The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

A row of black columns stood either side of the hearth, drawing the gaze naturally towards the dais at the far end of the great hall. On it was a tall throne cut from a single piece of rock and lined with thick furs. A large man sat on the throne with his elbows propped on his knees and his forehead resting in his hands as he gazed down at the floor. He could almost have been asleep, so still was he, and though he wore no crown his battle-scarred armour and the sword balanced across his lap made him look like a king from Troy’s legendary past. The prostrate forms of dead men lay all around him. A few were old – some of Priam’s counsellors, who must have sought refuge in the great hall and then fought to protect their master’s throne. The rest were soldiers, a mixture of Trojans and Greeks. Whether they had died fighting each other or had been killed by the man on the throne was unclear, but Eperitus guessed Apheidas had bought his new throne in blood.

‘So this is where your ambitions have brought you, Father,’ he said. ‘The last king of a doomed city, with no crown and only dead men to bow down before you.’

‘At least I had ambitions, Son,’ Apheidas replied, lifting his head slowly. ‘Unlike you, ever a slave to the commands of others. Now that’s the Trojan in you.’

‘Better to serve a real king than to become a mockery of one.’

Apheidas shook his head and a tired smile filtered across his face.

‘You’re right, of course. And now I suppose you’ve come to murder me and usurp my mock throne. That was always your driving ambition, wasn’t it – to kill me and restore your precious honour? Well, I won’t resist. My leg’s finally given up, you see,’ he said, patting the thigh Eperitus had wounded earlier. ‘Here I am, king of Troy at last, and even my own body won’t do what I want it to.’

He lowered his face into his hands again and to Eperitus’s shock began to cry, his heavy shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs.

‘Perhaps I should have been more like my father – more like you – a loyal servant, knowing my limitations instead of aiming at things forbidden by the gods. And what have I gained? Your brothers died serving my ambitions and I drove you away, earning your hatred in place of your love. So come and get it over with. Send my miserable ghost down to Hades’s halls, where at least I’ll be able to forget the mess I made while I was alive.’ He took the sword from his lap and tossed it across the hall. ‘Kill me Eperitus; I won’t fight you any more.’

Eperitus looked at his father as he lay with his head back against the throne, inviting death. It was a moment he had hankered after for twenty years, but now it was here he no longer wanted it. He would not be his father’s executioner and inherit his legacy of hatred. Astynome had saved him from that.

Apheidas sensed his reluctance.

‘Kill me, damn it! I murdered Pandion and your friend, didn’t I? I killed Astynome, damn it – do you care so little for her that you can’t even avenge her death!’

‘She isn’t dead – you failed in that, too. But you did bring dishonour on our family and you murdered my friend, Arceisius. Crimes that have to be paid for.’

Eperitus’s fingertips touched the dagger in his belt, the ornate blade that Odysseus had given to him when they had first met. He tugged it free and walked around the long hearth to where his father sat. Apheidas eyed the knife in his son’s hands, then leaned back again and exposed his throat.

‘Do it,’ he rasped through clenched teeth.

‘You do it,’ Eperitus replied, and tossed the blade onto his lap.

Apheidas flinched at its touch, then with shaking hands picked it up and held it before himself. Eperitus stepped back, even now not trusting his father. He turned to look at Odysseus, uncertain, seeking the reassurance of his king, and in that moment Apheidas let out a groan. Eperitus’s head flicked back to see the dagger embedded in his heart, his dying hands slowly peeling away from its hilt. Then his head lolled onto his chest and he was dead.

After a while, Odysseus walked around the hearth and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

‘Time to move on.’

Eperitus nodded. Slipping his grandfather’s shield from his back, he dropped it at Apheidas’s feet then turned and followed Odysseus out of the great hall.

Chapter Forty-five

AT THE SHIPS