The girl struggled against the strength of his fingers for a moment, then heard the metallic slither of a sword being drawn from its scabbard and saw the squat silhouette of a man in the doorway of the temple.
‘All right, I’m not the priestess here,’ she hissed. ‘I don’t even come from Lyrnessus. Now, can we leave before his eyes adjust to the darkness?’
But Eperitus was already pulling her across to the corner of the temple, whisking aside the heavy curtain and fumbling with the door. Fortunately, the room beyond was also in darkness and no sudden splash of light betrayed their presence to the soldiers who were cautiously advancing into the temple behind them. They crushed through the narrow doorway together, Eperitus awkwardly conscious of her soft, warm body pressed close to his, then he turned and closed the door silently behind him. Quickly scanning the tiny antechamber, which was lit only by a thin line of daylight coming from beneath a door on the opposite side of the room, he could see it was empty but for a straw mattress and some dishevelled blankets.
The girl looked around the room in disgust. ‘To be honest, I’m glad I’m not the priestess of this hovel.’
Eperitus dropped his hand to her wrist and led her to the opposite door. Already there were sounds of destruction coming from the temple behind them and it would not be long before the concealed antechamber was discovered. He threw open the door and together they stepped quickly out into the comparative brightness of the shady side street.
‘What’s the quickest, least conspicuous way to the north gate?’ he asked. ‘Assuming you know that much.’
She pulled her wrist free of his grip and took his hand in hers. ‘This way.’
Chapter Five
IN THE RUINS OF LYRNESSUS
‘So who are you?’ Eperitus asked the girl again as they walked through the shadowy alleys and rutted thoroughfares of Lyrnessus.
All around them were the sounds of pillage and burning, disrupted from time to time by the dying shouts of murdered men or the terrified screams of women in peril. The roar of flames was everywhere and a thick plume of smoke shrouded the city, filling their nostrils with its savoury reek. More and more bodies lay scattered around the streets – some still in armour, others stripped naked or left in their woollen tunics – and every now and then they would be forced to sink into the shelter of a doorway or slip down passageways between the ramshackle houses as they saw gangs of rampaging Greeks ahead of them.
‘My name is Astynome. I am the only child of Chryses, priest of Apollo on the island of Chryse.’
‘Why did you say you were a priestess?’
Astynome gave a bitter laugh. ‘Because I thought your countrymen might show some respect for the gods and leave me alone. I should have realized the Greeks have no reverence for the immortals.’
‘Then you’re not a priestess at all?
‘No,’ she answered, and with a backward glance added: ‘Or a virgin.’
Eperitus looked away, though he did not know why her admission had embarrassed him. He was not surprised: there was something worldly about Astynome that had seen suffering and knew how to fight – the grazes on her limbs and the blood on her lips showed that. He wondered whether she had a husband, but guessed that a married woman would not be alone in a besieged city.
‘I came to Lyrnessus to celebrate the annual festival of Artemis,’ she continued, as if reading his thoughts. ‘Then Aeneas and Sarpedon arrived with their brave Dardanians and Lycians behind them, saying Greek ships were sailing towards the shore and bringing an army to lay siege to the city. Those who were able took what they could and fled to Adramyttium or Thebe.’
‘But you stayed.’
‘I trusted in the men who had come to defend the city,’ Astynome retorted, a touch of angry pride igniting her pupils. ‘At home they say a single Trojan is worth ten Greeks and I believe them. A man who fights for a just cause – defending his homeland – is more than a match for any invader, especially one from such a backward country as Greece.’
Eperitus smiled at her zeal.
‘Then your trust was misplaced,’ he said. ‘Did many others remain behind?’
‘A few – the city’s militia, the old, the sick and the foolhardy. The two your countrymen killed before the temple were a wine merchant and his son. He stayed on to make some money from the Dardanians and Lycians after their victory, and now he’s dead and the Greeks will be drinking his wine for free.’
Before long they reached a small square with a large, two-storeyed house to one side. A dozen bodies were scattered around, all of whom had been disturbed by looters. Though the square was now empty, they could hear the hubbub of many voices coming from nearby. As they crossed, stepping over the debris of corpses, discarded weapons and broken armour, Eperitus asked Astynome how it was she spoke Greek.
‘I learned it on Chryse,’ she explained, almost stumbling as she looked around in horror at the bodies, some of which were hideously dismembered. ‘From the merchants who used to call there.’
‘So you were happy to buy Greek goods, and yet you clearly hate Greeks.’
‘I did not hate them then. The hate came later.’
‘And will you hate me, Astynome, even though you’ve begged to be my captive? Will you slit my throat late some night as I lie in my tent, before you steal back to Troy?’
Astynome turned to face her new master. ‘You have my word I won’t try to kill you, my lord. You’re not like other Greeks. You remind me more of a Trojan than a Greek.’
He lifted his hand to cup her chin, feeling the distinct cleft with his thumb before raising his fingers to touch her bottom lip. She looked at him intently and for a moment he was tempted by her nearness. Then he let his hand fall to his side and turned away again.
‘That’s not a mistake you should make again, Astynome. I am a Greek, in heart and mind. But there’s one more thing I want to know if I’m to take you under my protection – can you cook? All my men bring me is grilled mackerel and tunny, or goat’s meat that’s too tough to chew.’
She smiled broadly, the first real smile he had seen on her pretty mouth. ‘Yes, I can cook. Even if you have no other use for me, you’ll value me for my food.’
They left the square and followed a line of crude dwellings to the city walls. The sound of voices increased and soon they were at the edge of a large space filled with Greek soldiers. At the far end was a low gateway. Unlike the gates that Achilles and his Myrmidons had stormed, there was no squat tower defending the northern entrance to Lyrnessus; instead, the eastern wall doubled back on itself and ran parallel with the western wall for a dozen paces, so that the gateway was positioned between the overlap in the battlements. Though not as well defended as the southern entrance, it did mean an assaulting force was exposed to attack on both sides. The gates were fully open now, and from where they stood in the shadows of a narrow alleyway Eperitus and Astynome could see the gentle plains and wooded hills beyond.
Unlike the bands of men roving the city, the soldiers by the northern gate were still disciplined and acting under orders, giving Eperitus the confidence to lead Astynome out from their hiding place. There had been a battle here but it had long since finished. Some of the victorious Greeks were on the walls, keeping watch, while others were standing fully armed and ready for the possibility of an unexpected counter-attack. The majority, though, had stripped off their armour and weapons and were busily removing the bodies of the dead and stacking them in long rows on either side of the open space before the gates. When Astynome saw the scores of Lycians and Dardanians who had died holding the gates – while their countrymen escaped the pursuing Greeks – she fell to her knees and covered her face as she sobbed quietly. Eperitus looked at the lines of young men who had fallen, many with missing limbs or mutilated faces. It was a sight he had become familiar with since the start of the war, so he was surprised to feel a sudden pang of guilt. Was that Astynome’s presence, or the realization these men were not so different from himself, and could even have been his own countrymen but for the exile of his grandfather?