The Armour of Achilles (39 page)

O
nce more the plain beyond the walls of the Greek camp was filled with rank upon rank of soldiers, their spear points gleaming in the fierce sunlight as they marched towards the call of battle. At their head were the chariots of their commanders: Achilles foremost – splendid in his god-made armour and spoiling for the fight – with Odysseus, Menelaus, Diomedes and Idomeneus each leading their own factions. On either side of the massed infantry were the cavalry, the horses’ legs hidden beneath the haze of dust raised by their hooves so that they seemed to be floating to war.

Standing on the woven floor of his chariot, with Arceisius at the reins, Eperitus’s eyes flicked constantly between the north-east horizon, where the battle would still be raging, and his king and friend in the next chariot. Odysseus’s eyes were fixed firmly ahead, having lost none of their passion since he and Achilles had set out to deny the Fates and take the gates of Troy. Turning his gaze once more to the distance, he thought he could see a cloud of dust through the heat haze. He leaned forward across the chariot rail, squinting slightly, then turned his head to listen. And then he heard it – the thrilling and terrible sound of battle. Still some way off, lost among the folds of grassland, the din of clashing weapons and raised voices had melded into a low hum that sounded like heavy rainfall.

‘Achilles,’ he shouted, pointing in the direction of the noise. ‘That way.’

Achilles spoke to Peisandros, who turned the team of Xanthus and Balius a little more to the east before raising their pace to a canter. The infantry followed, wheeling slightly and then breaking into a heavy jog. A force of cavalry dashed forward from each flank to scout the positions of the enemy and the beleaguered Greeks ahead of them, but even before the first messengers could return the army had topped a low ridge and could see the battle in the near distance.

‘Can you make out what’s going on?’ Arceisius asked Eperitus, his eyes burning with excitement. ‘What’s happening?’

‘The Greeks are surrounded, by the looks of it. Cut off, with enemies on every side.’

Although he could not see in the detail that Eperitus could, Achilles knew the situation was dire and he was not a man to dither when action was needed. He turned to the infantry and barked out a series of commands. Spears were lowered and shields moved from backs to shoulders as the thick lines of Greek warriors closed formation. On either side of them the remainder of the cavalry dashed forward, while Achilles raised his enormous ash spear over his head and gave the signal to advance. At the same time Odysseus lifted a thickly muscled arm in the air and drove it forward, just as Menelaus, Diomedes and Idomeneus did the same. The army gave a cheer in response and began to move down the long, gentle slope that led to the battle.

Arceisius snapped the reins and the chariot bounced forward across the rocky ground. Eperitus took one of his spears from its leather socket on the inside of the cab and balanced it over his right shoulder. As they drew closer to the fighting he could see the force of Greeks standing back-to-back in a circle, where the Trojan cavalry had cut off their retreat and forced them back in on themselves, only to be caught and surrounded by the combined forces of the Trojan and Aethiope spearmen. The southerners reminded Eperitus of giant spiders, with their long, spindly limbs and dark skin; and though he had seen Aethiope slaves before, the sight of thousands of black warriors crawling over the plain filled him with awe.

Fierce hand-to-hand combat was raging at every point. Men tried to skewer each other with their spears, but there was no time to exult or plunder the armour from their fallen foe if they succeeded. Instead, every dead enemy was replaced by another, and another, as Greek or Trojan, black man or white, fought with a raging fury to the death. It was then that Eperitus noticed the gigantic figure of Ajax, faced by an equally tall, though rangy, Aethiope. The two men had drawn their swords and were hacking away at each other with one angry blow after another. Both skilfully parried the attacks of their opponent, but the black warrior landed two strikes for every one of Ajax’s and the Greek was faltering. The tall shield of sevenfold leather that he usually wielded with ease now seemed to be made of lead as he swung it this way and that against his enemy’s skilful lunges, while his thick legs trembled under his own weight. It seemed the mighty stalwart of Agamemnon’s army would not endure for much longer.

Then a series of shouts rang out from among the Trojans and Aethiopes. At last, they had spotted the mass of reinforcements storming down the slope towards them, and with a flurry of panicked activity many broke off from the fighting and hurried to form a line of spears between the newcomers and their struggling countrymen. The Trojan cavalry pulled away from the battle and formed two groups on either side of the spearmen, ready to meet the opposing swarms of Greek horsemen. At that moment Achil-les’s voice roared out above the cacophony of battle as he spurred his chariot forward into a headlong charge. It was too early, Eperitus thought to himself: any ordinary team of horses would be blown long before they could carry a battle-laden chariot into the lines of Trojans and Aethiopes. But Achilles’s horses were not of ordinary stock. They were the immortal offspring of the Zephyrus, the west wind, given as a wedding present at the marriage of Peleus and Thetis. And few who watched them leap forward into battle could have doubted their lineage as they took their mighty master sweeping towards the spear-tipped ranks of the enemy. While the rest of the Greeks were just beginning their charge, Xanthus and Balius bore down on the Aethiopes with such fury that the spearmen’s courage failed long before that of the horses, and throwing down their weapons they turned and ran into the thick files of men behind them. Achilles was upon them in an instant, plunging his spear into their exposed backs and sending many of their ghosts to Hades.

Arceisius lashed the reins with a shout and sent the chariot rushing down the grassy slope towards the enemy. Eperitus shifted the balance of his spear in his cupped hand and eyed the wall of black spearmen that was awaiting him. For a moment, as the wind tugged at his beard and he watched the flowing manes of his two horses ahead of him, he felt as if he and Arceisius were alone and detached from the world around them. The thunder of hooves filled his ears and the whole chariot shook beneath his feet. He looked out at the long grass that covered the ground and thought of the sea, as if he was leaning over the prow of a speeding galley with the surface of the ocean flashing past on either side. And then he glanced to his left and saw Odysseus shouting at the top of his voice – though Eperitus could not hear his words in the cacophony of battle – and pulling back his spear over his shoulder. Eperitus did the same, gripping the chariot rail with one hand and taking aim along the shaft at the mass of scowling Aethiopes ahead of him. Yelling as loud as his lungs and the competing wind would allow him, he launched his spear.

Whether it found its mark he never knew. A few heartbeats later he had swept his long sword from its scabbard and was staring in heady exhilaration at the gleaming spear points ahead of him. Arceisius let out a whoop of joy as he slapped the reins one final time across the backs of the horses and drove them on into the enemy. Suddenly it was as if their spears had been swept aside by the hand of some benevolent god, for both horses and men were unscathed as they broke through the terrified Aethiopes, Eperitus’s sword hacking at their uplifted faces and dispatching many to the Underworld. For a long, glorious moment in time he felt almost immortal, as if no weapon could harm him, as if his chariot were surrounded by a pocket of invulnerability that could not be pierced. Though there were enemy spearmen on all sides, yelling and stabbing at him, his shield thwarted every attack while the point of his sword sent one assailant after another to oblivion.

Then they were through the hastily assembled line of defenders and driving across open grassland once more. The main battle was now ahead of them and they could see the backs of their enemies as they were busy attacking the besieged remnants of the Greeks. To one side, cut off and surrounded by Aethiopes, Ajax was still struggling to fend off the attacks of the tall Aethiope, who Eperitus realized could only be the famed Memnon. His handsome face grinned at his fading opponent with the assured confidence of a hunter closing in upon a wounded lion.

Arceisius saw the unequal fight and, without waiting for orders, steered the chariot towards it. Sensing movement to his left, Eperitus turned to see three Trojan horsemen dashing towards him, their spears couched beneath their arms as they leaned into the attack. He swung his shield around to face them, but as the nearest rider approached he gave a sudden lurch and tumbled forward from his mount, a long ash spear protruding from his back. His comrades turned in panic, just as Achilles came racing up in his chariot and sliced the top off the nearest man’s head with his sword. The remaining horseman veered aside, straight into the path of a third Greek chariot. Odysseus grinned triumphantly and hurled his spear, catching the Trojan in the throat and spilling him from the back of his horse. Eperitus looked beyond the speeding chariots of Odysseus and Achilles and saw that the mass of newly arrived Greek spearmen had already crushed the thin line of Aethiope infantry and were yelling with bloodlust as they charged to the aid of their encircled countrymen.

‘Memnon’s mine!’ Achilles shouted as his chariot swept past Eperitus and raced to save Ajax.

A scattering of spears split the air above Eperitus and Arceis-ius’s heads, warning them that the other Aethiopes were no longer ignorant of their approach. As Odysseus drew alongside – Eurybates gripping the reins and driving the horses as fast as they would go – Eperitus looked ahead to see a score of black warriors running towards them and casting their spears. Two found their marks in the breast of one of Eperitus’s horses, bringing it down in an instant. The last thing he saw as the chariot skewed to the left and threw him from the car was Achilles driving into a line of Aethiope warriors, who had hurried forward to defend their king from the new opponent. Then he hit the ground with a thump and everything went dark.

He came to lying on his back and staring up into the noon sun. The wreckage of the chariot was a few paces away; the fact that one of the wheels was still spinning, and the surviving horse was struggling to get to its feet, told him that he had only been unconscious for a few moments. Then he saw the bloodied and inert form of Arceisius lying beneath the broken cab. He tried to raise himself, but was forced back down by a surge of pain. Grunting through gritted teeth, he tried again and managed this time to turn on to his side. Then a tall shape blocked out the sun and he looked up to see a black warrior standing over him, his long spear in his hands. Eperitus rolled aside just as the bronze spear point bit into the hard soil where a moment before his stomach had been. Suddenly a wave of energy burst through his body, eliminating the pain of his wounds and giving him fresh strength. Grabbing the neck of the spear for leverage, he swung his right leg into the back of his attacker’s left knee and knocked him on to his back. As he fell, Eperitus drew back his leg and kicked with all his force, connecting with the man’s head and snapping it sideways.

Three more Aethiopes came running up, their spear points lowered towards him. Eperitus spotted his shield, but it was beyond his reach and he knew he would never get to it in time. Then he saw two figures come charging in from the corner of his vision. Eurybates despatched one of the Aethiopes with a slashing cut of his sword that sheared through flesh and bone, while Odysseus sank the point of his spear into the throat of another, before pulling it out again and ramming the sharpened base of the shaft into the remaining man’s groin. As the man staggered backwards, clutching at his wounded neck and coughing blood, Odysseus finished him off with a thrust of his spear.

‘No time to lie around,’ he said, turning to Eperitus and pulling him to his feet. ‘Achilles and Ajax need our help.’

Eperitus retrieved his shield and a discarded spear then – seeing that Eurybates was helping Arceisius to his feet and that the young Ithacan was not badly hurt – followed Odysseus towards where they had last seen Achilles driving into the Aethiope shield-wall. All that remained there now was Achilles’s chariot with Peisandros at the reins, surrounded by a circle of black bodies. Peisandros said nothing, but pointed to the east where a little further on they could see Achilles standing in front of an exhausted Ajax, who knelt with his head bowed and blood and sweat shining on his powerful limbs. Achilles’s magnificent armour gleamed in the bright midday sun and somehow he had retrieved his gigantic ash spear. Facing him was Memnon, backed by a large force of Aethiopes.

‘Stay out of this,’ Achilles warned as Odysseus and Eperitus ran to join him.

The Ithacans moved forward and lifted Ajax to his feet, while Achilles kept his eyes firmly on the Aethiope king. Memnon made no move to prevent Ajax being taken away; though he regretted not being able to claim the armour of such a fierce and powerful warrior, the breastplate, helmet and shield of the man who had come to aid him would provide a much more worthwhile trophy.

‘There was nothing I could do against him,’ Ajax admitted despairingly. ‘He was too quick for me.’

‘But you survived,’ Odysseus consoled him, observing the many new wounds that crossed the giant warrior’s body. ‘From what I’ve heard of Memnon, there are no others who can boast such a thing.’

Ajax smiled weakly, but the greatest sign of his tiredness was that he was prepared to forgo his pride and lean his weight against Odysseus. Eperitus glanced over his shoulder at the main battle, where the Greek infantry under Menelaus, Diomedes and Idomeneus had broken the stranglehold on their countrymen and were now forcing the Trojans and Aethiopes backwards with great slaughter. Then he turned back to look at the figure of Memnon, prowling from left to right and back again like a trapped lion. Achilles stepped forward.