‘Andromache! Andromache, I’m sorry! All this is my fault – your father, your brothers – none of them would have died if it hadn’t have been for me!’
She pressed her face against Andromache’s warm neck and felt the wetness of her own tears crushed against her hot cheeks. Then Andromache’s hands were on her arms, pushing her gently away as she looked into her eyes.
‘Don’t be foolish, Helen,’ she sobbed. ‘I don’t blame you! You didn’t ask for this war. No one did; it was the will of the gods.’
‘But your father and your brothers . . .’
‘My father was an old man,’ Andromache insisted. ‘I’m surprised he still had the strength to lift a sword, let alone use one – the gods would have claimed him soon anyway. And as for my brothers, I haven’t seen them in years. And there’s still Podes . . .’
Helen shook her head and turned away, unable to face her friend’s excuses for her.
‘Helen, you have to stop blaming yourself for this war,’ Andromache insisted. ‘If it helps, my tears aren’t for my father and brothers, but for Hector and our son.’
Helen looked at her friend in surprise.
‘You heard his anger,’ Andromache continued. ‘He hates sitting behind these walls while the Greeks destroy Ilium and all that he loves. But Priam and the elders have always advised this policy of waiting – waiting for the Greeks to give up and go home, or for the gods to deliver Troy from their grip. What else can we do? We don’t have enough men to drive the Greeks back into the sea. But that doesn’t make it any easier for Hector.’
‘You think he’ll do something rash?’ Helen asked.
Andromache nodded. ‘I’m afraid he’ll seek Achilles out in combat. And when he does—’
‘But Achilles is doomed to die,’ Helen cut her short. ‘His own mother predicted he’d be killed before the walls of Troy. And who in the whole of Ilium would stand a better chance than Hector?’
Andromache rose to her feet and pulled Helen up with her. ‘No one, of course. But if Hector faces Achilles, I fear it will mean his death. And then who will Troy have to protect her?’
Chapter Seven
REPLACEMENTS
‘Are you sure – absolutely sure?’ Odysseus asked, gripping the side of the galley and leaning as far forward as he could, as if to do so would help him see the distant ships more clearly.
Eperitus shielded his eyes against the noon sun, his body rolling naturally with the movement of the sea. The sail flapped noisily overhead and gulls were gliding beside the ship, their feathers brilliant white as they rode the undulating air currents. Astynome, looking pale and uncomfortable, sat curled up beside him with her back against the hull.
‘Yes, I’m certain they’re ours,’ he said. ‘And it looks like they’ve only just arrived – the prows have been driven into the sand and there are lines of men unloading sacks and clay jars.’
‘Did you say jars?’ asked Antiphus, who was manning the twin rudders. His left hand was against his forehead, blocking the sun as he strained to see the shore. ‘That can only mean one thing: they’ve brought wine with them! The gods be praised – I haven’t had Ithacan wine in years.’
‘It could just be oil,’ Eperitus suggested with a playful grin.
‘And if it’s Ithacan wine, then it’s the property of the king, for his use only,’ Odysseus added.
‘Not unless you want a mutiny on your hands,’ Antiphus replied.
Adramyttium and Thebe had been razed to the ground and Achilles was busy organizing a garrison to hold Lyrnessus – a task that would take a week or more to complete – so the ten ships of the Ithacan fleet had been sent back to carry news of their victories to Agamemnon and the Council of Kings. It was a fine spring day with hardly a cloud in the sky and they had just slipped around the seaward flank of Tenedos, catching their first sight of the Greek camp in a crescent bay further up the mainland coast. The vast sprawl of patched and weather-stained canvas, interspersed with ramshackle huts of wood or stone, spread thickly upwards from the edge of the ranging beach on to the deforested slopes above. Twisting grey columns rose from the countless fires that burned day and night, carrying the smell of woodsmoke, roast meat and freshly baked bread across the sea to the hungry Ithacan crews as they drew closer. The long, arcing beach that years ago had been scattered with small fishing vessels – used for catching the shellfish and oysters found in the bay – was now crammed with double rows of warships, their black hulls dragged up on to the white sand to lie bow-cheek to bow-cheek. These were the thousand galleys that had brought the Greek armies to Ilium ten years before in the hope of a swift victory, but which had lain there like stranded whales ever since. Only four gaps existed in the wall of ships: where the Locrians and Argives were camped on the northern sweep of the beach; at the southernmost point where the Myrmidons had their camp; and in the centre where the Ithacan ships were normally found. It was here that Eperitus had spotted the other two galleys of Odysseus’s fleet, back already from their recruiting mission to Ithaca.
By now, the Ithacan fleet had been spotted from the camp and men were abandoning their chores and gathering along the beach, anxious to hear news from the expedition. They looked like wild savages with their long hair and bearded, sun-tanned faces, contrasting markedly with the groups of men who had formed in two separate knots around the newly arrived ships. These were the recruits Odysseus had sent for from Ithaca, to replace those who had fallen in the past few years of the war. Many were cleans-haven and short-haired, with their new armour and bright cloaks marking them out from the veteran warriors who lined the rest of the beach.
‘Whom do you see?’ Odysseus asked, moving to Eperitus’s side.
‘Arceisius and Eurybates that I can recognize,’ Eperitus answered, squinting against the morning sun and scanning the faces of the newcomers. ‘The two score men who went with them. And a whole load of new faces, most of them pale with fear and homesickness.’
‘Then I pity them. It might be a long time before they see Ithaca again.’
Odysseus felt his oversized hands trembling at the thought of home and quickly grabbed the bow rail as soon as he noticed Eperitus’s eyes upon him.
‘You’re concerned about the news they might have brought with them?’
Odysseus nodded. ‘We’ve heard nothing since we sent Antiphus and Polites back for reinforcements five years ago. It’s my kingdom, Eperitus, and while I’m stuck here there are thousands of people at home who should be relying on me to protect them. Anything could be happening there in my absence.’
‘Everything’ll be fine,’ Eperitus reassured him. ‘Mentor and Halitherses will keep the kingdom in order, and you can rely on Penelope to pick up whatever they miss. Remember what the oracle said: a daughter of Lacedaemon will keep the thieves from your house.’
‘I haven’t forgotten,’ Odysseus said. ‘But I wouldn’t be much of a king, would I, if I didn’t worry? I’d be even less of a husband and father. And that’s what haunts me most of all. I miss my family every day, but I can barely remember Penelope’s face any more; and I can’t even begin to guess what Telemachus looks like. Ten years old and he’s never known his own father.’