The Armour of Achilles (16 page)

E
peritus had not seen Astynome in the two weeks since she had been taken from his tent, and though they had only spent three weeks together before that, he missed her sorely. He also worried for her safety at the hands of Agamemnon and amid the ravages of the plague. But when Odysseus announced he was to captain the ship returning her to Chryse, and that Eperitus would be coming with him, he was relieved and overjoyed at the thought of seeing her again.

‘How did you ever persuade Agamemnon to let you take her back?’ he asked Odysseus as they stood on the beach by the galleys. ‘I never thought he’d send Astynome back on an Ithacan ship after she’d been found in my hut.’

‘I don’t think he knew she’d been taken from you,’ Odysseus replied. ‘As far as he was aware, she was simply an undeclared captive from the recent expedition who had to be “fairly” distributed. Agamemnon was jealous and angry that Achilles had already claimed the best of the pick in Briseis, so when he saw Astynome’s beauty he took her for his own.’

‘And now he has Briseis anyway.’

‘Yes,’ Odysseus said with a concerned look. ‘But as for getting him to let me take Astynome back, I simply pointed out that our ships had recently been at sea and needed little preparation, unlike most of the fleet.’

‘And it was you who sent the message to Astynome’s father, I presume?’

‘Of course, via a merchant who was heading south to Chryse.’

‘Then I’m grateful to you,’ Eperitus said, watching the crew lay a gangplank between the beach and the side of the hull and trying to coax half a dozen sacrificial cattle up it and on to the galley. ‘The thought of her as Agamemnon’s slave has been unbearable. At least she’ll be safe with her father again.’

‘And here she is,’ Odysseus said.

They looked to see Talthybius, Agamemnon’s squire and herald, approaching with Astynome at his side. Her dark hair was tied above her head and her beautiful eyes were fixed downward at the sand, refusing to look up and meet Eperitus’s.

‘Is this the girl who’s caused all the trouble?’ Odysseus enquired.

‘This is her; one look at her face and you can see why,’ Talthybius laughed.

‘Take her to the crew. They can load her on board with the cattle. And then you’d better return to Agamemnon – I hear he’s making a sacrifice of bulls and goats to Apollo.’

‘He is,’ Talthybius replied sullenly, ‘but I’ve other work to do. He wants me to fetch Briseis from Achilles.’

‘Don’t be concerned. Achilles has said he will give her up freely and he’ll keep his word,’ Odysseus assured him. ‘I only hope for the rest of us he’ll take back his other promise and not refrain from the fighting when it starts again.’

Eperitus watched Astynome as she made her way up the gangplank, but she did not return his gaze. Even as the galley was pushed down into the water and the crew settled at their oars, she stood at the prow and refused to turn her eyes to the stern, where he stood with Odysseus at the twin rudder. Before long the faint swishing of the oars took them past the broadest part of the great crescent of sand, where the Mycenaean ships lay rotting on their props and Agamemnon was beginning the sacrifice to Apollo. Dressed in his gleaming breastplate and a lion’s pelt, surrounded by a crowd of kings, priests and attendants, he raised his hands in a prayer that did not carry across the waves to the departing galley, but as he spoke Eperitus saw Astynome’s eyes upon him and felt despair and jealousy seize his heart. Had he lost her? In the short time she had been with Agamemnon, had she given her heart to the King of Men, as unbelievable as that seemed to Eperitus? As Odysseus ordered the sails to be unfurled and the galley slipped past Tenedos on the journey south, he resolved to speak to her and moved between the benches towards the prow. At the same moment she turned and looked at him and there was a smile on her lips. Then she ran to him and threw her arms around his neck, kissing him on the mouth with a passion that surprised and delighted him as, all around them, the crew cheered.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t look at you or speak to you before,’ she said as he led her by the hand to the prow. ‘But I didn’t dare with Talthybius looking on, or with Agamemnon in sight on the beach.’

‘Gods, but I’ve missed you,’ he said, dismissing her apology. ‘After you were taken I wondered whether I would see you again.’

‘But here I am. The gods are merciful.’

‘Not to the hundreds who were killed by the plague.’

‘All the better for Troy,’ Astynome replied. ‘Though I prayed that you would survive, my lord.’

‘And I prayed for you, too. The thought of you with Agamemnon . . .’

Astynome touched his cheek, seemingly oblivious to the eyes of the crew who had stowed their oars and were busy keeping the cattle quiet or simply sitting idle on the benches. ‘Don’t worry, my love. He came to me the first night as eager as a bull, but when I told him it was the time of my monthly flux and I was unclean, he didn’t touch me. Then, after the plague struck, he was afraid. Despite his rebuttal of my father, I think he knew he had offended Apollo and didn’t dare touch me.’

Eperitus smiled and held her close.

By late afternoon they had reached Chryse, a small, wooded island that was low in the sea off Cape Lectum to the south. The sail was furled and the mast stowed as they rowed into the deep waters of the island’s only anchorage, a small basin surrounded by white sand, trees and a few stone huts. None of the islanders were visible as the anchor stones were tossed into the shallow water and the gangplank was run out.

‘They’re afraid to see a Greek galley,’ Astynome explained as she, Eperitus and Odysseus walked down to the beach, followed by the crew with the sacrificial cattle. ‘It’s understandable. But I know where my father will be.’

She led them through the treeline to the foot of a small hillock, where sycamores grew and where they could hear the gurgle of a brook or natural spring nearby. A neatly dressed altar of white stone was visible through the boles of a grove of trees at the top of the slope, where worshippers had left garlands of flowers and items of food. On the opposite side of the slope was a simple wooden hut. Astynome led them towards it, but before they could reach the darkened entrance – whether drawn by instinct or the distant sound of cattle – her father stepped out and, with tears in his old eyes, ran to embrace his daughter.

‘Greetings Chryses, priest of Apollo,’ Odysseus said with a bow of his head. ‘I am King Odysseus, son of Laertes, and by the order of Agamemnon I return Astynome into your care. I also bring ceremonial offerings to the archer-god, who has struck our army countless deadly blows since your ransom was refused. In return for your daughter I ask only that you make sacrifices to Apollo and appease his wrath.’

Though reluctant to release Astynome, Chryses reached across and took Odysseus by the hand.

‘Welcome, Lord Odysseus, and thank you for returning my daughter to me, even though she can only be with me a short while. Bring the animals here and I will sacrifice them without delay. As for you, my dear Astynome, go to the town and send my attendants to me with grain, bundles of wood, water and wine. Wait for me there and later we will make our own sacrifices together, in thanks for your safe return.’

‘Yes, Father,’ she said obediently, and with a final, wistful glance at Eperitus, she walked down the slope and into the trees.

The attendants arrived shortly afterwards – half a dozen lads, too young yet to fight in Troy’s army. While two stacked the wood and made a fire, the others poured the water into large wooden bowls and washed their hands before scattering the sacrificial grain around the altar. Chryses washed his own hands, then, turning to the west where the sun was setting through the foliage of the trees, held up his arms in prayer.

‘Gracious Apollo Smintheus, Lord of the Silver Bow, when the stiff-necked Greeks refused to return my daughter to me I asked you to punish them. You answered my petitions and sent many to the halls of Hades, forcing Agamemnon to relent. Now I ask you to end their suffering and save your arrows, and in return we offer you these animals in sacrifice.’

One by one the six cattle were brought to the altar, where two of the attendants pulled back their heads by the horns while Chryses slit their throats. Still twitching out their life, they were pulled away by the other lads to be skinned and carved up while the next animal was led to its death. As the thigh bones of each victim were brought to Chryses, covered by a layer of fat with raw meat on top, he placed them on to the burning faggots and sprinkled wine over them, muttering constant prayers as he did so. The attendants waited for the thighs and fat to burn, then removed the half-cooked meat and gave them to the Ithacans, who carried them down to the beach to be cut into small pieces and roasted on spits.

When the last animal had been slain, Odysseus, Eperitus and Chryses joined the ship’s crew on the beach to feast on the sacrificial meat. Here, finally, they were joined by the male islanders. Most men of fighting age had long since been called to Troy, and ever since Achilles had sacked Chryse early in the war the surviving occupants had treated the Greeks with caution and fear. But tonight they joined the Ithacans at Chryses’s behest and ate and drank until the stars came out and the moon rose above the hills of the mainland. Then Chryses bid Odysseus and Eperitus farewell in his slow but clear Greek and went to be reunited with his daughter.

Eventually the food ran out, the islanders returned to their homes and the singing trailed away. The crew laid their blankets in the sand around the fires they had made and went to sleep, their snores filling the night air as moths gathered around the light of the dying embers and bats swooped out from the trees to devour them. Eperitus placed his head on his rolled-up cloak and looked out to where the galley floated at anchor, a black mass edged with silver from the thin moon. He thought of Astynome, as he had not stopped doing since he had watched her disappear into the trees, and his heart felt heavy with longing. Then, as his eyelids began to droop with the inevitable approach of sleep, his sharp senses were suddenly alert to a presence.

Taking his sword in his hand, he sat up and scanned the treeline at the top of the beach. In the shadows was a deeper blackness, and though even his eyes could not define the detail of her face, he knew Astynome had come to bid him farewell. Letting his sword fall on to his blanket and picking up his cloak, he walked silently across the sand to where she stood.

‘Astynome,’ he whispered.

She smiled, her face pale in the moonlight that filtered through the canopy of leaves. Taking his hand, she led him through the trees to the foot of the hillock. They sat on the grass, slightly damp with the night dew, and kissed, holding each other tightly.

‘I had to see you again,’ she whispered.

‘I’m glad you came. We’ve spent so little time together . . .’

She touched his cheek and looked into his eyes, as if wanting to say something but not knowing how.

‘Your father,’ he said. ‘When we arrived he said something I didn’t understand. He said you could only be with him for a short while. What did he mean?’

Astynome pursed her lips and lowered her eyes. ‘He means I’m going to Troy.’

‘
Troy?
But why?’

‘Look around you, Eperitus. Chryse is a poor island. The wealth my father found to ransom me was everything this island has left, everything they had stored up for the hardest times. Thankfully, Agamemnon did not take it, but even so, if I remain here it will be in poverty. That’s why he is sending me back to Troy.’

Eperitus thought about all he had seen since arriving at Chryse – the ramshackle houses around the bay, the meagre priest’s hut at the top of the hill, the peasants who had shared the Ithacans’ food on the beach, many of whom had hidden meat under their threadbare clothing to take back to their families.

‘What do you mean, “back” to Troy?’ he asked.

‘When you found me at Lyrnessus, I hadn’t gone there from Chryse but from Troy. I am a maid there, in the service of my husband’s former commander. My husband was mortally wounded defending him from Greek cavalry, and in return he promised to take me as a servant in his household to save me from the poverty that has befallen so many widows in Troy. I have been his maid ever since.’

‘And you are
just
a maid?’

‘Nothing more.’ Astynome smiled, lying back in the grass and staring at her lover. ‘He even sends provisions to my father, and for that reason – and the insistence of my father, who believes I will be safer and better kept in Troy – I have agreed to go back in a few days from now. Besides, Chryse is so far away from everything. At least in Troy I can be of some use to the war.’

‘But on Chryse I will be able to see you again. That’ll be impossible if you return to Troy.’

‘Then come with me. There are Greek prisoners from the early years who have decided to fight for Troy, and I’ll vouch for you with my master, he’ll—’

‘You don’t understand, Astynome,’ Eperitus said, lying beside her and stroking the long strands of her hair. ‘I’m sworn to serve Odysseus and, more than that, he’s my friend. But even if I could turn my back on him, there are other, much darker things that will keep me out of Troy, even for your sake.’