The Hittite - Ben Bova [67]
We squeezed through the planks of the gate while the workmen hammered away and their foreman frowned at us. Out beyond, the plain was dotted by hundreds of tiny points of light: the last smoldering remains of the Trojans’ campfires.
I walked Apet down the rampway and out onto the bare earth of the battleground perhaps a hundred paces before a Trojan sentry cried, “Halt! You there! Stop!”
He was alone, armed with a spear as I was. He held his shield before him as he slowly, reluctantly, approached us.
“This woman is a servant of Princess Helen,” I said, keeping my voice firm and even. “She is to be returned to the city.”
Without waiting for him to reply I turned and headed back toward the gate. Apet will be safe enough, I told myself. The lad will take her to his officer who will see to it that she gets back to her mistress.
I saw men up atop the rampart, silhouetted against the brightening sky: archers sticking handfuls of arrows into the sand, skinny wide-eyed youths piling up javelins and stones for slinging. Footmen were gathering behind the gate now, stacking up spears in preparation for battle. Servants were strapping armor onto their lords, who looked grim and tense as I walked alone past them. By the time I got back to my own men, the sky was turning pink. The dawn bugle sounded. I would get no sleep at all before the battle started.
Odysseos clambered down from his boat in bronze breastplate, arm guards and greaves. Behind him came four young men bearing his helmet, his heavy oxhide shield and spears of various lengths and weights.
“Bring your men and come with me, Hittite,” he commanded, smiling grimly. “Mighty Agamemnon has given us the honor of defending the gate.”
I gestured to my men to follow me. As we paced briskly toward the gate I asked Odysseos, “My lord, may I make a suggestion?”
He nodded as he took the helmet from one of his men and pulled it over his curly dark locks.
“It’s not enough to defend the gate, sire. You must be prepared for Hector to break through it.”
He gave me a sidelong glance as he fastened his helmet strap beneath his chin. With the nosepiece down and the cheek flaps pulled tight, there was little I could see of his face except for eyes and curly beard. “Don’t you think we can hold the gate?”
“That’s in the hands of the gods, my lord. But we should be prepared for the worst.”
“You don’t have a very high opinion of us, do you, Hittite?” With his helmet strapped on tightly, I could not see the expression on Odysseos’ face, but I thought I heard the ghost of a smile in his voice.
We were at the gate now. It looked flimsier than ever in my eyes, despite the extra planks the work crew had hammered onto it. There weren’t even any sizable logs or tree trunks bolstering it; all the trees inside the camp had been cut down long ago and used for fuel. Armed and armored men milled around behind it. I thought that they expected to lean against it and hold it in place with their weight when the Trojans tried to push it open.
Pointing to the ramshackle pile of boards, I explained, “My lord, if Hector breaks through this gate his chariots will run wild through the camp.”
Odysseos nodded grimly. “So what would you do?”
“I would take as many men as could be spared and erect a wall of shields on either side of the gate. If the Trojans break through they will be trapped between the two walls.”
“And our men could spear them from behind their wall of shields!”
“Archers could fire at them point-blank,” I added.
“Yes,” he said. “I see.” Turning, he called to one his servants. “Find Antiklos. Hurry!”
It was a good plan, I was convinced. And it would have worked well . . . if we’d had the time to put it into action.
But suddenly the early-morning air was split by the blast of dozens of horns. I looked up and saw the men atop the rampart pointing, wild-eyed.
“Here they come!”
2
Through the gaps between the gate’s boards I saw a formation of chariots pouring out of Troy’s Scaean Gate and boiling across the plain, raising an enormous cloud of dust as they raced