The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus) (46 page)

Deiphobus laughed at her genius for mimicry. The illusion broken, Diomedes slumped back onto the bench and was quiet.

Helen began to circle the horse once more, grinning as she looked up at the tall structure and occasionally pausing to run her fingertips over its wooden legs.

‘Are you up there, Idomeneus?’ she called, copying the Cretan’s wife’s sing-song voice. ‘My bed was lonely without you, at least for the first year. Then I got bored and found other men to fill it. Now I’d rather you didn’t come back at all.’

Eperitus turned and saw Idomeneus’s face stern and tight-lipped in the shadows.

‘And where have you been, Sthenelaus?’ came another voice, harsh and nasal. ‘Helping yourself to Trojan slave girls, I’ve no doubt! Well, the war won’t last forever, and when it’s over I’ll be here waiting for you.’

Deiphobus’s laughter was followed by Helen’s this time, while Sthenelaus sucked at his teeth and shook his head.

‘I’d rather the war went on for another ten years than go back to her,’ he muttered.

Then another voice was pitched up towards the horse, causing Eperitus to freeze and glance across at Odysseus.

‘I’m waiting, too,’ it said. ‘When are you coming back to me, my love?’

‘Somebody has to stop her!’ Odysseus hissed, balling his fists up on his knees.

‘You know it’s not Penelope,’ Eperitus told him.

‘It doesn’t matter –’

‘Odysseus, my love! Do you miss me like I miss you? Don’t you want to kiss my pale breasts again, and feel my soft thighs wrapped around you?’

Eperitus pushed his hand over Odysseus’s mouth, stifling the cry that was on his lips and forcing him back against the inner wall of the horse.

‘
It’s not Penelope
!’

Odysseus knocked his hand away and took a deep breath, turning his face aside so that Eperitus could not see the anguish in his eyes.

‘That’s enough,’ they heard Deiphobus say. ‘Come on, Helen. Let’s go home so I can taste
your
breasts with
my
lips.’

There was a peel of feminine laughter, followed by silence and then more laughter, receding this time as Deiphobus and Helen retraced their steps back towards Pergamos.

T
HE
G
ATE
F
ALLS

T
he men inside the horse were quiet for a while, barely able to look each other in the eye. Eperitus glanced at Odysseus, but his chin was on his chest and his gaze firmly fixed on his sandalled feet. Then the silence was broken by a loud rapping on the legs of the horse, which carried up through the wood and was magnified sharply within the small space where the warriors were huddled.

‘My lords! Are you in there?’

Eperitus sighed with relief. It was Omeros.

‘At last,’ said Neoptolemus, slipping his red-plumed, golden helmet onto his head and fastening the cheek guards beneath his chin. ‘I only wish my father were here with me now, to claim the glory that should have been his.’

‘And Great Ajax, too,’ said Teucer, clutching at his bow. The nervous twitch that had once defined him had faded after the death of his half-brother, and now he sat calmly with his face set in a determined stare. ‘He would have relished this moment.’

Odysseus shook his head. ‘Neither would have entered Troy in the belly of a wooden horse. They hated trickery and would only have walked through the gates on a carpet of fallen enemies. But the fact you’re here, Neoptolemus, shows you’ve already surpassed your father’s qualities. Unlike him, you know a war like this can’t be won by strength and honour alone. Now, Epeius, open the door and let’s set about our task.’

Epeius’s cowardly instincts had brought him out in a glistening sweat now the long wait was over, but while the two dozen warriors about him removed the sacking from their armour and made ready for battle, he wiped his brow and probed the wooden floor with his fingers. There was a click and the trap door swung downward on its hinges, flooding the interior of the horse with a red glow from the dying fire below. Eperitus picked up his grandfather’s shield and, swinging it over his back, was first at the hatch. He stared down and saw Omeros looking back up at him.

‘The way’s clear,’ his squire called in a low voice.

Eperitus kicked the rolled-up rope ladder down through the hole and began his descent, jumping the last part and landing beside Omeros. He looked around at the still-sleeping Trojans, draped over or around the feasting tables, then up at the cloudy sky, pressing closely down on the walls and towers of Pergamos further up the slope. His limbs and back were stiff and the soles of his feet tingled as the blood struggled to return to them, but he drove the discomfort from his mind and drew his sword from its scabbard.

A moment later, Odysseus was with them, followed rapidly by Neoptolemus, Menelaus and Diomedes.

‘Is the signal in place?’ Odysseus asked.

‘And can you be sure the fleet saw it?’ Menelaus added.

‘The torch is on the walls, my lords, just as you ordered,’ Omeros replied, ‘but it was too dark to see if there were any ships in the harbour. If they’re there, though, they’ll have seen the signal.’

‘What about guards?’ asked Eperitus. ‘Did you see any patrols?’

‘None. Not a single man – they’re all in a drunken sleep, completely convinced we’ve given up and gone.’

‘You did well,’ Odysseus said, patting Omeros’s shoulder. ‘I couldn’t have done any better myself.’

Eperitus gave his squire a wink and Omeros bowed his head to hide the broad grin on his face.

‘Everybody’s out,’ Diomedes announced. ‘Now it’s time we went about our business. All it needs is one Trojan to wake and give the alarm –’

‘We’ll do everything as I explained before,’ Odysseus said. ‘Diomedes: you, Little Ajax and Idomeneus take half our number down to the Scaean Gate to let the army in. Menelaus, Neoptolemus and I will take the rest and secure the gates to the citadel.’

‘And what about these?’ Little Ajax demanded, sweeping his sword in a menacing arc over the sleeping Trojans. ‘Do you plan to just let them go on sleeping, ready to wake and bear arms against us? I say we cut their throats and rid ourselves of the bastards here and now.’

Eperitus looked at his king, who twice before had cut the throats of groups of sleeping warriors, preferring the opportunity of a defenceless enemy over notions of honour. On one of those occasions, the fate of Ithaca had depended on his actions; on the other he had murdered his victims for the sake of a team of prize horses. This time, though – to Eperitus’s approval – Odysseus shook his head.

‘We only kill those who resist us – the night’s going to be vicious enough without cold-blooded murder. Besides, we haven’t the time to waste. We need to go now.’

Diomedes gave a nod and signalled for Little Ajax, Teucer and the others in his party to follow him. They set off at a trot down the main street, their accoutrements jangling lightly as they headed for the dim outline of the city walls and the tower that guarded the Scaean Gate. Odysseus signalled to Omeros.

‘Go with them, lad, and find Eurybates. Remind him to keep a firm grip on my Ithacans. They’ve had a hard war and even the best of them will be tempted to excess, but I want them to stay disciplined. Now go.’

Omeros set off and Eperitus laid a hand on Odysseus’s shoulder.

‘We need to go, too,’ he urged.

Menelaus was already running up towards Pergamos, closely followed by the others. Only Neoptolemus remained, beckoning with his drawn sword for the two Ithacans to follow. They weaved a path towards him through the sleeping Trojans, then all three ran to catch up with the rest of the party. It was not long before they were approaching the sloping walls of the citadel and the imposing tower that guarded the gates. Menelaus slowed to a halt and crouched in the shadows of a nearby house, signalling for the rest to do the same. Neoptolemus, Odysseus and Eperitus joined him.

‘I’d forgotten how ugly their gods are,’ Menelaus whispered, pointing to the six crude statuettes that stood on plinths before the tower. He turned to Odysseus. ‘You know the city better than the rest of us. Isn’t the gate in the shadows, to the right of the tower?’

Odysseus nodded and looked up at the battlements. There were no figures pacing the walls or faces peering down at them over the parapets. All was silent.

‘They won’t have left it unguarded, not even tonight, but the last thing they’ll be expecting is a dozen fully armed Greeks. I suggest we sling our shields on our backs, sheath our swords and walk into Pergamos.’

Before they could question him, he was moving out of the shadows towards the tower. Not wanting to let his king take the risk alone, Eperitus was the first to follow, with Menelaus, Neoptolemus and the others close behind. Just as Odysseus had predicted, the gates were not unguarded: two men sat on stools to the left of the archway, their spears sloped against their shoulders, while two others stood opposite them, leaning against the wall with their heads bowed sleepily. The wooden gates were held open by two large blocks of stone, and all four guards were quiet, half asleep, only stirring to life as they saw the band of warriors approach.

‘No entry after midnight, brothers. You know that,’ said one of the soldiers, levering himself away from the wall with his elbow. ‘Curfew still applies, even in peacetime.’

He laughed quietly at his own humour, though his laughter quickly died away when he saw the men were not slowing down.

‘I said –’

As one, Odysseus and Eperitus drew their swords, closely followed by Menelaus and Neoptolemus. Eperitus sprang forward, pushing the point of his blade into the first guard’s chest. It sliced through his heart and passed out of his back, causing his legs to buckle and his body to fall backwards, almost pulling Eperitus with him. He placed his weight on his front foot and held on to the hilt, so that the momentum of the dead man’s torso pulled it free of the blade. Scuffles and grunts indicated the demise of the other guards and when Eperitus turned it was to see their bodies lying in pools of their own blood.

‘Menestheus, check the guardroom,’ Odysseus said, pointing through the archway.

The Athenian king nodded and led a group of warriors into the shadows. Eperitus’s hearing picked up the sound of blades drawn and muffled grunts, but the lack of any other noise indicated the Trojans within the guardroom had barely had the chance to wake before their souls were released from their bodies.

‘Now what?’ Neoptolemus asked.

‘We wait here and hold the gates until the rest of the army arrive,’ Odysseus replied.

‘Not me. I’m going to find my wife.’

Menelaus finished wiping his blade on the cloak of the guard he had killed, then stood and peered into the shadowy archway that led into the citadel. Odysseus side-stepped into his path, shaking his head.

‘You can’t go to the palace alone. It’s too dangerous. Wait for your brother to arrive.’

‘I mean to find her, Odysseus, and you aren’t going to stop me. I’ve waited too long for this.’

‘Then be patient a little longer –’

Menelaus was not interested. He shouldered his way past Odysseus and then through Menestheus and the other Greeks as they emerged from the archway.

‘You’ll get yourself killed and then this whole war will have been for nothing,’ Odysseus called after him.

‘The gods will protect me,’ Menelaus replied with a growl.

Eperitus laid a hand on Odysseus’s shoulder. ‘We have to go with him.’

‘I promised Agamemnon I’d wait here until he arrived.’

‘Neoptolemus can hold the gates,’ Eperitus urged. He looked at Achilles’s son, who replied with a curt nod. ‘
We
need to keep Menelaus safe.’

Odysseus hesitated a moment longer before agreeing.

‘You’re right, of course. But it’s not Menelaus’s safety we should be worried about – it’s Helen’s when he finds her. Come on, then, let’s go after him.’

‘Look at all these throats, just waiting to be cut. And we’re tiptoeing around them as if they were mere babies.’

‘Keep your voice down, Ajax,’ Diomedes whispered, staring over his shoulder at the Locrian. ‘Once the gates are open you can spill as much blood as you like, but not before.’

They were picking their way through scores of Trojan warriors, who had made their beds on the main thoroughfare around a large, makeshift fire. The flames had died away but the red glow of the embers lit up the huddled shapes of the nearest, revealing bearded faces that had put behind them the horrors of war and were at peace. Some shared their blankets with wives, slaves or prostitutes, whose smooth faces were framed by tumbles of dark hair. These were the people who had resisted the Greeks so valiantly and for so long, Diomedes thought, and soon their ten-year struggle would be over. As he had climbed out of the belly of the horse, his sword arm had been eager to go to work – more so because Helen’s mocking words had filled him with an urgent, paranoid desire to get home and reassure himself of his wife’s fidelity while he had been away. But as he saw his sleeping enemies and considered the ignoble end that was approaching them, he was moved to an unusual pity. Though he hated them with a passion for prolonging the siege with their bitter resistance, he had also learned to respect them. They did not deserve to die in their sleep or just startled into wakefulness, fooled by the ruse of a clever trickster. To Diomedes’s mind, slaughter in the darkness lacked the glory of a battle under the blazing sun, in which Troy’s walls were scaled or her gates forced by an army of proud victors. But that army had died with Achilles and Great Ajax. The survivors would do anything to see Troy fall – Diomedes included – even if their own honour fell with it.