Part 31 (1/2)

'They're sounding the alarm,' he answered, his voice calm but edged with uncertainty. 'I used to hear that call every other day when I was on the northern borders, but it hasn't been sounded here since Heracles attacked when my father was just a boy.'

He looked over his shoulder at the tall galleys in the bay. The mists were beginning to lift and the dark vessels were clearly visible now. The few men left aboard were pressed to the sides, looking across at the soaring walls of the city as if expecting to see an army drawing near, or to hear the clash of arms ringing out across the empty plains. But nothing had changed beyond the thinning of the clouds above and the appearance of a first few beams of sunlight. They gleamed golden on the parapets and towers of Troy, occasionally flas.h.i.+ng off the bronze helmet or spear-point of a soldier.

'It's Menelaus,' Helen said, looking nervously towards the mouth of the bay. Through the haze she could just see where the headland sloped down to reveal the wide north-easterly gulf and the open sea beyond. 'He must have come for me.'

Paris stroked her cheek and smiled rea.s.suringly. 'It's not Menelaus, I promise you. It's something else, a mistake or some kind of . . .'

'Some kind of what?' Helen asked.

But Paris's attention was focused over her shoulder, forcing her to look back and see for herself what had silenced him.

'Aphrodite save us,' she whispered.

Where only a moment before the sea had been empty, but for the mist that crept over its surface, now she could see dark shapes emerging from the wall of swirling grey. At first there were just three or four, moving with calm menace towards the mouth of the bay, but with each nervous breath that filled Helen's lungs more appeared, and then more until the whole ocean teemed with them. Their broad sails were filled with the warm breeze that a short while before she had been pleased to feel on her face and in her hair. Now she cursed it, for its gentle breath was ushering death and destruction towards her new home. Suddenly the strength left her legs and she fell forward onto her knees in the surf. More horn calls reverberated from the towers and walls of Ilium.

'Come on, Helen,' Paris said urgently. The sight of his wife collapsing released him from his shocked stupor, and he leaned forward and lifted her to her feet. 'Come on, love. We must go.'

'Why?' she retorted, trying to push him away. 'What good will it do? Menelaus has come to take me back, and the walls and armies of Troy won't stop him.' She looked in desperation at her husband and there were tears in her eyes. 'Go back, Paris. Go back to the city and leave me here. If I give myself up to the Greeks they'll depart in peace and you'll be safe.'

Before he could stop her, she ran towards the surf-edged waves as if it were her intention to swim out to the Greek fleet. Paris caught her before she was knee-deep in the water, then lifting her into his arms carried her back up the sloping beach towards his chariot. The horses stamped and snorted at his approach, pleased to be in the presence of their master again.

'You're my wife now, Helen,' he said, setting her down in the chariot, 'and for good or evil we have to face the consequences of what we've done. But I'm not letting you go back to him, even if it costs the blood of every man in Troy.'

Overwhelmed with fear, she threw her arms around his neck and buried her face in the rough wool of his tunic. Behind them, the crews of the Trojan galleys had abandoned their vessels and were now rowing in dozens of small boats to the sh.o.r.e. Further out, an endless stream of Greek wars.h.i.+ps was pouring into the mouth of the bay, the motifs on their sails now clearly visible. There were a hundred and fifty of them at least, Paris estimated -eight thousand warriors heading for his home with murderous intent.

From the walls of Troy another horn call erupted, but it was not the long, sonorous warning of the alarm. This time the sound was clear and high, repeated in short bursts, and as it rang out in defiance the gates of Troy swung open and streams of hors.e.m.e.n came flooding out to the attack.

Odysseus and Eperitus stood in the prow of the galley as a warm breeze swept the deck, bellying out the dolphin-motifed sail and pus.h.i.+ng them relentlessly towards the sh.o.r.es of Ilium. The sky above was covered by a thin layer of cloud, ploughed into long channels that screened the early morning sun, while all around them the surface of the ocean was covered in a blanket of fine mist. It condensed in their hair and on their eyelashes and made their woollen clothing damp to the touch. Everywhere they looked, packs of black-hulled s.h.i.+ps nosed forward through the white fog as if sniffing out their prey.

Eperitus looked over his shoulder at Arceisius and Polites, who sat together on the nearest bench. Arceisius's eyes stared out nervously from his pale face, making Eperitus recall the look of uncertainty he had seen on the lad's face when he had killed his first man on Samos. Did his young squire have the stomach for the coming fight, he wondered? Then, reading the look on Eperitus's face, Polites placed a long, muscular arm rea.s.suringly about Arceisius's shoulder and began talking to him in his slow, deep voice. Eperitus smiled to himself: the Thessalian was telling him not to worry; whatever lay ahead, he would look after him.

Behind them the deck was crowded with anxious Ithacans, fully armoured in greaves, breastplates and helmets. Most wore their broad leather s.h.i.+elds across their backs whilst they sat patiently on the benches, thinking of the battle ahead and the families and homes they had left behind. Their spears lay at their feet and their swords and daggers hung from their belts; for most it would be the first time they had used them in anger, and as they sailed towards the unknown experience of battle, fear and worry gnawed quietly away at their courage.

But many also took heart from the words of their king as the Ithacan soldiery had waited on the beach at Tenedos, ready to board their galleys in the pre-dawn light. Odysseus had stood before them in the full garb of war and spoken of their island homes of Ithaca, Dulichium, Samos and Zacynthos knowing full well now, after all his efforts to stop the war, that it was his spoken doom not to see them again for twenty years. He named the hills, woods, harbours and beaches that were so familiar to all of them, evoking images of faraway places that were ever near to their hearts. His voice breaking with pa.s.sion, he told them they were not merely a body of soldiers they were a band of countrymen! The dried chelonion flowers they wore in their belts were there to remind them that they were Ithacans. True, they might only be fishermen, farmers or herdsmen by trade, but they were also friends and neighbours: a common ident.i.ty and a shared homeland bound them to one another. And though for many this day would be their last dying in a strange country for a woman only a handful of them had ever seen the glory they reaped that morning would be theirs forever.

Eperitus leaned forward and peered into the mist. The Ithacans were on the far left of the fleet, with the Spartans in the centre and the Myrmidons on the right; but the vanguard was made up of forty s.h.i.+ps from Thessaly, led by the brothers Protesilaus and Podarces. Odysseus and Achilles were deliberately holding back, conscious of Thetis's prophecy that the first man to land would also be the first to die. The fact that Menelaus was not spearheading the attack, though, could only mean Achilles had also shared his mother's words of doom with the king of Sparta. Then, as Eperitus pondered these things, calls broke out from the leading s.h.i.+ps and moments later a line of low black hills appeared through the swirling fog. The sight of land brought excitement to the Ithacan benches, but a barked order from Odysseus quickly restored silence.

The mist was dissipating before the seaborne wind to reveal a spur of land, beyond which was a broad harbour filled with wars.h.i.+ps. The sight of the high-sided galleys brought a shock of fear and tension to the approaching Greeks. s.h.i.+elds were pulled from backs and spears readied; archers fitted arrows to their bows and gathered in the prows of each s.h.i.+p, ready to fire at the Trojan crews; long lances for fighting s.h.i.+p-to-s.h.i.+p were pa.s.sed forward. Then they saw the sails were furled and spars stowed. The Trojan fleet was sleeping, and with a mixture of relief and delight they realized their attack was not expected.

Suddenly the attention of every man was drawn away from the dormant enemy vessels to a new sight. Rising above the skeins of fog beyond the mouth of the bay, at last, were the battlements and towers of Troy that they had feared and dreamed of for so long. They shone white in the sunlight that was now breaking through the fine clouds, and here and there fierce flashes of bronze reflected from the weapons of the sentinels that stood on the walls. And as they looked on in awe, horns began calling from the city deep, sad notes that rolled towards the Greeks like a dirge.

'They've seen us,' Odysseus announced.

Eperitus could see the king's knuckles whiten as they gripped the shaft of his spear, but if he felt fear or doubt as they approached the enemy harbour he showed no sign of it. Eperitus, however, felt his mouth grow dry and his stomach stir with nerves. His armour was suddenly heavy as it hung about him, as if the familiar leather and bronze had been transformed to lead. The high fortifications that he had looked up at in admiration on his first visit now seemed menacing and insurmountable. This was the city for which his daughter had been brutally slain, and for which many other terrible sacrifices would soon be required. For the sake of its walls, Odysseus was doomed to spend twenty years away from his beloved family and homeland. Even the great Achilles would perish, forfeiting the sweet joys of mortal existence to die in battle and gain eternity through the songs of bards. Many others would die also, to crowd Hades's halls with their miserable spectres.

And yet few rued the war, whatever their rank or ability. For the lowborn soldier it was a chance for plunder and riches exceeding anything he could earn with the plough or the fis.h.i.+ng net. For the professional warrior there was the exhilaration of battle, for which he had trained most of his life. For those of n.o.ble blood, immortal renown called, while for the high-minded there was the hope of restoring the pride of Greece. Agamemnon would fulfil his desire for power over the Greeks and the subjugation of their enemies, and his brother would regain the wondrous wife without whom his life had lost its meaning.

From the first rumours of war, Eperitus had been enticed by the prospect of battle. The love of combat burned in his blood like a fire that could only be quenched by slaughter; and the fire was intensified by his desire to make a name for himself, a name that would outlive his brief time on earth. But since Mycenae, he had realized that such a desire was empty without someone to fight for, someone to cherish his memory and pa.s.s it down to others. That hope had perished with the death of Iphigenia, and he knew her loss had changed him. Once, his craving to abandon himself to danger had been driven by a nagging need to prove himself, to survive by the skill and strength that he possessed. Now his joy of battle was powered by other motives: to serve and protect Odysseus and ensure his safe return to Penelope and Telemachus; to honour the memory of Iphigenia, who had always looked on him as a fearsome warrior; and finally a snarling l.u.s.t to avenge her death. And since he was sworn to protect Agamemnon, it was the soldiers of Troy who would have to bear the brunt of his vengeance.

The Thessalian s.h.i.+ps were now pouring through the wide mouth of the harbour. Men appeared on the decks of the Trojan galleys, shocked at the sudden appearance of the Greek fleet. Within moments they were lowering boats into the water and rowing for the sh.o.r.e, while others jumped overboard and swam in their desperation to escape. A few of the Thessalian archers took hopeful shots at the half-naked figures, but the distance was still too great and the arrows clattered harmlessly off the decks or sank into the calm blue waters. By now the Ithacans, Spartans and Myrmidons were cramming into the entrance to the bay. There was a cacophony of noise as, in their haste to reach the undefended beach, hulls sc.r.a.ped against each other and men shouted warnings or angry threats. Then a series of new horn calls erupted from the towers of Ilium, high, quick notes that made men's blood race and their breath quicken. Every head turned towards the city and a moment later the gates burst open to release a deluge of cavalry. The Greeks stood and watched in excited horror as file after file of hors.e.m.e.n galloped out from the Scaean Gate to the south of the city, forming long lines before the western walls. Ranks of spearmen and archers exited at the same time, pouring onto the plain like an army of irritated ants whose nest had been disturbed.

On the s.h.i.+ps, kings and captains bellowed orders to their crews and the decks burst back into life as soldiers readied their arms and sailors manoeuvred their craft into lines. But the Thessalians, who had already reformed, did not wait for their allies and surged forward to the attack. Foremost among them was the s.h.i.+p of Protesilaus, who had ordered his crew to lower their oars and get the galley ash.o.r.e as quickly as possible. The sibling compet.i.tion between Protesilaus and Podarces was well known to the Greeks, and it was no surprise to see the s.h.i.+p of the younger brother follow the example of the elder and make for the beach with all speed. But Protesilaus would not be caught. He wanted the honour of being first to land on Trojan soil and now he was visible to the whole fleet, standing alone at the prow of his s.h.i.+p as it raced towards the sand. He was a tall man whose head was covered in ringlets of black hair tinged with grey that hung down to his shoulders. Though his s.h.i.+eld was on his arm and he wore breastplate and greaves, his helmet had been cast aside so that all could see him and know who was leading the attack against Troy.

The rest of the forty Thessalian s.h.i.+ps followed in the wake of their leaders, while behind them the lines of Myrmidons, Spartans and Ithacans four deep already, with more still entering the mouth of the harbour began to move into the attack. But the Trojans were racing out to meet them. Hundreds of hors.e.m.e.n, the ground thudding beneath the hooves of their mounts, poured forward across the plain, the early morning suns.h.i.+ne glinting on their raised spear-points. They were followed by dozens of chariots, each pulled by a pair of horses and carrying a driver and an archer or spearman in the light cars that bounced behind. Finally, row upon row of infantry and swarms of archers came running after them, a mighty roar of defiance thundering out from their throats to fill the air above the plain.

Protesilaus narrowed his eyes at the approaching army, several thousand strong with every man viciously armed and baying for blood. With a last, hurried prayer to Ares on his lips, he gripped the high prow of his s.h.i.+p and waited for the impact as it hit the beach. He glanced across at his brother, who was still behind him and away to his right, then behind at his men, still heaving at the oars. A moment later the broad belly of the galley thumped into a sandy shelf below the waterline. Everyone on board lurched forward, tumbling over each other as the vessel slid to a halt. With a great shout, Protesilaus leapt overboard and landed knee-deep in the water. Clutching his long spear fiercely in both hands, he waded through the surf towards the beach.

The Trojan army was now screened from his sight by a high bank, where the beach rose up to meet the firmer soil of the plain. The ridge was crowned by a curtain of tall, dry gra.s.s that quivered in the breeze from the sea. As Protesilaus cleared the water he took another fleeting look to his right, where Podarces's galley was now juddering to a halt further along the beach, then over his shoulder to where the different-coloured bows of the Greek galleys were racing towards the sh.o.r.e. His own men were now crowding into the prow of his galley, but instead of leaping into the water their eyes were focused on the plain beyond the gra.s.sy ridge. Two or three archers released hurried shots, and then Protesilaus heard the drumming of hooves followed by the snort of a horse. He looked up and saw a man on a grey mare standing on the bank at the top of the beach, a long spear held at the ready in his right hand. He was tall and powerfully built. His stern, bearded face looked down at the Greek warrior with a ferocious hatred.

'When your ghost reaches the halls of Hades,' he began, speaking in Greek, 'tell the dead you are the first of many today, and that you were slain by Hector, son of Priam.'

Protesilaus felt a momentary tremor of fear, then with a rush of energy his courage returned the strength to his limbs. In a quick movement he pulled back his spear and aimed it at the horseman. But before it could leave his hand, Hector's own weapon caught him in the chest, piercing the breastplate and hurling him backwards with such force that Protesilaus was pinned against the hull of his own s.h.i.+p. A howl of anger erupted from the deck above him, followed by a rush of armoured bodies as the Thessalians leapt down into the surf and ran yelling past their dead leader towards the man who had killed him. In response, Hector drew his sword and spurred his horse down the slope to meet them. He was followed by a great pounding of hooves, and a moment later a wave of hors.e.m.e.n swept over the gra.s.sy ridge to plunge into the crowd of Greek spearmen.

From the prow of their s.h.i.+p, Odysseus and Eperitus looked on in silence as the Thessalians fell back before the onslaught. The Trojan horses were up to their hocks in the sea, their riders hacking and slas.h.i.+ng at the invaders, lopping heads and limbs from bodies and filling the dark waters with corpses. More Thessalians leapt recklessly into the fray from the sides of their galley. The nearest hors.e.m.e.n were caught and dragged from their mounts, to be stabbed, throttled or drowned in the shallow waters. But the Trojans were winning an easy victory, enjoying the advantage of height, momentum and numbers. Hector was at the heart of the fight, a master of battle who led his men by the example of his own ferocity and courage.

The slaughter of the Thessalians was terrible to watch. The water churned all around them from the thras.h.i.+ng of the wounded and dying, and the breakers were scarlet with their blood. Further along the beach Podarces and his men were also hemmed in by cavalry, but a screen of archers firing from the prow of his s.h.i.+p forced the Trojans back and allowed him to form his spearmen into a line. Soon they were pus.h.i.+ng along the beach towards his brother's galley, driving the enemy hors.e.m.e.n before them.

'Ready your s.h.i.+elds and spears!' Eperitus ordered, looking back at the rows of soldiers. Like the Thessalians, they were mostly inexperienced and poorly armed. Fear was written clearly on many of their faces, though some seemed eager for their first battle. Others were relaxed and calm, and Polites was one of these. Towering head and shoulders above Arceisius, he chatted happily to the young squire while adjusting the fit of his armour, as if he were preparing for nothing more dangerous than a training exercise. Though the Thessalian had once been an unwelcome bandit in their homeland, the Ithacans around him drew comfort from his ma.s.sive presence and confident mien.

It pleased Eperitus to see his men and he knew his faith in them was warranted. The long days of training he and Odysseus had given them at Aulis would help them to survive, and in time their experience and fighting instinct would develop. More than that, they were drawn from doughty stock, peace-loving islanders who were slow to anger, but when roused were tough, courageous and fearsome. And though not one of them had experienced warfare on such a scale before, Eperitus was sure that under Odysseus's leaders.h.i.+p they would prove themselves more than a match for the Trojans.

Thessalian s.h.i.+ps were thumping into the sand at every point now. Eperitus watched in tense excitement as hundreds of yelling warriors spewed onto the beach, enraged at the death of their leader and seeking vengeance in Trojan blood. But Hector was a skilled cavalry commander. Knowing his lightly armoured hors.e.m.e.n were wasted in a standing fight, he was already leading them back across the plain to safety. But there was another purpose to the practised disorder of their flight, and to Eperitus's dismay many of the Greeks were taking the bait.

They were led by Podarces, who by then had found his older brother's body still pinned to the hull of his s.h.i.+p. With tears of grief and rage in his eyes, he led his men through the screen of tall gra.s.s to the plain beyond, only to see the cavalry already streaming to safety behind a long wall of Trojan spearmen. Undeterred, the Thessalians now charged towards the disciplined line of tall, rectangular s.h.i.+elds hedged with heavy spears. The immediate danger did not come from the infantry, though, but the densely packed archers who stood behind them. At an order from Hector, they let fly their arrows and the Thessalian ranks fell like stalks of wheat before a scythe. They wavered for a moment, then rushed forward again, only to be met by another hail of missiles. This time the survivors, Podarces among them, turned and fled back to the cover of the sloping beach. Not one man had reached the Trojan line.

By this time the first waves of Spartans, Myrmidons and Ithacans were hitting the sh.o.r.eline, beaching their s.h.i.+ps all along the great crescent of sand between the mouths of the Simoeis and the Scamander. Eperitus felt a heavy thud beneath the belly of the s.h.i.+p and an instant later the whole ma.s.s of wood, leather and canvas came to a halt. Within a moment he had leapt down into the surf, close behind Odysseus, and was splas.h.i.+ng up the sloping beach. The rest of the crew followed, pouring over the sides of the galley and shouting like Furies, drunk on fear and courage. All around them ma.s.ses of other Greeks were surging ash.o.r.e to join the battered Thessalians, who were already reforming for a second attack.

Out in the bay, flames were blazing up from the Trojan galleys where reckless Greeks had tossed lighted torches over the sides as they pa.s.sed. Now great plumes of black smoke were carried inland on the sea breeze, darkening the air over the beach and the plains beyond. Then there was a great hum of ma.s.sed bowstrings released simultaneously, followed by the evil hiss of arrows as they filled the sky. Men looked up in fear, watching as the black shafts seemed to hang suspended for a long moment, before plunging down again towards the crowded sh.o.r.e and the galleys behind. Eperitus and Odysseus threw themselves on the sand with their s.h.i.+elds above their heads as the deadly hail of bronze-tipped missiles fell. Many clattered on the wooden decks of the Greek s.h.i.+ps or snagged in the sails; others. .h.i.t the water or thumped into the raised leather s.h.i.+elds of crouching soldiers. And many found their mark. Men cried out as arrows bit into flesh, toppling dead and wounded alike onto the sand or back into the waiting water. More men tumbled from the decks of the s.h.i.+ps, clutching at the long, feathered shafts protruding from torsos and limbs.

'Keep your s.h.i.+elds raised, d.a.m.n it,' Odysseus shouted at his countrymen, as more arrows rose into the smoke-filled sky and fell again. More screams of pain rang out and more men fell.

Then one voice rose above all the others. It was a great bellowing shout of rage, a sound that filled even Eperitus with sudden fear. And then, bursting out from the Myrmidon ranks like a raging lion, he saw Achilles. He wore a black-plumed helmet with a bronze visor crafted to look like the face of the war G.o.d, its mouth open in a war cry and its eyes frowning in anger. He bore his tall s.h.i.+eld before him and in his right hand he carried his fabled ash spear, but no weight of arms could slow the speed of his wrath or his l.u.s.t for battle. Before his Myrmidons or any of the other Greeks could think to follow, he had sprinted up the beach and leapt through the screen of gra.s.s to the plain above. Startled and exhilarated by the ferocity and pace of Achilles's attack and desperate to see him in battle Eperitus forgot the danger of the Trojan archers and raced towards the protective bank. It seemed every other man in the Greek army had the same thought, and the roar of their voices as they charged up the beach was deafening.

Eperitus felt a new surge of energy as he dashed across the sand. Odysseus was at his side his usually mild features now fearsome to look at and together they plunged through the tall gra.s.s to the plain beyond. Ahead of them, looming like a great cliff in the distance, were the walls and towers of their goal the city of Troy. In between were the lines of Hector's infantry, their spear-points bristling as they awaited the heavily armoured Greeks. A great press of archers were behind them, preparing to release a new volley of arrows this time directly at the front rank of the invaders while the cavalry had split into two groups and were moving to protect the flanks. Hector sat astride his grey mare behind the rows of waiting spearmen, his burnished armour flas.h.i.+ng in the sunlight and his sword raised high above his head. As he saw the ma.s.s of Greeks rush out from the cover of the beach, with the lone figure of Achilles sprinting ahead of them, his stern face broke into a satisfied grin. A moment later his sword fell and a thousand arrows carried death to the enemies of Troy.

Eperitus was running with his heavy s.h.i.+eld held one-handed before him. Arrows thumped into the thick, four-fold leather; all about him soldiers screamed and crashed to the ground, to be trampled by the men behind. He glimpsed Achilles through the black smoke that rolled across the plain, swatting aside the storm of missiles with a sweep of his s.h.i.+eld as if they were nothing more than a cloud of flies. But many more followed, and to Eperitus's amazement the black shafts broke or sprang away from the prince as if they had hit a pillar of stone. Laughing with the joy of battle and the certainty of his own invulnerability, Achilles charged straight into the Trojan line, to be lost from sight as his enemies closed about him.

The rest of the Greeks followed, hurling their spears before them and bringing many of the Trojans down into the dust. The gaps were closed quickly, though, and as the Greeks drew their swords and renewed the attack desperate to come to grips with their enemies Hector boomed out another order. More arrows flew into the press of Greeks, as on their flanks the Trojan hors.e.m.e.n couched their spears under their arms and broke into a charge. At the same time, the infantry ran forward to meet the invaders, their meticulously sharpened spears glinting like points of fire through the clouds of dust.

Many of the Greeks were skewered by the onslaught and carried back into the ranks of their comrades. More fell to the arrows that swept down on them like an unceasing rain, and at the edges of the battle the Trojan cavalry were cutting deep swathes through their disorganized enemy. But if Hector's force was disciplined, experienced and well led, their numbers were too few to drive the Greek a.s.sault back into the sea. Within moments, the shock of their attack had been absorbed by the ma.s.s of men still pouring off the s.h.i.+ps and up the beaches. Many of the Trojan hors.e.m.e.n had plunged too deeply into the horde of invaders and now found themselves surrounded and cut off from their comrades, where they were killed with spears or pulled from their mounts and butchered. Elsewhere, Podarces had organized a large company of Greek archers who were returning the fire of their Trojan counterparts, killing many and breaking up the effectiveness of their volleys. And where the Trojan spearmen had at first carried their enemies before them, they were now disadvantaged by the length of their weapons against the shorter swords of the Greeks. For all the cleverness and ferocity of Hector's tactics, the momentum of his attack was being neutralized by the sheer weight of his enemy's numbers.

Chapter Thirty-two.

THE GATES OF TROY.

Eperitus and Odysseus had met the a.s.sault together, turning aside the Trojan spears with their s.h.i.+elds and bringing their swords to bear in the confined press of sweating, heaving bodies. Side by side, they could see fear in the dark faces of their opponents as they struck them down, hacking and slas.h.i.+ng indiscriminately with an energy born from the desperate will to survive and the heart-thumping joy of bringing death and destruction. As warrior after warrior fell to his sword, Eperitus felt as if like Achilles and Ajax no weapon could harm him. Though soaked in the gore of his victims, he shouted with the elation of battle, baying for more blood as he stood on a knife's edge, balanced between death and Hades on the one side and Olympian glory on the other.