The Girl From Ithaca (15 page)

Then she sprinted across the sand, her long legs launching herself forward as she leapt to catch the lion skin flung from Agamemnon’s shoulders.

“She’s good,” I gasped.

“She’s had plenty of practice,” Io replied.

Slowly the men dispersed. Odysseus indicated he was returning to the Ithacan camp and left with Nestor and Antilochus. I watched them stride across the sand and by the time I looked round again, Io and I were alone.

“That was … interesting,” Io said, stacking the plates. “Agamemnon has complete control at home. No one challenges him, except perhaps Clytemnestra when she’s really upset. It’s not so easy for him with King Nestor, Big Ajax and your brother around. Even Menelaus is standing up to him now.”

I tried to balance the cups into two tall towers. “And there’s Achilles and Diomedes,” I said, watching the towers lean and wobble.

Io grinned at my attempt and showed me the best way to stack the cups. “Like this, not that anyone’s around to beat us if we drop them.” Then she lowered her voice. “Seems half the leaders in this great alliance hate each other.”

“I’m not keen on a couple of them.”

Io laughed.

“What’s funny?”

“It looked as if you liked King Nestor’s son.”

“Oh, which one was he?” I said, the tower of cups wobbling again.

“I’m very surprised you’ve forgotten him already, seeing as every time I glanced in your direction, you were smiling at him,” Io laughed.

I felt myself blushing. I’d hardly looked at him at all, so how had she noticed?

“He’s good looking and probably all right on his own, but for my taste, he seems too eager to please his father,” Io declared.

Now I laughed. “Nestor is a kind old man who talks a lot of sense. Why wouldn’t a son want to please him?”

Io patted my arm. “You’re a nice girl, Neomene, but sometimes I can tell you’ve been brought up in a palace and never been out of Ithaca. I’ve got a lot to teach you about men.”

Chapter TWELVE

Menelaus and Paris

P
hoebus and I rode to the top of a small hill that overlooked the Trojan plain and watched the two armies advance. The Trojans were moving swiftly, screaming high-pitched war cries. The Greeks marched together in a tight formation, raising great clouds of dust under their feet. With the plumed helmets, the standards, the colourfully painted chariots and well-groomed horses, it looked astonishingly beautiful and organised, like an elaborate dance.

As they converged, I realised there were large numbers of untrained men at the back of each army. They were the potters, bakers, metal workers and carpenters, many without shields and helmets, and identifiable by their leather tunics instead of the bronze armour of the warriors. Some were lagging behind and already seemed out of step with the organised performance of the experienced troops. My stomach ached at the sight of them. Please Athena, I begged, keep these men safe.

I turned to Phoebus. “The Trojans will accept the duel, won’t they?”

“They’ll have to. Paris will look cowardly if they don’t.”

Agamemnon halted the Greeks just beyond the range of the Trojan archers, holding up his arm to the opposing side. A Trojan warrior jumped from his chariot, removed his helmet and walked towards the Greek leader. It was Hector, looking magnificent. I studied the brightness of his armour and the contrast between his long black hair and the startling white of his helmet’s plume. I thought that if I’d been a Trojan soldier, I would have followed him anywhere.

Hector and Agamemnon stood only five paces apart. In a duel between the two, I’d have backed Hector, because he was younger and looked physically more agile and stronger. But that hardly mattered now. If the Trojans agreed to a duel, it would be a contest between Menelaus and Paris. While the leaders talked, the armies waited. Horses tossed their heads. The banners fluttered in the wind, otherwise the world stopped and held its breath.

Eventually Hector and Agamemnon returned to their troops. Menelaus stepped forward and stood alone in the no-man’s land between the two armies. On the Trojan side, three warriors pulled off their helmets. I recognised Prince Deiphobus as one of them, but the others were strangers.

“Paris isn’t there,” I cried. “He’s not going to fight.”

“Give him time,” Phoebus said.

Agamemnon ordered his army to sit and rest. Shields hit the earth with a clatter. The Trojans did the same, most men sitting, but a few stood, leaning against the shafts of their spears. Then I noticed a solitary figure moving through the rows of Trojans, a leopard’s skin over his shoulders. It had to be Paris. The soldiers moved aside for him as he joined the leaders at the head of the army. When he removed his helmet, I gasped as I saw his handsome face once more.

“I’ve heard he has that effect on women,” Phoebus whispered.

I opened my mouth, but then kept quiet. Whatever I said would be unconvincing, and a lie.

Paris dragged his bow from his shoulder. Deiphobus exchanged it for two heavy spears. Paris fumbled and dropped one.

“He was abandoned on the mountain. He won’t be trained in combat skills like Menelaus,” I said.

“You sound almost sorry for him.”

I blushed. “Only because it’s an unequal contest. But he could have stopped all this if he’d wanted to.” I watched Paris pick up the dropped spear. “He seems unprepared, as if … if it’s a surprise. He should have listened to Hector and Antenor. ”

Phoebus looked at me curiously. “Antenor? How do you know about …”

“Something’s happening. Look,” I said quickly.

Paris was following Hector into the no-man’s land. Menelaus stood on the edge of the combat area, leaning forward on the balls of his feet. Hector nodded at both men and then backed away.

They circled each other. Paris flung his spear and Menelaus raised his shield to deflect it. The spear crashed into the centre, the tip broke and the shaft sank to the ground. The Trojan army groaned. Menelaus stepped back and hurled his heavy spear in reply. It tore through the bronze of Paris’ shield and on into his body armour. Paris twisted to one side but lost his footing. Menelaus rushed at him and with a loud cry, brought his sword crashing down on his helmet. The sword shattered and fell in pieces as Paris sank to his knees.

I glanced at Phoebus and he nodded. “It’ll be over soon.”

The Greek soldiers roared as Menelaus threw himself onto Paris and grabbed him by the helmet. I fought a wave of nausea as Paris was dragged to the Greek side, desperately clawing at the chinstrap. Menelaus hauled the helmet into the air, lifting Paris with it so that his feet left the ground. Paris kicked out at first and tried to pull at the strap. Then his arms dropped to his side and his body went limp.

“Is he … is he dead?” I croaked, clutching my own throat.

Before Phoebus answered, the strap broke and Paris slumped to the ground like a crumpled heap of clothes. Menelaus tossed the helmet into the Greek side and scooped up his spear. He loomed over Paris, watching and waiting for him to move.

“I think he’s dead,” I whispered.

“No, not yet. He’s stunned. Menelaus won’t strike until Paris is back on his feet.”

Eventually Paris rolled over onto his stomach. Then he scrambled onto one knee. He raised his head and looked at Menelaus towering above him. I closed my eyes and waited for the jubilant cry from the Greeks. I waited, but nothing happened. I looked again. Paris was crawling towards the Trojan side.

“What’s he doing?” I gasped.

It was obvious what he was doing, but I couldn’t believe it. Warriors were not meant to crawl away, not when the honour of a city lay on their shoulders.

I could see Menelaus hesitating, as if he couldn’t believe it either. The Greeks started to jeer. Menelaus flung his spear at his retreating opponent, but Paris sprang to his feet and leapt behind a row of soldiers, the spear striking a man in front of him. The jeering was much louder now. Menelaus stormed into the Trojan ranks, yelling for Paris. Agamemnon and Hector followed him. But from our position on the hill, Phoebus and I saw what Hector and the others could not: a group of Trojan soldiers were blocking Menelaus’ search, allowing Paris to reach his chariot. Moments before Menelaus caught up with him, Paris whipped his horses into a gallop and raced towards the walls of Troy.

“He’ll not escape, Hector will bring him back,” I said.

Phoebus shook his head. “It’s too late for that. Paris has lost the fight and disgraced the whole of Troy.”

Soldiers on both sides were on their feet. The jeering changed into a roar of derision. Even the Trojans were shouting. I saw Menelaus running to his chariot and the Spartans edge into battle formation. Achilles’ men pounded their shields. Trojan archers dragged bows from their shoulders. All commanders, apart from Hector and Agamemnon, returned to their armies.

“For the sake of the gods, Agamemnon, make another truce,” Phoebus hissed under his breath.

It didn’t look as if he would. Agamemnon was shouting at Hector, pointing angrily at the city. Behind him, his army was on the point of war. All it needed was one nervous archer to misread the glint of a spear or the nod of a head, and the battle would begin.

Phoebus touched my shoulder. “They’ve agreed to something.”

The jeering faded away and rolled into silence. Hector called out in a clear voice. “Paris has shamed Troy by fleeing. I will reclaim Troy’s honour by battling against the strongest of the Greeks. The same conditions apply as before: the victor takes Helen and the gold that came with her.” Hector stepped closer to the Greek line. “Where is the champion who dares face me?”

Menelaus jumped from his chariot, but Odysseus and Nestor’s son caught up with him and pulled him back to the Greek line.

“Good work,” Phoebus muttered. “Menelaus is strong, but we need our best against Hector.”

Whispers and murmurs rippled through the armies and eight Greek warriors came forward, amongst them Ajax, Achilles and Odysseus’ friend, Diomedes. I was relieved Odysseus had the courage not to step forward; even I could tell he’d not stand a chance against Hector, but my heart sank when Agamemnon selected Ajax and Achilles from the group.

“Not them,” I moaned.

“It has to be. They’re the only ones who can match Hector,” Phoebus said. “Agamemnon won’t want to choose between them, so he’ll take lots to decide. The darker stone always wins.”

True enough, Agamemnon scooped up stones from the ground and placed them in his tusked helmet.

Achilles picked one and showed it to Ajax.

Immediately, Ajax raised his spear and shook it at Hector. “I, Prince Ajax of Salamis, son of Telamon, take up your challenge!”

My heart raced as the big man marched to the combat area and acknowledged his opponent with a slight bow of the head. What trick was Zeus playing now? I knew Hector and Ajax were both good men and hadn’t caused this conflict. Yet one was to die so that war could be avoided, while Paris crawled away and hid behind the walls of Troy. I looked for my brother amongst the array of leaders. He was still holding onto Menelaus and could do nothing. So Hector and Ajax fell on each other with swords, blow after blow being deflected by their shields, until the swords shattered and lay in pieces at their feet.

Then they threw rocks. One crashed into Hector’s shield and knocked him to the ground. Ajax waited for the Trojan to stagger to his feet and then lunged towards him, smashing his fist against Hector’s face. I held my hand to my mouth, wincing as Hector hit back at Ajax and Ajax hit Hector again and again.

Stepping to the side, Ajax kicked his opponent’s feet from under him. Hector rolled out of the way and jumped up on the other side of the circle. Quickly, Teucer ran to Ajax and handed him another sword. Deiphobus gave Hector his own. They circled each other again. A quick end and a victory for Ajax was the best I could hope for, but I couldn’t bring myself to pray for Hector’s death.

The sun crept towards the horizon. The men fought on, their bodies glistening with sweat and blood.

“They can’t go on for ever,” Phoebus said.

The light was fading when I noticed the first signs of fatigue. Ajax’s sword had slipped from his hand three times. Hector limped from a long gash in his thigh. They moved more slowly and then hardly at all, their bodies becoming heavy and clumsy. When Hector sank to the ground, the Trojans groaned. Ajax stared at him, and then he too sank to his knees, both men facing each other and unable to move.

I glanced at Phoebus but he said nothing, concentrating instead on Agamemnon and Deiphobus. At last, Agamemnon stepped forward.

He raised his hands. “Ajax and Hector have proved themselves brave warriors today. They are equal in their use of sword, as well as in brute strength and stamina. Such is their excellence, neither man deserves to die. Therefore, with night fall approaching, we will call an end to this duel and honour them both as worthy champions.”

The two armies united in cheering and calling out the warriors’ names. Hector and Ajax staggered to their feet and removed their helmets. They wiped the sweat from their faces and stood looking at each other for a long time. Then Ajax handed Hector his sword belt. Hector gave his opponent his knife.