Hector joined Priam, Kassandra, Paris, and Aeneas on the wall directly over the western gate. Andromache had convinced Hector to stay put, but now Achilles was trying to force his hand. What remained of the Achaean army stood out on the field before them. They’d used pieces of their ships to create large jacks, and placed them before the eastern, northern, and southern gates in the middle of the night, locking them shut, and allowing them to bring all of their men to one place – right before the western gate.
It was meant to be a display of intimidation, but really it impressed upon Hector how much their enemies' forces had dwindled over the ten years of war. Most of their heroes still stood. Many of them had been wounded in the last battle, but they lived. It was the poor men who followed them into battle that always ended up dead. Hector looked at Aeneas and Paris. He’d lost Troilus to Achilles, and many other brothers to the Greek’s war, but the three of them had survived. Aeneas, a demigod, Paris, blessed by Aeneas’s mother, and Hector… Hector was just a man on death's short list. He had no gods protecting him, and he was only human.
Not quite human, the voice inside him said, not anymore. We can beat him. We have the armor, and he doesn’t. It gives us the edge.
“Ignore them,” Kassandra said, “They haven’t the means to scale our walls or break our gates. If Achilles comes close, let every archer take their shot, but don’t even waste ammunition on the rank-and-file. Let them stand out there in the noon day sun, stamp their feet, beat their shields, and listen to our cold apathetic silence in return.”
For once in his life, Priam was actually about to agree with his daughter, when the Greeks began bringing forth rows of bound men and women. They lined them up in front of Achilles's myrmidons, who calmly placed the points of their swords at the base of each man and woman’s neck.
“What are you doing?!” Priam shouted down to the battlefield.
Achilles marched forward in his simple tunic, “We have many slaves in our camp. Men and women, boys and girls, that we’ve taken from your lands and your allies’ lands. I asked them if anyone knew the great Hector of Troy,” he said sarcastically, “Turns out, you’ve met a lot of people Hector!”
“What do you want?” Priam shouted.
“Resolution,” Achilles said, “Your son started a battle because he thought I would not fight, but then he didn’t finish it. I’m here, to finish it, and to avenge the man he murdered.”
“Murdered?!” Hector shouted, “I thought he was you!”
“I could point out,” Achilles said as he raised his hand, “That trying to dissuade a man from killing you to avenge a loved one, by telling him that you really intended to kill him, is not very good rhetoric, but that would be what Odysseus would say. What I would say, is I don’t care.” Achilles chopped downward with his hand, and the front line of Myrmidons plunged their swords through the necks of the captives in front of them, snuffing out dozens of lives in an instant. People on the wall gasped, some of the captives on the field below screamed. A few tried to run, but were quickly subdued.
“I want to talk to Odysseus!” Hector shouted.
“Too bad,” Achilles said, “Odysseus thinks we’re all going to just up and leave, and he’s scrambling about building his tribute to Poseidon, so we can go home. But the men you see here? They’ve been here too long, they’ve fought for too long to go home without victory. They’ve lost fathers, sons, brothers, and cousins, and friends and lovers. Retreat now would be a disgrace to the memories of those we’ve lost. So come out and fight us now, Hector, because we will never leave your shores.”
“What do you think?” Priam asked.
“Ignore them,” Kassandra said, “If he’s telling the truth, Poseidon will put water under their ships again, and when that happens all that talk will be meaningless. Most of his men will pack up and leave.”
“But Achilles won’t,” Aeneas said, “And what sort of enemy will he be, if he no longer has an army weighing him down?”
“What do you mean?” Hector asked.
“What would you do if you were Achilles?” Paris asked, “Stand around shouting at a wall until you were old and grey? Or leave, disappear into the countryside, and then wait for his enemies to let their guard down. Follow Andromache out to the beach. Kill Kassandra at the altar of Apollo. Slip in with a trade caravan and kill Scamandrius in his bed.”
“Is that what Achilles would do, or what you would do?” Hector asked.
“We were friends when we were boys,” Paris said, “Good friends. Everyone forgets that.”
Their conversation took too long – the Myrmidons murdered another row of hostages.
“Don’t do it,” Kassandra said.
“I don’t have a choice,” Hector said sadly, “If I don’t come back, keep Andromache and Scamandrius safe, Kassandra. And tell them I loved them. And that I was sorry I couldn’t save us.
Hector shouted over the wall, “Stop the killing! We’re coming out to face you!”
Aeneas and Paris followed him down to the main street, where their rabble of an army was mustering.
“Apollo and Artemis?” Hector asked them.
“Away without leave,” Aeneas said, “Typical gods.”
“And your mother?”
“Right here,” Aphrodite said, appearing next to them, “I cannot fight with you, but rest assured, the fight will be between you and Achilles alone – all eyes on Mt. Olympus are turned inward right now.”
“I say we take him on, three against one,” Aeneas said, “We keep him busy, and Paris puts one of those special arrows of his through Achilles’s pretty little head.”
“Achilles will be expecting that,” Hector said, “Diomedes is out there. And since he killed Ares, he’s damn near as strong as Achilles. It’ll be on you to deal with him, Aeneas. Ajax will still be defending their camp, but that doesn’t mean Teucer won’t be lurking about with his bow, so Paris – you’re playing counter-sniper. We don’t have many chariots left, but take one. Achilles will be mine,” Hector followed the instructions of the voice in his head and donned the stolen armor, feeling a great surge of confidence and strength.
The giant red doors of the western gate groaned open, and the Trojan troops marched out onto the field. They emerged in neat little rows that turned and marched sideways to make room for more men, until the Trojan army was massed before the gates.
“Come at me Hector!” Achilles shouted.
The Trojan army began to march forward, but when they got within sprinting distance, the Myrmidons cut the bonds on the remaining hostages and pushed them forward. The panicked prisoners had no grasp of the strategy underlying their liberation, they only saw the salvation of Troy’s open gates. They ran manically forward, screaming to be allowed to pass, as the Myrmidons and the other Greeks marched quickly behind them.
The Panicked mob of people collided with the Trojan line. Some of the soldiers, pushed the frantic refugees behind them, but others found themselves tangled in flailing limbs, or tripping over groveling bodies. Then the Greeks caught up. They engaged the Trojan troops, but unlike their enemies, they had no compunctions at all about stabbing, slicing, chopping, or shooting through the unarmed Trojan civilians they’d released. Panic and confusion were always part of war, but now they dominated the battlefield. Many of the Trojan soldiers saw the writing on the walls, and turned and ran back to the city. Hector and Aeneas called for them to hold fast, but it was like a wooden beam breaking – the more it splintered, the faster it broke.
Remember, this battle is just about Achilles, the voice in Hector’s mind reminded him. Find him. Kill him.
Hector charged forward, making full use of Achilles’s armor to plow through or run over Trojans and Greeks alike. Before long, there were no Trojans around Hector anymore – just angry Greeks trying to get past him to chase their fleeing enemies. Hector held his ground though, using his long spear like a quarter staff, moving quickly and gracefully, dispatching enough enemies that the archers on the walls could drive back the rest of the Greeks. Hector briefly noticed Aeneas was still fighting at his side, but then Diomedes charged past Hector and tackled the demigod. Paris was dueling with the Greek’s chariots – he was doing well, but he was severely outnumbered.
Then Achilles finally showed himself, stepping out into full view of Hector.
He’s unarmored. This will be no challenge at all.
Achilles pulled out a small metal ball, twisted it, snapped it in half, and thousands of small metal tiles spread across his skin, incasing him in silver armor that glowed with cold blue light. Menelaus walked up behind him and handed him his shield, another gift from Hephaestus, that projected dazzling, moving images on its surface.
Well crap.
“We can still do this,” Hector said inside the enclosed helmet, “I want to go home to my son.”
Then run!
Hector looked around – Diomedes had been driven off by the archers on the walls, but he’d wounded Aeneas. The man was now dragging himself back to the gate.
“Paris!” Hector shouted, “Get Aeneas inside!”
What are you doing?!
“My job.”
An image flashed across Hector’s mind – Andromache, holding their son the day he was born. Hector remembered the rush of emotion at that moment. The hope and the dread, the love and the fear of loss.
Do you want to lose that? You have a duty to them, to your family.
“Then help me win this fight,” Hector said, hefting his spear. He threw it. It was an amazing throw, longer and straighter than Hector had ever managed before, but the heavy spear bounced off Hephaestus’s shield like a potato.
Then Achilles threw his spear, another gift from Hephaestus. It was a replica of the fine weapon that had killed Ares. Hector blocked the spear, but his bronze shield gave way. The steel head punched right through the obsolete alloy and skidded off of Hector’s helmet. Hector dropped the shield, consoling himself that, at least Achilles had given up his spear, but Achilles snapped his fingers and the spear returned to his hand.
Achilles began casually throwing and recalling the spear, as Hector darted back and forth, narrowly dodging the weapon each time, but getting gradually closer. When he got close enough, he charged. Achilles threw the spear again, but this time Hector caught it and spun as he rushed forward, striking Achilles in the chest so hard that the spear broke against his armor.
Hector attacked with the remaining shaft, mostly to confuse Achilles while he went for his sword with his other hand, but Achilles raised his shield and the dizzying movements on it left Hector dazed for a moment. Achilles slashed at Hector’s throat with sword, but Hector had enough clarity left to block with his right arm, then brought up his left arm on the other side to lock the blade. The armor groaned with effort, but the steel blade snapped. Then Achilles struck Hector in the side of the knee with his shield and landed a solid kick to his opponent's chest.
Hector dragged himself to his feet. His leg was in terrible pain – it felt like it was broken, but somehow the armor was letting him walk in spite of that. He brandished his sword. He had a blade, and Achilles had a shield. He hoped that was even odds.
He avoided looking directly at the shield again and struck at Achilles like a spider pouncing on a fly in its web. Achilles tried to knock him back, but Hector gripped the shield and fought him for it. Hector twisted the shield away from Achilles body, and then began thrusting his sword into Achilles's torso, over and over again. The simple blade skittered off the armor with sparks each time, until Achilles finally grabbed the blade in one of his gauntleted hands and crumpled it.
Hector released the blade and spun, slamming his armored back into Achilles and finally pulling the shield off of his arm. Gripping it with both hands, he smacked Achilles once with it, and then tossed it aside. He began hammering Achilles with his fists, causing the blue lights on his new armor to flicker. He grabbed Achilles's cuirass with both hands and slammed him into a large rock.
“Surrender,” Hector panted, “Don’t make me kill you. Let me honor Patroclus by giving the man he loved a second chance to find happiness.”
Thank you! Hector heard Patroclus's voice.
“What do you know about happiness?”
“I have it, gods damn you,” Hector said, “I have someone I love, Andromache, and we have a child. Scamandrius. He’s not even a year old, but I left our home, I said goodbye to them to answer your call to battle. Well, we battled Achilles, and I’ve won. It’s done. I can’t bring Patroclus back, neither of us can, but there’s still so much to this world you haven’t seen, Achilles. Your life doesn’t have to end here. You have a future.”
“I don’t want a future without Patroclus.” Achilles held his hand up to Hector’s chest plate and snapped his fingers again. Half of the broken spear teleported to his hand, much of it rematerializing inside Hector’s torso.
Hector gasped and staggered back. The spear was seamlessly embedded in the armor, as if they’d been made as one piece, but then Achilles ripped the spear out, and blood began to pour out of the neat hole in the cuirass. Hector clasped his hands over the hole, instinctively trying to hold the blood in, but Achilles punched him. He struck him again and again, until Hector stumbled down onto his knees. Achilles grabbed Hector’s helmet, reached up inside of it, and pressed the button that deactivated the armor. The plates collapsed in on themselves, and Achilles tossed the golden cube to Menelaus, who’d remained on hand to witness the battle’s conclusion.
Achilles whistled and his driver brought his chariot around. Achilles walked around and knelt in front of Hector to look him in the eye, his blue lit silver helmet folding away.
“You’ve killed me,” Hector said, looking at the blood pouring onto his hands.
“Not yet. I want you to see your city one last time.”
“Achilles, please, I’m dead, it’s done. You’ve won. A small boy will never remember his father from anything more than his mother’s tears. Your victory.”
“I doubt very much that your Scamandrius will live long enough to remember his mother’s tears.”
“Then I beg you, give my wife and parents a body to bury, so that when my son meets me in the afterlife, I have arms to embrace him. Lips to kiss him, and eyes to see him. Patroclus waits for you as such, doesn’t he?”
“I hate to break it to you Hector, but there is no afterlife. Not for any of us. It’s a con. That night that you killed Patroclus, he and I had a fight. That was the last time I saw him, and I will never see him again. And you will never see Andromache or little Scammy again. Today was the last time you will ever see them. So, tell me, what wonderful last words did they have for you today?”
Hector sort of half smiled, shock numbing the pain of his wounds, “Dada. He said Dada. And Andromache… she kissed me, and told me she would love me forever, and I told them the same. What were your last words to Patroclus, Achilles?”
Achilles smashed his forehead into Hector’s face, breaking his nose and knocking out teeth. Hector spat blood in Achilles face. Achilles wiped it away and knocked Hector to the ground with a backhand. He snapped his fingers to bring the spear back again, and drove it through Hector’s heels, reveling in the screams each time. Menelaus approached him, asked him to end the man’s life, but Achilles leveled his spear at him and told him to leave. Achilles retrieved some rope from his chariot, and threaded it through Hector’s ankles, producing more screams.
“Like I said, I want you to see your city one last time. Your wife will be up there watching, I’m sure, so be sure to give her a wave.” Achilles tied the rope off to his chariot, and drove it around the city, slowly at first, with Hector screaming all the way, but then more and more quickly, Hector’s silent body bouncing off of rocks and gullies.
A quiet voice spoke inside Achilles mind, Patroclus would be disappointed.
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