The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus) (38 page)

Helen reached across and took his hand.

‘Diomedes first,’ she said, then turned and called for her maids.

U
NEXPECTED
H
ELP

T
he streets of Pergamos were cloaked in thick darkness as Helen led Odysseus towards the battlements. The flames of their torch left an orange glow on the walls of the buildings they passed, but at that time of night there was no-one to see them as they slipped out of a servants’ side entrance and between the narrow thoroughfares of the citadel. The greatest danger was from the guards patrolling the parapet, but Helen had sent two of her maids to keep them distracted while she and Odysseus signalled to Diomedes.

‘Any Greek soldier who deserted his duties for the sake of a woman would be flogged,’ Odysseus commented as they waited in the shadows of a house, looking up at the ramparts. ‘I don’t expect it’s any different for Trojans.’

Helen raised a dismissive eyebrow at him before returning her gaze to the stone steps that led up to the walls.

‘I hand-picked my servants for their beauty and sexual charm, and there isn’t a soldier alive who could resist their advances. You’ve seen them, Odysseus, you know I’m right.’

Odysseus recalled the girls who had undressed him and washed him clean, and even though their faces had been screwed up into expressions of severe disapproval there could be no denying their beauty.

‘So what are we waiting for?’

‘No harm in being certain,’ Helen replied.

After she had waited a short while longer – long enough to be sure the guards’ regular tours of the battlements had been disrupted – she moved to the steps as swiftly as her long chiton would allow and ascended. Odysseus followed. His Trojan tunic hugged his knees and restricted his movement on the steps, but it was soft, warm and clean and a thousand times better than the beggar’s rags he had thrown onto the hearth in Helen’s house. Soon he was beside her on the wide walkway, looking beyond the parapet to the pale line of the Simöeis, lit by the sliver of moon above. The meandering ribbon of grey was interrupted in places where the banks were higher, or where clumps of trees or shrubs rose up from the river’s edge.

‘The walls are easier to climb here,’ Helen said. ‘The rock that Pergamos was built on rises up from the plain and makes the drop shorter. More importantly, when you make your escape you can’t risk leaving a rope tied around the battlements. If the guards find it they’ll be alerted to your presence and will raise the alarm, and as soon as they realise the Palladium has gone they’ll send out cavalry patrols to block your escape across the fords of the Scamander.’

Odysseus had not thought that far ahead, but did not admit as much to Helen.

‘So are you suggesting we jump?’

Helen pointed to an alcove in the walls. A deeper darkness indicated a gap in the floor and from the smell that drifted up from it Odysseus guessed it was a latrine.

‘There’s a rock shelf a short way below that hole. It isn’t pleasant, but you can drop down to it without too much danger and nobody will even realise you were here. Until morning, that is.’

Odysseus grimaced slightly and nodded. Then he gave the torch to Helen and, with a glance either side of him along the empty walkways, began to unwind the rope tied around his waist.

‘I told Diomedes to look out for a light waved five times, left to right, from the battlements.’

As he looped one end of the rope about his back and shoulders and tossed the other to the rocks below, Helen leaned over the ramparts and, stretching as low as she could reach, swung the torch in a wide arc five times. After several long, nervous moments they heard a hissed warning from below, followed by a tug on the rope. Odysseus quickly braced himself against Diomedes’s weight and before long the Argive king was clambering through a gap in the crenellated walls.

‘You smell a lot better,’ he greeted Odysseus. ‘Where’d you get the clothes from?’

Then he noticed Helen and nearly fell back through the gap by which he had just arrived.

‘My lady,’ he said, recovering with a low bow. ‘But how –?’

‘Odysseus can tell you later,’ Helen said. ‘Have you brought weapons?’

Diomedes, who had loved Helen ever since he had been among her suitors at Sparta in their youth, could barely take his eyes from her as he pulled aside his cloak and revealed the two blades tucked into his belt. He drew one and handed it to Odysseus.

‘You’re here to help us?’

‘Of course she is,’ Odysseus answered.

Diomedes turned to him. ‘Then if we can persuade her to leave with us now, we could put an end to the war!’

‘Odysseus and I have already discussed that,’ Helen explained, with a slightly embarrassed glance at the king of Ithaca, ‘but I refused to leave without Pleisthenes.’

‘There are other complications, too,’ Odysseus added, ‘but Helen is ready to shorten the war by at least helping us steal the Palladium.’

‘Then let’s find this temple of Athena,’ Diomedes said, turning back to Helen, ‘so you won’t have to wait any longer than necessary, my lady.’

Diomedes moved to the top of the steps, but Odysseus placed an arresting hand on his upper arm.

‘There’s something we have to do first. Eperitus is being held prisoner here in the citadel. We release him first and then we take the effigy.’

Diomedes looked at him with surprise, then seeing the determination in his friend’s eyes gave a silent nod.

‘Good,’ Odysseus said.

He wound the rope around his waist again, took the torch and led the way back down the steps, entering the dark streets once more. They had not gone far when they saw two figures silhouetted against the end of a short thoroughfare. Odysseus and Diomedes raised their swords, ready to defend themselves.

‘Don’t be concerned,’ Helen said, stepping out ahead of them and lowering their blades. ‘I sent one of my maids to fetch a servant girl from Apheidas’s house. I’ve heard it said she’s befriended the Greek prisoner, so if the rumours are true and the prisoner
is
Eperitus then she’ll help you find him.’

‘And if she refuses?’

‘Then you will have to kill her,’ Helen replied.

The two figures entered the circle of light cast by the torch. Odysseus’s gaze widened at the sight of Astynome, who stared back at him with equal surprise.

‘Odysseus!’

She moved towards him with a smile, then stopped as she remembered the circumstances under which they had last met. Her eyes fell to the ground.

‘Is he still alive?’ the king asked.

‘Yes,’ Astynome answered, her happiness unmistakeable. ‘He was badly wounded in the battle, but I’ve nursed him back to health. He has remarkable powers of recovery.’

‘And have you spoken with him? About the temple of Thymbrean Apollo – your betrayal?’

Astynome’s gaze fell again. ‘A little. I believe he has forgiven me.’

‘Then I forgive you, too,’ Odysseus said.

He stepped forward and folded her into his chest, holding her gently despite the immense power in his arms.

‘Astynome will be your guide now,’ Helen announced, looking from the girl to Diomedes and finally to Odysseus, ‘but I must return to the palace before I’m missed. Perhaps we will meet again, Odysseus, at the war’s end, when the flames of destruction are blowing through this fair city. And if we do, I pray you will remember my kindness to you this evening – and make sure Menelaus knows of it. I fear how he will react when he sees me again, after all that’s passed between us. But until then, may the gods go with you.’

She took the torch from his hand and retreated back up the narrow street, closely followed by her maid. Odysseus and Diomedes watched her until she disappeared behind the corner of a large house, then turned to look at Astynome.

‘Eperitus is locked in a storeroom in his father’s house,’ she said in a low voice. ‘I can show you the way, but two of Apheidas’s men have been posted at the door to make sure he doesn’t escape.’

Diomedes gave her a dark grin.

‘Oh, I think we can deal with them.’

Eperitus’s arms were numb from lack of movement and he could no longer feel any sensation at all in his buttocks. The hard chair had done for them a long time ago. His senses, too, had been suffocated by the constant darkness, the cool, stagnant air and the smell of barley from the sacks piled in the corner. Time had passed at such a crawl in this unconscious void that he felt a day or more at least had elapsed since his father’s ultimatum, though by the fact Apheidas had not yet come to hear his decision must mean that it was not even the morning of the next day. Indeed, if he were left there any longer – with nothing more than the faint glow of a torch lining the bottom of the door and the occasional mutterings of the guards outside – he was certain he would go insane.

But that would not happen. Inevitably, his father would return and he would be given the choice between instant death or a worthless life lived in dishonour and ignominy. Even these grim options, though, seemed unimportant compared to the consequences of his decision for those whom he cared about. For Odysseus, it meant a swift return home to his wife and the son he had barely known, or many more years on the shores of Ilium, held by an oath that could never be fulfilled. For Astynome, it could mean being sent to Agamemnon as a gift, to become his plaything. And whatever his choice, Apheidas would strike his deal with the King of Men and declare himself the new ruler of Troy.

With nothing else to distract him, the same arguments passed through his mind again and again, following a monotonous loop that he could not convert to a decision. For though his logic told him he had no choice but to agree to his father’s proposal, his deeply rooted hatred for the man and his stubborn desire not to dishonour himself refused to acquiesce. It was a nightmare from which he could see no escape.

Then a twitching in his senses told him something had changed. He looked down at the flickering thread of gold beneath the door and somehow knew the guards outside were no longer alone.
Had morning arrived at last
? he wondered.
Had his father come for his decision
? If so, the guards seemed unconscious of his presence: there were no slight sounds of sudden alertness, just the continued heavy breathing and occasional scratching of one, mingled with the light snores of the other. Was it Clymene again? She had already changed his bandages, shortly after he had been brought back from the garden. Maybe Astynome? The thought delighted him, but his delight turned quickly to fear as he realised she might have come to fulfil her final promise to him, desperately thinking she could overcome the guards herself.

As tension gripped him, there was an abrupt clatter of noise beyond the door of his prison. One of the guards – who must have been sitting – jumped up with a metallic clang of armour and spoke in a sharp tone. His words became suddenly fearful and were cut off by a grunt and a bloody gurgle, followed by the thump of a body hitting the floor. A muffled groan indicated the last waking moment of the other guard. In the silence that was left, Eperitus’s keen hearing could discern laboured breathing and small, hurried movements. Then the heavy wooden bar was removed from the other side of the door and Eperitus sat up with wary expectancy.

The door swung inwards and rebounded from the jamb, only to be knocked back again by the shoulder of a heavily built man as he burst into the room. He was followed by a second figure, both armed as they stood silhouetted by the shock of bright torchlight from the corridor beyond.

‘Who’s that?’ Eperitus called in the Trojan tongue.

‘Eperitus!’

‘
Odysseus
?’

‘Not just Odysseus,’ Diomedes added, stepping over and cautiously slicing through Eperitus’s bonds with his dagger. ‘And Astynome’s with us, too, keeping watch at the far end of the corridor.’

The flax cords fell away and Eperitus stood. The next moment he was in a heap on the floor.

‘Steady,’ said Odysseus, hauling him back to his feet. ‘How long have you been tied to that chair?’

‘Longer than I can remember.’

‘And your wound?’

‘More or less healed,’ Eperitus replied. He looked into the king’s eyes, then broke into a smile and embraced him. ‘Zeus’s beard, you’re the last person I expected to see. And Diomedes, too! How did you get into Troy?’

‘It’s a long tale, and one we’ll give in full when we’ve got you safely back to the Greek camp.’

‘So you came here to save me?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Diomedes scoffed, slapping him on the shoulder. ‘We’re here to steal the Palladium and
you’re
going to help us. Try leaning on this.’

He handed him one of the dead guards’ spears. Eperitus moved his legs, felt some of the life come back into them, and attempted to stand. Odysseus caught him again, while Diomedes knelt down and began vigorously rubbing his calves and thighs to restore the flow of blood, though he was careful to avoid the bandaged wound.

‘Everyone had taken you for dead after the battle,’ Odysseus said, ‘but not me. And when I heard you were being held prisoner here, I insisted on rescuing you before stealing the Palladium.’