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

‘I am Deidameia, daughter of King Lycomedes and wife of the great Achilles. What is your message?’

Odysseus stepped forward and touched Diomedes’s elbow, indicating he would reply.

‘Our message is for Neoptolemus also,’ he said. ‘Where is your son?’

‘I will not allow you to speak to my grandson, Odysseus,’ Lycomedes answered. ‘The last time you were here you fooled Achilles into joining Agamemnon’s army, and we have not seen him since. What’s to say you won’t try to take Neoptolemus back with you this time?’

Deidameia lifted her hand to silence her father, a gesture that raised eyebrows among their guests.

‘Give your message to me, Odysseus, and I shall tell my son. He can hear it just as well from my lips as yours.’

‘Very well, my lady. Your husband is dead. He fell storming the gates of Troy, where he was struck down by the arrows of Prince Paris.’

The statement was spoken evenly, but the silence that followed seemed to fix the words in the air about them. Deidameia shrank a little, as if something had gone out of her. Eperitus saw her grip on Lycomedes’s chair tighten slightly. Then she drew on her inner strength and pulled herself back up to her full height. Her lips became thin and pale, her eyes stony and hard.

‘Achilles died ten years ago, when he left this island in your ship, Odysseus. Thank you, my lords, for coming all this way to bring me your news. I will sacrifice to Poseidon and pray that you have a safe journey back to Ilium.’

‘And Neoptolemus?’ Odysseus asked, showing no signs of moving. ‘He will have questions. He’ll want to know how his father died.’

‘You’ve already said he was shot by Paris,’ Deidameia replied. ‘I will let him know.’

‘It won’t be enough,’ Diomedes said. ‘If he has anything of his father in him, he’ll want to know every detail. And not just about Achilles’s death, but also about the things he achieved while alive: the men he killed, the cities he conquered –’

‘That is my fear, King Diomedes. He has too much of his father in him, and to hear of Achilles’s deeds will turn his mind towards Troy at a time when his thoughts should be of home. Lycomedes is right: you have not come here to tell me of my husband’s death, but to take my son away to replace Achilles on the battlefield! Part of me feared it as soon as your sail was spotted, even though I didn’t know who you were. And yet he is my son, not yours. I won’t stand by and allow you to take him away like you did my husband.’

‘Neoptolemus is nearly a man, my lady,’ Odysseus countered. ‘Such decisions can only be made by him. What’s more, if you send us away without giving him the chance to question us about his father – to question the men who knew Achilles best in life, and who witnessed his death – you are denying him something every man has an elementary right to: a knowledge of his sires and an understanding of his roots. Do that, Deidameia, and his love for you may turn to hatred.’

‘We will take that risk,’ Lycomedes said, struggling to his feet and pointing to the doors they had entered through. ‘Neoptolemus will never be yours. Now, leave my island and return to Troy.’

But as Eperitus was expecting the king to have them thrown out and put an end to their hopes of ever fulfilling the oracle, Deidameia laid a hand on the old man’s shoulder and gently eased him back into his throne.

‘You will excuse my father. Neoptolemus is the sole heir to the kingdom and he doesn’t want to see him go off to a war that has nothing to do with Scyros. But what you say is true, Odysseus. Neoptolemus deserves to hear about his father and it’s not my place to deny him that. I’ll allow you to speak with him tonight, if you still wish it, at a feast we will hold in your honour.’

‘We do wish it,’ Diomedes answered, glancing uncertainly at Odysseus beside him.

Deidameia smiled at him, something of her earlier authority and self-assurance returning.

‘You see, I have faith in my son. He has his father’s love of fighting, but he is less driven by passion and more inclined to follow his intelligence. He will know why you’re here, but he’ll not rush madly off to war. And by ill chance for you, tomorrow morning will marry Phaedra, the girl I have chosen to be his wife and bear his children. You may tempt him, Odysseus, but in the end he will choose love over glory.’

She bowed to them, then turned and walked from the great hall.

Chapter Twenty

N EOPTOLEMUS

After the audience in the great hall, Odysseus, Diomedes, Eperitus and their escort were taken to the same wing of the palace the Ithacans had been quartered in on their first visit to Scyros ten years ago. They climbed the steps to the roof and looked down at the galley in the bay below.

‘It’s a thin hope now,’ Diomedes said. ‘If the lad’s getting married, the last thing on his mind will be coming with us to Troy. We couldn’t have arrived at a worse time.’

Odysseus didn’t share his gloom.

‘I’d say the gods have brought us here at exactly the right moment. Tomorrow, we would have found him a married man, freshly committed to his new life as a husband. Today he’s in that strange, fleeting place where the old has gone but the new hasn’t yet come. His mind may be full of love for this girl he’s due to marry, and yet it’ll also be stricken with doubt. He’s young, remember. He’s never ventured beyond the shores of Scyros. The news of Achilles’s death may open a new door – a chance to follow his father’s path, away from domesticity and into adventure. I’ve seen it happen to others in his position. More than that, he has Achilles’s blood in his veins: when Neoptolemus sees the gift I’ve brought him, it’ll be enough to challenge even his strongest convictions about getting married.’

‘We’ll see,’ Diomedes replied.

In the afternoon, after they had eaten a modest lunch, Eperitus was resting on the mattress in his room when a slave brought him a clean tunic and told him he was to go to the garden as soon as was convenient. He left before Eperitus could question him, so the Ithacan changed his clothes and went to answer the summons. He followed the scent of flowers and the rich aroma of well-composted earth until he found the walled gardens where he had first seen Achilles – disguised as a girl by Lycomedes to prevent him from being taken off to the coming war against Troy. He entered it through an arched gateway and saw it had not changed much since his first visit, except then it had been spring and there had been fragrant blossoms on the trees on either side, and now it was autumn and the leaves were turning an ochre colour and peeling off to form a patchy carpet on the lawn. The circular pond at the centre of the garden was filled with lilies that boasted a handful of white flowers. Dressed in a yellow chiton and seated on a stone bench at the water’s edge was Deidameia, looking at him expectantly.

‘I’m glad you came, Eperitus. Please, join me.’

She patted the space beside her and he sat. He could smell her perfume, potent even in a garden full of flowers. She gave him a smile and he could see the fullness of her lips and the way her skin was still soft and supple with her youth, despite the advanced maturity he could read in her eyes.

‘What do you want of me, Deidameia?’

‘A warrior’s bluntness, I see. I just wanted to talk a little.’

‘You picked the wrong man, my lady. Odysseus is the one for talking –’

‘Ah, but can I trust him? I think I can trust you, though. You have an honest look about you.’

‘I think you’d find my conversation a little dull, unless you want to hear about war and death.’