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As he moved off the surrounding forests began to echo with calls, like animal cries.

The Chnan went to the king: ‘Your men say you have armour of gold.’

‘They have told you the truth,’ said Diomedes without turning.

‘Is the shield made of gold too?’

‘Yes, the shield as well.’

‘Give it to me. If these cries from the forest are not night birds, as I don’t imagine they are, they will attack again tonight.’

‘Invisible and unfindable, as always.’

‘Not any more, wanax. Give me a man who can help me light a fire on the highest part of the hill. Telephus, the Chetaean, will do. And give me your shield, enclosed in its case. The storm will be here soon, just as darkness falls. Sit down and eat now. Rest and gather your forces because I will soon make your enemies visible. Order the archers to draw up and to be ready with their bows, for they will have to aim and shoot as swiftly as the blink of an eye. Order your warriors to remain in their armour and to keep their hands on the shafts of their spears.’

The king gave him the shield and the Chnan went off with Telephus towards the top of the hill. Telephus held a burning firebrand, which he used to set a fire as soon as they had arrived. The men below lit fires as well and began to eat. The king ate, and offered some of his food to the girl. The storm was drawing nearer and the clouds galloped through the sky above the camp.

The Hittite appeared just then. ‘Oh king,’ he said. ‘Rally your men. The storm is rushing towards us, and if the enemies attack, the Chnan will show you where they are, but only for a brief moment.’

‘That will be enough,’ said the king. He put on his helmet and fastened his cuirass.

The wind had picked up and was stoking the fires in camp and on the hilltop. Diomedes called his men and had them take position behind a group of trees facing the forest. He told them to stay ready, although he knew not what to expect. Suddenly, a blinding light flashed, immediately followed by the roar of thunder, and in that instant the king saw the enemy advancing in open order across the plain, towards the hill. The Chnan saw them as well, and he turned the golden shield so that it would project the light of the large fire that Telephus had built upon them, as he continued to feed it with all the wood he could lay his hands on.

‘Now, wanax!’ shouted the Chnan, and Diomedes rushed forth, followed by his men. The enemies had stopped for a moment, stunned by the thunder and blinded by the lightning, but the light of the fire reflected off the golden shield of the king made them visible; shadowy, but distinguishable. It was enough. The Achaeans fanned out as they ran down the hill at great speed. Diomedes burst into the midst of his enemies, and his shout was more terrible that the roar of the thunder. He ran one man through with his spear and brought down the next ones with his dagger and sword. The javelins of Myrsilus, to the far left, hit their marks one after another. Taken by surprise for the first time, the assailants were bewildered, uncertain whether to continue fighting or to flee, and in that uncertainty the hard blows of the Achaeans rained down, enraged as they were and eager for revenge.

It began just then to pour, and the bursts of heavy rain dampened the fires and extinguished them almost completely in just a few moments. The light of the golden shield went out as well and the battle ceased. Myrsilus took a burning brand and examined the dead, trying to recognize Nemro, but found no trace of him.

They took shelter under their tents and waited for the rain to stop so they could continue their search. Quite some time passed before the sky cleared, revealing the stars and the full moon that was just rising over the crests of the Blue Mountains.

The king scanned the fields to see if the dead were still there, and as the pale light of the moon freed itself of the mists of the storm, he saw a still, erect shadow among the lifeless bodies of the fallen. He was tall and powerful, and gripped a long narrow sword. It was Nemro!

At a certain distance behind him, his men were lined up at the edge of the forest, their hands on the hilts of their swords. The Chnan approached the king and said: ‘It has happened sooner than I could have hoped: he is challenging you to single combat. Kill him, and we’ll no longer have these sneaking demons hounding us.’

Myrsilus stepped forward: ‘Oh wanax, that savage who has hidden in the shadows until now is not worthy to cross swords with the king of Argos. You rest and watch: I’ll go.’

The king looked back and he saw the blonde bride standing behind him, staring at the plains beyond him. She was looking at Nemro.

‘No,’ said the king. ‘I must fight him. Have the armour of Ilium brought to me.’

Myrsilus obeyed and Diomedes was brought the armour that he had worn when he fought the sons of Priam between the Scamander and the Simois. He threw the leather cuirass he had donned for the night raid on to the ground, and covered himself with bronze. He slung on his shield and grasped the enormous ashwood spear. He tightened the baldric adorned with golden studs and stretched his right hand out towards his attendant to receive his sword.

‘The Pakana,’ said Myrsilus. And the attendant handed him the heavy sword, its silver hilt set with a piece of amber embossed with the figure of a lion chasing a roebuck, crafted by Traseus.

The king hung it from his baldric and adjusted it on his side. Before donning the helmet, he turned to the bride and said: ‘I am facing death for you. Do not disdain me in your heart.’ He descended the slope with slow heavy steps until he was facing his adversary. The Achaean warriors, who had received no orders, all drew up into three long rows on the hillside, holding their shields and grasping their swords. When the king grasped his own and began to brandish it, looking for a gap in his enemy’s defences, they shouted: ‘ARGOS!’

Nemro’s warriors shouted out something as well, but no one understood except the Chnan, whose eyes welled with tears in the darkness.

They had yelled out: ‘LIFE!’

Diomedes observed him carefully, exploring every detail of the gigantic figure. He wore a conical bronze helmet and a great shield which protected him from his chin to his knees. He gripped a javelin and a long sword hung at his side. He was readying for the battle as well, weighing the javelin to balance it before striking. The air had become much colder than the earth after the storm, and a light mist crept through the grass and covered the field until it lapped at the foot of the hill where the Achaean warriors were lined up. The combatants, under the glow of the moon, were waist deep in it now. Nemro swiftly hurled the javelin, aiming at his enemy’s forehead, but Diomedes saw the blow coming and raised his shield. The weapon penetrated the rim and its point stopped just a palm from his face, although the hero’s eyes never so much as blinked.

A roar arose from the edge of the clearing. Diomedes dislodged the javelin from his shield by knocking it against the trunk of a tree, and he resumed his impenetrable stance. Nemro made to unsheathe his sword but just as he was lowering his arm to his belt, his shoulder was bared. Diomedes threw his spear, which ripped into his enemy’s shoulder-plate and lacerated his flesh. Blood gushed down the warrior’s arm but the blow had not severed his tendon; the muscle was intact, and he lunged forward, brandishing his sword.

The utter silence of the little valley was rent by the din of hand-to-hand combat. The clang of bronze striking, suffocated cries, jagged breath. The two men faced off in fierce, incessant fighting, without a moment of respite.

Diomedes suddenly delivered an unexpected blow from above, surprising Nemro’s arm in an awkward position; the warrior lost his sword. Diomedes reacted swiftly, forcing back his unarmed opponent. Nemro turned and began to run, then stopped all at once and grabbed a tree trunk which was lying on the ground. He wheeled around and thrust it out like a battering ram towards his enemy, still in swift pursuit. As his men raised a cry of fear and surprise, Nemro charged forth holding the trunk in both hands and hit the running Diomedes full in the chest, knocking him to the ground. Cheers of joy came from the edge of the forest, while the rows of Achaeans on high seemed to dissolve like shadows in the fog which rose towards the summit.