Heroes

can no longer bear up under this strain. If we go on like this, we will all die. Someone has to tell him,’ he said, nodding towards the king, who was standing alone near his horses. ‘We’ve been marching for days and days and we’ve never seen their faces, but they are murdering us. How many men have we lost? Ten, maybe fifteen, I’ve lost count. And how many of them have we killed? Not one. They’re different; they will never agree to face us on the open field, phalanx against phalanx. They don’t think there is anything shameful or wrong about attacking us in secret, at night.’

‘You don’t think he already knows?’ replied the Chnan, indicating the king as he advanced through the mud, leading the horses by their reins. ‘They say that he once wounded a god in battle, but here there is no one to cross swords with, not even a savage or a shepherd. .’

‘Why is he doing it then? I know he is a generous man. How could he sacrifice his people this way?’

The Chnan walked at length without answering. In the distance was a low line of bluish mountains.

‘See those mountains? Perhaps that is where this accursed land ends. The king believes that if we manage to leave this place, we’ll finally be able to build a city and raise a temple. He thinks we will be invincible then, and that this girl will give him sons, and a dynasty. And that he’ll get other women for his warriors; that’s what he’s thinking. He knows there is no alternative. We can’t turn back, and facing the enemy is impossible. We have no choice but to go onwards. . hoping that some of us remain, in the end.’

‘But why won’t he give back the woman? He’ll find other women, more beautiful ones.’

‘He wants this one. If she was sent to regenerate the tribe of Nemro, she must bear a great life force within her. This is what he thinks. And perhaps he loves her. Have you seen how he looks at her?’

‘I have. But we will all die, this I know. Those mountains are still too far away; how many of us will fall before we get there?’

The column had stopped because Myrsilus had found a dry clearing, a large grassy knoll protected on one side by a group of ash and oak trees, just turning green with new leaves, and on the other by a torrent that edged it on three sides like the ocean around a peninsula. Gigantic clouds were gathering over the mountain peaks, shot through by blazing bolts of lightning.

‘We must inflict heavy losses on them,’ said the Chnan, ‘and convince them to withdraw.’

‘Or resolve it by fighting a duel,’ said Telephus.

The Chnan watched the big storm clouds clustering over the mountains: ‘The west wind is pushing them this way,’ he said. ‘They’ll be here right after dark.’

‘Yes. And the rain as well.’

‘There will be lightning; these tall trees may very well attract the bolts.’

‘Do you mean to say we should camp elsewhere?’

‘On the contrary. Perhaps they’ll attack tonight, and we may manage to wipe them out, or at least to strike out hard. If the storms in this land move like the sea. . and if the king will listen to me. .’

As he moved off the surrounding forests began to echo with calls, like animal cries.

The Chnan went to the king: ‘Your men say you have armour of gold.’

‘They have told you the truth,’ said Diomedes without turning.

‘Is the shield made of gold too?’

‘Yes, the shield as well.’

‘Give it to me. If these cries from the forest are not night birds, as I don’t imagine they are, they will attack again tonight.’

‘Invisible and unfindable, as always.’

‘Not any more, wanax. Give me a man who can help me light a fire on the highest part of the hill. Telephus, the Chetaean, will do. And give me your shield, enclosed in its case. The storm will be here soon, just as darkness falls. Sit down and eat now. Rest and gather your forces because I will soon make your enemies visible. Order the archers to draw up and to be ready with their bows, for they will have to aim and shoot as swiftly as the blink of an eye. Order your warriors to remain in their armour and to keep their hands on the shafts of their spears.’

The king gave him the shield and the Chnan went off with Telephus towards the top of the hill. Telephus held a burning firebrand, which he used to set a fire as soon as they had arrived. The men below lit fires as well and began to eat. The king ate, and offered some of his food to the girl. The storm was drawing nearer and the clouds galloped through the sky above the camp.

The Hittite appeared just then. ‘Oh king,’ he said. ‘Rally your men. The storm is rushing towards us, and if the enemies attack, the Chnan will show you where they are, but only for a brief moment.’

‘That will be enough,’ said the king. He put on his helmet and fastened his cuirass.

The wind had picked up and was stoking the fires in camp and on the hilltop. Diomedes called his men and had them take position behind a group of trees facing the forest. He told them to stay ready, although he knew not what to expect. Suddenly, a blinding light flashed, immediately followed by the roar of thunder, and in that instant the king saw the enemy advancing in open order across the plain, towards the hill. The Chnan saw them as well, and he turned the golden shield so that it would project the light of the large fire that Telephus had built upon them, as he continued to feed it with all the wood he could lay his hands on.

‘Now, wanax!’ shouted the Chnan, and Diomedes rushed forth, followed by his men. The enemies had stopped for a moment, stunned by the thunder and blinded by the lightning, but the light of the fire reflected off the golden shield of the king made them visible; shadowy, but distinguishable. It was enough. The Achaeans fanned out as they ran down the hill at great speed. Diomedes burst into the midst of his enemies, and his shout was more terrible that the roar of the thunder. He ran one man through with his spear and brought down the next ones with his dagger and sword. The javelins of Myrsilus, to the far left, hit their marks one after another. Taken by surprise for the first time, the assailants were bewildered, uncertain whether to continue fighting or to flee, and in that uncertainty the hard blows of the Achaeans rained down, enraged as they were and eager for revenge.

It began just then to pour, and the bursts of heavy rain dampened the fires and extinguished them almost completely in just a few moments. The light of the golden shield went out as well and the battle ceased. Myrsilus took a burning brand and examined the dead, trying to recognize Nemro, but found no trace of him.

They took shelter under their tents and waited for the rain to stop so they could continue their search. Quite some time passed before the sky cleared, revealing the stars and the full moon that was just rising over the crests of the Blue Mountains.

The king scanned the fields to see if the dead were still there, and as the pale light of the moon freed itself of the mists of the storm, he saw a still, erect shadow among the lifeless bodies of the fallen. He was tall and powerful, and gripped a long narrow sword. It was Nemro!

At a certain distance behind him, his men were lined up at the edge of the forest, their hands on the hilts of their swords. The Chnan approached the king and said: ‘It has happened sooner than I could have hoped: he is challenging you to single combat. Kill him, and we’ll no longer have these sneaking demons hounding us.’

Myrsilus stepped forward: ‘Oh wanax, that savage who has hidden in the shadows until now is not worthy to cross swords with the king of Argos. You rest and watch: I’ll go.’

The king looked back and he saw the blonde bride standing behind him, staring at the plains beyond him. She was looking at Nemro.

‘No,’ said the king. ‘I must fight him. Have the armour of Ilium brought to me.’

Myrsilus obeyed and Diomedes was brought the armour that he had worn when he fought the sons of Priam between the Scamander and the Simois. He threw the leather cuirass he had donned for the night raid on to the ground, and covered himself with bronze. He slung on his shield and grasped the enormous ashwood spear. He tightened the baldric adorned with golden studs and stretched his right hand out towards his attendant to receive his sword.

‘The Pakana,’ said Myrsilus. And the attendant handed him the heavy sword, its silver hilt set with a piece of amber embossed with the figure of a lion chasing a roebuck, crafted by Traseus.