The Armour of Achilles (5 page)

‘K
ill me, then,’ Eperitus said savagely, loathing the dark eyes that were staring down at him. ‘Kill me and put an end to it.’

The sword was heavy and sharp against his flesh, but the face above it was bereft of menace. Instead, there was a sadness in it – regret, perhaps, for what could have been.

‘Put an end to
your
anger and shame, maybe,’ Apheidas said. ‘But not mine. Though you hate me, Eperitus, you’re my son. You’re all I have left. I used to think a man found immortality in a glorious name, covered in brave deeds and built on the bodies of dead enemies. Like Hector, or your Achilles. Do you remember how I used to tell you such things when your grandfather and I trained you to be a warrior? Well, they were the words of a fool. A man is remembered through his children. His glory can fade, but not his offspring.’

Eperitus closed his eyes and thought of his own daughter, Iphigenia, the child of his illicit union with Clytaemnestra, the wife of Agamemnon. Had not Clytaemnestra said the same thing as she begged Eperitus to take her and their daughter to safety – that he should forget glory and let Iphigenia be his legacy? But this was not the same. He had failed to protect Iphigenia. Agamemnon had murdered her to appease the vengeful Artemis, and had lived with that regret for over ten years. But he had
not
brought shame upon her or sent her into exile.

‘Don’t look to me for your own immortality,’ he said, whispering as the point of the sword continued to press against the base of his throat. ‘I am no longer your son, Apheidas. You lost me when you killed King Pandion and brought dishonour on your family. So kill me now, for if you don’t you have my word I will hunt you down and slaughter you like a sick dog.’

Apheidas’s brow darkened for a moment, and then the sound of voices – growing louder in the street outside – distracted him. He looked through the doorway at the blinding sunshine, then stared back down at his son.

‘I’ll not kill you, Eperitus,’ he said, raising his sword and slipping it into its plain leather scabbard. ‘And you can forget thoughts of killing me, too. You’ve neither the skill nor quite as much hatred as a man needs to murder his own father. Look to your heart and you’ll know it’s true. And when the time is right, you’ll know where to find me – inside the walls of Troy.’

He took his foot from Eperitus’s chest and knelt beside him. Eperitus looked up at his father and saw his own features reflected back at him: the same oval face, the same straight nose and thin, almost lipless mouth, and the same dark hair. Only their ages and the lighter skin and thoughtful eyes he had inherited from his Greek mother separated them, and for the sake of his Greek blood he would never forget that difference.

Apheidas pulled his fist back and hit him.

When Eperitus awoke it was to the sound of a woman screaming.

He opened his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, on which he could see stars painted in gold against a sable firmament. They were smoke-stained and half lost in the gloom, but at their centre he could see a crescent moon, the symbol of the goddess whose temple this was. Raising himself on to his elbows, he dabbed his fingers gingerly against the bruised cheekbone where Apheidas’s fist had connected, then lifted them to the new scar on his forehead. It was deep, but the blood had already caked inside the gash and stopped the flow of blood. With the inside of his skull pounding, he looked around between the wooden columns and noticed for the first time the faded patterns of blue, yellow and red flowers that twined around them. His sword and his grandfather’s shield lay close together, halfway between himself and the door of the temple, but of Apheidas there was no sign.

Then another scream broke the stillness and he realized he had not been dreaming. Ignoring the pain in his head, he leapt to his feet and ran over to retrieve his weapons. The scream had come from the street outside, and as he squinted into the fierce daylight beyond the doorway he heard harsh laughter followed by another scream. He dashed out of the temple, blinking against the brightness, and saw a black-haired woman clad in a knee-length white chiton, surrounded by a circle of five men. None of the men was Apheidas, but Eperitus recognized them all the same.

‘Come on, my sweet, stop playing with us,’ said one of the men. ‘We only want a little fun.’

‘Leave me alone!’ she spat. ‘I’m a priestess of the temple of Artemis!’

‘A virgin, then,’ leered the man, wiping spittle from his beard with the back of his hand. ‘I haven’t had a virgin since I was a young shepherd.’

‘And
she
was one of his flock!’ said another, raising a laugh from his companions.

‘Have you no respect for the gods?’ she retorted, scowling at them. ‘Have you no
fear
of the gods?’

One of the others snorted, a fat man whose face was red and shining with sweat. ‘What are you talking about, girl? Don’t you know you’re a gift of the gods to us? You’re our reward for conquering Lyrnessus.’

He lunged at her and caught her wrist.

‘Let the girl alone, Eurylochus,’ Eperitus said from the shadows of the portico, his voice calm and even. ‘Let her go, now!’

Eurylochus’s surprise at the sudden appearance of the captain of the guard was short lived. Keeping his hold on the priestess, who had stopped struggling and was looking intently at the newcomer, he spat in the dirt and frowned at Eperitus.

‘So, the absent hero has returned,’ he sneered. ‘Though it looks like someone has given you a beating in the meantime. But if you think I’m going to let this little beauty go just so you can have your way with her, then you’ll be disappointed.’

Eperitus propped his shield against one of the columns and, sheathing his sword, walked out into the sunshine. Skeins of dark smoke were drifting up into the otherwise perfect blue skies and the smell of burning was thick in the air. He looked at the priestess, whose chiton he now saw was stained with dirt and had been torn open to expose a long, dark-skinned thigh; there were bloody scrapes on both elbows and forearms, and her lips were wet with fresh blood. As he glanced at her, she swept the tangled hair from her face to reveal dark, frightened eyes framed by long lashes. Her beauty took him by surprise and he had to forcefully shift his stare to Eurylochus.

‘I told you to let the girl go,’ he warned. ‘I won’t tell you again.’

Eurylochus’s face twitched with hatred. There was a moment’s indecision, then he shoved the girl into the arms of one of his cronies and pulled out his sword.

‘There’re five of us, Eperitus, and no witnesses. I tell you now, that girl’s a rare beauty in this godforsaken country and you’re not going to take her from me.’

Eperitus looked at the other four Ithacans who, except for the man whose arms were struggling to contain the priestess, had also drawn their swords and were fanning out in a crescent around him. He knew them all and none of them was any good as a warrior or as a man, but he left his sword untouched in its scabbard and instead fixed his eyes on each of them in turn. Finally his gaze rested on a skinny, rotten-toothed soldier whose red-rimmed eyes were quick to blink and look away.

‘I know you men,’ Eperitus told them in a slow, steady voice. ‘I know you for the weak-minded, back-stabbing scum that you are. Not one of you is worthy to call himself an Ithacan, and the only reason any of you are still alive is because you skulk at the back of every battle, furthest away from the fighting. How do I know that? Because I’m always in the thick of it, and I’ve never seen any of your faces at my side. So if you think you can take me – even five of you together – then come on. But if you do, then it’s to the death, and any man who pleads for mercy will be taken back to camp and executed. But if you put your swords back in their scabbards and walk away, I’ll forget I ever saw you here. Make your choice.’

There was a pause during which the nearby sounds of shouting, laughter and the crackle of flames were carried to them on the breeze. Then the skinny man with the red-rimmed eyes slid his sword back into its scabbard and turned away.

‘The girl’s all yours, Eurylochus,’ he grunted as he shouldered past him.

‘Yeah, enjoy her,’ said the man holding the priestess, pushing her towards Eurylochus and turning to follow the first man.

Eurylochus grabbed the girl by the elbow and pulled her to his side.

‘Where are you going?’ he asked, as the other two sheathed their swords and backed away. ‘What are you afraid of? He’s one man against five. Didn’t you seeing him holding back from the battle?’

‘There’s a difference between cowardice and refusing to march into a trap, Eurylochus,’ Eperitus said. All four of Eurylochus’s cronies had departed now, leaving him alone with the girl – no longer struggling – at his side. ‘And I’m sure you know a real coward when you see one. So what’s
your
choice? Shall I draw my sword?’

Eurylochus glowered at Eperitus, then slammed his sword into its scabbard and marched off in the wake of the others. The priestess watched him go, then turned to Eperitus.

‘And what do you intend to do with me?’ she asked in heavily accented Greek. ‘Rape me and cast me aside, as your countrymen would have done? Or take me as your captive, to be raped whenever you wish?’

‘Neither,’ Eperitus replied, meeting her hostile but enthralling gaze. ‘I’m not interested in captives or playthings. You’re free to go as you wish.’

Afraid to keep his eyes on her lest he should have a change of heart, he turned and walked back to the temple portico. As he picked up his shield and hoisted it on to his shoulder, he heard her naked feet padding along in his wake.

‘Go?’ she said. ‘Go where? To be found by more Greek soldiers and raped? No, my lord, I’d rather take my chances with you. At least you seem to be a man of honour, which is rare among the enemies of Troy.’

He turned to find her standing directly behind him.

‘A man of honour?’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Can such a thing still exist in this war, on either side? But whether I am what you think or not, I can’t take you with me. I have to find my king.’

‘You
must
take me with you,’ she insisted, reaching out and seizing his hand. ‘My lord Eperitus – that’s what the fat one called you, isn’t it? – forgive me if I failed to thank you for saving me, but you can’t just turn your back on me now and leave me to the next group of common soldiers who come along. Take me as your slave. I promise to serve you well, even if you are a Greek.’

As if to emphasize the point, she knelt before him and threw her arms around his legs, resting her head against his thighs. Eperitus reached down and, taking her by the elbow, raised her to her feet. Though the features of her face were still edged with anger, the hostility had left them and as he looked into her eyes he realized she was as beautiful as any woman he had seen in many years. At that moment, shouts erupted from a side street and two men came rushing into the open space before the temple. One was old with snow-white hair and short, spindly legs that seemed too exhausted to carry him any further; the other was a youth of little more than sixteen, whose thin brown arms were desperately trying to help the older man. Neither wore armour nor carried any weapons, and at the sight of Eperitus in the portico of the temple towards which they were heading they stopped and seemed to quail with fear.

Then a group of a dozen warriors came rushing out of the side street after them, brandishing swords and spears. One carried a bow, to which an arrow was already fitted. As he saw the two men he drew the string back to his right ear and released the arrow, sending the younger of the two spinning to the ground. While the older man turned to his dead companion, Eperitus pulled the girl back into the cool darkness of the temple.

‘What are you doing?’ she protested. ‘
Save
him!’

‘Shut up and come with me,’ Eperitus commanded, taking her by the arm and dragging her deeper into the gloom. ‘Is there a back way out of this cursed place?’

‘But those are Greek soldiers. Can’t you intervene to save the old man’s life?’

‘They’re Myrmidons and they’re already drunk with killing. One sight of you and they won’t care whether I’m a Trojan or a Greek – they’ll kill me just so they can have their way with you. Now, if you really want me to help you, then tell me how to get out of here.’

‘There’ll be a side door somewhere. Behind a curtain, I think.’

‘You
think
? But you’re the priestess here – shouldn’t you
know
?’

A sudden scream announced the demise of the old man. Eperitus looked to the doorway, where he could hear the voices of the Myrmidons in the street beyond.

‘They’re going to come in here looking for something to steal,’ the girl said, her voice rising with panic. ‘Come on. There’s the curtain over there.’

‘And where does it lead?’ Eperitus asked, tightening his grip on her arm and eyeing her suspiciously as she tried to pull away.

‘To an antechamber. There’ll be another door leading out on to the side street that runs beside the temple. We must be quick.’

‘No,’ Eperitus replied, looking at the girl. Her eyes were pale and wide in the darkness where they stood by the altar stone, but as he heard the voices of the Myrmidons approaching he refused to move towards the curtain the girl was gesturing at or loosen his grip on her arm. ‘We’re going nowhere until you tell me who you are.’