The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

Eperitus folded a cut of cold goat’s meat in a slice of bread and crammed it into his mouth. As a captive he had been left in a constant state of hunger and the hastened march back to the camp had made him even more ravenous. Now, though, he was surrounded by the luxury of Agamemnon’s vast tent and all the food and drink he could want. A passing slave saw the empty cup before him and refilled it with wine – heavily watered down, as it was still early morning – and such was Eperitus’s thirst that he emptied it at a single draught.

As the liquid sluiced down his throat he blinked the tiredness from his eyes and stared round himself. The flax sails that formed the roof of the tent allowed the rosy sunlight to filter in and give the interior a warm, bright feel, at the same time allowing the breeze from the Aegean to blow through and keep the air fresh and clean. The walls were lined with the trophies Agamemnon had won on the battlefield, while the floor was covered with expensive, thickly layered pelts as a sign of his wealth. The commanders of the army were already streaming in through the tent’s different entrances and gathering around the edges of the table where the King of Men planned his battle strategies. But this morning they were not staring at the customary mock ups of the plain between the Greek camp and Troy, but at the large, black lump of wood that lay unceremoniously in its centre. The sight of the Palladium – the reason Agamemnon had summoned the Council of Kings – caused a stir of conversation that must have been heard for some distance. Normally by now Agamemnon would have called for silence so that the council could begin, but today as he stood with Nestor at his side he seemed content to allow the hubbub to continue. Pleased, perhaps, to let his commanders savour the fulfilment of the final oracle and what it meant for them all.

The noisiest were crowded around Diomedes and Odysseus, congratulating them on their success. Diomedes was revelling in the glory, recounting their exploits with unashamed embellishment, while Odysseus accepted the flood of handshakes and pats on the back with quiet dignity. He was content to allow the bloody bandage wrapped about his midriff to speak of his own part in the adventure. A few recognised Eperitus’s contribution and welcomed him back from captivity, most notably Peisandros, the barrel-chested Myrmidon captain who had once helped save him from execution in Sparta. The old soldier insulted him roundly, then embraced him and told him how glad he was to learn he had not died on the battlefield. Mostly, though, Eperitus was happy just to stand back and sup his wine while his two comrades received the praise and honour they were due. After all, had they not rescued him from imprisonment? And was it not their cunning, courage and good fortune that had stolen the Palladium? Then, with a shout of triumphant joy, Menelaus entered the tent and approached the men who had sealed the fate of Troy.

‘By all the gods on Olympus, why didn’t you tell anyone what you were up to?’ His balding auburn hair and wiry beard, both thick with grey, gave him a fearsome appearance, but his brown eyes were damp with emotion and as his strong hands enclasped each of theirs in turn they could feel the warmth of his gratitude. ‘I’ve been wracking my brains for a way to get hold of the Palladium, and you three just walk right in and steal it from under their noses. Incredible! And there it is.’

He raised his hands toward the deformed effigy on the table and stared at it with a mixture of awe and revulsion.

‘Not much to look at, is it?’ Diomedes commented wryly.

‘Not to our eyes maybe, but can you imagine what they’re saying in Troy right now? Just think how they must feel, knowing their protection is gone and that our very next attack will be their defeat. By Ares’s sword, Diomedes! At long last, everything’s in place for victory. I can hardly believe that all I have to do is reach out and Helen will be mine again.’

‘The same walls that have held us for ten years are still there, my lord,’ Eperitus reminded the Spartan king. ‘Not to mention the walls of armoured flesh that stand behind them.’

Menelaus was not listening. Though his eyes remained on the Palladium, in his thoughts he was already striding through the ruins of Troy in search of his wife.

‘And yet,’ he muttered, ‘I don’t know what I’ll do when I see her. After all these years, after chasing her to the other side of the world and laying siege to her kidnappers for so long, suddenly I can’t imagine what it’ll be like to set eyes on her beauty again. Even to be in the same room as her! Some say she wasn’t kidnapped at all, that she ran away with Paris because she had fallen in love with him.’ His brow furrowed and his hands balled up into fists on the table top. ‘And may Aphrodite help her if it’s true, because I don’t know whether I’ll embrace her or run her through with my sword!’