Rage of Queens (Homeric Chronicles Book 3) Read online

  Across the chasm a giant emerged from the ranks of the Greeks. He raised his arms and let loose a terrifying roar. The hairs on Hektor’s arms rose. In a flash, the giant’s spear flew with the speed of Apollo into the Trojan front line. A swirl of dust circled skyward like sacrifice smoke rises to the gods, as the target crashed dead to the ground. A Trojan spearman took aim and missed the giant, but his arrow found a home in another chest instead. Death drew blood on booth sides.

  Hektor cried out in fury, and the Trojans raced to meet the Greeks. The great armies crashed into each other like waves on a rocky shore. Bones cracked and splintered under spears, blood splattered shields and helms. Soon a sea of death threatened to drown the living on both sides. The gods unable to sway one side against the other.

  Sensing doom, Hektor cried out, “Fall back! Fall back! Pull the dead with you!” Wheeling his horse about, he signaled his commanders. Interpreters scrambled to spread the word among the allies. Soon, both Greeks and Trojans were dragging the dead and wounded to safety.

  From a nearby hilltop, Hektor surveyed the chaos below. His horse nervously stamped a hoof into the rocky ground. “Easy.” He reached a hand to the beast’s neck. “Easy.”

  “Why do you quit the fight, Defender of Troy?”

  Every hair on Hektor’s body rose as the cold words washed over him. “Ares?”

  Sardonic laughter filled his ears. “Do you not recognize your patron god, Hektor?”

  “Apollo. Forgive me. I am weary.” He spoke half a lie. He was weary, but that wasn’t the cause of not recognizing the Shining One.

  “Why pull your army from the field?”

  “I’ve lost too many men in a single day.”

  Apollo squeezed Hektor’s shoulder. “The Greeks will lose this war. They have lost their greatest weapon. Achilles. That fool lays drunk on his beached ship mourning the loss of a slave woman.”

  “What of all the fallen?”

  “More will fall.”

  “How is that encouragement? Even from a god?”

  “If you do not fight, Hektor, Defender of the City, all of Troy will suffer. Cassandra has always been right, you know.” The god squeezed tighter. “But, you will forget that before long.”

  ✽✽✽

  Athena spied Apollo as he slid behind Hektor. “Putting his venomous tongue to work no doubt. Spreading his vicious lies.”

  The goddess swept down among the Greeks as they wept for their dead. She whispered past their ears like a cool breeze. “Fight. Fight. Fight. The gods are on your side.”

  By afternoon, the dead of both sides were heaped in mounds and more still lay scattered on the battlefield like rocks cast into the shit and gore of war. Zeus had indulged Hera’s desire, but denied her clear victory. Fate would always have the final say.

  ✽✽✽

  PRIAM’S PALACE

  “I recall seeing him train from time to time,” Paris said. His eyes, empty of tears, burned. “I never guessed he was … Corythus. Why would Oenone send him here?” He reached for his dead son’s hand. “When he was a boy, he begged me to stay. I walked away, Helen. I just took his arms from around my neck and walked away.”

  Helen stood mutely, watching her husband mourn his son. Her guilt and grief had drained everything from her. “I understand what it is to lose a child.”

  Paris wheeled on her, his eyes full of anger. “You haven’t lost a child! You left a child behind. She’s alive. My son is dead. You have no right to equal your pain with mine.”

  A knock sounded at the door and a chamber servant opened it at Paris’ signal. Hecuba entered. “I came as soon as I—” She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the body lying on the table. “What is this? What has happened here?”

  Paris answered with a ragged voice, “He was my son, Mother.”

  Hecuba’s step faltered. “Corythus? By the gods,” she whispered. “I had no idea he was here.”

  “Neither did I.” Paris looked to Helen. “She’s known all this time.”

  “All this time?” Hecuba faced her daughter-in-law, her moment of weakness gone. “You?” Rage shook her to the core. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

  Helen’s eyes grew large. She fought the urge to run from the room and keep running until she was beyond the citadel. “I wanted … I hoped he would—”

  “What?” Hecuba shrieked. “What did you hope to gain by such a secret?”

  “When that old man brought him, he said—”

  “What old man?” Hecuba’s anger cooled slightly. “Tell me.”

  “Agelaus?” Paris asked. “My foster father? Is there anything else you haven’t told me?”

  Helen shook her head. “He brought Corythus here to keep him safe from the Greeks.”

  “Only to place him in the hands of a viper,” Hecuba spat. “I have watched you time and time again ruin my son with your … your disgusting displays of love. All you have brought to him is pain. That’s all you’ve brought to Troy. I remained silent because Aphrodite demanded it so.” She was in Helen’s face with a flurry of her linen gown. “But I no longer care if the goddess hears my thoughts. Priam should cast you from the wall and let the birds pick your bones clean.”

  Helen back away. “I had no idea this would happen. It’s not entirely my fault. The gods—”

  “All of it is your fault,” Hecuba screamed, her eyes blazing with hate. “Get out.” Helen scrambled backward toward the door. “Get out!”

  Paris stood stunned by his mother’s reaction. All the prophecies and bad omens washed over him. “What have I done, Mother, that the gods cursed me from your womb? The priests were right. You should have let me die.”

  Hecuba winced inwardly at the words. She knew all too well the anguish Paris was experiencing. “You were ripped from my arms. From my breast.” She shook her head. “I wish everything had been different. I never wanted you to die.”

  “Do you regret that I didn’t?”

  Placing her arm around her son’s shoulder, she said, “We love and we lose. That is life. We regret. We accept. We move on. I don’t know what else to say.” She could not bring herself to utter the words aloud that, aye, she wished he had died. She wished he’d never returned to Troy. What did it matter now to say the words? What was done was done.

  Paris looked his mother in the eyes, his face lined with fresh grief. “Corythus did not deserve …” the truth stuck in his throat, “deserve any of this. He was safe with his mother.” He grabbed Hecuba’s arm. “Why? Why would he come here?”

  Hecuba’s lower lip twitched. “Who knows?” The lie tasted sour. This was her doing, she knew. She had encouraged the nymph to send the boy, but she had not intended this. “The war has taken everything from everyone. What are you going to do now?”

  “Send his body back to Oenone.”

  “I’ll see that it’s done.”

  “Gratitude, Mother.”

  “Go. Arrange the proper rites for your son. He was a Prince of Troy after all.”

  When Paris left the room, Hecuba decided she’d send a messenger to Agelaus, commanding him to stay away from the city and her condolences to the nymph. It would be easier, safer. Looking at the young man on the table, she knew Paris would be forever changed by this. Losing a child was like ripping a part of your soul out. And this war had brought her more grief than any mother should ever have to bear. Hecuba placed a hand on her rounding belly. The new life swam beneath her palm. She welcomed this parting gift of Apollo’s because the unborn child sealed the agreement she had with the Shining One. She kissed Corythus’ cold forehead. “The war rages on even now, as you sleep in death. I only knew you briefly, but I promise I will have my revenge on Achilles for all of us.”

  TROY

  NINETEEN, gods among mortals

  1238 BCE

  Aeneas watched the Greek called Diomedes swing his sword, bringing a swift death to every Trojan in his path. Bloody corpses and body parts lay strewn behind him. “The gods are with him. Take him
out with an arrow, Pandaros. We should stay a safe distance—”

  “Look, look how he moves, Aeneas. By the gods, he could rival Achilles. Every time I try to hit him with an arrow, it bounces off or flies safely passed him. A god must be beside him.”

  “But which one? Their fickle favor never gives us the fucking upper hand for long.” Aeneas leapt to his chariot. “Let’s charge him together.” His grin invited reckless glory. “For Troy.”

  Pandaros leapt on the chariot platform beside Aeneas. “For Troy.”

  Aeneas snapped the leather reins and the horses bolted, sending up a dust shower behind them. Pandaros reached for an arrow, braced his thigh against the chariot, then brought his bow up to nock the arrow in. Aeneas maneuvered the horses over and around the dead and wounded.

  Seeing them coming, Diomedes barreled toward them like a bull on fire.

  Pandaros’ aim faltered. His arrow glanced off the enemy’s armor once again. “Who is protecting him?” he yelled. Aeneas careened the chariot around for a second charge. Diomedes rushed forward on foot, and as the chariot neared, he leapt with the wings of a god. His sword caught Pandaros at the jaw, sending the lower half of his face flying. Broken, he fell from the chariot.

  Aeneas reined in the horses and jumped to defend Pandaros’ body. “You won’t defile him or strip his armor,” he screamed, pulling his sword from its scabbard. “Never.”

  Diomedes sneered. “We’ll soon find out.” He stooped to pick up a small boulder and hefted it with all his might at Aeneas. It slammed into the Trojan’s thigh instantly shattering the bone, sending Aeneas to the ground.

  Aeneas screamed in agony. Looking down, he saw his ragged bone poking through a bloody wound. “Fuck!” He slumped to the ground, unconscious.

  Diomedes laughed wickedly. “Prepare for the Underworld, you Trojan fuck.” He advanced, but was instantly met with a blinding mist. “Athena, what is this? Why do you block my victory?”

  “Look.”

  Diomedes squinted through the mist. He saw a very tall woman carrying Aeneas off the field. “Who is she?”

  “Aphrodite. His mother,” Athena whispered.

  “What can I do against a goddess?”

  “Trust me. Go after her.” Athena kissed Diomedes on the mouth, filling his body with her strength.

  Prying a spear from a nearby dead man’s stiff hands, Diomedes raced after Aphrodite. His feet never carried him so swiftly before. The sound of men and horses dying surrounded him. But still he ran. Closing in on Aphrodite, he hefted his spear as he ran. Just paces behind, he hurled it at her. The blade-tip nicked her hand. Instantly, she dropped her son’s body, but her scream startled Diomedes to the bone. He stumbled, skidding across the ground. With dirt in his eyes, he struggled to find his footing, as a dark cloud whipped around the fallen Aeneas.

  “What trickery is this, Athena?” He searched for Aphrodite, but his keen sight granted by the goddess had vanished. In frustration, he threw a handful of dirt at the air. “Fuck!” he screamed. And fell to his knees in the dust.

  ✽✽✽

  Seeing Aphrodite stumble under Diomedes blade, Apollo flew to her and pulled Aeneas to safety.

  “How can I repay you?” she said breathlessly.

  Apollo leaned his dark chiseled face so close to Aphrodite’s she could feel his breath on her cheek. “Keep to lovemaking, sister. You don’t belong on a battlefield. You of all of us were not made for war.”

  “I could not leave my son to be slaughtered.” She swayed precariously to the side. “My hand is bleeding.”

  “Find Ares. He will get to Olympus. You cannot be helped here. Go.”

  Aphrodite was not a doting mother, but she cared for the Trojan man. “But Aeneas—”

  “I will get him to safety. Now, go. What are you waiting for? It is not safe here.”

  ✽✽✽

  Hektor surveyed the bloody field and consulted with the ally commander, Sarpedon. A tall man with a broad round chest. The sharpness of his honesty never missed a mark, not even with a king. “Every strategy I plan is thwarted. It’s as if the Greeks know our every move. What am I not seeing?”

  “Your bravery is what’s missing, Prince Hektor. My army fights harder for your lands than your own brothers who hide like hunting dogs fearful of the lion. Who is hunting who?”

  Sarpedon’s words chilled Hektor’s skin. “You are not Sarpedon. What god is here?”

  “It is I, Ares.”

  Hektor bowed his head, his helm dipping to the god. “Tell me what to do.”

  “Kill them all, Prince of Troy. Fight!”

  Without second thought, Hektor leapt from his chariot. “Men! We must fight! Ares is with us!” His commanded was echoed down the lines of his army. Men groaned with effort to reengage the Greeks.

  Ares threw up his wide reaching arms, raising a heavy dust cloud to block the light. Infused with purpose, the Trojans fought from their hearts. The God of War unleashed a fierce war-cry, shaking the ground beneath the feet of all men. Trojans as well as Greeks stumbled; men covered their ears, and dropped their weapons. Fearing a god’s wrath, the Greeks, retreated in fear, sheltering behind shabby trees and dusty dunes.

  ✽✽✽

  OLYMPUS

  Ares’ bloody call reached Hera far above the rampage of men below. She knew that once unleashed, savoring the taste of death on his tongue, the God of War would be nearly impossible to stop. She would risk what she must for her Greeks. Containing her irritation, she approached Zeus immersed in a tragedy far from Troy. “Will you allow Ares to blatantly disregard your wishes?”

  Reluctantly, Zeus pulled his attention from below. A flash of annoyance crossed his face. “What would you have me do, Wife?”

  Hera took his knees in her arms. “Allow me to take matters into my own hands, for once.”

  Zeus laughed without humor. His lip curled beneath his shimmering beard. “You have always done as you wished. Only when I shake the mountains free of snow do you cease your machinations against me.” He leaned his face dangerously close to hers. “And then you start up again when you have used my desire for you against me.”

  Hera tilted her head up, kissing Zeus on the lips. “It is our way, is it not? You would tire of a docile wife. I beg you; give me leave to stop Ares.”

  Zeus waved a hand, clearing a view of the raging battle below. Resignation settled on his face. “Go, then. Do what you must.”

  Bowing her head, she kissed the god’s hand and flew to Athena’s side. “Daughter, do you see what is happening? We must not let the Trojans and Ares take the day from us. From the Greeks.”

  “Why do you worry so much? He only knows to slash and spill gore.”

  “He pushes the Greeks back across the plain. Soon, they will be huddled like frightened rabbits hiding at their ships.”

  Athena scoffed. “Not for long. Ready your chariot, Hera.” Athena reached for the sacred aegis and slipped the garment over her golden gown. The Gorgon’s head on the back of it rolled its eyes and the scales woven about the skin shimmered with unleashed terror. She donned her helm and gripped her spear. Together, mother and daughter sped to the Trojan plain to engage the Greeks and stop Ares from stealing the day completely.

  The goddesses moved like the wind among the Greeks, whispering words to raise their blood lust. “Be ashamed the Trojans push you toward your ships. Are you so ready to sail for home? Are you so weak in battle without Achilles? Raise your spears or the enemy will if burn your passage home. Fight back. Push them to their precious citadel and empty it of all its treasure.”

  Courage spread—slowly at first, and then with swift blades.

  Diomedes called out, Athena has returned!” His cry alerted Ares from afield, who pivoted, aiming his war-lust at the giant. Ares with his eyes aflame charged Diomedes, but Athena had taken notice and swept to Diomedes’ side unseen. Diomedes’ spear jerked wildly in his hand. In a flash, the tip of Diomedes’ spear slid across Ares’ war belt, piercing the god�
�s flesh.

  Ares’ thundering roar of pain shook the earth once again. Greek and Trojan alike searched the sky, expecting Zeus to appear and strike them dead where they stood. A dark cloud spread around Ares and he escaped the battle for high Olympus. He made immediately for Zeus’ crystal chamber, dripping a trail of sacred blood behind him.

  Before he could speak, Zeus held up one mighty hand. “Keep your complaints to yourself. You love war and all the hardships that come with it. You revel in death. Do not forget that I have seen you dance in blood with Achilles. You will not suffer long. Go find the healing balm you require.”

  Sighing, in exasperation, Zeus said, “I have had enough of all of you immortals whining and begging for this side, then that. I command you all to return to Olympus and let the mortals fight amongst themselves.”

  TROY

  TWENTY, burdens of war

  1238 BCE

  Agamemnon yelled, “What are you waiting for, brother? Kill him!” The king pushed his way to his brother’s side, pulling a spear from a dead body, and ran it through the man cowering before Menelaus. “He doesn’t deserve your mercy. Or mine. I won’t rest until Troy is obliterated from memory. No one but the gods will remember this fucking place.” Agamemnon put his foot on the dead man’s chest, crunching the ribs, twisted his spear, and then pulled it free of the mangled flesh.

  Menelaus stammered, “I-I don’t know why I—”

  Agamemnon scoffed. “You think too much.”

  Menelaus leaned against his spear. Blood and mud caked all the way up his legs. “I don’t think all our forces took the field, brother. Many are dead, but I would have thought more based on our numbers. This come-and-go as you please to battle won’t win this war.” They stood watching the crows and ravens already feasting on the dead and able-bodied soldiers scavenging for weapons and trinkets.