The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

Hugging the shadows, they reached the servant’s entrance and pushed it open. Torches flickered in the passageway beyond, but there was no-one to be seen. Knowing time was slipping away from them, Odysseus led a weaving path through the narrow corridors of the building, passing open doorways that gave fleeting hints at their contents: a pungent whiff of root vegetables and herbs; the reek of fish; a heady scent of wine; the sweet aroma of bread. They entered a broader passage that angled to the right and soon led them to the foot of a flight of stairs. Odysseus took the steps three at a time, not caring who or what might be waiting above, and ran on through more deserted corridors where there were fewer torches and the smells coming from the open doors were of human bodies, accompanied by the sounds of snoring. They reached a door guarded by a sleeping sentinel, whose throat Menelaus paused to slice open with his sword before running on in Odysseus’s wake.

Then they came to a turn in the passage that was bathed with the glow of newly lit torches. Odysseus crouched low and signalled for Menelaus to do the same.

‘Is her bedroom near?’ Menelaus whispered.

‘Just around this corner. But listen, someone’s speaking; if Helen’s there, she’s not alone.’

At that moment, a door opened and the muffled voices became clear.

‘I don’t know if it’s the whole Greek army, but we can’t take any risks. We heard the fighting and saw the flames from the courtyard, so I’m going to take you somewhere safe before it’s too late.’

‘Deiphobus!’ Menelaus hissed.

Before Odysseus could stop him, the Spartan king had pulled the shield from his back and was running around the corner. Odysseus swore and followed as quickly as he could, almost colliding with Menelaus as he turned into the broad, well-lit corridor. Just a few paces away, standing before the open door to Helen’s bedroom, were Deiphobus, two of Helen’s maids and two members of the royal guard. Their faces wore looks of astonishment as they gaped at the two gore-spattered Greeks. For a heartbeat Menelaus and Odysseus stared back at them in silence, hesitating at the unexpected sight of the armed warriors. Into this moment of anxious stillness stepped Helen, dressed in a gauzy white chiton with her black hair tied up behind her head, as if she had not yet been to bed. She carried a black cloak over her arm, which slipped to the floor as she set eyes upon her first husband.

‘Menelaus,’ she said, barely breathing his name.

Chapter Thirty-nine

HELEN AND MENELAUS

Get back!’ Deiphobus ordered, snapping to his senses and pushing Helen into the bedroom. ‘You two, do your duty!’

The guardsmen lowered the points of their spears and advanced side by side down the corridor. Behind them, the maids screamed and ran after Deiphobus, only to have the door slammed shut in their faces. They turned and fled, just as Menelaus knocked aside one of the spear points with his shield and stepped inside the guard of its owner, sinking his sword into the man’s unprotected groin. He cried out in agony and lurched sideways into the second Trojan, who tried to push him away with his elbow. Seeing his chance, Odysseus rushed forward and lunged at him. He stepped back to avoid the point of Odysseus’s sword, but caught his heel on his dying comrade and fell in a heap. Odysseus finished him quickly.

‘Come on!’ Menelaus called, leaping over their fallen enemies.

He kicked open the door and crashed into the bedroom. Odysseus followed, his heart pounding hard against his chest. In the centre of the room was a large bed. White curtains billowed inward from a window behind it, ushering in the savoury whiff of smoke and the pink glow of fire from the lower city. On the other side of the bed was Deiphobus with Helen held firmly in his arms. Two more of Helen’s maids stood in an open doorway at the back of the wide chamber – which Odysseus knew led to Helen’s bathroom – their beautiful faces blighted by terror. But these details were of little concern compared to the four other guardsmen whom Deiphobus had brought with him to escort his wife to safety, and who were standing ready with their spears gripped tightly in both hands and their shields on their arms.

Menelaus stared at Helen, his face an angry mask that hid emotions Odysseus could only guess at. Helen looked back at him, almost too afraid to hold his gaze but also conscious that to look away would be an admission of guilt before her avenging husband. She must have known that Menelaus’s sudden appearance inside the palace meant a Greek victory, and that whatever happened now her life was balanced on the edge of his blade. Belatedly, she began to struggle against Deiphobus’s grip, sending looks of helpless longing toward her first husband and trying to ignore the knowing presence of Odysseus.