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May. 12th, 2007 05:53 pmMykale, the youngest of Priam's serving-women, peered for a moment through the crack in the door before coming into the room. "Has anyone seen the lord Hektor of late?" she asked, worrying at her lip with her teeth. "His father is looking for him."
"And he will find him soon enough, most likely," returned Thalestris. The older woman was in an ill temper indeed; she had been chasing after Priam's youngest yet, Podarges, for a good half the day. "The boy heard that the Turkmen had come to the city with their horses, and there was nothing for him this morning but to make ready to see them. If they are come to the Palace to see the King, Hektor will be there, I'm sure."
Mykale shook her head, thinking of the ways that could go wrong; but it was not her place to say, so she bowed her head and slipped off to see if she might not find the young prince anyway. As it happened, Thalestris was right. Mykale found Hektor nowhere that she searched, but as she drew close to the courtyard to beg the King's pardon for her failure, she heard Hektor's voice and could draw breath freely again. She found a spot where she might look out into the courtyard without being much seen, and settled down to watch.
"We do not see your people here in Troy often," said the King. His hair was dark, though not so dark as his son's; brown, where the boy's beside him was black. There was no grey yet beginning either in his hair or in his beard. "We are glad indeed to receive the people of Ashgabat in our city. Be welcome here in Troy, Lord Roustam."
The foreigner was perhaps half a head taller than Priam, garbed in brown robes embroidered with phoenixes. His beard was trimmed down to the area around his chin, and his upper lip untrimmed, so that the hair above flowed smoothly into that below. "It is an honor," said Roustam. "Blessings and good fortune be upon you and your household."
"And yours as well," said the King. This sort of exchange of compliments would go on for a good while, Mykale knew, so she contented herself to watch without listening. The men from Ashgabat had brought many servants with them, some of whom, she knew, would be staying behind as gifts to the King and his family. No one made such a great journey as this without leaving behind some token, she knew. Roustam's people had brought silks as well, for that was their mission in Troy. The fabric was lighter and finer than any linen woven in Egypt, and came from some land so far to the east that it was said it was a year old before it ever reached Babylon. How the men of Ashgabat had received it, she did not know, but it would fetch a handsome price indeed in the city's market.
There were gifts of gold offered in return, of course. Not given in exchange, as if it were some common purchase, but as tokens of esteem; too, they allowed Priam to show the foreigners the best of his people's craftsmanship, and of the handiwork of those that Troy traded with to the west. Jewels and diadems for the women, hung with disks of hammered gold and wrought silver; belts for the men, and such rings and bracelets as any lord might envy. And necklaces, too, heavy with Hyperborean amber, which was only had seldom and then at a great price; but one well worth it, if the light of Roustam's eyes were anything to judge by. "King Priam," said the foreigner, holding the necklace up to catch the light, "this is a princely gift indeed."
"As well it should be," said Priam, smiling. "The guest of the land is sacred."
Roustam nodded. "So too do we say in my own land," he said, "but you have outdone by far our own poor generosity to our hosts. I fear I have only one gift left that I might offer, and you must judge its worth for yourself." He turned and gestured to one of his servants, calling to him in their own tongue. As the man retreated, bowing, Roustam said, "He is ill-tempered, I am afraid; all his bloodline are so. But it is well worth it. His father was my own stallion Rakhsh, and you will find none finer in all of our lands."
Priam's own eyes lit at that, but it was as nothing compared to his son's. Hektor had stood silent and sober, watching and listening, through all the meeting of the two men. But at the mention of the foreigner's horse he drew himself up straight, watching the gates at the far end of the courtyard alertly, tense as a bowstring in the moment before the arrow flies. Roustam noticed, and smiled. But he said nothing, for five men were leading the horse in: a horse very nearly the color of bronze, as tall at the shoulder as any ever seen in Troy. It needed five men to lead him, for he was tossing his head in fury and bugling as if he meant to warn all the world of his wrath.
The king looked to his son, and then to the horse. Even so far away as this Mykale could see it in his eyes: it would be the work of half the Palace Guard to keep the boy away from the magnificent monster.
"And he will find him soon enough, most likely," returned Thalestris. The older woman was in an ill temper indeed; she had been chasing after Priam's youngest yet, Podarges, for a good half the day. "The boy heard that the Turkmen had come to the city with their horses, and there was nothing for him this morning but to make ready to see them. If they are come to the Palace to see the King, Hektor will be there, I'm sure."
Mykale shook her head, thinking of the ways that could go wrong; but it was not her place to say, so she bowed her head and slipped off to see if she might not find the young prince anyway. As it happened, Thalestris was right. Mykale found Hektor nowhere that she searched, but as she drew close to the courtyard to beg the King's pardon for her failure, she heard Hektor's voice and could draw breath freely again. She found a spot where she might look out into the courtyard without being much seen, and settled down to watch.
"We do not see your people here in Troy often," said the King. His hair was dark, though not so dark as his son's; brown, where the boy's beside him was black. There was no grey yet beginning either in his hair or in his beard. "We are glad indeed to receive the people of Ashgabat in our city. Be welcome here in Troy, Lord Roustam."
The foreigner was perhaps half a head taller than Priam, garbed in brown robes embroidered with phoenixes. His beard was trimmed down to the area around his chin, and his upper lip untrimmed, so that the hair above flowed smoothly into that below. "It is an honor," said Roustam. "Blessings and good fortune be upon you and your household."
"And yours as well," said the King. This sort of exchange of compliments would go on for a good while, Mykale knew, so she contented herself to watch without listening. The men from Ashgabat had brought many servants with them, some of whom, she knew, would be staying behind as gifts to the King and his family. No one made such a great journey as this without leaving behind some token, she knew. Roustam's people had brought silks as well, for that was their mission in Troy. The fabric was lighter and finer than any linen woven in Egypt, and came from some land so far to the east that it was said it was a year old before it ever reached Babylon. How the men of Ashgabat had received it, she did not know, but it would fetch a handsome price indeed in the city's market.
There were gifts of gold offered in return, of course. Not given in exchange, as if it were some common purchase, but as tokens of esteem; too, they allowed Priam to show the foreigners the best of his people's craftsmanship, and of the handiwork of those that Troy traded with to the west. Jewels and diadems for the women, hung with disks of hammered gold and wrought silver; belts for the men, and such rings and bracelets as any lord might envy. And necklaces, too, heavy with Hyperborean amber, which was only had seldom and then at a great price; but one well worth it, if the light of Roustam's eyes were anything to judge by. "King Priam," said the foreigner, holding the necklace up to catch the light, "this is a princely gift indeed."
"As well it should be," said Priam, smiling. "The guest of the land is sacred."
Roustam nodded. "So too do we say in my own land," he said, "but you have outdone by far our own poor generosity to our hosts. I fear I have only one gift left that I might offer, and you must judge its worth for yourself." He turned and gestured to one of his servants, calling to him in their own tongue. As the man retreated, bowing, Roustam said, "He is ill-tempered, I am afraid; all his bloodline are so. But it is well worth it. His father was my own stallion Rakhsh, and you will find none finer in all of our lands."
Priam's own eyes lit at that, but it was as nothing compared to his son's. Hektor had stood silent and sober, watching and listening, through all the meeting of the two men. But at the mention of the foreigner's horse he drew himself up straight, watching the gates at the far end of the courtyard alertly, tense as a bowstring in the moment before the arrow flies. Roustam noticed, and smiled. But he said nothing, for five men were leading the horse in: a horse very nearly the color of bronze, as tall at the shoulder as any ever seen in Troy. It needed five men to lead him, for he was tossing his head in fury and bugling as if he meant to warn all the world of his wrath.
The king looked to his son, and then to the horse. Even so far away as this Mykale could see it in his eyes: it would be the work of half the Palace Guard to keep the boy away from the magnificent monster.
