Rage of Queens (Homeric Chronicles Book 3)

by Janell Rhiannon

  Patrokles bowed his head, slightly. “Very well then.” He exited the tent, feeling Achilles’ eyes on his back until he passed beyond the last cluster of tents.

  ✽✽✽

  Patrokles poked his head into Nestor’s tent, expecting him to be alone. The old man motioned him in with a wave of his wrinkled hand. “I’m surprised to see you, Patrokles. We all are. Come, join us.” All the wounded commanders sat shoulder to shoulder, cramped around a small table. Agamemnon. Odysseus. Diomedes. Only Menelaus and Ajax were absent.

  Taking a seat across from Diomedes, he asked, “How is your foot?”

  The youngest captain shrugged off the injury. “I could have stayed in the fight—”

  Odysseus scoffed. “Paris’ arrow had you pinned to the ground. You would have lost half your toes the way you were tugging and screaming at your foot.”

  Diomedes shoved his plate away. “I’ll never hear the end of it, will I?”

  Odysseus shook his head and laughed. “It was a scene. You should have been there Patrokles.”

  Diomedes said, “Odysseus exaggerates. It’s not that bad.”

  Nestor called to his woman, “Hecamede, bring the Pramnian wine and something to eat for our guests. Something sweet, I think, to dull our aches and pain.”

  Hecamede brought a basket of fresh bread to the table and poured the wine. “Here is honey for your bread. It is sweet.” Her tone was amiable, but sharp. It did not escape the men seated, as they glanced sideways to each other, each questioning the nature of Nestor’s relationship with his war prize.

  Nestor patted her soft hip as she passed. She swatted his hand away. Undeterred, Nestor said, “You always know what is best.”

  “There is work to do, Nestor. I’ll leave you men to talk of your war.”

  Ignoring Hecamede and turning to Patrokles, Nestor asked the question they all wanted answered, “Speaking of war, how much longer will Achilles remain idle?”

  “He is stubborn. I doubt even Zeus could force him to join Agamemnon. He was curious about the wounded from this morning’s fray.”

  Nestor tossed a hunk of bread on his platter. “Why does he care, if he has no intention of helping us? Is he waiting until Trojan torches to burn us out? His camp is farthest from danger, so perhaps he thinks he will just shove off and leave the rest of us here to fend for ourselves and die like neglected dogs.”

  The war had certainly lasted beyond the expectations of everyone. Achilles’ self-imposed exile had only exacerbated the tensions within the tiring army. Yet, Patrokles could do nothing. When they had first set out, Patrokles was privy to Achilles’ mind. He shared his memories as a boy chasing rabbits and then deer on Chiron’s mountain. It was where he credited his unusual speed and agility. He trained his Myrmidons to sprint and leap as he did, gifting them a weapon of their own body to stun the enemy with. Achilles spoke about his love and reverence for his mother. And the crystal thread between them. Achilles could hear Thetis when he called upon her in his thoughts. He also shared his joy and confusion upon becoming a father. His heart beat most strongly for battle and blood, but Neo rested in a soft place within his breast. He’d asked Patrokles once if that was love, and declared that if it was he wanted nothing to do with it beyond his son, because it felt like weakness. But the days of late night fires and wine talk were over. Patrokles had no idea if the rift between them would ever be repaired. “Achilles has always done as he wished. Why do you expect him to be something else, when your king has taken everything he held dear?”

  It was a bold statement. All eyes shifted to Agamemnon to gauge his reaction, but the Great King sat stoically, unmoved by word of Achilles, for once. They counted it a small blessing and exhaled in relief.

  Nestor folded his hands together, the wheels of his mind turning over what Patrokles said. They were in a precarious position, between retreat and defeat. Personally, he felt it reckless of Achilles to withdraw as he did, and for so long. “As his second, I am not surprised you hold such sentiment. But Achilles is part of this army, even if he doesn’t wish to be. He took city after city in Agamemnon’s name and for the sake of our cause. Not his own.”

  “That is his reasoning for withdrawing. You do not have to agree with him. He has already done it.”

  “I know what Menoetius advised you before you left for Aulis.”

  Patrokles flicked a pesky fly stalking the perimeter of his wine cup. “What did my father say that anyone here would be interested in hearing?”

  “He reminded you that even though Achilles was superior in strength that it was your duty as his elder to give him good counsel.”

  Patrokles rubbed his thumb along the rough wooden plank of the table. The commanders eyed each other, worried that he would explode in a temper like Achilles. “As I have said, Achilles keeps his own counsel.” Glancing up, he caught Nestor’s eyes like a hawk snatches a rabbit from a field. There was nowhere for Nestor to hide. “Aren’t you supposed to be closer to the gods than the rest of us? Perhaps, you should pray louder … on our behalf. You might have better fortune with them, than Achilles.”

  Odysseus nearly spit his wine back into his cup. Diomedes raised his eyebrows.

  However, Nestor would not give up. “He will listen to you, Patrokles. Persuade him to help us, unless there is something else that keeps him away from battle? Why don’t you go in his place? If the men see you, as Achilles, followed by the Myrmidons, it will bring hope back into our ranks. I can hear the Trojans quaking in fear thinking Achilles has returned to battle.”

  “Will you be able to defeat the Trojans without Achilles?” Patrokles asked.

  Agamemnon—who’d sat silent through the entire conversation—voiced the dreaded answer, his tone grave and hopeless, “No. He presses us, even now, to our ships. When we gain the upper hand, the gods take it away again in favor of the Trojans. Final victory eludes us.”

  Patrokles drained his cup of wine and stood. “I will think on it. That’s all I can promise. Achilles is not himself these days, and if ever my word held sway, I can’t say to what extent it remains.” He abruptly exited the tent, leaving the commanders stewing in their thoughts.

  Agamemnon said to Nestor, “I can’t help but wonder if the gods are against us and Hektor may defeat us. What if Achilles is not the only one in my camp who wishes me dead? Our defenses have been of little use.”

  Odysseus snapped, “Shut up before anyone hears you. If you want to lose the war, keep talking. If we leave now, like you suggest, the world will know we are all cowards. Who will fear us after that? We will return home to fight the rest of our lives to keep our worlds safe from invasion.”

  Agamemnon threw up his hands. “I am not commanding we leave, Odysseus. Our options are thin, unless you have a better plan?”

  As the youngest captain, Diomedes was often ignored for war advice, but he had had enough of the bickering. If Patrokles could speak his truth, then by the gods so could he. “It makes me sick to hear you old men even considering retreat. I did not come all this way for so long just to run like a scared dog with my tail between my legs. Did any of us imagine death would be a beautiful woman waiting to fuck us to sleep?” His looked hard at each man. “If we are fortunate enough to die in battle, death should greet each of us with fury in our hearts and blood on our swords. Wounded or not, I say we get back to the fighting. Find Hektor and kill him. I am tired of battle, too, but I refuse to run.”

  A chill wind touched Agamemnon’s ear. “Hear me, son of Atreus. I have not abandoned you.”

  “Poseidon,” Agamemnon whispered.

  “Can you hear Achilles laughing at your fear?”

  Agamemnon bristled.

  “Let him be cursed among the men and the gods. Keep courage. I am with you.”

  “My men run. They fear Hektor.”

  “Let my voice fill them with bravery and fighting spirit.”

  ✽✽✽

  Hektor stood with Kebriones on the deck of his chariot, surveying the palisa
de and ditch the Greeks erected around their camp. They’d lined the perimeter of the ditch with hundreds of sharp spears and heavy posts, close enough the Trojan chariots and horses couldn’t pass through.

  “Quite a barricade they built in very little time,” Kebriones said.

  “I wish Zeus would give us clear victory and send these fucking Greeks back to their own lands. The only way through this maze is on foot.” Hektor stepped down from his chariot. He kicked at one of the spears embedded in the ground. “It’s deep. We will have to dig them out to make a wider pathway.”

  Kebriones followed his older brother. “It is more dangerous on foot. Without horses, we have no advantage. Our spy was found … without his head, so we have no knowledge what dangers await us beyond their gate. And Achilles is in their camp somewhere.”

  Paris joined his brothers with his bow in hand. The quiver of arrows jostled at his hip. “Do you have a plan, Hektor?”

  “Break down part of this barricade. Then, storm their gate. Burn their ships.”

  “They will run for their ships once we get passed that gate. Cowards that they are,” Paris said.

  Hektor scratched at his scruffy chin. He missed the comforts of home. He could use a soak in hot water and a glass of wine … and Andromache. His brother was one of the reasons he could have none of that. “We’ve underestimated them too many times. They’ve proven they aren’t cowards. Or have you forgotten how Menelaus tossed you around like an untrained boy?”

  “Aphrodite—”

  Hektor snapped, “Don’t you understand it doesn’t matter if Aphrodite saved you or not? It’s that she had to in the first place.”

  Kebriones said, “The gods are fickle with their favors. That is the true weakness in any plan you make.”

  “Aye. The gods dole out favors and just as quickly yank them away,” Hektor agreed. It was unnerving to engage in a battle knowing that the strength of your army and your sound strategies may come to nothing, if the gods decided against you. “Paris, dispatch men to start digging out these spears and posts we need to get a larger force through to avoid being picked off by their arrows. The breach we made earlier proved too narrow.”

  A shrill cry overhead caught their attention. Squinting into the sun, they saw an eagle soaring above them clutching a bright red snake. It struck the eagle with its fangs. Screeching, the eagle released its prey. The snake writhed midair as it fell to its death near Hektor and his brothers.

  “It’s a god-sign,” Kebriones said in awe. “Perhaps, we shouldn’t fight the Trojans? Wait for a more auspicious omen?”

  Hektor wanted nothing so much as to end the war. His faith waivered, but he would not give up. Not yet. “We’re on the edge of battle. They can see us from behind their wall. They would think us cowards. No, we can’t turn back now. It’s a god-sign that we must defend the citadel and crush their hopes.”

  Paris shook his head, uncertain Hektor had interpreted the god-sign correctly. “It’s an omen we will not win the battle. The snake dropped on our side of the wall.”

  Grabbing Paris roughly by the arm, Hektor whipped his body around to face him. His eyes bore fiercely into his brother’s face. “Shut your mouth, or I will finish what our father could not. I don’t think you understand that the people, the men, think you a coward for what happened with Menelaus. You can’t afford to utter words that will instill fear or doubt in their minds. Then, all would be lost.”

  A gust of wind caught the length of Hektor’s sea-blue cape, whipping it around his legs. “Strange,” he muttered. Pulling it free, he glanced up at the sound of a distant howl. Behind his army a cloud of dust was moving rapidly toward them. The men hunkered down, shields and capes pulled over their heads, as the unexpected dust storm rolled over. Hektor rubbed his eyes and squinted in disbelief. The image of a giant in a chariot flashed for a moment inside of the storm. “Zeus,” he whispered. He grabbed Paris by the arm. “We must charge the gate now. Zeus is with us.”

  Paris nodded and disappeared into the pale yellow air. The Trojans mobilized within the shroud of the storm, the Greeks blind to their movements.

  “Pick up that rock, Hektor.”

  The hairs on Hektor’s body rose, and his skin tingled with power. “Zeus.”

  “Pick it up.”

  “It would take five men to lift that boulder.”

  “It is not wise to doubt me, Prince Hektor.”

  Hektor nodded. He walked to the boulder and wrapped his arms around the middle of it. The rock was oddly warm and smooth. With all his strength, he easily hefted the rock up to his shoulder. “By the gods!”

  In his ear, Zeus said, “By me. Throw it.”

  Hektor launched the boulder with all his might, smashing the center of the gate into a thousand pieces as if it had been nothing more than fragile clay and sticks. He stood in awe as the dust cleared and the gate was gone. The confidence of Zeus filled him, and he charged with a spear in each hand. “Kill them all!”

  The Trojan army’s battle cry filled the air as they flooded through the breach, scattering the Greeks like ants seeking holes and crevices to hide.

  ✽✽✽

  From above, Poseidon’s feigned disinterest faltered and a wicked scowl marred his perfect face. He’d spent an eternity bending to his brother’s will as a subordinate, relinquishing his own authority. Watching Zeus assist the Trojans in pinning the Greeks to their ships, he made up his mind to help the Greeks. Zeus be damned.

  Poseidon flew like lightning to his sea-realm where Zeus had no power. The high-walled halls built of rocks and shells provided solace beneath the ocean waves, when he could bear the weight of bowing to his brother no more. Zeus had taken everything he loved, including Thetis, by decree and prophecy. He’d been humiliated by being forced to live as a mortal, building the very wall the Greeks were so desperately trying to crash. He was glad of his palace beyond the peering eyes of Zeus, because now he would do as he willed, not as Zeus commanded.

  He gathered his gleaming armor from his great hall glittering with mother-of-pearl and gold. After pulling his breastplate from the wall, he buckled it across his broad chest. The silver steel, unknown to mortals, shone as brightly as a stunning star set against the ink of night. “I will bow no more.”

  Poseidon harnessed his magnificent horses with their golden manes to his chariot. Snapping the guide straps, he roared, “Rise! Rise from the sea! Fight with me!”

  The horses jolted and cried out, their hooves pawing the sandy ocean floor. He snapped the reins again, and the chariot rose through the murky waters, the horses galloping as if on land. As they neared the surface, Poseidon commanded the sea to make way and the waves parted, revealing a frothy valley walled by water. He flew through the opening swirling with mist and sand, his chariot skidding across the shore amidst the startled Greeks. The god unleashed a terrifying roar.

  A thousand voices uttered, “Poseidon!” And a thousand men fell to their knees and covered their faces.

  “Rise up and fight!” the God of the Sea bellowed like a storm. “Rise up and fight!”

  Ajax spun in awe to see the god with his own eyes and cried out, “Poseidon! Help me! Lend me your strength and I will break the Trojans and force their women to wail with grief.”

  Poseidon’s glittering eyes fell on Ajax. “As you wish, mortal.”

  The power of the god filled Ajax’s limbs, and confidence swelled in his heart. His keen eyes caught Hektor blazing a bloody path through the camp. He ran like a lion to meet his mortal enemy, the man even Achilles had not been able to kill while he still stood with the army.

  Ajax screamed out, “Hektor!” His breath burned in his chest and the ground quaked as he ran. “The storm of Poseidon comes for you!”

  Hektor’s face contorted with equal rage; the essence of Zeus still lingered in his veins. “Come at me, you fucking Greek!” Blood spattered and smudged by gore, Hektor launched himself at Ajax who was barreling toward him. The clash of their arms sounded as thunder. Bot
h armies charged, renewed by their commanders’ vigor. The fighting was fierce, but indecisive. Sweat glistened across men’s faces and the heat slowly sapped their strength. Swords once held high, lowered. Men pushed and shoved, as Hektor and Ajax hacked at each other.

  A spear whizzed passed Hektor’s ear, stabbing dead center of Ajax’s shield, followed by another and then another. The fourth spear twisted Ajax’s helmet to the side, temporarily blinding him. Ajax took a step back to right it, but not before a ring of heavily armed Trojans swarmed around Hektor, pulling him to safety within the larger body of the army.

  Kebriones gripped his eldest brother’s arm with fingers of iron. “We must pull back.”

  Ajax’s angry roar carried over the din of men fighting and struggling in battle. “We are not finished, Prince of Troy!”

  A severed head tumbled to the ground, rolling to a stop at Hektor’s feet.

  The god’s gift faded from Hektor’s eyes. He surveyed his men fighting on the left and right. “How did we become so scattered?” His mind cleared of the blood lust. He shook his head in disbelief. “We had Zeus’ favor. But now, we are pinned between their ships and their ditch. We can’t pull back yet.”

  ✽✽✽

  Every hair on Idomeneus’ body stood on end. He turned but saw no one beside him. He’d heard the shouting from the shore and knew the god was near him. “Poseidon,” he whispered. “We welcome your aid. Zeus turns from our pleas, favoring the Trojans, no matter how hard we fight. No matter how much we tire of war and yearn for home.”

  “I am here. Arm yourself. Fight.”

  Poseidon’s words slid icily down Idomeneus’ spine. “Aye.” Then, from the chaos of battle, a man appeared, running wild eyed and frantic. As he neared, Idomeneus shouted, “Where are you going, Meriones?”

  Meriones skidded to a halt. “My lord, I need weapons. My spears are thrown or broken.”

  “Do you know my tent?”

  “Aye, my lord. I do.”