David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

Two men approached them. Kalliades glanced up to see a tall warrior with fair hair and blue streaks on his face and the stocky, bald Vollin, who had served with him at the pass. Both looked angry.

“We are to be left behind?” the tall man asked.

“Until tomorrow,” Banokles said, “when they send the barges back.”

“They are leaving us here to die,” Vollin said. “This is betrayal.”

Banokles pushed himself to his feet. Kalliades levered himself up alongside him. “Hektor is not a betrayer,” Kalliades said. “The barges will return.”

“If that is so,” Blue Face asked Banokles, “why are you leaving with them today?”

“I am not leaving. What sheep-shagging cowson said I was leaving?”

Kalliades saw the two Thrakians glance at each other. Then Vollin spoke. “Your three men, Olganos and the others. They have already boarded the barges. We thought you would be going with them.”

“And leave you lads behind? How could you think that? After all we’ve been through.” The men both looked shamefaced. Then the tall one spoke.

“If you are staying,” he said, “then I will believe the barges will return for us. They would not leave you behind otherwise.”

“Good,” Banokles said. “Then that’s settled.”

“I’ll send scouts out,” Vollin said. “At least then we’ll have some warning if the Idonoi come back.”

Most of the barges had been launched, and Kalliades watched the oarsmen struggle in the strong currents. Although the coastline of Dardania could be seen clearly across the straits, the currents would sweep the barges southwest to land farther along the coast. Out on the straits three Dardanian galleys waited to escort the fleet.

The last of the forty-one barges, packed with troops and their mounts, was hauled off the sand, the fleet strung out in the narrow straits. The sky was clear, and there was little wind, which was a blessing, Kalliades knew. Overladen as they were and wallowing in the blue water, it would not take much to cause a disaster. A brisk wind, or a storm, or even panic among the horses. The distance between the upper timbers of the hulls and the water below was less than a man’s forearm in length. If a barge tipped even a fraction, the water would flow in, and it would sink like a rock. The heavily armored men aboard would have no chance of survival.

“May Poseidon grant calm seas,” he said.

Banokles suddenly swore. “Never mind Poseidon,” he said, and pointed up the straits toward the northeast. “Worry about those cowsons!” Rounding the headland behind which they had been hiding, a fleet of black galleys was heaving into view. Kalliades counted twenty ships.

Kalliades suddenly felt cold. The packed barges were defenseless against war galleys. They would be rammed and sunk long before they could reach the safety of the shore.

Olganos had never been a good sailor. It was a source of embarrasment to his family, who were Scamander fishermen. Even on balmy seas his stomach would rebel. His father promised him that the sickness would be short-lived, that his body would acclimatize to the motion of the sea. It never did, which was why he was the first of his family to join the army.

The moment he had boarded the flat-bottomed barge that morning the nausea had begun. Justinos had clapped him on the back and chuckled.

“Hades’ balls, boy, we are still on the beach, and already your face is gray.”

Olganos had not replied. Instead he had gritted his teeth and prepared for the ghastly ritual of giddiness, surging heat through his belly, and the inevitable retching. The rope at the front of the barge tightened as the Dardanian galley hauled the vessel off the beach. Olganos gripped the deck rail and stared down at the sea. The barge lurched, then floated clear.

Olganos stared now around the flat-bottomed vessel. Eighty men and twenty horses were crowded on its deck. The warriors around him were carefree and happy, for they were leaving behind the benighted realm of Thraki and heading home to loved ones and the security of Troy. Olganos belched and tasted hot acid in his throat. In that moment he hated the sea.

The eight bargemen on either side had little room to work their long oars, and they swore at the soldiers jostling them. At the rear of the craft the two steering oarsmen laughed at the chaos.

Olganos gazed gloomily back at the beach. He would have preferred to remain there with Banokles and the Thrakians, but it would only have delayed the crossing.

The last barge was being launched, and Olganos watched it bobbing and wallowing. He closed his eyes as a fresh ripple of sickness caused his belly to lurch.

“Perhaps they’ll take us all the way back to Troy,” Skorpios said.

Olganos felt panic overwhelm him at the prospect. Then common sense asserted itself. The barges had to return for the Thrakians and Banokles. He glared at Skorpios, who was grinning at him.

“Very funny,” he managed to say.

“Doesn’t the swell of a boat make your heart leap?” Justinos asked Skorpios. “As it bobs and sways and bobs and sways.”

Olganos swore at them, leaned over the side, and emptied his belly into the sea.

It did not help. The nausea remained, and now his head was pounding.

As he straightened, he saw a fleet of black ships rounding the headland to the northeast. For a moment he thought they were Dardanian. Then reality struck him.

Alongside him Justinos muttered an oath.

The three Dardanian galleys had seen the enemy fleet and were turning to face them. The current was swift, and the Mykene galleys bore down on the slow-moving barges with murderous speed.

A Dardanian warship managed to block the first of the galleys. Three more swept past. Olganos watched horrified as the last barge was rammed amidships. The timbers cracked, and the barge tilted sharply. The Mykene galley backed oars, leaving a gaping hole in the stricken vessel. The sea rushed in, and it suddenly tipped. Horses and men were hurled into the blue sea. The horses began to swim, but the heavily armored Trojan soldiers struggled desperately to stay afloat. They began crying out for help. Olganos watched their heart-wrenching battle for life. One by one they sank below the surface. Eighty men were dead in a matter of heartbeats.

“Get out of your armor!” Olganos shouted at the men around him as he tore at the leather straps holding his cuirass in place.

“Not me,” Justinos said. “I can’t swim.”

“I’ll keep you afloat, my friend.”

Justinos shook his head. “The moment the bastards ram us, I’ll climb aboard their ship.”

Olganos dumped his cuirass to the deck. “You won’t have the chance. They’ll ram and then pull back. Trust me.”

Skorpios also had stripped off his armor. Most of the other men were doing the same, and the barge rocked ominously.

A Mykene galley closed on them but was itself rammed by a Dardanian warship. The men on the barge cheered, but the sound died away swiftly. Another Mykene vessel slammed into the Dardanian ship, splintering its hull.

The rowers on the barge were powering their oars furiously, but in their panic the rhythm was lost. Slowly the vessel swung, the current hitting the port side of the stern. The overladen barge was now broadside on, presenting a wide target. Olganos crouched down and removed his bronze greaves, tossing them to the deck. He straightened just in time to see the looming prow of a war galley. Its ram thundered against the timbers of the barge. Men were hurled from their feet. The horses panicked as the deck tilted, rearing and kicking out. Then they lunged through the mass of warriors and leaped or tumbled into the sea. The barge lurched dramatically as the galley backed oars and pulled away. Water gushed up through the deck timbers.