‘Look,’ boomed Ajax, pointing at the lad, ‘we’ve found the great Achilles!’
‘Unfortunately not,’ Lycomedes replied, smiling weakly. ‘This is Neoptolemus, Deidameia’s son.’
‘A handsome lad,’ Odysseus said, strolling down the path to stand opposite the boy. ‘He looks to have something of the gods about him. And his father?’
‘Gone away,’ said Deidameia, walking around the pond to pick up her child.
Odysseus looked at the girl, who could only have been twelve or thirteen when she became a mother. The thin gauze across her face did little to hide her beauty: her skin was fashionably pale, her nose pert and attractive, and her lips full and red. Her chiton was worn short, revealing long, shapely legs, and she had no cloak in the warm sunlight to hide the smooth flesh of her shoulders and arms. Some of her sisters were similarly dressed, though others were more modest in their appearance, wearing their dresses long and hiding their naked limbs beneath thick shawls or cloaks. Odysseus held his arms out and Deidameia brought her son to him.
The child looked sternly at Odysseus for a moment, then slapped his breastplate with the palms of his hands.
‘I will be a warrior when I’m older,’ he announced.
Odysseus smiled back.
‘That’s good, son. But who will train you to fight? All I see is a host of aunts – have you no uncles?’
‘No, sir.’
‘What about your father?’ Odysseus asked, running his thick fingers through the boy’s hair. He saw the eyes of the fair-headed maiden flash towards Deidameia, who quickly stepped forward and lifted Neoptolemus from Odysseus’s arms.
‘I told you, my lord, his father has gone away.’
‘And is his father blond, also?’ Odysseus asked. ‘It’s uncommon among Greeks.’
‘He is, my lord, and a more handsome man you will never set eyes upon. Neoptolemus’s father has immortal blood in his veins, though he himself is only a man, and as for all this talk of warriors – if you were to ever see my husband’s anger the blood would run from your face and leave you pale, though your skin is as brown as leather.’
‘Ah!’ Odysseus smiled back. ‘He must be a great warrior indeed, then. What’s his name, and where might we find him? He would be a welcome recruit to our cause.’
From the corner of his eye he saw a movement among Deidameia’s sisters, and at the same time Lycomedes stepped forward.
‘The whereabouts of my daughter’s husband are unknown, King Odysseus,’ he insisted, his brow furrowed with barely concealed anger. ‘Now, I hope you’ve found my daughters pleasing, but as they usually bathe at this time of the day I don’t think we should keep them from their normal pleasures.’
‘Of course, King Lycomedes, though I would ask them to wait a short while longer. You forget the gifts I promised.’
‘Gifts?’ said one of the younger girls. ‘Oh, father, can’t we wait a little longer?’
‘Yes, father!’ came a chorus of voices.
‘Here they are now,’ Eperitus announced, seeing Antiphus and Eurybates struggle through the arched gateway with a casket between them.
They were followed by Polites, whose size and strength allowed him to carry another casket unaided. Two more Ithacan sailors appeared with the last casket, which was dumped without ceremony on the lawn next to the other two. All the trunks were open, their heaped contents plain to see, but sitting on top of the dresses and pretty ornaments in the third – to the surprise of all but Odysseus and Eperitus – were a long spear and an ox-hide shield.
‘Help yourselves to whatever you desire,’ Odysseus announced as his men stepped back from the caskets.
Lycomedes’s daughters surged forward to lay their hands on the mass of brightly coloured chitons and the sparkling collection of feminine baubles. As they squabbled with each other for this necklace or that sash, only Deidameia and the blonde maiden hung back. Eventually, Deidameia stepped forward and picked up an orange dress that had been tossed aside in the rush for gifts.
‘Here, Pyrrha,’ she said, handing it to her sister. ‘We’re the oldest and shouldn’t be left without gifts, after all.’
Pyrrha snatched the garment and reluctantly held it against herself, in the same manner that some of her younger sisters were doing with the other dresses. As she did so she caught Odysseus’s eyes watching her. The Ithacan king smiled and nodded at the shield and spear, which remained untouched. Pyrrha looked at the armaments, then stared back at Odysseus with disdain in her blue eyes. A moment later she tossed aside the orange dress and instead picked up a sky-blue chiton – the same one Ajax had mockingly pulled from the caskets the day before – and made a show of admiring its quality and beauty.
‘Come here, Eurybates,’ Odysseus ordered, then whispered something in his ear that even Eperitus could not hear over the clamour of Lycomedes’s daughters. ‘Now, take the men back to the ship and make ready to leave.’
Eurybates, with a bemused look on his face, led the sailors from the garden. Meanwhile, Neoptolemus had left his place by the pond and was attempting to pick up the spear, which was far too heavy for him. Odysseus laughed.
‘Those are my gifts for you, lad. They may be big now, but you’ll grow into them.’
Suddenly, a long horn-blast tore through the warm afternoon air, rising then falling away to silence. Another followed it, deep and lonely, causing everyone to look about themselves in surprise and shock. An instant later they heard the unmistakable clash of bronze against bronze and the shouts of men locked in combat. Antiphus came running in through the gateway, his sword drawn and his eyes wide with fear.
‘We’re being attacked!’ he shouted, falling to his knees in front of Odysseus. ‘Trojans have landed in the harbour – they’re killing everyone.’
Eperitus instinctively fumbled for his sword, before recalling he had left it in the guest quarters.
‘Where’s the guard house?’ Ajax demanded, seizing Lycomedes by the shoulders and staring at him with fierce eyes. ‘Where do you keep your arms, man?’
‘Damn it all!’
They turned to see the blonde maiden, Pyrrha, throwing off her cloak and chiton to reveal a naked and splendidly muscled body – the body of a man! He tore his veil aside and leapt to where Neoptolemus was still trying to lift the spear.
‘Give me that, lad,’ he ordered, gently easing the weapon out of the boy’s hands. A moment later he had lifted the shield onto his other arm and was dashing out to the courtyard.
‘Follow him, quickly!’ Odysseus shouted to Eperitus and Antiphus. ‘Stop him before he kills somebody.’
They ran out of the garden, followed by Nestor, Ajax and Lycomedes. Achilles – for there was no longer any doubt about Pyrrha’s true identity – was running towards a knot of warriors by the gates. They were armed with swords and shields and were methodically attacking each other with slow, deliberate moves. As they saw the naked warrior running swiftly towards them they cast down their weapons and backed away, their arms held over their heads in submission.
‘Achilles!’ Odysseus shouted, his great voice carrying across the courtyard.
The warrior skidded to a halt in a cloud of dust.
‘Achilles! Throw down your armaments. There are no Trojans, and Scyros is not under attack.’
Achilles turned to face the Ithacan king. His golden hair flashed in the sunlight and his rage-filled eyes were terrible to look at, even for seasoned warriors.
‘I’m sorry, my friend,’ Odysseus continued, holding his arms wide to emphasize his apology. ‘I suspected Lycomedes had hidden you among his daughters – the last place anyone would look – and I had to find a way to make you throw off your disguise. And what better way is there of discovering a warrior than a call to arms?’