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.
XXXIV
The Lost Garden
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.’
