Xander shook his head again, but Odysseus could see that he was too tired to argue. He let the boy go, and they sat in silence for a while. Odysseus unstrapped his breastplate and removed it with relief.
Then Xander asked quietly, “When will Troy fall, do you think, Odysseus?”
“Days or years. Tomorrow—or in ten years’ time. I don’t know, lad. I’m just a foot soldier in this story of heroes.”
He sighed and spoke quietly, as if to himself. “I made a pledge I sorely regret, a pledge to Agamemnon that his enemies would be my enemies, his friends my friends. Well, the man has no friends. But I swore to stand by his side until his enemy is defeated. So I will stay here until the city falls to us, whenever that is. Then I will take my men and return to my ships and sail away. And I will live with it, boy, though it will not be easy.
“I also have friends in Troy, Xander, friends I have known a lifetime. But I will not be running into the city to help them. They are beyond help. Everyone living behind those walls is dead, lad. They may be walking Troy’s streets, breathing her air, eating, sleeping, or making love. But they are all dead.”
After dawn the next day the kings of the west gathered in the House of Stone Horses. Odysseus took grim amusement from the fact that Agamemnon had moved into Helikaon’s palace. The Golden One had delivered many crippling blows to the Mykene king, sinking his ships, killing his Followers, raiding his coastline. The destruction of Menados’ fleet had been a humiliating defeat. Agamemnon’s eagerness to capture his palace in Troy, a home Helikaon cared little for and seldom resided in, revealed a lot about the Battle King. All the servants had fled long since, and the rooms were bare. Odysseus chuckled to himself. Never underestimate the pettiness of powerful men, he thought.
In the megaron were the kings with some of their aides. Black-bearded Meriones, one of Odysseus’ oldest friends, was beside his king, Idomeneos, and Patroklos lounged in a window, idly watching the empty street below. Kygones, the Fat King of Lykia, was accompanied by his nephew Sarpedon, by all accounts a formidable fighter. Some were breaking their fast with meat and corn bread. Odysseus sipped at a goblet of water.
When Agamemnon arrived, his normally calm demeanor seemed disturbed.
“We lost a supply train last night,” he told them without any form of greeting. “Sixteen carts of grain, wine, horse feed, and dried meats and fish, coming here from the Bay of Herakles. The Trojan Horse struck on the Scamander plain, more than three hundred of them. They killed the guards and drivers and took the entire train of wagons. A detachment of cavalry was sent from King’s Joy, and they killed them, too, and took their horses.”
There was silence in the megaron, and then Odysseus said, “It could have been predicted. Sending supply wagons across the plain with less than a regiment to protect them is more than foolishness. They are rabbits sitting waiting for a pack of hounds.”
“Yet you”—Agamemnon pointed a thin finger at the Ithakan king—“travel with your men back and forth to King’s Joy all the time. You have not been attacked.”
“One fat old king is hardly worth the effort of killing,” Odysseus replied.
“I have lost five more ships to Helikaon the Burner,” Menestheos of Athens told them. “The Xanthos and the Trojan fleet attacked ten of my galleys off Lesbos two days ago.”
“Did he burn them?” Idomeneos asked, his voice like the noise of a galley being dragged across pebbles.
“No. Three were rammed and two captured, the crews killed. But I have a fleet of fifty beached at the Bay of Herakles. They must be protected. We must not forget that Helikaon destroyed an entire fleet in the Bay of Troy.”
“We are not likely to forget,” Agamemnon spit in a rare display of anger. “My fleets patrol the seas off the bay,” he told Menestheos. “The Xanthos will not get through to attack them.”
“Helikaon will not try,” Odysseus pointed out. “He wants our ships there so we can all leave. He has nothing to gain by attacking them. But he will take any supply ship the Xanthos finds.”
“You seem to know well what is in your friend Helikaon’s mind,” Idomeneos commented scornfully.
Odysseus sighed. “I speak only common sense. Troy’s best hope is that our supplies fail and we are forced to give up our cause. The Xanthos at sea and the Trojan Horse on land could between them leave us all starving by summer. Soldiers need to be fed, and fed often.”
“The riders of the Trojan Horse also need supplies,” Agamemnon replied. “As the summer goes on, they will not be able to live off the land, and their horses will need feeding. They might be tempted to attack our supply wagons, even if heavily defended. We might use that to our advantage.”
Odysseus asked him, “Was Hektor leading last night’s attack?”
“He was,” the Mykene king answered. “This is one piece of good news. Hektor no longer commands in Troy. He is out leading raiding parties.”
“Then who does command in the city?” Sharptooth asked. “Priam? The rumor is that he has lost his mind. They are friends of yours, Odysseus.” He sneered. “Who orders Troy’s defenses now?”
Odysseus shrugged, refusing to rise to the bait, though anger was bubbling in his chest. “With Antiphones dead, I don’t know. Perhaps one of the generals. Maybe Polites.”
“This is good news,” said the portly Menelaus, repeating his brother Agamemnon’s words. “Knowing Hektor does not lead the defense, I mean. I think we must try another attack on the walls.”
“Are you insane, man?” Odysseus roared, jumping to his feet and tipping back his chair, which crashed to the floor. “By Apollo’s balls, after the carnage yesterday you would send more men to certain death! How many men did we lose, three hundred, four?”
“My brother might have a good idea,” Agamemnon put in smoothly as Menelaus stumbled back under Odysseus’ onslaught.
“Menelaus never had a good idea in his life.” Odysseus sneered. “He follows you around like a puppy dog, yapping when you tell him to and sometimes pissing on your feet. This poxy plan is yours, Agamemnon, and I’d like to know why. Because, unlike your pup here, you’re not a stupid man.”
Agamemnon had gone pale, and his dark eyes were angry.
“I, too, would like to hear why we should commit more of our forces to certain death,” Menestheos of Athens put in mildly.
Agamemnon took a deep breath. He explained, “Yesterday a group of my warriors managed to take a part of the wall and hold it for a short while before being thrown back by the renegade Banokles and his men. If a brave troop of soldiers could take and hold just a section of the wall, then we could send hundreds up a ladder behind them. The Trojans would not be able to stop them. But we need the bravest of fighters, willing to risk their lives for our just cause.”
He looked around the room, and his eyes rested on Achilles.
“I will have nothing to do with this insanity,” the king of Thessaly said. “I and my Myrmidons will take part in no more suicidal attacks on the walls.”
“So,” Agamemnon said icily, “our champion Achilles fears—”
Achilles rose to his feet and in one swift stride was in front of Agamemnon, the tip of his sword resting lightly on the Mykene’s throat. It was done so quickly, so gracefully, that no one had time to move. Odysseus saw Patroklos lay his hand on his sword hilt, as did Agamemnon’s two Followers. There was a deathly silence in the megaron.
Agamemnon, staring unblinking into Achilles’ eyes, continued. “I was going to say that Achilles fears for the lives of his men. This is understandable and is the mark of a true captain. The valiant Myrmidons have been vital to our success so far.”