The Armour of Achilles

by Glyn Iliffe

  Then the light faded from the priest’s eyes and his body went limp. Darkness descended on the three men once again.

  Chapter Ten

  TO CATCH A TRAITOR

  Odysseus and Eperitus returned to the camp with barely a word said between them. Then, as they crossed the causeway over the ditch and passed the guards, the king stopped and turned to his friend.

  ‘What did Apheidas say to you in Lyrnessus?’ he asked.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘I know you better than that, Eperitus – you’ve been struggling with something ever since you faced him. I saw it in the way you fought at Adramyttium and Thebe, as if you’d lost your killing edge. At first I thought it was because Apheidas had beaten you, or you’d missed the chance you’ve been wanting for so long. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? When Calchas said something had passed between you—’

  ‘Calchas is a drunkard,’ Eperitus replied, a little more sharply than he had intended. ‘His visions are guided by wine more than they are by the gods.’

  Odysseus raised a hand.

  ‘We both know that wasn’t Calchas speaking. You saw the eyes, heard the voice. If there’s something you need to tell me . . .’

  Eperitus shook his head. He knew he could not share Apheidas’s revelation about his Trojan ancestry, not even with Odysseus. It was a secret he would have to bear alone.

  ‘Apheidas told me something about my family’s past. Something I’m trying to forget.’

  ‘Keep it to yourself, then,’ Odysseus said, patting Eperitus on the shoulder. ‘But now my suspicions about Palamedes have been confirmed, you will help me get the proof I need.’

  They returned to their huts without another word. Eperitus’s thoughts were so full that he was almost surprised to find the tall, slender form of Astynome waiting for him. She had made a good fire in the hearth at the centre of the hut, over which she had suspended the large pot of thick stew she had cooked earlier, keeping it warm for his return. The rich aroma of meat and herbs filled the tent.

  ‘You must be hungry, my lord,’ she said in her heavy accent, lifting the ladle from the bubbling liquid and touching it to her lips.

  ‘Ravenous,’ he answered.

  He unfastened his cloak and folded it roughly over his arm before tossing it on to his bed. His sword and scabbard followed, but as he stooped to remove his sandals his eyes were drawn to the girl who it had been his good fortune to rescue. She wore a white, knee-length chiton and had washed the day’s dirt from her limbs and bare feet; with the firelight playing on her brown skin she looked more beautiful than ever.

  ‘I kept some of the stew I had made earlier, before Odysseus called you away,’ she said, pouring some of the soup into a wooden bowl and handing it to him with a spoon. ‘It was a fight to keep the others from eating it all.’

  He took the bowl and sat at the rudimentary table where he sometimes ate his meals. A basin of clean water was already waiting for him, and after he had washed his hands Astynome replaced it with a basket of fresh bread and a krater of wine. He ate in silence while she moved around the hut with a familiar, busy ease, lending it a sense of homeliness it did not deserve. How different, he thought, to when she had first entered two weeks ago. Then her eyes had fallen at once on the captured armour that hung from the walls, glinting in the darkness. She had walked over to the breastplates and helmets and studied them in reproving silence, running her hands over each piece and placing her fingertips against the holes where spear or sword had punctured the bronze and brought death to her countrymen. Eperitus had taken them from the Trojan nobles he had defeated in battle – men worthy of having their armour stripped from their corpses – but as she touched each piece of crafted leather and bronze he had felt suddenly and for the first time ashamed of these testaments to his skill and courage in battle, these glorious trophies of his own savagery. Then, in answer to her unspoken accusations, he began naming the former owners of each set of armour she touched, describing how they had looked in life, recalling how well they had fought, and declaring that he would not forget their bravery. Even though their souls had gone down to the Chambers of Decay, he was telling her that they were remembered, that they had not died in vain. And he felt that she forgave him for taking their lives.

  He dismissed the memory and sat back in his chair, as Astynome removed the stew from the fire and replaced it with a pot of fresh water.

  ‘That was wonderful,’ he declared, washing down the last of the meal with a mouthful of wine. ‘I haven’t tasted anything as good as your cooking in a very long time.’

  ‘That’s because I’m not a clumsy Greek soldier, but a woman who knows about food,’ she replied, wrapping a cloth around her hand and removing the pot from the fire. ‘And a woman who is grateful to her rescuer.’

  She poured the water into a large basin, threw the cloth over her shoulder and knelt before his chair. Taking his feet in her hands, she lifted them into the warm water and began to wash them, gently massaging the tired flesh with her fingers. Her hair was tied back to reveal her long brown neck and smooth shoulders, and as she looked up at him he could see that the anger that had marked her face when they first met was now completely gone. Instead, she looked content and at ease.

  ‘I should get a bigger table so you can eat with me in the evenings,’ he said.

  ‘In the day, too, I hope,’ she said, removing his feet one at a time and resting them on the cloth in her lap as she dried them. ‘Surely you won’t be training these replacements for ever?’

  ‘That still wouldn’t be long enough for some of them. But Achilles is expected back any time, and when he’s around things are never quiet for long.’

  ‘You mean you will have a war to fight.’

  ‘Yes.’

  Astynome dried his feet in silence and withdrew to the pile of fleeces around the hearth, where she pulled her legs beneath her and turned to look at the fire.

  ‘Why are the Greeks such a murderous people?’ she asked, the flames reflecting in her eyes. ‘Why do they stubbornly cling to this small patch of Ilium, spreading misery and death?’

  ‘If we are murderous, then it’s the gods and the length of this war that have made us so,’ he answered. ‘But it isn’t in our nature. At heart we’re an honourable people. Perhaps you’ll find that out for yourself, one day.’

  ‘Then you intend to take me back to Greece with you?’

  ‘I didn’t say that,’ he said, forcing a smile. ‘Though you are a useful person to have around.’

  ‘I am,’ she agreed. ‘But it is not my desire to go to Greece. Do you . . . do you have a wife there?’

  Eperitus shook his head.

  ‘But you need a woman to look after you. Perhaps you could remain here with me, when the war’s over?’

  ‘In Troy?’ he echoed with a small laugh, pushing aside the empty bowl and taking a swallow of wine. Astynome had only added a little water, leaving it strong and potent. ‘Whatever the outcome of the war, Troy’s no place for a Greek. Besides, what of your own husband? You said . . . you said you weren’t a virgin.’

  ‘My husband is dead, my lord.’

  ‘Because of the war?’

  Astynome shifted around to sit cross-legged, facing the fire. The hem of her dress rode back over her knees to reveal the smooth flesh of her thighs.

  ‘I was sixteen when we married, just after the Greeks arrived. He wasn’t a soldier then, but it wasn’t long before all young men were given a shield and spear and sent to fight. He died in the first year of the war, before I could bear him children . . .’

  Eperitus left his chair and knelt before her. Her eyes were wet, but no tears had escaped to glue together her long eyelashes or stain her beautiful cheeks.

  ‘Did you love him?’ he asked.

  ‘Very much,’ she whispered. Then she looked into his eyes. ‘You have also lost someone close, haven’t you? My instincts tell me you have.’

  He nodded. ‘My daughter. A storm was bottling
up the fleet at Aulis, so King Agamemnon sacrificed her to appease the gods.’

  Astynome’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. ‘That’s barbaric! And yet you still fight for such men?’

  ‘I fight for Odysseus,’ he said. ‘And for my own honour.’

  He touched her on the shoulder and she turned to face him, as if obeying an unspoken command. As she looked into his eyes he felt almost overwhelmed by the power of her beauty, and yet as he placed his other hand on her arm he could feel her trembling. Her eyes fell to his mouth as inevitably their faces moved closer. There was a moment of hesitation in which he could feel her nervous breath on his lips, and then they were kissing.

  Eperitus woke to the sound of voices beyond the walls of his hut, but they were only the low murmurings of men greeting each other as they moved around the camp. It was the light of early morning seeping in beneath the entrance that had woken him – that and the unfamiliar warmth of Astynome’s naked body close against his own. They had fallen asleep facing the wall of the hut, with his arm beneath her neck, and her back and buttocks tucked into the curve of his body. Long strands of her dark hair were spread across his face and her feet were laid flat across his, the soles and toes soft and comforting. His other arm was across her abdomen as they lay beneath the furs, his fingers curled up in a fist beneath the smooth mound of a breast, which rose and fell gently as she breathed.

  For a while he thought of their lovemaking, how awkward it had been at first and then how quickly they had learned to respond to each other. For him the experience had been rich and unexpectedly moving; Astynome had not reacted with the emotional detachment of a slave, but with passion and tenderness. Perhaps she had been thinking of her husband (she told him there had been no other since his death, a confession by which she had unwittingly revealed the depth of her love for the man), or, perhaps, to be touched intimately after so long had released a deep-seated need in her, expressing itself in an ardour that was both fiery and gentle. But his instincts told him otherwise. The desire she had shown was so much more than the rekindling of a distant memory or a longing for physical contact. She had wanted him, not the ghost of a dead husband, but him – his lips upon hers, his body against and within hers. The thought pleased him and for a while, as she lay in his arms, he did not think of Apheidas or the grim warning of Calchas’s words from the night before.

  The voices outside grew a little louder as more men woke and rose. Eperitus cursed them silently, hoping they would not wake the girl, but something seemed to be happening and the noise increased until Astynome’s eyes flickered open. She rolled on to her front and raised herself on her elbows.

  ‘It isn’t always this noisy,’ she said in a hoarse, croaky voice.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ he replied. ‘I don’t normally sleep this long.’

  He looked at her face, half lost behind thick lengths of mutinous hair and with her eyes squinting against the growing light. She was sleepy and vague, her skin flushed and hot to the touch, and yet he thought her as beautiful now as she had been last night, when the firelight had played on her sweat-damp skin and a fierce passion had burned in her eyes.

  She looked at him beside her and broke into a tired smile.

  ‘And I should have been up long ago,’ she said, leaning over and kissing his bearded cheek. ‘As your slave I should have had your breakfast ready before first light.’

  Eperitus returned her smile and moved his hand down to rest on the raised mound of her buttocks. The experience of waking each morning to a breakfast made by Astynome was about to be superseded by the happiness of waking to Astynome herself. It struck him then that his life was about to change for the better. Up to that point, the only pleasures of his hard existence had been the company of his comrades and the prospect of battle – to achieve glory and slowly erase the dishonour his father had brought upon him years before. But now he had Astynome to return to at the end of each day and the thought of her presence thrilled him. Men without women were too prone to savagery – the evidence of that had been around him for years – and now, suddenly, he realized why Odysseus had desperately wanted to return to Penelope for so long.

  ‘You’re not my slave, Astynome,’ he reminded her. ‘I agreed to take you under my protection, that’s all.’

  ‘Then I’m free to go whenever I wish?’

  Eperitus felt a sinking sensation in his stomach. ‘Yes. You can do as you please.’

  ‘Then it pleases me to stay,’ she answered, stroking his hair. ‘I would only want to go back if you came with me, so until I can persuade you to do that I must masquerade as your slave. And now, perhaps, my lord would like some water?’

  ‘The wine last night has left my throat dry.’

  Astynome threw back the fur and stepped over him. He watched her cross the fur-covered floor to the other side of the hut, where a skin of water hung from the wall. At that moment, the flax curtain that covered the entrance was swept aside and Odysseus walked in. He looked at the shocked girl as she tried to cover her nakedness, then picked up the cloak from her unslept-in bed and tossed it to her.

  ‘It’s been too long since I’ve seen a naked woman,’ he said as Astynome caught the cloak and threw it around herself. Then he frowned and turned to his captain with a purposeful air. ‘Achilles is back. I’ll wait outside while you get dressed.’

  He gave a curt bow to Astynome and left. Eperitus rose at once and pulled on his tunic. Astynome came over to him and slipped her arms around his shoulders, placing a kiss on his lips.

  ‘Does that mean Briseis will be here?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. Plunder and slaves are presented to Agamemnon for even distribution, which usually means he gets to pick the best for himself, regardless of who fought for it. That’s why I kept your presence quiet. But if the King of Men has got any sense he’ll leave Briseis to Achilles. She’s won his heart, from all accounts, and there’ll be trouble if he’s forced to part with her.’

  ‘Poor Briseis,’ Astynome sighed.

  The sun was just peeping over the ridge to the east as Eperitus pushed aside the curtain and stepped out. The smell of woodsmoke was already in the air as a few men belatedly warmed water and prepared breakfast. Most of their comrades had already washed and eaten, though, and were streaming down to the beach to see the plunder that had been brought back from Lyrnessus. Odysseus, standing with his arms crossed as he stared in the direction of the sea – hidden behind the forest of tents – turned and greeted his captain with a smile.

  ‘She’s a beautiful girl,’ he said, nodding towards the hut. ‘The gods still hold you in their favour, Eperitus.’

  ‘She hates the Greeks,’ Eperitus replied.

  ‘Ah, but I think she has a strong affection for you.’

  Eperitus snorted derisively to disguise his sudden interest, then placed his hand on Odysseus’s shoulder and led him away from the hut.

  ‘And why would you think that?’

  ‘Because of the look she gave you when I entered. Before she even thought to cover her nakedness she glanced at you, and that’s when I saw something in her eyes. I can’t say what, but I know that look. Now, let’s get to the beach.’

  They joined the flow of hundreds of men, heading towards the southern end of the bay. This was where Achilles’s ships were beached, and it was here that the plunder from Lyrnessus, Adramyttium and Thebe was being gathered. The conversation on every side was focused solely on the amount of gold the expedition had looted, and the rapidly spread rumour that there would be a share for every man in the camp. Eperitus gave the matter no thought; he cared little for wealth and his mind was occupied with thoughts of Astynome and what Odysseus had said about her. And then he saw the gargantuan figure of Great Ajax striding head and shoulders above the crowd before them and his mind returned to the words of Calchas the night before. He saw that Odysseus’s eyes were also fixed on the king of Salamis.

  ‘What do you think Calchas meant last night?’ he asked. ‘About Ajax, I mean.’


  Odysseus shrugged. ‘Everyone knows Ajax has little respect for the gods, though why he would want Achilles’s armour is beyond me. I was more interested in Palamedes.’

  ‘He could have been lying.’

  ‘Why would he lie?’ Odysseus frowned. ‘He’s a drunken fool, but he’s not a liar.’

  ‘But what if Calchas is the traitor? Have you considered that? He’s a Trojan, after all, and he’s in Agamemnon’s confidence. Didn’t he say last night that he regretted leaving Troy? Perhaps he told you it was Palamedes to throw you off his own trail.’

  ‘That could be true,’ Odysseus replied, still watching the towering form of Ajax ahead of them. ‘And you forgot to say that Calchas can enter or leave the camp whenever he pleases. The only other man who can do that is Palamedes.’

  ‘Any commander can leave the camp,’ Eperitus countered. ‘You could, if you wished, and at any time you felt like it.’

  ‘Not without the fact being reported to Agamemnon, Menelaus and Nestor. They keep a tight watch on this camp, whether you know it or not, Eperitus. Any commander crossing the ditch at night without good reason would be reported to them. But Palamedes was the one who thought up the system of sentries and patrols that defend the camp from Trojan raiders. And he regularly goes out to check on the patrols at night – a perfect cover for meeting Trojans and passing on our plans. That’s one of the reasons why I suspected him in the first place.’

  ‘And Calchas?’ Eperitus asked.

  But Odysseus simply smiled and shook his head. ‘Palamedes is the one, and I’ll prove it to you before the night is out.’

  They had come to the beach, and though they could see the masts of the newly landed ships above the heads of the multitude of onlookers (all the other galleys had had theirs removed and stowed), they could see nothing of Achilles or the treasures that had been plundered during the expedition.