David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

Even the huge satisfaction of storytelling paled against the exquisite moment of true competition, when he would notch an arrow to beautiful Akilina and send a shaft hurtling into the target. Odysseus cared not if they were moving targets hauled on carts or straw models of beasts and men. If there was one talent Odysseus believed he possessed, it was to shoot a bow better than any man alive.

A huge crowd had gathered at the far end of the field, and many of the contestants were already standing by. Odysseus could see Meriones, who had beaten him once in five contests, and the callow sons of Nestor, who would be lucky to progress to the later rounds.

It was a fine day, the sun high and bright, a subtle breeze whispering across the field. Licking his finger, Odysseus tested the breeze. It was not strong enough to divert an arrow shot from Akilina.

Despite his excitement, the tensions of the previous day remained. The beaching of the Penelope a long ride from the city gates had both enraged and shamed him. To suffer such an indignity was bad enough, but to endure it in the company of Nestor and Idomeneos was unbearable. Neither of his fellow kings had commented on the slight, which made it worse. A little joshing would have given Odysseus the opportunity to make a jest of it.

Today, however, the world was beginning to look brighter. As soon as he had reached the city, Odysseus had inquired after Helikaon and had discovered that he was recovering from the assassin’s wounds. That joyous news lifted his spirits, but even so, in the back of his mind the insult slowly simmered. The beachmaster would not have dared make such a decision had someone in higher authority not ordered it. That someone could only be Priam. This was baffling to Odysseus, for though not a friend to the Trojan king, he was a neutral. In these troublesome times, with the world on the brink of war, it would be an act of madness to make an enemy of him. Perhaps, he decided, it was not about him at all. Perhaps it was intended as a slight to Idomeneos and Nestor. Even so, it would be foolish, for Priam would need both of those kings in his camp to thwart Agamemnon.

Pushing such thoughts aside, Odysseus strolled onto the archery field. He could feel all eyes on him as he approached the men waiting to participate in the tourney. He glanced down the shooting line and saw that the targets were dummies of straw set no more than fifty paces distant.

“By Hermes, Meriones, a man could throw an arrow over such a paltry distance,” he complained.

“Indeed he could, my friend,” the black-bearded Meriones responded. “At this range almost no one will be eliminated.”

To entertain the crowd both he and Meriones stepped forward, sending shaft after shaft into the farthest targets. Men began to cheer and stamp their feet. Eventually, their quivers empty, the two old friends wandered out onto the field to gather their arrows.

“A strange event yesterday,” Meriones said.

“It was a slight, right enough,” Odysseus told him. “Perhaps it was not intended for me. Priam has little love for Idomeneos.”

Meriones nodded. “True enough, but would he risk alienating him with so much at stake? Have you done anything to incur Priam’s wrath?”

“Not that I’m aware.”

As they made their way back to the other bowmen, a Trojan soldier wearing the yellow sash of a judge came walking along the line, calling out for those with tokens marked from one to twenty to step forward.

Odysseus, whose token was embossed with the number eleven, strode forward with Meriones.

The judge was a handsome young man with fiery red hair and keen blue eyes. He glanced at the bows the men carried. “Be so good as to leave your weapons with friends,” he said. “All archers are to be issued with standard bows from the city armory.”

“What?” Odysseus roared, his anger erupting. Similar cries of outrage came from some of the other bowmen.

The judge raised his arms for silence. “By order of the king this contest is to be fairly judged on the merits of each archer. Many of you carry beautifully made bows, some of horn, some of wood and leather. You, King Odysseus, have the legendary Akilina. It is well known that it can shoot an arrow farther than any bow in the world. Would any contest therefore be fair? We have men here who have no wealth and who have cut their own bows from shriveled trees. Should they be at a disadvantage because you have Akilina?”

Odysseus said nothing, but then Meriones spoke. “It is a fair point,” he agreed. “Bring on your bows. Let us at least practice with them.”

Several soldiers then marched out, carrying slender weapons in the Egypteian style, each carved from a single length of wood with no composite to provide extra strength and elasticity. A young soldier approached Meriones. He was carrying two bows, and as he offered the first to the black-bearded archer, he seemed to hesitate. Then he drew it back and turned toward the judge. “Go ahead,” he was ordered. The youngster then reached out with his right hand, offering a bow to Meriones, who took it and drew back several times on the string. The second bow he offered to Odysseus.

“By the gods,” Odysseus said loudly as he hefted it. “I could shape better weapons than this from dried cow dung. Strike a rabbit with a shaft from this and it would scratch its arse and wonder which flea had nipped it.” Laughter broke out among the crowd.

Other soldiers brought buckets of arrows, which they placed before the men. Then the judge spoke again. “Each archer will have five shots. The leading ten archers will progress to the second round.”

“These are flimsy weapons,” Meriones complained. “Not enough pull to offset the breeze.” He turned to the judge. “Are we at least allowed to practice with these bows?”

The judge shook his head and called the archers forward.

Upon the order to shoot, each man drew back on his bowstring. There was a sudden crack. The bow of Odysseus split, his arrow dropping to the ground. “Fetch another bow!” he called.

A soldier brought him a second weapon. Odysseus calmed himself, sighted carefully, then let fly. The arrow, caught by the breeze, drifted a hairbreadth wide of the dummy. Now, with a feel for the bow, he sent his next three shafts hammering into the straw chest. Then he called out for his fifth arrow.

“You have had five, Odysseus,” the judge told him.

“Are you an imbecile? The bow broke on the first.”

“Such was the will of the gods. You have scored three in five. I am sorry, King Odysseus; you are eliminated.”

The crowd was utterly silent. Odysseus, the greatest of archers, famed around the Great Green, had not made it through the opening round. Hurling the bow to the ground, he snatched up Akilina and sent a long arrow ripping through the farthest target. It struck the pole holding the dummy in place with such force that the target was ripped from its ties and fell to the grass.

Odysseus swung on the judge. “You ignorant cowson! You think this crowd came to see grown men playing with sticks and string? They came to see the finest archers and the greatest bows. They came to see Akilina and the black bow of Meriones. They came for an exhibition of greatness, not an embarrassing display of mediocrity.” With that he stalked away, burning with shame.

Meriones ran to catch him. “My friend, wait!” he called. “Come, let us find something cool to drink.”

“I am in no mood for company, Meriones.”

“I know. In your place neither would I be. But hear me, Odysseus. The judge was overzealous. You should have been allowed another shaft.”

Odysseus paused. “I don’t like losing, Meriones. All men know that. But there is something in the air here, and I do not like the smell. Did you notice the young soldier when he went to give you the bow? He offered it from the left hand, then drew back and gave you the right-hand weapon.”