The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

‘That’s enough,’ they heard Deiphobus say. ‘Come on, Helen. Let’s go home so I can taste your breasts with my lips.’

There was a peel of feminine laughter, followed by silence and then more laughter, receding this time as Deiphobus and Helen retraced their steps back towards Pergamos.

Chapter Thirty-seven

THE GATE FALLS

The men inside the horse were quiet for a while, barely able to look each other in the eye. Eperitus glanced at Odysseus, but his chin was on his chest and his gaze firmly fixed on his sandalled feet. Then the silence was broken by a loud rapping on the legs of the horse, which carried up through the wood and was magnified sharply within the small space where the warriors were huddled.

‘My lords! Are you in there?’

Eperitus sighed with relief. It was Omeros.

‘At last,’ said Neoptolemus, slipping his red-plumed, golden helmet onto his head and fastening the cheek guards beneath his chin. ‘I only wish my father were here with me now, to claim the glory that should have been his.’

‘And Great Ajax, too,’ said Teucer, clutching at his bow. The nervous twitch that had once defined him had faded after the death of his half-brother, and now he sat calmly with his face set in a determined stare. ‘He would have relished this moment.’

Odysseus shook his head. ‘Neither would have entered Troy in the belly of a wooden horse. They hated trickery and would only have walked through the gates on a carpet of fallen enemies. But the fact you’re here, Neoptolemus, shows you’ve already surpassed your father’s qualities. Unlike him, you know a war like this can’t be won by strength and honour alone. Now, Epeius, open the door and let’s set about our task.’

Epeius’s cowardly instincts had brought him out in a glistening sweat now the long wait was over, but while the two dozen warriors about him removed the sacking from their armour and made ready for battle, he wiped his brow and probed the wooden floor with his fingers. There was a click and the trap door swung downward on its hinges, flooding the interior of the horse with a red glow from the dying fire below. Eperitus picked up his grandfather’s shield and, swinging it over his back, was first at the hatch. He stared down and saw Omeros looking back up at him.

‘The way’s clear,’ his squire called in a low voice.

Eperitus kicked the rolled-up rope ladder down through the hole and began his descent, jumping the last part and landing beside Omeros. He looked around at the still-sleeping Trojans, draped over or around the feasting tables, then up at the cloudy sky, pressing closely down on the walls and towers of Pergamos further up the slope. His limbs and back were stiff and the soles of his feet tingled as the blood struggled to return to them, but he drove the discomfort from his mind and drew his sword from its scabbard.

A moment later, Odysseus was with them, followed rapidly by Neoptolemus, Menelaus and Diomedes.

‘Is the signal in place?’ Odysseus asked.

‘And can you be sure the fleet saw it?’ Menelaus added.

‘The torch is on the walls, my lords, just as you ordered,’ Omeros replied, ‘but it was too dark to see if there were any ships in the harbour. If they’re there, though, they’ll have seen the signal.’

‘What about guards?’ asked Eperitus. ‘Did you see any patrols?’

‘None. Not a single man – they’re all in a drunken sleep, completely convinced we’ve given up and gone.’

‘You did well,’ Odysseus said, patting Omeros’s shoulder. ‘I couldn’t have done any better myself.’

Eperitus gave his squire a wink and Omeros bowed his head to hide the broad grin on his face.

‘Everybody’s out,’ Diomedes announced. ‘Now it’s time we went about our business. All it needs is one Trojan to wake and give the alarm –’

‘We’ll do everything as I explained before,’ Odysseus said. ‘Diomedes: you, Little Ajax and Idomeneus take half our number down to the Scaean Gate to let the army in. Menelaus, Neoptolemus and I will take the rest and secure the gates to the citadel.’

‘And what about these?’ Little Ajax demanded, sweeping his sword in a menacing arc over the sleeping Trojans. ‘Do you plan to just let them go on sleeping, ready to wake and bear arms against us? I say we cut their throats and rid ourselves of the bastards here and now.’

Eperitus looked at his king, who twice before had cut the throats of groups of sleeping warriors, preferring the opportunity of a defenceless enemy over notions of honour. On one of those occasions, the fate of Ithaca had depended on his actions; on the other he had murdered his victims for the sake of a team of prize horses. This time, though – to Eperitus’s approval – Odysseus shook his head.

‘We only kill those who resist us – the night’s going to be vicious enough without cold-blooded murder. Besides, we haven’t the time to waste. We need to go now.’