Eperitus led the way into the shadowy interior, where strips of moonlight lay like rib bones across the flagstoned floor. Four soldiers stood at the corners of the temple, their sputtering torches casting a dim glow over the boles of the trees. At the far end was a white altar stone, tinted by the orange torchlight, and behind it an effigy of Apollo carved from the stump of a dead tree. Its legs, as they emerged from the roots, were entwined with thick fronds of ivy up to the knees. Its arms were locked by its sides – a necessity of being shaped from the bole of a tree – but in its left fist it clutched a horn bow and in its right a solid bronze arrow. Apheidas and Astynome stood on either side of the altar. They turned to look as Eperitus and Arceisius entered.
‘Eperitus!’ Astynome said, crossing the floor and embracing him. ‘I thought you might have changed your mind.’
‘You were late,’ he replied with a smile, kissing her forehead. It was cold from the ride to the temple. ‘Dawn isn’t very far off.’
‘But we’re here now and maybe soon we can be married.’
‘I hope so.’
‘That would be good,’ said Apheidas, taking a few paces towards his son. ‘Then I will have a daughter, too, and grandchildren.’
‘You haven’t got your son back yet,’ Eperitus replied.
‘Yet, you say. That’s more than I had hoped for. I’m glad you came, Son.’
He offered his hand and Astynome stepped away. Eperitus looked down and recalled the last time he had embraced his father in friendship – that same day twenty years ago in Alybas, when Apheidas had later murdered King Pandion and taken the throne for himself. It was still not too late to leave the temple and ride away, he reminded himself, but the moment he took his father’s hand he would be declaring himself a traitor to the Greek cause – an act no better than his father’s regicide.
‘I know what you’re thinking, Eperitus, but things have changed since we parted ways in Alybas. You’re my only son and I want you back. Nothing is more important to me than that.’
He pushed his hand nearer and smiled. Slowly, Eperitus reached out and took it, feeling his father’s rough, hot skin against his own. There was a moment in his heart when Odysseus, Ithaca and all the events of the war seemed to crowd in on him, and then were gone. He had passed through a doorway into a new life, as if the previous twenty years had been by-passed and had transported him and his father from that fateful day in Alybas to this day on the ridge above Troy. He smiled uncertainly at his father then turned to Astynome, whose closeness assured him this was not some strange dream.
Apheidas placed his other hand on Eperitus’s shoulder.
‘I know you hated me for what I did and that your hatred was real. But something like that doesn’t just go away.’
‘I’m coming to learn that only weak men allow the past to hold them back.’
‘Then was it the knowledge that you’re half Trojan that changed your mind? Or was it the love of a Trojan woman?’
‘It’s of no consequence where the blood in my veins originates from,’ Eperitus replied, ‘though you’re right that Astynome is one reason why I’m here. But it’s more than that. I’ve seen what men’s pride does to them, and how this war has turned their noble ideals into monstrous desires. It corrupts men’s souls. The war has to end so that good men like Odysseus can return to their families, and if the only thing stopping that is my own selfish pride, then it’s time I let the past go. If you can change, Father, then so must I – for Odysseus’s sake, and for Astynome’s.’
He reached out and took her hand.
‘This is the greatness I’ve always known was in you, Eperitus,’ Apheidas said. ‘That ability to choose when to do the right thing. And we will all need to make sacrifices if we want peace.’
‘But how is peace possible, Father?’ Eperitus asked. ‘Paris won’t surrender Helen and Menelaus won’t leave without her. Even if Paris was killed, Agamemnon has no intention of leaving Ilium without first destroying Troy and stealing her wealth. Besides, there’s a bitterness between Greeks and Trojans now that there never used to be. How can peace be possible?’
Apheidas did not answer immediately. He returned to the altar and ran a fingertip along its rough edges.
‘As I said, peace will require sacrifices. Painful sacrifices. Paris and Menelaus, Priam and Agamemnon – will any of them accept peace on anything less than their own terms? Would Hector or Achilles have compromised? Of course not. But I will.’
He looked at his son and there was a new hardness in his features.
‘I accepted a long time ago that Troy would never win this war and that peace was our only chance of survival. But that could never happen as long as Hector lived and gave the people hope of victory. That was why I persuaded him to go out and face Achilles.’
‘You sent him to his death?’ Arceisius asked, incredulously.
‘Yes – for the greater good of Troy. To pave the way for peace.’
Eperitus frowned. This was not what he had expected. He looked about at the stony-faced guards, then at Arceisius and Astynome before returning his gaze to his father.
‘And what else must happen for the sake of peace?’ he asked.
Apheidas gave him a reassuring smile. ‘I’m prepared to open the gates and let Agamemnon’s army in. An easy conquest, Son, that will see Helen returned to her rightful husband and Troy subjugated to Agamemnon. All I ask in return is that the people are spared and half the remaining wealth is left to them.’
‘No!’ Astynome protested, glaring at him with disbelieving eyes. ‘You never mentioned anything about opening the gates and—’
‘What other choice is there?’ he snapped back. ‘If Troy is to survive then we must make unpalatable decisions. The sacrifice of a few for the good of the many.’
Eperitus looked on in silence. When he had exposed Odysseus’s lies he had crossed a threshold. By coming to the temple of Thymbrean Apollo he had ensured he could never reverse that step, and that knowledge had given him the determination to see his betrayal through to the end. He had decided then that he would join his father in Troy and do whatever was required for an end to the war. But now he felt his stomach sink. He had expected Apheidas to propose a resolution acceptable to both sides; a diplomatic coup that would demonstrate his personal desire for peace. Instead, what he was suggesting was not peace at all. It was treachery. It was capitulation.
‘What about Priam and Paris?’ he demanded. ‘What about the Trojan royal line?’
‘Agamemnon can’t afford to leave Priam or one of his descendants on the throne,’ Apheidas answered coldly. ‘They’ll have to die, of course – right down to Hector’s infant son. Then another will be chosen to rule in Priam’s place, a Trojan capable of restoring Troy to its former glory and wealth, yet prepared to swear fealty to Agamemnon and his line.’
‘Who?’ Eperitus asked.
‘Don’t you understand yet?’ Astynome said, turning desperate eyes on her lover. ‘After you were the one who tried to convince me your father was nothing more than an ambitious, power-hungry murderer? He means himself. He wants to be the king of Troy!’
Chapter Forty-Seven