The Gates Of Troy (45 page)

A group of guards were playing dice by the double portico through which the Ithacans had led their ponies the evening before. They nodded to Eperitus, but when he made no sign of joining them they returned to their game, leaving him to lean against the low wall and look out at the moonlit plain of Argos. As before, there were no lights shining from the farmsteads or villages that dotted the plain, where a silvery mist lurked in the dells and straggled across the fields between the blue hills. Directly below him, the walls and houses of Mycenae gleamed like bones in the night. Then the moon was swallowed once more by cloud and the city turned to darkness.

Eperitus fell to thinking about Iphigenia and the day they had spent together, then about her mother in the yellow dress – he had never seen her before in anything other than dark and sombre clothing – and finally the words of Calchas, until a flicker of light in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned to his left, where a spur of the eastern mountain lay black against the star-peppered sky. As he looked, his sharp eyes discerning the shapes of rocks and trees, he saw it again: a burst of red light, arcing above the brow of the ridge. It disappeared quickly, though the impression of the fierce light lingered against the back of his retina for a moment longer. Then a second arc of light followed. This was green and flowed like a banner in the wind before fading. More lights scored the night sky, some high and clear, others low and dim or seen only as a reflection in the treetops.

After a while Eperitus walked over to the guards, whose eyes remained fixed on the flagstones as he approached, their game of dice almost forgotten. He recognized one of them from the previous night.

Those lights, Perithous. Where do they come from?’

‘What lights, my lord?’

The lights over the brow of that hill. Red and green, mostly; like nothing I’ve ever seen before.’

‘I didn’t see them, sir. How about you, lads?’

The others shook their heads and began rolling the dice again. Eperitus turned and went back inside the palace.

‘Where did you go to last night?’ Eurylochus asked as they ate breakfast the next morning. He was unable to conceal the sneer on his lips at having to talk to Eperitus, but his curiosity had got the better of him.

‘I thought you were asleep,’ Eperitus replied, with equal disdain. ‘Your snores were loud enough to wake the Titans.’

‘There’s little escapes my notice,’ Eurylochus boasted, dipping a piece of bread into the pot of honey between them and cramming it into his mouth. ‘I saw your outline in the doorway as you went.’

‘I couldn’t sleep, if you must know,’ Eperitus replied, irritated. ‘Though it isn’t any of your business what I do at night.’

He pushed the wooden plate away and swallowed the last of his water before standing and walking out into the bright morning air. Odysseus and Arceisius were practising their swordplay, moving back and forth across the courtyard to the sound of bronze ringing against bronze. The king held up his hand as Eperitus emerged, then handed his sword and scabbard to Arceisius. The young squire took the weapons back inside the building where the Ithacans were being housed.

‘Another beautiful morning, Eperitus. Sleep well?’

‘I slept enough. Do you think Clytaemnestra will make a decision today?’

‘Possibly,’ Odysseus answered, indicating the doorway to the stairs.

He followed Eperitus down the broad steps to the garden, where a brief sprinkle of rain had freshened the aroma of the flowers. The branches on the trees and bushes nodded with the weight of the water, and let fall a cascade of droplets if brushed against.

‘She certainly seemed full of cheer yesterday,’ he continued. ‘Do you remember seeing her in anything other than black before?’

‘No – that
was
odd. Perhaps she’ll let us take the girl today and we can get back to the fleet. The storm might have lifted by now.’

‘I’d rather stay here until it does,’ Odysseus said, sitting on the semicircular bench and looking down at his reflection in the pond. ‘At least the sun is shining in Mycenae. How was your time with Iphigenia yesterday?’

Eperitus gave a shrug, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. ‘It was bearable. She’s amiable enough considering she’s a child, and a girl at that. I’d wanted to supervise Arceisius at spear practice, though. He needs to improve his aim before we sail for Troy. Perhaps I’ll get the chance today.’

‘Perhaps,’ Odysseus replied, with a knowing smile.

They remained in the garden until the sun crept over the mountain, discussing the various training needs of their warriors and how they were likely to fare in the coming war. It was an abiding topic that was never far from their thoughts as war loomed. One day soon they would find themselves on the plain before Troy, when their survival would depend on the effectiveness of the men under their command. Eventually, Clytaemnestra appeared again at the foot of the stair, though her jovial appearance of the day before had disappeared. Now her hair was worn loose and the yellow dress had been replaced by her familiar black garb. Her face was bloodless and her eyes red-rimmed as she walked towards them. The two warriors looked at her in silent surprise.

‘My lords,’ she said, greeting them with a small bow. ‘You slept well, I hope.’

‘Perfectly well, my lady,’ Odysseus replied. ‘And you? Did you consult the gods, as you promised me?’

‘Still keen for your answer I see, Odysseus. Yes, I consulted my gods and . . . and they have consented that Iphigenia must go. Does that please you?’

‘It makes no difference to me, but I am pleased for Iphigenia. To boast Achilles as a husband will earn her great honour, if shortlived.’

Clytaemnestra looked at him for a long moment, searching his expression. Odysseus met her gaze without wavering, until the queen gave up the struggle and lowered her eyes to the pond.

‘If that’s what you believe, then so be it. But I will not release my daughter immediately. Preparations need to be made – such a wedding cannot be left to men alone. And I must get myself ready, if I’m to come with you.’

Odysseus nodded. ‘Of course. How long?’

‘My husband is as impatient as ever, no doubt, but I would need at least two weeks.’

Odysseus clicked his tongue and narrowed his eyes. ‘Any more than a week and he’ll be arriving here himself, my lady, and I wouldn’t want to be accused of failing in my task. If I disappoint Agamemnon once, he may never value me again.’

‘A week then, Odysseus. But you must lend me your intelligence and help me with the preparations if I’m to have Jenny ready by then. And I want her to remain ignorant of this wedding until we reach Aulis. I was hoping you would watch over her for the next few days, Eperitus. She needs to be kept away from the rumours and gossip that are certain to spread through the city, and she so enjoyed your company yesterday. Her nurse tells me it was almost impossible to get her to sleep.’

‘I was intending to give one of the men some additional training, my lady,’ Eperitus answered looking down at the pool, where Clytaemnestra caught his eye in the reflection. ‘With the war approaching, he needs all the advice and instruction he can get.’

‘Of course he will,’ Clytaemnestra sighed. ‘No matter. I saw Eurylochus talking to Iphigenia as I came down the stairs. I’m sure he will look after her.’

‘He can’t take care of himself, let alone an independent and energetic girl like Iphigenia,’ Eperitus protested. ‘Arceisius’s training can wait; I’ll look after her.’

Clytaemnestra’s pallid face warmed slightly as she gave Eperitus a smile.

Eperitus stood at the threshold of the palace, resting his forearms on the wet, cold stone of the wall and looking up at the moon. The guards were playing dice and drinking wine under the portico, the only place where the flagstones were still dry after the early evening rain. They had become used to Eperitus’s nightly appearances by now, and were content to leave him to his thoughts.

Before arriving in Mycenae he had forgotten what it was like to be a child. He had regarded them as nothing more than ill-disciplined nuisances living beyond the fringes of society – irresponsible, loud and driven by impish desires. The four days he had spent with Iphigenia had proved him right. And yet he had enjoyed their time together more than any other since he and Odysseus had fought the bandits on Samos. He had seen life through her eyes, and it was a thing of excitement and adventure. Mycenae and the surrounding country were her entire world, but it was a world full of new experiences. At first he had been cautious, his nature hardened by years of military discipline and the need to preserve the veneer of respectability that his position required. But by the third day he was climbing trees with Iphigenia and joining forces with her as they fought mock battles against Tecton and Thoosa, laughing and shouting as freely as the rest of them. They had roamed the hills and roads of Mycenae together, seeking adventure and swapping stories about outwitting adults or meeting goddesses in disguise. Then, as they sat under the arch of a stone bridge earlier that afternoon, avoiding another squall of rain, Iphigenia had told the others about Eperitus’s visit to the Pythoness at Mount Parnassus. All his life he had hungered after glory, and yet had never gained a sense of what he had achieved; here, in the light and cheerful voice of Iphigenia, he began to see himself from another’s perspective. Her world began and ended in Mycenae, but in him she saw a world beyond that, where fear and danger were met with courage, sweat and hard bronze. In this nine-year-old girl’s eyes he meant something.

Later, as they had returned to the city along roads that smoked with evaporating rain, they were accosted by a young boy with auburn hair and a handsome but serious face. He stepped out from behind the wall of a sheep enclosure and puffed his chest up at them, resting his fists importantly on his hips.

‘Are you Eperitus?’ he demanded.

‘I am,’ Eperitus responded.

‘He’s not so big,’ the boy said, looking at Iphigenia. ‘But you always exaggerate things, anyway.’

‘Go away, Orestes,’ Iphigenia responded, eyeing her younger brother with disdain. ‘Find another corner to cry in until Pa comes home.’

‘You’d better shut up, Jenny, or I’ll give you a thump,’ he snapped back.

‘Calm yourself, lad,’ Eperitus warned, ‘or I’ll tan that backside of yours and take you back to your mother over my shoulder.’

Thoosa giggled into her hand, but a sharp look from Orestes silenced her.

‘Iphigenia may think you’re someone special,’ he sneered, giving Eperitus a dark look. ‘But my father could kill you easily.’

There was a menace in the boy’s tone that echoed Agamemnon’s self-confidence and power. Eperitus looked at him and shook his head.

‘Nobody can kill me easily, boy, including King Agamemnon. Now, get out of my sight before I strangle you and throw your body down a ravine.’

He took two steps towards the boy, who turned and ran back to the city, not stopping until he had passed from their sight. Eperitus felt Iphigenia’s eyes on him and knew his reputation had risen higher still.

‘I hope Jenny hasn’t bored you these past few days,’ said a voice, waking Eperitus from his thoughts.

He turned to see Clytaemnestra standing behind him, her white face given a blue tinge by the moonlight. She had tied her hair up behind her head again, leaving a spiralling strand to fall down by each ear.

‘No,’ he replied, containing his surprise. ‘I’ve enjoyed our time together – I couldn’t have wanted a better guide to the city.’

Clytaemnestra’s sad face was lifted by a smile. ‘I’m glad you like her. She
adores
you.’

‘Thanks to you. You must have told her everything I’ve ever done.’

‘Only what you shared with me that night . . .’

Clytaemnestra turned away in embarrassment, looking across at the guards and then up at the moon.

‘You’ve changed a lot since then,’ she continued. ‘You’re more experienced, more sure of who you are. I don’t sense so much of that urgency to prove yourself any more, though you still lack fulfilment. You’re still chasing after something.’

‘Who isn’t?’ Eperitus said, squinting across at the Plain of Argos. ‘It seems to me the only people who stand a chance of happiness are children. They have some freedom, at least, until they grow up.’