Shield of Thunder (15 page)

This is going to take longer than I thought, he realized—just as a left hook connected with his temple, lifting him from his feet and catapulting him to the sand. He rose groggily, shook his head, then spit blood from his mouth. “You can hit. I’ll give you that,” he told Leukon.

Now the whole crew gathered around, and other sailors from camps close by came to watch the bout.

Banokles moved in more warily. It didn’t help. Leukon’s left hand kept flashing out through his defenses and slamming against his skull. Twice more he was dumped to the sand, and twice more he rose to slap the spear. Leukon grew more cocky, stepping in with combination blows, lefts and rights that came in a blur. Banokles took them all, seeking an opening. Leukon missed with a straight left. Banokles darted in, sending a wicked uppercut into Leukon’s exposed jaw. It hit with all the weight Banokles could muster, and it shook the big man, who staggered back. Banokles rushed in, clubbing two more rights, then a roundhouse left that sent Leukon tumbling to the sand.

He was up swiftly.

Banokles fought on gamely, but he was beginning to realize that he was outclassed. He caught Leukon with several good blows, but the big crewman merely shrugged and came on, his fists hammering at Banokles’ face and body. Banokles was fighting now through a sea of pain, unremitting and unending, but he struggled on, ever hopeful for the one blow that might make the difference.

When it came, it was a total surprise. Leukon seemed to slip. His jaw jutted out. Banokles put everything he had into the punch, and the big man tottered and fell heavily to the sand. Amazingly, he did not rise. The roar of the crowd faded away. Banokles stood blinking in the firelight. He leaned forward to peer more closely at the fallen man, then toppled to his knees. Odysseus moved alongside Leukon, then signaled the fight was over. Kalliades ran to Banokles’ side and hauled him to his feet.

“You did it, my friend,” he said. “Well fought.”

Banokles said nothing for a moment. One eye was swollen shut, and his face hurt from the hairline to the jaw. “A little wine would be good,” he mumbled.

Kalliades helped him back to their small campsite in the boulders. With a groan Banokles lay down by the fading fire. Piria arrived, bearing a bucket of seawater and a cloth. Gently she cleaned the blood from his face. Finally she took a flat stone from the bucket and pressed it gently against the swollen eye. It was wonderfully cool, and Banokles sighed.

Her fingers lightly brushed the blond hair back from his brow. “You should rest,” she said to him. “You took a fearful beating.”

“I won, though.”

“You are a brave fighter, Banokles.”

“I think…I’ll sleep now,” he told her.

And darkness swallowed him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

BACK FROM THE DEAD

Kalliades gazed down at his bruised and battered friend, then glanced across to where Leukon was now conscious and talking to Odysseus. Around the
Penelope
campfire a number of local whores had gathered and were sitting with the men. The sound of laughter drifted across the beach. He sat down, and Piria left Banokles and came to sit beside him.

“I have seen many fistfights,” she said softly. “Never have I seen anyone take such a beating and stay on his feet.”

Kalliades nodded. “He doesn’t have the sense to know when he’s beaten. It was kind of you to bathe his wounds. I thought you didn’t like him.”

“He is a hard man not to like,” she admitted grudgingly.

He looked at her and smiled. “This is not the Piria I have come to know.”

“And who is this Piria?” she said, her tone sharp.

“Someone fine and brave,” he told her. “Truth to tell, you are like Banokles in some ways. You both have great courage. You, too, are rash and reckless, though for different reasons. Banokles thinks no further than his next meal, his next battle, or his next woman. You are driven by something else.”

“You see a great deal, Kalliades. Are you as accurate when you glimpse your own reflection?”

“I doubt it,” he admitted. “Most men rationalize their weaknesses and exaggerate their strengths. I am no different.”

“Perhaps you are. You wagered a sword you cherished when you believed Banokles could not win. You did that to support him, for you knew if you did not, it would sap his confidence.”

“Yes, I treasure the sword of Argurios, but it is still just a sword. Banokles is a friend. There is not enough gold in all the world to buy such a friendship.”

“And what else cannot be bought?” she asked him.

He thought about the question as he stared out over the wine-dark sea. “Nothing of real worth can ever be bought,” he said at last. “Love, friendship, honor, valor, respect. All these things have to be earned.”

“Speaking of honor, I see that Idomeneos has not yet given you the breastplate.”

“No, he has not,” Kalliades said, anger rising. Why would a man with the wealth of Idomeneos seek to cheat a simple warrior of a sword?

They sat in silence for a while, then she took her cloak and moved to the fire, adding the last of the fuel. Kalliades watched her stretch herself out, pillowing her head on her arm.

Time drifted by, but he was not tired. The fighter Leukon was sitting alone, away from the crew. Kalliades rose and walked across to him.

“What do you want?” Leukon asked, as Kalliades sat down beside him on a flat rock. “Come to gloat?”

“Why would I gloat?” Kalliades asked. “You were winning easily, and then you decided to lie down.”

“What?”

“You were not unconscious. Banokles was exhausted at the end. He had little strength left, certainly not enough to punch
you
from your feet.”

“Keep your voice down! Otherwise you will lose that shining breastplate.”

“So why?” Kalliades whispered.

“Odysseus told me to.”

“That does not answer my question.”

Leukon sighed, then pointed across to another campfire farther along the beach. “Did you see the big man with the forked red beard who came and watched the fight?”

Kalliades recalled the man. He was huge and had stood watching the bout, his massive arms folded across his chest. “What of him?”

“That was Hakros. He is the champion of Rhodos and a ferocious fighter. Last summer in Argos he killed a man in a bout. Smashed his skull.”

“What of it?”

“He and I will probably fight each other in Troy. There will be big wagers made. All the bigger now that Hakros has seen me beaten. Losing to Banokles means gold to Odysseus—and to me.”

Kalliades swore softly. “That was not a good deed,” he said.

Leukon shrugged. “No harm done. Banokles gained a few bruises, and I feel as if several boulders have been bounced from me. You got a breastplate, and he thinks he’s a champion.”

“Yes, he does,” Kalliades said coldly. “And now he will go to Troy, where some other fine fighter, like Hakros, will break his bones or perhaps kill him.”

Leukon shook his head. “There won’t be more than four—maybe five—men who could take him. He’s strong, and he’s tougher than he has any right to be. If he could learn a few good moves, he’d do all right. He’ll win several of the preliminary bouts and, with a few wagers, make himself some gold.”

“It will be many days to Troy,” Kalliades said, “and many nights on beaches such as this. I want you to train him, to show him some of those moves.”

Leukon laughed. “And why would I do that?”

“There could be two reasons,” Kalliades said. “One, it would be an act of good fellowship. Two, I could tell Banokles you threw the fight and shamed him. He would then be obliged to challenge you again, this time with swords and to the death. I don’t know what kind of swordsman you are, Leukon, but I’d wager Banokles would kill you in a heartbeat. However, I am a fine judge of men, and I know you will do what I ask because you have a good heart.”

Leukon chuckled. “I’ll train him. But not for fear and not for good-heartedness. I need the practice. He will do everything I tell him?”

“Yes.”

“And is he a fast learner?”

Now it was Kalliades who laughed. “It would be easier to teach a pig to dance or a dog to shoot a bow.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Men from various crews approached Odysseus, requesting a tale, but he turned them away. He felt a heaviness of heart and had no wish to entertain crowds. So he left the campfire and wandered away down the beach, pausing before the
Xanthos,
the huge warship of Helikaon. He saw Hektor walking toward him. The Trojan was unaware of the admiring, envious glances from the sailors who sat close by. It was one of the traits Odysseus liked about him. There was in Hektor an innocence and a gentleness of spirit, surprising in any warrior but astonishing in the son of a king like Priam.

Odysseus waited until the Trojan reached him, then led him along the seashore, away from the crowds.

“There are a great many disappointed men here tonight,” said Hektor.

Odysseus glanced up at the taller man. “I am in no mood for storytelling. So why are you sailing the Great Green so close to your wedding feast?”

“Father sent me. He was concerned about pirates attacking the wedding guests. With Helikaon…” He hesitated. “With Helikaon injured, he thought that word of my involvement would inspire a little fear in them.”

“Injured?” Odysseus put in, his heart leaping. “I was told he was dead.”

“Do not let your hopes soar, Odysseus. He was stabbed twice. One wound has healed, but the second blow pierced his armpit and a lung. It is this wound that will not heal. There is corruption there.”

“Who is attending him?”

“The priest Machaon. He is good with wounds. He tended me two years ago, when I almost died. And Andromache will not leave his side.” Odysseus looked up sharply. “She is a fine woman,” Hektor continued. “I like her.”

“So I should hope—since you will be spending the rest of your life with her.”

Hektor fell silent and stood staring out to sea. Odysseus glanced at the young man. There was something wrong here. Hektor seemed distant, and Odysseus sensed a great sorrow in him. Was it fear for Helikaon? The two were great friends.

Hektor glanced back at the campfire. “I do not like Idomeneos,” he said. “The man is a lizard. I doubt he will surrender his breastplate to the young Mykene.”

“No, he won’t,” Odysseus said. “But I will make good on his promise.”

“You are a strange man, sea uncle.”

Odysseus chuckled. “You first called me that fifteen summers back. That was a good voyage.”

“I have fond memories of it. Helikaon and I used to swap stories about you. He told me how you tricked him into diving from that cliff by pretending you couldn’t swim. He will always be grateful for that. He said you made him a man.”

“Pish! He would have found his way without me. Might have taken a little longer, is all.”

Hektor sighed, and the smile left his face. “He is dying, Odysseus. I hear myself say the words, and I still can’t believe them.”

“He may surprise you yet. Men like Helikaon do not die easily.”

“You have not seen him, Odysseus. He fades in and out, sometimes knowing where he is but mostly floating in delirium. He is stick-thin and fever-ridden.”

“And is this why you are suffering?”

“In part.” Hektor picked up a stone from the beach and sent it skimming over the water. “War is coming. That’s what Father says. I think he is right. He usually is.”

Odysseus looked at the young man, knowing instantly that his question had been deflected. Hektor never could lie. Whatever it was that had brought him low, the young prince had no wish to speak of it.

“There is always talk of war,” Odysseus said. “Perhaps wisdom will prevail.”

Hektor shook his head. “Not wisdom but gold. Many of the allies Agamemnon needs are fed wealth by my father. That is why the gathering at Sparta came to nothing. It will not last. Agamemnon will find a way to unite the kings, or he will kill those who oppose him. Either way he will bring his armies to our gates.” He skimmed another stone, then dropped to his knees to hunt for more. “Do you still carve Penelope’s face in the sand?” he asked.

“Yes. Most nights.”

Hektor sat down on the sand and looked out over the starlit water. “Those were good days, Odysseus. I had killed no one then, led no charges, stormed no walls. All that mattered was shipping the olive oil to Kypros and the copper ore to Lykia. I do not see the world as I did then. I look out over a valley and see battlegrounds where once I saw fields and hills bright with flowers. You know there were six thousand dead at Kadesh? Six thousand!”

“Men will tire of women and song before they tire of war,” said Odysseus, crouching down beside him.

“I am tired of it. So tired. When I was young, Father told me I would come to revel in combat and victory. It was never true. I have even come to loathe the fistfighting, Odysseus. All I want is to live on my farm and raise horses. Yet there is always a battle somewhere. The Egypteians raiding Hittite towns, allies begging for help with insurrections or invasions. Now it is the Mykene, seeking to bring war to Troy.”

“Perhaps…but not this spring. This spring you are to be wed. Can you not put off such gloomy thoughts for a while and enjoy your bride?”

For a heartbeat only Hektor’s expression changed, his shoulders sagging. He turned his face away, staring once more out to sea. “Andromache is wonderful…breathtaking and enchanting. She traveled with you, I am told.”

“For a short time. I liked her enormously.”

“And she met Helikaon then.”

“Yes, I believe she did.”

“Did they…become friends?”

“Oh, I don’t think they got to know each other well enough,” Odysseus lied. “Why do you ask?”

“She nurses him now, exhausting herself.”

“She did that for Argurios, I am told, after assassins brought him low. It is the nature of the woman, Hektor—perhaps the nature of
all
women—to nurture and to heal.”

“Yes. I expect you are right.” He smiled. “Even my father speaks highly of her, and that is rare. He uses women freely but has no respect for them.”

“She will make a fine wife, Hektor, loyal and true. Of that I have no doubt. She is like my Penelope and will bring you great happiness.”

“We should be getting back to the others,” Hektor said, pushing himself to his feet.

Odysseus spoke quietly. “You know, lad, sometimes a problem shared grows in weight. Most times, though, it lessens when spoken of. You know that you can talk to me and that I will not repeat what you say. I tell you this because it seems to me you are carrying a great burden. It should not be so. You are Hektor, prince of Troy. Your fame is known around the Great Green. There is not a man on this beach who would not give ten years of his life to be you.”

Hektor looked into Odysseus’ eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was full of sorrow. “I cannot share my burden, sea uncle—even with you. Believe me, though, when I say that if the truth was known, not one of those men would wish to be me.”

With that, he strode back to the campfire.

∗ ∗ ∗

Dawn was breaking, and there were rain clouds to the south when Piria woke. A little way from her Banokles was snoring. Kalliades was stretched out alongside him. He opened his eyes as Piria stirred and smiled before falling asleep again.

She lay quietly for a while on the soft sand. For the first time in months her dreams had not been troubled, nor had she been woken by the pain of her injuries. Carefully she sat up. The pain was less now, and she sensed that her body had begun to heal. The rising sun shone down on Apollo’s Bow, bathing the cliffs in soft gold, and Piria felt a lightness of spirit that had long been absent. The outburst at Kalliades the previous day had been remarkable in its effect. It was as if she had been holding poison inside her and it had flowed out with the angry words. Everything was different this day, the sky more beautiful, the scent of the sea more uplifting. Even the air felt clean as it filled her lungs. She had not felt this happy since she and Andromache had been together on Thera with no thought of ever leaving.