Glyn Iliffe - The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

‘You may be a commander in the army, Apheidas,’ she snapped, ‘but I am a member of the royal family. You will address me accordingly.’

‘Very well, my lady ,’ he replied, sheathing his blade and stepping towards her. ‘You’ve caused quite a fuss leaving your quarters at night without an escort. There are search parties all over the citadel looking for you.’

‘I’ve walked these walls every night since I arrived in Troy. Is my imprisonment now so strict that I’m no longer allowed to look up at the stars?’

‘A woman of your beauty can still be attacked, even in Pergamos,’ he warned. ‘And you had Paris to protect you before.’

Helen turned away, stung by the reminder of her husband’s death, and let her gaze rest on the dark Aegean beyond the opening to the bay. Its surface shifted gently, belying the depth and power of what stirred beneath. Far on the other side lay the land of her birth; the land where three of her children had grown up without her; the land to which her instincts told her she was doomed to return.

‘And what will you do with me now you’ve found me?’ she asked, turning to face Apheidas. ‘After all, you’re not here purely out of concern for my safety.’

‘You’re required in the great hall,’ he answered, taking her gently but firmly by the upper arm. ‘Priam is going to announce your fate, but first he wants you to have the chance to speak.’

‘Very gracious,’ she laughed, ironically. ‘If being allowed to voice an opinion about the method of one’s own detention can be called gracious. But before you drag me away, Apheidas, I want to ask you something.’

‘What is it?’

‘Must you always do what Priam tells you to do? I’ve heard the rumours, about how your mother was raped and murdered by a member of the royal family, and how your father killed her attacker out of vengeance. They say you were forced to flee to Greece, and that Priam took all your family’s wealth and land for himself. Doesn’t that anger you?’

A dark look flickered over Apheidas’s features before being forced away.

‘You forget Priam also allowed me to return to Troy,’ he answered.

‘Out of pity and guilt! He didn’t feel so bad, though, that he was moved to restore your inheritance to you, did he. Everything you have now you have won by your own strength, fighting in Priam’s wars. You owe him nothing. And if you and I have never been good friends, can you say I’ve ever wronged you?’

‘Get to the point, Helen.’

‘Can’t you have some pity and pretend you never saw me? There’s nothing left for me in Troy now and my misery will only be a little less with Menelaus, but if you help me over the walls I can at least return to my former husband and end the war.’ Helen took a step towards him and raised her face to look into his eyes, her lips tantalisingly close to his. ‘I’ll give you whatever you want in return.’

‘If you had that much power perhaps you’d be worth listening to.’

She seized his wrist and raised his large hand to her breast. Raising herself on tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his. He kissed her back, lightly, and passed his thumb over her nipple where it pushed against the thin material of her chiton.

‘I’m yours if you let me go,’ she whispered.

Apheidas looked down at her with his hard, merciless eyes and shook his head.

‘Those aren’t my orders,’ he said. ‘And you’ve been drinking. Come on.’

He gripped her arm and pulled her forcibly toward the steps.

Chapter Eleven

A W IDOW’S F ATE

The great hall was hot and stuffy, contrasting the chill air outside. The long, rectangular hearth glowed fiercely and sent thin trails of smoke up to the shadowy ceiling high above. Its scarlet light shimmered on the faces of the men who sat in rows on either side of it, all of whom fell silent and turned to look as Helen entered accompanied by Apheidas. Most were elderly – having earned their positions of rank in the wars of their youth – and the warm glow emphasised the lines on their soft, bearded faces. But not all were old: the commanders of the armies of Troy and her allies were there, along with the remnant of Priam’s sons – Deiphobus and Helenus among them. These two stood on opposite sides of the hearth, staring at Helen; Deiphobus, the eldest, had a look of relief and joy on his handsome features, while Helenus watched her with expectant confidence. Priam himself sat on a dais at the back of the hall, leaning forward from his high-backed stone chair and gazing vacantly at the flames. His vanity spent with grief at the deaths of Hector and Paris, he had stopped trying to hide his age behind black wigs and face powder and now looked the tired old man he was. His hair was sparse and grey, as was his beard now that he no longer dyed it. His eyes were watery pools of sorrow, and even his great height seemed to have been taken from him as he slumped on his throne. His clothes were still colourful and richly embroidered, but like Priam they had lost their lustre.

Idaeus, the king’s herald, moved out of the shadows by the entrance to announce the arrival of Helen and Apheidas. At once, Priam lifted his head and a flicker of life returned to his eyes. He pushed himself up from the arms of his throne, his forearms shaking with the effort, and stepped down from the dais. Straightening himself with a hand into the small of his back, he brushed aside Deiphobus’s attempts to help him and moved towards his daughter-in-law. There had been a time before the death of his favourite sons when, however much he adored Helen, he would have considered it beneath his position to leave his throne for her sake in the presence of so many of his advisers and commanders. Now he did not care how they regarded him, so Helen, stirred by pity, ran around the hearth and past the rows of black columns to meet him, dropping to her knees and bowing before the old king. He laid his hands on her head and stroked her soft hair.

‘Stand, Daughter, and let me embrace you.’

‘My king,’ she whispered, and for a moment the others in the hall were forgotten as they closed their arms about each other and shared their grief for the loss of Paris.

After a moment, one of the elders stood and coughed lightly.

‘My lord,’ he said.

Priam released Helen and looked at the man with impatience.

‘What is it, Antimachus?’

‘The princess has been brought here to learn her fate?’

‘I haven’t yet decided my daughter’s fate,’ Priam snapped, throwing the elder a dismissive gesture. He shuffled back to his throne, assisted by Helen, and eased himself down onto the hard stone.

‘Then may I urge you again to listen to your advisers, and indeed to the people of Troy,’ Antimachus continued. ‘While Paris lived we were happy to fight, so that Helen could remain among us and not be taken against her will back to Sparta. Now Paris is dead there’s no reason to prolong the war.’

Helen looked at Antimachus’s face with its broken nose and pointed beard. It was a face she had always disliked, for it had always looked on her with aversion. Among all the elders, only Antimachus had never been afraid to voice his disapproval of her presence in Troy. Now, for once, she hoped his argument would be heard by Priam and accepted.

Priam merely grunted.

‘You’ve always hated Helen, Antimachus, so don’t try to convince me you’ve ever been anything but opposed to this war. And since when have the elders and people of Troy decided what the king should do?’

‘Nevertheless, my lord, we should give her back to her own people –’

‘We are her people!’ Priam roared.