Not all were swift enough.
When the troops pressed on, there were gaps in their previously seamless ranks, the bodies of their comrades left to bleed out in the dirt.
As another hail of arrows pierced the sky, the allied force split, spilling around the base of the walls like a serpent coiling its prey. Vast as the army was, they could not surround the entire city, but they could cut off access to and from the main gates, keeping the Trojan army penned inside.
Again, many arrows found their marks, but the Greek army surged on, their number so great the Trojan’s defences barely slowed them. Long ladders, each carried by upwards of fifty men, sprung from their ranks, soldiers scurrying like bronze beetles up their lengths. Several fell as swiftly as they rose, but not all. Danae gaped as some men leapt from the wood to clamber up the ropes dangling from the tops of the walls, still tied around the mouldering necks of Diomedes’ scouting party. The Trojans hurried to cut the ropes free, but incredibly some Greeks made it to the battlements, tossing enemy soldiers from the tops of the walls until they were cut down.
‘Shit,’ Hylas breathed as a small group of Trojan soldiers suddenly appeared from a flanking position behind a crop of rocky hills to the south, smashing into the Greek force. They were a fraction of the Greek’s size, yet they cut through their enemy’s ranks like a blade through cheese.
‘They must have been waiting,’ said Danae, taking in the clash of bronze and bone while scouring the landscape. ‘What if there are others?’
Far above, the bruised clouds finally opened, and rain pummelled the blood-churned earth.
Danae shielded her eyes, searching the sky. ‘Where in Tartarus are they?’
‘They’ll come. Odysseus said they would.’ Hylas’ expression betrayed the conviction of his words.
From the harbour, another gust of smoke billowed across the plain, the blackened carcasses of the Trojan ships still smouldering in the rain. Despite the walls now being scaled by Greek soldiers, the triremes in the bay released another volley of fire, metal and stone, crashing into walls, destroying enemy and ally alike. Agamemnon stood above the figurehead of Zeus, wildly signalling the ships to launch their catapults again and again.
Hylas’ eyes widened, the colour draining from his cheeks.
‘Fuck this,’ hissed Danae. ‘I will not stand by while my men are needlessly slain. Atalanta and Telamon are out there, they need me.’ She drove her horse towards the nearest bridge.
‘Danae!’ Hylas urged his steed after her. ‘As one Argonaut to another, I beg you to listen to Odysseus!’
She paused on the cusp of the riverbank and looked back at him.
Something deep and raw flickered through his eyes. ‘You made the right choice not coming back for me on theDoliones’ shore. Don’t let your guilt force you to make the wrong one now.’
A rumble of thunder ripped the air.
Danae looked up, and moments later, lightning cracked the sky. She blinked frantically, trying to banish the light dancing across her vision.
Something gleamed against the dark clouds, flying directly over the battlefield.
Her heart suddenly felt too large for her chest.
Thunder … lightning … surely the King of the Gods himself had not come?
The trident’s warmth burned her palm as it responded to the blood pounding through her veins.
Not now … please not now. She couldn’t face him yet. She was not ready.
She could see no chariot, nor any winged horses, just a solitary figure clad in gold, soaring like a bird through the storm-marred sky. Arrows and spears hurtled towards them, shot from the Children of Prometheus soldiers, but the god continued to circle above, avoiding their blows. She had never laid eyes on the King of the Gods, but something about the Olympian flying above her seemed wrong. They were too small and slight to be Zeus.
Suddenly another horn sounded, and from the east a second group of Trojan soldiers smashed into the Greek force.
The god too seemed to be distracted by this new addition to the fray, and finally one of the arrows found its mark. The Olympian dipped mid-air then hurtled down towards their attacker.
Danae’s pulse slowed, then rapidly sped up.
Before Hylas could stop her, she kicked her horse’s sides and cantered across the bridge.
She had seen battle before, fought bloodthirsty hunters on Lemnos and towering six-armed Earthborn on the Doliones’ shore. But there was nothing that could have prepared her for this.
The crash of weapons, braying horses and guttural screams battered her ears. All around her, the men caught by arrows lay twitching in the dirt, armour smeared with earth and blood. Some still crawled towards Troy, reaching out as they groaned with the last of their strength. It became harder to find a path through them, the air thick with smoke and rain, and the metallic stench of open wounds and voided bowels.
She pressed on, towards the tangle of Greeks and Trojans battling before the Scaean Gates. Then her horse reared as a spear shot past her, burrowing into a Greek soldier’s chest, blood spurting from the man’s mouth as he fell. Danae gripped the saddle with her thighs, but with only one hand on the reins she couldn’t hold her grip and slid back, thudding into the mud.
