David Gemmell - Lord of the Silver Bow

Andromache came then. ‘Am I to get no peace?’ asked Argurios. Her face was tight and tense, and he could see the marks of tears upon her cheeks.

‘Laodike needs you,’ she said.

‘I don’t want her to see me like this.’

‘No, you must come. She… she is dying too, Argurios.’

‘No!’ Argurios groaned. ‘It cannot be!’

‘Her wound was deeper than we thought. You must come to her.’

Argurios looked up at Helikaon. ‘Help me rise,’ he said. Helikaon took his arm and drew him upright. Argurios groaned again as the arrow point shifted, firing fresh agony through him. He staggered back against the wall, but Helikaon held him. Slowly they made their way to the queen’s apartments. The wounded were everywhere, and Argurios saw Laodike lying on her couch, her eyes closed.

Steadying himself, he told Helikaon to let him go, then walked to the couch and knelt beside it. Reaching out, he took her hand. Laodike’s eyes opened. Her face was pale, her eyes heavy-lidded. Argurios felt in that moment he had never seen such beauty. Laodike smiled, her face instantly radiant with happiness. ‘Oh, Argurios,’ she said. ‘I was dreaming of you.’

‘Was it a good dream?’ he asked her.

‘Yes. All my dreams of you are wonderful.’

‘And what did you dream?’

‘It was our house. I have been to see it. You will… love it. It has a deep garden and a fountain. There are flowering trees against the western wall. We can sit there in the evenings, when the sun sets.’

‘I will look forward to that, my love.’

‘Did you see father?’

‘Yes. Everything is well, Laodike.’

‘We will not be parted then?’

Argurios opened the small pouch at his sword belt and lifted out the crumpled swan feather.

‘You kept it!’ she whispered.

‘Yes. I kept it. We will never be parted. Not even in death.’

Placing the feather in her hand, he closed his own fingers around hers. With the last of his strength he eased himself down to the floor, laying his head upon her breast.

‘I am so happy, Argurios,’ she said. ‘I think I’ll sleep a little now.’ ‘We’ll both sleep. And when we awake you can show me the garden.’

Kalliades ran back into the megaron, his mind racing. With enemy troops coming in behind them, and an undefeated force still holding the upper levels, the insurrection was now doomed. Casting his veteran’s eye around the palace he knew it could not be defended for long. The megaron was almost a hundred paces long, and some fifty wide. Too large to resist a superior force – as the Trojans had discovered only a few hours before. Now the roles were about to be reversed – save that the Mykene would not be able to retreat to the upper levels. They would be assailed on two fronts, through the great doors, and from the gallery above. He scanned the columned walls. Their only hope – albeit a transient one – would be to form a shield wall.

All around him lay Mykene casualties, having their wounds stitched or plugged with cloth. He called out to the men closest by, ‘Get the wounded together! More Trojans are coming!’

Instantly warriors began helping their comrades to their feet, or carrying them back to the shelter of the wall. Then they began to gather shields and helmets.

Kalliades ran the length of the megaron to the rear of the hall, where the battle of the stairs was still raging. Argurios was still fighting there, but Kalliades did not look up at him. Instead he sought out Kolanos. He saw the general standing in the shelter of a great column, his bow bent. An arrow flashed towards the stairs. Kalliades flicked his glance to the left, seeing the shaft punch home in Argurios’ side.

‘I have you, you bastard!’ said Kolanos gleefully.

Kalliades came alongside him. ‘Trojan reinforcements are upon us,’ he said. ‘The city gates are open and the Thrakians have fled.’

He saw fear in Kolanos’ eyes. ‘Where is Prince Agathon?’

Kalliades shrugged. ‘Gone. I don’t know where. We need to make a stand. I have started a shield wall.’

‘A stand? I’ll not die here!’ Kolanos threw away the bow and headed down the megaron, racing towards the open doors. Kalliades followed him, awaiting orders.

But there were none. The general ran out into the courtyard. Kalliades paused in the doorway, wondering what the man was doing. Then he realized. Kolanos was trying to flee the palace before the enemy arrived. He was almost at the gates when Trojan soldiers appeared. Kolanos spun round and fled back to where Kalliades waited, pushing past him and into the palace. There he stood, eyes wide and staring, his face a mask of panic.

Kalliades’ loathing for the man swelled still further. Pulling away from the general he sprinted back to the mass of fighting men below the stairs. ‘Back!

Back!’ he yelled. ‘We are betrayed! Form a shield wall! Now!’

The first man he saw was Banokles. He had lost his helmet and his face was grey with pain. A sword blade had cut through his arm, and was jutting from his biceps.

‘Pull this damn thing out!’ he urged Kalliades.

Kalliades wrenched the blade clear. Banokles swore loudly. ‘Shield wall!’

shouted Kalliades once more, his voice carrying over the fighting. Years of harsh discipline cut through the battle lust and the Mykene began to stream back from the stairs.

Swinging his shield to his forearm, Kalliades moved with them. Trojan soldiers were pouring through the doors now, armed with spear and sword. Kolanos had retreated behind some twenty men with shields and spears, while other Mykene ran to join them, forming a tight wall round their wounded.

A group of seven warriors made a charge at the doors, seeking to block the entrance. Kalliades saw a huge, golden-haired Trojan enter, carrying two swords.

He was helmetless and wearing an ordinary breastplate. On either side of him were shield bearers, protecting his flanks. Kalliades expected to see the man swept aside by the Mykene charge. Instead he tore into the seven warriors, killing two and punching a third from his feet. There had been many shocks that night, but this stunned Kalliades. The Trojan did not fight like a man, but advanced like a tempest, invincible and unstoppable.

A great cheer went up from the people on the gallery, a sound rich and joyous.

Then they began to chant.

‘Hektor! Hektor! Hektor!’

Kalliades felt suddenly cold. He shivered as he watched the great Trojan hero charge into the warriors facing him.

A Mykene stabbed at Hektor with a spear, but he sidestepped the thrust and drove his sword through the attacker’s skull. The blade stuck fast. Two more Mykene rushed at him. A shield bearer blocked the charge of the first, but the Trojan met the second head on. As the Mykene opened his shield to stab out with his spear Hektor stepped inside and delivered a punch to the man’s helm. It rang like a bell, and the warrior was hurled from his feet. The remaining Mykene fell back to join the shield wall, as more and more Trojans swarmed into the megaron.

Kalliades killed a soldier, knocked another to the floor, then took up his place alongside Banokles.

The shield wall at last in place and bristling with spears, the Trojans fell back momentarily, pinning down the Mykene, but making no attack.

‘So that’s Hektor,’ said Banokles. ‘Always wondered if he was as good as the legends say. Big bastard, isn’t he?’

Kalliades did not reply. The Mykene were finished now. Fewer than fifty warriors were left. True they would take a few score more Trojans with them, but they could not fight their way out of this mess.

‘You think this could get any worse?’ asked Banokles.

Kalliades saw King Priam walk out into the megaron, flanked by Royal Eagles. The vile Helikaon was also with him. The king cried out Hektor’s name, and the giant walked over to him, embracing the older man. The moment was almost dream-like.