The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

by Iliffe, Glyn

  ‘Yes,’ Astynome answered, her happiness unmistakeable. ‘He was badly wounded in the battle, but I’ve nursed him back to health. He has remarkable powers of recovery.’

  ‘And have you spoken with him? About the temple of Thymbrean Apollo – your betrayal?’

  Astynome’s gaze fell again. ‘A little. I believe he has forgiven me.’

  ‘Then I forgive you, too,’ Odysseus said.

  He stepped forward and folded her into his chest, holding her gently despite the immense power in his arms.

  ‘Astynome will be your guide now,’ Helen announced, looking from the girl to Diomedes and finally to Odysseus, ‘but I must return to the palace before I’m missed. Perhaps we will meet again, Odysseus, at the war’s end, when the flames of destruction are blowing through this fair city. And if we do, I pray you will remember my kindness to you this evening – and make sure Menelaus knows of it. I fear how he will react when he sees me again, after all that’s passed between us. But until then, may the gods go with you.’

  She took the torch from his hand and retreated back up the narrow street, closely followed by her maid. Odysseus and Diomedes watched her until she disappeared behind the corner of a large house, then turned to look at Astynome.

  ‘Eperitus is locked in a storeroom in his father’s house,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I can show you the way, but two of Apheidas’s men have been posted at the door to make sure he doesn’t escape.’

  Diomedes gave her a dark grin.

  ‘Oh, I think we can deal with them.’

  Eperitus’s arms were numb from lack of movement and he could no longer feel any sensation at all in his buttocks. The hard chair had done for them a long time ago. His senses, too, had been suffocated by the constant darkness, the cool, stagnant air and the smell of barley from the sacks piled in the corner. Time had passed at such a crawl in this unconscious void that he felt a day or more at least had elapsed since his father’s ultimatum, though by the fact Apheidas had not yet come to hear his decision must mean that it was not even the morning of the next day. Indeed, if he were left there any longer – with nothing more than the faint glow of a torch lining the bottom of the door and the occasional mutterings of the guards outside – he was certain he would go insane.

  But that would not happen. Inevitably, his father would return and he would be given the choice between instant death or a worthless life lived in dishonour and ignominy. Even these grim options, though, seemed unimportant compared to the consequences of his decision for those whom he cared about. For Odysseus, it meant a swift return home to his wife and the son he had barely known, or many more years on the shores of Ilium, held by an oath that could never be fulfilled. For Astynome, it could mean being sent to Agamemnon as a gift, to become his plaything. And whatever his choice, Apheidas would strike his deal with the King of Men and declare himself the new ruler of Troy.

  With nothing else to distract him, the same arguments passed through his mind again and again, following a monotonous loop that he could not convert to a decision. For though his logic told him he had no choice but to agree to his father’s proposal, his deeply rooted hatred for the man and his stubborn desire not to dishonour himself refused to acquiesce. It was a nightmare from which he could see no escape.

  Then a twitching in his senses told him something had changed. He looked down at the flickering thread of gold beneath the door and somehow knew the guards outside were no longer alone. Had morning arrived at last? he wondered. Had his father come for his decision? If so, the guards seemed unconscious of his presence: there were no slight sounds of sudden alertness, just the continued heavy breathing and occasional scratching of one, mingled with the light snores of the other. Was it Clymene again? She had already changed his bandages, shortly after he had been brought back from the garden. Maybe Astynome? The thought delighted him, but his delight turned quickly to fear as he realised she might have come to fulfil her final promise to him, desperately thinking she could overcome the guards herself.

  As tension gripped him, there was an abrupt clatter of noise beyond the door of his prison. One of the guards – who must have been sitting – jumped up with a metallic clang of armour and spoke in a sharp tone. His words became suddenly fearful and were cut off by a grunt and a bloody gurgle, followed by the thump of a body hitting the floor. A muffled groan indicated the last waking moment of the other guard. In the silence that was left, Eperitus’s keen hearing could discern laboured breathing and small, hurried movements. Then the heavy wooden bar was removed from the other side of the door and Eperitus sat up with wary expectancy.

  The door swung inwards and rebounded from the jamb, only to be knocked back again by the shoulder of a heavily built man as he burst into the room. He was followed by a second figure, both armed as they stood silhouetted by the shock of bright torchlight from the corridor beyond.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Eperitus called in the Trojan tongue.

  ‘Eperitus!’

  ‘Odysseus?’

  ‘Not just Odysseus,’ Diomedes added, stepping over and cautiously slicing through Eperitus’s bonds with his dagger. ‘And Astynome’s with us, too, keeping watch at the far end of the corridor.’

  The flax cords fell away and Eperitus stood. The next moment he was in a heap on the floor.

  ‘Steady,’ said Odysseus, hauling him back to his feet. ‘How long have you been tied to that chair?’

  ‘Longer than I can remember.’

  ‘And your wound?’

  ‘More or less healed,’ Eperitus replied. He looked into the king’s eyes, then broke into a smile and embraced him. ‘Zeus’s beard, you’re the last person I expected to see. And Diomedes, too! How did you get into Troy?’

  ‘It’s a long tale, and one we’ll give in full when we’ve got you safely back to the Greek camp.’

  ‘So you came here to save me?’

  ‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Diomedes scoffed, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘We’re here to steal the Palladium and you’re going to help us. Try leaning on this.’

  He handed him one of the dead guards’ spears. Eperitus moved his legs, felt some of the life come back into them, and attempted to stand. Odysseus caught him again, while Diomedes knelt down and began vigorously rubbing his calves and thighs to restore the flow of blood, though he was careful to avoid the bandaged wound.

  ‘Everyone had taken you for dead after the battle,’ Odysseus said, ‘but not me. And when I heard you were being held prisoner here, I insisted on rescuing you before stealing the Palladium.’

  ‘Try again,’ Diomedes instructed, rising to his feet.

  This time, with the help of the spear, he found his legs had the strength to stand once more. He took a couple of tentative steps towards the door and came face-to-face with Astynome. Without a moment’s hesitation she threw her arms about him, almost knocking him back to the floor. Odysseus and Diomedes quickly busied themselves dragging the bodies of the guards into the storeroom, while Astynome drew back and looked into Eperitus’s eyes. The doubt in her dark, attractive features was clear to see.

  ‘Say you forgive me,’ she whispered.

  For an instant he remembered again Apheidas’s cruel revelation at the temple of Thymbrean Apollo, that the woman he had fallen in love with had been sent to lure him into a trap – a trap that had resulted in the death of his friend, Arceisius. Then he recalled the look of remorse on Astynome’s face as Apheidas dragged her away at knifepoint, and her confession that her love for him was genuine. And he knew, despite her treachery, that she had spoken the truth.

  ‘There’s nothing to forgive. Apheidas is manipulative and evil; we’re both his victims.’

  ‘In Zeus’s name, will you just say you forgive me?’

  ‘I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. And now you have to come back with me to the camp.’

  Astynome kissed him and shook her head as she withdrew.

  ‘Impossible. You know what’ll happen if Agamemnon discovers me. Be
sides, I’ll only burden your escape from Troy.’

  ‘We can deceive Agamemnon and I can carry you back to the camp, if I need to.’

  ‘Not on those legs you won’t. Anyway, I’ll be more use to you inside Troy. Odysseus has already asked me to do something for him.’

  Eperitus narrowed his eyes and looked across at the king, who was dragging the second guard’s body into a gap behind the sacks of barley in the far corner of the room.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I can’t say I really understand it, but even if I did I couldn’t tell you. He’s sworn me to secrecy.’

  ‘Time to go,’ Diomedes announced, standing in the doorway with a torch in his hand. ‘The night’s old already and we’ve still to find the temple of Athena.’

  ‘I’ve already told Odysseus the quickest way there,’ Astynome said. ‘The difficulty will be in stealing the Palladium itself.’

  ‘And in that you can’t help us, Astynome,’ Odysseus said. ‘You have to get back to the servants’ quarters and hope you’ve not been missed. Eperitus, how are your legs?’

  Eperitus could feel the strength returning and gave his friend a nod. He looked again at Astynome and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘When the city falls, wait for me here, in Apheidas’s house. I’ll come and find you.’

  She nodded silently and watched him out of the storeroom, following Odysseus and Diomedes as quickly as his numb legs would carry him.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  THE PALLADIUM

  Diomedes followed at Odysseus and Eperitus’s heels, staring in awe at the great mansions and temples of Pergamos. If the mighty walls of Troy were intended to impress visitors with her power and invulnerability, her inner buildings were built to astonish them with her wealth, piety and culture. The well-laid stones and the ornate architecture far exceeded anything the citadels of Argos, Sparta or even Mycenae could offer in competition, and Diomedes – like many before him – was being made to feel like a common barbarian as he stole through the empty streets.

  Eperitus could still remember the wonder he had felt during his first visit to the city a decade before, though he no longer looked on the achievements of the Trojans with the same reverence. Now he saw Troy as nothing more than a hateful bastion that had to be conquered – razed to the ground, if necessary – so that he and his comrades could return to Greece. In that desire he had grown very similar to Odysseus, wanting only to see his homeland again. And now, having forgiven her treachery, he was determined to take Astynome with him. The thought of sharing a house on Ithaca with her pleased him greatly, and he had to force himself to stop smiling at his restored dreams and concentrate on the difficulties that lay ahead.

  They turned a corner onto a wide stone road. At the eastern end a walled ramp climbed gradually up to the second tier of the citadel. It was flanked by tall poplar trees that were silhouetted black against the dark blue of the night sky, their branches sighing with the faint breeze.

  ‘Quiet now,’ Odysseus warned, turning and placing his finger against his lips. ‘The temple should be to the left at the top of the ramp.’

  He slid his sword from his belt and advanced at a crouch, followed by the others. Reaching the corner of the last building before the ramp, he peered cautiously around the edge. Eperitus and Diomedes joined him. There were no guards on the ramp, and at Odysseus’s signal they dashed up to the second level and hid behind the wall at the top. A short way off was a stone plinth topped by a larger-than-life statue of Athena. By day, its brightly painted wood would catch the sunlight, impressing passers-by with a sense of the goddess’s divine glory; but in the tarry blackness of the night it was a dull, unimpressive grey, its only authority lying in the stern features of its face. Beyond the statue was a tall, square building, footed by broad steps that led up to a pillared portico. This was the imposing entrance to the goddess’s temple, and in the shadows before its high doors were the huddled figures of a dozen men.

  ‘Eperitus!’ Odysseus hissed. ‘Can you see if they’re moving?’

  Eperitus strained his eyes against the darkness. The guards were lying in a variety of strange poses, like a collection of toy dolls that had been abandoned halfway through play. Some had managed to pull their cloaks about their shoulders before succumbing to sleep, while others just lay where they had fallen. Their spears and shields were still propped against the marble pillars of the portico and the only sound was the chorus of their mingled snores.

  ‘They’re asleep,’ he announced.

  As if to prove the point, he rose to his full height and strolled boldly towards the temple. Taking the steps two at a time as the others watched, he walked through the circle of slumbering soldiers and turned to face his companions. It was then he noticed another detail: each guard held a cup, or had let one fall from his fingertips, and there were small stains of dark liquid where the wine had spilled on the flagged floor.

  ‘They’ve been drugged,’ he informed Odysseus and Diomedes as they climbed the steps to join him.

  ‘Of course they have,’ Odysseus said, glancing nonchalantly at the scattered men. ‘Helen’s maids did their work well. Perhaps too well – I only hope they don’t draw suspicion down on their mistress. Now, let’s do what we came here for.’

  They pushed one of the doors open and slipped inside. The smell of dank stone and incense was laced with the reek of burning fat from a single torch that hung on a nearby pillar. It gave off a sinister hiss that was magnified by the enclosed space, but its failing light was little more than a ball of orange in the thick gloom and did nothing to illuminate the features of the temple, which remained lost among the shadows. Seeing two unused torches lying at the base of the pillar – ready for the priestess to light when she returned at dawn – Diomedes picked them up and held them to the dying flame. They caught quickly and he handed one to Eperitus.

  The twin circles of pulsing light grew in strength, pushing the darkness back to reveal high, muralled walls – the pictures too faded and smoke-stained to be discernible among the shadows – and an inner square formed by twelve stone columns. Stepping between two of the pillars, the Greeks entered a broad, flagstoned space in the centre of the temple. From here the light of their torches fell on a gigantic but illusive silhouette against the rear wall, a figure half lost in shadow as it soared up to the ceiling. They stepped closer and saw it was another statue of Athena, but larger and more impressive than any they had ever seen before. Odysseus fell to his knees and bowed his head, while the others looked on in astonished silence. Like the one on the plinth before the temple, the figure was depicted wearing only a simple chiton; her familiar spear, helmet and aegis were absent, giving her a distinctly foreign, Trojan feel. Unlike the other figure, though, this one was seated on an equally oversized throne, and set between her feet was a dull black shape that seemed more like a shadow, somehow absorbing and deadening the effect of the torchlight.

  ‘Is that it?’ asked Diomedes.

  Odysseus raised his head and fixed his eyes on the Palladium.

  ‘It must be.’

  Diomedes advanced towards it with his torch raised at an angle before him. Odysseus followed, but Eperitus gripped his spear and stole a glance at the rear of the temple. His hackles were up and he had a sense of foreboding, but he could see or hear nothing in the darkness. Reluctantly, he turned and joined the others.

  Eperitus had first heard a description of the Palladium from Antenor, the Trojan elder whose wife was the chief priestess of the temple. He had been their host before the war, when Eperitus had accompanied Odysseus and Menelaus on a peace embassy to seek the return of Helen. But even Antenor’s matter-of-fact account had overstated the dull ordinariness of the object they had come to steal. Had it not been placed on the plinth that supported the statue of Athena, it would have reached no higher than Eperitus’s thigh. As for form, as far as Eperitus could see it barely had any: there were two uneven bumps in the black wood that might have been breasts, while the lopsided k
nob on top could have optimistically passed as a head – devoid of neck and with nothing more than a misshapen nose for a facial feature. Two stumps on either side qualified as arms, and with no legs whatsoever its only support was the metal cradle on which it was sat.

  ‘It’s even less impressive than I’d expected,’ he commented.

  ‘And the Trojans think this came from the gods?’ Diomedes added. ‘Such fools deserve to lose the war.’

  Odysseus undid the green cloak Helen had given him.

  ‘We’ll be the fools if they catch us talking here. Let’s take the thing and get back to the walls – this place is making me feel uneasy.’

  He threw the cloak around the Palladium, as if afraid to touch it with his bare hands, and lifted it from its stand. With deft movements, he knotted the corners of the garment together and slung the parcel under his arm. Just then, Eperitus’s senses reacted to a presence. Whether a small sound or a new smell, he was not aware of the trigger that told him they were no longer alone, but he spun round with his spear held rigidly before him. The others turned in alarm, knowing Eperitus’s instincts were never wrong, and snatched out their swords.

  ‘How dare you desecrate this temple?’

  It was a woman’s voice, speaking in the Trojan tongue, that broke the silence. Eperitus’s eyes picked out the diminutive figure of its owner in a corner of the vast chamber, dressed in the white robes of a priestess. She must have been sleeping in the temple, as many priestesses did, and been woken by their voices. Now she was approaching the three warriors with short, fearless steps that quickly brought her into the circle of light from their torches.

  ‘Don’t you know what that is? Put it back at once. At once!’

  She was an old woman, but she had such confidence in the power of her own authority that she had not even thought to shout for the guards. Either that, or she was too shocked by their sacrilege to do anything other than follow her own outrage. She advanced again, pointing at the bag under Odysseus’s arm and spluttering angrily for him to give it to her. Then her eyes fell on his face and she stopped.