The thin dark-clad priest raised his hands and cried out in a reedy voice, “O Ares, lord of war, man killer, bringer of glory, hear our words. Look on these two great warriors. Each has served you well, O hater of mankind. Today, if you will it, one will stalk the sunlit Fields of Elysium. The name of the other will echo down the halls of history, and all men will honor him for eternity.”
Two scrawny goats were dragged up, and the priest cut their throats with a curved knife as they cried out in fear. Their blood splashed on the ground, drying instantly on the hot earth.
A huge plank of wood—a door, Odysseus guessed—doused in water was thrown over the trench as a bridge. The two champions each picked up a blade, then walked across the bridge, steam from the coals rising around them. The bridge was withdrawn. Odysseus looked up at the western wall. It was packed with silent watchers. There were thousands of spectators at this death match, but they were so quiet, all he could hear was the two men’s footsteps as they walked to the center of the arena.
They touched swords in salute. Then they circled. Achilles attacked first with lightning speed, and Hektor blocked and parried, sending back a blistering riposte that made Achilles step back. They circled again, watching each other’s eyes.
“Will you wager with me, Odysseus?” asked his kinsman Nestor, king of Pylos, who was standing beside him. “Our great Achilles against your friend Hektor?”
“I am proud to call Hektor my friend, but I will not wager on him,” Odysseus replied. “By Hera’s tits, even the gods will not gamble on this battle.”
Hektor hacked and thrust; Achilles parried and countered. Suddenly Achilles launched a ferocious attack, his blade moving like quicksilver. Hektor blocked it, then spun on his heel and hit Achilles in the face with the back of his fist. Achilles stumbled, righted himself, and swiftly brought up his blade to parry a death thrust to the neck. His riposte was so fast that Hektor threw himself to the ground, rolled, and was up again in an instant. They circled again.
Odysseus watched spellbound as the duel continued. Both fighters were endowed with natural balance and speed. Both had honed their skills in a thousand battles. Achilles was the younger man, yet he had spent all his short life seeking fights. Hektor battled and killed only when he had to. Both men fought coolly and with patience. Each knew that the slightest misjudgment could end his life. Each probed for weaknesses in the other; each tried to read the other’s moves.
The pace quickened, and the swords clashed in a whirl of glittering bronze. Attacking with controlled fury, Achilles forced Hektor back toward the fiery trench. They had to move carefully there, for the edges of the trench were crumbling in the heat. Hektor’s foot slipped. The crowd on the wall gasped. Achilles lunged. Hektor parried, regained his footing, and sent a flashing riposte that slid off Achilles’ breastplate. Both men stepped back, as if by consent, toward the center of the circle.
Odysseus knew that most duels began with heat and fury, then settled down to a game of endurance and concentration. No two duelists were exactly matched; all knew this. And there would always come a point when the seed of doubt entered the mind of one fighter: Is he better than I am? In this duel both men wanted to win. But was the difference between them that Achilles feared losing? Hektor had no such fear. Indeed, Odysseus wondered if it was Hektor’s weakness that at his core he did not care if he lived or died.
Achilles attacked again. Hektor ducked beneath a murderous cut, his blade flashing out and slicing Achilles’ cheek. Achilles stepped back a pace, wiping blood from his face, and Hektor allowed himself a heartbeat’s pause.
Then Hektor attacked. Achilles blocked the sword, rolled his wrist, and lanced his blade into the meat of Hektor’s shoulder. Hektor swayed back, preventing the point from thrusting deeply, but his sword fell from his numbed hand. The crowd gasped, and several people on the wall cried out. Achilles moved back two paces and gestured to the Trojan warrior to pick up the weapon.
As Hektor’s hand touched his sword, Achilles leaped at him, blade flashing for his head. Hektor blocked the blow with incredible speed but was forced back by the ferocious double-handed assault. Time and again Achilles was within a hairbreadth of delivering the death blow, but each attack was countered with amazing skill.
The long afternoon wore on, but the crowd was totally absorbed, totally silent, motionless in the monstrous heat.
A lightning thrust, partly parried, had opened up another cut on Achilles’ cheek. Hektor was suffering from cuts and gashes on both arms. Each had blunted or broken two blades, which were replaced instantly by the black-robed priest who tossed them with practiced accuracy into the fighters’ hands.
Odysseus could see that both men’s sword arms were tiring. They circled more warily, conserving strength. Hektor leaped forward. Their blades clashed together, and a high sweet note rose unexpectedly from the dull clash of bronze.
Achilles’ sword thrust past the Trojan’s defenses, hammering into the bronze strap holding his breastplate. It sprang off harmlessly, but the power of the blow sent Hektor staggering. Unbalanced, he swung at Achilles’ legs. His sword rang off a metal greave, but Hektor stumbled. Achilles hit him across the head with the pommel of his sword. Hektor ducked and rolled, more slowly now, then was up to counter a renewed attack.
Hektor stumbled again, his fatigue obvious. Watching him, Odysseus smiled to himself. It was a ploy he had used himself, available only to the older man in a contest. Achilles leaped forward, certain of the death blow. Hektor swayed away from the thrust. The sword passed his side, just under the lip of his breastplate. Achilles was wrong-footed, expecting a solid target. Hektor smashed the hilt of his sword into the back of his head, and Achilles went down. He rolled to his back just in time to block a massive sword blow to his face. The blades clanged together with a sound that echoed off the walls of Troy like the end of the world.
And Hektor’s blade snapped.
Achilles was rolling to his feet as the priest of Ares threw Hektor a third sword. The new blade flashed forward, but Achilles blocked it with ease and sent a counter that tore through the leather kilt, narrowly missing Hektor’s inner thigh. Hektor returned the attack with a lightning riposte, his sword ripping into Achilles’ helm. Achilles fell back and shook his head as if to clear it.
Hektor attacked. Achilles parried, and Hektor struck out with his left fist. Achilles swayed away from the blow and sent an uppercut to Hektor’s jaw. Hektor rolled with the punch and spun away as Achilles’ sword sang through empty air.
Achilles stepped back and took the moment to lift clear his damaged helm. He walked over to the edge of the circle and threw it far out over the heads of the watchers. Hektor dropped his sword, wrenched off his own helm, and tossed it into the crowd. Bare-headed, he picked up his sword again. Then, with a roar, he ran across the circle.
Achilles raced in, holding his blade double-handed. Hektor ducked swiftly, and the sword hissed over his head. Off balance, Achilles stumbled to the earth. He rolled twice, then smoothly rose to his feet. Then in a frenzied attack he landed blow after blow on Hektor’s bronze breastplate. A great crack appeared down the center of the golden horse. The Trojan ripped at the remaining bronze strap and threw the breastplate to the ground. Achilles paused and then did the same thing with his black cuirass.