The Armour of Achilles (45 page)

T
he man looked up at the high outer wall of the palace. Its sides were pale in the moonlight and he could see no hand or footholds in the smooth plaster. Looking about, he saw a handcart leaning against a nearby house. A moment later his black-cloaked form was atop the wall and dropping into the courtyard on the other side. He paused briefly, looking and listening for guards, but all he could hear were the voices of two men in the shadows beneath the roofed gateway. Satisfied they were ignorant of his presence, he crossed to the side door that he had been told would give him access to the palace corridors. It was unlocked, and after instinctively reassuring himself of the presence of his sword at his side and the dagger in his belt, he slipped inside.

The corridor within was lit only by a single, sputtering torch that revealed he was alone. Though he was a stranger to Ithaca, the layout of the palace had been explained to him in detail by the men who had hired him and he knew exactly where he would find Telemachus’s bedroom. Sliding his dagger from its leather sheath, he stole down the long passageway in silence, pausing briefly as he passed the open doorways of deserted storerooms on each side. Around the corner at the far end was another, shorter passage, again lit by a single torch. In the gloom he could make out the base of a flight of stone steps at the halfway point, leading up to the sleeping quarters above, while, further on, the corridor turned left. Ultimately, it led to the ground-floor bedroom that King Odysseus had constructed for himself and his wife, but the man had not been hired to kill Penelope, only her son who slept in the room directly above her.

The corridor and steps were unguarded and there was no sound of patrolling footsteps on the floor above. The Ithacans had clearly enjoyed peace for too long on their safe little island, protected from the corruption and violence that had overtaken the mainland since the kings had left for Troy. In northern Greece and the Peloponnese, where the man had learned his trade and been paid well for it, every noble household had armed men guarding its passageways at night. Almost disappointed that his hard-won skills would not be tested, the man slipped down the corridor to the foot of the stairs and looked up. Nothing. He took the steps quietly, but as he reached the top and looked both ways along the narrow corridor, the only sound he could hear was snoring from one of the rooms to his right. And so he gripped his dagger more firmly and moved stealthily towards the door that had been described to him.

He edged it open with his fingertips and looked inside. The room was spacious and by the moonlight that spilled in through the high, narrow window he could see a four-pillared bed with the sleeping boy beneath its piled furs. It did not concern him that his victim was so young – he had even murdered infants before at the behest of those who stood to gain from their deaths – and as he entered and closed the door behind him he whispered a prayer to any god who would accept it that the child would not wake before his blade had finished its work. Then, as he crossed the room, he caught something out of the corner of his eye – a line of twine at ankle height, barely distinguishable from the fleeces that softened the sound of his approach. But it was too late. He caught the line with the toe of his sandal and it tugged at something in the corner of the room. A moment later he saw something fall, followed by the clatter of metallic objects striking the floor in a cacophony of noise that shattered the peace of the night.

Instinctively, the man looked at the window. Realizing it was too high and small for a quick exit, he turned back to the door. But already he could hear the sound of approaching footsteps and the clank of weapons, and the next instant the door was kicked open and four men stood blocking his escape. One of them held a torch that threw a warm, flickering light into the bedroom. In that moment, it occurred to the assassin that he had but one hope of survival: the boy. He leaped across the room in a single bound and threw the furs from the bed, only to find more furs rolled up into the rough shape of a child’s body. Somehow he had been expected, and now he was caught.

‘Throw down your weapons.’

He turned to see a cloaked woman standing in the doorway, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. The four soldiers had entered the room and were standing two on each side of her, while behind her was a one-handed man leaning on a crutch. The assassin tossed his dagger at the feet of one of the soldiers and followed it with his short sword.

‘Who sent you?’ Penelope asked in a calm voice that concealed the anger she felt. ‘Who sent you to murder my son?’

The man did not answer. He had his instructions if he was caught, and for the sake of his assassin’s honour he intended to carry them out, but not yet.

‘I’ve expected an attempt on Telemachus’s life for some time now,’ the queen explained. ‘Hence the twine and the guards in the next room. It’s also why my son isn’t here. My husband left me to defend his kingdom while he was away, and that includes the heir to his throne. But though you came here to kill my only child, I am prepared to let you live on condition that you tell me who sent you. And when you do, you will be taken in a boat to the Peloponnese and forbidden on your oath to ever set foot on these islands again. Do you understand?’

The assassin nodded.

‘I will be only too pleased, my lady,’ he said. ‘But you won’t believe me, for you think of him as a loyal friend.’

‘Give me your word of oath and I will believe you.’

‘You should also know he is not alone,’ the man continued. ‘And I am not the only assassin in Greece. They will hire others . . .’

‘That’s why Telemachus was taken to Sparta several days ago,’ said Mentor, hobbling into the room to stand beside Penelope. ‘Out of harm’s way with Halitherses as a guardian; and there he will stay under the protection of the royal family –
Penelope’s
family – until the war in Troy is over. Then, when Odysseus and the army return, we will deal with your employer’s friends. But now, if you want to preserve your villain’s life, you’ll tell us who paid you to kill Telemachus.’

‘You promise I will be freed?’ he asked, looking at Penelope.

She nodded.

The man smiled. He was an assassin and the only code he followed was not to reveal who had employed him, so to lie on his oath was of no consequence. More importantly, Eupeithes had given him another name if he was captured, an innocent man who was also a member of the Ithacan Kerosia. His implication in the attempt on Telemachus’s life would earn him exile at the very least, and without him the Kerosia – and control of Ithaca – would inevitably slip into the hands of Eupeithes.

‘As Zeus himself is my witness, the man who hired me was called Nisus of Dulichium.’

‘Someone has to rule Troy,’ Apheidas said, shooting an angry, silencing glance at Astynome. ‘Why not me? I’ve fought as hard as any man in the army, Trojan or ally, and I’m the only one capable of saving the city from complete destruction. Tell me, Astynome, do you think Priam has been a good king? Do you?’

‘Yes!’

Apheidas gave a derisive laugh.

‘Commendable loyalty – typically Trojan. But everyone knows he should have sent Helen back the very moment Paris brought her to the palace. Any ruler worth his sceptre would have seen the trouble she would bring, but Priam never could deny a beautiful face. All Helen had to do was flash those eyes at him and expose a little cleavage and he was hers. The old lecher probably fancied he might visit her bed one night.’

‘How dare you!’ Astynome protested.

‘And as for Paris, did he ever show a care for his country after setting eyes upon Helen? No! All he could think about was having her for himself, whatever the consequences for Troy. Priam may have abandoned him as a baby, but he’s more like his father than Hector ever was. Neither man deserves to rule this land.’

‘And you do?’ Eperitus said.

Apheidas turned to his son, taken aback by his sneering tone. Then he brushed away his surprise and forced a smile to his lips.

‘Yes, Son, I do.
We
do. Do you think this is all about ambition? That I would open the gates of Troy to its enemies for my own glorification?’ He laughed and turned back to the altar, placing his palms on the cold stone and shaking his head. ‘Were you never curious as to why your grandfather was forced to flee Ilium?’

‘He killed the man who raped and murdered his wife.’

‘He killed a member of the
royal family
! Before then, ours had been the wealthiest and most influential of all the noble clans of Troy, second only to the royal family itself. We were forced to leave all that behind when we fled to Greece, and it was only pity and guilt that persuaded Priam to let me come back some years ago – though he didn’t return the land and possessions he’d taken from our family. But now I’m going to reclaim all of that and more, and
you
, Eperitus, will become my heir. All I ask is that you take my proposal to Agamemnon – he knows you’re a man of honour and will trust you. Persuade him to put our family on the throne of Troy and we will become the easternmost point of his new empire, a safe harbour for Mycenaean merchants to flood Asia with Greek goods – offering him allegiance and paying him tribute for as long as our bloodlines continue. And when I die you will become king, Eperitus, bringing honour and glory back to your grandfather’s name, righting the wrong that was done to our family. Astynome will become your queen and your children will establish a new dynasty, restoring Troy to its former glory until, one day, she is strong enough to throw off the shackles of Mycenae and rule herself again.’

His eyes blazed in the torchlight as he imagined a new Troy under his own rule. No longer would he be a mere nobleman; instead, he would avenge the shame of his mother’s death and father’s exile and claim the throne itself, replacing Priam’s unworthy dynasty with his own bloodline. He stared at Eperitus, confident his son would understand. The knowledge his grandfather had been dishonoured by Trojan royalty – and that his own inheritance had been stolen by Priam himself – would clear away his doubts and bring a surge of righteous anger. It was an anger Apheidas had felt all his life, but with Eperitus at his side he would finally see justice and an end to the years of bitterness.

‘Dawn is approaching, Son,’ he said, calmly now. ‘Go. Speak to Agamemnon and let us bring an end to this war.’

‘Speak to him yourself,’ Eperitus answered, narrowing his eyes at his father. ‘You and the King of Men would get on well – two power-hungry murderers who’ll stop at nothing to have your way. But I want no part of you or your schemes. I’d hoped you’d changed, Father, but you haven’t. You’re the same shameful monster that killed King Pandion twenty years ago, and if you think that by putting you on the throne of Troy I’ll restore one scrap of glory or honour to my grandfather’s name, then you have never been more wrong. You are not my father. As the gods are my witness, I never had a father!’

He turned to Arceisius and Astynome.

‘Come on. We’re leaving.’

‘You don’t make a very good traitor,’ Arceisius said with a grin.

Astynome laid her hand on Eperitus’s arm and together they moved towards the entrance, only to find the way blocked by one of the guardsmen. His spear was aimed at Eperitus’s stomach.

‘Why are you always so damned stubborn?’ Apheidas demanded. ‘Isn’t this the same selfish pride you said was preventing Odysseus and the others returning to their families? Will you turn your back on them also and have them suffer more interminable, bitter years of war, just because of your ridiculous sense of honour?’

Eperitus’s lip curled in contempt.

‘Honour has always been a thing of ridicule to you, hasn’t it?’ he replied, refusing to turn and face his father. ‘But it isn’t to me. Without honour a man is nothing, no matter how much wealth or power he has. I was a damned fool if I thought I could put my own honour aside to end this war, and you’re twice the fool if you think you can turn me to your corrupt ends. I should have killed you in Lyrnessus, Father, but you can be sure I won’t miss my chance again.’

He snatched the neck of the guard’s spear and pulled the shaft towards himself, throwing his fist into the man’s face. The Trojan fell to the floor, his nose pumping blood. Tugging the weapon from his grip, Eperitus turned and hurled it across the temple. Apheidas ducked aside as the bronze point brushed past his ear and embedded itself in the effigy of Apollo.

‘Seize him!’ he shouted.

The other guards sprang into action at his command. Eperitus, kneeling by the fallen soldier, knocked him unconscious with a second punch and pulled the sword from his belt. He tossed it to Arceisius, who caught it deftly and turned just in time to parry a spear-thrust from the nearest Trojan. Eperitus grabbed the first guard’s torch and leapt to his feet, slashing it in an arc before the chests of the other two soldiers and forcing them back.

‘Astynome, get behind the altar –
now
!’

One of his assailants jabbed at him with his spear. Twisting aside, Eperitus kicked the shaft from the man’s hand and pushed the end of the torch into his face, where it exploded in a shower of flames. The guard screamed in agony and staggered backwards, clutching at his face as he fell to the flagstone. A second scream followed and Eperitus glanced across to see Arceisius plunge his sword into the chest of his opponent.