by Glyn Iliffe
There was a pause during which the nearby sounds of shouting, laughter and the crackle of flames were carried to them on the breeze. Then the skinny man with the red-rimmed eyes slid his sword back into its scabbard and turned away.
‘The girl’s all yours, Eurylochus,’ he grunted as he shouldered past him.
‘Yeah, enjoy her,’ said the man holding the priestess, pushing her towards Eurylochus and turning to follow the first man.
Eurylochus grabbed the girl by the elbow and pulled her to his side.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked, as the other two sheathed their swords and backed away. ‘What are you afraid of? He’s one man against five. Didn’t you seeing him holding back from the battle?’
‘There’s a difference between cowardice and refusing to march into a trap, Eurylochus,’ Eperitus said. All four of Eurylochus’s cronies had departed now, leaving him alone with the girl – no longer struggling – at his side. ‘And I’m sure you know a real coward when you see one. So what’s your choice? Shall I draw my sword?’
Eurylochus glowered at Eperitus, then slammed his sword into its scabbard and marched off in the wake of the others. The priestess watched him go, then turned to Eperitus.
‘And what do you intend to do with me?’ she asked in heavily accented Greek. ‘Rape me and cast me aside, as your countrymen would have done? Or take me as your captive, to be raped whenever you wish?’
‘Neither,’ Eperitus replied, meeting her hostile but enthralling gaze. ‘I’m not interested in captives or playthings. You’re free to go as you wish.’
Afraid to keep his eyes on her lest he should have a change of heart, he turned and walked back to the temple portico. As he picked up his shield and hoisted it on to his shoulder, he heard her naked feet padding along in his wake.
‘Go?’ she said. ‘Go where? To be found by more Greek soldiers and raped? No, my lord, I’d rather take my chances with you. At least you seem to be a man of honour, which is rare among the enemies of Troy.’
He turned to find her standing directly behind him.
‘A man of honour?’ he said, raising an eyebrow. ‘Can such a thing still exist in this war, on either side? But whether I am what you think or not, I can’t take you with me. I have to find my king.’
‘You must take me with you,’ she insisted, reaching out and seizing his hand. ‘My lord Eperitus – that’s what the fat one called you, isn’t it? – forgive me if I failed to thank you for saving me, but you can’t just turn your back on me now and leave me to the next group of common soldiers who come along. Take me as your slave. I promise to serve you well, even if you are a Greek.’
As if to emphasize the point, she knelt before him and threw her arms around his legs, resting her head against his thighs. Eperitus reached down and, taking her by the elbow, raised her to her feet. Though the features of her face were still edged with anger, the hostility had left them and as he looked into her eyes he realized she was as beautiful as any woman he had seen in many years. At that moment, shouts erupted from a side street and two men came rushing into the open space before the temple. One was old with snow-white hair and short, spindly legs that seemed too exhausted to carry him any further; the other was a youth of little more than sixteen, whose thin brown arms were desperately trying to help the older man. Neither wore armour nor carried any weapons, and at the sight of Eperitus in the portico of the temple towards which they were heading they stopped and seemed to quail with fear.
Then a group of a dozen warriors came rushing out of the side street after them, brandishing swords and spears. One carried a bow, to which an arrow was already fitted. As he saw the two men he drew the string back to his right ear and released the arrow, sending the younger of the two spinning to the ground. While the older man turned to his dead companion, Eperitus pulled the girl back into the cool darkness of the temple.
‘What are you doing?’ she protested. ‘Save him!’
‘Shut up and come with me,’ Eperitus commanded, taking her by the arm and dragging her deeper into the gloom. ‘Is there a back way out of this cursed place?’
‘But those are Greek soldiers. Can’t you intervene to save the old man’s life?’
‘They’re Myrmidons and they’re already drunk with killing. One sight of you and they won’t care whether I’m a Trojan or a Greek – they’ll kill me just so they can have their way with you. Now, if you really want me to help you, then tell me how to get out of here.’
‘There’ll be a side door somewhere. Behind a curtain, I think.’
‘You think? But you’re the priestess here – shouldn’t you know?’
A sudden scream announced the demise of the old man. Eperitus looked to the doorway, where he could hear the voices of the Myrmidons in the street beyond.
‘They’re going to come in here looking for something to steal,’ the girl said, her voice rising with panic. ‘Come on. There’s the curtain over there.’
‘And where does it lead?’ Eperitus asked, tightening his grip on her arm and eyeing her suspiciously as she tried to pull away.
‘To an antechamber. There’ll be another door leading out on to the side street that runs beside the temple. We must be quick.’
‘No,’ Eperitus replied, looking at the girl. Her eyes were pale and wide in the darkness where they stood by the altar stone, but as he heard the voices of the Myrmidons approaching he refused to move towards the curtain the girl was gesturing at or loosen his grip on her arm. ‘We’re going nowhere until you tell me who you are.’
‘I’m the priestess of—’
‘The priestess of this temple would have known immediately where the side door was. Who are you?’
The girl struggled against the strength of his fingers for a moment, then heard the metallic slither of a sword being drawn from its scabbard and saw the squat silhouette of a man in the doorway of the temple.
‘All right, I’m not the priestess here,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t even come from Lyrnessus. Now, can we leave before his eyes adjust to the darkness?’
But Eperitus was already pulling her across to the corner of the temple, whisking aside the heavy curtain and fumbling with the door. Fortunately, the room beyond was also in darkness and no sudden splash of light betrayed their presence to the soldiers who were cautiously advancing into the temple behind them. They crushed through the narrow doorway together, Eperitus awkwardly conscious of her soft, warm body pressed close to his, then he turned and closed the door silently behind him. Quickly scanning the tiny antechamber, which was lit only by a thin line of daylight coming from beneath a door on the opposite side of the room, he could see it was empty but for a straw mattress and some dishevelled blankets.
The girl looked around the room in disgust. ‘To be honest, I’m glad I’m not the priestess of this hovel.’
Eperitus dropped his hand to her wrist and led her to the opposite door. Already there were sounds of destruction coming from the temple behind them and it would not be long before the concealed antechamber was discovered. He threw open the door and together they stepped quickly out into the comparative brightness of the shady side street.
‘What’s the quickest, least conspicuous way to the north gate?’ he asked. ‘Assuming you know that much.’
She pulled her wrist free of his grip and took his hand in hers. ‘This way.’
Chapter Five
IN THE RUINS OF LYRNESSUS
‘So who are you?’ Eperitus asked the girl again as they walked through the shadowy alleys and rutted thoroughfares of Lyrnessus.
All around them were the sounds of pillage and burning, disrupted from time to time by the dying shouts of murdered men or the terrified screams of women in peril. The roar of flames was everywhere and a thick plume of smoke shrouded the city, filling their nostrils with its savoury reek. More and more bodies lay scattered around the streets – some still in armour, others stripped naked or left in their woollen tunics – and every now and then they would be force
d to sink into the shelter of a doorway or slip down passageways between the ramshackle houses as they saw gangs of rampaging Greeks ahead of them.
‘My name is Astynome. I am the only child of Chryses, priest of Apollo on the island of Chryse.’
‘Why did you say you were a priestess?’
Astynome gave a bitter laugh. ‘Because I thought your countrymen might show some respect for the gods and leave me alone. I should have realized the Greeks have no reverence for the immortals.’
‘Then you’re not a priestess at all?
‘No,’ she answered, and with a backward glance added: ‘Or a virgin.’
Eperitus looked away, though he did not know why her admission had embarrassed him. He was not surprised: there was something worldly about Astynome that had seen suffering and knew how to fight – the grazes on her limbs and the blood on her lips showed that. He wondered whether she had a husband, but guessed that a married woman would not be alone in a besieged city.
‘I came to Lyrnessus to celebrate the annual festival of Artemis,’ she continued, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Then Aeneas and Sarpedon arrived with their brave Dardanians and Lycians behind them, saying Greek ships were sailing towards the shore and bringing an army to lay siege to the city. Those who were able took what they could and fled to Adramyttium or Thebe.’
‘But you stayed.’
‘I trusted in the men who had come to defend the city,’ Astynome retorted, a touch of angry pride igniting her pupils. ‘At home they say a single Trojan is worth ten Greeks and I believe them. A man who fights for a just cause – defending his homeland – is more than a match for any invader, especially one from such a backward country as Greece.’
Eperitus smiled at her zeal.
‘Then your trust was misplaced,’ he said. ‘Did many others remain behind?’
‘A few – the city’s militia, the old, the sick and the foolhardy. The two your countrymen killed before the temple were a wine merchant and his son. He stayed on to make some money from the Dardanians and Lycians after their victory, and now he’s dead and the Greeks will be drinking his wine for free.’
Before long they reached a small square with a large, two-storeyed house to one side. A dozen bodies were scattered around, all of whom had been disturbed by looters. Though the square was now empty, they could hear the hubbub of many voices coming from nearby. As they crossed, stepping over the debris of corpses, discarded weapons and broken armour, Eperitus asked Astynome how it was she spoke Greek.
‘I learned it on Chryse,’ she explained, almost stumbling as she looked around in horror at the bodies, some of which were hideously dismembered. ‘From the merchants who used to call there.’
‘So you were happy to buy Greek goods, and yet you clearly hate Greeks.’
‘I did not hate them then. The hate came later.’
‘And will you hate me, Astynome, even though you’ve begged to be my captive? Will you slit my throat late some night as I lie in my tent, before you steal back to Troy?’
Astynome turned to face her new master. ‘You have my word I won’t try to kill you, my lord. You’re not like other Greeks. You remind me more of a Trojan than a Greek.’
He lifted his hand to cup her chin, feeling the distinct cleft with his thumb before raising his fingers to touch her bottom lip. She looked at him intently and for a moment he was tempted by her nearness. Then he let his hand fall to his side and turned away again.
‘That’s not a mistake you should make again, Astynome. I am a Greek, in heart and mind. But there’s one more thing I want to know if I’m to take you under my protection – can you cook? All my men bring me is grilled mackerel and tunny, or goat’s meat that’s too tough to chew.’
She smiled broadly, the first real smile he had seen on her pretty mouth. ‘Yes, I can cook. Even if you have no other use for me, you’ll value me for my food.’
They left the square and followed a line of crude dwellings to the city walls. The sound of voices increased and soon they were at the edge of a large space filled with Greek soldiers. At the far end was a low gateway. Unlike the gates that Achilles and his Myrmidons had stormed, there was no squat tower defending the northern entrance to Lyrnessus; instead, the eastern wall doubled back on itself and ran parallel with the western wall for a dozen paces, so that the gateway was positioned between the overlap in the battlements. Though not as well defended as the southern entrance, it did mean an assaulting force was exposed to attack on both sides. The gates were fully open now, and from where they stood in the shadows of a narrow alleyway Eperitus and Astynome could see the gentle plains and wooded hills beyond.
Unlike the bands of men roving the city, the soldiers by the northern gate were still disciplined and acting under orders, giving Eperitus the confidence to lead Astynome out from their hiding place. There had been a battle here but it had long since finished. Some of the victorious Greeks were on the walls, keeping watch, while others were standing fully armed and ready for the possibility of an unexpected counter-attack. The majority, though, had stripped off their armour and weapons and were busily removing the bodies of the dead and stacking them in long rows on either side of the open space before the gates. When Astynome saw the scores of Lycians and Dardanians who had died holding the gates – while their countrymen escaped the pursuing Greeks – she fell to her knees and covered her face as she sobbed quietly. Eperitus looked at the lines of young men who had fallen, many with missing limbs or mutilated faces. It was a sight he had become familiar with since the start of the war, so he was surprised to feel a sudden pang of guilt. Was that Astynome’s presence, or the realization these men were not so different from himself, and could even have been his own countrymen but for the exile of his grandfather?
Eperitus lifted Astynome to her feet and allowed her to rest her head against his shoulder, where her tears fell on to his breastplate and mingled with the spatters of dried blood. As her arms wound round him and he stroked her sea of dark hair – watched by the envious eyes of the men in the burial parties – he noticed a young woman leaning over the body of a man, laid out among his dead comrades beneath the shadow of the walls. Her shoulders shook with a slow, mournful sobbing, and despite her red eyes and tear-stained cheeks it was clear she had a powerful beauty. Other than Astynome, she was the only woman present.
‘Who’s she?’ he asked.
Astynome lifted her head and gazed across at the stricken woman. More tears came to her eyes and she shook her head pityingly.
‘It’s Briseis,’ she answered. ‘Daughter of Briseus the priest. And that’s her husband, Mynes, she’s weeping over, with his brother Epistrophus beside him. They were princes of Lyrnessus and proud men in life.’
‘And brave men in their deaths,’ added a soldier, stooping beside them and lifting a corpse on to his shoulders. The dead man’s arms hung limply down the soldier’s back as he turned to look at Eperitus and Astynome. ‘Those two were at the heart of the rearguard, refusing to surrender or admit defeat. But Achilles slew them both and now Briseis is his captive.’
‘Was it a hard fight?’ Eperitus asked.
The man nodded. ‘It was worse here than at the walls, a real bloodbath. That Sarpedon commanded the rearguard while Aeneas got the majority of the Dardanians and Lycians out through the gate. And they fought like Furies! If it hadn’t been for Achilles they might’ve held us to a stalemate. But we beat them in the end,’ he added, patting the corpse over his shoulder as he saw Astynome’s chin raise a little. ‘Sarpedon only escaped at the last moment, and Achilles, Patroclus and Diomedes have gone out in pursuit of him and the remainder of his men. He’ll be a rich prize if—’
‘What about Odysseus?’ Eperitus interrupted.
‘He was in the thick of it too, as usual, but Achilles asked him and Little Ajax to stay here and put down the last pockets of resistance. They were surrounding a group of militia not far from here, last I heard.’
The soldier pointed in the direction of
a column of smoke billowing up from behind a line of ramshackle dwellings to the west, then, with a final glance at the Trojan girl, turned and carried his burden towards the lines of dead.
‘Come on,’ Eperitus said, taking Astynome’s hand and heading towards the smoke.
The battle must indeed have been a brutal one, Eperitus thought as they weaved a path between the bodies of the fallen. The sun-baked, dusty earth was dark with innumerable bloodstains and here and there he could see small fragments of human remains: several hands; arms severed at the elbow; a sandalled foot; even a cleanly lopped ear lying in a wheel rut. As they passed the gates a wagon laden with bundles of wood squealed its way through the gates.
‘For the funeral pyre,’ Eperitus explained, seeing Astynome’s look of confusion. ‘We stopped burying the dead years ago – it took too much time and effort, and by the time we’d dug the pits the carrion birds had already taken the eyes and the softer parts.’
Astynome squeezed his hand tightly and he shut up. Before long they heard the crackle of fire and turned a corner to see a large, two-storeyed house surrounded by at least three score of warriors. Long orange flames flickered up from the windows and sent spirals of dark, ember-filled smoke up into the air. More smoke wafted out into the street, but Eperitus recognized Odys-seus’s squat, triangular form through the fine haze, with the colossal figure of Polites beside him. As he watched, two men appeared on the flat roof of the building. They were unarmed, but their scaled breastplates and plumed helmets marked them out as warriors. Both were waving their hands before their faces and choking on the smoke. They stumbled to the edge of the low wall that surrounded the roof and looked down at the Ithacans below. Odysseus shouted a command and a moment later there was a loud twang. One of the men staggered against the wall, clutching at the black shaft protruding from his groin, before slowly curling forward and plunging to the floor below. He landed with a dull thud and lay still. His comrade shook his fist blindly at the surrounding Greeks, then retreated into the consuming smoke.
