The Gates Of Troy (49 page)

Eperitus leapt over his writhing body and helped Clytaemnestra and Iphigenia pull open the gates. They swung back with a groan to reveal the road – a dull grey in the darkness before dawn – and the colossal walls rising up to the right. Below them was the ramshackle town where their horses were waiting for them.

‘Father,’ Iphigenia said. ‘Your spear.’

Eperitus stroked his daughter’s soft hair, then took the weapon from her hands and started down the road towards the town below. Clytaemnestra was at his side and Iphigenia slightly ahead of them, half-running in her eagerness to leave Mycenae, but as they approached the furthest corner of the walls a man appeared and slid down the rocky slope to stand in the road ahead of them.

‘Stop where you are!’ he ordered.

It was Talthybius. Though he stood confidently before them, he was unarmed and wore no armour.

‘He must have come through the sally port in the north wall,’ Clytaemnestra hissed in Eperitus’s ear. ‘Don’t let him stand in our way. Knock him down if you have to and let’s be gone!’

But before Eperitus could even think to attack the herald, the chinking of metal and the soft slipping of leather sandals on stone announced the arrival of seven more men on the slope to their right. They quickly rushed down the steep incline and formed a line behind Talthybius, sealing off the only escape from the city.

Eperitus could tell by the overlapping plates of their ceremonial body armour and the boars’ tusks on their helmets that they were members of Agamemnon’s elite guard, and would not be knocked aside as easily as the militiamen at the gates. But as he felt his hope diminish, Eperitus knew he could not allow them to prevent Iphigenia escaping the terrible fate that Agamemnon had planned for her. He felt his old, dogged sense of determination fill the void that hope had vacated, and with a dark look in his eyes stepped forward.

‘I’ve no fight with you,’ he announced, raising the palm of his hand in sign of parley. ‘Stand aside and let us pass.’

‘As one of Odysseus’s men you can do as you please,’ Talthybius replied. ‘But the queen and her daughter are forbidden to leave Mycenae.’

‘Iphigenia’s life is in peril, Talthybius. I’m taking her and her mother to a place of safety, and for that reason you must let us go.’

The herald shook his head dismissively. ‘There’s no danger to the girl as long as Agamemnon is here. Now, stand aside, Eperitus, or face the consequences.’

‘Damn your stupidity, Talthybius,’ Eperitus spat. ‘Don’t you realize it’s Agamemnon she’s in danger from? The king has lost his senses: he’s going to take Iphigenia to Aulis and sacrifice her to the gods!’

The self-assured smile was swept from Talthybius’s face and the men behind him looked at each other uncertainly. Eperitus turned to Iphigenia, standing behind him with her mother’s hands on her shoulders, and saw the look of shock and dread on her face. He tried to comfort her with a smile but could hardly disguise his own fear and growing sense of panic.

‘Don’t be absurd, Eperitus,’ Talthybius said incredulously. ‘The king would
never
kill his own daughter. Even in his darkest dreams he wouldn’t do such a thing.’

‘But it’s true,’ Clytaemnestra retorted. ‘And Agamemnon’s dreams have become very dark of late. Calchas has told him that the only way to lift the storms at Aulis is to sacrifice his own daughter, and in his madness Agamemnon believes him. That’s why I implored Eperitus to escort us from the city – and if you try to stop us, you and all your men will be committing murder.’

‘Don’t listen to them, Talthybius,’ said a voice from the top of the slope. They looked up to see Calchas standing at the corner of the city wall. ‘The king is no more mad than I am, and if you let the girl escape you’ll be held accountable for preventing the war against Troy.’

Talthybius’s face was filled with doubt as he looked from Calchas to Clytaemnestra and back again. ‘Then is what the queen says true?’ he asked the priest. ‘Does Agamemnon intend to kill his own daughter?’

Calchas pointed to the heavens, where the darkness was being pushed back by the light of the new day. ‘The gods must be appeased!’ he cried. ‘Only the girl’s blood will satisfy them, and unless you want the fleet to remain at Aulis until it rots then you will do as your king demands.’

Talthybius looked across at Eperitus and shook his head apologetically. Then he stepped back and waved his men forward. Eperitus looked down at Iphigenia, his face stern and sad.

‘You always wanted to see me fight, Jenny,’ he said, then laid one of his spears on the paved road and turned to face the line of approaching Mycenaeans.

The soldiers spread across the road and prepared to fight. They eased the tall shields from their shoulders and slipped their left arms through the leather grips, altering their stance so that the weight was balanced evenly. Their reserve spears were cast into a pile at the side of the road and the remaining weapons turned towards Eperitus, the sharpened bronze tips gleaming coldly in the morning light.

Eperitus watched the men plant their feet firmly on the paved road and grip the shafts of their spears. The overlapping plates of their body armour guarded every natural weakness from the neck to the groin, while the layer of boars’ tusks on their bronze helmets would deflect almost any blow. More concerning, though, were the eyes that stared out from beneath the ornate helmets: they were confident but cautious, and it seemed to Eperitus that every one of the men facing him was a skilled and natural fighter. If the defence provided by their armour would not prove too difficult to penetrate, then their training and experience might. Nevertheless, he positioned himself in front of them and took his spear in both hands.

‘Throw down your weapons, man,’ said one of the Mycenaeans, a short, stocky soldier with a long beard. There was sympathy in his hard eyes. ‘Don’t make us kill you.’

Eperitus took two paces forward. The three men in the middle of the line stepped back, while the two on either side edged round to form a horseshoe about him. Iphigenia stooped to pick up Eperitus’s second spear, but was grabbed by her mother, who pulled her back and held her tightly. As the Mycenaeans were still moving, Eperitus lunged to the left with his shield held out before him. The four-fold leather smashed into the nearest soldier, pushing him over the edge of the road to fall crashing down the gentle slope beyond. In the same instant he swung the shaft of his spear at the face of the next soldier, who was already turning to meet the attack. It caught him above the neckguard, causing him to drop his spear and stagger backwards, dark blood oozing out between his fingers as he clutched at his injured mouth.

The remaining Mycenaeans gave a shout of anger and surged forward. The nearest struck low, stabbing with the point of his spear at Eperitus’s groin. The blow was intended to kill him, and as he swept it aside with his shield Eperitus knew the battle would be to the death. He lunged at his opponent, thrusting his spear into the gap where the warrior had leaned forward to attack. The point would normally have found the soft flesh above the thigh, crippling the man if not killing him, but instead was turned aside with a dull scrape by the lowest plate of body armour.

The man stepped back, shaken by the skill and ferocity of Eperitus’s attack. Two others took his place, striking simultaneously, one high from the left and the other low to the right. Eperitus sensed rather than saw the approach of both spear-points, instinctively raising his shield to deflect the first while twisting aside so that the other slipped past him. He felt the ash shaft brushing past his hip, and at the same time heard a scream of alarm from Iphigenia. Eperitus looked across to see one of the guards brushing Clytaemnestra aside and seizing hold of his daughter.

With a roar of anger, he swung the edge of his shield into the face of one of his opponents, breaking his nose and sending him stumbling backwards. The other rushed forward, only to receive the head of Eperitus’s spear in his thigh. It passed through his leg and was torn from Eperitus’s grip as the man fell dying to the ground, the dark blood pumping thick and fast from the pierced artery. Eperitus jumped across the screaming warrior and, casting aside his cumbersome shield, rushed to help Iphigenia.

‘Stand back!’ he ordered as Clytaemnestra tried to pull the tall, muscular soldier away from her daughter.

The man’s shield was slung across his back and he had thrown his spear aside in the struggle with the child and her mother. He turned at the sound of Eperitus’s voice, but on seeing that his enemy was unarmed stepped forward with his fists raised and a grim smile on his face. Eperitus dodged the first blow, which swept past his left ear, and reacted with an upward punch to the man’s nose. The Mycenaean tottered sideways, stunned and blinking, but was quick to regain his senses. With a shake of his head, he turned and raised his fists again. Eperitus moved around him so that he was standing in front of Iphigenia.

‘Father!’ the girl warned, as the other guards formed a new line across the road. They were joined by the two men who had been knocked aside by Eperitus’s first attack, their eyes burning with a desire for revenge.

‘Clytaemnestra,’ Eperitus said, not taking his eyes from the man before him. ‘When I attack, take Iphigenia down the slope and into the town. Find the horses and escape – don’t wait for me.’

Before she could reply, he kicked downward at his opponent’s shin, scraping away the flesh with the edge of his sandal. The man shouted with pain, but was quickly silenced by a swift blow from Eperitus’s fist. The next instant, Eperitus drew his sword and prepared to run at the line of men before him. That he would die on their spear-points was inevitable, but if it gave his daughter a chance to flee he knew the sacrifice would be worthwhile.

‘What is this!’ barked a cold voice.

Eperitus turned to see Agamemnon standing in the gateway. He was tall and fearsome in his red cloak, white tunic and gleaming breastplate, as formidable a sight as the snarling stone lions in the wall above his head. On either side of him were Odysseus and Eurylochus. Eurylochus was grinning broadly, but Odysseus’s face was a mixture of concern, confusion and anger as he looked at the armed men spread across the road.

‘Eperitus,’ he said, sharply, ‘what’s happening here? Eurylochus says you were trying to run away with Agamemnon’s wife and daughter. In the name of Athena, tell me he’s wrong!’

‘I’m not wrong, my lord,’ Eurylochus announced, stepping forward and pointing an accusing finger at Eperitus. ‘I followed him down to the gardens and heard him and the queen planning to run away to Ithaca. I didn’t catch everything, but I know there’s a man waiting with horses and provisions for a long journey.’

‘You treacherous worm!’ Eperitus sneered, shooting a glance at Eurylochus.

Clytaemnestra stepped forward and looked imploringly at the king of Ithaca. ‘Whatever Eurylochus
thinks
he heard, Odysseus, he
is
wrong,’ she answered. ‘Iphigenia’s life is in danger, and I asked Eperitus to help me get her away from Mycenae.’

‘What sort of danger?’ Odysseus demanded.

Eperitus sheathed his sword and looked at his daughter. She stared back at him with fear in her eyes, but also pride at his fierce resistance against the Mycenaean guards. He fought the urge to pull her into the safety of his arms.

‘Calchas has bewitched the King of Men,’ he replied, turning to Odysseus. ‘He convinced Agamemnon that the storm at Aulis will not be lifted unless he sacrifices Iphigenia to Artemis, as retribution for the slaying of the white hart. When Clytaemnestra told me, I agreed to protect her.’

‘A
human
sacrifice!’ asked Odysseus, staring incredulously at Calchas on top of the slope. ‘That sort of thing is the stuff of legend, not reality!’

‘All wars require sacrifice,’ Agamemnon responded. ‘Didn’t you tell me in the woods that hunting the white hart could cost us dear? Well, if war with Troy requires the death of my own daughter then so be it.’

He stepped out from beneath the shadow of the gate and held out his hand towards Iphigenia. His jaw was set firmly and his blue eyes were as hard as sapphires as he stared at the girl. She responded with a look of hatred and, leaving Clytaemnestra’s side, ran towards Eperitus and threw her arms about him. Eperitus placed the palm of his hand on her head, but could not look at her.

With an expression of contempt on his pale face, Agamemnon signalled to his guards, who seized Eperitus by the arms and pulled him away from his daughter. Another took hold of the queen and dragged her out of the king’s path as he walked down the sloping road towards Iphigenia, followed closely by Odysseus. At that moment Eperitus realized the oath he had sworn to Clytaemnestra – the oath to protect Agamemnon – was not binding until the king killed Iphigenia. But if Eperitus could kill Agamemnon now, though he would lose his own life in the aftermath, he would at least save the girl.

With a huge backward thrust of his arms, he threw off the men who were holding him and drew his sword from its scabbard. It flashed red, catching the light of the sun as it rose above the mountains in the east, but as Eperitus turned his fierce gaze on Agamemnon, Odysseus whipped out his own sword and brought the pommel down on the back of his friend’s head.

Chapter Twenty-six

T
HE
K
ING AND THE
T
HIEF

E
peritus woke from the depths of a dark dream with his head throbbing and his body feeling as if it were made of stone. He looked up at an unfamiliar ceiling, colourfully decorated on one side with scenes of maidens dancing to the music of lyres and flutes, and on the other with naked youths boxing, wrestling and running. He briefly recalled his dream, in which he had been pursuing a silver deer through a dark forest, only to see the creature transformed into Iphigenia as he closed upon her with his spear. Then he heard the scrape of a chair nearby, followed by sandalled feet crossing a stone floor towards him.

‘How’s your head?’ Odysseus asked, looking down at his friend with a mixture of concern and relief. ‘I hit you a bit harder than I intended. You’ve been out cold for most of the day.’