by John Dolan
Akilles stabs again and again, as Likaon dodges. He could kill this miserable wretch any time he pleases, but he’s enjoying the game.
As he dodges, Likaon tries to find words to save his life. He screams, “Spare me! I paid you a hundred oxen last time; this time Priam will give you three hundred!”
The spear stabs into the mud an inch from his belly. He screams, “No! Please! I’m only a half-brother!”
Akilles laughs, “Go on, worm! Tell me how you fit in Priam’s family tree!”
As the spear stabs out his outline in the mud, Likaon screeches, “I’m no real relation to Hektor!”
The spear cuts him slightly and he screeches, “Different mothers! Priam married my mother Lathoye! My only full brother is Polydoros! You’ve already killed him! You don’t need to kill me! I’ll pay!”
Akilles kicks him, snarling, “Stop talking about money! I used to take ransom for you Trojan dogs before you killed Patroklas. No more, especially Priam’s sons. You may have crawled out of a different womb but the same seed put you in it and I won’t leave the old man a single son.”
“Have mercy!”
“Mercy? I’ll be following you down to the darkness soon. I’m not wasting my last days showing mercy.”
Likaon understands at last that he’s going to die. He drops his arms and goes silent. Akilles stands over him, picking his spot. He’s fascinated by the big sobbing breaths; catching their rhythm, he darts the sword-point inside the collarbone just as the lungs are expanding, to pop the heart like a wine-skin.
The sword slides in so easily that the hilt hits Likaon’s collarbone. Akilles pulls it out and Likaon crumples. He picks him up by one heel and tosses the body into the river and watches it float downstream muttering, “The fish will nibble your wounds. They like the fat under a man’s skin!”
He kicks dust into the current, shouting, “Your river won’t help you, Trojans! How many bulls did you sacrifice to this current? How many horses did you lead down to bleed into this stream? But it didn’t help you!”
Yellow heard him, and was angry. Humans call that river Scamander, but his real name is Yellow, for his color after a rain. Yellow went looking for an avenger for these insults.
He slithers and slides upstream, feeling for a kinsman. And he finds Asterapayos, a river-son. Yellow sends tendrils of rage all through the man, and he suddenly turns from his flight and faces Akilles in the shallows.
Akilles asks, “Who’s this man too stupid to run?”
Asterapayos has a spear in each hand. He calls, “You want my lineage? I am the grandson of a river called Vardar. And now this river Yellow asks me to kill you, because you insulted him.”
Asterapayos feels the river’s strength flow into his arms like flaming water. He throws both spears; he can throw with either hand.
The first hits Akilles’ shield dead center, but Hefestos’ glowing gold turns it away.
The second one nicks some skin off Akilles’ elbow. His blood drips into the river.
Now it’s Akilles’ turn. He throws, but the river bats up his giant spear, and it flies over Asterapayos and sticks in the bank.
He draws his sword. Asterapayos has no sword, so he splashes to the bank and tries to pull Akilles’ spear out of the mud. But it’s buried too deep. He can’t yank it out in time.
Akilles jumps up next to him, chuckling, and flicks Asterapayos’ belly open. The Thracian sees his guts slither out onto the mud, and falls onto them, gasping like a fish.
Akilles tears off the dead man’s armor snarling, “So you were the son of a river; so what? My father descends from Zeus, who rules every stream that reaches the sea! Your river didn’t help you!”
Then he kicks the body into the river, where little fish swarm happily over it, starting at the sword wound where the fat is easiest to reach.
He stares at the fish tasting Asterapayos’ flesh, then turns to see the Thracian’s men frozen halfway up the steep banks. He laughs at them, “You stuck around to see if your master could beat me? Should’ve run while you had the chance.”
They try to scramble up the bank, grabbing at any brush or rock they can find, but Akilles is too fast. With one leap he’s across the river, sword slashing left and right, killing as easily as a man knocks the heads off thistles.
Then the river surface shivers and a groan comes up from the depths. The water shouts, “Akilles, you go too far! You’re dirtying my water with my own people’s blood! If you want to kill all the Trojans, do it on land!”
Akilles laughs, “I decide who dies and where! I won’t stop till Hektor is looking at his own intestines at my feet.”
And he jumps into the shallows to provoke the river, kicking at the stream.
Yellow lashes up into a fist of water and knocks him onto the bank. Then the river calls, “Apollo, I know you’re watching all this! Where’s your bow? You always leave your people in the lurch!”
Akilles is getting to his feet on the bank, but the river swells into a flood that flows uphill at him, uprooting brush and trees.
Yellow crawls out of its banks, tossing Trojan corpses from its streams, surging toward Akilles.
He sees a wave, another fist of water, rising up to hit him, and grabs at a tree. But the water-fist slams into him so hard that it rips the tree out by the roots. Akilles is knocked flying, and as he tries to get to his feet, Yellow forms another giant water-fist and sends him flying again.
Akilles has never been afraid, but he is now. He runs away.
He’s fast, but Yellow is faster. It falls on him like a flail, tossing him as easily as a stream in flood sends a tree trunk bouncing downstream.
He swallows water, feels himself drowning, and shrieks, “Zeus! Don’t let me die like this! My mother swore I’d die by an arrow, not like a cattle herder caught in a flash flood!”
Poseidon and Athena won’t let him drown. They take him up, each one taking a hand to lift him from the flood. Athena says coldly, “Stop being a coward, Akilles. You aren’t going to die now. The water’s spent, see? Yellow’s going back to his bed.”
Akilles sees the river retreating by a thousand gullies back into its banks. Yellow is still hissing and gurgling in a thousand angry voices, but he’s worn out with the chase.
Athena tells Akilles, “Now return to the business at hand: killing Trojans. We have decided you will kill Hektor. Go and do so.”
Ashamed and relieved all at once, he wades through the flood, pushing aside corpses, some fresh, some old, flooded out of their graves.
Athena and Poseidon fly off, and Yellow makes another attempt to kill Akilles. He calls to his neighbor-river Simoyis, “Little brother, give me all your flow! If we don’t kill this man he’ll destroy our city and there’ll be no more sacrifices on our banks!”
Simoyis agrees and sends his flood from the hills.
Yellow roars, “Yes! Fill your flood with dead trees, boulders, cold mountain rain! I’ll vomit sand and gravel into it! We’ll bury Akilles under twenty feet of silt!”
The rivers aim their flow, heavy with rocks and trees, at Akilles.
Hera sighs, “This won’t do, it really won’t.” She calls, “Hey there, Cripple! Where’s that crippled brat of mine?”
Hefestos limps up eagerly. The worse she treats him, the harder he tries to please his mother.
She grumbles, “Where were you? I need you to set Yellow’s stream-bed on fire.”
He scratches his huge head, “Burn a river, Mother? Why?”
“Stupid boy, just do what I tell you! Burn every clod of earth, cook all the fish, even the beasts that burrow in Yellow’s banks. Kill everything that lives in that river!”
“Yes Mother!” He limps off to set fire to the banks. He sets his bellows working, and soon the air is full of the smell of burnt flesh and melting bronze as the dead warriors on Yellow’s banks are consumed. Then Hefestos pushes his sky-fires closer, until the river starts to boil. Eels try to wriggle away from the flames, fish leap out of the sca
lding soup, and at last Yellow groans, “Stop, blacksmith! Your fires are killing my fish!”
Hefestos damps his fires and Yellow submits: “I can’t fight you, blacksmith; you’ll turn my whole stream into a cauldron. I’ll leave Akilles alone.”
Hera won’t let Yellow off so easily. She signals Hefestos to scorch the stream again. Fish lash their tails and die, their eyes turning into white pebbles as they cook.
Yellow screams in pain, “Hera! Tell your clubfoot boy to stop! I’ll leave Akilles alone! Have mercy!”
Hera says, “Hefestos dear boy, you can stop now.”
He waves his hand, and the fires vanish.
Yellow mutters through the steam, “What business is it of mine anyway? Let Akilles kill all the Trojans.”
His voice fades as his waters cool: “They’re only people, and people are no business of mine.” You can hear his mutter fading into the gurgle of a quiet stream.
Saved from the flood, Akilles runs off after the Trojans.
Hera sits happily on the hilltop, looking forward to more slaughter. But trouble breaks out behind her.
Ares has been glaring at Athena. That girl thinks she’s so clever! He runs a hand along his groin where she guided Diomedes’ spear. It still hurts when he pees or gets excited. She’s gonna pay.
There she is, gloating as usual, smiling, watching Akilles wipe out the Trojans. Ares’ Trojans.
Ares is never far from murder. He feels a murder coming on right now.
He reaches for his spear.
She’s ignoring him, as usual. Well, she’ll be sorry this time. He feels the ash-wood shaft of the spear and grasps it, brings it down on her with all his strength.
But Ares is as stupid as he is brutal. He forgot that Athena is wearing an Aegis draped over her shoulder, its claws falling over her arm. Nothing can penetrate an Aegis, not even Zeus’ lightning. The spear slides off her, sticks in the ground. Ares just stands there, confused.
Athena grabs a boundary stone, tall as a man, lifts it with one hand and brings it down on Ares’ head. His eyes cross, he stumbles like a drunk, then falls.
Longer than the biggest ship, Ares falls. The earth shakes as he hits the dust.
Athena tosses the stone away and laughs, “You always were stupid, brother! Don’t you know by now I’m stronger than you? This is what you get for siding with the Trojans!”
Afroditi runs to help Ares, who’s up on one elbow, groaning. She gets him to his feet, and the two of them stumble down the hill.
Hera points toward them, taunting, “Daughter, look! Your slut of a sister is helping that big fool get away!”
Athena takes the hint and floats down the hill, fingernails out. She lands on Afroditi’s back like a lioness and rakes her nails down the love-goddess’ soft skin. Afroditi screams and Athena silences her with a fist behind the ear.
Afroditi falls, out cold. Without her help, Ares falls too. The two of them lie face down in the grass of the hillside.
Athena yells, “That’s what you get, both of you! If you traitors hadn’t gone over to the Trojans, the Greeks would have burnt the town by now!”
Poseidon wants to take on somebody from the pro-Trojan faction too. He stomps over to Apollo and says, “You, archer! We should fight, you and me, now! You’re young, you hit first! Come on!”
Apollo answers, “Why should I fight over humans? They come out like flies in May, and in a little while they die. I’d as soon fight for the leaves of a tree in Autumn.”
And he turns his back, leaving old Poseidon standing there, puzzled.
But Apollo’s lynx-eyed sister Artemis has had enough of this hands-off approach.
She scolds Apollo, “Running away again, brother? You’re good at that. You said you’d fight Poseidon!”
Apollo ignores her, but Hera has enough pretext to attack Artemis.
She clamps a big, strong hand on Artemis’ fragile bow, shouting, “You like to hunt, do you? You like to kill women in childbirth with your toy bow? Now see how it feels!”
She rips the bow out of Artemis’ hand and starts spanking the Huntress with it.
Artemis writhes and screams while the other gods laugh themselves breathless at the beating. All Artemis’ arrows tumble out of her quiver, and her bowstring makes a twanging tune as Hera whacks her with it.
She runs sobbing to hide in her mother Leto’s robe. Leto strokes her daughter’s bruises.
Hera waves a hand, saying, “Don’t worry, Leto, I won’t beat you. You’re a good mother. Just take your insolent daughter away. And both of you better remember, I’m Zeus’ first wife and always will be.”
Leto gathers up Artemis’ fallen weapons as Hera and Athena watch, sneering. Artemis runs to Zeus, who takes her on his lap asking, “Who’s been beating you, girl?”
“Your wife Hera! She’s always the one starting trouble!”
Zeus chuckles, “You don’t say.” He strokes Artemis’ hair, lets her cry her fill.
Apollo has his own plans. He walks, tall as a fir, silent as winter, through the gates of Troy, staring coldly at the weak defenses. He will have to help these humans again.
He looks over the city’s walls and sees Akilles drive up to the gates with a crowd of frightened Trojans fleeing, throwing away their shields and armor.
Old King Priam looks down from the wall and croaks, “Don’t shut the gates yet! Our men are still coming in!”
The gatekeepers call back, “But Akilles is coming!”
Priam mumbles, “Well, keep the gates open as long as you can! If we leave any men out there with him, they’re finished!”
Apollo grimaces in disgust. If they leave the gate open, Akilles will follow these fleeing men right into the town and kill everyone. He will have to act, and quickly. He slips into the mind of Antenor, one of the fleeing Trojans, and places this thought there: “If I keep running, Akilles will catch me—he’s faster than all of us—and I’ll die a coward. If I try to hide, he’ll find me and kill me. So I might as well turn and fight him. I’ll face him and take my chances.”
He stops running, turns and hunches behind his shield, spear ready.
Akilles trots to a stop just out of range, amazed that one of the Trojans is ready to fight.
Antenor yells, “You’re too proud, Akilles! You’re not a god! I’d rather die facing you than live to see my children sold as slaves!”
He throws, thinking of his beloved children. The spear hits Akilles on the shin, but Hefestos’ wondrous greaves stop it; it falls to the ground like a twig.
Akilles chuckles and runs straight at the Trojan.
Apollo sighs. He can’t quite leave this man to be killed. The rest of the family would laugh at him. So he lifts a finger, and Antenor is gone, in an egg of darkness outside the world.
Then Apollo does what he hates most, assuming human form—Antenor’s form. He dodges and weaves, fleeing across the plain, drawing Akilles away from Troy.
Over trampled grain fields, empty sheep pens, stinking corpses, they run, Apollo teasing Akilles, staying just out of reach.
Inside the town, the gates slam shut and the Trojan warriors collapse, pull off their helmets and catch their breath.
22
HEKTOR
THE GREEKS ARE so close to Troy that they hold their shields high to block arrows and rocks launched by the women and old men on the walls. The Trojan men are clustered around the wells, drinking in huge gulps.
Apollo has led Akilles far across the plains. Bored with the game, he turns and shows his true form. Akilles skids to a stop in front of a shape only vaguely like a man, far taller than any human, with a burning metallic face.
He feels Apollo’s chilly amusement and says, “Yes, you fooled me. I’ve wasted precious time chasing you, when I could have killed dozens of real men.”
Apollo opens his arms, as if to say, “Here I am.”
Akilles says, “I know I can’t kill you. I wish I could! You’re the worst of the gods, because you hate humans.”<
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Apollo’s amusement sparkles in the air. Akilles runs off to see if there are any Trojans he can head off.
Old Priam, standing on the walls, sees someone coming. It can’t be a Trojan; all the survivors are inside the walls. He sees it’s a giant. There are only two Greeks that big: Ajax and Akilles. And the figure comes on so fast it must be Akilles.
Priam grabs Hekuba’s arm, groaning, “It’s Akilles, coming on like the Dog Star, just as bright and deadly!”
Hekuba doesn’t even look. She’s trying to find her sons in the crowd around the city wells. She has many sons—or she did before the war—and it’s not always easy to keep track of them all. She frets, “I can’t see Likaon! And where’s little Polydoros? I begged him not to fight!”
Priam sees something terrifying: Hektor is still out there on the plain. He calls, “My son, come inside the walls!”
Hekuba turns and sees Hektor out there, waiting for Akilles. She screams, “Son, come inside!”
Hektor stands like a statue, watching Akilles sprint toward him. How can a giant run so fast? Priam sobs, “Son, don’t make me watch you die! If you die, I’ll have to see my daughters fondled by Greeks, my grandchildren sold like livestock!”
Hektor doesn’t move. The sun glints off Akilles’ huge shield as he runs.
Hekuba screams, ripping handfuls of hair from her head. She tears open her robe and holds up her breasts, calling, “Hektor, these breasts fed you, warmed you; for their sake, come inside the walls!”
Hektor has heard his parents’ cries, but he can’t go in. He stands alone on the plain, watching his death come running. Fast as Akilles is approaching, Hektor seems to have all the time in the world to decide what to do. He thinks, “If I go inside now, Polydamus will say, ‘I told you so!’ That’s the worst part. I was a fool, strutting around talking about bravery and honor. He said we should fight from the walls, and he was right.”
Akilles is close now. Hektor can see his snarling white teeth.
He thinks, “How can I face the widows? I’m the man who got their husbands killed. We could have fought with bows from the walls. The Greeks fear our archers; we could have picked them off. Now their husbands are lying dead out here. If I go in, the widows will glare at me, and they’ll be right.”
