The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

by Iliffe, Glyn

  Diomedes was quick to answer. ‘I’ve always been the first to join an attack and my Argives are in the forefront of every battle, but I can’t agree with Neoptolemus and Menelaus. I’ve seen the walls of Troy from outside and inside and believe me, my friends, when I tell you they won’t blow away with a puff of youthful ardour. By taking the Palladium we have undermined Trojan self-confidence, but we haven’t removed the hinges from their gates or knocked even one stone from their battlements. Their defences are as strong now as they ever were. No, if we’re to take Troy we need to think about it, use the same intelligence that Odysseus showed when he thought up his plan to enter the city.’

  Eperitus was among a handful who voiced their agreement, though he noticed Odysseus was silent. Then Neoptolemus thumped his fist down on the table and glared round at the Council in anger.

  ‘What are you, warriors or women? If you haven’t the stomach to fight then we Myrmidons will scale the walls alone and claim all the glory for ourselves!’

  Opposing choruses for and against the plan broke out again, and this time it was Nestor who silenced them.

  ‘I want to hear what Odysseus thinks,’ the old man said. ‘Are you with Diomedes or Neoptolemus?’

  Eperitus looked expectantly at Odysseus, whom he felt must surely speak out against the recklessness of an immediate attack. As for himself, he agreed with Diomedes’s call for a more thoughtful approach: the fulfilment of the oracles did not mean the walls would come tumbling down, but that a marker had been passed and the gods would somehow or other present the Greeks with an opportunity for victory. Repeatedly beating their heads against the walls of Troy, in his opinion, could only lead to one conclusion – a broken skull.

  ‘If Neoptolemus and Menelaus want to attack Troy, I cannot go with them,’ Odysseus declared. Eperitus and Diomedes exchanged satisfied glances, while others grumbled their dissatisfaction. But Odysseus had not yet finished and raised his hands for silence. ‘I am wounded and tired and I need to rest, but I won’t discourage any man who believes the time to end the war has come. It seems to me the gods have finally tipped the scales in our favour and Priam’s city is ripe for the taking. So if the King of Men decides to send the whole army into battle, then I will not speak against him. I will even keep my Ithacans here to guard the ships, denying them and myself the glory of victory.’

  The assembly exploded with a sudden call to arms, a call that Agamemnon was ready to embrace and encourage.

  ‘So be it. Muster your armies on the plain. Summon every man capable of bearing arms. Troy falls today!’

  Eperitus watched the kings exit the tent, all of them eager to be in the forefront of the coming battle. Even Diomedes went with them, leaving Eperitus suddenly doubtful of his own conviction that the attack would fail. He wondered whether, after being in the thick of the fighting for ten years, he and the rest of the Ithacans were about to miss the final defeat of their enemies. Then he shook his head, as if to rid himself of the ridiculous notion, and turned to the king.

  ‘Why didn’t you speak up, Odysseus? You know this is madness – do they really think another assault on the walls is going to make any difference?’

  Odysseus hooked his large hand around Eperitus’s elbow and pulled him through the crowded tent to one of the exits. Men were fighting each other to be the first out and back to their armies, so drunk were they with the thought that the gods were about to give them victory. Eperitus watched them in disgust, as if he stood alone on an island of reason while the rest of the Greeks crashed about him in a storm of insanity. He followed Odysseus through the crush and soon felt the soft sand giving way beneath his sandals, hearing once more the liberating sound of the waves rolling against the shore and the cry of the seagulls hovering overhead.

  ‘Odysseus, why don’t you call them to their senses?’ he implored, casting a glance over his shoulder at the running figures spreading through the camp like a fire. ‘Climb up on the prow of one of these galleys and shout out. Tell them this is folly. Do you want the blood of hundreds of men on your hands?’

  At this, Odysseus stopped and turned to face his captain.

  ‘Eperitus, I know as well as you do that these men are going to certain defeat. And maybe I could stop them if I tried – maybe. But I have a plan to conquer Troy now, a plan given to me by the gods, and if that plan is to succeed then the Greeks must taste defeat one last time. I’ll explain everything in my hut, but first we have to find Omeros.’

  Chapter Thirty-three

  HOPE OUT OF DEFEAT

  Penelope rarely felt happier than when she was visiting the pig farm at the southern end of Ithaca. The sight of the fat swine trotting through the mud in the wide pens, their tiny eyes half hidden by their flapping ears, always brought a smile to her face. Even better was to be free from the confines of the small palace and out in the open air, where the sky seemed to go on forever and she could gaze south-east towards the horizon – the direction Odysseus would return by when the war in Troy eventually ended. But as she leaned against the wooden timbers that kept the noisy beasts from wandering off, she felt ever more sharply the absence of her son.

  She looked down at Argus, sitting faithfully at her side with his ears pricked up and his tail wagging. He was looking expectantly towards the road that came down from the north, passing through fields of gnarled and windswept olive trees.

  ‘What is it, boy?’

  The boarhound gave a bark and stood on all fours. Penelope followed his gaze and saw a horseman approaching along the road, leaving a trail of dust behind him.

  ‘Looks like Mentor, my lady,’ said Eumaeus, the swineherd, who was standing among his pigs and throwing out handfuls of wild nuts and berries from a leather satchel at his hip.

  Moments later the horseman had reached Eumaeus’s hut and was tying the reins of his mount to a post. A tall black dog came out of the hut and advanced growling towards him, followed by four black puppies yapping noisily in high voices. Then, when their mother recognised Mentor and allowed him to run a hand over her ears, the puppies turned on each other and began fighting among themselves.

  ‘Good morning!’ Mentor called.

  Eumaeus threw a last handful of feed to the grunting pigs, then climbed the fence and went to meet him. Penelope propped her elbow on a timber post and watched them embrace. Eumaeus said something she did not catch then disappeared inside his hut. Mentor spotted his queen and strode toward her.

  ‘So here you are, my lady,’ he said, greeting her with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. ‘You’ve been avoiding me since the Kerosia, I think.’

  ‘You’ve been away.’

  ‘A few days in Samos, looking after the king’s business. But every time I’ve called at the palace you’ve been busy or absent.’

  She shrugged apologetically, conceding the point. ‘I just knew you’d have some awkward questions, which I didn’t want to have to answer with so many servants around.’

  ‘Don’t you trust them?’

  ‘Some, but not all. And too many of them are inclined to gossip.’

  ‘So what don’t you want them gossiping about?’

  ‘My reasons for agreeing to Eupeithes’s proposal,’ she answered, turning and leaning her forearms on the fence. ‘That’s why you’ve come out here to find me, isn’t it?’

  ‘Of course,’ he admitted, joining her. ‘Well, are you going to tell me?’

  She sighed. ‘For one thing, I want my son back here. At my side. While Telemachus stands to inherit the throne he’s in danger, but under Eupeithes’s proposal that danger is gone.’

  ‘Don’t you think Eupeithes might have been offering you a reason to bring him back so he could try to kill him again? With Telemachus dead there’ll be no other challengers to the throne.’

  ‘No, he won’t risk upsetting the balance of things. At the least he’ll wait until I remarry. And I would have thought you’d be pleased to have him back under your tutelage. You’ve taught him all he knows, Mentor, and he
loves you like a –’

  She faltered.

  ‘Like a father?’

  Penelope smiled wanly. ‘Yes, I suppose so. That’s what you’ve been to him in Odysseus’s absence.’

  ‘Odysseus will return soon,’ Mentor said. ‘The oracle will confirm that. Antinous and I depart in the morning, you know.’

  ‘I know.’

  Eumaeus reappeared from the hut with a cup of water in his hand. His guard dog and her puppies came leaping after him and Argus trotted out to meet them. The swineherd handed the small wooden bowl to Mentor, who drained the cool liquid in one draught and placed the cup down on top of a flat-headed fencepost. Eumaeus swung himself over the low barrier and resumed feeding his pigs, while Penelope hooked her arm through Mentor’s and led him in the opposite direction.

  ‘Have you already forgotten the oracle that was given to Odysseus twenty years ago? If he went to Troy, he’d be doomed not to come home again for twenty years.’

  ‘You know about that?’ Mentor asked, surprised.

  ‘He told me before he left,’ she replied. ‘It wasn’t easy to take, but he also insisted a man has the power to change his destiny if he really wants to. And I believe him.’

  ‘So what are you saying? You agreed to Eupeithes’s proposal on the grounds of an oracle you don’t think will come true?’

  Penelope shook her head. ‘If I’d refused altogether, Eupeithes might have been tempted to force his way into power again, especially in his current mood and with that pack of wolves growling away behind him. We can’t allow that to happen. But you’re missing my point about the oracle. I don’t believe Odysseus is bound by the Pythoness’s words – I can’t afford to believe it, even though the war has already lasted ten years – but if she predicted then that he wouldn’t return for twenty years, surely she will now say he’ll be gone for another decade? By the oath we all took at the Kerosia, and which was announced publicly, that means Eupeithes can’t force me to do anything for ten more years. Not without civil war, and I’m gambling he hasn’t the courage for that if there’s a peaceful alternative.’

  Mentor looked at her admiringly.

  ‘Odysseus chose well when he married you, Penelope. Your cunning may have bought him ten more years, and the war will never go on for that long.’

  ‘Find a daughter of Lacedaemon and she will keep the thieves from your house,’ she said, quoting the second half of the Pythoness’s riddle. ‘That’s one part of the oracle I’m determined will come true. And the best way I can defend Odysseus’s kingdom is to keep gaining us time until he returns.’

  Eperitus, Odysseus and Omeros leaned against the bow rail of the beached galley, watching the defeated army return to their tents. Filthy and exhausted, many of them wounded, they trudged down the slope from the gates with their heads low, dejected by the betrayal of the gods who had promised them victory. For all their faith in the oracles, the walls of Troy stood as strong as ever and the bodies of hundreds more Greeks lay littered in their shade, carrion for the gluttonous birds and dogs.

  The appalling aftermath of another defeat left Eperitus feeling cold. More men sent needlessly down to Hades’s halls, where it was said the joys of the living world were stripped away and the soul was left with nothing more than the idea they had once been alive. In that dark place there was no memory of the events or emotions they had experienced in their bodies of flesh, only a sense that something wonderful was lost to them for eternity. And yet, if Odysseus was right, their sacrifice was a necessary one so that thousands more could keep their places at life’s feast. Eperitus gave the king a sidelong glance. He had changed since their encounter with Athena in the temple, become more grim with the loss of the goddess’s patronage. Though whether it was despair or a determination to end the war without her, he could not tell.

  ‘Go and prepare the wine, Omeros,’ Odysseus said. ‘They’ll be here soon.’

  The squire nodded and went to the galley’s stern, where skins of wine and water hung from the twin steering oars. A short while later, they heard the sound they had been expecting – heavy footsteps on the gangplank leading up from the beach. Agamemnon stepped down onto the deck, his breastplate spattered with gore and the pure white tunic beneath filthy with dust. His red cloak was ripped and one of the cheek guards of his helmet had been torn away to reveal a fresh cut across his jaw. Behind him came Menelaus, Nestor and Diomedes, all similarly begrimed. Further footsteps announced the arrival of Idomeneus of Crete, Menestheus of Athens and Little Ajax. Last of all came Neoptolemus, whose divine armour gleamed as if newly made, though his face and limbs were smeared with blood and dirt. His eyes stared out from the unnatural mask, angered by the reversal but not dispirited.

  ‘You sent us knowingly to defeat,’ Agamemnon said, pulling the helmet from his head and throwing it onto the deck at Odysseus’s feet. His blue eyes were fierce with suppressed rage.

  ‘I said I would not oppose any who chose to go. Not that my opinion for or against would have made any difference.’

  Odysseus nodded to Omeros, who took kraters of wine to each of the battle-weary warriors.

  ‘You underestimate yourself, Odysseus,’ Nestor said, taking his cup and easing his old body down onto one of the benches. ‘Your intelligence is widely respected, from the lowest levy to the highest king. An opinion from you carries as much weight as a command from Agamemnon himself.’

  ‘Nestor’s right,’ Menelaus growled. ‘If you’d spoken up when Diomedes did, perhaps we wouldn’t have ran headlong into another reverse – especially one so costly to what was left of the army’s morale. When warriors have been promised victory by the gods themselves, defeat is twice as crushing. On my way back I heard men openly talking about returning to Greece, not caring that I was within earshot of them.’

  ‘Then tell them that’s what we’re going to do.’

  The others looked questioningly at Odysseus, as if they had misheard him. The momentary silence was broken by a sneering grunt from Little Ajax.

  ‘Is that why you let us march off in the first place? To snap the army’s will to fight? To end the war, just so you can skulk off home to your precious family?’

  ‘You’re not listening,’ Odysseus replied. ‘I said tell the army we’re going to leave for Greece, not do it.’

  ‘And what’s the point in that?’ Idomeneus asked, sitting beside Nestor and removing his helmet. ‘Give them hope, only to order them back into battle again?’

  Odysseus shook his head. ‘Of course not. I’ve an idea for conquering Troy, but we have to convince the Trojans we’ve given up and gone home. And to do that our own men have to believe that’s what we intend to do.’

  Neoptolemus spat on the deck. ‘Another of your famous tricks, Odysseus? Just like the theft of the Palladium? Devoid of glory and doomed to failure.’

  ‘Perhaps you’d have us attack the walls again?’ Eperitus said. ‘That idea didn’t exactly cover you in honour or bring about a famous victory, did it!’

  Neoptolemus stepped forward, his face reddening with fury and his fingertips unconsciously touching the hilt of his sword. Diomedes quickly slapped a hand on his armoured shoulder and forced him down to one of the benches.

  ‘If Odysseus has an idea, I suppose we’d better hear it.’

  ‘I agree,’ Nestor said. ‘It doesn’t take the wisdom of my great years to realise the walls of Troy aren’t going to fall to force alone. But that doesn’t mean the oracles were wrong or the gods were deceiving us. What is this plan of yours?’

  Odysseus looked at Agamemnon, who gave a small nod.

  ‘I sent messengers asking you to come here so that we wouldn’t be overheard, and if you agree to my plan then you must take an oath not to share it with anyone – even your most trusted captains. I’ve had the inklings of a strategy for some time now, but until I went to Pelops’s tomb and saw his sarcophagus I didn’t know how to carry it out. That’s why the gods sent me there – not to obtain a simple bone, but to reveal the o
ne way in which my plan could succeed.’

  ‘You’re talking in riddles,’ Little Ajax interrupted. ‘How can a tomb help us take Troy?’

  ‘Eperitus, do you remember what was placed on top of the sarcophagus?’

  Eperitus nodded, smiling as he saw the link with the idea Odysseus had already outlined to him.

  ‘It was a horse.’

  ‘A horse,’ Odysseus repeated. ‘Because Pelops’s people were renowned horse-lovers, just like the Trojans. That gave me the inspiration to build a great wooden horse, taller than the Scaean Gate, which we will dedicate to Athena in atonement for desecrating her temple, and in the hope she will then give us a safe journey back to Greece. The Trojans won’t be able to resist taking it into their city as a token of their victory.’

  ‘Victory!’ Menelaus sputtered. ‘Victory?’

  The others shared doubtful looks, but remained silent. Agamemnon’s fixed gaze grew colder than ever, but Odysseus just smiled.

  ‘Naturally. The defeat we’ve just suffered was the final stone on the mound. Didn’t you say the men are openly talking about ending the war and returning to Greece? Now all we need is a good westerly wind and we can strike this camp and board our galleys for home. Or at least, that’s what the Trojans will think when they find it abandoned.’

  ‘Should we get the men to start the preparations now?’ Nestor asked. He looked bemused – doubtful as to the reason for abandoning their camp after so long, but intrigued at how such a move would bring about the end of the war. ‘After all, there’s hardly been a puff of air over the Aegean for days now – we can’t sail until the winds pick up again.’

  ‘No,’ Odysseus replied. ‘When we go, it has to look like we’ve left in a hurry – leave the tents and everything that’ll slow us down. In fact, we should burn them. What we can do is get the ships seaworthy and begin the construction of the horse. For that we’ll need Epeius, a man who can work wood better than any of us.’

  Agamemnon had had enough. He stood and folded his arms across his breastplate.