The Gates Of Troy (38 page)

While storms raged over the Euboean straits, the skies above the island of Tenedos were peaceful and clear. Countless stars winked and shivered as if blown by a celestial wind, and a new moon hung low over the black silhouette of the hills. Helen lay on her back in the deep grass with her hand held above her face, the tip of her forefinger tracing the shapes of the heroes and monsters of old in the myriad lights before her. Her nurse, Myrine, had taught them to her from the window of her bedroom when she was a small child, telling her their names and the stories that had earned them their place in the heavenly firmament.

There’s Cepheus, the king of Ethiopia,’ she told Paris, who lay beside her. ‘And that’s Cassiopeia, his wife. Poseidon set their images in the stars after Perseus had turned them to stone with the head of Medusa. Their daughter, Andromeda, is below them. And there’s Perseus, reaching for her hand.’

‘Hmm,’ Paris replied uncertainly. He pressed his naked flank against hers, enjoying the warmth of her body as they lay beneath his double cloak. ‘That’s not what we Trojans call them.’

‘Then how about that bright star a little further to the west? That’s Capella, the she goat who suckled Zeus when he was an infant. Can you see the four bright stars about her? Athena put them there to commemorate Erichthonius, whose lower body was that of a snake. He invented the chariot, so they say, and that’s why we call that constellation the Holder of the Reins.’

‘The Holder of the Reins,’ Paris repeated with mocking slowness. ‘Well, I’ve never heard it called that before. When I was a shepherd on Mount Ida we used to name that the Crooked Stick, though I never knew why. And those two you call Perseus and Andromeda, they’re Marduk and Istar in our reckoning.’

‘Then Trojans must be stupid,’ Helen replied.

Paris rolled on top of her and pinned her wrists to the ground. Helen struggled against him, smiling through the concentration as she wrapped her legs about his waist and tried to throw his heavy bulk to one side. But her efforts were in vain and she quickly lay still beneath him, looking up at his scarred face and into his dark eyes.

‘You won’t say that when you see my father’s city tomorrow. Troy makes Sparta look like a pig farm.’

‘I’m looking forward to seeing your home at last,’ she replied. ‘Though it scares me at the same time.’

‘There won’t be a person there who won’t take you to their heart,’ Paris promised her. ‘The whole of Troy will love you. And if anyone doesn’t, then my father will command them to.’

‘You can’t command someone to love a person.’

‘The king can. In Greece, kings are merely respected and their word obeyed grudgingly; in Ilium, the king is worshipped like a god. When the king speaks, his wishes are carried out with love and fear. Your life depends on it.’

‘Can no one question his authority?’

‘Absolutely no one. He has his council of advisers, and a few of his sons can try to sway his decisions, but when Priam has given a command only a reckless man would dare speak against him. I know of only one who has.’

‘Who?’

‘Apheidas, of course,’ Paris said. ‘He’s Trojan by birth, but he spent too many years in Greece and his foreign breeding has given him a rebellious nature. Fortunately for him, we’ve learned to tolerate his wilfulness because of his skill as a fighter. You’re very similar to him, you know; you have a strong spirit, and perhaps that’s why I love you.’

Helen placed a hand on his bearded cheek and smiled up at him.

‘And one day your father’s power might be yours,’ she said, not sure whether the thought excited or terrified her.

‘When the king dies Hector will inherit the throne,’ Paris corrected, a hint of embarrassment in his voice at having to admit the fact to Helen. ‘And then, when he eventually takes time away from war and politics to find himself a wife, he’ll have children who will precede me in the royal line. Eventually I will become of no importance and fade away.’

The sound of reed pipes and a lyre floated up to them from the palace at the foot of the hill. Further out, in the bay where their ship was anchored, they could hear the sea washing over the shoreline, back and forth, back and forth, like a nurse shushing her infant charge to sleep. They had been guests of King Tenes for several days, and as a client king of the Trojan empire he was obliged to offer Trojan royalty the best he could provide. Somewhere in the modest collection of buildings below, where the yellow lights flickered from the windows, Apheidas, Aeneas and the rest of the crew would be enjoying the pleasures of food, wine and music, happy that their prince was in the arms of the woman he loved. Little Pleisthenes had been left in the care of a young nurse from the town, much as he had been left in the care of others ever since the flight from Sparta.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Paris continued. ‘Power is of no interest to me. All I care about now is you. When we get home we’ll be married, and then one of my younger brothers can have my shield and spears. I’ll be giving up fighting for good.’

‘You promise?’ Helen asked, surprised by the unexpected admission.

‘Of course! What interest will war hold for me if it keeps me away from you? The northern borders will just have to find a way to exist without me.’

He looked at Helen, whose skin had a ghostly pallor from the faint light of the moon, then lowered his face to hers and kissed her. She responded, folding her slender arms about his neck and pulling him closer.

‘Never leave me,’ she whispered, planting a kiss on his earlobe.

He kissed her again and ran his hand over her ribs, cupping her breast. She crossed her calves over his buttocks, kicking the cloak away so that their bodies were cooled by the night air, then pulled him into her.

The relentless, soul-destroying rain had stopped, though the ceiling of turbulent cloud remained. It pressed down on the camp, keeping out the morning light so that the world seemed to be made of ash; the tents were but colourless shadows, their occupants spiritless wraiths. The only thing in this upper-Hades that told Menelaus it was day was the lonely trilling of a blackbird from the branches of a nearby oak, and the sense that, somewhere far above, the sun was creeping through an invisible blue sky.

Instinct had woken him at dawn, and since then he had been busy finding things to do, trying to ignore the urge to visit his brother and extract from him whatever it was Calchas had been so desperate to reveal. Eventually his resistance folded and he walked the short distance to Agamemnon’s tent, stepping over the guy ropes and beneath the lines of clothing that had been hung out to dry during the reprieve from the rain. The heavily armoured guards bowed their heads at his approach, before stepping aside and letting him pass.

He found his brother alone, seated exactly as he had left him the night before – his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, his fingers laced together in his lap and both sandalled feet planted firmly on the fur-covered floor. His head was bowed and he did not seem to notice Menelaus enter.

‘Agamemnon?’

The king remained still. His great chest, encased by its magnificent cuirass, did not stir, and immediately Menelaus felt panic claw at his throat. His flesh prickled and went cold.

‘
Agamemnon
?’

‘I hear you, brother.’

Agamemnon’s voice seemed to come from a distance, as if he had indeed died and his soul was speaking from the Underworld.

‘Ag . . . Agamemnon, what’s wrong?’

The king of Mycenae lifted his head and faced his brother. Menelaus’s nostrils flared briefly, the only sign of his shock at the sight before him.

‘Brother, what’s happened? You look – ill.’

If the preceding weeks had seen Agamemnon transformed from a healthy, vigorous and determined ruler into an exhausted shadow of his former self, the man who sat before Menelaus now was changed almost beyond recognition. His once smooth skin was lined with anguish and his dark-rimmed eyes had lost their shine, leaving only a glimmer of the tormented soul within. The hair above his ears had turned grey overnight.

‘Calchas told me how to lift the storm, Menelaus. He told me what we must do if we want to sail against Troy.’

He let his gaze fall to the floor again. Menelaus rushed across to kneel before his brother, taking his hands in his own and looking up into his troubled face. Tears were rolling down Agamemnon’s cheeks – something even Menelaus had never seen before – causing the Spartan king to shiver. He squeezed his brother’s hands gently.

‘What is it? What must we do?
Zeus’s beard
, man, won’t you tell me?’

Agamemnon shut his eyes tightly. When they opened again, the window into his emotions had been closed. Instead, there was a dark, hard glint, like the reflection of light from a piece of obsidian. He turned to Menelaus, his features drawn with a tense determination that made the edges of his nostrils tremble.

‘I’ll tell you, Menelaus, but first you must answer me this: are you determined to have Helen back?’

He seized his brother’s wrists in a fierce grip and looked deeply into his eyes, as if the answer could be seen in the reflection from his eyeballs. Menelaus yanked his hands free and stood.

‘You know I am,’ he answered sharply, turning his back on Agamemnon and walking to the centre of the tent. Then something struck him about the way the question had been asked, and he turned and pointed his finger at the man who had been elected to lead the expedition. ‘I want Helen as much as
you
want Troy!’

Agamemnon’s shoulders sloped, as if the last taste of hope had left him. ‘Then we must send for Iphigenia.’

‘Iphigenia?’ Menelaus asked, perplexed. ‘Your daughter?’

It was then that Agamemnon told him what was to be done.

Menelaus sat on one of the other chairs and stared at his brother in silence. After a while he reached for a silver goblet on the table beside him, only to find it empty.

‘And you’ll go through with this?’

Agamemnon did not respond, but the grim look on his face showed his resolve.

‘Well,
I
don’t trust Calchas,’ Menelaus stated, his voice seething with anger. ‘He’s a Trojan, after all, and a traitor to his people, which is even worse. He’s always getting drunk and then having these supposed dreams from Apollo – how can you be sure he’s right with this one?’

‘You saw him when the snake turned to stone. It was a clear sign from Zeus, and he was the only one who could interpret it.’

‘But you don’t know he’s right, yet.’

‘He’s been right about plenty of other things,’ Agamemnon said. ‘He’s told me things that no other man could know. And I believe him with this, too.’

‘Clytaemnestra will never allow it.’

‘Do you think I’m stupid enough to tell
her
?’ Agamemnon spat. ‘I’ll send Talthybius to fetch the girl on some other pretence. I’ll say . . . I’ll say I’m going to wed her to Achilles. Even Clytaemnestra won’t prevent her precious daughter from marrying the best warrior in Greece.’

‘Don’t be too sure of it,’ Menelaus responded, standing again. He began pacing the floor, trying to make the horror of what they were planning to do settle in his mind. But it was too awful, and as he spoke it seemed as if he was preparing some cold military strategy. ‘She’s a stubborn woman and she loves that girl more than her own life. We need to send somebody who can persuade her to let Iphigenia come to Aulis. Perhaps you should go.’

‘No!’ Agamemnon snapped. ‘Never! Do you think she wouldn’t be able to read it in my eyes? If I go, she’ll sense something’s wrong.’

‘Send Odysseus then. Even if he can’t convince Clytaemnestra to send the girl, he’ll be able to devise some trick or other.’

A smile crossed Agamemnon’s face, making Menelaus flinch with revulsion.

‘Yes. Send Odysseus, then, with Talthybius as a guide. And make sure Eperitus accompanies him.’

‘Eperitus?’ Menelaus asked.

‘Why not? My wife always spoke highly of him, and I’ve a gut feeling he’ll be able to appeal to her now. We’ll send for them immediately – they’ll have to journey overland because of the storm, so we can’t afford to waste any more time.’

Agamemnon stood and shouted for the guard and his body slave. His drive and energy were rapidly returning and he began to strip off his armour and clothing, eager to bathe and start the day.