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

It was not, of course, and none knew that more than Odysseus, Diomedes and Eperitus. In those long days, blessed by sun and wind that required them to do little between rowing out to deeper waters in the morning and finding a sheltering cove before dark, they had plenty of time to think about what now lay ahead of them. After retracing their way out of the maze – dragging the bodies of the dead Argives with them to be burned on a pyre beneath the evening stars – Odysseus had explained the significance of the bone to Eperitus and Diomedes.

‘The bone itself is nothing more than a token,’ he told them as they made camp by the banks of the Alpheius. ‘It will be an encouragement to the army, because the oracle Helenus gave us said Troy will not fall without it. However, it isn’t the reason the gods sent us to Pelops’s tomb.’

‘Then what is the point of it?’ Diomedes had asked.

They were sitting away from the others, around a small log fire of their own. The flames cast an orange glow over their faces, distorting their features with strange shadows. Eperitus looked at Odysseus and had absolute faith in the power of his friend’s mind. There was no situation he could not think his way out of, and no riddle he could not decipher. He had found a way through the maze, and he would know the meaning of the shoulder bone. That was why Athena, the goddess of wisdom, had chosen him.

‘The gods were giving us a clue to conquer Troy. The walls were built by Poseidon and Apollo: they can’t be smashed down or scaled, and as long as there are men to defend them the city can never be conquered from the outside. But if we could get men inside the walls – enough of them to capture the gates and hold them open until the rest of the army arrive –’

‘As simple as that,’ Diomedes said, sardonically. ‘And how do we get a large force of men into the city in the first place? Turn them into birds so they fly over the walls?’

‘The maze!’ Eperitus exclaimed, thinking he understood. ‘You mean we should dig a tunnel beneath the walls and into Troy. The gods sent you into the maze to give you inspiration!’

Odysseus shook his head.

‘No tunnels, Eperitus. The ground Troy is built on is too hard. Besides, the Trojans would see what we were up to and guess our intent. You’re right in one sense, though: we were sent into that tomb to see something, something that would show me how to get inside Troy. Do you remember I once said I’d been given an idea by Astynome smuggling herself into the Greek camp in the back of that farmer’s cart, and by Omeros’s retelling the story of how I got past those Taphian guards hidden in a pithos of wine? Well, Pelops’s tomb has finally shown me how I can smuggle an army into Troy.’

‘How?’ Eperitus and Diomedes asked.

‘You’ll see in time,’ Odysseus replied with a grin.

Despite having tantalised his comrades, Odysseus stubbornly refused to say any more about the inspiration he had received in Pelops’s tomb, so their thoughts and discussions now focussed on the two remaining oracles: how they would steal the Palladium from the temple of Athena in Troy and, more urgently, how they would persuade Achilles’s son, Neoptolemus, to join Agamemnon’s army. Eperitus remembered the small, light-haired boy he had seen in the palace gardens on Scyros the day Achilles had joined the expedition to Troy. He sympathised with the doubts of the ordinary soldiers who questioned the value of a fifteen-year-old lad who had never seen combat before, and who had been hidden away behind the skirts of his mother’s chiton all his young life. But these uncertainties never bothered Odysseus or Diomedes. The two kings understood that a son of Achilles would be worth all the effort spent in bringing him to the war. The only problem that concerned them was how to prise him away from the clutches of his deceitful grandfather and – a greater problem in Odysseus’s eyes – his jealous mother.

Finally, the day came when they saw the high, rugged hills overlooking the wide harbour of Scyros. The noon sun caught the copper gates of the palace halfway up the highest hill, which flashed to them like a beacon. As they slipped towards the calm, sheltered waters of the harbour, Sthenelaus called for the sail to be furled and the anchor stones to be made ready. At first, Eperitus was surprised to see the numerous fishing boats drawn up on the shingle beach and the handful of merchant vessels at anchor. A throng of people left their homes or their chores to watch the approach of the fighting galley, showing no signs of fear, only curiosity. Then he understood: Scyros had survived the depravations of the rest of Greece because its king had not been one of the oath-takers and thus had refused to send his army to the war against Troy. Scyros had remained safe and prosperous because Lycomedes had stayed at home.

Small boats came out to meet the warship, manned by fishermen or boys offering to take the crew ashore. Soon, Odysseus, Diomedes and Eperitus were leading half a dozen Argives up the cobbled road to the palace gates, while the remainder were ordered to stay on board. Odysseus knew King Lycomedes could not be trusted and had told Sthenelaus to stay alert while they were gone, ready to come to their aid if necessary. From his lofty viewpoint, Lycomedes would have known of the galley’s approach long before its anchor stones were cast overboard. There was no telling what sort of reception he might give them.

The copper gates swung open to reveal two dozen well-armed soldiers and a short, officious looking herald who insisted they leave their weapons with the guards. They had expected nothing less and gave up their spears and swords with little more than a show of reluctance. They were ushered into the great hall, sombre and shadowy despite the column of dusty light that shone down through the smoke hole in the ceiling to touch on the low flames of the hearth. Eperitus remembered the chamber well from his first visit to Scyros ten years before, though then it had been evening and the hall had been filled with nobles and lit by numerous torches. Now it was empty but for an old man and a woman. The man was seated in a wooden throne draped in furs. His hair and beard were white and his skin was ashen grey. His thin nose seemed to twitch slightly as they entered, while his small, closely set eyes watched them keenly from beneath heavy eyebrows. The woman had a chair next to his, but chose to stand as the newcomers entered, placing her hand on the back of the throne. Like him she was tall, though she was many years younger. Her hair was long and dark and her natural beauty was made more aloof and alluring by the stern gaze that she fixed on the men.

Eperitus did not recognise King Lycomedes at first, so old and gaunt had he become, but he could see by the clear eyes and hawklike stare that he had lost none of his wits. The woman he knew immediately was Deidameia, Achilles’s widow – though she would not know that yet – and the mother of Neoptolemus. Of Achilles’s son there was no sign.

‘Welcome to Scyros, my lords,’ she said. ‘Step forward into the light and tell us who you are and what it is that King Lycomedes can do for you.’

‘I am King Diomedes of Argos, son of Tydeus. This is King Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes, and these are Eperitus, captain of the Ithacan royal guard, and our companions. We have brought a message for the wife and son of the great Achilles.’

At the mention of Odysseus’s name, both Lycomedes and his daughter turned to stare at the broad figure in the shadows behind Diomedes. Lycomedes’s eyes were filled with sudden suspicion, remembering how Odysseus had tricked him before; but Deidameia’s face had lost its austere self-assurance and turned pale, as if already guessing the news the men had brought.