The Anger of Achilles Read online

  ‘What does that mean?’ I asked. ‘Why is it important?’

  ‘That depends on what the bucket hit instead of hitting water,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘Maybe the lake is shallow there – so shallow the bucket hit the bottom. Or a rock, maybe.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ she said. ‘Let’s try another one.’

  Within a few moments I had pulled a bucket full of clean water up to the top of the next well along. The princess rinsed her hands and face in it and ran her wet fingers back through her hair. Then, with water still dripping onto the breast of her ash-white robe, she was hurrying up to the palace. The route to Briseis’ rooms took us past King Euenos’ quarters and the princess halted at the entrance to these, looking in. Gathered around the dead king’s bed were Hepat and Thalia, Demir and six or so brawny priests, from the Temple of Anu, I assumed, as there were no other priests left alive or free. They were all deep in conversation, no doubt about how best to honour the dead king now that the chance of a proper ritual was no longer an option, unless Sarpedon was indulgent when he arrived; not, I suspected, that Achilles planned on leaving anyone alive behind.

  The imperious princess stamped her foot and Hepat looked up. Her eyes widened for a moment in shock or fear – before she recognised that the black and white smeared apparition confronting her in the shadowy corridor was not some creature lately escaped from the fires of Tartarus. Then she straightened, clapping her hands. ‘Princess!’ she said. ‘I hardly recognised you! Thalia, come with me at once. Demir, we will need warm water as soon as it can be arranged.’

  The group around Euenos’ death bed broke up at once as the women went one way sweeping Briseis along with them, the major-domo went another way and the priests stooped over the ancient corpse, beginning their rituals. I was left becalmed in the middle of this activity. I turned and started to return to my own modest quarters. Just as I reached the doorway a shuffling sound made me glance back. The priests of Anu had lifted the king’s corpse and begun to carry it to the temple for the next stage of their rituals. There were seven priests. Six of them, in three pairs, lifted the cadaver onto their shoulders and the seventh led the way. So close to death, all of them had lifted sections of their flowing robes and folded them reverently over their heads, as though hiding their faces from the spirit of the dead king or from whatever evil had killed him. Their leader also folded his robe over his head, half concealing his face. As he led his companions out of the king’s chamber, however, he looked left and right.

  I only got the briefest glance at his face, but it was enough for me to recognise it: the man leading the priests of Anu was Sarpedon’s cousin and chief lieutenant, Glaucus.

  ii

  Heart and mind both racing, I stepped into my quarters praying to all the gods that even if Glaucus had seen me, he did not realise I had seen and recognised him. But then my mind gave a leap forward that left me breathless and sickened. Hepat and Demir had both been in close conversation with the priests of Anu. Surely they too must have recognised their leader. And if that was the case, then there was something going on here I had not fully understood. It very much looked as though Briseis was placing her trust and perhaps her life in the hands of people in secret contact with our closest and most dangerous enemies.

  I turned, panic threatening to overwhelm me. I was powerless to warn Briseis of her terrible danger, for Hepat would be bathing her at this very moment and the thought of rushing into such a situation, even with such a vital warning, was inconceivable. Even so, I was out in the corridor and hurrying towards the princess’ room before yet another thought struck me – and struck with sufficient force to stop me in my tracks. Glaucus and Sarpedon were my enemies – Achilles’ Odysseus’ and mine. But of course they were friends and allies to Briseis and her Lyrnessans. More than that, indeed: they were Briseis’ only hope of escaping a life of slavery in the tent and bed of Achilles. I stood in the corridor, shifting from foot to foot, the very essence of indecision, moving from side to side but neither forward or back. And another element of the dizzying tangle reared once more: was Briseis really part of a murderous conspiracy whose objective was to overthrow the Achaean forces and give Sarpedon a solid base from which to attack Agamemnon in the rear as he drew his forces up beneath the walls of Troy? If so, I should warn Odysseus at once – or perhaps even Achilles as commander of the armies and sole owner of the slave-princess. But she was such a vital, insightful, proud and beautiful woman. Surely, if I could find some way of allowing her the space to escape the fate the gods had apparently dictated for her, that would be an act of goodness, not of treachery. Wouldn’t it? As though my dilemma was a great minotaur standing before me with horns as huge as an ox’s, I was caught helplessly upon them.

  But my indecision did not – could not – last long. My path was clear enough. My honour was a dull and tiny thing compared with the honour of Achilles, but it was still my honour and, like me, it belonged to the Achaean cause. I turned once more, my mind made up but I had only gone a few steps before Khloe appeared, carefully carrying a sizeable bowl. The steam rising from it revealed that this was the warm water Demir had been despatched to arrange. Sending Khloe with it was logical enough for she could take it directly to the princess, no matter what stage the bathing and changing had reached. But the look on the young woman’s face warned me that she was carrying more than hot water. I slowed as she rushed past me therefore, then turned back to follow her. I stopped immediately outside the doorway leading out of Briseis’ quarters and stood there silently, listening.

  ‘They say the scouts have ridden in so fast their horses are nearly dead,’ Khloe was saying over a background of splashing water. ‘They have brought word that Sarpedon’s army is close by.’

  ‘That was easy enough to guess,’ said Briseis. ‘Why else would they come galloping back as Odysseus’ man reported? How far away is Prince Sarpedon?’

  ‘I don’t think the scouts have said,’ answered Khloe. ‘If they know, they will report to Prince Achilles. But it seems likely his army is nearby and approaching fast.’

  ‘So, if I want to know any more – and I do want to know more of course – I must go back to the Achaeans and see what Odysseus lets slip. Have any of you seen the rhapsode? He is still my surest path into Odysseus’ confidence, especially if we continue with our quest like Jason on the Argo searching for the gold of Colchis.’

  ‘I saw him, Highness,’ said Khloe. ‘Outside in the corridor as I was bringing your hot water.’

  Everything in Briseis’ quarters went silent.

  I was in motion at once, torn between the need for speed and the need for silence. With my mind racing almost as swiftly as my feet, I reached Odysseus’ quarters and dived through the doorway. Then, with an excess of cunning, instead of just sitting in my room awaiting discovery and putting on a show of innocence and ignorance, I spun round, took a deep breath and stepped back out as though I had been in here ever since my encounter with Khloe. I did so just at the same moment Hepat stepped out of Briseis’ rooms. ‘Hepat,’ I said, hoping my voice sounded steady and my tone natural, ‘is the Princess washed and changed? I have an idea how we can explore the wells a little further.’

  ‘Explore the wells?’ the notion seemed to knock Hepat off her stride.

  ‘Indeed. The first time I tried to draw water for the princess, the bucket struck something solid. We thought that was strange. So I thought, if we pulled the bucket back up and tied a blazing torch to the rope just above it…’

  ‘We could lower it into the well again and maybe see what’s down there. A clever idea. We’ll try it at once. Bring me a torch!’ Briseis stepped out behind Hepat, changed, clean and keen to proceed despite her dripping hair; her expression one of limpid innocence and utter trustworthiness. Almost, I thought, a match for my own. As I pursued my assumption that the princess was a mortal enemy to me and all Achaeans, and my mission to discover the truth about what she was really up to.

  ***<
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  ‘Should we untie the bucket?’ I asked. ‘The knot’s not too tight. It should be easy.’

  ‘No,’ said Briseis. ‘I think we’ll need the bucket to weight it or we’ll never get it all the way down. If we make a loop here, about an arm’s length above the bucket… slip the torch in and tighten it…’As she spoke, she acted. ‘There. All done. Now the bucket will pull it down.’

  The torch did indeed look firmly attached. It was secured at an angle. Its broad, burning end faced down slightly because it weighed more than the thinner handle but that would be all to the good if we were quick because of course it meant the torch would burn more brightly but for less time. Even so, the flames were pale and almost invisible until we lowered the bucket into the well and the torch followed it.

  ‘We’d better try and control it this time,’ suggested Briseis. ‘We don’t want it to fall so fast the torch gets blown out. But on the other hand, we have to get it down there as quickly as possible.’

  We began by turning the handles but soon realised this was too slow and in any case neither of us could see into the well, so we put our hands on the round wooden cylinder and controlled the bucket’s descent that way while craning over the wall – something we had to do in any case to reach the cylinder in the first place. At first the fumes from the torch were almost choking and made our eyes and noses run but as it sank into the depth, lighting the rough walls of the shaft in a circle of brightness as it fell, so the fumes became less troublesome. After a while I was able to blink away the tears and get a good view – luckily so, for the torch flame was rapidly growing smaller – a dot in the centre of the circle of light on the walls surrounding it. But then the golden circle disappeared. ‘It’s in the cave,’ said Briseis. ‘Slowly and carefully now…’

  We pressed our hands against the slick wood as hard as we could, and we needed to do so, for our sweat and any fat lingering on Briseis’ palms had made it slippery, added to which the rope now unreeled below us nearly doubled the original weight of the bucket and the torch. But even as she spoke, and we pressed down harder at her words, Briseis gave a gasp of pain and frustration. She jerked her hands away. ‘…blisters!...’ she said. The bucket fell, far beyond my control. It crashed onto whatever was down there, then the torch joined it as the last of the rope wound off the spindle, stopped once again by the knot at its end. I leaned over the low wall, almost all of my weight on my hands, my toes only just touching the ground. There in the darkness, far below, only partially lit by the torch lying on top of it, was something that looked for all the world like the bows of a small boat.

  I glanced across towards Briseis, wondering had she seen it too? But the instant I moved, my hands slipped and I pitched forward. My toes lost their grip. My arms flailed helplessly, hoping that I might catch the rope and hold it to stop me falling. The rope was thick, strong and new; it would have held me safe – and probably five more like me. But actually catching it was a forlorn hope. It rapped me on the knuckles like an irate tutor and swung away. Before I had a chance to grab hold of it, I fell.

  I would have gone headlong to my death had a firm hand not caught me and pulled me back. One moment I was fated to follow the torch into the depths, the next I was safely back on firm ground. ‘That was close,’ said Briseis with a tight smile. ‘Or did you really want to go down there for a closer look?’

  ‘No,’ I answered. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘let’s try again, shall we?’ But when we peered over the wall once more there was only darkness below. ‘The torch has gone out,’ she observed. ‘What was it that you saw?’

  ‘I think it was some kind of boat,’ I said.

  ‘I suppose that might make sense,’ she shrugged. ‘It’s a lake down there after all. And a boat might give a good opportunity to keep everything clear and well-maintained. Recover things that have fallen down there. And people, come to that.’ She gave another smile.

  But by this time my simple gratitude for her swift action had been tainted by second thoughts prompted by my new mission. Had she saved me because she valued me, my help and friendship, or because she still needed her sure path into Odysseus’ confidences?

  iii

  ‘We should fight,’ said Achilles. ‘Here and now.’ He was concentrating so fiercely on his companions Odysseus and Aias that he hardly noticed our arrival.

  ‘And so we should fight, old friend,’ nodded Odysseus. ‘But at Troy and when we are properly prepared. Here and now, we are neither strong enough nor well enough organised. Though it might be wise, perhaps, to load our chariots and horses aboard the ships last.’

  ‘Chariots? But we have the city…’Achilles turned his back on the four butchers’ gallows with their stripped carcases and gestured past the pyres up the hill the princess and I had just come down. The three of them were continuing their conference here, I supposed, because Odysseus had promised to see to the burial of the funeral jars which stood on the tables stretched along the shoreline behind the pyres and Aias would be in charge of dealing with Idas’ in any case. They could talk so freely because all the troops except the burial detail had been dismissed – the last of them were filing away as we arrived.

  ‘We have the city indeed,’ agreed Odysseus. ‘But as the princess has wisely observed, your Myrmidons and Aias’ Locrians have made too good a job of rendering it uninhabitable and indefensible. The walls might stand against Sarpedon for a while, but we could never repair the gates in time, and it was the failure of the great West Gate that let us in, was it not? No. Our ships and our scouts have given us two days’ grace. We should use the time to withdraw in good order, not to strengthen defences we could never hold. Besides, as I have already explained, Achilles, Patroclus is dangerously unwell and the quicker we can return him to the care our physicians Machaon and Podalirius, the sooner he will be on the road to recovery.’

  ‘Besides,’ said Briseis. ‘Who will ever remember a hero of Lyrnessus- whether he lives of dies? But a hero of Troy – that’s a name could live forever.’

  ‘A well made point, princess, if an unexpected one,’ said Odysseus with an unaccustomed frown. ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘To see if I can be of further service in the final elements of my husband’s funeral,’ she answered innocently. ‘I was afraid that news of Sarpedon’s approach might make you re-order your priorities.’

  ‘If it was up to me,’ said Aias, ‘I would scout Sarpedon’s best line of attack with the chariots he favours so much, then bury the Lyrnessans in a line across it – give the Lycians something to think about before they charge into battle, eh? Would they dare anger the gods with the sacrilege of storming straight through a line of burial mounds?’

  ‘An impressive notion,’ said Odysseus quietly. ‘We’ll make a strategist of you yet. But in fact there will be no need. The burials will be beneath the ground where the pyres were lit, as is traditional. We will be gone before Sarpedon arrives and we will have taken everything of value with us – including King Idas’ funeral urn, now I think of it. He might prefer to have been buried at Troy, as the princess observes.’

  ‘Everything of value?’ challenged Aias, prompted no doubt by the naming of his friend and chief lieutenant, ‘including Idas’ missing hoard of gold?’

  ‘If we can find it we will take it,’ said Odysseus easily. ‘If not, then we shouldn’t let it distract us from more important matters.’

  ‘Talking of more important matters,’ struck in Achilles, ‘have you settled the matter of the princess’ stain on my good name and my honour? That needs to be resolved before we take ship – or I swear by Ares and Athena that King Euenos will not be the only fresh corpse of royal blood we leave behind!’

  ‘Killing me will not clear your name, Prince Achilles,’ spat Briseis. ‘Only King Odysseus can do that. And it looks as though his time is running out!’

  ‘But surely,’ I said, much less willing than Briseis to hurl myself into the midst of this conversation; with more to
lose, perhaps – or caring more that I might lose it, ‘we are certain that the two problems are tied together. The actions that appear to have tarnished Prince Achilles’ honour have arisen because some man or men, led by whoever cuts throats, are motivated by neither courage or honour but by lust for Idas’ gold. Gold we must believe was sent in the hope that it would somehow make the fall of the city swifter. Which it may have done; but it has also generated outcomes whoever sent it could never have foreseen.’

  ‘To such an extent,’ added Odysseus, ‘that its continued presence at the heart of things is now generating the opposite outcome to that it was designed to guarantee.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ demanded Aias.

  ‘It very much looks to me,’ explained Odysseus, ‘that the gold achieved its original purpose and the city fell relatively easily into our hands. Sufficiently easily to spark the princess’ suspicions. But the man who was supposed to pass it over to whoever had arranged the city’s downfall died. It is King Idas that I mean, killed by a stab from a spear – an unusual weapon to be used indoors. And in his side, not in the front as is traditional in heroic encounters. The gold remained in his ship unclaimed. The man or men who had earned it tried to get it. But their actions alerted others. Now it appears the gold is at the centre of a secret contest – one, it seems to me, that is motivating at least some of the participants to hope that they can smuggle it safely to Sarpedon – thus undoing the original objective and strengthening our enemies after all.’

  ‘Glaucus,’ I blurted. ‘Glaucus is in the palace disguised as a priest of Anu.’

  ***

  There was a moment of silence, then Odysseus nodded as though he had known it all along. ‘Glaucus had to be somewhere nearby,’ he said. ‘The fact that we found Pedasos suggested that.’