Glyn Iliffe - The Gates Of Troy (Adventures of Odysseus)

He passed from the stables out into the broad palace courtyard. The quiet, moonlit space of the first night he had arrived was now filled with activity. A dozen slaves with wooden rakes were smoothing out the hoof-prints and wheel ruts of the previous day, only to see the neatly furrowed dirt trampled again by scores of servants hurrying about their early morning duties. Sleepy soldiers stumbled from their barracks, adjusting their armour as they went yawning to their posts, while over by the gates a group of light horsemen were discussing the morning’s patrol, their mounts snorting and stamping with impatience. The sky above was flushed pink with the first light of dawn, and from the roofs and treetops of Sparta an army of birds were greeting the morning in song.

Paris did not share their enthusiasm. Feeling frustrated and moody, he lowered his head and walked across the newly levelled soil to the palace. Inside, the cool, gloomy interior was thick with bustling slaves, few of whom had time to take notice of the foreign prince. Weaving his way between them, he came to a flight of stairs and leapt up them two at a time, hoping to find somewhere to be alone with his troubled thoughts. Fortunately, the upper level was deserted except for a young slave girl sweeping the corridor. She stared at Paris with indignation – making him suspect he had entered the women’s quarters – but he ignored her and continued up the narrow, white-walled passageway. Unlike the lower level, which was an organized collection of large, functional rooms feeding off from a central hallway, the floor above was a maze of corridors and small rooms where he soon became lost.

His dark looks as he moved through the upper level of the palace caused several slaves to avoid his eye or move aside. When he stopped one of them and demanded to know where the Trojans had been billeted, the old man could do little more than point and give hurried directions in a shaking voice. Paris strode on. He intended to discuss his plans with Apheidas and Aeneas, see his men fed, and then demand an audience with Menelaus regarding Hesione. The fact the Spartan king had witnessed the look that had passed between Paris and Helen on that first night would almost guarantee his agreement – he would want the foreigners away from Sparta and his wife as quickly as possible.

It was as these thoughts raced through his mind that Paris heard a sudden burst of laughter coming from one of the windows ahead of him. Despite his grim mood, he stopped at the window and looked out onto a small, rectangular garden below. It was enclosed by a high wall and bordered by spring flowers, whose rich scents reached as high as the upper window. In the middle of the garden was a circular pond covered with lily pads, through which Paris could see the flitting shapes of large, golden fish. Around the pond was a lawn where four children – three boys and a little girl – were chasing each other and laughing merrily. But Paris’s gaze was immediately drawn to the slim, black-haired woman seated on a stone bench beside the pond. She was dressed in a dark blue robe that covered her shoulders against the morning chill, but fell open slightly to reveal the white chiton beneath.

Initially her hair shielded her face from his eyes, but with a sudden rush of nervousness he knew it was Helen. A moment later she lifted her face to the sky and with an easy movement of her slender fingers tucked the long strands of hair behind her ears. Paris stepped back from the window, where he could watch her from the cover of the shadows. When he had first seen her she had enthralled him with her untamed beauty, but now he looked on her with astonishment as her purity and perfection were revealed to him by the daylight. She lowered her face again to look at the children – her children – and as Paris saw the loving smile she gave them his heart yearned for her to smile at him in the same way. Then he remembered that he had resolved to leave Sparta before nightfall and a great swell of sadness and anger washed through him.

The smallest of the boys ran to his mother, who folded him into her arms and covered him with kisses. The child’s face – like those of his siblings – showed a clear physical resemblance to both Helen and Menelaus, proving Helen’s faithfulness to her marriage bed. And despite the withered hand that the boy held tucked into his chest, Paris envied him.

‘Magnificent, isn’t she?’ whispered a voice over Paris’s shoulder.

The prince turned with a start and saw Apheidas in the shadows. ‘What are you doing here?’ he said impatiently.

‘Looking for you. Nobody’s seen you since the feast.’

‘I’ve been minding my own business, Apheidas. There are times when I wish you’d do the same.’

‘Now, now,’ the older man tutted with an amused smile. ‘Besides, isn’t it the business of both of us to seek the return of Hesione? That is why we’re here, isn’t it?’

‘Keep your voice down,’ Paris hissed as Helen’s head turned in the direction of the window. ‘Of course that’s why we’re here. What else do you think’s kept me awake all night?’

‘I’m glad to hear you’re focused, Paris,’ Apheidas replied tartly. ‘Hector told me to give you my full support, and I want to see the mission succeed just as much as you do. It just irks me that, whatever we say, the Greeks are still going to send us back to Troy with nothing more than bellies full of their tough food and bitter wine. After all, if we’re made to look like fools then Priam and the whole of Ilium will look like fools with us.’

‘We won’t go back empty-handed or looking like fools, Apheidas,’ Paris snapped, wishing the man would leave him alone. ‘Besides, I imagine you’re more worried about your own pride than my father’s.’

‘A man’s pride is his motivation, but unlike you, my motivation has been thinking of ways to achieve our mission.’ Apheidas waited for Paris to react, but the prince merely narrowed his eyes and remained silent. ‘Anyway, the Greeks hurt my pride ten years ago when they drove me out, and I don’t intend to pass up this chance to have my revenge.’

‘We’re not here to satisfy your stung pride, so just forget whatever it is you’re dreaming up and concentrate on what I tell you to do.’

‘Our success will be all the revenge I need, Paris. Nothing else. And if you really want to see Hesione returned and Troy’s honour restored, then you’d better listen to what I’ve got to say.’

Paris felt his anger rising again. ‘You’re forgetting yourself, Apheidas,’ he warned. ‘Hesione’s my father’s sister and I want her back home as much as anyone, but it won’t be as simple as you seem to think. Has it occurred to you she might not want to return to Troy with us, whether she’s given leave to by the Greeks or not? Why would she give up her home and family to return to a place she hasn’t seen for years?’

‘Who cares what the stupid woman wants?’ Apheidas retorted. ‘We’ve been given a mission to take her home to Troy, and it’s your duty to carry it out. And if you haven’t got the guts, then I’ll do it myself.’

There was a long, tense moment as the men stared at each other, punctuated by the laughing of the children below and the smooth voice of their mother. Apheidas had directly challenged Paris’s authority, an act that no commander could tolerate if he expected to maintain his position. But Apheidas was always standing up to those above him, and most had learned to tolerate this fault with magnanimity because it was outweighed by his excellence in battle. And perhaps Paris was in the wrong. He had assumed too much of Hector’s attitude – that they would never bring Hesione back and the best they could do was to spy on the Greeks and come back with a reason to make war on them in the future; however, it was Priam’s wish that his sister be returned to Troy and the city’s pride be restored along with her. And Priam was still the king.