“Go. Grab anyone who can help you. Bring all the Trojan arms I’ve collected. And take what you need to keep fighting. Poseidon is with us.”
“I heard the rumor, my lord, that he rose from the sea, but I didn’t believe it. Are you certain?”
“The god has spoken into my ear. It is true. He fights among us.”
“Then I will hurry before we lose his favor!” Meriones sped off.
Idomeneus grabbed another man running by him. “Have you seen Teucer and Ajax afield?”
The man whose eyes were as large as a moons, nodded.
“Good. Find them and tell them to hold the center of Hektor’s attack and send men to hit Hektor on the left flank. The day is not over yet.”
✽✽✽
Hektor had plowed through the center of the fighting, testing the odds stacking against them. Ajax the Giant commanded his ranks flawlessly, emboldening the Greeks who’d repelled each Trojan advance. Realizing he faced a bloody stalemate, Hektor signaled for his army to fall back.
“How did this happen, Kebriones? We had a clear advantage, now we’re surrounded.”
“Some of your men have given up. Look.” Standing next to Hektor on the chariot’s platform, Kebriones directed his brother’s attention behind them. “They run because they have no weapons. See, men are picking up spears from the dead and dying. And over there.” He pointed far in front of them. “Others are trapped inside of the Greek’s camp. We must pull back now, or make a hard push for the ships. If you choose the latter, the war will be decided by nightfall.”
Hektor watched his men scavenging for weapons and armor. Andromache’s face flashed before his eyes. If he lost the battle, risking everything at this moment, she and Astyanax would be slaves by nightfall. His heart sickened at the thought. How many Trojans would suffer, if he pressed the Greeks without the gods’ favor? “Why did Zeus abandon us so readily?”
“The gods do as they wish. Besides …” Kebriones’ voice trailed off.
“Speak.”
The battle sounded around them. Men screamed in victory and agony. The stench of fresh blood and shit filled the air. “I don’t think Achilles will stay away from battle much longer. And when he emerges from his discontent, we do not want to be this close to their camp.”
“I agree.” Hektor knew what Achilles’ eventual return would mean. The final days of the war would be upon them and the outcome of Troy’s fate would be decided soon after. It was a moment he longed for, yet dreaded. Peace was an elusive lover, enticing men to taste the sweet nectar of her breasts, only to pull them away when their appetite for more grew. “We must regroup and push them back to the ships if we hope to burn them out, before it’s too late. Gather men beyond that rise, over there.” He pointed not too far away. “Spread the word. We make one last effort before Apollo’s light fades.”
Moving to the rear of the army Hektor passed dozens of dead bodies, familiar faces of men he’d spoken with and fought alongside. This was not the day he had been promised when Zeus whispered to him of victory. He could not let Troy fall today. All could not be lost. A spear whistled passed his shoulder and he dove to the ground, rolling behind a ruined chariot for safety. “Paris.”
Loosing an arrow, Paris quickly nocked another. “Get behind me,” he hissed. “I can’t see who’s throwing the fucking—” Another spear thumped against the chariot’s side, bouncing off it and clanging to the dirt. “Fucking Greeks,” Paris muttered, loosing the second arrow and nocking a third.
“Are there no commanders left?”
“You mean commanders you respect?” Paris shook his head and loosed the third arrow, as a return arrow twanged into the chariot. Another skidded across the ground in front of them. “Only me.” He glanced sideways at Hektor. “My men are scattered. Some fighting at the ships. Trapped because your men couldn’t push through the center as planned.”
“Come with me,” Hektor said between clenched teeth. “We are regrouping.”
By midday, the Trojans and their allies again marched toward the Greek’s defenses. In the midst of the ranks stood Hektor, the bronze rings of his breastplate and his shield flashing like tiny suns in Apollo’s golden light. In a booming voice he cried out, “Who will stand against me?”
Ajax of Telemon, standing tall as a mountain, stepped forward. “Let’s finish what you started. I don’t fear the likes of you. But know this, Hektor of Troy, soon you will be prince of nothing but rocks and ruin.”
“Soon enough the dogs will eat your rotting flesh and the birds will peck your bones clean. And your ships will be burnt to ashes mixed into the sand.”
The ranks of Greeks and Trojans faced one another, standing bravely behind their commanders. Bronze blinked in the light. Spears quivered in the hands of men eager and fearful to do battle. Hektor raised his spear, unleashing his terrible battle cry. The clash of bronze floated to the heavens.
AGAMEMNON’S CAMP
TWENTY SEVEN, Hera’s guile
1238 BCE
Hera gazed down from her perch on the sacred mountain, pleased that Poseidon was helping the Greeks. But, she knew Zeus’ attention would soon turn to the chaos below. If his anger was ignited, it could mean the end of Olympus as they knew it.
In the gleaming halls of her abode, she called the mechanical maidens gifted to her by Hephaestus. They drew her bath in a great crystal basin, easily carrying the heavy amphorae of steaming water. The goddess sprinkled rose petals and jasmine blossoms onto the water’s surface. Lowering herself into the water, she eased into the bath, continuing to scheme how to keep her husband from the mortal combat below.
When she stepped from the bath, the maids dried every inch of her fair skin flushed pink from the water. They brushed her silver hair until it gleamed. She slipped into a gossamer gown of spun silver, sheer enough to reveal the slim perfection of her form. Hera crowned herself with a simple circlet of gold to contrast the pale beauty of her hair. The final piece was Aphrodite’s belt. The small lie she told to obtain it, she reasoned, was worth the power to enchant Zeus. She tucked a vial containing a sleeping potion into the belt and made her way to Mount Ida where she knew her husband had sequestered himself.
Hera walked softly across the meadow, knowing within the woods in front of her, she would find Zeus. Flowers blossomed beneath each step, as even nature was helpless to give up its treasures in the presence of her beauty. The power of Aphrodite’s belt surged through her. For a moment, she forgot her anger and jealousy concerning her daughter. Wielding such magic was indeed intoxicating, even for her. She almost pitied the mortal woman, Helen, for carrying the slightest touch of Aphrodite’s power, but then Zeus turned his eyes to her and Helen was instantly forgotten.
“I want no company,” Zeus said, standing beneath a giant oak. However, his eyes lingered on her, hungrily devouring her as she crossed the last of the meadow.
Hera smiled slightly, recognizing the familiar tone of desire in his words. She swept a strand of her silver hair from her shoulders. “I have come to make amends.” Zeus stared at her a long enough a sliver of doubt crept into her mind. “Believe me.”
Zeus’ eyes darkened with carnal desire. “Why must you fight me at every turn?”
“You made me this way.”
The god’s upper lip curled into a wicked grin. “You wound me, Goddess.”
Hera slipped lithely to his side and placed her elegant hand on his hardened cock. “Let me heal the wounds I have inflicted.” She brushed her lips against his, before playfully biting his bottom lip.
Zeus growled, and the mountain shook. He wrapped Hera up in his huge arms, pulling her close. Kissing her hard. Lifting her from her feet, he lay her down in the soft grass. With a wave of his hand, he pulled a shroud of mist around them. “What I am about to do to you—”
Hera’s mouth stifled the god’s words. True longing replaced her earlier pretense. Her body needed the full power of the god inside of her. It had been too long. Zeus pulled up her gown, expos
ing her glorious naked flesh. Bending his head to her delicate folds, he licked her there until she trembled. He positioned himself between her thighs and thrust into her with all his strength. Hera cried out with pleasure as much as pain. When the god was finished, he collapsed beside her with one leg resting heavily over her hips. He closed his eyes to sleep.
Hera slowed her breathing and regained her senses to focus on her true purpose. She felt for the vial she’d tucked away in her belt. It was still there. Grateful, she pulled it from its hiding place and opened it. She let a drop of the elixir touch Zeus’ lips. She waited to see if he would wake. Only when his chest quietly rose and fell, did Hera dare to slip from beneath him. Standing beside her husband’s peaceful form, she tilted her chin up. She had done what no other god would dare. Confident Zeus would be none the wiser, she left him to his magical slumber.
✽✽✽
Apollo’s light swept across the blue heavens, raising sweat on the men below. Both sides fought furiously for victory. The clash of arms and agonies of men at war, crying out to him by the thousands, woke Zeus from his unnatural sleep. He rubbed at his eyes. His limbs felt heavy. He scowled as it slowly dawned on him what Hera had done.
Zeus peered through the clouds down the mountain at the raging battle. The Trojans pressed the Greeks to their ships, but the Greeks repelled every advance. The tug-of-war continued with no clear winner. It was then that he saw Poseidon, rushing the Greeks as he yelled from his chariot. Zeus’ anger rose in his chest like a storm. Lightning flashed across the midday sky.
He scanned the ground, searching for Hektor. The favored Prince of Troy lay on the ground, mortally wounded. Blood gushing from his mouth. His armor scattered all around him. Without a second thought, the god flew to Olympus, catching Hera in the crystal gardens. He grabbed her roughly the elbow. “You deceitful bitch! How dare you plot with Poseidon against me? My own brother! I warned all of you to keep away from the war.”
As Hera’s tongue licked at her bottom lip, a lie formed. “I have not spoken to Poseidon or urged him on in any way. What he does, he does of his own accord. He pitied the Greeks trapped at their ships.”
Zeus narrowed his eyes to burning slits. “I don’t trust a single word falling from your lips. Send word to Poseidon that he must quit the fight. Tell Apollo to heal Hektor. The field must be leveled after Poseidon’s help.” He pressed his face close to his sister-wife’s. “If you disobey me, I will destroy you and all your beloved Greeks.”
“It shall be as you say.” Hera’s lower lip trembled. Fear surged through her being. “I promise.”
Zeus grabbed her arm, squeezing it tightly as his flaming eyes bore into hers. “Know this, wife; there is a purpose for all things. You do not know everything in my mind, nor will you ever. Not one of you will help either side, until my promise to Thetis is fulfilled.”
Hera bristled at Thetis’ name. Her arm burned with pain, but a sliver of defiance remained. “What did you promise the nymph this time?”
Zeus released her arm, shoving her backwards. “That Achilles’ honor would be restored. My plan has already been set in motion, and none of you will stop it.”
Hera fled to the Great Hall and took her seat among the gods already partaking of the evening meal. Her face was reddened. Her eyes panicked. She rubbed at her aching arm. “Let us feast. I have news.”
Ares, Athena, Aphrodite, and Hephaestus sat silently trading awkward glances. Hera held her chin high. “We all know the risk of defying Zeus. Yet, we do from time to time.”
“We have no choice,” Ares said, stuffing a thin crusted sweet into his mouth.
Hera pressed her lips into a tight line. “We must stop … for now.”
Ares rose up violently from his heavy chair, striking the table with his fists. “Why must we always do what he wills? Are we not gods as well?”
Hera cautioned, “We must not continue to intervene.”
Ares remained defiant. “Zeus can kill me with a bolt of lightning if he chooses.”
Athena spoke up, “Brother, you must think of the consequence. If war breaks out among us, and we lose, we could find ourselves in a worse place.”
“Tartarus,” Aphrodite whispered. The very name of the place sent shivers through her body. “I have no wish to join the Titans in that dark place.”
Hephaestus cut a hunk of roasted meat on his silver platter. He looked at each of his siblings in their glorious bodies. He alone was the gimp of the gods. The immortals sought him for his skills in metal working, but considered him so ugly and undesirable none offered him any true affection. “Or he could simply throw you down the mountain.”
No one said a word. Zeus could maim and kill them all.
Aphrodite was the first to relent. “We were never going to save all the mortals anyway.” Her wine cup refilled itself of delicate nectar. “I’m not sure why we believed any of us could. It is an easy decision.”
Hera sighed in resignation. “I’ll send Iris to bring Poseidon back.”
Athena asked, “Do you think it wise, Mother, to summon Poseidon back to Olympus? Isn’t it better he returns to his halls below the sea?”
“That would be more prudent.” Her eyes found Apollo’s. “You are to heal Hektor.”
Apollo bowed his head and left without a word.
Hera sipped her wine. “It’s over for us.”
“For now,” Athena said. “For now.”
✽✽✽
Hektor lay struggling in the dirt. The force of Ajax’s sword had knocked him to his back and sliced through his breastplate. His men stood helpless around him like a wall. There were no physicians close by and no way to send word for one. Hektor propped himself up on an elbow, gasping for breath. “This … cannot be … the end,” he said, as he desperately clung to life. He slumped back to the ground beneath the heavy hand of a god.
“Rise up, Prince of Troy. Why do you lay here in the dust?”
Hektor stared up into the fading day, a shadow creeping over his eyes. “Ajax struck me …” His voice trailed off to silence.
“He had the advantage of an immortal blow. Poseidon gave him the strength of two dozen men. But you have survived the onslaught. A lesser man would be dead.”
Hektor closed his eyes to the pain. “Apollo.” His chest heaved mightily. Blood dripped from the corners of his mouth. “Am I dying?”
“Not this day, Hektor.” Apollo placed his hand on Hektor’s chest, filling his mortal frame with life and power. “Zeus finds favor with you yet. Stand, Hektor, Golden Prince of Troy. Have courage. Zeus commands me to fight beside you. Call your men. Victory will be yours.”
Hektor rose like a lion, free of pain, and unleashed a ferocious battle cry, renewing the spirit of his army. “Apollo is with us!”
The astonished Trojans took Hektor’s miraculous recovery as a god-sign and joined behind him to storm the enemy at the gates. Hektor and Apollo strode side by side, the god a mere shimmer to mortal eyes. The enemies rushed at each other, as the song of swords clashing filled the air.
Apollo roared, as his sword cut men to the bone. The Greeks fell to the ground, covering their ears—some wept, and others ran for the ships. They despaired because the courage of Poseidon had abandoned them.
Hektor’s voice thundered across the carnage, “Take the ships!”
Apollo flattened the offending ditch with his heavy feet, clearing a path through the trench for the Trojans to ride their chariots. With delight, he smashed the flimsy mortal wall on both sides of the gate, pushing the Greeks into the heart of their camp.
✽✽✽
When the noise of war drew too close, Patrokles stepped outside of the physician’s tent. Chaos swirled around him. Trojan warriors had ascended the far beached ships, burning and killing everyone in their path. Black smoke filled the air. Men ran with wild-eyed faces. Others dragged wounded comrades to safety.
Patrokles grabbed a bleeding man running passed him. “What’s happened?”
“
My lord, the Trojans have destroyed our defenses. The wall is gone. Hektor is coming for us.”
He released the man’s arm. “Go.” The frightened man ran, disappearing into the maze of tents. Standing alone, watching the destruction of the camp, Patrokles knew it was time. It was time to get Achilles back into the fight, or they would all die.
PART THREE
Ashes in the Wind
blood soaked ground
feet slipping in the muck
mercy is sliced away
by crimson dripping blades
bones crack and crunch
shields splinter and
spear points find homes
in soft flesh
dark eyes close forever
mothers and daughters
weep and weave shrouds
dyeing threads with bitter tears
mothers, wives, sisters weep
at the foothills of pyres
mercy now in hungry flames
floating through Hade’s gates
bones to ashes settle on the wall
across the gory plain
revenge blossoms beneath their breasts
the rage of queens does reign
AGAMEMNON’S CAMP
TWENTY EIGHT, catch a falling star
1238 BCE
Acrid smoke filled Patrokles’ nostrils. He coughed the stinging air out of his lungs, only to inhale more of the same. Making his way to Achilles’ ship, he prayed to the gods that his cousin wasn’t too far into his wine for logic and reason. He had been sewing men’s wounds and closing their eyes when their spirits soared to the Land of the Dead, since Achilles abandoned the war. Patrokles could not fathom how Achilles, so attuned to his men’s needs, could be so heartless for all the others. How can he remain so hateful? When he reached the rope ladder, he climbed to the rail and hopped onto the deck. It was unusually quiet. “Achilles?”
Rage of Queens (Homeric Chronicles Book 3) Page 24
