David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

Then the barge tipped forward. Olganos was hurled against the deck rail and cartwheeled into the water.

As he surfaced, an arrow slashed past his head, slicing into the water and bobbing up alongside him. Sucking in a deep breath, he dived down. When he came up for air, the black galley was moving away in search of fresh kills.

He heard someone cry out and saw Skorpios holding on to Justinos, whose heavy armor was dragging them both down. Swimming swiftly across to them, he helped support the powerful warrior while struggling to untie the straps of his cuirass.

More arrows slashed by them. One glanced from Skorpios’ arm, ripping the skin. Olganos had managed to loosen Justinos’ cuirass, but there was no way to remove it.

“You will have to duck out of your armor,” he told his friend. “Sink below the surface and push it away.”

Justinos’ eyes were wide and frightened. “No,” he said.

“You must! Or you’ll kill us all. I won’t let you drown. I swear it!”

Justinos sucked in a great breath, then lifted his arms—and sank.

As Skorpios dragged at the armor, Olganos dived below the surface. The heavy cuirass came free, but Justinos suddenly panicked and began to thrash out madly, bubbles of air whooshing from his mouth. Olganos dived deeper, grabbing hold of Justinos’ shirt and kicking out for the surface. But the weight was too much, and they both began to sink. Then Skorpios dived down alongside him, and together they pulled Justinos’ head clear of the water.

“Calm yourself and breathe!” Olganos shouted. Justinos took in great gulps of air.

Just below the surface the body of a soldier floated past them, an arrow through his neck. Another Mykene galley was closing in on them, and Olganos could see a line of archers on the port bow. Some of them were grinning as they notched arrows to their weapons. The only way to survive was to dive deep, yet the moment they let go of Justinos, he would drown.

Justinos understood this and said grimly, “Save yourselves! Go!”

Then Olganos saw something dark flying through the air toward the galley. It was a skull-sized ball of dried clay. It struck a bowman and shattered, spraying what appeared to be water over the man and those around him. Then another hit the deck.

Olganos twisted around and saw a massive golden ship with a black horse sail bearing down on the Mykene. Archers were massed along its deck, and they sent a hail of fire arrows at the enemy.

What happened then made Olganos gasp. He expected the arrows to smolder, perhaps even setting fire to the Mykene sail. Instead the entire deck burst into flame. The archer who had been struck by the pottery ball was ablaze from head to toe. Olganos saw him leap from the ship. When he surfaced, his body was still burning, his screams awful to hear.

The golden ship thundered into the Mykene galley, splintering its hull. From the upper deck Olganos saw more pottery balls sail out toward other enemy vessels.

Black smoke was pouring from the stricken galley, and the bowmen, who only moments before had been preparing to use Olganos and his friends for target practice, were leaping into the sea. Elsewhere Olganos could see the Mykene fleet desperately swinging away from the pursuit of the barges as more and more Dardanian galleys bore down on them.

A Dardanian ship drew alongside the men in the water. Someone called down: “Who are you?”

“Three Trojan Horse,” Olganos called back.

Ropes were lowered. Justinos grabbed the first and hauled himself up to the deck. Skorpios followed and then Olganos. A stocky sailor approached them, offering Skorpios a cloth to bind his wounded arm.

Olganos walked to the rail and watched the sea battle unfold. There were six Mykene ships ablaze, four others rammed and sinking. The golden Xanthos continued to rain fire down upon the surviving vessels. The strong current that had swept the Mykene toward the barges was now their most powerful enemy. Their rowers, tired after maintaining ramming speed to intercept the Trojan fleet, had little strength left to escape from the avenging Dardanians. A group of archers pushed past Olganos, then leaned over the rail. In the sea below Mykene sailors were shouting for help. They received only death.

By late afternoon the battle was over. Five Mykene vessels managed to escape to the north and one slipped past the Dardanians, heading out toward open sea.

Dusk was approaching as the Dardanian ship carrying Olganos and his friends crossed the straits and beached close to the barges.

Once ashore, Olganos, Skorpios, and Justinos made their way to where the Trojan army was gathering. Despite their escape, the mood was somber among the survivors. Almost two hundred men and sixty horses had been lost in the crossing.

Food fires were lit, and the soldiers gathered around them. There was little conversation. Olganos stretched out on the ground, enjoying the warmth of the blaze, and slept for a while.

When Justinos nudged him awake, it was dark. Olganos sat up, rubbing sleep from his eyes. All around him men were hastily putting on their armor and gathering horses. Olganos climbed wearily to his feet.

“What is going on?” he asked.

“Fires to the south. Dardanos is burning,” Justinos said.

Earlier that afternoon the Mykene admiral Menados had sat on a hillside, gazing down at his army camped on the beach below. But he was not thinking of his mission or the capricious nature of war. He was thinking instead of his grandchildren. During forty years of warfare Menados had learned that often, when faced with a particularly complex problem, it helped to close one’s mind to it for a time and summon other, happier thoughts. And so he relived his last visit to his son’s farm and the chase through the woods, the children squealing with mock fear as he pretended to be the monster pursuing them. Menados smiled at the memory. When he had caught little Kenos hiding in a bush, the boy suddenly had burst into tears and cried out: “Don’t be a monster anymore!”

Menados had swept him into his arms and kissed his cheeks. “It is only a game, Kenos. It is me. Grandpapa.”

Now, in the afternoon sunshine, his army and fleet hidden in a secluded bay only a short march from the fortress city of Dardanos, the old admiral allowed the happy memories to fade back into the scriptorium of his mind. He sighed and focused once more on the bleak prospects facing him.

Every martial instinct now told him he would be best advised to get his men back on the ships and transports and sail for safer waters. Unfortunately, as a longtime follower of Agamemnon, he also understood that matters martial were inextricably linked with politics.

Agamemnon had ordered him to take the fortress of Dardanos and kill Helikaon’s wife and child—retribution for the savage attacks on the Mykene homeland. This raid was to be combined with an invasion led by the victorious Peleus. What a fine plan it had sounded. With an army rampaging across the Dardanian countryside and the fortress held by loyal Mykene troops, Dardania would fall. That would give Agamemnon a good land route to Troy.

Menados scratched at his black and silver beard. A fine plan, he thought again, save that Peleus had not followed it. The last he had heard, before this day, was that the Thessalian king was leading an army in pursuit of the fleeing Hektor. Now, according to the traitor within the fortress, Peleus was dead, and the war fleet of Helikaon had been sighted heading into the Hellespont. Menados had no way of knowing how many of the Trojan Horse had survived the battle with Peleus, but based on the numbers of barges the traitor claimed were being used, he assumed there would be at least two thousand. Helikaon himself was known to have around fifty ships. Another two thousand fighting men at the very least.