But even in this way, Diomedes continued to suffer losses: clusters of arrows would suddenly fall from the sky like hail, although the men could not understand where they were coming from. Or the earth would open beneath their feet, plunging the warriors into pits studded with sharp spikes which pierced them through like fish that a sharp-eyed fisherman runs through with his harpoon. Sometimes, as they slept, their entire camp was inundated with water, so that they had to abandon their sleeping mats, gather up the supplies and run to repel the danger that loomed in the shadows, spending nights awake, eyes stinging with fatigue, bowels gripped by cramps.

The king always showed his men the same dauntless expression, the same imperious gaze, but those who were closest to him, Myrsilus and even the Chnan, often saw the muscles of his face quivering uncontrollably under his skin, his eyes blinking rapidly and a light sweat beading his forehead, whether it was hot or cold. The king was suffering and his pain worsened with every passing day.

The bride would raise her head, sometimes, and the king exchanged glances with her, but that contact gave him no comfort or warmth. Her eyes were like a cold springtime sky, continually crossed by light and shadow, cloudy and clear practically at the same moment. The king could not speak to her. He tried, sometimes, in the intimacy that at night his men left to him in respect of his rank and because of their fondness for him, but he obtained no response. But the Chnannoticed that when Diomedes seemed most alone and despairing, when it seemed that fate and events did naught but torment him, then, it seemed to the Chnan, then her eyes would flicker a look like a furtive caress.

And the Chnanwould notice that the king would suddenly turn his head then, as if someone had touched him.

‘All they want is the girl,’ said Telephus, the Hittite, one night. ‘If we let her go, this persecution will stop. We can no longer bear up under this strain. If we go on like this, we will all die. Someone has to tell him,’ he said, nodding towards the king, who was standing alone near his horses. ‘We’ve been marching for days and days and we’ve never seen their faces, but they are murdering us. How many men have we lost? Ten, maybe fifteen, I’ve lost count. And how many of them have we killed? Not one. They’re different; they will never agree to face us on the open field, phalanx against phalanx. They don’t think there is anything shameful or wrong about attacking us in secret, at night.’

‘You don’t think he already knows?’ replied the Chnan, indicating the king as he advanced through the mud, leading the horses by their reins. ‘They say that he once wounded a god in battle, but here there is no one to cross swords with, not even a savage or a shepherd. .’

‘Why is he doing it then? I know he is a generous man. How could he sacrifice his people this way?’

The Chnanwalked at length without answering. In the distance was a low line of bluish mountains.

‘See those mountains? Perhaps that is where this accursed land ends. The king believes that if we manage to leave this place, we’ll finally be able to build a city and raise a temple. He thinks we will be invincible then, and that this girl will give him sons, and a dynasty. And that he’ll get other women for his warriors; that’s what he’s thinking. He knows there is no alternative. We can’t turn back, and facing the enemy is impossible. We have no choice but to go onwards. . hoping that some of us remain, in the end.’

‘But why won’t he give back the woman? He’ll find other women, more beautiful ones.’

‘He wants this one. If she was sent to regenerate the tribe of Nemro, she must bear a great life force within her. This is what he thinks. And perhaps he loves her. Have you seen how he looks at her?’

‘I have. But we will all die, this I know. Those mountains are still too far away; how many of us will fall before we get there?’

The column had stopped because Myrsilus had found a dry clearing, a large grassy knoll protected on one side by a group of ash and oak trees, just turning green with new leaves, and on the other by a torrent that edged it on three sides like the ocean around a peninsula. Gigantic clouds were gathering over the mountain peaks, shot through by blazing bolts of lightning.

‘We must inflict heavy losses on them,’ said the Chnan, ‘and convince them to withdraw.’

‘Or resolve it by fighting a duel,’ said Telephus.

The Chnanwatched the big storm clouds clustering over the mountains: ‘The west wind is pushing them this way,’ he said. ‘They’ll be here right after dark.’

‘Yes. And the rain as well.’

‘There will be lightning; these tall trees may very well attract the bolts.’

‘Do you mean to say we should camp elsewhere?’

‘On the contrary. Perhaps they’ll attack tonight, and we may manage to wipe them out, or at least to strike out hard. If the storms in this land move like the sea. . and if the king will listen to me. .’

As he moved off the surrounding forests began to echo with calls, like animal cries.

The Chnanwent to the king: ‘Your men say you have armour of gold.’

‘They have told you the truth,’ said Diomedes without turning.

‘Is the shield made of gold too?’

‘Yes, the shield as well.’

‘Give it to me. If these cries from the forest are not night birds, as I don’t imagine they are, they will attack again tonight.’

‘Invisible and unfindable, as always.’

‘Not any more, wanax. Give me a man who can help me light a fire on the highest part of the hill. Telephus, the Chetaean, will do. And give me your shield, enclosed in its case. The storm will be here soon, just as darkness falls. Sit down and eat now. Rest and gather your forces because I will soon make your enemies visible. Order the archers to draw up and to be ready with their bows, for they will have to aim and shoot as swiftly as the blink of an eye. Order your warriors to remain in their armour and to keep their hands on the shafts of their spears.’

The king gave him the shield and the Chnanwent off with Telephus towards the top of the hill. Telephus held a burning firebrand, which he used to set a fire as soon as they had arrived. The men below lit fires as well and began to eat. The king ate, and offered some of his food to the girl. The storm was drawing nearer and the clouds galloped through the sky above the camp.

The Hittite appeared just then. ‘Oh king,’ he said. ‘Rally your men. The storm is rushing towards us, and if the enemies attack, the Chnanwill show you where they are, but only for a brief moment.’

‘That will be enough,’ said the king. He put on his helmet and fastened his cuirass.

The wind had picked up and was stoking the fires in camp and on the hilltop. Diomedes called his men and had them take position behind a group of trees facing the forest. He told them to stay ready, although he knew not what to expect. Suddenly, a blinding light flashed, immediately followed by the roar of thunder, and in that instant the king saw the enemy advancing in open order across the plain, towards the hill. The Chnansaw them as well, and he turned the golden shield so that it would project the light of the large fire that Telephus had built upon them, as he continued to feed it with all the wood he could lay his hands on.

‘Now, wanax!’ shouted the Chnan, and Diomedes rushed forth, followed by his men. The enemies had stopped for a moment, stunned by the thunder and blinded by the lightning, but the light of the fire reflected off the golden shield of the king made them visible; shadowy, but distinguishable. It was enough. The Achaeans fanned out as they ran down the hill at great speed. Diomedes burst into the midst of his enemies, and his shout was more terrible that the roar of the thunder. He ran one man through with his spear and brought down the next ones with his dagger and sword. The javelins of Myrsilus, to the far left, hit their marks one after another. Taken by surprise for the first time, the assailants were bewildered, uncertain whether to continue fighting or to flee, and in that uncertainty the hard blows of the Achaeans rained down, enraged as they were and eager for revenge.