Free Troy 02 - Shield of Thunder by David Gemmell Page B

order to be wed to Hekabe’s son, the warrior Hektor. Piria had been with her in the council chamber.
    “My sister, Paleste, is betrothed to Hektor,” Andromache had argued.
    The high priestess had looked uncomfortable. “Paleste died in Troy. A sudden illness. Your father and King Priam have agreed that you will honor the pact they made.”
    Piria knew that Paleste had been dear to Andromache and saw the shock register on her face. Her head dropped, and she was silent for a while; then her expression hardened, and she looked up at the high priestess, her green eyes glinting with anger. “Even so I will not go. No man has the right to demand that a priestess quit her sacred duty.”
    “These are special circumstances,” said the high priestess, her tone uncomfortable.
    “Special? You are selling me for Priam’s gold. What is
special
about that? Women have been sold since the gods were young. Always by men, though. It is what we have come to expect from them. But from
you
!” Andromache’s contempt filled the room like a seething mist, and Piria saw the high priestess blanch. She expected an angry response. Instead the older woman merely sighed.
    “It is not just for Priam’s gold, Andromache, but for all that gold represents. Without it there would be no temple on Thera, no princesses to placate the beast below. Yes, it would be wonderful if we could ignore the wishes of powerful men like Priam and do our duty here unmolested. Such freedom, however, is a dream. You are a priestess of Thera no longer. You will leave tomorrow.”
    That night, as they had lain together for the last time, listening to the breeze whispering through the leaves of the tamarisk trees, Piria had begged Andromache to flee with her. “There are small boats on the far side of the isle. We could steal one and sail away.”
    “No,” Andromache said, leaning down and kissing her tenderly. “There would be nowhere to run, my love, except into the world of men. You are happy here, Kalliope.”
    “There can be no happiness without you.”
    They talked long then, but finally Andromache said: “You must stay, Kalliope. Wherever I am, I will know you are safe, and this will strengthen me. I will be able to close my eyes and see the isle. I will see you run and laugh. I will picture you in our bed, and it will comfort me.”
    And so, her heart seared, the woman now called Piria had watched the ship sail east in the morning sunlight.
    Despite her sorrow she had tried to immerse herself in her duties, in the prayer chants and the offerings to the Minotaur rumbling beneath the mountain. The days had ground on, bleak and empty, through the winter. Then, in the spring, old Melite had collapsed while gathering crocuses and white lilies for the midday ritual. They had carried her to her room, but her breath was rasping, and all knew that death was not far off.
    Piria had been watching beside her, late in the night, when the old woman had sat upright in her bed, her voice suddenly rich and strong. “Why are you here, child?” she asked.
    “To be with you, Sister,” Piria replied, putting her arms around the old woman and easing her back onto the pillows.
    “Ah, yes. On Thera. Where is Andromache?”
    “She has gone. You remember? To Troy?”
    “Troy,” the old woman whispered, closing her eyes. She was silent for a while; then she cried out, “Fire and death. I see Andromache now. She is running through the flames. There are savage men pursuing her.” The old woman began waving her arms. “Run!” she screamed.
    Piria grabbed at a flailing hand. “Be calm, Melite,” she said. “You are safe.”
    The dying priestess opened her eyes, her body tense. Tears began to flow. “Wicked, wicked men! Doom will find you. The Minotaur will devour you. He will come with great thunder, and the sky will darken and the sun vanish.”
    “What of Andromache?” Piria whispered. “Can you still see her? Speak!”
    The old woman relaxed and smiled. “I see