David Gemmell - Shield of Thunder

“And there is another Idonoi army somewhere behind us,” Olganos pointed out.

Ursos turned to Banokles. “You stay here with five men and watch where the enemy marches. I’ll take the rest of the troop back to Hektor and stop the advance. Once the enemy is on the move, you head north to join us as fast as you can.”

“Why don’t you stay behind?” Banokles asked.

“Because I’m the bastard general, as you keep pointing out. I am leaving you in charge, Banokles. Don’t do anything reckless. Just gather the information and move out when you have it.”

“Oh, you don’t want us charging the fortress and taking it back, then?”

“No, I don’t.” Ursos sighed. “Just keep yourself safe.” Then he swung to Olganos. “You stay here, too, as second in command.”

“Second in command of five men? I’m not sure I can handle such responsibility.”

“And I’m sure you can’t,” Ursos snapped. “But you’ve a quick mind,” he added, his voice softening, “and you have nerve. I’ll leave Ennion, Skorpios, Justinos, and Kerio with you. Any problem with that?”

Banokles thought about the question. Kerio was a troublemaker, a sly man who constantly sought to irritate him. But he was a good fighter and a fine archer. “No problem, Ursos,” he said.

“You might want to swap Ennion’s mount,” Olganos put in. “He’s older and slower than the others, and we might need speed tomorrow.”

“Good thought,” Banokles said. “I always like to have someone around to do the thinking.”

The moon was high above the forest, but Skorpios could not sleep. He’d had enough of battles and war and wished with all his heart he had not run away from his father’s farm to join the army. He still recalled the bright morning two years earlier when the recruiting captain had arrived in the settlement, his armor gleaming, sunlight glinting from his helm. He was, Skorpios had decided on that day, the most handsome man he had ever seen. The officer had dismounted in the market square and called out to the men gathered there. “Your nation is at war, Trojans. Are there heroes among you?”

Skorpios, though only fourteen then, had moved forward with the other men and listened as the officer spoke of the evil of the Mykene and how they had sent assassins to murder the wife of Hektor. Skorpios had never been to Troy, but he had heard of the mighty lord of battle and his lady, Andromache, who had shot an assassin with an arrow just as he was about to slay the king. To Skorpios then the names of the great were synonymous with the names of the gods, and he was lost in wonder as the soldier spoke of the golden city and the need for brave men to take up their swords to defend it.

In that glorious moment such action had seemed to the youngster to be infinitely more exciting than tending cattle, or shearing sheep, or cutting the heads from chickens. The officer had said that only men over the age of fifteen summers could enlist, but Skorpios was tall for his age and had walked forward with some twenty other young men. The officer had told them what stalwart warriors they would be and how proud he was of them. Father had never mentioned pride once in Skorpios’ hearing. Mostly the words he heard were “lazy”, “shiftless”, “careless”, and “good-for-nothing”.

Two years later the officer’s words seemed less golden. Skorpios had seen four of his friends maimed and five others killed. The rest were scattered through Trojan regiments still based in Troy. At sixteen Skorpios was a veteran, skilled with bow and sword, who had been wounded twice and now prayed every day that the Great Goddess would see him safely back to his father’s farm, where he would happily gather cattle turds for the rest of his life.

The sound of gentle snoring came to him, and he sat up and stared across to where Banokles was sleeping beneath the branches of a tree. The man was utterly fearless. Skorpios felt that the warrior’s bravery should inspire his own, but the reverse was true. The calmer Banokles appeared in battle, the more Skorpios would tremble and picture himself lying on a battlefield, his guts in his hands.

He saw Justinos sitting in the moonlight, idly scraping the stubble from his head with a small bronze knife. Skorpios glanced around the campsite. Ennion and Olganos were missing, but the slender redheaded Kerio was close by. Skorpios did not like Kerio, who was always complaining, but his dislike was offset by the fact that he was a doughty fighter and a good man to have alongside you in a skirmish.

Kerio moved smoothly to his feet and walked across to squat down close to Justinos and Skorpios. “Listen to him snoring,” he whispered, his voice rich with contempt. “How could Ursos have left him in charge? I have two hounds back home with more brains than him.”

Justinos shrugged and carried on shaving his head. Skorpios looked at Kerio, and his dislike got the better of his intellect. “I notice you are whispering and only saying this while he’s asleep.”

“Are you saying I’m a coward, you little catamite?”

“He’s just making an observation,” Justinos said calmly.

“Oh, now he needs you to speak up for him, does he?”

Skorpios wanted to defend himself, but the truth was, he was frightened of Kerio. There was something about the man, a weirdness in his eyes. He remained silent. Justinos finished his shaving and then replaced his knife in a small sheath in his belt. “You know, Kerio,” he said, his voice flat, the tone bored, “I have never liked you. Given a choice between following Banokles or you, it would be Banokles every time. Actually, given a choice between following you or one of those hounds you spoke of, I’d take the hound.”

Now it was Kerio’s turn to fall silent. Casting a murderous glance at Skorpios, he walked back across the campsite and sat down with his back to a tree.

“Not a good enemy to have,” Skorpios said.

“No enemies are good to have, boy.” Justinos observed him gravely. “I’ve seen you fight. You have no reason to be frightened of him.”

Skorpios tried to mask his embarrasment. “I am not frightened of him.”

Justinos shrugged and stretched. Skorpios sighed. “Actually, I am. Somehow it is different in a battle, charging in with your comrades. But with Kerio… I would be fearful of falling asleep and having my throat cut.”

Justinos nodded. “I know what you mean, but I do not believe Kerio is evil. He is just a hothead. Truth is, he is as frightened as everyone else. This whole country is a death trap for us.”

“You are frightened?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What about Banokles? You think he is?”

Justinos grinned. “You know the stories as well as I. Rescued a princess from pirates, saved the lady Andromache from assassins. Now, that makes him special. But what really takes the breath away is that he married Big Red, the most terrifying whore in Troy. Any man who could do that is frightened of nothing.”

The warrior Ennion came walking back through the trees, dropped his bow and quiver to the earth, and slumped down beside the two men. Dragging off his helm, he gave a great yawn. “I could sleep for a season,” he said. “There is so much grit in my eyes, I feel that if I blink too hard, I’ll bleed to death.” Scratching at his black chin beard, he stretched out on the ground.

“See anything?” Skorpios asked him.

“A lot of people fleeing toward the east, and the city is still burning. I’ll be glad to be heading east myself come morning. Now that Kalliros has fallen, we’ll be going home. Man, that’s good enough for me.”

“You don’t think Hektor will try to retake the city?” Skorpios persisted.

Ennion sat up and swore. “Why did you put that thought into my head? I’ll never sleep now.”