The Song of Troy

Then, before I could countermand him, off he ran, shouting to his squadron to mount their cars. In the lead, he lashed his team onto the Simois causeway. Though it was wide, so too is a team of three horses abreast; the near and the off animal rolled eyes wildly at the spikes protruding out of the ditch on either side until their panic communicated itself to the middle horse. Next moment all three were rearing and plunging, and had thrown Asios’s charioteers behind him into confusion as well. While Asios’s driver fought to control the team, the gates at the end of the causeway swung open a little. Into the breach stepped two men at the head of a large company. Their standard showed that they were Lapiths; I shuddered. Asios was a dead man. One of the two leaders cast his spear and plugged my braggart cousin through the chest. He pitched out of the chariot in a huge upward leap to land, sprawled out, on the stakes in the ditch. His driver followed quickly; the Lapiths stepped around the chariot and laid into those who had followed. There was nothing we could do to help. Carnage wrought, the Lapiths retired in good order and the Simois gates were closed.

Now I had a mess to clear off the causeway before I could start my men, but in the meantime Aineas, Sarpedon and Glaukos had a long march to the Skamander causeway – which, I reflected with satisfaction, would not be blocked by any defenders. Achilles sat on the other side of the Skamander gates, and Achilles had abrogated his duty to Agamemnon. A silly girl was more important to him than his fellow countrymen were. What a sham.

The men poured across at a run and turned inwards along the base of the wall, greeted by a storm of spears, arrows and stones from the defenders. Their shields over their heads, they suffered little from the missiles as they trotted steadily towards the Skamander causeway, where the foreign troops were begi

We tried scaling with the ladders, but that the Greeks were too wily to permit. Ajax charged up and down the middle section, where I was, roaring lustily and shoving ladders down with his foot. Wasteful. I ordered a cease.

‘It must be the fires,’ I said to Sarpedon, whose troops had married mine.

Lit first, the fires in our section now burned fiercely. Lykian bowmen kept the heads on the parapet down below the breastworks, while other Lykians and my Trojans fed the fires with oil.

‘Let me try for the walls,’ said Sarpedon.

Shielded by smoke, the ladders went up between the fires and stayed there while Sarpedon’s bowmen fired volley after volley at the defenders. Then, magically it seemed, Lykian helmet plumes waved atop the wall; the struggle was joined. Vaguely I heard some Greek captain call for reinforcements, but I didn’t expect Ajax and his Salaminians. Within moments the little victory became a rout; bodies thudded at our feet, Lykian war cries turned to screams of pain. And Teukros was there behind his brother’s shield, firing his darts not into the mêlée atop the wall, but down on us.

A choked whimper beside me was followed by the weight of someone slumping against me; I lowered Glaukos to earth with an arrow clear through his shoulder, armour and all. Too deep. I looked up at Sarpedon and shook my head; pink foam was bubbling from Glaukos’s mouth, a sign of imminent death.

They were as close as twins, they had ruled together and loved each other for years. The death of one surely meant the death of the other.

Sarpedon roared his anguish briefly, then seized a horse blanket from around a wounded soldier, muffled it about his face and shoulders, and stepped straight over one of the fires. A rope dangled from a grappling hook above, overlooked by the Greeks in their anxiety to push the Lykians from the parapet. Sarpedon grasped it and heaved with a strength not normally given to a man, so great was his grief for Glaukos. The wood groaned and creaked, the blackened logs began to gape and split; a big section of wall suddenly collapsed around us. Trojans unlucky enough to be under it were crushed, Greeks unlucky enough to be atop it came plummeting with it, and in an instant the whole middle section of my line was a shambles. Through the gap I saw tall stone houses and barracks, the ranks of ships beyond, and the grey Hellespont. Then Sarpedon blocked my view; he threw the blanket away, picked up his sword and shield, and entered the Greek camp howling murder.

The Greeks broke before us as we advanced, more and more of our men pouring through until the Greeks rallied and faced us. Ajax was there encouraging resistance, but in this crush neither of us could hope for duelling room. The line gave not a fraction either way; Idomeneus and Meriones brought their Cretans up, and my brother Alkathoos dropped. I dashed the tears from my eyes and cursed my weakness, though it was more fury than sorrow. I fought the better for it.

Faces came and went – Aineas, Idomeneus, Meriones, Menestheus, Ajax, Sarpedon. There were many Trojans amid the Lykians and Dardanians now; a glance behind revealed that the gap in the wall was much wider than it had been. Only the purple plumes prevented our killing our own, the crush was so great, the ground so hotly contested. Men died as wastefully as bravely; my boot heels kept slipping on human cobbles, and in places the pressure was so enormous that dead men actually stayed upright, mouths open, wounds bubbling. My arms and chest were covered in the blood of other men, I dripped it.

Polydamas materialised alongside me. ‘Hektor, you’re needed. We’re through the breach in great numbers, but the Greeks are strong. Towards Simois as soon as you can, please!’

It took time to disengage without panicking those I was leaving behind, but eventually I was able to slip backwards until I could edge my way along the Greek wall, cheering the men on as I went, reminding them that ultimate victory was ours the moment we burned those thousand ships and gave them no hope of sailing away.

Someone tripped me. He almost parted with his head for it, save that in gauging the blow I saw who sat there, giggling.

‘Why don’t you watch where you’re going?’ Paris asked.

I stared at him, thunderstruck. ‘Paris, you never cease to amaze me. While men are dying everywhere, you sit safe and sound. With enough leisure to amuse yourself by tripping me up.’

Even that didn’t wipe the smile from his face. ‘Well, if you think I’m going to beg your forgiveness, Hektor, think again! If it wasn’t for me you wouldn’t be here, and that’s the truth. Who picked off the Greek somebodies one by one with his arrows, eh? Who forced Diomedes to leave the field, eh?’

I yanked him up by his long black curls and set him on his feet. ‘Then pick off some more!’ I snarled. ‘Ajax, maybe – eh?’

Giving me a look of loathing, Paris slithered off, leaving me to discover that the part of our line in trouble was being attacked by Ajax and a big company of Salaminians.

The whole front of the battle had changed direction. We fought now among the houses, difficult and perilous work; every building harboured Greeks lying in ambush. But those in the open were falling back steadily towards the beach and the ships. Ajax heard my war cry and answered with his famous ‘Ai! Ai! Woe! Woe!’ We pushed through the heaving bodies to come at each other, I with my spear at the ready. Then, almost as I was upon him, he bent suddenly and came up holding a boulder in both hands, a chock used to stabilise a beached ship. My spear was useless. I threw it away and drew my sword, counting on my superior speed to get me to him first. He flung the rock with all his might at pointblank range. I felt a tearing pain as it caught me squarely on the chest, then I fell.