Lord of the Silver Bow

i

It had been a frustrating day for Helikaon. He had walked to the palace in search of Andromache, only to find the gates closed. An Eagle on the walls above the gate had called down that no-one was to be allowed entry until dusk, on the orders of Agathon. So he had returned to the House of the Stone Horses, thrown a leopard-skin shabrack over the back of his horse, and ridden across the Scamander to Hekabe’s palace, hoping to find Andromache there.

Instead he found the palace virtually deserted. Hekabe’s youngest son, the studious Paris, was sitting in the shade of some trees overlooking the bay.

Beside him, poring over some old parchments, was a thickset young woman with a plain, honest face and pale auburn hair.

‘Mother is sleeping,’ Paris told him, setting aside the parchment he held. ‘She had a troubled night.’

‘I am sorry to hear it. I was seeking Andromache.’

‘She was here yesterday with Laodike. Today everyone is in the city, preparing for the feast.’

‘But not you?’

Paris gave a shy smile. ‘I was not invited. Agathon knows I am uncomfortable in crowds. I am much happier here.’ His pale eyes flickered towards the young woman. ‘Oh, I am sorry, cousin,’ he said. ‘This is Helen. She has been staying with us.’

‘I am Helikaon,’ he told her.

‘I have heard of you,’ she said softly, meeting his gaze. She swiftly looked away, her face reddening.

‘Helen shares my interest in matters historical,’ said Paris, gazing at her fondly.

‘Do you read?’ Helikaon asked her, in an effort to be polite.

‘Paris is teaching me,’ she told him.

‘Then I shall disturb you no longer,’ he said. ‘I must go home and prepare for the feast.’

Paris rose from his chair and walked with Helikaon back through the silent palace. ‘Isn’t she a joy?’ he said excitedly.

Helikaon smiled. ‘It seems you are in love.’

‘I think I am,’ said the young man happily.

‘When is the wedding?’

Paris sighed. ‘It is all too complicated. Helen’s father is at war with the Mykene. I do not understand the mysteries of battles and strategies, but Antiphones told me that Sparta will lose the war. So, either her father will be killed, or he will be forced to swear allegiance to Agamemnon. Either way Helen will be subject to Agamemnon’s will.’

‘She is Spartan? Paris, my friend, she is not for you.’

The young prince was defiant. ‘Yes, she is,’ he protested. ‘She is everything to me!’

‘That is not what I meant.’ Helikaon took a deep breath, marshalling his thoughts. ‘The Spartan king has no sons. If Sparta falls then Helen will be married off to one of Agamemnon’s generals, in order to provide a claim to the throne. And even if by some miracle Sparta wins, then the king’s daughter will be wed to a highborn Spartan, who would then be named as heir.’

Paris looked crestfallen. ‘What if father intervened for us?’

Helikaon hesitated. He liked the quiet young prince. Of all Priam’s sons he was the least like his father. Paris had no interest in war or combat, or political intrigue. He had never taken part in athletic tourneys, nor even attempted to become proficient with sword or spear or bow. ‘Paris, my friend, you said yourself you do not understand strategies or battles. Whoever weds Helen will have a claim on the throne of Sparta. Can you imagine that Agamemnon would allow a Trojan prince to have such a claim? Even Priam, with all his power, could do nothing to alter that. Put it from your mind.’

‘I cannot do that. We love each other.’

‘Princes do not marry for love, Paris. I fear disappointment awaits you,’ said Helikaon, taking hold of his horse’s white mane, and vaulting to its back.

Touching heels to his mount he rode back towards the Scamander bridge.

The conversation with Paris had unsettled him. He had ridden to Troy convinced that he could win Andromache, but was he also blinded by emotion? Why would Priam allow such a match? Why indeed would he not merely wed her to Agathon? Or bed her himself?

That last thought brought a wave of anger, and with it an image that sickened him. As he rode back towards the city his mind began to conceive plans of action that became increasingly absurd. As he rode through the Scaean Gate he was even considering abducting Andromache and fleeing back to Dardanos.

Are you an idiot, he asked himself?

His small, mostly militia army could never withstand the might of Troy. Such an action would bring disaster on the realm. Forcing himself to think coolly he considered all that he could offer Priam, in terms of wealth and trade. Lost in his calculations, he rode slowly through the city to the House of the Stone Horses.

He saw some twenty soldiers in the courtyard, and, as he approached, noticed blood smeared on the stones.

‘What is going on?’ he asked a young Thrakian officer. The man recognized him.

‘Someone was attacked, Lord Aeneas,’ he said. ‘Your servant has refused us entry.’

Moving past the officer, Helikaon hammered his fist on the door. ‘Who is it?’

came the voice of Gershom.

‘Helikaon. Open the door.’

He heard the bar being lifted and the door opened. The first thing he saw was a body on the floor, covered by two cloaks. Blood had drenched the rug on which it lay. Despite the fact that the face was covered, Hehkaon knew the dead man was Antiphones. No-one else in Troy was that size. The Thrakian officer entered behind him and gazed down at the covered corpse.

‘We did not know what to do, lord,’ said Gershom, bowing low. ‘This man staggered in here asking for you. Then he collapsed and died.’

Helikaon looked closely at Gershom. The man had never before been servile, and not once had he bowed. Meeting his gaze, he sensed there was more to this than Gershom could say. Hehkaon turned to the Thrakian officer. ‘The dead man is Antiphones, son of Priam. I suggest you send for a cart, and have the body taken to the palace.’

‘I will indeed, sir,’ said the Thrakian. He swung to Gershom. ‘Did he say anything before he died?’

‘He tried, lord,’ said Gershom, head bowed. ‘He kept asking for the lord Helikaon. I told him he wasn’t here. I tried to stop the bleeding, but the wounds were too deep. Then he died. I couldn’t save him.’

‘Why did you not let us in?’ asked the officer.

‘I was frightened, lord. I am a stranger to the city. A man comes in and drops dead, and then other armed men are banging at the door. I did not know what to do.’

The answer seemed to satisfy the officer. ‘I will have a cart sent,’ he told Hehkaon, and went out. As the door closed Gershom knelt by Antiphones and pulled the top cloak away from the man’s face. Antiphones’ eyes were open. Helikaon saw him blink. The physician Machaon emerged from a side room.

‘What is happening here?’ asked Helikaon, mystified.

Gershom looked up. ‘He was attacked by Thrakian soldiers sent by his brother Agathon,’ he said, all trace of servility vanished. Machaon also knelt by Antiphones, drawing back the cloak still further. Antiphones’ upper body was covered in blood, and Hehkaon could see jagged lines of stitches applied to many wounds.

Machaon examined the wounds, then placed his hand over Antiphones’ heart.

‘He is a strong man,’ said the physician, ‘and the depth of fat, I think, prevented the blades from causing mortal blows.’

‘Why did Agathon do this to you?’ Hehkaon asked the wounded man.

‘I have been such a fool. So much I did not see. I thought that, like me, Agathon wanted revenge on Priam for all the hurts and insults. But he is lost on a sea of hatred. Not just for Priam, but for everyone who has ever offered him what he considers a slight. Tonight will be a massacre. A thousand Thrakians and some two hundred Mykene will descend on the palace. Every man inside the megaron is to be killed. All the princes, the counsellors, the nobles. Everyone. I tried to convince him of the madness of it. He sent three men to kill me.’ Antiphones gave a weary smile. ‘I slew them. Hektor would have been proud of me, don’t you think?’

‘He would. What of the women?’

Antiphones’ smile faded. ‘Our sisters should be safe. All others will be spoils of war,’ he said. ‘I didn’t see all that hatred in him. I was blinded by my own loathing of Priam. You must get out of the city. Once Priam is dead Agathon will send killers after you.’

‘Priam is not dead yet,’ Hehkaon told him.

‘You can do nothing. The Great Gates are guarded by a regiment controlled by one of Agathon’s men. They have orders not to leave their posts, and to keep the gates shut until dawn. They will not come to Priam’s aid. And there are only a hundred or so Eagles at the palace. They cannot win against such odds.’

‘What of the Lady Andromache? Where is she?’

‘Oh, she has joined his list of enemies. She refused him, Aeneas. He said he would enjoy watching her raped by his Thrakians.’

ii

It was the afternoon of the funeral feast, and Andromache stood on the balcony of her apartment, staring out over the green hills to the north of the city.

There were sheep grazing there, and in the far distance she saw two riders cresting a rise. How good it would be, she thought, to be free of Troy. How wonderful to be riding on a hillside, without a care.

‘You wanted a plain white garment today,’ said Axa, moving onto the balcony and disturbing her reverie. The maid held out two identical robes. Andromache pointed to one. Axa examined the embroidery on the hem and then, tutting, rushed off to her sewing box. Armed with needle and silver thread she sat herself comfortably on a padded stool. She was now moving more easily and her bruises were fading, Andromache noticed.

‘Kassandra is at the palace,’ said Axa, peering short-sightedly at her sewing.

‘She returned yesterday. The gossip is that the queen lost her temper with her.

She kept saying that Hektor will come back from the dead. Must be difficult for a mother to have a child with a blighted soul.’

‘Her soul is not blighted,’ said Andromache. ‘Paris told me that Kassandra almost died as a babe. She had the brain fire.’

‘Poor mite,’ said Axa. ‘My boy will not suffer that. I have a charm. It carries the blessing of Persephone. Mestares bought it.’ As she spoke her husband’s name Axa ceased her sewing, her plain, plump face crumpling in sorrow. Andromache sat beside her. There was nothing she could say. The arrival of the emperor had put paid to all hopes that Hektor and his men would return.

Axa brushed away her tears with a callused hand. ‘This won’t do. Won’t do at all,’ she said. ‘Must get you looking nice for the gathering.’

‘Andromache!’ A door slammed and there was a rattle of curtains, then Kassandra appeared in the doorway, her dark curls dishevelled and the hem of her long blue gown dragging on the floor. ‘I want to go to the gardens. Laodike won’t let me.

She keeps telling me off.’

Laodike appeared behind her. ‘Kassandra, don’t bother Andromache. This is a time of sadness. We must be quiet and stay in the women’s quarters.’

‘You’re not sad.’ Kassandra’s blue-grey eyes flashed at her sister. ‘Your heart is singing like a bird. I can hear it.’

Laodike flushed, and Andromache gave her a quick smile. She had guessed there was someone in Laodike’s life. Her confidence had increased over these last few weeks, and her happiness yesterday had been wonderful to see. She had hoped Laodike would confide in her, but she had seen little of her, and when they did speak the subject of love was not raised. Andromache guessed she might have formed an attachment for one of the soldiers, hence the need for secrecy.

‘My heart is not singing, wicked child!’ exclaimed Laodike. ‘You really are irritating! And I have so much to do. I am to greet the priestess, and she is a daunting woman.’

‘Leave Kassandra with me,’ said Andromache. ‘I enjoy her company.’

Laodike sighed. ‘That’s because you have not had to endure it for any length of time.’ She gave a hard stare at Kassandra, but it softened as the child cocked her head and smiled back at her sister.

‘I know you love me, Laodike,’ she said.

‘You don’t know anything!’ She turned to Andromache. ‘Very well, I shall leave her with you. But be warned, by this evening you will have grey hairs and lines upon your face.’

After Laodike had gone Andromache said, ‘I don’t see why we can’t take a stroll in the gardens. Come, Axa, give me the gown. A little fraying on the hem does not worry me. No-one will be looking at my feet.’

Axa was obviously unhappy with the decision, but passed the garment to Andromache, who stripped off the green robe she was wearing and donned the white. Axa brought her an ornate belt, decorated with silver chains.

Leaving the apartment the trio walked down the corridors of the women’s quarters, through the high oak doors decorated with gold and ivory. Beyond these was a staircase leading up to the queen’s apartments, followed by another set of stairs which descended into Priam’s megaron. Servants were bustling about making ready for the night’s great feast. Already guests were arriving, and Andromache spotted Polites and Dios, the latter giving her a scalding look. Dios still harboured resentment over the incident at the beach, and had not offered her a polite word since.

‘Why do people eat lots of roast meat when someone dies?’ Kassandra asked, watching the servants toiling with huge slabs of beef.

Andromache shrugged. ‘It is tradition. When a hero like Hektor dies the men like to sit together and tell stories of his greatness. The gods are said to take part, and they are invited to eat and drink in tribute to the warrior.’

Andromache looked around the megaron. She had been here several times, but had never had the chance to truly study it. The walls were heavy with arms and armour. Axa, who searched now for every opportunity to please her, started explaining the pieces decorating the walls. ‘Those,’ she said, pointing to the far wall, ‘are all weapons of Herakles. Those are his spears, and that is the great hammer he used to knock down the west wall.’

Andromache gazed up. Above their heads were five shields. Four were brightly polished, but the middle one was battered and untended, its style archaic. Wide at the top and tapering at the waist, it was intricately worked and plated with ten circles of bronze. Crowning the shield was a giant serpent with nine heads, and a warrior armed with sword and flaming brand. The shield strap was edged and circled with a silver snake.

‘That is magnificent,’ she said.

‘That is the shield of Ilos, one of the great warriors of Troy,’ Axa explained happily. ‘There is a legend that says only the greatest hero can take it down from the wall. The king offered it to Hektor, but he refused. Prince Agathon asked for it last year, after winning a battle in the east. The king said that if Hektor did not consider himself worthy of it, then no man was.’

‘That may change now,’ said Andromache. ‘I imagine Agathon will succeed Priam?’

‘Priam will outlive all his sons,’ Kassandra said suddenly, her high voice cold and detached. Andromache felt the hairs on her arms stand up and a shiver ran like sweat down her spine. The child’s eyes suddenly became wide and frightened.

‘There is blood on the walls,’ she cried, then bolted away, back up the stairs towards the queen’s apartments. They heard her sandals slapping on the stone steps as she ran. Leaving Axa where she was, Andromache set out after the fleeing girl.

But Kassandra was running fast, sidestepping the servants, twisting and weaving through the crowd. Andromache followed as swiftly as dignity allowed. She could hardly hitch up her ankle-length gown and give chase, so she walked on until she reached the women’s quarters and her own apartment. The door opened, and Kassandra stepped out, carrying Andromache’s bow and quiver of arrows.

‘You will need these,’ she said. ‘They are coming.’

i

A brisk wind had begun to blow as Argurios made his way up towards the palace of Priam. In the marketplace traders were struggling to take down the linen or canvas covers on their stalls. The cloth billowed, and one tore itself loose and lifted into the air, like a sail. Several men ran after it, and there was much laughter from the many onlookers.

The sun was setting over the distant isles of Imbros and Samothraki, and rain clouds were scudding over the city.

Argurios walked on across the square before the Temple of Hermes, the wind buffeting him. He hoped he would make it to the palace before the rain came. He did not relish the thought of standing before King Priam with water dripping from his armour.

Truth to tell he did not relish the thought of standing before the man at all.

For as long as he could remember Argurios had found conversation awkward.

Invariably he would say something that alienated a listener, or, at best, gave the wrong impression. He had been able to relax with very few people. One had been Atreus the king, and Argurios still missed him.

He recalled the night at the battlesite campfire. Argurios had been drawn into a furious row with one of Atreus’ generals. Afterwards the amused king had sat him down, urging him to breathe deeply and find calm. Atreus had struggled not to laugh, which made Argurios all the more angry.

‘I do not find this amusing,’ he had snapped.

‘Of course you don’t,’ agreed Atreus amiably. ‘You are Argurios. Nothing amuses you. You are a serious man, and a compulsive truth teller.’

‘The truth should be valued,’ Argurios had argued.

‘Indeed it should. However, the truth has many faces. You told Rostides that he was an idiot for leading an attack against a position he had not scouted. You said the losses suffered were inexcusable.’

‘All true.’

‘I agree. However, it was I who ordered Rostides to attack. He merely followed my orders as any loyal soldier should. Am I an idiot?’

‘Yes,’ answered Argurios, ‘for the situation remains the same. There was no reconnaissance, and therefore our men were caught in a trap.’

‘You are quite correct, my friend,’ said Atreus, his smile fading. ‘I acted rashly, and, in this instance, was less than wise. You acted no less rashly by insulting Rostides before you had scouted the situation. By your own terms of reference that makes you an idiot. Not so?’

‘I shall apologize to him.’

‘That would be wise. You know, Argurios, I have always valued your honesty. I always will. Kings tend to surround themselves with flatterers.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘Indeed, I have gathered quite a few myself. There should, however, always be one truth teller. But try to remember that not all men think as I do.’

‘I cannot be anything but what I am, lord.’

‘I know. So let us hope we both live long, eh?’

Atreus had died two years later. And now Argurios understood exactly what he meant. Agamemnon was not like his father. He wanted no truth tellers.

Would Priam?

Argurios doubted it.

He paused in his walk and looked up at the lowering sky. ‘In all my life, Father Zeus, I have asked you for nothing,’ he said. ‘Be with me on this day, and guide me so that I will not lose Laodike.’

Thunder rumbled in the distance. Argurios glanced back down towards the sea. In the setting sun he saw four dark-sailed galleys slowly beating their way towards the beach far below. The last of the sunlight glistened on the bright helms and shields carried by the warriors on board.

Argurios walked on, composing in his mind his speech to Priam.

Reaching the open area before the gates he saw several finely clad Trojan nobles speaking to soldiers of Priam’s Eagles. Voices were raised. ‘This is outrageous!’ he heard someone say. ‘Not even a dagger? How are we to eat, or are they serving only soup at Hektor’s feast?’

Inside the gateway two long tables had been set side by side. They were covered with swords, daggers and knives.

‘I am sorry, my lord,’ said a soldier. ‘The orders were specific. No-one is to take a weapon into the megaron. They will be here for you when you leave.’

Argurios recognized the speaker as Polydorus, the soldier who had walked with him to the beach on the day he had swum with Andromache. Still grumbling, the visitor slammed his dagger to the table top and stalked off. As the light faded servants came out of the king’s palace, lighting torches and placing them in brackets on the walls of the gate tower. Lamps were also suspended from poles lining the walkway to the high palace doors.

Argurios waited until the last of the Trojan nobles had entered, then approached Polydorus. The young soldier looked harassed, but smiled when he saw the Mykene.

‘I will take personal care of your weapon, sir,’ he said. ‘Is that the blade you wielded at Partha?’

‘No. That broke long ago.’

Just then they heard the clatter of a horse’s hooves upon the road. A golden horse galloped up to the gateway. Helikaon leapt from its back. He was wearing a fitted breastplate and helmet, and bearing two swords in scabbards over his shoulders.

‘Where is the officer of the watch?’ he demanded.

A tall soldier stepped forward from the shadows beyond the gateway. ‘I am Aranes, my lord. You must leave your weapons here, on the orders of Prince Agathon.’

‘You must close the palace gates, Aranes,’ said Helikaon. ‘Traitors are coming to kill the king. They are close behind me. And there is a Mykene force to aid them. Even now their ships are beaching.’

‘What is this nonsense? Are you drunk?’

‘Do I look drunk? The Prince Antiphones has been stabbed. Agathon is a traitor and his Thrakians are heading here, intent on murder. Now close the damned gates, or we are all dead.’

The soldier shook his head. ‘I need to seek authorization. We are ordered to keep the gates open.’

Helikaon stood silently for a moment, then stepped in and slammed a sudden blow to the man’s jaw. Aranes spun, then hit the ground face first. Several of the Eagles ran forward, drawing their swords.

‘Listen to me!’ shouted Helikaon. ‘Death is coming. Gather all the men you can.

And, for pity’s sake, bar those gates!’

‘Do as he says!’ called out Polydorus, running to the first of the gates.

Argurios went with him, and slowly they began to swing it shut. Soldiers moved to the other gate.

A hurled javelin slammed into the timber.

From the darkness beyond armed men surged forward, screaming war cries.

And the gates were still open.

ii

Helikaon swung round as the javelin thudded home. Thrakian soldiers were rushing towards the gates. Some held javelins or spears, others short swords. In that fraction of a heartbeat Helikaon registered that the warriors were wearing light leather breastplates and round leather helmets. They carried no shields.

Fury swept through him. They had not even returned to their barracks to change into battle armour, so confident were they in their mission of murder. All they expected to face were a few Eagles and a hundred unarmed men mourning a dead hero.

Drawing the two leaf-bladed swords from the scabbards at his back, Helikaon charged at the milling Thrakians. There was no thought in his mind of glory. No thought of death. No thought of anything, save a savage, reckless desire to visit vengeance on these treacherous men, to see their blood flow, and to hear their anguished cries.

Some of the Thrakians had hurled themselves against the gates, forcing them back. Some twenty Eagles were on the inner side, straining to close them.

Helikaon darted between the yawning gap, slashing his right-hand blade through the throat of a blond warrior, then lancing the left-hand sword into the neck of a second. His assault was sudden, his swords slashing, cutting and cleaving. A few Thrakians tried to rush him, others sought to pull back from the fray, dismayed by the deadly speed of his strokes. Swords clattered against his breastplate, and a thrusting spear struck against his helm.

Now he was in their midst. Bodies lay at his feet, and his swords glittered as they rose and fell. Even in the midst of his battle fury he realized he had advanced too far. They were all around him now, and it would not be long before he was hamstrung, or dragged from his feet. Even as the thought came, a huge Thrakian leapt at him, his shoulder cannoning into Helikaon’s breastplate. As Helikaon fell back he plunged a blade through the man’s cheek. A hand grabbed him, steadying him. He saw Argurios alongside him. A Thrakian ran in, thrusting his spear at Argurios. The Mykene swayed aside from the thrust, killing the wielder with a ferocious cut that split his skull.

‘Kill them all!’ bellowed Argurios, his voice ringing with authority. A few of Priam’s Eagles rushed into the fray, tall men, wide-shouldered and strong.

Heavily armoured and bearing great shields of bronze, they clove into the Thrakian ranks. The enemy fell back to regroup.

Helikaon started to charge towards them. ‘Not now!’ shouted Argurios, grabbing him again. ‘Back to the gates!’

The red battle fury seeped away, and Helikaon raced back with the others. The Thrakians, realizing too late what was happening, gave chase.

Helikaon was the last man through the closing gates. As they slammed shut Polydorus and another soldier tipped a long timber locking bar into place.

Men were streaming from the palace now. ‘Arm yourselves with bows,’ Helikaon yelled at the soldiers. ‘Get to the walls. More will come.’ Turning to Argurios he said: ‘My thanks to you.’

‘There were only around fifty or so out there,’ said Argurios. ‘Must have been an advance party. How many Thrakians are there in all?’

‘A thousand.’

‘And you say there are Mykene coming?’

‘So I am informed.’

‘I believe I saw them. Four galleys beached as I was walking here. At least two hundred warriors. Maybe more. I thought they were Trojans.’

Priam the king pushed through the crowd. ‘What in Hades is happening here?’ he asked Helikaon, his breath stinking of un-watered wine, his legs unsteady.

‘Betrayal,’ said Helikaon. ‘Agathon’s Thrakians have been ordered to kill every man in the palace. And there are two hundred Mykene warriors marching towards us as we speak.’

Priam rubbed at his eyes and sucked in a great breath. ‘This is madness,’ he said. ‘One regiment of Thrakians? As soon as word reaches the other garrisons they will come in their thousands. And it is after dark. The Great Gates will be closed. No Mykene will be allowed to enter.’

‘You are wrong, sire,’ said Helikaon. ‘The soldiers on the Scaean Gate have been ordered to let them in, and then close the gate behind them. No other troops will be allowed to enter. The Eagles here are the only loyal men left in the Upper City. We are on our own.’

Priam said nothing for a moment, then swung to a nearby Eagle. ‘Fetch me my armour,’ he ordered. Turning back to Helikaon he said, ‘We’ll hold them. By the gods we’ll teach them the price to be paid for treachery.’

‘You’ll not hold these palace walls for long,’ said Argurios. ‘They are not high enough, and you don’t have the men. Even now they will be searching for ladders, carts, timber . .. anything to allow them to scale the ramparts.’

‘Do I know you?’ retorted Priam, squinting in the lantern light.

‘I am Argurios, Priam King.’

‘The Argurios?’

‘Even so.’

‘And you are fighting for me?’

‘It appears that I am.’

The drunken king suddenly laughed, but there was no humour in the sound. ‘My Hektor has been taken from me. His brother wants me dead, and my city is under attack. Now a Mykene hero has come to aid me.’ His face hardened. ‘Oh, how the gods favour me!’

‘I share your feelings,’ said Argurios. ‘It was no dream of mine to fight for Troy. However, we can talk of capricious gods at another time. Now we need to arm every one of your guests, with whatever weapons are inside the palace. We will need bowmen on the palace balcony covering this courtyard. Even so the odds will be long indeed.’

Priam gave a cold smile. ‘Odds fit for a hero, Argurios. Where is that damned armour?’ Priam turned away, and staggered off in search of his weapons.

On the walls above a few Eagles began loosing shafts down into the Thrakian ranks.

‘We cannot hold the walls for long,’ repeated Argurios, this time to Helikaon.

‘They will come back with ladders and ropes and grappling hooks. They will swarm over like ants.’

‘I know.’ Helikaon swung to Polydorus. ‘You go inside. Get all the older counsellors and servants up into the queen’s apartments, away from the fighting.

Then barricade all unnecessary entrances. Make sure all windows are shuttered and barred. If you can find tools have them nailed shut.’

The officer he had struck earlier was now on his feet, but still groggy.

Helikaon approached him. ‘How many men are at the outside gate to the women’s quarters?’ he asked.

‘No-one is stationed there,’ said the officer, rubbing his jaw. ‘The gates are locked. There is no way through.’

‘Then the enemy will scale the walls unopposed!’ stormed Helikaon. ‘Argurios, you stay here and command the defence. You!’ he said to Aranes. ‘Gather twenty good swordsmen and follow me! ‘

iii

Outside her apartments, deep in the palace, Andromache looked into Kassandra’s grey eyes, seeing the terror there. ‘Who is coming?’ she asked softly.

Kassandra blinked. ‘Swords and daggers and spears.’ She gazed around her, eyes wide. ‘Blood on the walls. Blood… everywhere. Please take the bow.’

The child had begun to tremble. Andromache stepped forward, lifting the weapon from her hand. Kassandra offered her the quiver, with its twenty black-shafted arrows. Andromache swung it over her shoulder. ‘There now! I have the bow. Be calm, little one. No-one is going to hurt you.’

‘No,’ agreed Kassandra, with a sigh. ‘No-one is going to hurt me.’

Holding out her free arm Andromache took Kassandra by the hand. ‘Let us go down and listen to the priestess. She is said to be very dull. Then later you and I will sit in the starlight and we will talk.’

‘Helikaon is coming for you,’ said Kassandra, as they walked hand in hand along the wide corridor towards the gathering hall of the women’s quarters.

‘Why would he be doing that?’ asked Andromache.

‘Because he loves you,’ answered the child. ‘You knew that, didn’t you?’

Andromache sighed. ‘Helikaon is in Dardania.’

Kassandra shook her head. ‘He was on a golden horse, riding through the streets.

He is frightened for you. He knows that blood is coming. The fat one told him.’

Suddenly the child began to cry. Andromache laid the bow on a couch, set by the corridor wall, and sat down, drawing Kassandra to her. Hugging the girl and kissing her dark hair she tried to calm her. She had heard many stories of the fey child, and knew there was nothing she could say to pierce the veils of illusion. So she waited for the tears to pass, and held her close.

They sat there for some time. ‘I don’t want to see so much,’ said Kassandra, drawing away, and sitting with her back to the wall. ‘I hate it. I can’t tell sometimes what is now and what was then.’’

‘This is now,’ said Andromache. ‘You and I sitting here.’

‘You and I,’ repeated Kassandra. She glanced across the corridor. ‘Look there.

What do you see?’

Andromache followed the line of her pointing finger. ‘I see a tapestry hanging from the wall. Very pretty embroidery.’

‘No! In front of the tapestry.’

‘The corridor?’

Kassandra’s shoulders sagged. Andromache saw her smile at nothing, and give a little wave. ‘What is it that you see?’ she asked.

‘It doesn’t matter. The dolphins told me the sea is changing. They are frightened. I am frightened too. Everything is changing, Andromache.’

‘Why did you say that Helikaon loves me? Is it something he said?’

Kassandra gave a shy smile. ‘I love Helikaon. I used to watch him sleeping.

Helikaon is in the now. He is the Lord of the Silver Bow.’

‘You think Helikaon is Apollo?’

‘No, silly! Helikaon is Helikaon.’

Andromache smiled at the child. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘No-one does. Well, no-one who feels the rain, or the sun’s heat.’

‘Isn’t that everyone?’

‘We must be going! Keep your bow ready. We must rescue Laodike. We must bring her to the shield bearer.’

Andromache could think of no more to say to this strange child, so they walked together in silence through to the Hall of Gathering.

A small crowd of some twenty women were already there, dressed in flowing gowns, and bedecked in jewellery of gold and silver. Servants moved among them, bearing trays of golden cups brimming with wine. Andromache saw Laodike and waved. By the great double doors stood a tall, silver-haired woman, carrying a small ceremonial helmet of bright gold. ‘That is the priestess,’ whispered Kassandra.

‘I don’t like her. She gives false prophecies.’

‘If they were false,’ said Andromache, ‘then surely people would realize it, when they failed to come true.’

‘No, she is very clever,’ said Kassandra. ‘Pandates the merchant went to her last year to ask if his wife would ever become pregnant. She told him the gods favoured him, but they required his patience. She said he would have a son, as long as he did nothing to offend the gods. Pandates was drowned when his ship sank. She said that he had offended Poseidon.’

‘Perhaps he had,’ offered Andromache.

‘After tonight,’ said Kassandra, ‘she will speak the truth, and her prophecies will be real. But no-one will hear them.’

It seemed to Andromache that holding a conversation with Kassandra was not dissimilar to trying to catch a butterfly. Every time you thought you had it in your grasp it fluttered away. ‘There are not many women here,’ she ventured.

‘Did Hektor have no female friends?’

‘Everyone loved Hektor,’ replied Kassandra. ‘They will be so happy when he comes home. Keep your bow ready.’

Laodike moved across to join them. She was wearing a bright yellow gown, and her fair hair had been braided with gold wire.

‘This is not the place for an archery display,’ she said, frowning.

‘I know. I will explain later. I see Kreusa isn’t here.’

‘She always arrives late,’ said Laodike. ‘Kreusa likes to make a dramatic entrance. She will be disappointed, I think. There are so few people here. The wives of father’s closest counsellors, but none of Hektor’s friends.’ She leaned in close. ‘Oh dear, the priestess is about to speak, and the drab part of the evening begins.’

‘She will not speak for long,’ whispered Kassandra, backing away, her face pale.

Suddenly she turned and darted back along the corridor.

The silver-haired priestess held the ceremonial gold helmet above her head and began to chant: ‘Athene, hear your children! Goddess of Wisdom, hear your followers. Let our words and our grief flow to you, and bring us peace and understanding in these days of sorrow.’

Just then the far doors burst open, and Thrakian soldiers surged into the room, swords and spears in their hands. The women stood shocked. No men were allowed into the women’s quarters, and certainly no male could invade a sacred ceremony.

The priestess was outraged. She rushed at them, screaming for them to leave at once, or face the curse of Athene. What followed then stunned Andromache. A burly Thrakian lashed out at her, sending the priestess sprawling to the floor, the ceremonial helm clattering away to strike a table leg. For a moment there was shocked silence. Then the priestess pointed at the man. ‘May the goddess strike you down, and curse your family for nine generations!’ she shrieked.

The man laughed – and then his sword slashed down. The priestess threw up her arm, and the bronze blade hacked into it, spraying blood. A second cut tore open her throat. Women began to scream and run. Soldiers rushed at them, dragging them back.

Then Laodike ran towards the warrior who was still stabbing his sword into the squirming priestess. ‘You cowardly dog!’ she shouted.

‘You want to bleed too, bitch?’ he responded, charging towards her. Andromache swiftly notched an arrow to her bow and drew back on the string. As the soldier reached Laodike, his sword raised high, a black-feathered shaft plunged through his eye. He staggered back several steps, dropping his sword, then slumped to the floor.

‘Laodike!’ yelled Andromache. The young woman started to run towards her. A Thrakian soldier hurled a spear, which took her in the back. Laodike screamed and stumbled. Andromache shot the spearman through the throat. More Thrakians pushed through into the gathering hall. Laodike half fell against Andromache. A soldier charged at them. Andromache loosed a shaft that tore through the man’s leather breastplate, spearing his chest. He faltered, then came on, sword raised. With no time to draw the string Andromache dropped the bow and stepped forward to meet him, the shaft held like a dagger in her hand. Weakened by the arrow in his chest the soldier gave a feeble thrust. Andromache parried the blow with her arm, then plunged the bronze-headed arrow into the man’s neck. He fell back with a gargling cry.

Sweeping up her bow Andromache notched another shaft to the string. She glanced down at Laodike, who had fallen to the floor, and was trying to crawl towards the corridor, the long black spear still embedded in her back.

Other women ran past Andromache. All was pandemonium.

Then soldiers appeared from behind – Royal Eagles led by Helikaon. They surged into the Thrakians.

Andromache ran to where Laodike was crawling. Grabbing the spear she tore it loose. Laodike cried out, then slumped down. Hurling the spear aside, Andromache tugged at Laodike’s arm, dragging her to her feet. ‘Lean on me,’ she urged her.

‘We must get away from here.’

More Eagles ran into the fray. Andromache struggled on towards the double doors leading to the steps up to the queen’s apartments. Several Eagles were already there. One of them left his post and swept Laodike into his arms.

‘Get her to safety,’ ordered Andromache.

‘There is nowhere safe tonight,’ he said grimly. ‘But I’ll carry her upstairs.

We’ll hold these doors as long as we can.’

iv

Helikaon and the Eagles battled their way into the gathering hall. The Trojans were all veterans and fought with ruthless efficiency. Well armoured, with shields and helms, they drove the Thrakians back towards the double doors leading to the outer gates. The twenty defenders were heavily outnumbered, but the Thrakians, without shields and in their light city armour of leather breastplates and helmets, took terrible losses. Helikaon fought with cold fury, his two swords cutting and plunging with awesome speed. The leading Thrakians fell back in disarray, then turned and ran into more of their comrades, still trying to force an entry. This led to a chaotic scene as panicking soldiers struggled to push their way through their own ranks. The Eagles rushed in, sinking their swords into unprotected backs and necks. The Thrakians broke, and streamed away from the double doors. Helikaon yelled an order to the Eagles to pull back. Most obeyed him, but four men, battle lust having overtaken them, continued after the Thrakians. Back inside the gathering hall Helikaon ordered the double doors pushed shut. There were two wooden brackets for a locking bar, but the bar itself was nowhere in sight. It had not been needed for decades, and had obviously been removed. Helikaon sent two Eagles in search of it. The sounds of fighting in the corridor beyond had ceased now, and Helikaon guessed the Thrakians had turned on the four chasing Eagles. There was little time left to bar the doors. Soon the Thrakians would regroup.

‘Gather up those spears,’ he called out, pointing to the weapons of the dead Thrakians. The Eagles rushed to obey, and nine thick-shafted spears were wedged into the locking brackets.

‘It will not hold for long,’ said an Eagle. Helikaon gazed around the hall. More than forty Thrakians had died here, but there were also the bodies of eight Eagles and five women, two of them elderly. Four more of the Eagles carried wounds.

‘There is nothing more we can do here,’ said Helikaon, and led them back to the second set of double doors, leading to the queen’s apartments and the king’s megaron. Here the locking bar had been found and he ordered the heavy oak doors closed and barred.

Leaving two Eagles to watch the doors, he climbed the stairs to the queen’s apartments. In the largest of the rooms he found the surviving women. Some were looking frightened, others shocked and uncertain. Laodike lay on a couch, flanked by Kassandra and Andromache. Blood had soaked the embroidered cloth beneath her. Sheathing his swords Helikaon moved towards them.

A middle-aged woman stepped into his path. ‘What is happening?’ she asked him, grabbing his arm. She was frightened and trembling, her face unnaturally pale.

‘We are being attacked,’ he told her, his voice calm. ‘There are wounded men who need aid. There will be more. Can you search the apartments for needles and thread, and tear up linens for bandages?’

Her expression calmed. ‘Yes, I can do that.’

‘Good. Organize the other women, ready to tend those who will need it.’

‘Who is behind this treachery?’ she asked.

‘Agathon.’

She frowned and shook her head. ‘I always liked him,’ she said.

‘So did I.’ Moving past her he knelt by the couch. There was a great deal of blood, and Laodike seemed to be sleeping. He glanced at Andromache.

‘A spear,’ she whispered. ‘It took her low in the back. I have stopped the bleeding and her heartbeat is strong. I think she will recover. ‘

Helikaon reached out and gently brushed a wisp of hair back from Laodike’s brow.

Her eyes opened.

‘Helikaon!’ she cried, with a wide smile. ‘Are the traitors slain?’

‘Not yet.’

‘They killed the priestess. It was dreadful. Were they drunk?’

‘No, Laodike. There is a plot to kill your father.’

‘Antiphones or Dios,’ she said. ‘Or both.’

‘No. Agathon.’

‘Oh, no,’ she whispered. ‘No, it cannot be true.’

‘Sadly it is. He had Antiphones stabbed, and he has ordered the deaths of everyone inside the palace.’

‘He and you were friends,’ said Laodike. ‘I don’t understand. Is Argurios here?’

‘Yes. He is down in the courtyard, organizing the defences.’

‘Defences?’ She seemed bemused.

‘Agathon’s Thrakians have surrounded the palace – and there is a Mykene force coming to aid them.’

‘What about our troops?’

‘The soldiers inside the city are loyal to Agathon. It will be a long night, I think.’

Laodike sighed, then winced. ‘If feels as if I have been kicked by a horse,’ she complained.

‘Stab wounds are like that,’ he told her. ‘And now I must go. You rest now and gather your strength.’

‘Yes, I will. I am very tired. Tell Argurios to be careful. I don’t want anything to happen to him.’

‘Argurios?’ Helikaon glanced at her quizzically.

‘We will be wed,’ she said. ‘It is our destiny.’

Helikaon smiled, then leaned forward and kissed Laodike’s brow. ‘I am happy for you,’ he told her. Then he stood. Andromache rose alongside him. ‘Walk with me a little way,’ he said.

Moving through the apartment they emerged onto a gallery above a wide stairway leading down to the king’s megaron. Below they could see men arming themselves with weapons and shields from the walls.

‘I am glad you came,’ said Andromache.

Helikaon looked into her green eyes. ‘I came for you,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘I think you know.’

‘Perhaps. But there may be little time left to hear the words.’

Taking her hand he lifted it to his lips. He had expected the words to come haltingly, but they did not. ‘I love you, Andromache,’ he said. ‘I have loved you since that first moment on the beach at Blue Owl Bay. You have been in my heart and my mind constantly since that night. If we survive here, will you come back to Dardania with me?’

‘Yes,’ she said simply.

He kissed her. As their lips met all thoughts of peril vanished from his mind.

Nothing else existed, and he knew that this exquisite moment would remain etched in his memory for the rest of his life.

As they finally drew back from one another cold reality rushed in.

The rest of his life. It was likely to be no more than a single night.

‘What are you thinking?’ she whispered.

He smiled. ‘All my life I have been waiting for this moment, only I did not know it. I was thinking that I would rather be here now, standing with you, than anywhere else on the Great Green.’

i

With the gates closed, and the initial burst of combat behind him, Argurios stood in the courtyard before the palace. On the walls above him some forty Eagles, armed with Phrygian bows, were waiting for the next attack. Behind him he could hear orders being shouted within the king’s megaron. Argurios stood silently, heavy of heart.

He had come here, as a Mykene outlaw, determined to seek Priam’s permission to wed his daughter. Now he was caught up in a civil war. The thought of battle did not disturb him. His whole adult life had been honed in combat. What troubled him, as he stood quietly in the calm before the onslaught, was that Mykene warriors were coming. If Agamemnon had agreed to support Agathon with a small force, it would be made up of the finest warriors of his army. Argurios would have fought beside most of them, celebrated victories with them, commiserated with them when mutual comrades fell. Faces swarmed before his mind’s eye: Kalliades the Tall, Menides Spear Carrier, Banokles One Ear, Eruthros the Joker, Ajax the Skull Splitter…

Were they, even now, marching towards the citadel?

And if they were, how could he, as a Mykene warrior, take up arms against them?

Could he stab Tall Kalliades and watch him fall? Could he send Banokles into the Underworld?

Yet these same men were coming to kill the father of the woman he loved. And what would be her fate if they succeeded? This was, at least, a question he could answer. Though Argurios himself had never raped a woman he knew that such activity was common after a battle.

Anger built in him at the thought of such a fate for Laodike. No, I will not allow that, he decided. I would cut the heart from Agamemnon himself rather than see Laodike hurt.

Moving swiftly to the foot of the rampart, he climbed the twenty steps to where Polydorus was crouched down behind the crenellated wall. Argurios raised his head above the parapet, swiftly scanning the open ground beyond. There were no warriors in sight, though he could see men massing in the shadows of the narrow streets some eighty paces away.

‘They will be seeking ladders,’ said Argurios.

‘They will find plenty of them,’ replied Polydorus. ‘There is always new building work in Troy.’

The walls themselves were no more than the height of two tall men. If the enemy set wagons against them, they would be able to leap from them and haul themselves over the battlements. Argurios glanced back at the palace. Above and to the left of the doors was a long balcony, with high windows. Once the enemy opened the gates they could bring their ladders to the palace walls and scale them, entering the building from above. With enough men Argurios could have held the outer walls for days. Similarly, with three hundred hardened warriors he could defend the palace against a horde. It was galling to have such a fortress, and too few soldiers to keep it secure.

‘I am going inside,’ he told Polydorus. ‘I need to study the megaron and plan for its defence. If they attack before I return loose several volleys into them, and hold the first assault. That is vital.’

‘We will hold, Argurios,’ muttered Polydorus. ‘All night if we have to.’

‘It will not be all night. I will explain more when I return.’

Polydorus smiled. ‘Something to tell my children when they grow, eh? I fought beside Argurios.’

‘You have children?’

‘Not yet. But a man must think ahead.’

Argurios ran down the steps and across the courtyard. Inside the megaron all but the main doors had been barricaded. He saw Priam sitting on his throne, dressed in elaborate armour, decorated with gold and silver, a high-crested helmet upon his lap. Everywhere there were armed men. They had almost stripped the walls of shields and spears. Alongside the king stood Prince Dios. He wore no armour, though a sword was belted by his side.

Argurios approached them. Priam looked up. ‘Have the dogs fled?’ he asked, sober now, though his eyes were bloodshot and weary.

‘No, Priam King. They are gathering ladders. They will come soon. We need archers on the outer balcony above the doors. Thirty should suffice. I will order the men on the walls to pull back to the megaron once the attack begins in earnest.’

‘Who are you to give orders?’ snapped Dios, his eyes angry.

‘He is Argurios,’ said Priam calmly. ‘He is fighting at my side.’

‘We should put every man we have on the outer walls,’ raged Dios. ‘We can hold them.’

‘What say you to that, Argurios?’ asked Priam.

‘With three hundred men I would agree with Prince Dios. However, with so few the risk is encirclement. If they get behind us we will be cut to pieces. We must keep a line of withdrawal secure for as long as possible. My plan is to hold the wall for the first attack, then quietly pull back. When they come again we will hit them with volley after volley of arrows from the balcony.’

‘And then we bar the doors?’ asked Priam.

‘No, king. We leave them open.’

Priam was surprised. ‘Explain that strategy,’ he said.

‘There are many ways for an enemy to come at us. There is the door to the palace gardens. They could bring their ladders and climb to the balcony. They can come through the rear. We want them attacking where we are strongest. The open doors will be an invitation they will not resist. They will be drawn to us like flies to horse shit, and we will hold them there. At least until the Mykene arrive.’

‘By the fates, father,’ said Dios, ‘how can we trust this man? He too is Mykene.’

Argurios took a deep, calming breath. ‘Indeed I am, prince. Believe me when I tell you I would rather be anywhere than here at this moment. If the Mykene succeed here I will be killed along with all of you. Now, we have little time to prepare, and no time at all to vent personal feuds.’ He turned to the king. ‘If you have a better man than I to command this defence appoint him, and I will stand and fight wherever called upon to do so.’

‘I am the king,’ said Priam coldly. ‘I will command my own defence. You think I am a weakling, some ancient unable to wield a sword?’

‘It is not a question of your strength or your abilities,’ answered Argurios.

‘If I were commanding the attackers I would pray to all the gods that you would do exactly that. They win when you die. Every man among them will be seeking to kill you. Your armour shines like the sun, and every attack will home in on you.

Every arrow, every spear, every sword will seek you. Your men will fight valiantly – but only so long as there is a king to fight for.’

At that moment Helikaon came through to the megaron and stood alongside Dios.

‘We have blocked the rear entrances,’ he said, ‘but they will not hold long.

What are your orders?’

Priam sat quietly for a moment. ‘Argurios advises that I withdraw myself from the fighting. What say you?’

‘Sound advice. This fight will not just be about holding the palace, but about defending you.’

‘Let me take command in your stead, father,’ urged Dios.

Priam shook his head. ‘You have too little experience, and, as Argurios says, there is no time for debate. The men will follow you, Aeneas. This I know.

Equally, Argurios is known across the Great Green as a strategos and a fighting man. What is your opinion?’

‘I have little experience of siege warfare, and less of Mykene battle tactics,’

said Helikaon. ‘I would follow the lead of Argurios.’

‘Then let it be so.’ Priam suddenly laughed. ‘A renegade Mykene in charge of the defence of my citadel? I like it. When we win, you can ask me anything. I will grant it. We are yours to command, Argurios.’

Argurios swung to Dios. ‘You will command the defence of the upper balconies.

Take thirty good archers, and also the men with the least armour. They will be protected from arrows by the balcony walls. The enemy will bring ladders. Hold them off as long as you can, then retreat to the tnegaron and we will pull back to the upper buildings at the rear.’

Dios, his face pale, his expression furious, was struggling to hold his temper.

‘Do as he says,’ snapped Priam.

‘This is madness,’ responded Dios. ‘But I will obey you, father. As always.’

With that he stalked away.

‘Let us survey the battleground,’ said Argurios, striding away through the megaron. Priam and Helikaon followed him. Argurios reached the foot of the stairs. They were wide enough for two warriors to fight side by side. Then he glanced up at the gallery above and to the right of the stairway. ‘We will have archers placed there. They will have a good view of the megaron itself. We need as many shafts as possible placed there. Spears and javelins too, if we have enough. What is beyond the gallery?’

‘The queen’s apartments,’ said Priam. ‘They are large and spacious.’

Argurios strode up the stairs, Helikaon and Priam following him. In the queen’s apartments he saw Laodike upon her bloodstained couch, Andromache sitting on the floor beside her. All thoughts of the defence fled his mind. Pulling off his helmet he moved to Laodike and took her hand. Her eyes opened, and she gave a wide smile. ‘What happened?’ he asked her.

‘I was wounded,’ Laodike told him. ‘Do not concern yourself. It is nothing.’

Reaching up she stroked his face. ‘I am glad you are here. Have you spoken to father?’

‘Not yet. I cannot stay with you. There is much to be done. I will come back when I can. You rest now.’ Kissing her hand he rose and walked back to where the king and Helikaon waited. Only then did he see the shock on Priam’s face.

Argurios moved past them and walked through to the rear stairs. Then he turned back and strode through the many apartments. ‘The balconies are largely inaccessible,’ he said. ‘Therefore the enemy will be forced to come at us through the megaron. I believe we can hold the Thrakians at the doors. The Mykene will be another matter.’

‘We could retreat to the stairs,’ said Helikaon.

‘We will do that, but the timing is crucial,’ answered Argurios, walking back to the gallery above the stairs. ‘We must keep their blood up, forcing them to come at us. We must not allow them time to stop and think. For, if they do, they will realize that this gallery is the key to victory. Once inside the megaron all they need to do is bring in ladders and scale it. That way they would bypass the stairs and surround us.’

‘And how do we keep their blood up?’ demanded Priam.

‘They will see me, and come at me. I will be their target, and the focus of their attack. We will pull back to the stairs. They will surge after us. Then their hearts will be full of pride and battle lust. Will you stand beside me, Helikaon?’

‘I will.’

‘Good, for however much they will desire to bring me down it is you they hate.

Seeing us together will blind them to better strategies. And now I must return to the wall.’

‘A moment more,’ said Priam. ‘How is it my daughter greets you with a kiss?’

Argurios could see the anger in the king’s eyes. ‘You said if we survived the night you would grant any wish I had. My wish is to marry Laodike. I love her.

But is this truly the time to discuss it?’

Priam relaxed, then gave a cold smile. ‘If I am still king tomorrow we will discuss it at length.’

Argurios stood quietly for a moment. Then he turned to Helikaon. ‘Organize the defenders within the megaron. Then watch the walls. We need to turn back the first attack with heavy losses. It will dismay the mercenaries. When the moment is right come to our aid.’

‘Rely on it,’ said Helikaon.

‘Judge it finely, Golden One.’

And with that he moved off, striding towards the double doors and the courtyard beyond.

ii

Polydorus peered through the gap in the crenellations of the ramparts. The Thrakians were gathering in the shadows of the buildings. Anger touched him, but he quelled it. Yesterday Casilla’s parents had finally agreed to the wedding – in part owing to the intervention of Laodike. She had visited the family home, and had spoken to Casilla’s mother. She had also taken a gift for the father, a golden wine goblet encrusted with red gems. This powerful link to the nobility had finally won them over. Casilla had been overjoyed, and Polydorus considered himself the luckiest man alive.

Now he felt as if he were part of some grim jest being played out by the gods. Polydorus was no fool. There were not enough men to defend the palace against the Thrakians, let alone the Mykene. Once the Thrakians gathered enough ladders to storm the walls the battle would be all but over. The fighting would be fierce and bloody, and the Eagles would take a terrible toll on the enemy, but the end was certain. Casilla would mourn for him, of course, but she was young, and her father would find another suitor.

Argurios climbed to the ramparts alongside him. ‘Any movement?’

‘They are gathering. I have not seen any Mykene yet.’

‘They will come once the gates are open.’

‘What is the battle plan?’ asked Polydorus.

‘Hold here for a while, then back to the palace itself.’

‘The palace doors are sturdy,’ observed Polydorus, ‘but they’ll not hold for long.’

‘They won’t have to,’ said Argurios. ‘I don’t intend to close them. I want the enemy funnelled towards those doors. We’ll hit them from above, and hold them in the doorway.’

‘Surely barring the palace doors would give us more time?’

‘It would,’ agreed Argurios. ‘It would also leech away the spirit of those inside, listening to the hacking of axes upon the timber. Better to face your enemy eye to eye. My father used to say a wall of men was stronger than a wall of stone. I have seen it to be true in many battles.’

Polydorus raised his head, and peered through the darkness. An arrow struck the ramparts close to his head, then ricocheted past him.

‘You are all going to die tonight!’ came a shout from the shadows. It was immediately followed by the trilling battle cry of the Thrakians.

Then came another voice. ‘Are you there, Argurios Traitor?’

‘I am here, puppy dog!’ Argurios shouted back.

‘That gladdens my heart! I will see you soon.’

‘Not while I have a sword in my hand, you gutless worm. I know you, Kolanos.

You’ll slink in the shadows while braver men die for you.’ He leaned towards Polydorus. ‘Get ready! They are coming!’

Polydorus hefted his Phrygian bow, notching a shaft to the string. All along the wall the Eagles followed his lead.

Suddenly there came the sound of pounding feet, and once more the Thrakian battle cry filled the air.

The Eagles stood and sent a volley into the charging men. Polydorus shot again, and saw a man dragging a ladder go tumbling to the ground. The ladder was swept up by the fallen man’s comrades. Volley after volley slashed into the Thrakians, but there were too few archers to turn the charge. Scores of ladders clattered against the walls. An enemy shaft bounced from Polydorus’ breastplate. Another hissed past his face.

Then the Thrakians began to storm the walls. Dropping his bow Polydorus drew his leaf-shaped short sword, and took up his shield. Beside him Argurios waited, sword in hand. ‘Move along a little,’ he said calmly. ‘Give me some fighting room.’

Polydorus edged to his right.

The first of the Thrakians appeared. Polydorus leapt forward, thrusting his sword into the man’s face. Desperately the Thrakian tried to haul himself over the ramparts, but Polydorus struck him again and he fell. Now the night was full of the sounds of battle, men screaming in pain or fury, swords ringing, shields clashing. Several warriors clambered over the battlement wall to Polydorus’

right. He rushed them, plunging his sword into the chest of the first. The blade went deep and lodged there. Unable to drag it clear Polydorus threw the man from the wall, down into the courtyard below, then hammered his shield into the face of the second. Argurios appeared alongside him, stabbing and cutting. Picking up a fallen sword Argurios tossed it to Polydorus, then swung to face a fresh attack.

All along the wall the Thrakians were gaining a foothold. The Eagles did not break, but fought on with relentless courage. Glancing along the line Polydorus saw that around a third of his men were down. Then he saw Helikaon and some thirty Eagles running across the courtyard. They surged up the battlement steps to join the fighting. The lightly armoured Thrakians fell back. Some even jumped from the walls to the street below. Others already on ladders leapt clear.

Letting his shield fall Polydorus swept up his bow and shot into the fleeing men.

A feeling of exultation swept over him. He was alive, and he had conquered.

Argurios approached him. ‘Get our wounded back into the megaron,’ he said. ‘And strip our dead of all weapons and armour. Also gather the swords and spears of the enemy. Do it swiftly, for we will not have long before the next attack.’

‘We will beat them again,’ said Polydorus. ‘We are the Eagles and we are invincible.’

The older man looked at him closely. ‘That was merely the first attack. They will come harder and faster now. Look around you. We lost fourteen men, with six others wounded. Half of the fighting men on the wall. Next time we would be overrun. That is why we will not be here next time. Now do as I say.’

All the excitement drained out of the young soldier. He ran down the rampart steps, calling out orders. Other men raced from the megaron to assist in the collection of weapons. Argurios strode along the ramparts, occasional arrows flashing by him.

iii

Argurios moved among the defenders left on the rampart walls. Like Polydorus, they were exultant now, for they had met the enemy and vanquished him. Their spirits were high, and Argurios had no wish to douse them with cold reality. The first attack had been rushed and ill conceived, attempting to sweep over the ramparts in a wide front. Better to have come at both ends of the wall, drawing the defenders out of position, then assaulting the centre. The next charge would be better planned.

Even so, Argurios was content. This first action had lifted the hearts of the defenders, and dispirited the enemy. The confidence of the Thrakians was dented. The enemy leaders would know it was vital for them to score a swift victory, in order to repair the damage. Even now the officers would be gathered, with Agathon seeking to inspire them, building their confidence for the next assault.

He would be assuring them of victory, promising them riches. Argurios called a soldier to him. ‘Go to Prince Dios on the balcony. Tell him we will be pulling back from the wall before the next attack. Ask that he holds back his archers until the enemy reaches the courtyard. They will be massed there, and easy targets. Then go to the lord Helikaon. Fifty men with shields are to be ready to defend the palace doorway.’

Swinging his shield to his back the soldier ran down the rampart steps and across the stone courtyard.

Argurios raised his head above the ramparts. The moon was rising, silver light bathing the streets and houses. He could see the Thrakians standing ready, officers moving among them. There was still no sign of the Mykene.

This was to be expected. They were an elite force, and would not be used early in the battle. They will come when we are weary, he thought, striking like a hammer at the heart of the defence. Arrows and spears would be largely useless against them. Well-armoured and carrying tall, curved tower shields of bronze-reinforced ox hide, and armed with both heavy spears and stabbing swords, they would advance in formation, forcing the defenders back. The spears would give them a reach advantage over the sword-wielding Eagles. The only hope of success against such a force would be to break their formation. This could be done on the open field of battle, but not inside the confines of a palace megaron. Argurios knew that the Eagles were well disciplined, and fine fighters.

Could they hold, though, against the finest of the Mykene? He doubted it.

Time wore on, and still the Thrakians did not attack.

Polydorus returned to the battlements, and then Helikaon emerged from the palace and joined them. ‘When will the Mykene come?’ he asked.

‘When the gates are open.’ Argurios turned to Polydorus. ‘Go back into the palace and gather the tallest and the strongest of the Eagles. No more than thirty of them. Hold them back from the initial fighting. When the Mykene come we will need the best we have. See if you can arm them with heavy spears, as well as their swords.’

‘Yes, Argurios.’

After Polydorus had gone Argurios raised his head above the battlements. ‘Not long now, I would think.’

‘This must be hard for you,’ said Helikaon, as Argurios sat back down.

Argurios felt his anger surge, but swallowed it down. He looked at the young man beside him. ‘In a little while I will be slaying my comrades. I will be fighting alongside a man I have sworn to kill. Hard does not begin to describe this night.’

‘There are times,’ said Helikaon softly, ‘when you can almost hear the gods laugh. I am truly sorry, Argurios. I wish I had never asked you to accompany me on that walk to Kygones’ palace. Had I known the heartache it would bring you I never would have.’

Argurios’ anger ebbed away. ‘I do not regret my actions that day,’ he said. ‘As a result I met Laodike. I had not realized until then that my life had been lived in the darkness of a perpetual winter night. When I saw her it was as if the sun had risen.’ He fell silent for a moment, embarrassed at this display of emotion. ‘I sound like a doting fool, I expect.’

‘No. You sound like a man in love. Did you feel as if some invisible fist had struck your chest? Did your tongue cleave to the roof of your mouth?’

‘Exactly that! You have experienced it?’

‘Every time I see Andromache.’

Just then an Eagle away to the left shouted, ‘Here they come!’

Argurios pushed himself to his feet. ‘Now it begins in earnest,’ he said.

iv

Prince Agathon watched his Thrakians rushing towards the walls. There were no battle cries now, merely a grim determination to kill and conquer, and earn the riches Agathon had offered. He longed to be with them, scaling a ladder and cutting his way through to Priam. He wanted to be there when the king was dragged to his knees, begging for his life. Yet he could not be with them yet.

With Priam’s death success was his, but if he were to die in the assault all these years of planning and scheming would come to nothing. He would walk the dark road to Hades as a failure.

A failure.

In Priam’s eyes he always had been. When Agathon defeated the rebel Hittites at Rhesos his father had railed at the losses he sustained. ‘Hektor would have crushed them with half your men and a tenth of your dead.’ No parade for Agathon. No wreath of laurels.

When had it ever been different? As a child of ten, frightened of the dark, and fearful of cramped, gloomy places, he had been taken by his father to the subterranean Caves of Cerberus. Priam had told him of demons and monsters who inhabited the caves, and that a wrong path would lead straight to the Underworld. Father had been carrying a torch. Agathon had stayed close, his panic growing. Deeper and deeper they travelled. Then they had come to an underground stream. Father had doused the torch and stepped away from him.

Agathon had screamed, begging his father to take his hand.

The silence had grown. He had cowered in the darkness for what seemed an eternity, weeping and terrified.

Then he had seen a light. It was his eleven-year-old half-brother Hektor, carrying a flaming torch. ‘Father is gone. Demons have taken him,’ Agathon had wailed.

‘No, he is outside, waiting for you.’

‘Why did he leave me?’

‘He thinks it will cure your fear of the dark.’

‘Can we go now?’

‘I cannot leave with you, Agathon. Father does not know I came here. I entered on the south side. We will douse the torch, and you will take my hand. I will lead you to where you can see the sunlight. Then you must walk out on your own.’

‘Why does he hate me, Hektor?’

‘He just wants you to be strong. I am going to douse the torch now. Are you ready?’

Hektor had led him slowly up through the tunnels, holding close to the walls.

Agathon had not been afraid then, for he could feel the warmth of Hektor’s hand, and knew his brother would not abandon him. The gloom had slowly lifted, and ahead Agathon had seen sunlight against the cave walls.

‘I’ll see you later, little brother,’ said Hektor, ducking back into the darkness.

Agathon had walked out, to see father, mother, and twenty or more counsellors and advisers, all sitting in the sunshine. As Agathon emerged Priam looked over to him. ‘Gods, boy, have you been weeping? You are a disgrace to me.’

Shaking himself free of the memory he watched his Thrakians scale the walls.

Strangely there was no sound of fighting.

The white-haired Kolanos appeared alongside him. ‘They have retreated to the citadel,’ he said.

Then came the cries of wounded and dying men. Agathon knew what was happening.

Archers were shooting down into the massed ranks of his Thrakians. Swinging round, he called out to one of the officers commanding the reserves. ‘Send in bowmen!’ he shouted. ‘The enemy will be massed on the balcony above the doors.

Pin them down!’ The officer gathered his men and a hundred archers ran to the ladders.

This should have been so simple. Agathon’s men were to march to the palace, overpower the few guards, and allow the Mykene in to complete the massacre.

Instead the gates were barred, and a defence had been organized.

Who would have thought that Fat Antiphones could have fought off the assassins?

There was no doubt in Agathon’s mind that he had lived long enough to warn Helikaon. Agathon had heard that a rider on a golden horse had swept past his Thrakians as they marched to the citadel. Helikaon alone bred these mounts. Then had come the news that a warrior in Mykene armour had scattered his men when they were about to storm the gates.

Helikaon and Argurios. Two men who were never a part of his original plan. Two men who were only invited at the request of Kolanos.

Ultimately their actions could do nothing but delay the inevitable, yet it was still galling.

The gates to the courtyard swung open. ‘Prepare your fighters,’ he told Kolanos, then crossed the open ground to seize his destiny.

i

Argurios entered the megaron, easing his way past the three ranks of Eagles preparing to defend the wide doorway. Helikaon, a curved shield slung across his back, approached him. ‘Ensure the men know they must hold their position,’ said Argurios. ‘If the enemy fall back there must be no chase.’

‘Already done,’ said Helikaon. ‘When do you expect the Mykene?’

‘Soon.’

Argurios left him then and strode across the mosaic floor. He needed a shield, but the walls had been all but stripped of weapons and armour. Then he saw it.

It was an ancient piece, beautifully wrought, decorated with tin and blue enamel. At its centre was a battle scene, featuring the great hero Herakles fighting the nine-headed Hydra. Borrowing a spear from a soldier, he hooked the point under the strap and lifted the shield from the wall.

Swinging it to his back he walked across to where Polydorus stood, with some thirty Eagles, tall men and wide-shouldered, their faces grim. He scanned them all, looking into their eyes. He was unsure of two of them, and sent them to join Helikaon at the doorway. The rest waited for his orders. ‘When the Mykene come,’ he told them, ‘I want you to form three lines behind the defenders. At my order…’ Just then came the sounds of screams and battle cries from outside, as the Thrakians surged towards the doorway. The Eagles tightened their grips on their weapons and adjusted their shields. ‘Look at me and listen,’ said Argurios calmly. ‘Your turn will come soon enough. You are to face the Mykene. When they come they will be in tight formation. They will charge the doorway and seek to scatter the defenders with their weight and power. As they rush forward Helikaon will break his line to left and right. We will counter the Mykene charge with one of our own. Thus we will form three sides of a square. We will hold the Mykene while Helikaon’s men attack them on the flanks. Is this clear?’

‘It is clear, sir,’ said Polydorus. ‘But how long can thirty hold back two hundred?’

‘I do not know,’ said Argurios, ‘but this is how legends are carved. We will be forced back. We will conduct a fighting retreat to the stairs below the queen’s apartments. We will not break and scatter. Each man here will stand beside his comrades, as if we were all brothers of the blood.’ As he spoke he swung the shield round, settling his left arm into the straps. He saw the Eagles staring at it, shock on their faces.

‘Brothers of the Blood,’ said Polydorus. ‘We will not fail you, Argurios.’

‘Then let us form up behind the defenders. Rank of Three.’

The Eagles moved into position, Argurios at the centre of the first line.

Ahead of them Helikaon and his warriors were battling the Thrakians.

Argurios took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Torches flickered in brackets upon the walls, and the sounds of war echoed around the megaron. On the stairs leading to the balcony above the doorway Argurios saw wounded men being helped down. Thrakian archers were beginning to take their toll on Dios and his men. Several of the Eagles with Helikaon had also fallen, the men behind dragging them clear. And the long night wore on.

ii

Andromache rose from beside the sleeping Laodike and gazed around the queen’s apartments. Injured men were being brought in all the time now, some with hideous wounds. Priam’s chief physician, Zeotos, was tending them, his long white robes now bloodstained, his hands and arms crimson with gore. The elderly physician had arrived a little while ago, and moved straight to Laodike’s side.

‘She is all right,’ Andromache assured him. ‘The bleeding has all but stopped and she is resting well.’

‘We will all be resting well after this night,’ he said despondently.

Axa and several other servants were assisting the noblewomen, bandaging wounds and administering stitches. Even young Kassandra was busy cutting up linens. By the balcony wall there were six dead bodies, all stripped of armour and weapons.

There was little space to lay them out, and they had been laid atop one another, arms entwined.

Andromache walked out of the apartments onto the gallery above the stairs.

Quivers of arrows had been laid here, and a stack of throwing spears. Moving to the far left of the gallery she looked down into the megaron. Men were battling by the doors, and she saw Helikaon among them, his bright bronze armour gleaming like gold in the torchlight.

Behind the defenders stood another group of warriors, tall shields on their arms, heavy thrusting spears in their hands.

Off to the right she saw the king and around a dozen of his counsellors. Many of them were older men, but they were holding swords or spears, and a few bore shields. From her high vantage point Andromache could see past the fighting men, and out into the courtyard beyond. Hundreds of Thrakians were massing there. It seemed inconceivable that the few defenders could keep them out for long.

More wounded were dragged back from the front line. She saw Priam gesture to his counsellors, and several of them ran forward, heaving the injured to their feet and half carrying them back towards the stairs. One soldier – an older man, perhaps in his forties – was gouting blood from a neck wound. He sagged against the men assisting him, then slumped to the floor.

Andromache watched as the pumping blood slowed, and the man died. Almost immediately other men crowded round him, unbuckling his breastplate and untying his greaves. Within moments the dead Eagle was merely another body, hauled unceremoniously back and left against the wall, so as not to encumber the living. The dead man had been flung on his back, and his head lolled, his vacant eyes staring up at her. Andromache felt suddenly light-headed, a sense of unreality gripping her. The clashing sounds of battle receded, and she found herself staring into the eyes of the corpse below. The difference between life and death was a single heartbeat. All that man’s dreams, his hopes and his ambitions, had been dashed in one bloody moment.

Her mouth was dry, and she felt the beginnings of terror clawing at the pit of her stomach.

Would she too be dead in a little while?

Would Helikaon fall, his throat slashed, his body stripped and discarded?

Her hands were trembling. Soon the enemy would sweep past the tiring defenders, and surge into the megaron. She pictured them running at her, their faces distorted with rage and lust. Strangely the image calmed her.

‘I am not a victim waiting for the slaughter,’ she said aloud. ‘I am Andromache.’

Kassandra came running from the queen’s apartments. ‘We need more bandages,’ she said.

Andromache reached out. ‘Give me the scissors.’ Kassandra did so, and Andromache hacked into her own full-length white gown just above the knees, cutting the material clear. Kassandra clapped her hands.

‘Let me help!’ she cried, as Andromache struggled to complete the circular cut.

The child took the scissors, slicing swiftly through the cloth. The lower half of Andromache’s gown fell away.

‘Do mine! Do mine!’ said Kassandra.

Andromache knelt by the child and swiftly snipped through the thin cloth.

Kassandra swept up the material and darted away. Andromache followed her back into the main rooms, then took up her bow. Returning to the gallery she hefted a quiver of arrows, and settled it over her shoulder.

‘Fear is an aid to the warrior,’ her father had said. ‘It is like a small fire burning. It heats the muscles, making us stronger. Panic comes when the fire is out of control, consuming all courage and pride.’

There was still fear in her, as she stared down at the battle in the doorway.

But the panic had gone.

iii

The two hundred and twelve warriors of the Mykene stood patiently before the Temple of Hermes, awaiting the call to battle. There was little tension among them, even with the distant sounds of battle, and the screams of dying men echoing over the city. Some joked, others chatted to old comrades. Kalliades the Tall, his tower shield swung to his back, walked along a line of statues outside the temple doors, marvelling at the workmanship. In the moonlight they could almost be real, he thought, gazing up into the face of Hermes, the winged god of travellers. The face was young, little more than a youth, the wings on the heels beautifully fashioned. Reaching out he stroked his thick fingers across the stone. Banokles One Ear joined him. ‘It’s said they brought in Gyppto sculptors,’ said Banokles. ‘I had an uncle once who went to Luxor. They got statues there tall as mountains, so he said.’

Kalliades glanced at his friend. Banokles was already wearing his full-faced helmet, and his deep voice was muffled. ‘You must be sweating like a pig in that,’ ventured Kalliades. ‘Better to be ready,’ answered Banokles. ‘For what?’

‘I don’t trust the Trojans. They have a thousand men on the Great Walls.’ Kalliades chuckled. ‘You never were a trusting man. They opened the gates for us, didn’t they? They serve the new king. No problem for us.’

‘No problem?’ countered Banokles. ‘Does it sound to you like no problem? There was to be no major battle. The Thrakians would take the citadel and we were to clean out a few guests at a funeral feast. It is not going well, Kalliades.’

‘We’ll put it right when they call us.’ Kalliades pointed to the statue of a woman, holding a sheaf of corn in one hand and a sword in the other. ‘I can recognize most of the gods, but who is that?’

Banokles shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Some Trojan deity maybe.’

A powerfully built warrior with a square-cut black beard emerged from an alleyway and made his way over to join them.

‘What news, Eruthros?’ Banokles asked him.

‘Good and bad. The gates are open,’ answered the man. ‘Won’t be long now.’

‘And the bad?’ enquired Banokles.

‘I spoke to Kolanos. Argurios is with the Trojans.’

‘By Hades, I wouldn’t have thought it possible,’ said Kalliades. ‘When word came he’d turned traitor I didn’t believe it for one heartbeat.’

‘Nor me,’ admitted Banokles.

‘Well, I hope it’s not me who cuts him down,’ said Eruthros. ‘The man is a legend.’

Kalliades wandered away from his friends. He had no fear of battle, and no qualms about fighting inside a foreign city. It seemed to him that the world was neatly divided into lions and sheep. The Mykene were lions. Any who could be conquered were sheep. It was a natural order, and one which Argurios understood.

Indeed it had been Argurios who had first offered him this simple philosophy.

Now Argurios, the Mykene Lion, was standing with the sheep. It made no sense.

Still worse was the fact that Kalliades and his friends were being led by Kolanos. They called him the Breaker of Spirits, but the Despicable was closer to the truth. For the first time since they landed Kalliades felt uneasy.

He had fought with Argurios at Partha, and in Thessaly, and on the Athenian plains. He had stormed towns and sacked cities alongside him, and stood shoulder to shoulder with him in a score of skirmishes and fights. Argurios had never been interested in plunder or riches. His entire life had been one of service to his king. There was not enough gold in all the world to buy a man like Argurios.

So how was it possible that he had betrayed the Mykene and allied himself with the Trojan enemy?

Banokles approached him. ‘The Eagles are holding the Thrakians at the palace doors. The butcher Helikaon is with them.’

This was better news. The thought that the vile Burner would pay for his hideous crimes lifted Kalliades’ spirits. ‘If the gods will it,’ he said, ‘I shall cut his head clear.’

‘And put out his eyes?’

‘Of course not! You think I am a heathen savage like him? No, his death will be enough.’

Banokles laughed. ‘Well, you can hunt down the Burner. Once we’ve cleaned out the Eagles I’ll be looking for some softer booty. Never shagged a king’s daughter before. It is said that Priam’s daughters are all beautiful. Big round tits and fat arses. You think they’ll let me take one home?’

‘Why would you want to?’ countered Kalliades. ‘With the gold we’ve been promised you can buy a hundred women.’

‘True, but a king’s daughter is special. Something to brag about.’

‘It seems to me you’ve never needed anything special to brag about.’

Banokles laughed with genuine good humour. ‘I used to think I was the greatest braggart on the Great Green. Then I met Odysseus. Now that man can brag. I swear he could weave a magical tale about taking a shit in a swamp.’

All around them the Mykene troops began to gather. Kalliades saw Kolanos moving among the men.

‘Time to earn our plunder,’ said black-bearded Eruthros, putting on his helmet.

Kalliades strode back to where he had left his helmet, shield and spear.

Banokles went with him. As Kalliades garbed himself for battle, Banokles removed his helmet, and ran his fingers through his long yellow hair.

‘Now that it is time to put on your helmet you are removing it,’ Kalliades pointed out.

‘Sweating like a pig,’ responded Banokles, with a wide grin.

They lined up with their comrades and waited as Kolanos mustered the men.

‘You know what is required of you, men of Mykene,’ shouted Kolanos. ‘The palace is held by a few royal guardsmen. This is a night of blood. This is a night of slaughter. Drench your spears. Kill them all. Leave not a man alive.’

iv

The bodies of dead Thrakians were piled high around the palace doors, and scores more corpses littered the courtyard, shot down by arrows from the balcony above.

Helikaon lowered his sword as the surviving Thrakians pulled back towards the shelter of the gates.

Around him the Eagles relaxed, and there was silence at last. Helikaon turned to the warriors alongside him. ‘Now the Mykene will come,’ he said. ‘When they charge take up positions left and right of the doors.’

‘Not many of us left,’ said a tall soldier, glancing round at the surviving defenders. No more than twenty Eagles manned the doorway. Argurios and his twenty-eight men stood a little way back, shields and spears at the ready.

‘Might be a good time to shut the doors,’ offered another warrior.

‘No,’ said Helikaon. ‘They would not hold for more than a few moments. It would also give them time to move the bodies. As it is their charge will be slowed as they clamber over them.’

‘Never fought Mykene,’ said the first man. ‘Said to be fine fighters.’

‘They think they are the greatest warriors in all the world,’ said Helikaon.

‘They are going to learn a sad truth tonight.’ He moved back to where Argurios waited. The men were standing in three ranks. Polydorus shuffled to his right, allowing Helikaon to stand alongside Argurios.

No-one spoke and the silence grew. Then Prince Dios came running down from the upper balcony, followed by his archers.

‘No more shafts,’ said Dios.

‘Take your men to the far balcony,’ said Argurios. ‘There are quivers there.’

‘You don’t have enough men to hold them here,’ said Dios. ‘We’ll stand with you.’

‘No,’ said Argurios. ‘Your men have no armour. They will be cut to pieces.

Defend the stairwell.’

Dios moved away without a word, and the warriors waited. From where he stood Helikaon could see out into the courtyard. It was deserted, save for the dead and dying. So many had died this night, and many more would walk the dark road before the dawn. Time drifted by. Helikaon’s mouth was dry.

Then he heard the sound of marching feet. ‘They are coming!’ shouted a warrior in the doorway.

At that moment Prince Dios appeared, dressed in a breastplate of bronze and silver, and carrying a long shield. An Eagle’s helmet was pushed back on his head. At his side was a stabbing sword, and in his hand a heavy spear.

He moved in alongside Argurios. ‘Do you object to fighting alongside the runt of the litter?’ he asked, with a tight smile.

‘It will be an honour, Prince Deiphobos,’ said Argurios softly.

‘Call me Dios,’ said the young man, with a smile. ‘And try to forget I can be a pompous fool sometimes.’

‘As can we all,’ Argurios told him. Then he raised his voice to address the waiting warriors. ‘Do not stab at the body,’ he said. ‘Their armour is well made and will turn any blade. Go for the throat, the lower thigh, or the arms.’

Helikaon gazed out into the courtyard. The Mykene had formed up in tight ranks of eight abreast. Then they began to march towards the palace. As they came closer they surged into a run.

The Eagles in the doorway faded left and right. The Mykene slowed as they reached the wall of Thrakian corpses.

Argurios hefted his spear. ‘For the King and for Troy!’ he bellowed.

And the Eagles charged.

i

Andromache felt her heart go out to these valiant men. From her vantage point on the rear gallery she could see how unequal was the struggle. There seemed to be hundreds of heavily armed Mykene warriors, powering forward with brute strength into a mere three ranks of Eagles. Even so, the Mykene charge faltered, as the Eagles from the doorway gathered on both sides of the advancing phalanx, hacking and cutting at the Mykene flanks. None of the archers on the gallery could afford to shoot yet, for fear of i hitting their own men. But slowly, as the phalanx inexorably entered the megaron, some bowmen began to send shafts into the warriors still massing in the doorway. Few arrows pierced the great shields, or the heavy helmets and breastplates of the invaders. But they caused the fighting men at the centre to raise their shields against this new attack, lessening the pressure on the front of the line.

Argurios gave no ground, fighting with ruthless economy of effort, his spear lancing into the enemy, his shield a wall they could not pass. Beside him Helikaon was also holding, and Andromache saw the first Mykene fall to his spear. Soon other bodies were falling as the fighting became ever more brutal.

At least two Mykene were going down to every Eagle.

It was not enough.

Notching an arrow to her bow she took careful aim – and sent a black shaft slashing through the air to bury itself through the eye socket of a glittering bronze helm. The victim vanished under the feet of his comrades.

The battle wore on, the Eagles now being pushed back, bent like a bow of human flesh. Andromache and the other archers continued to shoot down into the fighting, scoring less than one good hit in twenty.

The Eagles were engaged in a fighting retreat, the Mykene seeking to circle them, and cut them off from the stairs. At the centre of the Trojan line Argurios, Helikaon and Dios were fighting hard, but the flanks were giving way faster than the centre. At any moment the Mykene could sweep round and encircle the battling men.

Andromache saw the danger. ‘Aim for the wings!’ she cried to the bowmen around her. A greater concentration of shafts hammered into the Mykene on the left of the battle line, and they were forced to raise their shields and pull back, allowing the Trojan line to steady.

At the back of the melee Andromache saw the white-haired figure of Kolanos, urging his men on, but keeping back from the point of impact.

Just then Andromache felt the frayed hem of her chiton being tugged. She glanced down and saw little Kassandra standing there. ‘You must come. Quickly,’ said Kassandra. Andromache struggled to hear her above the clash of swords and shields, and the screams of wounded men. Kneeling down, she drew the girl to her.

‘What is it?’

‘Laodike! She is dying!’

‘No, she is just resting,’ she said. Kassandra shook her head.

‘You must come,’ she said.

Allowing the child to take her hand she followed her back into the queen’s apartments. They were filled now with wounded men, and she saw Axa helping to carry a soldier to a wide table where the physician Zeotos, his robes now utterly drenched with gore, sought to save him.

Kassandra moved away and Andromache hurried to where Laodike lay. The young woman’s face was unnaturally pale, and sheened with sweat. Her lips and eyelids had a bluish tinge. Andromache knelt beside her, taking her hand. The fingers seemed thick and swollen, and they too were bruised and discoloured.

‘Zeotos!’ she shouted. The sounds of fighting outside were closer now, and Andromache sensed the battle was all but over. In that moment she did not care.

‘Zeotos!’ she screamed again.

The old physician came to her side. His face showed his exhaustion. ‘What is happening to her?’ cried Andromache.

Zeotos hauled at Laodike, half turning her, and using a small knife to slice through her dress. Once the skin of her back was exposed Andromache saw a huge, black and swollen bruise extending from her shoulder to her hip.

‘Why did you not tell me she had such a wound?’ said Zeotos. ‘I thought she was merely scratched.’

‘I believed her to be healing,’ answered Andromache.

‘Well, she’s not,’ said the physician. ‘She’s dying. The sword or spear must have pierced a vital organ. She is bleeding to death from within.’

‘There must be something you can do?’

Zeotos’ shoulders sagged. ‘Within a few heartbeats I will be able to do nothing for anyone. We are lost. As she is lost. We are going to die.’ With that he returned to the wounded man on the table.

Priam approached. He had a sword in his hand. He looked down on his stricken daughter. ‘Her death will be a merciful release,’ he said. Then he looked at Andromache. ‘When they come do not struggle. Do not fight. Women have been raped before and have survived. Live, Andromache.’ Then he strode away towards the gallery. Little Kassandra appeared from a hiding place behind the couch.

‘I didn’t want father to see me,’ she said. ‘He is angry with me.’

‘He is not angry, little one.’

Kassandra grabbed Andromache’s hand. ‘Yes, he is. Ever since I told him Hektor is coming home. He won’t be angry when he sees him. He’ll be here soon.’

‘Oh, Kassandra.’ Andromache reached out and hugged the girl. ‘Hektor is dead.’

‘No!’ exclaimed Kassandra, pulling away. ‘Listen to me. I thought he was dead too. But the voices told me. Then they showed me.’

‘What did they show you?’

‘Climbing high cliffs. Perils and adventures. Down long rivers …’

‘Slow down!’ said Andromache. ‘Tell me calmly from the beginning. What cliffs?’

Kassandra took a deep breath. ‘Hektor and his men were trapped. It was night.

Hektor knew the enemy would come again at dawn to kill him, so he exchanged armour with a dead man. Then he and his men climbed the cliffs. Hektor is a good climber. We used to climb sometimes—’

‘Stay with your story,’ Andromache interrupted. ‘What happened after they climbed the cliffs?’

‘It took them a long time to reach a big river, and then to find a boat to bring them to the sea. A long time. That is why no word came. But he is here tonight.

Please believe me, Andromache. Hektor will be here soon, with lots of soldiers.

He will.’

Just then Laodike cried out, and opened her swollen eyes. She saw Andromache, who once more gripped her hand and kissed her cheek.

‘Rest, sister,’ she whispered.

‘I think I’m dying. Oh, Andromache!’ A tear fell and she blinked more away. ‘I don’t want to die!’

Andromache’s vision misted and she bit her lip. ‘I’m so sorry.’

Laodike sighed. ‘It was all to be so perfect. Argurios and I would… live in a palace overlooking the Scamander. I went there only yesterday. It is so…

beautiful… I… sat in the garden … in the garden…’ Her voice tailed away.

Then she spoke again. ‘Where is Argurios?’

‘He is fighting. For you. For all of us.’

‘He will win. Like my Hektor. Always wins. I am very thirsty.’

Kassandra ran away to find some water. There was little to be had, and she came back with a small goblet, containing barely a mouthful.

Andromache held it to Laodike’s lips. She drank a little, then sagged back.

‘Will you find him for me, Andromache?’ she asked. ‘Bring him to me. I… don’t want to be alone when… I die.’

‘I will find him.’

Laodike closed her eyes and smiled. ‘Find… my… Argurios,’ she whispered.

ii

Argurios was exultant. Everything had worked precisely to plan, and now was the moment he had waited for. Once he was on the stairs, Helikaon beside him, Polydorus and Dios behind, the enemy advance had been halted. Now the Mykene were forced to attack in twos, driving up towards the warriors above them, while the mass of enemy soldiers milled below, helpless against arrows shot at them from above, or spears hurled from the gallery. In essence it was the Bridge of Partha yet again, the entire battle being fought on a narrow line between consistently equal fighting men. It no longer mattered that the Mykene outnumbered them, for at the point of impact there could only be two enemy facing them on the stairs.

Argurios hammered his shield against his next opponent, forcing an opening. His spear plunged forward, lancing up between helmet and flesh. The warrior stumbled and fell. Argurios slammed his foot against the man’s shoulder, sending him rolling into his comrades. Another Mykene leapt to the fray. He stumbled over the fallen man and Helikaon killed him.

Again and again fresh warriors surged against the men on the stairs, but there was no give in them, and the death toll continued to rise.

As Argurios had hoped, the Mykene were no longer thinking clearly about their objective. Instead they were focused only on the need to kill the men facing them. This blinded them to alternatives. Argurios knew what they were thinking.

One last push and the citadel would be theirs. All they had to do was brush aside the few fighting men on the stairs and victory was within their grasp.

Now all forward momentum had ceased. Argurios and Helikaon, their legs braced against the rising steps, their shields held firmly, their deadly lances cleaving into the enemy, were blocking the way like a wall of death.

At first it would have seemed to the Mykene that they were winning. Now they had been baulked, and were losing men without reply. One after another strong warriors were being cut down, their bodies dragged back to make way for the men behind. Now, Argurios knew, the worms of doubt would start to burrow into the hearts of the Mykene. This was not like an ordinary battle. There was no retreat for them here, no safe camp to return to at the end of a day’s fighting. They were no less trapped than the Trojans. If they could not clear this citadel and kill the king before the dawn, then other troops would come to Priam’s rescue, thousands of them, from the forts on the Scamander plain, or from the barracks in the lower town.

Argurios fought on, no longer tired, every sense alert. He was fighting for more than life now, more than honour. He was fighting for love, and determined that nothing would destroy his chance at happiness with Laodike. He held her face in his mind’s eye, the sweetness of her smile, the radiance of her company. Not one Mykene warrior would be allowed to mount these stairs.

A spear scraped along his cuirass, ripping clear two more of the bronze discs.

Argurios twisted to the right, his own weapon lunging home. It was a poor hit, thudding into the armoured shoulder and spinning the man. Helikaon kicked the man in front of him, spilling him to the stairs, then spun and drove his lance through the throat of Argurios’ opponent. Then both heroes brought their shields to bear against the next attackers.

Moments later it was Helikaon who was thrown back, losing his footing. Argurios blocked a downward lunge that would have ripped out Helikaon’s throat, then hammered his shield against the Mykene, forcing him back. Helikaon made it to his feet, and fought on.

The stairs were slippery with blood now, but there was no let up in the fighting. There were no more arrows to shoot from the gallery, and men and women stood there helplessly, staring down at the combatants.

At the top of the stairs Priam waited, sword in hand, staring down at the two men who stood between triumph and disaster.

It was hard to believe these were men of flesh, for they fought like gods, untiring and unbending. The king had already come to believe the battle was lost. Now he was not so sure. Hope flickered. The king glanced around him. On every face there was grim determination, and a sense of awe and pride at what they were witnessing.

For the first time in many years Priam gazed with pride on his son Deiphobos, standing behind Argurios, and ready to take his place in the battle on the stairs.

Transferring his gaze to the Mykene he saw there was no give in them either.

They were not frightened, nor dismayed. They waited patiently for their chance at the fighters on the stairs, their expressions hard and unyielding.

The fragile hope faded in the king’s breast. No matter how valiant the heroes on the stairs, nothing would hold back these blood-hungry barbarians. Soon either Helikaon or Argurios would be cut down, and the murderous assault on the upper levels begin.

Well, he thought, I shall show these savages how a king dies.

Hefting his sword he strode forward to stand beside the last defenders.

iii

Kalliades spat blood from his mouth, and wedged a lump of cloth into his cheek.

Argurios’ spear had sliced up under his helmet, ripping through the flesh of his face. He had been lucky. The point had missed his eye by a hair’s breadth. He had then been ignominiously kicked back down the stairs, and was now sheltering by a rear doorway, Banokles beside him, his tall shield swung to his back.

‘At least there are no more arrows,’ said Banokles, passing Kalliades a fresh cloth. Blood was flowing freely now. ‘Thought he had you,’ he added.

‘Too damn close,’ answered Kalliades, spitting more blood.

‘He killed Eruthros. Opened his throat.’

‘I saw.’

Kalliades gazed back at the stairs. ‘We should pull back,’ he said. ‘Gather ladders from the walls. Then we could hit them from several sides.’

‘They can’t hold much longer,’ said Banokles.

‘That is Argurios,’ Kalliades pointed out. ‘He could hold all night.’

‘Ah well,’ answered Banokles, with a wide grin, ‘when the king makes you a general I’ll be your ladder man. Until then I think I’ll keep my head down.’

‘I need stitches, otherwise I’ll bleed to death,’ grumbled Kalliades. Together the two men moved out into the megaron. There were some forty wounded Mykene warriors already there, being attended by comrades. Kalliades pulled off his helm and sat down on Priam’s throne. Banokles doffed his own helmet, then reached into the small pouch at his sword belt, drawing out a curved needle and a length of thread. With a cloth he tried to wipe away the blood, but it was flowing too freely.

‘Made a real mess of your face,’ he offered. ‘Luckily you always were an ugly whoreson.’

‘Just stitch it,’ snapped Kalliades.

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?’ asked Banokles, 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,’ replied Banokles, donning his helm. 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 towards 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 an enemy here he would never 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.

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 still not fully recovered 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, i 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 towards 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 biceps. 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 thrust 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 discs 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 life blood 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 on 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 said.

‘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 on 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!’

‘Her wound was deeper than we thought. 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 her couch, her eyes closed.

Steadying himself, he told Helikaon to let him go, 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 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 own 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 now 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 – save 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 casualties, 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 towards 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 towards 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 round and fled back to where Kalliades waited, pushing past him and into the palace. There he stood, eyes wide and staring, his face a mask of panic.

Kalliades’ loathing for the man swelled still 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 grey with pain. A sword blade had cut through his arm, and was jutting from his biceps.

‘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 now, armed with spear and sword. Kolanos had retreated behind some twenty men with shields and spears, while other Mykene ran to join them, forming a tight wall round 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 felt suddenly cold. He shivered as he watched the great Trojan hero 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 helm. 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.

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 also with him. The king cried out Hektor’s name, and the giant walked over to him, embracing the older man. The moment was almost dream-like.

The Mykene were waiting to die, surrounded by a furious enemy. And 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.’

‘Kolanos shot him with an arrow.’

‘Damn! No way for a great man to go down.’

‘May Zeus hear that and curse Kolanos for it,’ replied Kalliades, in a low voice. ‘Maybe Argurios will wait for us on the dark road, and we’ll journey together.’

‘I’d like that,’ said Banokles.

The voice of Kolanos called out, ‘Priam King, may we speak under a truce?’

The king stepped back from his son, and stared hard at the general. Then he gestured him to come forward. Kolanos eased himself through the front rank and walked through the Trojan line.

‘If he can talk us out of this I’ll kiss the man,’ said Banokles.

‘Your lips would turn black,’ muttered Kalliades.