The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

‘Eurylochus!’ Odysseus shouted angrily, recognising his cousin. Two of the others he also knew to be Ithacans, though they were the kind of soldiers he was not proud to think of as his countrymen. The other two were Taphian mercenaries who had arrived earlier in the summer with the last batch of reinforcements from Troy. ‘Leave her alone! Why aren’t you with the rest of the army?’

The five men paused and half turned at the authority in Odysseus’s voice, but there was no shame in their drunken faces as they stared back at their king. Indeed, the Taphians eyed him with distinct rebellion in their eyes, as if they would happily have struck him down there and then.

‘What army?’ Eurylochus replied. ‘There is no army, just packs of soldiers getting their own back on the bastards who’ve kept us from our homes for ten years.’

‘She’s getting away!’ one of the others shouted ruefully, as the girl ran up the ramp and disappeared.

Odysseus felt his temper snap.

‘Get back into the city and find as many Ithacans as you can!’ he shouted, red-faced with anger as he advanced on them. ‘Start restoring order, damn you. And if you lay hands on another woman without my permission, I’ll see you hanged for it in the morning. Do you understand?’

Eurylochus scowled at him and the others showed an open reluctance to do as they were ordered. One of the Taphians circled to Odysseus’s unshielded right, while the other clutched the handle of his sword and began easing the blade from its sheath.

‘Put it away, Selagos,’ Eurylochus hissed at him. ‘Let’s go find the rest of our countrymen.’

He spat on the flagstones as a last, defiant gesture, then slunk off reluctantly towards the gates to the lower city, followed by his cronies. But as Odysseus ran up the ramp to the middle tier of the citadel – hoping to find the girl and take her under his protection – he saw them turn aside down one of the narrow streets, doubtless hunting for more victims. The girl was nowhere to be seen when Odysseus reached the top of the slope, and after a fruitless search among the nearest alleys he knew she was gone, perhaps already snatched up by another group of soldiers. Suddenly weary, he stumbled into a doorway and leaned with his back against the wall. He had barely calmed his breathing again when a fierce clash of weaponry erupted from nearby. Five men in Trojan armour came sprinting around the corner of a house. Their leader was splendidly armoured and Odysseus recognised him as one of Priam’s few remaining sons; the others were members of the royal guard. Their weapons were red with gore and exhaustion was written in their every movement as they ran towards the temple of Zeus, farther up the street. Odysseus had hardly noticed the large, richly decorated building until that point, but as the men lumbered towards it he realised that they were seeking sanctuary inside, desperately hoping that the gods would protect them. As he looked at the edifice, he noticed for the first time that there was a ring of Greek soldiers standing about it. For a moment he was mystified; then he realised that others must have sought refuge there, and so far the victorious invaders had maintained enough self-discipline to respect the sanctity of the temple, preferring to set a watch over it and keep anyone from leaving or entering.

A number of Greeks now moved to block the advance of the handful of Trojans. At the same moment, another group of Greek soldiery came running around the same corner the Trojans had first appeared from. Neoptolemus was at their head, unmistakeable in his father’s god-made armour.

‘There he is!’ Neoptolemus shouted. ‘After him.’

Priam’s son turned at the sound of Neoptolemus’s voice, knowing that his route to the temple of Zeus was blocked and that he would have to face Achilles’s ferocious son in battle. Taking a spear from one his companions, he launched it into the pack of pursuing Greeks. The throw was straight and powerful, but Neoptolemus raised his magnificent shield and knocked it aside with contempt. With a hateful shout the two sides ran at each other, their shields crashing and weapons ringing loudly. Odysseus stood up, trying to see more of the uneven struggle. Strangely, he felt himself hoping the Trojans would give a good account of themselves, or at least make a break for the temple. But the fight was over almost immediately, with Neoptolemus pushing his way out of the crowd and bellowing triumphantly, the severed head of Priam’s son held aloft in his hand.