The Gates Of Troy (33 page)

‘Without Achilles you will never defeat the armies of Troy.’

Calchas, who had remained silent and innocuous throughout the debate, threw back his hood to reveal his bald head and pale, sunken features.

‘Odysseus,’ said Agamemnon, ‘who is this skulking character you’ve smuggled in under the hem of your cloak? He has the appearance of a corpse, though there’s clearly breath in his lungs.’

‘His name is Calchas, son of Thestor, a priest of Apollo. We brought him back with us from Troy.’

The council burst into new life, animated by the news that a Trojan had been with them through the whole of their debate.

‘A prisoner, you mean?’ Agamemnon asked.

‘No, brother,’ said Menelaus. ‘He demanded to come back with us. Says he’s a seer and that he had some information for us from Apollo, who ordered him to help the Greeks.’

‘What rubbish,’ laughed Ajax. ‘He’s a damned spy. Let me wring his scrawny neck and be done with him.’

Agamemnon held up his hand and Ajax sat back down, looking disappointed. ‘Let’s hear what he has to say before we decide what to do with him. What’s this information you have for us, priest?’

‘A dream,’ Calchas replied.

‘Go on.’

‘I was asleep on the temple floor when Apollo woke me with a vision of Greek victory.’

‘That’s a good start,’ Agamemnon said, scrutinizing Calchas with his icy blue eyes. ‘Any more?’

Calchas stood and crossed to the centre of the arena. His stooping gait provoked a ripple of gentle laughter from the benches, but as soon as the priest’s eyes fell on Agamemnon the king’s own smile fell away as he felt his thoughts opened up and probed, as if by a skilled surgeon.

‘Don’t mock me, Agamemnon. You can listen to what I have to say and benefit from it, or you can cast me over the side of the cliff to the deep waters below, but do not dismiss me as a fool because I look like a ghost or walk like a cripple. Apollo showed me the sack of Troy – its fine houses burning, its men struck down in the streets by bloodthirsty Greeks, its women raped in the temples and its children thrown from the walls. He also showed me the end of Priam’s house – Hector brutally slain, Paris shot down, and the old man himself beheaded by a Greek sword in the temple of Zeus. All these things he showed me, and more, and they can come true if you listen to the prophecies of the gods.’

Agamemnon stepped back, his eyes wide as he clutched the golden sceptre in his sweating hands. Then Little Ajax hawked loudly and spat in the dust.

‘He’s a spy, all right. What better way to win favour than by telling us all about his great vision of the destruction of Troy and the death of Priam? Well, let me tell you something, priest –
we’ve
been dreaming about that for weeks!’

There was a howl of collective laughter from the tiered ranks of the Greeks. Calchas turned on them with anger, but they only laughed the more. It was Eperitus who came to his rescue.

‘Listen to the man!’ he shouted, angrily. ‘In Troy, he told me things about myself that only the gods could have known. I say we should give him a chance.’

‘Test him!’ called a voice.

‘Ask him how many sons I have,’ shouted another.

‘No, ask him what my wife’s favourite sexual position is,’ said Thersites, causing more hilarity on the benches.

‘I have a test for you, Calchas,’ said Nestor, facing the priest and studying him with his pale-grey eyes. ‘You say we can’t defeat the Trojans without Achilles. Then tell us where he is.’

Calchas, his face twitching with anger and nerves, focused his gaze on the old king. The noise on the benches died down as all eyes looked at the Trojan, waiting to see whether he could answer the question that had frustrated all the efforts of the Greek army. For a moment it looked as if he would pull the hood back over his face and lower his head in defeat. Then his whole body gave a fierce spasm that would have thrown him to the floor if Eperitus had not caught his elbow. Suddenly he looked at the Ithacan captain and dug his fingers into the hard flesh of his arms as a white film spread over his eyes.

‘
Seven
!’ he gasped.

‘Seven what?’ Eperitus asked him, clutching his elbow so that he did not slip to the floor.

‘Seven sons. The man has seven sons,’ Calchas said, pointing into the crowded flanks of the amphitheatre. ‘He believes he has eight, but one is a bastard. The other man – his wife prefers him to come at her from behind, so that she does not have to look at his repulsive face.’

‘Forget about those fools. What about Achilles?’

Calchas blinked and his body went limp, so that Eperitus was forced to take his whole weight in his arms.

‘Achilles is on Scyros, in the court of King Lycomedes.’

Chapter Seventeen

A
CHILLES
D
ISCOVERED

O
dysseus, Eperitus and Nestor were the only members of the council who believed Calchas. Nevertheless, Agamemnon agreed to let them go to the island of Scyros in search of Achilles, and just before first light the following morning the three men were standing in the stern of Odysseus’s ship waiting for the crew to fit their oars into the freshly oiled leather loops. Then, as the anchor stone was hauled aboard, Eperitus was surprised to see Great Ajax come running out of the tree line behind the Ithacan camp, waving his muscle-bound arms and shouting that he was coming with them to Scyros. He and Achilles were cousins, he explained as they strained to haul his bulk onto the listing galley, and as they had never met he was prepared to test the verity of Calchas’s second sight for the chance of meeting the son of his uncle Peleus.

Once aboard, the king of Salamis was surprised to see three caskets in the prow, overflowing with brightly coloured dresses, necklaces, headdresses, mirrors, sashes, bracelets and a host of other trinkets that would please the vainest of women.

‘What’s all this, Odysseus?’ he rumbled, picking out a sky-blue chiton and holding it across his armoured chest. ‘Hoping to
charm
Achilles out of hiding?’

Nestor, who had noted the caskets in silence as he had boarded earlier, now followed Ajax to the prow and began casually picking through the various items of bronze and silver, studying each one briefly then replacing it and choosing another.

‘I’m interested, too,’ he said. ‘Is it some sort of gift? And if it is, what would a great warrior want with chests full of feminine baubles – unless you’re intending to offend him?’

The thirty crew members ceased their chattering and turned towards Odysseus. Eperitus was also keen to know why the Ithacan king had sent his men out the night before to barter for clothing and jewellery from the numerous prostitutes in the camp.

‘It is a gift, but not for Achilles,’ Odysseus replied, nonchalantly looking up at the sail with its dolphin motif as it caught the westerly wind. ‘The caskets are for Lycomedes’s daughters, of which he has many.’

‘Renowned for their beauty, or so I’ve heard,’ Nestor commented, stroking his grey beard. ‘But unless you’re hoping to recruit
them
to the army, I don’t see the point . . .’

‘If Achilles is hiding on Scyros, I’ve a feeling Lycomedes won’t tell us where he is, no matter what gifts we bring him. But maybe his daughters will. They’re sure to know everything that’s going on in the palace, and with a little persuasion,’ he added, picking up a pair of earrings from the pile and dangling them by his ears, ‘they’ll take us straight to him. Now, how about a bit of cold breakfast?’

Scyros lay less than a day’s voyage away on the other side of Euboea, and by sunset they were cruising into a wide bay crammed with fishing vessels and a few larger ships. Eperitus was leaning against the bow and looking up at the high, craggy hill that dominated the harbour. Halfway up was Lycomedes’s palace, shrouded in shadow as the sun sank behind the island. It faced east across the Aegean, and from its lofty seat visitors could be seen long before they pulled into the bay below. Indeed, by the time they had anchored and climbed up to the copper-plated gates of the citadel, the king was waiting to welcome them.

He was a tall man with a pinched nose and close-set eyes, and from the moment he saw the forced smile on his bearded lips Eperitus knew he could not be trusted. After giving his name and his lineage, Lycomedes invited each of the three kings to do the same; and though his eyebrows arched a little – especially as Nestor and Ajax declared themselves – he showed little surprise at receiving such renowned guests. He also politely asked the names of the men who accompanied them – Eperitus first, then Arceisius, Antiphus and Eurybates – before inviting the whole party to a feast in the great hall. First, though, he ordered his squire and an entourage of slaves to show the guests to a wing of the palace where rooms had been prepared for them, and where they could refresh themselves before the feast.

After they had bathed and changed their clothing they were taken to a small, dark chamber – which reminded Eperitus of Laertes’s hall in Ithaca as he had first seen it – where Lycomedes was waiting for them. Several nobles and courtesans were seated on either side of the hearth and a bard sang about the exploits of Heracles from beside the throne, while the guests were brought wine and newly sacrificed meat fresh from the spit.

‘Scyros rarely receives a visit from men of your rank or calibre,’ the king admitted as he tore the fat from a leg of lamb with his teeth, leaving his wiry beard glistening with the grease. His shrewd, light-green eyes came to rest on Nestor. ‘And we are greatly honoured, of course. But now that you’re bathed and fed, hopefully to your satisfaction, I’m intrigued to know the purpose of your journey here. An insignificant island like Scyros can offer little of military worth to the expedition against Troy. Besides, I wasn’t one of the oath-takers, being happily married with five daughters when the courtship of Helen took place, so there’s no obligation upon me . . .’

‘Nor me,’ Nestor responded. Being an old warrior with many notches on his spear, he could tell a coward when he met one and it made the taste of the meat and wine sour in his mouth. ‘I was at home in sandy Pylos with my wife and children when the oath was taken, though I have joined the expedition out of a belief in its wider cause – to avenge the dishonour done to Menelaus and to ensure that such outrages are not tolerated in the future. But we have not come to call upon your armies, Lycomedes. We are here to find Achilles, who is rumoured to be on Scyros, and invite him to join us against Troy.’

There was a pause as Lycomedes laid down his leg of lamb and looked at the kings, smiling calmly and patiently.

‘Unfortunately, my friends, Achilles has never been to Scyros,’ he informed them confidently. ‘Therefore I regret to say you have travelled in vain. But if you want to stay the night and search the palace in the morning, then you’re more than welcome.’

Eperitus sensed that Lycomedes was challenging them. He was lying of course, and was fully aware his guests knew it, but he was so sure they would never find Achilles that he hardly seemed to care.

‘We accept,’ Odysseus said, raising another krater of wine to his lips. ‘Who knows what we might find tomorrow? Besides, it’s too dark now to sail back to Aulis, so we should enjoy the chance to sleep in proper beds covered in sheepskins and furs. And with your permission, I will go to mine now.’

Odysseus stood and was followed by the others, who were keen to return with him to their quarters and discuss what they had seen and heard. But as Lycomedes stood with them, Eperitus could see that his gaze was focused entirely on Odysseus, perhaps sensing that the least of the three kings would prove the most troublesome.

They woke late the next morning and took their breakfast on the flat roof of the palace. From here, with the sun already hot in the sky above them, they could pick out the Ithacan sailors on the galley in the harbour below. Other vessels – fishermen and merchant ships – were visible further out on the white-capped waves of the Aegean.

Ajax leaned back in his chair, which strained to contain his huge torso.

‘What a waste of time,’ he said, the disappointment in his voice clear. ‘The fleet could be on its way to Troy by now.’

‘We won’t be ready to sail for three or four weeks yet,’ Eperitus said. ‘You’ve seen the levies most of the kings have brought – half-trained at best, and many have never held a shield and spear in their life. They’re farmers and fishermen, Ajax, not soldiers; they need to be trained if they’re to stand a chance of survival in Ilium.’

‘Ach, they’ll soon learn how to fight on the battlefield,’ Ajax sniffed. ‘Ares has a way of sorting the men from the girls, when the arrows are flying and the ground is thudding with approaching hooves. Besides, what’s the point of these levies anyway?
We’re
the ones who do the real fighting – the kings and nobles, and the trained warriors like your lads there.’

He nodded towards Arceisius, Antiphus and Eurybates, who forgot the joke they had been sharing and tried to look as serious and warlike as they could.

‘You’re too harsh, Ajax,’ said Odysseus. ‘Every man has to be given a chance to survive, or who will farm our fields when we get back home? There’s not much glory to be had in steering a team of oxen all day long, or tying up wheat sheaves at harvest time.’