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

Few paid any attention to Odysseus, unless it was to avoid the odour that emanated from his wretched form. Looking up, he saw the battlements of Pergamos rising a short distance beyond the houses to his right. The temple of Athena – and the Palladium – lay within the citadel walls, and guessing that was where the supplies would be taken for safe storage, he quickened his pace to catch up with the rearmost of the waggons. After a while, the convoy turned right onto a broader thoroughfare that sloped gradually up towards Pergamos. Despite the years since he had last been there, Odysseus recognised the tall tower that guarded the main entrance. Each of its smooth, well-fitted blocks was half the height of a man, and at its base were six statues depicting different gods from the Trojan pantheon. Though these were ostensibly the same gods that were worshipped by the Greeks, the identities of the crudely imagined figures had been a mystery to Odysseus ten years before and remained so now as he followed the trudging convoy to the foot of the tower. The gates opened and the cavalry escort trotted through first, ducking beneath the short, echoing tunnel that led to the highest part of Troy. Odysseus closed the gap between himself and the last waggon, praying silently to Athena that he would not be noticed by the guards.

‘Where d’you think you’re going?’

The harsh words were followed by the smack of a spear across his arm. Odysseus, bent double once more, glanced up and saw the soldier who had hit him. He also noticed two others leaning their weight upon the heavy timbers of the gates as they pushed them inward behind the last waggon. Ignoring his assailant, he shuffled rapidly towards the men on the doors.

‘Spare some food for an old pilgrim? Drop of water, perhaps? How about a swallow of wine?’

He clutched at their cloaks, forcing them to abandon the gates and withdraw with groans of protest from the terrible smell.

‘Never mind,’ Odysseus said, glancing behind as he slipped through the gap they had left. ‘I’ll find something at the temple of Athena. Bless you, sirs.’

He hurried forward, the rap of his stick on the flagstones repeating rapidly from the walls. Then a heavy hand seized hold of his shoulder.

‘No beggars in the citadel!’ the third soldier grunted, throwing him back out into the street. For good measure, he swung his foot hard into Odysseus’s stomach as he lay in a pile of horse manure. ‘Now, piss off and don’t let me see your ugly face here again.’

Chapter Twenty-eight

O DYSSEUS U NMASKED

Odysseus lay still for a moment, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath as the gates slammed shut behind him. Slowly, using his stick, he pulled himself back onto his feet. Looking around, he could see that the guards had retreated inside the gates and he was left almost alone on the street. Up here, as the lower city lapped about the walls of Pergamos, the houses were wealthier and boasted two storeys, which cast long, dark shadows as the sun began dipping towards the west. Odysseus withdrew to the shade of the nearest wall and sat down, wondering what to do next. By necessity, his plan to enter the city and find his way to the temple of Athena was always going to have to rely on good fortune, but it seemed the gods had turned their backs on him at the final hurdle. And yet he could not give up. If he was to lower the rope for Diomedes and steal the Palladium he had to discover a way into the citadel before nightfall. He also had to discover whether Eperitus had been brought into the city as a prisoner, though how he would glean such information was beyond even his imagination. He leaned his head back against the cold stone and closed his eyes in silent prayer. A few moments later he heard voices.

‘I’ll give you two days ration of wine.’

‘No.’

‘Three days.’

‘Not for a whole week. Beside, you drew the western parapet a fortnight ago, whereas I haven’t even seen her for a month.’

Odysseus opened his eyes again and saw two soldiers walking up the main thoroughfare from the lower city. They wore the same armour and plumed helmets he had seen on the men who had just thrown him into the gutter – members of the elite guard that defended Pergamos – and as they approached a desperate idea struck him. He looked around at the empty street, then sat on his haunches with his back to the wall and held his hands out before him.

‘A bit of food, my lords?’

The nearest paused as he noticed the beggar for the first time, then reached into a satchel beneath his cloak.

‘Here,’ he said, passing him a piece of bread. ‘The gods have smiled on me today, so why not you?’

Odysseus took the bread, noting the dagger in the man’s belt.

‘And what good fortune’s worth three days wine ration to your friend?’ he asked.

The man grinned.

‘I drew the evening watch for the western wall, of course.’

‘You’ll have to forgive me, sir, I’m new to the city. Where I come from the soldiers’d rather be drinking wine and throwing dice than be out on duty.’

He no longer made any effort to disguise his accent, but instead employed his most calming tone, hoping to lull the minds of the two soldiers. He instinctively calculated how he would take the dagger and kill them both. Then, after hiding the bodies and swapping his beggars outfit for one of their uniforms, he could try and bluff his way through the gates.

‘Surely you’ve heard about Helen of Troy?’

Odysseus hesitated and gave a slight nod.

‘Every evening at sunset she walks along the western parapet, looking towards Greece,’ said the other soldier. ‘Pining for the children she left behind, or so they say.’

‘And I’ll be guarding the same stretch of wall,’ declared the first, glancing triumphantly at his friend. ‘Whatever people say or think about that woman, she’s a beauty beyond the measure of mortal minds. There’s something of the gods in her, or I’m a Greek.’

‘And can she be seen from the lower city, my lord?’

‘Go to where the outer wall meets the western wall of Pergamos and you’ll see her. If you ask me, I think she makes sure she can be seen: to remind us of what we’re fighting for – something much greater than mere wealth or power.’

‘He’s loved her since the first day he saw her,’ the other soldier explained to Odysseus. ‘If you go there, you’ll understand why.’

‘But don’t get too close,’ added the first. ‘If she catches a whiff of your perfume, old man, she’ll be back inside faster than a rabbit in its hole.’

The men laughed and walked up to the gate, rapping loudly on the panels and calling for entry. Before the doors could be opened, Odysseus was back on his feet and walking as quick as his feigned stoop would allow. He passed the tower with its row of idols and followed the curve of the walls beyond. The thought of Helen had filled his fertile mind with the germ of an idea, an idea that had saved the lives of the two Trojans. It powered him along until he saw the crenellated lip of the city wall rising to meet the battlements of Pergamos ahead of him. Already the light was fading on the streets, as the sun slid towards the ocean and was lost behind the two-storeyed houses and the high fortifications. Then the walls of the citadel bent sharply to the north-west and converged in a dark triangle with the defences of the lower city. Here Odysseus sat down with his back to a small house, looking up at the dark, saw-toothed outline of the ramparts where he hoped to see Helen.

As the clear sky slowly began to turn to a darker blue, Odysseus noticed others gathering around him. Three women in black were the first, their lined and ageing faces stern and silent as they stood together by the corner of the small house. They were followed by the angry stumping of a crutch on the cobbled street as another beggar – his left leg missing below the knee and his right eye an empty pit – entered the sombre triangle. A young mother was next, holding a small infant in the folds of her widow’s robes, and behind her were three Mysian warriors, their young eyes fixed hopefully on the parapet above. A few more arrived, until at last a score of people were waiting in the shade, all of them, in one way or another, victims of Helen’s beauty. Then, as one, the small crowd fell still and stared up at the walls. Odysseus followed their collective gaze and felt his own heart suddenly beating faster. Helen had come.