The Armour of Achilles (36 page)

H
elen stood on the roof of the palace, looking east. The sun had gone down behind her and turned the skies crimson, which faded into purple darkness as they stretched towards Mount Ida. In the waning light she could see Hector’s barrow on the plain before the Dardanian Gate, its freshly heaped earth dark against the sun-bleached grasslands. They had cremated him that morning amid great cries of grief from the city streets, but for the nine days previous, since Priam had brought him back from the Greek camp, his body had lain on a bier in the Temple of Athena, where the people of Troy had queued day and night to mourn their greatest son. Priam’s choice of resting place had been a clever one, of course, for Hector’s corpse had been deliberately set before the crudely carved Palladium. Though one of Troy’s great bastions had fallen, the king was reminding his subjects that as long as the Palladium still remained within its walls the city would never fall to enemy attack.

And even now, while Hector’s ashes were still cooling beneath the earth of his homeland, a new hope was arriving to replace him. News had arrived that an army of Amazons was approaching the city, and as the evening settled about her Helen could see the horses of the lead party dashing across the plain, raising a small dust cloud behind them.

Paris laid his hand against the small of Helen’s back. It felt warm in the chill air of dusk.

‘Did you know that Amazons only mate to have children, never for pleasure?’ he said. ‘They take several partners at the same time so that the paternity of the child can never be known.’

Helen turned to give him a doubtful frown.

‘No, it’s true. Where they come from, beyond the River Thermodon, the women do the governing and fighting while the men are given the household chores. It’s said they break one arm and one leg of every infant boy, so that when he grows to manhood he will never be able to fight and he will never be able to run away.’

‘But that’s ridiculous,’ Helen scoffed. ‘And if they hate men so much, why are they coming to help Troy – a city ruled by men?’

Paris smiled knowingly. ‘Because Queen Penthesilea is indebted to my father. When she was younger she accidentally shot and killed her sister, Hippolyte; Father gave her refuge and purified her of the guilt.’

Helen shook her head. ‘I still don’t see how an army of women is going to help Troy. The Greeks will make pretty carcasses of them all.’

‘Oh, they’re not pretty, sister,’ said Deiphobus, who was standing on the other side of her and watching the troop of fifty or so horses approach the Dardanian Gate. He turned and smiled at her. ‘Not if the rumours are true, anyway. But they’re supposed to be fine cavalry and second to none in archery. It’s even said they cauterize the right breast of every baby girl so that it won’t grow and hinder the pulling of a bow when they reach fighting age.’

‘And Troy needs all the allies she can find now,’ Paris added. ‘With Hector gone, the future of our city could rest in the hands of these women and the army of blacks marching up from the south. If they fail us, then all our hopes may fail with them.’

‘Well, they sound perfectly vile to me!’ Helen replied. ‘But now they’re here I suppose we should go and see if all these rumours are true.’

They found King Priam already in the courtyard before the palace, awaiting the arrival of the Amazons with Apheidas and Antenor. The two older men were dressed in their finest robes – the first time Priam had worn anything other than sackcloth since the mourning for Hector had begun – and Apheidas wore his ceremonial bronze-scaled armour, which reflected the watery pink of the late evening sky. As Helen, Paris and Deiphobus joined them, they heard a series of shouts followed by the clatter of hooves on the cobbled streets of the lower tiers of Pergamos. Moments later, the guards at the top of the ramp that led up to the courtyard were being brushed aside and thirteen horses and riders came galloping on to the open space before the palace, quickly forming a line opposite the small group of Trojans. Helen looked at the riders with disbelief, though she hid this behind a display of haughty indifference. All were dressed like warriors: half-moon shields and bows across their backs; leather caps on their heads, with flaps of fur to cover their napes; and swords and daggers hanging from their belts. Though they wore no greaves, their shins were protected by layers of fur tied around with strips of leather, while in place of tunics and breastplates they wore thick animal skins. The mounds of their left breasts could be seen beneath the fur, but the right sides of their chests were flat, proving the rumours Deiphobus had heard were true.

Two of the riders dismounted and crossed the finely raked soil of the courtyard. The older of the two was around thirty years of age, while the younger was perhaps half that. Both were tall and long limbed, with finely honed muscles, but though their facial features could have been considered beautiful, Helen thought, the effect was spoiled by their severe, hard-bitten expressions. The eldest stopped opposite Priam, planting her legs apart in the soil and thrusting her fists on to her hips.

‘I am Queen Penthesilea of the Amazons, daughter of Otrere and Ares,’ she announced, fixing the king with her light-brown eyes. ‘This is Evandre, my cousin.’

Priam nodded genially to them both.

‘It’s been a long time, Penthesilea,’ he said. ‘You were but a young girl when I purified you of your sister’s death, and now you are a strong and fierce queen of your people. Welcome to Troy.’

He opened his arms and the queen’s aloof stance melted away as she stepped forward and embraced him.

‘Priam, my old friend,’ she said, pulling him into her and thumping his back with the heel of her hand. ‘It’s been too long and these are not the circumstances I would have chosen to have returned under. But here I am. Where’s that big-headed braggart, Hector? Your son would sire fine daughters and I’ve a mind to mate with him while I’m here.’

Priam drew away, though he left his wrinkled hands on Penthesilea’s shoulders.

‘You passed my son’s barrow as you rode in. He was killed before the Scaean Gate by a man called Achilles.’

Penthesilea stared at Priam and nodded sagaciously.

‘Then I am pleased for you and for Hector – it is a much greater thing to die in battle than in bed. But Hector was my friend once. I will be pleased to avenge his death for you.’

She passed her gaze over the others until it rested on Helen. The princess shifted a little under the scrutiny of Penthesilea’s cruel eyes and was quickly forced to look away, albeit with a sneer.

‘So this must be the
woman
who started everything,’ Penthesilea said scornfully, walking up to Helen and taking her chin between her thumb and forefinger. Helen frowned harshly, but said nothing as the Amazon forced her head first one way then the other. ‘Beautiful indeed – to the sentimental eyes of men, who love to dwell on baubles. But such finery would soon find itself at a loss among us Amazons. Any woman who cannot fight is a burden on the rest and must be disposed of quickly.’

This raised a laugh from her companions, in whom there was not the least intimation of femininity. Helen looked at them with hateful derision, angry that the potent charm of her beauty was powerless against them.

‘Mock me if you like, my fair queen, but never forget that you Amazons are simply women masquerading as men. What are you but an abomination? At least I am true to my nature.’

‘Your nature?’ Penthesilea scoffed. ‘You should be ashamed to call yourself a woman!’

‘She’s more of a woman than you are!’ Deiphobus snapped, stepping forward and pulling the queen’s hand away from Helen.

Penthesilea immediately reached for her sword, followed by her twelve bodyguards. Deiphobus, Apheidas and Paris did the same, but Priam raised his hands with a gesture for calm before laying an arm across Penthesilea’s shoulders.

‘Come now, all of you, save your aggression for the Greeks. And on that subject, when will the rest of your army arrive? How many horses and men – forgive me, women – will we need to provide for?’

‘Army?’ Penthesilea replied. ‘Our army is at home in Thermiscyra, fighting our own wars and keeping an eye on the men.
We
and the forty riders waiting outside the gates are all the aid you will receive from the Amazons, my lord.’

Priam’s jaw dropped. Antenor and Apheidas looked at each other in silent surprise, while Paris and Deiphobus let their hands slip limply from their sword hilts. Penthesilea smiled reassuringly.

‘And we are all the aid you will
need
, old friend. The Greek leaders are all men, yes?’

‘The whole army is, of course.’

‘Then they will be arrogant and conceited, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. Their pride won’t allow them to refuse the challenge of a few dozen women, will it? Tomorrow morning we are going to ride to their ships and invite the best of the Greeks to face us, man against woman. And when their leaders come out to fight us we will kill them all. How do you think their army will function when
we
have cut off its head?’ She thumped the flat half of her chest with pride and grinned at the old king. ‘And now we will stable our horses and eat. I assume our arrival has warranted that much?’

Priam shook his head in dismay at his own lack of hospitality. ‘Of course. Apheidas here will show you to the stables, while my son, Deiphobus, will send for the rest of your escort. Antenor and I will await you in the great hall. And, Penthesilea, my thanks to you for coming.’

He hugged her once more, and only those who knew the king would have been able to read the disappointment in his eyes.

Paris wrapped his arm about Helen’s waist as they watched the Amazons dismount and lead their horses to the stables, following Apheidas, Penthesilea and Evandre. The army they had expected had not arrived, but the fact the Amazons had only seen the need to send so few warriors was a greater stain on the city’s pride than if they had arrived in full force and filled the streets with their obnoxious arrogance. Paris sighed.

‘And so the manhood of Troy is finally and truly undone,’ he said.

The next day the Greek kings and leaders were gathered around a large table in one of the annexes of Agamemnon’s tent. Outside, the wind was sending ripples through the cotton and flax sheets that in turn were casting strange, rolling shadows over the table and the odd assortment of objects that were spread across it.

This is the valley I mean,’ Nestor said.

He pointed to two baskets that had been turned upside down to represent hills. A trail of oats passed between them, running from a small circle at one end of the table that had been formed from a belt, to a larger pair of circles – one within the other and also formed from belts – at the other.

The road from Lyrnessus in the south to Troy in the north,’ he continued, tapping the smaller circle, then the larger pair of circles, ‘runs straight through the middle of it. The slopes on the western side are scree-covered with plenty of rocks and trees. You can hide a thousand archers there with ease, and as many spearmen beyond the ridge as you like.’

‘And if these Aethiopes want to reach Troy, they have to go directly through this valley?’ Menelaus asked.

‘Certainly, if they want to follow the main road and don’t want to be delayed by the hills on either side.’

Eperitus looked at the crude re-creation of Ilium that had been mapped out on top of the table and tried to picture the different terrains in each part. Though he had informed Odysseus of what Astynome had told him, and Odysseus, in turn, had told Agamemnon that an army was approaching from the south, the King of Men had dismissed the intelligence as worthless (especially as Odysseus had been forced to say he was told by a local farmer, so as not to mention Astynome’s visit to the camp). Only when a horseman had found his way to the camp that morning, claiming to be the lone survivor from the garrison at Lyrnessus, did he decide to call the Council of Kings. Here they had heard from the exhausted rider of how a force of warriors, each one as black as night and as tall as an afternoon shadow, had stormed Lyrnessus and put every living thing to the sword, including the few Trojans who had found their way back to their homes. He had also reported the army to be in its thousands upon thousands, but this was dismissed by most of the council as the exaggerations of a frightened man. The garrison itself was only a few hundred strong and could easily have been taken by a thousand attackers; and where, they argued, could Priam find such a powerful ally this late in the war? At most, two or three thousand mercenaries were approaching from the south, and the plan was to ambush them before they reached the Dardanian Gate and swelled the defenders of Troy.

‘Then we’ll send a force to intercept them,’ Menelaus announced. ‘A thousand Thessalian spearmen under the command of Podarces, supported by a thousand Locrian archers under Little Ajax. That should be more than enough to deal with these southerners.’

‘I agree, Brother,’ Agamemnon said, taking a swallow of wine. ‘We’ll crush these Aethiopes and the last hope of Troy will die with them. Then we can bend all our efforts to taking the city itself !’

‘You’ll need more soldiers.’

The men around the table looked at Odysseus.

‘A lot more,’ he continued. ‘Eperitus and I have visited the valley and it’s a good place for an ambush, but it has its disadvantages too. A determined force could quickly storm the slopes and sweep your thousand Locrians away, and if there are enough of them, they’ll push back the reserve force of Thessalians too. It’s a long way from there to the safety of the Greek camp, and if the survivor from Lyrnessus was correct about the numbers of these southerners, then we’d be lucky if any of our own men make it back at all. You should send three or four times the number, or none at all.’