Part 33 (2/2)

Odysseus watched spellbound as the duel continued. Both fighters were endowed with natural balance and speed. Both had honed their skills in a thousand battles. Achilles was the younger man, yet he had spent all his short life seeking fights. Hektor battled and killed only when he had to. Both men fought coolly and with patience. Each knew that the slightest misjudgment could end his life. Each probed for weaknesses in the other; each tried to read the other's moves.

The pace quickened, and the swords clashed in a whirl of glittering bronze. Attacking with controlled fury, Achilles forced Hektor back toward the fiery trench. They had to move carefully there, for the edges of the trench were crumbling in the heat. Hektor's foot slipped. The crowd on the wall gasped. Achilles lunged. Hektor parried, regained his footing, and sent a flas.h.i.+ng riposte that slid off Achilles' breastplate. Both men stepped back, as if by consent, toward the center of the circle.

Odysseus knew that most duels began with heat and fury, then settled down to a game of endurance and concentration. No two duelists were exactly matched; all knew this. And there would always come a point when the seed of doubt entered the mind of one fighter: Is he better than I am? In this duel both men wanted to win. But was the difference between them that Achilles feared losing? Hektor had no such fear. Indeed, Odysseus wondered if it was Hektor's weakness that at his core he did not care if he lived or died.

Achilles attacked again. Hektor ducked beneath a murderous cut, his blade flas.h.i.+ng out and slicing Achilles' cheek. Achilles stepped back a pace, wiping blood from his face, and Hektor allowed himself a heartbeat's pause.

Then Hektor attacked. Achilles blocked the sword, rolled his wrist, and lanced his blade into the meat of Hektor's shoulder. Hektor swayed back, preventing the point from thrusting deeply, but his sword fell from his numbed hand. The crowd gasped, and several people on the wall cried out. Achilles moved back two paces and gestured to the Trojan warrior to pick up the weapon.

As Hektor's hand touched his sword, Achilles leaped at him, blade flas.h.i.+ng for his head. Hektor blocked the blow with incredible speed but was forced back by the ferocious double-handed a.s.sault. Time and again Achilles was within a hairbreadth of delivering the death blow, but each attack was countered with amazing skill.

The long afternoon wore on, but the crowd was totally absorbed, totally silent, motionless in the monstrous heat.

A lightning thrust, partly parried, had opened up another cut on Achilles' cheek. Hektor was suffering from cuts and gashes on both arms. Each had blunted or broken two blades, which were replaced instantly by the black-robed priest who tossed them with practiced accuracy into the fighters' hands.

Odysseus could see that both men's sword arms were tiring. They circled more warily, conserving strength. Hektor leaped forward. Their blades clashed together, and a high sweet note rose unexpectedly from the dull clash of bronze.

Achilles' sword thrust past the Trojan's defenses, hammering into the bronze strap holding his breastplate. It sprang off harmlessly, but the power of the blow sent Hektor staggering. Unbalanced, he swung at Achilles' legs. His sword rang off a metal greave, but Hektor stumbled. Achilles. .h.i.t him across the head with the pommel of his sword. Hektor ducked and rolled, more slowly now, then was up to counter a renewed attack.

Hektor stumbled again, his fatigue obvious. Watching him, Odysseus smiled to himself. It was a ploy he had used himself, available only to the older man in a contest. Achilles leaped forward, certain of the death blow. Hektor swayed away from the thrust. The sword pa.s.sed his side, just under the lip of his breastplate. Achilles was wrong-footed, expecting a solid target. Hektor smashed the hilt of his sword into the back of his head, and Achilles went down. He rolled to his back just in time to block a ma.s.sive sword blow to his face. The blades clanged together with a sound that echoed off the walls of Troy like the end of the world.

And Hektor's blade snapped.

Achilles was rolling to his feet as the priest of Ares threw Hektor a third sword. The new blade flashed forward, but Achilles blocked it with ease and sent a counter that tore through the leather kilt, narrowly missing Hektor's inner thigh. Hektor returned the attack with a lightning riposte, his sword ripping into Achilles' helm. Achilles fell back and shook his head as if to clear it.

Hektor attacked. Achilles parried, and Hektor struck out with his left fist. Achilles swayed away from the blow and sent an uppercut to Hektor's jaw. Hektor rolled with the punch and spun away as Achilles' sword sang through empty air.

Achilles stepped back and took the moment to lift clear his damaged helm. He walked over to the edge of the circle and threw it far out over the heads of the watchers. Hektor dropped his sword, wrenched off his own helm, and tossed it into the crowd. Bare-headed, he picked up his sword again. Then, with a roar, he ran across the circle.

Achilles raced in, holding his blade double-handed. Hektor ducked swiftly, and the sword hissed over his head. Off balance, Achilles stumbled to the earth. He rolled twice, then smoothly rose to his feet. Then in a frenzied attack he landed blow after blow on Hektor's bronze breastplate. A great crack appeared down the center of the golden horse. The Trojan ripped at the remaining bronze strap and threw the breastplate to the ground. Achilles paused and then did the same thing with his black cuira.s.s.

The crowd fell silent as the two men fought on bare-chested, sweat pouring off them. Odysseus watched, caught between admiration and horror. He had seen many fights in his life, most of them a dull exchange of huge blows without skill or forethought. This was a t.i.tanic struggle of strength and skill such as no man watching ever had seen before or would see again.

Neither champion spoke a word as far as Odysseus could hear. Taunts and insults were for lesser men. Each warrior was holding his concentration in a viselike grip, planning ahead, trying to predict the other's moves.

Achilles' sword sliced across Hektor's chest, sending a spray of blood flying through the air. Hektor groaned, and the sound was echoed by those on top of the wall and many of the watchers outside the circle. Achilles leaped in for the kill. Hektor swayed to the right, and his blade flashed out. Achilles threw himself back, but not before Hektor's sword had opened a wound in his side.

Blood was streaming from both men now, and Hektor was tiring. Odysseus could see it. Achilles could see it, too. He tried a feint, followed by a lunge to the heart. Hektor parried it and sent a return cut that pierced Achilles beneath the collarbone, slicing open the skin.

Suddenly Achilles staggered.

He fell to one knee, shaking his head. Hektor rushed in, and Achilles rolled and tried to stand. Hektor paused, sword ready for the killing blow. With a ma.s.sive effort Achilles got to his knees, then fell again. Hektor stepped back two paces, frowning. Then Achilles sprang to the attack like a man demented. Abandoning any attempt at defense, he launched a savage a.s.sault that backed Hektor across the arena.

Hektor defended grimly, his back ever closer to the perilous trench. Then, suddenly, Achilles fell again, his legs collapsing under him.

There were sounds of jeering from the top of the wall. At an order from Agamemnon, the makes.h.i.+ft bridge was thrown across the trench, and the priest of Ares hurried across to the two exhausted fighters. He took Hektor's sword from his unresisting hand and sniffed at the blade. Then he raised the weapon aloft.

”Poison!” he shouted. ”This blade has been smeared with poison! Achilles has been betrayed by the Trojan!”

”Treachery!” Agamemnon cried, and the cry was taken up angrily by the Myrmidons and the soldiers of Mykene. ”Treachery!”

”Lies!” boomed Hektor's voice, and the word was echoed all along the walls.

”Kill the treacherous dog!” Agamemnon yelled, and before Hektor could arm himself, three Followers raced across the bridge to attack him. Hektor ducked under the first sword cut, then smashed the Follower in the face with his huge fist. As the Mykene went down, Hektor s.n.a.t.c.hed his sword and lanced it into the neck of the next attacker. The third Follower died from a sword thrust through the eye socket.

Achilles' Myrmidons were trapped on the far side of the trench, with no way across, surrounded by warriors packed eight deep. Enraged by the betrayal of their king, all they could do, like those on the walls, was watch helplessly. The soldiers around the circle, their blood already high, were shouting and jostling, and fistfights were breaking out at the back.

Odysseus desperately worked his way through the crowd, cursing, pus.h.i.+ng, elbowing a path to where the priest of Ares had retreated with Hektor's sword.

With three Followers dead, Agamemnon sent in the rest of his elite guard. Gravely wounded, Hektor saw the nine coming toward him, picked up a second sword, and attacked. But even he could not stand against so many. He slashed one across the throat. Another went down with a sword in his belly. Hektor s.n.a.t.c.hed up another blade, but the warriors surrounded him, and he was getting weaker by the moment.

Then, amazingly, Achilles stirred and moved. He struggled to his knees, then stood. His face was gray with pain and the effects of the poison. The crowd instantly went silent, and the skirmishes on the edge of the crowd ceased.

Achilles swayed on his feet. ”Not...Hektor,” he gasped.

Then he slowly raised his sword and slammed it into the throat of one of the Followers. Agamemnon's remaining men sprang to the attack, and Hektor and Achilles stood back to back to take them all on.

The thousands of watchers were awestruck as the two blood-covered warriors, both beyond hope of life, battled against seven of Agamemnon's elite. Hektor was bleeding from a score of cuts, and one arm was so badly injured that it no longer was functioning. It was impossible that Achilles was still standing, let alone fighting. The end was inevitable. Yet it seemed neither champion would allow himself to fall while there were still enemies to fight.

Odysseus, panting and cursing, finally reached the priest, who watched the battle, his eyes alight with pleasure. Odysseus grabbed him by the throat and, with a roar, lifted him from his feet. The priest grappled panic-stricken in the king's powerful grip, his face turning red. Odysseus delved in the pouch at the man's side and brought forth a small gold vial. He dropped the priest.

”Enough!” he bellowed, his voice like thunder above the noise of battle.

The fighting in the circle paused, and the three Followers who were still alive stepped back uncertainly. Odysseus prized open the phial, which was half-filled with milky liquid. He sniffed it. ”Here is your treachery!” he shouted, holding it up. ”And here is your poisoner!” He pushed the priest forward.

Agamemnon strode up and s.n.a.t.c.hed the poison phial. ”What is this?” he asked, his voice shaking with genuine anger.

”It is called atropa, atropa,” Odysseus replied, raising his voice so that everyone could hear. ”It is used by the Scythians of the Somber Sea to dip their arrows in. It causes dizziness, raving, paralysis, and death. It is an evil poison, a coward's weapon.”

”You dog!” Agamemnon grabbed the poisoned sword and plunged it into the priest's belly. The force of the blow knocked the man down onto the hot coals. He started to shriek, his robes bursting into flames around him. Within moments his desperate thras.h.i.+ng ceased, and his blackening body was still.

In the arena Hektor fell to his knees with a groan that echoed off the walls of Troy, blood streaming from a score of wounds. Achilles, still standing only by a ma.s.sive feat of will, raised his sword and, with a last cry, plunged it into the chest of a Follower. Then he fell dead to the ground. The remaining two Followers looked to Agamemnon, uncertain what to do.

With a final effort Hektor picked up Achilles' sword with trembling fingers and placed it on the warrior's breast, then closed the dead hands over the hilt. He rested on his heels and bowed his head. Odysseus heard his final sigh. Then there was silence.

Hektor was dead.

His heart breaking, Odysseus sank to one knee. Across the circle he saw Thibo, Achilles' s.h.i.+eld bearer, do the same thing, followed by all the Myrmidons. Then, one by one, every man around the battleground knelt in tribute to the two great warriors.

Only Agamemnon stood alone. He turned angrily on his heel and stalked away.

Odysseus bowed his head, sick at heart for the part he had played in the deaths of the two great warriors. Then in the quiet he heard a hissing sound. In the trench before him the dying coals were giving off small spurts of steam. Odysseus raised his eyes to the sky. Unnoticed by anyone as the t.i.tanic battle had gone on, thunderclouds had gathered overhead. It became darker as he watched. Then there was a deafening crack of thunder, and a bolt of lightning flashed through the sky above Troy's walls. The skies opened, and the rain poured down.

He had no idea how long he knelt there in the rain and mud. Eventually Odysseus became aware that people were moving about. He opened his eyes wearily. The Myrmidons were gathered around Achilles, preparing to take him away.

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