The Anger of Achilles Read online

  The passage led on down a slope, plunging ever deeper into the heart of the citadel hill. It remained quite wide and seemed to be perfectly straight. As our smaller group was joined by the Prince of Phthia and his lieutenant and proceeded, however, the tunnel roof sank lower above us and I doubt that I was alone in feeling that the entire weight of the citadel and the palace that crowned it was pressing down upon me, ready at any instant to close down and crush me. I had no way of measuring how far we had come when the tunnel abruptly ended and the reason for the water sounds, which had been growing louder and louder as we moved forward, became clear. I found myself standing on what, for lack of a better term, I imagined to be the shore of an underground lake. I had suggested to Odysseus that such a place might exist amongst the secret passages which might even lead out from beneath the city walls like those in Troy. But I had never imagined anything like this. The light from our torches hardly touched the vast darkness which stretched away before us. After a surprisingly short space, it became impossible to distinguish shadow from stone. It was only possible to discriminate between the water and the roof by the sound of one echoing off the other. Torches held high, Odysseus, Aias, Achilles and Patroclus gathered around us. As I stared, wide-eyed into the t darkness, I felt Briseis stirring at my side. ‘What are those?’ she breathed. ‘Stars?’

  ‘I had no idea what she was talking about, but I was certain when I answered, ‘How can they be stars, princess? That is stone above us, not sky!’

  ‘I see what the princess means,’ said Odysseus, who had the sharpest eyes of all of us. ‘There are specks of light there. It is impossible to tell how far away they are with any accuracy. As the princess said, they appear to be like stars and who knows how far away the stars are?’

  ‘Wait!’ said Briseis. ‘One of then blinked out just then – did you see?’ and a moment after she spoke there was a distinct splash! as something hit the water.

  There was an instant of silence, then Odysseus said, ‘Wells! Those must be the wells in the agora and someone just lowered a bucket to draw up some water!’

  ‘Of course!’ agreed Briseis. ‘I had never imagined that they would be as deep as this!’

  ‘I suppose,’ I said, ‘That explains why the largest of them need Egyptian pulleys to raise the buckets back up to the agora.’

  ‘It’s certainly the only way to get water out of here,’ said Odysseus. ‘I know the cistern deep beneath Agamemnon’s castle at Mycenae is accessed by steps so that slaves and servants can go down and fill up amphora and buckets by hand – but this is something on a different scale altogether!’

  The tunnels and the lake had nothing more to tell us. There was no sign of Glaucus or of the gold. Unwilling to waste any more time, Odysseus and Achilles left a sizeable unit to guard the tunnel. Then they led us back out into the northern quarter, up the hill, through the gate and into the palace. Sutekh and his men accompanied us and were then escorted down to the Achaean camp to be secured with the rest of the captives, though it seemed to me they would not have to wait long before they were ferried out to the transport ships and their new lives as prisoners of war and slaves. I wondered idly whether Sutekh would get along with Agamemnon’s mantis Calchas. I frankly doubted it.

  The final feast of the formal rituals was given and I sang my song – shortened as Odysseus had requested. When the eating and drinking was all done, the leaders went off to see to the next raft of duties as they prepared to sail north, with or without the aid of a following breeze courtesy of the wind-god Notus, as soon as the final stages of the rituals were completed in the morning when the bones of the royal corpses would be retrieved from the ashes of their pyres, packed in jars with the fat of the last sacrificial animals, sealed and buried in due form to honour them and the gods they worshipped.

  For one reason and another, I had slept very little since I came through the still-burning city to find Odysseus discussing logic and death with Elpenor and Perimedes. Even though there was still a considerable bustle going on in and round the palace, I retired to my straw-stuffed pallet; though when I got there I found myself unsure as to whether I was disappointed or relieved to find there were no naked women waiting within it tonight.

  In spite of the fact that I had retired earlier than everyone else, I woke later. When I had completed my ablutions, dressed and gone through to the megaron I found only the scraps of breakfast remaining but I was happy enough with the last of the flat bread, a few remaining olives and what little cheese Briseis – as I suspected – had not consumed. All this, washed down with cool milk, suited me well enough. I did not linger over my meal because I had a strong suspicion that I knew where everyone else would be.

  ***

  As I hurried through the city, I was struck by how utterly empty it was once more. Every man in our armies, from the lowest slave to the highest king had business down on the beach, either attending the ceremony of the bones or loading the ships. It seemed that the only living creatures in the agora were the oxen which would form the final sacrifice. All too well aware that I was already late, I hurried on down through the West Gate.

  The funeral pyres had all burned down overnight. There was nothing left of them now but piles of cold white ash. Briseis was responsible for the collection of the bones from most of them, though she herself was only required to gather the bones of her husband. Hepat had sent Khloe to help her and Demir, it seemed, had lent as many palace servants as he could to deal with her brothers’ and brother-in -law’s remains. It was, apparently, Demir also who had negotiated with the butchers and cooks of the Myrmidon army that the four strong oxen I had seen penned in the agora should be spared slaughter until here and now, specifically against this occasion. He and a carefully selected band had departed earlier to get the beasts and lead them back down here. I was surprised that I had missed them.

  The occasion was stranger than I could ever have imagined. While the royal war-leaders paid formal homage as the ashes were sifted and the bones collected on the grass area between the city walls and the beach, their men came and went behind them, busily loading their ships and preparing for departure before Sarpedon and his vessels got too close for comfort. I positioned myself as close to Briseis as possible, my mind racing, for this struck me as truly heroic. The entire funeral ritual would be worthy of a song all on its own. This final section of it was perhaps the most impressive of all. The princess paid no attention to the condition of her black funereal clothing or her person. She waded bodily into the pile of ash, kicking up clouds as she went. Khloe stood by a low table beside the dead fire which was holding a jar destined to be the bones’ final repository. The intrepid princess reached down elbow-deep to retrieve first Mynes’ skull, then – though careful sifting – the bones of his neck. As she found each piece, she handed it to Khloe who laid it on the table beside the jar. Even before she retrieved the bones of his shoulders and arms, Briseis was covered in ash. Her hair was white with it, as, indeed was her black robe. Her face a mask of chalk or lime, black-rimmed eyes streaming tears in furrows down her cheeks. And yet she did not hesitate. With the care of a mother nursing a new-born, she retrieved the bones of his arms and then went in search of his hands. By the grace of the gods, all the bones of wrist, palm and digits were still fused together so she did not have to seek them individually. And then the complete rib-cage with the spine intact, lifted free.

  I glanced away. The same process was going on all down the line, bones being piled on makeshift tables, jars waiting to contain them. But then my gaze swept back to where Odysseus was standing and I saw a frown gathering in the king’s face. He had made it clear last night that, although he was keen to observe the forms of the funerals, time was of the essence. The area at the end of the line remained empty except for the Myrmidon butchers standing idly waiting for the oxen. The rites would soon require the fat from the newly slaughtered, swiftly butchered, beasts to be placed, still steaming, in the jars first so that the bones could be laid on top and yet mo
re fresh fat added above them to seal the jars for burial. Unless the oxen arrived almost at once, the ceremony would come to a halt and precious time would be lost. With an impatient grunt, he was off. With a glance at Briseis, who was too occupied to pay any attention to me, I was off following the captain.

  We arrived at the butcher station at the same time as Demir and the oxen accompanied by his team of ox-handlers, ready to pass the animals over to the Myrmidon butchers. Seemingly without further thought, Odysseus walked up to the great beasts, all of which were steaming in the cool air of morning. With his sea-blue gaze distant, he patted the nearest of them, just where its massive neck sprang out of its shoulders. He smoothed the rough hide with a gentle hand and I remembered that he was a farmer as well as a seafarer. He was no doubt remembering how he had yoked an ass beside his strongest ox and pretended to plough like a madman in order to avoid coming to the war. A trick that was working well until Palamedes threw his young son Telemachus onto the ground in front of the plough and Odysseus revealed the truth by swerving to avoid killing the child. Something Odysseus would never forgive Palamedes for. Odysseus patted the great beast once more and turned, clearly looking for someone. ‘Demir?’ he said.

  I looked around too, but Demir and his men, having fulfilled their mission, had gone about some other business.

  By the time we got back, Briseis had retrieved all her husband’s bones. They lay piled on the table beside her as she and Khloe awaited the fat from the ox-thighs to begin the final element of the ritual. The wait was clearly not going to be a short one but the princess squared her shoulders and was preparing herself to face it when Thalia arrived breathless but wide-eyed with news. ‘It is the king,’ she gasped. ‘King Euenos is dead!’

  I had heard tell in my roving days of people of the lands in the far, far east who wore white as a sign of mourning. I thought of that now as, Briseis, all white, stood beside Odysseus and me looking down at King Euenos as Thaila and Hepat silently went about tending the dead king and rearranging his clothes. The King Euenos lay on his royal bed, awaiting funeral preparations which would be nowhere near as elaborate as those for his sons, unless Sarpedon was as indulgent as Achilles and Odysseus had been. Even in death, his face sagged strangely. There was spittle running from between slack lips on his left side. Hepat leaned forward to gather his sagging robes across his breast, thoughtlessly brushing away the crumbs caught in the curls of silver hair there. Odysseus stood, looking pensively down at the corpse. But then he suddenly caught his breath as though stung by an invisible hornet.

  Briseis and I both looked at him, because the sound was so striking and unusual. He looked at us but did not seem to see us. Clearly his mind was racing. I had seen this happen before, but Briseis never had. ‘What?’ she demanded, looking from Odysseus to me. ‘What is going on?’

  Instead of answering her, Odysseus swung round. ‘Patroclus,’ he said. ‘I must find Patroclus at once!’

  He turned and strode to the door, but before he could actually go out of the dead king’s room, he was stopped by Perimedes who was every bit as breathless as Thalia had been. ‘News from the watch-tower, Captain,’ he gasped. ‘There are riders. They look like the scouts you sent to warn us if Sarpedon was approaching. They’re coming in at full gallop.’

  8: The Gold

  i

  Odysseus hesitated for a heartbeat in the doorway. Then, ‘Warn Prince Aias,’ he ordered Perimedes. ‘He’ll be overseeing King Idas’ funeral arrangements. We’ll have to hold another council of war at once, whatever the news they’re binging in.’

  Perimedes also hesitated. ‘Prince Aias? Not Prince Achilles?’ he asked, surprised.

  ‘I’ll tell him when I see Patroclus,’ snapped Odysseus. ‘I must see Patroclus immediately.’

  I looked at Briseis who was standing frowning. ‘What about the ritual?’ she asked. ‘The bones…’

  ‘Go back to the pyres, Princess,’ said Odysseus. ‘I’ll join you on my way to the council meeting and give orders that the sacred jars be buried with due ceremony when they have been filled and sealed. But the ultimate authority for the next part of the procedure will be yours.’ And he was gone.

  ‘It looks as though I will enjoy a short time longer as a princess before I finally become a mere slave,’ she said. She turned to Hepat. ‘Make arrangements for the king’s body to be taken to the temple…’ She ordered. Then she hesitated.

  ‘To the temple of Teshub, Highness?’ asked Hepat quietly.

  ‘No. To the temple of Anu. The poor old man will be under the ground soon enough,’ answered Briseis. ‘Besides, by my reckoning, it is the only temple left with any priests in it. Any living priests, that is. Gul-Ses is in the temple of Teshub, laid out on the altar all alone, waiting for the old gods to heal his throat and bring him back to life, I suppose. I will return when the ceremony of the jars is complete. In the meantime, when the priests of Anu also return from the pyres they will know what to do.’

  ‘Of course, Highness,’ said Hepat.

  As we hurried in Odysseus’ wake, Briseis said, ‘What was it that Odysseus saw that sent him running to Patroclus, I wonder.’

  ‘I have no idea,’ I answered. ‘But I have seen him react like that on more than one occasion in the past when a large part of a puzzle suddenly falls into place. Though I really can’t see what King Euenos’ death has to do with the stolen gold and the cut throats.’

  As Briseis and I reached the agora, the princess slowed. Up until then, she had been leaving a cloud of fine white ash in her wake as her impatient footsteps shook it from her shoulders and hair. Now she hesitated. The fine flakes settled and I stood, frowning, at her side. Odysseus had also paused in his urgent flight to find Patroclus. Now he was lingering beside the fenced area where the oxen had been penned, looking thoughtfully from the makeshift fence to the nearby water trough and at the well which stood between them. His presence was particularly striking because apart from him the agora was once again completely empty. As, indeed, the entire lower city seemed to be. But then, as though our arrival had disturbed whatever train of thought he had been following, he shook his head and was in motion once again.

  ‘Come along,’ snapped Briseis and she too was off once more. By the time we reached the ruined West Gate, Odysseus had gone through it and vanished. Briseis and I hurried on down to the pyres with their bone-laden tables and gaping jars. Shoulder to shoulder we passed the slaughterhouse area where the Myrmidon butchers were preparing the four great oxen for their place in the rituals. Four huge three-legged gallows had been erected and the dead animals hung from these, suspended by ropes round their hind legs. During our absence, the beasts had obviously been stunned as the ritual demanded, their throats had been cut, their blood had been drained into great bowls which were set aside, steaming, as their carcases were raised. Bellies had been opened and smoking offal also laid aside. The hides of the sacrifices were being swiftly and expertly stripped off and great slabs of pale fat revealed on the hind legs as the thick skin came away. As we hurried past, the first slab was cut free of the red muscle that lay behind it and placed on a dish which was carried behind us as we returned to Euenos’ remains.

  The princess replaced Khloe in charge of the sacred jar as the Myrmidon butcher carved a slice off the solid yellow fat and folded it into the bottom. Briseis took up the bones. First the feet were placed in the jar, then the shins, then the thighs - and so on until finally the skull was fitted into its final resting place. Another slab of fat was presented and she forced it past the neck of the jar, pressing it down over what was left of Mynes. Khloe passed the lid to the princess. Briseis took it and pushed it into place sealing the sacred vessel for ever. She stood back and heaved a huge sigh, unconsciously wiping her fat-slick hands on her dress. ‘I will return for the burial,’ she said. ‘But in the meantime the interments must wait for King Odysseus. I must wash and change.’ She hurried away and after a moment, having no particular function or desire to be here, I follo
wed her.

  ***

  We reached the vacant agora and she stopped once more. ‘I can’t stand it any longer,’ she announced. ‘I must wash my hands and face at once!’ and she led the way across to the wells. I had taken her announcement at face value so I was surprised when she marched past the nearer wells, heading for the one that Odysseus had hesitated beside. Here she too paused, looking around. There seemed to me to be little enough to see: a rough fence hardly strong enough to stop a determined goat, let alone an ox; a long wooden trough half full of brackish water. The well itself was rather larger than I had supposed – a circular wall of stones, held together with lime, stood almost waist-high. A gantry such as I had seen in Egypt – two solid timber uprights joined by a piece of wood which had been worked into the shape of a cylinder, like a short section from the mast of a ship lying on its side at shoulder-level. A length of rope had been tied to this and wound round it. A simple handle had been added at each end so that the cylinder could be turned and the rope wound off it or on it as the surprisingly solid-looking bucket was lowered into the lake below or raised from it full of water. The bucket was balanced on top of the wall immediately above the black-throated shaft of the well itself. Which, like everything else, was larger than I had imagined it to be.

  ‘Fresh water!’ demanded the imperious princess, looking across from the scummy liquid in the trough. ‘Quickly!’

  Cheerfully obedient, I pushed the bucket off the wall and watched the rope unreeling so swiftly it was a blur. The handles, in response, seemed to become solid wheels they span so quickly. Fascinated, I craned over the wall, peering downwards, expecting at any moment to hear the splash of the bucket hitting the surface of the lake far below. Instead of a splash, however, I heard a thud. The bucket had hit something solid. The handles and the cylinder between them continued to spin and the rope fed off until it was all gone except for the knot securing its end. Then it began to wind back on as the spinning handles slowed. Briseis caught the nearest one and stopped its movement. ‘Look,’ she said. ‘The knot that ties the rope in place: it’s new; well, recently re-tied, and not very expertly.’