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them.
As he did so, he could not stop his eyes from lingering on Andromache: the curve
of her breasts beneath the yellow gown, the bright green of her eyes, the
lusciousness of her lips.
    Tearing his gaze away, he said, “Aeneas, my boy, I grieve for you. When my
own dear Hekabe died, it was as if my heart had been pierced by a flaming
arrow.”
    Priam gazed around the room. There was tension there. Andromache was sitting
stiffly, her hands folded on her lap. Hektor was standing behind her, his
expression stern, his eyes cold. Aeneas seemed oddly ill at ease. Did they know
what he was about to ask them? The priestess had arrived only late yesterday but
since then might have spoken of the matter to a servant. Instantly he dismissed
the thought. The priestess was a tight-lipped old witch and hardly likely to
gossip to palace servants. No, there was something else here. Pushing that minor
problem from his mind, he focused on the matter at hand.
    Looking at Aeneas, he asked: “Is it still your intention to risk the winter
seas and voyage west?”
    His kinsman nodded. “We need the tin,” he said simply. “With all the sources
through Kypros drying up and the Hittites using all the tin they can get, we
must seek it from farther afield. If I leave directly, I can get to the Seven
Hills well ahead of Odysseus, who will probably winter on Ithaka as he always
has.”
    Though perilous, it was a good plan, Priam knew. Without tin there could be
no bronze for the smiths to work. Without bronze, no swords, no spears, no
shields, no helms. Without bronze there could be no victory over the Mykene.
    “And you will take the Xanthos ? You will not pass unnoticed in that
fire-hurling monstrosity.”
    “No, I will not,” Aeneas agreed. “But with a full complement of eighty she is
faster than any galley and will withstand the stormy seas. Added to which she
will carry more tin than any three galleys could. As to monstrosity, well… I do
not doubt Agamemnon would agree with you.”
    Then Hektor spoke. “If any ship can make it to the Seven Hills in winter and
return safely, it is the Xanthos. We must assume Agamemnon will attack
again in the spring, be it Dardanos or Thebe-Under-Plakos or Troy itself, and we
must have the armor for our troops. I agree: Helikaon should leave as soon as
possible.”
    “As soon as possible, yes,” Priam said, walking to a small carved table and
pouring himself a goblet of water. He glanced again at Andromache. She was
wearing a necklace of sea horses carved from ivory. Sea horse clasps held back
her thick red hair. She sat with her hands in her lap and watched him gravely.
If she wondered why she had been asked there, she gave no indication.
    “There is something else we must discuss,” he told them. “Yesterday a
representative of the High Priestess arrived from Thera. It seems, Andromache, a
decision has been made about your young friend, the renegade priestess.”
    “Kalliope. Her name was Kalliope.” Andromache’s voice was low, but the king
could hear the tension in it.
    “Yes, Kalliope. As we all know, the punishment for a runaway is to be buried
alive on the isle to serve the Sleeping God. This punishment still stands. They
require that the girl’s bones be returned to Thera in the spring for burial
there, where her soul will be chained to serve the Minotaur for all eternity.”
    Andromache opened her mouth to speak, but Priam held up his hand. “Let me
finish. Those who aid a runaway must also suffer. Burning is the usual
punishment. But the two Mykene soldiers who helped her are now valued members of
the Trojan Horse. As patron of the Blessed Isle I have decided that they were
unknowing dupes. The High Priestess can make her own representations to
Odysseus, who also helped the girl. However, this leaves you, Andromache.”
    Hektor’s response, as Priam had expected, was swift.
    “Andromache was not responsible for Kalliope’s actions,” he said, an edge