Fall of Kings by David; Stella Gemmell Read Free Book Online

Oniacus moved past Gershom,
heading to the prow. The men of the skeleton crew settled down on the raised aft
deck, blankets over their shoulders against the chill of the evening, while
their comrades made their way up to the town, beneath the walls of the golden
city.
    Gershom saw Helikaon, who was cradling in his arms his sleeping son, Dex, as
he was greeted by the huge Trojan prince Antiphones. Gershom turned away and
strolled to the prow.
    Oniacus was leaning against the rail and staring out across the bay at the
new war galleys. His handsome young face was set and angry, and there was
violence in his eyes.
    “Is there anything I can have sent down to you?” Gershom asked. “Wine,
perhaps?”
    Oniacus shook his head. “Wine helps you forget, they say. I don’t want to
forget. And I don’t want to talk, either.”
    “Then don’t talk,” Gershom said softly. “Two friends should be able to stand
together in silence without awkwardness.”
    The silence did not last long, nor had Gershom expected it to. It was not
that Oniacus was a gregarious man, but the grief welling up in him could not be
restrained. He began by talking of his two sons, what fine boys they had been.
Gershom said nothing; it was not necessary. Oniacus was not really talking to
him but instead speaking to the night, to the shades of his boys, to the gods
who had not been there to protect them and their mother when the Mykene had
fallen upon Dardanos with bright swords. Sadness was followed by rage, and rage
by tears. Finally there was silence again. Gershom put his arm around Oniacus’
shoulder.
    Oniacus sighed. “I am not ashamed of tears,” he said.
    “Nor should you be, my friend. It is said that the gates of paradise can only
be opened by the tears of those left behind. I do not know whether that be true.
It should be, I think.”
    Oniacus looked at him closely. “You do believe we live on and that
there… there will be some reward for those innocents whose lives were… were stolen
from them?”
    “Of course,” Gershom lied. “How could it be otherwise?”
    Oniacus nodded. “I believe that. A place of happiness. No terrors or fears,
no cowards or killers. I believe that,” he said again.
    They stood together for a while, watching the galleys on the still waters.
“The balance is wrong,” Gershom said, pointing to the nearest vessel. “See it
veer?”
    “Too much strength on the port-side oars. They need to switch some of the
rowers,” Oniacus told him. The anguish still could be seen in his eyes, but now
he was focused on the galley. “Pushing the oarsmen too hard,” he said. “All
they’ll get is sprained shoulders and shattered confidence.”
    He looked at Gershom and forced a smile. “Time for you to get ashore. The
many delights of Troy are waiting, and you do not want to be standing here
discussing the training of sailors. Do not concern yourself about me. I shall
not slash open my throat, I promise you.”
    “I know that,” Gershom replied. “I will see you tomorrow.” With that he swung
away. Oniacus called out to him, and Gershom turned.
    “Thank you, my friend,” Oniacus said.
    Gershom walked to the aft deck, gathered his cloak, and swung it to his
shoulders. Then he climbed over the deck rail and lowered himself to the sand.
    Strolling across the beach, he climbed the path to the lower town. At the
wide wooden bridge spanning the fortification ditch he saw two sentries in armor
of burnished bronze, long spears in their hands. Across the bridge a crowd had
gathered around some of the sailors from the Xanthos. One of the sentries
smiled at Gershom. He was a young man, but his face and arms bore the scars of
combat.
    “News of your victories reached us two days ago,” the sentry said. “It was as
welcome as sunshine after snow.” People clustered around the crew, patting them
on the back and calling out praises and blessings.
    Gershom eased himself around the edge of the crowd. A