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

‘Savages,’ he whispered, vehemently. ‘This is Agamemnon’s work!’

‘I suppose this is the price we Trojans have to pay for our defiance,’ Astynome said. ‘Perhaps if we hadn’t fought so hard we would have been shown more mercy. Perhaps not, I don’t know. Maybe all great civilisations have to end like this, otherwise we might rise up to challenge the gods themselves.’

Eperitus put his arm around her and pulled her closer, cursing the armour that stopped him feeling the warmth of her body against his.

‘Do you wish things had turned out differently?’

‘This destruction saddens me, and I’m sad I will never see my father again or return to Chryse. But also I’m happy. This is the past – that burning, crumbling city over there is the past – but you are the future. I have you and we have life, and we will bring more life into this world. The war’s over and we’re together. That’s something to be hopeful about, isn’t it?’

‘It is,’ he answered, before kissing her on the cheek and standing upright. ‘And now I had better find Odysseus again. He gave me permission to see that you were alright, but he also wanted me to find him at the Council of Kings once I’d spoken with you. Do I have your permission to leave?’

Astynome smiled and nodded. Eperitus left the way he had come, stealing a last glance at her as he negotiated the precarious gangplank to the sand below.

Chapter Forty-six

T HE L AST K ING OF T ROY

The Council of Kings were seated in a wide double-circle before the Scaean Gate, partly beneath the shade of the sacred oak tree where Achilles had killed Hector. A handful of Agamemnon’s bodyguard kept watch over the commanders of the army, though there were no enemies left alive in Ilium to do them harm. The only remaining Trojans now were women, and as Eperitus approached the assembly he noticed several standing beneath a canopy a few paces away from the Council, their hands bound with rope. Hecabe, Cassandra and Andromache – Hector’s wife – were among them, looking grief-stricken and dishevelled, and Eperitus realised these were the remainder of Troy’s royal household. To his surprise he saw Helen there, too, though unlike the others her clothes were fresh and her face and hair clean. Her chin was held defiantly high, but her eyes were fixed on the broken stones at the foot of the city walls where the Greeks were still busily hurling down the parapets that had withstood them for so long. Eperitus followed her gaze and saw the body of a small child among the rubble by the gates, where he had been thrown to his death. Eperitus turned his eyes away and headed towards the noisy ring of men.

Food was being served as he joined the Council, allowing him to slip in unnoticed and take his place next to Odysseus. A slave brought him a krater of wine and a plate of roast meat, fresh from the sacrifices the kings had made earlier that morning to thank the gods for their great victory. He had passed the place of slaughter on his way up from the ships: a dozen gore-drenched altars built of stones from the walls of Troy, the ground around them soaked dark with the blood of the hundreds of beasts that had been slain. Large numbers of men were still busy cutting up the carcasses, roasting the different parts of the animals, tending the fires and doling out the meat onto platters. The stench of the blood and the hammering of cleavers had reminded Eperitus of battle.

‘Where were you?’ Odysseus asked, leaning towards Eperitus as he folded a slice of meat in a piece of bread and prepared to put it in his mouth. ‘The Council’s nearly finished.’

‘Already? I thought it’d take all day.’

‘No. Everyone’s in a hurry to get on with things and go home. Can’t you sense it? There isn’t a man here who doesn’t want to finish the business of tearing down the walls, distributing the plunder and setting off.’

Eperitus put the food in his mouth and looked about at the battle-worn kings, princes and captains of the army, eating, drinking and talking among themselves as they waited for the debate to resume. This was probably the last time he would see any of them, he realised, now that the great expedition that had brought them together was finally over. Agamemnon, as ever, sat at the head of the circle. Eperitus eyed him coldly: the feelings of hatred he had stifled for so long were now gaining strength again, and the thought he would sail off to continue his life at Mycenae was galling. With difficulty, he pulled his gaze away and turned it to the other members of the Council. Nestor and Menelaus were on either side of the King of Men, while a pair of Mycenaean soldiers stood guard over the three of them, dressed in their impressive but outdated ceremonial armour. All the other great names were there, too: Diomedes, flanked by his faithful companions, Sthenelaus and Euryalus; Neoptolemus, wearing his father’s splendid armour as he sat beside Peisandros; Philoctetes and Teucer, the two greatest archers in the army and now firm friends; Little Ajax; Idomeneus of Crete; Menestheus of Athens; and all the other noble warriors who had braved the dangers of the Trojan horse, to their eternal glory.

‘And you, old friend?’ Eperitus asked. ‘You must be keen to haul up the anchor stones and set sail? To get back to Penelope and Telemachus.’

Odysseus could not hide a grin at the thought, but his eyes were less certain.

‘The heart’s eager, but the mind is afraid,’ he replied. ‘My whole body’s crying out to hold Penelope again and to embrace my boy for the first time since he was a baby. And yet the idea terrifies me, too. What if Penelope doesn’t love me any more? What if Telemachus hates me for abandoning him at such a young age? I would in his place – wouldn’t you?’

The doubt in his intelligent, green eyes was genuine, but Eperitus laughed it off and threw an arm about his shoulder.

‘Stop worrying. Remember the message Penelope sent with Omeros? Didn’t she say she was desperate for you to return, and that Telemachus is longing for his father? When we finally sail back into that tiny little harbour, it’s going to be the greatest homecoming in the whole of Greece. And,’ he added, with a hint of solemnity, ‘don’t forget she said that Eupeithes is threatening his old tricks again. The sooner we get back, the sooner we can deal with him and his cronies.’

Odysseus simply nodded and turned his attention back to the other kings. A soldier had arrived and was handing Agamemnon a large clay tablet marked with tightly packed symbols. The king showed it to Nestor and they discussed its contents in hushed voices. Eperitus tipped out a slop of wine in libation to the gods and raised the krater to his lips.

‘So, what did I miss?’ he asked.

‘There were some heated arguments about how the plunder should be shared –’

‘Nine-tenths to Agamemnon and the scraps to be divided equally between the rest of us?’ Eperitus asked, sceptically.

‘Surprisingly, no,’ Odysseus answered. ‘He wanted a full half, but that received a lot of complaints and he backed down without much of a fight. Perhaps he’s content with the destruction of Troy and the knowledge the Aegean will be controlled by Mycenae from now on. Either way, he agreed everything should be split equally, depending on the number of ships each king brought with him.’

Eperitus raised his eyebrows. ‘And the captives?’

‘The same, to be decided by lot. Except for the high-ranking women, that is. They were brought before the assembly and allotted by Agamemnon – Cassandra to himself, Hecabe to me, Andromache to Neoptolemus, Helen to Menelaus –’