The Gates Of Troy (54 page)

‘Light as a feather,’ Achilles replied, waving it over his head, before running out of sight beyond the brow of the hill.

The sun was bright and hot as they reached the army’s encampment. The only blemish on the blue sky was a pall of black smoke from Iphigenia’s funeral pyre, floating up from the woods and drifting towards the east. The tents of the main camp seemed untouched by the gales that had raged through the wood, though the amount of rain they had absorbed was shown by the steam that curled up from the sea of canvas. Achilles’s own tent – wide and spacious with a high ceiling – seemed hardly to have been affected by the endless days of storm. The dirt floor was covered with long grasses that his Myrmidons had cut and dried over their cooking fires, while the early afternoon sun on the white canvas made the interior bright and warm.

The Ithacans took the chairs that were offered to them. Kraters of wine were brought shortly afterwards, followed by low tables loaded with platters of bread and freshly cooked lamb. Patroclus and Peisandros joined the small feast and the men satisfied their hunger in busy silence, but for Eperitus who sat morosely and neither ate nor drank. Odysseus watched him with concern as Achilles leaned back in his fur-draped chair, folded his hands across his stomach, and looked at his guests.

‘You wanted to know why I tried to save Iphigenia,’ he began. ‘Well, it’s a simple matter of honour. Agamemnon sent you to fetch the girl under the pretence that she was to marry me, did he not?’

‘As far as we were aware, that
was
the reason we were sent to Mycenae,’ Odysseus explained.

‘I don’t doubt it, but when I found out Agamemnon had used my name to deceive his wife and daughter I wanted to teach him a lesson. He can call himself King of Men and lord it over the Greeks as much as he likes, but I won’t allow him to drag my name into his deceptions. And if it hadn’t been for the intervention of Artemis, I’d have stopped this vile sacrifice and sent the girl alive and well back to her mother.’

‘Even if it meant the fleet wouldn’t sail to Troy?’ Odysseus asked. ‘I thought you wanted glory, not a quiet life at home?’

Achilles merely shrugged. ‘Of course I do, but not at the price of my honour. After all, a man’s name is the only thing that will outlive him, and when I’m dead I want the name of Achilles to mean something worthwhile. But I’ve made my point to Agamemnon and now it’s time to look ahead. There’s a greater will than Artemis’s at work here, and you can mark my words: this war will take place and nothing we do is going to prevent it.’

‘I’m beginning to agree,’ Odysseus said. ‘Though for a while I’d thought the storms would put a stop to Agamemnon’s plans.’

‘There are too many prophecies and oracles around for everything to stop because of an offended goddess, and you can be sure our glorious King of Men is no less a puppet than we are. This war is like a boulder rolling down a mountainside – no force on earth can stand in its way.’

He held up his krater and Mnemon, his lean and gangly servant, refilled it.

‘Now,’ Achilles continued, ‘tell me what was so important about Agamemnon’s daughter that you risked her father’s wrath to save her?’

Odysseus looked at Eperitus and indicated with a nod that he should answer the question. For a moment, Eperitus was tempted to confess the truth about Iphigenia and why he had tried to stop the sacrifice. After all, Achilles was a father; he would understand. But had he not given up his own child for the promise of glory in Troy? And what of Odysseus’s advice, that the secret of his relationship with Iphigenia should remain between them, for the sake of Clytaemnestra’s safety and his own? He glanced down at the cut grass and the many fleeces spread across the tent floor, his mind suddenly filled with the memory of his daughter lying frightened and alone on the stone altar, then raised his head and looked at Achilles.

‘Honour,’ he lied. ‘I promised Clytaemnestra that I would try to save her daughter. I was trying to keep my word.’

Achilles gave an approving nod, but it was Odysseus who spoke next.

‘And I helped him, because Eperitus is my friend and because I didn’t want the storms to end. You mentioned prophecies and oracles, Achilles, so here’s another: the Pythoness told me that if I go to Troy I won’t see my home or family for twenty years, so I’d hoped the storms would spare me from my doom. But they haven’t, it seems, and now I have another question for you. We could have said all this up in the wood – why bring us back to your tent?’

At this, Achilles laughed out loud and leaned across to Patroclus. ‘What did I tell you? There isn’t a more astute man in the whole Greek army – not even Palamedes.’

‘Oh, I remember Odysseus’s cleverness from Sparta,’ Patroclus replied in his cold, clipped voice. ‘After all, it’s thanks to his idea for the oath that we’re all here now.’

‘He could hardly have foreseen Helen being kidnapped by a Trojan, Patroclus,’ Achilles continued. ‘But you’re right, Odysseus, there is another reason for asking you here. Your own protection.’

‘Protection from what?’

‘Agamemnon, of course. I’m not the only one who’ll be linking the appearance of that girl with your special kind of cunning, Odysseus. Why would she have impersonated a goddess and tried to coax Agamemnon into releasing his daughter if she wasn’t put up to it? Clytaemnestra could have been behind it, you might say, but with Eperitus running out into the glade like that – in front of every king and prince in the army – you’ll have a hard task convincing Agamemnon you weren’t trying to prevent his sacrifice. And sooner or later, when he has recovered from what he’s done, he’ll want you to answer for it.’

‘And how will you protect us?’ Eperitus asked.

‘We’re guilty of the same crime,’ Achilles replied with a knowing grin. ‘By openly inviting you to my tent I’m letting Agamemnon know that he takes his vengeance out on all of us, or none of us. But whereas he can afford to punish you, Odysseus, because your men only form a small part of his force, he won’t dare to question me. He
needs
me.’

‘The Myrmidons are renowned fighters and their leader’s reputation as a warrior is second to none,’ Eperitus responded, restraining his anger at Achilles’s arrogance. ‘But Agamemnon has enough ships and soldiers to conquer Troy without the contributions of either Ithaca
or
Phthia. How can you be certain he won’t expel you from the expedition, too?’

‘Because Troy can’t fall without Achilles,’ Peisandros said, leaning his huge bulk forward and taking a handful of meat and bread from the platters before him. He crammed them into his mouth before continuing. ‘Weren’t you there when Calchas made his prophecy before the council of Greek leaders? Either way, Agamemnon believes everything the priest says: he killed his own daughter at Calchas’s suggestion, so he’s not going to risk sending Achilles and his Myrmidons home, is he?’

‘I remember the prophecy,’ Odysseus said, ‘and what you say is right, Achilles, so we’re grateful for your protection.’

Achilles gave a small nod. ‘It’s the best thing for the expedition, whether Agamemnon knows it or not. His insistence on this sacrifice has already lost him a lot of support, and if he starts singling out his best men for defying him with good reason then the alliance against Troy will fall apart. Besides, I like you both. Even though I prefer openness to guile, this war is going to need your intelligence, Odysseus; and as for you, Eperitus, you share my sense of honour and that’s admirable in any man. And what’s more, I’m going to give you some advice for the attack on Troy.’ He leaned forward confidentially and lowered his voice. ‘Other than Patroclus and Peisandros here, no one else knows what I’m about to tell, so you must keep it to yourselves. My mother has the power to see the future, and before we left Phthia she told me that the first Greek to land within sight of Troy would die. She knew I would want that honour for myself, so maybe she’s just trying to keep me alive a little longer. But I’ve never known her foresight to be wrong so when the attack comes I’m going to hold back. I suggest you do the same.’

He sat back up and stretched his legs out in front of him. Odysseus drained his krater and signalled to Mnemon for more wine.

‘I’ve never known a man so bound up by divination and augury,’ he said as the servant filled his cup. ‘How can you tolerate it?’

Achilles smiled broadly and held his hands up nonchalantly. ‘It runs in the family. My mother was chosen by Zeus to be his bride, until the Fates prophesied that her son would become more powerful than his father. So he married her to Peleus instead. But one takes whatever precautions are practical. Take Mnemon here. My mother once had a dream that if ever I killed a son of Apollo, Apollo would kill me out of vengeance, so she gave me Mnemon as a slave to remind me of the fact. He can’t cook and he always mixes the wine too weak; and when it comes to putting on my armour, he can hardly lift my sword, let alone my spear or shield. But he knows every son of Apollo by rote, including where they live and who their sons are, just in case. If ever I face one in a fight – and Apollo has a few bastards in Ilium – it’s Mnemon’s duty to let me know.’

The Ithacans looked at the tall, ungainly slave and did not envy him the task of restraining Achilles in the heat of battle.

As Achilles had predicted, no mention was made of the incidents in the glade, either by Agamemnon or any of the other nobles who had been present. Instead, the King of Men remained ensconced in his tent, doling out orders for the fleet to sail the following morning. Perhaps, Eperitus thought, he was keen not to highlight the snubs to his authority and risk widening the cracks that were already appearing in his tenuous alliance of states. And perhaps it would have too much of an irony to punish the acts of men who were seemingly trying to save his daughter from death at his own hands.

By the time Odysseus, Eperitus and Antiphus returned to the Ithacan camp a messenger was already waiting for them, bringing Agamemnon’s orders to prepare for an immediate departure. By the end of the day, Eperitus had worked harder than he had done in months to help get the Ithacan force ready to sail. Though he no longer had any heart for the expedition against Troy, especially under the command of the man who had murdered his daughter, he was glad of the distraction from his dark thoughts, which had been ranging between despair and vengeful anger since leaving the glade.

Men had to be organized back into their correct companies, weapons and equipment had to be stowed as efficiently as possible, and provisions for a long journey needed to be obtained. As there was no centralized supply system for the army, most of the essentials had to be squabbled over with the other factions, and items such as fruit, livestock and salt could only be extracted from the local populace at many times their normal worth. Eventually, though, everything was ready, and as the Ithacans began to settle down for the evening Eperitus slipped out of the camp and wandered into the trees.

While the sun set to leave a clear blue sky, tinged with pink in the west, he climbed the hill to the encampment of the main army. This was still in chaos, with soldiers running in all directions and captains barking orders in a dozen different accents and dialects, so he strolled under the sycamore trees and found his way to the standing stones guarding the entrance to the amphitheatre overlooking the Euboean Straits. The benches on the rocky slopes of the arena, where the Greek leaders had sat during their debates about the impending war, had been removed and the place was again a natural, three-sided bowl looking out to the east.

Eperitus moved to the eastern ledge and sat with his legs dangling over the cliff top, looking down at the vast armada of ships in the bay below. Scores of tiny black figures were still working on the galleys, some fitting spars and adjusting rigging while others knelt on the decks in teams, mending the sails that had been stowed for many weeks. Innumerable small boats crept up and down between the rows of ships, ferrying an endless traffic of crew and supplies to and from the shore. And above the hubbub of voices and the constant sound of hammering was the rushing of the westerly wind, which in the morning would drive the fleet to Troy.