“Yes, sir, I fear they are.”
“Why?”
“These boys are the sons of King Rhesos. The Idonoi will want them dead.”
Banokles helped the old woman to her feet. The chubby boy started to cry again. Olganos approached the nurse. “Let me have him,” he said softly, lifting the boy into his arms. “We are going for a ride on a magic horse,” he told him. “Have you ever seen a magic horse?”
“Where’s the magic horse?” the child asked, instantly distracted.
“Back in the trees. We’ll ride him, and if any bad men come, he will sprout wings and we’ll fly away from them. What is your name?”
“Obas.”
“A fine name,” Olganos said.
The group moved back beyond the abandoned shack to where the horses were tethered. Banokles lifted the old nurse to the back of his dappled gray, then swung up behind her. Glancing around, he saw Kerio staggering toward his horse. “Hey, Broken Nose, take the other boy with you.”
Kerio hauled himself to his horse, then reached down and swung the dark-haired prince up behind him. In the distance Banokles heard men shouting and guessed they had found the body of the Idonoi killed by Kerio and Justinos. Touching heels to his mount, he led the group deeper into the forest.
“Will we be safe, sir?” the old woman whispered.
Banokles did not answer her.
They pushed on through the night, struggling up steep, rocky hillsides and through dense stands of trees. The going was slow and hard, and the riders dismounted often, leading the horses, to rest them. Banokles’ mount was tiring fast as dawn approached. The old nurse Myrine had been too weak to walk the slopes, and the gray had carried her constantly.
As the first light showed in the east, Banokles called a halt. They had reached a wooded hilltop high in the mountains, and from its vantage point they could see the drifting smoke still rising over the distant city of Kalliros. Below them lay the woods and slopes they had passed through, still shrouded in the last of the night’s gloom. Banokles could see no sign of human movement but felt in his heart that the enemy was still pursuing them.
While the others rested in a hollow, Banokles strolled up to the edge of the trees and sat down to watch for pursuers. There was no way to escape, not with the old nurse and the children. The only choice was to leave them behind. The thought sat uncomfortably with him. During the ride through the night the old woman had constantly thanked him for his heroism. Truth was, Banokles had been feeling uneasy about his leadership role and had decided to attack the Idonoi to relieve his stress. Fighting always calmed him, made him feel more in control somehow. He didn’t understand it or question it. But then, Banokles was uncomfortable with questions. What he did know was that the previous night’s skirmish had not calmed him. He had broken the nose of one of his men and had landed himself with three unwelcome burdens.
The nurse had called him a hero. At any other time that would have been pleasant. It was good to be considered a hero, especially in the comfort of a drinking hall, with wine flowing. After the rescue of Andromache, he and Kalliades had been lauded throughout the city. It was months before Banokles had been asked to pay for a drink or a meal.
Banokles didn’t know much, but he did know that in times of war heroes were usually idiots. More important, they also died young. Banokles had no intention of dying at any time. No, he decided, the children and their nurse had to be left behind. It would be uncomfortable, though, telling the old woman. Then a bright thought occurred to him. Perhaps the riders could slip away quietly while she and the boys were sleeping.
Banokles swore softly as the face of Kalliades appeared in his mind. He knew Kalliades would never leave them, but then, Kalliades would come up with a brilliant plan to save the children, the nurse, all of his men—and probably the entire Trojan Horse.
Pulling off his helm, Banokles leaned back against the tree. “May the gods bless you, dear,” the nurse had said. A pox on blessings, he thought. Just give me a fast horse that doesn’t stumble and a blade that doesn’t break.
Olganos joined him at the tree line. “Any sign of pursuit?” he asked.
“No.”
“We’re being forced northwest,” he added.
“No other way to keep hidden,” Banokles pointed out.
“I know, but we can’t keep heading this way.”
Banokles nodded. “We’ll cut back to the north when we’ve lost our pursuers.”
“We may not have time,” Olganos said. “Ursos will have reached the army by now, and the chances are they will head east, toward the pass at Kilkanos. You agree?”
Banokles had no idea where they would head. He hadn’t even remembered the name of the pass. “Go on,” he said.
“We know there was an Idonoi army pursuing them. If we don’t reach the pass soon, the chances are that the Idonoi will be there first. Then we will have an enemy behind us seeking the children and an army ahead of us pursuing Hektor.”
“You have a plan?”
“Yes, but you won’t like it. We need to ride fast. We cannot do that unless we lose our pursuers. We need to move on alone—unencumbered.”
“You want to leave the children?” Banokles asked, his mood lifting.
“No, I don’t want to. Listen to me, Banokles. I know you have the reputation of a great hero. You fought pirates to rescue a princess, and you fought off twenty men who were trying to kill Hektor’s wife. But this situation is different. The truth is, Kalliros has fallen, Rhesos is dead, Thraki is lost. It no longer matters that the children are royal. They have no army, no leverage, and no value. All they can do is slow us down.”
“They will indeed—” Banokles began, but Olganos cut him off.
“I know what you are going to say. So let me say it first. Yes, they will slow us, but heroes do not abandon those in need. And yes, I feel bad about it.” Olganos reddened. “It is just that I am trying to think like a soldier, Banokles.”
“Nothing wrong with thinking like a soldier,” Banokles told him.
Olganos swore and turned away. When he spoke again, his words were full of regret. “Now you are just trying to make me feel better about my cowardice,” he said. Then he sighed. “Heroes shouldn’t be frightened of dying for what is right. I couldn’t see that last night, when you risked your life for those children. I see it now, and I burn with shame.” The young man looked Banokles in the eye. “Forget what I said. I’ll stand with you.”
Banokles was lost for words. What in Hades was he talking about? Then he saw movement in the far distance, around the city. “Your eyes are keener than mine, Olganos. Can you see men marching?”
Olganos shaded his eyes with his hand. “Yes, heading south, it looks like. That will take them down toward the coast.”
“Away from us, anyway,” Banokles said.
“For a while. If they turn east, they’ll cut across Hektor’s line of march and catch the army as it comes down from the mountains. We need to get to Hektor and warn him.”
“I agree,” Banokles said. “How many would you say are in that army?”
“Hard to judge. They are still leaving. Five, perhaps six thousand.”
“The Trojan Horse can beat that many without breaking a sweat,” Banokles said.
“Are you not forgetting Ismaros?”
“What about it?” snapped Banokles, who had indeed forgotten the port city.
“Odysseus has taken it, which means there will be another army on the coast. If they link with this one, there could be twice as many foes.”