David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

Odysseus strolled over to where Kalliades, Banokles, and Piria were standing by the water’s edge.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked Banokles. “I once saw Leukon punch a bronze-reinforced shield and split it down the center.”

“Was the shield punching back?” Banokles asked.

Odysseus chuckled. “No,” he said, “it wasn’t.” He looked long and hard at Banokles. “You’ve the size for a fistfighter, and your friend tells me you have the heart. I’ve watched you move, and all your strength is in the upper body. A good fistfighter punches from the shoulder. A great one punches from the heel.”

Banokles laughed. “This is another tall story. Fists in the feet.”

“No, lad. It’s the plain truth. The great fighters twist their whole bodies, bringing all their weight into a blow. Leukon is a great fighter. I expect him to reach the final in Troy and bring yet more glory to the Penelope and to Ithaka. So there’ll be no shame if you decide not to fight him.”

“Why would I do that?” Banokles asked, scratching at his thick blond beard. He made a fist. “I call this the Hammer of Hephaistos,” he said proudly. “Bring me a shield and I’ll crack it in half.”

Odysseus transferred his gaze to Kalliades, then shook his head and wandered away. “He was trying to shake my confidence,” Banokles said. “Confidence is everything in a fighter, you know.”

“Well, you are not short of that.”

“That’s true. But you believe in me?”

Kalliades laid his hand on Banokles’ broad shoulder. “I have always believed in you, my friend. I know that if even the gods lined up against me, you would be there at my side. So when is this bout to take place?”

“Odysseus said it would be after the Xanthos gets here. He says Hektor never likes to miss a fine fight.” He lowered his voice even though no one but Piria was close. “You think he’ll remember us from Troy? I’ll never forget that big bastard tearing into our boys as if they were children. The only time in my life I’ve ever been frightened was when I saw Hektor attack. And I don’t mind you knowing it, though if you ever mention it to anyone else, I’ll call you a liar.”

“I won’t mention it. I felt the same. For a time there I almost believed he was the god of war himself.”

The evening breeze was cool, and the trio wandered up from the beach into a stand of trees where they gathered dry wood. Returning to the rocks, Kalliades lit a small fire. Piria sat quietly with her back to a boulder. Somewhere close by the bards began to sing at a different fire. It was an old song about love and loss. Kalliades shivered and drew his cloak about him.

As the last light of day faded from the sky, he saw the Xanthos appear, its great black horse sail furled, its two banks of oars beating slowly as it edged toward the beach. Banokles had stretched himself out on the sand and was asleep by the fire. Piria also watched the great ship. As it came closer to the shore, the crewmen surged into their oars, the prow grinding up onto the sand. Weighted rocks, attached to thick ropes, were hurled from the stern to splash into the water below, holding the rear of the vessel steady. Then the crew began to disembark. Kalliades saw Hektor clamber over the prow and leap down to the beach. Odysseus walked over to him, and the two men embraced. Hektor also greeted King Nestor and his sons warmly. Then he clasped hands swiftly with Idomeneos. Although they were some distance away from where he sat, Kalliades could tell there was no love lost between Hektor and the Kretan king. It was not surprising. Even Kalliades, who had not been privy to the councils of generals and kings, knew a war was coming between Troy and the armies of Mykene and its allies. Idomeneos was a kinsman of Agamemnon’s and had allowed two Mykene garrisons on the island of Kretos. Little wonder that Hektor greeted him coolly.

Kalliades thought back to the attack on Troy the previous autumn. The great gate had been opened to them by traitors, but Kalliades recalled the high walls and the streets beyond. If an army had to take those walls, the losses would be high. Once it was inside the city, the streets could be defended and every step forward would be paid for in blood. And even then there was Priam’s fortress palace, walled and gated. The attackers had been led to believe the Trojans were poor fighting men. That had been a lie. King Priam’s personal bodyguard—two hundred men known as the King’s Eagles—had proved ferocious and defiant, men of courage, skill, and stamina. And when other Trojan warriors had arrived, they had fought with as much tenacity as any Mykene warrior.

Agamemnon was determined to sack Troy and loot its legendary wealth. To do so would take an army of immense size. Kalliades knew that all the kings of the mainland, and others, would need to be drawn in.

“What are you thinking?” Piria asked softly.

“Nothing of import,” he lied.

She seemed to accept the answer and gazed at the sleeping Banokles. “He doesn’t seem worried by the coming fight.”

“He is not a man given to worry,” he answered with a smile. “He does not dwell on the past or fear the future. For Banokles the now is all there is.”

“I wish I could be like that. The past clings to me, the future threatens me. For a little while I knew where I was and was content with my life. It did not last.”

“Then tonight we shall be like Banokles,” he said. “We sit safe by a fire, food in our bellies. The stars are shining, and there is no danger. Let us enjoy it while it lasts.”

Banokles awoke with a start as Kalliades’ sandaled foot nudged him none too gently in the ribs. “What is it?” he asked sleepily.

“In case you’d forgotten, you are due to be fighting Leukon,” the tall young warrior said.

Banokles grinned and sat up. “I wish I had something to wager,” he said. “Doesn’t seem right to have a fight without a wager.” Pushing himself to his feet, he noticed Piria sitting in the shadows of the rocks. She wasn’t his type, but it seemed an age since he’d last enjoyed a woman. He grinned at her, and she scowled back. Perhaps she’s a witch, he thought, and she knows what I’m thinking. Guiltily he looked away. Over by the Penelope campfire he saw Leukon swinging his arms over his head, then twisting his body from side to side. “He looks like a fighter, at least,” Banokles said.

“I think we should assume that he is one,” Kalliades said. “His reach is longer than yours. Best to get under those long arms and go for the body. Fight in close.”

“Good plan,” Banokles said. “There should be a wager, though.”

“We don’t have anything to wager. Everything I took from Arelos I gave to Odysseus for the journey.”

“I could bet my breastplate.”

“Just concentrate on the fight.”

“Then let’s get started,” Banokles said. “I could kill for a jug of wine.”

Together the two men walked across to where the crew of the Penelope sat around a large campfire. Banokles saw the Trojan Hektor sitting with Odysseus. He didn’t seem so daunting on this peaceful spring night, but Banokles’ stomach tightened at the memory of his arrival at the battle in Troy. He had looked invincible then.

Odysseus rose to his feet and approached them, summoning Leukon to stand alongside him. Idomeneos joined them. He was wearing his glittering breastplate inlaid with gold and silver. It gleamed in the firelight.

“Shall we have a friendly wager?” Idomeneos asked.

“I suggested that earlier,” Banokles said. “But we don’t have anything. Except my breastplate.”

“There is your friend’s sword,” Idomeneos said. “I will wager my own breastplate against it.”