by Iliffe, Glyn
‘I need to relieve myself,’ he told Menelaus, who nodded briefly before returning to his scrutiny of the crowd.
Eperitus crossed to the back corner of the throne room, where a large amphora reeked of urine. He lifted his tunic and emptied his bladder, then sensed the presence of the hooded man behind him.
‘Who are you?’ he said, lowering the hem of his tunic and turning. ‘How do you know my name?’
The man stared at him from beneath the shadow of his hood. His face was contorted by a constant series of twitches, but his dark eyes remained firmly fixed on Eperitus.
‘I know many things, my friend. For example, I know you’ve come to seek the return of Menelaus’s wife.’
‘Then she’s here – in Troy?’
The man smiled. ‘I did not say that, and if she is then I am not aware of it. Yet I know your mission all the same, and many other things besides. Perhaps you will be more convinced,’ he added, seeing the look of scepticism in Eperitus’s eyes, ‘if I tell you that you were once brought back from death by Athena. Or if I say that I know you are ashamed of your past, and even now hate the mention of your father. I also know you are torn between your desire for war and your loyalty to Odysseus, who is keen to secure the peaceful return of Helen and go back home to his own family. And if that is not enough, then how about this: Odysseus has given you a powder to pour into Palamedes’s wine that will – now, what were his words – that will have him emptying his bowels by the second gulp. Am I right?’
‘You can’t possibly know that – any of that.’
‘But I do, and much more. I know things about you that even you don’t know – yet.’
Eperitus felt his impatience growing. ‘Stop talking in riddles and speak plainly. Tell me who you are and how you know these things, or by the name of Athena I’ll knock you down where you stand.’
‘My name is Calchas, son of Thestor, son of Idmon the Argonaut,’ he announced, making Eperitus’s eyes widen as he realized this was the man Athena had said would find him. He drew his hood back to reveal his shaven head, then opened his cloak to expose the white robes beneath. ‘I’m a priest of Apollo. The god speaks to me in dreams – sleeping and waking. It’s a gift, a wonderful, terrible gift. It shows me things that few can see, and few should see.’
Calchas pulled the hood forward to cover his hairless scalp and fixed his gaze on Eperitus once more. The pain and the madness glistered like sunken treasure beneath the surface of his eyeballs.
‘And yet even I only see the shadow of things. Apollo allows me glimpses of the past, the present or the future, but I never see the complete picture. That’s for the gods only. But I do know we live in momentous times, Eperitus. Our world is heading into a great terror – a war that will choke Hades’s halls with the dead and bring a lasting darkness in its wake. Apollo has revealed it to me, and it is horrifying.’
‘But what’s that got to do with me?’ Eperitus asked, uncertain that he wanted any part of the priest’s awful visions. ‘I’m a warrior, not a prophet.’
‘It has everything to do with you, Eperitus. War is inevitable, but the choices you make today will decide which of our nations will survive and which will be destroyed. Odysseus gave you that powder to pour in Palamedes’s drink because he knows Palamedes is acting for Agamemnon and will try to prevent a peaceful agreement for the return of Helen. One dose of that, though,’ the priest said, tapping Eperitus’s leather pouch with his finger, ‘and Palamedes will be spending the rest of the day crouched over a latrine somewhere, leaving Odysseus free to use his powers of persuasion on Priam. But we have to stop him succeeding; although Odysseus does not know it, the safety of Greece depends on Agamemnon laying siege to Troy.’
‘And why should a Trojan care what happens to Greece?’ Eperitus scoffed.
‘I may be Trojan by birth,’ Calchas responded, ‘but my loyalty is to Apollo, not Priam. I do whatever the god tells me to do, and he has ordered me to abandon Troy and join the Greeks.’
‘But Antenor says Apollo has always favoured Troy.’
‘And he still does. But Zeus is intent on war between Greece and Troy, and out of obedience to his will Apollo has ordered me to offer my services to Agamemnon. You are to take me back with you to the gathering at Aulis – yes, I know all about it – so that I can speak with him. But first we must prevent Odysseus’s attempt at peace.’
‘If you think I’ll disobey Odysseus for your sake, Calchas, then you’re as mad as you look,’ Eperitus said, angered by the priest’s presumption. He was beginning to wonder whether Athena had been right to say he should listen to the man at all. ‘I’m going back to my seat.’
‘Hear me out, Eperitus!’ Calchas hissed, grabbing his arm. ‘If your king succeeds the war will still come, but on Trojan terms, not Greek. Why do you think there’s an army camped on the plain? What about the warships in the harbour? Don’t you understand? The Trojans are planning to attack Greece. And it’ll be no raid, either – it’s going to be an invasion!’
Eperitus shook off Calchas’s bony hand. ‘Priam wouldn’t dare.’
‘No, he wouldn’t. But Hector would. He’s the real power behind Troy, not Priam – as you’ll soon see. If Agamemnon doesn’t attack Troy first, then Hector will conquer Greece city by city until he makes it part of Priam’s empire – the empire he will inherit. Even Ithaca will fall, in the end. Do you believe me, Eperitus?’
Eperitus looked across the throne room to where Odysseus was sitting, pointedly ignoring Palamedes while trying to persuade Menelaus to eat some food. His friend had been optimistic about obtaining a peaceful resolution from the start, but was he just avoiding facing up to the inevitable? Ever since they had arrived in Troy Eperitus had sensed a threat; not just the curses and spitting of the crowd, but a deeper undercurrent. There was something sinister about the half-built war fleet and the gathering army camped on the plain, followed by the unwelcoming treatment they had received from Priam (or was that Hector’s doing?). Even the large gathering of Trojan officials in Priam’s throne room felt like a jury, waiting to decide the fate of the Greeks.
‘Whether I believe you or not – and I’m not saying I do – how do you suggest I should prevent Odysseus from obtaining a peaceful solution?’
‘Palamedes must be allowed to speak,’ Calchas answered. ‘If you don’t pour the powder into his drink, he has the cunning and intelligence to upset Odysseus’s plans. Odysseus will be angry, of course, but when he hears what I have to say he’ll realize that war is inevitable anyway and will see reason.’
‘You’re assuming I’ll do what you want me to.’
Calchas looked at him carefully, reading the thoughts behind his eyes.
‘That’s your decision, Eperitus. But remember this: one way or another, the fate of all Greece is in your hands tonight. The army you saw on the plain is but the first crop of a mighty harvest. Before long other armies will join it, just as other ships will swell the Trojan fleet to an armada. If Odysseus gets his way he could be back with his family in a matter of weeks, but his happiness will be short-lived. Within a year or two Hector’s conquering armies will have reached Ithaca, and then Odysseus will see his precious wife and son butchered by Trojan swords and his people enslaved. Think on that when you let your king negotiate a peaceful end to this matter.’
Eperitus looked thoughtfully at the stooping priest. ‘You’re asking me to defy him when he needs my loyalty most,’ he said. ‘And in other circumstances your impudence would earn you a beating, priest or not. But I’ve seen the Trojan army you speak of, and the fleet in the harbour, and something tells me you’re right. So I’ll think about what you ask, Calchas, and if Odysseus does fail, for whatever reason, I’ll make sure that you return with us to Aulis.’
‘Then I will go and wait for you by your ship – Priam has already left his chamber and is on his way here with Hector. But first there is one other thing I have to say. It concerns you personally, Eperitus.’
‘Go on,�
� Eperitus said apprehensively.
‘I said I know things about you that you don’t,’ Calchas began, ‘secret things that have been deliberately kept from you. I am forbidden to reveal what little I know about them, but the first is the answer to your heart’s desires and will tempt you to stay away from the coming war – you must not let it! Troy has to fall to the Greeks, and that cannot happen without both you and Odysseus. But the second is darker and equally compelling, and would draw you back to Ilium whether there is a war or not.’
‘What are these things – these secrets – you speak of?’ Eperitus urged, staring hard into Calchas’s half-crazed eyes. ‘Does Odysseus know?’
‘Your friend is as ignorant of them as you are,’ Calchas reassured him. ‘Go to Agamemnon’s city, Mycenae. One who lives there can reveal the first secret to you. More than that I cannot say.’
With that, the priest turned and slipped back out the way he had come. Eperitus waited for him to leave then returned to his seat, watched by Odysseus.
‘Who was that?’ the king asked. ‘Didn’t I see him in the crowd yesterday?’
‘I’ll tell you about it later,’ Eperitus replied. ‘This must be King Priam.’
At that moment, a large door to the side of the throne opened and two warriors in golden armour entered. They stood either side of the door and bowed their heads as a third man swept past them into the room. King Priam was tall – a head higher than his escorts – and dressed in a richly embroidered tunic and a crimson cloak that dragged along the floor behind him. His hair was a shiny black and his fringe had been carefully plaited in the same fashion as the younger Trojan men; but, though he must have been handsome in his youth, his quick brown eyes were now sunken with age and the skin of his long neck hung in folds beneath his chin. Even the thick layer of orange powder he wore could not hide the labyrinth of wrinkles that were etched across his face.
He was followed by his eldest son, Hector, whose dark, menacing eyes swept the room as he entered. He was nearly as tall as his father, but where Priam was lean, Hector was broad and powerfully built. Behind his thick black beard, his face was stern, hard and uncompromising, giving him an air of intimidating natural authority. This was accentuated by the simplicity of his clothing: a black, knee-length tunic and a woollen cloak, swept back over his shoulders to reveal a plain leather cuirass and a belt with a silver dagger.
Upon reaching the throne, Priam turned and raised his hands in an extravagant greeting, a broad and pleasant smile on his face. From the moment he had entered, the chamber had been filled with the scraping of heavy wooden chairs as the Trojans – regardless of age or rank – threw themselves to the flagstones to grovel like dogs before their master. Now, as Priam surveyed the large, bright chamber, only the four Greeks dared to look back at him. Though they had stood out of respect, their pride forbade them to prostrate themselves before any man, king or not.
‘Get down on your knees, you foreign swine,’ said the old herald who had called them in from the antechamber. He was kneeling beside them with his forehead to the floor, talking from the side of his mouth and desperately trying to swipe at Eperitus’s shins with his staff.
‘Peace, Idaeus,’ Priam commanded in his own language, his strong, clear voice ringing from the walls. ‘Our guests can’t be blamed if Antenor failed to instruct them in our ways. Besides, they no doubt believe themselves my equal – I’ve heard there’s no respect amongst Greeks, only pride and insolence. Now, my sons and friends, raise yourselves and let us hear what these people have to say. Antenor, please be so kind as to visit me in my personal quarters after this is over.’
The king lowered himself into his throne, while Hector sat on the stool at the foot of the dais, resting his chin on his fist and glaring at the assembly. As the rest of the Trojans lifted themselves from the floor and retook their seats, a bard ran his fingers skilfully across his lyre and began to sing. The sound of his voice was soft and clear, though unintelligible to the Greeks, and as he sang a crowd of slaves appeared with platters of food and cups of wine to replace those that had already been consumed. Priam rose again to pour the first libation to the gods, then lifted the shining golden goblet to his lips and took a mouthful.
‘That’s good!’ he said with a smack of his lips. ‘Idaeus, tell our friends to tuck in. If they’re here to talk, they might as well do it on full stomachs.’
‘King Priam says you should eat,’ Idaeus informed the Greeks curtly.
Odysseus, seeing the eyes of every Trojan upon them, stood and poured his own libation, before taking a large gulp of wine and following it with a handful of goats’ meat. Immediately the rest of the room began drinking and eating, and soon the smoky air was filled with the sound of voices and feasting.
Menelaus, however, continued to refuse all food and drink. As the cacophony continued – and Priam showed no sign of asking the names and lineage of his guests or the purpose of their visit – the Spartan king’s impatience grew. Eventually, annoyed by what he saw as Priam’s deliberate efforts to frustrate him, he slammed his great fist down on the table and stood up.
‘You!’ he said, pointing at Idaeus as the noise fell away and all eyes turned on him. ‘Tell your king that the time for feasting is over. If he won’t ask our names, as polite custom requires, then I’ll give them to him: I am King Menelaus of Sparta, son of Atreus. This is King Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes. Our two companions are Palamedes and Eperitus. We have sailed for many days on a mission of vital importance to both our peoples – as, no doubt, you are fully aware – yet since our arrival, Priam has treated us with nothing less than contempt. Are we dogs, that we should be kept outside the citadel walls until the king has finished toying with his women? Or are we kings, to be treated with the respect that our rank commands? However he regards us is immaterial to me, but I warn him to listen to what I have to say, or the whole of Ilium will have to face the consequences.’
Idaeus took a moment to comprehend what Menelaus had told him, then turned and translated it to his king. An angry murmur broke out from the gathered nobles, but was silenced by a barked command from Hector.
‘Tell King Menelaus we are fully aware of who he and his companions are,’ the prince replied in a gravelly voice, leaning on his knees and staring directly at the Spartan. ‘And that, since Anchises and Antenor were sent to request the return of my father’s sister, Hesione, and were almost murdered for their efforts, we do not feel inclined to be lectured on matters of hospitality by Greeks. However, we respect the code of xenia and will gladly listen to the purpose of his mission, if he will share it with us.’
‘Menelaus!’ Odysseus hissed as they listened to Idaeus’s translation. ‘Curb your temper, man. Do you want Helen back or not?’
Menelaus glowered at his comrade, but took a deep breath and turned once more to face the royal dais.
‘Very well, then, we can dispense with the formalities. If Hector wants to pretend he doesn’t know the purpose of our visit, that’s up to him. But as this matter concerns his brother, I demand that Paris is brought before this council so that all the facts can be heard and properly debated.’
Menelaus watched as Priam and Hector exchanged looks and hushed words. It was Priam, this time, who answered.
‘Paris is not here,’ he said, a look of concern in his eyes. ‘I sent him to Greece to bargain for the return of Hesione, hoping my own son would succeed where all previous envoys have failed. Surely you’ve seen him?’
‘That’s a damned lie!’ Menelaus shouted. ‘I know he’s here, and my wife’s here with him!’
He gave a cry of rage and seized the edge of the table before him, tipping it over so that its contents spilled across the stone floor. The younger Trojans on either side sprang to their feet and made towards him, but were stopped by another bellowing command from Hector. Odysseus and Eperitus were up in an instant and had to use all their strength to drag Menelaus back to his chair.
‘Eperitus,’ Odysseus whispered, c
atching his friend’s eye and nodding towards the cup on Palamedes’s table. ‘Do it now. He’s been drinking like a horse all afternoon – building up his courage, I expect. If you’re quick, he won’t even notice.’
Menelaus flopped back onto his chair and sank his face into his hands. Odysseus immediately left him and took two steps towards the hearth, so that all eyes were focused on his squat, triangular form.
‘My friends,’ he said, holding up his hands and looking around at the assembly, their faces glowing angrily in the light from the fire. Idaeus translated from behind his left shoulder. ‘Honourable Trojans, I beg you to forgive my long-suffering comrade. If you knew what this man has been through these past few weeks, you’d understand his torment and look on him with pity, not the fury I see in your eyes now.’
Odysseus continued to stare from face to face, giving his words time to sink in and waiting for the angry murmurs of the Trojans to subside. Behind him, Eperitus pulled the small vial of powder from his pouch and held it in the palm of his hand, his eyes switching from Palamedes to Odysseus and back again.
‘What’s this all about, Odysseus?’ Hector said, unable to tolerate the silence any longer. ‘What does Menelaus want with my brother? Didn’t Paris visit him in Sparta? He had intended to go there first.’
‘My lord Hector, things haven’t started well between us. There’s been too much distrust on both sides, but if our peoples are to be saved from a great tragedy then we must agree to be open and honest with one another. Do you give me your word, as a warrior and a man of honour, that Paris is not in Troy, and that you haven’t seen him since he left for Greece?’
‘My brother hasn’t been seen or heard of for weeks, and may Zeus strike me down if I lie. Now tell me what you know of him, Odysseus.’
‘Is he dead?’ Priam interrupted, leaning forward slightly and curling his fingers anxiously over the armrest of his throne.
‘He lives, as far as I know, my lord,’ Odysseus answered, ‘unless the gods have avenged the dishonour he brought on your house. Because Paris did visit Sparta, and the last anybody saw of him he was fleeing the city with Menelaus’s wife as his captive.’
