The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

The great hall was hot and stuffy, contrasting the chill air outside. The long, rectangular hearth glowed fiercely and sent thin trails of smoke up to the shadowy ceiling high above. Its scarlet light shimmered on the faces of the men who sat in rows on either side of it, all of whom fell silent and turned to look as Helen entered accompanied by Apheidas. Most were elderly – having earned their positions of rank in the wars of their youth – and the warm glow emphasised the lines on their soft, bearded faces. But not all were old: the commanders of the armies of Troy and her allies were there, along with the remnant of Priam’s sons – Deiphobus and Helenus among them. These two stood on opposite sides of the hearth, staring at Helen; Deiphobus, the eldest, had a look of relief and joy on his handsome features, while Helenus watched her with expectant confidence. Priam himself sat on a dais at the back of the hall, leaning forward from his high-backed stone chair and gazing vacantly at the flames. His vanity spent with grief at the deaths of Hector and Paris, he had stopped trying to hide his age behind black wigs and face powder and now looked the tired old man he was. His hair was sparse and grey, as was his beard now that he no longer dyed it. His eyes were watery pools of sorrow, and even his great height seemed to have been taken from him as he slumped on his throne. His clothes were still colourful and richly embroidered, but like Priam they had lost their lustre.

Idaeus, the king’s herald, moved out of the shadows by the entrance to announce the arrival of Helen and Apheidas. At once, Priam lifted his head and a flicker of life returned to his eyes. He pushed himself up from the arms of his throne, his forearms shaking with the effort, and stepped down from the dais. Straightening himself with a hand into the small of his back, he brushed aside Deiphobus’s attempts to help him and moved towards his daughter-in-law. There had been a time before the death of his favourite sons when, however much he adored Helen, he would have considered it beneath his position to leave his throne for her sake in the presence of so many of his advisers and commanders. Now he did not care how they regarded him, so Helen, stirred by pity, ran around the hearth and past the rows of black columns to meet him, dropping to her knees and bowing before the old king. He laid his hands on her head and stroked her soft hair.

‘Stand, Daughter, and let me embrace you.’

‘My king,’ she whispered, and for a moment the others in the hall were forgotten as they closed their arms about each other and shared their grief for the loss of Paris.

After a moment, one of the elders stood and coughed lightly.

‘My lord,’ he said.

Priam released Helen and looked at the man with impatience.

‘What is it, Antimachus?’

‘The princess has been brought here to learn her fate?’

‘I haven’t yet decided my daughter’s fate,’ Priam snapped, throwing the elder a dismissive gesture. He shuffled back to his throne, assisted by Helen, and eased himself down onto the hard stone.

‘Then may I urge you again to listen to your advisers, and indeed to the people of Troy,’ Antimachus continued. ‘While Paris lived we were happy to fight, so that Helen could remain among us and not be taken against her will back to Sparta. Now Paris is dead there’s no reason to prolong the war.’

Helen looked at Antimachus’s face with its broken nose and pointed beard. It was a face she had always disliked, for it had always looked on her with aversion. Among all the elders, only Antimachus had never been afraid to voice his disapproval of her presence in Troy. Now, for once, she hoped his argument would be heard by Priam and accepted.

Priam merely grunted.

‘You’ve always hated Helen, Antimachus, so don’t try to convince me you’ve ever been anything but opposed to this war. And since when have the elders and people of Troy decided what the king should do?’

‘Nevertheless, my lord, we should give her back to her own people –’

‘We are her people!’ Priam roared.

Helen rushed to the king’s side as he slumped back into his throne, drained by his anger and fighting for breath. She was joined a moment later by Deiphobus, the prince’s hand touching hers as they sought to calm the old man.

‘I must insist on this point,’ Antimachus continued, with a boldness he would never have dared to show before the deaths of Hector and Paris. ‘Helen has brought great evil to Troy. Tens of thousands of Ilium’s young men have died for her sake, leaving many thousands more widows and orphans. Your commands will always be obeyed, great king, but only so long as you have subjects to follow them. Give her back before she proves the end of us.’