David Gemmell: Lord of the Silver Bow

‘May Ares guide your spear,’ said Kalliades.

‘He always does,’ replied Banokles, donning his helm. Gathering up his spear, the big man walked back to the fighting.

Kalliades felt a heaviness descend on his spirit. This entire venture was turning to goat shit. Argurios had fooled them, drawn them in to where he wanted to fight. Kolanos was an idiot not to have seen his strategy. They would not break Argurios. Instead the night would slowly drift by, and by morning the entire city would turn on them.

Some of the wounded men were gathering up their weapons again. Others were stretched out, leaking blood to the floor.

A short and a simple battle, with plenty of plunder. That was what Kolanos had promised.

Even as he thought of the man he saw him, moving across the megaron, a bow in his hand. Kolanos was wearing no helmet, his white hair flowing free to his shoulders.

Kalliades’ view of him sunk to a new depth. Heroes did not use bows. They fought with sword and lance, facing their enemies, eye to eye, hand to hand.

Then, in the distance, he heard a horn blow. It echoed mournfully through the night. Then the sound was repeated, over and over.

Kolanos paused and swung back to where the Trojan prince, Agathon, was standing.

Kalliades could not hear their conversation, but he saw that Agathon was concerned by the blowing of the horn. His face looked tight and tense, and he kept casting nervous glances towards the door.

Then Kolanos ran back to the scene of the fighting. Agathon headed in the opposite direction, and Kalliades saw him pass out into the night.

Kalliades remained where he was, lost in thought. Had he known Argurios was an enemy here he would never have accepted the mission. Not through fear of the man, for Kalliades feared nothing. Simply because Argurios had an uncanny knack of never losing.

The damned horn continued to blow. It sounded closer now. Kalliades heaved himself to his feet and walked out into the night. There were Thrakians milling in the courtyard, talking in urgent voices.

‘What is happening?’ asked Kalliades.

‘The Great Gates are open,’ a man told him. ‘More Trojans are coming.’

Then another Thrakian came sprinting through the gates, shouting, ‘Hektor has returned! The prince is back! Fly for your lives!’

The Thrakians stood still for only a moment. Then they began to stream away through the palace gates.

Kalliades swore, and ran back into the megaron.

Argurios battled on, Helikaon beside him. The older warrior was beginning to tire now, and knew that soon he would have to step back, allowing either Dios or Polydorus to take his place for a while. He had still not fully recovered from the assassination attempt back in the autumn, and his arms were beginning to feel heavy, his breath coming in harsh rasps.

Blocking a spear-thrust, he slammed his shield into the warrior facing him, then drove his spear high and hard at the man’s helmet. It hammered into the brow, i snapping the warrior’s head back and throwing him off balance. Argurios hurled himself against the man, knocking him back into the warrior behind him. Both fell clumsily. For a moment only there was a gap in the fighting, as the Mykene struggled to rise.

In the distance Argurios could hear a horn blowing. He glanced at Helikaon.

‘It is the Call to Arms,’ shouted Helikaon. ‘Reinforcements are coming!’

A cheer went up from the people on the gallery, and many of them began to shout down jeers and threats to the Mykene.

‘You are finished now!’ bellowed one man. ‘Like rats in a trap!’

But the Mykene did not run. Instead they launched a fresh attack on the stairs.

Argurios fought on. His spear point snapped against a shield. Hurling the weapon aside he drew his sword. His opponent, a huge warrior, threw himself at him, knocking him from his feet. The enemy’s lance stabbed towards Argurios’ face.

Twisting away from the blade Argurios lashed out with his foot, catching the man in the ankle. He stumbled. Argurios surged up, his sword plunging through the man’s spear arm at the biceps. The Mykene jerked back, but the sword was stuck fast. Forced to release his hold on the weapon Argurios leaned back and hammered his foot against the man’s hip. The Mykene fell heavily. Other warriors clambered over him.

‘Argurios!’ shouted Polydorus, thrusting his own spear into Argurios’ hand. Even as he took it Argurios twisted his body and surged forward, the point of the spear piercing a warrior’s throat, and snapping the neck.

The Mykene warriors at the foot of the stairs were streaming back through the megaron to face the fresh troops arriving there. Argurios could not see them, but he could hear the sounds of battle.

Then he saw Kolanos, by the far wall, a bow in his hand.

In that instant a Mykene soldier leapt at Helikaon, knocking him from his feet.

Half stunned, Helikaon tried to roll. The Mykene standing over him raised his spear for a death lunge. Argurios spun and blocked the blow with his shield.

Something sharp and hot tore into his side, ripping through his ribs and driving up into his chest. He staggered, righted himself, and thrust his spear into the warrior threatening Helikaon. As the man fell the others below him turned away from the stairs.

Argurios wanted to follow them but his legs were suddenly weak and he sank to the stairs. The Shield of Ilos fell from his arm, and he gazed down at the arrow buried deep in his side. It had struck exactly the point on his cuirass where the bronze discs were missing.

Helikaon and Polydorus carried Argurios to the gallery, laying him gently down.

Fire was running through him now, and he gritted his teeth against the insistent agony. Helikaon pulled Argurios’ helmet clear and knelt alongside him. Then Polydorus placed his hand over the shaft, ready to pull it clear.

‘No!’ said Argurios. ‘This arrow and I are brothers now. It has killed me. It is also keeping me alive for a little while. Draw it out and my life blood will flow with it.’

‘No!’ insisted Polydorus. ‘I will fetch the physician. He will find a way to cut it clear. You will live, Argurios. You must live.’ He rushed away.

Argurios sighed, then looked at Helikaon. ‘The boy doesn’t know wounds,’ he said. ‘We do, though, Golden One.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Helikaon, lifting clear his own helmet. ‘I am sorry, Argurios.’

Priam the king came then, and knelt on Argurios’ left. For a moment he said nothing, then he reached out and gripped Argurios’ hand. ‘I said you could ask anything of me,’ he said.

‘Nothing left to ask for, Priam King.’ He smiled, grimly. ‘If I had the power I would go down there and rescue my friends, and carry them back to Mykene. I recognized many.’

‘Is there anything I can do for you? Or your family?’

‘I have no family. I need nothing.’

Priam sighed, then stood. ‘I thank you, Mykene. The Shield of Ilos will return to its place of glory on the walls of my palace. It will be known from now on as the Shield of Argurios. No-one will ever forget what you did here.’

With that the king, flanked by Royal Eagles, strode down to the megaron.

Polydorus returned with the physician Zeotos, who only confirmed what Argurios already knew. The arrow was too deep. Polydorus knelt beside the dying warrior, and there were tears in his eyes.

‘I cannot tell you how proud I am to have stood with you in battle, Argurios,’

he said.

‘Spare some pride for yourself, boy. You did well. Now go and join your comrades, and let me sit quietly for a while.’

Polydorus leaned forward and kissed Argurios on the brow. Then he gathered his sword and followed his king down the stairs.