Rage of Queens (Homeric Chronicles Book 3)

by Janell Rhiannon

  Their swords clashed, singing the silver song of war, as the blades slid down to the hilts and parted. Both men, sweeping their weapons above their heads, put all their strength behind another blow. The resounding crash caught the attention of warriors from both sides. Men stopped mid-swing to watch the best of their respective worlds.

  “Look, they fight over Kebriones’ body!”

  “Achilles will slay Hektor.”

  “Take the bastard’s armor, Achilles!”

  “Our prince is more honorable!”

  Hektor reached for Kebriones’ head to drag him away from Patrokles’ murderous intent. “I won’t let you defile my brother.”

  “Your brother?” Patrokles laughed, circling to grab the dead man by the feet. “How many whores does Priam have?” The gathering horde of on-lookers smashed their spears on their shields. Patrokles clawed the dead body from Hektor’s grip and dragged it into a section of Greeks. The Trojans pushed forward, but a contingent of Myrmidons muscled to keep them at bay.

  Kebriones’ was stripped of his armor and spirited away to the beached ships. His naked and mutilated body lay in plain sight, covered in blood and shit. Fighting resumed, but confusion and chaos surrounded everyone.

  Hektor cried out, “You will pay for this, Achilles!”

  But Patrokles, fueled with war-rage, swept through a sea of Trojans, leaving more mutilated bodies behind. He hefted his spear for a fatal throw, but it shattered to splinters in his grasp. Then, without warning his shield fell from his shoulder, followed by his belt, taking his swords with it. Patrokles whispered in disbelief, “Apollo?”

  “You should have listened to Achilles.” Apollo undid the breast plate and that clanged to the hard ground. “Look around you. Where are your Myrmidons?”

  Patrokles quickly glanced around him. I’m alone. “Why, Apollo?”

  With a swirl of mist to cloak him from mortal eyes, the shining god slammed his palm into Patrokles’ back, stunning him and sending Achilles’ helm to the dusty ground. “Who are you to question me? Or the will of Zeus?”

  Nearby Trojans and Greeks stood aghast at an astounded and helpless Patrokles.

  Murmurs rippled across the armies.

  “That’s not Achilles.”

  “Where is Achilles?”

  “The gods trick our eyes.”

  A young Trojan warrior, whose beard barely darkened his chin, was emboldened to strike knowing that it wasn’t the living god-like warrior beneath the shining armor. He stepped forward and hurled his spear deep into Patrokles’ back below the dark braids. Achilles’ companion fell to his knees. The youth sprinted to pull his spear out before returning to the circling crowd. Patrokles struggled to his feet, stumbling about the cleared center, looking for friendly eyes.

  A mighty roar ripped from Hektor’s throat, as he barreled through the throng with murder in his heart. “Prepare to meet the dead.” With great precision, Hektor’s spear caught Patrokles from behind, the blade sticking out from below his unprotected collar bone. Hektor then pierced Patrokles through the lower back.

  Patrokles crashed to his knees, staring disbelievingly at the bloody bronze tip protruding from his stomach. He touched it with a shaking hand. The crowd of Greek and Trojan warriors fell silent. Hektor ruthlessly pulled his weapon free of its target. Leaning back, swaying like a drunkard, Patrokles tumbled to the ground. The circle widened and whispers of disbelief traveled like smoke through the throng.

  “You’re a fool to think you could storm my city.” Taking his spear in his strong hand, he swung it in a wide arc. “Where is the mighty Achilles? Afraid to face me in combat, so sends you instead? A poor second.”

  Patrokles sputtered blood, trying to speak.

  Hektor laughed wickedly. “Your companion can’t save you now. No one can.”

  “Apollo … stripped my armor. Knocked … me … to the ground. Without his help … I would’ve killed you … twenty times over.” He coughed up more blood, as a burning pain shot through him. “You … won’t live long, Hektor. Your death song is already on Achilles’ lips.”

  The Prince of Troy kicked Patrokles. “You’re wrong. It will be me who kills Achilles.”

  Patrokles lay on wings of blood, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water gasping for breath. Looking up at Hektor, he watched the fire of war devour the prince’s eyes. He tried to speak, but blood gurgled over his lips and at the corners of his mouth. His limbs became heavy. Coldness filled his body. I am at the end.

  As shadows closed around his eyes, images floated before him in the growing darkness. Achilles laughing over a cup of wine. Achilles’ heels kicking up sand as they raced along the shore. His fingers stitching a wound closed. Flies. The tang of salty air stinging his nose. Standing on the ship’s railing. Dark birds flying above Lyrnessus … Thebe.

  Achilles, forgive me … for everything. For her. I could not help but love her, too. A flash of light startled his eyes open. Briseis? What are you doing here? Bending over him, smiling, she leaned to kiss him. Reaching a hand to her cheek, as the God of Death stole him to the Underworld, Patrokles whispered, “Briseis …”

  As Patrokles lay dead in the dust, Hektor stabbed him once more with his spear, stepping on the dead man’s chest to yank his weapon free.

  “Gather his armor … Achilles’ armor, and take it to Troy.” Several Trojans rushed to do as Hektor commanded.

  The prince leveled his spear at a stunned Automedon, the unfortunate charioteer. Hektor’s throw fell short. Automedon snapped out of his stupor and whipped the immortal horses to a frenzied flight. Hektor sprinted to his chariot, slipping here and there on slick, bloody mud. Reaching his transport, he leapt onto the platform, and bolted after Patrokles’ retreating man.

  AGAMEMNON’S RANKS

  TWENTY NINE, battle over Patrokles

  1238 BCE

  “Get to Patrokles!” Menelaus screamed to his men. “Don’t let the fucking Trojans steal his body!” Charging like a bull in an arena, the Spartan king rushed to Achilles’ companion. He’d watched as Hektor stripped the armor, but had been too far afield to stop the atrocity of the final jab. With his sword slashing and glinting in the light, Menelaus carved a crimson path to the slain Myrmidon. He skidded to a stop when he reached him, holding his shield up to protect them both from stray arrows.

  A young Trojan warrior dared emerge from the melee, confronting an enraged Menelaus. “I was first to fell that man we thought was Achilles. Stand aside so I can take my spoils.”

  Menelaus sneered. “You think I’ll give Patrokles’ body up to a scrawny fuck like you? I’ll send your ass to the Underworld, boy, if you cross me.”

  “You’re the one who killed my brother. Made his wife a widow. His children fatherless. If I bring your head on a pike, my family will have some satisfaction.”

  The Spartan King threw his head back, laughing. “Try me, boy.” He positioned his feet and leveled his shield. “But be prepared to die.”

  The youth charged Menelaus with his spear held tight. At close range, he slammed the spear into Menelaus’ shield but the tip merely bent against it. His eyes widened and the shaft slipped from his grasp. Like a lightning bolt, Menelaus’ bronze spear shot over the rim of his shield, ripping the young man’s throat open. The Trojan stumbled backward a few steps, before falling straight back, bashing his head against the hard ground. Blood quickly seeped into a lake around his head, his lifeless eyes still wide open, staring into the sky.

  The King of Sparta ripped the man’s armor off like a ravenous raven ripping flesh from bone. As he tossed the bloody bronze and leather into a pile, a cold finger ran up his spine. Knowing the god-sign, he looked about him frantically. “Apollo,” he whispered with a slight sneer. “Always fucking us.”

  “Hektor is coming for you, Red King. Can’t you hear him?”

  The icy whisper sliced across Menelaus’ ear.

  “Get this armor out of here!” he bellowed to some Greeks near him. Three men
scurried to do his bidding. Picking up the gory prize, they ran with it toward the ships. It was then that he heard the furious roar of Hektor tearing through the air. “Fuck me. Where is Ajax?” Scanning the field, he searched for the Giant of Telemon. When he saw Hektor’s chariot riding roughly over dead bodies and men yet alive coming straight for him, he glanced at Patrokles’ corpse. Menelaus frowned. “I will return. I promise.” With that he abandoned Patrokles.

  Once in earshot of the giant, Menelaus yelled, “Ajax! Come! Help me keep Hektor from stealing Patrokles from us.”

  Ajax sliced a Trojan almost in half with a single stroke. The unlucky man toppled over with his innards leaking like ghastly snakes from his belly. “Who’s guarding Patrokles?”

  Menelaus didn’t want Ajax to think of him as a coward. “Apollo is on Hektor’s side.”

  “Fucking gods,” Ajax muttered. “You left Patrokles unguarded?”

  “No time to argue, Ajax. Will you help me? You know I can’t defeat Hektor alone, with a god backing him.”

  Together they shot across the grim ground, making their way back to Achilles’ dead companion. Ajax bellowed, “Not this day, Hektor!”

  Patrokles nude body was bent over Hektor’s knee and one of the Trojan’s hands was wrapped into his dark braids, the other held his blade high and ready to hack Patrokles’ head from his shoulders. “By the gods,” he mumbled. Still fueled by Apollo’s word, he pushed Patrokles’ body to the ground with a thud. “The King of Sparta requires aide, I see!”

  The Giant of Telemon bore down on Hektor like rocks sliding down a mountain. Hektor let loose his spear. Ajax swiped the weapon away with his shield, as if batting away an annoying fly. The Prince of Troy pulled his sword from his belt, as Ajax tilted his shield, a lethal battering ram. The crash of bronze on bronze sang in the air, and Hektor fell back a step.

  “I’ll tear you in half,” Ajax growled.

  “You can try, Greek.”

  Ajax swept his shield around like a giant scythe, slamming it into Hektor’s chest. Falling flat onto his back, Hektor winced when he drew breath. He ran his hand down his side, checking for a wound, and then rolled over, struggling to his knees. Before he could fully stand, Ajax brought his sword down on Hektor’s helmet, cracking the mighty crest, sending Hektor back to the ground. Several Trojans rushed forward and pulled their prince to safety behind them.

  “Coward,” Ajax bellowed. “You’re not worth the effort!” Returning to guard over Patrokles’ body, he took position next to Menelaus once again. “The Trojans are cunts.”

  ✽✽✽

  HEKTOR’S RETREAT

  “Prince Hektor!” Glaukos yelled from the flank of retreating Trojan soldiers. “Prince Hektor!”

  Hektor slowed his chariot. Seeing Glaukos, commander of the Lycian allies, he signaled his men to stop. His horses pranced nervously. “Easy, boys. Easy.”

  Glaukos rode his horse alongside the prince’s. “Why are you leaving the field? The battle isn’t over.”

  “I’ve taken Achilles’ armor. Killed his second-in-command. Isn’t that prize enough for one day?”

  “No, it isn’t. While the Greeks fight like wolves against your men for the body of Achilles’ man, you would leave your dead, our dead, to their hands? What kind of coward are you? I didn’t leave my homelands to follow a king or a prince who hasn’t the stomach to finish this shitty war. I should take my men home, and mind you, if I do, your city will fall. Why don’t you kill those fucking Greeks, grab Patrokles’ body, and drag it into the city? Maybe then we could ransom Sarpedon’s armor. But you’re too afraid to stand against their giant.”

  Hektor resented is honor being questioned. But the truth of Glaukos’ words wormed its way into his mind. He didn’t fear Menelaus, but with the giant at his side doubts seized his bravery. “Zeus shifts his favor between both sides? The god decides who wins and loses. It’s not up to men. I’m no coward, if that’s what you’re implying.”

  “Your actions speak otherwise, Prince Hektor. I won’t follow a coward.”

  “Do as you wish, Glaukos. The Trojans have no need of you.” As he signaled for his attendants to move forward, an icy chill ran down his spine.

  A cold whisper pressed against his ear. “Death is near, Hektor. Put Achilles’ armor on. Win the day … but soon Andromache will pay the price.”

  Hektor shivered. The gods. “Hold,” he bellowed. “Hold.” The column came to a grinding halt again. He straightened his back. “Fetch me Achilles’ armor.”

  “At last, the warrior emerges,” Glaukos said. “Yes, put on Achilles’ armor and fight them.”

  Within moments, the shining armor of Achilles was set before the Hektor. Glaukos dismounted to help him don the stolen gear. The greaves. The breastplate. The shield. Golden and shining and still smeared with Patrokles’ blood. The spirit of Ares shot through Hektor’s body. His courage surged. This is what it feels like to be Achilles.

  Zeus whispered, “Achilles needs no armor. Go. For I am done with you.”

  The hairs on Hektor’s body stood on end. He whispered defiantly beneath his breath, “This isn’t the end.” Mounting his chariot, Hektor wheeled around and galloped back to the front and addressed the allies and his men. He shone like a god in the stolen war-gear of Thetis’ son.

  “Men! You’ve come to fight alongside me. To send these fucking Greeks back to the sea. Back to whatever god-forsaken cities they came from. And I say this is the day we live or we die.”

  A mighty cheer rose from the gathering army. Spears and swords slammed against bronze shields.

  The Prince of Troy rallied his army for another charge at the enemy. Hektor’s shrill call to war thundered over his warriors. Heading straight for the ragged group protecting Patrokles, the Trojan forces startled the Greeks struggling to hold their ground over the dead body of Achilles’ man.

  Menelaus pulled his shield tighter to his chest. “Don’t break the wall. Keep your shields held fast.”

  Ajax spat into the dirt at his feet. “He’s wearing Achilles’ armor, that fucking bastard. Men! Circle up. If we don’t get Patrokles back to camp, Achilles will be far fiercer than these fucks.”

  A mist rose around the fighting.

  The full force of the Trojan charge crashed on the Greek shield wall like a stormy wave breaks on a rocky shore. In the pushing and shoving of shields, the Trojans grabbed hold of Patrokles and pulled him within their ranks.

  Ajax broke formation, wading through the disintegrating battle to get to the man dragging the body of Achilles’ beloved by the ankle. Raising his sword, he brought down all his hatred in one swing. The ill-fated Trojan fell to his knees with half his helmet falling to the ground with half his brains. As he bent to lift Patrokles, a spear shaft whizzed passed his ear. He turned to see Hektor reaching for another.

  Heaving the dead weight over his shoulders, Ajax ran toward the Greek circle. “Fucking, Hektor!”

  The Greeks circled tighter around Patrokles, three circles of men deep. In the center stood Ajax, barking commands and threats. “No retreat! No retreat! Stand close. Be unbreakable, men. Think of Achilles’ rage if we should fail. Fear him more than these dog-faced Trojans!”

  Groans of agreement sang through the men.

  Someone muttered, “If they take him, it would be better for us to die where we stand than face Achilles’ wrath.”

  Someone else grunted, “I pity Achilles. He has no idea Patrokles was slain or his armor taken.”

  As the Trojan forces crested over the Greeks’ shields, their bodies soon littered the ground as shells scattered on a beach. The ground greedily drank their blood and the battlefield became a consecrated temple to Ares.

  Menelaus’ arms tired. His foot slipped. Sweat dripped and burned into his eyes. “Ajax,” he huffed, “they’re going to push us back.”

  “Stand your ground, Menelaus. Stand your ground!” Ajax bellowed from behind.

  “Do not give up, King Menelaus.”

  “
Athena?”

  “It is I.”

  The cold words warmed Menelaus and strengthened his limbs. “Why does Zeus favor them, not us?”

  “Think of your reputation.”

  “Ajax! We can’t win when Zeus is against us.” Dust choked down Menelaus’ throat. “We must retreat.”

  “We should send word to Achilles. He doesn’t even know what happened.” Ajax, taller than the rest, scanned beyond the close fighting. “We need a messenger. A Myrmidon. I can’t see the field beyond us. This fucking mist blinds everything.”

  As if on command, the air cleared and sunlight drenched the circle fighting to protect Achilles’ dead companion. “Menelaus, the Black Shields are to the east of us. Send a man to find someone Achilles trusts to carry the news about Patrokles.”

  “To what end? He will not come and fight. He has no armor.”

  Ajax roared, “Let Achilles decide what he will do. Send your man. We need to move Patrokles’ body from this fight or—”

  “Or all is lost.”

  Ajax grimaced. “Agreed.”

  Easing himself from the men at his left and right, Menelaus backed to the center of the men around Patrokles. Meeting Ajax’s eyes, he said, “If I fail …”

  Ajax clapped the king hard on the shoulder. “Have faith. You won’t. We may die on this foreign land, but gods be damned if we die like cowards.”

  Menelaus nodded.

  “Now, pick him up and run. I’ll keep the Trojan dogs occupied long enough for you to escape.”

  Groaning under the dead weight, Menelaus mumbled, “You’re heavier than I thought you’d be.” Positioning a lifeless Patrokles over his shoulder, Menelaus muscled his way through the back of the circle out of Hektor’s line of sight.

  Ajax yelled, “Push them back to Troy!” The shoving of shields renewed with vigor. “That’s it, men!” Dust filled the air as the Greeks shuffled their feet to defend the empty space where Achilles’ second had lain. But without the body, they lost heart and strength.