Then another ship appeared. And another.
Dawn light glowed red in the sky as more and more vessels broke clear of the mist.
Twenty.
Thirty.
Timeon sat quietly watching them. He saw armored men on their decks. They gazed at him silently. The wind picked up, the mist dispersing.
Timeon saw then that the sea was full of ships and barges. There were too many to count.
And in that moment he knew who they were. The Mykene had come, and the world had changed.
Timeon’s heart was beating like a drum now. Fear flowed through him. How long, he wondered, before those dread warriors decided to kill him?
A galley came abreast of his little boat. He glanced up and saw a stocky man with a red and silver beard. Alongside him were bowmen, arrows notched.
“A good catch, fisherman,” the man yelled. “You have been lucky tonight.”
Timeon’s mouth was dry. “I don’t feel lucky,” he replied, determined that the killers would not see his terror.
The man smiled. “I understand that. Bring your catch ashore, and I will see you get paid for it. When you reach the shore, tell them Odysseus sent you. No harm will befall you. You have my word on it.”
Odysseus signaled to the steersman; then the galley’s oars dipped into the water, and the ship moved on.
With a sinking heart Timeon hoisted his tattered sail and set off after it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A LEGEND IS BORN
A sturdy wooden stockade had been built across the mouth of the narrow pass leading from the beach at the Bay of Herakles to the plain of the Scamander. King Priam had ordered it built to protect the pass. Fifty soldiers of the Heraklion regiment guarded it. In case of invasion their role was twofold: to hold for as long as possible while sending word to the city and to protect and guide to safety those of the king’s family resident at the clifftop palace of King’s Joy.
During the day the gates of the stockade were opened, allowing merchants to bring their carts down to the beach to collect the catches of fish netted by the small fleet. During the night the gates were closed, and sentries patrolled the ramparts.
On this night two fresh sentries replaced their tired comrades. The first was Cephas, by his own account a clever man, his many talents overlooked by officers jealous of his superiority. The second was a young recruit whom Cephas had taken under his wing. The boy admired him, and Cephas missed no opportunity to feed that admiration.
On this night Cephas was tired. He had spent the day in Troy, taking the youngster to a whorehouse used by soldiers. There they had drunk wine and spent all the rings the boy possessed. Upon their return to the stockade, Cephas had promised the lad he would win back all his money in a game of knucklebones. So instead of resting he had gambled until midnight. At first his luck had been sour, but then it had changed, and he had emerged triumphant, a bulging pouch of rings at his belt.
The boy had watched the game. “You were amazing,” he had told Cephas. Then he had yawned. “I am so tired.”
“Don’t worry, lad. I’ve arranged for us to take the predawn shift. We’ll catch some sleep then.”
“We can’t sleep on sentry duty,” the boy said nervously.
Cephas shook his head at the boy’s naďvete. “You’ve a lot to learn about being a soldier. Don’t worry. Stick by me and I’ll teach you.”
Now on the ramparts Cephas waited, watching the door to the officers’ hut. “I’ll wager you a copper ring he comes out before you can count to twenty,” he offered.
“I don’t have any rings left.”
“Too late to bet, anyway,” Cephas said with a smile. Down below the door had opened, and the officer came striding out, placing his bronze helm on his head. He walked across the open ground and climbed the narrow wooden steps.
“Cold night,” he said.
“Yes, sir.”
The officer glanced out to sea. “A lot of mist tonight.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Keep a good watch, Cephas.”
“Yes, sir,” Cephas answered. A good watch! All that ever moved in the darkness were rodents. This entire exercise was a waste. If the Mykene did come, they would sail into the Bay of Troy and besiege the city. Anyone with a strategic brain understood that.
“Good man,” the officer said, turning and descending the steps. Cephas watched until the door of the hut closed behind him.
“Well, that’s him taken to his bed,” he told the youngster. “So let’s stretch out and get some rest.”
“Are you sure?”
“He won’t come out again. He never does. He’ll be in his bed by now.”
“Well, I am tired.”
“Hunker down, lad. We’ll have a snooze and wake long before anyone else is up and around. Don’t you worry. I sleep lightly. At the first sound of movement I’ll be awake and alert. Twenty years of soldiering will do that.”
The boy stretched out on the wooden floor. Cephas took one last look out at the empty beach, then sat down with his back against the stockade wall.
He closed his eyes.
Achilles stood on the prow of the lead ship as the invasion force glided toward the Bay of Herakles under the starlight. Dressed in a dark tunic, two swords belted at his hip, he leaned on the rail, staring through the mist and watching for any enemy galleys that might be patrolling.
He saw only a small fishing boat with an old man casting his net. The fisherman looked up as the galley sailed past, then returned to his task. The old man seemed weary. Several of Achilles’ warriors picked up bows. “Leave him,” he told them. “He is no threat.”
The galley sailed on. His shield bearer Patroklos moved alongside him.
“No sign of Dardanian ships,” the blond warrior said. “The falling stars showed the gods are with us, I think.”
“Perhaps,” Achilles replied, “but I would sooner rely on our own strength of arms.”
Another warrior moved to the prow, the stocky shaven-headed Thibo. As always before a battle he had braided his long red beard.
“You should not be risking yourself, my king,” he said. “Not for the taking of a little fort.”
“You think I should hide on the ship?”
“It is not about hiding, Achilles,” Thibo argued. “One well-aimed arrow and we’ll have no king.”
“That argument could be used for any battle,” Achilles told him. “Agamemnon wants the fort taken first and the summer palace secured. He has given me and my Myrmidons that task. It is an honor. What king would allow his men to take risks he was not prepared to suffer?”
Thibo chuckled. “I don’t see Agamemnon here with us. Or Idomeneos. Not even Odysseus.”
“They are all on their way,” Achilles said. “And none of them lacks courage. Most especially Odysseus.” He smiled. “I saw him back on Ithaka, rescuing his lady. A sight I will not soon forget.”
Patroklos leaned in. “Another battle you should not have taken part in. By the gods, Achilles, that was madness.”
“Aye, it was, but madness of the noblest kind. Is everyone prepared?”
“We all know what is expected of us,” Thibo said. “We’ll not let you down.”
“I know that, Redbeard.”
As the galley’s hull scraped the sand, Achilles leaped lightly down to the beach. He loped across the sand to the entrance of the pass. Keeping close to the cliff wall on the left, he gazed at the stockade some sixty paces distant. There was no sign of movement on the wall. This surprised him. According to the most recent reports, there should be fifty men guarding the fort and two sentries on the wall at all times. Moving back from the entrance, he raised his arm. More dark-garbed warriors leaped down from the galley, making their way swiftly to where Achilles waited. Four of the fifty men were archers. Calling the lead bowman to him, Achilles whispered, “There are no sentries visible.”