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

He had reached the foot of the broad ramp that led up to the next tier of the citadel, but despite his words seemed reluctant to go any further. His sword hung idly from his hand and he was staring up at the poplars that lined the road ahead as if they were giant sentinels, threatening to attack if he placed even one foot on the neatly laid cobbles.

‘Ours’ too. We’ve decided to come with you.’

Menelaus turned to face the Ithacan king.

‘I don’t need your help, Odysseus.’

‘Yes you do. I know where Helen’s quarters are and unless I show you the way you’ll waste valuable time searching the palace to find her. Right now, Agamemnon and the rest of the army are streaming in through the Scaean Gate. Soon the sounds of battle are going to carry up here and alert the royal guard that something’s wrong. And unless you find her straight away, Deiphobus is going to put Helen in his chariot and take her away to safety.’

As he finished speaking, a distant shout of alarm rose into the air and was cut short. Menelaus threw an anxious glance up the ramp, then turned to Odysseus.

‘Very well, come with me, but don’t try to get in the way when I find my wife, or I swear by all the gods you’ll regret it.’

Odysseus turned to Eperitus, placing his hands on his upper arms.

‘And now our paths must diverge, old friend. The night will be dangerous and bloody and I wish we could face it together, but the gods have set us different tasks to complete. My way lies with Menelaus, but you have to find Astynome and keep her safe. And if you can, you must face your father.’

‘My place is to guard you.’

‘I can look after myself well enough, and unless you’d rather I relieve you as captain of my guard then you’d better start obeying my orders. But I promise you this, Eperitus: somewhere beyond the fire and smoke, when Troy’s in ruin and her streets are piled high with the dead, we’ll meet again. Now, go and save the woman you love.’

The two men embraced, then Eperitus turned and ran into one of the side streets, where he was instantly absorbed by the dense shadows.

‘Come on then,’ Menelaus snarled, impatiently.

A breath of wind brought with it the faint clatter of bronze from the lower city, accompanied by the dull murmuring of angry voices contending with each other. Driven by a renewed urgency, Odysseus and Menelaus sprinted up the ramp to the second tier of Pergamos. An awe-inspiring press of two and three-storeyed mansions loomed out of the darkness on every side, but there was no time to admire the great buildings that had stood for so long and were now doomed for destruction. They ran on towards the second ramp, where the temple of Zeus lay to their right and the equally impressive temple of Athena to their left. Odysseus felt a pang of regret and doubt as he recalled his recent encounter there with the goddess.

‘Who’s that?’ demanded a voice ahead of them.

Odysseus had almost forgotten the guards who kept a constant vigil at the foot of the ramp that led up to the palace courtyard. Fortunately, Menelaus was not so slow.

‘The Greeks have entered the city!’ he answered without halting. ‘We need to warn the king.’

Four soldiers appeared from the shadows, fully armed and alert. They looked at each other in confusion, too shocked by the news to consider that the men running towards them might be enemies. By the time they saw Menelaus and Odysseus raising their swords, it was too late. Menelaus plunged his weapon into his first victim’s chest, the sharpened point forcing its way through his scaled armour and finding his heart. Odysseus’s sword skimmed over the second man’s shoulder and sliced through his throat, toppling him backwards as he clasped both hands about the fatal wound. The remaining warriors fumbled for their spears, but were not quick enough. One fell headless to the cobblestones, while the other folded over the point of Odysseus’s blade. It took a matter of moments for the attackers to ensure the guards were dead before continuing up the ramp to the third tier.

The wide courtyard before them was empty, but Odysseus placed an arresting hand on Menelaus’s chest while he scoured the shadows beneath the palace walls for more guards. Behind them, the clamour of destruction from the lower city was growing and here and there the low clouds were beginning to glow orange as one house after another was put to the torch.

‘There’s not much time,’ Menelaus said, staring back over his shoulder. ‘We need to find my wife now.’

‘There’s a servants’ entrance over on the left,’ Odysseus replied, pointing away from the high muralled walls of the main palace to an unadorned, single-storeyed wing set back from the rest of the building. ‘I can find my way to her quarters once we’re inside.’

He ran across the broad courtyard, kicking up spumes of the soft earth as he went. Menelaus followed close on his heels and together they reached the shadow of the building just as the main doors of the palace swung open and a handful of armed men came running out. They stopped sharply and began speaking in hurried voices, pointing to the orange clouds above the lower city.

‘That’s Deiphobus,’ Menelaus hissed, gripping his sword and taking a step toward the courtyard.

Odysseus pulled him back.

‘There’ll be time to deal with him later, but while he’s distracted we should find Helen and take her to safety.’

Hugging the shadows, they reached the servant’s entrance and pushed it open. Torches flickered in the passageway beyond, but there was no-one to be seen. Knowing time was slipping away from them, Odysseus led a weaving path through the narrow corridors of the building, passing open doorways that gave fleeting hints at their contents: a pungent whiff of root vegetables and herbs; the reek of fish; a heady scent of wine; the sweet aroma of bread. They entered a broader passage that angled to the right and soon led them to the foot of a flight of stairs. Odysseus took the steps three at a time, not caring who or what might be waiting above, and ran on through more deserted corridors where there were fewer torches and the smells coming from the open doors were of human bodies, accompanied by the sounds of snoring. They reached a door guarded by a sleeping sentinel, whose throat Menelaus paused to slice open with his sword before running on in Odysseus’s wake.

Then they came to a turn in the passage that was bathed with the glow of newly lit torches. Odysseus crouched low and signalled for Menelaus to do the same.

‘Is her bedroom near?’ Menelaus whispered.

‘Just around this corner. But listen, someone’s speaking; if Helen’s there, she’s not alone.’

At that moment, a door opened and the muffled voices became clear.

‘I don’t know if it’s the whole Greek army, but we can’t take any risks. We heard the fighting and saw the flames from the courtyard, so I’m going to take you somewhere safe before it’s too late.’

‘Deiphobus!’ Menelaus hissed.

Before Odysseus could stop him, the Spartan king had pulled the shield from his back and was running around the corner. Odysseus swore and followed as quickly as he could, almost colliding with Menelaus as he turned into the broad, well-lit corridor. Just a few paces away, standing before the open door to Helen’s bedroom, were Deiphobus, two of Helen’s maids and two members of the royal guard. Their faces wore looks of astonishment as they gaped at the two gore-spattered Greeks. For a heartbeat Menelaus and Odysseus stared back at them in silence, hesitating at the unexpected sight of the armed warriors. Into this moment of anxious stillness stepped Helen, dressed in a gauzy white chiton with her black hair tied up behind her head, as if she had not yet been to bed. She carried a black cloak over her arm, which slipped to the floor as she set eyes upon her first husband.