Rise of Princes by Janell Rhiannon

Author:Janell Rhiannon [Rhiannon, Janell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-02-24T22:00:00+00:00

THIRTY

a raging heart

TROY—1247 BCE

NAUPLIUS SCANNED THE horizon as the Bay of Troy come into view; hundreds of galleys lined the beachhead, marking the landing base of the western tribes united under Agamemnon. The ocean broke rhythmically against the hull of his own ship. Above, clouds filled the pale blue, and Apollo’s light warmed the following wind. After word had reached him that his son had been betrayed by Odysseus, he wasted no time making for Agamemnon’s camp. He sneered as he thought of the Great King, sitting on some wide-backed chair, smugly presiding over an audience of his captains as he pleaded for justice regarding Palamedes’ death. When he thought of the cruel way in which his son’s life was ripped away, how his mangled and broken body was burned on a pyre without honor, without words to wing his spirit to Hades, Nauplius wasn’t certain if justice would suffice. His heart raged for revenge.

When his ship was securely beached at the end of the bay, Nauplius was aided through the shallow surf safely to the shore where he was met by a small contingent of soldiers draped in flowing scarlet capes. These, he guessed, had been sent as escorts from Agamemnon’s camp. “I seek audience with your king.”

A nameless soldier, dark eyes visible through the slit of his bronze helmet, gruffly said, “He awaits you. We are to take you straightaway.”

Nauplius walked in silence as he was escorted through throngs of men sitting around fire pits, in various states of undress or napping, or eating or playing at dice. They did not look the ferocious army he’d imagined; in fact, he thought they looked tired and ragged. The only exceptions were the hard-faced men positioned behind thousands of blackened shields. These men sat polishing and sharpening weapons. These men I would fear.

As they neared the center of the encampment, Palamedes’ father caught a glimpse of Agamemnon’s tent towering above the rest of the camp, sprawling as wide as a small temple. Two sentries, shining in bronze and draped in the red of the Great King, stepped aside as Nauplius’ escort approached. He pushed through the opening into the amber light of dozens of oil lamps. Agamemnon sat enthroned in his gilded chair. The supplicant raised a brow at the accumulated luxury. Thick carpets and tapestries. Golden bowls and tall stemmed cups. Stores of wine. The tent glittered with the king’s portion of the geras. Despite his surprise, Nauplius bowed deeply before the Agamemnon. “My lord.”

Agamemnon rose, extending a hand in friendly greeting. “Come, Nauplius, your journey was long. You must be famished. We both know provisions aboard a ship leave much to be desired.” The king led his guest to a table lavishly set with platters of ripe figs, dates stuffed with the sweetness of ground almonds mixed with honey, salt cured olives, rounds of fresh baked flat bread, and soft goat cheese. When Nauplius sat, the Great King signaled for the wine.

As Nauplius took his drink, nodding his thanks, he couldn’t help but imagine his son as the figure shrouded in the shadow behind the king.

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