The Hittite - Ben Bova [68]
Odysseos pushed me aside and peered through the gate. With a shake of his helmeted head he muttered, “They won’t get through the gate with chariots. The horses will bolt halfway up the ramp.”
The horses have more sense than the men, I thought.
“They’ll have to dismount and charge the gate on foot,” Odysseos said.
But I wondered why Hector was leading such a wild charge toward the gate. What did he have in mind? The crown prince of Troy was no vainglorious fool. He knew that his chariot horses would not gallop blindly into a barrier, especially a barrier that now bristled with spears.
I had never seen such a cloud of dust before. Even considering that there were scores of chariots racing across the worn-bare plain, the dust they raised was enormous, choking, impenetrable. I pitied any foot soldiers trying to follow those chariots.
The formation of chariots plunged ahead, racing closer to us, closer. They were spread out in a broad line, I saw, not the kind of wedge formation that we Hatti used to break an enemy’s line. It seemed to me that each chariot was dragging something: a collection of brush, dead limbs from trees and bushes. That’s what was raising the thick cloud of dust, I realized.
And then, in an instant, Hector’s wily plan became clear.
Just as the chariots approached to within an arrow’s shot of the ramp they swerved to right and left. Out of that cloud of blinding dust raced a team of six powerful horses, blindfolded, three of them on each side of a massive tree trunk. Young men rode atop each horse, flattening themselves on their backs and necks, flogging them with slim whips to urge them on. The tree trunk that the team carried bobbed and jounced as the horses pounded blindly toward us. The youngsters guiding the horses wore kerchiefs over their noses and mouths; their faces and bodies were caked with gray dust.
A battering ram, I realized. A battering ram driven by six wildly charging horses.
The men up atop the rampart started firing arrows and hurling javelins. A few struck the horses but they kept plunging wildly ahead, spittle flying from their gasping mouths. One of the youths guiding the horses took an arrow between the shoulder blades and slid off his mount to be trampled by the others behind him.
And then the battering ram smashed into the gate, shattering it to splinters. The horses plowed on blindly across the beach and splashed into the foaming sea while Hector’s chariots streamed up the ramp and into the heart of the camp.
Footmen and nobles alike scattered, screaming for their lives, as Hector and other Trojans speared left and right from their wheeling chariots.
“Stand fast!” I shouted to my men. We formed a line behind our shields and leveled our spears at the chariots racing past us. The Trojans kept their distance from us, driving deeper into the camp, toward the boats lining the beach.
I had lost sight of Odysseos. Footmen were running down from the crest of the rampart, staggering and tumbling in their haste. A few knelt here and there to fire arrows at the chariots.
A dozen men cannot stop an army, even if they are disciplined Hatti soldiers. But I ordered my little squad forward as the chariots poured through the shattered gate in a blur of madly charging horses and armored spearmen.
“Kill the horses!” I shouted to them.
Some of the footmen behind us must have heard my command. Arrows began to fly at the horses. Several were hit, stumbling to the ground, spilling the warriors in the chariots. My men and I made short work of them before they could struggle to their feet.
But Trojan footmen were climbing over the rampart now and firing down at us. Little Karsh took a javelin through his throat and fell face-first, spewing blood. We would soon be overwhelmed, I saw, if we remained where we stood.
“Forward!” I roared, and the eleven of us charged into the Trojan footmen swarming down the rampart. They scattered before us like leaves blown on the wind.
Screams and curses filled the air. Blood was everywhere. An arrow nicked my bare calf, a pinprick that I ignored.