The Armour of Achilles (46 page)

‘Look out!’ he warned as two more guards came running in through the entrance with swords drawn and torches held aloft.

‘Look out yourself,’ Arceisius replied as he ran to meet them.

Eperitus turned just in time to see the other guard rushing at him with his spear held in both hands. Sweeping his torch downward with the speed of his sharp instincts, he knocked the point of the weapon away from his groin and jumped back as the guard swung the butt of his spear up at his face.

‘Kill him!’ Apheidas ordered from a few paces behind the soldier.

With a determined grimace, yet wary of the flaming brand in Eperitus’s hand, the guard edged forward. Eperitus fell back, casting his eyes quickly to either side; Astynome had taken refuge behind the stone altar to his left, but on his right Arceisius’s opponents were forcing him back towards the centre of the temple. Inexplicably, Eperitus could also hear the clash of weapons coming from outside of the circle of laurel trees, though he had no time to think what it could mean. He whispered a silent prayer, then stepped backwards on to the shaft of a discarded spear. The gods had heard him.

Throwing his torch at his attacker – who instinctively turned away and shielded his face with his hand, crying out as the flames burnt the soft underside of his forearm – Eperitus dropped to one knee and groped for the abandoned weapon. Seizing the shaft with both hands, he drove it upward at the Trojan’s head. In the semi-darkness he had the weapon the wrong way round, but the butt had been fitted with a bronze spike for planting firmly in the ground to resist cavalry attacks. The spike found the flesh beneath the man’s chin and carried on through until it punctured his brain and brought him down on to the flagstones. Eperitus tugged the weapon free and looked across, just in time to see Arceisius retreat another two steps to where Apheidas was waiting for him, his long blade glowing orange in the guttering light of the torches.

‘No!’ Eperitus shouted, leaping forward.

But it was too late. Apheidas placed his left hand firmly on Arceisius’s shoulder and plunged the sword into his back, angling it upwards to pierce the heart. Arceisius arched his head back in sudden shock, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the interwoven branches that formed the roof of the temple. Then he gave a choke and blood gushed from his mouth to spill over his chin and neck. His sword fell with a hollow clatter on the flagstones and his body followed a moment later, dropping limp and lifeless to the floor. Astynome gasped and for a few heartbeats the only sound was the clash of bronze from outside the temple.

Then every muscle in Eperitus’s body was gripped with rage. Feeling a new surge of strength rushing into his limbs he leapt forward and drove the head of his spear into the nearest Trojan, killing him instantly. As Apheidas fell back, the other soldier turned to meet Eperitus’s wrath, a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. With impossible speed, Eperitus’s spear found his stomach and brought the man to his knees. The blade fell from his hands as he dropped to one side and curled up about his wound, trying to stem the flow of blood with his fingers. Eperitus dropped his spear and picked up the discarded sword, turning now to face his father.

A watery light was creeping into the sky from the east, settling faintly on the branches and the chiselled contours of the flagstones, bringing with it the faint smell of imminent dawn. There was no colour in the world yet, other than the false orange glow cast by the scattered torches as their flames dwindled, and the hint of scarlet in the dark stain that seeped out from beneath Arceisius’s body. Eperitus looked down at the still, blood-smeared features of his friend as he lay on the stone floor, his eyes staring emptily up at the last few stars still glimmering through the branches overhead. Fleeting images of Arceisius whirled past his mind’s eye, some of them forced and others unexpected – Arceisius, the young shepherd boy, whom Eperitus had caught following him as he scouted the Taphian positions on Ithaca twenty years ago; Arceisius, his enthusiastic but naïve squire, following him into an ambush by Thessalian bandits on Samos a few days before Agamemnon had arrived with the news of Helen’s kidnap; Arceisius, the battle-hardened warrior, looking red-faced and more boyish than ever as he confessed to Odysseus and Eperitus that he had found himself a wife. But Melantho had enjoyed her husband’s caresses for the last time. Arceisius had paid the price for Eperitus’s treachery, and as he looked down at the soulless pile of flesh that had once been his friend, only one thought possessed him: to kill Apheidas.

His father was half lost in the shadows to one side of the temple, a tall, bulky form shrouded in darkness but betrayed by the gleam of his armour and the naked sword in his hand. His face was dark also, the features only just distinguishable even to Eperitus’s eyes. Then, with a cry of fury, Eperitus ran at him. Their swords clashed, scraped across each other and clashed again. Eperitus felt his heart hammering in his chest, both exhilarated and terrified by the closeness of death in a way that rarely touched him on the battlefield. He lunged forward, using his keen senses to guide his sword in the stifled half-light, but his attack was met with an instinctive counter-blow as Apheidas checked him. Again he attacked and again he was repulsed, the thrust of his weapon reciprocated with equal skill and anger by his father. The two men’s movements became faster and more forceful as they weaved deadly patterns about each other, trying to find the gap that would lead to victory for one and death for the other. There was no pretence now about either man’s intentions: Eperitus had rediscovered his old hatred and was determined to kill his father; Apheidas knew this and would not show his son mercy a second time. To Astynome, watching intently as she gripped the cold stone of the altar, all she could make out in the darkness was two black shapes moving amid flashes of metal, their grunts and curses softening the harsh clatter of their weapons.

‘You still haven’t the skill or the heart to kill your own father,’ Apheidas said, grinning as he blocked another attack, ‘however much I outrage your sense of honour. And it’s only a matter of time until I slice that obstinate head from your shoulders.’

He dropped back and scythed at his son’s neck, the blade biting into nothing as Eperitus ducked beneath the deadly sweep and lunged with the point of his own sword, narrowly missing as Apheidas twisted aside and chopped down at Eperitus’s arm. Eperitus caught the blow against the hilt of his weapon and threw his father’s sword-arm into the air. Apheidas jumped back from the follow-up thrust and sensed the altar close behind him.

‘Give up all restraint and turn your energy to savage hatred,’ Eperitus hissed, advancing on his father with a snarl.

‘What’s that?’ Apheidas said.

‘The words of Calchas, priest of Apollo. I wasn’t able to beat you in Lyrnessus or by the ships because you planted a seed of doubt in my mind; you made me believe you felt some remorse about the things you’d done. But now I know you for who you
really
are – the same ambitious, lying murderer I’d always thought you were. And don’t deceive yourself that I don’t hate you enough to kill you, Father. I do and I will.’

He stepped back to pick up a discarded torch and Apheidas lunged. But his attack was weak, half-hearted, and Eperitus beat his sword aside with ease. With his other hand he swung the torch against his father’s head, catching him on the ear and provoking a great roar of pain. Apheidas reeled back against the altar, jarring his back and dropping his sword as he pressed his other hand over the charred flesh at the side of his head. Then Astynome screamed a warning, her eyes white in the shadows as she pointed over Eperitus’s shoulder. Eperitus turned and saw the guard he had knocked unconscious standing behind him. His nose was a misshapen mess of red, but he had a spear poised in his right hand and the point was aimed at Eperitus’s heart. The soldier drew back the weapon and, strangely, Eperitus found himself reminded of the temple where he had died saving Odysseus from an assassin’s knife. But this time Athena would not restore him to life, and with a sudden pang of regret he wished he had not betrayed his friend. If he was to die, it should have been fighting at Odysseus’s side, not as a traitor who had thrown away his honour on a fool’s hope.

But as the Trojan pulled the spear back, it fell from his hands and he lurched forward. Blood pumped out from between his lips and, with incredible slowness, he dropped first to his knees and then on to his face, the long shaft of a spear protruding from his back. Behind him, framed in the entrance to the temple by the first light of dawn, was the unmistakeable silhouette of Odysseus. He stepped inside and his eyes fell on the dead face of Arceisius, though he said nothing. Antiphus and Polites followed, the former with his bow across his shoulders and the latter holding a sword in his hand, the blade running with fresh blood.

‘Eurylochus said I would find you here,’ Odysseus announced.

Eperitus looked at the king, but there was neither anger nor hatred in his eyes. If anything, they were tinged with inexplicable remorse. Then, with sudden shock, he remembered his father. There was a muffled grunt and a short scuffle. Spinning around, he saw Apheidas with his arm about Astynome and his hand over her mouth, pulling her head back. A dagger gleamed against her ribs.

‘Harm her and I’ll kill you.’

Apheidas gave his son a mocking smile. ‘Weren’t you going to kill me anyway?’

Eperitus stared at Astynome. Her eyes were wide with fear, silently pleading with him to do something, though he did not know what he
could
do. Then Odysseus crossed the temple floor and stood beside him.

‘Let the girl go, Apheidas,’ he suggested in a quiet but firm voice. ‘Your men are all dead and that leaves just you against the four of us. If you harm her, we will kill you, just as sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll do that anyway – the very moment I let her go.’

Odysseus gave him a reassuring smile and held up his hands submissively.

‘We’ve no desire to kill you. We just want Astynome alive. Let her come to me and I give you my word we’ll let you ride back to Troy unharmed.’

‘No!’ Eperitus protested. ‘I’ve waited twenty years for this moment and he’s not leaving this temple alive.’

‘There’ll be another time for vengeance, Eperitus. Right now we have to get Astynome back.’

‘You’ll have neither,’ Apheidas told them, moving around to the front of the altar. ‘Not while I’m holding a knife to the girl’s throat. Now, move aside and let us leave unhindered or I’ll kill her right now.’

‘I can shoot him, Odysseus,’ Antiphus said. He had fitted an arrow and pulled the string back so that the flight rested against his cheekbone. The barbed tip was aimed at Apheidas’s forehead.

‘Lower your bow, Antiphus,’ Odysseus answered sharply, knowing that even with Antiphus’s aim there was still a risk of harming Astynome. ‘We’re going to let Apheidas leave. We have no choice.’

‘Order him to cut the string,’ Apheidas added. ‘I don’t want an arrow in the back as I ride away.’

Odysseus nodded to Antiphus, who reluctantly pulled out his dagger and did as he was told. The Ithacans all moved back as Apheidas and Astynome edged by them, though Odysseus had to seize Eperitus by the arm and pull him out of their path. Once they were out of the temple, Eperitus shook himself free of the king’s grip and ran after them.

Light was spreading across the sky from the east, though the sun had not yet nudged above the mountains and a few stars were still visible overhead. Apheidas and Astynome were standing by the knot of Trojan horses, their breath misting in the cold morning air. Eperitus watched his father help Astynome on to the back of one of the mounts, conscious that Odysseus, Polites and Antiphus had also left the temple and were standing behind him.

‘I’ll come for you, Astynome,’ he called. ‘Just tell me where your master’s house is in the city and I’ll find you.’

‘Her master’s house?’ Apheidas scoffed, mounting behind her and taking the horse’s reins in his hands. ‘Haven’t you realized who Astynome’s master is yet?’

Astynome’s beautiful features, which until that point had been fearful and despairing, now turned to shock.

‘Don’t listen to him, Eperitus,’ she began, but Apheidas’s hand closed over her mouth and stifled her protests.

‘
I
am Astynome’s master,’ Apheidas continued, his features gloating in the half-light. Astynome struggled against his grip then was still. ‘Don’t you realize it yet, Son? Astynome wasn’t in Lyrnessus for any festival of Artemis, she was there because I took her there. I knew that even if I could face you alone, you wouldn’t listen to what I had to say. But if I put Astynome into your arms—’

‘Enough!’ Eperitus shouted.

‘If I put Astynome into your arms,’ Apheidas insisted, ‘if I could get her into your
bed
, she might be able to persuade you to think of me more favourably.’

‘That’s a lie, damn you. You’re not satisfied with killing Arceisius, or deluding me into thinking you felt remorse for your past; now you want to make me believe the woman I love has been deceiving me all along.’

‘But she has, and she paid me back handsomely for my faith in her. And even if you’ve proved to be a disappointment, the other information she brought to me was invaluable. How else do you think we knew about Agamemnon’s plan to ambush the Aethiopes?’

‘I still don’t believe you.’

Apheidas removed his hand from Astynome’s mouth.