‘My lord . . .’
‘Guard my wife and son. I’ve done something shameful and men will be angry with me for it, but I don’t want my family to suffer for my sake. You – fetch Teucer and Little Ajax. Tell them . . . never mind, just bring them here.’
‘But Lord Ajax, where are you going?’
Ajax ignored the soldiers’ cries and ran through the tents to the beach, continuing on past the lines of galleys until he saw the dark mound of Patroclus’s barrow ahead of him. At its heart was the golden urn Thetis had carried out of the water earlier that day, now filled with the mingled ashes of Achilles and his lover. By now the shouts on the slopes were growing dim and there were no sounds of pursuit, so he slowed to a walk as he approached the barrow. To his right the waves continued to wash up the beach as they had done since the creation of the world, drawn by the silver face of the moon that cast its ghostly light across the ocean. At last Ajax reached the barrow and knelt before it, looking all around to ensure no one else was in sight. Taking Hector’s sword, he placed the pommel against the packed earth and pushed it in so that the hilt was buried and the blade stood up towards his chest. Then he sat back on his heels.
‘If I’d known what a burden I was carrying when I brought your body back from the Scaean Gate, cousin, I’d have stripped that cursed armour off and thrown it to the Trojans there and then. Now it belongs to a lying scoundrel and my jealousy for it has driven me to terrible desires. I’ve no honour left, Achilles, and my glory lies slaughtered on the slopes above the camp. Only now do I see the gods were right to deny me your armour, and yet it pains me that they gave it to Odysseus. I only pray that they will destroy him as they’ve destroyed me. Curse you, Odysseus!’
And with that he fell forward on to the point of the sword.
The full moon had passed its zenith and was beginning to sink behind the topmost branches of the temple of Thymbrean Apollo when Eperitus heard the sound of approaching hooves. All night long he had been walking in circles, stamping his feet against the cold and rubbing his hands up and down his arms while he waited for Astynome to return from Troy, but now he slipped behind a large rock and stared up the slope towards the ridge. Moments later a line of horsemen approached carrying torches. There were a dozen at least, their outlines picked out clearly by the moonlight. One mount carried two figures, a man and a woman, and Eperitus instinctively knew they were his father and Astynome.
The horses stopped a spear’s throw from the entrance to the temple and the riders dismounted. Two men scouted forward with their naked swords gleaming, returning shortly afterwards to report the temple empty. Eperitus’s eyes could now pick out Apheidas’s face in the torchlight as he posted his men in pairs around the circle of trees, before taking Astynome and four men inside.
Eperitus felt his heart thumping hard against his ribcage. His fingers gripped the edge of the boulder as if reluctant to let go and he found himself wondering why he was there at all. It was not too late to return to where he had tethered his horse and ride south to new lands and new adventures. He did not have to become the traitor that Arceisius had accused him of being, or sell his honour for the sake of love as Palamedes had done – to be stoned to death by his comrades in punishment. But Palamedes had also been half Trojan, just as Eperitus was, and perhaps there was no such thing as treachery for men of divided blood. Perhaps they were free to choose their loyalties as they saw fit. But whether he was a traitor or not, he knew in his heart that he could not turn back now. He was an integral part of a larger tale. The gods must always have intended for him to be here, waiting to betray his friends so that he might save them; and though he did not know what lay ahead, he accepted his fate was before him, not behind him.
And still he hesitated, clinging to the boulder like a shipwrecked sailor to a broken mast. A year ago he would have charged into the temple intending to kill Apheidas or die in the attempt. Now the hatred that had dominated his entire adult life had lost its bite, even died altogether. He thought again of the encounter in the temple of Artemis at Lyrnessus and how his father had confessed himself a reformed man, regretting the mistakes of his youthful ambition. He had begged Eperitus to let the past go and the sadness in his eyes had seemed genuine – the look of a wiser man who had come to realize his family was all he had left in life. Doubtless his offer of peace could just be a trap, but Apheidas had already passed up better chances to take his son’s life, and the more Eperitus thought about how he had felt after losing Iphigenia, the more he wanted to believe his father’s appeal was genuine. At last, he tore his fingers from the boulder and reached down for the shield and spear that lay beside him. But before he stepped out to approach the nearest pair of Trojan guards – who were still some way off – he turned and gave a low whistle.
‘Come on out.’
He sensed the man’s breathing stop as he tried not to make any sound.
‘Arceisius, I know you’ve followed me here. Don’t force me to come over there and drag you out.’
There was a pause and then a cloaked figure stood up from behind a clump of scrubby bushes and came running over at a stoop.
‘Why didn’t you tell me you knew I was there?’ Arceisius complained. ‘At least you’ve been able to move around and stamp your feet to keep warm; I’ve been lying there freezing half the night when all you needed to do was come over and put me out of my misery.’
‘It’ll teach you not to interfere where you’re not welcome. But now you’re here, what is it you want?’
‘To protect you from your own foolishness. If you’re going to betray your countrymen then I can’t stop you; but if things don’t turn out as you’re expecting then you could do with an extra sword at your side. And I’m not convinced this isn’t a trap.’
‘It’s not a trap.’
‘All the same, I haven’t fought alongside you for ten years just to leave you when you need me most. At the very least I’m going to stay by you until they slam the gates of Troy in my face.’
‘And much use you’ll be with just that sword if it is a trap,’ Eperitus sniffed.
‘I’d have made too much noise carrying my shield and spear.’
‘Not much more than you did without them. But if you insist on coming, then let’s go.’
They stood to their full height and walked towards the nearest picket. The two Trojans spotted them quickly and lowered their spears.
‘Not a step closer! Who are you and what’s your business here?’
‘I am Eperitus, son of Apheidas,’ Eperitus replied in their own language, naming his sire for the first time in many years. ‘And this is Arceisius, son of Arnaeus. I’ve come to speak with my father.’
‘Apheidas is awaiting you,’ the guard said, relaxing a little. ‘But there was no mention of anyone else. Your friend will have to stay here with us.’
‘Either Arceisius comes with me or we both leave now.’
After a whispered discussion with his comrade, the soldier nodded and signalled for the two men to follow. He led them up to the top of the ridge from where they could see the dark, moonlit mass of Troy beyond the River Scamander, then turned with his torch held above his head and pointed at their weapons.
‘Leave those here with me. That isn’t negotiable.’
Eperitus hesitated for a moment then lay down his shield and spear, followed shortly after by his sword and dagger. Arceisius gave Eperitus a cynical look then threw his own weapon on the pile. Satisfied, the guard pointed them towards a gap in the circle of laurel trees.