The Armour of Achilles

‘How dare you!’ Astynome protested.

‘And as for Paris, did he ever show a care for his country after setting eyes upon Helen? No! All he could think about was having her for himself, whatever the consequences for Troy. Priam may have abandoned him as a baby, but he’s more like his father than Hector ever was. Neither man deserves to rule this land.’

‘And you do?’ Eperitus said.

Apheidas turned to his son, taken aback by his sneering tone. Then he brushed away his surprise and forced a smile to his lips.

‘Yes, Son, I do. We do. Do you think this is all about ambition? That I would open the gates of Troy to its enemies for my own glorification?’ He laughed and turned back to the altar, placing his palms on the cold stone and shaking his head. ‘Were you never curious as to why your grandfather was forced to flee Ilium?’

‘He killed the man who raped and murdered his wife.’

‘He killed a member of the royal family! Before then, ours had been the wealthiest and most influential of all the noble clans of Troy, second only to the royal family itself. We were forced to leave all that behind when we fled to Greece, and it was only pity and guilt that persuaded Priam to let me come back some years ago – though he didn’t return the land and possessions he’d taken from our family. But now I’m going to reclaim all of that and more, and you, Eperitus, will become my heir. All I ask is that you take my proposal to Agamemnon – he knows you’re a man of honour and will trust you. Persuade him to put our family on the throne of Troy and we will become the easternmost point of his new empire, a safe harbour for Mycenaean merchants to flood Asia with Greek goods – offering him allegiance and paying him tribute for as long as our bloodlines continue. And when I die you will become king, Eperitus, bringing honour and glory back to your grandfather’s name, righting the wrong that was done to our family. Astynome will become your queen and your children will establish a new dynasty, restoring Troy to its former glory until, one day, she is strong enough to throw off the shackles of Mycenae and rule herself again.’

His eyes blazed in the torchlight as he imagined a new Troy under his own rule. No longer would he be a mere nobleman; instead, he would avenge the shame of his mother’s death and father’s exile and claim the throne itself, replacing Priam’s unworthy dynasty with his own bloodline. He stared at Eperitus, confident his son would understand. The knowledge his grandfather had been dishonoured by Trojan royalty – and that his own inheritance had been stolen by Priam himself – would clear away his doubts and bring a surge of righteous anger. It was an anger Apheidas had felt all his life, but with Eperitus at his side he would finally see justice and an end to the years of bitterness.

‘Dawn is approaching, Son,’ he said, calmly now. ‘Go. Speak to Agamemnon and let us bring an end to this war.’

‘Speak to him yourself,’ Eperitus answered, narrowing his eyes at his father. ‘You and the King of Men would get on well – two power-hungry murderers who’ll stop at nothing to have your way. But I want no part of you or your schemes. I’d hoped you’d changed, Father, but you haven’t. You’re the same shameful monster that killed King Pandion twenty years ago, and if you think that by putting you on the throne of Troy I’ll restore one scrap of glory or honour to my grandfather’s name, then you have never been more wrong. You are not my father. As the gods are my witness, I never had a father!’

He turned to Arceisius and Astynome.

‘Come on. We’re leaving.’

‘You don’t make a very good traitor,’ Arceisius said with a grin.

Astynome laid her hand on Eperitus’s arm and together they moved towards the entrance, only to find the way blocked by one of the guardsmen. His spear was aimed at Eperitus’s stomach.

‘Why are you always so damned stubborn?’ Apheidas demanded. ‘Isn’t this the same selfish pride you said was preventing Odysseus and the others returning to their families? Will you turn your back on them also and have them suffer more interminable, bitter years of war, just because of your ridiculous sense of honour?’

Eperitus’s lip curled in contempt.

‘Honour has always been a thing of ridicule to you, hasn’t it?’ he replied, refusing to turn and face his father. ‘But it isn’t to me. Without honour a man is nothing, no matter how much wealth or power he has. I was a damned fool if I thought I could put my own honour aside to end this war, and you’re twice the fool if you think you can turn me to your corrupt ends. I should have killed you in Lyrnessus, Father, but you can be sure I won’t miss my chance again.’

He snatched the neck of the guard’s spear and pulled the shaft towards himself, throwing his fist into the man’s face. The Trojan fell to the floor, his nose pumping blood. Tugging the weapon from his grip, Eperitus turned and hurled it across the temple. Apheidas ducked aside as the bronze point brushed past his ear and embedded itself in the effigy of Apollo.

‘Seize him!’ he shouted.

The other guards sprang into action at his command. Eperitus, kneeling by the fallen soldier, knocked him unconscious with a second punch and pulled the sword from his belt. He tossed it to Arceisius, who caught it deftly and turned just in time to parry a spear-thrust from the nearest Trojan. Eperitus grabbed the first guard’s torch and leapt to his feet, slashing it in an arc before the chests of the other two soldiers and forcing them back.

‘Astynome, get behind the altar – now!’

One of his assailants jabbed at him with his spear. Twisting aside, Eperitus kicked the shaft from the man’s hand and pushed the end of the torch into his face, where it exploded in a shower of flames. The guard screamed in agony and staggered backwards, clutching at his face as he fell to the flagstone. A second scream followed and Eperitus glanced across to see Arceisius plunge his sword into the chest of his opponent.

‘Look out!’ he warned as two more guards came running in through the entrance with swords drawn and torches held aloft.

‘Look out yourself,’ Arceisius replied as he ran to meet them.

Eperitus turned just in time to see the other guard rushing at him with his spear held in both hands. Sweeping his torch downward with the speed of his sharp instincts, he knocked the point of the weapon away from his groin and jumped back as the guard swung the butt of his spear up at his face.

‘Kill him!’ Apheidas ordered from a few paces behind the soldier.

With a determined grimace, yet wary of the flaming brand in Eperitus’s hand, the guard edged forward. Eperitus fell back, casting his eyes quickly to either side; Astynome had taken refuge behind the stone altar to his left, but on his right Arceisius’s opponents were forcing him back towards the centre of the temple. Inexplicably, Eperitus could also hear the clash of weapons coming from outside of the circle of laurel trees, though he had no time to think what it could mean. He whispered a silent prayer, then stepped backwards on to the shaft of a discarded spear. The gods had heard him.

Throwing his torch at his attacker – who instinctively turned away and shielded his face with his hand, crying out as the flames burnt the soft underside of his forearm – Eperitus dropped to one knee and groped for the abandoned weapon. Seizing the shaft with both hands, he drove it upward at the Trojan’s head. In the semi-darkness he had the weapon the wrong way round, but the butt had been fitted with a bronze spike for planting firmly in the ground to resist cavalry attacks. The spike found the flesh beneath the man’s chin and carried on through until it punctured his brain and brought him down on to the flagstones. Eperitus tugged the weapon free and looked across, just in time to see Arceisius retreat another two steps to where Apheidas was waiting for him, his long blade glowing orange in the guttering light of the torches.

‘No!’ Eperitus shouted, leaping forward.

But it was too late. Apheidas placed his left hand firmly on Arceisius’s shoulder and plunged the sword into his back, angling it upwards to pierce the heart. Arceisius arched his head back in sudden shock, staring wide-eyed and open-mouthed at the interwoven branches that formed the roof of the temple. Then he gave a choke and blood gushed from his mouth to spill over his chin and neck. His sword fell with a hollow clatter on the flagstones and his body followed a moment later, dropping limp and lifeless to the floor. Astynome gasped and for a few heartbeats the only sound was the clash of bronze from outside the temple.

Then every muscle in Eperitus’s body was gripped with rage. Feeling a new surge of strength rushing into his limbs he leapt forward and drove the head of his spear into the nearest Trojan, killing him instantly. As Apheidas fell back, the other soldier turned to meet Eperitus’s wrath, a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. With impossible speed, Eperitus’s spear found his stomach and brought the man to his knees. The blade fell from his hands as he dropped to one side and curled up about his wound, trying to stem the flow of blood with his fingers. Eperitus dropped his spear and picked up the discarded sword, turning now to face his father.

A watery light was creeping into the sky from the east, settling faintly on the branches and the chiselled contours of the flagstones, bringing with it the faint smell of imminent dawn. There was no colour in the world yet, other than the false orange glow cast by the scattered torches as their flames dwindled, and the hint of scarlet in the dark stain that seeped out from beneath Arceisius’s body. Eperitus looked down at the still, blood-smeared features of his friend as he lay on the stone floor, his eyes staring emptily up at the last few stars still glimmering through the branches overhead. Fleeting images of Arceisius whirled past his mind’s eye, some of them forced and others unexpected – Arceisius, the young shepherd boy, whom Eperitus had caught following him as he scouted the Taphian positions on Ithaca twenty years ago; Arceisius, his enthusiastic but naïve squire, following him into an ambush by Thessalian bandits on Samos a few days before Agamemnon had arrived with the news of Helen’s kidnap; Arceisius, the battle-hardened warrior, looking red-faced and more boyish than ever as he confessed to Odysseus and Eperitus that he had found himself a wife. But Melantho had enjoyed her husband’s caresses for the last time. Arceisius had paid the price for Eperitus’s treachery, and as he looked down at the soulless pile of flesh that had once been his friend, only one thought possessed him: to kill Apheidas.

His father was half lost in the shadows to one side of the temple, a tall, bulky form shrouded in darkness but betrayed by the gleam of his armour and the naked sword in his hand. His face was dark also, the features only just distinguishable even to Eperitus’s eyes. Then, with a cry of fury, Eperitus ran at him. Their swords clashed, scraped across each other and clashed again. Eperitus felt his heart hammering in his chest, both exhilarated and terrified by the closeness of death in a way that rarely touched him on the battlefield. He lunged forward, using his keen senses to guide his sword in the stifled half-light, but his attack was met with an instinctive counter-blow as Apheidas checked him. Again he attacked and again he was repulsed, the thrust of his weapon reciprocated with equal skill and anger by his father. The two men’s movements became faster and more forceful as they weaved deadly patterns about each other, trying to find the gap that would lead to victory for one and death for the other. There was no pretence now about either man’s intentions: Eperitus had rediscovered his old hatred and was determined to kill his father; Apheidas knew this and would not show his son mercy a second time. To Astynome, watching intently as she gripped the cold stone of the altar, all she could make out in the darkness was two black shapes moving amid flashes of metal, their grunts and curses softening the harsh clatter of their weapons.

‘You still haven’t the skill or the heart to kill your own father,’ Apheidas said, grinning as he blocked another attack, ‘however much I outrage your sense of honour. And it’s only a matter of time until I slice that obstinate head from your shoulders.’

He dropped back and scythed at his son’s neck, the blade biting into nothing as Eperitus ducked beneath the deadly sweep and lunged with the point of his own sword, narrowly missing as Apheidas twisted aside and chopped down at Eperitus’s arm. Eperitus caught the blow against the hilt of his weapon and threw his father’s sword-arm into the air. Apheidas jumped back from the follow-up thrust and sensed the altar close behind him.

‘Give up all restraint and turn your energy to savage hatred,’ Eperitus hissed, advancing on his father with a snarl.

‘What’s that?’ Apheidas said.

‘The words of Calchas, priest of Apollo. I wasn’t able to beat you in Lyrnessus or by the ships because you planted a seed of doubt in my mind; you made me believe you felt some remorse about the things you’d done. But now I know you for who you really are – the same ambitious, lying murderer I’d always thought you were. And don’t deceive yourself that I don’t hate you enough to kill you, Father. I do and I will.’

He stepped back to pick up a discarded torch and Apheidas lunged. But his attack was weak, half-hearted, and Eperitus beat his sword aside with ease. With his other hand he swung the torch against his father’s head, catching him on the ear and provoking a great roar of pain. Apheidas reeled back against the altar, jarring his back and dropping his sword as he pressed his other hand over the charred flesh at the side of his head. Then Astynome screamed a warning, her eyes white in the shadows as she pointed over Eperitus’s shoulder. Eperitus turned and saw the guard he had knocked unconscious standing behind him. His nose was a misshapen mess of red, but he had a spear poised in his right hand and the point was aimed at Eperitus’s heart. The soldier drew back the weapon and, strangely, Eperitus found himself reminded of the temple where he had died saving Odysseus from an assassin’s knife. But this time Athena would not restore him to life, and with a sudden pang of regret he wished he had not betrayed his friend. If he was to die, it should have been fighting at Odysseus’s side, not as a traitor who had thrown away his honour on a fool’s hope.

But as the Trojan pulled the spear back, it fell from his hands and he lurched forward. Blood pumped out from between his lips and, with incredible slowness, he dropped first to his knees and then on to his face, the long shaft of a spear protruding from his back. Behind him, framed in the entrance to the temple by the first light of dawn, was the unmistakeable silhouette of Odysseus. He stepped inside and his eyes fell on the dead face of Arceisius, though he said nothing. Antiphus and Polites followed, the former with his bow across his shoulders and the latter holding a sword in his hand, the blade running with fresh blood.

‘Eurylochus said I would find you here,’ Odysseus announced.

Eperitus looked at the king, but there was neither anger nor hatred in his eyes. If anything, they were tinged with inexplicable remorse. Then, with sudden shock, he remembered his father. There was a muffled grunt and a short scuffle. Spinning around, he saw Apheidas with his arm about Astynome and his hand over her mouth, pulling her head back. A dagger gleamed against her ribs.

‘Harm her and I’ll kill you.’

Apheidas gave his son a mocking smile. ‘Weren’t you going to kill me anyway?’

Eperitus stared at Astynome. Her eyes were wide with fear, silently pleading with him to do something, though he did not know what he could do. Then Odysseus crossed the temple floor and stood beside him.

‘Let the girl go, Apheidas,’ he suggested in a quiet but firm voice. ‘Your men are all dead and that leaves just you against the four of us. If you harm her, we will kill you, just as sure as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you’ll do that anyway – the very moment I let her go.’

Odysseus gave him a reassuring smile and held up his hands submissively.

‘We’ve no desire to kill you. We just want Astynome alive. Let her come to me and I give you my word we’ll let you ride back to Troy unharmed.’

‘No!’ Eperitus protested. ‘I’ve waited twenty years for this moment and he’s not leaving this temple alive.’

‘There’ll be another time for vengeance, Eperitus. Right now we have to get Astynome back.’

‘You’ll have neither,’ Apheidas told them, moving around to the front of the altar. ‘Not while I’m holding a knife to the girl’s throat. Now, move aside and let us leave unhindered or I’ll kill her right now.’

‘I can shoot him, Odysseus,’ Antiphus said. He had fitted an arrow and pulled the string back so that the flight rested against his cheekbone. The barbed tip was aimed at Apheidas’s forehead.

‘Lower your bow, Antiphus,’ Odysseus answered sharply, knowing that even with Antiphus’s aim there was still a risk of harming Astynome. ‘We’re going to let Apheidas leave. We have no choice.’

‘Order him to cut the string,’ Apheidas added. ‘I don’t want an arrow in the back as I ride away.’

Odysseus nodded to Antiphus, who reluctantly pulled out his dagger and did as he was told. The Ithacans all moved back as Apheidas and Astynome edged by them, though Odysseus had to seize Eperitus by the arm and pull him out of their path. Once they were out of the temple, Eperitus shook himself free of the king’s grip and ran after them.

Light was spreading across the sky from the east, though the sun had not yet nudged above the mountains and a few stars were still visible overhead. Apheidas and Astynome were standing by the knot of Trojan horses, their breath misting in the cold morning air. Eperitus watched his father help Astynome on to the back of one of the mounts, conscious that Odysseus, Polites and Antiphus had also left the temple and were standing behind him.

‘I’ll come for you, Astynome,’ he called. ‘Just tell me where your master’s house is in the city and I’ll find you.’

‘Her master’s house?’ Apheidas scoffed, mounting behind her and taking the horse’s reins in his hands. ‘Haven’t you realized who Astynome’s master is yet?’

Astynome’s beautiful features, which until that point had been fearful and despairing, now turned to shock.

‘Don’t listen to him, Eperitus,’ she began, but Apheidas’s hand closed over her mouth and stifled her protests.

‘I am Astynome’s master,’ Apheidas continued, his features gloating in the half-light. Astynome struggled against his grip then was still. ‘Don’t you realize it yet, Son? Astynome wasn’t in Lyrnessus for any festival of Artemis, she was there because I took her there. I knew that even if I could face you alone, you wouldn’t listen to what I had to say. But if I put Astynome into your arms—’

‘Enough!’ Eperitus shouted.

‘If I put Astynome into your arms,’ Apheidas insisted, ‘if I could get her into your bed, she might be able to persuade you to think of me more favourably.’

‘That’s a lie, damn you. You’re not satisfied with killing Arceisius, or deluding me into thinking you felt remorse for your past; now you want to make me believe the woman I love has been deceiving me all along.’

‘But she has, and she paid me back handsomely for my faith in her. And even if you’ve proved to be a disappointment, the other information she brought to me was invaluable. How else do you think we knew about Agamemnon’s plan to ambush the Aethiopes?’

‘I still don’t believe you.’

Apheidas removed his hand from Astynome’s mouth.

‘Tell him.’

‘Yes, tell me,’ Eperitus insisted, his tone harsh.

Astynome’s face shone with tears, which she refused to wipe away as she stared down at him. The fierce Trojan pride he had seen when he first met her had returned, falling like an impenetrable veil over the warm, intimate smile he had since come to love so deeply.

‘It’s true, all of it. But what I did I did out of loyalty to Troy and to avenge my dead husband,’ she announced. Then the stiffness drained from her and she slumped forward, clutching at the horse’s neck and mane. ‘But I didn’t do any of it to harm you, Eperitus. I didn’t know you to begin with; I didn’t know the sort of man you were. And then, later, Apheidas said that if I could persuade you to meet with him it would bring a peaceful end to the war, that I would help to save Troy from the Greeks. How could I refuse him?’

Eperitus felt cold. He stared at her, feeling the morning air turning the skin on his arms to goosebumps.

‘I never knew what he was planning to do,’ she continued. ‘If I had, I wouldn’t have agreed to any of it. But then I wouldn’t have met you or fallen in love with you. And that’s the only thing that’s important now. Let Troy burn and all the armies of Greece perish, but don’t stop loving me.’

Apheidas turned the horse about and dug his heels back, sending the animal down the other side of the slope towards the Scamander. Eperitus did not watch them go, though he could see them at the bottom edge of his vision as he stared across at the vast sprawl of Troy on the other side of the valley. Then Odysseus patted him gently on the shoulder.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Let’s get back to the camp.’

Chapter Forty-Eight

A NEW PROPHECY

Helen woke to the first light of dawn and found herself alone. Without calling her maids, she dressed hurriedly and set off towards the walls of Pergamos. The streets were already alive with a mixture of merchants, tradesmen, slaves and soldiers, all going about their business but none too busy to spare the daughter of Zeus their glances. She ignored them all, well used to the mixture of longing and loathing that followed her every departure from the palace. Soon she was climbing the broad steps that led up to the battlements, where her husband stood with his hands palm-down on the cold stone, staring south-west in the direction of the unseen Greek camp.

Despite the cool morning air and the fresh northerly breeze that whistled over the rooftops and between the crenellated teeth of the parapet, Paris wore nothing more than a thin, knee-length tunic of green wool, belted about the waist. Helen paused, admiring the broad set of his shoulders and the splendid muscles of his arms and legs that held such strength and enduring stamina. For a fleeting moment, as his back was turned to her, she recalled the man she had first fallen in love with: brave, powerful, self-assured – even handsome, in his rugged manner; he was a warrior with a strong sense of duty, but with the courage to sacrifice his honour for love’s sake. And as she watched his black hair strain and twist in the wind she knew that she loved him now as much as she had then, when he had stolen her away from Sparta. Only one thing overshadowed their passion for each other – the guilt of what their love had done to Troy.

She climbed to the top step and saw him stiffen slightly, warned of her approach by the tiny particles of stone crunching beneath the leather soles of her sandals. Ignoring the sideward glances of the guards – boys or old men, mostly, since the heavy fighting, interspersed with experienced soldiers too badly wounded to fight in the battle lines again – she placed her hands on his upper back and pressed against the thick layers of muscle with her thumbs, gently kneading the tense knots that lay beneath his skin until she felt his resistance give and his shoulders relax. But moments later he reached back and, without turning to look at her, brushed her hands away.

‘What is it, Paris?’ she asked, moving beside him and looking up at his face, the familiar scar a bright pink in the clear morning light.

‘A horseman,’ he said, deliberately misunderstanding her question as he pointed his chin towards the plains. ‘Maybe two.’

Helen turned and looked. Her eyes swept over the rooftops of the lower city, skipping over the arc of the impenetrable walls and crossing the pastureland beyond to where the silver line of the Scamander wriggled down towards the bay. As her gaze touched upon the fords she saw a horse picking its way through the swirling waters and the slippery stones beneath, with what were almost certainly two riders on its back. She watched them closely, trying to discern whether they were Trojan or Greek as they reached the near bank of the river and struggled up into the swampy, flower-filled meadows.

‘Who are they?’ she asked, reaching out and placing her hand on his.

‘Apheidas and a girl,’ he answered, pulling away. ‘One of his household servants, I think.’

Helen felt a sting in her heart as his fingers slipped from hers, sensing that his need of her was slipping away with them. They had not made love since Hector had died, and even killing Achilles had not alleviated the responsibility and guilt he felt for his brother’s death or the sense of doom it had brought to Troy. He was punishing himself too much and would not allow her to console him with either her words or her body. But if she lost him, what hope would there be for her in a city full of enemies?

She turned away so that he would not see the tears rimming her eyes.

‘Apheidas? What’s he doing outside the city walls?’

‘Committing treason.’

Helen and Paris turned to see Cassandra at the top of the stairs, a glum expression marring her naturally beautiful features as she stared down at her bare feet. She wore a sable cloak over her pale grey chiton, and with her ashen complexion and her dark hair and eyes she reminded Helen more than ever of Clytaemnestra.

‘What do you mean, Sister?’ Helen asked, inadvertently adopting the voice she used for children or those who struck her as simple-minded. Paris had already switched his gaze back to the plain before the city walls, where the horse was now approaching the Scaean Gate.

Cassandra shrugged and moved to the battlements, continuing to peer down at her feet as she dropped back against the rough stone.

‘I saw it. You know, in here.’ She tapped her temple with her finger, sparing Helen a sheepish glance. ‘He met with his son in Apollo’s temple. Offered to open the city’s gates to the Greeks if Agamemnon would give him the throne of Troy. I’ve always said he can’t be trusted, but no one ever believes me anyway.’

Helen narrowed her eyes quizzically. ‘So he’s going to betray us all?’

‘No. He and his son argued, nearly killed each other. There’ll be no traitors’ deal, and right now all Apheidas is worried about is how to explain what he was doing outside the city walls.’

Paris sighed audibly and leaned his forearms on the parapet.

‘Apheidas is a commander in the Trojan army, Sister. He’ll have his reasons for going out – a spying mission or a patrol of some kind, most likely.’

‘With Astynome, his maid?’ Cassandra asked, giving him a tired but resentful look.

‘Then maybe he’s heard the rumour she’s sleeping with a Greek in their camp – his own son, by the account I heard – and went to catch her on her return,’ Paris replied tersely.

Cassandra returned to the top of the steps, brushing Helen as she passed.

‘I shouldn’t expect you to believe me, Paris – that’s the curse I have to live with – but you don’t have to be so wretched about it. At least Hector was polite in his disbelief! But one day the whole city will regret not listening to me, and by then it’ll be too late.’

She trudged down the stairs and was gone, but Helen was hardly aware of her passing. As Cassandra had moved by her, their bare arms touching for the briefest of moments, her mind’s eye had been filled with a terrible image. The whole of Troy was a mass of fire, from the lowest hovel to the highest palace, the flames towering over the blackened walls to lick at the night sky and fill it with billowing columns of spark-filled smoke. There were screams and the clash of weapons; women were being raped by warriors drunk with victory, while their children were being hurled from the battlements. But at the centre of the inferno, standing tall and black, was a giant horse, a beast so terrible that Helen could sense the evil that had consumed Troy was emanating from it. Then the image was gone as quickly as it had come, so that Helen’s mind was left scrambling to pick up the fragments and piece together some memory of what she had imagined. She failed and was left with nothing more than a consuming sense of doom and the image of the horse.

The news of Ajax’s suicide reached Odysseus shortly after the skulking Eurylochus had informed him that Eperitus was going to meet with his father in the temple of Thymbrean Apollo. The disbelief he had felt at his captain’s treachery quickly turned to remorse over the death of Ajax. Though he had only been a pawn in the vengeance of the gods, Odysseus had acted of his own free will and knew he was as guilty of the great warrior’s death as if he had plunged the sword in himself. He also guessed that his actions had been partly responsible for Eperitus’s decision to meet with Apheidas, and he was seized by the urgent need to go after him and explain his motives – something he was free to do now that he had carried out the deed. Above all, he had to stop Eperitus from joining his father, if, as Odysseus suspected, that was what he had been driven to.

Later, as they rode slowly back from the temple of Thymbrean Apollo, Eperitus asked the question that had been pricking at him since he had watched his father and Astynome escape.

‘What happens now, Odysseus? When I met with Apheidas I betrayed you and the rest of the army, and the punishment for treason is stoning.’

‘You said you were trying to end the war so I could go back to Ithaca,’ Odysseus said, stroking the oiled mane of his mount. ‘So there was no betrayal. You knew my heart’s desire was always to go home to my family, but you thought I’d forgotten it in some mad desire for the armour of Achilles. I couldn’t tell you the real reason why I had to keep the armour from Ajax – though you know now – so you were just trying to save me from its curse. And I forgive you.’

They rode on in silence for a while, then Eperitus turned and looked at the king.

‘In that case, am I still captain of the guard?’

‘If you want to be. I can’t think of anyone better.’

‘And I can’t think of anyone better to serve. Even if you had wanted Achilles’s armour for yourself, Odysseus, you never needed it. You’ve enough greatness in you to make your own glory, whatever Palamedes might have thought. Besides, even a simple soldier like me can see that Troy isn’t going to fall to brute force alone – we’ve tried that for ten years and failed. It needs brains, the sort of cunning and intelligence the gods blessed you with. And if you can use your wits and determination to bring an end to this war, then your name will be the greatest of all the men who fought at Troy, including Achilles.’

‘I’ll try,’ Odysseus answered. ‘With your help. And then, gods willing, perhaps we can go home.’

On their return they found the Greek camp in uproar. Soldiers who had once shouted Great Ajax’s name in triumph were now cursing him for the destruction of the army’s livestock. Fights had broken out and a few men had been killed, though the violence was rapidly quelled after Agamemnon had sent his Mycenaeans out to keep the peace. He had also summoned the Council of Kings to discuss what to do with Ajax’s body, and as Odysseus and Eperitus entered his tent a fierce debate was already taking place. Fighting to master his twitch, Teucer was demanding in an angry stutter that Ajax be given the funeral his heroic deeds had earned. But Menelaus was furious at the slaughter Ajax had caused, as well as the additional shame of his suicide, and was insisting his body should be hurled into the sea or left as carrion for the birds. The majority of the commanders made their agreement known with shouts and energetic gestures at Teucer. To Eperitus’s surprise, Little Ajax was among them.

Odysseus strode into the middle of the debate and snatched the staff from Menelaus’s grip. He raised his hands for calm and waited for Teucer and Menelaus to move aside before turning to the King of Men, seated in his golden throne.

‘What should you care, my lord, if Ajax killed a hundred or even two hundred beasts?’ he asked in a soft voice. ‘Ten times that number and more have been sacrificed in thanks for the victories Ajax has brought us over the years. And do you think he’d have carried out such an act if the gods hadn’t first robbed him of his senses?’

Despite their surprise that Odysseus had spoken in defence of Ajax, there were a few consenting grunts from the circle of onlookers and a firm nod of agreement from Diomedes. But not all were so quickly persuaded.

‘If the gods turned his mind, then he brought it on himself,’ Nestor contended. ‘He always claimed the glory for his own deeds and never gave the gods their dues. He was asking for trouble.’

‘No suicide deserves proper funeral rites!’ Little Ajax added, stepping forward. ‘Feed his body to the fish!’

His single eyebrow was contorted with anger and his fists were clenched, but beneath his fury Eperitus could see that he was hurt. His namesake’s act of self-destruction had been a betrayal that the Locrian was struggling to understand. When Odysseus turned his piercing green eyes on him, though, his head dropped and he retreated back into the crowd.

‘A suicide cursed by the gods,’ Odysseus said. ‘Maybe so, but there was another factor in Ajax’s death – the part played by me. If I hadn’t been awarded Achilles’s armour he would be alive now, and so would your precious livestock.’

‘Are you blaming me?’ Agamemnon asked, lifting his chin a little from his fist.

‘I blame myself, Agamemnon, although I was just an instrument in the revenge of the Olympians. My victory – or the dishonour of his own defeat – was too much for Ajax’s proud mind to bear. For that reason I beg you, my lord, to employ the greatest power available to any king – the power of mercy. Forget the errors of Ajax’s sickness and remember how he always fought in the forefront of every battle, killing many of Troy’s greatest men. He was the stalwart of the Greek army, a man that even Hector could not defeat. Indeed, it seems the only man capable of defeating Ajax was Ajax himself! So I ask you to permit Teucer to cremate his half-brother with full funeral rites, which he earned in life by his deeds as a warrior. And if Teucer will forgive me, then I would ask him to accept my help in performing the rites.’

There was a murmur of approval and Diomedes demanded that he, also, should be permitted to help. But Agamemnon did not reply at once. He rested his chin back on his fist and stared at Odysseus with a cold, unwavering gaze, taking his time to weigh the arguments as well as to remind the council that he was their leader and all decisions lay ultimately with him. Then he sat up and leaned back with a sigh.

‘I will not throw Ajax’s body to the fish, as some have demanded,’ he began, looking at Menelaus and Little Ajax. A few among the council voiced their relief and pleasure, and even Eperitus felt an unexpected flush of gratitude towards the King of Men, whom he normally loathed. Then Agamemnon held his hand up for silence and they realized their relief had been premature. ‘But neither will he receive the full rites due to a great warrior. Ajax took his own life and as such will be allowed a simple burial without honour. Teucer, you have my permission to bury him wherever you choose, as long as it is beyond the walls of this camp.’

And so it was, in spite of all the Trojans he had slain and all the battles he had turned in favour of the Greeks, that Ajax’s giant corpse was placed in a lonely suicide’s grave on a cliff top overlooking the sea. He was not given a period of mourning or a warrior’s cremation, and there were no games in his memory. The only song raised over his body was the wailing of Tecmessa, competing with the howls of the wind and the crashing of the waves below. Eurysaces sat beside her, clutching his mother’s black dress as he watched Teucer, Odysseus, Diomedes and Eperitus lower the shrouded body of his father into the pit they had dug. Then each man cut off a lock of his own hair and threw it into the grave, before refilling it with earth. Halfway through, Little Ajax appeared and stood beside them, honouring his friend with his tears as he hung his head and was silent. After a while Teucer put an arm about Tecmessa’s shoulder and led her, carrying Eurysaces, back towards the camp, followed at a distance by Little Ajax.

Once the last of the soil had been replaced, Odysseus and Eperitus returned to the beach where Arceisius’s funeral pyre was being prepared. While Odysseus carried out sacrifices and uttered prayers to the callous gods, Eperitus stood back and watched the sun draw gradually closer to the distant horizon. It was a scene he had observed countless times before, but today there was a finality about it, as if some prophetic instinct told him he would not see many more. Then the first pall of smoke twisted up from Arceis-ius’s funeral pyre, spreading a smear of imperfection across the cloudless sky. The smell of burning wood and roasted flesh accompanied it, giving an unpleasant tang to the otherwise clean air that blew in from the Aegean. And all the time the sea breeze filled his ears with the crash and tumble of the white-capped waves, silencing the usual noises of the camp beyond the beach so that the only other sound was the crackle of flames, snapping and popping delightfully as they hastened the destruction of Arceisius’s corpse.

A handful of other figures stood watching the pyre: Antiphus, his arms crossed and his eyes red with smoke and tears; Eurybates, busying himself by throwing an armful of faggots on to the fire; Polites, massive and silent, his giant hand resting on the shoulder of the fourth figure, the comparatively diminutive Omeros. In the few months since he had arrived on the shores of Ilium the young bard had shed his gentle layers of fat and had started to grow his hair long, like all the other soldiers in Agamemnon’s army. He had lost much of his naïvety, too, surviving the murderous press of the battle line and killing and maiming his share of Trojans in the process. And yet, while the Fates had spared Omeros, Arceisius – the shepherd boy whom Eperitus had transformed into a fearsome warrior – had joined the legions of the dead that the war had created. Such was the will of the gods.

Eperitus turned his eyes from the flames of Arceisius’s funeral pyre to where Odysseus was washing the sacrificial blood from his hands. After staring at the burning corpse for a few moments, the king walked to his hut and fetched Achilles’s armour, which he planted in the sand before sitting down with his arms folded across his knees. Eperitus joined him and they sat there in silence as the sun crept lower towards the horizon, Odysseus contemplating the patterns on the great, circular shield – as if the answer to all his worries and problems lay in the cyclical movements of the little figures – while Eperitus’s mind slipped into a trough of black thoughts about the death of Arceisius, Apheidas’s treachery and Astynome’s deceit.

After a while his eyes fell on the armour.

‘What will you do with it?’ he asked, his voice slightly croaky because he had not spoken for so long.

Odysseus shifted, wincing slightly as his muscles complained at the movement.

‘Such armour isn’t for me, Eperitus, and I’ve vowed never to wear it. But there’s something I didn’t tell you. Something that Athena revealed to me in my hut.’

Eperitus turned to him, his curiosity aroused.

‘Go on.’

‘The gods wanted to destroy Ajax, but they also wanted to prevent him keeping the armour for himself. They say it’s meant for another, someone even more worthy than Ajax.’

‘Then who? Ajax’s son, Eurysaces?’

‘No. And I wouldn’t curse the poor child with it – you do realize it’s cursed, don’t you? It’s the symbol of everything that’s bad about this war.’

‘Perhaps we should send it to the Trojans, then. After all, it was Paris who killed Achilles. He’s welcome to have the armour, and good riddance to it.’

Odysseus glanced at his friend and smiled, looking a bit more like his old self. He dismissed the suggestion with a shake of his head.

‘The Trojans have enough problems of their own. But whoever the rightful owner is, Athena said he is destined to take Achilles’s place in the army and that the walls of Troy won’t fall without him. I suppose I’ll know who to give the armour to when I see him.’

‘So is this what you’ve been thinking about all this time?’

‘No, I’ve been thinking about home. This war isn’t infinite, Eperitus. The end must come and I’ve been wondering how I can hasten it along. I keep thinking of Astynome getting through the gates in the back of that old farmer’s cart, and the story Omeros concocted about how I got past those Taphian guards concealed in a pithos of wine. You remember that one? The only problem is I’m not sure how I’m going to smuggle an army inside the Scaean Gate.’

He looked quizzically at Eperitus, who nodded without comprehending a word of what Odysseus was saying.

‘But suddenly my mind is full of Ithaca again,’ Odysseus continued. ‘I’ve been trying to remember how it looks from the prow of a galley, sailing up from the south – the shape of the hills, the channel between Samos and Ithaca, the harbour below the town, and then the road that leads all the way up to the palace gates. And I can picture what Penelope looks like again, Eperitus. I haven’t been able to recall her face for so long, and then I saw her in a dream the night before Ajax killed himself, as clear as if I had only seen her that morning. And I’m going to see her again soon, I’m sure of it.’

‘Good,’ Eperitus said.

He smiled despite the pain he felt. Odysseus’s renewed desire for his home and family reminded him that he had lost his own love, and that all his dreams of marriage and children had been ripped apart by Astynome’s betrayal. And yet he could not bring himself to stop loving her, and he knew they would meet again one day – even though the walls of Troy lay between them.

‘And there’s something else,’ Odysseus added, ominously. ‘A new prophecy.’

Eperitus shifted round in the sand and looked at his friend.

‘Calchas?’

Odysseus nodded. ‘Before we left to fetch Ajax’s body, Agamemnon took me aside. Calchas came to him early in the morning, while we were fighting your father in the temple of Thymbrean Apollo. He says Zeus will not bring an end to the war until a number of conditions are met, but Apollo has only shown the first one to him. I suspect one might be the identity of the rightful owner of Achilles’s armour, but, either way, these oracles will only be revealed by another seer – a Trojan – though Calchas doesn’t know who or when.’

‘Then what does he know?’

‘That for Troy to fall Paris must first be killed by the arrows of Heracles.’

Eperitus’s eyes narrowed in thought.

‘But . . . but they belong to Philoctetes,’ he said, ‘whom we abandoned on Lemnos ten years ago!’

‘Yes,’ Odysseus said. ‘The problem is, we’re the only ones who know where he was marooned, and now Agamemnon wants us to fetch him back. We leave at dawn tomorrow.’

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The first two books in this series, King of Ithaca and The Gates of Troy, retold some of the earlier myths associated with Odysseus and the beginnings of the Trojan War. They drew on a handful of lesser-known tales that allowed my imagination plenty of room for manoeuvre. The Armour of Achilles, however, is set at the peak of the war, the epic events from which have been told and retold by countless poets, playwrights and other storytellers, both Greek and Roman. Rather than being able to pick over a few myths like a guest at a modest buffet, I now had a feast to choose from and was forced – often reluctantly – to restrict myself to those myths I thought most important and relevant to the tale I wanted to tell.

Chief among the ancient sources for the Trojan War is, of course, Homer. His is the name behind the oldest works of Western literature, The Iliad and The Odyssey, in which such themes as glory, wrath, fate and homecoming are explored in the brutal and uncertain lives of figures such as Achilles, Hector and Odysseus. Ironically, The Iliad covers only a brief, if bloody, period of the war: nearly seven weeks in total. Twenty-one of its twenty-four chapters cover just eight days. It begins with Chryses’s appeal to the Greeks for the return of his daughter, Chryseis (also known as Astynome) and ends with the funeral pyre of Hector. Naturally, much of The Armour of Achilles follows the action in The Iliad, though I have made the gods less prevalent and highlighted Odysseus’s part in the story. The events before and after come from a variety of other Greek and Roman sources, some of which are lost and are known today only from quotes and references by later writers.

The Armour of Achilles begins with the sacking of Lyrnessus, something that happens off-stage as far as the main myths are concerned. As for the stoning of Palamedes, the original version has Odysseus planting gold in his tent to frame him for an act of treason he did not commit, purely out of spite. The ancient writers were often divided in their portrayals of Odysseus: some depicted his keen wits and great oratory as heroic, while others saw his cunning nature as quite the opposite. For obvious reasons, I have tried to make him appear in a more positive light.

The battles with the Amazons and the Aethiopes that follow Hector’s funeral are epic stories in their own right and, by necessity, have been curtailed in my own version of them. The death of Achilles happened differently in different sources – some have him stabbed from behind while others say he was shot down with an arrow; in either case, he remained undefeated in individual combat, as befits a hero of his stature. Similarly, the only man who could kill Ajax was himself. He was driven to self-destruction out of pride, unable to bear the humiliation of losing the armour of Achilles to Odysseus. In the original myths, Odysseus wanted the armour for his own personal gain, but again I have tried to save his credibility by giving him a more worthy motive.

There are other threads in The Armour of Achilles that are entirely my own invention. The story of Eperitus and his ruthlessly ambitious father, Apheidas, is one of them. So is the romance between Eperitus and Astynome, though Astynome does appear as a minor figure in the original tales. Equally, the background events on Ithaca can be found nowhere in the myths, even if Penelope’s longing for her husband’s return is very Homeric. But unfortunately for her, she cannot be reunited with Odysseus until the Trojans are defeated and their city razed to the ground. For that to happen, Odysseus must first fulfil the oracles set down by the gods and find a way to breach the impenetrable walls of Troy.

Beware Greeks bearing gifts!

PRAISE FOR GLYN ILIFFE

‘A must read for those who enjoy good old epic battles,

chilling death scenes and the extravagance of ancient Greece’

Lifestyle Magazine

‘It has suspense, treachery, and bone-crunching action

. . . It will leave fans of the genre eagerly awaiting

the rest of the series’

Harry Sidebottom, Times Literary Supplement

‘The reader does not need to be a classicist by any means to

enjoy this epic and stirring tale. It makes a great novel

and would be an even better film’

Historical Novels Review

Glyn Iliffe studied English and Classics at Reading University, where he developed a passion for the ancient stories of Greek history and mythology. Well travelled, Glyn has visited nearly forty countries, trekked in the Himalayas, spent six weeks hitchhiking across North America and had his collarbone broken by a bull in Pamplona.

He is married with two daughters and lives in Leicestershire. King of Ithaca was his first novel, followed by The Gates of Troy.

Also by Glyn Iliffe

King of Ithaca

The Gates of Troy

GLOSSARY

A

Achilles

– Myrmidon prince

Adramyttium

– city in south-eastern Ilium, allied to Troy

Adrestos

– Trojan soldier

Aeneas

– Dardanian prince, the son of Anchises

Aethiopes

– black-skinned warriors from northern Africa

Agamemnon

– king of Mycenae, leader of the Greeks

Ajax (greater)

– king of Salamis, and Achilles’s cousin

Ajax (lesser)

– king of Locris

Alybas

– home city of Eperitus, in northern Greece

Andromache

– wife of Hector and daughter of King Eëtion

Antenor

– Trojan elder

Antícleia

– mother of Odysseus

Antilochus

– Greek warrior, son of Nestor

Antimachus

– Trojan elder

Antinous

– son of Eupeithes

Antiphus

– Ithacan guardsman

Apheidas

– Trojan commander, father of Eperitus

Aphrodite

– goddess of love

Apollo

– archer god, associated with music, song and healing

Arceisius

– Ithacan soldier, formerly squire to Eperitus

Ares

– god of war

Argus

– Odysseus’s hunting dog

Artemis

– moon-goddess associated with childbirth, noted for her virginity and vengefulness

Astyanax

– infant son of Hector and Andromache

Astynome

– daughter of Chryses, a priest of Apollo

Athena

– goddess of wisdom and warfare

Aulis

– sheltered bay in the Euboean Straits

B

Balius

– famed horse of Achilles, sibling of Xanthus

Briseis

– daughter of Briseus the priest, captured by Achilles at Lyrnessus

C

Calchas

– priest of Apollo, adviser to Agamemnon

Cassandra

– Trojan princess, daughter of Priam

Chryse

– small island off the coast of Ilium

Chryses

– a priest of Apollo on the island of Chryse

Clymene

– Trojan woman, hostage of Apheidas

Clytaemnestra

– queen of Mycenae and wife of Agamemnon

D

Dardanus

– city to the north of Troy

Deidameia

– wife of Achilles

Deiphobus

– Trojan prince, younger brother of Hector and Paris

Democoön

– Trojan prince

Diocles

– Spartan soldier

Diomedes

– king of Argos

Dolon

– Trojan spy

Dulichium

– Ionian island, forming northernmost part of Odysseus’s kingdom

E

Eëtion

– king of the Cilicians, allies of Troy, and father of Andromache

Elpenor

– Ithacan soldier

Eperitus

– captain of Odysseus’s guard

Eteoneus

– squire to Menelaus

Eupeithes

– member of the Kerosia

Euryalus

– companion of Diomedes

Eurybates

– Odysseus’s squire

Eurylochus

– Ithacan soldier, cousin of Odysseus

Eurypylus

– Thessalian king

Eurysaces

– infant son of Great Ajax

Evandre

– cousin of Queen Penthesilea

G

Gyrtias

– warrior from Rhodes

H

Hades

– god of the Underworld

Halitherses

– former captain of Ithacan royal guard, given joint charge of Ithaca in Odysseus’s absence

Hecabe

– Trojan queen, wife of King Priam

Hector

– Trojan prince, oldest son of King Priam

Helen

– former queen of Sparta, now wife of Paris

Hephaistos

– god of fire; blacksmith to the Olympians

Heracles

– greatest of all Greek heroes

Hermes

– messenger of the gods; his duties also include shepherding the souls of the dead to the Underworld

I

Ida (Mount)

– principal mountain in Ilium

Idaeus

– herald to King Priam

Idomeneus

– king of Crete

Ilium

– region of which Troy was the capital

Iphigenia

– daughter of Eperitus and Clytaemnestra, sacrificed by Agamemnon

Ithaca

– island in the Ionian Sea

L

Lacedaemon

– Sparta

Laertes

– Odysseus’s father

Lemnos

– island in the Aegean Sea

Leothoë

– daughter of King Altes of the Leleges, allies of Troy

Lethos

– Trojan prisoner

Lycaon

– Trojan prince

Lyrnessus

– city in south-eastern Ilium, allied to Troy

M

Machaon

– famed healer, son of Asclepius and brother to Podaleirius

Medon

– Malian commander

Melantho

– Ithacan girl, wife of Arceisius

Memnon

– king of the Aethiopes, allies of Troy

Menelaus

– king of Sparta, brother of Agamemnon and cuckolded husband of Helen

Menestheus

– king of Athens

Menoetius

– father of Patroclus

Mentes

– Taphian chieftain

Mentor

– close friend of Odysseus, given joint charge of Ithaca in Odysseus’s absence

Mycenae

– most powerful city in Greece, situated in north-eastern Peloponnese

Myrmidons

– the followers of Achilles

N

Nestor

– king of Pylos

Nisus

– Ithacan elder

O

Odysseus

– king of Ithaca

Oenops

– Ithacan noble

Omeros

– Ithacan soldier and bard

P

Palamedes

– Nauplian prince

Palladium

– sacred image of Athena’s companion, Pallas

Pandarus

– prince of the Zeleians, allies of Troy

Pandion

– murdered king of Alybas

Paris

– Trojan prince, second eldest son of King Priam

Patroclus

– cousin of Achilles and captain of the Myrmidons

Pedasus

– horse captured by Achilles at Thebe

Peisandros

– Myrmidon commander

Peleus

– father of Achilles

Penelope

– queen of Ithaca and wife of Odysseus

Penthesilea

– queen of the Amazons

Pergamos

– the citadel of Troy

Philoctetes

– Malian archer, deserted by the Greeks on Lemnos

Phronius

– Ithacan elder

Phthia

– region of northern Greece

Pleisthenes

– youngest son of Menelaus and Helen

Podaleirius

– famed healer, son of Asclepius and brother to Machaon

Podarces

– Thessalian leader

Podes

– Hector’s best friend, brother of Andromache

Polites

– Ithacan warrior

Polyctor

– Ithacan noble

Poseidon

– god of the sea

Priam

– king of Troy

Pylos

– city on the western seaboard of the Peloponnese

Pythoness

– high priestess of the Pythian oracle

R

Rhesus

– king of the Thracians, allies of Troy

S

Samos

– neighbouring island to Ithaca, also under the rule of Odysseus

Sarpedon

– king of the Lycians, allies of Troy

Scamander

– river on the Trojan plain

Sthenelaus

– companion of Diomedes

T

Talthybius

– squire to Agamemnon

Taphians

– pirate race from Taphos

Tecmessa

– wife of Great Ajax

Telemachus

– son of Odysseus and Penelope

Tenedos

– island off the coast of Ilium

Teucer

– famed archer, half-brother and companion to Great Ajax

Thebe

– city in Ilium

Thebes

– city in central Greece

Thersites

– Aetolian hunchback

Thetis

– chief of the Nereids and mother of Achilles

Tlepolemos

– king of Rhodes

Troy

– chief city of Ilium, on the eastern seaboard of the Aegean

X

Xanthus

– famed horse of Achilles, sibling of Balius

xenia

– the custom of friendship towards strangers

Z

Zeus

– king of the gods

First published 2010 by Macmillan

This electronic edition published 2011 by Pan Books

an imprint of Pan Macmillan, a division of Macmillan Publishers Limited

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Copyright © Glyn Iliffe, 2010

The right of Glyn Iliffe to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

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Table of Contents

BOOK ONE

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

BOOK TWO

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

BOOK THREE

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

BOOK FOUR

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Chapter Forty-Four

Chapter Forty-Five

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven

Chapter Forty-Eight