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
