David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

Back in the great courtyard of Hektor’s palace, where the crew of the Penelope had made camp, the mood was somber. Bias, though through to the final of the javelin, could scarcely lift his arm, and there was a tingling in his fingertips that did not bode well. Leukon was nursing a swelling on his cheek and a small cut over his right eye. His left fist was bruised and swollen, all those wounds coming from a grueling victory over the Mykene champion, a tough and durable fighter with a head made of rock. Leukon’s hopes of becoming champion in the boxing contest were shrinking fast, especially as he had watched Achilles demolish opponents with gruesome ease. Kalliades had lost in the short race, taking an elbow in the face from a canny sprinter from Kretos who had gone on to win. And even the usually cheerful Banokles was downcast, having lost in a savage bout the previous afternoon.

“Could have sworn I had him with that uppercut,” Banokles told Kalliades as they sat in the moonlight. “Big Red said she thought I was unlucky.”

“It was a tight contest,” Kalliades agreed. “However, look on the cheerful side. Had you won, we would have been once more bereft of wealth. As it is, we have fifteen gold rings, thirty-eight silver, and a handful of copper.”

“Not sure about that at all,” Banokles said. “You bet against me.”

“We agreed to follow Leukon’s advice,” Kalliades said wearily. “He would tell me when you were facing an opponent you couldn’t beat. And I would wager on him.”

“Doesn’t feel right,” Banokles grumbled. “You might have told me.”

“If I had told you, what would you have done?”

“ I’d have bet on him.”

“And that would certainly not have been right. Anyway, did you really want to come up against Achilles? That’s who your opponent faces in tomorrow’s semifinal. As it is, we have wealth and a roof over our heads, and you have no broken bones.”

Leukon strolled over to them, bearing a jug of wine and filling Banokles’ cup. “A few more weeks of training on your footwork and you would have had him, my friend,” he said, slumping down beside the bruised warrior. “You kept walking into that looping left.”

“Felt like being struck by an avalanche,” Banokles said. “Looking forward to seeing Achilles taking a few of those blows. Wipe the smug smile off his face.”

Leukon shook his head. “Achilles will finish him in a few heartbeats,” he said gloomily. “And that looping left won’t touch him. Never seen a big man move so fast.”

“You’ll beat him in the final,” Banokles said. Leukon did not reply, and the three men sat quietly, drinking their wine.

Odysseus, with his five bodyguards in tow, came through the gates and crossed the courtyard without speaking to anyone.

“I’m going to visit Red,” Banokles said. “Hand me a few of those silver rings, Kalliades.”

Kalliades opened the bulging pouch at his side and pulled out several rings, which he dropped into Banokles’ outstretched palm. “Not like you to offer your favors to only one woman,” he observed.

“Never was a woman like Red,” Banokles replied happily, draining the last of his wine and setting off for the gates.

They watched him go, and then Kalliades turned to Leukon. “Banokles is a man without cares. Unlike you, it seems.”

Leukon said nothing for a while, and the two men sat in silence. Finally the blond sailor spoke, his voice almost a whisper. “Achilles has no weaknesses. He has speed, strength, and enormous stamina. And he can take a punch. I saw him demolish an opponent yesterday. I fought the same man last summer. Took me an afternoon to wear him down. Achilles finished him in less time than it takes to drink a cup of wine. The truth is I do not have the skill to take him, and that is hard for me to admit.” Filling his cup, he drank deeply.

Kalliades clapped him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, my friend. With luck you won’t win the semifinal, and your opponent will have to face Achilles.”

“Why would I not win the semifinal? I have fought the man three times. I have the measure of him.”

“I was jesting.”

“Leukon is not the man to jest with,” Odysseus said, joining them. “How is the fist?” he asked the big fighter.

“The extra day’s rest will help, as will the strapping for the fight.” Leukon glanced across the courtyard to where Bias was rubbing olive oil into his shoulder. “The same cannot be said for Bias. His shoulder is aflame and swollen badly.”

“I will speak to him later,” Odysseus said, “but now you and I need to talk. Come with me.”

Kalliades watched the Ugly King and the fighter move into the palace, then strolled across to where Bias was kneading his injured muscles. “Here, let me,” he said, taking the phial of oil and pouring it into his palms.

“Thank you,” Bias said. “Can’t reach the point by the shoulder blade.”

Bias’ skin felt hot to the touch, the muscles around the shoulder inflamed and swollen. Gently Kalliades kneaded them, easing out knots and adhesions.

“I saw Banokles heading out,” Bias said. “Gone whoring again?”

Kalliades chuckled. “It is what he does best.”

“That’s what I miss about youth,” Bias said. “That and the fact I could throw a damned javelin without ripping every muscle in my back.”

“Even so, only three men outthrew you.”

“They’ll all outthrow me tomorrow.”

“Perhaps not,” Kalliades said. “We’ll soak some cloths in cold water and take some of the heat from those muscles.”

Later, as the two men sat in the cool of the night, Bias asked: “Have you thought what you’ll do when the games are over?”

“Head south, probably. Down to Thebe Under Plakos and then perhaps on to Lykia. Join a mercenary regiment.”

“Will you be taking the girl with you?”

“No. She will be staying in Troy with a friend.”

There was no one close by, but even so the black man leaned in close, dropping his voice. “She may not be welcomed by this friend. You know that?”

“They are more than just friends,” Kalliades answered.

“I know that, lad. The crew does not know who Piria is, but Odysseus tells me that you do. The temple on Thera was built with Trojan gold. Priam is its patron. You think he will allow a runaway to live free in Troy? As long as she is here, she will be a danger to any who give her shelter.”

“What are you suggesting, Bias?”

“I know you are fond of her. Take her with you. Far from the city, where she will never be recognized.”

Kalliades looked into the black man’s broad face. “And this concern is purely for Piria?”

“No, lad. It is for me and the other lads on the Penelope. If she’s captured in Troy and questioned, then we will be implicated. I have no wish to be burned alive.”

Kalliades fell silent. In his recent conversations with Piria she had spoken of Andromache with enthusiasm and love, her face shining with happiness and anticipation. What would be the effect if she was rejected by her? Or, worse, if Hektor’s guards took her into custody? The thought of such an outcome left him sick with fear. She had great courage, but her personality was fragile. How many more betrayals could she take?

“She will not be captured,” he said at last. “I will keep her safe.”

Priam sat alone in the queen’s apartments, the shrouded body of Hekabe laid out on a bier at the center of the main room. The scent of heavy perfumes rose from the linen, masking the stench of death. Priam could not approach the body. He sat on the far side of the room, a half-empty wine cup in his hand. As was the funeral custom of the house of Ilos, his white tunic was rent at the shoulder, and gray ash had been rubbed into the right sleeve and sprinkled over his hair.