The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

Eperitus, Odysseus and Omeros leaned against the bow rail of the beached galley, watching the defeated army return to their tents. Filthy and exhausted, many of them wounded, they trudged down the slope from the gates with their heads low, dejected by the betrayal of the gods who had promised them victory. For all their faith in the oracles, the walls of Troy stood as strong as ever and the bodies of hundreds more Greeks lay littered in their shade, carrion for the gluttonous birds and dogs.

The appalling aftermath of another defeat left Eperitus feeling cold. More men sent needlessly down to Hades’s halls, where it was said the joys of the living world were stripped away and the soul was left with nothing more than the idea they had once been alive. In that dark place there was no memory of the events or emotions they had experienced in their bodies of flesh, only a sense that something wonderful was lost to them for eternity. And yet, if Odysseus was right, their sacrifice was a necessary one so that thousands more could keep their places at life’s feast. Eperitus gave the king a sidelong glance. He had changed since their encounter with Athena in the temple, become more grim with the loss of the goddess’s patronage. Though whether it was despair or a determination to end the war without her, he could not tell.

‘Go and prepare the wine, Omeros,’ Odysseus said. ‘They’ll be here soon.’

The squire nodded and went to the galley’s stern, where skins of wine and water hung from the twin steering oars. A short while later, they heard the sound they had been expecting – heavy footsteps on the gangplank leading up from the beach. Agamemnon stepped down onto the deck, his breastplate spattered with gore and the pure white tunic beneath filthy with dust. His red cloak was ripped and one of the cheek guards of his helmet had been torn away to reveal a fresh cut across his jaw. Behind him came Menelaus, Nestor and Diomedes, all similarly begrimed. Further footsteps announced the arrival of Idomeneus of Crete, Menestheus of Athens and Little Ajax. Last of all came Neoptolemus, whose divine armour gleamed as if newly made, though his face and limbs were smeared with blood and dirt. His eyes stared out from the unnatural mask, angered by the reversal but not dispirited.

‘You sent us knowingly to defeat,’ Agamemnon said, pulling the helmet from his head and throwing it onto the deck at Odysseus’s feet. His blue eyes were fierce with suppressed rage.

‘I said I would not oppose any who chose to go. Not that my opinion for or against would have made any difference.’

Odysseus nodded to Omeros, who took kraters of wine to each of the battle-weary warriors.

‘You underestimate yourself, Odysseus,’ Nestor said, taking his cup and easing his old body down onto one of the benches. ‘Your intelligence is widely respected, from the lowest levy to the highest king. An opinion from you carries as much weight as a command from Agamemnon himself.’

‘Nestor’s right,’ Menelaus growled. ‘If you’d spoken up when Diomedes did, perhaps we wouldn’t have ran headlong into another reverse – especially one so costly to what was left of the army’s morale. When warriors have been promised victory by the gods themselves, defeat is twice as crushing. On my way back I heard men openly talking about returning to Greece, not caring that I was within earshot of them.’

‘Then tell them that’s what we’re going to do.’

The others looked questioningly at Odysseus, as if they had misheard him. The momentary silence was broken by a sneering grunt from Little Ajax.

‘Is that why you let us march off in the first place? To snap the army’s will to fight? To end the war, just so you can skulk off home to your precious family?’

‘You’re not listening,’ Odysseus replied. ‘I said tell the army we’re going to leave for Greece, not do it.’

‘And what’s the point in that?’ Idomeneus asked, sitting beside Nestor and removing his helmet. ‘Give them hope, only to order them back into battle again?’

Odysseus shook his head. ‘Of course not. I’ve an idea for conquering Troy, but we have to convince the Trojans we’ve given up and gone home. And to do that our own men have to believe that’s what we intend to do.’

Neoptolemus spat on the deck. ‘Another of your famous tricks, Odysseus? Just like the theft of the Palladium? Devoid of glory and doomed to failure.’

‘Perhaps you’d have us attack the walls again?’ Eperitus said. ‘That idea didn’t exactly cover you in honour or bring about a famous victory, did it!’

Neoptolemus stepped forward, his face reddening with fury and his fingertips unconsciously touching the hilt of his sword. Diomedes quickly slapped a hand on his armoured shoulder and forced him down to one of the benches.

‘If Odysseus has an idea, I suppose we’d better hear it.’