The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

And then the words Athena had spoken on the galley as they had approached the Peloponnesian shore came tumbling back into Eperitus’s head.

‘The only way to overcome the curse of Pelops’s tomb,’ he said aloud, ‘is for Ares’s gift to complete its purpose.’

Odysseus turned to him and in an instant they both understood.

‘Oenomaus’s spear!’ the king cried.

Eperitus did not wait, but ran back to the wall by the broken chariot where he had reluctantly laid down the weapon. He took it in one hand, his mind recalling vividly the story Odysseus had told as they had set out on their voyage back to Greece. Oenomaus’s spear was a gift from Ares, which the king had used to pursue Hippodameia’s suitors to their deaths. Its aim was straight and true, as was to be expected from a weapon gifted by the gods; but there had been one occasion when it had failed in its purpose – against Pelops. Now was the time for it to complete its task.

A shout of pain rang from the walls. Eperitus looked across and saw the skeleton tearing at Polites’s arm, determined on ripping the heavily muscled limb from its torso. Odysseus, Diomedes and a host of others were pulling at the monster’s arms and legs in an attempt to save Polites, though forlornly.

‘Stand clear!’ Eperitus called.

He pulled the spear back and took aim. The skeleton seemed to sense danger and turned to look at Eperitus. The light of the torches glowed on its grey bones and cast strange, enlarged shadows on the walls behind. Suddenly, it released Polites and began running towards the captain of the Ithacan guard, at the same moment as Eperitus launched the spear. It went clean through the fleshless ribs and carried on to stick quivering in the flank of the wooden horse that had crowned the sarcophagus. But as the bronze head passed between the bones, the ancient curse that held them together was broken and the skeleton fell in pieces to the floor. The skull rolled over to rest between Odysseus’s feet. The king picked it up, looked into its empty eye sockets, then threw it against a wall where it shattered into fragments.

Omeros and Eurybates ran to help Polites, who was groaning with pain, though his arm had remained in its socket by the sheer density of his muscles. Diomedes walked over to the pile of bones and picked out the ivory shoulder blade.

‘So this is what five of my men died for,’ he said, bitterly. ‘And yet you think we don’t even need the damned thing.’

He offered it to Odysseus, who took the untarnished ivory and held it up to the light of the nearest torch.

‘We must take it back to Troy, of course – the others will expect it – and yet the gods didn’t bring us here just for the sake of a bone. There’s something else, a riddle or a clue that will give us victory over Troy. I just have to find out what it is.’

Eperitus pulled the spear out of the wooden horse and looked about at the bodies of the dead men.

‘What if there is no riddle, Odysseus? What if the gods are playing with us, giving us hope where there isn’t any? What if there never was anything more here than a dead king hidden beneath a wooden horse? Perhaps the Olympians want the war to go on for another ten years.’

‘A king hidden beneath a wooden horse,’ Odysseus repeated, to himself. ‘Or inside a horse.’

Diomedes shook his head. ‘No, the gods wouldn’t lie to us. They sent us to find this bone and take it back to Troy. That’s all there is to it. Why does there have to be something else, Odysseus?’

Odysseus ignored him and walked over to the wooden horse on its toppled granite lid. He stroked its smooth mane and frowned.

‘The Trojans revere horses,’ he said, quietly. Then he turned to Eperitus and smiled. ‘I have it, Eperitus,’ he whispered. ‘I know what the riddle is, and I know the answer. I have the key to the gates of Troy.’

Chapter Nineteen

EURYPYLUS ARRIVES

Helen stood behind Cassandra as she sat on the high-backed chair, staring gloomily at her reflection in the mirror. The polished bronze surface was uneven in places and a little tarnished around the circumference, but there was no hiding the girl’s natural beauty.

‘White suits you,’ Helen said conclusively, gathering Cassandra’s thick, dark hair in her fingers and holding it behind her head to expose the long neck and slim shoulders.

Cassandra laid a modest hand across her exposed cleavage.

‘Black would be more appropriate.’

‘For your husband? Come now.’

‘Did you want to wear white when Deiphobus forced you to marry him against your wishes?’ Cassandra replied, harshly. ‘Besides, Eurypylus will not be my husband until he and his army have defeated the Greeks. My father was clear on that, at least.’