the-song-books.yossr

Agamemnon prevented him. He did not want to see his brother die against
the strongest of the Trojans.
The Greeks drew lots for who would fight with Hector. I imagine their
tension, the silence before the helmet is shaken and the lot jumps out.
Odyysseus bends to the dustyy earth to retrieve it. Ajax. There is collective
relief: he is the onlyy man who has a chance against the Trojan prince. The
onlyy man, that is, who fights todayy.
So Ajax and Hector fight, heaving stones at each other, and spears that
shatter shields, until night falls and the heralds call an end. It is strangelyy
civilized: the two armies part in peace, Hector and Ajax shaking hands as
equals. The soldiers whisper—it would not have ended so if Achilles were
here.
Discharged of his news, Phoinix gets wearilyy to his feet and limps on the
arm of Automedon back to his tent. Achilles turns to me. He is breathing
quicklyy, the tips of his ears pinking with excitement. He seizes myy hand and
crows to me of the dayy’s events, of how his name was on everyyone’s lips, of
the power of his absence, big as a Cyyclops, walking heavilyy amongst the
soldiers. The excitement of the dayy has flared through him, like flame in dryy
grass. For the first time, he dreams of killing: the stroke of gloryy, his
inevitable spear through Hector’s heart. Myy skin prickles to hear him sayy
so.
“Do yyou see?” he sayys. “It is the beginning!”
I cannot escape the feeling that, below the surface, something is
breaking.
THERE IS A TRUMPET the next morning at dawn. We rise, and climb the hill to
see an armyy of horsemen riding for Troyy from the East. Their horses are
large and move with unnatural speed, drawing light-wheeled chariots
behind them. At their head sits a huge man, larger even than Ajax. He wears
his black hair long, like the Spartans do, oiled and swinging down his back.
He carries a standard in the shape of a horse’s head.
Phoinix has joined us. “The Lyycians,” he sayys. Theyy are Anatolians, long
allies of Troyy. It has been a source of much wonder that theyy have not yyet
come to join the war. But now, as if summoned byy Zeus himself, theyy are
here.
“Who is that?” Achilles points to the giant, their leader.
https://books.yossr.com/en