Shield of Thunder Read Free

noticed the harsh edge in Odysseus’ reply. Penelope took a deep breath, preparing herself to intervene.
    “I would have thought,
kinsman,
that you might have shared your good fortune with others of your blood rather than a foreigner,” Nestor said.
    “And I would have,” Odysseus said, “save that the foreigner you speak of discovered the Seven Hills and opened up the trade route. It is not for me to share his secrets.”
    “Only his gold,” Nestor snapped.
    Odysseus hurled his wine cup across the room. “You insult me in my own palace?” he roared. “We had to fight for the Seven Hills against brigands and pirates and painted tribesmen. That gold was hard-won.”
    The angry atmosphere lay thick in the
megaron,
and Penelope forced a smile. “Come, kinsmen. You sail for Troy tomorrow for the wedding feast and games. Do not let this night end with harsh words.”
    The two men looked at each other. Then Nestor sighed. “Forgive me, old friend. My words were ill advised.”
    “It is forgotten,” Odysseus said, gesturing at a servant to bring him another cup of wine.
    Penelope heard the lie in the words and knew that Odysseus was still angry. “At least in Troy you will be able to forget Agamemnon for a while,” she said, seeking to change the subject.
    “The western kings are
all
invited to see Hektor wed to Andromache,” Odysseus said glumly.
    “But Agamemnon will not be there, surely?”
    “I think he will, my love. Sly Priam will use the opportunity to bend some of the kings to his will. He will offer them gold and friendship. Agamemnon cannot afford
not
to go. He will be there.”
    “Is he invited? After the Mykene attack on Troy?”
    Odysseus grinned and imitated the pompous tones of the Mykene king. “I am saddened”—he spread his hands regretfully—“by the treacherous attack by rogue elements of the Mykene forces on our brother King Priam. The king’s justice has been meted out to the outlaws.”
    “The man is a serpent,” Nestor admitted.
    “Will your sons compete in the games?” Penelope asked him.
    “Yes, they are both fine athletes. Antilochos will do well in the javelin, and Thrasymedes will beat any man in the archery tourney,” he added with a wink.
    “There’ll be a green moon in the sky that day,” muttered Odysseus. “On my worst day I could spit an arrow farther than he could shoot one.”
    Nestor laughed. “How coy you are with your wife in the room. The last time I heard you brag about your skills, you said you could fart an arrow farther.”
    “That, too,” Odysseus said, reddening. Penelope was relieved to see good humor restored.
    On the beach the
Penelope
was finally fully loaded, and the crew members were straining on ropes in the effort to get the old ship refloated. The two sons of Nestor were there, both waist-deep, their backs against the timbers of the hull, pushing her out into deeper water.
    The queen of Ithaka stood and brushed pebbles from her dress of yellow linen and advanced down the beach to say farewell to her king. He stood with his first mate, Bias the Black, dark-skinned and grizzled, the son of a Nubian mother and an Ithakan sire. Beside him was a massively muscled blond sailor named Leukon, who was becoming a fistfighter of some renown. Leukon and Bias bowed as she approached, then moved off.
    Penelope sighed. “And here we are again, my love, as always,” she said, “making our farewells.”
    “We are like the seasons,” he replied. “Ever constant in our actions.”
    Reaching out, she took his hand. “And yet this time is different, my king. You know it, too. I fear you will have hard choices to make. Do not make bullheaded decisions you will regret afterward and cannot change. Do not take these men into a war, Odysseus.”
    “I have no wish for war, my love.” He smiled, and she knew he meant it, but her heart was heavy with foreboding. For all his strength, his courage, and his wisdom, the man she loved had one great weakness. He