The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

‘Menelaus, give me the dagger.’ Odysseus’s sword was pressed against the Spartan’s ribs. ‘Helen saw through my disguise when I came to steal the Palladium, but she didn’t betray me to the Trojans. She even drugged the temple guards and showed me a way to leave the city unnoticed. Without her Troy would never have fallen, and if that doesn’t convince you of her loyalty to you then I don’t know what will. But I also owe her my life, and if you don’t take that blade from her throat then I’ll run you through. Do you understand me?’

‘All I want is her oath, sworn in the name of Aphrodite,’ Menelaus hissed, without removing his eyes from Helen or his dagger from her neck.

More screams came from the corridors behind them. Then Helen spoke, with her eyes closed and her voice trembling.

‘I swear it, Menelaus. As Aphrodite is my witness, I never loved anyone but you.’

Menelaus withdrew the blade and tossed it into a corner of the room. Dropping to his knees, he wrapped his arms around his wife and drew her clumsily into his chest. He pressed his face into her hair, the tears falling heavily from his eyes again as he breathed in lungfuls of her perfume.

‘Then you’re mine again, at last, and this cursed war is truly over. Let’s find Pleisthenes and go home. To Sparta.’

Chapter Forty

LOVE AND VENGEANCE

The streets of Pergamos were confusing in a night without moon or stars, lit only by the reflected orange glow from the fires that were springing up in the lower city, but it was not long before Eperitus found himself emerging from the shadows opposite the temple of Apollo. His father’s two-storeyed house was beside it, and after a quick glance at the dark doorways and windows of the surrounding buildings, Eperitus crossed to the modest portico with its twin columns standing like sentinels, one on either side.

His heart beat faster as he laid his palms against the wooden doors and paused. For a whole night and day in the cramped discomfort of the wooden horse he had pondered this moment and what he would do when it came. Sitting on the hard bench with his head in his hands, he had thought about Astynome and all they had been through together. Despite her betrayal, he knew she loved him and that he still loved her. That was something worth fighting for, something much greater than the cold, selfish motivations of glory that had given his life meaning before. It was why Odysseus had let him go. The king knew the value of love, and that Eperitus would need to protect Astynome from the army of vengeful Greeks that would soon be rampaging through the citadel.

But if Eperitus wanted nothing more than to sail back with Astynome to Ithaca, where Agamemnon, Apheidas and the walls of Troy would never be able to separate them again, he knew that even then he could not find satisfaction until he had faced his father for one last time. Unlike his lust for glory, he could not so quickly abandon his need for revenge. Apheidas had caused too much destruction in his life for him to simply turn his back and walk away. What was more, if he was to enjoy the future in peace with Astynome he had first to rid himself of the shadow of his past. He was sure Odysseus had known that, too.

He leaned his weight against the wooden doors, which were unbarred and swung open easily. Inside was the main hall, dark but for the red glow of the fire that seemed to pulsate like a heart at its centre. Eperitus shut the doors quietly behind him and waited, letting his supernatural senses expand into the cavernous black chamber. The light from the hearth did not reach beyond the four pillars that surrounded it, but his keen eyes could pick out the erect shapes of several chairs, a number of long tables pushed against the walls, and the faded outlines of the murals on the plaster above them. Through the smell of burning wood and ashes, he could discern the lingering aromas of bread, roast meat and wine from an earlier meal, mingling with other smells from deeper within the house. The air in the hall was still, other than the slight updraft as the smoke from the hearth was drawn through the hole in the apex of the ceiling, and the only sounds were the crackle of the fire and the creaking of wooden beams as they settled in the cooler night air. And the faint, restrained breathing of the other person in the room.

Eperitus drew his sword.

‘Come out of the shadows,’ he ordered, speaking in the Trojan tongue.

A figure rose up from one of the chairs against the wall to his left and walked towards him.

‘Eperitus!’