The Song of Troy

Out of a humming darkness into a world of terrible pain; I felt the taste of blood in my mouth and vomited, opened my eyes to see blackish blood on the ground beside me, then lost my senses again. The second time I came around the pain was not as bad; one of our surgeons was kneeling over me. I struggled to sit up, he helping me.

‘You have some badly bruised ribs and a few ruptured veins, Prince Hektor, but nothing more serious,’ he said.

‘The Gods are with us today!’ I gasped, leaning on him as he got me the rest of the way to my feet.

The more I moved, the less the agony; I kept on moving. Some of my men had carried me beyond the Simois causeway and put me down near my own chariot. Kebriones was gri

‘We thought you were dead, Hektor.’

‘Get me back there,’ I said, climbing aboard.

Not to have to walk the whole way was a blessing, but at the back of the press I had to get down. Deeming me dead, my army had begun to falter, but once enough men learned that I was alive and returning to the fight, they rallied. The sight of my face must have been a bitter blow to the Greeks. They broke and fled through the houses until a leader unknown to me managed to halt them under the bow of a lone ship standing, a kind of figurehead in itself, well forward of the first seemingly endless row of ships. We beat the Greeks to their knees, for they refused to retreat any further; only Ajax, Meriones and a few Cretans remained to defy us.

The prow of the lone ship loomed over my head; I saw success within my very grasp as Ajax planted his feet in front of me and raised his sword – my sword, given to him as a gift. I lunged and he parried neatly; it was our duel all over again, but this time no eyes had opportunity to watch us, and all around us others fought with equal savagery.

‘Whose – ship?’ I gasped.

‘Belonged – to – Protesilaos,’ he panted.

‘I – burn – it!’

‘See – you – burn – first!’

More Greeks were arriving to defend what was obviously a talisman vessel as a sudden surge of movement carried Ajax and me apart. Some of my own Royal Guard were with me now, and the Greeks opposing us were not of Salaminian quality. We pushed on, taking life after life. Ajax swam into my vision again, but this time he didn’t try to turn us back. With a series of mighty heaves he pulled himself up onto the deck of the Protesilaos ship, as quick and lithe as a tumbler. There he picked up a long pole and swung it back and forth in lazy circles, knocking my men clean off the deck the moment they reached it.

When the last Greek opposing me was dead I seized a pair of Trojan shoulders and scrambled up until I could take hold of the Protesilaos prow. From there down to the deck was a single leap. In front of me Ajax stood swaying on his feet, still unconquered. We took stock of each other, each of us feeling in the same instant all the exhaustion of so much fighting. Shaking his huge head slowly, as if to convince himself that I did not exist, he brought his pole around. I raised my sword and met it with the blade, shearing it in two. The sudden loss of balance almost tipped him over; he righted himself, groping for his sword. I scuttled forward, sure he was done, but again he showed me what a great warrior he was. Instead of meeting me he ran to the stern, bunched his muscles and leaped from the Protesilaos ship to the one directly behind it in the middle of the first row.

I abandoned him. Something within me loved that man as he surely loved me. Mutual affection grows, friends or enemies. I knew the Gods did not want us to kill each other; we had exchanged duelling gifts.

I leaned over the rail and looked down on a sea of purple Trojan plumes.

‘Give me a torch!’

Someone tossed one upwards. I caught it, walked down to the empty mast amid its shrouds and let the fire lick lovingly about those worn ropes, the cracked dry wood. From the next ship Ajax watched me, arms hanging limply by his sides, tears rolling down his face. The flames kindled; a sheet of fire ran up the mast to the crosstrees, the deck began to weep trickles of smoke from other torches thrown below through the rowing ports. I ran back to the prow, mounted it.

‘Victory is ours!’ I shouted. ‘The ships are aflame!’

My men took up the cry, surging to meet the Greeks as they clustered in front of the ships resting in line behind the lonely Protesilaos talisman.

27

NARRATED BY

Achilles

I spent most of my time standing on the roof of the tallest Myrmidon barracks, looking from its height across our wall to the plain. When the army broke and fled, I saw it; when Sarpedon breached our wall, I saw it; when Hektor’s men poured in among the houses, I saw it. But no more. Listening to Odysseus outline his plan was one thing. To see the plan’s outcome was unbearable. I plodded back to my house.

Patrokles sat on a bench outside its door, his face wet with tears. Seeing me, he turned away.

‘Go and find Nestor,’ I said. ‘I saw him bring Machaon in a while ago. Ask him what news there is from Agamemnon.’

All futile. What the news would be was obvious. But at least I wouldn’t have to look at Patrokles, or hear him beg me to change my mind. The noise of the conflict raging on the other side of the stockade fence which shut my Thessalian people off was a little distant; it was the Simois end of the camp most beset. I sat on the bench and waited until Patrokles returned.

‘What does Nestor say?’

His face was ugly with contempt. ‘Our cause is lost. After ten long years of work and pain, our cause – is – lost! Through no one’s fault save yours! Eurypylos was with Nestor and Machaon. The fatalities are shocking and Hektor runs amok. Even Ajax is powerless to curb his advance. The ships must burn.’

He drew a breath. ‘If you hadn’t quarrelled with Agamemnon none of this could have happened! You sacrificed Greece to feed your passion for an insignificant woman!’

‘Patrokles, why won’t you believe in me?’ I asked. ‘Why have you turned against me? Is it jealousy over Brise?’

‘No. It’s disillusionment, Achilles. You’re just not the man I thought you were. This isn’t about love. It’s about pride.’

I didn’t say whatever I thought I might because a great shout went up. We both ran to the stockade wall and mounted the steps to see above it. A column of smoke rose into the sky; the Protesilaos ship was burning. All had come to pass. I could move. But how could I tell Patrokles that he, not I, must lead out the men of Thessalia? The Myrmidons?

When we came down Patrokles went on his knees in the dust.

‘Achilles, the ships must burn! If you won’t, then let me lead our troops out! Surely you’ve seen how much they hate sitting here while the rest of Greece dies! Do you want the throne of Mykenai, is that it? Do you want to return to a land in no fit condition to resist your conquering forces?’

My face felt tight, but I answered levelly. ‘I have no designs on Agamemnon’s throne.’

‘Then let me lead our men out now! Let me take them down to the ships before Hektor burns them!’

I allowed myself to nod stiffly. ‘Very well, then, take them. I see your point, Patrokles. Receive the command.’

Even as I said that, I saw how the scheme might be made to work better, and lifted Patrokles to his feet. ‘But on one condition. That you wear my armour and make the Trojans think it’s Achilles come among them.’

‘Put it on yourself and come with us!’

‘That I can’t do,’ I said.

So I took him to the armoury and dressed him in the golden suit my father had given me from the chest of King Minos. It was too big by far, but I did my best to make it fit by overlapping the front and back plates of the cuirass, padding the helmet. The greaves came up his thighs, which would afford him more protection than greaves usually did. And yes, provided no one got too close, he would pass for Achilles. Would Odysseus see that as my breaking the oath? Would Agamemnon? Well, too bad if they did. I would do what I could to shield my oldest friend – my lover – from harm.