‘By the wine store, but the only approach is in full view down a corridor. It’s too risky: we should forget him and make for the rear entrance to the palace.’
‘No – we need as many weapons as we can get, and as quickly as we can get them. How do I find this wine store?’
‘Follow me,’ Apheidas replied, smiling grimly as he clutched the unfamiliar Greek sword in his hand.
He ran through the gloomy corridors of the palace with Paris and Exadios close behind, until moments later they reached the mouth of a side passage where he signalled for them to stop. A low murmur of voices was coming from the corridor, and after pressing his finger to his lips Apheidas peered around the corner. A moment later, he gave a curse and drew back again.
‘How many are there?’ Paris asked.
‘Two – the guard and a servant girl.’
‘Are they . . .?’
‘Not yet,’ Apheidas grinned. ‘But he’s already got his hand inside her chiton. Give him a bit longer and he’ll be too distracted to notice you creeping up on him.’
‘No time for that – I’ll have to bluff it.’
‘But what about the girl?’ Exadios protested. ‘One scream from her and this place’ll be teeming with guards.’
‘Don’t worry about her,’ Apheidas whispered, giving Exadios a wink as he hid the sword beneath his cloak.
‘Keep a lookout for us here, Exadios,’ Paris ordered, before entering the side passage, closely followed by Apheidas.
There was just enough room for the two men to walk side by side. Though their weapons were concealed, neither man bothered to hide his armour with his cloak; by the light of the single torch at the end of the passageway they could see that the servant girl was now half-naked and the guard – who had already removed his armaments – was preoccupied with her. By the time he noticed the approach of the Trojans, Paris’s hand was over his mouth and the point of his dagger was forcing its way between his ribs. Beside him, his lover opened her mouth to scream, but Apheidas’s sword swept her head from her shoulders before the air could be forced up from her lungs. Without pausing, he opened the door to the wine storeroom, threw the body inside and kicked the head in after it.
‘Damn you, Apheidas!’ Paris hissed, dropping the corpse of the guard and stepping up to the older man. ‘I said no unnecessary killing.’
Apheidas’s pupils were wide with the exhilaration of the kill. He stared back at the prince for a defiant moment, then straightened himself up and lifted his gaze to the top of Paris’s forehead, in the time-honoured manner of a soldier facing his superior.
‘She was about to scream,’ he began. ‘But you’re right, my lord, I overreacted. I’m sorry.’
Paris knew there was no point in saying more. He nodded curtly and signalled to the corpse of the guard. Together they threw it into the storeroom, before retrieving the discarded weapons and returning to where Exadios awaited them, nervously clutching the spear and shield of the first guard.
‘Here,’ said Paris, sliding a sword into the soldier’s belt and handing him another spear. ‘Take these to the rest of the men and have them meet us by the back entrance. Apheidas and I will wait for you there.’
When Exadios reached the rear doors of the palace with the rest of the party, Paris and Apheidas had already killed the guard and hidden the body. All that remained of him was a bloodstain on the wall and his weapons, which the prince was holding. He quickly ordered the redistribution of the captured armaments so that three men had swords, three carried spears and three more at least had the protection of a shield each. Paris refused all weaponry for himself, except the dagger Menelaus had given him.
Apheidas opened one of the doors and peered out at a small, moonlit courtyard. Other than two guards by the small gate that led out to the city streets, there was nobody to be seen.
‘I doubt anyone will want to come through this way tonight,’ he said, shutting the door again. He picked up a beam of wood from against the wall and slid it into the iron brackets on the back of the doors. ‘And if they do, that’ll hold them for long enough.’
‘When will they change the guards?’ Aeneas asked.
‘Not before we’re beyond the city walls and riding back to the ship,’ Paris answered, his tone confident and reassuring to the ears of his men.
‘That’s assuming everything goes to plan,’ Apheidas countered. ‘Have you even let Helen know we’re leaving tonight?’
With so much to be gained or lost, Paris felt more rankled than ever by Apheidas’s insubordination. ‘I told her maid I would come for her tomorrow night.’
‘Tomorrow!’ Apheidas exclaimed. ‘We need her to be ready now – there’s no time to waste if we’re to get out of Sparta alive.’
‘I have my reasons, Apheidas,’ Paris warned.
But Apheidas was in no mood to accede – the drawing of blood had made him tense and quicktempered. ‘She should be in her room now, waiting for our arrival with her children dressed and ready to travel. It’s madness to pull them from their beds in the middle of the night and expect them to ride with us to the ship.’
The men shifted uncomfortably, gripping the unfamiliar armaments and looking nervously at their two leaders. Paris stepped up to his lieutenant with anger smouldering in his dark eyes, his knuckles white as he gripped the handle of the dagger.
‘Don’t cross me again, Apheidas,’ he warned. ‘If we’re to survive this night and take Helen back to my father, we’ve got to work together and under my orders.’
Apheidas stepped back slowly, his fierce, unbowed gaze still fixed on the prince. On this occasion there was no apology, but Paris knew that time was running out. Without wasting another moment, he signalled for Aeneas to join him and for the rest to follow on behind. As quietly as they could, using the cover of doorways and side passages, the group of soldiers returned to the antechamber before the great hall and then made their way down the central corridor towards the main entrance. The light from the few torches reflected warmly on the bronze of their weapons, but in the sleeping palace there was nobody to witness their silent progress. Then, just before they reached the ornate portals that led out to the main courtyard, Paris led them down a broad corridor to the left. Having become familiar with the labyrinth of passageways during their time in Sparta, they all knew that the royal quarters were up a broad flight of stairs only a short distance ahead, beyond a turning to the right.
It was usual for two soldiers to guard the stairs in the evenings. Paris hoped they would be fooled by the Spartan weapons his men carried, only discovering their error at the last moment, when it would be too late. Nevertheless, he felt his anxiety rise as he led his men down the shadowy corridor. He had not seen Helen since their meeting at the temple and their only contact had been through her maidservant, so his desire to see her again was increasing with every footstep.
As they approached the blind corner, Paris signalled for his men to stop before sending Aeneas ahead to check on the readiness of the guards. The young warrior came back at a run a moment later, his eyes wide.
‘My lord, there’re six men at the foot of the stairs – all of them armed and watchful.’
‘Zeus’s beard,’ Apheidas cursed. ‘Somebody must have alerted them.’
Paris shook his head. ‘No. It’s Menelaus’s doing – he’s not going to entrust the safety of his queen to two men while I’m still here, whatever oaths he believes may have been said. He must have tripled the guard as a precaution.’
‘But now what will we do?’ Aeneas asked.
‘Entrust ourselves to the gods, of course,’ Paris responded. ‘No time for guile or caution now. Pray to Ares and follow me.’