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

‘And if she refuses?’

‘Then you will have to kill her,’ Helen replied.

The two figures entered the circle of light cast by the torch. Odysseus’s gaze widened at the sight of Astynome, who stared back at him with equal surprise.

‘Odysseus!’

She moved towards him with a smile, then stopped as she remembered the circumstances under which they had last met. Her eyes fell to the ground.

‘Is he still alive?’ the king asked.

‘Yes,’ Astynome answered, her happiness unmistakeable. ‘He was badly wounded in the battle, but I’ve nursed him back to health. He has remarkable powers of recovery.’

‘And have you spoken with him? About the temple of Thymbrean Apollo – your betrayal?’

Astynome’s gaze fell again. ‘A little. I believe he has forgiven me.’

‘Then I forgive you, too,’ Odysseus said.

He stepped forward and folded her into his chest, holding her gently despite the immense power in his arms.

‘Astynome will be your guide now,’ Helen announced, looking from the girl to Diomedes and finally to Odysseus, ‘but I must return to the palace before I’m missed. Perhaps we will meet again, Odysseus, at the war’s end, when the flames of destruction are blowing through this fair city. And if we do, I pray you will remember my kindness to you this evening – and make sure Menelaus knows of it. I fear how he will react when he sees me again, after all that’s passed between us. But until then, may the gods go with you.’

She took the torch from his hand and retreated back up the narrow street, closely followed by her maid. Odysseus and Diomedes watched her until she disappeared behind the corner of a large house, then turned to look at Astynome.

‘Eperitus is locked in a storeroom in his father’s house,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I can show you the way, but two of Apheidas’s men have been posted at the door to make sure he doesn’t escape.’

Diomedes gave her a dark grin.

‘Oh, I think we can deal with them.’

Eperitus’s arms were numb from lack of movement and he could no longer feel any sensation at all in his buttocks. The hard chair had done for them a long time ago. His senses, too, had been suffocated by the constant darkness, the cool, stagnant air and the smell of barley from the sacks piled in the corner. Time had passed at such a crawl in this unconscious void that he felt a day or more at least had elapsed since his father’s ultimatum, though by the fact Apheidas had not yet come to hear his decision must mean that it was not even the morning of the next day. Indeed, if he were left there any longer – with nothing more than the faint glow of a torch lining the bottom of the door and the occasional mutterings of the guards outside – he was certain he would go insane.

But that would not happen. Inevitably, his father would return and he would be given the choice between instant death or a worthless life lived in dishonour and ignominy. Even these grim options, though, seemed unimportant compared to the consequences of his decision for those whom he cared about. For Odysseus, it meant a swift return home to his wife and the son he had barely known, or many more years on the shores of Ilium, held by an oath that could never be fulfilled. For Astynome, it could mean being sent to Agamemnon as a gift, to become his plaything. And whatever his choice, Apheidas would strike his deal with the King of Men and declare himself the new ruler of Troy.

With nothing else to distract him, the same arguments passed through his mind again and again, following a monotonous loop that he could not convert to a decision. For though his logic told him he had no choice but to agree to his father’s proposal, his deeply rooted hatred for the man and his stubborn desire not to dishonour himself refused to acquiesce. It was a nightmare from which he could see no escape.

Then a twitching in his senses told him something had changed. He looked down at the flickering thread of gold beneath the door and somehow knew the guards outside were no longer alone. Had morning arrived at last ? he wondered. Had his father come for his decision ? If so, the guards seemed unconscious of his presence: there were no slight sounds of sudden alertness, just the continued heavy breathing and occasional scratching of one, mingled with the light snores of the other. Was it Clymene again? She had already changed his bandages, shortly after he had been brought back from the garden. Maybe Astynome? The thought delighted him, but his delight turned quickly to fear as he realised she might have come to fulfil her final promise to him, desperately thinking she could overcome the guards herself.

As tension gripped him, there was an abrupt clatter of noise beyond the door of his prison. One of the guards – who must have been sitting – jumped up with a metallic clang of armour and spoke in a sharp tone. His words became suddenly fearful and were cut off by a grunt and a bloody gurgle, followed by the thump of a body hitting the floor. A muffled groan indicated the last waking moment of the other guard. In the silence that was left, Eperitus’s keen hearing could discern laboured breathing and small, hurried movements. Then the heavy wooden bar was removed from the other side of the door and Eperitus sat up with wary expectancy.

The door swung inwards and rebounded from the jamb, only to be knocked back again by the shoulder of a heavily built man as he burst into the room. He was followed by a second figure, both armed as they stood silhouetted by the shock of bright torchlight from the corridor beyond.

‘Who’s that?’ Eperitus called in the Trojan tongue.

‘Eperitus!’

‘ Odysseus ?’

‘Not just Odysseus,’ Diomedes added, stepping over and cautiously slicing through Eperitus’s bonds with his dagger. ‘And Astynome’s with us, too, keeping watch at the far end of the corridor.’

The flax cords fell away and Eperitus stood. The next moment he was in a heap on the floor.

‘Steady,’ said Odysseus, hauling him back to his feet. ‘How long have you been tied to that chair?’

‘Longer than I can remember.’

‘And your wound?’

‘More or less healed,’ Eperitus replied. He looked into the king’s eyes, then broke into a smile and embraced him. ‘Zeus’s beard, you’re the last person I expected to see. And Diomedes, too! How did you get into Troy?’

‘It’s a long tale, and one we’ll give in full when we’ve got you safely back to the Greek camp.’

‘So you came here to save me?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Diomedes scoffed, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘We’re here to steal the Palladium and you’re going to help us. Try leaning on this.’

He handed him one of the dead guards’ spears. Eperitus moved his legs, felt some of the life come back into them, and attempted to stand. Odysseus caught him again, while Diomedes knelt down and began vigorously rubbing his calves and thighs to restore the flow of blood, though he was careful to avoid the bandaged wound.

‘Everyone had taken you for dead after the battle,’ Odysseus said, ‘but not me. And when I heard you were being held prisoner here, I insisted on rescuing you before stealing the Palladium.’

‘Try again,’ Diomedes instructed, rising to his feet.

This time, with the help of the spear, he found his legs had the strength to stand once more. He took a couple of tentative steps towards the door and came face-to-face with Astynome. Without a moment’s hesitation she threw her arms about him, almost knocking him back to the floor. Odysseus and Diomedes quickly busied themselves dragging the bodies of the guards into the storeroom, while Astynome drew back and looked into Eperitus’s eyes. The doubt in her dark, attractive features was clear to see.