But that was the end of luck and mastery, and three blows on, Satyrus was again on his back, head ringing again where a blow had shot his shield rim into his forehead, and he pulled under his shield — again. Got his back to a downed timber, pushed against it, got a knee under him-
He knew it was Anaxagoras as soon as he got to his feet. The man had his shield cocked to one side to let Satyrus rise, and then the two of them filled the trench. Anaxagoras had a spear, and he used it brutally, slamming it into the enemy shields as hard as his massive physique allowed, rocking the smaller men back and punching the needle point of his spear through their shield faces, stabbing arms and shoulders.
And behind the men fighting Anaxagoras and Satyrus, there were screams, and the familiar sound of Sakje arrows buzzing like wasps and hitting home in flesh like an axe hitting a gourd.
Above them, the round, full moon beamed down upon the earth.
Satyrus got his feet set, his head at least clear enough to support his friend. When Anaxagoras killed a man, they stepped forward together.
Satyrus knew Helios was behind him when the spear licked over his shoulder, riding on the smooth bronze scales of his shoulder armour, exactly as Helios did when he was tired, in practice. And the point, thrust expertly, one-handed, went into the enemy helmet and came out red.
They heard more buzzing wasps — the crash of armour hitting rock — screams.
‘Let’s get out of here!’ Helios said, tugging his cloak; the remnants of his cloak.
But Jubal had other ideas. ‘No!’ he said. ‘Lord! Into they trench — fin’ the fucking mine!’
Anaxagoras whirled. ‘What are you talking about? This is insanity!’
Satyrus got it. ‘A mine — they’re mining under our new wall before they even storm the old one — right?’
‘They do!’ Jubal said. ‘Now — follow me!’
Satyrus whirled on his friend. ‘This could be the entire siege — right now. Win or lose. Follow him!’
Sieges make for a strange order of things: a king, a dozen aristocrats, some Sakje — following a sailor. But the sailor seemed to know where he was going, or so Satyrus assumed.
Up the slope of the last wall — half a dozen enemy fled before them. Now they were deep in the enemy area, a part of the walls that hadn’t been in Rhodian hands in a month. But Jubal moved fast, and Melitta was at his heels, and Satyrus swallowed bile and followed as fast as he could.
The enemy was sounding the alarm in all directions.
Satyrus hoped Jubal knew what he was doing. Demoted by Tyche from polemarch to hoplite, he ran heavily across the open ground in front of the old wall, across a tenth of a stade of rubble and up the inner face of the second wall — currently the leading edge of the Antigonid trenches.
At the top, well lit by moonlight, Melitta stopped and shot — once, twice. Scopasis joined her and the two maidens, and their arrows poured off their bows — Satyrus was breathing so hard he could scarcely run, but he made it up beside his sister. Jubal was down in the rubble gully of the enemy trench, and enemy blood was black in the moonlight.
Melitta leaped down beside the African, and her akinakes was in her hand. She finished a sentry with an arrow in his gut, looked at Anaxagoras and licked the point, smiling.
Anaxagoras stumbled on the rim of the trench, his head whipping around in a double take.
Satyrus wanted to laugh and cry. His sister was flirting, showing off like a young girl.
‘Here!’ Jubal called.
A trumpet sounded, near at hand, and was answered from far off — the enemy camp.
One of the men had a pick, and there were torches burning along the trench. Jubal took the pick and a torch and dived into the opening in the ground. Satyrus let him do it — Helios went with him.
‘I’ll go and cover him,’ Melitta said, sheathing her akinake. She took her archers forward.
He saw them rise to shoot.
Time passed. . heavy, terrifying time, and a rock fell out of the dark, far over their heads, and then a wave of them, pounding the ground where they weren’t, over by their own lines.
‘Better hurry,’ Melitta said.
Satyrus was listening to the enemy engines. They were close — close enough to rush.
He moved forward, listening to the grunts as the torsion drums were wound tight, the thud as the heavy arm impacted against the upright, the snap-crack as the sling on the end of the arm released its load and snapped against the frame.
Less than a stade away.
No.
Satyrus saw that men were looking expectantly at him. But this was not the time for further heroics, and taking a handful of men, even his best men, deep into enemy lines in search of their engines would be beyond reckless.
Smoke was pouring out of the entrance to the enemy mine, and within a dozen heartbeats Helios was scrambling out of the hole. Jubal was right behind him.
‘Run for it!’ Satyrus hissed.
Melitta loosed a shaft. ‘We’ll cover you,’ she said.
Other men hesitated — leaving a half-dozen Sakje, most of them women, to cover the men’s retreat sat ill with the Greeks.
Satyrus grinned and grabbed Anaxagoras by the chlamys. ‘Come on, young hero. She’s got a bow. We have swords. Let’s go.’
Jubal shot him a fierce grin and headed off at top speed across the ruined, moonswept landscape, his leather-clad feet scarcely making a noise. The rest of them weren’t so quiet, and when they began to climb their own rubble wall, someone on the far side saw them and suddenly the night was full of projectiles, arrows and rocks from the smaller engines. The rapid hail may have assuaged the enemy’s need to strike back — but it had no other effect.
The men crouched in the cover of the reverse slope of their own rubble wall, listening to the enemy engines drop rocks.
‘Them needs new rope,’ Jubal said. ‘Torsion slipping — rocks landing short.’
‘They need new rope,’ Satyrus said.
‘What I say,’ Jubal shot back.
‘Where’s Melitta?’ Anaxagoras asked.
‘Out in the dark, killing Antigonids,’ Satyrus replied.
Before the enemy engines could reload, there was the soft sound of gravel sliding, a padding of moccasin-clad feet across stone and Melitta jumped down into the trench. She looked around until she found her brother.
‘They’re not much for night actions,’ she said, pointing with her chin at the enemy lines. In the darkness and the moonlight, the scars on her face made her appear another creature entirely, and her attempt at a flirtatious glance at Anaxagoras appeared, at least to her brother, more demonic than enticing.
‘They’re afraid of us,’ Satyrus said.
There was a soft crump, and then another, and then a roar that filled the night and the bitter smell of burning oak and something darker-
Jubal punched his fist in the air. ‘Got him!’ he said.
Melitta, so in command of herself in the night raid, was cowering flat against the rubble.
Satyrus put a hand on her shoulder. ‘Jubal and Helios went down into the mine and set fire to the timber shoring,’ he said.
Jubal nodded at the young man. ‘Had to fight, down there,’ he said.
He clasped hands with Helios, the younger man beaming.