Part 36 (1/2)

Then enemy warriors were scrambling over the barricade.

Kalliades batted aside a sword thrust, then brought his blade down two-handed on a man's neck. He dragged the weapon clear in time to parry a slas.h.i.+ng cut. A thrown lance bounced off the edge of his s.h.i.+eld, missing his head by a hairbreadth. His sword lunged forward and twisted, disemboweling an attacker, who fell screaming at his feet. He threw his s.h.i.+eld up to block a murderous cut, and then his blade slashed high in the air, braining a warrior who had lost his helm. He felt a searing pain in his leg and saw that the injured man at his feet, holding his entrails in with one hand, had thrust his dagger into his thigh. He plunged his sword into the man's neck.

Beside him Banokles suddenly leaped up onto the barricade and with two dazzling cuts slashed the throats of two attackers climbing for the top. He jumped back down again and grinned at Kalliades.

The morning wore on, and defenders on either side of the two friends fell and were replaced, then replaced again. Through his focus on the fighting, as his sword hacked and slashed, cut and parried, Kalliades slowly registered a change happening. He was tiring, and his concentration was starting to fail. His thigh hurt, though it had stopped bleeding. He had other cuts and sc.r.a.pes. He stole a glance at Banokles. The big man was battling with grim determination, his two swords moving like lightning, seemingly without effort. But Kalliades, who had fought beside him for many years and many battles, guessed he was tiring, too. He was using his swords economically, with not one wasted flourish, conserving his strength.

And the attackers were getting harder to kill. Kalliades realized he was facing Mykene veterans now. Agamemnon must have kept them in reserve, he thought. He felt a lull in the fighting, as if something had s.h.i.+fted, and he knew it was the battle's momentum.

The Trojans were losing.

Over the barricade came a giant of a man with a full black beard and a shaved head. He bore a tower s.h.i.+eld of black and white cowhide edged with bronze. He dwarfed the men around him, and he grinned with pleasure when he saw who it was he was facing. Ajax Skull Splitter leaped down from the barricade with the grace of a much lighter man.

”Banokles! Kalliades! You soft-bellied sons of wh.o.r.es!” he rumbled with relish.

He leaped to the attack, swinging his great broadsword, clearing a pa.s.sage toward them. On either side of him other Mykene veterans formed a wedge, driving the Trojan ranks back from the barricade. Banokles attacked, his two swords hacking and plunging. He killed a man at Ajax's side, but the Mykene champion's huge tower s.h.i.+eld and the power of his great broadsword made him unstoppable.

Kalliades desperately hurled himself backward as an arcing blade from the right sliced through his shoulder guard. He rolled, leaped up, and skewered the wielder through the armpit.

Then he heard the triple blast of the horn ordering retreat to the palace.

Banokles was being forced backward by the power of Ajax's attack. He had lost one sword and replaced it with a bronze s.h.i.+eld. The Mykene champion hammered the other blade aside and stepped in to crash a huge fist into Banokles' jaw. Banokles staggered but recovered to block the downward sweep of the broadsword on the s.h.i.+eld. Kalliades ran in. Ajax raised the broadsword again and brought it arcing toward them both in a ma.s.sive sweep. Banokles ducked low, and Kalliades swayed backward. Unbalanced, Ajax tried to recover, but Banokles leaped up and brought his s.h.i.+eld smas.h.i.+ng down on the huge warrior's head. Ajax was dazed but still stood. Banokles. .h.i.t him on the head again, then again, and he finally went down, cras.h.i.+ng face-first into the blood and dust.

”Is he dead?” Banokles asked, panting.

Kalliades brought the sword of Argurios up two-handed, prepared to drive it into the Mykene champion's back. For a heartbeat he paused. The sword of Argurios, he thought. If it were not for Argurios' loyalty and Priam's mercy, they would not be there. Loyalty and mercy. He glanced at Banokles, who shrugged. Kalliades lowered his sword. He heard the horn again ordering retreat, and they both turned and raced for the palace.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

THE ADVICE OF ODYSSEUS.

Late on the second day a great cheer rose from the soldiers waiting patiently outside the walls for their comrades to break the Trojans' barricade. The young healer Xander s.h.i.+vered in the hot afternoon as he watched the thousands of warriors rush in through the Scaean Gate.

He remembered the first time he had arrived in Troy, in a donkey cart with Odysseus and Andromache. He had been a child of twelve and had left his grandfather's goat herd on Kypros to go on a great adventure. He had felt that same s.h.i.+ver of fear as the cart had trundled through the great gate and he first had glimpsed the city of gold with its bronze-roofed palaces, verdant courtyards, and richly dressed people.

He thought of his father, who had died fighting the Mykene pirate Alektruon, and Zidantas, who had been a father to him for a few brief days. He wondered what they would think of him now, giving aid and comfort to the armies of Agamemnon that were pouring into that city to rape, plunder, and kill.

He turned and walked slowly back to the barracks hospital. From beside his pallet bed he fetched his old leather satchel and delved in the bottom of it. He pulled out the two pebbles he had carried with him since he had left Kypros to remind him of home. He weighed them in his palm for a moment, then walked to the door and threw them out into the street. Then he started packing the satchel with his potions and herbs.

”Remember the advice of Odysseus, young Xander.”

The boy looked up and found the surgeon White-Eye standing beside him. He was watching anxiously as Xander carefully wrapped bunches of dried herbs in sc.r.a.ps of cloth and placed them in the satchel.

”Run to the bay, son,” the older man urged him. ”Take s.h.i.+p to Kypros and return to your mother and grandfather. These people are past help now.”

”You are still here, White-Eye,” Xander answered, not looking up from his task, ”though the Myrmidons have left.”

”Some of our s.h.i.+ps are still loading their final cargo, mostly horses. When the last galley sets sail for Thessaly, I shall be on it. There is nothing we can do here, lad. Troy will be a charnel house full of death and horror. Walk through those gates and you will die; that is as certain as sunset follows day.”

Xander continued packing his bag. ”I must help my friends,” he whispered.

”You make friends wherever you go, boy. It is your nature. I am your friend. Do this for your friend White-Eye.”

Xander paused. He turned to the man and said, ”When I first came here, on the Xanthos, Xanthos, there was a great storm, and I nearly drowned. Two men saved my life-an Egypteian called Gershom and the Mykene hero Argurios. Both held on to me beyond the limits of their strength, at the risk of their own lives. They felt my life was worth saving, I don't know why. I cannot explain it very well, White-Eye, but I would be letting them both down if I turned my back on the Trojans and ran home. I know I came here for a reason, even if it is one I don't understand.” there was a great storm, and I nearly drowned. Two men saved my life-an Egypteian called Gershom and the Mykene hero Argurios. Both held on to me beyond the limits of their strength, at the risk of their own lives. They felt my life was worth saving, I don't know why. I cannot explain it very well, White-Eye, but I would be letting them both down if I turned my back on the Trojans and ran home. I know I came here for a reason, even if it is one I don't understand.”

White-Eye shook his head sadly. ”I cannot argue with you, lad. The ways of the G.o.ds are unknowable. I do not know why the serpent G.o.d sent me here. I thought perhaps it was so that I would meet you and take you back to Thessaly. You have it in you to be a great healer, Xander, but your skills will be wasted if you throw away your life now.”

”I am sorry you did not meet your brother again before he died,” Xander said, anxious to change the subject. He feared his resolution would drain away.

”So am I, lad, but the truth is, Machaon and I never did get on. Though we look alike, we have very different ideas on the ways of the serpent G.o.d. We would probably have come to blows.”

Xander smiled at the idea of the two gentle healers circling each other with their fists c.o.c.ked. For a few heartbeats he was tempted to go with the older man, to take s.h.i.+p to Thessaly and a new life far across the Great Green. But instead he said, ”Remember me, White-Eye.”

White-Eye nodded, and Xander thought he saw tears in his eyes before he hurried away. Taking a deep breath, the young healer picked up his heavy satchel. It was just starting to rain as he walked up the hill toward the city.

When news came of the fall of the barricade, Andromache was installed in Priam's palace, the last refuge. With her were the two boys and her youngest handmaid Anio.

On the day of Hektor's death, when women and children had been allowed out of the city, Axa had left tearfully with her three babies, bound for Phrygia and the family of Mestares. She had begged the daughters of Ursos to go with her, but the sisters had refused, saying that their father had died defending the city and so would they. Andromache had made no effort to make them change their minds. She had told them she respected their decision, though privately her heart bled for their fate.

Then Penthesileia had gone to the barricade with the Thrakian archers. The boy-king Periklos had come to Andromache himself and asked that Penthesileia be released from her service. Andromache had been surprised, though she did not doubt the girl's skill with the bow and was moved by her courage. As Penthesileia left with Periklos, Andromache was sure she would never see her again.

The great palace was empty. Priam was in his apartments, she was told, but she had not seen him. There were few servants, and even Andromache's bodyguards had been ordered to the barricade. The boys were playing noisily, excited to be in a new home. Andromache felt frustrated by her confinement. She left the boys and walked down to the empty megaron. megaron.

She seldom had lingered in that great room in recent years. It held only memories of death and horror. On a whim she walked over to Priam's carved, gold-encrusted throne and sat down. She looked around at the high stone walls decorated with the s.h.i.+elds of heroes. The s.h.i.+eld of Argurios was there, the s.h.i.+eld of Hektor now beside it. She gazed at the great stairway where Argurios had been wounded fatally. The silence in the megaron megaron echoed off the high stone walls, and the distant sound of clas.h.i.+ng metal and shouting men seemed as thin and fragile as the twittering of birds on a summer afternoon. echoed off the high stone walls, and the distant sound of clas.h.i.+ng metal and shouting men seemed as thin and fragile as the twittering of birds on a summer afternoon.

She looked up at the s.h.i.+eld of Hektor, and one hand fell to touch the belt around her hips. It was cunningly crafted of bronze disks threaded with gold wire, marking her as a Woman of the Horse.

For the first time in days she was alone, and in that great empty stone chamber she felt her control slipping. Tears started to roll down her cheeks. They called him the Prince of War, but she had never seen Hektor as a warrior, only a kind, compa.s.sionate man shouldering burdens that no man should have had to endure. She remembered that moment in the palace gardens when she had watched him playing in the dust with Astyanax, an expression of deep tenderness on his face that had wrenched her heart. She felt an agonizing stab of guilt-so physical that she doubled over from the pain-that she had never loved Hektor as he deserved, that he had gone to his death knowing she yearned not for him but for another man.

Then she wondered, as she did each day, where the Xanthos Xanthos was and whether Helikaon still lived. Her traitor heart, one moment mourning Hektor, now ached for Helikaon. The blissful time she had spent with him, more than a hundred days, on their voyage west now seemed as though it had happened in another lifetime. was and whether Helikaon still lived. Her traitor heart, one moment mourning Hektor, now ached for Helikaon. The blissful time she had spent with him, more than a hundred days, on their voyage west now seemed as though it had happened in another lifetime.

Sitting on the high golden throne, she wept for both of the men she loved.

Suddenly she started and swiped the tears from her cheeks. A young messenger, hardly more than a boy, raced in through the high doorway. He stopped, gawping to see her on Priam's throne, and she stood up.

”The enemy have broken through, lady. They are coming!”

Andromache stood by the throne, feeling a tension that was almost unbearable. She knew she should be doing something, but she did not know what. Outside she heard the sound of distant thunder rolling over the sea.

After what seemed a lifetime of waiting, two soldiers staggered into the megaron, megaron, supporting a comrade. All three were injured, but the one in the middle was dying, she could see. Blood was pumping out of a deep gash in his leg, and she knew that a vital blood vessel had been torn. supporting a comrade. All three were injured, but the one in the middle was dying, she could see. Blood was pumping out of a deep gash in his leg, and she knew that a vital blood vessel had been torn.

”Take him to the queen's apartments,” she ordered, pointing up the stone staircase. ”We will care for the wounded there.” She wondered how many healers, if any, were still in the city.

Soon people started pouring in through the doors: wounded soldiers, old men, and a few women. There was fear and exhaustion on every face, and they all looked to her to tell them what to do. She sent the wounded to the queen's apartments and ordered the women to tend to them as best they could. The men she set to work stripping the weaponry off the walls.