The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

‘Cassandra is deluded – half-mad, even,’ Priam answered. ‘Her tortured mind imagines the most fantastic things that she believes are visions from the gods. They aren’t. And perhaps you’re forgetting something, Son.’

He looked over at the wall to his left. The daylight that was normally channelled into the great hall through conduits from the high ceiling had long since disappeared, but the flames that flickered in the oblong hearth and the torches that hung about the walls spread an orange glow throughout the vast chamber. It pushed back the shadows to reveal the murals that decorated the smoke-stained plaster, though they had been drained of the colour and energy that inhabited them during the day. Sweeping his long purple cloak behind him, Priam walked up to one of the larger-than-life depictions and reached up to touch it with the palm of his hand. It showed two golden-skinned men: one dressed in a shepherd’s fleece and playing a lyre as he sat on a hillside; the other stripped to the waist as he fitted enormous blocks of stone together to make a strong wall.

‘You forget, Deiphobus, that our city has no weakness,’ the king said. ‘Its walls were made by the gods themselves, by Poseidon and Apollo. They cannot be broken down and they cannot be scaled. Let Cassandra try to draw attention to herself, and let the Greeks chase after her fantasies. We are safe.’

‘Then why have you called us here, my lord, if not to discuss Helenus’s treachery?’ Antenor asked.

Priam left the mural and moved slowly back across the hall, the flames of the hearth casting a tall shadow over the wall behind him. As he rejoined the others, he laid his hands palm-down on the table and leaned his weight upon them. He let out a long breath and his whole body seemed to deflate with it, leaving him a thin, elderly man heavily burdened by the responsibilities of his rank. Deiphobus and Antenor, standing on either side of him, instinctively moved closer, fearing the king might suddenly collapse. Then he drew himself up again and nodded towards a large shape in the middle of the table, draped in purple cloth. It had sat there all through the meal they had shared, arousing the curiosity of the others but so pointedly ignored by Priam that they dared not mention it themselves. Now, at last, it seemed the mystery would be revealed.

‘That is the reason I’ve asked you here. Deiphobus?’

The king looked at his son, who after a moment’s hesitation reached across and slowly pulled away the purple cloth. Aeneas and Idaeus gasped, while Apheidas called on the gods in an awed whisper. With the sole exception of Priam the men around the table leaned closer, their eyes wide with wonder and their faces shining with the glittering light reflected from the object before them.

‘The Golden Vine,’ Priam declared. ‘Zeus gave it to Tros, my great-grandfather, as compensation for abducting Ganymede, his son, and making him his cupbearer on Olympus. It was on the promise of this Vine that Poseidon and Apollo built the walls of Troy for my grandfather, Ilus, who then cheated them of their payment.’

‘But I thought this was just a legend,’ Deiphobus said without taking his eyes from the Vine.

‘All legends are based in truth of one kind or another, Son.’

Priam reached across and gently scooped up the Vine in the palms of his hands, lifting the cluster of golden spheres before the faces of the others. As they looked at it they were able to see that each grape had been individually crafted and was linked to a stem of gold that was supple and moved with the weight of the fruit. Three golden leaves were attached to the Vine and as Priam’s fingers closed lightly about them they bent to his touch as if they were real.

‘The Vine has lain hidden in the deepest vault of the palace since I was a boy, jealously guarded by each of my forefathers and never brought out into the light of day. It is the last great treasure of Troy. And now it must be given up.’

There were exclamations of disbelief and denial at the announcement, but Priam shook his head.

‘Hector and Paris are dead, and the faith I placed in the Amazons and Aethiopes proved unfounded. Our armies have been decimated time and again, until the rump that remains is barely capable of manning the city walls, let alone driving the Greeks from our shores. And yet there is one final hope, a last resort that my pride has always refused to acknowledge. Until now.’

Apheidas’s brow furrowed.

‘What is this hope, my lord?’

‘Not what, but who,’ Priam replied. He lay the Vine carefully back down on the purple cloth and looked about at the others. ‘I mean King Eurypylus of Mysia.’

‘Your grandson?’ Antenor queried. ‘He’ll never go against his mother’s wishes, and Astyoche refuses to even recognise you as her father.’