The Hostage

In the bitter final winter of the Bronze Age empire of Mycenae, an untouchable outlaw returns to Greece with one final desire: to bury the bodies of men he murdered years ago, whether that act will win him redemption or not. But the only survivor of the slaughter, two irresistible kings, two women who understand men all too well, and the Great Serpent of Delphi have other plans.

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 End of Chapter One:

    Even with his arms bound, if the hostage wanted a weapon, the stool would serve. Or he could let Hawmai do whatever he wanted. That would take him safely away from Tisamenus; to what, he didn't care. But Tisamenus stood, his luminance fading as colors fade from dying trout, while his Companions waited for another man’s lead.
   He coughed, tasted blood, swallowed, and whispered, “Akhaïdes.”
   His voice hitched and croaked, barely audible. Still, everyone turned to stare. Sigewas’ deep-set eyes almost protruded from his head. Even the hound raised its ears. Hawmai snapped, “What was that?”
   He waited until shuffling legs made a momentary gap, a line of sight directly to Tisamenus. Then he said, to the king alone, “Me. I. Akhaïdes.”
   Tisamenus strode between men – not expecting this, they stepped aside – and crouched down beside the stool. He said, “Greetings, Akhaïdes.”
   “That doesn’t mean anything,” Hawmai said, cool again. “It’s not a name.”
   “Yes it is,” Tisamenus answered, meaning that it could be Akhaïdes’ name if he wanted. Akhaïdes said at the same moment, “Is,” and just like that, they were accomplices.
   “What is your patronymic?” Tisamenus asked.
   “Don’t – ” Akhaïdes cleared his throat. “No. Have.” He heard his own accent: the crude gutturals and silky foreign vowels. The forgotten grammar.
   Yet Tisamenus seemed to understand. “Even a bastard has a god to protect him, and uses that name. Everyone claims a father somehow.”
   “Not outlaws,” Hawmai reminded him. “Outlaws don’t. Can’t. Sigewas, stop bobbing around. This is not your business.”
   The white hound came, head and tail down, to sit beside Tisamenus. It reached out its nose to Akhaïdes, then drew back.
   “Are you outlaw, Akhaïdes?” Tisamenus asked.
   Akhaïdes raised his chin, seeking words. “Long. Forever. Don’t touch.”
   “There aren’t any living first-degree outlaws,” Hawmai said. “I would know.”
   “So would I!” from Sigewas.
   Hawmai ignored him. “That’s my responsibility.”
   “Yes, it is.” Tisamenus rose. “So you’ll soon know everything about him. For now, we’ll free his hands, so he can eat.”
   “What? No!” It was a chorus of protests. Sigewas added, with relish, “He murdered a man. And he didn’t have to. He just did that anyway.”
   “Maybe he thought he had to,” Tisamenus said.
   “And if he thinks he has to murder you?” Hawmai answered, “Us? My – your Companions need to sleep, not guard each other. We’re not freeing his hands.”
   “An outlaw kills again,” Tisamenus said. “What's the law in a case like that?”
   “There isn’t any case like that. It’s never happened before.”
   “No outlawed killer ever killed twice?”
   “And was taken in by – ” Hawmai stopped on the edge of something. “It’s never happened. And you don’t know why he was outlawed. It might be something worse.”
   “What’s worse than killing?” Sigewas asked, all innocence.
   Still by the door, Oxylus cleared his throat.
   “What?” Hawmai bit out, without turning, but Oxylus waited until Tisamenus looked at him. Then he said, “An outlaw can ask for refuge, whatever he did. You can keep him three nights and two days. Like you kept me when I first came to Mycenae.”
   Hawmai’s jowls hardened. “He spoke without permission. He's lawless.”
   “You asked his name before,” Sigewas said. “He was just answering.”
   A glare from Hawmai silenced but did not appear to discourage him.
   Tisamenus went down to eye level again. “Come with me, Akhaïdes Outlaw. We’re going to the Athenian camp, then to Delphi. We’ll ask the priests about absolution.”
   All the men in the room – even Hawmai – fell quiet. The hound also waited.
   Without turning, Tisamenus called quietly, “Elawon.”
   “My lord?”
   “Go to the kitchen, please. Bring my – bring something to eat. In a dish that can be broken after.”
   Akhaïdes knew without looking that Elawon silently checked with Hawmai, then answered, “Yes, my lord,” and went out. He also knew that he himself had shown no visible response to that name, although his heart had twitched sharply enough to make him catch his breath.
   “Ask,” Tisamenus said. “Just ask. Three nights and two days of safety.”
   Hawmai snapped, “If he won’t ask for refuge, you can’t keep him. It’s not forbidden to live as an unprotected outlaw. It’s just impossible.” He paused, maybe waiting for more impertinence from someone. “Feed him if you want, but then put him back outside. Tonight, before they know he’s here.”
   “They’ll kill him,” Tisamenus said. “Or he’ll go to his dead all alone.”
   “Outlaws’ spirits can't go there. They fly around stealing decent men's places.”
   Akhaïdes lowered his head and murmured, “Help me.”
   Response came swiftly: Hawmai’s exasperated grunt, Sigewas’ hoot of delight, Tisamenus’ formal, “You are welcome, Akhaïdes Outlaw.”
   Tisamenus reached out both hands. “Do you know how to do this?” Then he added, “You can’t pollute a king.” So Akhaïdes had to lay his own long, grimy hands, still bound together, palms joined, between Tisamenus’. When he snatched away again, Tisamenus smiled. Smiled.
   Had his hands been free, Akhaïdes would have ripped Tisamenus’ throat out. Had his hands been free, he would have caressed the boy's shoes in abject surrender. Had his hands been free, he would have held his own head and wept.
   Instead he was snared like any other stupid animal: tempted, hoping, strangled. All he had had to do was sit here. Instead he had slipped his head into a noose. He should have chewed one arm off to free himself. He should have found a way to do that.