Glyn Iliffe - The Armour of Achilles

Then a group of a dozen warriors came rushing out of the side street after them, brandishing swords and spears. One carried a bow, to which an arrow was already fitted. As he saw the two men he drew the string back to his right ear and released the arrow, sending the younger of the two spinning to the ground. While the older man turned to his dead companion, Eperitus pulled the girl back into the cool darkness of the temple.

‘What are you doing?’ she protested. ‘ Save him!’

‘Shut up and come with me,’ Eperitus commanded, taking her by the arm and dragging her deeper into the gloom. ‘Is there a back way out of this cursed place?’

‘But those are Greek soldiers. Can’t you intervene to save the old man’s life?’

‘They’re Myrmidons and they’re already drunk with killing. One sight of you and they won’t care whether I’m a Trojan or a Greek – they’ll kill me just so they can have their way with you. Now, if you really want me to help you, then tell me how to get out of here.’

‘There’ll be a side door somewhere. Behind a curtain, I think.’

‘You think ? But you’re the priestess here – shouldn’t you know ?’

A sudden scream announced the demise of the old man. Eperitus looked to the doorway, where he could hear the voices of the Myrmidons in the street beyond.

‘They’re going to come in here looking for something to steal,’ the girl said, her voice rising with panic. ‘Come on. There’s the curtain over there.’

‘And where does it lead?’ Eperitus asked, tightening his grip on her arm and eyeing her suspiciously as she tried to pull away.

‘To an antechamber. There’ll be another door leading out on to the side street that runs beside the temple. We must be quick.’

‘No,’ Eperitus replied, looking at the girl. Her eyes were pale and wide in the darkness where they stood by the altar stone, but as he heard the voices of the Myrmidons approaching he refused to move towards the curtain the girl was gesturing at or loosen his grip on her arm. ‘We’re going nowhere until you tell me who you are.’

‘I’m the priestess of—’

‘The priestess of this temple would have known immediately where the side door was. Who are you?’

The girl struggled against the strength of his fingers for a moment, then heard the metallic slither of a sword being drawn from its scabbard and saw the squat silhouette of a man in the doorway of the temple.

‘All right, I’m not the priestess here,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t even come from Lyrnessus. Now, can we leave before his eyes adjust to the darkness?’

But Eperitus was already pulling her across to the corner of the temple, whisking aside the heavy curtain and fumbling with the door. Fortunately, the room beyond was also in darkness and no sudden splash of light betrayed their presence to the soldiers who were cautiously advancing into the temple behind them. They crushed through the narrow doorway together, Eperitus awkwardly conscious of her soft, warm body pressed close to his, then he turned and closed the door silently behind him. Quickly scanning the tiny antechamber, which was lit only by a thin line of daylight coming from beneath a door on the opposite side of the room, he could see it was empty but for a straw mattress and some dishevelled blankets.

The girl looked around the room in disgust. ‘To be honest, I’m glad I’m not the priestess of this hovel.’

Eperitus dropped his hand to her wrist and led her to the opposite door. Already there were sounds of destruction coming from the temple behind them and it would not be long before the concealed antechamber was discovered. He threw open the door and together they stepped quickly out into the comparative brightness of the shady side street.

‘What’s the quickest, least conspicuous way to the north gate?’ he asked. ‘Assuming you know that much.’

She pulled her wrist free of his grip and took his hand in hers. ‘This way.’

Chapter Five

I N THE R UINS OF L YRNESSUS

‘So who are you?’ Eperitus asked the girl again as they walked through the shadowy alleys and rutted thoroughfares of Lyrnessus.

All around them were the sounds of pillage and burning, disrupted from time to time by the dying shouts of murdered men or the terrified screams of women in peril. The roar of flames was everywhere and a thick plume of smoke shrouded the city, filling their nostrils with its savoury reek. More and more bodies lay scattered around the streets – some still in armour, others stripped naked or left in their woollen tunics – and every now and then they would be forced to sink into the shelter of a doorway or slip down passageways between the ramshackle houses as they saw gangs of rampaging Greeks ahead of them.

‘My name is Astynome. I am the only child of Chryses, priest of Apollo on the island of Chryse.’

‘Why did you say you were a priestess?’

Astynome gave a bitter laugh. ‘Because I thought your countrymen might show some respect for the gods and leave me alone. I should have realized the Greeks have no reverence for the immortals.’

‘Then you’re not a priestess at all?

‘No,’ she answered, and with a backward glance added: ‘Or a virgin.’

Eperitus looked away, though he did not know why her admission had embarrassed him. He was not surprised: there was something worldly about Astynome that had seen suffering and knew how to fight – the grazes on her limbs and the blood on her lips showed that. He wondered whether she had a husband, but guessed that a married woman would not be alone in a besieged city.

‘I came to Lyrnessus to celebrate the annual festival of Artemis,’ she continued, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Then Aeneas and Sarpedon arrived with their brave Dardanians and Lycians behind them, saying Greek ships were sailing towards the shore and bringing an army to lay siege to the city. Those who were able took what they could and fled to Adramyttium or Thebe.’

‘But you stayed.’

‘I trusted in the men who had come to defend the city,’ Astynome retorted, a touch of angry pride igniting her pupils. ‘At home they say a single Trojan is worth ten Greeks and I believe them. A man who fights for a just cause – defending his homeland – is more than a match for any invader, especially one from such a backward country as Greece.’

Eperitus smiled at her zeal.

‘Then your trust was misplaced,’ he said. ‘Did many others remain behind?’

‘A few – the city’s militia, the old, the sick and the foolhardy. The two your countrymen killed before the temple were a wine merchant and his son. He stayed on to make some money from the Dardanians and Lycians after their victory, and now he’s dead and the Greeks will be drinking his wine for free.’

Before long they reached a small square with a large, two-storeyed house to one side. A dozen bodies were scattered around, all of whom had been disturbed by looters. Though the square was now empty, they could hear the hubbub of many voices coming from nearby. As they crossed, stepping over the debris of corpses, discarded weapons and broken armour, Eperitus asked Astynome how it was she spoke Greek.

‘I learned it on Chryse,’ she explained, almost stumbling as she looked around in horror at the bodies, some of which were hideously dismembered. ‘From the merchants who used to call there.’

‘So you were happy to buy Greek goods, and yet you clearly hate Greeks.’

‘I did not hate them then. The hate came later.’

‘And will you hate me, Astynome, even though you’ve begged to be my captive? Will you slit my throat late some night as I lie in my tent, before you steal back to Troy?’