Chapter 1: A Desperate Race, a City in Peril
For Elena and Jacinta, the next two weeks were a blur of pain and misery.
The allies had set up a fast courier service from Elgard to Troia. Every ten miles there was a station with fresh horses and a small escort. The Makedónes had taken Byzántion and crossed the Bósporos straits into Anatolē. Now Hakeem, Elena and their daughter followed this route in a desperate dash from Elgard to Troia.
Hakeem at first kept offering them rest, but the girls angrily refused and pushed on till they were drooping in the saddles. It took an awful lot to worry Hakeem, and they had never seen him so worried.
Hakeem forced them to eat and drink, but as soon as they lay down, they were asleep … only to be woken in a daze to ride again. The weather was appalling – blizzards and then cold, stinging rain.
Jacinta and Elena were young and healthy and had been training like elite athletes. Now they were called on to give all they could give … and then they were asked to give more, and then even more.
They no longer knew where they travelled and had lost track of all time.
It was the night of the sixteenth day and Elena could feel her horse carrying her up a long steep slope. Through a fog of exhaustion, she realised she could see the walls of Troia outlined by rows of torches flaming in their sconces.
She heard the challenge and the proud reply. "My name is Hakeem. I am a commander for King Helios, the Warlord of the desert people and now of the elves. King Helios and I have given our oaths to assist you in danger. We are proud to call the brave men and women of Troia friends, and prouder yet to stand with them in their hour of need!
"With me is Elena, Queen of the Eastern Elves, and Jacinta, the daughter of our heart! Be assured: armies of Helios, my tribesmen and the elves will follow and more will come from the cities to the south. Now, let us pass, and show the way, so we may give honour to your king!"
A great cry went up! Never, since Troia was an elf city more than a millennium ago, had it faced such peril. People were in despair. Suddenly, out of this darkness rode hope! Old foes came, not to gloat, but out of love. They came to stand shoulder to shoulder with the people of Troia.
The Warlord himself came! And the great elven queen! And look at them! They have spent themselves to come so far. They rode by some feat of great endurance to aid us!
Hope has returned.
Troia had been defeated, yes, but now they were treated with great honour by the victors. Oaths were taken, yes. Yet now they were honoured beyond hope! Troia had formidable and determined friends, whatever it faced. With them, it was stronger than before.
Never, ever would this gesture, this act of honour, this kindness be forgotten.
The weary, travel-stained trio was given greater honour than if they had arrived with pomp and finery at the head of a mighty host. Their ragged unkempt appearance showed their willingness to give their all for the people of Troia!
While only three came, with a small escort, it had an effect never equalled in the history of the city.
Hakeem and Jacinta fell to their knees before King Leandros. Jacinta sagged, using one hand to keep from falling. Elena smiled and bowed formally and politely as one monarch to another, but she could hardly keep her eyes open or stand up straight and she was swaying where she stood.
The king himself leapt up before all his court. He hugged them and kissed them, and made haste to send them to their rest.
And while their guests slept, the Troians celebrated with glad heart. No greater token could be sent. The Queen of Elves herself! And the Warlord, wearied to the limit of endurance! They even brought their young adopted child to share the danger of the imperilled city.
But elves! It was a miracle!
Elves had always avoided the new Troia, haunted, as they saw it, by their ancient dead. They never involved themselves in the affairs of humans. Now in Troia's most desperate hour, the mighty elves themselves heeded the call and returned again to defend the site of their ancient holy city.
* * *
Hakeem woke early and did some gentle exercise to counter his soreness. Then he set out to check on his wife and daughter. For a big man, he could move soundlessly. He snuck a careful peek at his daughter, knowing she was a light sleeper.
He took longer to stare in admiration and pride at his wife, Elena. The elf's silky blond hair lay on the pillow, her slightly pointed elvish ears poking out. She had the unnaturally pale complexion of an elf with a slight blush on the cheeks and the tips of her ears and a very fine dusting of freckles.
Her startling green eyes were closed and beautiful lips parted as she breathed peacefully. Her features were so fine and so perfect that he felt again a surge of love for her. It felt like a dream that someone like himself could have won her love.
She had fallen into an exhausted sleep, still in her travel clothes, and was tangled in a sheet. She had endured so much out of her love for him. He couldn't resist giving her a light kiss. She murmured and smiled in her sleep as her husband moved silently from her room.
The servants directed him to King Leandros, who was breakfasting on the terrace with his two young sons, Euripides and Hypatos. His eldest, Karpos, was in Abydos directing the forward defences.
Hakeem fell to one knee and bowed his head, his right arm across his chest in salute, but Leandros waved his hand dismissively. "Well, well my young friend. You have certainly come up in the world. Perhaps I should be bowing to you! Warlord of the Shantawi no less, and Warlord of the elves. Who has ever heard of such a thing? And you a human!"
Hakeem laughed, colouring slightly. "It's nothing much, Great King. Samit was the previous Shantawi Warlord and I'm sure I'll never match him. There was just no more suitable candidate at the time. As for the elves, that's an empty title so some chambermaid doesn't think she can order me around."
Leandros chuckled and motioned for him to sit. "I see, so what is this about being a Shayvist paladin then? That's a rare honour and no doubt you are worthy."
Hakeem gestured helplessly and laughed self-consciously. "Don't believe any of it, great Lord. It means I'm half a monk and half a fighter and probably not much of either."
Leandros laughed; he was well used to Hakeem by now. "Be that as it may, my exceptional and modest friend, I am getting old. With my best commanders in the field to defend the approaches, I hope you will agree to demonstrate your undoubted incompetence by acting as my personal aide in preparing Troia."
Hakeem was overcome. Hakeem wasn't a stratēgos (general) and he was an ally, not a Troian. He found the king's trust deeply moving. Modesty demanded he beg out of this opportunity, but he just couldn't do it!
He would love the chance to work with someone of Leandros's reputation on such a complex problem. He turned to Leandros a little awed and his eyes alight with pleasure.
Trying to suppress a grin, he answered formally, "Great Lord, you do me an honour beyond my worth."
"Wait till you find what we have to work with before you get too happy," Leandros warned him.
After they had all breakfasted, the king and his two young sons and the Lokhagos(captain) of the Guard led Hakeem on a tour of the fortifications and preparations.
The inspection reinforced what Hakeem already knew. Troia was no Elgard, but it was a well-designed and well-provisioned fortress-city. It stood tall, proud and beautiful on a huge bluff surrounded on three sides by the sea.
The massive stone walls rose a good forty feet above the cliffs, so that even Hakeem felt dwarfed by them. On the landward side, they had regular bastions projecting out to allow archers and catapults to protect the walls against mobile towers (they were flattened in the old style.
The walls there were curved outwards at the bottom to discourage tunnelling and to knock any rocks dropped from above outwards into any besieging army.
A deep dry-ditch on the land side was crossed by three massive drawbridges, leading to huge fortified gates, each with a large main entrance and a separate narrow foot-entrance the latter designed to double as sally-ports in a siege.
The whole was liberally supplied with catapults, bolt throwers and holes for archers. On the battlements there was a walk-way sheltered by crenulations and large holes for dropping rocks (and above the gates hot oil) on anyone below who the king or his men thought might be in any way less than friendly.
The harbour and docks were formed in the shelter of one side of the bluff and were enlarged by seawalls. One wall of the fortress towered high above the docks far below. The only exit road from the docks was guarded by a solid-looking wall with a fortified gate and then it climbed, zigzag, up the cliff to arrive on the landward side just outside the walls.
The palace itself was a spacious well-fortified citadel, set at the rear of the city. It shared the west wall of the fortress-city but rose high above it. It had a clear view of the Aegean in the west and the Hellespontos in the north. Hakeem wasn't surprised to find out there were a number of clever secret passages in the seemingly solid cliffs that he had not known about.
This was good, this was very good!
Hakeem asked the king and captain, a string of technical questions. He didn't comment much but he obviously wasn't missing anything. Leandros's boys watched Hakeem as he measured with his eyes the coverage afforded by catapults and arrow slots, looked at angles, looked at accesses, measured thicknesses and checked siege engines.
He seemed to be trying to memorise different aspects of the fortifications. He was smiling and his eyes sparkled as they darted backwards and forwards, checking distances and approaches and counting off under his breath the number of men and equipment needed in different situations.
It was taking a long time and the morning was starting to wear on. Leandros was more than content to let him go and Hakeem appeared in no hurry but the children, Euripides and Hypatos, could barely contain themselves.
When they first met Hakeem almost three years ago, they hated him as one of the victors of a war against their city, but mostly they were badly frightened of him.
To the small boys, he was huge. He was terrifying to watch as he practised, or when giving a demonstration. At one time they thought much of Helios's army must have been made up of warriors like Hakeem. That must have been why their father had lost!
When they finally did approach Hakeem, to their surprise they found him friendly and helpful. Most of the other adults regarded the young children as little more than nuisances. Hakeem seemed to enjoy their company and he clearly loved to teach.
Very soon, much to everyone's amusement, Hakeem had developed two young shadows that followed him everywhere. They had watched him in open-mouthed hero worship and never seemed to tire of chattering away or asking endless questions and Hakeem never showed signs of wearying of them.
Now they knew their father's kingdom was in grave danger and after almost two years Hakeem suddenly appeared in the night with the Elf Queen that he had married and a daughter! It had caused great excitement. So, what did their Hakeem think of their chances against not one but two invading armies?
Euripides eventually asked. "Well, what do you think of our city?"
Hakeem jerked up; for a moment he had forgotten his audience.
"The fortifications are excellent!" Hakeem replied with evident satisfaction, smiling broadly and tousling the boy's hair. He knew they would be.
He didn't tell the boys what he thought of the sad state of the city itself or the once mighty Troian army. He didn't need to.
The change was heartbreaking … and frightening!
Troia had been the centre of a rich kingdom, fed by conquest. The peace terms were generous and demand for reparations kept to a minimum but the loss of the recent war had devastated the city. There simply was not enough time to recover before the Makedónes had blocked trade with the Hellás and now the Black Sea.
Troia was being starved.
Many of the shops and houses were already boarded up, and the commercial district had an abandoned feel.
The soldiers they passed were in no better shape. So few men! So very few!
Troia had long maintained one of the finest standing armies in the region. It was reinforced by levies of men and money from its subject states. Fresh conquest brought plunder and wealth, which fed its military machine.
The king had drained his treasury trying to help the recovery and now tax receipts were poor. Leandros could not afford to hire and equip mercenaries and his standing army was barely a fraction of what it was.
Troia's remaining subject states and traditional allies, the Lydoi and Bithynians, were under more immediate threat than Troia itself. Troia had been forced to send her best men led by Leandros' eldest son, Karpos, to prevent an early push by the Makedónes.
So, with a local garrison of barely twelve hundred, the city was dependent on the levy of its citizens. Levy after levy of Troians had been conscripted in the last stages of the Aiol war. In many villages, there were far too many widows and young women who could find no husband. The men that answered the call now had mostly seen too many years and some too few. Nothing else could be more convincing of Troia's desperation.
It was shocking that, even after the levy, there were barely three thousand to garrison Troia itself. Perhaps a thousand of these were prime troops.
The Athēnai would have ten thousand and more. The Makedóne army already in Bithynia had more than ten thousand. Philippos was widely expected to bring a second wave of maybe three times that, all of them professional soldiers.
The West coast of Anatolē was facing an invasion that might total over fifty thousand of battle-hardened troops and Troia was the main prize.
The fear in the city was palpable.
Most of the city folk looked grim or even haunted. No few were already loading possessions into carts, to make the journey to the cities south.
If we can't stop them here, Hakeem thought as he watched them packing, you won't find safety in the south.
Towards the end of the inspection Hakeem and Leandros were inspecting a row of troops proudly lined up. Between two ancient veterans grinning at him with toothless smiles was a very young boy.
"How old are you, son?" Hakeem asked.
"Eighteen years old, sir," came the immediate reply!
Hakeem looked at the boy, barely fourteen. "I don't see your beard."
"That's because I shave, sir!" was the quick-thinking reply.
The veterans surrounding the lad were having trouble keeping straight faces. It was going to be several years before shaving was necessary.
"And you, old timer?"
The grizzled veteran offered a toothless grin. "Forty, sir!"
"That makes you younger than your decadarchos (sergeant). Am I to believe that?"
The veteran screwed up his face and sucked at his gums as he considered his sergeant. "I don't think so, sir!"
Hakeem had to smile. Common people were illiterate and wouldn't know their true age, but this man was closer to sixty. Hakeem's heart felt like bursting with love for these brave and loyal people. He raised his voice so all nearby could hear.
"Some of you seem to have some trouble working out your age!" There was a ripple of amusement.
He took a big breath and his voice rang out loudly in the morning air. "I want to tell you, all of you that before me stand the finest patriots I have ever had the privilege to meet. I am honoured to join such a valiant people. Greek Troia has never fallen to an enemy and it never will; not while it is served by hearts as great as yours."
A mighty cheer rang out, and Hakeem smiled warmly at the troop's enthusiasm. He privately planned to keep these men safely behind the walls of Troia, and well away from any close action.
The Makedónes would not come soon. If the Athēnai attacked Troia before it was reinforced Hakeem knew he could hold the city till help arrived, but he prayed it wouldn't come to that.
Chapter 2: Zoe and the Great Elf Queen
Elena didn't know how long she slept, but the sun was well up and the room warm when she woke. She could hardly move. She was stiff and aching everywhere. Her back and legs felt as if she had been beaten. Her buttocks, her groin and between her legs felt on fire.
From the saddle she had developed blisters, which had no chance to heal. Now there was a large area that was raw and bleeding and infection had surely set in. She had ignored it all. It had been just another source of misery as she rode, exhausted and aching to her very soul.
Waiting for her to wake were three anxious maids. They had never seen an elf, let alone the Great Elf Queen of the Prophecy! They waited at the entrance to her room, not knowing if they should come in, or whether this would give offence.
Inwardly Elena groaned. She pushed herself up in the bed with difficulty. When she smiled and greeted them, they almost jumped in fright. The elf queen speaks Greek!
How could she make them understand her problem, she wondered? When she explained she needed to treat some injuries from riding, the younger two fled. The older one bowed solemnly, and left without a word.
Not knowing what to do, Elena struggled stiffly out of bed and limped around uncertainly. She had been given a magnificent room. The ceiling had a mural of a hunting scene; the walls plastered and painted in soft autumn colours. There was a beautiful mosaic of the sea and its creatures, on the floor.
It was furnished with several intricately carved chests, a spare couch (kline) against the wall, tables and stools covered with fleece. They were all elegantly made and many were shining with a pearl-shell inlay. Before losing the recent war, Troia had been one of the wealthiest local kingdoms.
The room opened onto a balcony with a wonderful view of the sea. Spring had come to Troia far earlier than Elgard, her mountain home. A breeze was gently blowing the silk curtains and she could hear the call of the gulls.
The night before, she just couldn't stay awake no matter what. She couldn't even remember if she was attended by maids or not before she flopped across the kline (bed), instantly asleep. Fine cotton sheets from Aígyptos had been placed to protect the bed and she looked in dismay at the dirty mess she had made of them.
She couldn't find any sign of her saddle bags, so all she had were her grubby riding clothes that she still wore. Her undergarments were stuck to her wounds and she hadn't been able to remove them for days.
Hakeem had coated Elena and Jacinta's feet in foul-smelling black grease, and packed them with several layers of socks to keep on till the journey's end. They were now set solid. Her feet were tender but better than she expected.
Elena didn't want anyone to see her in such a horrible state but attending to it herself was far beyond her, even if she didn't feel so weak and sore.
The youngest maid shyly pushed the door open and tentatively entered, carrying towels, powder, soaps and oils. The young girl could hardly take her eyes off Elena, and almost walked into one of the small tables.
This wouldn't do!
Before she could scurry off, Elena called gently to her. "Please stay, what is your name?"
"Eudokia, great Lady."
Eudokia was terrified. She looked hunted and kept flashing glances towards the exit.
"Did you know Eudokia means 'you look pretty'? It's a lovely name and you really do look pretty!"
Eudokia blushed crimson, pleased.
"Eudokia, please call me Elena when we are alone. I need some clothes to wear. Before that I will need salt in my bath and then ointments and dressings. I have galloped on a horse for over two weeks and I have a rash that is awkward, for such a great Lady as you call me." Elena gave her a wry smile, and she got an uncertain chuckle from the Greek girl.
"My clothes are stuck to the rash and I have been unable to change. You'll have to hold your nose, I'm sorry." Elena said with a grimace, feeling the heat of shame in her face.
She chatted to the maids as they carried in a sitting bath and got everything ready. To their surprise they found the feared elf queen pleasant and friendly.
Zoe, the eldest maid, surveyed the state of Elena's clothes and socks grimly. They were stiff and discoloured and smelt. She suspected what she was going to find underneath and took over in a business-like way.
Removing the boots required all tugging at once but that was the easy part. The socks near the skin were stuck to the scabs. They cut away as much as they could and then they soaked her feet in hot sea water.
Elena made no complaint as she forced her feet into the steaming water, clenching her jaw, flushed and sweating. As the socks eventually came off they pulled at the wounds. Elena had to bite her lip and hold her body stiff, even then it was hard not to gasp or flinch. Her maids knew they were hurting her and became tentative.
"Just continue, don't stop!" Elena commanded harshly, and tried to squeeze her eyes against the tears.
Eventually the remainder of the socks were removed. Her feet were raw and bleeding and discoloured, but better than she had a right to hope.
"I'm sorry to give this distasteful task to you, please forgive me," she whispered hoarsely, head bowed and eyes averted.
Zoe had noted the pain the brave queen endured without complaint.
"My Lady, if you can stand it, then so can we. I've seen worse. It hurts me to see you have treated your beautiful body so, but now you have no choice! You can't sit a horse with grease on your seat. Your clothes are stuck and to remove them will be far worse. You have infection. I will send for a healer who will give you a potion. What follows now, no one should endure."
Even to Zoe, her voice sounded hard.
Elena panicked, snatching frantically at Zoe's sleeve. "No, Zoe. Please don't call anyone else."
The maids' hearts went out to her, seeing her so distressed.
"You may see me as a great queen," Elena said, tearfully. "But you don't know, you just can't know. I am no stranger to pain and humiliation. I trust you three. I can't stand the thought of more seeing me like this. I'll try to be brave ... ignore me if I cry out."
"Then you are thrice a damned fool!" Zoe shouted angrily. The other maids were shocked. To speak thus to a queen could get her hung.
"First you're a fool for refusing opion (opium), second you're a fool if you don't know you are the bravest person I've met, and third you're a fool to treat your beautiful body so, even if I am one of those people you have done so for."
Elena was fighting her tears, "Thank you Zoe. I don't know about beautiful or brave. Having you here helps more than you know. Forgive me if I make noise, I'll try my best." She looked around at the other two in her shame and distress. Tears were running freely down her cheeks. "You are so kind to me!"
Her shirt and pants were cut away, but the discoloured cotton undergarment was immovably stuck. Zoe looked in dismay as she gave it an experimental tug.
The next two hours were ones of torment and anguish for all concerned. Eudokia and the other maid, Aglea, found themselves crying with what they had to do. In the end all three maids felt exhausted and sick with the pain they had inflicted. Elena stood naked before them, pale and trembling violently and near collapse. Her buttocks were angrily inflamed and bleeding. The water ran red with blood.
"Oh, great Lady!" Zoe was appalled. "What have you done?"
"We had to get here in a hurry. I ignored the pain," Elena said, miserable and humiliated.
Zoe was horrified. "My Lady, you are so beautiful, but you might be left with discoloured flesh or even scarring!"
Elena bent her head and started to cry. "I just had to do it, Zoe."
"Now you listen to me!" Zoe shouted in anger. "I've had enough of this! This has to be done properly. I am sending for a healer and you will do what you are told!"
Elena stiffened, and then her shoulders slumped, defeated.
"You are right," she said in a small voice. Shivering, she smiled sadly.
"I am being silly but if you knew all I've been through, you would understand."
Then Elena, the great lady, queen of the mighty Eastern Elves, found herself being given a very solid scolding as grandmotherly Zoe took charge.
Zoe sent the other two scurrying to get special salves and a priestess known as a healer. Elena found herself bathed and cleaned, given a potion whether she wanted it or not and firmly ordered to bed.
She had to lie on her side with thick layers of ointment applied. She felt warm, a little sleepy, but she had to admit, much more comfortable.
It was then Zoe realised with a fright who she had been ordering around. Zoe, a spinster, had been the nurse of the king's sons. Her fussy mothering was fondly tolerated by those that knew her but she had seriously overstepped the mark.
Elves were known to be difficult and arrogant and this was their queen.
"My Lady," she started gruffly, colouring slightly. "I hope one such as yourself don't take offence from all I've said. I'm a plain woman and speak my mind, sometimes too much, I know. I've no business scolding such a great lady, especially as what you have done, you have done for us. We are grateful to you."
Elena motioned for her to come closer, tears starting again in her eyes.
She caught at the old lady's hands and kissed them. Then she reached up and pulled Zoe to her with surprising strength. She hugged her for a long time, and kissed the old woman on the cheeks.
"Zoe, you reminded me of my nursemaid when I was small and needed looking after. It only showed you cared. You were right, I was being silly. Please don't stop! And thank you, thank you all!" she said, looking at the other two gratefully, tears still in her eyes.
Well, well, Zoe thought, so much for the difficult elves.
Elena wasn't like a great lady at all.
Then Zoe stopped that thought. The titles "great Lord" and "great Lady" were given automatically. Elena, the Great Elf Queen, was humble yet brave.
She had unselfishly sacrificed herself for mere humans. Even in her suffering, she showed concern and affection for those many a human queen would think were beneath notice.
This didn't mean that Elena was not 'great'.
Elena was in a class all of her own.
Elena was prophesied to be the greatest queen the Western Elves ever had. She was a queen with a heart. She could love all and be loved by all. She would bring union not only between elves and humans, but also between nobles and common folk, servants and masters.
And it was her that had come to them now, come to their city in its greatest peril!
When Zoe finally left her charge to arrive in the servant dining room, she was mobbed.
Interest in the elf queen was intense. To the people of the Troia the elves were mythical beings. Most had never seen one. Yet few did not feel a powerful connection with the Elder Race who in a way defined the soul of Troia.
An elf icon was only second to the dolphin as an undying symbol of the city. They were the most popular good luck charms. The favourite toys for little girls were elf dolls, and most of the citizens were raised on the countless stories of the golden age of Elvish Troia before its fall: stories of love, of great elf kings and queens and great adventures of bravery and magic.
Now, when all hope seemed lost, the elves with their kings and queens had emerged out of legend; not only to walk in the daylight, but to stand shoulder to shoulder in the defence of the city.
Despite the affection the people of Troia had for elves, expectations were that their queen would be alien, difficult to please and contemptuous of humans, especially to mere servants. What Zoe reported had her audience amazed.
The elf queen was polite, humble and gracious, far more than any human queen. And she was so brave! She had sacrificed herself to come to help, suffering abuse to her lovely body.
Zoe was the most influential amongst the servants and as she sang Elena's praises, the rumours spread quickly through the palace and then the city. Each word, each act of the elf queen was analysed and marvelled at. As the rumour spread, the common people of Troia fell in love with Elena, the beautiful queen of the Eastern Elves.
Meanwhile, Elena slept, exhausted and oblivious. Eudokia stayed faithfully by the side of her new mistress, watching over her.
* * *
When she awoke Elena felt the cleanest she had been for weeks. She smelt strongly of powerful ointments, but at least she no longer smelt like a sweaty horse!
Her wounds were starting to itch maddeningly, and she longed for nothing more than to give them a good scratch under her bandages. She clenched her hands together to stop herself.
For the moment Elena was still too sleepy to talk; she lay dozing on her side. Leandros was a widower and there would be no "great lady" of the palace to visit her. How long would her isolation last?
Eudokia brought some bread and fruit, as this was all Elena thought she could eat, but she found she was ravenously hungry, and ate most of a small loaf of the fresh bread all by herself.
That at least was a healthy sign!
At first Eudokia was overawed by the queen but it didn't take long before she found herself chatting about her family, her sweetheart, and life as a maid in the great Troian Palace. Elena was such pleasant company, genuinely interested and attentive.
A little later Jacinta's maid, Timo, poked her head cautiously in and then gestured behind her. Jacinta waddled in with difficulty, swathed in bandages under her night gown.
"Is she gone?" Jacinta said, cautiously looking around. "I'd just got back to sleep after meditating, when this old grandma burst in with a priestess, demanding to see my bottom. I had no idea what it was about. I wondered if it was some strange greeting custom Troians had for their guests."
Eudokia and Timo were overcome with giggling.
"That was Zoe and I was too scared to argue with her, I can tell you!" Elena replied chuckling. "I hope she doesn't come back and catch me doing the wrong thing."
Eudokia and Timo recounted several amusing anecdotes of Zoe charging in and taking control irrespective of rank, and much to the surprise of her intended patient. Soon the four were chatting like old friends.
Elena was amused to think that their bottoms had become such a topic of conversation.
"As long as we aren't asked to show them at Leandros's court!" she said pulling a face. "I may need Hakeem. They thought I might get discolouration or even scarring."
"If you trust me, Mother, I am Hakeem's apprentice and am accepted to be a student paladin. I managed something during my morning meditation. It took time, as I'm nowhere near as powerful as Father but my bottom seemed only mildly chaffed. They seemed rather disappointed, but I ended with all sorts of ointments and being bundled up and dosed anyway."
Elena looked at Jacinta in surprise, so young and showing signs of the power. She nodded enthusiastically. Why couldn't Jacinta have come earlier?
Her need to go through more suffering and humiliation, obviously … Karma no doubt!
Well, some days this "Karma" that Hakeem kept talking about could be a real treasure. (The elvish word Elena used in her thoughts was rude and it didn't mean "treasure".)
The Troian maids were looking puzzled. Elena realised there would be no way of keeping this healing a secret. The best way to stop awkward questions was to ensure that everyone knew about it.
"Timo and Eudokia, can you keep a secret?" she asked.
The two Troian girls smiled and nodded conspiratorially. Elena knew that this would guarantee the "secret" would travel through the palace like wildfire. At least, when she made a rapid recovery, everyone would be busy pretending not to notice.
"If you could leave us for a little while, we want to try a healing."
Elf magic!
The girls' faces lit up in wonder and delight. They were all smiles and lots of "Great Queen" and "my Princess" (Jacinta had no success explaining she wasn't a princess). The two maids left hurriedly, almost running into furniture and each other as they tried to leave backwards, bowing as they went. They were in a rush to tell their friends the latest!
Jacinta watched the hurried exit shaking her head and chuckling. "Of course you realise, Mother, that you have ensured tales of our bottoms will become the stuff of legends!"
Elena smiled wryly at her daughter. "'T-A-I-L-S' you mean. I hope we will be remembered for something better than our bottoms, before all this is over."
* * *
It was the third day after they arrived, and a turn of the hour-glass after dawn when Jacinta found the training ground for young recruits. Hakeem had sent her to meet the Hoplomachos (drill sergeant), Hermokrates.
Hakeem seemed excited that someone of Hermokrates's reputation had agreed to teach Jacinta the use of the spear and shield. He said he was a legend amongst drill sergeants. He had been supposed to retire, but instead he had taken over the training of the Troian youth.
When Jacinta arrived, there were three obvious novices, already waiting. They looked like solid farm boys but it was easy to see fear in their eyes. Most of the boys that Jacinta could see already training were older and bigger than her, some virtually young men. All seemed curious to see a young girl wandering around the training ground.
Hermokrates was attending to some business and was due later. As Jacinta was working out what to do, she noticed a large, muscular boy, almost the size of a man, had stopped practising. He was standing, watching her, arms crossed, favouring her with a sneer. She looked straight back at him with a bored look on her face.
"What are you looking at?" he jeered. "Get on about your business!"
"I have been sent to seek Hermokrates," she said, looking at some of the boys sweating away in the dust.
"Well, he's not here right now, so why don't you go back to the kitchen? Why do you want to see him, anyway?"
"Well, I don't think it's any of your concern, unless he left you in charge. I have been sent to learn the throwing spear."
At that, many of the nearby boys stopped their practice and some started to drift closer to get a good look at 'the girl'. Jacinta found it more than a little disconcerting to be the only girl surrounded by so many boys, many bigger than her.
"And what would you know about the use of a spear?" The big boy sneered.
"Well, if I knew a lot about the spear, I wouldn't have to learn it, now would I?" Jacinta replied sweetly, and gave him an exaggerated smile.
Some of the boys laughed. The audience was growing now, watching the two of them.
The bully scowled. He walked up, so he could stand over her. "He'll not waste his time with a girl. You'll never be a warrior, and you'll never learn to kill anyone in battle."
"Well it looks like you are going to be proven wrong on all three counts," Jacinta replied, keeping her voice sweet. "Anyway it's up to Hermokrates and I'll wait for him here. Don't you have practice you are supposed to be doing … or haven't you seen a girl before?"
"So, you say you've been in battle, how many have you killed?"
Jacinta was outraged. She stepped back a little to eye him up and down and give him a real piece of her mind!
"How can you even talk like that? Having to kill people is a terrible thing, nothing to boast about. For your information, I've killed four men for sure, maybe five, but my mother and I shot the same man. Though if you have ever killed someone you wouldn't talk like that, unless you have some sickness of the mind." She spat the last words at him angrily. What a stupid boy!
He looked back at her in shock.
"Well that certainly shut him up!" said a strong voice behind her. "Hello Jacinta, I didn't expect to see you today. I expected … well … er ..." The old man coughed, trying not to mention "elf magic".
"I see you have already met Kryiakos. I've only had him for ten days, not long enough to knock sense into him yet. He still thinks he knows everything." Hermokrates fixed Kryiakos with a steady gaze, till the boy looked away and went back to practice.
Hermokrates was a grizzled old veteran with a limp, but he looked strong. Jacinta remembered how strong father Omar was. "Yes sir, I'm sorry I allowed him to irritate me."
"That needed to be said, he just doesn't listen." Hermokrates sighed. "Well, he'll learn, I suppose.
"Your father speaks very highly of you and says you're a quick learner. I've watched your father at practice, and I've honestly never seen the like! Though someone like me shouldn't make comment on my betters."
"He speaks of you with great admiration, sir," Jacinta replied respectfully.
"Well, does he now?" Hermokrates said, pleased. "I've only taught a few girls, but two were amongst the best warriors I've trained. I'll look forward to seeing how you go."
Then he passed over her to talk to the other three recruits.
After this, he called the whole class together. There were fifty-six in all. Several of the older boys were used to supervise the newer recruits. She sat with the four newcomers in the front row. Kryiakos took his place amongst the other novices with some reluctance.
"Most of the older boys have heard all this but they will hear it again. Hakeem has asked me to train you as peltastae (light infantry) not hoplitai (Greek heavy infantry), so some of you may have to forget what you have already learnt elsewhere." All three of the new boys looked disappointed, Hermokrates just smiled and continued.
"Most of you will know this, but I'll say it anyway. The Greek peltastae, which will include you, are unarmoured and carry a light wicker shield covered with hide. They are armed with four or more throwing spears, 'haenschos'.
"Those of you who aren't Greek will never be able to say it properly. So I don't have to put up with your mangled Greek, call it a 'throwing spear' or use the Keltoi name, Javelot (Javelin).
"Each unit is named after their aspis (shield). Peltastēs (singular) for the peltē and hoplitēs for the heavy hoplon shield."
Jacinta made a mental note to correct her accent for the local dialect. They tended to drop the "h". The "ho" in "hoplites" was said as a rough-breathing "o", (more like 'oplitēs).
"Non-Greeks also kit their peltastae with swords, sometimes thrusting spears and sometimes armour as well, but that would only slow us down. Can any of you new recruits tell me why peltastae make the most popular Greek mercenary?"
"Well sir," Jacinta started, as he acknowledged her. She paused as she thought how to reply. "Not just Greek but also the Thrakes (Thracians) make the best peltastae. Greeks are superb athletes and the peltastae are chosen from the young and fit.
"A peltastēs (singular) can run faster and fight for longer than any other infantry unit. Over boulders and gullies or in forests, they are superior to cavalry. A peltastēs, unlike an archer, has a shield. The weight of the javelin makes it much more lethal than an arrow. A solid hit is always disabling, if it's the thorax without armour it is almost a guaranteed kill … eventually. If it hits the hoplon shield, the point twists, so it's hard to pull out. It's almost impossible for your enemy to do this while they are in formation, or engaged in battle, but until they do, their shield is more a handicap than a help."
"Good, you really know your stuff. The new recruits, you will learn to be peltastae, who would rather be hoplitai?" Hermokrates enquired.
Kryiakos put up his hand. "That's what I came here for. My father and grandfather were hoplitai and anyone knows they are better."
"Jacinta, are hoplitai better?"
"It depends on the situation, sir, they certainly can be but each unit has its strengths and weaknesses. In the Peloponnesian war the finest hoplitai of all time, the Spartan elite units, were defeated on two occasions by an equal force of Attik peltastae. The Spartan heavy infantry had no missile troops and couldn't catch the Athēnai light skirmishers over the uneven ground. If they could have, there would have been no contest."
"Now some of you others, what's the most important part of a hoplitai kit?"
"The spear, of course!" Kryiakos replied smugly.
"Well," said Hermokrates. "You are forgiven for thinking so. But the hoplon is the most important part of the hoplitēs gear. Why has the hoplon a layer of bronze added ... Jacinta?"
"To make it heavier, sir," Jacinta replied.
Kryiakos laughed in exaggerated loudness. "To make it heavier, she says! They want to make it stronger, of course."
"No, Jacinta's right. Thick leather layered and properly prepared is hard to cut, it stretches back. It's more than good enough for a shield over properly seasoned wood or for some light shields over densely woven, specially prepared and reinforced wicker.
"Metal is added to make the shield heavier and to give it a hard edge. It can't be knocked aside so easily and it can be used as a weapon, for ramming. It is so heavy it needs to be rested on the shoulder in battle."
Kryiakos gave Jacinta a look of pure spite but she completely ignored him.
Hermokrates was continuing, showing them the hoplon. "You pass your arm through the leather loop in the middle and grasp the strap at the top. This gives you two points of contact and allows you to wield it," he said, demonstrating by moving the shield back and forth with perfect control and balance. "It's very heavy and takes a lot of strength," he emphasised.
"Now I'll tell you about hoplitēs armour. It is usually layered, quilted linen stiffened with glue. The Thrakes and Illyroi use leather. We use linen triarii (greaves) to guard the shins. Why not full bronze armour?"
"Well sir," Jacinta answered again. "The main protection for a warrior is the shield. Linen specially prepared and layered will handle all but a direct hit. Full bronze armour is very expensive, and has to be made for the individual. It can be a problem in the heat and cold. The main problem, though, for infantry is the weight.
"The way warfare is waged has changed; really heavy kit is not too bad if you are fighting in formation close to your city on a flat plain but for an extended campaign or if you need to be more mobile on the field, it's useless.
"Some reduce the weight by using plates sewn onto leather, or just a breast plate, or chain mail. With complete metal armour, by the time you add a heavy shield and a long spear you may feel safer and stronger but it's an illusion, you have little chance to run towards the enemy or away from them."
Kryiakos made a rude noise when Jacinta spoke of running away.
"Good answer. We won't talk about running away, but it certainly stops you running towards. Next, the thrusting spear, the 'thoru', has two ends. Can anyone tell me the difference?"
"Well sir," said one of the other boys. "The iron part shaped like a leaf is what you stab with. The bronze butt-spike can be stuck into the ground."
"Good, anything else?"
"Well sir." It was Jacinta again. "I have only been trained in the quarter staff, but pole weapons were explained to me.
"You could dig the butt in like the other boy said, but that is really only good against cavalry and cavalry simply won't charge up close to a large phalanx of men in tight formation. You can't march or stab with it underarm. You don't have enough power and grip to do that one handed.
"The leaf-shaped iron point is called the 'aichme', and is designed to make a larger wound. The thoru is held overarm with the front pointed downwards by the front three rows of a phalanx. Pointing downwards, their heavy weight helps rather than hinders the stabbing movement. The rest of the ranks hold them up in the air out of the way and where they might deflect or slow missiles.
"The bronze butt-spike, the sarouter, is shaped like a square tent-peg. It is a weapon in its own right. It has a smaller, stronger point made from heavy bronze. This gives it more penetrating power than the aichme but it doesn't make as big a wound.
"The name means 'lizard killer'. It is good for penetrating the armour of anyone lying wounded on the ground as you pass over them. It can be used if your aichme breaks after a charge against the shield wall.
"Once the formations have broken up into hand-to-hand fighting, which is called 'the mêlée', many hoplitai used to snap their spear and use the sarouter. This would give them more reach than a short sword if they had one, but it would not be as impossibly unwieldy as a full 'thoru' for hand-to-hand combat. The sarouter has a better chance of penetrating than the aichme so it is safer against a single opponent. While a wound by a sarouter may not kill as often, you are more likely to penetrate and at least take the fight out of him. Most of the thoru now have brass joints for transport and to shorten them for the mêlée.
"The thoru is the height of a tall man and half as much again. The 'sarissa' that the Makedónes use is twice this. It can only be used two handed, underarm. They hang a small shield from their neck on the left for later use. Do you want to have me explain the Makedóne hoplitai weapons and how they are used, sir?"
Several of the older boys looked amused that 'the girl' knew so much. Hermokrates was laughing and shaking his head in admiration.
"Not today, but thank you, Jacinta. That was really good. I might have to give you a job teaching. I hope you boys were listening, that's the best explanation of the hoplitēs spear I have ever heard.
"Jacinta, we look forward to seeing if you are as good at fighting as you are at talking. But first we will make a hoplitai formation to show you new recruits what it's like. I think you will be glad you're not training to be hoplitai!"
The students were sent to get kitted out, the experienced students helping the newcomers.
The thick linen armour came in three pieces: shoulders, a wraparound section for the thorax and a "skirt" to hang down over the lower abdomen and upper thighs. It all had to be connected by ties and buckles. It was very stiff and hard to put on and surprisingly heavy.
A handsome senior boy, Aison, was helping Jacinta.
"It softens with your body heat and eventually melds closer to your shape. I'm sorry about Kryiakos, but no one likes him. He bullies some of the smaller boys but not when I'm around."
Jacinta smiled gratefully. "Thanks, I don't think I could do this by myself."
"And here's the shield, smaller than the adult one but it is still too big for you." He said, lifting it with a small grunt and moving slowly.
Jacinta took it with her left hand as they had been shown … And, not only did she almost drop it, she came close to following it head over heels! It was almost equal to her weight, a couple of talenta (talents) of barley at least.
"But wait, you'll love this, the helmet. It's the best I can do, I'm sorry. They are supposed to be fitted individually."
He helped her on with her helmet. It was a Corinthian model that protected the neck as well. Everything went dark and all she could hear was a sound like the sea.
It suddenly disappeared as Aison took it off to adjust. Jacinta felt dazed and shook her head to clear it.
"Also too big, I'm afraid. You're definitely too small for this," said Aison, expertly packing it with cotton and wool. "There, now you should be able to see and breathe at least. Tilt it up like this and only pull it down over your face when we are ready to move, but be careful of the packing."
He bent down to tie the straps on one of Jacinta's sandals; she could hardly move.
"I think he has made his point already," Jacinta remarked ruefully.
"You just wait!" Aison laughed. "It gets infinitely better in just a minute!"
"I thought you only liked small boys," Kryiakos called out to Aison.
They ignored him. Aison quickly kitted himself out and they hurried to join the other boys in formation.
"Phalanx" comes from the Greek word for "finger" and describes a rectangular formation of close-packed heavy infantry (hoplitai). There were enough boys for a small phalanx of four files (stichoi).
For spears they had six-foot poles padded with cloth at either ends.
At the order, everyone pulled down their helmets. Jacinta found it hard to hear above the "sound of the sea". It was stuffy, smelled of old sweat and she could barely see. She was almost totally deaf and blind, and jammed in. Her legs kept being kicked and feet trodden on as the crowd jostled back and forward. Any more and she would be limping tomorrow!
The brave world of Jacinta the fierce warrior.
She smiled at the thought.
But wait! Hermokrates was yelling out orders.
"Lock shields!" Jacinta found herself crushed as the line began to sway like a drunk. She couldn't breathe. She groaned under the impossible weight of the shield and spear.
"Keep those spears up! I don't want you stabbing each other! You look more dangerous to each other than to your enemies!" bawled Hermokrates, his voice carrying over the din.
Jacinta's arms felt on fire with the weight of the shield on the left and the pole waving around unsteadily on the right. Wait a minute, tilt the shield back and rest it on the shoulder.
It immediately started to rub. At least she could manage … but only barely.
"Now move forward!" came the sharp command.
The front line wobbled uncertainly forward.
Twice Jacinta was almost lifted off the ground by the crush of heavy boys. She definitely didn't have the size and weight to train as a hoplitēs. The jolting of the heavy shield against her collar bone was an agony, sure to leave a bruise and a wound.
She just couldn't keep this up any longer!
"Now faster!" Hermokrates barked.
The phalanx tried to trot forward and started to break up into a hopeless rabble. Then one of the smaller boys stumbled and disappeared under a large pile of bodies, shields and poles.
Hermokrates screamed "Halt!" urgently. He anxiously pulled boys and their gear off him and carefully checked the boy's arms and collar bone. Miraculously nothing was broken.
"He pushed me, sir!"
"I don't know what he is talking about, sir," said Kryiakos, glaring at the boy.
Hermokrates looked at Kryiakos tiredly, but it was one word against the other. There was nothing he could do.
"Okay, put it all back. Two of the newest recruits have had some training. Jacinta! You have been training for over a year. And Kryiakos! You say you have been training for three. I'm told you can both use the quarter staff, do you both care to give a demonstration? Perhaps we will let Kryiakos exercise more than his tongue and rude manners."
"Yes sir, but if he isn't well trained in the quarter staff itself rather than the spear, I wouldn't like to hurt him," Jacinta said nervously.
Hermokrates tried to suppress a broad grin. "Get some protective gear, Kryiakos. I'll kit Jacinta myself."
Hermokrates murmured to Jacinta, "I knew his grandfather, that's why I took him, but he's a bully, be careful. I am thinking of sending him with the older men who might sort him out. I hope you're as good as Hakeem said!"
Jacinta certainly hoped she was as good as her father said … as she faced off against the boy.
He was half again as tall as her and twice her weight. His body bulged with man-like muscle. He had been training for three years!
What on earth had Hakeem said about her? It was nice to have her father's confidence, but if Kryiakos was any good, this would end swiftly and painfully … for her!
Kryiakos gave her a smirk. He didn't expect any problem dealing with her. Jacinta tended to agree with him. Her heart started to race, her palms started to sweat and she noticed herself breathing faster.
This won't do!
She used her meditation training to calm herself. Whatever would happen, would happen, being afraid wouldn't help. She would really have to use his strength against him in earnest.
At the call to start, Kryiakos came at Jacinta in a rush, trying to overpower her. The violence of his attack shocked her. He tried to use his weight and bulk to crowd and unbalance her. He swung at her again and again with full power. If he connected, he was sure to hurt her.
But if he was any good, he wouldn't have to attack a smaller opponent like that. There was nothing subtle about what he did, it was all brute force. Hadn't he learnt any real technique?
He was reckless in his attack, which made him frightening and dangerous but if he faced anyone with skill he would be even more dangerous to himself. He would tire easily even with his greater strength and he repeatedly left himself open to counter-attack. That was alright in practice, where they had protective padding, but in a real battle he would allow his opponent to land incapacitating blows.
Jacinta couldn't match his power but didn't have to. She had always trained against stronger opponents and was far faster and immeasurably more skilled than Kryiakos. For the moment she concentrated on deflecting his blows and moving quickly enough that he couldn't push her up against something.
It was annoying him. He tried to push her and she wasn't there. So he tried to hit even harder but it only slowed him further. She hit him a warning blow on his shins, but he was wearing padded greaves and he ignored it.
So that's how it was going to be!
He is afraid, she realised.
He swung wildly at her head, a blow that would have knocked her down despite the protective gear. She blocked it calmly and gave him a sharp whack to the kidney area.
"That didn't hurt," he laughed.
"That's because I wasn't trying to hurt you. You're a complete idiot, this is practice!" Jacinta shouted back at him in disgust.
Kryiakos just grinned at her in a mean way. He tried a full swing to her head, thinking she was distracted.
Jacinta sighed inwardly. He didn't seem to care if he really hurt her badly. She ducked under it and gave him a more solid jab in about the same spot. Kryiakos winced a little and moved stiffly before recovering.
Some of the boys started to call encouragement to Jacinta. Kryiakos was not liked.
"I told you, this is practice," Jacinta yelled at him. "It's because you are trying so hard to hurt me, you leave yourself open, you'll only get hurt."
Hermokrates, who could see what was happening, sharply clapped his hands twice for them to stand down. Jacinta relaxed her guard fractionally and stepped back but she kept her staff ready and continued to eye Kryiakos warily. Three hits to none, she had won the score.
Kryiakos stepped back a little to put her off guard and then pretended he hadn't heard. He used the moment to jab at Jacinta's face at full extension. It was extremely dangerous and motivated by pure spite.
For the moment the world contracted till it was centred on Kryiakos and his pole. The action seemed to slow, as Jacinta's training took over. In the far distance she heard Hermokrates roaring in rage.
She concentrated on ducking and blocking his staff. She moved deftly closer to keep control of it. Unsure whether he was finished with her or not, she decided to make sure he was.
She let his energy turn her staff and body left and upwards in the direction of his blow, at the same time straightening and pushing slightly up. He was drawn forward and was trying hard to reverse his forward rush and regain balance. His weight was heavily on his forward foot.
As her quarter staff came up and around, she reversed her direction using her balance to act like a swing. As she came down, her control of the rhythm gave her maximum power precisely at the very point of impact.
She jabbed down with all her strength and weight at his unguarded thigh.
The end of the hard wooden pole bit into his thigh with a cruel "thunk"!
Kryiakos screamed and pitched forward. The watching boys broke out in a riot of cheering and clapping. Jacinta ducked away from the falling boy and remained a little back but on guard, watching Kryiakos carefully as he lay curled up in agony clutching his leg.
"I didn't damage anything permanently but that leg should serve you as a reminder for a long while. Try anything like that again with me and I won't hold back," Jacinta told him coldly, overcome by fury at his dangerous behaviour.
"You won't have to!" Hermokrates said. His name meant "power" of the messenger God, Hermes.
He had been called that for a reason … and now he was almost beside himself with fury.
"You're not coming back, boy. I'm sending you home. You're no better than a bully and will never make a proper soldier. In a real fight you will just get yourself and your companions killed. Take him to the general barracks," he said to a couple of the bigger boys and spat on the dirt. He turned his back on the boy, completely disgusted.
"I'm sorry, Jacinta, I didn't expect him to be that stupid," Hermokrates said as Jacinta watched Kryiakos being carried away.
"I'm sorry it happened, sir."
"So am I, Jacinta. We can't afford to turn anyone away but he is nasty and dangerous in practice. He refused a direct order and deliberately tried to hurt another student. If you didn't give him a bruise, I would have 'invited' him to spar with me."
Hermokrates smiled grimly at the thought and Jacinta felt a shiver go through her.
"I guarantee," Hermokrates said, "he would have found the experience far more terrifying and humiliating than anything you could possibly do to him.
"Well, now he'll be sent home. Are you tired?"
"Not at all, sir!" Jacinta couldn't help feeling despondent. Kryiakos needed to learn true courage and not bully others to hide his fear. It would be a difficult task for him. She sighed, but it was his Karma.
Soon she was far too busy to think about Kryiakos's fate. She was assigned to Aison's group to learn the throwing spear and the boys excitedly clustered around to greet her.
"That was great!" Akhilleus, second in charge of Aison's group, said. "It was like you were facing a giant or something."
"I felt scared for you," admitted Aison. "He's such a bully and you looked so small and defenceless. You have only been training for a year and a bit, how did you learn to fight like that?"
"Mostly from my father, though I have had lessons from Omar who is an Abbot of the Shayva sect. Some of my mother's elves and my father's tribesmen have also taught me."
Aison looked at Jacinta in shocked comprehension. "You're that Jacinta! But I heard …" Aison's mouth stayed open as he struggled for what to say.
"That I am as ugly as a troll?" Jacinta suggested, with a mischievous smile.
"Well … sort of," Aison grinned. "As big as a grown man, all hairy and with a face like a horse," Aison admitted, shaking his head.
Jacinta wasn't anything like her description and she was so much younger than he expected. Soon everyone was laughing. Jacinta had such a pleasant musical laugh, he noticed.
"Your father, is he as good as they say?" one of the boys, she later learnt was Zotikos, asked.
"I don't know," Jacinta replied. "Because I don't know what they say.
"He killed seven armed men to rescue me. He killed ten Hashshahsin mercenaries to rescue my mother. When he rescued Seléne, that's my mother's sister, he charged thirty armed guards but my mother and I were not too far behind and others were following. Fortunately they surrendered because I have no doubt what would have happened to them otherwise."
"One man killed ten Hashshahsin?" Akhilleus repeated in awe. "Thirty surrendered to just one man?"
"Well, not to one alone but he's absolutely terrifying when he's in action. You should see him."
"Jacinta, Troia can't win this, can we? There's just too many of them," Zotikos asked, sounding frightened.
Jacinta looked deeply into the boy's face and spoke slowly and earnestly. "My father will lead only part of the force that will fight for you. He never boasts or says much about himself but I don't know anyone who is better at what he does than him. I trust him completely and he says it can be done.
"Remember me fighting Kryiakos? He was much bigger and stronger, but I used his strength against him. My father says the same principle works here. He says Troia definitely won't fall to the Athēnai and he has ideas as to how to beat the Makedónes too.
"I'll tell you this. My family will not desert the city. We will stay till Troia is safe.
"Do you think you can trust one such as me?" She tilted her head, smiling at him in query. He relaxed and smiled back shyly.
"So, are you boys going to gossip all day?" a gruff voice behind them asked. "Jacinta's right again. Just because there are a couple more of these stupid foreigners doesn't mean we won't beat them. Besides, everyone knows any Troian is worth more than three of those cream-cake Greeks!
"Now you have shown Jacinta you can gossip like a bunch of old grandmothers, are you going to show her what you can do with a spear in your hands?"
* * *
It was only minutes later and Jacinta was dizzy and flushed. She was panting and her heart was racing. But this was not from exertion or fear. … Well, she was a more than a little afraid, she realised.
Afraid of this feeling and afraid of making a fool of herself.
Aison was giving her individual lessons with the javelin to get her up to speed.
She was in danger of losing herself in those brown eyes as he explained the grip, how to hold the javelin while she did her run up, how to lead with her left foot and then how to follow through with her body.
How could Aison be so handsome?
No matter how hard she tried, that seemed more important than the use of the javelin. She knew she must be grinning like some fool, but he didn't seem to notice. He was too intent on what he was telling her.
She felt completely drawn in, staring into his face.
This was so unlike her. She couldn't concentrate on much more than his muscles and his handsome face, the feeling of his closeness and the way he moved so confidently, how his body touched hers when he adjusted her grip or stance. Even his smell of "maleness" was not unpleasant.
She felt almost relieved when he moved off so she could practise a bit.
Now, what was it he said?
There were two main ways of throwing a javelin in a battle. The main way of throwing a javelin was almost horizontal after a short (or in an emergency very little) run up.
Sometimes, though, javelins were volleyed into a phalanx. Then a different type of throw was used. It involved a longer run up and the javelin was thrown more in an arc with its point starting upwards at about forty-five degrees. It gave greater distance but was wildly inaccurate for individual targets.
She was to practise the distance throw first, to get her body used to it, and then would move to the more accurate and but more difficult horizontal throw.
Now, she thought carefully trying to remember it all. She would do the run up and focus her weight and power into the throw. She set off, trying to remember it all and threw as hard as she could. She stared despondently at her first effort, how discouraging!
"That's not too bad."
She almost jumped in fright!
Aison had appeared like magic, just behind her.
If he stands there and watches me, I'll only end up spearing my foot!
"You're trying too hard," he advised. "Try three-fourths of your power."
Oh, great! What will it look like if I use less of my girl strength?
But he was right, she realised after her next throw. She needed to concentrate on rhythm and balance, not on power. Besides, she thought, if she overstrained her arm and shoulder on the first day, it would take forever to learn this.
"That's it. Concentrate on balance, not brute strength," he encouraged.
Her throws were definitely going further.
"Later you'll be taught how to launch it using a leather thong tied just behind the centre of balance. That will give you four times the distance, which is more than enough. But you will need even more balance and control.
"That's enough for the moment. Let me show you some of the other exercises we use."
Hermokrates had his own methods of training; it reminded her of her father.
There were stretching exercises and those to promote speed and agility. There were many boys practising the throw without the run up.
Some had weights strapped to their wrists or their ankles to increase their power. One big boy was sitting strapped to a stone chair pitching large rocks from a pile on a stone table next to him, one after another. That was for strength and power, she realised.
Jacinta followed Aison around, desperately trying to concentrate on what he was saying rather than just concentrating on Aison himself. Aison seemed unaware of Jacinta's agitation or the cause for it.
Aison saw Jacinta was a little nervous, but that was natural on the first day. It felt so strange to be teaching a girl, especially one so young, but Jacinta seemed to be far stronger than most girls her age and size. She had excellent balance and coordination and was a quick learner.
Aison was struck by how pretty she was and felt decidedly flushed as he watched her exercising. That's not what you feel with the rest of your students, he told himself! She was so enthusiastic and determined – without any prompting she started to do the exercises for extra balance and dexterity.
When the training was over she smiled and looked into his eyes to thank him. He could feel the breath catch in his throat. As he left, he had an image of Jacinta, her brown eyes, her black curly hair tied back, and that smile … he kept thinking of Jacinta and smiling as he walked home.
Chapter 3: Philippos, a Witch and why go Further?
Philippos ho Mégas (Philip the Great) stood on the balcony looking out into the night. Behind him he heard music and the laughter of his guests and his usual retainers. He would re-join them soon, but he had needed a moment alone.
This was his favourite vantage point, most of the city and harbour was in darkness now but there was just enough light from a sliver of moon and distant torches that he could make out the many buildings and temples.
He could make out the colonnades marking the entrance to the central agora, and the agora itself, built big enough to hold races and now mostly in shadow at this time of night. Occasionally he could see a figure hurrying on some unknown errand, carrying a torch, tiny at this distance
The huge palace where he stood was on the highest point (Akropolis) and the main city was below and to the south. To the north lay the harbour, more like a great salt water lake joined to the sea.
As he looked down on the magnificent city of Pella, the capital of his dynasty for sixty years, he felt a savage pride in all he and his men had done.
He was his father's third son and never expected to inherit.
His eldest brother, Aléxandros, was murdered by his mother's lover, who was later killed by Perdiccas, his second brother.
Perdiccas died in a disastrous battle against the Illyrian king, Bardyllis. It left Philippos with a kingdom under siege. To the north west were the Illyroi, on the east coast an Athēnai army had landed with a pretender to the throne and there were no less than three tribes from Thráki that had joined like jackals to the feast.
Through the combination of military brilliance, strategic marriages, bribery, bullying, and treachery he had built, in just twenty years, the largest empire this region had ever known.
He had conquered all of the Hellás, Ápeiros, Illyria and much of Thráki. Only Spartai, which he had simply not had the time to attend to was the last city of the Hellás which wasn't under his control.
Pella was the greatest and most magnificent of all Greek cities, surpassing Athēnai for art, buildings and culture. Its royal stables had the finest brood lines in all of Greece. Its people and great houses were unimaginably wealthy. Artists, poets, philosophers and musicians flocked to his capital.
"And why then do you go further, Great King?" came a voice, seemingly out of the night.
"So, you have given up whispering, have you Olympias?" he snarled at the voice in his head. "Am I not to be rid of you, even when I send you into exile? I have no time for your games and riddles. Leave me!"
It was two years now that he had banished his third wife, Olympias, to Ápeiros.
"And do you think she ever let you go, now that she has you?" the voice asked.
Philippos froze.
"You're not Olympias!" he hissed, trying not to shout out loud. "Am I to be plagued by another witch? I will ask the priestesses and they will give me a potion."
"Olympias does not know of me yet, but I am not her friend," the voice said softly. "Do you not wonder what potion you will be given, if she thinks she may lose control over you? But you already know. Your replacement is ready is he not?"
"Aléxandros?" he snorted. "She talks louder to him. He said so, she has had him since birth. Do you think I fear death?"
"Never, Lord, if death were here today, you would gallop towards him. You think I don't know that? But there is something you fear … it is to lose."
Philippos smiled. "And so you know me! One day I will break the last bond Olympias has bound me with. This is my promise to myself, but for today I will not let another witch ensnare me, even if I die as a result."
"I will give you my promise never to trick or ensnare you, Great King. That is not my way."
"Yet I know why you are here, to turn me from my path. So you are my enemy. Be gone!"
He then got a vague sense of her. She was small and beautiful … a similar age to Olympias, but without that sense of inner darkness that Olympias had.
Yet evil could make itself seem fair.
"As to whether I am a friend or an enemy, I will leave to you. And yet what I ask is a simple thing, is it not?
"Here you are spending all the wealth you have, and more. You plan to lead over thirty thousand men on top of the army you already have campaigning in Bithynia. Yet you already have the largest empire ever seen in the West. I simply asked why.
"You must have a reason for what you do."
"The Lydoi invaded my kingdom in my grandfather's time, so I need to exact vengeance and I want to unite all Greeks under the one banner."
"I see."
"Well, aren't you going to argue with me?" he demanded of the night.
The witch was gone. Curse her!
Philippos shook his head in disgust.
Would these witches never let him be? Who was this new one? Her question had forced him to an honesty he had little taste for. He well knew why he would go on conquering.
There was a faint sound behind from the door to the balcony. He was careful not to spin in a crouch as he had done before. It would be Kleopatra, coming to check on him.
She had brought him a mug of wine. It would be watered and contain herbs to calm him. He smiled at her and thought, again, how beautiful his youngest wife was.
He had named her 'Eurydíkē' after his mother, also the name of the beautiful oak-sprite whose husband Orpheus followed to Hades to win back.
"My Lord, is there anything I can do?" Eurydíkē asked softly, passing him the cup.
He sipped gently and smiled fondly at her. "No, my young love. I am just looking over the city and thinking." And talking to a voice in my head! "I will come back and join the others in a moment. Besides, it is a nice night don't you think?"
Eurydíkē tried to hide her belly with her hands. She was only early in her second pregnancy, but no woman could truly understand how beautiful a pregnant woman was to a man, especially the father of her child.
He moved closer and rubbed her swelling gently through her soft chiton (dress). Even in the dim light he saw her colour and smile shyly back at him. He pulled her gently to him and they gazed out together for a while. It felt so relaxing having her here.
No one else seeing Kleopatra Eurydíkē relaxing in the arms of her king would realise her pain. Philippos felt sorry for the young girl. She tried so hard to please him.
He felt sorry for the ghost of sadness that hovered at the corner of her eyes.
He pretended for her, as he did for so many others, and as he did, she fell increasingly in love with her lord and tried harder and harder to please him. And please him she did, and he was … fond of her.
But she wasn't Olympias.
"My Lord, have you made any promises to any other women tonight?" Eurydíkē asked hesitantly.
Philippos smiled at her naked hope. "You are pregnant."
"Perhaps you just want to sleep? I could be there for company."
"You say I snore!" Philippos laughed.
Kleopatra smiled prettily. "Then I will take an extra pillow to bed, my Lord. I suppose it will do me no good to tell you not to drink too much!"
Philippos laughed wolfishly. "No, I suppose not. I will come, my love."
"With your leave then, I will put Europa to bed. The maids spoil her endlessly if I'm not there."
With Philippos's permission, she hurried off to check on their daughter. "And I will await you," she said with a small satisfied smile as she left.
Philippos smiled at her pleasure.
The Philippos who acted without pity, the Philippos who betrayed, the Philippos who destroyed, the Philippos who had sold hundreds of thousands into slavery and the Philippos who had the blood of countless people on his hands; that same Philippos … could be a kind man.
As Philippos thought of his kingdom and his youngest wife, the words from the witch came again in his mind ... and why then, do you go further?
The truth was simple.
There was sudden loud laughter from inside and he smiled. He always enjoyed hearing others relaxed and having fun. It was difficult for him to lose himself in company, always some part of him stood apart, no matter how he appeared to others.
The answer was that he would go on conquering … because had no choice.
Like many of his forbears, Philippos was unable to relax at times of peace. Deep down inside there burned a dreadful fire. When he was not on campaign, he would train till exhausted or drink to the point of collapse, or both.
Philippos belonged to the Argead dynasty of kings, founded by a prince from the Greek city of Árgos. against the odds, the Argeadai had maintained a perilous hold on their barbarian kingdom for four centuries now.
Few of them survived the bloody royal successions or lasted long against all the enemies without and within. Those who did had the rare combination of superb physical condition, brilliance, utter ruthlessness, and … a certain fire, deep inside.
Philippos was the product of that most extraordinary breeding and then, at fifteen, he was sent to Thēbai.
He closed his eyes and tried to block his mind against the flood of visions that came when he thought of Thēbai. When he had mastered the worst of them, he threw his cup of wine over the balcony in disgust. Curse those filthy women haters!
Thēbai for a time had become the greatest power in the Hellás. After a clash between his eldest brother and Thēbai, Philippos was sent as a homeros (hostage) there for his brother's good behaviour.
Just outside the Hellás, men and elves follow the ancient ways. Strong women are admired. The ancient races of the Hellás and Anatolē had powerful, even dangerous female divinities.
But for a long time within the Hellás the power of women has been feared and women systematically suppressed.
Everywhere is the male love for men: men eating together, playing together, bathing together, fighting together and sleeping together. Warriors are encouraged to become lovers, so they will fight harder standing side by side.
Upper-class youths are mentored by a warrior five or more years older; the youth is called an 'erômenos'. It involves sexual contact. In theory this is consensual.
Philippos shuddered at the memory.
The rewards were great and the pressures tremendous. The Makedónes were seen as little better than barbarians. He was a long way from home, and friendless. He slept with some of the greatest military minds of the time. He left with an unmatched knowledge of Greek politics and strategy … and a secret burning hatred for all to do with Thēbai.
His drive, his fire, his hatred, his lust to conquer and his need to prove himself as a man with endless women burnt even brighter.
And then he was ensnared by the powerful and ambitious Olympias.
Philippos shook his head irritably. The last thing he wanted to think about was Olympias. He cursed in disgust and went inside, in search of more wine.
Chapter 4: The Fall of Bithynia
Nikolaos slowed the pace.
His hoplitai were militia and he wanted them to reach their destination capable of fighting. Ardys, the commander of the peltastae escorting them gave Nikolaos a meaningful glance and sighed. Ardys's three hundred veterans could keep a steady pace all day and still arrive ready to fight.
Nikolaos found it difficult to believe all that had happened, and so quickly! Four years ago, Perinthos and Byzántion were denied to Philippos, in what was for him a humiliating defeat. They remained the last cities that Philippos did not control in Thráki.
Incredibly Philippos had seemed to forget about them. It was so unlike him.
He turned his attention to conquering all of the Hellás and subjugating his savage northern neighbours one after another. Years passed and despite their fears, Philippos still did not come.
They had heard Philippos and his army had crossed the Istros (Danube) and was campaigning in the distant north against the Skythoi. There were even reports of yet another great Makedóne victory with the death of the Skythian king, but it was all so far away.
Suddenly Philippos's main army appeared outside of Byzántion, where it had no right to be. The Makedónes army marched faster than any in the known world.
This time, though, Philippos was well prepared. He had bribed traitors to open the gates.
Byzántion fell and Perinthos immediately capitulated. Philippos had conquered the last two independent cities in Thráki without a fight.
Parmenion, Philippos's stratēgos (general), was already waiting. He crossed the Bósporos with ten thousand infantry and three thousand cavalry. He took Chrysopolis (the city of gold) with only token resistance and almost before the Bithynian Greeks had realised what was happening, he had moved to besiege Chalkedon.
And Chalkedon had fallen, so easily!