The Gates Of Troy

by Iliffe, Glyn

  The girl narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips disapprovingly. ‘I mean Eperitus of Alybas. And if that’s you, sir, and you’ve really sacked cities and slain thousands, then I would like you to tell me about it.’

  Odysseus shrugged his shoulders apologetically.

  ‘Sorry, little princess. I am only Odysseus, the king of lowly Ithaca.’

  ‘I’ve heard of you,’ the girl nodded. ‘But it’s Eperitus I’m looking for.’

  Odysseus flicked his eyes towards his companion and took a step back.

  ‘I’m Eperitus. What do you want, child?’

  Eperitus, who had always found young children irrelevant and irritating, looked down at the girl, and as their eyes met he felt a curious sense of recognition.

  ‘I wanted to see what you looked like, sir,’ she replied. ‘My mother has told me lots of things about you. She says you are a strong warrior with a stout heart, and that you and she were friends long ago.’

  ‘You’re Iphigenia,’ Eperitus said. The girl had Clytaemnestra’s tall, thin frame and large ears, though there was also a shadow of Agamemnon in her authoritative mannerisms. But there was something else familiar about her, too, something elusive that he could not define.

  ‘You don’t look as I had imagined,’ Iphigenia said, after pausing to scrutinize the man before her. ‘But now I look at you, I think you are better than I imagined.’

  ‘Forgive my daughter, my lords,’ said Clytaemnestra, emerging from the doorway at the bottom of the staircase and striding confidently towards them. She had an elegant femininity as she crossed the lawns barefoot, dressed in a yellow gown that gleamed with the early morning light. ‘She’s naturally drawn to warriors. She’s convinced she’ll be one herself, one day.’

  ‘I will,’ Iphigenia protested, frowning at her mother’s fun-making. ‘Just like Eperitus. I want to roam Greece doing good – killing outlaws and slaying serpents and rescuing cities from tyrants.’

  She made slashing motions with an imaginary sword as she spoke, while Odysseus laughed aloud and slapped Eperitus on the back.

  ‘I had no idea you were so talented, old friend. Or so famous.’

  Eperitus looked questioningly at Clytaemnestra, who replied with a sheepish smile.

  ‘I apologize for Jenny’s imagination. I’ve told her all about the great men at Sparta, but she seems to have a special liking for you, my lord. She also enjoys hearing about your exploits, of course, Odysseus.’

  ‘Oh, yes – she tells me she’s heard of me.’

  ‘Naturally,’ Iphigenia nodded, though her eyes did not leave Eperitus for a moment. ‘Eperitus saved your life after you were caught in the women’s quarters at Sparta.’

  Odysseus arched his eyebrows. ‘Well, there was more to it than just that. You see, what actually happened was . . .’

  ‘Come now, Odysseus,’ Clytaemnestra interrupted. ‘You and I have more serious matters to discuss. I’ve been thinking about your proposal of last night, and perhaps you could answer a few questions to help my decision.’

  ‘Certainly, if I can,’ Odysseus replied.

  Clytaemnestra hooked her arm through his elbow and steered his bulky, triangular form back towards the stairs. ‘Perhaps you will keep Jenny entertained for me, Eperitus?’ she said over her shoulder.

  ‘Actually I was intending to go . . .’

  ‘Don’t be afraid,’ Odysseus called back as they crossed the lawn. ‘She’s only a girl, after all, and you’re a famous slayer of serpents and rescuer of cities.’

  Odysseus and Clytaemnestra disappeared through the doorway. Eperitus turned and looked down at Iphigenia, who was still staring at him.

  ‘Well,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘What do children do to keep themselves entertained nowadays?’

  Iphigenia’s face broke into a smile. She reached across and slipped her hand into his, her little fingers cold as they gripped his rough skin.

  ‘I’d like to hear about your adventures. My mother tells me as much as she knows, but she’s no bard and when I ask her questions about the names of the men you killed and how they died, and things like that, she doesn’t know. And in return I will show you around the city and let you meet some of my friends. There’s Thoosa, the goldsmith’s daughter, and Tecton, who helps his father carve ivory trinkets, then there’s . . .’

  ‘Is that the way to the city?’ Eperitus said, pointing at the west-facing gateway. He was already dreading the thought of being forced into the company of other children.

  ‘You mean you’re really going to let me show you around?’ Iphigenia said, her eyes wide as she gripped his wrist with both hands and stared up at him. ‘That’s great! An adult all to myself, for the whole day!’

  ‘I didn’t say for a . . .’

  ‘None of my friends will have an adult, and even if they did he wouldn’t be a warrior like you. You’re even better than mother says you are. You have to tell me about the serpent in the temple of Athena first. What colour was it? Did it have one head or many?’

  She pulled him towards the gate, still chattering as Eperitus walked stiffly at her side, already imagining the humiliation of being seen in the care of a child. At first he tried to correct her about the fight with the serpent. It had happened in Athena’s temple at Messene, but both he and Odysseus had been defeated by the giant creature and had to be saved from death by the timely arrival of Mentor. Iphigenia, however, was dismissive of Mentor’s contribution, stating that the creature must already have been brought to the edge of destruction by Eperitus before anyone else could claim its life. As she was not far from the truth, Eperitus did not press the point.

  They spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon together. As they walked the streets, he was forced to recount the various adventures of ten years before, which Iphigenia already knew for the most part. What she did not know she had guessed or made up, but she was keen to ask questions and prise out different details from him as each story progressed – what sort of shield did this man carry, or at which point was that man’s leg severed, and so on. She would frequently interrupt to point out different features of the town, from smithies and lamp-makers’ shops to the different places where a child could climb a wall or hide from pursuing adults. But she would immediately return to the part of the story where the interruption had occurred and either press for more detail or simply listen to what her warrior friend could remember.

  After a while, Eperitus began to find the attention pleasantly flattering. He had never possessed any talent as a storyteller, but Iphigenia seemed to hang on his every word and her enthusiasm even made him forget his own natural modesty. Before long he found himself adding small embellishments to the tales of his past battles, perhaps recreating a sword thrust to an enemy’s stomach or demonstrating how he would use his grandfather’s shield to parry a life-threatening blow. People would look at them as they walked by, but he found he no longer cared about their stares: to his surprise, he had quickly warmed to the feisty girl and was more concerned about what she thought than the thoughts of the townsfolk around them. He had never before enjoyed the company of children, but in the simplest way being with Iphigenia took away his concerns about the past and the future and allowed him to feel complete once again, something he had not experienced since his own childhood.

  The streets were crowded and full of the activity of buying and selling. Women weaved through the crowds with heavy amphoras on their shoulders, filled with precious oil or wine; others haggled for lengths of cloth or bags of grain. Young boys forced their way through the throng with trays of freshly baked bread or cakes on their heads, the shouts of those they had barged aside following behind them. As the sun cleared the top of the eastern mountain, though, the streets eventually became too hot for large crowds and Eperitus found it easier to keep up with the young girl whose hand had barely left his own for a moment.

  She took him to the circle of graves by the city gate, where she said he should make an offering to honour t
he royal dead. Eperitus thought it would be most appropriate to buy a garland of flowers from a nearby seller, and together they draped it over the stone marking the grave of Atreus’s wife, Aerope. At Iphigenia’s request, Eperitus cut a lock of hair from her head, which she placed at the foot of the stone. Then they went and bought cakes, as they were both hungry.

  At some point, when the stories of his adventures were finally exhausted – picked to the bone by Iphigenia’s energetic questioning – they found a group of children crowded under the shade of a high stone wall. They were playing a game that involved throwing stones into a circle drawn in the dust, which Eperitus vaguely recalled from his own childhood in Alybas. The game stopped as they approached and suddenly he was surrounded by curious children, all of them looking up at him and asking Iphigenia a gabble of questions. She answered as many as she could, her tone proud but aloof, whilst Eperitus felt like a giant who had been captured by a tribe of pygmies.

  Among the children was Tecton, who dragged them off to his father’s house. Here they found a man with a long nose and small, close-set eyes, bent almost double over a dust-covered bench as he scratched away at pieces of ivory. He looked up as they arrived, though it was clear he could barely see much beyond an arm’s length from his face, and greeted Iphigenia and Tecton warmly. Then he offered to fetch wine and barley cakes for Eperitus, and the afternoon was spent with Iphigenia telling the old man and his son all about Eperitus’s various exploits. The warrior found himself deeply embarrassed, at first, but soon allowed himself a sense of satisfaction at their joy in listening to the girl. Before they left, Tecton’s father gave Iphigenia a carved warrior. She immediately named it Eperitus and held it close to her chest all the way back to the palace.

  After the evening’s feast, again in the company of the queen of Mycenae, Eperitus found himself unable to sleep, and eventually he threw off his furs and dressed. Eurylochus and Polites were snoring in the darkness as he stepped over them, one exhaling as the other drew breath so that they sounded like a pair of giant grasshoppers. Outside the full moon was lost behind cloud, but emerged slowly as he reached the threshold of the palace.

  A group of guards were playing dice by the double portico through which the Ithacans had led their ponies the evening before. They nodded to Eperitus, but when he made no sign of joining them they returned to their game, leaving him to lean against the low wall and look out at the moonlit plain of Argos. As before, there were no lights shining from the farmsteads or villages that dotted the plain, where a silvery mist lurked in the dells and straggled across the fields between the blue hills. Directly below him, the walls and houses of Mycenae gleamed like bones in the night. Then the moon was swallowed once more by cloud and the city turned to darkness.

  Eperitus fell to thinking about Iphigenia and the day they had spent together, then about her mother in the yellow dress – he had never seen her before in anything other than dark and sombre clothing – and finally the words of Calchas, until a flicker of light in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned to his left, where a spur of the eastern mountain lay black against the star-peppered sky. As he looked, his sharp eyes discerning the shapes of rocks and trees, he saw it again: a burst of red light, arcing above the brow of the ridge. It disappeared quickly, though the impression of the fierce light lingered against the back of his retina for a moment longer. Then a second arc of light followed. This was green and flowed like a banner in the wind before fading. More lights scored the night sky, some high and clear, others low and dim or seen only as a reflection in the treetops.

  After a while Eperitus walked over to the guards, whose eyes remained fixed on the flagstones as he approached, their game of dice almost forgotten. He recognized one of them from the previous night.

  Those lights, Perithous. Where do they come from?’

  ‘What lights, my lord?’

  The lights over the brow of that hill. Red and green, mostly; like nothing I’ve ever seen before.’

  ‘I didn’t see them, sir. How about you, lads?’

  The others shook their heads and began rolling the dice again. Eperitus turned and went back inside the palace.

  ‘Where did you go to last night?’ Eurylochus asked as they ate breakfast the next morning. He was unable to conceal the sneer on his lips at having to talk to Eperitus, but his curiosity had got the better of him.

  ‘I thought you were asleep,’ Eperitus replied, with equal disdain. ‘Your snores were loud enough to wake the Titans.’

  ‘There’s little escapes my notice,’ Eurylochus boasted, dipping a piece of bread into the pot of honey between them and cramming it into his mouth. ‘I saw your outline in the doorway as you went.’

  ‘I couldn’t sleep, if you must know,’ Eperitus replied, irritated. ‘Though it isn’t any of your business what I do at night.’

  He pushed the wooden plate away and swallowed the last of his water before standing and walking out into the bright morning air. Odysseus and Arceisius were practising their swordplay, moving back and forth across the courtyard to the sound of bronze ringing against bronze. The king held up his hand as Eperitus emerged, then handed his sword and scabbard to Arceisius. The young squire took the weapons back inside the building where the Ithacans were being housed.

  ‘Another beautiful morning, Eperitus. Sleep well?’

  ‘I slept enough. Do you think Clytaemnestra will make a decision today?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Odysseus answered, indicating the doorway to the stairs.

  He followed Eperitus down the broad steps to the garden, where a brief sprinkle of rain had freshened the aroma of the flowers. The branches on the trees and bushes nodded with the weight of the water, and let fall a cascade of droplets if brushed against.

  ‘She certainly seemed full of cheer yesterday,’ he continued. ‘Do you remember seeing her in anything other than black before?’

  ‘No – that was odd. Perhaps she’ll let us take the girl today and we can get back to the fleet. The storm might have lifted by now.’

  ‘I’d rather stay here until it does,’ Odysseus said, sitting on the semicircular bench and looking down at his reflection in the pond. ‘At least the sun is shining in Mycenae. How was your time with Iphigenia yesterday?’

  Eperitus gave a shrug, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. ‘It was bearable. She’s amiable enough considering she’s a child, and a girl at that. I’d wanted to supervise Arceisius at spear practice, though. He needs to improve his aim before we sail for Troy. Perhaps I’ll get the chance today.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Odysseus replied, with a knowing smile.

  They remained in the garden until the sun crept over the mountain, discussing the various training needs of their warriors and how they were likely to fare in the coming war. It was an abiding topic that was never far from their thoughts as war loomed. One day soon they would find themselves on the plain before Troy, when their survival would depend on the effectiveness of the men under their command. Eventually, Clytaemnestra appeared again at the foot of the stair, though her jovial appearance of the day before had disappeared. Now her hair was worn loose and the yellow dress had been replaced by her familiar black garb. Her face was bloodless and her eyes red-rimmed as she walked towards them. The two warriors looked at her in silent surprise.

  ‘My lords,’ she said, greeting them with a small bow. ‘You slept well, I hope.’

  ‘Perfectly well, my lady,’ Odysseus replied. ‘And you? Did you consult the gods, as you promised me?’

  ‘Still keen for your answer I see, Odysseus. Yes, I consulted my gods and . . . and they have consented that Iphigenia must go. Does that please you?’

  ‘It makes no difference to me, but I am pleased for Iphigenia. To boast Achilles as a husband will earn her great honour, if shortlived.’

  Clytaemnestra looked at him for a long moment, searching his expression. Odysseus met her gaze without wavering, until the queen gave up the struggle and lowered her eyes to the pond.<
br />
  ‘If that’s what you believe, then so be it. But I will not release my daughter immediately. Preparations need to be made – such a wedding cannot be left to men alone. And I must get myself ready, if I’m to come with you.’

  Odysseus nodded. ‘Of course. How long?’

  ‘My husband is as impatient as ever, no doubt, but I would need at least two weeks.’

  Odysseus clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes. ‘Any more than a week and he’ll be arriving here himself, my lady, and I wouldn’t want to be accused of failing in my task. If I disappoint Agamemnon once, he may never value me again.’

  ‘A week then, Odysseus. But you must lend me your intelligence and help me with the preparations if I’m to have Jenny ready by then. And I want her to remain ignorant of this wedding until we reach Aulis. I was hoping you would watch over her for the next few days, Eperitus. She needs to be kept away from the rumours and gossip that are certain to spread through the city, and she so enjoyed your company yesterday. Her nurse tells me it was almost impossible to get her to sleep.’

  ‘I was intending to give one of the men some additional training, my lady,’ Eperitus answered looking down at the pool, where Clytaemnestra caught his eye in the reflection. ‘With the war approaching, he needs all the advice and instruction he can get.’

  ‘Of course he will,’ Clytaemnestra sighed. ‘No matter. I saw Eurylochus talking to Iphigenia as I came down the stairs. I’m sure he will look after her.’

  ‘He can’t take care of himself, let alone an independent and energetic girl like Iphigenia,’ Eperitus protested. ‘Arceisius’s training can wait; I’ll look after her.’

  Clytaemnestra’s pallid face warmed slightly as she gave Eperitus a smile.

  Eperitus stood at the threshold of the palace, resting his forearms on the wet, cold stone of the wall and looking up at the moon. The guards were playing dice and drinking wine under the portico, the only place where the flagstones were still dry after the early evening rain. They had become used to Eperitus’s nightly appearances by now, and were content to leave him to his thoughts.