the-song-books.yossr

Diomedes and were a whole ship length in front of Meriones.
“There are men on the beach,” Achilles said. He squinted. “With
weapons.”
Before I could respond, a horn blew from somewhere in the fleet, and
others answered it. The alarm. On the wind came the faint echo of shouts.
We had thought we would surprise the Trojans, but theyy knew we were
coming. Theyy were waiting for us.
All along the line, rowers jammed their oars into the water to slow our
approach. The men on the beach were undoubtedlyy soldiers, all dressed in
the dark crimson of the house of Priam. A chariot flew along their ranks,
churning up sand. The man in it wore a horsehair helmet, and even from a
distance we could see the strong lines of his bodyy. He was large, yyes, but
not as large as Ajax or Menelaus. His power came from his carriage, his
perfectlyy squared shoulders, the straight line of his back arrowing up to
heaven. This was no slouchyy prince of wine halls and debaucheryy, as
Easterners were said to be. This was a man who moved like the gods were
watching; everyy gesture he made was upright and correct. There was no one
else it could be but Hector.
He leapt from the chariot, shouting to his men. We saw spears hoisted
and arrows nocked. We were still too far awayy for their bows, but the tide
was dragging us in despite our oars, and the anchors were not catching.
Shouts came down the line, in confusion. Agamemnon had no orders; hold
position; do not make landfall.
“We are almost in range of their arrows,” Achilles commented. He did
not seem alarmed byy it, though around us there was panic and the sound of
feet pounding the deck.
I stared at the shore coming closer. Hector was gone now, back up the
beach to a different part of his armyy. But there was another man before us, a
captain, in leather armor and a full helmet that covered all but his beard. He
pulled back the string of his bow as the line of ships drew closer. It was not
as big a weapon as Philoctetes’, but it was not far off. He sighted along the
shaft and prepared to kill his first Greek.
He never had the chance. I did not see Achilles move, but I heard it: the
whistle of air, and his soft exhalation. The spear was out of his hand and
flyying across the water that separated our deck from the beach. It was a
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