The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

‘Weren’t you listening, that night at the temple of Thymbrean Apollo?’ she asked, her tone sharp with reciprocal anger. ‘Did you not hear, or did you not want to hear? I didn’t know he was planning to betray Troy to the Greeks in return for Priam’s throne, or that you were to be a pawn in his ambitions. When he told me he could make you join the Trojans and put an end to the war I trusted him, and that’s why I carried on with his plan. And what choice did I have? He is my master: if I had refused to do what he told me, he would never have allowed me to see you again.’

Eperitus looked into Astynome’s eyes and knew she was right. He had not considered the difficulties she had faced before, and now that he did he saw that she had never been given any option but to see out Apheidas’s orders. But as the hardness in his heart began to soften, so the memory of how much he had suffered because of her stopped him from taking her hand and confessing that he still loved her. Besides, he reminded himself, he was still a prisoner in his father’s house.

‘And where is Apheidas now? Has he sent you to soften me up – to persuade me to join him again?’

Astynome closed her eyes and turned her head away with a sigh, and Eperitus knew he had allowed his bitterness too much rein.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. You must know why I’m here, though, why he’s permitted me to live instead of killing me on the battlefield? Does he think he can appeal to the Trojan blood in my veins again? If so, you can tell him I’m loyal to my Greek ancestry, not to some foreign culture I’m more intent than ever on seeing destroyed.’

‘Do you think he would tell his plans to me, a mere servant? All I know is that he was in a jubilant mood after the battle. Along with Cassandra, he’s the only person in Troy who seems pleased at the death of King Eurypylus – as if Trojan victory in battle doesn’t suit his ambitions. The only other thing I know is that he’s keen for you to regain consciousness.’

‘So he either wants to kill me while I’m wide awake, or he has other designs for me.’

‘Then we will stop him. Together. You remember how you used to tell me about him in your hut, about the kind of man he is? To my shame I did not believe you, because the Apheidas I knew had shown me nothing but kindness after my husband’s death. Now I know you were right, and –’ she looked at the guard and Clymene, and lowered her voice, ‘and I will help you to kill him if you still desire revenge.’

‘Revenge?’ Eperitus replied, feeling suddenly tired once more. ‘Yes, I’ve wanted it more than ever since you and I were last together – vengeance for King Pandion, and now for Arceisius too. But how will you help me?’

‘I don’t know yet, but a chance will arrive. I will pray to the gods for one.’

Eperitus’s tiredness was deepening rapidly, weakening his desire to continue his show of resistance to Astynome. He knew in his heart he loved her as much as he had ever done, and before he slipped back into unconsciousness he wanted to tell her that. Weakly, he pulled his other arm free of the blanket and placed his hand on her thigh, moving it around to her hip. For a moment he felt as if his eyes would fill with tears, so happy was he to feel her warm skin beneath his fingertips and have her back at his side.

‘I won’t allow you to put yourself at risk, my love,’ he said, fighting now just to speak. ‘If I escape and he ever finds out you helped me – ’

Her face, which had been concerned by his failing strength, now broke into a smile. She squeezed his hand and bent down, placing her lips on his.

‘Then take me with you. My loyalty is to you now, Eperitus, not to Troy. I can return to my father on Chryse and wait for you there until the war ends. But now you must sleep. We will make our plans when you awake.’

Chapter Twenty-six

AN UNWELCOME VISITOR

The old beggar opened his eyes to the first light of day and the smell of cooked breakfast. It awoke the gnawing hunger in his stomach and for a moment he thought of rising and petitioning the nearby Myrmidons for their leftovers. But the air beyond his dew-damp cloak was chilly with the approach of autumn, and his bed of hay was still snug and soft – a luxury for a man in his unfortunate position. Daring to stretch out an arm from his protective cocoon, he grabbed a pile of the hay and pulled it closer, stuffing it into a gap that was letting in the cold. Then his nostrils twitched at the pungent reek of horse manure and he saw that one of his bedfellows had risen early and left a heap of fresh dung close to his head. The beggar contemplated the steaming cluster for a moment, then snatched a few handfuls and pushed them into the hay beneath his back. They were like hot coals to his chilled body, and the stench and the disdainful look he received from the white mare that had produced them were a small price to pay for a little heat.