The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus) (14 page)

Helen looked at Antenor with gratitude. Though he had once hosted Menelaus when he had come to Troy on a mission of peace – and his sympathies for the Greek cause were well known – he had never shown her anything other than the greatest courtesy and kindness. Yet compassion of his kind was rare, and however much she was to blame for bringing war to Troy, unless she left soon its doom would be sealed.

‘Whatever the cause of this war, Antimachus is right,’ she said. ‘If I stay here, Troy will be razed to the ground, every man, woman and child slaughtered. One way or another, the Greeks will be victorious. But now that my husband is dead, what reason is there for the war to go on? Send me back to Menelaus and save yourselves.’

‘Never,’ said Helenus, his high voice out of place in the presence of so many old men. ‘Agamemnon doesn’t give a damn about you, Helen. All he wants is Troy.’

‘Helenus is right,’ Apheidas agreed. He had moved unnoticed to lean against one of the broad black pillars, his battered armour gleaming in the firelight. ‘This war was always about who would rule the trade routes across the Aegean – Paris and Helen were just the spark in the kindling. Agamemnon is typical of all Greeks, greedy and self-serving; he won’t go home until the threat of Troy has been wiped out, now and forever.’

‘
He
may not,’ Helen retorted, ‘but there’ll be nothing to keep the other kings here. If I’m returned their oaths will be fulfilled and Agamemnon won’t be able to stop them leaving. And for all the power of the Mycenaeans, they can’t win this war alone.’

There were voices of agreement from the elders, many of whom looked to Priam’s bowed head in anticipation. Eventually the king raised his eyes to meet Helen’s.

‘I will not throw you out now, Helen. Not after we have fought ten long years to keep you here. Besides, I love you as if you were my own flesh and blood, and with Hector and Paris gone it would break my old heart to lose you too. No, this much I have decided: that you will remain a princess of Troy, and that for your own protection you will marry one of my other sons.’

‘For my
protection
?’ Helen exclaimed. ‘Surely –’

‘Don’t argue with me, Daughter. The widows of Troy’s fallen are gleeful that you’ve joined their ranks and are full of mockery for you now, but the death of your husband hasn’t lessened their hatred for you. Widowhood is a hard and lonely place to find yourself, and your son, Pleisthenes, won’t be of much help to you with his withered hand. But if you marry one of my other sons your position will be restored, and both Deiphobus and Helenus have asked me to make you their wife.’

‘I don’t
want
Deiphobus,
or
Helenus!’ she protested.

‘So you would prefer Menelaus?’ Helenus asked, his tone aloof.

‘I only ever wanted Paris.’

‘Paris is dead,’ Apheidas reminded her. ‘He can never share your bed again, or meet the intimate needs a woman like you craves. And though your love for him is still fresh, his ghost has already lost all memory of you. Helenus, on the other hand, is alive and full of youthful strength. He can fulfil you again, and in time you will learn to love him like you did Paris.’

‘A boy!’ Helen scoffed, shocked by the suggestion and yet mystified as to why Apheidas had taken it on himself to support Helenus. ‘He’s the same age as Pleisthenes. He’s barely started growing a beard!’

‘What you think doesn’t matter,’ Apheidas snapped. ‘The choice belongs to your father, and what’s more, Helenus has something to offer in return for your hand. Haven’t you, Helenus.’

Every eye turned to the prince, who had been staring lasciviously at the outline of Helen’s body beneath her dress, before realising all attention was suddenly upon him. He switched his gaze to his father, who was leaning forward from his throne to look at his son.

‘And what is this thing with which you think you can buy my favour?’ Priam demanded, slowly.

‘A new prophecy, Father,’ Helenus answered. ‘One that will ensure the safety of Troy forever.’

‘Then share it with us, Son. Tell me what I must do to keep my people safe.’

Helenus swallowed and glanced at Apheidas, then back at his father. The colour had drained from his face.

‘Not until Helen is my wife.’

‘What?’

‘Not until Helen is my wife.’

‘Do you
dare
defy me?’

Priam’s voice was like a clap of thunder, silencing the great hall in an instant. Helenus looked at him fearfully, but something within him knew that if he revealed the oracles Cassandra had shared with him then his father would have no reason to make Helen his wife. He forced his lips shut and looked down at his sandals.

‘So be it,’ Priam said. ‘And what about you, Deiphobus? What do you have to bribe me with?’

‘Nothing, Father, except my loyalty and my courage in battle, which I have shown again and again – unlike my younger brother, who has yet to raise a weapon in anger against Troy’s enemies. But there
is
one thing I can offer that is genuine and true. My love for Helen.’

He looked at his sister-in-law, who met his gaze without flinching. Both she and Paris had always known of Deiphobus’s love for her and so the revelation came as no surprise. It was clear from the way his expression changed when she entered a room, and from his unfailing defence of her whenever anyone dared to question her presence in Troy. Paris had found his younger brother’s infatuation amusing, though Helen had felt only sympathy for Deiphobus, knowing that his love could never be returned. Paris’s death had done nothing to change that.

‘I have loved you since the first moment I saw you ten years ago at the Scaean Gate, when you were standing in Paris’s chariot,’ he declared. ‘I’ve never stated my feelings openly, but you must have known them. And though it isn’t my intention to disrespect Paris’s memory so soon after his funeral, I believe you have to marry again for your own protection. My father has said as much, and if he indeed loves you like one of his own daughters he will forget Helenus’s supposed oracle and allow you to choose your own husband.’

‘No!’ Helenus protested. ‘Are we peasants, letting our women choose their own husbands for the sake of
love
? Father, I insist that
you
decide between us, not a mere woman whose judgement will be dictated by emotion and desire.’

‘If I were to choose, Helenus,’ Priam asked, arching an eyebrow at his son, ‘what qualities would I see in you? Indeed, you show your inexperience and ambition when you speak of Helen with such disregard. Remember this: a man cannot find happiness in marriage unless his wife is happy too. And for that reason Deiphobus is right – I will give the choice to Helen.’

There was a murmur of surprise among the assembled elders, who leaned in towards each other to share whispered opinions. Deiphobus and Helenus both looked at Helen, who waited for the hushed discussions to cease before replying to the king.

‘My choice remains the same, my lord. I already have a husband, one who was chosen for me by my foster-father twenty years ago from among the best men of Greece. He is Menelaus, king of Sparta, and if you love your people you will send me back to him tonight.’

Priam slammed his palm down on the arm of his throne.

‘Menelaus may have been your husband in that barbaric land, but he is not here! And we have not fought for ten years just to give you back now. If you will not choose, Daughter, then I will choose for you. Deiphobus will be your husband. What’s more, you will be married this very night here in the great hall.’

‘No!’ Helen shouted. ‘I refuse!’

‘You’ll do as I command,’ Priam replied, sternly. ‘And as for you, Helenus, you will appear before the assembly tomorrow evening and you
will
tell us the oracle that was revealed to you.’

Helen turned and looked at the tall wooden doors at the back of the great hall. As the walls and ceiling of the vast chamber seemed to close in on her from the shadows, the doors presented her last hope of escape. But before she could think to run, Deiphobus seized her by the arm and shouted for Idaeus to fetch a priest. Helen struggled against her future husband’s grip, and though Deiphobus refused to meet her beautiful, accusing eyes, he held her firm.

Helenus shot his father an angry look, then turned and left with Apheidas at his shoulder.

I
N
A
PHEIDAS’S
H
OUSE

E
peritus looked over his shoulder at the five horsemen riding in file behind him. They were cloaked and hooded against the cold night air, and with only starlight to guide their mounts over the unpredictable terrain their progress was slow. Odysseus was nearest. He caught Eperitus’s glance and nodded.

‘Still here,’ he muttered, without enthusiasm.

Eperitus smiled in reply and turned his eyes back to the ground before his own horse’s hooves. The grass was thin and parched, dotted here and there with broken weapons and armour from the years of fighting that had taken place across it. Looking ahead, he could see the ridge line that marked the edge of the plateau – a deeper darkness rising up against the blue-black of the night sky. His supernatural eyesight could already pick out the tall ring of trees that formed the temple of Thymbrean Apollo, silhouetted against the stars as it stood on top of the ridge. The sight of it filled him with a sudden, heavy sorrow as he remembered his former squire, Arceisius, murdered in the temple by Apheidas – and all because Eperitus had been foolish enough to agree a meeting with his father. If he had trusted his long-standing hatred of Apheidas then Arceisius’s death would not be on his conscience. But he had believed the woman his father had sent to draw him into his trap, and if anything her betrayal had hurt him even more than the loss of his friend. He had shed bitter tears at the passing of Arceisius, tears of grief and regret, but after a decade of war he could understand death and had learned how to accept it. What he had not learned was how to accept treachery of the heart. He wanted to be angry with Astynome, but all he felt was sadness that she was gone. It would have been much easier to hate her for making him love her, when all along she had been living a lie, sent by Apheidas to trick him into betraying the Greeks. To hate was a familiar emotion, easy to live with. And yet, when he recalled her beautiful face framed by the dark mess of her hair, or the soft fragrance of her skin in his nostrils – so wonderful to his heightened senses – he knew he could never truly hate her. Naturally, he felt surges of bitterness and anger, as much at what he had lost as at what she had done; but then he would remember the feel of her long fingers running through his hair and the warmth of her lips against his, and he could not convince himself that she did not love him back.

‘Not far now,’ Odysseus said, catching Eperitus unawares as he rode up beside him.

The king had tipped back his hood and was squinting in the direction of the temple, doubtless nothing more than a black smudge atop the line of the ridge to his eyes.

‘I wonder whether we’ll find anything when we get there,’ Eperitus replied. ‘How are the others?’

‘Grumbling. Just as you’d expect.’

‘But why? After all, who
wouldn’t
want to spend the night tramping halfway across Ilium on the whim of a crazy priest?’

‘Wouldn’t be the first time,’ Odysseus agreed. ‘However, if Calchas says the secret to Troy’s downfall will be found in the temple of Thymbrean Apollo tonight, then I don’t mind a short horse ride to see if it’s true. Besides, Agamemnon believes him and we do whatever Agamemnon commands, right?’

‘Right,’ Eperitus echoed indifferently. ‘Though I still say this is just another wild rabbit hunt. The problem is this whole war’s been like chasing rabbits – we stop up one hole and the Trojans escape out of another. And if you ask me Calchas
doesn’t
have the gift of prophecy, and if he ever
did
he doused the fire with too much wine years ago.’

‘He predicted the day of Achilles’s death, didn’t he?’ Odysseus replied. ‘Anyway, the rabbit holes can’t go on forever. One day – maybe
this
day – the gods will show us how to defeat Troy. And then we can go home.’

‘Did Troy fall the day Paris died, as Calchas predicted?’

‘That was another rabbit hole. And even if there are a hundred more holes to block, what choice do we have but to stop them up, stop them
all
up? This isn’t a little matter of personal fate that you and I can try to change. It’s a war, the biggest war the world has ever seen, and only the gods know how it will end. So if they tell Calchas that a new oracle, maybe the last oracle, will be given in the temple of Thymbrean Apollo tonight, then I’m going to be there. I’ll do whatever they tell us, Eperitus, if it means I’ll be able to hold Penelope in my arms again and see my little Telemachus.’

‘Not so little now,’ Eperitus said, slapping Odysseus on the shoulder. ‘Come on, let’s get to the temple and see what the gods have in mind.’

Odysseus turned and called to the others, then spurred his horse into a trot. Eperitus followed, hoping that Calchas’s latest vision would prove right and that they would soon find the final key to unlocking the gates of Troy.