The crowd was silent now.
Achilles launched a swift attack, but he was overconfident and ran into a straight left that jarred him to his heels and an uppercut to the belly that lifted him from his feet. Hektor followed in, but Achilles spun away, sending a stinging right that further opened the cut on Hektor’s face.
The day wore on, the sun sinking slowly over the sea.
Hektor was slowing, fewer of his punches hitting the target, whereas Achilles seemed to be growing in strength. Twice more Hektor was downed, and twice more he rose to touch the spear haft.
At that point Odysseus thought that the end was inevitable. Hektor’s strength was being leached away by every blow. Only pride and courage kept him on his feet.
Achilles, sensing victory was close, stepped in, thundering two right crosses into Hektor’s face, hurling him from his feet.
Hektor hit the ground hard and rolled to his knees. He struggled to rise, fell back, then slowly made it to his feet to touch the spear.
Then Achilles made a terrible mistake.
“Come on, you Trojan dog,” he said with a sneer. “There is more pain here for you.”
Odysseus saw the change come over Hektor. His head came up, and his pale eyes narrowed. Then, amazingly, he smiled.
Achilles, oblivious to the change in his opponent, charged in. Hektor stepped in to meet him, blocking a right cross and sending yet another uppercut into Achilles’ belly. Breath whooshed from the Thessalian’s lungs. A clubbing left hook exploded against his forehead, splitting the skin above his right eye. Achilles tried to back away. Hektor hit him with a ferocious left, then a right that pulped his lips against his teeth, shredding them. Desperately Achilles ducked his head, trying to protect his face with his forearms. An uppercut swept between the raised limbs. Achilles’ head snapped back. A straight left shattered his nose. Achilles stumbled back, but there was no escape. Hektor moved in, hammering punch after punch into Achilles’ ruined face. Blood was flowing into both eyes now, and Achilles did not see the blow that ended the fight. Hektor stepped back and with all his strength hit his opponent with an explosive right that spun the Thessalian through a full circle before his unconscious body hit the dirt.
A huge cheer went up from the crowd. Hektor turned and strode back to the dais, where he lifted clear the laurel wreath of victory. Walking back to where Achilles lay, he dropped the wreath onto his chest, then swung to face Odysseus and the kings of the west. As the cheering faded away, he pointed down at the fallen hero. When he spoke, his voice was cold.
“Hail to mighty Achilles,” he said. “Hail to the champion of the games.”
Banokles was furious to have missed the fight. He’d had no desire to watch Leukon humbled by the awesome Achilles and had walked down to the lower town to enjoy the company of Big Red. Only later, as he walked back to Hektor’s palace, did he learn of the contest he had missed. Crowds streaming away from the stadium were talking of nothing else, their mood jubilant.
Back at the palace the crewmen of the Penelope were gathering their belongings for departure. Banokles found Kalliades sitting in the shade of a flowering tree in the rear gardens. Slumping down beside him, he said: “I would have wagered on Hektor.”
Kalliades laughed. “You said you thought Achilles was unbeatable. In fact, you said even Hektor would have no chance against him. I remember that.”
“You always remember too much,” Banokles grumbled. “Was it a great bout?”
“The best I have ever seen.”
“And I missed it.”
“Do not be so downcast, my friend. In days to come you will brag about being there, and no one will be the wiser.”
“That’s true,” Banokles said, his mood lifting. Several crew members left the palace building, carrying their bedrolls. “Where is everyone going? I thought they were going to sail in the morning.”
“Odysseus is leaving the city now,” Kalliades said. “Says he will find a bay somewhere up the coast.”
“Why?”
“The neutrality of the games ends tonight. I hear most of the kings of the west are leaving with him.”
“What will we do?” Banokles asked.
“We’ll head south, down to Thebe Under Plakos. The king there is troubled by bandits raiding his trade caravans.”
“Is that a long distance from Troy?”
Kalliades glanced at him. “Are your legs weary?”
“No. Just asking.” Banokles called out to a passing servant for some wine, but the man ingored him. “Seems like we are not welcome anymore,” he said.
Odysseus came strolling from the palace. “You lads can stay with the Penelope, if you will. I have spoken to Agamemnon, and he has lifted the sentence from you. As far as he is concerned, you are Ithakan warriors, and I would be glad to have you.”
“That’s good,” Banokles said. He glanced at Kalliades. “It is good, isn’t it?”
Kalliades rose to stand before Odysseus. “I thank you, Odysseus King, but I promised to take Piria to her friend, to see her safely to the end of her journey.”
“A man should always honor his word,” Odysseus said, “but I fear nowhere is safe for that girl. You understand?”
“I believe I do.”
“Her actions, though inspired by love and prophecy, have been reckless. I think she is beginning to realize that now.”
“Not so long ago,” Kalliades said, “you told me she would need friends. Loyal friends. She has those, Odysseus. We will keep her safe. Banokles and I will allow no one to harm her or take her. If she is not welcomed by her friend, she can accompany us to Thebe Under Plakos. There she will not be known.”
“I do not think her friend will turn her away,” Odysseus said, “though good sense would dictate otherwise.” Reaching out, he gripped Kalliades’ hand. “You lads take care. If ever you are in need of a friend, you can look to Ithaka or to any Ithakan ship. You tell them you are friends of Odysseus, and they will carry you wherever they are sailing.”
“That is good to know,” Kalliades told him.
“My last words of advice are these. I have given Piria directions to Hektor’s farm. Get her to wait until dusk. There are a number of Thessalians still in the city who might recognize her in daylight.”
“We will see her there safely,” Kalliades promised.
Odysseus turned to Banokles. “I did not see you at the fight, big man.”
“Oh, I was there,” Banokles insisted. “Wouldn’t have missed it.”
“Aye, it was something to see, and I doubt Achilles will ever forget it. You don’t taunt a man like Hektor. Heroes can always delve deeper than ordinary men. They have a well of courage that is bottomless. I think both of you understand that. It has been good to know you.”
As he walked away, Bias, Leukon, and others of the crew wandered over to say their goodbyes, and then Kalliades and Banokles were alone in the garden.
A little while later Piria joined them. She was wearing a long hooded cloak of dark green and carrying a Phrygian bow, and a quiver of arrows was slung across her shoulder.
“Going hunting?” Banokles asked.
“No,” the blond girl said. “This is Andromache’s bow. A servant told me she had asked for it to be brought to the farm. I said I would carry it. Why are you still here?”
“We thought you might like our company on the road,” Kalliades said.
Piria gave a shy smile. “I would like that… my friends,” she told them.
Banokles strolled away to the room he shared with Kalliades. There he donned his old cuirass and strapped his sword belt to his side. This night they would leave Troy. The thought hung heavily on him. He pictured Big Red as he had last seen her, sitting in an old wicker chair in her small garden. She had been mending a tear at the hem of a gown.