Warriors in Bronze (15 page)

'Right. Form single file. Follow close!
'

I tracked Atreus a step in rear. For a hundred paces
or
so the
slope was fairly gentle; then the steeps began.
I
crawled round
enormous jagged crags, scrambled over smaller boulders, slip­ped on screes the winter torrents gouged. Thorn scrub whipped
from the dark and clawed my face and legs. For most of the
way, shield slung aback, I crept on hands and knees. The climb
seemed endless; every sinew ached and my chest heaved like a
bellows. I heard during lulls in the wind-blast the scrape of feet
and painful gasps from the men who clambered behind me.

Atreus, barely visible in front, made no sound at all.

I bumped his back. He hissed in my ear, 'Stand still!' Like
sable curtains draping the dark the walls of Midea reared from
the crest. The Marshal felt his way along huge rain-slippery
blocks. The man behind me hauled himself up and started to
mouth a question. I clapped a hand on his teeth.

Atreus returned, a spectre black in the darkness. 'I've found
the postern. Come on!' Like beads on a jerkily moving string
the file traversed the base of the wall. I kept my fingers touch­ing the Marshal's back. A small dark cavern opened in the
glimmer of the stones; he stooped and disappeared. A narrow
tunnel twenty steps long pierced Midea's massive wall; a rock
roof brushed my helmet, elbows scraped hewn rock. Atreus
rasped his sword from the scabbard. I drew my own.

I shuffled from the tunnel. This was the moment of greatest
peril. Wriggling through the postern's shaft like a worm that a
bird has mauled, half in and half outside, we faced the chance
of discovery by watchers on the walls. Atreus guided his men
into place directly each emerged. With backs to the rampart's
inner face we stood in a slender alley between the wall and a
row of houses. Not a light showed anywhere. Serrated rooftops
leaned against a grey tempestuous sky. Ragged racing clouds,
faint as flying phantoms, sped across a heaven like tarnished
lead.

Dawn was not far off.

The Marshal faced his forlorn hope. With a parade ground
snap he said, 'You know what you have to do. Go!'

Feet gritted on the steps which climbed to the battlements. I
glimpsed the sheen of helmeted shapes running the rampart
walk. A compact block of twenty Heroes followed Atreus. We
twisted and turned in canyoned streets and climbed to the
citadel's summit. A flight of broad stone steps, a flagstoned
court and a figure which jumped from the shadows. A shout
that choked on a squeal as Atreus' sword went home. A spear
rattled on the flags and almost tripped me up. We crashed into
the portico. Men sleeping behind the pillars struggled from their cots and
died before their feet could touch the ground. There were more
inside the vestibule and Hall - and women too - spearmen of
the guard, guests who slept where the wine had felled them,
slaves and serving-maids. In tumultuous semi-darkness we
killed anything that moved The first person I slew in my life
was a woman: my blade slid smoothly into her belly and
slipped as smoothly out. She yelped and fell at my feet.

I faced a shadowy form and caught the gleam of armour, a
spearpoint raised for the thrust. The guard commander, I later
discovered; a conscientious Hero who slept in all his panoply
but had forgotten to find his shield. I lifted mine and lunged
full stretch. The sword point gouged his eyeball and pierced the
back of his skull. He crashed to the floor, his armour clanged
on the paving. I set a foot on his throat and tugged the blade
free.

That ended all resistance in the Hall. Atreus bounded
through an inner doorway, kicking ahead a wretched cowering
slave. 'Where is Amphiaraus? Take me to the king!' The
tumult had aroused the denizens of the palace: frightened
figures flitted from doors and ran along the corridors. I jumped
ahead of the trotting slave and cleared the way, ruthlessly cut­ting down anyone slow to move. Speechlessly our guide ges­tured to a curtained entrance. Clotted sword in hand, Atreus
burst into the room. The naked Lord of Midea sat bolt upright
in his bed, eyes starting from his head. A middle-aged woman
beside him opened her mouth and screamed.

Atreus wiped his blade on a wolfskin coverlet adorning the
bed. 'Well, Amphiaraus,' he said pleasantly, 'I have taken your
city. Shall I kill you, or do you yield yourself my prisoner?'

A half-dozen panting warriors bustled into the room, saw the
situation under control and hurtled out. Shouts and the clash
of blade on blade echoed from the corridors where the raiders
quenched the flickers of a rapidly failing resistance: gummy-
eyed palace Heroes who snatched the nearest weapons and
tried to fight the terrors that sprang from the night.

Amphiaraus resignedly spread his hands. 'I am at your
mercy.' Atreus said in an undertone, 'Agamemnon, go swiftly
to the ramparts. If we've taken the gate tower find wood and
fire a beacon. Run!'

Dawn
light paled a sullen sky; pandemonium thrashed
in the
streets; terrified citizens scurried like ants
in
a nest
which a
boar has rooted. I mounted to the ramparts,
ran along the
walk, skipped over bodies and reached the
tower. Familiar
faces
peered from the top. I climbed
the
ladder
quick as a
squirrel
and
repeated Atreus' order. They hacked
the guard­
room furniture
and
built a fire. Flames leaped
redly in day­
break dusk.

On the peak
of
a distant mountain a light like a
lambent star
answered the beacon's signal.

I struggled through tumultuous streets
to the palace. Atreus
had mustered his Heroes in the Hall. Four had
died in the
fighting. With Amphiaraus and one of his sons found
hiding in
a store room we formed a wedge, forced through
seething
mobs and gained the gate tower.
A
little band
of Midea's
Heroes, rallying from the shock, gathered in an alley
and pre­
pared to rush the ramparts. Atreus put his swordpoint
to the
small of
his
prisoner's back, forced him to the edge of
the walk
and shouted in his ear. Amphiaraus lifted his arms
and
spoke
with
the feverish passion of a man on the verge of
death. His
gallant followers lowered their spears and retreated into
the
houses.

The Marshal leaned arms on the parapet and gazed
across the
mist-hung plain surrounding Midea's mount. A
noise like a
tumbled
hive
buzzed from the town far below;
a column of
spearmen crawled up the zigzag track. 'They haven't a
hope,'
he
said.
'No
one can take Midea by storm. All
we do now is
await
reinforcements.'

At
midday a watery sun gleamed
on the trappings of
chariots, on twenty-score spears and brazen mail
crowding the
road from
Mycenae.
King Eurystheus led his
Host through the
gates
his Marshal opened.

* *
*

The Warden of
Asine, pressed by his captive
Lord, looked at
the force
Eurystheus brought and prudently
surrendered.
Within
the
space of a day a rich and fertile
territory fell
into
Mycenae's hands. Because there had been no sack
of either
town, and consequently no looting, the king ordered
confisca­tions
and
awarded
every Hero who survived
the night attack
two female slaves apiece, a talent of bronze and fifteen head of
cattle.

Atreus received a dozen farms, and immediately gave me
half. 'You've killed your man and won your greaves, and a
Hero must have a demesne. You'll be an absentee landlord, I
fear: no question of your rusticating on a Midean manor away
from the hub of affairs. As the Marshal's heir Mycenae's the
place for you until you're old enough to warrant an important
post in government. I'll have to see about that.'

Atreus flayed alive the spearman he bribed to open the pos­tern, and nailed his skin to the wall above the gate. 'A warning
to traitors. Treachery is a terrible crime. Unless we make it
expensive,' the Marshal asserted gravely, 'nobody can feel safe.'

Eurystheus ceremonially bestowed on me a pair of silver-
limned greaves. Immersed in the blissful euphoria of joining
the Heroes' ranks I shared happily in the glory which aureoled
Atreus' reputation. Heroes throughout Achaea discussed the
operation, dissected it step by step and wagged their heads
admiringly. A night attack - unprecedented! May be something
in it after all!

Thus emboldened King Augeas of Elis hurled his Host in the
dark at a stronghold in Arcadia - and was bloodily repulsed. In
the slapdash way of Heroes he neglected the rigorous training
and meticulous planning - a meal before battle, a soldier
suborned, the chain of beacons summoning Eurystheus
-
which made Atreus' exploit such a shattering success. Augeas'
defeat discouraged a repetition: commanders reverted to
orthodox habits and fought their battles in daylight.