The Hittite - Ben Bova [26]
The three of us walked in silence through the sleeping camp and up to the crest of the rampart, not far from the gate where I had won their respect that morning. Men stood guard up there, gripping their long spears and peering into the darkness nervously. Beyond the inky shadows of the trench the plain was dotted with Trojan campfires. Above them the crescent moon rode past scudding silvery clouds.
Odysseos gave a sigh that seemed to wrench his powerful chest. “Prince Hector holds the plain, as you can see. Tomorrow his forces will storm the rampart and try to break into our camp and burn our boats.”
“Can we hold them?” I asked.
“The gods will decide, once the sun comes up.”
I said nothing. I suspected that Odysseos was trying to hit upon a plan that might influence the gods his way.
A strong tenor voice called up from the darkness below us. “Odysseos, son of Laertes, are you counting the Trojan campfires?”
Odysseos smiled grimly. “No, Big Ajax. There are too many for any man to count.”
He motioned to me and we went back down into the camp. Ajax was indeed something of a giant among these Achaians: he towered over Odysseos and even topped me by several fingers. He was big across the shoulders as well, his arms as thick as young tree trunks. I felt a sudden pang of remorse: he reminded me of Zarton, my stubborn young ox.
Ajax stood bareheaded beneath the stars, dressed only in a tunic and leather vest. His face was broad, with high cheekbones and a little pug of a nose. His beard was thin, new-looking, not like the thick curly growth of Odysseos and the other chieftains. With something of a shock I realized that Big Ajax could hardly be out of his teens, no older than Zarton was when I killed him.
A much older man stood beside him, hair and beard white, wrapped in a dark cloak that reached to the ground.
“I brought Phoenix along,” said Ajax. “Maybe he can appeal to Achilles better than we can.”
Odysseos nodded his approval.
“I was his tutor when Achilles was a lad,” Phoenix said, in a frail voice that quavered slightly. “He was proud and touchy even then.”
Ajax shrugged his massive shoulders. Odysseos said, “Well, let us try to convince mighty Achilles to rejoin the army.”
We started off for the far end of the camp, where Achilles’ Myrmidones had beached their boats. Half a dozen armed Ithacans trailed the three nobles and I fell in with them. The wind was blowing in off the water, cold and sharp as a knife. The sky above was clouding over. Perhaps it will rain tomorrow, I thought. Perhaps there will be no battle, after all.
Once we entered the Myrmidones’ portion of the camp we passed several sentries on duty, fully armed and armored, with helmets strapped on tightly, heavy shields and long spears in their hands. They wore cloaks, which the wind plucked at and whipped around their gleaming suits of bronze. They recognized giant Ajax and the squat King of Ithaca, and allowed the rest of us to pass unchallenged.
Finally we were stopped by a pair of guards whose armor glittered in the light of a big bonfire, just before a large cabin built of planks.
“ We are a deputation from the High King,” said Odysseos, his voice deep and grave with formality, “sent to see Achilles, prince of the Myrmidones.”
The guard saluted by clasping his fist to his heart and answered, “Prince Achilles has been expecting you and bids you welcome.”
He stepped aside and gestured them to the open door of the cabin. Odysseos turned and beckoned me to accompany him, Ajax and Phoenix. The other Ithacan troops remained outside.
Mighty warrior that he was, Achilles apparently enjoyed his creature comforts. His cabin’s interior was draped with rich tapestries and the floor was covered with carpets. Couches and pillows were scattered across the spacious room. In one corner a hearth fire smoldered red, keeping out the cold and damp. I could hear the wind moaning through the smoke hole in the roof, but inside the cabin it was reasonably snug and warm.
Three women sat by the fire, staring at us with great dark eyes. They were