Shield Of Thunder Part 28

At that moment there was shouting from the portico, and an Eagle came running through the open bronze gates and into the courtyard gardens. "The Mykene are attacking the walls, lord! They have hundreds of ladders."

Polites' expression darkened. "Where?" he demanded.

"The east and west walls, my lord."

"Who commands the walls today?"

"Banokles' Scamandrians have the west, Lucan the east."

"Then I will go to the west wall. Soldier, go and fetch my armor." Polites glanced at Andromache. "A prince must be seen in his armor," he explained shyly.

He turned to go and almost collided with a redheaded man making his way toward the palace. Andromache recognized Khalkeus the bronzesmith. The old smith was covered with dust, and he looked exhausted, as if he had worked all night.

"I must see the king," Khalkeus told him curtly.

"You cannot see the king now," Polites answered.

"Then I wish to see you, Prince Polites," Khalkeus said, folding his arms and planting himself in the prince's path. "It is very important. I must have more resources. My work is vital."

"Another time, Khalkeus. The walls are under attack."

Khalkeus raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Under attack? With ladders?" Polites nodded and pushed past him. "Interesting!" the smith said. "I will come with you."

Andromache watched them hurry off: Polites with his long white robes flapping around skinny legs, stocky Khalkeus trotting along behind him. Her heart full of dread, she turned and walked back to the two boys playing in the sunlit gardens.

Khalkeus followed in the footsteps of the king's son as he made his way through the city, flanked by a troop of Eagles. He had forgotten completely his concerns about the forge, his interest piqued by this new turn of events. He long since had dismissed the possibility of the enemy attacking with ladders. The great walls were too high, and the slant of the lowest section meant that the ladders would have to be unusually long, which would make them heavy to maneuver and extremely unstable.

The scene on the west wall was one of calm control. The battlements were defended strongly by the Scamandrian regiment. At only one point had the enemy managed to climb to the top. Khalkeus watched the obnoxious Mykene renegade Banokles and his men kill them, strip their armor, then throw the bodies back over the wall.

He peered cautiously over the wall at the scene below. More than fifty ladders had been thrown up against the stones. They were all just short of the battlements, and once the enemy troops had started climbing them, their weight made the tops of the ladders hard to dislodge. Nevertheless, the Trojan soldiers were doing an efficient job, leaning over, hooking the ends of ladder poles to the top rungs, and then pus.h.i.+ng them away and down, sending enemy warriors cras.h.i.+ng back among their fellows, breaking arms, legs, and heads.

"Slide the ladders!" Polites yelled, seeing what was happening. "Wait until they have plenty of men on them, then slide them sideways. Then they'll take others down with them."

Arrows flew over the battlements, targeting the soldiers who were trying to dislodge the ladders, and Polites hurriedly donned his breastplate and helm when they were brought to him. Khalkeus looked around him, wrenched a helmet from a dead Trojan soldier, and hastily put it on. It smelled of blood and sweat.

A troop of Phrygian archers came running up the stone steps, prepared to target the bowmen on the ground. But tall Kalliades, the general's aide, stopped them with a shout. "Don't shoot! They are too far away for accuracy. Let them keep shooting at us. We may need their arrows later."

Kalliades glanced at Polites, who nodded his agreement. "Yes, we need their arrows. And we need other missiles. They are an open target, all those enemy soldiers milling down below us."

Banokles strolled up to them, wiping blood off one of his swords on a piece of cloth. "That was fun," he commented.

He leaned over the battlements, then jumped back as an arrow glanced off his helm. "Boiling oil, that's what we need," he said, echoing Polites' words. "Or water. That'll give them something to think about."

"There is little oil and no spare water in the city," Polites answered. "We cannot use the water we might need to drink come the end of summer." The men looked at each other, all no doubt thinking the same thing: Will we still be here come summer's end?

Khalkeus stepped forward. "Sand," he said. The three men looked at him. "Sand is what we need. Ordinary sand from the beach. Plenty of it. Is there any inside the city?"

Polites frowned. "Sand is used in the royal gardens. There are piles of it there. It is mixed with soil for plants which need drainage." He saw Kalliades' and Banokles' expressions of surprise and smiled slightly. "As has been said already today, I am not a military man. But I do know about plants."

He turned to Khalkeus. "You can have all you want, smith, but what do you want it for?"

At that moment a powerful Mykene warrior levered himself over the wall beside them. As he cleared the battlements, Kalliades leaped toward him and skewered his heart with a sword thrust. The man slumped across the wall, his sword clattering to the stone floor. Kalliades and Banokles grabbed an arm each and threw him back over. Khalkeus peered down and saw the warrior's leg catch on the ladder he had climbed and bring it down, along with four men climbing behind him.

"They're just wasting their men," Banokles snorted. "We can go on doing this all day. It makes no sense."

"You're right," Polites replied, his face creased with worry. "It makes no sense. Agamemnon is an intelligent man." He looked to Kalliades, his face suddenly clearing. "It is a diversion!"

Kalliades ran for the steps. "If they attack the east and west walls, they will expect us to pull our troops away from the south!"

"The Scaean Gate!" Polites shouted, following him. To Banokles he yelled, "Bring some men!"

Instead of pursuing them down the stone steps, Khalkeus trotted hurriedly along the top of the western wall, then along the south wall as far as the Great Tower of Ilion. Below him, behind the Scaean Gate, there was a furious battle going on. The guards, defending the gate desperately against a group of dark-garbed warriors, were being forced back. As he watched, the last of the guards was brought down and the attackers sprang for the great oak locking bar. It took six men to lift the bar, Khalkeus knew, but there were eight men, and they had just laid their hands on it when Kalliades and Banokles arrived at a run.

Banokles charged into them with a roar, half beheading one and slas.h.i.+ng a second across the face. The locking bar had cleared its support at one end. There was a tremendous crash from outside, and the gate s.h.i.+fted inward slightly under the blow. Kalliades leaped onto the end of the bar and threw his weight on it, helped by soldiers who had arrived behind him. The huge oak bar locked back into place just as a second blow hit it from the outside.

On the wall above them, Khalkeus hurried to the other side and looked down. Outside the gate the ma.s.sive trunk of an oak tree was being wielded as a battering ram by fifty or more men. Behind them warriors waited, armed and armored. The battering ram powered forward once again, but the great gate barely shuddered. It was firmly locked.

As the bronzesmith watched, one of the waiting warriors turned his gaze up toward him, and Khalkeus saw it was the king of Ithaka. Their eyes locked, and Khalkeus slowly shook his head. Odysseus sheathed his sword, then turned and walked away from the gate.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.

KINGS AT WAR.

Odysseus tore off his helm angrily as he stomped through the streets of the ruined lower town. Just as he had predicted, the Trojans had seen through the ploy quickly. Agamemnon's diversionary tactic had not been a bad idea, he admitted to himself. If it had worked, it might have been worth sacrificing the hundreds of men injured and killed in the attack on the walls. But it had not not worked, and they had wasted brave soldiers and, more important, lost eight agents inside the city. Those of the eight who survived would be interrogated, but they knew nothing that would help the Trojans. The Ithakan king had no idea how many agents Agamemnon had infiltrated into the city, but he was certain there would be no more now. Hektor or whoever commanded in Troy certainly would seal the last gates now to stop more refugees-and Mykene spies-from getting in. worked, and they had wasted brave soldiers and, more important, lost eight agents inside the city. Those of the eight who survived would be interrogated, but they knew nothing that would help the Trojans. The Ithakan king had no idea how many agents Agamemnon had infiltrated into the city, but he was certain there would be no more now. Hektor or whoever commanded in Troy certainly would seal the last gates now to stop more refugees-and Mykene spies-from getting in.

Odysseus always had predicted that sooner or later there would be a bid by the attackers to scale the great walls. He thought back to two nights previously. He and some of his crew from the Bloodhawk Bloodhawk were camped in the courtyard of a palace once owned by Antiphones, now the home of Achilles' Myrmidons. There had been no fighting that day, but fresh deliveries of wine had arrived, and the mood was festive. were camped in the courtyard of a palace once owned by Antiphones, now the home of Achilles' Myrmidons. There had been no fighting that day, but fresh deliveries of wine had arrived, and the mood was festive.

Achilles' s.h.i.+eld bearer Patroklos, standing with a goblet of wine in one hand and a hunk of roasted sheep in the other, was arguing for an attempt on the walls.

"Look at them," Patroklos argued, swaying a little as he spoke, waving his goblet toward the south walls. "A child could climb them. Plenty of handholds between the stones." He swigged wine and swallowed.

"We wait for a dark night; then the Myrmidons will be over the west wall before the Trojans see us coming. Fight our way to the Scaean Gate, and the city is ours. What do you say, Odysseus?"

"I say my climbing days are over, boy. And the west wall is a poor choice. Because everyone knows it is the lowest, the weak link in the chain of walls, it is more heavily defended than the others."

"Which would be your choice, Odysseus?" asked Achilles, who was lying on his back, staring at the stars.

"I would try the north wall."

Patroklos snorted with derision. "A vertical cliff face with sheer walls above? I wager no one could climb that."

"I wager," Odysseus replied, "that you you couldn't climb the west wall." couldn't climb the west wall."

Patroklos never could resist a wager, as the Ugly King knew well. He and Odysseus and Achilles, followed by a happy wine-soaked band of Myrmidons and Ithakans, left the palace and made their way around to the west wall. Framed by the starlit sky, the walls soared high above them.

"What will you wager, old king?" Patroklos asked.

"Five of my s.h.i.+ps against Achilles' breastplate."

Achilles raised his eyebrows. "Why my my breastplate?" he queried. breastplate?" he queried.

"Because it is well known that Patroklos has not a copper ring to his name and always reneges on his wagers. You, on the other hand, are a man of honor and will pay your friend's debts, as you always do."

Patroklos grinned, uncaring, and Achilles shrugged. "So be it," he said. "What if Patroklos climbs the wall and is killed when he reaches the top?"

"Then the wager stands and you win five Ithakan s.h.i.+ps."

The young warrior tied his braided blond hair back at his neck, kicked off his sandals, and ran at the wall, leaping lightly onto the first high stone. Then, finding easy hand-and footholds, he swiftly climbed to the point where the wall became vertical. There he paused, looking up. He found a handhold to his right and, stretching, just managed to catch the tips of his fingers to it. He moved his feet up carefully one at a time, then looked for a new handhold to the left. There wasn't one. The top of the huge stone he was clinging to was far above his searching hand.

Seeing his predicament, the Ithakans began jeering, but Odysseus hushed them. He glanced at the top of the wall. He could not see sentries in the darkness but knew they were there.

Patroklos carefully moved his right foot up to a narrow crack in the stone. He wriggled his bare toes as far as he could into the poor foothold. He glanced up again to check where he was going. Then, taking a deep breath, he leaped for the top of the stone. He just made it, clinging with his fingertips. His right foot slipped, but he managed to get his right hand to the top of the stone and held on, scrabbling for a foothold.

But the sound had alerted the sentries. Odysseus saw a soldier peer over the battlements high above and pull back quickly, shouting to his fellows. An archer leaned over with his bow, an arrow to the string. Patroklos was an easy target.

Then, from his right, Odysseus saw a flash of movement. In a heartbeat Achilles had drawn a dagger and thrown it at the bowman high above them. Odysseus saw it flash through the air, turning over and over in the moonlight, and thunk into the dark shape of the bowman's head. It was an impossible feat: so small a target, at such a height, and in starlight.

Achilles dashed forward. "Get down, Patroklos, now!"

His s.h.i.+eld bearer quickly climbed down the wall, jumping down the last section, and the two ran back to the Myrmidons who were covering their retreat, shooting arrows up at the gathering Trojan bowmen. Patroklos was laughing when they reached the waiting Odysseus.

"Well, old king," he said. "What of our wager now?"

"You did not reach the top of the wall."

"I was stopped by enemy action."

"Enemy action was not taken into account. It was a flawed wager."

Patroklos shrugged amiably, and they all returned to the palace. But word had reached Agamemnon of the young warrior's climb, and the next day the Battle King had come up with the doomed plan to scale the walls and take the Scaean Gate.

Odysseus smiled to himself as he walked back through the sunlit town two days later. He liked Patroklos. Everyone did. He was always cheerful, often playing the fool to amuse his king, and he was as brave as a lion. Strange, Odysseus thought, that the fact that Patroklos clearly liked Achilles made the Thessalian king, often brooding and uncommunicative, more well liked among his troops.

Patroklos provided some entertainment through the long days; that was much needed by Odysseus, who spent as little time as possible with Agamemnon and the western kings. Quarrels always broke out among them. Nestor and Idomeneos seldom spoke after Sharptooth suddenly had withdrawn his archers from the field one day, leaving Nestor's troops without cover as they attacked one of the lower town's palaces. Sharptooth avoided Odysseus, for the Ithakan king never failed to remind him that he owed Odysseus his gold and silver breastplate, wagered on Banokles' fistfight long ago at Apollo's Bow. And Agamemnon and Achilles now loathed each other and were constantly at war over something, even falling out over the owners.h.i.+p of a female slave, the daughter of a priest. Odysseus knew it would suit Agamemnon well if Achilles were to die at Troy. When they returned at last to their homelands, he would not want such a strong king as a neighbor and potential enemy.

As he walked through the lower town, the Ugly King looked around with sadness. There were few palaces in this part of Troy. Here had been the homes of craftspeople-dyers, potters, textile workers-and many of the servants to the great houses of the mighty. Before the war there had been children running through the streets and alleyways, colorful marketplaces in every square, traders making deals, arguing and laughing, often fighting. Now all was desolation, and the stink of death was everywhere. Bodies had been cleared from the streets, but the Trojan families that had been killed in their homes were still there, the corpses corrupting in the warmth of early summer.

In the distance he could hear the words of a funeral chant: "Hear our words, O Hades, Lord of the Deepest Dark." Dead warriors of the western armies went to the funeral pyre after an honorable ritual. The families killed by them were left to rot.

Deep in thought, Odysseus arrived at the hospital. It once had been the Ilean barracks, then a hospital for the Trojan wounded, who had been slaughtered when the lower town had been captured. Now it held the injured and dying soldiers of Agamemnon's armies. Odysseus hesitated before going in. He planned to visit his wounded men but did not relish the duty. Pausing before the doorway, he met the young healer Xander coming out. The boy looked tired beyond words, his tunic covered in blood, both dried and fresh. There were even blood specks among the freckles on his face.

"Odysseus!" the boy cried, his features lighting up. "Are you here to see your men? You are the only king to visit his wounded troops, apart from Achilles."

"How is Thibo? Is he dead yet?"

"No, he has left here. He will be back in action in days. He is very tough."

"You are the toughest among us, lad," Odysseus said, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Dealing with the stench and the screams of the dying every day, the horrors of gangrene and amputations. Even the bravest soldiers avoid this place. I confess I would rather be anywhere else."

The boy nodded sadly. "The enemy-I mean, your armies brought few surgeons and healers. They rely on wh.o.r.es and camp followers to help the wounded. The women have stronger stomachs than the soldiers, but they have no skill. White-Eye works all day and all night. I fear for him. Did you know Machaon died?" Xander seemed dazed with exhaustion, and his thoughts were wandering. "I'm told he died at noon on the day your troops took the Scamander. But he spoke to me, I heard him, late that day, in the mist. He tried to get me to leave. But I was too slow. I should have returned to the city while I still could. I let him down."

He gazed at Odysseus, his eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears. The king pushed him gently down onto a wooden bench outside the makes.h.i.+ft hospital.

"You are tired, lad, tired beyond reason. When did you last sleep?"

The boy shook his head dumbly. He did not know.

"I will see to it that you get more help. Is my man Leukon here?"

Xander nodded, seeming too tired to speak.

"Listen to me, lad," Odysseus urged. "When the city falls, you must leave here straightaway. Leave this place and get down to the Bay of Herakles as quickly as you can. There are always Kypriot s.h.i.+ps there, bringing supplies. Board one of them and tell the master I sent you."

But Xander was shaking his head. "No, Odysseus, I cannot. If the city falls, I must try to help my friends. Zeotos is still at the House of Serpents, and other healers. And there is the lady Andromache and her son. She is my friend. I am a Trojan now, even if I am aiding your warriors."

Suddenly angry, Odysseus cursed and grabbed the young healer by the front of his tunic. "Listen to me, lad," he rasped, "and listen to me well. I have seen cities fall, too many to count over the years. Soldiers become animals at such times. Every civilian, man, woman, or child, will be slaughtered when the gates open. None will escape. If you are there, they will kill you, maybe even someone you helped, whose life you saved. You will be no more to them than a lamb among the wolves."

Xander shook his head again, but Odysseus could see that he was too tired to argue. He let the boy go, and they sat in silence for a while. Odysseus unstrapped his breastplate and removed it with relief.

Then Xander asked quietly, "When will Troy fall, do you think, Odysseus?"

"Days or years. Tomorrow-or in ten years' time. I don't know, lad. I'm just a foot soldier in this story of heroes."

He sighed and spoke quietly, as if to himself. "I made a pledge I sorely regret, a pledge to Agamemnon that his enemies would be my enemies, his friends my friends. Well, the man has no friends. But I swore to stand by his side until his enemy is defeated. So I will stay here until the city falls to us, whenever that is. Then I will take my men and return to my s.h.i.+ps and sail away. And I will live with it, boy, though it will not be easy.

"I also have friends in Troy, Xander, friends I have known a lifetime. But I will not be running into the city to help them. They are beyond help. Everyone living behind those walls is dead, lad. They may be walking Troy's streets, breathing her air, eating, sleeping, or making love. But they are all dead."

After dawn the next day the kings of the west gathered in the House of Stone Horses. Odysseus took grim amus.e.m.e.nt from the fact that Agamemnon had moved into Helikaon's palace. The Golden One had delivered many crippling blows to the Mykene king, sinking his s.h.i.+ps, killing his Followers, raiding his coastline. The destruction of Menados' fleet had been a humiliating defeat. Agamemnon's eagerness to capture his palace in Troy, a home Helikaon cared little for and seldom resided in, revealed a lot about the Battle King. All the servants had fled long since, and the rooms were bare. Odysseus chuckled to himself. Never underestimate the pettiness of powerful men, he thought.

In the megaron megaron were the kings with some of their aides. Black-bearded Meriones, one of Odysseus's oldest friends, was beside his king, Idomeneos, and Patroklos lounged in a window, idly watching the empty street below. Kygones, the Fat King of Lykia, was accompanied by his nephew Sarpedon, by all accounts a formidable fighter. Some were breaking their fast with meat and corn bread. Odysseus sipped at a goblet of water. were the kings with some of their aides. Black-bearded Meriones, one of Odysseus's oldest friends, was beside his king, Idomeneos, and Patroklos lounged in a window, idly watching the empty street below. Kygones, the Fat King of Lykia, was accompanied by his nephew Sarpedon, by all accounts a formidable fighter. Some were breaking their fast with meat and corn bread. Odysseus sipped at a goblet of water.

When Agamemnon arrived, his normally calm demeanor seemed disturbed.

"We lost a supply train last night," he told them without any form of greeting. "Sixteen carts of grain, wine, horse feed, and dried meats and fish, coming here from the Bay of Herakles. The Trojan Horse struck on the Scamander plain, more than three hundred of them. They killed the guards and drivers and took the entire train of wagons. A detachment of cavalry was sent from King's Joy, and they killed them, too, and took their horses."

There was silence in the megaron, megaron, and then Odysseus said, "It could have been predicted. Sending supply wagons across the plain with less than a regiment to protect them is more than foolishness. They are rabbits sitting waiting for a pack of hounds." and then Odysseus said, "It could have been predicted. Sending supply wagons across the plain with less than a regiment to protect them is more than foolishness. They are rabbits sitting waiting for a pack of hounds."

"Yet you"-Agamemnon pointed a thin finger at the Ithakan king-"travel with your men back and forth to King's Joy all the time. You have not been attacked."

"One fat old king is hardly worth the effort of killing," Odysseus replied.

"I have lost five more s.h.i.+ps to Helikaon the Burner," Menestheos of Athens told them. "The Xanthos Xanthos and the Trojan fleet attacked ten of my galleys off Lesbos two days ago." and the Trojan fleet attacked ten of my galleys off Lesbos two days ago."