The Gates Of Troy

by Iliffe, Glyn

  ‘Bring a table and stools,’ he shouted to the slaves. ‘Bring meat and wine, too. Let’s make our guests welcome.’

  As if released from a spell, the lines of seated men returned to their feasting, though their constant glances revealed the topic of their conversation. In a flurry of activity a dozen slaves brought a table and chairs from the shadows and placed them down before the Trojan warriors. Moments later, more slaves were crowding it with piles of food and kraters of wine, already mixed with water to dilute its strength. The newcomers could not stop themselves from glancing over their shoulders as platters of spit-roasted goats’ meat, mutton and pork – all glistening with fat – were set down and punctuated with baskets of bread, barley cakes and fruit. But they were forced to resist their hunger for a little longer, as their host stepped down from the dais and walked around the hearth towards them.

  In the firelight they could see he was still a young man, a little over thirty years old, of medium height with large muscles in his chest and arms. He wore a simple, green woollen tunic that stopped halfway down his broad thighs, contrasting with the knee-length tunics worn by the Trojans. His hair was auburn, though thinning on top and heavily streaked with grey, and his beard was black and wiry. His face was crossed by a smile that was both kind and friendly, but his leathery skin was lined and careworn beyond his years.

  ‘Welcome again, friends,’ he greeted them. ‘I am Menelaus, son of Atreus and, by the grace of Zeus, king of Sparta. Forgive the simple hospitality of my hall tonight – if you’d sent news of your arrival earlier we’d have been able to show you some real Spartan warmth. But if you’re not in any hurry to leave we can give you a proper welcome tomorrow night, and for as many nights as you’re here.’

  ‘I am Paris, son of Priam, king of Troy,’ Paris replied, pulling himself to his full height and offering his hand.

  Menelaus’s eyebrows arched slightly as he gripped Paris firmly by the wrist. ‘A Trojan prince, eh? Then this is no idle visit, and now I feel even more ashamed of this meagre excuse for a banquet.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ Paris replied, relaxing slightly as he sensed the genuine warmth in Menelaus’s welcome. ‘Simplicity suits me. The constant feasting at home is tiresome – I’d much rather be round a barrack-room fire on our northern border, drinking wine and swapping stories with my men.’

  ‘You’re a true soldier then,’ Menelaus grinned, finally releasing Paris’s hand. ‘We’ve had peace here for a decade, but sometimes I long for the old days. There’s nothing like living on marching rations for a week and fighting a battle at the end of it! All this heavy food and sitting on uncomfortable thrones isn’t good for a man,’ he added wryly, patting his rounded stomach.

  Paris found himself warming to the Greek. Despite the purpose of his mission and the broad gulf between their different cultures, he felt Menelaus was a man he could relate to.

  ‘My father sent me to . . .’ he began, but Menelaus held up a hand and shook his head.

  ‘Unless your business here is urgent, let’s leave talk of it for another night, eh? You and your men are welcome to stay for as long as you like, so relax and fill your stomachs – I know you haven’t eaten anything hot since you set out from the harbour this morning. There will be a time for formal words, Paris, but it isn’t now.’

  Paris nodded and smiled for the first time since passing through the gates of Sparta. Then, as he was about to excuse himself and return to his men, he looked through the flames and saw the figure of a woman standing on the other side of the hearth. Though the heat haze was fierce, the light of the fire revealed her clearly. Her eyes captured his with an expression as intense as the flames that seemed to imprison her and Paris knew in an instant that this was the renowned Helen, whose beauty surpassed any rumour or reputation. At the same time, he sensed Menelaus turn his head to look across the raging fire at his wife, just as she turned her face away and moved back towards the shadows. Heedless of Menelaus, Paris watched the tall, slim figure of Helen recede into the darkness, his mind reeling. The desires and emotions that had been tightly locked away in his soldier’s heart for many years were suddenly breaking free in a confusing rush, escaping through the cracks that a single look from Helen had prised open, coursing through his whole body and threatening the discipline and restraint that had given his life equilibrium for so long.

  And as she reached the edge of the circle of light from the hearth, just as the shadows were swallowing her, she turned back and looked at him again, her eyes blazing briefly in the darkness before disappearing. Paris felt a heavy weight shifting within him, as something old died and something new was born.

  Chapter Three

  POLITES

  The pale yellow light of morning filtered through the trees, waking the bright green ferns that carpeted the woodland floor and touching on the small white flowers that grew amid the roots of the pines. Birds were singing in the treetops, greeting the arrival of dawn, and there was a strong smell of new vegetation and damp earth in the air. Eperitus sat astride a donkey – his breastplate and sword concealed beneath his cloak – and scoured the trees discreetly for signs of movement. Heedless of any danger, his ride stumped its way along the wide path that cut through the wood, its head down and its tall ears twitching and flicking as a constant stream of flies irritated them. The bell about its neck clanged with every footfall, sending dull, monotonous chimes ringing through the trees.

  A young man of around twenty years followed on foot. He had shoulder-length, brown hair that he was constantly brushing from his eyes, and boyish good looks that were partially hidden by a light growth of beard. His only armaments were the dagger in his belt and the long stick in his left hand, with which he would occasionally strike the bony hindquarters of the donkey.

  ‘I wish you’d stop doing that, Arceisius,’ Eperitus snapped as the stick smacked down again just behind him. ‘The animal’s moving along just fine as it is; there’s no need to keep hitting the poor thing.’

  ‘Sorry, sir,’ Arceisius replied, his already ruddy complexion reddening slightly. ‘It’s just habit.’

  ‘And a touch of nerves?’ Eperitus suggested. He took a deep breath to calm his own anxiety before offering his squire a reassuring smile. ‘Don’t worry. Odysseus won’t let us down. He never has yet.’

  He turned back to look at the path stretching out ahead of them. Not much further along the trees thickened and the trail narrowed – a good place for concealment, but lacking the width and space required for an ambush – then shortly afterwards it swept around a spur of the hill and disappeared from sight. According to the locals, the bandits had already struck twice at the point just beyond the spur, and that was where Eperitus expected them to be waiting now. His unnaturally sharp eyesight had already spied figures moving furtively through the trees on the upper slopes – drawn by the sound of the bell about the donkey’s neck – and from there they must have noticed the large leather bags hanging from the animal’s flanks. An unprotected merchant and his young assistant would be too tempting a target to ignore.

  They passed through the narrow stretch of path without incident, but as the trees thinned again and the trail turned around the spur of the hill, Eperitus noticed straight away that the birds were no longer singing and an unusual stillness had descended about them. At the same time, his keen senses picked out glimpses of sun-tanned skin amongst the clumps of foliage sprouting in unnatural places, the barely visible outlines of helmets nudging above the tops of boulders, and the thick, controlled breathing of several nervous men behind the trees and rocks. Eperitus absorbed all these things in a moment, telling him that at least twenty bandits were concealed on the slope above him. The trap was about to be sprung and suddenly, even though no enemies had yet revealed themselves, he felt his old battle instinct take hold of him, pouring new energy into his limbs and tensing his body like a bowstring.

  Then a man stepped out from behind a large boulder a few paces ahead of them. ‘Stop where you are,’ he
ordered in a nasal voice, holding up his hands, ‘and get down from the donkey.’

  Eperitus leaned forward and looked at the short, unimpressive bandit before him, but made no move to dismount. The man’s comrades were emerging from their hiding places to his left – some of them armed with bows and aiming their arrows directly at him and Arceisius – and it was obvious that the slightest wrong movement would bring swift death. Nonetheless, he had to fight the instinct to throw aside his cloak and draw his sword. Everything, he knew, depended on him holding his nerve.

  ‘I can’t do that, I’m afraid,’ he replied in a calm voice. ‘I’m on an important mission for the king, and time is of the essence.’

  The bandit’s eyes narrowed for a moment, then he placed his hands on his hips and leaned back, raising his eyebrows quizzically.

  ‘A mission for the king?’ he said with mock awe. ‘Really? Well, I’m sorry to inconvenience his lordship, but we have need of the royal donkey and all the possessions of his servants.’

  His comment was followed by a ripple of laughter from the men on the slope above.

  ‘Normally I’d be glad to help the starving and impoverished,’ Eperitus responded, throwing a casual glance back across the file of Thessalians, ‘but I’m already on an errand of mercy. You see, the king’s been told that his subjects on Samos are being beaten and robbed by a band of outlaws, and he’s sent me to find them.’

  ‘Well, it seems to me, my friend, that you have found them.’

  Eperitus smiled. ‘I don’t think so. You see, the men I’m looking for were reported to be fearsome cut-throats – brutal, heavily armed men of violence, worthy of my skills as a bandit-hunter. Perhaps you can tell me where they are?’

  ‘By Ares’s sword, you’ve got a nerve,’ the man hissed, clenching his fists and scowling. ‘We’re the only damned cut-throats you’ll find on this pathetic rock, and if you’ve come looking for us then you’d better state your purpose – or else get off that cursed animal and start stripping, before you find an arrow in your throat.’

  Eperitus remained where he was. He could sense Arceisius’s nervous fidgeting at his side and placed a calming hand on his squire’s shoulder.

  ‘I can’t say I’m not disappointed,’ he sighed, ‘but if you’re the men I’ve been sent to find, then you’d better listen to me. King Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes, offers you free passage back to the Peloponnese. If you go now, you’ll not be harmed and you’ll even be allowed to keep your armour and weapons.’

  Some of the men on the slopes laughed incredulously, while others shouted angrily at the audacity of the man before them.

  ‘And if we refuse?’ asked the short bandit, his voice even more nasal as his temper edged higher.

  Eperitus jumped down from the donkey and threw his cloak over his shoulder, revealing his leather breastplate and the sword hanging from his belt. ‘If you refuse, then I challenge any man amongst you to fight me to the death. If I win, then the rest of you must leave Odysseus’s kingdom and never return; but if your champion kills me, then Odysseus will cede the island of Samos and all its towns, villages, people, livestock and crops to you. What do you say?’

  The bandit gave a derisive snort. ‘The king’s offer is generous, but there’s another alternative. If I want, I can have you and your lad shot where you stand. Then my comrades and I can continue to take what we please from the people of this fat little island.’

  ‘You could shoot us down if you wished, but then Odysseus would come to Samos himself, bringing his army with him. They’d hunt you down to the last man and leave your unburied bodies as carrion for the crows. At least if one of you has the stomach to fight me, you have a small chance of winning.’

  ‘King Odysseus must have a lot of faith in your skill as a warrior, if he’s prepared to stake part of his kingdom on you,’ the bandit replied. He looked up at his comrades and there was the glimmer of a smile on his lips. ‘It’s an interesting choice: leave Samos without a fight; accept your challenge; or just kill you and take our chances with the king and his army. My head tells me to shoot you down and be done with it, but my heart wants to accept your challenge. And that is what we will do.’

  There was a questioning murmur from the men on the slope, but the short bandit silenced his comrades with a wave of his hand. ‘If you kill our champion we give you our oaths before all the gods that we will leave peacefully, never to return. But there are to be no rules in this match, and I insist on one condition: the fight must be decided without weapons.’

  ‘Even better,’ Eperitus answered, already sliding his sword from its scabbard and passing it back to Arceisius. ‘I wouldn’t want it to be over too quickly.’

  ‘Of course not,’ the bandit grinned, before signalling to the men on the slope. ‘Send Polites down here! Now.’

  ‘I don’t trust them, sir,’ Arceisius said, undoing the buckles on Eperitus’s breastplate and prising the shaped leather away from his broad chest. He was looking up the slope to where the bandits were moving aside, their faces suddenly full of eager anticipation.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Eperitus said in a low voice, removing his cloak and throwing it over the back of the donkey. ‘I only need to keep them distracted and buy us some time. Besides, there isn’t a man amongst this lot who could match me in a fight.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ Arceisius replied, his eyes widening as he watched Eperitus’s opponent striding down the slope behind him, throwing off his armour and weapons as he came.

  Eperitus turned and felt a sudden rush of doubt at the sight of the man he was to face. Polites was a full head and shoulders taller than he was, and his muscles bulged like boulders under his taut skin. His square face was dominated by his thick black beard and his dark, cruel eyes. He reached the path and pulled off his cloak and tunic, then stood naked with his arms hanging at his side and his huge hands flexing repeatedly, already anticipating crushing the life out of his opponent.

  Eperitus glanced higher up the slope and further along the path, at the same time straining his ears for sounds of discreet movement through the trees and bushes. He could hear nothing. Taking a deep breath to calm the sudden flurry of nerves, he unbuckled his belt and pulled off his tunic – clothes would only allow Polites to get an easy grip – and stepped forward.

  Without waiting, Polites lunged at him with arms wide and fingers splayed. Eperitus ducked aside at the last moment, just as the long, heavily-muscled arms closed on the place where he had been standing. Turning on his heel, he punched Polites in the kidneys with all his force, only to cry out in pain as his fist impacted on the hard muscle. Before he could move away, Polites swung his right elbow back into his face, sending him reeling into the hindquarters of the donkey. The animal kicked out, narrowly missing Eperitus’s head, and broke through the circle of cheering Thessalians who had surrounded the fight.

  Arceisius went to follow the donkey, but was pulled back by the short bandit. ‘You’re staying here, lad,’ he snarled, his lip curling to reveal yellow teeth.

  Eperitus wiped the blood from his nose and staggered to his feet, still dazed from the blow to his face. Polites grinned confidently and walked towards him, certain his victory would be swift as he threw his arms wide and lunged again. The ring of onlookers closed towards Eperitus so that, this time, there could be no dodging the wide span of their champion’s immensely strong limbs. Realizing Polites had only one tactic – to crush the life out of him – Eperitus used his quicker reflexes to duck beneath his long reach and thrust his shoulder into the giant’s stomach.

  The force of the blow would have knocked any other man from his feet and sent him toppling into the dust, but to Eperitus’s amazement Polites’s legs held. Then, in desperation, Eperitus thrust upwards, taking Polites’s full weight across his back and lifting him bodily from the ground. Then with a huge effort he stood and threw Polites into the dirt behind him.

  There was a groan of dismay from the bandits, who shuffled back fro
m the sprawling giant. Eperitus spun round, but Polites was already on his hands and knees and preparing to stand. Leaping forward, he swung his foot with as much speed and strength as he could muster into Polites’s exposed genitals. The soft flesh flattened beneath the top of his foot and a moment later a deafening bellow of pain erupted from his opponent’s lungs as he fell forward into the dirt, writhing in agony.

  Eperitus was on him in an instant, thrusting his knee into his spine and hooking his right arm under his chin. He pulled back with all his strength, trying to snap the man’s neck. Whether the other Thessalians would honour their oath if he won, he did not know; he only knew that, unless he killed Polites now, the man would tear him apart. He pulled harder, sensing his opponent weakening as the shouts of the crowd receded into a shocked silence.

  Then Polites placed the palms of his hands down on the earth and, slowly and irresistibly, began to push himself up. Eperitus tightened his grip about his neck and concentrated the weight of his body down through his knee in a desperate effort to keep him pinned to the floor, but the Thessalian’s strength seemed without measure. With a rage-filled roar, Polites thrust himself up and on to his side, pulling Eperitus’s arms away from his neck. The next moment he twisted free and leapt to his feet.

  His supporters exploded back into life. Eperitus, now flat on his back, saw the terrible anger in Polites’s eyes as he reached down and picked him up, lifting him above his head as if he were no more than a child. With a huge grunt, he hurled the Ithacan across the circle of men to land in a heap at the feet of Arceisius.

  For a moment Eperitus’s vision was filled with flashes of light, beyond which the world seemed to be spinning about him in a whirl of faces and trees set against a cloudy sky. His whole body was awash with pain, a thousand spear-points of agony stabbing at him relentlessly, and his ears were filled with the deafening sound of his own heartbeat. Then he saw Arceisius’s face bending close, his lips moving urgently.