Part 43 (1/2)

Towards the end, their centre gave way or died. I began to kill men with every cut of my arm. My hand was growing better better as I cut, and my opponents' eyes were elsewhere looking up the hill and behind them, where Stephanos's men had climbed the ridge and now came back down on their left flank from above. Every cut and every thrust took another man down, and then none of them would stand against me. I killed twenty men, I think. as I cut, and my opponents' eyes were elsewhere looking up the hill and behind them, where Stephanos's men had climbed the ridge and now came back down on their left flank from above. Every cut and every thrust took another man down, and then none of them would stand against me. I killed twenty men, I think.

Yet even as they ran, they fought. Thracians are never more dangerous than when they run men will turn and throw spears, and they can form again as soon as they think you have lost your order. And my rowers had no stomach to follow them nor could I blame them.

So we pushed left, trapping their left wing in a pocket formed of the three forces the sally from the town, Stephanos's marines and my own left wing. My right separated from me, going up the hill with Paramanos, so that Herk and Idomeneus were the end men of our part of the line.

I couldn't see whether the Thracians were rallying in the trees beyond the crest or not.

One of their chieftains commanded their left, and he must have known that the end was on him. A handful of his men threw themselves at us there were three of them, and there was still a gap between Herk and Stephanos as he came down the hill to close the circle. But I put my cheap s.h.i.+eld into the face of one and knocked him flat, and his falling fouled the other two, then we put them down in less time than it takes to tell it, Herk thrusting hard past my s.h.i.+eld with his spear and Hermogenes giving me a rap on the helmet in his haste to kill the third one over my shoulder.

It was clear to all that the Thracians were going to die. The chieftain had a scale s.h.i.+rt, a double-bitted hunting axe and a tall helmet of scales crowned with a boar's head in gold. He was bellowing challenges, but neither Stephanos nor Aristagoras intended that we would fight him man to man, and the circle tightened.

I had other plans. I ran at him two paces, all the s.p.a.ce that the dying melee allowed. His axe went up and I gave him the edge of my aspis and he split it, gas.h.i.+ng my shoulder so that I saw white. But I had his axe trapped in my s.h.i.+eld, and my good sword thrust into his face as if of its own accord. I stabbed him twice, but I think he was dead after the first.

And then I was helmet to helmet with Aristagoras. He was trying to claim my kill, and he cut at me, probably because his vision was blurred and it was dark or because he knew me and hated me.

Now, I keep promising that I will be honest. I want to tell you that we duelled at the edge of the dark, me the hero and he the villain. But, in fact, I had lost the crest of my helm and had a rower's s.h.i.+eld, and unless he knew me by my scale s.h.i.+rt, he had no idea who I was. But by the G.o.ds, I knew him. The last of the Thracians were dying noisily, and I had him all to myself.

I was a little above him on the hill and I had my s.h.i.+eld fouled by the dead chieftain's axe. It was split and my shoulder was gus.h.i.+ng blood, and I couldn't spin fully to face Aristagoras. So I rotated on my rear foot, pulling my left arm clear of the porpax as I spun and taking a second blow from Aristagoras on the reinforced shoulder of my scale thorax as I turned, so that I just managed to keep my footing.

Aristagoras thrust at me a third time, and his blade slid off my scales and down my thighs, cutting me. But I paid no heed. Instead, I completed my rotation, clear at last of the wreck of my s.h.i.+eld the G.o.ds must have decreed that s.h.i.+elds would be my bane that day and I cut at him, a long overhand blow that caught him behind the s.h.i.+eld because I had spun so fast. I sheared through his swan and my blade rang on his helmet. I powered my right foot forward and lifted my blade with my right arm, catching it under the rim of the cheekpiece of his helmet and cutting into his throat an ugly blow, no skill to it, but I had my blade inside his s.h.i.+eld and I wasn't going to let him go.

I saw his eyes then, and he knew he was a dead man. He would have run, but I'd cut the artery in the neck. He wasn't dead, but he let his limbs go loose a final cowardice. He might have cut me one more time, but he gave up.

I like to think he knew it was me. But I don't know that for certain.

My sword glanced off his neck guard, where the yoke of his corslet rose to cover his back, and I lifted it high in the 'Harmodius Blow', an overhand back cut with the legs reversed and the whole weight of a man's body and hips behind it, and I cut his head right off his body no easy feat with a short sword. Try it the next time you sacrifice a calf.

The stump of his neck jetted blood like a newborn volcano, and he fell.

I won't lie. It was a sweet moment.

Herk caught my wounded left shoulder, and the pain brought me to my senses. 'Well done, lad!' he said. 'Now get out of here, before one of his men fingers you for it.'

The fighting was fading away. It was the ugly part of a fight when the brave men find how bad their wounds are, and the cowards push forward and b.l.o.o.d.y their weapons on dead and wounded men, as if anyone can be fooled by such stuff. I had a dozen cuts, and my arms were both hurt.

Hermogenes had to prise the vambrace off my arm. It was twisted, the cut that had numbed my arm had deformed the surface, and he had to deform the metal to get it off me, putting the flat of his eating knife against my skin and using it like a crowbar. But my right hand and arm felt better immediately.

My left arm wasn't so easily fixed. I had four different cuts, and Hermogenes pulled his old chiton out of his pack, ripped it in four pieces and used one of them to wrap my arm. 'This is no life for a man,' he said, out of nowhere. 'Your friend Lekthes is dead.'

That was the first I'd heard, although I've already told you the manner of his pa.s.sing.

Idomeneus had as many cuts as I had, and a deep gash on the outside of his thigh that wrapped around his hip and on to his b.u.t.tock. You could see white at the bottom of the wound, where the deep fat was.

'That's not good,' Idomeneus said, looking at his hip, and fainted.

Hermogenes shook his head. 'This is no life for a man,' he repeated. 'Look at yourselves. And this for gold? Who needs f.u.c.king gold?' He laid out his leather bag, lit a lamp he was a monster of efficiency, our Hermogenes, even then and wrapped Idomeneus, even st.i.tching his a.r.s.e, which woke the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d. He woke with a scream, but by then Herakleides and Nestor had his arms and he fainted again.

Herk came back with Agios and a wineskin, attracted by the lamp. There was no breeze, and the wounded were calling for water, and the night things were coming.

He handed me a cup of wine, but Hermogenes intercepted it and drank it. Fair enough he was the one doing all the work.

'Still Thracians in the town,' Herk said. 'Miltiades is anxious to get off.'

Paramanos came up with Stephanos. Paramanos had a bandage around his head, and he sighed and pushed the wineskin away. 'One drink and I'll be out,' he said. 'I owe Lekthes' widow,' he said. 'He traded his life for mine.'

'He was a good man,' I said. The wine cup had come to me, and I poured a libation to his shade. 'Apollo light him to Elysium.'

'Aye, he went down like Achilles,' Herk said.

I handed the cup back to Hermogenes. 'I'm going for the town,' I said. Stephanos stepped forward and I shook my head. 'You gather up the wounded,' I said to him. 'Make sure men go aboard the right s.h.i.+ps. Herakleides I'll bring Briseis to her namesake. Be ready.'

I embraced them all, one by one. 'I don't know if I'll be back,' I said.

They all embraced me again, and then I headed downhill, to the sally port from which Aristagoras had come.

Paramanos came with me. When I turned to look at him in the moonlight, his eyes sparkled. 'You need a keeper,' he said.

A party of Aristagoras's men was carrying his body through the gate. A young man had his s.h.i.+eld over his shoulder. We followed them.

If there were Thracians, we didn't see them, although we could hear screams and occasional sounds of fighting from lower in the town. We followed the body up two narrow alleys and a long staircase set into an outer wall, and then we were at a torch-lit gate. It was a small place, compared with Kallipolis. There were two sentries, and they were too young and raw to have gone with the sortie.

I don't know what I expected, honey. I think that I thought that she would throw herself into my arms and weep. It wasn't that way at all, of course.

The hall was small, and she was waiting to receive the body. Her handmaidens were around her, and they took his body the man I'd beheaded an hour before and they washed it. She caught my eye and started. She raised an eyebrow that was all the greeting I got and then went back to her task. Her role. Like a priestess, she had her part to play, and she played it well.

An old woman sewed the head back on. While that happened, I stepped up next to Briseis. She bowed.

'Lord Arimnestos,' she said. 'We are honoured.'

She bowed to me imagine, Briseis the untouchable bowing to Doru the slave. It was all like a dream.

'I am a poor hostess,' she said, and led the way out of the hall, on to a balcony over the sea.

I still expected an embrace.

'I killed him,' I said quietly, and I think I smiled.

She nodded. 'I know that,' she said. 'And I thank you. Now go. You should not be here.'

'But-' I couldn't believe it. She was pregnant again, I could tell about three months. But her beauty was unchanged, and her power over me. 'But I came to rescue you.'

Such things, once said, sound very weak indeed.