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

‘Say you forgive me,’ she whispered.

For an instant he remembered again Apheidas’s cruel revelation at the temple of Thymbrean Apollo, that the woman he had fallen in love with had been sent to lure him into a trap – a trap that had resulted in the death of his friend, Arceisius. Then he recalled the look of remorse on Astynome’s face as Apheidas dragged her away at knifepoint, and her confession that her love for him was genuine. And he knew, despite her treachery, that she had spoken the truth.

‘There’s nothing to forgive. Apheidas is manipulative and evil; we’re both his victims.’

‘In Zeus’s name, will you just say you forgive me?’

‘I forgive you. Of course I forgive you. And now you have to come back with me to the camp.’

Astynome kissed him and shook her head as she withdrew.

‘Impossible. You know what’ll happen if Agamemnon discovers me. Besides, I’ll only burden your escape from Troy.’

‘We can deceive Agamemnon and I can carry you back to the camp, if I need to.’

‘Not on those legs you won’t. Anyway, I’ll be more use to you inside Troy. Odysseus has already asked me to do something for him.’

Eperitus narrowed his eyes and looked across at the king, who was dragging the second guard’s body into a gap behind the sacks of barley in the far corner of the room.

‘What?’

‘I can’t say I really understand it, but even if I did I couldn’t tell you. He’s sworn me to secrecy.’

‘Time to go,’ Diomedes announced, standing in the doorway with a torch in his hand. ‘The night’s old already and we’ve still to find the temple of Athena.’

‘I’ve already told Odysseus the quickest way there,’ Astynome said. ‘The difficulty will be in stealing the Palladium itself.’

‘And in that you can’t help us, Astynome,’ Odysseus said. ‘You have to get back to the servants’ quarters and hope you’ve not been missed. Eperitus, how are your legs?’

Eperitus could feel the strength returning and gave his friend a nod. He looked again at Astynome and kissed her on the lips.

‘When the city falls, wait for me here, in Apheidas’s house. I’ll come and find you.’

She nodded silently and watched him out of the storeroom, following Odysseus and Diomedes as quickly as his numb legs would carry him.

Chapter Thirty-one

T HE P ALLADIUM

Diomedes followed at Odysseus and Eperitus’s heels, staring in awe at the great mansions and temples of Pergamos. If the mighty walls of Troy were intended to impress visitors with her power and invulnerability, her inner buildings were built to astonish them with her wealth, piety and culture. The well-laid stones and the ornate architecture far exceeded anything the citadels of Argos, Sparta or even Mycenae could offer in competition, and Diomedes – like many before him – was being made to feel like a common barbarian as he stole through the empty streets.

Eperitus could still remember the wonder he had felt during his first visit to the city a decade before, though he no longer looked on the achievements of the Trojans with the same reverence. Now he saw Troy as nothing more than a hateful bastion that had to be conquered – razed to the ground, if necessary – so that he and his comrades could return to Greece. In that desire he had grown very similar to Odysseus, wanting only to see his homeland again. And now, having forgiven her treachery, he was determined to take Astynome with him. The thought of sharing a house on Ithaca with her pleased him greatly, and he had to force himself to stop smiling at his restored dreams and concentrate on the difficulties that lay ahead.

They turned a corner onto a wide stone road. At the eastern end a walled ramp climbed gradually up to the second tier of the citadel. It was flanked by tall poplar trees that were silhouetted black against the dark blue of the night sky, their branches sighing with the faint breeze.

‘Quiet now,’ Odysseus warned, turning and placing his finger against his lips. ‘The temple should be to the left at the top of the ramp.’

He slid his sword from his belt and advanced at a crouch, followed by the others. Reaching the corner of the last building before the ramp, he peered cautiously around the edge. Eperitus and Diomedes joined him. There were no guards on the ramp, and at Odysseus’s signal they dashed up to the second level and hid behind the wall at the top. A short way off was a stone plinth topped by a larger-than-life statue of Athena. By day, its brightly painted wood would catch the sunlight, impressing passers-by with a sense of the goddess’s divine glory; but in the tarry blackness of the night it was a dull, unimpressive grey, its only authority lying in the stern features of its face. Beyond the statue was a tall, square building, footed by broad steps that led up to a pillared portico. This was the imposing entrance to the goddess’s temple, and in the shadows before its high doors were the huddled figures of a dozen men.

‘Eperitus!’ Odysseus hissed. ‘Can you see if they’re moving?’

Eperitus strained his eyes against the darkness. The guards were lying in a variety of strange poses, like a collection of toy dolls that had been abandoned halfway through play. Some had managed to pull their cloaks about their shoulders before succumbing to sleep, while others just lay where they had fallen. Their spears and shields were still propped against the marble pillars of the portico and the only sound was the chorus of their mingled snores.

‘They’re asleep,’ he announced.

As if to prove the point, he rose to his full height and strolled boldly towards the temple. Taking the steps two at a time as the others watched, he walked through the circle of slumbering soldiers and turned to face his companions. It was then he noticed another detail: each guard held a cup, or had let one fall from his fingertips, and there were small stains of dark liquid where the wine had spilled on the flagged floor.

‘They’ve been drugged,’ he informed Odysseus and Diomedes as they climbed the steps to join him.

‘Of course they have,’ Odysseus said, glancing nonchalantly at the scattered men. ‘Helen’s maids did their work well. Perhaps too well – I only hope they don’t draw suspicion down on their mistress. Now, let’s do what we came here for.’

They pushed one of the doors open and slipped inside. The smell of dank stone and incense was laced with the reek of burning fat from a single torch that hung on a nearby pillar. It gave off a sinister hiss that was magnified by the enclosed space, but its failing light was little more than a ball of orange in the thick gloom and did nothing to illuminate the features of the temple, which remained lost among the shadows. Seeing two unused torches lying at the base of the pillar – ready for the priestess to light when she returned at dawn – Diomedes picked them up and held them to the dying flame. They caught quickly and he handed one to Eperitus.

The twin circles of pulsing light grew in strength, pushing the darkness back to reveal high, muralled walls – the pictures too faded and smoke-stained to be discernible among the shadows – and an inner square formed by twelve stone columns. Stepping between two of the pillars, the Greeks entered a broad, flagstoned space in the centre of the temple. From here the light of their torches fell on a gigantic but illusive silhouette against the rear wall, a figure half lost in shadow as it soared up to the ceiling. They stepped closer and saw it was another statue of Athena, but larger and more impressive than any they had ever seen before. Odysseus fell to his knees and bowed his head, while the others looked on in astonished silence. Like the one on the plinth before the temple, the figure was depicted wearing only a simple chiton; her familiar spear, helmet and aegis were absent, giving her a distinctly foreign, Trojan feel. Unlike the other figure, though, this one was seated on an equally oversized throne, and set between her feet was a dull black shape that seemed more like a shadow, somehow absorbing and deadening the effect of the torchlight.