Someone spoke.

‘What a spectacle you gave the crowd, Achilles. I’m sure few of the men – or the women either, for that matter – have ever seen someone making love to a corpse.’

Automedon and I spun round, hardly crediting our ears. There postured Thersites the spy, smirking. Was this the depth of the army’s contempt for me, that a man like Thersites could voice his foul thoughts to my face, deeming himself safe?

‘What a shame they charged and you couldn’t finish it,’ he sneered. ‘I was hoping to catch a glimpse of your mightiest weapon.’

Shaking with ice cold anger, I lifted my hand. ‘Get away, Thersites! Go and hide behind your cousin Diomedes or your string puller, Odysseus!’

He turned on his heel. ‘The truth hurts, doesn’t it?’

I struck him once, my arm sparking pain to the roots of my shoulder as my fist found the side of his neck just below his helmet. He dropped like a stone, twisted on the ground serpentlike. Automedon was weeping with rage.

‘The dog!’ he said, and knelt down. ‘You broke his neck, Achilles, he’s dead. Good riddance!’

We beat the Amazons to their knees, for their hearts had died with Penthesileia; they fought on only to be killed in this, their first foray into the world of men. When I had the time I searched for the Queen’s body, but it was nowhere to be found. As the day died one of my Myrmidons came to me.

‘Lord, I saw the Queen’s body taken from the field.’

‘Where to? By whom?’

‘King Diomedes. He arrived with some of his Argives, stripped her body, then tied it by the heels to his car and drove off with it and her armour.’

Diomedes? I could scarcely believe it, but when men began to tidy the field I went to beard him.

‘Diomedes, did you take my prize, the Amazon queen?’

‘Yes!’ he snapped, glaring. ‘I threw her in Skamander.’

I spoke civilly. ‘Why?’

‘Why not? You murdered my cousin Thersites – one of my men saw you strike him down after he’d turned his back on you. You deserve to lose Queen and armour both!’

I clenched my fists. ‘You acted hastily, my friend. Find Automedon and ask him what Thersites said.’

I took some of my Myrmidons and went looking for the Queen, not expecting to find her. Skamander was running strong and full and foul again; during the twelve days of mourning for Hektor we had repaired the river’s banks to keep our camp dry, and then there had been more rain over Ida.

Darkness had fallen; we kindled torches and wandered up and down the bank looking under bushes and willows. Then someone shouted. I ran towards the sound, straining to see. She was in the stream, bobbing up and down, caught by one long, pale braid of hair upon a branch of that same elm to which I had clung for my life. I drew her out and wrapped her in a blanket, then laid her across her own white mare, which Automedon had found roving the deserted field, crying for her.

When I returned to my house Brise was waiting for me.

‘Dear love, Diomedes called and left a parcel for you. He said it came with his sincere apologies, and he would have done the same to Thersites.’

He had sent me Penthesileia’s things. So I buried her in the same tomb as Patrokles, lying in the position of the Warrior King, armoured and with a gold mask covering her face, her white mare at her feet so that she would not go riderless in the realms of the Dead.

The morrow brought no sign of the Trojans, nor the day after that. I went to see Agamemnon, wondering what would happen now. Odysseus was with him, as cheerful and confident as ever.

‘Never fear, Achilles, they’ll come out again. Priam is waiting for Memnon; who’s coming with many crack Hittite regiments, purchased from King Hattusilis. However, my agents tell me that the Hittites are still half a moon away, and in the meantime we have a more urgent problem. Sire, would you explain?’ asked that crafty man, who understood exactly when it was politic to defer to our High King.

‘Certainly,’ our High King said loftily. ‘Achilles, it’s been eight days since we’ve seen a supply ship from Assos. I suspect a Dardanian attack. Will you take an army and see what’s the matter down there? We can’t afford to fight Memnon and his Hittites on empty bellies, but nor can we fight him short-handed. Can you rectify matters in Assos and be back here quickly?’

I nodded. ‘Yes, sire. I’ll take ten thousand men, but not Myrmidons. Have I your permission to recruit elsewhere?’

‘Certainly, certainly!’ He was in a very good mood.

Affairs at Assos were much as Agamemnon had predicted. The Dardanians had our base besieged; we enjoyed some hard fighting before we broke out of our defence walls and trounced them on open ground. It was a ragged army, motley and polyglot; from somewhere, probably all down the coast, whoever ruled in ruined Lyrnessos now had picked up fifteen thousand men. In all likelihood they had been bound for Troy, but couldn’t resist the temptation Assos offered en route. The walls had held them outside and I arrived too quickly for a breach, so they got nothing and never reached Troy either.

Four days saw the end of it; we set sail again on the fifth. But the winds and currents were against us all the way, so it was fully dark on the sixth night before we made the beach at Troy. I walked straight to Agamemnon’s house, discovering as I went that the army had seen a major action in my absence.

I met Ajax in the portico and hailed him, anxious to know the details. ‘What happened?’

The corners of his mouth drew down. ‘Memnon came sooner than expected, with ten thousand Hittite troops. They can fight, Achilles! And we must be tired. Even though we had the advantage in numbers and the Myrmidons were on the field, they drove us behind our wall just on darkness.’

I jerked my head towards the closed doors. ‘Is the King of Kings receiving?’

Ajax grinned. ‘Cut out the irony, cousin! He isn’t feeling very well – he never does after a reverse. But he is receiving.’

‘Go and sleep, Ajax. We’ll win tomorrow.’

Agamemnon looked very tired. He was still sitting at his dinner table, only Nestor and Odysseus to keep him company. His head was down on his arms, but he lifted it as I came in and sat.

‘Finished with Assos?’ he asked.

‘Yes, sire. The supply ships will arrive tomorrow, but the fifteen thousand men bound for Troy will not.’

‘Excellent!’ said Odysseus.

Nestor didn’t speak – not like him! I looked down the table to him and was stunned. His hair and beard were untended, his eyes red-rimmed. When he realised I was staring at him he moved one hand aimlessly; tears began to roll down his wrinkled cheeks.

‘What, Nestor?’ I asked gently. Knowing, I suppose.

His breath caught and quivered on a sob. ‘Oh, Achilles! Antilochos is dead.’

I put my hand up to shield my eyes. ‘When?’

‘Today, on the field. All my fault, all my fault… He came to get me out of trouble and Memnon killed him with a spear. I can’t even see his face! The spear entered through the occiput and smashed his face to pieces when it erupted out of his mouth. He was so beautiful. So beautiful!’

I ground my teeth. ‘Memnon will suffer, Nestor, I swear it. On my vows to River Spercheus I swear it.’

But the old man shook his head. ‘Oh, can it matter, Achilles? Antilochos is dead. Memnon’s corpse can’t bring him back to me. I’ve lost five sons on this evil plain – five out of my seven sons. And Antilochos was the dearest of them all. He’s dead at twenty. I’m alive at close to ninety. There is no justice in the decisions of the Gods.’

‘We finish it tomorrow?’ I asked Agamemnon.

‘Yes, tomorrow,’ he answered. ‘I’m sick to death of Troy! I couldn’t bear another winter here. From home I hear nothing – my wife never sends a messenger, nor does Aigisthos. I send my messengers, who return to tell me that all is well in Mykenai. But I long for home! I want to see Klytemnestra. My son. My two remaining daughters.’ He looked at Odysseus. ‘If the autumn fails to see Troy taken, I’m going home.’