by John Dolan
Now the helmet; he pulls it on, and feels it warp to the shape of his head, caressing his temples like a lover.
Then he takes up the great shield. While it lay there in the tent, the shield seemed dark. But as soon as Akilles picks it up it begins to flash, not from the sun but its own infinite depths.
Akilles lunges and twists to see if he can move in this new armor. It’s superb. Light as linen and more flexible. And warm somehow, eager. It seems to want to go into battle as much as he does.
He grabs his spear, big as a tree. The centaurs made it for their battles; no two-legs but Akilles could ever lift it, never mind wield it.
The chariot is ready and waiting, with Otomedon holding the reins.
Seeing the god-horses who drove Patroklas to his death, Akilles scolds, “Dapple, Blondie, make sure you bring your driver back alive this time.”
Dapple in a low, throaty voice: “We’ll bring you home safe today, Akilles. What happened to Patroklas wasn’t our fault. Apollo killed him.”
“Just be more careful! I don’t want to die yet.”
Dapple shakes his mane, saying, “Your death day is known. It won’t be today, but it’s not far off. And we can’t save you, no matter how fast we run.”
The Furies squeeze Dapple’s throat to make him stop talking.
Akilles hugs the horse’s huge head and whispers, “Why do you all love to tell me I’m going to die? I know it already. You don’t need to keep reminding me.”
Then he jumps into the car and drives off shouting, “But a lot of Trojans will die before me!”
20
TOURNAMENT
THE GODS HAVE DECIDED to watch Akilles’ return to battle. It will be a great performance and everyone shows up—not just Zeus’ clan but all kinds of immortals: tree-women, ocean-girls, and river-men dripping mud.
Themis, Zeus’ secretary, made sure to invite everyone. Even Poseidon shows up—and it’s not every day, or even every century, that he deigns to visit his brother. While the little gods are filing quietly into their seats, Poseidon stomps up to Zeus and growls, “Well, brother, why bring us here? Something about this Trojan war?”
Zeus says, “Of course it’s the war. Today I give all of you permission to help whichever side you want. You can just watch, or go down to join one side or the other. As for me, I’m just going to sit here and watch.”
Hera and Athena are overjoyed; they can meddle to their hearts’ content today! They huddle with the other pro-Greek gods Poseidon, Hermes, and Hefestos. The Trojans have a weaker clique backing them. Apollo is on their side—but though he has great power, he hates to use it. His wild sister Artemis is with him, but she’s a strange one, fickle. Their mother Leto loves Troy too, but she’s too gentle to go up against Hera. Ares supports the Trojans, more or less—but would you want him on your side? He’s a murderer and a coward. Stupid, too. Afroditi favors the Trojans—one of them anyway, her toy prince Paris. But Afroditi has already demonstrated she’s not much use in battle.
The Trojans have a few river-gods on their side, especially those rivers that flow through Trojan lands. But mere river-gods can’t do much against great gods like Hera and Athena, Hermes and Poseidon.
Athena, as always, is the first to join the fight. She floats over the sea near the Greek camp and sings a war song. It would make a chicken attack a lion. Every Greek who hears it sprints to battle, eager to kill Trojans.
Athena seems to be everywhere at once. Every Greek hears her war song as if she were singing into his ear.
Ares tries to use his own god-voice to cheer the Trojans, roaring a war chant from the temple mount of Troy. The Trojans feel Ares’ spirit come over them, wanting to hurt someone as long as there’s no risk they’ll be hurt in return. Ares moves his song from the acropolis to the river so that his voice seems to come up from the water. It’s a good trick, but it’s no match for Athena’s cold, clear battle cry.
The Greeks don’t even need Athena’s help today. Akilles is back; that’s enough to make them all fight like heroes. He races through the shield wall to the front, taller than any mere mortal, and comes out facing the Trojan shields. Seeing him back on the field, the Trojans feel weak and sick. He’s not just huge but terrifyingly fast, faster than men half his size. You can’t beat him face to face and you can’t outrun him. If he singles you out, you’re dead.
He stands between the two armies, waiting for Hektor to step out from the Trojan side. It’s a fine sight, and the gods all cheer.
Their cheering is so loud that it shakes the earth. Hades, lord of the underworld, is bumped off his dark throne by the noise and stares up, afraid that all the gods’ cheers will crack the earth and let the sunlight play on his awful realm, caverns full of things that even Zeus shudders to remember.
The gods are so excited that the two factions are ready to fight each other.
Apollo faces off against Poseidon, with his deadly bow ready, a poison arrow in place. Poseidon needs no weapon; he owns the earth and can snap it like a whip.
Athena goes head-to-head with Ares. He’s twice her size, scarred, covered with blood, trailing a cloud of corpse-flies, and armored from head to foot. But Athena isn’t worried. She’d love nothing better than single combat against her brother, and no sane man would bet against her.
The next match is a tricky one for a gambler: Hera versus Artemis. Some say Artemis is more dangerous than her brother. After all, they say, the moon sees more wet work than the sun. Artemis is a more enthusiastic killer than Apollo, as well. But she’s up against Hera, the toughest of all the gods. Not even a night killer like Artemis has much chance against her. Hera’s weapon is her will.
Apollo flinches first in the confrontation with Poseidon. He vanishes, goes down to the battlefield in the form of Likaon, one of Priam’s sons. Likaon says to Aeneas, “Didn’t you swear you’d face Akilles in single combat? Or was that just the wine talking?”
Aeneas mutters, “There’s no fighting Akilles; you should know that. He’s always got those two goddesses, mother and daughter, watching over him.”
“Or maybe he’s just a better man than you are.”
Aeneas shrugs: “Yes, since you put it that way. He’s a better man than me, or Hektor, or anyone. We all know that.”
Apollo is annoyed. If shame won’t work, he’ll use more direct methods to make Aeneas fight. He sends a jolt of rage into the Trojan’s mind. Suddenly Aeneas says, “Sure I’ll fight him! Or I would, if it weren’t for Athena always deflecting any weapon that comes near him. I’d fight him right now!”
Likaon taunts, “I thought you were Afroditi’s son! She’s one of the great gods. Thetis is just a sea-girl! You have more god blood than Akilles!”
Apollo sends poisonous ideas into Aeneas’ brain, heating it with the kind of swagger that gets men killed. Aeneas shoves his way through the shield wall, to face off against Akilles.
Hera is delighted: “Athena, Poseidon, look! Apollo is up to his old tricks, pushing humans to do his fighting for him! Shall we send poor Aeneas back into the ranks? He’s not a bad fellow for a Trojan.”
Athena shakes her head. No half measures for her: “No, let’s give Akilles our strength and help him kill Aeneas. The Trojans will see that their patron gods are weaklings and we’re the strong ones.”
Poseidon grunts, “But Akilles—he dies soon, yes? Maybe today?”
Hera pats his wrist. Poor old fellow, he’s a little slow. “No, no, Lord Poseidon, not today! Soon, but not today!”
She bustles about happily, getting ready to help the Greeks. Athena is putting on armor too, delighted to be back on the field.
Then Poseidon stamps his foot. The world shakes. Hera almost falls. Even Athena stumbles.
Poseidon growls, “Listen to me! No fighting for you! If you go down there, Apollo and Ares will join in. Gods hurting gods. Not proper!”
He rolls Hera and Athena up in Earth’s carpet, carrying them to the top of the hill Kallikolona with their feet sticking
out, their pretty slippers kicking angrily. There he unrolls the carpet, sending mother and daughter spilling out among the other gods. They fix themselves up after their carpet ride and join the Greek-loving gods, who are sitting together next to the Trojan-loving faction. All is courtesy between the two groups; no one wants to anger Poseidon.
Besides, it’s a joy to watch, the showdown between Akilles and Aeneas.
Akilles sees a man step out from the Trojan ranks, assuming it’ll be Hektor. When he sees it’s Aeneas, he’s annoyed.
He calls, “Aeneas, you poor fool, who talked you into facing me? Did the Priam-sons tell you you’d inherit? They were lying to you! You’re a side branch of the family, and they’ll cheat you. Besides, have you forgotten what happened last time we met? I can still see you running down Mount Ida, throwing your shield away to flee faster.”
Aeneas yells back, “Don’t you dare talk to me like that, Akilles. My lineage is as noble as Priam’s, or yours. Your mother is a mere sea-nymph; mine is great Afroditi. And as for courage, the gods hand it out as they please. So no more talking like women arguing about the price of fish—”
He runs at Akilles and throws his spear: “—We’ll settle it like men, with pointed bronze!”
It’s a beautiful throw. Akilles himself is surprised at the impact it makes on his shield. For a second, he wonders if it’ll go through, into his guts. But this is Hefestos’ masterpiece, this shield. No human spear can pierce it. Aeneas’ spear smashes through the first two layers of metal, but the third, pure gold, bends it. The shield’s surface moves strangely; pictures change, darken—but the spear sticks harmlessly in it.
Now it’s Akilles’ throw. Aeneas holds out his shield to catch the spear, but it flies right through and sticks in the ground behind him, still quivering. Aeneas knows Akilles’ power now. That spear went right through a seven-layer shield as if it were a linen shirt! Aeneas feels fear crawling over his skin. Akilles sees Aeneas’ terror and draws his sword. In one leap, he’s on the Trojan. No lion could have leaped faster or farther. His sword is out, ready to slice open Aeneas’ head—
But Poseidon steps in. He stands up among the gods and yells, “No! Aeneas is a good boy! This is Apollo’s fault! Always getting someone else to die for him, too good to work up a sweat! No, we stop this now! Aeneas must live to make sons!”
Hera sniffs, “You can do what you like, Lord Poseidon. My daughter and I have made our position very clear. We won’t lift one little finger, and she holds up an elegant, jeweled finger—
“To help the Trojans, not until every single one of them is dead or enslaved.”
Poseidon thuds down into the earth, flings a handful of dirt at Akilles’ face, and freezes the world so he can save Aeneas.
First he takes Akilles’ spear out of Aeneas’ shield. He places it at Akilles’ feet, good as new. Then he picks up Aeneas and carries the Trojan far off to the left wing, where the wild Kaukonian allies are fighting.
Poseidon puts Aeneas down there, takes the spell off him, and says, “Aeneas, I like you; I help you. But you were foolish, listening to Apollo! Never listen to that pretty boy!”
He pats Aeneas roughly on the shoulder. “We like you; even Hera doesn’t hate you, boy. But never fight Akilles! Wait till he’s dead—won’t be long—and then fight any other Greek. Just not Akilles!”
Aeneas, dazed, bows his head to the god. Poseidon returns to Akilles, takes the blindness off him.
Akilles blinks, puzzled, and mumbles, “What? Where did Aeneas go? I was just about to kill him. And why is my spear lying here, when I threw it hard enough to fly a mile?”
He shakes his head, “Some god must love him. I guess he was telling the truth about his lineage. Ah well, there are plenty of other Trojans to kill.”
He runs along the Greek shield wall shouting, “Every man forward! I can’t fight them all myself! But I’ll be in front of you, and any Trojan in range of this spear—” he holds up the huge spear—“—will be dead before he can do you any harm! Now advance!”
Hektor has the much tougher job of putting some fight into the Trojans. He runs along the shield-wall making his own speech: “Akilles can talk, but we’ll see what the bronze decides. I’ll face him myself. All you need to do is keep your shields high. I’ll do the rest. I’ll kill Akilles even if—” Apollo doesn’t like this talk about facing Akilles. Hektor is his last useful proxy. So he stops Hektor, puts him in a little worldlet outside of time, and comes to him in his real form. Hektor stares in awe as Apollo tells him, “Do not face Akilles. Do you understand?”
Hektor nods, and he’s on the field again, at the head of the Trojan shield wall. Dazed by what he’s just seen, he slinks back into the ranks.
He can only watch as Akilles kills his comrades one after another. He’s making a sport of it, finding new ways to kill. He splits a man’s head in two with his sword, then tosses the corpse under the Greek chariots. They roll over the body; Akilles grins.
Without even looking, he tosses his spear at a Trojan chariot. The spear seems to speed up as it flies; the driver is hit in the belly. He dies bellowing like a bull being sacrificed.
Then Akilles sees young Polydoros, Priam’s youngest boy, his old father’s favorite. Priam told him over and over not to fight, but you can’t stop boys from playing war.
Polydoros is a fast runner. He thinks he’s too fast to be hit as he dodges this way and that. Akilles sees him showing off and waits until the boy sprints into range. Then he lunges, sticking his spear right through the boy’s back so it punches out by the navel. Polydoros, who thought he was going to be a great hero, dies on his knees trying to stuff his guts back into his belly.
Hektor can’t bear it. His little brother, everyone’s favorite! How they all spoiled him, because they all doted on him! He’s seen many of his brothers die, but he can’t stand seeing little Polydoros die like this. He forgets Apollo’s warning and steps out for single combat.
Akilles is overjoyed: “There you are at last, the dog who killed my friend!”
Hektor yells, “You talk too much, Akilles. You’re a better fighter than me, but anything can happen in battle.”
He throws, but Athena is hovering over her champion. In a playful mood, she breathes on the spear so that it stops dead in mid-air, falling to the ground right in front of Hektor. He can hear her laugh in the air around him.
And then Akilles is on him, sword ready to smash his head.
But this is too much for Apollo. Much as he dislikes direct intervention, he can’t let Athena get away with a prank like this. He can play pranks too; she needs to see that.
So he vanishes Hektor. Akilles ends his lunge with a fearsome swipe, but his sword only cuts air. Hektor is gone.
Now he sees Hektor to his left. Puzzled, he lunges again, sweeping his sword sideways this time, but hitting only empty air.
Trojans are actually laughing at him.
Hektor appears on his right now, and one more time Akilles lunges. But once again he hits nothing but air. And now even some of the Greeks are laughing at him.
He shouts, “Filthy dog, you’ve played some trick with your friend Apollo! Never mind, you’ll meet me again! And in the meantime I’ll kill the rest of your family!”
Akilles plays his own deadly pranks on the Trojans, killing each in a new way. He kills a Trojan just to lure others into rescuing the body; when one comes up, Akilles casually sticks his spear through the man’s kneecap, then strolls over to stop the screams by chopping off his head. Then he runs down a fleeing Trojan chariot—it’s amazing how fast he is for a giant—jumps on the car, kills both riders, then reins up next to a terrified Trojan who drops his spear and shield and goes down on his knees, trying to grab Akilles’ knees with both hands to beg for mercy.
Akilles takes his time. He leans over the sobbing Trojan, finds the perfect angle, stabs down and flicks the man’s liver out onto the dust. The coward dies covered with his own black bile.
He kills and kills a
ll day. Now he kills with spear-jabs to the back, because the Trojans won’t face him. He mounts his chariot and drives off looking for more men to kill, wheels splashing through fresh blood.
21
RIVER
THE TROJANS HAVE BROKEN, running like goats. Some run toward Troy, but Hera sends a fog to confuse them. The rest stumble to the river and flail in the shallows, sloshing into the current as they turn to see if Akilles is following them. They drown and float downstream like a swarm of locusts driven into a river by a grass fire.
Akilles can take his time. He gallops up and reins in by the bank, wades in with his sword, hacking away. The Trojans cower in the shallows, too frightened to resist. Corpses float downstream and blood makes red clouds in the current.
Soon Akilles’ sword-arm is tired, so he takes a dozen young Trojans alive to be sacrificed at Patroklas’ funeral. They’re as easy to herd as fawns, cringing and whimpering as he ties them in a coffle with their own shirts.
He leaves his captives on the high bank and jumps down into the water again for some more killing. He sees a Trojan struggling to climb out of the water and yanks him down by his hair. Turning him over, Akilles sees his face, and kicks him, saying, “I remember you! I captured you on a raid years ago, sold you off as a slave! To Lemnos, I think. What are you doing back here?”
The man tries to grab Akilles’ knees, but he says, “No, no mercy today. What’s your name?”
“Likaon. I am Likaon, Priam-son.”
“One of Priam’s, eh? But what are you doing back here? You’re supposed to be a slave in Lemnos! I got a good price for you.”
“Eetyon, Priam’s guest-friend, paid my ransom.”
Akilles laughs, “Well, we can’t let this sort of thing go on! If a coward like you can come back from slavery, next thing you know all the men I’ve skewered will come slithering up out of the ground!”
He jabs, but Likaon cringes low against the dust, and the spear misses. The Trojan shrieks, “Have mercy! My father will pay twice what you sold me for!”
