As he reached the first of the houses he yelled out to the closest men. ‘Gather your weapons! We are under attack!’ Racing on, he headed for his own house, continuing to call out to any he saw. Men emerged from the white-walled buildings, hastily buckling on breastplates, and strapping swordbelts to their hips.
At his own house his wife, Voria, had heard the commotion and was standing in the doorway. ‘Fetch my helmet and axe,’ he cried. ‘Then get the boys into the hills and the deep caves. Do it now! ‘ The panic in his voice galvanized her, and she disappeared into the house. He followed her and dragged his breastplate from a chest. Lifting it over his head he began to buckle the straps. Little Kletis stood in the doorway, crying, Balios and Palikles behind him, looking frightened.
His wife returned, and handed him his helmet. Habusas donned it, swiftly tying the chin straps. ‘Go with your mother, boys,’ he said, hefting his double-headed axe.
‘I’ll fight alongside you, father,’ offered Balios.
‘Not today, lad. Stay with your mother and brothers. Go to the hills.’
He wanted to hug them all, and tell them he loved them, but there was no time.
Pushing past the boys he ran towards the stockade. There were over two hundred fighting men on Pithros, and the walled wooden fort was well equipped with bows and spears. They could hold off an army from there! But then his heart sank.
Even the fort could not stop eight hundred well-armed men.
Glancing back down towards the beach he could see soldiers gathering, the last of the sunlight glinting on shields, helms, breastplates and the points of spears. They were forming up into disciplined phalanxes. Transferring his gaze to the hillside above the settlement, he saw the women and children heading towards the relative safety of the caves.
‘Let the bastards come,’ he called out to the gathering pirates. ‘We’ll feed them their own entrails.’
He knew it wasn’t true, and he could see in their faces that they knew it too.
When it came to fighting on the seas they were second to none. In raids the lightly armoured pirates could move fast, striking hard, then departing with their plunder. Against a disciplined army on land they had no chance. Habusas was going to die. He took a deep breath. At least his sons would live, for the caves were deep, and Balios knew hiding places beneath the earth that no armoured soldier would dare to crawl into.
‘Look!’ cried one of the men, pointing up at the fleeing women and children.
Beyond them armed soldiers had appeared from behind the hill, marching slowly in formation, spears levelled. The women and children began to stream back towards the town, seeking to escape the line of spears.
Despair flowed over Habusas. More ships must have landed on the west of the island. The massacre would be complete.
‘To the stockade,’ he shouted to the gathering warriors.
They set off at a run, angling through a narrow street and out onto the flat ground before the wooden fort. A little way behind them enemy soldiers were marching now, shields locked, spears at the ready. There would be little time to get all the men inside, and no time at all for the women.
Habusas reached the fort, and saw men milling there, beating at the barred gates.
‘What in Hades is going on?’ he shouted to the men standing on the ramparts.
‘Open the gates! Swiftly now!’
‘And why would we do that?’ said a cold voice.
Habusas stared up – into the face of Helikaon. He wore no armour, and was dressed like a simple sailor, in an old, worn chiton tunic. The men with him were dressed similarly – though in their hands they held bows, arrows notched to the strings.
Habusas felt bile rise in his throat. Apart from feasts and gatherings the stockade was always empty. Helikaon must have landed with these men earlier in the day, and merely walked up to the deserted fort.
‘This is Mykene territory,’ he said, knowing even as he spoke that his words were a waste of breath.
The soldiers marching up from the beach were approaching now, forming a battle line, shields high, spears extended. Women and children began to arrive from the hillside, clustering close to their husbands and lovers. Balios moved alongside his father, holding an old dagger with a chipped blade. Habusas gazed down at his son, his heart breaking. How could the gods have been so cruel, he wondered?
‘Throw down your weapons,’ ordered Helikaon.
Anger surged through Habusas. ‘So you can burn us, you bastard? I think not!
Come on, lads! Kill them all!’ Habusas hurled himself at the advancing line, his men pushing after him, screaming defiant battle cries. Arrows tore into them from the stockade, and the soldiers surged to meet them. The battle was short and brutal. The lightly armed Mykene were no match for the fully armoured soldiers. Habusas killed two Dardanians before being stabbed through the thigh.
A thrusting shield crashed into his head as he fell.
When he regained consciousness he found his hands had been bound behind him, and he was lying against the stockade wall. The wound in his leg burned like fire, and blood had drenched his leggings. All around him in the bright moonlight lay the comrades he had fought beside for so many years. Not a man was left alive.
Struggling to his knees and pushing himself upright he staggered around, seeking his sons. He cried out when he saw the body of Balios. The boy had been speared through the throat, and was lying on his back. ‘Oh, my son!’ he said, tears in his eyes.
Just ahead of him he saw Helikaon talking to an old soldier. He remembered him from the attack on Dardanos. He was a general… Pausanius, that was it. The old man saw him, and gestured to Helikaon. Then the Burner turned towards him, his gaze malevolent.
‘I remember you from Blue Owl Bay. You stood with Kolanos on the cliff. You were beside him in the sea battle. You are Habusas.’
‘You murdered my son. He was just a boy.’
Helikaon stood silently for a moment, and Habusas saw the hatred in his eyes.
Yet when he spoke his voice was cold, almost emotionless – which made what he said infinitely more terrifying. ‘I did not have time to soak him in oil, and throw him burning from a cliff top. But perhaps you have other sons. I shall find out.’ The words ripped into Habusas like whips of fire.
‘Do not hurt them, Helikaon! I beg you!’
‘Did she beg?’ Helikaon asked, his voice unnaturally calm. ‘Did the queen plead for the life of her son?’
‘Please! I will do anything! My sons are my life!’ Habusas dropped to his knees.
‘My life for theirs, Helikaon. They did nothing to you or yours.’
‘Your life is already mine.’ Helikaon drew his sword and held it to Habusas’
throat. ‘But tell me where I can find Kolanos and I might offer mercy for your children.’
‘He left here three days ago. He is due back in the spring with fifty ships. I do not know where he is now. I swear. I would tell you if I did. Ask me anything else. Anything!’
‘Very well. Did Kolanos burn my brother and throw him from the cliff?’
‘No. He gave the order.’
‘Who set my brother ablaze?’
Habusas climbed to his feet. ‘I tell you this and you promise not to kill my family?’
‘If I believe what you tell me.’
Habusas drew himself up to his full height. ‘I set the fire on the boy. Yes, and I raped the queen too. I enjoyed the screams of both, and I wish I could live long enough to piss on your ashes!’
Helikaon stood very still, and Habusas saw a muscle twitch in his jaw. Habusas hoped the man might be angry enough to just kill him, a single sword-thust through the throat. It was not to be. Helikaon stepped back, sheathing his blade.
‘And now you burn me, you bastard?’
‘No. You will not burn.’ Helikaon swung round, and beckoned two soldiers forward. Habusas was hauled back to the stockade gates. His bonds were cut.
Immediately he lashed out, knocking one soldier from his feet. The second hammered the butt of his spear into Habusas’ temple. Weakened by loss of blood
Habusas fell back. Another blow sent him reeling unconscious to the ground.
Pain woke him, radiating from his wrists and feet, and flowing along his arms and up his shins. His eyes
