The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus) (13 page)

Outside her bedroom the corridor was dark and quiet. She followed it to the left, unsteady on her feet as she took the stairs down to the lower level of the palace, the leather soles of her sandals scuffing softly over the worn steps. She wandered past several open doorways – mostly storerooms – then turned a corner into a high-ceilinged antechamber that led out to the starlit courtyard. A soldier guarded the arched doorway at the far end, where he was talking in hushed tones to a small and curvaceous slave girl, their faces lit by a torch that burned brightly in a bracket on the wall. They were too absorbed in each other to notice Helen, who slipped back into the obscurity of the shadows. The soldier had a hardened mien – all members of the royal guard were veterans of the battlefield – but he was not so tough that he could resist the bold flirting of his pretty companion, who was leaning towards him so that his eyes could not fail to miss her deep cleavage. Taking the bait, he placed a large hand on her hip and slowly slid it up to her left breast. She angled her face towards his, but before their lips could meet a gaggle of voices in the courtyard forced them to back away from each other. Helen saw torches and the glint of armour in the darkness and ran back to the last doorway she had passed, nudging the door open and slipping inside. It smelled strongly of hay and she realised it was one of the fodder rooms for the nearby stables.

A clamour of voices and the rattle of bronze filled the antechamber. Something in the urgency of the rapidly approaching footsteps told her the soldiers had come with orders to take her to the great hall, where her fate was to be announced by Priam. Leaving the door slightly ajar, she waited until they had moved down the corridor – there were four of them, all fully armoured as if she might pose some threat – then slipped out and returned to the antechamber. The sentry and the servant girl had resumed their earlier closeness, but this time she did not care whether they saw her depart: her absence was about to be discovered anyway, and if she was to leave Troy she had to act at once. She pulled her hood up and walked to the door, forcing the would-be lovers to move apart again. The flicker of annoyance on their faces quickly disappeared as they recognised her, but she cared nothing for the guard’s admiring eyes or the jealousy in the girl’s features as they bowed their heads before her.

The air outside was cold and stank of horses. She almost ran across the courtyard, her cloak billowing out behind her and revealing her thin dress and bare limbs to the soldiers at the top of the ramp. They stood aside as she approached, allowing her to run down to the second tier of the citadel without challenge, although she could still hear their voices discussing her as she disappeared down a narrow side street beside the temple of Athena.

In ten years of living in the city, she only knew of one way out that did not involve gates or guards. It was not easy and it was not pleasant, but it was her only choice and she was glad that the wine had given her a bravado she would not otherwise have possessed. A couple more alleyways and side streets led her to the west-facing wall of Pergamos, where broad steps led to the parapet above. Helen froze and fell back into the shadows. Two cloaked soldiers were standing at the top, their helmets gleaming silver-like in the starlight and their horsehair plumes trailing out in the wind. Fortunately their faces were fixed on the plain beyond the walls and they did not notice Helen in the darkness behind them. After a few moments, they turned and ambled northwards with their spears over their shoulders. Aware her absence would have been discovered by now, Helen sprang up the stairs, only to stumble on the top step and cry out in pain as she cut her shin. She crouched down, biting her lip and holding the wound as she looked tensely to the north-east, but the guards did not return.

She limped to the ramparts and the one place where she could escape the city without being discovered. The stench from the latrine was almost overwhelming, but she wrapped a corner of her cloak over her mouth and forced herself forward. It was little more than an alcove with a hole in the floor that opened out over the walls. There were similar openings all along the circuit of the battlements, but only here was the long drop shortened by a flat outcrop of rock a short way down. The rock also caught most of the waste from the soldiers that used the latrine and ensured that the reek at this point of the walls was particularly close and strong. Helen looked down the hole and felt her stomach turn. It was wide enough for her to pass through, but now that she saw the dark mess against the grey rock below her resolve disappeared and she was forced to step back a few paces.

A little way to the north was the Simöeis. She would be able to wash away the filth there, but even if she could stomach escaping through the latrine and make it undetected to the river, she would have wet clothes for the whole of the long, circuitous journey to the Greek camp. Why had she not thought of that before? Her ridiculous plan had been poorly thought out and now seemed utterly impossible. But she knew she had to go through with it, however disgusting and gruelling it would be. There was no other way to end the war and prevent further misery and suffering being inflicted on the people of Troy, the people for whom Paris had sacrificed his life. She wound the cloak more tightly about her body and stepped up to the gaping, malodorous hole in the floor.

‘What are you doing up here?’ demanded a stern voice.

Helen spun round to see the tall figure of a man at the top of the stairs. The starlight glittered on his polished armour and there was a naked sword in his hand. For a moment she was filled with fear. Then she recognised Apheidas’s handsome, battle-hardened face and her fear turned to anger.

‘You may be a commander in the army, Apheidas,’ she snapped, ‘but I am a member of the royal family. You will address me accordingly.’

‘Very well,
my lady
,’ he replied, sheathing his blade and stepping towards her. ‘You’ve caused quite a fuss leaving your quarters at night without an escort. There are search parties all over the citadel looking for you.’

‘I’ve walked these walls every night since I arrived in Troy. Is my imprisonment now so strict that I’m no longer allowed to look up at the stars?’

‘A woman of your beauty can still be attacked, even in Pergamos,’ he warned. ‘And you had Paris to protect you before.’

Helen turned away, stung by the reminder of her husband’s death, and let her gaze rest on the dark Aegean beyond the opening to the bay. Its surface shifted gently, belying the depth and power of what stirred beneath. Far on the other side lay the land of her birth; the land where three of her children had grown up without her; the land to which her instincts told her she was doomed to return.

‘And what will you do with me now you’ve found me?’ she asked, turning to face Apheidas. ‘After all, you’re not here purely out of concern for my safety.’

‘You’re required in the great hall,’ he answered, taking her gently but firmly by the upper arm. ‘Priam is going to announce your fate, but first he wants you to have the chance to speak.’

‘Very gracious,’ she laughed, ironically. ‘If being allowed to voice an opinion about the method of one’s own detention can be called gracious. But before you drag me away, Apheidas, I want to ask you something.’

‘What is it?’

‘Must you always do what Priam tells you to do? I’ve heard the rumours, about how your mother was raped and murdered by a member of the royal family, and how your father killed her attacker out of vengeance. They say you were forced to flee to Greece, and that Priam took all your family’s wealth and land for himself. Doesn’t that anger you?’

A dark look flickered over Apheidas’s features before being forced away.

‘You forget Priam also allowed me to
return
to Troy,’ he answered.

‘Out of pity and guilt! He didn’t feel so bad, though, that he was moved to restore your inheritance to you, did he. Everything you have now you have won by your own strength, fighting in Priam’s wars. You owe him nothing. And if you and I have never been good friends, can you say I’ve ever wronged you?’

‘Get to the point, Helen.’

‘Can’t you have some pity and pretend you never saw me? There’s nothing left for me in Troy now and my misery will only be a little less with Menelaus, but if you help me over the walls I can at least return to my former husband and end the war.’ Helen took a step towards him and raised her face to look into his eyes, her lips tantalisingly close to his. ‘I’ll give you whatever you want in return.’

‘If you had that much power perhaps you’d be worth listening to.’

She seized his wrist and raised his large hand to her breast. Raising herself on tiptoes, she pressed her lips to his. He kissed her back, lightly, and passed his thumb over her nipple where it pushed against the thin material of her chiton.

‘I’m yours if you let me go,’ she whispered.

Apheidas looked down at her with his hard, merciless eyes and shook his head.

‘Those aren’t my orders,’ he said. ‘And you’ve been drinking. Come on.’

He gripped her arm and pulled her forcibly toward the steps.

A W
IDOW’S
F
ATE

T
he great hall was hot and stuffy, contrasting the chill air outside. The long, rectangular hearth glowed fiercely and sent thin trails of smoke up to the shadowy ceiling high above. Its scarlet light shimmered on the faces of the men who sat in rows on either side of it, all of whom fell silent and turned to look as Helen entered accompanied by Apheidas. Most were elderly – having earned their positions of rank in the wars of their youth – and the warm glow emphasised the lines on their soft, bearded faces. But not all were old: the commanders of the armies of Troy and her allies were there, along with the remnant of Priam’s sons – Deiphobus and Helenus among them. These two stood on opposite sides of the hearth, staring at Helen; Deiphobus, the eldest, had a look of relief and joy on his handsome features, while Helenus watched her with expectant confidence. Priam himself sat on a dais at the back of the hall, leaning forward from his high-backed stone chair and gazing vacantly at the flames. His vanity spent with grief at the deaths of Hector and Paris, he had stopped trying to hide his age behind black wigs and face powder and now looked the tired old man he was. His hair was sparse and grey, as was his beard now that he no longer dyed it. His eyes were watery pools of sorrow, and even his great height seemed to have been taken from him as he slumped on his throne. His clothes were still colourful and richly embroidered, but like Priam they had lost their lustre.

Idaeus, the king’s herald, moved out of the shadows by the entrance to announce the arrival of Helen and Apheidas. At once, Priam lifted his head and a flicker of life returned to his eyes. He pushed himself up from the arms of his throne, his forearms shaking with the effort, and stepped down from the dais. Straightening himself with a hand into the small of his back, he brushed aside Deiphobus’s attempts to help him and moved towards his daughter-in-law. There had been a time before the death of his favourite sons when, however much he adored Helen, he would have considered it beneath his position to leave his throne for her sake in the presence of so many of his advisers and commanders. Now he did not care how they regarded him, so Helen, stirred by pity, ran around the hearth and past the rows of black columns to meet him, dropping to her knees and bowing before the old king. He laid his hands on her head and stroked her soft hair.

‘Stand, Daughter, and let me embrace you.’

‘My king,’ she whispered, and for a moment the others in the hall were forgotten as they closed their arms about each other and shared their grief for the loss of Paris.

After a moment, one of the elders stood and coughed lightly.

‘My lord,’ he said.

Priam released Helen and looked at the man with impatience.

‘What is it, Antimachus?’

‘The princess has been brought here to learn her fate?’

‘I haven’t yet decided my daughter’s fate,’ Priam snapped, throwing the elder a dismissive gesture. He shuffled back to his throne, assisted by Helen, and eased himself down onto the hard stone.

‘Then may I urge you again to listen to your advisers, and indeed to the people of Troy,’ Antimachus continued. ‘While Paris lived we were happy to fight, so that Helen could remain among us and not be taken against her will back to Sparta. Now Paris is dead there’s no reason to prolong the war.’

Helen looked at Antimachus’s face with its broken nose and pointed beard. It was a face she had always disliked, for it had always looked on her with aversion. Among all the elders, only Antimachus had never been afraid to voice his disapproval of her presence in Troy. Now, for once, she hoped his argument would be heard by Priam and accepted.

Priam merely grunted.

‘You’ve always hated Helen, Antimachus, so don’t try to convince me you’ve ever been anything but opposed to this war. And since when have the elders and people of Troy decided what the king should do?’

‘Nevertheless, my lord, we should give her back to her own people –’

‘We
are
her people!’ Priam roared.

Helen rushed to the king’s side as he slumped back into his throne, drained by his anger and fighting for breath. She was joined a moment later by Deiphobus, the prince’s hand touching hers as they sought to calm the old man.

‘I must insist on this point,’ Antimachus continued, with a boldness he would never have dared to show before the deaths of Hector and Paris. ‘Helen has brought great evil to Troy. Tens of thousands of Ilium’s young men have died for her sake, leaving many thousands more widows and orphans. Your commands will always be obeyed, great king, but only so long as you have subjects to follow them. Give her back before she proves the end of us.’

‘You go too far, Antimachus,’ said another elder, rising from his chair. ‘Destruction may have followed Helen to Troy, but the guilt is not hers alone. She’s as much a victim as any of us – a victim of men’s lust and the cruel gods that gave her such beauty. Let the king deal with her as his greater wisdom sees fit, and pray to the gods he doesn’t deliver
you
to the Greeks instead!’