The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

A despairing cry tore through the night air as he showed his trophy to the baying soldiers. Odysseus looked at the pillared entrance to the temple, where an old man stood with his fists raised to the heavens. He was surrounded by half a dozen crying women, several of them pulling at the man’s cloak in an attempt to keep him within the confines of the temple. Their efforts were in vain: the man pushed them away and staggered down the broad steps towards the towering statue of Zeus that fronted the building.

Without his black wig and face powder, Priam was only recognisable to Odysseus by his great height and the wailing figure of Hecabe following him from the temple. The old king ignored his wife’s pleading and stooped to pick up a discarded spear. That such a frail being was able to lift the weapon was amazing, and as he raised it above his shoulder and called to Neoptolemus the young warrior merely laughed and tossed Priam the head of his son.

‘What are you waiting for, you old fool?’ he goaded, throwing his arms open and standing with his legs apart on the flagstones. ‘Avenge your son’s death.’

‘Priam, no!’ Odysseus shouted, guessing what was about to happen and running out from the doorway.

If Priam heard him, he paid no attention and hurled the spear with all his remaining strength. The throw was pathetic, skittering across the floor to be stopped by Neoptolemus’s sandalled foot. The Myrmidon prince’s mocking features were instantly transformed. Curling back his lip, he sprinted towards the king of Troy, his sword raised high above his head. Priam turned and staggered back to the temple, sprawling over the steps as Neoptolemus caught up with him. Odysseus barged his way through the crowd of black-clad Myrmidons and called out.

‘Stop! Neoptolemus, stop!’

Neoptolemus was now standing astride Priam on the steps. He turned to see Odysseus running towards him, then with a scornful grin reached down to seize Priam’s thinning locks of grey hair. Pulling the old man’s head back, he lifted his blade and brought it down with a savage blow, slicing through the throat. The head came away and swung from his hand, dripping trails of blood over Neoptolemus’s legs and feet. For a brief instant silence pressed down on the scene. The king of Troy was dead. The Trojan people’s cause was finished. This was the moment that ended the war.

Then screams broke the stillness. The women gathered at the top of the steps – Priam’s surviving daughters – cried out in horror at the murder of their father and fled back into the temple. Odysseus slumped back against the plinth of the statue of Zeus, while behind him the Myrmidons and the other Greeks gave a victorious shout and rushed towards the holy sanctuary.

‘Come on,’ Neoptolemus encouraged them. ‘Agamemnon ordered that no stone was to be left standing on another. Tear this place down; take what you want, including the women – you’ve earned it. Then burn it to the ground!’

Odysseus watched Hecabe drag herself to her feet, only to be knocked down again by the stampeding soldiers. A spearman paused beside her, stooped down and proceeded to tear at the old woman’s clothing. Odysseus kicked him onto his back and pressed the point of his sword against his throat.

‘Leave her alone,’ he hissed.

The Myrmidon stared back at him angrily, then dragged himself back on his elbows and pushed the weapon aside.

‘Your welcome to the old hag,’ he replied with a sneer, before leaping to his feet and running into the temple.

Screams were now emanating from the open doorway. Odysseus looked up wearily and saw Neoptolemus still standing on the steps, wiping his blade on Priam’s cloak. The Ithacan fought to control his anger before walking up to Achilles’s son.

‘You’ve earned your father’s armour tonight, Neoptolemus,’ he began. ‘Achilles was a savage man, but I never thought I’d see his brutality outdone.’

Neoptolemus laughed at his contempt.

‘Wasn’t this what you brought me here to do, Odysseus? To fulfil the oracle and end the royal line of Troy? Then don’t complain if I choose to accomplish my destiny with as much cruelty and ruthlessness as is necessary.’

‘The royal line isn’t ended yet,’ Odysseus told him, then turned his back on the prince and walked over to Hecabe.

‘Come with me,’ he said, helping her to her feet. ‘I’ll keep you safe.’

Chapter Forty-two

THE SNAKE PIT

Eperitus’s feet hit the earthen floor where the flames of the torch had cleared a circle among the writhing mass of snakes. His legs buckled beneath him and he fell onto his front, only to feel a searing pain shoot through his arm. His first thought was that he had been bitten, but as he rolled away he felt the heat of the torch and realised he had been burned. He lay there for two or three heartbeats, listening with horror to the hiss of the snakes all around him, then pushed himself up onto his haunches.