Shield of Thunder

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE ORPHANS IN THE FOREST

For six days the army of Hektor moved south through the Rhodope Mountains. The journey was slow and fraught with danger. Somewhere behind them an Idonoi army was marching hard, seeking them out. Ahead was the broad river Nestos, where Thessalian troops and a second Idonoi army were facing King Rhesos at Kalliros. All the men knew there was likely to be a major battle as soon as they sighted the city.

There were no supplies reaching the Trojan army now. Rations were short, and teams of hunters rode out daily seeking deer and game. Even when they were successful, the result was pitifully inadequate to feed three thousand men.

Banokles, on a new mount, a dappled gray with a mean eye, was riding with Ursos and twenty other men ahead of the main force, scouting for enemy troops. The long lances had been left behind, and the riders now carried Phrygian bows as well as their sabers. Their orders were specific: Avoid direct conflict and upon sight of the enemy send a rider back to report.

Ursos had been placed in charge of the troop, and the responsibility had made him surly. His mood was not improved by Banokles’ constantly calling him “General,” a title swiftly taken up by the other riders.

In the course of the afternoon a young horseman named Olganos spotted a wild pig in a thicket. He and Justinos and Skorpios set off in pursuit of it. Ursos ordered a halt while the hunt continued, and the rest of the troop rode into a stand of trees and dismounted. They had seen no sign of enemy forces, though earlier that day they had spotted some woodsmen felling logs above a river. The men had been Kikones tribesmen, and they had told Ursos they had hidden from an Idonoi raiding party two days before.

Olganos and the hunters returned triumphant, carrying the dead pig. It was a scrawny, thin beast, but they gutted and quartered it, built a fire and carved a spit, and settled down to wait while the meat cooked.

Banokles walked to the tree line and sat down, scanning the land to the south. It was green and verdant, with rolling hills and wooded valleys. Good farming land, he thought. Not like the parched farm on which he had been born, his family scratching a living, always hungry. He pictured a house on the hillside below. There was a stream close by. Cool water in the summer, a gentle breeze blowing through the trees. A man could raise horses or pigs or sheep. All three, perhaps. He wondered if Red would like to live in the mountains, far from any cities.

Then he saw the smoke on the horizon, huge plumes rising from beyond the distant hills.

Banokles pushed himself to his feet and called out to Ursos. The troop leader walked over and stood next to him, staring silently at the smoke. “Forest fire, you think?” he asked at last.

Banokles shrugged. “Could be. I don’t know what’s beyond those hills.”

The other men gathered around. Olganos, a hawk-nosed young man with black curly hair, voiced the concern they all felt. “According to the Thrakian scouts, we should be reaching Kalliros by tomorrow. What if that smoke is the city burning?”

“Don’t say that!” Ursos hissed. “If Kalliros has fallen, we are all dead men.”

“Speak for yourself, General,” Banokles snapped. “I promised Red I’d be back, and no sheep-shagging Idonoi is going to stop me. Nor any other sheep-shagging bastards from any other sheep-shagging country.”

“The mind of a philosopher, the language of a poet,” said young Olganos with a smile. “Is there no end to your talents?”

Banokles did not answer him. The distant smoke had darkened his spirits.

Moving back into the trees, the men ate their fill of roast pork, then mounted their horses and continued south.

They rode warily in a staggered skirmish line, for the land was broken by sudden dips and gullies and stands of trees that could hide enemy warriors. Several of the riders had bows in their hands, arrows notched to the strings. Banokles, who was far from a skilled archer, remained alert, ready to charge his horse either at or away from any enemy who came into sight.

It was close to dusk as they rode up the last hill. Ursos called a halt below the crest, and they dismounted, moving cautiously up to the rim. Their worst fears were realized. Below them the fortress city of Kalliros was aflame, and they could see enemy warriors outside the walls, carrying plunder. By a huge campfire Banokles saw a group of warriors holding long spears with heads impaled on them. Around that grisly scene were cheering crowds waving their swords in the air. Banokles scanned the open area around the eastern wall. Several thousand fighting men were in sight. Many more would be inside the city and encamped by the western wall, beyond his line of sight. Out on the river beyond there were scores of ships.

Ursos moved alongside Banokles. “How many soldiers, do you think?” he asked.

Banokles shrugged. “Anywhere from ten to fifteen thousand. Many of them are not Idonoi. No paint. No leggings. I’d say they were Thessalian or Macedonian.”

Ursos swore softly. “Look at the river. More galleys coming in. If they move on to blockade the Hellespont, we won’t get home even if we reach the barges at Carpea.”

“Well, it’s no use sitting here,” Banokles said. “We should get back.”

Ursos pulled off his helm and ran his fingers through his long black hair. “Hektor will need to know how swiftly they get on the march again and in what direction they head. They could move east to block us or north to meet us in the mountains.”

“Or both,” said Olganos, who had been listening.

“Yes. Or both.”

“And there is another Idonoi army somewhere behind us,” Olganos pointed out.

Ursos turned to Banokles. “You stay here with five men and watch where the enemy marches. I’ll take the rest of the troop back to Hektor and stop the advance. Once the enemy is on the move, you head north to join us as fast as you can.”

“Why don’t you stay behind?” Banokles asked.

“Because I’m the bastard general, as you keep pointing out. I am leaving you in charge, Banokles. Don’t do anything reckless. Just gather the information and move out when you have it.”

“Oh, you don’t want us charging the fortress and taking it back, then?”

“No, I don’t.” Ursos sighed. “Just keep yourself safe.” Then he swung to Olganos. “You stay here, too, as second in command.”

“Second in command of five men? I’m not sure I can handle such responsibility.”

“And I’m sure you can’t,” Ursos snapped. “But you’ve a quick mind,” he added, his voice softening, “and you have nerve. I’ll leave Ennion, Skorpios, Justinos, and Kerio with you. Any problem with that?”

Banokles thought about the question. Kerio was a troublemaker, a sly man who constantly sought to irritate him. But he was a good fighter and a fine archer. “No problem, Ursos,” he said.

“You might want to swap Ennion’s mount,” Olganos put in. “He’s older and slower than the others, and we might need speed tomorrow.”

“Good thought,” Banokles said. “I always like to have someone around to do the thinking.”

The moon was high above the forest, but Skorpios could not sleep. He’d had enough of battles and war and wished with all his heart he had not run away from his father’s farm to join the army. He still recalled the bright morning two years earlier when the recruiting captain had arrived in the settlement, his armor gleaming, sunlight glinting from his helm. He was, Skorpios had decided on that day, the most handsome man he had ever seen. The officer had dismounted in the market square and called out to the men gathered there. “Your nation is at war, Trojans. Are there heroes among you?”

Skorpios, though only fourteen then, had moved forward with the other men and listened as the officer spoke of the evil of the Mykene and how they had sent assassins to murder the wife of Hektor. Skorpios had never been to Troy, but he had heard of the mighty lord of battle and his lady, Andromache, who had shot an assassin with an arrow just as he was about to slay the king. To Skorpios then the names of the great were synonymous with the names of the gods, and he was lost in wonder as the soldier spoke of the golden city and the need for brave men to take up their swords to defend it.

In that glorious moment such action had seemed to the youngster to be infinitely more exciting than tending cattle, or shearing sheep, or cutting the heads from chickens. The officer had said that only men over the age of fifteen summers could enlist, but Skorpios was tall for his age and had walked forward with some twenty other young men. The officer had told them what stalwart warriors they would be and how proud he was of them. Father had never mentioned pride once in Skorpios’ hearing. Mostly the words he heard were “lazy”, “shiftless”, “careless”, and “good-for-nothing”.

Two years later the officer’s words seemed less golden. Skorpios had seen four of his friends maimed and five others killed. The rest were scattered through Trojan regiments still based in Troy. At sixteen Skorpios was a veteran, skilled with bow and sword, who had been wounded twice and now prayed every day that the Great Goddess would see him safely back to his father’s farm, where he would happily gather cattle turds for the rest of his life.

The sound of gentle snoring came to him, and he sat up and stared across to where Banokles was sleeping beneath the branches of a tree. The man was utterly fearless. Skorpios felt that the warrior’s bravery should inspire his own, but the reverse was true. The calmer Banokles appeared in battle, the more Skorpios would tremble and picture himself lying on a battlefield, his guts in his hands.

He saw Justinos sitting in the moonlight, idly scraping the stubble from his head with a small bronze knife. Skorpios glanced around the campsite. Ennion and Olganos were missing, but the slender redheaded Kerio was close by. Skorpios did not like Kerio, who was always complaining, but his dislike was offset by the fact that he was a doughty fighter and a good man to have alongside you in a skirmish.

Kerio moved smoothly to his feet and walked across to squat down close to Justinos and Skorpios. “Listen to him snoring,” he whispered, his voice rich with contempt. “How could Ursos have left him in charge? I have two hounds back home with more brains than him.”

Justinos shrugged and carried on shaving his head. Skorpios looked at Kerio, and his dislike got the better of his intellect. “I notice you are whispering and only saying this while he’s asleep.”

“Are you saying I’m a coward, you little catamite?”

“He’s just making an observation,” Justinos said calmly.

“Oh, now he needs you to speak up for him, does he?”

Skorpios wanted to defend himself, but the truth was, he was frightened of Kerio. There was something about the man, a weirdness in his eyes. He remained silent. Justinos finished his shaving and then replaced his knife in a small sheath in his belt. “You know, Kerio,” he said, his voice flat, the tone bored, “I have never liked you. Given a choice between following Banokles or you, it would be Banokles every time. Actually, given a choice between following you or one of those hounds you spoke of, I’d take the hound.”

Now it was Kerio’s turn to fall silent. Casting a murderous glance at Skorpios, he walked back across the campsite and sat down with his back to a tree.

“Not a good enemy to have,” Skorpios said.

“No enemies are good to have, boy.” Justinos observed him gravely. “I’ve seen you fight. You have no reason to be frightened of him.”

Skorpios tried to mask his embarrasment. “I am not frightened of him.”

Justinos shrugged and stretched. Skorpios sighed. “Actually, I am. Somehow it is different in a battle, charging in with your comrades. But with Kerio… I would be fearful of falling asleep and having my throat cut.”

Justinos nodded. “I know what you mean, but I do not believe Kerio is evil. He is just a hothead. Truth is, he is as frightened as everyone else. This whole country is a death trap for us.”

“You are frightened?”

“Oh, yes.”

“What about Banokles? You think he is?”

Justinos grinned. “You know the stories as well as I. Rescued a princess from pirates, saved the lady Andromache from assassins. Now, that makes him special. But what really takes the breath away is that he married Big Red, the most terrifying whore in Troy. Any man who could do that is frightened of nothing.”

The warrior Ennion came walking back through the trees, dropped his bow and quiver to the earth, and slumped down beside the two men. Dragging off his helm, he gave a great yawn. “I could sleep for a season,” he said. “There is so much grit in my eyes, I feel that if I blink too hard, I’ll bleed to death.” Scratching at his black chin beard, he stretched out on the ground.

“See anything?” Skorpios asked him.

“A lot of people fleeing toward the east, and the city is still burning. I’ll be glad to be heading east myself come morning. Now that Kalliros has fallen, we’ll be going home. Man, that’s good enough for me.”

“You don’t think Hektor will try to retake the city?” Skorpios persisted.

Ennion sat up and swore. “Why did you put that thought into my head? I’ll never sleep now.”

“We don’t have the men to take a city,” Justinos said. “So rest easy. Tomorrow we’ll see which way the enemy marches and ride back to the army. Then it’s Carpea and home.”

“May Zeus hear those words and make them true,” Ennion said. “Now, which of you is going to relieve Olganos?”

“I’ll go,” Skorpios said. “I can’t sleep, anyway.”

Just then they heard a child’s cry echo through the woods. Banokles came awake instantly and rose, drawing his sword. Justinos grabbed his helm and donned it. Skorpios scrambled to his feet, along with Ennion and Kerio.

Young Olganos came running back through the trees. Banokles moved to meet him, and the others gathered around.

“A war party of Idonoi,” Olganos whispered. “Ten, maybe a few more.”

“Gather your bows,” Banokles ordered.

“Ursos said to avoid fighting,” Kerio pointed out.

“So he did,” Banokles said. “I’m glad you pointed that out. Now, gather your bastard bows and let’s see what we’re facing.”

With that he moved through the trees. Skorpios ran back and took up his bow and quiver of arrows. Then he set off after Banokles.

The stars were bright above the forest clearing as the elderly nurse Myrine moved away from the sleeping children. There was a stream close to the abandoned logger’s shack in which they were hiding, and she hitched up her old gray gown and made her way to the bank. Stiffness in her swollen knees made it difficult to kneel and drink, but she had found an old cup in the shack and dipped it below the surface. The water was cool and refreshing, and she drank deeply. A small crack in the cup allowed some of the liquid to seep out over her hand. Pushing her fingers through her gray hair, she rubbed away some of the soot that clung there.

In the bright moonlight she saw that her gown was singed at the hip and that there were cinder burns on the sleeves.

Myrine knew nothing of sieges and battles, but she had heard the soldiers of the palace bragging of how they could hold out for months. She had believed them. Why would she not? They were fighting men and understood the ways of warfare.

Then the fires had swept through the wooden buildings, and enemy warriors had poured through the city of Kalliros, shrieking their awful battle cries. Myrine shivered at the recent memory. In the palace there had been panic. The young king—her own sweet Rhesos—had led his royal guards toward the action. His steward, the ancient Polochos, had ordered Myrine to take the two royal children to the west of the city and the barracks there.

But a fierce blaze was already raging through the lower town, and Myrine had been forced to take the northern streets. She had been carrying the three-year-old Prince Obas and clinging to the hand of his older brother, twelve-year-old Periklos. There was panic everywhere, with soldiers running through the flame-lit streets and panicked townsfolk streaming toward the eastern gates and the open land beyond. Myrine had steadily worked her way around to the north. Then she had seen the fighting and had realized there was no way to reach the barracks.

Uncertain of what action to take, she had decided to leave the city by the northern postern gate and make her way into the woods until the battle was over. It had seemed sensible at the time, for surely King Rhesos would destroy the foul invaders, and tomorrow she could return with his children. But from their vantage point in the high forest they had watched the fires spread. Worse, they had seen enemy cavalry galloping past the postern gate and attacking the fleeing townspeople. The slaughter had been great, and Myrine had taken the children deeper into the forest so that they would not see the murders.

Little golden-haired Obas had wept. The fires and the battle cries had frightened him, but Periklos had comforted him. He was a strong boy, like his father, dark-haired and dark-eyed, his expression always serious. Obas was more like his mother, the gentle Asiria, who had died in childbirth the previous summer.

“I want to go home,” Obas had wailed. “I want Papa!”

“Papa is fighting the bad men,” Periklos said. “We will go home when he has defeated them.”

Even there, high in the forest, Myrine could see the distant flames over the city. She knew in her heart that Rhesos had not defeated the enemy. She also knew that he would not have run while his people were in peril. He was too brave for that. Which meant that her sweet boy was dead. Tears began to fall, but she brushed them away and tried to think of what to do. Where could they go?

Her stomach tightened with the first flutterings of panic. They had no food and no wealth, and her swollen knees would not carry her far. Even now the enemy would be scouring the city for the princes, determined to wipe out the royal line.

To wipe out the royal line.

The thought of Rhesos once more filled her with heartache. The wind whispered through the trees, and she glanced up at the bright moon, remembering the day she first had been taken to the royal apartments. So long ago now. Little Rhesos, she had been told, was a disobedient child and needed firm discipline. King Eioneus had told her to beat him with a stick if he disobeyed her. Myrine had never done so. From the first moment she saw him, she loved him. An ugly, stocky woman, Myrine had never been courted and had resigned herself to a life of lonely service. With little Rhesos she had discovered all the joys and heartaches of motherhood. She had watched him grow from a skinny boy into a fine youth and a strong young man. Even as king, with all the duties of war bearing down upon him, he would smile when he saw her and hug her to him. When his first son, Periklos, had been born, he had brought Myrine to his palace to nurse him. And that had been the second great joy of her life, for Periklos was just like his father, and save for her growing infirmity, it was as if the years had melted away and she was young and a mother again.

Even the war and the fighting had not intruded on her happiness. Inside the palace all was peaceful and safe, as it always had been.

Until today.

Hearing movement behind her, she swung around, fear lancing through her. But it was not an enemy soldier. It was young Periklos. The prince squatted down alongside her. Immediately she filled the cracked cup with water and passed it to him.

“What are we to do, sir?” she asked him. Even as the words slipped out, she felt ashamed. Yes, he was bright, his mind swift as a striking hawk, but he was still a boy. She saw his face tighten, his dark eyes widening with fear. “Oh, I am sorry, dear one,” she said. “I was just thinking aloud. Everything will be well. I know it!”

“My father is dead,” Periklos said. “Nothing will be well, Myrine. They will come for us now, for Obas and me.”

Myrine did not know what to say to him, and his words filled her with dread. The darkness around them now seemed menacing, the whisper of wind in the branches eerie and threatening. “We will hide in the forest,” she said. “It is a big forest. We… we will not be found.”

Periklos considered her words. “They will offer gold to any who catch us. Hunters will come. We cannot stay here. We have no food.”

A child’s voice ripped through the silence of the night. “Periklos! Periklos!” little Obas shrieked, running from the ruined shack. The older boy ran to him, kneeling down beside him.

“You must not make so much noise,” he said sternly. “Bad men will find us if you do.”

“I want Papa! I want to go home!”

“Bad men are in our house, Obas. We cannot go home.”

“Where is Papa?”

“I don’t know.”

Myrine pushed herself painfully to her feet and walked across to the two boys. As she did so, she heard movement in the trees behind them. Periklos rose swiftly and looked around.

“It’s Papa! It’s Papa!” Obas shouted.

Three men stepped from the undergrowth. They were tall, their long blond hair braided, their faces streaked with paint. Myrine moved to the children, picking up Obas and hugging him to her. Periklos stood his ground, staring at the Idonoi tribesmen and the longswords in their hands. There was blood on their clothes.

“Now, you leave us alone,” Myrine shouted. “You just go away.”

Another seven warriors emerged from the shadows of the trees, their expressions hard, their eyes cruel.

Myrine backed away toward the shack. The leader of the Idonoi stared hard at Periklos. “You look like your father,” he said. “I’ll put your head on a spear next to his.”

Obas started to cry, and Myrine patted his back. “There, there, little one,” she said. “There, there.”

The warrior stepped toward Periklos and raised his sword. The boy stood still, staring defiantly up at him. “Do your worst, you coward!” he said.

Then another voice sounded in the clearing.

“It’s no wonder you sheep shaggers paint your faces. Ugliest bastards I’ve ever seen.”

Myrine turned to see a powerful man in shining armor move from the trees behind the shack. He was carrying two swords, one a saber and the other a short stabbing blade.

The Idonoi warrior swung toward him, the other men grouping together, weapons poised.

The newcomer halted some fifteen paces from the Idonoi leader. “Well?” he demanded. “Why are you just standing there? Balls of Ares, are you gutless as well as ugly?”

With a roar of fury the Idonoi rushed at the warrior, his men surging after him.

To Myrine’s surprise the newcomer suddenly dropped to one knee. A volley of arrows hissed through the air, slamming into the charging group. Four men fell, and two others staggered back, black shafts jutting from their upper bodies. The warrior in the shining armor came to his feet and launched himself at the remaining Idonoi. The battle was short and bloody. The newcomer tore into the warriors, swords hacking and slashing. The leader went down, blood gouting from his throat. Two others fell to arrows. The last man spun on his heel and ran.

Moments later two horsemen galloped from the trees, bows in their hands, and set off after the fleeing warrior.

Myrine felt weak and giddy. She tried to put Obas down, but he clung to her. Still holding the boy, she lowered herself to the ground, grunting as pain seared through her left knee.

The warrior in the shining armor walked past her to where one of the wounded Idonoi was trying to crawl back into the trees and plunged his short sword between the man’s shoulder blades.

Three other men, similarly armored, came into view. Myrine watched as a warrior strode across to the man who had saved them.

“The orders were to avoid battle,” the newcomer said, dragging off his helm. He was young, his hair dark and curly.

“Gods, Olganos, that wasn’t a battle! That was a… a skirmish!”

“Skirmish or not, it has increased our danger.”

“You regret saving the children?”

“No, of course not. I am glad they are alive. But I am more glad that we are. You know very well that we should have stayed hidden. If any one of them had gotten away, we’d have been forced to run, and then we wouldn’t have been able to complete our mission. And that mission is more important than the lives of two children.”

Banokles saw the old woman staring at him, her eyes fearful. Leaving Olganos, he strolled over and squatted down beside her. As he did so, the chubby blond-haired child in her arms began to wail.

“By Ares, boy, you make more noise than a gelded donkey,” Banokles said.

“My brother is very young and very frightened,” said the dark-haired youngster.

Banokles rose and turned toward the lad. “And you are not frightened?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Very wise. These are frightening times. I like the way you stood up to those ruffians. You’ve got nerve, boy. Now, comfort your brother and make him stop that damned squealing. It is making my ears ache.”

At that moment there came the sound of a running horse. Banokles rose to his feet as Kerio rode into the clearing and walked over to him. “I take it you caught and killed him?”

“Of course we killed him!” the wiry rider answered. “And I left Justinos at the tree line to keep watch for more of them.” The contempt in his tone rankled with Banokles, but he struggled to hold his temper.

“Did you drag the body back into the forest?” he asked.

“No, you oaf. I nailed it to a tree with a sign pointing this way,” Kerio answered, lifting his leg and jumping to the ground.

“You should do something about that nosebleed,” Banokles said.

“What nose—”

Banokles’ fist slammed into the man’s face, hurling him from his feet. His helm was knocked clear and clattered against a tree trunk. Kerio hit the ground hard and struggled to rise, but Banokles reached him first, grabbing him by the hair and hauling him upright.

“I’m going to ask you again,” he said. “Did you drag the sheep-shagging bastard back into the forest?”

“I did,” the redhead answered, blood dribbling from his broken nose.

Banokles released his grip on Kerio, who slumped down to the ground. Then he walked over to face the remaining three men. “Any one of you drooping cow turds want to call me an oaf? Come on! Speak your minds!”

Ennion stepped forward and stood quietly, tugging at his chin beard as if in deep thought. Finally he spoke. “In truth, Banokles, I do not need to be included in this debate, since I have already called you an oaf on many occasions. The last time, I recall, was at your wedding, when you decided to dance on the table, fell off, and got your foot stuck in a piss pot.” The men all laughed.

Banokles’ anger ebbed away, and he grinned. “That was a good day,” he said. “Or so I’m told. Don’t remember much.”

Justinos rode into the camp. “More men on the road, Banokles,” he said. “Looks like they are searching for something or someone. We need to move.”

“Who in Hades are they searching for in the middle of the night?” Banokles muttered. “They ought to be celebrating their victory.” Olganos tapped him on the shoulder and pointed to the old woman and the two boys. Banokles walked over to where Myrine was sitting. “They are looking for you?”

“Yes, sir, I fear they are.”

“Why?”

“These boys are the sons of King Rhesos. The Idonoi will want them dead.”

Banokles helped the old woman to her feet. The chubby boy started to cry again. Olganos approached the nurse. “Let me have him,” he said softly, lifting the boy into his arms. “We are going for a ride on a magic horse,” he told him. “Have you ever seen a magic horse?”

“Where’s the magic horse?” the child asked, instantly distracted.

“Back in the trees. We’ll ride him, and if any bad men come, he will sprout wings and we’ll fly away from them. What is your name?”

“Obas.”

“A fine name,” Olganos said.

The group moved back beyond the abandoned shack to where the horses were tethered. Banokles lifted the old nurse to the back of his dappled gray, then swung up behind her. Glancing around, he saw Kerio staggering toward his horse. “Hey, Broken Nose, take the other boy with you.”

Kerio hauled himself to his horse, then reached down and swung the dark-haired prince up behind him. In the distance Banokles heard men shouting and guessed they had found the body of the Idonoi killed by Kerio and Justinos. Touching heels to his mount, he led the group deeper into the forest.

“Will we be safe, sir?” the old woman whispered.

Banokles did not answer her.

They pushed on through the night, struggling up steep, rocky hillsides and through dense stands of trees. The going was slow and hard, and the riders dismounted often, leading the horses, to rest them. Banokles’ mount was tiring fast as dawn approached. The old nurse Myrine had been too weak to walk the slopes, and the gray had carried her constantly.

As the first light showed in the east, Banokles called a halt. They had reached a wooded hilltop high in the mountains, and from its vantage point they could see the drifting smoke still rising over the distant city of Kalliros. Below them lay the woods and slopes they had passed through, still shrouded in the last of the night’s gloom. Banokles could see no sign of human movement but felt in his heart that the enemy was still pursuing them.

While the others rested in a hollow, Banokles strolled up to the edge of the trees and sat down to watch for pursuers. There was no way to escape, not with the old nurse and the children. The only choice was to leave them behind. The thought sat uncomfortably with him. During the ride through the night the old woman had constantly thanked him for his heroism. Truth was, Banokles had been feeling uneasy about his leadership role and had decided to attack the Idonoi to relieve his stress. Fighting always calmed him, made him feel more in control somehow. He didn’t understand it or question it. But then, Banokles was uncomfortable with questions. What he did know was that the previous night’s skirmish had not calmed him. He had broken the nose of one of his men and had landed himself with three unwelcome burdens.

The nurse had called him a hero. At any other time that would have been pleasant. It was good to be considered a hero, especially in the comfort of a drinking hall, with wine flowing. After the rescue of Andromache, he and Kalliades had been lauded throughout the city. It was months before Banokles had been asked to pay for a drink or a meal.

Banokles didn’t know much, but he did know that in times of war heroes were usually idiots. More important, they also died young. Banokles had no intention of dying at any time. No, he decided, the children and their nurse had to be left behind. It would be uncomfortable, though, telling the old woman. Then a bright thought occurred to him. Perhaps the riders could slip away quietly while she and the boys were sleeping.

Banokles swore softly as the face of Kalliades appeared in his mind. He knew Kalliades would never leave them, but then, Kalliades would come up with a brilliant plan to save the children, the nurse, all of his men—and probably the entire Trojan Horse.

Pulling off his helm, Banokles leaned back against the tree. “May the gods bless you, dear,” the nurse had said. A pox on blessings, he thought. Just give me a fast horse that doesn’t stumble and a blade that doesn’t break.

Olganos joined him at the tree line. “Any sign of pursuit?” he asked.

“No.”

“We’re being forced northwest,” he added.

“No other way to keep hidden,” Banokles pointed out.

“I know, but we can’t keep heading this way.”

Banokles nodded. “We’ll cut back to the north when we’ve lost our pursuers.”

“We may not have time,” Olganos said. “Ursos will have reached the army by now, and the chances are they will head east, toward the pass at Kilkanos. You agree?”

Banokles had no idea where they would head. He hadn’t even remembered the name of the pass. “Go on,” he said.

“We know there was an Idonoi army pursuing them. If we don’t reach the pass soon, the chances are that the Idonoi will be there first. Then we will have an enemy behind us seeking the children and an army ahead of us pursuing Hektor.”

“You have a plan?”

“Yes, but you won’t like it. We need to ride fast. We cannot do that unless we lose our pursuers. We need to move on alone—unencumbered.”

“You want to leave the children?” Banokles asked, his mood lifting.

“No, I don’t want to. Listen to me, Banokles. I know you have the reputation of a great hero. You fought pirates to rescue a princess, and you fought off twenty men who were trying to kill Hektor’s wife. But this situation is different. The truth is, Kalliros has fallen, Rhesos is dead, Thraki is lost. It no longer matters that the children are royal. They have no army, no leverage, and no value. All they can do is slow us down.”

“They will indeed—” Banokles began, but Olganos cut him off.

“I know what you are going to say. So let me say it first. Yes, they will slow us, but heroes do not abandon those in need. And yes, I feel bad about it.” Olganos reddened. “It is just that I am trying to think like a soldier, Banokles.”

“Nothing wrong with thinking like a soldier,” Banokles told him.

Olganos swore and turned away. When he spoke again, his words were full of regret. “Now you are just trying to make me feel better about my cowardice,” he said. Then he sighed. “Heroes shouldn’t be frightened of dying for what is right. I couldn’t see that last night, when you risked your life for those children. I see it now, and I burn with shame.” The young man looked Banokles in the eye. “Forget what I said. I’ll stand with you.”

Banokles was lost for words. What in Hades was he talking about? Then he saw movement in the far distance, around the city. “Your eyes are keener than mine, Olganos. Can you see men marching?”

Olganos shaded his eyes with his hand. “Yes, heading south, it looks like. That will take them down toward the coast.”

“Away from us, anyway,” Banokles said.

“For a while. If they turn east, they’ll cut across Hektor’s line of march and catch the army as it comes down from the mountains. We need to get to Hektor and warn him.”

“I agree,” Banokles said. “How many would you say are in that army?”

“Hard to judge. They are still leaving. Five, perhaps six thousand.”

“The Trojan Horse can beat that many without breaking a sweat,” Banokles said.

“Are you not forgetting Ismaros?”

“What about it?” snapped Banokles, who had indeed forgotten the port city.

“Odysseus has taken it, which means there will be another army on the coast. If they link with this one, there could be twice as many foes.”

Banokles fell silent. All those damned places were a mystery to him. Armies marching hither and yon, south, north, east, heading for areas he did not know and passes he could not remember. Ursos had done this to him on purpose. It was revenge for calling him “General.”

“Keep watch on those slopes,” he told Olganos, then walked back into the trees and down the short slope into the hollow where the group was camped. The old nurse was sitting apart from the soldiers, the boys close, little Obas in her lap and the taller Periklos beside her, his arm on her shoulder.

Banokles smiled at her, but she gazed at him suspiciously. The men gathered around him, their faces stern.

Black-bearded Ennion spoke first. “Did Olganos speak to you about the… the problem?” he asked.

“Yes, he did. You want to add something?”

“We’ve been talking about it, Banokles. We want you to know we are with you.”

“With me?”

Ennion looked uneasy. “I know we joke with you and appear to mock, but we are all proud to fight alongside you. None of us would have rescued those children the way you did. And we all know how you attacked the assassins and saved the lady Andromache. We are none of us great warriors, but we are soldiers of the Horse. We won’t let you down.”

Banokles glanced at the other men. “You want to keep the children with us?”

Skorpios nodded, but Justinos rubbed his hand across his shaved head and looked doubtful. “I have to say I think Olganos is right. We’ll probably not make it with them. But yes, I am with you, Banokles. We’ll bring the children to Hektor or die trying.”

It was like a bad dream. Banokles swung toward Kerio. The man’s eyes were swollen and black, and there was dried blood on his nostrils. “What do you say?”

“You don’t need to worry about me,” Kerio answered. “I’ll stand.”

Olganos came running down the slope. “Some twenty warriors,” he said. “And they are not far behind.”

Banokles walked across to where the old nurse was sitting with the boys. Periklos stepped to meet him.

“We will not leave her behind,” the boy sternly said. “Take Obas with you, and I will stay with Myrine.”

“No one is being left behind, boy,” Banokles said sourly. “Stay with the horses. If you see Idonoi coming down that slope, then ride like the wind.” Turning back to his men, he called out, “Fetch your bows!”

Olganos moved alongside him.” We’re going to fight them all?”

Banokles did not answer him but ran to his horse and grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows. Then the six warriors ran back up the slope and crept through the undergrowth to the edge of the tree line. Carefully Banokles eased back the branches of a thick bush and peered down the slope.

Some way below he saw a ragged group of Idonoi warriors moving out onto open ground. There were twenty-two of them. In the lead was a thin man in a cloak of faded yellow. He was following the tracks of the horses.

The slope was steep. Banokles gauged it at around three hundred paces. “You see that little group of boulders on the hillside?” he asked his men. “We’ll hit them when they reach those rocks. If they’re gutless, they’ll break and run, and we’ll fade back and ride on. If not, they’ll charge, and we’ll keep hitting them. When you see me drop my bow and lay into them, you follow hard. Now spread out. Not too far.”

The five warriors eased their way back, then crept to better shooting positions.

Banokles felt calmer now. There were no more decisions to be made. Notching an arrow to his bow, he waited.

The twenty-two Idonoi were approaching the boulders. They were closely bunched and talking to one another, obviously not expecting an ambush. They would have seen the tracks and known there were only six horses. Outnumbered more than three to one, the Trojans would have to be fleeing before them.

The thin man in the yellow cloak moved past the boulders and glanced up. Banokles came to his feet and sent a shaft at him. It missed and slammed into the thigh of the warrior behind him. Five other arrows slashed into the advancing men. One warrior took two in the chest. Then a second volley hit the Idonoi. Again Banokles missed his target, the shaft striking a boulder and ricocheting up into the air. Seven of the attackers were down.

Banokles prayed the rest would turn and run.

They charged.

Drawing back on the bowstring, Banokles let fly. This time the arrow punched through the skull of a running warrior, who fell back, then rolled down the slope. Two more of the enemy fell to well-aimed shafts. The Idonoi were close now, no more than twenty paces from the tree line. Banokles shot one last arrow, dropped his bow, and drew his saber and short sword.

With a bellowing battle cry he surged out of the undergrowth and raced toward the twelve surviving warriors. A tall Idonoi with a painted face leaped at him, swinging a longsword. Banokles ducked under the blow, plunging his short sword into the man’s chest, then hitting him with a savage head butt. As the warrior fell back, the sword tore clear of his body. Banokles lashed out at a second man, his saber slicing through the flesh of the warrior’s forearm.

Banokles saw Ennion and Kerio charge in, and two more Idonoi fell. Then a blow struck his helm, spinning it clear. Banokles swung around, half-dazed, and launched himself at his attacker. The two collided and hit the ground. Banokles scrambled up, then drove his saber into the man’s skull. The blade stuck fast. Letting go of the hilt, Banokles spun around just in time to parry a thrust from a spearman. Grabbing the spear with his left hand, he dragged the man toward him and kicked the warrior’s legs from under him. As the man fell, Banokles leaped on him, plunging the short sword into his neck. An Idonoi warrior loomed over him, sword raised. The man suddenly gasped, blood spraying from his throat. As the warrior slumped to the grass, Banokles saw the blond Skorpios behind him, his blood-smeared saber in his hand.

And then the remaining five Idonoi fled the battlefield. They were running so fast that two of them fell on the steep slope and lost their swords as they rolled down.

Banokles pushed himself to his feet. Olganos brought him his helm. Justinos called out to him, and Banokles saw that the warrior was kneeling beside the fallen Kerio. Banokles looked around for the other men. Ennion was sitting down. There was a long cut to his head, blood flowing over the left side of his face. Skorpios was moving around the battlefield, dispatching wounded Idonoi. Olganos had several cuts to his foreams and was bleeding freely.

Banokles walked over and knelt beside Kerio. The man was dead, his throat torn open.

“Strip his armor,” Banokles said.

Then he walked among the Idonoi dead. Two of them had been carrying packs. Banokles searched the first and found several loaves and some dried meat. His mood lifted. Tearing off a chunk of bread, he took a bite. It was flat-baked salt bread, which had always been a favorite of his. Putting the pack down, he opened the second.

Inside was more food and a small wax-stoppered amphora. Breaking the wax seal, he lifted it to his nostrils. The glorious scent of wine came to him. Banokles sighed. Olganos came alongside him.

“Now, this,” Banokles said, hefting the amphora and drinking deeply, “was worth fighting for.”