Read Online The Song of Troy by Colleen McCullough - Free Book Online

their hard stern faces.
    Peleus got down first and came up to me before I could back away; my flesh crawled when he embraced me affectionately, then I found my revulsion tempered by his warmth.
    ‘Sooner or later, Chiron, I suspect it is impossible to look any older. Are you well?’
    ‘All considered, sire, very well.’
    We strolled a little way from the cars. I gave Peleus a mutinous look.
    ‘How can you ask me to teach again, sire? Haven’t I done enough? Is there no one else capable of dealing with your sons?’
    ‘Chiron, you have no peer.’ Gazing down at me from his great height, Peleus gripped my arm. ‘You must surely know how much Achilles means to me. He is my only son, there will be no others. When I die he must take both thrones, so he must be educated. I can do much myself, but not without a proper basis. Only you can instil the rudiments, Chiron, and you know it. Hereditary Kings are precariously positioned in Greece. There are always contenders waiting to pounce.’ He sighed. ‘Besides, I love Achilles more than life itself. How can I deny him the education I had?’
    ‘That sounds as if you spoil the boy.’
    ‘No, I think he is incorruptible.’
    ‘I do not want this task, Peleus.’
    His head went to one side, he frowned. ‘It’s foolish to flog a dead horse, but will you at least see the boys? You might change your mind.’
    ‘Not even for another Herakles or Peleus, sire. But I will see them if you wish it.’
    Peleus turned and beckoned to two lads who stood by the second chariot. They approached slowly and one behind the other; I could not see the boy who brought up the rear. Scant wonder. The boy in the lead was certainly eye-catching. Yet a true disappointment. Was this Achilles, the cherished only son? No, definitely not. This one had to be Ajax; he was too old to be Achilles. Fourteen? Thirteen? Already as tall as a man, his great arms and shoulders rippled with muscle. Not an ill-looking lad, but not distinguished either. Just a big adolescent with a slightly snub nose and stolid grey eyes which lacked the light of real intellect.
    ‘This is Ajax,’ said Telamon proudly. ‘He’s only ten, though he appears much older.’
    I waved Ajax aside.
    ‘This is Achilles?’ My voice sounded constricted.
    ‘Yes,’ said Peleus, trying to sound detached. ‘He’s big for his age too. He turned six last birthday.’
    My throat felt dry. I swallowed. Even at that age he owned some personal magic, some spell he used unknowing which bound men to him and made them love him. Not so heavily built as his first cousin Ajax, but a tall, strongly formed child nonetheless. For so young a boy he stood in a very relaxed manner, his weight distributed on one leg, the other gracefully forward a little, his arms loose by his sides but not awkward looking. Composed and unconsciously regal, he seemed made of gold. Hair like Helios’s rays, winged brows gleaming like yellow crystal, polished gold skin. Very beautiful, save for the lipless mouth – straight, slitlike – heartbreakingly sad yet so determined that I quailed for him. He looked at me gravely out of eyes the colour of the late dawn, yellow and cloudy; eyes filled with curiosity, pain, grief, bewilderment and intelligence.
    I signed away seven of my dwindling store of years when I heard myself say, ‘I will teach them.’
    Peleus beamed and Telamon hugged me; they had not been sure.
    ‘We won’t stay,’ said Peleus. ‘The cart holds all the boys will need, and I’ve brought servants to look after you. Is the old house still standing?’
    I nodded.
    ‘Then the servants can use it as their lodging. They have orders to obey your least command. You speak in my name.’
    Shortly afterwards they drove away.
    Leaving the slaves busy unloading the cart, I went to the boys. Ajax stood like the mountain itself, impassive and docile, his eyes unshadowed; that thick skull would have to be pounded before the mind within became aware of its rightful