Banokles fell silent. All those damned places were a mystery to him. Armies marching hither and yon, south, north, east, heading for areas he did not know and passes he could not remember. Ursos had done this to him on purpose. It was revenge for calling him “General.”
“Keep watch on those slopes,” he told Olganos, then walked back into the trees and down the short slope into the hollow where the group was camped. The old nurse was sitting apart from the soldiers, the boys close, little Obas in her lap and the taller Periklos beside her, his arm on her shoulder.
Banokles smiled at her, but she gazed at him suspiciously. The men gathered around him, their faces stern.
Black-bearded Ennion spoke first. “Did Olganos speak to you about the… the problem?” he asked.
“Yes, he did. You want to add something?”
“We’ve been talking about it, Banokles. We want you to know we are with you.”
“With me?”
Ennion looked uneasy. “I know we joke with you and appear to mock, but we are all proud to fight alongside you. None of us would have rescued those children the way you did. And we all know how you attacked the assassins and saved the lady Andromache. We are none of us great warriors, but we are soldiers of the Horse. We won’t let you down.”
Banokles glanced at the other men. “You want to keep the children with us?”
Skorpios nodded, but Justinos rubbed his hand across his shaved head and looked doubtful. “I have to say I think Olganos is right. We’ll probably not make it with them. But yes, I am with you, Banokles. We’ll bring the children to Hektor or die trying.”
It was like a bad dream. Banokles swung toward Kerio. The man’s eyes were swollen and black, and there was dried blood on his nostrils. “What do you say?”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” Kerio answered. “I’ll stand.”
Olganos came running down the slope. “Some twenty warriors,” he said. “And they are not far behind.”
Banokles walked across to where the old nurse was sitting with the boys. Periklos stepped to meet him.
“We will not leave her behind,” the boy sternly said. “Take Obas with you, and I will stay with Myrine.”
“No one is being left behind, boy,” Banokles said sourly. “Stay with the horses. If you see Idonoi coming down that slope, then ride like the wind.” Turning back to his men, he called out, “Fetch your bows!”
Olganos moved alongside him.” We’re going to fight them all?”
Banokles did not answer him but ran to his horse and grabbed his bow and quiver of arrows. Then the six warriors ran back up the slope and crept through the undergrowth to the edge of the tree line. Carefully Banokles eased back the branches of a thick bush and peered down the slope.
Some way below he saw a ragged group of Idonoi warriors moving out onto open ground. There were twenty-two of them. In the lead was a thin man in a cloak of faded yellow. He was following the tracks of the horses.
The slope was steep. Banokles gauged it at around three hundred paces. “You see that little group of boulders on the hillside?” he asked his men. “We’ll hit them when they reach those rocks. If they’re gutless, they’ll break and run, and we’ll fade back and ride on. If not, they’ll charge, and we’ll keep hitting them. When you see me drop my bow and lay into them, you follow hard. Now spread out. Not too far.”
The five warriors eased their way back, then crept to better shooting positions.
Banokles felt calmer now. There were no more decisions to be made. Notching an arrow to his bow, he waited.
The twenty-two Idonoi were approaching the boulders. They were closely bunched and talking to one another, obviously not expecting an ambush. They would have seen the tracks and known there were only six horses. Outnumbered more than three to one, the Trojans would have to be fleeing before them.
The thin man in the yellow cloak moved past the boulders and glanced up. Banokles came to his feet and sent a shaft at him. It missed and slammed into the thigh of the warrior behind him. Five other arrows slashed into the advancing men. One warrior took two in the chest. Then a second volley hit the Idonoi. Again Banokles missed his target, the shaft striking a boulder and ricocheting up into the air. Seven of the attackers were down.
Banokles prayed the rest would turn and run.
They charged.
Drawing back on the bowstring, Banokles let fly. This time the arrow punched through the skull of a running warrior, who fell back, then rolled down the slope. Two more of the enemy fell to well-aimed shafts. The Idonoi were close now, no more than twenty paces from the tree line. Banokles shot one last arrow, dropped his bow, and drew his saber and short sword.
With a bellowing battle cry he surged out of the undergrowth and raced toward the twelve surviving warriors. A tall Idonoi with a painted face leaped at him, swinging a longsword. Banokles ducked under the blow, plunging his short sword into the man’s chest, then hitting him with a savage head butt. As the warrior fell back, the sword tore clear of his body. Banokles lashed out at a second man, his saber slicing through the flesh of the warrior’s forearm.
Banokles saw Ennion and Kerio charge in, and two more Idonoi fell. Then a blow struck his helm, spinning it clear. Banokles swung around, half-dazed, and launched himself at his attacker. The two collided and hit the ground. Banokles scrambled up, then drove his saber into the man’s skull. The blade stuck fast. Letting go of the hilt, Banokles spun around just in time to parry a thrust from a spearman. Grabbing the spear with his left hand, he dragged the man toward him and kicked the warrior’s legs from under him. As the man fell, Banokles leaped on him, plunging the short sword into his neck. An Idonoi warrior loomed over him, sword raised. The man suddenly gasped, blood spraying from his throat. As the warrior slumped to the grass, Banokles saw the blond Skorpios behind him, his blood-smeared saber in his hand.
And then the remaining five Idonoi fled the battlefield. They were running so fast that two of them fell on the steep slope and lost their swords as they rolled down.
Banokles pushed himself to his feet. Olganos brought him his helm. Justinos called out to him, and Banokles saw that the warrior was kneeling beside the fallen Kerio. Banokles looked around for the other men. Ennion was sitting down. There was a long cut to his head, blood flowing over the left side of his face. Skorpios was moving around the battlefield, dispatching wounded Idonoi. Olganos had several cuts to his foreams and was bleeding freely.
Banokles walked over and knelt beside Kerio. The man was dead, his throat torn open.
“Strip his armor,” Banokles said.
Then he walked among the Idonoi dead. Two of them had been carrying packs. Banokles searched the first and found several loaves and some dried meat. His mood lifted. Tearing off a chunk of bread, he took a bite. It was flat-baked salt bread, which had always been a favorite of his. Putting the pack down, he opened the second.
Inside was more food and a small wax-stoppered amphora. Breaking the wax seal, he lifted it to his nostrils. The glorious scent of wine came to him. Banokles sighed. Olganos came alongside him.
“Now, this,” Banokles said, hefting the amphora and drinking deeply, “was worth fighting for.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
THE TEMPLE OF THE UNKNOWN
Helikaon stood at the stern of the Xanthos alongside Oniacus at the port steering oar. The long journey around the western coastline had been largely without incident. They had seen few ships, and those they had had been small trading vessels that had hugged the coastline and sped for land the moment the Dardanian fleet was sighted.
No war galleys, however, had patrolled the seas, and that worried Helikaon.