The Gates Of Troy (27 page)

At that point, the doors to the throne room swung open with a heavy wooden creaking to reveal a short, grey-bearded man in a long robe. In his right hand he carried a staff, which he beat importantly on the stone floor three times.

‘His magnificence, King Priam, ruler of Troy, emperor of Ilium and all its protectorates and vassal states, guardian of the east and favourite of Zeus, bids you welcome. Those who wish to be humbled by his presence will please follow me.’

Chapter Fourteen

T
HE
H
OUSE OF
K
ING
P
RIAM

L
eaving Antiphus, Polites and Arceisius in the antechamber, the others followed the herald through the doors into a long, high-ceilinged chamber that echoed their footsteps as they entered. A rectangular hearth stretched before them, filled with purple flames that shivered on a bed of grey coals. Six black columns stood on either side of it; on a low dais at the far end was an empty stone seat with a high back, partially obscured by the haze of smoke and heat that trailed up from the fire.

The Greeks approached the four chairs that had been provided for them, while Antenor went to one of the many seats that lined each of the long sides of the hearth. Other than the throne and a single stool at the foot of the dais, every chair was now occupied and there was a large commotion of unintelligible voices as the Greeks took their places. The seats were of carved wood with a thin covering of silver plate and, despite the cushions, were uncomfortable. This and the scores of foreign faces that were now staring at them gave them a feeling of being criminals brought to trial, rather than honoured guests.

Eperitus sat on the far left next to Menelaus, whose eyes were scanning the crowd for sight of the hated Paris. Odysseus, sensing the Spartan king’s growing anxiety, took the seat next to him and placed a large, reassuring hand on his shoulder. Palamedes, on the far right, lowered the palms of his hands towards the fire, enjoying the sensation of the heat on his skin. As soon as they were seated a dozen slaves rushed to pile food on the tables of Greeks and Trojans alike – baskets of bread, selections of nuts, cheeses, olives, grapes and fruit, platters of mutton or skewered fish – and pour wine into silver goblets for the assembled nobles.

Menelaus, stiff-backed, refused to either eat or drink. Palamedes also refrained, whilst Odysseus – after washing his hands in one of the bowls provided – helped himself to bread and mutton. Eperitus poured a small libation onto the flagstones at his feet, before raising the wine to his lips. It was the best he had ever tasted, and after a mouthful of the sweet, heady drink he felt refreshed and light-limbed. He looked about at Priam’s throne room. It was unusually light, compared with the great halls of the Greek kings, with a broad column of blue daylight coming in through the lozenge-shaped vent in the ceiling, as well as several other shafts of light from openings high up on the walls. This was an innovation Eperitus had never seen before, and he could only guess that ducts had been built to pipe daylight from the roof into the hall. There were also numerous large torches fastened to the walls, which ensured that the magnificent murals that lined the room were not lost in shadow.

As with the architecture, dress and customs, the Trojan murals were very different from those of the Greeks. One whole wall was filled with a religious procession, featuring lines of priests, nobles and sacrificial animals. Another was painted sky blue and filled with depictions of men fighting bulls and other animals. The next wall showed fishing boats on a sea of wavy blue lines that teemed with fish, while on the hills behind (with Mount Ida in the distance) were flocks of sheep and herds of wild horses. On the fourth side a golden-skinned shepherd played a lyre as another golden-skinned man was fitting great blocks of stone into a high wall. Beyond the unfinished battlements were scenes of everyday life: people spinning wool, smiths working glowing bronze rods over an anvil, a potter removing vases from a kiln. Both men and women were depicted, distinguishable by the way they wore their hair or the colour of their skin: the men were brown because they led active, outdoor lives, the women were white, reflecting the ideal of a life spent indoors.

Around the walls were a number of guards wearing the strange, scaled armour of the Trojans. The spears at their sides and the swords that hung in scabbards over their shoulders reminded Eperitus of his vulnerability, and he prayed silently for Athena’s protection and a safe return to the ship. As he finished his prayer, a door opened quietly in a dark corner of the chamber and a stooping figure entered. His black cloak made him inconspicuous amidst the activity that filled the room, and as he moved along the southern wall below the mural of the religious procession only Eperitus’s watchful eye seemed to notice him. He walked with a faltering hop, his left hand hanging limply at his side while his right dangled before his chest, like a child riding a pretend horse. Then, as he drew level with Eperitus, he turned and his pale skin and dark, sunken eyes became visible under the shadow of his hood. Eperitus recognized him at once as the man who had pushed his way through the crowds the night before.

‘We must speak, Eperitus,’ he said in perfect Greek, whispering so that only Eperitus’s supernaturally sharp hearing could distinguish the words. ‘Come to me.’

Eperitus felt as if his legs had been kicked from under him. How could this stranger have discovered his name? More disturbingly, how could he know that he would be able to hear a whisper across a crowded room? Eperitus turned and stared into the hearth, as if hoping the hiss of the flames would drown out his confusion.

‘Priam will be here soon,’ came the same whisper in his ear. ‘We don’t have long. Leave your friends and come to me. Now.’

Eperitus backed his chair away from the table and stood.

‘I need to relieve myself,’ he told Menelaus, who nodded briefly before returning to his scrutiny of the crowd.

Eperitus crossed to the back corner of the throne room, where a large amphora reeked of urine. He lifted his tunic and emptied his bladder, then sensed the presence of the hooded man behind him.

‘Who are you?’ he said, lowering the hem of his tunic and turning. ‘How do you know my name?’

The man stared at him from beneath the shadow of his hood. His face was contorted by a constant series of twitches, but his dark eyes remained firmly fixed on Eperitus.

‘I know many things, my friend. For example, I know you’ve come to seek the return of Menelaus’s wife.’

‘Then she’s here – in Troy?’

The man smiled. ‘I did not say that, and if she is then I am not aware of it. Yet I know your mission all the same, and many other things besides. Perhaps you will be more convinced,’ he added, seeing the look of scepticism in Eperitus’s eyes, ‘if I tell you that you were once brought back from death by Athena. Or if I say that I know you are ashamed of your past, and even now hate the mention of your father. I also know you are torn between your desire for war and your loyalty to Odysseus, who is keen to secure the peaceful return of Helen and go back home to his own family. And if that is not enough, then how about this: Odysseus has given you a powder to pour into Palamedes’s wine that will – now, what were his words – that will have him emptying his bowels by the second gulp. Am I right?’

‘You can’t possibly know that –
any
of that.’

‘But I do, and much more. I know things about you that even you don’t know –
yet.
’

Eperitus felt his impatience growing. ‘Stop talking in riddles and speak plainly. Tell me who you are and how you know these things, or by the name of Athena I’ll knock you down where you stand.’

‘My name is Calchas, son of Thestor, son of Idmon the Argonaut,’ he announced, making Eperitus’s eyes widen as he realized this was the man Athena had said would find him. He drew his hood back to reveal his shaven head, then opened his cloak to expose the white robes beneath. ‘I’m a priest of Apollo. The god speaks to me in dreams – sleeping and waking. It’s a gift, a wonderful, terrible gift. It shows me things that few can see, and few
should
see.’

Calchas pulled the hood forward to cover his hairless scalp and fixed his gaze on Eperitus once more. The pain and the madness glistered like sunken treasure beneath the surface of his eyeballs.

‘And yet even
I
only see the shadow of things. Apollo allows me glimpses of the past, the present or the future, but I never see the complete picture. That’s for the gods only. But I do know we live in momentous times, Eperitus. Our world is heading into a great terror – a war that will choke Hades’s halls with the dead and bring a lasting darkness in its wake. Apollo has revealed it to me, and it is horrifying.’

‘But what’s that got to do with me?’ Eperitus asked, uncertain that he wanted any part of the priest’s awful visions. ‘I’m a warrior, not a prophet.’

‘It has everything to do with you, Eperitus. War is inevitable, but the choices you make today will decide which of our nations will survive and which will be destroyed. Odysseus gave you that powder to pour in Palamedes’s drink because he knows Palamedes is acting for Agamemnon and will try to prevent a peaceful agreement for the return of Helen. One dose of that, though,’ the priest said, tapping Eperitus’s leather pouch with his finger, ‘and Palamedes will be spending the rest of the day crouched over a latrine somewhere, leaving Odysseus free to use his powers of persuasion on Priam. But we have to stop him succeeding; although Odysseus does not know it, the safety of Greece depends on Agamemnon laying siege to Troy.’

‘And why should a
Trojan
care what happens to Greece?’ Eperitus scoffed.

‘I may be Trojan by birth,’ Calchas responded, ‘but my loyalty is to Apollo, not Priam. I do whatever the god tells me to do, and he has ordered me to abandon Troy and join the Greeks.’

‘But Antenor says Apollo has always favoured Troy.’

‘And he still does. But Zeus is intent on war between Greece and Troy, and out of obedience to his will Apollo has ordered me to offer my services to Agamemnon. You are to take me back with you to the gathering at Aulis – yes, I know all about it – so that I can speak with him. But first we must prevent Odysseus’s attempt at peace.’

‘If you think I’ll disobey Odysseus for your sake, Calchas, then you’re as mad as you look,’ Eperitus said, angered by the priest’s presumption. He was beginning to wonder whether Athena had been right to say he should listen to the man at all. ‘I’m going back to my seat.’

‘Hear me out, Eperitus!’ Calchas hissed, grabbing his arm. ‘If your king succeeds the war will still come, but on Trojan terms, not Greek. Why do you think there’s an army camped on the plain? What about the warships in the harbour? Don’t you understand? The Trojans are planning to attack Greece. And it’ll be no raid, either – it’s going to be an invasion!’

Eperitus shook off Calchas’s bony hand. ‘Priam wouldn’t dare.’

‘No, he wouldn’t. But
Hector
would. He’s the real power behind Troy, not Priam – as you’ll soon see. If Agamemnon doesn’t attack Troy first, then Hector will conquer Greece city by city until he makes it part of Priam’s empire – the empire
he
will inherit. Even Ithaca will fall, in the end. Do you believe me, Eperitus?’

Eperitus looked across the throne room to where Odysseus was sitting, pointedly ignoring Palamedes while trying to persuade Menelaus to eat some food. His friend had been optimistic about obtaining a peaceful resolution from the start, but was he just avoiding facing up to the inevitable? Ever since they had arrived in Troy Eperitus had sensed a threat; not just the curses and spitting of the crowd, but a deeper undercurrent. There was something sinister about the half-built war fleet and the gathering army camped on the plain, followed by the unwelcoming treatment they had received from Priam (or was that Hector’s doing?). Even the large gathering of Trojan officials in Priam’s throne room felt like a jury, waiting to decide the fate of the Greeks.

‘Whether I believe you or not – and I’m not saying I do – how do you suggest I should prevent Odysseus from obtaining a peaceful solution?’

‘Palamedes must be allowed to speak,’ Calchas answered. ‘If you don’t pour the powder into his drink, he has the cunning and intelligence to upset Odysseus’s plans. Odysseus will be angry, of course, but when he hears what I have to say he’ll realize that war is inevitable anyway and will see reason.’

‘You’re assuming I’ll do what you want me to.’

Calchas looked at him carefully, reading the thoughts behind his eyes.

‘That’s your decision, Eperitus. But remember this: one way or another, the fate of all Greece is in your hands tonight. The army you saw on the plain is but the first crop of a mighty harvest. Before long other armies will join it, just as other ships will swell the Trojan fleet to an armada. If Odysseus gets his way he could be back with his family in a matter of weeks, but his happiness will be short-lived. Within a year or two Hector’s conquering armies will have reached Ithaca, and then Odysseus will see his precious wife and son butchered by Trojan swords and his people enslaved. Think on that when you let your king negotiate a peaceful end to this matter.’

Eperitus looked thoughtfully at the stooping priest. ‘You’re asking me to defy him when he needs my loyalty most,’ he said. ‘And in other circumstances your impudence would earn you a beating, priest or not. But I’ve seen the Trojan army you speak of, and the fleet in the harbour, and something tells me you’re right. So I’ll think about what you ask, Calchas, and if Odysseus
does
fail, for whatever reason, I’ll make sure that you return with us to Aulis.’

‘Then I will go and wait for you by your ship – Priam has already left his chamber and is on his way here with Hector. But first there is one other thing I have to say. It concerns you personally, Eperitus.’

‘Go on,’ Eperitus said apprehensively.

‘I said I know things about you that you don’t,’ Calchas began, ‘secret things that have been deliberately kept from you. I am forbidden to reveal what little I know about them, but the first is the answer to your heart’s desires and will tempt you to stay away from the coming war –
you must not let it
! Troy has to fall to the Greeks, and that cannot happen without both you and Odysseus. But the second is darker and equally compelling, and would draw you back to Ilium whether there is a war or not.’