For the Most Beautiful (20 page)

He chuckles feebly, but, when no one laughs, he turns it abruptly into a cough.

His wife Hera is staring coldly at him.

‘Well,' he says, shifting slightly. ‘Well – I suppose we could come up with some sort of compromise …'

‘What kind of compromise?' Hera asks.

Zeus looks around him.

The gods are staring at him, stony-faced. The idea of not interfering in the war clearly has not gone down as well as he'd hoped. He sighs. He supposes he should have known better. They don't have many other pastimes than a bit of fun with the mortals, after all, and interfering in a war is usually the most fun of all.

He takes a deep breath. ‘Well, we all know that Troy is going to fall. There's no argument about that. It's been agreed.'

He glances at Hera, and she gives him a small, tight nod of approval, her lips pursed.

Ares leaps to his feet. ‘We know that,' he says, his deep voice echoing over the clouds, like thunder before a storm. ‘But I'm the god of war. It's my job to determine how battles are fought and who dies when. You can't deny me that, Father.'

Athena jumps up again. ‘And what about me?' she demands. ‘It's not as if you're the only god of war, Ares. I have the right to interfere too, if I want.'

Zeus feels a mild sense of panic overcoming him. Things are getting more out of hand than he would like. The gods are all leaping up from their seats now, gesticulating and shouting the names of their sons and favourite heroes
,
facing off against each other and demanding their right to take part in the battle.

‘All right!' Zeus thunders, and the gods fall silent. ‘All right,' he says more calmly. ‘Here's how it will be. Troy will fall. No,' he holds up his hand as Ares starts to interrupt again, ‘listen to me. The outcome has been decided. If you agree that much, then we may be able to come to some arrangement.'

The gods nod, some more readily than others.

Hera and Athena are smiling triumphantly, the corners of their mouths turned up in a pronounced smirk.

‘But,' Zeus interjects, ‘if you really want to fight …'

The gods perk up.

‘… then you'll have to decide here and now which side you're on so you can fight fair and square. No misunderstandings and,' he glances imperceptibly in the direction of his wife, ‘no cheating either. The city will fall, but we have not yet decided who will live and who will die. You may try to save your favourites, and it'll all be out in the open. Nothing personal. All right?'

The gods raise a ragged cheer. Some even toast Zeus with their goblets of nectar by downing them in one.

He smiles in mild relief.

‘Well, that's easy. We're with the Greeks.' The sharp sound of Hera's voice cuts through the cheers.

She and Athena are marching over to stand on the clouds above the Greek huts and tents pitched on the seashore. Both of them are still smiling.

Zeus hears a loud grunt from somewhere in the council. He turns to see Ares shifting in his seat, eyeing Athena with her spear poised over the Greek camp.

‘In that case,' Ares says, in his deep voice, heaving himself up from his seat, ‘it's only fair that I help the Trojans. After all, we can't have the two gods of war both fighting on the same side.' He moves over to stand above the walls of Troy, his armour clanking as he walks. There's a little sigh of admiration.

Zeus turns to the other side, and sees Aphrodite leaning towards Artemis, whispering very audibly about how handsome Ares looks in his armour and how brave it is of him to take the losing side. They giggle together, whisper a little more, and then, with Aphrodite leading the way, the two goddesses link arms and walk towards Ares, Aphrodite's hips sashaying invitingly.

All the gods' eyes follow her – almost involuntarily, it seems – until she reaches Ares' side.

Her husband, Hephaestus, looks a little puzzled. ‘But – but I thought we've always been supporters of the Greeks,' he says uncertainly. ‘Haven't we always supported the Greeks, dear?'

Aphrodite shrugs one creamy shoulder. ‘I don't know,' she says, not bothering to look at him. ‘You decide.'

Hephaestus' face brightens. ‘I suppose it does make it fairer, if we split teams,' he says amiably. ‘Good idea. So, I'll cover the Greek side, and you'll—'

But Aphrodite isn't listening. She's now talking in a low voice to Ares, with a delicious smile on her rosy lips.

Anyone who isn't Hephaestus would be able to see straight away that she has eyes only for Ares. But Hephaestus, it seems, is blissfully ignorant. He hobbles over to stand beside Athena and Hera, clearly very pleased with himself, and gives his wife a little wave from the opposite cloud.

She does not return it.

There are only two gods still sitting in the council now. Poseidon glowers at the two sides, torn between his enmity for the Trojans and his hatred for Athena. He heaves himself up from his throne, hesitates, and then, at last, makes his way towards the Greek camp.

‘Don't read anything into this,' Poseidon growls at Athena, through gritted teeth, as he lopes towards her. ‘This doesn't change anything between us.'

Athena brings her hand to her mouth to cover her smile.

Zeus rubs his hands together, pleased. ‘Well, I think that's everybody.' He surveys the opposed gods, assembled above the Greek camp and the city of Troy. ‘No – wait a minute. Where are Hermes and Apollo?'

The gods look around them, realizing that two of their number are missing. There is a moment of confusion as they mutter among themselves. Then—

‘I believe,' Athena volunteers, her face contorted in a slight sneer, ‘they were last seen chasing a wood nymph in the hills of Sicily.'

‘Ah,' Zeus says brightly. ‘Oh, well. Can't blame them. Very beautiful girls in Si—'

Hera glowers at him, and he stops mid-sentence.

An awkward silence falls over the gods.

‘Aren't you forgetting someone else?' Hera asks cuttingly, into the silence.

Zeus looks at her blankly. ‘Did I forget someone? Who?'

Her eyes spark. ‘You, Zeus,' she hisses at him. ‘You promised me Troy, remember? You're on the Greek side now.'

Zeus relaxes into a smile. ‘My dear wife, I'm the ruler of the universe. I'm impartial.'

The snap in Hera's eyes would be enough to set the Underworld itself on fire. She places her hands on her ample hips. ‘And I'm the ruler of our marriage bed,' she replies sharply. ‘So, if you know what's good for you, you'd better get over here, Zeus, and fast.'

It is not a difficult decision to make. Zeus bows his head and shuffles over to stand beside his wife above the Greek ships. He wonders if there is any chance at all that the rest of the gods didn't hear that, and comes to the depressing conclusion that there probably is not. He shrugs his shoulders in a resigned sort of way, and thinks: When you are the father of the gods, your biggest problem isn't keeping the mortals happy. It is the mother of the gods you have to worry about.

The most powerful gods are now rallied opposite each other in heaven. The clouds darken beneath them as they survey each other. Who will make the first move? Who will dare to demonstrate their allegiance and make an attack for their chosen side?

It is Ares who throws his spear first. It crackles through the air, like a white bolt of lightning, and crashes into Athena's shield with a rumble, like thunder.

On the Trojan plain below, it begins to rain.

The battle of the gods has begun.

Several days after I first met with Idaeus, I was holding my arms overhead to try to shield my eyes from the sudden downpour that was slanting from the sky, but it was no use. Dark clouds had gathered over the sea and lightning was splitting the sky with bursts of light, like the clash of swords in battle. I ran across the sand from King Agamemnon's tent, glanced around me to check that no one was watching, then pushed open the door of the healer's hut and dashed inside.

A stooping figure with greying hair stood with his back to the door. He turned as I entered.

‘Idaeus,' I gasped. ‘I have only moments. King Agamemnon has left to visit Nestor, but he may return at any time.'

Idaeus strode towards me. ‘You are dripping wet,' he said, with a frown, taking the warm woollen cloak from his shoulders and draping it over my own. ‘Sit down.'

‘Are we alone?'

He nodded. ‘Yes.'

I lowered myself on to a stool, drawing the cloak closer around my shoulders. Idaeus and I had been meeting like this as often as we could since he had first come to the Greek camp. We had decided the healer's hut was the safest place: though Troilus had been buried in the black earth, as the Trojan custom was, Idaeus was constantly moving back and forth between the Greek camp and the city, delivering messages between the two kings, and the healer's hut was private enough that we could be sure we were not overheard. Machaon the healer, whose task it was supposed to be to heal the wounded and care for the dead, was a notorious drunkard and spent most of his days sleeping in his quarters at the Myrmidon camp.

‘I have news.'

‘Good or bad?'

I shrugged. ‘Both. The council yesterday was discussing their warriors, assessing their strengths and weaknesses in battle. You should know that Opheltius is famed for his fighting from the two-horse chariot, but they were saying that he is notoriously weak in hand-to-hand combat. Our warriors should be able to take advantage of this.'

‘I shall make sure to tell Prince Hector.'

I took a deep breath, frowning as I tried to remember all that had been said. ‘Menelaus is famous for his loud voice, and is skilled in calling out to order the troops in times of trouble. You would do well to silence him. Diomedes is particularly skilled with the spear, and can kill a man at a distance of fifty paces. I have not yet heard how he is best defeated. And Teucer is a famed archer, but his right shoulder is injured and he cannot wield a sword at close range.'

‘They should be fairly easy to deal with.' Idaeus grimaced at me. ‘So what is the bad news?'

‘Achilles,' I said, lowering my voice. I looked up at Idaeus. ‘It seems he cannot be killed.'

Idaeus' brows drew together. ‘No man lives for ever, not even the son of a god.'

‘The warriors all say that Achilles was made invulnerable by his mother, the goddess Thetis.'

Idaeus let out a long breath. ‘That is bad news indeed.'

‘There is hope,' I said, ‘though not much. Odysseus let slip a few nights ago that there is a single part of Achilles' body which the goddess unintentionally left vulnerable, where he can be killed, but nobody seems to know where that is. It appears that Achilles keeps it a most guarded secret.'

Idaeus was silent.

‘The trouble is,' I said, standing up and pacing around the hut in frustration, then turning back to Idaeus, who was gazing up at me, his forehead furrowed, ‘that if Achilles cannot be killed, how is Hector to stop him? How is Troy ever to be safe if the Greeks' greatest warrior cannot die?'

Idaeus shook his head. ‘How indeed?' he said. ‘How indeed?'