The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

Burning buildings were beginning to collapse now as Eperitus picked his way through the rubble-strewn streets of Pergamos towards the palace. After watching his father push Astynome into the pit of snakes and then make his escape, he had given up any hope of avenging his crimes. Strangely, though, the concept of him going unpunished was less bitter than he had imagined it would be. His relief that Astynome had survived was so overwhelming that, in comparison, the thought of killing Apheidas and wiping away the stain from his family’s honour seemed almost unimportant. Her words, too, had affected him. Her belief that the best way to defeat Apheidas was to be all the things he was not, and that to seek revenge was to become more like him, had struck deeper than he expected. Perhaps he feared keeping his father’s legacy of hatred and anger alive. After all, other families had carried the curse of their forefathers through generation after generation, just as Agamemnon and Menelaus were still suffering from the offences of their great-grandfather, Tantalus. The only hope of throwing off such a curse was to break the cycle of retribution. More than that, he was aware that with Astynome he had something to live for. The young warrior who had been exiled from Alybas all those years before, without a home, family or friends, no longer existed. He was older and stronger now, with a new homeland and new loyalties. The things that had driven his younger self – to see his family’s honour restored – had at last been superseded, if not fulfilled. And for a short while he had convinced himself they did not matter any more.

Then, when Omeros told him they had seen Apheidas, he realised he had been wrong. He had to go after him. Whether he wanted to take a final opportunity for revenge – despite everything Astynome had warned him against – or simply hoped to find his father’s body, he could not yet say. Only he knew he had to see the matter to its conclusion.

The ramp to the palace was scattered with the dead and dying. The courtyard above was also covered with corpses, including many Trojan soldiers who had made their last stand there. Now all was still and silent, but for the flames roaring from the upper windows of the once-beautiful building. Then a familiar voice called his name and he turned to see Odysseus running across from the steps that led up to the battlements, followed by Hecabe.

‘Thank the gods you’re alive,’ Odysseus exclaimed, embracing his captain. ‘But where’s Astynome? Didn’t you find her?’

‘She’s safe. And Helen?’

Odysseus nodded and briefly summarised the things he had seen and done since they had parted.

‘And now we need to gather the army back together and restore discipline. Even if Agamemnon has ordered every male to be slain, I won’t have my Ithacans take any more part in it. And I intend to make sure there’s at least one functional part of this army that can offer protection to the women of Troy.’

He glanced at Hecabe, but the old woman understood little or nothing of his Greek.

‘My father’s in the palace,’ Eperitus announced awkwardly, aware that he was asking to neglect his duty as captain of Odysseus’s guard.

‘Then we’d better deal with him first,’ Odysseus replied.

The destruction inside the palace had left it almost unrecognisable, causing Hecabe to wail aloud as her grief was renewed. The plastered walls, many of which had boasted intricate and colourful murals, were now stained by smoke or splashed with blood. Doors had been kicked from their hinges and every room ransacked, leaving behind a mess of dead bodies, smashed furniture and torn hangings. Here and there the debris had been piled up and set alight using torches ripped from their brackets, choking corridors with smoke as the fearsome flames consumed everything within their reach. Covering their faces with the corners of their cloaks, Eperitus, Odysseus and Hecabe pushed on towards the great hall, where Eperitus’s instincts told him they would find his father.

They soon found the antechamber where Eperitus and Odysseus had once awaited an audience with King Priam, in the days before the war. The raging fires had not yet reached this part of the palace, and as they pushed open the large wooden doors they found the throne room in semi-darkness, lit only by the dying glow of the rectangular hearth at its centre.

‘Wait here,’ Odysseus whispered to Hecabe as he and Eperitus clutched their swords and advanced into the gloom.