Lord of the Silver Bow (41 page)

Leaning his head back, he gritted his teeth against the stinging of the needle and the tightening of the raw flesh. Banokles’ fingers kept slipping as fresh blood pumped over them, but eventually the flow slowed.

“Are you going to try Argurios again?” Banokles asked as he tied the last knot.

Kalliades shook his head. “I did my duty once. I don’t want to be the man who killed Argurios. Let someone else send his shade on the dark road. He may be the enemy now, but I’ll be sad when he falls.”

“Well, I’m going back,” said Banokles. “If someone doesn’t clear the path, I’ll never get to ride one of Priam’s daughters.”

“May Ares guide your spear,” said Kalliades.

“He always does,” Banokles replied, donning his helmet. Gathering up his spear, the big man walked back to the fighting.

Kalliades felt a heaviness descend on his spirit. This entire venture was turning to goat shit. Argurios had fooled them, drawn them in to where he wanted to fight. Kolanos was an idiot not to have seen his strategy. They would not break Argurios. Instead the night would slowly drift by, and by morning the entire city would turn on them.

Some of the wounded men were gathering up their weapons again. Others were stretched out, leaking blood to the floor.

A short and a simple battle with plenty of plunder. That was what Kolanos had promised.

Even as he thought of the man he saw him, moving across the
megaron,
a bow in his hand. Kolanos was wearing no helmet, his white hair flowing free to his shoulders.

Kalliades’ view of him sunk to a new depth. Heroes did not use bows. They fought with sword and lance, facing their enemies, eye-to-eye, hand-to-hand.

Then, in the distance, he heard a horn blow. It echoed mournfully through the night. Then the sound was repeated over and over.

Kolanos paused and swung back to where the Trojan prince Agathon was standing. Kalliades could not hear their conversation, but he saw that Agathon was concerned by the blowing of the horn. His face looked tight and tense, and he kept casting nervous glances toward the door.

Then Kolanos ran back to the scene of the fighting. Agathon headed in the opposite direction, and Kalliades saw him pass out into the night.

Kalliades remained where he was, lost in thought. Had he known Argurios was here, he never would have accepted the mission. Not through fear of the man, for Kalliades feared nothing. Simply because Argurios had an uncanny knack of never losing.

The damned horn continued to blow. It sounded closer now. Kalliades heaved himself to his feet and walked out into the night. There were Thrakians milling in the courtyard, talking in urgent voices.

“What is happening?” asked Kalliades.

“The great gates are open,” a man told him. “More Trojans are coming.”

Then another Thrakian came sprinting through the gates, shouting, “Hektor has returned! The prince is back! Fly for your lives!”

The Thrakians stood still for only a moment. Then they began to stream away through the palace gates.

Kalliades swore and ran back into the
megaron.

XXXV

THE SWAN’S PROMISE

I

Argurios battled on, Helikaon beside him. The older warrior was beginning to tire now and knew that soon he would have to step back, allowing either Dios or Polydorus to take his place for a while. He had not recovered fully from the assassination attempt back in the autumn, and his arms were beginning to feel heavy, his breath coming in harsh rasps.

Blocking a spear thrust, he slammed his shield into the warrior facing him, then drove his spear high and hard at the man’s helmet. It hammered into the brow, snapping the warrior’s head back and throwing him off balance. Argurios hurled himself against the man, knocking him back into the warrior behind him. Both fell clumsily. For a moment only there was a gap in the fighting as the Mykene struggled to rise.

Argurios battled on, Helikaon beside him. The older warrior was beginning to tire now and knew that soon he would have to step back, allowing either Dios or Polydorus to take his place for a while. He had not recovered fully from the assassination attempt back in the autumn, and his arms were beginning to feel heavy, his breath coming in harsh rasps.

Blocking a spear thrust, he slammed his shield into the warrior facing him, then drove his spear high and hard at the man’s helmet. It hammered into the brow, snapping the warrior’s head back and throwing him off balance. Argurios hurled himself against the man, knocking him back into the warrior behind him. Both fell clumsily. For a moment only there was a gap in the fighting as the Mykene struggled to rise.

In the distance Argurios could hear a horn blowing. He glanced at Helikaon.

“It is the call to arms,” shouted Helikaon. “Reinforcements are coming!”

A cheer went up from the people on the gallery, and many of them began to shout down jeers and threats to the Mykene. “You are finished now!” bellowed one man. “Like rats in a trap!”

But the Mykene did not run. Instead they launched a fresh attack on the stairs. Argurios fought on. His spear point snapped against a shield. Hurling the weapon aside, he drew his sword. His opponent, a huge warrior, threw himself at him, knocking him from his feet. The enemy’s lance stabbed toward Argurios’ face. Twisting away from the blade, Argurios lashed out with his foot, catching the man in the ankle. He stumbled. Argurios surged up, his sword plunging through the man’s spear arm at the bicep. The Mykene jerked back, but the sword was stuck fast. Forced to release his hold on the weapon, Argurios leaned back and hammered his foot against the man’s hip. The Mykene fell heavily. Other warriors clambered over him.

“Argurios!” shouted Polydorus, thrusting his own spear into Argurios’ hand. Even as he took it, Argurios twisted his body and surged forward, the point of the spear piercing a warrior’s throat and snapping the neck.

The Mykene warriors at the foot of the stairs were streaming back through the
megaron
to face the fresh troops arriving there. Argurios could not see them, but he could hear the sounds of battle.

Then he saw Kolanos by the far wall, a bow in his hand.

In that instant a Mykene soldier leapt at Helikaon, knocking him from his feet. Half-stunned, Helikaon tried to roll. The Mykene standing over him raised his spear for a death lunge. Argurios spun and blocked the blow with his shield.

Something sharp and hot tore into his side, ripping through his ribs and driving up into his chest. He staggered, righted himself, and drove his spear into the warrior threatening Helikaon. As the man fell, the others below him turned away from the stairs.

Argurios wanted to follow them, but his legs were suddenly weak and he sank to the stairs. The shield of Ilos fell from his arm, and he gazed down at the arrow buried deep in his side. It had struck exactly the point on his cuirass where the bronze disks were missing.

Helikaon and Polydorus carried Argurios to the gallery, laying him gently down. Fire was running through him now, and he gritted his teeth against the insistent agony. Helikaon pulled Argurios’ helmet clear and knelt alongside him. Then Polydorus placed his hand over the shaft, ready to pull it clear.

“No!” said Argurios. “This arrow and I are brothers now. It has killed me. It is also keeping me alive for a little while. Draw it out and my lifeblood will flow with it.”

“No!” insisted Polydorus. “I will fetch the physician. He will find a way to cut it clear. You will live, Argurios. You
must
live.” He rushed away.

Argurios sighed, then looked at Helikaon. “The boy doesn’t know wounds,” he said. “We do, though, Golden One.”

“Yes,” agreed Helikaon, lifting clear his own helmet. “I am sorry, Argurios.”

Priam the king came then and knelt at Argurios’ left. For a moment he said nothing; then he reached out and gripped Argurios’ hand. “I said you could ask anything of me,” he told him.

“Nothing left to ask for, Priam King.” He smiled grimly. “If I had the power, I would go down there and rescue my friends and carry them back to Mykene. I recognized many.”

“Is there anything I can do for you? Or your family?”

“I have no family. I need nothing.”

Priam sighed, then stood. “I thank you, Mykene. The shield of Ilos will return to its place of glory on the walls of my palace. It will be known from now as the shield of Argurios. No one will ever forget what you did here.”

With that the king, flanked by Royal Eagles, strode down to the
megaron.

Polydorus returned with the physician Zeotos, who only confirmed what Argurios already knew. The arrow was too deep.

Polydorus knelt beside the dying warrior, and there were tears in his eyes. “I cannot tell you how proud I am to have stood with you in battle, Argurios,” he said.

“Spare some pride for yourself, boy. You did well. Now go and join your comrades and let me sit quietly for a while.”

Polydorus leaned forward and kissed Argurios on the brow. Then he gathered his sword and followed his king down the stairs.

Andromache came then. “Am I to get no peace?” asked Argurios.

Her face was tight and tense, and he could see the marks of tears upon her cheeks. “Laodike needs you,” she said.

“I don’t want her to see me like this.”

“No, you must come. She . . . she is dying, too, Argurios.”

“No!” Argurios groaned. “It cannot be!”

“She was stabbed. You must come to her.”

Argurios looked up at Helikaon. “Help me rise,” he said.

Helikaon took his arm and drew him upright. Argurios groaned again as the arrow point shifted, firing fresh agony through him. He staggered back against the wall, but Helikaon held him. Slowly they made their way to the queen’s apartments. The wounded were everywhere, and Argurios saw Laodike lying on a couch, her eyes closed. Steadying himself, he told Helikaon to let him go and then walked to the couch and knelt beside it. Reaching out, he took her hand. Laodike’s eyes opened. Her face was pale, her eyes heavy-lidded. Argurios felt in that moment that he had never seen such beauty.

Laodike smiled, her face instantly radiant with happiness. “Oh, Argurios,” she said. “I was dreaming of you.”

“Was it a good dream?” he asked her.

“Yes. All my dreams of you are wonderful.”

“And what did you dream?”

“It was our house. I have been to see it. You will . . . love it. It has a deep garden and a fountain. There are flowering trees against the western wall. We can sit there in the evenings when the sun sets.”

“I will look forward to that, my love.”

“Did you see Father?”

“Yes. Everything is well, Laodike.”

“We will not be parted, then?”

Argurios opened the small pouch at his sword belt and lifted out the crumpled swan feather.

“You kept it!” she whispered.

“Yes. I kept it. We will never be parted. Not even in death.” Placing the feather in her hand, he closed his fingers around hers. With the last of his strength he eased himself down to the floor, laying his head upon her breast.

“I am so happy, Argurios,” she said. “I think I’ll sleep a little now.”

“We’ll both sleep. And when we awake you can show me the garden.”

II

Kalliades ran back into the
megaron,
his mind racing. With enemy troops coming in behind them and an undefeated force still holding the upper levels, the insurrection was doomed. Casting his veteran’s eye around the palace, he knew it could not be defended for long. The
megaron
was almost a hundred paces long and some fifty wide, too large to resist a superior force, as the Trojans had discovered only a few hours before. Now the roles were about to be reversed except that the Mykene would not be able to retreat to the upper levels. They would be assailed on two fronts: through the great doors and from the gallery above. He scanned the columned walls. Their only hope, albeit a transient one, would be to form a shield wall.

All around him lay Mykene wounded having their wounds stitched or plugged with cloth. He called out to the men closest by. “Get the wounded together! More Trojans are coming!”

Instantly warriors began helping their comrades to their feet or carrying them back to the shelter of the wall. Then they began to gather shields and helmets. Kalliades ran the length of the
megaron
to the rear of the hall, where the battle of the stairs was still raging. Argurios was still fighting there, but Kalliades did not look up at him. Instead he sought out Kolanos. He saw the general standing in the shelter of a great column, his bow bent. An arrow flashed toward the stairs. Kalliades flicked his glance to the left, seeing the shaft punch home in Argurios’ side.

“I have you, you bastard!” said Kolanos gleefully.

Kalliades came alongside him. “Trojan reinforcements are upon us,” he said. “The city gates are open, and the Thrakians have fled.”

He saw fear in Kolanos’ eyes. “Where is Prince Agathon?”

Kalliades shrugged. “Gone. I don’t know where. We need to make a stand. I have started a shield wall.”

“A stand? I’ll not die here!” Kolanos threw away the bow and headed down the
megaron,
racing toward the open doors. Kalliades followed him, awaiting orders.

But there were none. The general ran out into the courtyard. Kalliades paused in the doorway, wondering what the man was doing. Then he realized. Kolanos was trying to flee the palace before the enemy arrived. He was almost at the gates when Trojan soldiers appeared. Kolanos spun around and fled back to where Kalliades waited, pushing past him and into the palace. There he stood, his eyes wide and staring, his face a mask of panic.

Kalliades’ loathing for the man swelled further. Pulling away from the general, he sprinted back to the mass of fighting men below the stairs. “Back! Back!” he yelled. “We are betrayed! Form a shield wall! Now!”

The first man he saw was Banokles. He had lost his helmet, and his face was gray with pain. A sword blade had cut through his arm and was jutting from his bicep.

“Pull this damn thing out!” he urged Kalliades.

Kalliades wrenched the blade clear. Banokles swore loudly. “Shield wall!” shouted Kalliades once more, his voice carrying over the fighting. Years of harsh discipline cut through the battle lust, and the Mykene began to stream back from the stairs.

Swinging his shield to his forearm, Kalliades moved with them. Trojan soldiers were pouring through the doors, armed with spear and sword. Kolanos had retreated behind some twenty men with shields and spears, and other Mykene ran to join them, forming a tight wall around their wounded.

A group of seven warriors made a charge at the doors, seeking to block the entrance. Kalliades saw a huge golden-haired Trojan enter, carrying two swords. He was helmetless and wearing an ordinary breastplate. On either side of him were shield bearers, protecting his flanks. Kalliades expected to see the man swept aside by the Mykene charge. Instead he tore into the seven warriors, killing two and punching a third from his feet. There had been many shocks that night, but this stunned Kalliades. The Trojan did not fight like a man but advanced like a tempest, invincible and unstoppable.

A great cheer went up from the people on the gallery, a sound rich and joyous. Then they began to chant.

“Hektor! Hektor! Hektor!”

Kalliades suddenly felt cold. He shivered as he watched the great Trojan warrior charge into the warriors facing him.

A Mykene stabbed at Hektor with a spear, but he sidestepped the thrust and drove his sword through the attacker’s skull. The blade stuck fast. Two more Mykene rushed at him. A shield bearer blocked the charge of the first, but the Trojan met the second head-on. As the Mykene opened his shield to stab out with his spear, Hektor stepped inside and delivered a punch to the man’s helmet. It rang like a bell, and the warrior was hurled from his feet. The remaining Mykene fell back to join the shield wall as more and more Trojans swarmed into the
megaron.

Kalliades killed a soldier, knocked another to the floor, then took up his place alongside Banokles.

With the shield wall at last in place and bristling with spears, the Trojans fell back momentarily, pinning down the Mykene but making no attack.

“So that’s Hektor,” said Banokles. “Always wondered if he was as good as the legends say. Big bastard, isn’t he?”

Kalliades did not reply. The Mykene were finished now. Fewer than fifty warriors were left. True, they would take a few score more Trojans with them, but they could not fight their way out of this mess.

“You think this could get any worse?” asked Banokles.

Kalliades saw King Priam walk out into the
megaron,
flanked by Royal Eagles. The vile Helikaon was with him. The king cried out Hektor’s name, and the giant walked over to him, embracing the older man. The moment was almost dreamlike. The Mykene were waiting to die, surrounded by a furious enemy, yet two men were embracing and laughing. The Trojans continued to shout Hektor’s name.

The golden-haired warrior raised his arms, acknowledging their tribute, then swung back to stare with cold eyes at the surviving Mykene.

“I don’t see Argurios,” said Banokles. “That’s a small blessing. Wouldn’t want both him and the Man Killer against me.”