The Gates Of Troy (36 page)

As they watched, the King of Men seized the white heifer by its gold-covered horns, pulled its head back and held his bloody dagger to its neck.

‘Father Zeus,’ he called aloft, his voice dry and cracking from the inhaled smoke of the fires. ‘God of gods, I offer you the life of this unblemished beast and ask that you send us a sign of your support for us. Give us encouragement – let us know that victory will be ours.’

Calchas hobbled forward and scattered the sacrificial grain. Agamemnon had not allowed the priest to leave his side since he had been proven right about the whereabouts of Achilles, and even insisted on his presence at the nightly councils of war. The king’s own seer had been sent back to Mycenae and all his privileges given to the Trojan instead, whom Agamemnon plagued with questions about Troy, Priam, Hector and Paris. The fact that Calchas would not reveal more than Apollo had already allowed him to know only increased his credibility in the eyes of the king.

The heifer gave an impulsive nod of its head, which Agamemnon read as a good sign and immediately slit its throat. The strength left the animal’s legs and it fell heavily to the ground, its dark blood gushing over the trampled grass. Suddenly a loud hissing shivered through the groans and prayers. Calchas turned and gave a shout of fear as he stumbled away from the altar of Zeus. The other priests also fell back in shock, whilst Agamemnon stared at the base of the plinth with wide, disbelieving eyes. Within moments, all the kings and princes had fallen quiet, their exhortations dying on their lips as they turned to look at the altar to the king of the gods, where a huge serpent had coiled itself several times around the gore-splashed marble.

It raised its triangular head and hissed at the mass of men, before unwinding its long, blue and red body from around the plinth. Eperitus looked at it and gave an instinctive shudder, his phobia of snakes gripping him even though the vile creature was some way off. Then, as the snake began slithering through the grass towards the plane tree, Diomedes drew his sword and moved towards it.

‘Don’t touch it!’ Calchas screamed, rushing forward with his palms held out. ‘Not unless you want to bring the wrath of Zeus down on you. Can’t you see the beast has been sent by the gods?’

As he spoke the serpent coiled about the bole of the tree and moved up towards the topmost branches where, though barely noticed before in the noise of the sacrifices, every man could now see a nest of sparrows. The helpless chicks were calling loudly for their mother, unaware of the death that was creeping ever closer from below. Then the broad, flat head of the monster rose slowly over the edge of the nest, waving slightly from left to right as it eyed the unfortunate birds. A moment later it struck, snatching one of the screeching brood and devouring it whole so that the struggling shape was briefly visible as it slid down the neck of the snake. The kings and princes below left their sacrificing and formed a circle about the tree, watching awestruck as one by one the chicks were eaten, until the last one remained, chirping fearfully in its loneliness. In that moment its mother arrived, squawking with panic as she saw the violation of her family, but the snake lashed out and took her by the wing as she hovered above the nest, swallowing her whole as it had done the others. Finally, it closed its jaws over the head of the last remaining bird and plucked it from its moss-filled bed, silencing its cries with a single gulp.

Its divinely appointed task performed, the snake now began to return down the trunk of the plane, hissing at the crowd of men. The sight of its pink, forked tongue flickering out at them in warning was enough to make each man take an instinctive backward step, but as the circle widened something happened that rooted them to the ground where they stood.

‘How can it be?’ said Menelaus in a low voice.

‘Calchas! Calchas, tell us what it means.’

Agamemnon turned to the seer and pointed at the bole of the tree, where the serpent now stared at them with dull, lifeless eyes.

Calchas stepped forward and looked up at the dead snake, whose soft flesh had turned to rigid stone before the eyes of the watching men.

‘I . . . I don’t know,’ he stuttered. ‘It’s beyond me.’

As he spoke his whole body was seized by a strong convulsion that arched his spine and threw his head back, causing the hood to fall away and reveal his bald scalp. His arms shot out from his sides and his hands began to shake. Odysseus moved towards him, but Agamemnon waved him back. Then, as they watched, a silver light suffused the seer’s dark eyes and the look of terror on his upturned face was transformed by a smile that seemed to mock the heavens above. Slowly the trembling stopped and Calchas, still smiling, let his head fall forward so that his chin was resting on his chest. Streaks of spittle covered his lips and cheeks, and as he turned his eyes on the watching crowd few could tolerate the look that was in them.

‘This sign comes from Zeus himself,’ he said, his voice suddenly rich and smooth. ‘For each of the eight chicks, you will spend a year besieging Troy. The mother represents a ninth. But in the tenth year, if the prophecies that will be given are fulfilled, victory over Priam’s city will be granted to you.’

The words reverberated around the clearing, dousing the confidence that had filled the hearts of the Greeks and replacing it with gloom. Menelaus thought of his wife, held in the lofty towers of Troy for ten long years, where her affections would inevitably turn to Paris. Agamemnon, who had made the commanders swear not to return home until the siege was over, now realized his boy, Orestes, would be left under the twisted influence of Clytaemnestra until he became a man. Odysseus and Eperitus both pondered the oracle that had condemned the king of Ithaca to be away from his home for twenty years, rather than the ten stated by Calchas. But of all the kings who now considered the long war they had committed to, only Achilles, whose death had been prophesied by his mother, took heart; whereas he had expected to live but a few months longer, he now had the prospect of enjoying life for years to come – a life spent in war, reaping souls and the glory that came with them.

For a while, Calchas turned his shining eyes on each of them, whether great or lowly. Then the brightness faded and a moment later he collapsed to the ground. The spell broken, Odysseus and Philoctetes, the archer, rushed to help the priest of Apollo as he lay panting in the grass, while all about them scores of voices rushed to discuss the prophecy that had been uttered.

‘Come on,’ said Eperitus, slapping Peisandros on the arm.

Together they ran to where Calchas was sitting, rubbing his head and drinking from a cup that Philoctetes had given him. But as they knelt down beside him, a new voice was added to the cacophony about them.

‘My lord! My lord Agamemnon!’

‘What is it, Talthybius?’ Agamemnon snapped, shaking off the stupor brought on by Calchas’s words.

The Mycenaean herald burst through the crowd of royalty, his breathing heavy and his face red from running in the hot weather.

‘My lord, it’s been seen again. Here in the woods. The white hart.’

Many of the voices stopped immediately, and the remainder soon followed.

‘The white hart?’ Menelaus repeated.

‘Yes, my lord. One of the herdsmen saw it just now. I thought you’d want to know.’

‘Is this the creature that was seen while I was away in Phthia?’ Ajax asked, turning to the other kings. ‘Then, by Ares’s sword, what are we waiting for? Let’s hunt it down before it disappears again. Teucer!
Teucer
, where are you, damn it! Bring me my spear, and don’t forget your bow and arrows.’

Suddenly there was uproar as the kings and princes rushed this way and that, hollering the names of their squires or calling aloud for their various weapons.

‘Peisandros!’ said a tall, sinewy man with a long, pointed nose. His voice was high and pinched, which suited his arrogant face. ‘Fetch my hunting hounds at once. They’re tethered on the southern side of the wood.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the Myrmidon replied, and after a farewell nod to Eperitus ran off through the trees.

The arrogant-looking man remained for a moment, staring down his nose at the three men kneeling beside Calchas, then with a curt nod to Odysseus turned on his heel and walked away.

‘What’s up, Patroclus?’ Philoctetes called after the commander of the Myrmidon army. ‘Think you’re too important to acknowledge your fellow commoners? Or does sharing Achilles’s bed again make you somehow high-born?’

Patroclus wheeled about in an instant and drew his sword, but Odysseus was already on his feet and walking towards him. Seizing the Myrmidon gently but firmly by the wrists, Odysseus leaned forward and spoke quietly in his ear. After a moment, Patroclus shot Philoctetes an ugly glance, then turned and marched over to where Achilles was throwing a quiver of arrows over his shoulder.

‘That was foolish,’ Eperitus said, turning to the young archer with an angry look in his eye. ‘Whether the rumour’s true or not, if Achilles had heard you you’d be a dead man now.’

‘I’m not afraid of Patroclus or Achilles,’ Philoctetes hissed back. ‘These arrows of mine would kill them both before they could so much as raise a spear against me.’

‘Your weapons won’t make you great, even though Heracles himself gave them to you – they’re just a continuation of
his
greatness. If you want my advice, Philoctetes, prove your
own
worth before you think you can challenge a warrior like Achilles.’

‘Looks like it’s each man for himself,’ said Odysseus, returning with a smile on his face as if nothing had happened.

Philoctetes paused to lift Calchas’s hood back over his head, before helping the priest back to his feet. ‘Then don’t be too slow if you want a chance at the beast,’ he warned, mirroring the Ithacan’s cheerfulness. ‘I’ve seen it myself and it’s magnificent – pure white with antlers of gold – but as soon as I fire one of my arrows at it it’s running days’ll be over.’

He patted the quiver at his side, and with a last glance at Eperitus bounded off into the rapidly dispersing crowd.

‘Take my spear, Odysseus,’ Eperitus said. ‘Yours are still down by the boats, and we’d better hurry if we’re going to hunt this animal.’

Odysseus shook his head. ‘Let the others run about as much as they like – only Talthybius knows where the animal was spotted, and he’s over with the Atreides brothers. If we want a throw at this fabled hart, all we need to do is follow Agamemnon.’

Eperitus looked over his shoulder and saw the King of Men slip the lion’s pelt from his back as he picked up a horn bow and a leather quiver full of arrows. Menelaus stood beside him with two spears in his hand, looking about surreptitiously to note the different directions in which the leaders were disappearing. He only saw Odysseus and Eperitus running towards him at the last moment.

‘You do realize,’ Odysseus called, ‘that this white hart may belong to one of the gods. It could cost us dear if we kill it; all your carefully staged sacrifices could be wasted, Agamemnon.’

‘Nonsense,’ Agamemnon sniffed, throwing the quiver over his back and tightening the golden buckle. He circled his shoulders to test the fit. ‘If it belongs to a god, then they shouldn’t let their pets loose around so many skilled hunters. Besides, once you see the animal, Odysseus, you’ll know why everyone’s leaving in such a hurry.’

‘Then we’ll accompany you, if you have no objections,’ Odysseus said, taking the spear Eperitus held towards him and moving into the undergrowth before the Atreides brothers could have a chance to refuse him. ‘Lead the way, Talthybius.’

They set off at a rapid pace through the humid wood, leaping over fallen branches and crashing through knee-high forests of fern, all the time looking left and right through the columns of dusty light that penetrated the canopy of leaves above. Eperitus, whose supernatural senses far outstripped those of his fellow hunters, sniffed the languorous air, sifting out the different smells of damp earth, distant blossom and the sharp odour of human sweat until he could detect – though still faintly – the powerful musk of male deer.

‘It was seen not far from here, in a glade to the east,’ Talthybius informed them.

‘No. It’s moving north,’ Eperitus announced, after a moment’s consideration. ‘That way.’

Agamemnon looked doubtful. ‘Are you sure? This might be the only chance we get – we can’t afford to follow whims.’

‘He’s sure,’ Odysseus assured him. ‘I’d trust Eperitus’s senses above my own hunting dog’s.’

Without any further hesitation, the five men set off in a northeasterly direction. The ground began to slope away before them and the trees grew denser, stifling the gauzy yellow light that had managed to penetrate the thinner woodland they were leaving behind.

‘Look!’ Eperitus said after they had been running for a while.

He pointed to a branch hanging from a tree. The shards of the broken stem were still fresh and white, indicating it was recently broken. There was no sound or sign of the other hunters, and with a flush of excitement they realized it could only have been snapped by a tall animal passing that way a short while before.

They increased their pace, moving deeper into the wood until they reached a narrow stream. They splashed across and followed its winding course for a while before Eperitus veered suddenly to the left. They followed in his wake, crashing on into the dense heart of the wood until Talthybius could hold the pace no longer and began to slow, gasping for breath.

‘Shhh!’ Eperitus hissed, suddenly slowing to a crouching walk and pressing his finger to his lips. ‘It’s close.’

Menelaus and Odysseus instinctively raised their spears, holding the shafts lightly in their cupped palms. Agamemnon slipped an arrow from the quiver and fitted it to his bow, drawing it to half-readiness as his eyes scanned the gloom. Eperitus sniffed the thick air, his eyes narrowing as he judged the different smells captured in his nostrils.

‘
It’s here
,’ he whispered.

The hunters halted and slowly lowered themselves into the cover of the crowded ferns, so that their eyes were just above the curling fronds. For a breathless moment they heard nothing, not even a bird in the closely packed branches above, then a twig snapped and they turned to see a magnificent, pure-white deer trot into a small clearing ahead of them. It stood beside the upturned roots of a fallen tree, bathed in a single shaft of golden light that penetrated a gap in the canopy above. It looked about itself, completely unaware of the men only a stone’s throw away, then bowed its antlered head to chew at the rich undergrowth.