Shield Of Thunder Part 17

"That's not the point. I knew what I was doing, and I did it as well as any other man. Now I don't, and I have foreigners insulting me to my face. I tell you, one more insult and I'll take his curling tongs and ram them so far up his a.s.s, he'll be able to curl the d.a.m.ned thing from the inside."

Kalliades chuckled. "I don't know why the beard annoys you. Many of the Hitt.i.te warriors sport them, and as we have seen, they are ferocious fighters. Why don't you go out and join in the revels. Get drunk."

Banokles shook his head. "Can't do that anymore, Kalliades. Men stop talking when I walk up. They go quiet, as if they expect me to p.i.s.s on their joy fires."

"You are their commander. They revere you."

"I don't want to be revered," Banokles shouted. "I want to be me me! Why can't you be the general? You are the one who makes all the plans."

Kalliades looked at him. "There is more to war than planning, my friend," he said quietly. "All the strategy comes to nothing if the men are not willing. When you led that charge, the men followed you, their hearts full of fire and belief. That is something gold cannot buy. You You are their inspiration. They believe in are their inspiration. They believe in you. you. They would ride into Hades if you asked them to. You need to understand this. You make Tudhaliyas angry not because you are stupid but because he cannot They would ride into Hades if you asked them to. You need to understand this. You make Tudhaliyas angry not because you are stupid but because he cannot learn learn to be like you. He can understand the logistics of war, he can master all the skills and the strategies, but he cannot to be like you. He can understand the logistics of war, he can master all the skills and the strategies, but he cannot inspire. inspire. Truth is, neither can I. It is a rare gift, Banokles. You have it." Truth is, neither can I. It is a rare gift, Banokles. You have it."

"I don't want it!" the big man protested. "I want everything the way it was."

"You want us dead back in Thraki?"

"What? I mean I want...I don't know what I want. But it isn't this! A pox on Hektor for leaving me in command!"

"Hektor couldn't take the Thrakians back to Troy with him. You know what happened the last time there were Thrakians there."

"What?" Banokles asked.

"Oh, for pity's sake!" Kalliades snapped. "You and I were there, in the invading army! Troy's Thrakian regiment rebelled and joined us, and we almost took the city."

Banokles sagged back into his chair and sighed.

"I told Red there wouldn't be any more battles here in Dardanos in the winter. Just how many poxy armies does Agamemnon have waiting across the straits?"

"Obviously more than we thought," Kalliades responded. "But why come in winter? Food supplies are short, the land inhospitable. Snow and heavy rains make much of Thraki impa.s.sable. It makes no sense."

"If that's true, why are you worried?" Banokles asked.

"Because Agamemnon is no fool. He has conquered cities in the past and led successful invasions all across the west. You and I fought in many of them. Common sense tells me that an attack on Troy would need to be coordinated with an invasion of Dardania in the north and a major push through the Ida mountains in the south. Only then could he bring an invasion fleet to the Bay of Troy. But to attack here in winter, with his army isolated? Even if they made a successful landing and pushed on south, reinforcements from Troy could be brought up to destroy them. What is he thinking?"

"Maybe he's lost his mind," Banokles observed.

Kalliades shook his head. "It would be good to think so. But I fear he has a plan and we can't see it."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN.

OMENS IN THE STARS.

Late in the night Kalliades went in search of Tudhaliyas. A sentry directed him to the battlements above the Seagate, and he found the Hitt.i.te prince staring out to the north over the moonlit h.e.l.lespont.

Five galleys were beached on the bay below, the crews asleep on the sand. In better days they would have come up to the town that clutched the skirts of the fortress, there to drink and purchase the company of wh.o.r.es. But the town was deserted now; the populace had fled to the interior, away from the fear of war. The vessels had come in for supplies before maintaining their patrol of the straits.

Tudhaliyas glanced at Kalliades but made no greeting.

"You are still angry?" Kalliades asked him.

"I have been angry for most of the winter," Tudhaliyas replied. "There is no sign of it pa.s.sing yet. But do not concern yourself, Kalliades. It is not the oaf that fires my rage."

"What, then?"

Tudhaliyas gave a cold smile. "It would take too long to explain. So why have you sought me out?"

Kalliades did not reply at once. Tudhaliyas was a prince, raised among foreign n.o.blemen. Kalliades had no experience in dealing with such men. Their ways and customs were alien to him. What he did know was that the Hitt.i.te was a proud man, and he would need to choose his words with care.

"Tempers were raised tonight," he said at last. "I thought it best not to leave them festering for the night."

"You are bringing his apology?"

Kalliades shook his head and spoke softly. "There is no need for him to apologize. You offered the first insult."

An angry light appeared in the Hitt.i.te's eyes. "You expect me me to apologize?" to apologize?"

"No. Banokles will have forgotten the incident by morning. That is his way. He is not a complicated man, nor does he hold grudges. Everything you said was true enough. I know it. Even Banokles knows it. What is important is that we put it behind us."

"If he was a Hitt.i.te general," Tudhaliyas commented, "and one of his officers had spoken as I did, an a.s.sa.s.sin would have been called for, and the officer swiftly dispatched."

"Happily, Banokles is not a Hitt.i.te general. And if there was a battle tomorrow and you were in dire need, Banokles would ride through fire and peril to rescue you. That That is the nature of the man." is the nature of the man."

"He already did that," Tudhaliyas conceded, and Kalliades saw his anger fade.

The Hitt.i.te prince stared out once more over the sea. "I have never been enamored of the Great Green," he offered. "I do not understand why men yearn to sail it in flimsy vessels of wood. You sea people are a mystery to me."

"I have never loved the sea, either," Kalliades told him, "but then, my life has been one of soldiering."

"Mine, too. I was fifteen and beardless when Father sent me to fight at Kadesh. I have fought ever since against the Egypteians and now against Idonoi tribesmen and Thessalians who came with the Mykene. Men always talk of final victory. I have never seen one."

"Nor I," Kalliades agreed.

"And we will not see one here," Tudhaliyas said softly. "The enemy will come again. I have fewer than three hundred men now, and thirty or more of those are carrying wounds. Banokles' Thrakians number a few hundred, with a further two hundred Dardanians, many of them new recruits. Add to this the fifty Trojan Horse Hektor left us, and you have less than a thousand men to hold Dardania."

"I have sent to Priam for reinforcements," Kalliades told him, "but I doubt we'll get more than some infantry with Hektor and the Trojan Horse away fighting in the south."

"You could hold the fortress for a few months," Tudhaliyas said, "but in the end you would be starved out. If the enemy come in great numbers, it would be best, I think, to leave the Dardanians here, then stage a fighting retreat south toward Troy. That way you can still be reinforced and counterattack."

"The danger of that," Kalliades offered, "is that we could be outflanked, then caught out in the open. If the enemy are lightly armed tribesmen, we could fight our way clear. But if Agamemnon sends heavily armored Mykene regiments, we would be cut to pieces."

"They are that good?"

"Believe me, Tudhaliyas, there is no better infantry under the sun. Every one of them is a veteran, and they fight in close order, four or six ranks deep, with locked s.h.i.+elds. Your Hitt.i.tes are brave men, but wicker s.h.i.+elds will not block heavy spears. Nor will slender sabers pierce bronze disk armor."

A sudden bright light to the east caught their attention. Kalliades glanced up to see a falling star streak across the night sky. Within moments several more flashed across the horizon.

"It is an omen," Tudhaliyas said, gazing at them. "But is it for good or ill?"

"There were such lights in the sky the night before we sacked Sparta," Kalliades told him. "For us it was a good omen. We won."

"In those days you were a Mykene warrior," the Hitt.i.te observed. "Perhaps, then, it is a good omen for the Mykene."

Kalliades forced a smile. "Or perhaps they are just lights in the sky."

"Perhaps," Tudhaliyas said doubtfully. "It is said Agamemnon is a wily foe. Is this true?"

"I served him for most of my time as a soldier. He is a fine strategist. He seeks out the enemy's weakness, then strikes for the heart. No mercy. No pity."

"Then why is a fine strategist wasting the lives of his men in winter here?"

"I have been asking myself the same question," Kalliades admitted, shaking his head. "I have no answer."

The Hitt.i.te looked at him. "Perhaps you are asking the wrong question."

"And what would the right question be?"

"Is he a risk taker, or does he take the cautious route?"

Both men fell silent. Then the Hitt.i.te asked, "The Dardanian fleet is ma.s.sed now in the h.e.l.lespont watching for enemy fleets, yes?"

"Yes."

"And Agamemnon would expect us to do exactly that?"

"I suppose so."

"Perhaps that is what he wants. For if the fleet is protecting the h.e.l.lespont, then it is not guarding Troy."

"He cannot attack Troy in winter," Kalliades said. "The fear of storms or bad winds. The lack of supplies for his troops. The invasion, even if successful, would not be coordinated. No reinforcements from the south or the north."

But even as he spoke Kalliades felt a sudden cold on his skin.

"Hektor and the Trojan Horse are away in the south, defending Thebe," Tudhaliyas pointed out. "The Trojan fleet is small, for Troy relies on Helikaon's Dardanian s.h.i.+ps for protection. Those galleys are here, guarding against an attack from the north. If Agamemnon invades Troy now, in dead of winter, with all his men and all his western allies, he will catch the city unaware. And, as you say, strike for the heart. No mercy. No pity."

Old Timeon the fisherman refused to curse his luck. When calamities befell other men, they would rail at the G.o.ds or grumble about the unfairness of life. Not Timeon. Luck was luck. It was either good or bad, but it seemed to him that the odds were the same. And mostly, if a man was patient, luck would balance out in the end.

This season had tested his philosophy to the limit. The old fis.h.i.+ng boat had sprung a leak back when the shoals of slickfish were moving down from the distant Somber Sea, swimming down the coast toward the warmer seas of the south. Timeon had missed the best days, for the timbers of his vessel had proved rotten and repairs had been slow and costly.

Once the boat had been made seaworthy, he was already deeply in debt. Then two of his three sons had announced that they were traveling to the city to join the Trojan forces. That left only young Mikos, a good boy but clumsy. While filleting a catch of big silvers eight days before, he had slashed his palm, and the wound had turned bad.

Now Timeon was forced to fish alone. It was not easy. His old muscles were stretched to their limits hauling in a full net.

With the other fishermen sleeping, he had pushed out his boat in the darkness and sailed from the Bay of Herakles, encouraged by the sight of a school of dolphins. They would be hunting the slickfish, which meant a shoal was close by.

A mist lay upon the dark sea, but the sky above was clear, the stars s.h.i.+ning brightly. The breeze was cold, but Timeon believed he could feel the first breath of spring within it. Twice he cast his nets. Twice he drew them in empty.

A dolphin glided past the small vessel, its dark eye observing the old fisherman.

"You look plump and well fed," Timeon told him. "How about sharing your supper?" The dolphin rolled to its back, its tail sending a spray of water into the air. Then it dived once more, vanis.h.i.+ng into the deep. Timeon prepared his net. His eyes were gritty and tired, his muscles weary.

A light blazed across the sky. He looked up. Stars were falling in the east, white streaks on the sable. His breath caught in his throat at the beauty of the display. The sadness of a happy memory touched him. There had been flying stars on the night he had wedded Mina so long ago. "The G.o.ds have blessed us," she had said as they lay together on the beach, staring up at the sky.

Three sons they had raised, and five daughters. Blessing enough for any man, he told himself. He s.h.i.+vered. How swiftly the seasons fly. They seemed faster now than when he was young. When he was a child, the days had been endless. He remembered how he had longed to be old enough to sail in his father's boat, to bring home the slickfish, to be hailed as a great fisherman. The wait had been eternal.

Now the days were languorous no longer. They fled by, too fast to hold. Mina had been dead for five years. It seemed mere days since he had sat by her bedside, begging her not to leave him.

Timeon cast his net a third time, then slowly drew in the trailing rope. Almost instantly he knew he had a catch. Moving as swiftly as he could, he gathered it in, dragging the catch back toward the low sides of the fis.h.i.+ng boat. Scores of big silvers were thras.h.i.+ng in the net. Using every ounce of his once-prodigious strength, the old man hauled on the ropes. The fish spilled out, flopping around his feet.

Twenty copper rings' worth in one net!

His luck had changed at last. Timeon's heart was beating erratically now, and he sank back to his seat, sweat upon his face.

Then he saw a s.h.i.+p gliding through the mist. It was strange to see a galley abroad at night. Probably a Dardanian vessel, he thought, patrolling the bay.

There was a man on the prow with a weighted line. Timeon watched the s.h.i.+p approach. No one called out a greeting, and the galley moved silently past him.

Timeon rolled his net and decided to head for home.

Then another s.h.i.+p appeared. And another.

Dawn light glowed red in the sky as more and more vessels broke clear of the mist.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Timeon sat quietly watching them. He saw armored men on their decks. They gazed at him silently. The wind picked up, the mist dispersing.

Timeon saw then that the sea was full of s.h.i.+ps and barges. There were too many to count.

And in that moment he knew who they were. The Mykene had come, and the world had changed.

Timeon's heart was beating like a drum now. Fear flowed through him. How long, he wondered, before those dread warriors decided to kill him?

A galley came abreast of his little boat. He glanced up and saw a stocky man with a red and silver beard. Alongside him were bowmen, arrows notched.

"A good catch, fisherman," the man yelled. "You have been lucky tonight."

Timeon's mouth was dry. "I don't feel lucky," he replied, determined that the killers would not see his terror.

The man smiled. "I understand that. Bring your catch ash.o.r.e, and I will see you get paid for it. When you reach the sh.o.r.e, tell them Odysseus sent you. No harm will befall you. You have my word on it."

Odysseus signaled to the steersman; then the galley's oars dipped into the water, and the s.h.i.+p moved on.