The Armour of Achilles (23 page)

Odysseus tossed his spear up so that it sat in the palm of his right hand, then, pulling it back over his shoulder, dashed forward and hurled it with a great shout at the Trojan lines. No order had been given, but on both sides men instinctively knew the range at which their weapons would be effective and the two armies surged forward simultaneously to fill the air with missiles. A moment later the bronze points bit home, piercing shield, cuirass and helmet as if they were little more than wool. Screams rang out and men crumpled all around, driven into the ground by the unstoppable force of the spears that took their lives. Brief holes appeared in the densely packed ranks of men, only to be filled in an instant as the two armies lowered their weapons and surged towards each other.

Odysseus sensed Eperitus’s familiar presence at his side, and though they were running headlong at a line of viciously sharpened spear points he felt no fear knowing that his friend was there. Then, letting out a shout of defiance at his enemies, he plunged between their long lances and pushed the head of his weapon into the shoulder of a man whose face was but a momentary blur as the bronze tore through his flesh and sent him crashing to the thick mud at his feet. Eperitus downed the man next to him and together he and Odysseus began to drive a wedge into the enemy line, not allowing their foes time to close up the gaps left by their headlong charge. A man pushed his spear at Odysseus’s stomach, only for the king to knock it aside with his shield and bury his own spear into his attacker’s chest. It pierced the overlapping bronze scales and ruptured his heart, felling him in a moment. Eperitus was less precise. He punched his shield into a Trojan warrior, knocking him to the ground and stepping across him to sink his deadly bronze into the throat of the soldier behind, a youth whose ill-fitting helmet had slipped forward over his eyes and blinded him.

On either side of them the Ithacans were fighting with equal fury, many striking down their opponents and as many more falling to the ill-fortune of war. The air was filled with the clamour of battle: the metallic clang of weapons that rang in a man’s skull for days afterwards; the familiar grunts and cries of men fighting and dying; the hiss of rain and the sound of it drumming on leather and bronze; and over everything the rumble of the storm as it drew inland. Light flickered in the belly of the cloud, followed short moments later by a loud crash. Odysseus glanced to the side and saw Eperitus hacking left and right with his sword, his face an unrecognizable mask of wrath as he spread havoc and death among his enemies. Then he sensed a figure rushing towards him and twisted aside as the head of a spear skipped across his body armour. It was quickly withdrawn again and Odysseus turned to see the young face of a Trojan noble, this time aiming his weapon higher at the king’s chest. Odysseus swung his shield before him, stopping the point of his assailant’s spear and thrusting it back. Raising his own spear over his shoulder, he stabbed down at the dark, handsome face of his opponent. The Trojan ducked aside and rushed forward, punching his shield into Odysseus’s and trying to force him back. The man was strong, but Odysseus was stronger. As they stared hard at each other across the rims of their shields, Odysseus dropped his spear and tugged his sword free of its scabbard. His enemy did the same. Their blades clashed, but as they withdrew in an effort to give themselves space to fight, a trickle of rain ran into Odysseus’s eye, momentarily blurring his vision. The Trojan saw his chance and leapt forward with his sword at arm’s length. Half-blinded, Odysseus sensed the move and pulled, while striking downwards on to his attacker’s sword hand. The blow severed his thumb at the knuckle and, dropping the weapon, the Trojan fell to his knees and clutched the injured hand under the armpit of his other arm.

‘Mercy!’ he shouted in Greek, as Odysseus raised his sword for the killing blow. ‘Have mercy, my lord, I beg you. My father is rich and will pay any ransom you demand of him for my return. Spare me and I will honour your name among my fellow Trojans, so that not only wealth but also glory will be yours.’

Odysseus looked at the man kneeling before him and hesitated. There were tears of pain and despair in the Trojan’s eyes as he held his maimed hand into his body, but he had fought well and perhaps deserved life more than many who would survive that day.

‘What’s your name, lad?’ he asked.

‘Adrestos, my lord. My father is a merchant who traded goods with Greeks from Mycenae and Crete; that’s how I learned your language. I hold no grudge against the Greeks. If Paris hadn’t taken Helen, this war would never have happened.’

‘It would have happened all right, one way or another,’ Odysseus replied. ‘And now it’s up to us to finish it. But if I ransom you, you will rejoin the fight. Perhaps you will kill Greeks who would otherwise have lived – you’re no mean warrior, Adrestos – and perhaps you will make this war last a little longer. I cannot allow that to happen, not for all the gold and glory in Ilium if it means even one more day apart from my wife and son. I’m sorry.’

He raised his sword again, but was stopped by a shout.

‘Odysseus!’

The two men turned to see Eperitus running towards them. His eyes were burning with the ferocity of battle and the rain that ran from his armour and sword was pink with the gore of his victims.

‘What are you doing? You can’t kill an unarmed man, especially one who’s thrown himself at your mercy. It’s nothing less than murder!’

An angry flicker crossed Odysseus’s features. He had never been the most principled of men, but he did not need to be reminded of the ruthlessness of his intentions – least of all by a man who did not have a family and a kingdom to influence his high-minded notions.

‘He’s
my
prisoner, Eperitus,’ Odysseus warned his captain. ‘And if you think we’re ever going to win this war by sparing our enemies to fight another day—’

‘You’re letting your desire to go home cloud your judgement,’ Eperitus interrupted, his sodden clothes clinging to him as more rain beat against his armour. ‘First the prisoner at the ravine, then Palamedes, and now this. Cruel logic isn’t the way to defeat Troy. There’s no honour in it.’

‘Honour means different things to different men,’ Odysseus informed him coldly, sheathing a sword and plucking a spear from the body of a dead Ithacan. ‘And your old-fashioned notion of it has no place in this war.’

As he spoke, Adrestos sprang up and made to run. A moment later he was face down in the thick mud, Odysseus’s spear protruding from his back.

‘Let that be an end to the matter,’ the king growled, retrieving the weapon. ‘Come on. This fight is far from over yet.’

All around them were dead and dying men and yet the battle lines had hardly shifted from where the two sides had first clashed. Though the Greeks were gaining ground in some places, in others it was being taken from them by the resolute Trojans. Odysseus and Eperitus rejoined the battle side by side, angry with one another and yet not so angry that they did not seek the safety and comfort that the other man’s presence offered. Again they fought until their muscles ached, with arrows flying over and around them and the heavens above rumbling and flashing with a sound like a thousand drums beating together at once. Strangely, the storm did not move on, and those that were not in the forefront of the fighting began to say that it was sent by the gods to increase their torment and fill men with fear. And then, as the morning wore on towards another deadlock, men sensed a change in the air. The clouds rose higher, but instead of breaking up or moving south, driven away by the north wind, they grew darker and seemed to churn with an inner anguish. Then a loud crack sundered the sky and a bolt of lightning flashed downwards into the terrified ranks of the Greek army. A man was struck dead, while those around him clapped their hands to their eyes and staggered away from the blast. Then a second strike followed, overturning a Greek chariot and sending its crew spilling to the ground. After that, no man was in doubt that the favour of Zeus had been given to the Trojans.

Suddenly the stalemate was broken. The Greeks began to fall back, some even tossing their weapons aside and fleeing headlong in the direction of the camp, which was still a long march across the plains to the rear. Odysseus and Eperitus looked around at the chaos of running men and speeding chariots then, realizing that widespread panic could mean the destruction of the entire army, began ordering the Ithacans to re-form the line. Further along Idomeneus was doing the same with his Cretans, but the two armies were only small islands of discipline among a sea of anarchy. What was happening beyond the sheet rain even Eperitus’s eyes could not see.

For a moment the Trojans seemed too shocked to press home the attack and allowed their enemies to retreat before them. Then shouts and horn calls filled the air and, with a roar of triumph, the long ranks of warriors surged forward, hurling their spears at the tattered Greek line. Many fell beneath the deadly hail, while many more simply broke and fled in the face of the charging Trojans. A handful of Ithacans ran, Eurylochus and his cronies foremost among them, but the remainder stood firm beneath the dolphin banner of their king.

The Trojan spearmen fell on their retreating enemies with the ferocity of men who had been kept too long behind the walls of their city. They wanted revenge for years of siege and bloodshed, and though the Greeks fought hard they were pushed inevitably back in the direction of their camp. Then, as Odysseus fought with Eperitus and Arceisius at his side, horn calls sounded behind them and a dozen chariots came driving out of the rain and crashed into the enemy ranks. At their head were Diomedes and Nestor. The younger man was leaning over the chariot rail and beheading terrified warriors with his long sword, while the older cut down several more with thrusts of his spear as the Trojans were thrown into disarray.

‘Form a rearguard,’ Nestor shouted to Odysseus, spotting him in the thick of the fighting. ‘That fool Agamemnon’s ordered the army back to the wall, but it’s a long way back and someone has to keep the retreat from becoming a rout.’

As he spoke, an arrow hit one of his horses in the forehead. It fell heavily, pulling the other horse and the chariot over with it and throwing Nestor and his driver to the ground. Diomedes ordered his chariot around and went to the old king’s aid, just as Hector came dashing out from the thick curtains of rain on the Trojan side. He saw the overturned chariot and with a howl of triumph steered his horses towards it.

‘Help us, Odysseus!’ Diomedes cried, leaping down from his chariot and running to Nestor’s side.

The king of Pylos lay on all fours, his helmet lost and blood in his grey hair. As he heard Diomedes’s shout for help, he threw out his hand and shook his head.

‘No, Odysseus. Form the rearguard or the army is doomed. Everything depends on you.’

Odysseus stared wild-eyed at the scene before him, the indecision contorting his face. Men and chariots were in full flight before the Trojan onslaught, but there were still whole companies of warriors who had not lost their nerve and were making a fighting withdrawal. If there was a leader who could pull them together, they could keep their pursuers at bay while the rest of the army sought the safety of the Greek walls. And yet if he abandoned Diomedes and the stricken Nestor then Hector and his victorious Trojans would quickly overwhelm them. He was also mindful of Athena’s order not to face Hector.

‘Eperitus; Arceisius,’ he said, ‘give all the help you can to Diomedes and Nestor – and don’t be drawn into a fight with Hector, if you can avoid it. I’ll take charge of whoever is left and form a rearguard.’

He clapped a hand on Eperitus’s shoulder, then with a brief smile and a nod he moved into the lines of Ithacans, shouting for them to fall back. Whether he would be able to knit together a body of men who could hold off the Trojans – and most especially their cavalry – Eperitus did not know, but if any man in the army could do it, that man was Odysseus. Then he turned and saw Diomedes helping Nestor towards his own chariot, where Sthenelaus waited at the reins. Nestor’s driver had regained his feet and, though dazed, had seen Hector approaching rapidly across the battle lines, a spear balanced in the palm of his right hand. He scrambled to pick up a discarded shield and spear from the many dead that lay all around.

‘Come on,’ Eperitus said.

He sprang forward, closely followed by Arceisius, knowing at a single glance that they would never cover the ground to Diomedes and Nestor before Hector reached them. Then Nestor’s driver dashed forward and threw his spear with reckless aim. It crossed the path of the Trojan chariot, narrowly missing the horses and causing them to turn aside. A smack of the reins and a harsh shout from their driver pulled them back on course. Then Hector hurled his own weapon and Nestor’s charioteer fell back into the mud. An instant later, Hector’s second spear was in his hand as his chariot now charged headlong at the kings of Argos and Pylos.

Eperitus knew there was but one chance to save them. He stopped and pulled back his spear, taking aim along its black shaft. Then a shout to his right announced the approach of a group of enemy soldiers, who had spotted the lone Ithacans and were running at them with murderous intent.

‘Arceisius!’ Eperitus barked.

The young warrior nodded and ran to meet the new threat, somehow slipping between the hedge of spear points and bringing his sword to bear on the disadvantaged enemy. Eperitus watched him cut down his first opponent, then turned his attention back to Hector’s speeding chariot. The Trojan was almost upon the stricken forms of Diomedes and Nestor, the former trying desperately to drag his wounded comrade towards his waiting chariot. Eperitus took aim again, lining up the point of his spear with the galloping horses, just as Hector pulled back his own weapon. Drawing on all his experience and instinct to judge the throw, Eperitus uttered a prayer to Athena and launched his heavy spear. It caught Hector’s unarmoured driver in the chest and sent him crashing backwards from the car. Panicked by the loss of control, the horses saw the wreck of Nestor’s chariot before them and veered aside, almost spilling Hector into the mud. Then the chariot disappeared into the thick rain, Hector desperately hanging on to the rail with one hand and reaching for the reins with the other.