The Gates Of Troy (44 page)

‘Then this is your first time here, too?’ Helen asked, looking at the tall, black-haired woman before her. Her face was beautiful and intelligent, though tinged with sadness.

‘Yes. My home is Thebe, beneath the wooded slopes of Mount Placus. It’s a lovely city, but very plain compared with Troy.’

‘I’ve asked Leothoë and Andromache to help you get used to the palace,’ Hecabe said. ‘They’ll show you to your rooms and make you feel at home. They’ll also teach you our customs and help you learn our language, although Paris already seems to have taught you much.’

Helen took Pleisthenes from Aeneas’s arms and wished him and Hecabe a goodnight, before following Leothoë and Andromache up the steps.

‘Thank you both,’ she said. ‘I hope we can be good friends.’

‘I hope so too,’ said Andromache. ‘Though I fear that great suffering will follow in your wake, for all Trojan women.’

Chapter Twenty-three

I
PHIGENIA

‘D
o you think she’ll agree to the wedding?’ Eperitus asked.

He stood in the middle of the courtyard, looking up at the humped shape of the mountain behind the great hall. The early morning sun was still hidden behind its black bulk, but the sky above glowed like heated bronze. A few purple clouds scudded through the fiery skies, their bellies transformed to gold by the hidden dawn.

‘I think I’ve convinced her there’s nothing to be lost by allowing the marriage,’ Odysseus replied, biting into the barley cake he had brought with him from the breakfast table. ‘The problem is whether she believes that’s the real reason why Agamemnon wants his daughter to go to Aulis.’

‘But if the marriage is just an excuse, do you think Clytaemnestra knows what Agamemnon
really
wants Iphigenia for?’

‘Shhh,’ Odysseus said, nodding towards the sentries at the threshold of the great hall and giving his friend a wink. ‘Come with me.’

He walked to the low, rectangular building that blocked off the southern edge of the courtyard, between the great hall and the guest house in which they had slept. Inside was a stone staircase that led them down to a garden of broad lawns, edged with fruit trees and flowering bushes. At its centre was a circular pond filled with white and yellow lilies and with a long, semicircular wooden bench on its southern side. A high wall enclosed the garden, and the only entrance from the city was an arched gateway in its western corner.

‘I don’t think Clytaemnestra knows what Agamemnon really wants with Iphigenia, any more than we do,’ Odysseus continued. ‘But if she wants to know, she has powers that can tell her. You remember all those rumours about her being a witch?’

‘I remember them,’ Eperitus replied, avoiding Odysseus’s eye.

‘Well, it wouldn’t surprise me if she’s . . .’

‘Are you Eperitus?’ asked a voice behind them.

They turned to see a girl with black hair and a stern, demanding look on her pretty face. She was staring at Odysseus and had her arms crossed tightly over her chest.

‘You mean Eperitus the Great, Sacker of Cities and Slayer of Thousands?’ Odysseus smiled, crouching down to face the youngster.

The girl narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips disapprovingly. ‘I mean Eperitus of Alybas. And if that’s you, sir, and you’ve really sacked cities and slain thousands, then I would like you to tell me about it.’

Odysseus shrugged his shoulders apologetically.

‘Sorry, little princess. I am only Odysseus, the king of lowly Ithaca.’

‘I’ve heard of you,’ the girl nodded. ‘But it’s Eperitus I’m looking for.’

Odysseus flicked his eyes towards his companion and took a step back.

‘I’m Eperitus. What do you want, child?’

Eperitus, who had always found young children irrelevant and irritating, looked down at the girl, and as their eyes met he felt a curious sense of recognition.

‘I wanted to see what you looked like, sir,’ she replied. ‘My mother has told me lots of things about you. She says you are a strong warrior with a stout heart, and that you and she were friends long ago.’

‘You’re Iphigenia,’ Eperitus said. The girl had Clytaemnestra’s tall, thin frame and large ears, though there was also a shadow of Agamemnon in her authoritative mannerisms. But there was something else familiar about her, too, something elusive that he could not define.

‘You don’t look as I had imagined,’ Iphigenia said, after pausing to scrutinize the man before her. ‘But now I look at you, I think you are
better
than I imagined.’

‘Forgive my daughter, my lords,’ said Clytaemnestra, emerging from the doorway at the bottom of the staircase and striding confidently towards them. She had an elegant femininity as she crossed the lawns barefoot, dressed in a yellow gown that gleamed with the early morning light. ‘She’s naturally drawn to warriors. She’s convinced she’ll be one herself, one day.’

‘I will,’ Iphigenia protested, frowning at her mother’s fun-making. ‘Just like Eperitus. I want to roam Greece doing good – killing outlaws and slaying serpents and rescuing cities from tyrants.’

She made slashing motions with an imaginary sword as she spoke, while Odysseus laughed aloud and slapped Eperitus on the back.

‘I had no idea you were so talented, old friend. Or so famous.’

Eperitus looked questioningly at Clytaemnestra, who replied with a sheepish smile.

‘I apologize for Jenny’s imagination. I’ve told her all about the great men at Sparta, but she seems to have a special liking for you, my lord. She also enjoys hearing about
your
exploits, of course, Odysseus.’

‘Oh, yes – she tells me she’s heard of me.’

‘Naturally,’ Iphigenia nodded, though her eyes did not leave Eperitus for a moment. ‘Eperitus saved your life after you were caught in the women’s quarters at Sparta.’

Odysseus arched his eyebrows. ‘Well, there was more to it than just that. You see, what actually happened was . . .’

‘Come now, Odysseus,’ Clytaemnestra interrupted. ‘You and I have more serious matters to discuss. I’ve been thinking about your proposal of last night, and perhaps you could answer a few questions to help my decision.’

‘Certainly, if I can,’ Odysseus replied.

Clytaemnestra hooked her arm through his elbow and steered his bulky, triangular form back towards the stairs. ‘Perhaps you will keep Jenny entertained for me, Eperitus?’ she said over her shoulder.

‘Actually I was intending to go . . .’

‘Don’t be afraid,’ Odysseus called back as they crossed the lawn. ‘She’s only a girl, after all, and you’re a famous slayer of serpents and rescuer of cities.’

Odysseus and Clytaemnestra disappeared through the doorway. Eperitus turned and looked down at Iphigenia, who was still staring at him.

‘Well,’ he said, after a long pause. ‘What do children do to keep themselves entertained nowadays?’

Iphigenia’s face broke into a smile. She reached across and slipped her hand into his, her little fingers cold as they gripped his rough skin.

‘I’d like to hear about your adventures. My mother tells me as much as she knows, but she’s no bard and when I ask her questions about the names of the men you killed and how they died, and things like that, she doesn’t know. And in return I will show you around the city and let you meet some of my friends. There’s Thoosa, the goldsmith’s daughter, and Tecton, who helps his father carve ivory trinkets, then there’s . . .’

‘Is that the way to the city?’ Eperitus said, pointing at the west-facing gateway. He was already dreading the thought of being forced into the company of other children.

‘You mean you’re really going to let me show you around?’ Iphigenia said, her eyes wide as she gripped his wrist with both hands and stared up at him. ‘That’s great! An adult all to myself, for the whole day!’

‘I didn’t say for a . . .’

‘None of my friends will have an adult, and even if they did he wouldn’t be a warrior like you. You’re even better than mother says you are. You have to tell me about the serpent in the temple of Athena first. What colour was it? Did it have one head or many?’

She pulled him towards the gate, still chattering as Eperitus walked stiffly at her side, already imagining the humiliation of being seen in the care of a child. At first he tried to correct her about the fight with the serpent. It had happened in Athena’s temple at Messene, but both he and Odysseus had been defeated by the giant creature and had to be saved from death by the timely arrival of Mentor. Iphigenia, however, was dismissive of Mentor’s contribution, stating that the creature must already have been brought to the edge of destruction by Eperitus before anyone else could claim its life. As she was not far from the truth, Eperitus did not press the point.

They spent the rest of the morning and most of the afternoon together. As they walked the streets, he was forced to recount the various adventures of ten years before, which Iphigenia already knew for the most part. What she did not know she had guessed or made up, but she was keen to ask questions and prise out different details from him as each story progressed – what sort of shield did this man carry, or at which point was that man’s leg severed, and so on. She would frequently interrupt to point out different features of the town, from smithies and lamp-makers’ shops to the different places where a child could climb a wall or hide from pursuing adults. But she would immediately return to the part of the story where the interruption had occurred and either press for more detail or simply listen to what her warrior friend could remember.

After a while, Eperitus began to find the attention pleasantly flattering. He had never possessed any talent as a storyteller, but Iphigenia seemed to hang on his every word and her enthusiasm even made him forget his own natural modesty. Before long he found himself adding small embellishments to the tales of his past battles, perhaps recreating a sword thrust to an enemy’s stomach or demonstrating how he would use his grandfather’s shield to parry a life-threatening blow. People would look at them as they walked by, but he found he no longer cared about their stares: to his surprise, he had quickly warmed to the feisty girl and was more concerned about what she thought than the thoughts of the townsfolk around them. He had never before enjoyed the company of children, but in the simplest way being with Iphigenia took away his concerns about the past and the future and allowed him to feel complete once again, something he had not experienced since his own childhood.

The streets were crowded and full of the activity of buying and selling. Women weaved through the crowds with heavy amphoras on their shoulders, filled with precious oil or wine; others haggled for lengths of cloth or bags of grain. Young boys forced their way through the throng with trays of freshly baked bread or cakes on their heads, the shouts of those they had barged aside following behind them. As the sun cleared the top of the eastern mountain, though, the streets eventually became too hot for large crowds and Eperitus found it easier to keep up with the young girl whose hand had barely left his own for a moment.

She took him to the circle of graves by the city gate, where she said he should make an offering to honour the royal dead. Eperitus thought it would be most appropriate to buy a garland of flowers from a nearby seller, and together they draped it over the stone marking the grave of Atreus’s wife, Aerope. At Iphigenia’s request, Eperitus cut a lock of hair from her head, which she placed at the foot of the stone. Then they went and bought cakes, as they were both hungry.

At some point, when the stories of his adventures were finally exhausted – picked to the bone by Iphigenia’s energetic questioning – they found a group of children crowded under the shade of a high stone wall. They were playing a game that involved throwing stones into a circle drawn in the dust, which Eperitus vaguely recalled from his own childhood in Alybas. The game stopped as they approached and suddenly he was surrounded by curious children, all of them looking up at him and asking Iphigenia a gabble of questions. She answered as many as she could, her tone proud but aloof, whilst Eperitus felt like a giant who had been captured by a tribe of pygmies.

Among the children was Tecton, who dragged them off to his father’s house. Here they found a man with a long nose and small, close-set eyes, bent almost double over a dust-covered bench as he scratched away at pieces of ivory. He looked up as they arrived, though it was clear he could barely see much beyond an arm’s length from his face, and greeted Iphigenia and Tecton warmly. Then he offered to fetch wine and barley cakes for Eperitus, and the afternoon was spent with Iphigenia telling the old man and his son all about Eperitus’s various exploits. The warrior found himself deeply embarrassed, at first, but soon allowed himself a sense of satisfaction at their joy in listening to the girl. Before they left, Tecton’s father gave Iphigenia a carved warrior. She immediately named it Eperitus and held it close to her chest all the way back to the palace.

After the evening’s feast, again in the company of the queen of Mycenae, Eperitus found himself unable to sleep, and eventually he threw off his furs and dressed. Eurylochus and Polites were snoring in the darkness as he stepped over them, one exhaling as the other drew breath so that they sounded like a pair of giant grasshoppers. Outside the full moon was lost behind cloud, but emerged slowly as he reached the threshold of the palace.