“How are you doing, Henri?” asked McKenna, more solicitously than he would have ever thought possible.
“I am afraid that I am not so well.” Henri sighed, and summoned a grimace of a smile. “I always wished to die in France, with an empty bottle of Chateau Lafitte in my hand. Ideally, of course, with an angry husband in hot pursuit also. But I would settle for the empty bottle.”
He sighed again. “Not likely now, I fear. But if I die . . . well, I have spent the last few days writing down as much as I can remember of our gallant band’s adventures. I have them here.” He patted his breast pocket. “Maybe they will read of our deeds, at least.”
Mac was rather taken aback by the Frenchman’s morbid assessment of his health. “Well, you’re on your feet, anyway. Look, maybe we’ll all get back alive.”
Henri smiled weakly. “You Americans are incurable optimists. It is very irritating.” He sighed again. “How is the balloon going, Mac?”
McKenna was just pointing to the half-inflated trial balloon when he caught sight of the chariots in the sun.
“Quick, into the bushes!” McKenna shoved the Frenchman into the cover of the evergreens.
40
The rage of Olympus.
The gods must have gotten wind of what was happening here in Lydia. The concept of a preemptive strike was obviously not a new one.
After what had happened on Lesbos, those who opposed Olympus had been forewarned. “Scatter and take cover!” yelled Mac.
He and Cruz had talked this over with Jerry before the rest had left. The baseline answer was that the immortal ancient Greek gods could be hurt, but not killed—by mortals anyway. So—make time. Let everyone get away, scatter and regroup.
The chariots of the gods were two-wheeled affairs, looking like they came out of a low-budget remake of Ben Hur. They had all the aerodynamics of bricks. Their godly riders clung to the slow and bucketing vehicles. In the lead was unmistakably Zeus, deep-browed, his noble head surrounded by windswept dark ringlets. His robes of majesty streamed in the wind. In one hand he clutched a thunderbolt—in the other the chariot and reins. His noble expression reminded Mac of a kid heading for the dentist. The next chariot had two occupants, both female. One of them wore a suitably hammered breastplate . . .
Must be that bitch Athena, he thought. The goddess riding beside her, judging from her expression, was having a bad hair day. Maybe that was Hera. The chariot behind had some guy in armor and another god, stark naked, admiring his reflection in his sword blade . . . Ares and Apollo.
* * *
The first of the “time-makers” was about to get a test run. The meadow was a long, narrow one, with the rocky ridge on one side and a small, tree-fringed stream on the other. To land their huge and heavy chariots, the gods would be obliged to come in down the length of the meadow. Which, as the half-inflated balloon was at one end, meant coming in from the south. The first of the chariots skimmed in to a bouncy landing, to Mac’s dismay. The second touched down just a bit further back. Its progress was more pleasing to McKenna, if a lot less pleasing to the horses and charioteer.
The trench had been well hidden with a layer of sods on top of thick strands of cobweb. The horses, galloping like fury, simply kicked aside the sods and made the far bank, hooves scrabbling. Mac was glad of that. He was quite fond of horses. The chariot didn’t make the ditch. It went down into the angled stakes. The next chariot tried to avoid the ditch. The horses did better on the cornering than the chariot. They dragged it off, on its side, sans occupants. Then the lead chariot hit defense two. A rope at neck height. A spider-silk rope half an inch in diameter. Only Mac had miscalculated on Zeus’ height. The rope hit the mighty arm holding the chariot rail.
Then he realized just how strong Zeus the thunderer really was. The rope was tied to two medium-sized oak trees—that were just ripped out by their roots. The entire rail and the front half of the chariot split off in a shriek of tearing bronze. The once peaceful glade was full of the screaming of horses and the fury of gods.
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