For the Most Beautiful by Emily Hauser Page B

violently, ‘help me now. Help me.
Help me
.’
    There was a sudden sound of battle cries and clashing bronze, and then, the next moment, a loud crash.
    I looked at the entrance to the room. The bronze doors were being pushed from the other side, bulging with the weight of the warriors pressing against them, and then, at last, with a loud
crack
, their hinges snapped, pressed through by the men spilling into the room. The last of the Lyrnessans were pouring into the Great Hall, fighting ferociously even as they were being driven back by the overwhelming forces of the Greeks.
    Slowly, Achilles moved towards me. My heart was racing in my throat. I could not move.
    There was nowhere else to go.
    â€˜Apulunas,’ I whispered again, my voice hoarse and strangled, ‘
help me now
.’
    Achilles was walking faster, his black eyes boring into mine. The sound of the battle was terrifying, metal scraping on metal, the hard tang of blood on the air and the strangled cries of the wounded. Lyrnessan soldiers were attacking him from every side, but Achilles swatted them away, like flies, with a single sharp thrust of his sword, not moving his gaze.
    I stared panic-stricken into the mass of fighting bodies. ‘Help,’ I muttered, my voice shrill with fear. ‘
Help.
’
    A figure in the crowd flashed into view behind Achilles. He was forcing his way through the soldiers with almost demonic ferocity, hacking right and left with a sword and an oval-shaped shield.
    Achilles was weighing his sword easily in his hand.
    Behind him, closer and closer, I saw the other figure slashing and thrusting, diving through the mass of bodies, blood running down the nose of his helmet, the red and gold crest dyed crimson with gore.
    Red and gold.
    My heart leapt to my mouth.
    It was Mynes.
    He was only a few feet from Achilles now. His sword was raised high above his head, his eyes blazing with fury as he bellowed my name. A little closer, and he would bring his sword down and smash it through Achilles’ skull.
    Achilles did not even turn to look. In one moment he spun on his heel faster than a breath of wind and thrust his sword into Mynes’ chest.
    I saw Mynes ripple with the shock as it impacted on his breastplate, watched it pierce through his ribs and into his heart.
    â€˜
Mynes!
’
    It cannot be true. Let it not be true.
    â€˜Mynes –
no
—’ I jumped from the altar, my hair sticking to my face as I fought my way towards him, oblivious of the battle that raged ahead, the flash of swords and spears, the cries of the wounded. All I could see was my husband, the sword of Achilles sticking through his heart, and a pool of bright scarlet blood spreading on the floor around his feet.
    He collapsed to his knees.
    â€˜
Mynes!
’ I screamed again, and I pushed more frantically through the packed crowd of battling warriors, oblivious to the battle-axes swishing over my head and the clanking of metal hammering at my ears as sword struck sword. ‘Mynes – don’t die—’
    Suddenly I felt a hand grip my arm, so strong that it almost wrenched my shoulder from the socket and punched all the air from my lungs.
    â€˜Let me
go
!’ I screamed, thrashing wildly, struggling and kicking and biting like a wild animal, desperate to be free.
    In front of me Mynes’ face was deathly pale. Achilles tightened his grip around my arm so I could hardly move.
    â€˜
Mynes!
’ I screamed, but my voice was lost in the din of the battle.
    Mynes’ eyes fluttered slightly.
    â€˜
Mynes!
’
    But it was too late. He gave one last gasp, one last shudder, and then he fell forwards on to the floor.
    He was dead.
    â€˜
No!
’ I shrieked, my whole body racked with sobs, fighting to get free with every last ounce of strength I possessed. ‘No – my husband—’
    But Achilles had had enough.
    I felt his hand gripping my neck, his fingers pressing agonizingly into my flesh,