Glyn Iliffe - The Gates Of Troy (Adventures of Odysseus)

The other horseman, who had veered aside as Polites ran out, now tugged at the reins of his white mare and spurred it back towards the huge Greek soldier who had felled his comrades. Polites heard the beat of hooves behind him and turned as the Trojan’s sword swept down towards his face. With a reaction that belied his size, he threw up his arm and caught the rider’s wrist, pulling him from the back of his horse as it galloped past and throwing him to the ground, where he stepped on his neck and broke it.

A moment later, Hector’s booming voice called out and suddenly the surviving Trojans were pulling back.

‘We owe you our lives,’ Odysseus said, as he and Eperitus reached Polites’s side.

‘I have simply repaid you for sparing me on Samos,’ Polites replied, before turning to watch the retreating Trojans.

Heedless of the archers who were covering their retreat, the three men looked on in admiration as the spearmen reformed into ordered ranks and began to withdraw across the plain. With equal discipline, the surviving cavalry were now hovering at each flank, threatening to swoop down on any pursuit. Then, as they watched their opponents marching at a steady pace back to the Scaean Gate, the Greeks let out a triumphant cheer.

‘Silence!’ Odysseus ordered, his deep voice clearly audible over the shouting. ‘You can celebrate when the battle is over. Ithacans, form ranks on me. Badly wounded to return to the ships as best you can.’

Similar shouts were repeated up and down the Greek line as the surviving warriors formed themselves back into their units and began the pursuit. They advanced across the plain at a fast pace, the Ithacans and Thessalians on the left, the Spartans and Myrmidons on the right. Hundreds of bodies were left behind them, some of which still stirred or twitched with the last remnants of life; a dark bank of piled corpses marked where the initial struggle had taken place, with an arrowhead of dead Trojans where Achilles had cut his way through their massed ranks. And it was Achilles who now led the pursuit, striding ahead of his black-clad Myrmidons with Patroclus at his side, keen to join battle again with his enemies.

The Trojans were almost lost behind the cloud of dust that rose from their march and the black pall of smoke that blew across the plain from the burning galleys. But the Greeks were gaining on them and knew that any attempt to re-enter the city through the Scaean Gate would result in a bottleneck, allowing them to catch Hector’s force and possibly carry the gate as well. It was no surprise, therefore, when the Trojans passed the south-facing entrance and continued up the slope towards the other side of the city walls. Archers on the high battlements and towers of Troy gave their countrymen some cover, but the Greeks had the taste of victory now and pressed the chase.

‘This is what I feared,’ said Odysseus, turning to Eperit‘Come with me – we need to find Menelaus.’

The two men dropped back through the ranks and ran towards the rear of the Spartan army, where they found Menelaus striding confidently behind his well-ordered men. His breastplate and shield were spattered with dried gore and his face glowed with anticipation of victory as he turned to greet the two Ithacans.

‘What is it, my friends?’ he asked with a smile, his teeth strangely white against his dirt-and blood-caked face. ‘You look concerned, Odysseus.’

‘I am,’ Odysseus replied. ‘Our orders were to keep the Trojans fighting on the plain so they can be massacred in the open, not chase them back to the city walls.’

‘That can’t be helped now,’ Menelaus said. ‘Hector’s lost the will to fight, and if we let the Trojans slip back into the city it’ll take months to prise them out again.’

‘But Agamemnon’s late,’ Eperitus said, glancing across to the hills on the other side of the Scamander. ‘His plan to trap the Trojans on the plain has failed.’

‘And if we’re not careful, it’s us who will be drawn into a trap,’ Odysseus added, looking up as another swarm of black-feathered arrows flew up from the city walls. They dropped among the Spartans with a dry rattle, felling a dozen men. ‘Hector only wants us to believe we’re winning so he can lure us closer to the city walls. Why do you think reinforcements weren’t sent from the city? Because they’re waiting for us to pass the Scaean Gate, and then they’ll pour out behind us and block our retreat to the ships. Hector has out-thought us at every stage of the battle so far, and unless we stop the pursuit we’re going to be attacked from all sides, with the Scamander at our backs!’

‘Then let them come!’ Menelaus retorted, angrily. ‘If we can keep these Trojan scum fighting until my brother arrives, there’s still a chance of a quick victory. Hector won’t dare take on the whole Greek army: the Trojans will turn and run, and when they do there’s a chance we can follow them through the gates. If we can do that, Troy will be ours by nightfall.’

‘I wish it were that easy,’ Odysseus sighed. ‘But if you must go ahead with this folly, at least order the Thessalians to remain in front of the Scaean Gate. They’ve had the worst of things so far and there are enough of the rest of us to destroy what’s left of Hector’s force.’

‘No, Odysseus,’ Menelaus answered with a firm wave of his hand. ‘As soon as we pass the walls I’m going to drive Hector eastward, away from the safety of the city, and finish him off on the plain. And if Ares has heard my prayers, I’ll find his thieving rat of a brother at his side! Now, return to your men and prepare them to attack.’

Odysseus and Eperitus found the Ithacans angered by the withering fire from the archers on the city walls and keen to get at the Trojans once more. As they passed the Scaean Gate, though, and marched up the slope out of range of the arrows, it seemed they would get their wish. The dust cloud that obscured the Trojans had not moved north towards the Dardanian Gate, as Eperitus had expected, but continued east as if drawing the Greeks away from the walls. And then it stopped moving altogether and, as the haze began to settle, the lines of spearmen and cavalry could be seen as dark shapes in the brown mist, waiting silently atop the slope. In response, Menelaus’s voice barked orders that were repeated all along the Greek ranks, stopping the army in its tracks.

If Odysseus was right, Eperitus thought, now would be the time for the city gates to open and pour forth the Trojan reserves. Odysseus was obviously thinking the same and threw a nervous glance over his shoulder, but his attention was soon pulled back to the Trojans at the top of the slope. For, as the last of the dust drifted away, the true genius of Hector’s plan became apparent. Before them were the remainder of Hector’s spearmen, archers and cavalry – bloodstained and dirt-covered; many bearing wounds – but on either side of them a new force was emerging. Line upon line of spearmen marched into view, silhouetted black by the light of the early morning sun rising in the east; hundreds more cavalry, strengthened by scores of chariots, were massing to the left and right, ready to pour down into the now out-numbered Greeks. And as the invaders looked up at the superior force gathering before them – drawn from Troy’s allies, whose vast camp was out of sight beyond the rise of the slope – horns blew on the towers behind them. In response, the Scaean and Dardanian Gates opened to disgorge a flood of infantry and horsemen, led by Paris in his battle-scarred armour and with the scarlet plume of his helmet fluttering in the breeze. Hector’s trap was sprung: the Greeks were surrounded on the east, west and north, with the broad Scamander blocking their flight to the south.

‘I wish you could be wrong from time to time, Odysseus,’ Eperitus said, giving his friend a look of resignation.