The Gates Of Troy

by Iliffe, Glyn

  Agamemnon’s icy blue eyes met the warm green of Odysseus’s, trying to penetrate the thoughts behind them. After a few moments his severe expression melted away and he returned Odysseus’s smile.

  ‘The storms are as strong as ever, my friend; the reason I’ve left the army is to make sure Iphigenia is taken to Aulis as soon as possible. For one thing, I didn’t encourage the right sense of urgency when I sent you here. For another – and more importantly – you haven’t had the benefit of Calchas’s insight into Clytaemnestra’s thoughts.’ He turned to the priest. ‘Why don’t you explain what you know to Odysseus?’

  Calchas pulled back the hood of his black travelling cloak to reveal his bald pate and pallid, skull-like face. His eyes maintained a constant twitching and his tongue flicked over his bottom lip and teeth as he looked about at the men, considering their faces closely as if scrutinizing their very thoughts. Clytaemnestra, he informed them, had no intention of going ahead with the wedding. Her agreement was a facade, covering her real intention to find a means of escape. The ancient gods she worshipped had suggested to her that Agamemnon had a different purpose in sending for their daughter – a purpose that the queen had no intention of conceding to. Odysseus gave Agamemnon a questioning look at the mention of this, but the king ignored him and focused on the priest. Apollo, Calchas continued, had revealed the queen’s intentions to him in a dream a few nights before, which he had shared at once with Agamemnon.

  ‘Which is why I’m here now,’ the King of Men added. ‘It is imperative Iphigenia comes back to Aulis immediately – everything depends on it. I’ve already ordered fresh horses and provisions for the return journey; we head back tomorrow morning.’

  ‘But why the urgency?’ Odysseus asked, his eyes narrowing inquisitively.

  Agamemnon raised an eyebrow. ‘You’ll find out in time, my friend.’

  At that moment, Clytaemnestra appeared and crossed the courtyard to join them. She stood between Odysseus and Eperitus – giving the latter a strong sense of discomfort in front of Agamemnon and the knowing gaze of Calchas – and placed her fists on her hips.

  ‘Your arrival is unexpected, husband.’

  ‘I thought it might provide you with a pleasant surprise,’ he responded, stepping towards her and placing his hand on her waist. He pulled her towards him and kissed her hard on the lips.

  Clytaemnestra turned her face away and her husband released his grip on her.

  ‘Didn’t trust me to release Iphigenia into your clutches is more like it,’ she hissed, not trying to hide her contempt.

  ‘Calchas here had an inkling of your reluctance, so I thought my presence might encourage you,’ Agamemnon answered.

  Clytaemnestra looked at the priest, who threw his cloak back across his shoulders to reveal the white robes beneath. ‘An Apollonian?’ she sneered. ‘I should have known one of your kind was at the heart of this.’

  Calchas’s eyes narrowed and his twitching stopped as he focused his disdain on the tall woman in black. ‘Apollo lays bare many things. It is more profitable to follow an Olympian than one of the fallen gods you worship. The rule of Gaea and Hecate is fading from the world; you should recognize that and leave your witchcraft behind.’

  ‘You dare to call me a witch in front of my husband?’

  ‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ Agamemnon said, and Calchas grinned victoriously. ‘Now, I’m going to the great hall. Have food prepared for me and my men, and send Orestes to me. Odysseus, join me when you’re ready. I want to talk with you.’

  ‘And Iphigenia?’ Clytaemnestra asked as her husband brushed past her, followed by Calchas and Talthybius.

  ‘The girl can do as she pleases,’ he said, turning on the steps to the great hall. ‘Just make sure she is prepared to leave first thing tomorrow.’

  Clytaemnestra watched him disappear through the high doors before turning to Eperitus. She looked at him with sombre, pleading eyes, then marched off into the palace to carry out her husband’s orders.

  ‘It can never come to anything, you know,’ Odysseus commented as the courtyard rapidly emptied, leaving him and Eperitus alone except for a pair of guards by the great hall.

  ‘What can’t?’

  ‘You and Clytaemnestra. No, don’t act surprised. Your bed wasn’t slept in last night and I’d already sent Eurylochus to look for you in the gardens before you appeared. I know there’s a concealed entrance from the royal quarters, so it isn’t difficult to deduce where you slept last night.’

  Eperitus turned away and looked at the plain below the city, which was a lush green after the rains. He was surprised at the speed with which his friend had found him out, and did not know how to reply. Then Odysseus seized him by the shoulders and turned him around, staring fiercely into his eyes.

  ‘You’re a damned fool, Eperitus! Zeus’s beard, don’t you realize Agamemnon will have both of you killed if he finds out about this? Next time you want a woman for the night, find yourself a slave – not a bloody queen!’

  Eperitus knocked Odysseus’s hands from his shoulders and glared back at him. ‘Don’t forget I nearly died at Sparta because of your passion for a princess!’

  Odysseus’s eyes darkened for a moment and his giant fists were clenched tightly as he stared at the captain of his guard. Then the anger drained away as quickly as it had risen and he shook his head, breaking eye contact.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and with a sudden laugh slapped Eperitus on the arm. ‘How could I forget? But I married that princess: I hope you’re not intending to do the same with Clytaemnestra?’

  ‘Clytaemnestra’s already married, unless you hadn’t noticed,’ Eperitus replied lightly. ‘Though she did ask me to help her escape from Mycenae. She said Iphigenia is in danger.’

  ‘I believe she is,’ Odysseus sighed. ‘You and I both know Agamemnon’s losing his sanity over this war, and with Calchas muttering visions and prophecies in his ear who knows what he might be persuaded to do? But Clytaemnestra has her own insight into things, too, and if she doesn’t want her husband to take Iphigenia then she must have good reason. Are you going to help her, Eperitus?’

  ‘No. My place is with you.’

  ‘I’m glad to hear it, for both our sakes. But you must remain wary. She’s a desperate woman and she’ll try to persuade you to help her, especially if she thinks she has an emotional hold over you. Don’t let her, though – it can never work, and she might just pull you down with her.’

  Eperitus lay on the straw mattress looking at the chink of silver moonlight beneath the door. The snores of the other Ithacan soldiers told him that they, unlike he, had not had difficulty sleeping. It had been a busy day after the arrival of Agamemnon, with the palace a hive of activity hurriedly finishing the wedding preparations in time for the departure early the next morning. To escape the commotion, Odysseus and Eperitus had spent the day outside the city walls, drilling the men and honing their weapons skills. But, although he felt physically tired, Eperitus’s mind would not allow him the boon of sleep.

  Since the evening meal he had been turning over in his mind the reasons for Agamemnon’s untimely arrival. All day he had been expecting the Lion Gate to burst open and an armed guard to come out and arrest him. But none came, and he assumed Agamemnon had not guessed at his wife’s infidelity. His thoughts were more concerned, though, with the fate of Iphigenia. Despite his general disregard for children, Eperitus had come to like Clytaemnestra’s daughter in their few days together and he found himself pitying her. He had not seen the child or her mother all day, but from Agamemnon’s talk at the evening feast it seemed she had still not been informed of the marriage to Achilles, or even that she was to leave for Aulis in the morning with her father, while Clytaemnestra remained at Mycenae.

  At the thought of Clytaemnestra, Eperitus felt a sudden desire to leave the guest house and go out into the moonlight. Perhaps some time spent in the quiet gardens while the palace slept would clear his mind, he thought, so he pulled his blanket asi
de and put on his sandals. He unrolled the cloak he had been using as a pillow and threw it over his shoulders, then moved silently to the door and slipped out to the courtyard. A single guard stood beneath the threshold of the great hall, where Agamemnon’s escort slept, but he paid scant attention to Eperitus as he crossed to the doorway that led down to the gardens. Moments later a second figure emerged from the guest house and slipped into the shadows by the wall, following Eperitus at a short distance as he descended the steps to the wide lawn below. Eperitus sensed a presence and glanced back over his shoulder, but could see nothing other than the dense bushes rippling with the night breeze. Already on edge after the unexpected arrival of Agamemnon, he assumed his sharp instincts were being further befuddled by the lack of sleep.

  ‘I’ve been waiting for you,’ said a female voice behind him.

  Eperitus turned to see Clytaemnestra sitting on the bench by the pond. He crossed the grass and sat next to her. The features of her pale face were lost beneath the shadow of her hood, but he caught the glimmer of her damp eyes as she looked at him.

  ‘How could you be waiting for me?’ he began.

  ‘I willed you to come,’ she said, taking his rough hand in her soft fingers. ‘Once I make a strong connection with someone I can put images and desires into their mind. It’s a gift of the ancient gods; I can do it with Helen and Iphigenia, and I can do it with you.’

  Eperitus raised his hand and tipped the hood back from her face. Her eyes were dark-rimmed and her cheeks stained with tears.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  Clytaemnestra leaned across and placed her mouth against his. Though her hands were cold, her lips were almost hot. He put his hand behind her head and held her face gently to his as they kissed.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked again, pulling away just enough to speak. ‘Is it Iphigenia?’

  ‘You know it is,’ she responded, kissing him once more before lowering her gaze to the pond, where the wavering reflection of the moon looked back at her. ‘Agamemnon has no intention of marrying her to Achilles. It’s just a lie to get her to Aulis.’

  ‘But why? To ensure your loyalty while he’s at Troy?’

  ‘Nothing quite so simple,’ Clytaemnestra told him bitterly. ‘It was the white hart, the creature you helped him to hunt through the woods at Aulis. That was no ordinary animal: it belonged to Artemis and that made it sacred. As soon as Agamemnon’s arrow found its mark the expedition to Troy was doomed, and boasting that Artemis herself could not have fired a better shot only made matters worse. In her anger the goddess sent the storms to bottle up the fleet, and until Agamemnon pays the price she demands then not one ship will be able to leave the Euboean Straits for Troy.’

  ‘Artemis wants Iphigenia’s life in payment for the white hart,’ Eperitus said quietly, suddenly comprehending. He looked up at the moon, the symbol of the goddess’s cold nature, and felt despair creep into his heart. The thought of Iphigenia being brought to harm seemed intolerable. ‘Is there no other way?’

  Clytaemnestra gave a bitter laugh. ‘None of the Olympians are more cruel or vengeful than Artemis. She and Apollo shot down the children of Niobe simply because the poor woman insulted their mother. When Actaeon caught her bathing, she turned him into a stag and he was torn apart by his own hounds. Even Callisto, her friend, she turned into a bear and shot dead, all because Zeus raped her. No, Eperitus, the goddess wants payment in kind, like for like: Iphigenia for the sacred hart. Only my daughter’s innocent blood will satisfy Artemis, and unless Agamemnon is prepared to carry out the sacrifice then he’ll not get his war.’

  ‘But surely Agamemnon will come to his senses and give up his ambitions?’

  Clytaemnestra stood and looked up at the moon, which seemed distended to unnatural proportions as it hovered menacingly above the hilltops, its curious scars and pockmarks etched out in cold grey.

  ‘Part of me hopes that he will look on Iphigenia and his heart of stone will melt,’ she said. ‘But that is just a fool’s hope, because I know Agamemnon is as unyielding and pitiless as Artemis herself. And I can blame myself for that. I hated him because he murdered my first husband and our baby, tearing the infant from my breast as he suckled and butchering him before my eyes. I never forgave him for that and over the years I have denied him the love he craves, slowly turning him from a monster of passion into a monster without any feelings at all. If he has any desire now it is for power only, and his lust for war with Troy has turned his mind from its natural course. I believe he will do anything to achieve his ambitions, Eperitus,’ she said, turning to stare into her lover’s eyes. ‘Even murder his own child.’

  ‘Then you must leave at once,’ Eperitus said, placing his hands on her shoulders. ‘My heart wants this war, but I wouldn’t have it at such a cost. Go and fetch Iphigenia now and leave Mycenae by one of its side gates.’

  ‘And go where?’ Clytaemnestra retorted. ‘What chance would a woman and a child have out in the wilds, homeless and alone, hunted by the most powerful man in Greece? We’d be caught before the sun had set. No, Eperitus, if I’m to take Iphigenia and flee I only have one hope. You!’

  Eperitus looked at the woman who only the night before had become his lover for the second time. He remembered the taste of her mouth against his and the soft and skilful touch of her hands on his body; he recalled her tenderness as they made love, and the realization that she had never given herself in such a way to Agamemnon. But if he fled with Clytaemnestra and Iphigenia, it would be to abandon his oath of service to Odysseus and lose the greatest friendship he had ever known. He would sacrifice all he had fought so hard to gain for a woman he did not love and a girl he hardly knew, to spend the rest of his life like a hunted beast, running from one hiding place to another. For all his fondness towards Iphigenia and his horror at Agamemnon’s intentions, Clytaemnestra was asking too much of him.

  ‘I can’t help you,’ he said, stepping away from her and looking down. ‘My duty is to Odysseus. I can’t break my oath to him.’

  ‘You warriors and your damned oaths,’ Clytaemnestra spat, her eyes flashing with anger. Then she placed her hands either side of his head and pulled him into a kiss. ‘But you are going to help me, Eperitus, one way or another. If nothing else, we are lovers and I want you to make me a promise on your oath.’

  ‘What promise?’

  ‘I’m going to try to escape tonight, but if I fail and Agamemnon kills Iphigenia . . .’ Clytaemnestra paused and took a deep breath. ‘If Agamemnon murders my daughter I want your word that you will protect him until he returns from Troy.’

  ‘Protect him?’ Eperitus exclaimed. ‘I could understand if you wanted me to kill him, but . . .’

  ‘I intend to have that pleasure for myself,’ Clytaemnestra said, her eyes as cold as ice in the moonlight.

  Eperitus could see she meant what she said. ‘If that’s what you really want, then I give you my word I’ll protect him.’

  ‘No, Eperitus!’ Clytaemnestra said firmly. ‘That’s not good enough. I want you to swear it before Zeus, the Sun, the Earth and the Avenging Furies. Say it.’

  There was power in the queen’s voice as she spoke, a power that reflected the hatred beneath. In that moment, Eperitus sensed the similarity between Clytaemnestra and Agamemnon: both were unshakeably ruthless and cold at heart, and if resolved on something would not let anything stand between them and their desires. Whether they had always been like that or had grown severe and cold over the years together, Eperitus was unable to tell, but he had no more chance of denying Clytaemnestra’s will than he would an order from the King of Men himself.

  ‘Have it your way, Clytaemnestra,’ he said. ‘If Agamemnon murders Iphigenia, then I promise to protect his life to the best of my ability until he returns from Troy. I call upon Zeus, the Sun, the Earth and the Avenging Furies to witness my oath. Now are you satisfied?’

  ‘I am,’ she said, reaching out and taking his hand. ‘Don’t think badly of me, Eperitus, for I
had to extract this promise from you. Without it I could not say what I’ve been longing to tell you since I first set eyes on you in the great hall.’

  Eperitus felt suddenly tense. He thought of Calchas’s words to him in Priam’s throne room and realized with a cold shiver that Clytaemnestra was the one the priest had told him to seek.

  ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  Clytaemnestra stepped closer and rested her head on his chest. ‘I said I would try to escape, Eperitus, and that I wanted you to help me. I expected you to refuse me at first, of course – you are bound by honour and friendship to serve Odysseus, and I knew you would not betray him for my sake. But I also knew you would never allow Iphigenia to come to harm, if you knew the truth about her.’

  ‘The truth?’ Eperitus asked. ‘What truth?’

  ‘That Iphigenia is your daughter, Eperitus.’

  Chapter Twenty-five

  AT THE LION GATE

  Eperitus seized Clytaemnestra’s shoulders and stared at her in disbelief.

  ‘Iphigenia’s not my daughter,’ he said, shaking his head and frowning. ‘That’s a lie to make me help you escape. Odysseus said you were desperate, but I never thought you’d stoop to this.’

  ‘Stop being a fool, Eperitus, and use your head. We made love ten years ago and Iphigenia was born nine months later. I hadn’t slept with Agamemnon for weeks when I realized I was pregnant, though I allowed him to take me as soon as I knew – I didn’t want him to discover my infidelity. But even if your head is too obstinate to believe it, then search your heart and you’ll know.’

  He sat on the bench and stared hard at the dark surface of the pond, trying desperately to comprehend what Clytaemnestra’s news meant. Despite his words of denial, he knew she was not lying to him: Iphigenia was the right age to be the product of their lovemaking in the Taygetus Mountains, and he believed Clytaemnestra when she said she had not slept with Agamemnon for weeks before becoming pregnant. More convincing, though, was the sense of familiarity he had felt about Iphigenia from the moment he had first seen the girl. He now realized that he had recognized something of himself in her features and even her character. Though her mannerisms were echoes of Clytaemnestra and Agamemnon, her determination and childish sense of honour were his.