David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

Suddenly the pirate vessel veered sharply away. Enemy bowmen continued to shoot, but swiftly the ship moved out of range, heading south.

“They are going to turn and ram us,” Meriones said grimly.

But the galley did not turn. Its rowers were laboring hard to put distance between the two ships.

The men on the Penelope dropped their bows, drew swords and knives, and ran to join their comrades fighting on the first pirate vessel. Piria turned to watch them and saw a massive ship coming from the north. It was bigger than any vessel she had ever seen: forty oars on either side, in two banks, and a mast as tall as a tree. From the mast a huge sail billowed, and upon it was painted a rearing black horse.

“Ah, we are blessed today by all the gods,” Meriones said. “That is the Xanthos .”

“It is… colossal,” Piria said.

“Indeed it is—and the bane of all pirates. There are fire hurlers on the decks and a crew of more than a hundred fighting men. And for honest folk like us there is no better sight than that monster.”

Moving to the starboard rail, Piria saw that the battle had turned. There were far fewer pirates now, but the fighting was still fierce. She looked for Kalliades but could not see him. Fear gripped her then, for she saw Banokles still battling alongside Odysseus. Then she caught sight of Kalliades, and relief flowed through her. He had been hidden by the mast. She watched him cut down an enemy, then force his way to stand beside Odysseus.

Some of the pirates threw down their weapons, but there was no quarter, and they were hacked to death. Others threw themselves over the side and into the sea. An ugly man with an unnaturally long face screamed at Idomeneos and threw himself at the Kretan king. Before he could come close, he was knocked from his feet by Banokles. Swords plunged down into the man. Piria heard his gurgling death cries.

And the battle was over.

Odysseus sat slumped by the mast, exhausted, watching as the mighty Xanthos glided close by. A familiar voice called out. “Ho, Odysseus! Where are you, sea uncle?”

Wearily he pushed himself to his feet and walked to the starboard rail and leaned upon it. Looking up, he saw a tall, wide-shouldered man with golden hair standing at the prow of the giant ship.

“By the tits of Thetis,” he cried, “what fool put you in charge of a ship?”

Hektor, prince of Troy, laughed. “Ah, that would be a mighty fool indeed. No, my friend, I am merely a passenger, albeit a passenger with a sword. Are you not a little old to be fighting pirates?”

“Old? I am in my prime, you impudent wretch!”

“I believe you, sea uncle. Looks like you’ll need a little help with that galley. I can loan you twenty men.”

“They would be welcome, Hektor, my friend.”

“We’ll maneuver alongside and send them down to you.”

Odysseus called out his thanks and wandered back to the mast. His hands were trembling now, and he felt nauseous. Bias joined him, kneeling alongside.

“How many did we lose?” Odysseus asked him.

“Eight dead, eleven more with deep wounds, and almost everyone else has been cut or pierced save for me and Leukon. Even then, we got off lightly, Odysseus. What of you? You are covered in blood. Any of it your own?”

Odysseus shook his head. “Who are the dead?”

Bias named them, and a deep sorrow was added to the burden of weariness. Odysseus leaned his head back against the mast. All around him men were stripping the dead pirates and throwing their bodies over the side. The Xanthos eased alongside, throwing a deep shadow over the deck. Ropes were lowered, and twenty men shinnied down them.

“Damn, but I never used to feel this tired after a battle,” Odysseus said. “Especially not after winning one.”

“I know,” Bias said. “I feel it, too.”

“You will not tell me we are getting older,” Odysseus warned him.

Bias smiled. “No, Odysseus. Perhaps we are just getting wiser. The thought of all the men who were alive this morning and walking the Dark Road now is dispiriting. And what was achieved? We gained an old galley, a few weapons for trade, and maybe some plunder. None of it was worth the loss of those eight men. Especially young Demetrios.”

Odysseus closed his eyes. “Go and give the new men tasks,” he told Bias. “Transfer any plunder to the Penelope .”

“Yes, my king,” Bias said. “How do you want to proceed?”

“Hektor’s men can maneuver the galley back to Titan’s Rock,” Odysseus said. “They can pick up the wounded we left behind. We will push on. With a favorable wind we can reach Apollo’s Bow by dusk, and if not we’ll beach at Humpback Bay.”

Bright sunshine shone across the deck as the shadow of the Xanthos moved away. Odysseus heard Hektor call out to him.

“We’re going after those pirates, Odysseus. Where are you bound?”

“Apollo’s Bow,” Odysseus shouted as the huge ship glided on toward the south.

Bias moved off to where the twenty new crew members were standing, and the Ugly King sat quietly, gazing down at his blood-covered arms and hands. The fingers had stopped trembling now, but he still felt sick. Young Demetrios had been a good lad, quiet, hardworking, and so proud to have been chosen to replace Portheos. The faces of the other dead men floated across his mind. He had sailed for close to twenty seasons with Abderos, the only man on the crew never to have taken a wife. During winter he lived alone, carving wood and making rope, rarely speaking to anyone. Once back aboard in the spring, he would grin widely and embrace his comrades. All he had was the Penelope. And now he had died to protect her.

Wearily Odysseus climbed back to his ship.

Banokles strolled over to him and squatted down. He, too, was blood-spattered, his face and beard bright with red spots and streaks.

“I was wondering,” he said cheerfully, “if Kalliades and I could become Ithakans. For the games at Troy, I mean. After all, we can’t take part as Mykene.”

Odysseus had no wish for conversation. His mind was still reeling from the loss of his comrades. But this man had saved his life several times that day, so he drew in a deep breath and considered the question. “What is your skill?” he asked at last.

“I’m a fistfighter.”

“And Kalliades?”

“Swordsman.”

“There are no sword events in the wedding games. Only the Mykene have death bouts.”

“Ah. He’s also a fine runner.”

“Leukon is our fistfighter, Banokles. And you may recall that the last time I saw you in a fistfight, you were lying on your back with your arms over your head.”

“True,” Banokles said. “But there were five of your lads, and I told you I was only catching my breath.”

Odysseus smiled. “There will be some great fighters in Troy. Truly great. I couldn’t enter a man who might shame Ithaka.”

“I wouldn’t do that! I’m a terrific fighter.”

“You are a great warrior, Banokles. I’ve seen that today. But fistfighting is different.”

“I could beat Leukon,” Banokles said confidently.

Odysseus looked into his eyes. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “Tonight we will be having a funeral feast for our friends who died today. We will speak their praises and offer libations for their safe journey to the Elysian Fields. There are not enough men without wounds to stage any funeral games. But if Leukon agrees, you and he can fight in honor of the departed.”

“Wonderful,” Banokles said happily. “And if I win, we can be Ithakans in Troy?”

“You can,” Odysseus said.

He watched the big man amble away. More heart than sense, he thought. Glancing around the deck, he caught sight of Leukon and called him over. Swiftly he told the giant of Banokles’ request.