"David Gemmel - Troy 02 - Shield of Thunder" - читать интересную книгу автора (Gemmel David)

A thin, round-shouldered priest left the queen’s bedchamber. He saw the hard-faced woman and
dipped his head in greeting. “I fear the end is close, Great Sister,” he said. “The child is breeched.”
“Then bring me to her, idiot.”
Heraklitos saw the priest redden, but he stepped back, beckoning the woman forward, and they
returned to the bedchamber. A tough old crow, Heraklitos thought. Then he recalled that the priestess
had spoken of the babe as “she.” A seeress, then—or believed she was. If she was right, then the wait
was even more galling. Who cared if a girl child lived or died? Or even a boy, he thought glumly, since
King Ektion already had two strong young sons.
The night wore on, and Heraklitos and some twenty others waited for the inevitable sound of wailing
that would herald the queen’s death. But then, just as the dawn broke, there came the birth cry of a
newborn. The sound, so full of life, brought to the jaded ambassador a sudden sense of joy, an uplift
to the spirit he would not have thought possible.
A short while later the courtiers, Heraklitos among them, were led into the queen’s apartments to
greet the new arrival.
The babe had been laid in a crib at the bedside, and the queen, looking pale and exhausted, was
resting against embroidered cushions, a blanket across her lower body. There was a great deal of
blood on the bed. Heraklitos and the others gathered around silently, holding their hands over their
hearts in a gesture of respect. The queen did not speak, but the priestess of Athene, her hands caked
with drying blood, lifted the infant from the crib. It gave a soft, gurgling cry.
Heraklitos saw what at first appeared to be a smear of blood upon the child’s head, close to the crown.
Then he realized it was a birthmark, almost perfectly round, like a shield, but with a jagged white line
of skin running through it. “As I prophesied, it is a girl,” said the priestess. “She has been blessed by
Athene. And here is the proof,” she added, tracing her fingers across the birthmark. “Can you all see
it? It is Athene’s shield—the Shield of Thunder.”
“What will be her name, Highness?” asked one of the courtiers.
The queen stirred. “Paleste,” she whispered.
The following day Heraklitos left on the long journey back to Troy, bearing news of the birth of the
princess Paleste and the more important tidings of a treaty between the two cities. He was not,
therefore, present when King Ektion returned and went to his wife’s bedside. The king, still in battle
armor, leaned over the crib and reached inside. A tiny hand came up toward his. Extending a finger,
the king laughed as the babe gripped it tightly. “She has the strength of a man,” he said. “We shall
name her Andromache.”
“I have given her the name Paleste,” his wife said.
The king leaned down and kissed her. “There will be more children if the gods will it. The name
Paleste can wait.”

For Heraklitos the next nineteen years proved rich and fulfilling. He journeyed south to Egypte, east to
the center of the Hittite empire, and northwest through Thraki and Thessaly and down to Sparta. All
the while he grew richer. Two wives had borne him five sons and four daughters between them, and
he had been blessed by the gods with good health. His wealth, like that of Troy, had grown steadily.
But now his luck had run out. It had begun with a steadily increasing pain in his lower back and a
hacking dry cough that would not leave him even in the warmth of the summer sun. His flesh had
melted away, and he knew that the Dark Road was approaching. He struggled on, still seeking to serve
his lord, and was called one night to the royal apartments, where King Priam and his wife, Hekabe, had
been consulting a seer. Heraklitos did not know what the man had prophesied, but the queen, a fierce
and ruthless woman, seemed in a high state of tension.
“Greetings, Heraklitos,” she said without any reference to his weakness or concern for his health.
“Some years back you were in Thebe Under Plakos. You talked of a child born there.”
“Yes, my queen.”
“Tell me again.”