35- Moon Kisses

“Lord Phoinix will note the names of all who wish to fight.”

There was a movement at the benches, as men started to rise. But Peleus held up his hand.

“There is more.” He lifted a piece of linen, dark with dense markings. “Before Charlie’s betrothal to King André, she had many suitors. It seems these suitors swore an oath to protect her, whosoever might win her hand.

Agamemnon and André now charge these men to fulfill their oath and bring her back to her rightful husband.” He handed the linen sheet to the herald.

I stared. An oath. In my mind, the sudden image of a brazier, and the spill of blood from a white goat. A rich hall, filled with towering men.

The herald lifted the list. The room seemed to tilt, and my eyes would not focus. He began to read.

Antenor. Eurypylus. Machaon.

I recognized many of the names; we all did. They were the heroes and kings of our time. But they were more to me than that. I had seen them, in a stone chamber heavy with fire-smoke.

Agamemnon. A memory of a thick black beard; a brooding man with narrowed, watchful eyes.

Odysseus. The scar that wrapped his calf, pink as gums.

Ajax. Twice as large as any man in the room, with his huge shield behind him.

Max, the bowman.

Menoitiades.

The herald paused a moment, and I heard the murmur: who? My father had not distinguished himself in the years since my exile. His fame had diminished; his name was forgotten. And those who did know him had never heard of a son. I sat frozen, afraid to move lest I give myself away. I am bound to this war.

The herald cleared his throat.

Idomeneus.

Diomedes.

“Is that you? You were there?” Gerardo had turned back to face me. His voice was low, barely audible, but still I feared that someone might hear it.

I nodded. My throat was too dry for words. I had thought only of Gerardo’ danger, of how I would try to keep him here, if I could. I had not even considered myself.

“Listen. It is not your name anymore. Say nothing. We will think what to do. We will ask Chiron.” Gerardo never spoke like that, each word cutting off the next in haste. His urgency brought me back to myself, a little, and I took heart from his eyes on mine. I nodded again.

The names kept coming, and memories came with them. Three women on a dais, and one of them Charlie. A pile of treasure, and my father’s frown. The stone beneath my knees. I had thought I dreamt it. I had not.

When the herald had finished, Peleus dismissed the men. They stood as one, benches scraping, eager to get to Phoinix to enlist. Peleus turned to us. “Come. I would speak further with you both.” I looked to Thetis, to see if she would come too, but she was gone. The king was in his old chair, the one closest to the fire, with its cushions and high back. His eyes rested on Gerardo.

“I have called you home with the thought that you might wish to lead this army.”

It was spoken. The fire popped; its wood was green.

Gerardo met his father’s gaze. “I have not finished yet with Chiron.” “You have stayed on Pelion longer than I did, than any hero before.” “That does not mean I must run to help the sons of Atreus every time

they lose their wives.”

I thought Peleus might smile at that, but he did not. “I do not doubt that André rages at the loss of his wife, but the messenger came from Agamemnon. He has watched Troy grow rich and ripe for years, and now thinks to pluck her. The taking of Troy is a feat worthy of our greatest heroes. There may be much honor to be won from sailing with him.”

Gerardo’ mouth tightened. “There will be other wars.”

Peleus did not nod, exactly. But I saw him register the truth of it. “What of Patroclus, then? He is called to serve.”

“He is no longer the son of Menoitius. He is not bound by the oath.” Pious Peleus raised an eyebrow. “There is some shuffling there.”

“I do not think so.” Gerardo lifted his chin. “The oath was undone when his father disowned him.”

“I do not wish to go,” I said, softly.

Peleus regarded us both for a moment. Then he said, “Such a thing is not for me to decide. I will leave it to you.”

I felt the tension slide from me a little. He would not expose me. “Gerardo, men are coming here to speak with you, kings sent by

Agamemnon.”

Outside the window, I heard the ocean’s steady whisper against the sand.

I could smell the salt.

“They will ask me to fight,” Gerardo said. It was not a question. “They will.”

“You wish me to give them audience.” “I do.”

There was quiet again. Then Gerardo said, “I will not dishonor them, or you. I will hear their reasons. But I say to you that I do not think they will convince me.”

I saw that Peleus was surprised, a little, by his son’s certainty, but not displeased. “That is also not for me to decide,” he said mildly.

The fire popped again, spitting out its sap.

Gerardo knelt, and Peleus placed one hand on his head. I was used to seeing Chiron do this, and Peleus’ hand looked withered by comparison, threaded with trembling veins. It was hard to remember, sometimes, that he had been a warrior, that he had walked with gods. I was glad; it was an easy excuse, in case anyone asked why we shared a bed. We reached for each other, and I thought of how many nights I had lain awake in this room loving him in silence.

Later, Gerardo pressed close for a final, drowsy whisper. “If you have to go, you know I will go with you.” We slept.