The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

by Iliffe, Glyn

  ‘Did you go after your father?’ she asked, cautiously.

  ‘Yes.’

  She put her arm about his waist and kissed his shoulder. ‘I knew you wouldn’t listen to me.’

  ‘You’re wrong.’

  ‘Oh? Then did he escape?’

  ‘He’s dead. He took his own life. Right up until I entered his house last night, I’d always thought I would be the one to kill him. Then it all changed. The gods had other plans, I suppose. It’s strange, but now he’s gone I wish he hadn’t died in such an ignoble way. For all his wicked, misguided ambitions, he was a great warrior – the greatest I’ve ever had to fight. The only satisfaction I take from the whole thing is that I didn’t have to kill him myself.’

  ‘I’m glad you didn’t.’

  He kissed her forehead.

  ‘It’s strange, though. I should be happy that he’s dead, but instead I just feel … empty. Now the war’s over and he’s gone, I’m not sure what lies ahead any more. For the first time since he exiled me from Alybas and gave me a purpose in life, my future’s suddenly uncertain again.’

  ‘So like a man,’ Astynome smiled, shaking her head. ‘You spend years not knowing whether today’s going to be your last one on earth, then the moment the danger’s removed and your life is safe again you feel lost, as if your whole reason for existence has been taken away. Well, it hasn’t. You have me and together we will make a home on Ithaca and populate half the island with our children. That’ll keep you occupied!’

  He laughed and brushed his fingertips over the small but distinct cleft in her chin, admiring the beauty that layers of smoke and dirt could not hide.

  ‘It sounds like a good way to stay busy. And perhaps,’ he whispered, with a glance towards the rest of the crew, sitting on the benches and chatting, ‘we’ll be able to make a start before the fleet sails.’

  He kissed her and raised a hand to touch her breast, only to find the hardened leather of her borrowed cuirass. She laughed, her mouth so close he could feel the brush of her breath on his lips. Then her smile faded and she pulled back, looking down at his chest and frowning.

  ‘But your need for vengeance hasn’t been satisfied yet, has it? Your father’s dead, but –’

  ‘But Agamemnon still lives,’ he finished. ‘I know.’

  ‘So what will you do?’

  ‘It’s hard for a warrior to accept injustice, especially when done to someone he loves. What would you do if a man murdered your daughter?’

  ‘I’m a woman, not a warrior. I would weep for the child, and eventually I would start again. You must do the same, Eperitus. You know you cannot face Agamemnon – if you do you will die – but if you swallow your hatred for him then you can have another daughter with me. Reclaim the life he took from you; don’t let him prevent you from being a father a second time. And then be the parent your own father was not. Don’t you see you have the power to destroy everything, or to make everything right again?’

  Her words had a feminine logic, full of hope and the desire to renew and nurture life. Eperitus sighed.

  ‘Even if I had a chance to kill Agamemnon, I couldn’t take it,’ he said, turning to lean his forearms on the bow rail and look again at the ruins of Troy. ‘I swore to Clytaemnestra I would not, so I have to be satisfied that she will repay him for his crimes. And yet I wish I could just do something.’

  Astynome joined him, resting her head against his shoulder. Together they watched the teams of men working at every point of the walls, dismantling the battlements stone by stone and sending the huge blocks tumbling to the ground below. Progress was slow, but already the great defences had lost their sense of order and uniformity, taking on a frayed look as if the seas had risen up and smoothed away their edges. The perfection that the gods had made was being destroyed by men in an act of sacrilegious vandalism. From the streets behind the walls came the hiss of fire and the occasional crash of yet another building succumbing to the flames. These sounds were dominated, though, by the incessant beating of hammer and pick, as those structures that the fires were not bringing down were made unusable by the hands of the Greek army, its tight discipline restored now after its fanatical rampage of the night before. Other soldiers were still busy carrying out the plunder from the city and placing it in carefully arranged heaps outside the walls, marching back and forth in lines like ants.

  ‘So ends Troy,’ Astynome sighed.

  ‘As long as the stones remain, the city can be rebuilt,’ Eperitus replied.

  ‘But who will build it? With every male dead, who will come back and restore Troy to anything like her former glory? And look! There’s another. They’ve been doing it all morning!’

  She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her face against his armoured chest. Eperitus looked and saw two men on top of one of the towers, holding a small boy between them. The boy struggled when he understood why they had taken him up to the battlements, then the men pitched him over the broken parapet and his body was dashed to death on the stones below. Only then did Eperitus see the other boys, scores of them, lying all along the circuit of the walls in the strange, confused poses of bodies from which the energy of life had departed.

  ‘Savages,’ he whispered, vehemently. ‘This is Agamemnon’s work!’

  ‘I suppose this is the price we Trojans have to pay for our defiance,’ Astynome said. ‘Perhaps if we hadn’t fought so hard we would have been shown more mercy. Perhaps not, I don’t know. Maybe all great civilisations have to end like this, otherwise we might rise up to challenge the gods themselves.’

  Eperitus put his arm around her and pulled her closer, cursing the armour that stopped him feeling the warmth of her body against his.

  ‘Do you wish things had turned out differently?’

  ‘This destruction saddens me, and I’m sad I will never see my father again or return to Chryse. But also I’m happy. This is the past – that burning, crumbling city over there is the past – but you are the future. I have you and we have life, and we will bring more life into this world. The war’s over and we’re together. That’s something to be hopeful about, isn’t it?’

  ‘It is,’ he answered, before kissing her on the cheek and standing upright. ‘And now I had better find Odysseus again. He gave me permission to see that you were alright, but he also wanted me to find him at the Council of Kings once I’d spoken with you. Do I have your permission to leave?’

  Astynome smiled and nodded. Eperitus left the way he had come, stealing a last glance at her as he negotiated the precarious gangplank to the sand below.

  Chapter Forty-six

  THE LAST KING OF TROY

  The Council of Kings were seated in a wide double-circle before the Scaean Gate, partly beneath the shade of the sacred oak tree where Achilles had killed Hector. A handful of Agamemnon’s bodyguard kept watch over the commanders of the army, though there were no enemies left alive in Ilium to do them harm. The only remaining Trojans now were women, and as Eperitus approached the assembly he noticed several standing beneath a canopy a few paces away from the Council, their hands bound with rope. Hecabe, Cassandra and Andromache – Hector’s wife – were among them, looking grief-stricken and dishevelled, and Eperitus realised these were the remainder of Troy’s royal household. To his surprise he saw Helen there, too, though unlike the others her clothes were fresh and her face and hair clean. Her chin was held defiantly high, but her eyes were fixed on the broken stones at the foot of the city walls where the Greeks were still busily hurling down the parapets that had withstood them for so long. Eperitus followed her gaze and saw the body of a small child among the rubble by the gates, where he had been thrown to his death. Eperitus turned his eyes away and headed towards the noisy ring of men.

  Food was being served as he joined the Council, allowing him to slip in unnoticed and take his place next to Odysseus. A slave brought him a krater of wine and a plate of roast meat, fresh from the sacrifices the kings had made earlier that morning to thank the gods for the
ir great victory. He had passed the place of slaughter on his way up from the ships: a dozen gore-drenched altars built of stones from the walls of Troy, the ground around them soaked dark with the blood of the hundreds of beasts that had been slain. Large numbers of men were still busy cutting up the carcasses, roasting the different parts of the animals, tending the fires and doling out the meat onto platters. The stench of the blood and the hammering of cleavers had reminded Eperitus of battle.

  ‘Where were you?’ Odysseus asked, leaning towards Eperitus as he folded a slice of meat in a piece of bread and prepared to put it in his mouth. ‘The Council’s nearly finished.’

  ‘Already? I thought it’d take all day.’

  ‘No. Everyone’s in a hurry to get on with things and go home. Can’t you sense it? There isn’t a man here who doesn’t want to finish the business of tearing down the walls, distributing the plunder and setting off.’

  Eperitus put the food in his mouth and looked about at the battle-worn kings, princes and captains of the army, eating, drinking and talking among themselves as they waited for the debate to resume. This was probably the last time he would see any of them, he realised, now that the great expedition that had brought them together was finally over. Agamemnon, as ever, sat at the head of the circle. Eperitus eyed him coldly: the feelings of hatred he had stifled for so long were now gaining strength again, and the thought he would sail off to continue his life at Mycenae was galling. With difficulty, he pulled his gaze away and turned it to the other members of the Council. Nestor and Menelaus were on either side of the King of Men, while a pair of Mycenaean soldiers stood guard over the three of them, dressed in their impressive but outdated ceremonial armour. All the other great names were there, too: Diomedes, flanked by his faithful companions, Sthenelaus and Euryalus; Neoptolemus, wearing his father’s splendid armour as he sat beside Peisandros; Philoctetes and Teucer, the two greatest archers in the army and now firm friends; Little Ajax; Idomeneus of Crete; Menestheus of Athens; and all the other noble warriors who had braved the dangers of the Trojan horse, to their eternal glory.

  ‘And you, old friend?’ Eperitus asked. ‘You must be keen to haul up the anchor stones and set sail? To get back to Penelope and Telemachus.’

  Odysseus could not hide a grin at the thought, but his eyes were less certain.

  ‘The heart’s eager, but the mind is afraid,’ he replied. ‘My whole body’s crying out to hold Penelope again and to embrace my boy for the first time since he was a baby. And yet the idea terrifies me, too. What if Penelope doesn’t love me any more? What if Telemachus hates me for abandoning him at such a young age? I would in his place – wouldn’t you?’

  The doubt in his intelligent, green eyes was genuine, but Eperitus laughed it off and threw an arm about his shoulder.

  ‘Stop worrying. Remember the message Penelope sent with Omeros? Didn’t she say she was desperate for you to return, and that Telemachus is longing for his father? When we finally sail back into that tiny little harbour, it’s going to be the greatest homecoming in the whole of Greece. And,’ he added, with a hint of solemnity, ‘don’t forget she said that Eupeithes is threatening his old tricks again. The sooner we get back, the sooner we can deal with him and his cronies.’

  Odysseus simply nodded and turned his attention back to the other kings. A soldier had arrived and was handing Agamemnon a large clay tablet marked with tightly packed symbols. The king showed it to Nestor and they discussed its contents in hushed voices. Eperitus tipped out a slop of wine in libation to the gods and raised the krater to his lips.

  ‘So, what did I miss?’ he asked.

  ‘There were some heated arguments about how the plunder should be shared –’

  ‘Nine-tenths to Agamemnon and the scraps to be divided equally between the rest of us?’ Eperitus asked, sceptically.

  ‘Surprisingly, no,’ Odysseus answered. ‘He wanted a full half, but that received a lot of complaints and he backed down without much of a fight. Perhaps he’s content with the destruction of Troy and the knowledge the Aegean will be controlled by Mycenae from now on. Either way, he agreed everything should be split equally, depending on the number of ships each king brought with him.’

  Eperitus raised his eyebrows. ‘And the captives?’

  ‘The same, to be decided by lot. Except for the high-ranking women, that is. They were brought before the assembly and allotted by Agamemnon – Cassandra to himself, Hecabe to me, Andromache to Neoptolemus, Helen to Menelaus –’

  ‘Why Helen?’ Eperitus asked, glancing back over his shoulder at where the women stood. ‘I saw her with the others as I came up from the ships, but she can hardly be thought of as a prisoner.’

  ‘Agamemnon insisted, much to his brother’s distaste. I think he’s always known she left Sparta willingly, and this is his way of punishing her for that – by parading her like a common captive and letting her know what he really thinks of her. But she didn’t play along with him. If Agamemnon was expecting humility, he got nothing but defiance. You saw she was still wearing a Trojan dress – despite the fact Menelaus has kept a chest of her old clothes on his galley for the past ten years – and that her hair was plaited in the Trojan style? She even had the nerve to address the Council in the Trojan tongue, as if to say she thought of herself as a Trojan and never wanted to be rescued in the first place.’

  Agamemnon seemed to be concluding his conversation with Nestor and had taken his golden staff in both hands. Guessing the debate would resume again soon, Eperitus took a final swallow of his wine and handed the empty krater to a slave.

  ‘What did Menelaus think to that?’ he asked in a hushed voice as the other conversations began to die down

  ‘I think he enjoyed seeing Agamemnon embarrassed,’ Odysseus whispered. ‘After all, whatever his brother does to Helen now, he does to Menelaus also. And I don’t know what has passed between Helen and Menelaus since last night, but I think they’ve come to an understanding with each other about the past. They know their marriage has to work, if only because of the price that has been paid to win Helen back again. So if she wants to play games and put Agamemnon in his place, then Menelaus seems happy to go along with it. He knows she’ll still be going back to Sparta with him.’

  ‘Now I almost wish I’d been here to witness it – at least, to see Agamemnon’s face.’

  Agamemnon rose from his seat, his golden staff in his hand, and walked out to the centre of the Council. The last few conversations trailed away and all eyes now focussed on the King of Men.

  ‘I’ve received the full tally of all items retrieved from Troy,’ he announced, ‘classed by type – gold, silver, copper, bronze, wood, wool, silk and so on – and measured by weight. The total weight of each item will be divided by the number of ships in the fleet, of which there are one thousand, one hundred and eighty-seven. Each –’

  ‘My lord!’

  The shout rang out from the Scaean Gate, from where a Mycenaean soldier was running towards the Council. He was not one of Agamemnon’s bodyguard, though the quality of his armour indicated he was a lesser noble.

  ‘My lord Agamemnon,’ he panted.

  ‘What is it?’ Agamemnon replied coldly.

  ‘We’ve found the boy you were looking for. Hector’s son.’

  ‘Astyanax?’ the king asked. ‘You’re certain? Then bring him here at once.’

  The guard signalled to a group of soldiers by the gate. They parted and a single man came forward carrying an infant boy in his arms. A scream pierced the hush that had spread across the Council and Andromache ran out from beneath the canopy where the Trojan women stood, followed closely by Helen.

  ‘Keep them back!’ Agamemnon ordered.

  Two guardsmen threw down their spears and caught hold of the women, pinning their arms to their sides and pushing them back towards the canopy. Menelaus stepped forward angrily, but Nestor restrained him with a hand on his shoulder. In the same moment, the circle of kings parted and the soldier carrying As
tyanax entered. He placed the boy down in the middle and left again, following his officer back to the gates. Astyanax, barely old enough to sit up, looked around at the faces of the Greek commanders, showing no signs of fear. He even produced a smile at the familiar sight of armed men.

  ‘So,’ Agamemnon announced, ‘Hector’s son has been found. Behold, men of Greece, the last king of Troy sits before you!’ There was a ripple of uncertain laughter as Agamemnon stooped to lift the child onto his arm, the sceptre still balanced in his other hand. ‘Your mother swore by all the gods that you were dead, boy, though I knew she was lying – women have no sense of honour, after all. And now we’ve found you, we have to decide what to do with you, don’t we? Or, more to the point, who will do it.’

  ‘Leave him alone!’ Helen screamed.

  Agamemnon ignored her, bouncing the boy playfully on his arm while looking about at the members of the Council. Eperitus glanced across at Andromache, who was on her knees with her face in her hands, being comforted by Helen. He knew how she felt, having watched helplessly as the King of Men had murdered his own daughter. For he already knew what Agamemnon intended to do with Astyanax, and the thought of it as he looked at Hector’s son – so similar in looks to his valiant father – filled him with horror. And a sudden determination to stop it.

  ‘It’s obvious what should happen to the boy,’ crowed a familiar, but unexpected voice.

  A stooped figure cloaked in black with the hood pulled over his face rose from the outer ring of chairs and pushed his way into the centre circle. Agamemnon offered him the staff, and as he took it the man flicked back his hood to reveal his bald head and thin, pale face. His dark eyes stared about at the Greeks and there was madness in them.

  ‘He has to die,’ Calchas finished his statement. ‘If he lives he will grow up to rebuild Troy and avenge the death of his father.’

  ‘But who will kill the child, Calchas?’ Diomedes called out. ‘Will you?’

  Calchas scowled at the Argive king.