by Glyn Iliffe
‘Good evening, my lords,’ he said, emerging from his cover and raising his hands before the mule.
The animal stopped and one of the men threw back his hood. It was Idaeus, Priam’s herald.
‘We’re simple farmers going about our business. Let us be!’
‘It’s a little late to be off to market, isn’t it? And your Greek’s very good for a simple farmer.’
‘But farmers we are, nonetheless, and I’ll remind you that both armies respect our right to move about the land. Your leaders wouldn’t be best disposed towards you if we stopped supplying the Greeks with food now, would they?’
Eperitus laughed. ‘And what food do you have in the back of your cart, friend? I’m feeling a little hungry myself. Perhaps if you give me a bite to eat I’ll let you pass.’
‘You won’t find anything you can stomach back there, lad,’ said Priam, tipping back his hood. His black wig was gone, revealing thin strands of grey hair that clung to his white scalp. ‘And we’re no more farmers than you are, as well you know.’
‘I know, my lord,’ Eperitus answered, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. ‘You are King Priam, and this is your herald, Idaeus. You’ve come with a ransom for the body of your son, and I’ve been sent to escort you in safety to Achilles’s hut.’
The two men looked at each other in surprise.
‘Then the noble Lord Achilles knows I’m coming?’
‘No,’ Eperitus answered, standing and placing a hand on the mule’s yoke. ‘You have a faithful subject, Astynome, daughter of Chryses, who loves you and doesn’t want to see you come to harm. She journeyed ahead of you to seek my help, and I agreed to bring you to Achilles in safety.’
‘The daughter of Chryses the priest? Yes, I know her,’ Priam said. ‘A pretty girl and no doubt you are in love with her. That’s good. But I also know your face from somewhere.’
‘I am Eperitus, my lord, commander of the army of King Odysseus. We came to Troy ten years before, with Menelaus and Palamedes.’
Priam’s eyes narrowed a little and then he smiled.
‘Of course. I nearly had you killed, and perhaps I should have done – Menelaus, above all. But there’s no point ruing past judgements, not now. Lead on, Eperitus.’
The gates swung open as they approached and Odysseus ushered them through, bowing to King Priam as he joined Eperitus. Together, they led the cart down to the southernmost corner of the bay, where a faint trail of grey smoke was rising up from the roof of Achilles’s hut. They passed between the fires of the Myrmidon camp, where the men were asleep beneath their blankets, and halted the wagon a few paces from Achilles’s hut. Odysseus helped Priam down while Idaeus remained on the bench, huddled beneath his thick double-cloak. Eperitus disappeared behind the back of the cart.
‘What do you want?’ the guard asked brusquely, lowering his spear as Odysseus and Priam approached.
‘Do you realize who you’re talking to, man?’ Odysseus snapped. ‘Stand aside and let me in.’
The guard straightened up at once. ‘Sorry, sir, but I can’t do that. Lord Achilles is still grieving for Patroclus and has given orders for no one to enter, not even King Agamemnon himself.’
‘He’ll let us in,’ said Eperitus, coming up behind the guard and striking him over the head with the pommel of his sword.
Odysseus pushed the flax curtain aside and stepped in, followed by Priam and Eperitus. A fire burned brightly in the hearth, painting the walls of the hut orange and casting flickering shadows behind the captured weapons and armour that hung there. The lone figure of Achilles sat in a great wooden chair at the side of the hearth; he was bent over, looking at something white and bulbous held between his hands. He looked up in surprise and quickly hid Patroclus’s skull in a fold of his robe.
Before Achilles could do or say anything, Priam threw back his hood and fell to his knees before him, locking his arms about the prince’s legs in supplication. Taking one of Achilles’s hands in his, he pressed his lips to its knuckles and began to weep.
‘King Priam?’ Achilles said, shocked.
He looked questioningly at Odysseus and Eperitus, who said nothing.
‘Have mercy, my lord,’ Priam said. ‘Pity an old man who has seen so many of his children slain. Pity me! I had fifty sons, the best men in the whole of Ilium, and now but nine are left to me. And those I would gladly see dead if I could bring back the one whose life you took before the Scaean Gate.’
He laid his forehead on Achilles’s thighs and sobbed, his once muscular frame shaking as his tears fell on to the Greek’s legs. Achilles looked down at him in disbelief, not knowing what to do or say.
‘It’s for his sake that I’ve come,’ the old king continued. ‘Won’t you give up your anger at Hector and release his body to me? You cannot harm him any more by denying him a burial, but you are killing me. Have mercy, Achilles; accept the ransom I have brought – my own son’s weight in gold and many other lordly gifts besides. Show compassion to a father who has forced himself to do something no man should ever do, to kiss the hand of the man who murdered his son.’
He seized Achilles’s hand again, gripping it firmly as he pressed his lips to the tanned skin. Achilles looked down at him, his other hand hovering over the old man’s head as if ready to push him away. Then the tension seemed to leave his body; his chin dropped slightly and his hand moved to Priam’s head, stroking the thin strands of grey hair. And both Odysseus and Eperitus could see the tears rolling down his cheeks.
‘You . . . you remind me of my own father, Peleus, on the day I left Phthia for Aulis. He knew he would never see me again and he came to me dressed not in his kingly robes, but in sackcloth, weeping as if already in mourning for me. He begged me not to go and I turned my back on him. I turned my back on my own father! But I will not turn my back on you, Priam. The gods themselves have sent you here, and I will not ignore them. As of this moment my feud with Hector is ended. I will accept your ransom and the honour it brings to my name, and in return you shall have Hector’s body.’
And with that he folded Priam’s old head in his arms and wept openly.
It was a long journey back to the temple of Thymbrean Apollo, overlooking the moon-silvered trail of the Scamander and the ghostly walls of Troy, where Eperitus left Priam and headed back to the Greek camp. The old king had not spoken a word since Hector’s body had been laid in the back of the cart and he had planted a simple kiss on his son’s white forehead. Mounting the wagon with Idaeus at the reins, he had drawn his hood down across his face and allowed the mule to be led away again. Odysseus had only accompanied them to the gates, but was still there with the others when Eperitus returned in the pitch blackness, the moon having slipped behind the distant hills.
Odysseus insisted Eperitus return to his hut, where Astynome was waiting for him. He found her asleep in his bed, her dark hair spread across the white fleece and one arm on top of the furs that hid her naked body. Eperitus laid a hand on her shoulder and the coldness of his fingers woke her.
She smiled up at him, sleepily. ‘Is he safe?’
Eperitus nodded. ‘And Achilles relented. Tomorrow the whole of Troy can mourn her greatest son.’
She sat up and the furs fell away, revealing her white breasts. Eperitus took the cloak from his shoulders and hung it about her.
‘You’ll get cold.’
‘Not if you join me.’
‘But you need to leave before dawn. If anyone recognizes you—’
‘Don’t worry, my love. The farmer who brought me will return after sunset tomorrow and take me back the same way. I’m yours until then.’
Eperitus could not keep the smile from his lips and had to stop himself from leaning forward and kissing her.
‘What about your master? If he misses you, you’ll be punished.’
Astynome shook her head and removed Eperitus’s cloak from her shoulders. Then she unbuckled the belt from around his waist and reached down to untie his sandals.
&n
bsp; ‘He knows I’m here,’ she said, lifting his tunic over his head so that he was naked before her. ‘Join me.’
She moved aside as he slipped into the bed beside her, then swept the heavy furs back over them both. She ran her fingers through his dark hair and looked into his eyes before kissing him, slowly and gently. Hesitantly, he slipped his arm about her waist and pulled her warm body against his.
‘What is it, Eperitus?’ she asked, drawing away from another kiss and staring at him with concern. ‘You seem . . . I don’t know . . . sadder than before. Is it . . . do you no longer want me?’
He narrowed his eyes in brief confusion, then smiled. ‘Never, Astynome. I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you. Every day without you has been . . .’ He shook his head, not knowing how to describe the anguish of wanting her and knowing she was in the one place he could not reach her.
Astynome touched his cheek affectionately. ‘Then what is it?’
‘I hadn’t thought about it, but I suppose you’re right. Something is wrong with me, and it’s this war. There was a time, in the early years, when the fighting was hard but not dishonourable. Xenia was still observed, as were truces and parleys; the dead were respected and prisoners sold or exchanged. There was free movement for those who did not bear arms and their neutrality was never violated. But things have changed: small atrocities and acts of vengeance have chipped away at the honour of both sides, leaving us bitter and hateful. I’ve seen it affect Odysseus and even myself, a little. But Achilles’s reaction to Patroclus’s death was too much for me.’
‘Perhaps the nature of war itself has shifted, Eperitus,’ she said. ‘Perhaps you are clinging to ideals that have become meaningless. But even so, doesn’t Achilles’s change of heart absolve him, at least in part?’
‘No, not in my eyes. He treated Patroclus like a god, even made human sacrifices to his corpse! And his defilement of Hector was an affront.’
‘The rumours have been heard in Troy,’ Astynome said, running a finger thoughtfully down Eperitus’s chest and to his hard stomach. ‘He was a very great man and deserved better, much better. We Trojans loved him and his death has filled us with despair. But there is yet some hope, even of peace.’
She glanced up at him, running her tongue thoughtfully along her bottom lip. Eperitus sensed she had something else to say and waited.
‘Eperitus, my love, there was another reason for my coming here.’
‘Yes?’
‘My master in Troy found out about you from my father. He doesn’t approve, of course – being a warrior who has spent years fighting the Greeks – but he mentioned your name to another of the commanders, a powerful man call Apheidas.’
Eperitus felt his muscles tense and his jaw set. He stared hard at Astynome, who looked guilty suddenly.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before. It was more urgent that Priam was brought to the camp safely, and then everything happened so quickly. But . . . but I have a message for you from this Apheidas.’
‘Do you know who he is?’ Eperitus said, gripping her arm more fiercely than he had intended. ‘Did he tell your master anything about me?’
Astynome reached up and touched his dark hair, avoiding looking into his brown eyes.
‘He says he is your father. I always thought there was more of the Trojan about you than the Greek, my love.’
‘He’s a dangerous man, Astynome. Don’t trust him.’
‘He says he wants to meet with you on neutral ground, in the temple of Thymbrean Apollo. Whenever you are ready.’
‘Does he?’ Eperitus said scornfully. ‘Well, I don’t want to meet him.’
‘But he says it’s to discuss peace between our two nations, something that only you can help with. Peace, Eperitus – an end to this wretched war that we both hate so much!’
‘And what can Apheidas possibly offer that will bring about peace? With Hector dead the Trojans can never hope to win this war, so why should the Greeks agree to terms?’
‘You forget our walls. They were made by Poseidon and Apollo and can still hold out for many more years. Besides . . .’
She paused.
‘Besides what?’
‘There’s a rumour that more allies will be arriving soon. Female warriors from the east, they say, and Aethiopes from the distant south, where the sun is so hot it burns their skin black. But whether the rumours are true or not, peace will mean you and I can be together. I love you, Eperitus, and I want you to marry me and live with me here in Ilium.’
She leaned forward and kissed him, pressing her body against his and temporarily exorcizing the savage memory of war that had haunted his thoughts for so long. As she slipped her soft thigh over his hip and looked into his eyes, it was easy to imagine that the long siege was over and that he and Astynome were already married.
‘We can have children,’ she added in a whisper.
He thought with a painful jolt of Iphigenia, then tried to smooth the memory by picturing what his children with Astynome would look like: they would have their mother’s thick black hair and large eyes, but his courage and sense of honour. He smiled briefly as he entertained the fantasy, then the reality of what her proposal entailed quickly snuffed it out again and he frowned.
‘But I could never live here,’ he said. ‘I’m a Greek, for one thing. People would hate me.’
‘You’re half Trojan,’ she retorted. ‘And your father is one of the most powerful commanders in the army.’
‘My father brought shame on our family when I was young and our only words since then have been over crossed swords,’ Eperitus said bitterly. Then, seeing the look in Astynome’s face, he smiled and touched her cheek. ‘But why do we have to wait for peace when you can come with me to Ithaca? We could marry and have as many children as you want there.’
Astynome shook her head gently. ‘You can’t leave Ilium until this war is over, my love, and that could be many long, hard years away yet. But if you meet your father and it brings an end to the war, then what else matters? I will even go back with you to Ithaca, though it’s on the opposite side of the world.’
‘It’s still not that simple,’ he said. ‘Twenty years ago an oracle warned I would one day face a choice between everlasting glory gained in battle and shame brought about by love. Only now do I see what the prophecy meant: if I do as you ask, it will be for love, and to meet with Apheidas would be an act of treachery against my countrymen and my king. But I will not betray my oath to Odysseus, no matter how sick I am of this war; not even for you, Astynome.’
‘Don’t forget that Odysseus is sick of this war, too – you told me so yourself,’ she reminded him. ‘Perhaps by betraying your king you will also bring him release. But all I ask is that you think about your father’s offer and do not reject it out of hand, for all our sakes. This peace may be the will of the gods.’
‘It may,’ Eperitus agreed, reluctantly. ‘I will consider Aphei-das’s offer. I can say no more than that.’
Astynome smiled and moved on top of him, covering his face with her hair as she lowered her lips to his.
book
FOUR
Chapter Thirty-Eight
WOMEN OF ARES
Helen stood on the roof of the palace, looking east. The sun had gone down behind her and turned the skies crimson, which faded into purple darkness as they stretched towards Mount Ida. In the waning light she could see Hector’s barrow on the plain before the Dardanian Gate, its freshly heaped earth dark against the sun-bleached grasslands. They had cremated him that morning amid great cries of grief from the city streets, but for the nine days previous, since Priam had brought him back from the Greek camp, his body had lain on a bier in the Temple of Athena, where the people of Troy had queued day and night to mourn their greatest son. Priam’s choice of resting place had been a clever one, of course, for Hector’s corpse had been deliberately set before the crudely carved Palladium. Though one of Troy’s great bastions had fallen, the king was reminding his subjects that
as long as the Palladium still remained within its walls the city would never fall to enemy attack.
And even now, while Hector’s ashes were still cooling beneath the earth of his homeland, a new hope was arriving to replace him. News had arrived that an army of Amazons was approaching the city, and as the evening settled about her Helen could see the horses of the lead party dashing across the plain, raising a small dust cloud behind them.
Paris laid his hand against the small of Helen’s back. It felt warm in the chill air of dusk.
‘Did you know that Amazons only mate to have children, never for pleasure?’ he said. ‘They take several partners at the same time so that the paternity of the child can never be known.’
Helen turned to give him a doubtful frown.
‘No, it’s true. Where they come from, beyond the River Thermodon, the women do the governing and fighting while the men are given the household chores. It’s said they break one arm and one leg of every infant boy, so that when he grows to manhood he will never be able to fight and he will never be able to run away.’
‘But that’s ridiculous,’ Helen scoffed. ‘And if they hate men so much, why are they coming to help Troy – a city ruled by men?’
Paris smiled knowingly. ‘Because Queen Penthesilea is indebted to my father. When she was younger she accidentally shot and killed her sister, Hippolyte; Father gave her refuge and purified her of the guilt.’
Helen shook her head. ‘I still don’t see how an army of women is going to help Troy. The Greeks will make pretty carcasses of them all.’
‘Oh, they’re not pretty, sister,’ said Deiphobus, who was standing on the other side of her and watching the troop of fifty or so horses approach the Dardanian Gate. He turned and smiled at her. ‘Not if the rumours are true, anyway. But they’re supposed to be fine cavalry and second to none in archery. It’s even said they cauterize the right breast of every baby girl so that it won’t grow and hinder the pulling of a bow when they reach fighting age.’