BEFORE US TOWERED the Bulwark of the Achaeans, stark naked, plastered with leaves. There was no doubt about it, even in the nude he was a daunting presence. Especially in the nude.
“Ajax, you have every right to be angry with me, but may I suggest you put on some clothes before you continue?”
He looked down at himself and raised his shaggy brows.
“Go look next to that hole that used to be your roots.”
He frowned.
“Over there. Your tunic and armor—everything is in a pile under that mound of leaves.”
Ajax turned around while Diomedes and I tried to look the other way.
“He wasn’t famous for his wit,” mused Diomedes.
He’d never spoken a truer word. Ajax was as stupid as a sack of rocks. But he was his own man, and you had to give him credit for that. He insisted on mixing milk with his wine, which quite disgusted everyone who knew him. And whereas all the Achaean warriors prided themselves on their long hair, Ajax shaved his clean off like a slave. “Feels nice,” he used to say, rubbing his head back and forth, “and makes the fightin’ easier.” He rarely wore a helmet except for duels, and I’m not sure he needed one. He had an exceedingly thick skull. He took an arrow in the forehead once, and just left it there while he hammered away at the enemy, blood running down his face. That alone turned the tide of the battle.
When Ajax returned at last, he was none too pleased. “Me and you have a score to settle.” The great man loomed over me now, clad head to toe in bronze. His legendary shield was planted before him.
Were you to have met Ajax back when he was alive, the first thing you’d have noticed about him was that shield. He loved it like he loved his wife—more than he loved his wife, in fact. He certainly spent more time with it. He ate off it, slept on it, and sat under it on hot days and beside it on cold days. He used it as a table, a tent, a bed, a plate, a stretcher, a door . . . I remember clearly the day it was forged. We had just finished raiding Chryse, a little town near Troy with not much material wealth but an abundance of beautiful women. We’d burned the city to the ground, seeded its fields with salt, and killed every man tall enough to hold a spear. But those Chryseans were brave men and excellent archers, so we were all exhausted by nightfall. I was roasting a pig with Diomedes and Teucros when Ajax came storming through the camp. He had several arrows sticking out of him and a look on his face like he’d eaten a rat.
“Aimi, Ajax!” I called as he strode past. “You starting an arrow collection?”
“I got me an idea,” he grunted.
It was a rare occasion that an idea of any sort should manifest itself between those enormous ears of his, so I rose to follow him along with half the camp.
He didn’t change direction or expression until he arrived at the tent of Tychios, an old blacksmith so nicknamed for his skill at bartering. He had taken a spear to the back early in his youth that cost him the use of his legs. Not being much of a singer, strategist, or storyteller, he turned to metalwork and discovered he had a talent for it. We found the smith resting on a pile of sheepskins surrounded by broken swords and pikes.
“Make me a bigger one of these,” said Ajax, throwing his shield at his feet.
“Lord Ajax, Bulwark of the Achaeans,” Tychios answered with as much deference as any human voice could muster, “I’ve told you before, that shield is as big as I make them. I could hardly lift it off the forge.”
“I need it bigger,” Ajax growled, pulling an arrow out of his calf. “Them Trojans been usin’ my lower parts to store their arrows, and I’m done with it. I need me a shield that will cover me chin to toe.”
Tychios looked at the shield and shook his head. “I don’t know how.”
Ajax pulled another arrow out of his leg and snarled at it. “Make me a bigger shield, or I’m storing these extras in your face.”
Tychios winced. “Where am I going to find that much bronze?”
Ajax left cursing and returned a moment later with four Trojan shields stacked like bowls. He threw them on the ground next to his own. “You figure it out,” he said, “but I’m coming back in two days, and I want me a shield that will act like a shield instead of a dinner plate.”
Tychios looked at the pile of bronze and wiped his face with a trembling hand. If he didn’t figure out something, he would soon bear a striking resemblance to a cactus. Ajax did not understand metaphors, so if he said he was going to reuse those arrows in the manner described, then he meant it.
Sure enough, two days later Ajax emerged from the blacksmith’s tent with the largest shield I have ever seen—the height of a full-grown man, seven layers of ox hide stretched over an iron frame and plated with bronze. How he could even lift it was a mystery to us all. But lift it he did, and he was never thereafter seen without it—on or off the battlefield.
Nor was he without it now. And in his right hand he carried a spear the size of a tree. I’d watched him skewer three men at once with that weapon, and there was every indication that he intended to use it on me now.
“Welcome, Ajax, Son of Telemon,” I said. “You look better as a man than a vegetable.”
He started to thank me and stopped himself. “We have a score to settle, you and me,” he said, thumping the ground with the butt of his spear. A flurry of leaves fell from the trees around us. Diomedes made a move to intervene, but I shook my head.
“I suppose we do have a score to settle,” I answered, “but I won’t trade blows with you.” I dropped my helmet to the ground, fell on my knees, spread both arms, and bowed my head. It hurt to do it, but I knew that there was no sense going head-to-head with Ajax. If I was clever, I might beat him, but then what? He deserved his revenge.
There was a long silence while I waited for the blow; then Ajax spoke. “Oi!” he said, and I felt a sharp rap on the top of my head. “Get up! We’re going to see who fights better.”
“Lord Ajax, Son of Telemon, Bulwark of the Achaeans, you know as well as I do that you are the greater warrior. A greater man as well. The day that Agamemnon awarded me the armor of Achilles, Folly herself reigned on the beaches of Troy. Name your reward, and I will surrender it to you.”
“Oi!” He rapped my head again with his knuckles, and I felt as if the teeth would fall out of my skull. I began to wonder if it had been such a good idea to toss aside my helmet. “This another of your tricks?”
“No more tricks, Ajax. Not for you.”
He rapped on my head once more while he worked my answer through his head. “Then I won?”
“Absolutely.”
“I don’t feel like I won.”
“Neither do I.”
He rapped on my head again, but this time I think it was just nervous energy. His heart wasn’t in it. “Now what?” he said.
“With your permission, I might stand.”
“Right, then. Up with you.” He grabbed me by the shoulders and hoisted me to my feet. Then we stood for a while looking each other face-to-face—or rather, face-to-navel, he was that tall.
“Ajax,” I said, “Diomedes and I would be honored if you would accompany us to the lower rings of the Underworld. We’re looking for a way out, and the most difficult stretch of our journey lies before us. We need a real warrior.”
He looked blankly at the two of us. He sucked his upper lip into his mouth and frowned. Then he spat his lip out with a pop and smiled at me. “Right, then.” Ajax swung the massive shield across his back and planted his spear in the ground like a walking stick. “Which direction?”
This was exactly what I liked most about Ajax. He was nothing if not single-minded. A quick look at our map, and we were on our way.