Shield of Thunder (13 page)

Other warriors from the
Penelope
joined in the attack. Banokles shoulder charged a man, sending him flying. Odysseus continued to rage at the pirates, shouting battle cries and insults as he powered forward. Kalliades had forced his way to the right of Odysseus and was fighting defensively, protecting the Ugly King. Banokles was on the left. Even in the midst of the action Odysseus noted the skill they showed. The three had now formed a wedge with Odysseus as the point. At first they forced the pirates back, but then the weight of numbers began to tell, and the advance slowed.

Odysseus was tiring, for he had fought with no economy of effort, slashing his sword about him with all his might. A pirate hurled himself at him, his club thudding against Odysseus’ leather breastplate. The king stumbled and fell back, hitting the deck hard. Kalliades turned swiftly, plunging his sword through the back of the pirate’s neck. The dead man fell across Odysseus. Kalliades took up a defensive position in front of Odysseus to block any further attacks. Odysseus pushed the dead man away from him and slowly climbed to his feet, sucking in great breaths. The noise of battle was all around him now, the deck slick with blood. His sword arm felt as if it were weighed down with rocks, but his strength was returning.

“Make way, Kalliades!” he thundered. “Odysseus has more enemies to kill.”

Then he hurled himself once more into the fray.

∗ ∗ ∗

Piria stood on the rear deck, the great bow forgotten in her hand. She saw Odysseus jump onto the pirate ship, followed by Banokles and Kalliades and a dozen men from the
Penelope
’s crew. Then Bias drew two fighting knives and climbed to the rail, leaping down to join the fight. The air was filled with battle cries and screams and the sound of swords clashing. The Kretan, Idomeneos, rushed to join them, as did the two sons of King Nestor. The fighting was fierce, and she saw Odysseus hacking and slashing his way toward the stern of the vessel, Kalliades and Banokles beside him.

A hand touched her arm. Meriones pointed to port, where the second pirate vessel was closing. Notching an arrow to his bow, he sent the shaft winging across the narrowing gap. It struck the high prow. Meriones swore. “Don’t you be telling Odysseus about
that
shot,” he said.

The remaining sailors on the
Penelope
were all armed with bows now and sent a ragged volley toward the oncoming vessel. Several arrows found their targets. Then came a fierce response. Some forty shafts slashed through the air. Many punched into the deck rail, others skidding across the deck itself. Five crewmen were hit. Piria notched a shaft to the great bow and let fly. The arrow slammed into the chest of an archer. He fell back.

“Good shot,” Meriones cried, loosing a shaft. Piria did not see it strike home, for she was already drawing another arrow from the quiver and notching it to Akilina. All fear had gone now, and she continued to shoot, ignoring the shafts that hissed by her.

Suddenly the pirate vessel veered sharply away. Enemy bowmen continued to shoot, but swiftly the ship moved out of range, heading south.

“They are going to turn and ram us,” Meriones said grimly.

But the galley did not turn. Its rowers were laboring hard to put distance between the two ships.

The men on the
Penelope
dropped their bows, drew swords and knives, and ran to join their comrades fighting on the first pirate vessel. Piria turned to watch them and saw a massive ship coming from the north. It was bigger than any vessel she had ever seen: forty oars on either side, in two banks, and a mast as tall as a tree. From the mast a huge sail billowed, and upon it was painted a rearing black horse.

“Ah, we are blessed today by all the gods,” Meriones said. “That is the
Xanthos.
”

“It is…colossal,” Piria said.

“Indeed it is—and the bane of all pirates. There are fire hurlers on the decks and a crew of more than a hundred fighting men. And for honest folk like us there is no better sight than that monster.”

Moving to the starboard rail, Piria saw that the battle had turned. There were far fewer pirates now, but the fighting was still fierce. She looked for Kalliades but could not see him. Fear gripped her then, for she saw Banokles still battling alongside Odysseus. Then she caught sight of Kalliades, and relief flowed through her. He had been hidden by the mast. She watched him cut down an enemy, then force his way to stand beside Odysseus.

Some of the pirates threw down their weapons, but there was no quarter, and they were hacked to death. Others threw themselves over the side and into the sea. An ugly man with an unnaturally long face screamed at Idomeneos and threw himself at the Kretan king. Before he could come close, he was knocked from his feet by Banokles. Swords plunged down into the man. Piria heard his gurgling death cries.

And the battle was over.

∗ ∗ ∗

Odysseus sat slumped by the mast, exhausted, watching as the mighty
Xanthos
glided close by. A familiar voice called out. “Ho, Odysseus! Where are you, sea uncle?”

Wearily he pushed himself to his feet and walked to the starboard rail and leaned upon it. Looking up, he saw a tall, wide-shouldered man with golden hair standing at the prow of the giant ship.

“By the tits of Thetis,” he cried, “what fool put you in charge of a ship?”

Hektor, prince of Troy, laughed. “Ah, that would be a mighty fool indeed. No, my friend, I am merely a passenger, albeit a passenger with a sword. Are you not a little old to be fighting pirates?”

“Old? I am in my prime, you impudent wretch!”

“I believe you, sea uncle. Looks like you’ll need a little help with that galley. I can loan you twenty men.”

“They would be welcome, Hektor, my friend.”

“We’ll maneuver alongside and send them down to you.”

Odysseus called out his thanks and wandered back to the mast. His hands were trembling now, and he felt nauseous. Bias joined him, kneeling alongside.

“How many did we lose?” Odysseus asked him.

“Eight dead, eleven more with deep wounds, and almost everyone else has been cut or pierced save for me and Leukon. Even then, we got off lightly, Odysseus. What of you? You are covered in blood. Any of it your own?”

Odysseus shook his head. “Who are the dead?”

Bias named them, and a deep sorrow was added to the burden of weariness. Odysseus leaned his head back against the mast. All around him men were stripping the dead pirates and throwing their bodies over the side. The
Xanthos
eased alongside, throwing a deep shadow over the deck. Ropes were lowered, and twenty men shinnied down them.

“Damn, but I never used to feel this tired after a battle,” Odysseus said. “Especially not after winning one.”

“I know,” Bias said. “I feel it, too.”

“You will not tell me we are getting older,” Odysseus warned him.

Bias smiled. “No, Odysseus. Perhaps we are just getting wiser. The thought of all the men who were alive this morning and walking the Dark Road now is dispiriting. And what was achieved? We gained an old galley, a few weapons for trade, and maybe some plunder. None of it was worth the loss of those eight men. Especially young Demetrios.”

Odysseus closed his eyes. “Go and give the new men tasks,” he told Bias. “Transfer any plunder to the
Penelope.
”

“Yes, my king,” Bias said. “How do you want to proceed?”

“Hektor’s men can maneuver the galley back to Titan’s Rock,” Odysseus said. “They can pick up the wounded we left behind. We will push on. With a favorable wind we can reach Apollo’s Bow by dusk, and if not we’ll beach at Humpback Bay.”

Bright sunshine shone across the deck as the shadow of the
Xanthos
moved away. Odysseus heard Hektor call out to him.

“We’re going after those pirates, Odysseus. Where are you bound?”

“Apollo’s Bow,” Odysseus shouted as the huge ship glided on toward the south.

Bias moved off to where the twenty new crew members were standing, and the Ugly King sat quietly, gazing down at his blood-covered arms and hands. The fingers had stopped trembling now, but he still felt sick. Young Demetrios had been a good lad, quiet, hardworking, and so proud to have been chosen to replace Portheos. The faces of the other dead men floated across his mind. He had sailed for close to twenty seasons with Abderos, the only man on the crew never to have taken a wife. During winter he lived alone, carving wood and making rope, rarely speaking to anyone. Once back aboard in the spring, he would grin widely and embrace his comrades. All he had was the
Penelope.
And now he had died to protect her.

Wearily Odysseus climbed back to his ship.

Banokles strolled over to him and squatted down. He, too, was blood-spattered, his face and beard bright with red spots and streaks.

“I was wondering,” he said cheerfully, “if Kalliades and I could become Ithakans. For the games at Troy, I mean. After all, we can’t take part as Mykene.”

Odysseus had no wish for conversation. His mind was still reeling from the loss of his comrades. But this man had saved his life several times that day, so he drew in a deep breath and considered the question. “What is your skill?” he asked at last.

“I’m a fistfighter.”

“And Kalliades?”

“Swordsman.”

“There are no sword events in the wedding games. Only the Mykene have death bouts.”

“Ah. He’s also a fine runner.”

“Leukon is our fistfighter, Banokles. And you may recall that the last time I saw you in a fistfight, you were lying on your back with your arms over your head.”

“True,” Banokles said. “But there were five of your lads, and I told you I was only catching my breath.”

Odysseus smiled. “There will be some great fighters in Troy. Truly great. I couldn’t enter a man who might shame Ithaka.”

“I wouldn’t do that! I’m a terrific fighter.”

“You are a great
warrior,
Banokles. I’ve seen that today. But fistfighting is different.”

“I could beat Leukon,” Banokles said confidently.

Odysseus looked into his eyes. “I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” he said. “Tonight we will be having a funeral feast for our friends who died today. We will speak their praises and offer libations for their safe journey to the Elysian Fields. There are not enough men without wounds to stage any funeral games. But if Leukon agrees, you and he can fight in honor of the departed.”

“Wonderful,” Banokles said happily. “And if I win, we can be Ithakans in Troy?”

“You can,” Odysseus said.

He watched the big man amble away. More heart than sense, he thought. Glancing around the deck, he caught sight of Leukon and called him over. Swiftly he told the giant of Banokles’ request.

Leukon shrugged. “You want me to fight him?”

“Yes.”

“Then I will.”

“He says he can beat you.”

Leukon stared across at Banokles. “His reach is shorter than mine, which means he’ll take more blows. He’s got a good neck, strong arms. Chin looks solid. He has the makings of a fighter. Yes, it will be good practice.”

After Leukon had gone, Odysseus felt a fresh wave of weariness. He wanted to lie down on the deck and sleep, but his conscience pricked him. What kind of example will it set if you are seen sleeping as others labor?

A pox on examples, he told himself. I am the king. I do as I please. With that he stretched himself out, laid his head on his arm, and slept.

∗ ∗ ∗

Toward midafternoon, the last of the clouds disappeared and the sky blazed with a brilliant blue. There was no breeze, and the heat increased. A section of old sail was raised to create a canopy over the port side of the
Penelope
’s stern deck. Nestor, his sons, and Idomeneos rested there.

Piria wandered to the prow and gazed out over the blue water. Sharp pain spasmed through her lower body, the agony so great that she almost cried out. Instead she closed her eyes, seeking to steady her breathing and ride the pain, blend with it, absorb it. It did not pass completely; it never had since the savagery of the attack on her. It merely ebbed and flowed, sapping her strength.

It has only been a few days, she told herself. I will heal. They will not break me. I am Kalliope, and I am stronger than any man’s hate. Yet the pain was worse than before, and it frightened her.

Opening her eyes, she tried to concentrate on the brilliance of the blue sea, sparkling with sunlight. It was so peaceful now that the events of the morning seemed almost a dream. She had killed men this day, sending sharp arrows to pierce their flesh, just as they had pierced hers. She would have thought that the slaying of pirates by her own hand would have been somehow fulfilling—like a just punishment. Yet where was the satisfaction? Where was the joy in revenge? Piria even felt a little sadness for the death of the young man Demetrios. He had not spoken to her, but she had observed him with his fellows, seeing his shyness and sensing that he felt inadequate in the company of such veterans. She had not seen him die but had watched as they laid his body alongside his seven dead comrades. In death he seemed little more than a child, and the expression on his face was one of utter shock.

Do not pity him, cried the dark voice of her fears. He was a man, and the evil of his gender would have shown itself as he grew older. Do not feel sympathy for any of them! They are all vile.

Not all of them, she thought. There is Kalliades.

He is no different! You will see! His kind words mask the same savage soul, the same need to dominate and possess. Do not trust him, stupid girl.

She saw him walking toward her, and the twin curses of her need and her fear clashed inside her. He is my friend.

He will betray you.

Kalliades smiled a greeting, then looked out over the water, as if seeking for something. She turned to lean on the rail, and the pain subsided a little. The relief almost brought tears to her eyes. Kalliades continued to scan the water. His expression was serious, yet again she thought that he did not give the impression of a man of violence. There was no suggestion of cruelty in him.