David Gemmell: Lord of the Silver Bow

Helikaon gazed out into the courtyard. The Mykene had formed up in tight ranks of eight abreast. Then they began to march towards the palace. As they came closer they surged into a run.

The Eagles in the doorway faded left and right. The Mykene slowed as they reached the wall of Thrakian corpses.

Argurios hefted his spear. ‘For the King and for Troy!’ he bellowed.

And the Eagles charged.

Andromache felt her heart go out to these valiant men. From her vantage point on the rear gallery she could see how unequal was the struggle. There seemed to be hundreds of heavily armed Mykene warriors, powering forward with brute strength into a mere three ranks of Eagles. Even so, the Mykene charge faltered, as the Eagles from the doorway gathered on both sides of the advancing phalanx, hacking and cutting at the Mykene flanks. None of the archers on the gallery could afford to shoot yet, for fear of i hitting their own men. But slowly, as the phalanx inexorably entered the megaron, some bowmen began to send shafts into the warriors still massing in the doorway. Few arrows pierced the great shields, or the heavy helmets and breastplates of the invaders. But they caused the fighting men at the centre to raise their shields against this new attack, lessening the pressure on the front of the line.

Argurios gave no ground, fighting with ruthless economy of effort, his spear lancing into the enemy, his shield a wall they could not pass. Beside him Helikaon was also holding, and Andromache saw the first Mykene fall to his spear. Soon other bodies were falling as the fighting became ever more brutal.

At least two Mykene were going down to every Eagle.

It was not enough.

Notching an arrow to her bow she took careful aim – and sent a black shaft slashing through the air to bury itself through the eye socket of a glittering bronze helm. The victim vanished under the feet of his comrades.

The battle wore on, the Eagles now being pushed back, bent like a bow of human flesh. Andromache and the other archers continued to shoot down into the fighting, scoring less than one good hit in twenty.

The Eagles were engaged in a fighting retreat, the Mykene seeking to circle them, and cut them off from the stairs. At the centre of the Trojan line Argurios, Helikaon and Dios were fighting hard, but the flanks were giving way faster than the centre. At any moment the Mykene could sweep round and encircle the battling men.

Andromache saw the danger. ‘Aim for the wings!’ she cried to the bowmen around her. A greater concentration of shafts hammered into the Mykene on the left of the battle line, and they were forced to raise their shields and pull back, allowing the Trojan line to steady.

At the back of the melee Andromache saw the white-haired figure of Kolanos, urging his men on, but keeping back from the point of impact.

Just then Andromache felt the frayed hem of her chiton being tugged. She glanced down and saw little Kassandra standing there. ‘You must come. Quickly,’ said Kassandra. Andromache struggled to hear her above the clash of swords and shields, and the screams of wounded men. Kneeling down, she drew the girl to her.

‘What is it?’

‘Laodike! She is dying!’

‘No, she is just resting,’ she said. Kassandra shook her head.

‘You must come,’ she said.

Allowing the child to take her hand she followed her back into the queen’s apartments. They were filled now with wounded men, and she saw Axa helping to carry a soldier to a wide table where the physician Zeotos, his robes now utterly drenched with gore, sought to save him.

Kassandra moved away and Andromache hurried to where Laodike lay. The young woman’s face was unnaturally pale, and sheened with sweat. Her lips and eyelids had a bluish tinge. Andromache knelt beside her, taking her hand. The fingers seemed thick and swollen, and they too were bruised and discoloured.

‘Zeotos!’ she shouted. The sounds of fighting outside were closer now, and Andromache sensed the battle was all but over. In that moment she did not care.

‘Zeotos!’ she screamed again.

The old physician came to her side. His face showed his exhaustion. ‘What is happening to her?’ cried Andromache.

Zeotos hauled at Laodike, half turning her, and using a small knife to slice through her dress. Once the skin of her back was exposed Andromache saw a huge, black and swollen bruise extending from her shoulder to her hip.

‘Why did you not tell me she had such a wound?’ said Zeotos. ‘I thought she was merely scratched.’

‘I believed her to be healing,’ answered Andromache.

‘Well, she’s not,’ said the physician. ‘She’s dying. The sword or spear must have pierced a vital organ. She is bleeding to death from within.’

‘There must be something you can do?’

Zeotos’ shoulders sagged. ‘Within a few heartbeats I will be able to do nothing for anyone. We are lost. As she is lost. We are going to die.’ With that he returned to the wounded man on the table.

Priam approached. He had a sword in his hand. He looked down on his stricken daughter. ‘Her death will be a merciful release,’ he said. Then he looked at Andromache. ‘When they come do not struggle. Do not fight. Women have been raped before and have survived. Live, Andromache.’ Then he strode away towards the gallery. Little Kassandra appeared from a hiding place behind the couch.

‘I didn’t want father to see me,’ she said. ‘He is angry with me.’

‘He is not angry, little one.’

Kassandra grabbed Andromache’s hand. ‘Yes, he is. Ever since I told him Hektor is coming home. He won’t be angry when he sees him. He’ll be here soon.’

‘Oh, Kassandra.’ Andromache reached out and hugged the girl. ‘Hektor is dead.’

‘No!’ exclaimed Kassandra, pulling away. ‘Listen to me. I thought he was dead too. But the voices told me. Then they showed me.’

‘What did they show you?’

‘Climbing high cliffs. Perils and adventures. Down long rivers …’

‘Slow down!’ said Andromache. ‘Tell me calmly from the beginning. What cliffs?’

Kassandra took a deep breath. ‘Hektor and his men were trapped. It was night.

Hektor knew the enemy would come again at dawn to kill him, so he exchanged armour with a dead man. Then he and his men climbed the cliffs. Hektor is a good climber. We used to climb sometimes—’

‘Stay with your story,’ Andromache interrupted. ‘What happened after they climbed the cliffs?’

‘It took them a long time to reach a big river, and then to find a boat to bring them to the sea. A long time. That is why no word came. But he is here tonight.

Please believe me, Andromache. Hektor will be here soon, with lots of soldiers.

He will.’

Just then Laodike cried out, and opened her swollen eyes. She saw Andromache, who once more gripped her hand and kissed her cheek.

‘Rest, sister,’ she whispered.

‘I think I’m dying. Oh, Andromache!’ A tear fell and she blinked more away. ‘I don’t want to die!’

Andromache’s vision misted and she bit her lip. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Laodike sighed. ‘It was all to be so perfect. Argurios and I would… live in a palace overlooking the Scamander. I went there only yesterday. It is so…

beautiful… I… sat in the garden … in the garden…’ Her voice tailed away.

Then she spoke again. ‘Where is Argurios?’

‘He is fighting. For you. For all of us.’

‘He will win. Like my Hektor. Always wins. I am very thirsty.’

Kassandra ran away to find some water. There was little to be had, and she came back with a small goblet, containing barely a mouthful.