, and wondered why Aletes looked so apprehensive.
Perhaps he feels guilty about disposing of my future so blithely,
he thought with a bitter satisfaction.
Even though I wear rags, he remembers I was not born a slave.

“Do you think I should have consulted you about the journey to the barbarians?” snapped the king. He edged to one side so that Velantos, who had been standing with his back to the hearth, had to turn. He supposed that with the bulky blanket broadening his shoulders and his face in shadow he might have appeared somewhat menacing.

“You are the king. You do what you will,” rumbled the smith. “But I would ask . . .” he added carefully, “if you are unhappy with my work.”

“Unhappy?” The king looked genuinely surprised. One of the guards started toward them and Aletes motioned him away again. “No, not at all. Really, your talents are wasted here. What we need now, any man who can bang on a blade can do.”

“You think they will appreciate me more in the northern wilds?” Velantos said dubiously.

“Not so wild as you might think.” Aletes grinned, stroking his grizzled beard. “Great lords there, you will see. Think a lot of themselves. Before they seek our trade, they’ll have to be impressed by our skills.”

The smith strove to keep his expression bland, but his heartbeat had quickened with something that was not fear.

“They will not be impressed by the skills of a slave,” he said flatly.

The king flushed and frowned. “You will go where I say if I have to send you in chains.” The king moved back to his throne. He motioned, and Velantos knelt before him, hearing his knee joints crack as he got down.

“You can constrain my body,” the smith agreed, “but not my craft. You can kill me, but I work for the Lady of the Forge, not you.”

Aletes blinked, striving to assimilate the idea that he did not own his captive’s will. “What do you want?”

“Set me and my forge boy free.”

“Do you value him?” A spark of cunning flickered in the king’s gaze. “Perhaps I shall keep him here as a hostage for your cooperation.”

He thinks that fear will chain me,
thought Velantos, and realized with surprising pain that it was almost true. But then, Korinthos could not have been conquered by a stupid man. The smith could play for his own life, but dared he risk the boy? Life, or that which made life worth living? Which would Woodpecker choose?

“I need him,” he said quietly, hoping that his voice did not betray in how many ways that statement was true. “Send us together, outfitted like men of worth, and I will do marvels.”

“Is he your
eromenos
?” the king asked curiously. Velantos was grateful that he did not use a cruder word. If Aletes thought he understood their relationship, it was more than Velantos did himself. But it didn’t matter what the king believed, so long as he agreed.

Velantos managed a shrug. “Separate us and you might as well set us to herding goats on the hills, for all the use we will be.”

“You won’t go running back to Tiryns?”

Velantos felt his face grow bleak. “Tiryns—my city—is dead. Mykenae is fallen. There is nothing for me there, nothing for me in any of the lands of the Middle Sea.”

Aletes sat back, rubbing his bare upper lip. “I didn’t get where I am by refusing to take a chance—” he said finally. “I suppose we will have to find you some proper clothes . . .” The king sighed.

 

 

 

WOODPECKER JERKED AWAKE AS the door slammed. “Are you drunk?” he asked as Velantos stumbled against the bed frame. “Are you hurt? What did he
say
to you?”

The rawhide straps groaned as the smith sat on the edge of the bed and began to unwrap his woolen leggings.

“We’re goin’ on a journey—” Velantos gave an uncharacteristic snort of laughter. Woodpecker’s nose twitched at the scent of wine. “Cap, cape, an’ sword. Goin’ to the end of the world, but we’re gonna be
free . . .
” He swung his legs onto the bed, gave a hiccup, and fell over onto his side.

“Velantos!” Woodpecker exclaimed, but the only answer was a snore. He had seen men drink to drown sorrow, but why dull one’s wits for joy? If there had been any wine in the room, he would have taken a swig himself to dull the frustration he was feeling now. The headache Velantos was likely to have in the morning would not improve his temper, but at least he would be conscious. He would have to give up the whole story then.

Woodpecker pulled the covers up and curved his body against the other man’s to make a cocoon of warmth against the chill. His mind raced with speculation.
North . . .
he thought, with a curious lurch of the heart. In Tiryns the northern horizon had been walled by mountains. It had been easy to pretend the world ended there. But the citadel of Korinthos faced northward, and now they would be traveling into the heart of the Great Land.

But that was still a long way from home. . . .

WOODPECKER HAD HEARD OF mighty mountains in the country of the Ai-Ushen, but except for the very highest, men said that their coverings of snow melted when summer came. The mountains the travelers from Korinthos were facing now were surely the pillars of the sky. Tier upon tier they rose, snow and bare rock frowning above darkly wooded slopes and patches of meadow.

He drew in a harsh breath, feeling the chill air sear his lungs. The mountain dwellers they had hired to guide them through the passes laughed when they saw the lowlanders panting and said they had been spoiled by too much fat air. They might be right, thought Woodpecker as the path leveled and he paused to catch his breath. Certainly he had never known air so clear. A peak like a god’s hat looked close enough to touch, though he knew it was many leagues away. Only the eagles traveled freely here.

This is Diwaz Pitar’s land,
he told himself, or at least it did not belong to Posedaon. They had been in Istria, waiting for the passes to clear, when they had felt the earth shake. He had still been recovering from the journey north along the coast, and for a moment thought he was at sea again. It was many days later when a battered ship brought news of the earthquake that had leveled what remained of the citadels of Tiryns and Mykenae. Queen Naxomene had been a true oracle. Korinthos had not fared much better, but even before they left, King Aletes had been planning to build a great house on the ruins of the old town below. The Dorians did not need the citadel.
They
were the enemy it had been built to repel.

He heard stone crunch behind him as the line of porters caught up, and started into motion again. They had abandoned the wagons several days ago. No wheeled vehicle could manage these paths. The princess was the only one riding, in a covered chair carried by the sturdiest slaves her father had been able to find, and when the way grew too steep, even she had had to get out and climb.

At least the trail was well marked. At regular intervals they would find a cairn of stones piled up in offering to the mountain spirits, or perhaps to honor men who had perished here. There was one just ahead—he bent to pick up a shard of granite to add to the pile. With all its dangers, this was a major trade route. The wealth of the northern lands—furs and amber and copper from the mountain mines—flowed over these passes, and in return came amphorae of wine and rolls of fine cloth and weapons and ornaments of worked bronze and gold.

“Move, boy—” grunted Velantos, and Woodpecker shook his head and continued to climb.

 

 

 

THAT NIGHT THEY CAMPED at the edge of a mountain meadow, in a three-sided shelter of rudely piled stone they roofed with a length of oiled wool. Velantos, who by the end of the day was limping badly, eased down by the fire with a skin of wine, too tired to do more than glare when Woodpecker asked if he wanted to climb up the slope a little to watch the sun go down.

Still grinning at that answer, the boy found a spot beneath an overhang of rock that gave a little protection from the wind and settled himself on a flat stone. Below him a fold of the mountains wound northward, its depths lost in shadow while the western sides of the peaks flamed with rose and gold. Earlier, he had seen some kind of brown goatlike creature bouncing from crag to crag, but now the mountains were still, the hush so deep it echoed in the ear like a sound.
Peace . . .
he thought, caught in the timeless moment, in which he was one with the pine tree that clung to the rock and the starry white flowers that nodded where a little soil had collected among the stones.