The Hittite - Ben Bova [89]
The watchtower was only lightly guarded: most of the Trojans were fighting against Odysseos and his Ithacans on the western wall. We broke into the guard room, using spear butts to batter down the door, and slaughtered the few men there. Then we raced to the ground and started to lift the heavy beams that barricaded the Scaean Gate. A wailing scream arose, and I saw that Paris and a handful of other nobles were racing down the stone steps of the tower toward us.
We had them on the horns of uncertainty now. If they allowed Odysseos to hold the western wall, the rest of the Achaians would enter the city that way. But if they concentrated on clearing the wall, we would open the gate and allow the Achaian chariots to drive into the city. They had to stop us at both places, and stop us quickly.
Archers began shooting at us, but despite them my men tugged and pushed to open the massive gate. Men fell, but the three enormous beams were slowly lifting, swinging up and away from the doors.
I ducked an arrow and saw Paris running toward me across the open square behind the gate.
“You again!” he shouted at me.
Those were his last words. He charged me with his spear. I dodged sideways, forced it down with my right forearm, and drove my iron sword through his bronze breastplate up to its hilt. As I yanked it out, bright red blood spattered over the golden inlays of his armor and I felt a mad surge of pleasure, battle joy that I had taken the life of the man who had caused this war.
Paris sank to the ground. I saw the light go out of his eyes. At that moment an arrow struck me on my left shoulder. I felt a sudden flare of pain. More annoyed than injured, I yanked it out and flung it to the ground.
Even as I did so, more Trojans came at me. But they stopped in their tracks as a great creaking groan of bronze hinges told me that the Scaean Gate was swinging open at last. A roar went up and I turned to see chariots plunging through the open gate, bearing down directly on me.
The Trojans scattered and I dived out of the way. Agamemnon was in the first chariot, spear raised triumphantly over the plume of his helmet. His horses pounded over Paris’ dead body and the chariot bumped, then clattered on, chasing the fleeing Trojan warriors.
I stepped backward, dust from the charging chariots stinging my eyes, coating my skin, my clothes, my bloody sword. The battle lust in me began to ebb as I watched Paris’ mangled body tossed and crushed by chariot after chariot. Magro came up beside me, a gash on his cheek and more on both his arms. None of them looked serious, though.
“The battle’s over,” he said. “Now the slaughter begins.”
12
Suddenly I was bone weary. I leaned my back against the rough stone wall of Troy.
“You’re hurt,” Magro said.
“It’s not serious.” My shoulder was covered with blood, but the wound had already clotted.
The rest of my men gathered around me, each of them bleeding from wounds. There were only six of us now. They looked uneasy. Not frightened, but edgy, nervous.
“Now’s the time when soldiers collect their pay,” Magro said tightly.
Loot, he meant. Stealing everything you can carry. Raping the women and then putting the city to the torch.
“Go,” I said, realizing that I myself had set the first fire. “I’ll be all right. I’ll see you back at camp when the sun goes down.”
Magro touched his fist lightly to his chest, then turned to the four remaining men. “Follow me,” he commanded. “And remember: don’t take any chances. There are still plenty of armed men left alive. And some of the women will try to use knives on you.”
“Any bitch who tries to cut me will regret it,” growled Manetho, the oldest man of my squad.
“Any bitch who sees your ugly face will probably use her knife on herself!” Magro jeered.
They all laughed and marched off together. Five men. Out of my original twenty.
For a while I stood near the wall and watched the Achaian chariots and foot soldiers pour through the open, undefended gate. The smoke was getting thicker. I squinted up at the sky and saw that