David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

“I don’t know of what you speak,” he managed to say.

“Let us play no games, Agamemnon. Troy cannot be taken by frontal assault. You could camp an army across the Scamander, as Idomeneos suggests, and the roads north and east would remain open, supplies and mercenaries flowing in. To fully surround Troy you would need a hundred times more soldiers than any of us possess. The feeding of such a multitude would require thousands of wagons and, more important, farmlands and stock and slaves to gather crops. An army of that size would denude the land all the way to the horizon and cause consternation in the Hittite capital. Being huge, it would be difficult to manage and slow to respond to threat. Troy’s allies would attack its flanks, severing its supply routes. Hektor and the Trojan Horse would sally out from the city, striking like lightning, then fleeing back behind the walls. Within a season our treasuries would be bare, our armies demoralized. Then what if the Hittites won their own civil war, freeing their forces to come to the aid of Troy?

“No, Agamemnon, there is only one way to take this city. It needs to be slowly squeezed from above and below, with the sea routes blocked. North is Dardania, south Thebe Under Plakos. Dardanos guards the Hellespont, and across the narrow straits there is Thraki, an ally of Troy. So first you must take Thraki and hold it, preparing it to be a supply base for our troops. Only then can an invasion force cross the Hellespont into Dardania and continue to be resupplied. In the south it will be more simple. Troops and supplies can be shipped from Kos, Rhodos, and Miletos. Then Thebe Under Plakos can be taken, closing off the routes through the Ida mountains and preventing the coming of reinforcements from the Fat King, Kygones, in Lykia and others friendly to Troy.”

Agamemon looked at Odysseus as if seeing him for the first time. The broad face, which had seemed so jovial, was now hard, the eyes glittering. Power radiated from him. “Your words are fascinating,” Agamemnon said, playing for time. “Do go on.”

Odysseus laughed. “Fascinating they may be, but you already know all that I am about to say. For you understand strategy as well as any man alive. This is not a city to be raided and sacked in the course of a few days or even a few seasons. But it cannot take too long. We both know that.”

“And why would that be?”

“The gold, Agamemnon. Priam’s mighty coffers. He will need gold to hire mercenaries, to buy allies. If we block his trade, his income will wither, and slowly his treasury will be sucked dry. I do not want to fight my way into a ruined city in ten years’ time to find it barren. Do you?”

Agamemnon said nothing for a while. Then he signaled to a guard to bring them some wine. As they drank, he said, “I have misjudged you, Odysseus. For that I apologize. I saw only the genial storyteller. Now I truly understand why you were once called the Sacker of Cities. All that you say is true.” He paused. “Tell me, what do you know of the Shield of Thunder?”

Now it was Odysseus’ turn to be surprised. “Athene’s shield? What of it?”

Agamemnon watched him closely, but Odysseus obviously knew nothing. “One of my priests suggested we make sacrifice to Athene and ask for the Shield of Thunder to protect our efforts. I wondered if you’d heard any tales concerning it.”

Odysseus shrugged. “Only what every child is taught. The shield was given to Athene by Hephaistos, which angered Ares, for he desired it. Ares was so enraged, he smashed Hephaistos’ foot with a club. But I have never heard of anyone calling for protection from the shield before. Still, why not? Sacking this citadel will require all the help we can get. Worth a few bulls at least.”

Later, when his guests had gone, Agamemnon climbed to the roof of the palace and seated himself in a wide wicker chair beneath the stars. His thoughts roamed over the events of the last few days, reexamining them. Time and again, though, he returned to the conversation two nights before, when the Trojan prince Antiphones had joined them for supper. The fat man had been dazzled by the splendor of Achilles and had sat staring at him as if moonstruck. Much wine had flowed, and Antiphones, eager to entertain Achilles, had told many amusing stories. As Agamemnon had instructed, Achilles flattered the Trojan prince, hanging on his every word, laughing at his jests. Nevertheless they had learned little, even with Antiphones drunk, until Achilles had talked admiringly about Troy and its wonders.

“It is a great city,” Antiphones said. “Immortal soon.”

“How will it be immortal, my friend?” Achilles asked him as Agamemnon sat quietly back in the shadows.

“There is a prophecy. Priam and Hekabe believe it, and many seers have declared it to be true.” And then he had quoted a verse: “Beneath the Shield of Thunder waits the Eagle Child, on shadow wings, to soar above all city gates, till end of days, and fall of kings.”

“Interesting,” Achilles said. “And what does it mean, this doggerel verse?”

“Ah!” Antiphones said, tapping his nose. “Secret. Hekabe’s secret. I shouldn’t know it, really. But sweet Andromache told me.” He chuckled, then drained his cup. “A fine girl. She’ll… be a splendid wife for… Hektor.”

“I heard she killed an assassin as he was about to murder Priam King,” Agamemnon put in softly.

“Shot him through the heart,” Antiphones said. “Stunning girl! Deadly with the bow. She is my friend, you know. Sweet Shield of Thunder.” His face had fallen then, and he had wiped his fat hand across his mouth, as if pushing back the words. Then he had heaved himself to his feet. “Need to… go now,” he said. At a signal from Agamemnon, Achilles had helped Antiphones from the palace and walked him back to his own apartments.

Agamemnon had sent for his advisers and questioned them about the prophecy. None had heard of it. For most of the following day the words had continued to haunt him. Messages were sent out to Mykene spies and informers to gather all information on Andromache. Finally they located a merchant who once had been based in Thebe Under Plakos and knew something of the royal family there. He told the story of the child born with a curious birthmark on her skull, round like a shield, with lightning through the center.

So, then, Andromache was the Shield of Thunder, and the Eagle Child who would soar above all city gates would be her son by Prince Hektor. Priam and Hekabe were setting great store by this prophecy. It was obviously false, for all true followers of the gods knew that the Shield of Thunder sported a snake, not the lightning bolt these eastern kingdoms believed. Even so, they believed in the prophecy.

Whether it was true or merely wishful thinking made little difference. Agamemnon knew that such a belief would stiffen the resolve of Priam when the war came. It followed, therefore, that if the woman of the prophecy were to die, then great would be the grief and despair that followed her death. It would also show to Troy, its citizens, and the world that Priam could not protect his own. The games and the wedding celebrations would turn to ash, and the coming war would fall upon a people cowed by disaster and tragedy. It was perfect.

Sitting on the rooftop, he made a decision and summoned Kleitos to him. The tall warrior came immediately.

“Pull all men back from the Palace of Stone Horses. We will not attack Helikaon.”

“But lord, we are almost set.”

“No, the time is not right. Instead have the woman Andromache followed. Find out if she sleeps in the king’s palace or in Hektor’s. How many guards attend her? Does she wander in the marketplaces, where a stray dagger can cut her down? I want to know everything, Kleitos. Everything.”