The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

by Iliffe, Glyn

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded, narrowing her eyes. ‘I know your face. Who’s your commander?’

  ‘If I have a commander,’ Odysseus answered in her own language, ‘it’s Agamemnon, king of Mycenae.’

  ‘Greeks!’ the priestess exclaimed, throwing her hands up to her cheeks. ‘How did you …? By all the gods, I must call the guards.’

  The point of Odysseus’s sword was at her throat in an instant.

  ‘You’ll say nothing, Theano. Yes, I know you and you know me. I am Odysseus, king of Ithaca. These are my comrades, Diomedes of Argos and Eperitus, captain of my guard. Eperitus and I were guests of your husband before the war started.’

  ‘Yes, I remember you now. You were welcome then, especially by Antenor, who has always loved the Greeks. For his sake, I would gladly let you return by whatever way you came into our sacred city, even giving you my sworn oath not to raise the alarm until you were far enough away. Though not with the effigy you have under your arm, Odysseus, not even under the threat of death. Athena is my mistress and the Palladium is sacred to her; if you try to take it I promise you my dying scream will awake the guards outside.’

  ‘The guards are all dead,’ Odysseus lied. ‘I have no wish that you should join them, but if you try to prevent me taking the Palladium I will not hesitate to cut open your throat. Am I clear? Now, promise me your silence while we escape and I’ll let you live. Make your choice, Theano.’

  He raised the point of the blade a fraction so that it pressed against the soft flesh beneath the old woman’s chin, causing her to draw breath sharply. The next moment, the weapon fell from Odysseus’s hand with a loud clang and he stepped back, clutching his hand beneath his armpit and wincing with pain. Eperitus and Diomedes looked at him in confusion, then down at the sword on the flagstones. It was glowing red.

  Something else had changed. Sensing danger, Eperitus stepped back and lowered the head of his spear towards the old woman. By now she was standing rigid with her shoulders pulled back and her fingers splayed at her sides. Bright, silvery light was spilling from her eyes and nostrils, filling Eperitus with terror and forcing him to retreat. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Diomedes’s face, his eyes wide with disbelief and shock as he raised his sword over his head and made to bring it down on the priestess. Before the edged metal could touch her, it burst into flames and leapt from the Argive king’s hand to skitter across the floor in blazing circles.

  Odysseus and Eperitus dropped their torches and fell back to the plinth where the great statue of Athena stood. Theano had stopped shaking now, but the light continued to pour from her eyes and nostrils so that the three men could only glance at her from behind their raised hands.

  ‘You know me, Odysseus,’ she said, light streaming from her mouth. But it was no longer the voice of Theano that spoke now. It was the goddess herself. ‘Have I ever failed you or betrayed your trust in me?’

  Athena’s anger sent tremors through the floor beneath their feet, and led by Odysseus the warriors fell to their knees before her.

  ‘And is this how you repay my help? To steal the image of Pallas, my friend, in whose beloved memory it was created?’

  Eperitus gave a sidelong glance at the king. Odysseus’s head was hung low, not daring to look at the goddess, but Eperitus could see the guilt and anguish written on his face.

  ‘I command you to return the statue to its rightful place. If you love and honour me – indeed, if you value my continued patronage and protection, Odysseus – you will do my bidding.’

  Odysseus closed his eyes tightly and drew back his lips in an agony of indecision. But the effigy remained beneath his arm, wrapped in the cloak.

  ‘Answer me!’

  ‘I cannot, Mistress. I mean, I cannot return the Palladium.’

  There was a moment of silence, filled only by the hiss and splutter of the torches. Then Athena spoke again, this time her voice calmer and more gentle.

  ‘Odysseus, my child. I have watched you and loved you all your life – few mortals have been as precious to me as you are. However, if you leave this temple with the effigy of my friend, that is an affront that I cannot permit to go unpunished. You know that.’

  ‘My orders come from Agamemnon, my lady, to fulfil an oracle given to us by Helenus. He said that Troy will not fall as long as the Palladium remains in the city.’

  ‘Curse your stubborn beard, Odysseus. Who do you put your faith in, Apollo or me? How often have prophecies given in his name sown trouble for Greeks and Trojans alike? But my path is wisdom; it is straight and even, and though narrow it leads a man ultimately to his goal. Will you abandon me now?’

  ‘If the oracle isn’t fulfilled, I might never return to Ithaca. I might never see Penelope or Telemachus again!’

  ‘You might and you might not, but if you insist on fulfilling this oracle then won’t all other oracles concerning you come true? Will you not doom yourself to a further ten years away from home and family, as the Pythoness predicted when you were a young man? What’s more, persist in this and not only will you lose my protection, Odysseus, you will also risk my wrath! And yet I cannot make your choice for you, so decide now and be damned.’

  Theano’s eyes and mouth closed and the light was extinguished as swiftly as it had come, leaving them with only the dull glow of the struggling torches. A moment later, the priestess’s legs buckled and she slumped unconscious to the floor. Diomedes and Eperitus retrieved the torches they had dropped and turned to face Odysseus.

  ‘Was that –?’ Diomedes began.

  ‘Athena,’ Eperitus finished. He turned to Odysseus. ‘What are you going to do?’

  The king raised his head wearily and looked at them with a tortured expression and eyes that were wracked with pain. He picked up his sword, which was now cold to the touch, and stood. Diomedes’s weapon was nearby and he kicked this over to the king of Argos.

  ‘I can’t bear the thought of this war going on any longer, so I’ve made my decision. We take the Palladium. And now we should go. We have a long journey back to the camp and the Trojans will be close on our trail as soon as they see their talisman is missing.’

  ‘First we must tie up Theano,’ Eperitus said. ‘If we don’t, she’ll raise the alarm the moment she wakes.’

  With compunction – remembering the hospitality the priestess and her husband had shown them on their first visit to Troy – Odysseus and Eperitus tied her hands behind her back and gagged her, before hiding her still unconscious body behind the immense statue of Athena. As they laid her down, Eperitus caught Odysseus’s eye. He wanted to ask his friend whether they had done the right thing, to steal the Palladium in spite of Athena’s direct command that it should remain in the temple, but Odysseus saw the question coming and looked away, indicating it was not a matter he wished to discuss. He was not quick enough to disguise the doubt and regret written in his features, though, an expression Eperitus was not used to seeing on the king’s face.

  Silently, they crossed the floor of the temple to where Diomedes was standing guard at the door. The Palladium was tucked under his arm and his sword was held tightly in his other hand.

  ‘Hurry up,’ he hissed anxiously. ‘Do you want to be caught?’

  The guards were still fast asleep on the portico and they were able to make their way back to the city walls without hindrance. Then, as they climbed the steps and approached the stinking hole in the battlements through which they were to escape, they were met by a stern challenge.

  ‘What’s your business here at this time of night? Who are you?’

  A figure came striding along the ramparts towards them, the faint starlight glinting off his scaled armour and the tip of his levelled spear. Realising that all the guard had to do was call out, Eperitus raised the point of his own weapon and charged. The Trojan sprang forward to meet him, punching the boss of his shield into Eperitus’s face and knocking him back against the parapet. Seeing Odysseus and Diomedes draw their swords, he ran on and thrust his
spear into the Ithacan’s flank. Odysseus was torn sideways and fell to the flagstones. But before the guard could think to shout for help, Diomedes’s sword had sliced through his neck and sent his head over the battlements and into the darkness below.

  Eperitus had regained his feet before the Trojan’s torso crumpled to the floor, and in a single bound was at Odysseus’s side. The king lay on his back, his eyes squeezed shut with pain. A dark, wet patch was spreading through the wool of his tunic, just below his ribs.

  ‘Odysseus? Odysseus!’

  He opened his eyes.

  ‘It’s nothing. A flesh wound to the side, that’s all.’

  Diomedes joined them and delicately peeled back the torn material to reveal a deep cut.

  ‘It’ll bleed a lot, but nothing worse than that. The gods are with you tonight, my friend.’

  ‘On the contrary,’ Odysseus replied, sitting up. ‘This is Athena’s way of telling me I’m on my own now. She’s not going to protect me any more.’

  ‘More work for me then,’ Eperitus commented, helping him to his feet. ‘Now, if you can still walk we need to get going.’

  ‘I can walk,’ Odysseus grunted, tearing a strip from the Trojan’s cloak and winding it about his wound.

  They tossed the corpse over the battlements, and, after dropping through the latrine hole onto the stinking shelf of rock below, carried it the short distance to the Simöeis. Here they washed as much of the filth as they could from their bodies, then with the skies growing less dark in the east – revealing the outline of the mountains – they set off towards the Greek camp with the Palladium strapped to Diomedes’s broad back.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  THE INSANITY OF KINGS

  Eperitus folded a cut of cold goat’s meat in a slice of bread and crammed it into his mouth. As a captive he had been left in a constant state of hunger and the hastened march back to the camp had made him even more ravenous. Now, though, he was surrounded by the luxury of Agamemnon’s vast tent and all the food and drink he could want. A passing slave saw the empty cup before him and refilled it with wine – heavily watered down, as it was still early morning – and such was Eperitus’s thirst that he emptied it at a single draught.

  As the liquid sluiced down his throat he blinked the tiredness from his eyes and stared round himself. The flax sails that formed the roof of the tent allowed the rosy sunlight to filter in and give the interior a warm, bright feel, at the same time allowing the breeze from the Aegean to blow through and keep the air fresh and clean. The walls were lined with the trophies Agamemnon had won on the battlefield, while the floor was covered with expensive, thickly layered pelts as a sign of his wealth. The commanders of the army were already streaming in through the tent’s different entrances and gathering around the edges of the table where the King of Men planned his battle strategies. But this morning they were not staring at the customary mock ups of the plain between the Greek camp and Troy, but at the large, black lump of wood that lay unceremoniously in its centre. The sight of the Palladium – the reason Agamemnon had summoned the Council of Kings – caused a stir of conversation that must have been heard for some distance. Normally by now Agamemnon would have called for silence so that the council could begin, but today as he stood with Nestor at his side he seemed content to allow the hubbub to continue. Pleased, perhaps, to let his commanders savour the fulfilment of the final oracle and what it meant for them all.

  The noisiest were crowded around Diomedes and Odysseus, congratulating them on their success. Diomedes was revelling in the glory, recounting their exploits with unashamed embellishment, while Odysseus accepted the flood of handshakes and pats on the back with quiet dignity. He was content to allow the bloody bandage wrapped about his midriff to speak of his own part in the adventure. A few recognised Eperitus’s contribution and welcomed him back from captivity, most notably Peisandros, the barrel-chested Myrmidon captain who had once helped save him from execution in Sparta. The old soldier insulted him roundly, then embraced him and told him how glad he was to learn he had not died on the battlefield. Mostly, though, Eperitus was happy just to stand back and sup his wine while his two comrades received the praise and honour they were due. After all, had they not rescued him from imprisonment? And was it not their cunning, courage and good fortune that had stolen the Palladium? Then, with a shout of triumphant joy, Menelaus entered the tent and approached the men who had sealed the fate of Troy.

  ‘By all the gods on Olympus, why didn’t you tell anyone what you were up to?’ His balding auburn hair and wiry beard, both thick with grey, gave him a fearsome appearance, but his brown eyes were damp with emotion and as his strong hands enclasped each of theirs in turn they could feel the warmth of his gratitude. ‘I’ve been wracking my brains for a way to get hold of the Palladium, and you three just walk right in and steal it from under their noses. Incredible! And there it is.’

  He raised his hands toward the deformed effigy on the table and stared at it with a mixture of awe and revulsion.

  ‘Not much to look at, is it?’ Diomedes commented wryly.

  ‘Not to our eyes maybe, but can you imagine what they’re saying in Troy right now? Just think how they must feel, knowing their protection is gone and that our very next attack will be their defeat. By Ares’s sword, Diomedes! At long last, everything’s in place for victory. I can hardly believe that all I have to do is reach out and Helen will be mine again.’

  ‘The same walls that have held us for ten years are still there, my lord,’ Eperitus reminded the Spartan king. ‘Not to mention the walls of armoured flesh that stand behind them.’

  Menelaus was not listening. Though his eyes remained on the Palladium, in his thoughts he was already striding through the ruins of Troy in search of his wife.

  ‘And yet,’ he muttered, ‘I don’t know what I’ll do when I see her. After all these years, after chasing her to the other side of the world and laying siege to her kidnappers for so long, suddenly I can’t imagine what it’ll be like to set eyes on her beauty again. Even to be in the same room as her! Some say she wasn’t kidnapped at all, that she ran away with Paris because she had fallen in love with him.’ His brow furrowed and his hands balled up into fists on the table top. ‘And may Aphrodite help her if it’s true, because I don’t know whether I’ll embrace her or run her through with my sword!’

  Menelaus spat the last words out with vengeful malice, as if Helen was already standing captive before him. Eperitus briefly debated the wisdom of telling him that his wife had helped them steal the Palladium; or that, according to Odysseus’s account, she had helped him enter Pergamos and told him where to find the sacred statue, even going so far as sending her maids to drug the temple guards. But he also knew it was not his place to reveal these things; it was Odysseus’s. He stared at the king of Ithaca, silently urging him to speak up in Helen’s defence, but Odysseus said nothing.

  The other conversations had stopped dead at the bitterness in Menelaus’s words, prompting Agamemnon to lean forward with his hands flat on the table.

  ‘You’ll embrace her, of course, Brother,’ he said in a commanding tone. ‘The kings of Greece haven’t fought for ten years so that you can kill the woman they all swore to protect.’

  Menelaus looked round at the circle of faces. ‘Of course not,’ he conceded, though without conviction.

  ‘So,’ Agamemnon continued, ‘let us congratulate Odysseus and Diomedes for their guile and courage in entering Troy and stealing the Palladium. The full story can wait until we’re all sat around a blazing fire with meat in our bellies and wine in our veins, and doubtless Odysseus will be the man to tell it. But now, with the third of the oracles given to us by Helenus fulfilled, we must decide on our next move. That, my noble lords, is why I’ve called you here.’

  ‘I’d have thought our next move was obvious.’

  The speaker’s tone was matter-of-fact, but the hint of criticism caused every eye to turn to the corner of the table where the words h
ad come from. Neoptolemus, who as commander of the Myrmidons had taken his father’s place on the Council, stood with his hands behind his back staring at the King of Men. Peisandros was at his shoulder, his arms crossed over his broad chest and his wild beard thrust out defiantly. Agamemnon frowned a little, but quickly regained his usual coolness.

  ‘Younger minds don’t suffer the hindrance of greater experience,’ he replied. ‘What would the son of Achilles have us do?’

  ‘Attack.’

  Nestor’s white beard opened with a smile. ‘Of course we’ll attack.’

  ‘Attack now,’ Neoptolemus said, punching his hand. ‘You’ve become too used to sitting in your precious camp and letting the years roll by. And where’s it got you? I say muster your armies before the walls and march on Troy. You’ve fulfilled all the oracles the gods laid down, so what are you waiting for? Attack now and Troy will fall.’

  There were nods of agreement among the commanders and a notable growl of approval from Peisandros, but there were also a few shaken heads. The remainder of the assembly kept their opinions to themselves and turned their gaze to Agamemnon, who was equally silent as he looked at Neoptolemus.

  ‘I say the son of Achilles is right,’ said Menelaus beside him. ‘We’ve become too comfortable in our tents and huts – or maybe we’ve just grown afraid of the Trojans! Let’s turn our minds back to the palaces we left behind, to our wives and children. I’m sick of Ilium. Now we have the blessing of the gods, what’s stopping us from marching up to the Scaean Gate and finally taking what we came here for?’

  The passion in his voice roused others and the murmurs of agreements grew louder. Some contested the rashness of an immediate attack, causing the tent to fill rapidly with the sound of arguing voices, until eventually Agamemnon was forced to raise his arms for silence.

  ‘And what do the men whose bravery gained us the Palladium say?’