by Judith Hand
Achilles smiled. “So you choose silence. I don’t suppose you would describe for me the defenses of Themiskyra. I’m going to mount a campaign there next year. I intend to control trade from Themiskyra in horses and iron.” So, Trusis was right. Achilles was acting alone.
“With the kind of information you could give me,” Achilles continued, “there would be less blood shed.”
“You’ve got Trusis to help you.”
The Achean’s lips twisted in disgust. “Yes. More’s the pity. I don’t much like having to deal with dishonorable men.”
A laugh burst from Damon’s lips. “Honor. You talk of honor! Always this talk of honor and glory!” He leaned toward the Achean. “What you bring wherever you go, you bloated pig, is pain and grief. And then you talk of honor. There is evil in this world, and you and all those like you, are its beating heart.”
Achilles face flushed red, his eyes slitted. He grabbed Damon by the throat and shoved his own face close. “As of this moment, your woman doesn’t know why you have not returned. Tomorrow we will inform your Queen,” his voice wiped dung on the word Queen, “that you are captive here.”
He let go of Damon’s throat. A smug smile slowly replaced the angry grimace. “I have no doubt she will try to save you. We use you to lure your Amazon lover. She will make a monumental sale, the Amazon Warrior Queen. I expect the Hittite Hattusilis will pay well to display her. After he has used her.”
Damon spit in Achilles’ face.
Clenching his fist, Achilles drew his arm back, then slammed his fist into Damon’s midsection, a blow that felt like a bolt of lighting that ran all the way to Damon’s heart and exploded there. Damon’s legs failed. He crumpled. His arms yanked brutally at the shoulder sockets as he sagged against the ropes.
Another blow to the side of his head took his sight.
For a long moment he hung there, blind and unable to breathe. Finally he sucked in a breath as his sight returned, but his legs still could not lift him. The ropes tore into his wrists.
“Lord Achilles!” yelled a voice from the hallway. “Lord Achilles, there is a fire. In the sail shed.”
Achilles bellowed, “Get Trusis in here!”
A rough hand grabbed Damon’s chin. Achilles locked their gazes. “I have no further need of you!” He thrust Damon’s head away with such force that the back of Damon’s head hit the wall.
Achilles turned to leave just as Trusis strode into the room. To Trusis he said, “Take him out and kill him. Do it well away from here. And dispose of the body so that no one will know how or when he died. No one! Ever.”
Followed by his guard, Achilles stomped out.
69
WITH EVANDRE AND MARPESSA, PENTHA REACHED the stockade when, from the direction of the sail shed, she heard the first cries of, “Fire!” Fire was the greatest fear of any camp. Every person she could see stopped and turned toward the cries. Then they ran toward the alarm.
Gryn stood opposite the stockade, by the cart.
Pentha said to Evandre and Marpessa, “Wait until I say the way is clear.”
She hurriedly crossed the space between the cart and the stockade. Several soldiers rushed out the door and off toward the shed. The guard posted at the door stared in the direction of the cries. Seeing her, he shared the obvious. “Sounds like fire.”
“I have a message from the Lord Odysseus for your commander.”
He turned his attention to her. “Give it to me.”
“No.” She gave him a bright smile. “I’m sure I could trust you. But I was told to give it only to your commander. Is he here?”
“Might be. Comes and goes by the back. That’s why you should give it to me.”
“Well then, at least let me see if he’s here.”
Now from a different direction, behind the stockade, came another cry of “Fire!”
The guard looked flustered. “All right. Hurry.”
She stepped inside, where another guard lounged in a chair at the head of a hallway, rolling his knife between his hands by its grip as he stared toward the front entry. Seeing her, he stood.
“Please show me to your commander?” she said softly. “I have a message.”
She saw no other guards.
“He’s probably gone off to the fire.”
“I was told to give him this message quickly, and that he would be here.”
He hesitated, and she tensed to spring on him. He turned and started down the hallway. She let him walk her well away from the door. They made a turn into another corridor and at once she drew the dagger, threw her weight onto his back, and slid the blade deeply into the front of his throat, twisted it, then pulled it back out. With a hissing sound of escaping air, he slipped to the floor.
DAMON TRIED HIS LEGS again. They shook, but at least he could stand well enough to take the agonizing pressure off his wrists and shoulder joints.
Trusis walked across the room and took up an arms-crossed, arrogant stance a couple of steps from Damon. “I’m going to enjoy this,” he said. To the guard with him he said, “Fetch another man.”
“You are a fool, Trusis. Think what you are doing!”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
“Do you think Achilles will let you rule Themiskyra? Do you think Pentha won’t suspect what you’ve done?”
Two guards stepped into the room.
Damon said, “Achilles despises you.”
“Cut him down,” Trusis said to the guards. “Bind him well. He’s strong.”
PENTHA RAN BACK TO the stockade door. The guard stood stiffly, his attention now fixed in the direction of the sail shed. Again she threw herself against the man at the same moment she drove the blade deeply into the front of his neck, and as he started to fall, she dragged him inside, out of view.
She stepped into the doorway and gestured. Evandre and Marpessa dashed from the donkey cart, axes in hand. They stepped into the stockade and Evandre said, “Here,” and thrust an ax into Pentha’s hand.
With the two Amazon’s at her heels, Pentha sprinted down the hallway, checking the rooms they passed, all but one empty. The single occupant of one room was asleep, perhaps from drink.
Aeneas said the stockade had a central room, the most secure. They found it. Empty. But with two still burning oil lamps and the smell of unwashed bodies. Someone had been here.
She said, “We have to try Achilles’ tent. Pray Achilles is involved with the fires.”
They dashed out the front of the stockade. Gryn ran up and grabbed Pentha’s arm. “The back,” she said. “They are taking Damon out the back.”
70
THE TWO GUARDS TRUSIS BROUGHT TO DAMON’S cell had quickly become an escort of six. Two men pushed Damon—his hands bound behind his back—out a door into an astonishing scene. Three goats and some pigs ran past. A guard shoved him toward a cart where a handful of chickens had alighted, all clucking or squawking.
To Damon’s left, smoke and tongues of flame rose from fires. Two big fires. The shouts and yelling from that direction suggested wild pandemonium. No wonder no people were about.
One guard climbed into the back of the cart, and the chickens, squawking even louder, scattered in all directions. Another guard holding Damon’s arms grunted, “Get in.”
Damon hesitated. Could he break free? Run?
“Look out!” yelled a male voice behind him.
He twisted out of his guards’ hands and spun around. Four women ran toward them, battle-axes raised.
The guards, and Trusis, drew swords. Pentha attacked the man on Damon’s left. Damon threw himself against the guard on his right. They hit the ground. Evandre bashed in the man’s head then spun to ward off the sword of another guard.
Damon felt the ropes on his wrist being cut, and twisted his head to find Pentha leaning over him. His ropes burst apart.
A guard slammed blindly so hard into Pentha that she fell. She rolled onto her back. The guard spun around, raised his sword to drive it into her bel
ly. Damon threw himself against the guard, wrenched the man’s sword from his hand, and with a backstroke, cut him across the legs. He fell, screaming.
Damon reached to Pentha and pulled her to her feet. She turned and attacked a guard fighting with Marpessa.
From between two nearby tents, Muttalusha trotted into sight, obviously heading toward the closest fire. Seeing this brawling mess, the merchant stopped in surprise. Muttalusha, the informer!
He caught Damon’s gaze, then ran toward the fire. “Amazons!” he yelped. He would bring down the camp on them.
Damon switched the sword to his left hand, stooped to the dead guard at his feet, pulled the guard’s dagger from its sheath, took aim, and hurled the dagger. Artemis guided the blade. It found Muttalusha’s back. The merchant screamed and fell on his face.
Damon turned to check Pentha and instead faced Trusis. Their swords crashed together creating a flash of white in his mind so vivid that for a moment it blinded him. By instinct he ducked, but still he felt the bite of bronze down his left side.
He switched the sword back to his right hand. He faced a Trusis with gnarled brow and barred teeth. “Aaarrgh!” Trusis yelled in frustrated rage as he swung his sword directly at Damon’s neck.
Damon ducked under it, slid to his left, brought his own sword up toward Trusis exposed underarm, but Trusis quickly spun backward so Damon’s blow chopped empty air.
Their initial awkward movements past, they faced off, breathing hard, but in better balance. Damon felt blood run warmly down his left side, but as yet he felt no pain. He charged Trusis, aiming a blow at the left shoulder. Trusis danced sideways and jabbed toward Damon’s gut. Both thrusts missed.
Coming out of the stockade, Damon had seen tables with stools around them across from the stockade door. He turned and dashed toward the tables and snatched up a stool. Holding it by one leg with the seat out, he could use it as a makeshift shield.
He tried to cut Trusis off from the table, but too late. Trusis grabbed up his own stool. Damon swung his stool at Trusis, who countered it with his stool, but Damon followed up with two sword thrusts that backed Trusis against one of the tables.
Unable to go forward, unable to maneuver, Trusis leapt onto the table. He chopped downward onto Damon, who blocked the sword blows with the stool.
Damon leapt onto the table, bringing him even with Trusis again, and they exchanged parries. Trusis backed up. He leapt to the next table. Damon followed, Again Trusis leapt to another table, and Damon followed.
He heard chariots. Perhaps Achean reinforcements. With renewed urgency, he slashed at Trusis three times, forcing Trusis to the ground. Chickens scattered, clucking loudly, their wings beating up dust.
Damon dropped his sword and the stool, threw himself at Trusis, using his right arm to push away Trusis’ stool, and grabbing Trusis sword arm at the wrist. They slammed into the ground. They rolled. Rolled again. Now Damon was on top. He brought up his knee and rammed it into Trusis groin.
The traitor stiffened. Damon wrenched Trusis’ sword from him, turned it, aimed the tip at Trusis heart, and flung his full weight onto the sword.
The tip slashed through bone and flesh and found the ground.
“Damon! Let’s go!”
He felt weak. Sucked in a long breath.
“Damon!” Pentha pulled at his shoulder.
He scrambled to his feet. Bremusa and Clonie stood in the cars of two chariots. Gryn held the reins of a puny donkey cart.
The chariots were designed for two. Even if they rode a tight three together, one person would be left behind. They would have to take the ridiculous cart.
Pentha shouted, “Evandre, Marpessa, go with Clonie! Damon and Gryn, get in with Bremusa!”
The Amazons swiftly moved as she’d ordered.
But Pentha stood staring at a fire raging in the stacks of lumber. Its acrid smell filled his nostrils. He heard the sounds of its oils snapping and pops filling the air. In the early evening light, Pentha’s red hair also seemed to be ablaze.
71
DAMON SUDDENLY REALIZED IT WASN’T THE FIRE Pentha was watching, but Achilles. Achilles, whose back was to them, and who was shouting orders and waving his arms. She seemed in a trance.
Damon grabbed her arm. “Don’t even think it!” He yanked her arm. “In two days, we have a battle.”
She swung back into reality. She squeezed his hand then dashed to the team pulling Bremusa’s chariot and launched herself onto the back of the right-hand horse.
Damon leapt into the car, pressing himself alongside Gryn. “Here,” Bremusa said. She shoved an Achean shield into his hands, then turned and slapped the horses’ rumps with a willow goad. “Ha!” she shouted, as did Clonie and Pentha. Side by side, the two chariots sped toward the wall and freedom, honking geese frantically scattering to avoid the chariots’ wheels.
No men stood guard inside the wall, just outside, checking the identity of anyone trying to enter. But Damon saw at least ten men posted on the wall’s top, all looking into the camp, at the fires.
Their attention shifted at the sight of two careening chariots filled with women, and one with a red-headed women astride a chariot horse.
He imagined their confusion. The chariots closed fast with the wall, and still no arrows, no spears. Might the guards be so baffled that he and the Amazons could simply ride away?
“Amazons!” someone shouted.
He brought up the shield. There was little room in the car to maneuver. With difficulty he held it in front of Bremusa. Gyrn hunched low.
Arrows and spears whistled around them. A solid strike onto the shield. Another. A spear glanced off. He noted now, as he strained to hold the shield in place, a burning sensation on his left side.
He couldn’t see beyond the shield, couldn’t see what was happening to Pentha. She was completely exposed, her only protection the speed of the horse.
They reached the gate and raced through it, heading for the Scamander river, its crossing, and then on to the Amazon encampment. An arrow grazed Bremusa’s head. As she slumped into Gryn’s arms, Damon grabbed the reins and took her place.
The guards on the outside, fully alerted, charged the chariots with swords drawn, but being on foot, they delivered not one vital blow. They immediately rushed to their own chariots. Within moments he and the Amazons fled in front of six Achean two-man chariots.
Their own chariots were overloaded. They could never outrun the Acheans. At some point, they must fight. They were seven to twelve.
Gyrn yelled, “Look! Ahead!”
They raced headlong toward another contingent of a dozen chariots, returning to the encampment.
Pentha pointed to their left, and Clonie turned her chariot. Damon followed. The well-maintained dirt road allowed chariots to pass three abreast, but now they bumped and rattled across open ground. Gryn held onto Bremusa to steady her as all three crashed into each other with every rock and ridge.
They could not outrun the Acheans. Nor was it likely he and six Amazons could defeat what he guessed must now be thirty Achean soldiers.
They clattered through a stream, water spraying up from the wheels and horses hooves. On they charged across the bumpy plain.
They approached a hill. Pentha pointed and Clonie reined the horses in a direction that would take them left of the hill. Chariots were notoriously unsuited for anything but level ground. They swung left, and he saw Pentha look back to see how fast the Acheans were gaining. To Clonie she yelled, “Faster or we die!”
He flogged the horses with the reins, and they responded, their legs pounding, their heads rising and falling, flecks of saliva flung from their lips.
The chariots rounded the hill and ahead he saw horses. Amazon horses. He looked behind. The Acheans were closing.
He and the women leapt off the chariots, and surrounded by a rain of arrows, mounted the waiting horses.
Clonie took an arrow in the leg. Bremusa, having regained her senses, rode up to her, took her arm,
and slung her onto a horse.
Those days of riding with Pentha—Damon felt profound gratitude he had learned to ride at all. Now he must gallop, and hang on for his life.
Pentha led, and immediately he knew she’d made a mistake. He urged his horse faster, trying to catch her, to tell her that this way would only trap them, but there was no possibility of catching up with Valor. Damon was, in fact, the last in the racing line.
He yelled, “This is the wrong way!” His words jolted out of his mouth, distorted, and were, in any case, blown away by the wind.
At top speed they approached the canyon that separated this hill from flatland beyond. He knew the general lay of the country between the Achean encampment and their own, but he wasn’t sure of the canyon’s dimensions. But he did know it was too steep for horse or man to climb down and that a fall into it would be fatal. Pentha must have forgotten it.
He dared not look behind. He had all he could do to stay atop the galloping animal, clenching his legs to the horse’s heaving sides and clinging with one hand to the reins and riding blanket and with the other hand to the horse’s whipping mane.
Perhaps she couldn’t see the crevasse. He couldn’t. She appeared to be blind, running at it full speed.
And then—Valor leaped it.
Then Clonie on her mount.
Then Gryn.
All of the Amazons were actually leaping the canyon. He was last. “Great God,” he breathed, as his horse flung itself into the air.
His mount landed its front feet on the canyon’s far side, but as it gathered its haunches to plant them on solid ground, Damon fell off. The horse, thrown off balance, missed with one rear hoof, lurched backward, lost its hold on the land and fell backward and went down.
Damon’s legs hung over the cliff edge and his hands were slipping. He grabbed a rock. It pulled loose. He felt one toe dig into something solid, then slip away. Again sliding backward, he grabbed the thick, gnarled base of bush with both hands. His sliding stopped.
Kicking his legs, searching for a foothold, he heard one of the Amazons yell, “Pentha!”
