The Armour of Achilles

by Glyn Iliffe

  The following day Patroclus’s bones were sealed with fat in a large jar and a barrow was raised over the ashes of his pyre. Funeral games followed, with Achilles providing rich gifts for winners and runners-up alike. Diomedes won the hotly contested chariot race, while Odysseus competed against Little Ajax in a foot race that recalled their competition in Sparta twenty years earlier, when Odysseus had won the hand of Penelope by using his cunning against the Locrian’s greater speed. Once again Odysseus was victorious, despite being the slower man, though this time his ploy was to have Omeros spread fresh dung across the final stretch of the course, causing Little Ajax to slip and fall face down in the mess while Odysseus swerved around it and sprinted to victory. More competitions followed with ever more luxurious prizes and growing bitterness between the proud and stubborn competitors.

  When the wrestling match was announced Odysseus stood up at once, but when Great Ajax rose to challenge him Eperitus noticed a strange hesitation in Odysseus’s face. After the two men had stripped naked, they began a series of exercises to form a layer of sweat over their skin, making it harder for their opponent to get a grip. But as they knelt to dry the palms of their hands in the sand Eperitus saw the same doubtful look in Odysseus’s eye again, though it was more a guilty pause than a wavering of fear. Then they closed with a shout, throwing their arms about each other in a fierce embrace and trying for the first throw of the three required for victory. But both men were too seasoned and much too strong to give away such an easy advantage, and within moments their arms were locked about each other’s backs and their heads were thrust into their opponent’s shoulder, pressing ear to ear so that their senses must have been filled with the sound of their own grunting and the stink of fresh sweat. Each tried to wrong-foot the other and trip him, using the techniques and tricks they had been taught and had practised since childhood, but with little success. Then, as the cheering died down and the crowds began to lose their enthusiasm for the contest, Ajax’s superior strength prevailed and he lifted Odysseus from the ground.

  ‘I have you now,’ he groaned.

  But in the same instant, Odysseus kicked his heel back against the bend of Ajax’s knee and cut his legs from beneath him. The son of Telamon crashed into the sand with Odysseus on top of him, while all around them the crowds exploded back into life, leaping into the air and cheering.

  The two men were soon back on their feet with their arms tight about each other’s backs. Though their stamina was waning, Odysseus was filled with renewed confidence and tried to lift Ajax from his feet for another victory. He raised him a little, but Ajax’s pride had already been hurt and he was determined not to be thrown a second time. He resisted with all his might, and as Odysseus felt his strength give, he abandoned the lift and attempted a hasty knee-hook, bringing both men crashing side by side to the ground.

  Sensing the contest could carry on until sunset without conclusion, Achilles stepped forward and declared the match a draw, announcing that the prizes and the honour would be shared equally. The crowd applauded the decision with relief and Ajax offered Odysseus his hand. The Ithacan took it quickly and withdrew, leaving Ajax looking puzzled.

  ‘What is it?’ Eperitus had asked, handing Odysseus his tunic and cloak.

  ‘What’s what?’ Odysseus replied, refusing to meet his captain’s eye as he walked past him.

  Last of all was the competition for the furthest spear cast, but when Agamemnon offered to compete, Achilles pronounced that the King of Men was clearly the best spearman of all the competitors and awarded him the prize without a missile being thrown. This act of flattery towards Agamemnon, and the Myce-naean’s equally sycophantic acceptance of it, disgusted Eperitus almost as much as any of the other shameful events connected with the funeral of Patroclus. It was as if the feud that had cost the lives of thousands of men had never happened, as if their deaths were but an unfortunate chapter in the breaking and mending of the relationship between the greatest of the Greeks.

  But if Achilles’s animosity towards Agamemnon had been laid to rest, his hatred of Hector had not. The morning after the funeral games, he rose at first light and went out to Patroclus’s barrow, where Hector’s corpse had been left unburied in the dust for the carrion beasts to have their way with it. When he found the Trojan prince’s body untouched and his wounds miraculously closed up, Achilles flew into a fury and hacked at it with his sword, before tying it to the back of his chariot and dragging it three times around the broad mound where Patroclus was entombed. It was a sacrilege that he had repeated every morning since, and every night the gods closed the new wounds and left Hector’s body lying as if in a deep sleep.

  Omeros’s song ended with a flourish on the strings of his lyre. A moment later the flap of canvas over the hut door was pulled aside and Arceisius entered, followed by the vast bulk of Polites, who had to stoop to fit through the low entrance.

  ‘You sent for us, my lord?’ Arceisius asked.

  ‘Come in and sit down,’ Odysseus said, indicating the two empty chairs.

  They lowered themselves into the seats, wondering why they had been summoned to the king’s hut and looking uncertain of themselves. Odysseus sensed their discomfort and gave them a reassuring smile.

  ‘Relax, both of you. I don’t often ask you here, but that’s going to change from now on.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ Arceisius said, taking the krater of wine that the slave was holding before him and leaning forward to pour a libation into the flames.

  He shot a questioning glance at Eperitus, who looked away and raised his wine to his lips to disguise the smile that had appeared there.

  ‘My commanders often come here to discuss tactics and other matters, so you might as well get used to the place,’ Odysseus explained with a grin. Then, seeing the look of confusion on their faces, he opened his hands out wide and shook his head in disbelief. ‘I’m promoting you both. Since Pelagon and Tychius were killed in the fighting, two of my companies have been without commanders – I want you to take their places. I would have said something before now, but I didn’t want you walking around with broad grins while everyone’s still supposed to be grieving for the dead. Anyway, the official mourning period ended today, so I’m giving you charge of Pelagon’s two ships, Arceisius, and all the men in them; Polites, you’ll have Tychius’s.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ Arceisius said, standing and bowing.

  Polites, still looking confused, followed suit.

  ‘To Polites and Arceisius,’ Eurybates said, standing and raising his cup. ‘May their service be long and glorious.’

  The others stood, poured fresh libations to the gods and drank to the new commanders. Eperitus caught Arceisius’s eye and nodded, proud that the shepherd boy whom he had made his squire so many years before was now a captain in his own right.

  ‘Time you chose a squire of your own now,’ he said, smiling. ‘It’s a commander’s privilege.’

  As Arceisius opened his mouth to speak, the canvas flap was pulled aside and a guard ducked inside.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, addressing Eperitus. ‘There’s a man outside who wants to see you.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘A farmer, sir. One of the men who brings fodder for the animals.’

  ‘What would he want with me?’ Eperitus frowned. ‘Tell him I’m busy.’

  ‘I already did, but he says it’s urgent. He said to tell you it’s about the girl in the temple of Artemis, whatever that means.’

  Astynome! Eperitus thought. He glanced at Odysseus, who looked back with concern but nodded his consent. Eperitus retrieved his cloak from the table by the entrance and threw it about his shoulders, then followed the guard out into the night air. The sky above was cloudless and pricked with stars, though their lustre was dimmed by the light of the moon as it hung low in the east. A skinny man with a wide-brimmed hat was standing close to the entrance, tugging anxiously at his pointed grey beard and muttering to himself.

  ‘What d
o you want?’ Eperitus asked sternly, though his heart was beating rapidly at the thought the man might have brought word from Astynome.

  ‘I have something for you, my lord,’ the farmer answered in thickly accented Greek.

  ‘What is it? A message?’

  ‘It’s in the back of my cart, sir,’ he replied, lowering his voice and looking nervously at the guard. ‘You’ll have to come with me.’

  Eperitus narrowed his eyes suspiciously, but nodded his consent. The man set off at a quick pace between the tents and fires of the Ithacans, until he reached one of the main thoroughfares that ran through the Greek camp. An old cart sat at a camber by the side of the broad path, with a sore-covered and fly-infested mule yoked before it. A small, bored-looking boy sat on the bench dangling a long stick over the animal’s back. He sat up as the farmer and Eperitus approached and eyed them in silence.

  ‘In here,’ the farmer said, leading Eperitus around to the large heap of hay on the back of the cart.

  He looked furtively about himself, then thrust his arms into the hay and began pushing great heaps of it over the side. A blanket appeared with something beneath it, and then the something moved. Eperitus stepped back in alarm, gripping the hilt of his sword. At that moment the blanket was thrown aside and a girl sat up, blinking in the moonlight. Her tousled hair was threaded with hay, but her lovely face and dark eyes were as beautiful as the first time Eperitus had seen her.

  ‘Astynome!’

  ‘Eperitus!’ she replied, smiling with joy and an instant later bursting into tears.

  He rushed forward and lifted her out of the cart. Her arms slipped round his neck and she kissed him, filling his senses with the feel of her soft lips and the smell of perfume in her hair.

  ‘Praise the gods you’re still alive,’ she said, kissing him on his bearded cheeks and running her fingers through his long hair. ‘With all the fighting I feared the worst might have happened to you.’

  ‘It takes more than an army of your countrymen to kill me,’ he said smiling. ‘And I’ve no intention of dying yet, not when I have you to live for. But what are you doing here? If Agamemnon were to find out . . .’

  ‘Never mind Agamemnon, I had to know you were still alive. And there’s something else. I need your help.’

  ‘So this is what’s keeping you so long.’

  They turned to see Odysseus emerging from between two of the tents at the side of the path.

  ‘I saw the lad keeping watch, so decided to come round the back,’ he added in explanation for why he had not come along the path.

  ‘My lord Odysseus,’ Astynome said, bowing low before him.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to see you again, Astynome,’ he replied with a smile. ‘How did you get past the gates?’

  Astynome picked up the blanket and shrugged at the simplicity of the ruse.

  ‘I see,’ Odysseus said, peering in to the back of the cart and stroking his beard thoughtfully. ‘Very clever indeed. But it’s not safe for you out here – if Agamemnon should find out . . . well, you understand. Why don’t you come to my hut?’

  ‘I’d rather not trouble you, my lord,’ the girl said. ‘I just wanted to see that Eperitus was alive.’

  ‘Yes, I overheard. And something else about needing his help.’ He leaned back against the cart and gave her a searching look.

  ‘Perhaps Astynome would rather I speak to her alone, Odysseus,’ Eperitus suggested.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, laying her hand gently on Eperitus’s forearm. ‘Odysseus is your friend and king, I trust him.’

  ‘Then come back to my hut and we will both be able to help you,’ Odysseus said.

  ‘Not with Eurylochus there,’ Eperitus warned.

  ‘Leave him to me,’ Odysseus replied. ‘Come on.’

  Astynome gave quick instructions in her own language to the farmer, who nodded slowly, then she took Eperitus’s hand and followed Odysseus back to the Ithacan camp. The occupants stood as they entered Odysseus’s hut, staring with surprise at the beautiful Trojan girl. Eurylochus shot her a venomous look, which she returned with defiance.

  ‘Listen to me, Eurylochus,’ Odysseus warned, staring at his cousin. ‘If Agamemnon – or anyone else for that matter – learns of Astynome’s presence then I will hold you personally accountable, and the next battle we fight I will have you at my side in the front line. Do you understand?’

  Eurylochus frowned at the king but saw that he meant what he said.

  ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘Good. Now, bring a seat for our guest, if you please. Astynome, anything you say will not go beyond the walls of my hut. You have my word on that.’

  Astynome sat and looked about at the circle of warriors as Odysseus and Eperitus resumed their places. Then she sighed and placed her hands on her knees.

  ‘My lords, you are the enemies of my people, but you are also warriors and men of honour. What I tell you now could hand you a swift victory over Troy – and though I trust Eperitus and Odysseus implicitly, I must also trust that the rest of you will respect the word of your king and not use my information to your advantage. The father of our city, King Priam, is beside himself with grief for Hector. He has heard of the treatment his son’s body is suffering at the hands of that monster, Achilles, and in desperation has decided to set out at midnight tonight with a ransom for Hector’s return. His wife has tried to dissuade him, as have Andromache, Helen and his nine remaining sons, but he won’t listen – he will come, even though it means he may be captured and forced to order Troy’s surrender.’

  The Ithacans exchanged surprised glances but said nothing.

  ‘If he can reach Achilles’s hut and appeal to him as a suppliant,’ she continued, ‘Achilles will be obliged by the laws of xenia to offer him protection and a safe return to Troy, even if he refuses the ransom. But if he is captured on the plain or at the gates, he will be taken prisoner and there will be no limit to the price Agamemnon will be able to ask for his return. When I heard this I knew there was only one hope – to find you, Eperitus, and ask you to get Priam into the Greek camp. It was always a small hope, as you are only one man, my love; but my hope increases with the knowledge that King Odysseus will also help.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Eperitus said, smiling at her. ‘I’ll do everything I can, and I’m certain Odysseus will be able to think—’

  ‘By Zeus, are you mad?’ Eurylochus exclaimed. ‘This is a gift from the gods! If we can take the old man alive, the Trojans will be forced to give Helen back and pay us as much compensation as we want on top. We haven’t had an opportunity like this in ten years of fighting. The war could be over in days!’

  ‘Don’t be so sure of that, Eurylochus,’ Odysseus said coldly. ‘For one thing, Agamemnon won’t be happy until Troy has become a Mycenaean colony, and the Trojans will never agree to that. For another, I have no intention of taking a heart-broken old man prisoner, even if it means we could sail back to Ithaca tomorrow. I’ve done shameful things to try and shorten this war, but I won’t do that. Besides, Astynome brought this news to us in good faith and we must help her if we can.’

  ‘Even more so, if it means Achilles will accept the ransom and stop his defilement of Hector’s corpse,’ Eurybates added. ‘I can’t bear to see him dragging it around Patroclus’s barrow any longer.’

  There was a muttering of agreement, at which Odysseus stood up and raised his hand for silence.

  ‘Very well, then. This is what we’re going to do . . .’

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  PRIAM IN THE GREEK CAMP

  There were six guards on the southernmost gate and not one of them was able to refuse the wine that Astynome brought to them. After all, it was a gift from Prince Achilles, she told them – his best wine, offered in celebration of the end of the official mourning period. Equally, none of the guards was able to resist the powerful drug that Odysseus had added to it and soon they lay slumped by their posts, snoring loudly.

  It took but a mo
ment for Odysseus and the others to take their places and open the gates, allowing Eperitus to slip out on to the moonlit plain. The night was already reaching its zenith and he knew that he had to be quick if he was to intercept the Trojan king and his ransom-laden wagon. Fortunately, the gibbous moon shed its silvery light over the plateau, illuminating the numerous rocks and gullies and the newly raised barrows of the dead, and with his exceptional hearing he was soon able to hear the faint squeaking of a wooden axle under stress. Following the direction of the noise, his sharp eyes quickly picked out a humped shape moving in an arc to the east of the walls, obviously trying to avoid detection by the patrols that the Greeks had once been in the habit of sending out, though the practice had waned after the death of Palamedes.

  Eperitus ran to intercept the wagon. As he got closer he could smell the pungent odour of fresh human sweat mixed with the reek of the mule’s hide; he could also see that there were two men in the cart, both hooded. After glancing around for any sign of an escort, of which there was none, he hid behind a rock and waited until the cart was but a few paces away.