The Anger of Achilles Read online

  Two rooms were the obvious focus of my concentration. The first was the nearer, the one which housed the stricken King Euenos. Here I should find Hepat and her helpers tending their monarch just as they had apparently done since he had been afflicted. There, indeed, I was able to observe the young women Khloe and Thalia, though I had no idea which was which, carefully rearranging Euenos’ clothing, washing the drool from his stubbled chin and brushing the crumbs from his chest. I observed them, unsuspected, for a moment as they worked, taking some pleasure from the movements of their lissom bodies. Then two things broke my mildly lustful distraction. The first was a sudden realisation that King Euenos’ good eye, golden brown like that of an eagle, was focused on me.

  The second was that there was no sign of Hepat.

  Hepat’s absence did not surprise me in the slightest. As I hurried up the passageway towards Princess Briseis’ temporary prison cell, I heard her distinctive voice almost with a feeling of inevitability. ‘Turn your backs and look away both of you!’ she snarled. ‘I am rearranging the princess’ intimate attire and it is highly inappropriate that you should observe such a thing!’

  ***

  Sure enough, as I crept past the doorway, I saw the guards dutifully looking away across the megaron while the square-bodied woman fussed with the neckline of the princess’ dress. I slowed, staring in. There was not a flicker of reaction from the guards though they saw me quite clearly of course. And I saw equally clearly into the room they were guarding. Just as the two Myrmidons were facing towards me, so the two women were facing away from me. Hepat nearer, behind the princess who was looking towards the little window. The elder woman’s hands were busy with the upper sections of the princess’ clothing, though I couldn’t see what she was doing in any detail. I paused, struck, too surprised to feel any guilt at the fact that I was surreptitiously observing a princess having, as Hepat had said, her intimate attire adjusted. Because she wasn’t. The neckline of her purple gown remained as decorously high as ever in spite of the older woman’s busy fingers, never falling below the nape of her royal neck. Or so I judged, for the neck and the neckline were lost beneath the luxuriant tumble of the princess’ ebony hair.

  At last Hepat stood back. Princess Briseis turned and the two women’s heads drew closer together as they talked. They were obviously keeping their voices so low that the guards would be unable to make out what they were saying. I stood no chance, therefore, as I was even further out in the megaron. After a moment, Hepat came towards the doorway, luckily still looking back at her mistress rather than out at me. Briseis called her and she turned back again just giving me time to hide behind the nearest of the four pillars beside the fire pit as they exchanged a few more words.

  Then, from my makeshift hiding place I was able to observe Hepat bustling back towards the king’s room, her every movement full of purpose and self-importance. When I was sure she would not see me or suspect my presence I stepped out and began to follow her. I kept well back, still within the megaron, and observed her pushing haughtily past the guards into the king’s presence. I was well clear of the doorway, hesitating as I awaited events, when one of the two young helpers came out. Much as I was myself, she made a great show of doing nothing suspicious and it struck me at once how suspicious that looked. As soon as she turned and started coming towards the megaron, I ran back and stepped behind the nearest column once more. I watched, unsuspected, at that slight distance, as she disappeared through one of the smaller openings in the rear wall and vanished into impenetrable shadow. The absolute darkness of the passageway was illuminated after a moment or two as she struck a flint, ignited tinder and lit a lamp. With a swift glance towards Briseis’ room which established that I was unlikely to be observed by the princess, I was in motion.

  I arrived at the opening just as the light seemed to fade. I found I was peering along a short corridor just in time to see the woman hurrying away from me, the flame of the lamp hidden behind her body. An instant later, I was following her, seeming within arm’s reach of the looming shadow that lagged behind her on the ceiling, the wall and the floor. Hurrying to complete whatever mission Hepat had delegated to her, she did not think to look behind herself. I was able to follow her unsuspected along the passage. It ended in a blank wall and a set of steps leading downwards on the left. I stepped back into the shadows as the young woman turned and descended, too preoccupied and dazzled by the lamp flame to see much more than her way ahead. When she had vanished, I ran to the top of the stair and looked down after her. After a few steps, the staircase, turned back along the way we had just come and plunged further down. I had no doubt that the last, lowest, steps led into another tunnel.

  What I could see of this passage from the bottom step when I got there was long, arrow-straight and flanked with occasional dark doorways to right and left, clearly running beneath the floor of the megaron, under the fire pit and into the distance. My quarry paid no attention to any of these openings, preferring to hurry forward straight ahead once more. And I continued to follow her, still unsuspected for the moment at least.

  The tunnel ended in a sizeable room which, by my calculation, must have been directly below the temple of the sky-god, though it was larger – including I estimated, the space covered by the propylon entrance chamber where Odysseus had talked the enraged Achilles out of giving Princess Briseis back to the lustful Aias. That this too was some kind of temple became obvious as soon as she entered the place. The flickering flame gave disturbing life to a tall statue carved in some dark stone which towered against a side wall with an altar standing immediately in front of it. The only bright thing about the statue was a thick golden headband. It held what looked like a sword aslant across its chest and what I at first assumed to be shadows spreading behind it were actually huge black wings. It was a strange thing, very different from our own gods and goddesses with their human forms, weaknesses and desires. Different, even, from the much more human Sky God immediately above us. It looked alien, timeless and deeply disturbing to me. It was as though I had stumbled into a secret temple from another, elder, much more dangerous time.

  ii

  I glanced away from the strange winged god with an atavistic shiver as the young woman reclaimed my full attention. She crossed the room to the massive altar that stood immediately in front of the looming deity and as she did so, I caught my breath with shock. For on this altar there lay five bodies. All obviously dead, dressed and arranged as though for their funerals. As I watched, trying feverishly to work out what was going on here, the young woman put down her lamp and pulled something out of her own clothing. It must be whatever Hepat had taken from Briseis and secretly passed over in the king’s chamber, I guessed. It was not until she began to place it round the neck of the central body that I realised what it was. It was the simadi exousia golden disk of royalty and generalship. Odysseus had one. So did Achilles and Aias, for they were of royal blood and commanders-in-chief of their armies. As the young woman completed her task and laid the golden disc reverently on the still breast of the central corpse, I nodded with silent understanding. These must be the bodies of Prince Mynes, Prince Ephistrophos and Briseis’ three brothers. The men the princess accused Achilles of murdering in a cowardly and dishonourable fashion.

  Then the young woman turned, saw me and started screaming.

  ‘This presents us with several problems all at once,’ said Odysseus some while later as he looked down at the altar and the corpses laid out upon it. The temple was now brightly lit with a number of lamps and guarded by the Myrmidons who had overseen the servants that brought them.

  ‘Five at least, if you can call dead enemies “problems”,’ said Aias with a brutal snigger. There was a brief silence as his levity fell flat.

  ‘How so?’ asked Achilles, disregarding Aias altogether. He glanced at Odysseus, the light of the lamps and torches that now filled the place glinting off his golden hair, just as it did off his helmet when he wore one.

  ‘Only
if you care enough to give a damn about anything the sorry rabble left in the city thinks,’ persisted Aias viciously, shrugging dismissively, his face settling back into the petulant frown it had worn ever since the Prince of Phthia robbed him of Princess Briseis and the animal pleasure he proposed to take on her. Too scared to take his rage out on Achilles as the man who had caused it, he was taking it out instead on everyone and everything nearby.

  ‘For the moment at least, I do care,’ said Odysseus. ‘So the problems remain.’

  ‘What are they?’ asked Achilles. His gaze wandered back to the royal corpses all laid out in consecrated robes, wide eyes staring straight upwards, catching a golden gleam from the lamplight, awaiting a proper funeral – one that they would be lucky to get under the circumstances.

  I could almost read Achilles’ thoughts. Some day he too would be laid out like this but that prospect did not disturb him. What he was worried about was the possibility that, like Prince Mynes and the others beside him, he would be robbed of the ceremonies that guaranteed his place in Hades’ dark kingdom beyond the River Styx; that he might even come to this pass unnoticed, unmourned, unremembered. The only thing that really angered Achilles was an attack on his honour. The only thing that really frightened him was the spectre of an anonymous death.

  ‘The first and most fundamental is the problem of finding out how these men died,’ Odysseys was explaining gently. ‘The next, arising from it, is to discover who killed them and why, for it is quite obvious that Prince Mynes and his twin did not die in battle. The three men beside them, Briseis’ brothers I would guess, also did not die in battle, though they had almost certainly been in battle.’

  ‘What in the names of all the gods does that mean?’ demanded Aias. ‘They were in the battle but were not killed during the battle…’

  ‘It may be even more complex than that,’ said Odysseus. ‘Because it seems quite clear to me that they bear the scars and bruises one might expect to find on a man who had been in battle. But each of these three men seems to have been killed by having his throat cut.’

  ‘Hunh,’ grunted Aias. ‘I’ve cut a good number of throats today.’ He glanced at Achilles. ‘And seen a good number more cut into the bargain.’

  ‘As have I,’ said Odysseus. ‘But not like this. It is hard to be certain after the careful preparation lavished on the bodies, but the fatal wounds on these necks seem surprisingly small. These were not done in the heat of battle. These were done somewhere else. Somehow else. Sometime else and a while ago too – for the bodies have been washed and prepared. And, with all due respect to you as soldiers and your men as warriors, these were done by someone else.’

  ‘Princess Briseis said that they all died because of the battle,’ Achilles pointed out. ‘As an underhanded and dishonourable way of ensuring our Achaean victory.’ He sounded almost as petulant as Aias. Unusually so – there was nothing petty about the Prince of Phthia.

  ‘She did,’ allowed Odysseus. ‘But we will prove she was mistaken – ideally to her own satisfaction too, so that she can unsay the accusations that she made against you. Now, where was I? Arising in parallel with these problems, is the fact that in order to discover anything, I would need to move the bodies out of the temple. But I would need to do that without causing a sacrilege, which may be a difficult task. The local gods may be foreign to us but this one at least looks unsettlingly impressive.’ He paused, lost in thought for a moment. ‘I would also need to strip them and examine them. And to do so without starting a riot amongst their remaining subjects at the apparent desecration.’

  ***

  ‘A riot!’ said Aias. ‘I and my Locrians know how to deal with a riot!’

  ‘Precisely what worries me,’ said Odysseus with a glance towards Achilles. ‘Finally, I would need to enlist the willing and enthusiastic aid of the one person I am certain has the motivation and simple courage to tell me to go straight down to Tartarus and take her warmest greetings to Hades in person.’

  ‘That all sounds like the sort of problem I’d be happy to leave to you,’ said Achilles. He turned on his heel and left the temple – and the nightmares it contained. As he exited, he clicked his fingers and his Myrmidon guards followed him. Odysseus glanced up, registering that the doorway was now unguarded, then he looked across at the angry prince of Locris.

  ‘The sort of problem best solved by spears and swords,’ snapped Aias. He met Odysseus’ stare and held it almost threateningly. ‘Swords of flesh as well as swords of bronze! If you hadn’t interfered, that bitch would have been broken and whimpering or bleeding and dying by now and all your problems would have been solved before you even came across them!’

  ‘That may be true, Aias,’ allowed Odysseus. ‘But I’m afraid your solution of this problem would only lead to larger and more dangerous problems in the future.’

  ‘The future!’ snapped Aias. ‘The future’s in the hands of the Fates and the Gods. All we men need to worry about is whatever lies immediately in front of us!’

  ‘Such as a naked princess bleeding to death while you take your pleasure on her. Yes, I know. You and your bosom companion Prince Palamedes are famous for the way you deal with whatever lies in front of you!’ snapped Odysseus, finally running out of patience.

  Aias’ mouth opened and closed as though he was a great fish recently pulled out of deep water. Had there been anyone other than me to hear Odysseus’ words, the two of them might have started their own private war there and then, Aias all the more powerfully motivated by the truth of what Odysseus said. But there wasn’t, and as was apparently the case with Princess Briseis, a crippled poet counted for absolutely nothing in the brutal prince’s eyes. He turned on his heel and stalked out of the temple, brushing past me as though I did not exist.

  ‘While we’re waiting,’ said Odysseus as Aias’ footsteps echoed away down the corridor, ‘I think we can risk a closer examination of the bodies of Briseis’ husband and brother-in-law – as long as we are careful not to disturb them in any way.’

  As he spoke, he lifted the brightest of the lamps nearby and went closer still to the massive altar. There was just room for him to get behind it. This was where the apparently sleeping heads were laid; the feet pointed out into the temple itself. The whole arrangement was decidedly unsettling, for the winged god with his slanting sword and his golden headband seemed to loom protectively over the five dead princes like some huge dark bird, hanging behind Odysseus’ back in a distinctly sinister fashion. My immediate thought was to ask what he thought we were waiting for, but his whole attitude was one of rapt attention and I decided I didn’t dare disturb it. Instead, I watched as he brought his face close to that of Prince Mynes, obviously searching the inverted countenance for signs or smells of anything untoward. After a few moments he moved on to the next face, that of Prince Ephistrphos. ‘Mice,’ he said to himself. ‘I think I smell…’

  ‘What are you doing?’ snapped a familiar voice behind me, echoing with anger and outrage.

  Odysseus straightened as I swung round. ‘Waiting for you, Princess,’ he answered equably, obviously sharing none of the surprise that had my heart leaping in my chest like a startled hare.

  ‘Waiting for me, indeed!’ she spat, her grey eyes ablaze once more. ‘How could you have known…’

  ‘I hoped.’ Odysseus cut her off, his tone still gentle, the ghost of a smile crinkling the corners of his own, sea-blue, eyes. The tone I imagined the great teacher Chiron to have used when tutoring young Achilles, Patroclus and the youthful Odysseus himself in the arts of healing, hunting and warfare on Mount Pelion. ‘When I sent you my ring, I assumed you would make the fullest use possible of it. I just hoped you would not use it to escape. Though I calculated that once the servants who brought the lamps got word to you that we were down here, you would be sure to follow us before contemplating any other course of action. I asked Achilles to remove his guards from this doorway to make things easier for you.’

  ‘You never sent me your ri
ng,’ she sneered. Her hands went behind her once again as though the ring no doubt clutched in her fist was a childish honey-cake.

  iii

  ‘Come now, Princess! You know as well as I do that the redoubtable Hepat was merely a conduit. The ring allowed her into your cell so she could retrieve Prince Mynes’ badge of authority and return it before anyone in our armies realised you had borrowed it after he fell fatally ill in order to organise the final stand in the palace here, once your brothers had also so mysteriously fallen before our armies broke through to the lower city before being stopped for a while by the gates of the citadel here. And you did so ably from what I can see. Dangerously so, perhaps – if Aias found out you led the final stand against him here in the palace, I fear he would no longer pause to rape you before he slit your throat himself and even Achilles might consider some sort of a counterstrike.’

  Odysseus paused, but for once Briseis seemed to have nothing to say. Odysseus’ words, however, set off a chain of thoughts in my mind. I had seen the results of Aias’ throat-cutting – gaping wounds and gullets open to the bone at the back. Achilles’ left similar gashes; a little neater perhaps, but not much smaller. There were many examples of their handiwork lying in the lower city – wounded enemies dispatched as our armies were temporarily halted for more than a day by the gates of the citadel. Odysseus’ lamp, however, revealed that the three throats belonging to Briseis’ brothers had been cut with the delicate precision that a physician might use when cutting an arrow-head free. But they had been washed and carefully tended, I thought. Perhaps the unsettling neatness of the wounds came from that.