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grimaced, but did not cry out or complain.
Odysseus put a heavy hand on my shoulder. "You saved his life."
"You saw?"
"I did. The arrow was meant for his heart."
"How bad a wound do you think it is?"
"Not too bad," said Odysseus. "But he will be out of action for many days."
We trudged across the dusty plain side by side. The wind was coming in off the
water again, blowing dust in our faces, forcing us to squint as we walked toward
the camp. Every muscle in my body ached. Blood was crusted on my sword arm, my
legs, spattered across my tunic.
"You fought very well," Odysseus said. "For a few moments there I thought we
would force the gate and enter the city at last."
I shook my head wearily. "We can't force a gate that is defended. It's too easy
for the Trojans to hold the narrow opening."
Odysseus nodded agreement. "Do you think your Hatti troops can really build a
machine that will allow us to scale their walls?"
"They claim they have done it before, at Ugarit and elsewhere."
"Ugarit," Odysseus repeated. He seemed impressed. "I will speak with Agamemnon
and the council. Until Achilles rejoins us, we have no hope of storming one of
their gates."
"And little hope even with Achilles," I said.
He looked at me sternly, but said nothing more.
Poletes was literally jumping up and down on his knobby legs when I returned to
the camp.
"What a day!" he kept repeating. "What a day!"
As usual, he milked me for every last detail of the fighting. He had been
watching from the top of the rampart, of course, but the mad melee at the gate
was too far and too confused for him to make out.
"And what did Odysseus say at that point?" he would ask. "I saw Diomedes and
Menalaos riding side by side toward the gate; which of them got there first?"
He set out a feast of thick barley soup, roast lamb and onions, flat bread still
hot from the clay oven, and a flagon of unadulterated wine. And he kept me
talking with every bite.
I ate, and reported to the storyteller, as the sun dipped below the western
sea's edge and the island mountaintops turned gold, then purple, and then faded
into darkness. The first star gleamed in the cloudless violet sky, so beautiful
that I understood why every culture named it after its love goddess.
There was no end of questions from Poletes, so finally I sent him to see what he
could learn for himself of Achilles's condition. Partly it was to get rid of his
pestering, partly to soothe a strange uneasiness that bubbled inside me.
Achilles is doomed, a voice in my head warned me. He will not outlive Hector by
many hours.
I tried to dismiss it as nonsense, battle fatigue, sheer nerves. Yet I sent
Poletes to find out how bad his wound really was.
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"And find Lukka and send him to me," I called to his retreating back.
The Hatti officer looked grimly amused when he came to my fire and saluted by
clenching his fist against his breast.
"Did you see the battle?" I asked.
"Some of it."
"What do you think?"
He made no attempt to hide his contempt. "They're like a bunch of overgrown boys
tussling in a town square."
"The blood is real," I said.
"Yes, I know. But they'll never take a fortified city by storming defended
gates."
I agreed.
"There are enough good trees on the other side of the river to build six siege
towers, maybe more," Lukka said.
"Start building one. Once the High King sees that it can be done, I'm sure he'll
grasp the possibilities."
"I'll start the men at first light."
"Good."
"Sleep well, sir."
I almost gave a bitter laugh. Sleep well, indeed. But I controlled myself enough
to reply, "And good sleep to you, Lukka."
Poletes came back soon after, his face solemn in the dying light of our fire,
his gray eyes sad.
"What's the news?" I demanded as he sank to the ground at my feet.
"My lord Achilles is finished as a warrior," said Poletes. "The arrow has cut
the tendon in the back of his heel. He will never walk again without a crutch."
I felt my mouth tighten grimly.
Poletes reached for the wine, hesitated, and cast me a questioning glance. I
nodded. He poured himself a heavy draft and gulped at it.
"Achilles is crippled," I said.
Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Poletes sighed. "Well, he can live a
long life back in Phthia. Once his father dies he will be king, and probably
rule over all of Thessaly. That's not so bad, I think."
I nodded agreement, but I wondered how Achilles would take to the prospect of a
long life as a cripple.
As if in answer to my thoughts, a loud wail sprang up from the Myrmidones's end
of the camp. I jumped to my feet. Poletes got up more slowly.
"My lord Achilles!" a voice cried out. "My lord Achilles is dead!"
I glanced at Poletes.
"Poison on the arrowhead?" he guessed.
I threw down the wine cup and started off for the Myrmidones. All the camp
seemed to be rushing in the same direction. I saw Odysseus's broad back, and
huge Ajax outstriding everyone with his long legs.
Spear-wielding Myrmidones guards held back the crowd at the edge of their camp
area, allowing only the nobles to pass them. I pushed up alongside Odysseus and
went past the guards with him. Menalaos, Diomedes, Nestor, and almost every one
of the Achaian leaders were gathering in front of Achilles's hut.
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All but Agamemnon, I saw.
We went inside, past weeping soldiers and women tearing their hair and
scratching their faces as they screamed their lamentations.
Achilles's couch, up on a slightly raised platform at the far end of the hut,
had turned into a bier. The young warrior lay on it, left leg swathed in
oil-soaked bandages, dagger still gripped in his right hand, a jagged red slash
from just under his left ear to halfway across his windpipe still dripping
bright red blood.
His eyes stared sightlessly at the mud-chinked planks of the ceiling. His mouth
was open in a rictus that might have been a final smile or a grimace of pain.
Odysseus turned to me. "Start your men building the siege tower."
I nodded.
Chapter 17
ODYSSEUS and the other leaders headed for Agamemnon's hut for a council of war.
I went back to my own tent. The camp was wild with the news: Achilles dead by
his own hand. No, it was a poisoned arrow. No, a Trojan spy had done it. No, the
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