Part 23 (1/2)
CHAPTER NINETEEN.
THE FOG OF WAR.
Earlier that night, after the sun fell below the horizon to reveal a sky full of stars, Odysseus had stood on the walls of King's Joy, nursing a pain in his shoulder and a wound to his heart.
Three days previously, his valiant force of Ithakans and Kephallenians had been fighting on the Scamander plain when the Trojan Horse had punched into the western armies like a battering ram, turning a knife-edge battle into a near rout.
Two of Hektor's riders had charged as one into Odysseus' infantry, each guarding the other's flank, hacking with their swords, killing and wounding all around them. As one rider raised his sword high to slash at a young crewman from the Bloodhawk, Bloodhawk, Odysseus, running up behind, lanced a spear deep into the rider's side, straight into the heart. The bronze spear head lodged under a rib. Odysseus tried to drag it out but pulled the dead rider off his horse. With dead and dying warriors around him, the Ithakan king was slow to get out of the way, and the body fell on him, dislocating his shoulder. The arm bone had been wrenched back into place by Podaleirios, the Thessalian surgeon, but even now, days later, Odysseus was still in pain. He had thrown away the sling he had been given and had hidden his discomfort from others. But now, as he moved his arm experimentally, as if swinging a sword, he cursed as agony fired through his shoulder. Odysseus, running up behind, lanced a spear deep into the rider's side, straight into the heart. The bronze spear head lodged under a rib. Odysseus tried to drag it out but pulled the dead rider off his horse. With dead and dying warriors around him, the Ithakan king was slow to get out of the way, and the body fell on him, dislocating his shoulder. The arm bone had been wrenched back into place by Podaleirios, the Thessalian surgeon, but even now, days later, Odysseus was still in pain. He had thrown away the sling he had been given and had hidden his discomfort from others. But now, as he moved his arm experimentally, as if swinging a sword, he cursed as agony fired through his shoulder.
Twenty years ago, he thought irritably, or even ten, I would have shaken off this injury within a day.
The greater agony, though, was in his heart. He remembered Penelope's words years before on the beach at Ithaka. ”I fear you will have hard choices to make. Do not make bullheaded decisions you will regret afterward and cannot change. Do not take these men into a war, Odysseus.” ”I fear you will have hard choices to make. Do not make bullheaded decisions you will regret afterward and cannot change. Do not take these men into a war, Odysseus.”
”I have no wish for war, my love,” he had told her, and he had meant it.
How the G.o.ds on Olympos must be reveling in the irony, he thought ruefully. Or perhaps his wife's fear never should have been voiced at all, lest the G.o.ds were listening and chose to make it real.
For here he was, within sight of the Golden City, his loyal men fighting side by side with the Mykene for Agamemnon, whose obsession was to destroy the city, kill Odysseus' former friends, and take its wealth for himself.
He remembered Helikaon's words to him at their last meeting: ”I have not seen Priam's h.o.a.rd of gold, but it would have to be mountainous to maintain the expense of this war. Gold pa.s.ses from the city every day, to hire mercenaries, to bribe allies. And there is little coming in now. If the fighting goes on much longer and you do take the city, you may find nothing of real worth.” ”I have not seen Priam's h.o.a.rd of gold, but it would have to be mountainous to maintain the expense of this war. Gold pa.s.ses from the city every day, to hire mercenaries, to bribe allies. And there is little coming in now. If the fighting goes on much longer and you do take the city, you may find nothing of real worth.”
Odysseus smiled grimly to himself. Agamemnon and his fellow kings still had faith in the riches of Priam. At least they had a reason to fight. What is your excuse, Ugly One? What is your excuse, Ugly One? he heard Penelope say. he heard Penelope say. Because you gave your word? Is your word so powerful, so sacred, that you must fight with your enemies against your friends? Because you gave your word? Is your word so powerful, so sacred, that you must fight with your enemies against your friends?
Three days before, battling on the plain alongside the armies of the Mykene, he had seen the Trojan Horse thundering down the valley. And he had felt his heart leap as if Hektor and his riders were coming to his own rescue.
Odysseus sighed. War made strange sword brothers. He despised Agamemnon and his fellow kings. Idomeneos was greedy and mendacious. Menestheos of Athens and Agapenor of Arcadia were no better. The weakling Menelaus did whatever his brother told him. Nestor was a kinsman of Penelope, and Odysseus liked the old man, yet he had been beguiled by the promise of Priam's treasure, too. Only Achilles was at Troy on a mission of honor, to find the warrior who had ordered his father's death and avenge him.
He thought back to Hektor's wedding games, when wily Priam had declared Odysseus an enemy of Troy. A less prideful man merely would have left the city. But Odysseus, slighted and insulted, had allowed his pride to force him into the arms of this rabble of kings. It was true that he was guilty as accused of hiring an a.s.sa.s.sin to kill Helikaon's father, but only to protect Helikaon, whom the same a.s.sa.s.sin had been paid to kill.
Now Odysseus, sick to the soul, had left his loathsome allies drinking and quarreling in the megaron megaron of King's Joy and had walked up to the terrace for fresher air. of King's Joy and had walked up to the terrace for fresher air.
He looked around. Agamemnon's Followers, his henchmen, had roasted two pigs there earlier, and the terrace smelled of blood and burned meat. Then they had played a game with one of the pigs' heads, kicking it around until it was a shapeless black ma.s.s. Odysseus picked it up and gazed at it for a moment before throwing it over the wall. He smiled to himself, thinking of the pig Ganny, first rescued from the sea and then, in his yellow cloak, sitting as if listening to Odysseus' tale of the golden fleece on the pirates' beach.
”By Apollo's b.a.l.l.s, Ganny, my boy, we had some adventures together!” he said out loud.
Cheered by the memory, he strolled to the western side of the terrace. In the starlight he could see down to the Bay of Herakles, its white sand scarcely visible under the hulls of the hundreds of s.h.i.+ps beached there. A sitting target for Helikaon's fire hurlers, he thought. Had Agamemnon learned nothing from his disaster at Imbros? Odysseus had heard no news of the Xanthos Xanthos since it had left Ithaka but prudently had quietly moved most of his own fleet farther down the coast to a small hidden cove. since it had left Ithaka but prudently had quietly moved most of his own fleet farther down the coast to a small hidden cove.
He turned and looked in the other direction, to the walls of Troy lying moonlit in the distance, like a city of magic from one of his stories, and, before him, the plain of the Scamander, where the Trojan army was camped, waiting. The myriad lights of their campfires showed they were formed in defensive squares. Hektor would not be stupid enough to attack, he knew, as the idiot Menelaus had claimed. A man with no sense of strategy a.s.sumes others are as stupid as he is. Odysseus glanced down to where soldiers had labored to dig an inner earthwork. A waste of time and energy, he thought, and just another obstacle when we attack. The stupidity angered him. Looking south, along the valley of the Scamander, he saw that a blanket of thick mist was forming over the river and starting to roll slowly toward the Trojan armies on the plain. They cannot see it coming, he realized. Before long they will not be able to see their swords in front of their noses.
His mind working quickly, he left the terrace and stomped back down the stone stairs to the megaron, megaron, to be greeted by drunken shouts and laughter. Menelaus was lying on the floor in a pool of wine, apparently unconscious. Agamemnon gazed expressionlessly at the Ithakan king. Agamemnon never drank, and Odysseus always was careful not to drink in his company. to be greeted by drunken shouts and laughter. Menelaus was lying on the floor in a pool of wine, apparently unconscious. Agamemnon gazed expressionlessly at the Ithakan king. Agamemnon never drank, and Odysseus always was careful not to drink in his company.
”Well,” said the Mykene king, ”the tale spinner has chosen to join us again. We are honored. Have you a story to entertain us tonight, Prince of Lies?”
Odysseus ignored the insult and said nothing, merely standing in the doorway until he had their attention.
”Sober up quickly, you drunken sots,” he bellowed. ”I have a plan.”
Achilles, unarmored and wearing a simple black kilt and leather breastplate, his face smeared with soot, crouched in the entrance to the narrow pa.s.s and stared into the thick mist. ”This is madness,” he said cheerfully.
Odysseus, resting on one knee beside him, chuckled. ”We have to attack at dawn, anyway,” he replied. ”Our allies have pledged to be here soon after sunup. By attacking now, this fog gives us the extra element of surprise.”
”Well, it surprised me, me,” a red-bearded warrior said gloomily. ”It's the middle of the night, and the mist is so thick, I can't see the end of my sword. We won't know who we're killing.”
”The ones lying down, Thibo, either sleeping or dead, will be the enemy,” Odysseus told him.
He thought the plan through again. Agamemnon was committed to attack that day, which meant funneling his armies through the pa.s.s. The heavy mist gave him the perfect opportunity to get them through under cover. Hektor, of course, would expect that, and by dawn he would have his forces ready. By attacking in the dead of night they might catch him unprepared.
Odysseus and Achilles, the fifty Myrmidons, and another hundred handpicked warriors were to creep out of the pa.s.s under cover of the dark and mist, cross the earthworks, and descend on the Trojans as they slept. None were wearing armor lest any clink of metal on metal betray their presence. The Trojans would raise the alarm quickly, but Odysseus calculated that as many as a thousand would die first, slaughtered as they dreamed.
Far behind them, through the pa.s.s, the rest of Agamemnon's armies waited restlessly. Once the silent band of killers had done their grisly work and the alarm had been raised, the infantry would come charging through.
The cavalry would have to wait on the seaward side of the pa.s.s until the dawn came and the mist cleared. But the enemy was in the same position. Even the Trojan Horse could not attack if they could not see.
Odysseus moved his shoulder and grimaced at the pain, then licked dry lips. Just one more battle, he thought to himself. You've done this before, old man. He grasped his sword in one hand and a long dagger in the other. He glanced at Achilles, who had his swords on his back and two daggers drawn, and nodded.
The pair crept forward, silent in the m.u.f.fling mist, their small army moving noiselessly behind them. Odysseus climbed the new earthwork, cursing it under his breath. By the time he reached the main earthwork, he had fallen well behind Achilles, who had disappeared ahead of him like a wraith. Hurrying to keep up, Odysseus clambered over the bank of earth and mud, glimpsing dark-garbed warriors, swords and knives in hand, pa.s.sing him silently on either side. It was an eerie sight.
Then the killing began. Ahead, Odysseus heard the small m.u.f.fled sounds of cold bronze plunging into flesh and soft gasps quickly cut off. He hurried forward. Soon he was walking in the dim light of campfires, bodies strewn around them, the dead and the dying, blood still gus.h.i.+ng from slashed throats, eyes staring up at him, hands reaching out for aid that would not come.
It was so quiet that he could hear his heart beating. Then there was a loud cry. ”Awake! Awake! We are under attack!”
In an instant the air was filled with the sounds of clas.h.i.+ng blades, the screams of the wounded, the snarls and grunts of fighting men, the snapping of bones and the rending of flesh. Odysseus heard Achilles' booming battle cry from somewhere up ahead and moved toward the sound.
A warrior appeared in the half-light, a Thrakian tribesman with a painted face. The Ithakan king leaped to the attack, but the man moved like quicksilver, blocking his thrust and turning into him. His shoulder struck Odysseus in the chest, knocking him back. He fell to the ground and rolled quickly as a sword blade was thrust into the ground beside him. Odysseus plunged his dagger into the unprotected thigh of the tribesman. Blood sprayed out, and the man fell. Odysseus jumped up and slashed his sword across the man's head.
He bent to pull out his dagger, but one of Priam's Eagles leaped at him with a snarl, recognizing the Ithakan king. Odysseus parried his sword blow and reversed a cut to the warrior's neck. The blade hammered into the breastplate and snapped. Dropping the useless hilt, Odysseus grabbed the man by his breastplate and hauled him forward, b.u.t.ting him savagely, then cras.h.i.+ng his fist into the man's belly. The Eagle doubled over, and then his head snapped back as Odysseus' knee exploded into his face.
He picked up the Eagle's sword and plunged it into the man's neck. Then, screaming his battle cry, ”Ithaka! Ithaka!” he powered into the Trojan ranks, cutting and cleaving, an awesome fury upon him, his injured shoulder forgotten.
An unarmored Trojan warrior ran forward, ducking under Odysseus' plunging sword and stabbing his blade toward the Ugly King's belly. Odysseus leaped backward and tripped over a body. He rolled and came up swinging his sword two-handed, half beheading the warrior.
He glimpsed a movement to his right and blocked a lightning attack from a sword. Twisting his wrists and returning the blow, he cleaved the attacker from neck to belly.
There were Trojans all around him now. His sword rose and fell in the melee, cutting through leather and flesh and bone. He twisted and swung and then, too late, saw a sword slas.h.i.+ng toward his neck. Another sword flashed up to block it, parrying the death blow. Odysseus recognized the braided red beard and grinned at Achilles' s.h.i.+eld bearer.
”Be careful, old man,” Thibo shouted. ”I can't watch out for both of us.”
Odysseus ducked under a two-handed cut from his right and drove his sword home in the man's chest. Beside him Thibo leaped and twisted, slas.h.i.+ng and killing. Odysseus saw dawn light gleam off his b.l.o.o.d.y blade and realized that the night mist was starting to clear.
Two Trojan soldiers ran at Thibo. He blocked a blow from the first, gutting the man with a reverse stroke. His sword stuck in the man's belly. The second warrior's sword arced toward his head. Odysseus parried the blow, chopping his sword through the man's neck.
”Where is Achilles?” he asked, panting. ”You're supposed to be watching out for him. him.”
Thibo shrugged. ”Achilles can take care of himself.”
Daylight was clearing the mist quickly, and Odysseus could see warriors struggling and dying all around him.