Troy 01 - Lord of the Silver Bow Read Free Page B

who would hug her and stroke away the pain. But that was when they lived in a bigger house with a flower garden and all the uncles were rich and young. Now they were old and grubby, and they did not bring fine presents but only a few copper rings. They no longer sat and laughed with Mother. Mostly they did not talk at all. They would come in the night. Phia would be sent outside, and they would leave after a short time. Lately no uncles had come at all. There were no gifts, no rings, and little food.
    Phia climbed higher. On top of the cliff she saw the jagged stand of rocks that surrounded the shrine. Apollo’s Leap, it was called, because as Mother had said, the golden-haired god of the sun once had rested there before flying back into the sky to his chariot of fire.
    The child was almost at the end of her strength as she forced her way up the steep slope. Dizzy with fatigue, she stumbled into the rocks. Lightning lit the sky. Phia cried out, for the brilliant light suddenly illuminated a figure standing on the very edge of the high cliff, arms raised. Phia’s legs gave way, and she slumped to the ground. The clouds broke then, the moon shining through. The god lowered his arms and turned slowly, rain glistening on his naked upper body.
    Phia stared at him, eyes wide and frightened. Was it the Lord of the Silver Bow? Surely not, for this god’s hair was long and dark, and Apollo was said to have locks fashioned from golden sunlight. The face was striking and stern, the eyes pale and hard. Phia gazed at his ankles, hoping to see wings there, which would mean he was Hermes, messenger of the gods. Hermes was known to be friendly to mortals.
    But there were no wings.
    The god approached her, and she saw that his eyes were a bright, startling blue. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
    “Are you the god of war?” she asked, her voice trembling.
    He smiled. “No, I am not the god of war.”
    A wave of relief swept over her. The mighty Ares would not have healed Mother. He hated humans.
    “My mother is ill, and I have no offerings,” she said. “But if you heal her, I will work and work and will bring you many gifts. All my life.”
    The god turned away and walked back through the rocks.
    “Please don’t leave!” she cried. “Mother is sick.”
    He knelt down and lifted a heavy cloak from behind a rock, then, sitting beside her, wrapped the garment around her shoulders. It was of the softest wool. “You came to the shrine seeking help for your mother? Has a healer visited her?”
    “He would not come,” she told the god. “So I went to the temple, but I had no offerings. They sent me away.”
    “Come,” he said. “Take me to your mother.”
    “Thank you.” She tried to rise. Her legs gave way, and she fell awkwardly, mud spattering the expensive cloak. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she said.
    “It matters not,” he told her, then lifted her into his arms and began the long walk back into the town.
     
    Somewhere during that walk Phia fell asleep, her head resting on the god’s shoulder. She woke only when she heard voices. The god was speaking to someone. Opening her eyes, she saw a huge figure walking alongside the god. He was bald but had a forked beard. As she opened her eyes, the bearded one smiled at her.
    They were approaching the houses, and the god asked her where she lived. Phia felt embarrassed because these were nice houses, white-walled and red-roofed. She and her mother lived in a shack on the wasteland beyond. The roof leaked, and there were holes in the thin wooden walls through which rats found their way in. The floor was of dirt, and there were no windows.
    “I am feeling stronger now,” she said, and the god put her down. Then she led the way home.
    As they went inside, several rats scurried away from her mother.
    The god knelt on the floor alongside her and reached out to touch her brow. “She is alive,” he said. “Carry her back to the house, Ox,” he told his friend.