The Armour of Achilles (18 page)
As Hector stepped down and planted his large fists on his hips, he was greeted by a shower of arrows from some of the Greek archers. He did not flinch as the nervous, poorly aimed volley thudded into the ground around him, and only a sharp command from Agamemnon prevented further arrows being released. Then Hector raised his arms and looked from one army to the other.
‘Brave warriors of Greece,’ he began in his gravelly voice, speaking in the tongue of his enemies, ‘we are about to fight a battle in which no quarter will be given; in which many thousands of good men will die. Before the sun sinks in the west and brings a natural end to the day, the soil of Ilium will be dark with our spilled blood and the carrion birds will have more flesh for their beaks than even
they
can stomach. And for what? So you Greeks can regain Helen, or we Trojans can keep our homeland safe? Or to fulfil the whims of the uncaring gods, whose sport is to set men against each other like dogs in a pit? Then listen to me and we can end this destructive war once and for all – you Greeks can sail back to your homes in Sparta, Mycenae, Pylos and beyond, while we Trojans can return to our families in Troy, Dardanus, Mysia and the many other cities of Ilium.’
As he spoke, a second chariot passed through the lines of Trojan archers and drove up the slope towards him. Paris stood behind the driver, dressed in a coat of scaled armour with a panther’s skin thrown around his shoulders. In his right hand were two tall spears, while across his back was the feared horn bow with which he had caused so much damage to the Greeks during the years of war. Gripping the rail with his free hand, he stared up at the long, silent lines of the enemy army spread across the ridge above him.
‘To this end,’ Hector continued, offering Paris his hand and helping him down from the chariot, ‘my brother has suggested that the armies lay down their weapons under truce while he and Menelaus fight in single combat for Helen. If Paris wins, the Greeks under Agamemnon will leave Ilium and never return, while if Menelaus is victorious, we Trojans will return Helen to him without further argument. What do you say?’
For a moment there was silence as the shocked Greeks contemplated the sudden end of the conflict that had bound them to Ilium for so long. But before Agamemnon could reply, Menelaus urged his chariot through the line of Greek skirmishers and down the slope towards Hector and Paris.
‘I accept the challenge,’ he announced as his driver, Eteoneus, stopped the chariot a spear’s cast from Priam’s sons. The king of Sparta’s face was dark with anger as he glowered at Paris. ‘This war should have ended long ago, but I will not deem any of the past years wasted if I can bring you down in the dust now, Paris, and hold Helen in my arms again. But first I demand a solemn oath before the Sun, the Earth and Zeus, the father of the gods. Let Priam himself be brought from Troy to make sacrifices with my brother, promising that the truce will not be broken and that both sides will hold to their part of the bargain. Unless he does there will be no duel, for I don’t trust the word of his sons. Who can forget how Paris broke the pledge of friendship he took to me in my own home, dishonouring himself and all Trojans when he stole my wife from me?’
‘Stole her?’ Paris responded, scornfully. ‘Is that what you believe, you old fool? Didn’t your slaves tell you how she came willingly, only too eager to have a
real
man in her bed?’
‘You lying, Trojan scum!’ Menelaus snarled, leaning across the handrail and shaking his fist at Paris. ‘You murdered her guards and seized her against her will, taking my youngest son as a guarantee that she would come with you to Troy!’
‘Enough!’ Hector commanded, placing a hand on his brother’s chest before he could respond and forcing him back towards his chariot. ‘King Priam will be fetched from the city, as you request, Menelaus. I will also send for sacrificial sheep, while the armies lay down their weapons and await the outcome of the duel. Will that satisfy you?’
Menelaus nodded and Hector shouted for a messenger to be sent to Priam. As the horseman splashed across the ford, Menelaus gave Paris a last, baleful look then ordered Eteoneus to drive back to the safety of the lines.
‘Did you hear what he said?’ he asked, stepping down from his chariot and walking towards Agamemnon. ‘Does he really expect me to believe Helen left me for
his
sake?’
‘It’s what the Trojans have always claimed,’ said Odysseus, joining them with Eperitus at his side. ‘As a salve to their consciences, of course.’
‘They can claim whatever they like,’ Menelaus said dismissively. ‘It won’t matter one way or the other when I lay Paris’s corpse out in the dust and—’
‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Agamemnon announced, his cold blue eyes focused on his brother.
‘Oh no? Believe me, brother, I’m going to kill that wife-stealing oath-breaker in front of the whole Trojan army, with my bare hands if necessary.’
Agamemnon lowered his voice, no longer able to restrain his anger. ‘You stupid oaf! Surely you don’t think the only reason I’ve brought the armies of Greece halfway across the world is for your sake? I’ve come here to wipe Troy out of existence! I want the city sacked, the men killed, the women enslaved and those accursed walls reduced to rubble so that Troy will never,
ever
be a thorn in our side again! Don’t you understand? Have you
never
understood? With Troy gone, Greece will be the greatest power on both sides of the Aegean, but if you kill Paris, then all we’ll have to show for ten years of war is the return of your strumpet wife.’
‘Then what do you suggest I do?’ Menelaus replied, his voice trembling with anger. ‘
Lose?
’
‘At least that would rid me of your interfering stupidity!’ Agamemnon snapped. ‘You’re the cunning one, Odysseus – think of something to get us out of this.’
‘There’s no honourable way around a solemn oath,’ Odysseus replied with a shrug. ‘Your best hope is to start the battle before Priam arrives – a misfired arrow could find its way into the Trojan ranks, or—’
‘Too late for that now,’ Eperitus said, pointing to the pair of chariots that had just exited the Scaean Gate and were now dashing towards the fords of the Scamander. ‘Priam’s already on his way.’
‘Then all you can do is drag the fight out, Menelaus,’ Odysseus continued. ‘Wound him and feign exhaustion so you can’t deliver the fatal blow, then let him escape.’
‘I’ll be a laughing stock,’ Menelaus protested. ‘And what about my wife? Do you think I’m going to leave Helen with these savages for a day longer than I have to?’
‘You’ll do as Odysseus suggests – wound him and let him go,’ Agamemnon insisted. ‘Until then, I want the army to sit down while Priam and I carry out the sacrifices. It’ll be interesting to meet my enemy face to face at last.’
T
HE
D
UEL
T
he two armies laid their weapons on the ground and sat down in lines. Agamemnon, Odysseus and Eperitus strode down the slope to where Hector was waiting for them, while Paris returned to the lines to ready himself for the coming duel. As Odysseus looked in awe and admiration at the might of the Trojan army, the ranks opened and the two chariots from Troy dashed through. The first was driven by Antenor, whose hunched back and blind left eye Odysseus remembered from his first visit to Troy ten years before, when he had come with Eperitus and Menelaus to request the peaceful return of Helen. Gripping the handrail beside him was Priam, king of Troy. He was strikingly tall and erect in his flowing purple robes and at first sight appeared to be a man in his middle years. Then, as he came closer they could see his hair had been dyed a glossy black and his skin thickly powdered to disguise his age; and his eyes were unmistakeably those of an old man, filled with care and great loss. As Antenor brought the chariot to a halt beside Hector, Priam stepped down and looked across at the proud form of Agamemnon before him, dressed for war.
‘So you are the man whom all this multitude of warriors serve,’ he said in his stiff Greek, indicating the massed ranks at the top of the slope. ‘You are the one by whose commands my people have been murdered and my land ravaged.’
Agamemnon swept his red cloak back over his shoulder, revealing the intricately crafted breastplate beneath. As he eyed his enemy, tall in form and yet stooped in spirit, the King of Men began to feel a sense of his own superiority. In all the long years of war, he had never seen Priam except as a distant figure watching the battles from the walls of Pergamos; and now he understood why the king of Troy had not dared to step outside the gates of his own city. He was weak. He was the defeated king of a beaten people, and the sight of him made Agamemnon smile.
‘Your losses have been brought about by your own actions, Priam. You shouldn’t have let your sons goad a more powerful nation into war. For Greece is greater than Troy and we will defeat you.’
‘Paris was foolish,’ Priam admitted, ‘but he has offered to fight Menelaus to the death and spare the rest of us further bloodshed. And though I love him dearly – with more love than a man like yourself could ever feel or understand, Agamemnon – I am willing to see him die and the lovely Helen returned to Menelaus if it will rid Ilium of your foul hordes.’
‘We shall see what happens,’ Agamemnon replied. ‘Have you brought the sacrifices?’
Priam raised his hand and Idaeus, his ageing herald, stepped down from the second chariot. He hauled a black ewe and a white ram from the floor of the car and cut the bonds around their ankles. Next he took a goatskin and poured water on both kings’ hands, while the driver brought a skin of wine and a bowl for mixing. As soon as Agamemnon had washed his hands and shaken off the excess water, he took the dagger from his belt and cut a handful of wool from the heads of the dazed animals.
‘Great and glorious Zeus, father of the gods,’ he began, raising his face and arms to the clear blue firmament above, ‘all-seeing Sun and great Mother Earth; solemn and terrible Hades below, witness the vows we take in your presence. If Paris kills Menelaus, the Greeks shall call an end to this bitter war and sail home, recognizing without dispute that Helen is his wife. But if Menelaus slays Paris, then the Trojans must return Helen to him without hesitation, or face ceaseless war until their city lies destroyed and their people scattered.’
Without further delay, he closed his large hand around the jaws of the ewe, pulled its head back and slit its throat. Next, he slaughtered the ram, and after cleaning his blade on its fleece and returning it to its scabbard, he left the animals in pools of their own blood and took the krater of wine that Idaeus handed to him. The two kings poured libations on the ground and drank, then Priam lifted his own hands to the heavens and prayed, calling on the immortals to preside over the truce between the two armies, and bring death to any who should dare break it, as well as death to their children and the enslavement of their wives. His petition to the gods over, he stepped back into his chariot.
‘I hope for my people’s sake and yours that this duel will bring an end to the fighting for ever,’ Priam said. ‘And yet, now that I have met you face to face, I do not trust you to keep to your word. You are a monster, Agamemnon. You came here to build an empire at any cost, even sacrificing your own daughter, and whatever the outcome of this duel I fear you will not leave Ilium until you have what you want.’
He gave a brief nod to Odysseus and Eperitus, then ordered Antenor to return to Troy.
‘The old man’s not stupid,’ Odysseus said in a low voice as they watched the chariots depart.
‘No,’ Eperitus agreed. ‘Fortunately for the rest of us, I don’t think Menelaus has any intention of following Agamemnon’s orders. He won’t just wing Paris then let him crawl away.’
‘Of course he won’t, though if he thinks Paris will be easy to kill then he’s going to be shocked – or dead! Either way, as long as one of them dies we’ll soon be on our way home, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. They must have sent every man in Ilium against us.’
‘The slaughter would have been terrible,’ Eperitus mused. ‘And yet, if this is the end of the war, then I can’t leave for Ithaca with you. Not yet.’
‘Your father?’
Eperitus nodded. ‘Until he’s dead I’ll always live in the shadow of his dishonour. But there’s Astynome, too. I want to take her back to Greece and have children. You have Penelope and Telemachus to return to, Odysseus, but since Iphigenia was killed, I have no one.’
‘Every man should have a family.’
They turned to see Hector standing behind them, his helmet removed and sitting upturned in his hands.
‘Except, perhaps, in times of war,’ he continued, ‘when the thought of our loved ones tests our courage and weakens our resolve. But now the war is to end as maybe none of us had foreseen, and you and I, Odysseus, must cast lots for who will throw the first spear.’
Odysseus nodded and picked up two stones from the ground, one sharp-edged and black, the other smooth and grey.
‘The black for Menelaus,’ he announced, dropping the stones into Hector’s helmet. ‘So, even the great Hector thinks of his wife and son before he goes into battle.’
Hector shook the helmet. ‘Always. But there are other things that compel a man to battle. Love of his country. Duty to his king. Vengeance. Tell me, Odysseus, where is that bane of Troy, Achilles?’
He tipped the helmet and the grey stone sprang out first. Paris would have the opening cast.
‘What do Achilles’s whereabouts matter now?’ Odysseus replied as Hector tipped out the other stone and pressed his helmet back down on his head. ‘The war will soon be over.’
‘I’ll tell you where Peleus’s son is, Hector,’ Eperitus announced, ‘if you tell me where to find Apheidas.’
Odysseus gave him a silencing stare.
‘You will find him with Prince Pandarus among the Zeleians,’ Hector answered. ‘Over there.’
Eperitus looked in the direction in which Hector was pointing and saw Apheidas at once – tall and fearsome with his leather cuirass catching the sunlight and the hem of his black cloak blown around his calves by the strong north wind. As if sensing his son’s gaze, Apheidas turned his head and stared back at him with a dark intensity that cut through the din and movement of the battle lines.
‘If you bear him a grudge, you would be wise to forget it,’ Hector continued, noticing the dark look in Eperitus’s eyes. ‘Unless your heart is set on death, put Apheidas out of your mind and sail back to Greece with your life.’
‘I could give the same advice to you, Hector,’ Eperitus replied. ‘But if your desire to face Achilles is greater than your need to see your family again, you will find him back among the Greek ships, where his feud with Agamemnon is keeping him out of the fighting.’
Aeneas pulled the cheek-guards of Paris’s helmet under the prince’s chin and knotted the leather laces together.
‘May the gods be with you, Paris,’ he said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. ‘Don’t let your anger and hatred cloud your judgement: kill Menelaus when the opportunity reveals itself and tonight we will offer sacrifices in the remains of the Greek camp.’
Paris nodded, his mouth too dry and his mind too distracted to give any other answer. As he looked up the slope to where Menelaus was standing, resplendent in his bronze cuirass, plumed helmet and flowing green cloak, he felt the nausea he always suffered before battle, the nervous stirring in the pit of his stomach that long experience told him would fade as soon as the first spear was cast.
His
spear. He held out his hand and Aeneas placed the two ash shafts in his palm, then, with a deep breath, he moved through the ranks of seated archers to the empty ground between the two armies.
If only he had never vowed to Helen not to face Menelaus in battle, the war could have been decided by single combat years ago. But Helen’s beauty was hard to resist, and she had always known how to twist him to her will. He could still picture her standing before him on their wedding night, with flowers woven into her hair and wearing the dress Andromache and Leothoë – one of Priam’s many wives – had made for her: seven layers of gossamer, which she had removed one by one while the room was filled with the heady scent of her perfume. How could he have refused her when she asked him to take a solemn vow not to face her former husband in battle? How could he say no to such beauty, or such love?
But now he was about to break that vow, just as he had broken his promise before the war that his days as a warrior were over. What choice did he have? Helen had threatened to give herself up to Menelaus for his sake and he believed her, so the only way to stop her would be to kill Menelaus first. Perhaps news had reached her in Troy and she was even now watching from the city walls, fearing that the man she loved would be killed. But it was too late to prevent the duel now. Hector had resisted the idea for a while, reluctant to see his younger brother’s life risked against the indomitable fury of Menelaus, and still burning with his own desire for vengeance on Achilles. But Paris had quickly persuaded him that it would save many Trojan lives and was for the best.
And so he looked again up the hill towards the man who had tormented his happiness for too long. The sun was now in the west, blinding Paris and the whole of the Trojan army behind him; the Greeks never attacked before midday if they could avoid it, preferring the sun to be in the eyes of their enemies rather than their own. The slope also gave Menelaus the advantage of height but, ultimately, these factors were of no consequence. The winner of the duel would not be decided by the sun or the slope, but by the gods.
‘Having second thoughts, Paris?’ Menelaus scoffed loudly, for all to hear as he closed some of the distance between them. ‘I thought you said you were a real man!’
There was a ripple of tense laughter from the Greek ranks.
‘I was man enough to take your woman, Menelaus,’ Paris replied, moving up to meet him. ‘And I’m man enough to take your life, too.’
Menelaus’s face darkened and he spat on the ground.
‘Prove it, Trojan!’
With a silent prayer to Ares and all the gods of Mount Ida, Paris thrust one of his spears into the ground and raised the other so that the black shaft almost touched his right cheek. As he closed one eye and stared down the length of the spear towards Menelaus, who spread his feet a little wider and wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow, he felt his nervousness leave him. Then, with a sudden lunge, he hurled the weapon towards its mark. Menelaus leaned to his right just in time, angling his shield so that the spearhead skipped across its surface and plunged into the earth behind him. The Greeks gasped loudly, then cheered as they realized their champion had survived.
Menelaus now seized one of his own spears and launched it with all the strength of his hatred at the Trojan prince. It flew with deadly accuracy towards Paris, who raised his shield at the last moment. The bronze spearhead punched through the layers of oxhide and wicker, causing him to cry out as he felt the point graze his body armour and tear through the folds of his cloak. There was a shout of dismay from the Trojan ranks behind, followed by a cheer as he turned to show them he was unharmed. Then, with a roar of fury, Menelaus pulled his sword from its scabbard and charged towards him.
Paris took his own sword and ran to meet him. Menelaus was the first to strike, bringing his blade down with tremendous force against Paris’s shield and knocking him backwards. Paris stumbled on the slope but quickly regained his footing. Ducking low, he thrust the point of his sword towards the gap beneath Menelaus’s round shield. Menelaus anticipated the move and smashed the rim of his shield down on Paris’s blade, while sweeping his own weapon in a wide arc towards his opponent’s neck. Thrown off balance by the blow on his sword, Paris parried the strike with his shield and withdrew, circling to his right and bringing himself level with his enemy.
Menelaus attacked again, the snarl on his bearded lips visible above the top of his shield as he rained blow upon blow against Paris’s defences. The Trojan retreated before his anger, skilfully turning back the relentless assault with his sword so that the air rang with the din of bronze.