'That's a contest I would enjoy,' Ajax replied, unable to prevent a grin spreading across his bearded face. 'But first I'd like to know why you were hiding away in a girl's dress when you were oath-bound to come to Aulis.'

'I have a wife whose beauty can drive a man insane with l.u.s.t, and a young son who needs his father to preserve him from the ways of a houseful of women,' Achilles said, looking across to where Deidameia and Neoptolemus stood beneath the arched entrance to the garden. 'And even Odysseus wasn't beyond a bit of trickery to get out of this war for the sake of his family, or so the rumour goes.'

Odysseus shrugged. 'We can console each other on the sh.o.r.es of Ilium. But do you really expect us to believe a warrior of your reputation would let such things keep you from the temptation of glory, not to mention break the oath that was taken in your name?'

'No,' Achilles answered. 'But I am bound by older oaths than that. Thetis, my mother, foresaw my doom on the day she brought me forth from her womb: that I could live out a long and peaceful life at home in Phthia, or seek death and everlasting glory on the fields before Troy. A year before Helen was married she made me swear never to seek Troy, though she did not tell me why in those days. And now I feel I have honoured my word to her: I have not looked for Troy, but Troy has found me. Now I am bound by the later oath that Patroclus took on my behalf, and though it will mean my death I will come to Troy with you. I choose the path of glory.'

He looked over at the archway again, but this time his family were gone and the gates were shut against him.

Chapter Eighteen.

THE WHITE HART.

A few days later Eperitus stood with Peisandros, the Myrmidon spearman who had helped save him from execution in Sparta ten years before. They were at the edge of a clearing in the wood that overlooked the Greek camp. At its centre stood a lone plane tree, and welling up from between its roots was a spring of clear water. It was said Artemis would stop there and drink by the light of the full moon while she hunted her prey, and aware of its sacred a.s.sociations Agamemnon had ordered a circle of twelve marble altars one for each of the princ.i.p.al G.o.ds to be built around the spring. It was on these white plinths that the kings and princes, along with their priests and attendants, were performing the final sacrifices to the G.o.ds before the voyage to Troy.

As the fleet made its preparations in the straits below, ready to sail at first light the next morning, the warm, torpid air of the wood was filled with the sounds of prayer and slaughter. Animal after animal was butchered, flayed and jointed. The stench of blood from the gore-splattered altars mingled with the smell of charred flesh from the fires around the clearing, where the priests were burning the fat-wrapped thighs of the beasts in offering to the mighty Olympians. A thick pall of smoke hung over the treetops like a grey ceiling, blotting out the blue skies above, while in the shadow of the wood hundreds more dull-minded beasts tugged at their leashes or snorted impatiently as they awaited their turn to be sacrificed.

Agamemnon led the relentless procession of death, dressed in a lion's pelt that hung down to his ankles. The upper jaw of the once mighty animal was worn like a cap, and beneath the shadow of its sharp teeth the king's face looked pale and hard. In his b.l.o.o.d.y fist he clutched a silver dagger with which he mechanically sliced open the throats of the animals that were set before him, his lips moving in an unceasing prayer to Zeus. The familiar golden cuira.s.s he had worn since becoming king of Mycenae was gone, replaced by a new breastplate sent by King Cinyras of Cyprus as a gift to the King of Men, as Agamemnon had now taken to calling himself. It was exquisitely worked with numerous bands of gold, blue enamel and tin; three snakes slithered upwards on either side to the neck, their outlines glittering in the light of the sacrificial fires. The other leaders were cl.u.s.tered around the remaining altars, where they were a.s.sisted in the various stages of sacrifice by an army of priests and slaves.

'There's going to be some feast tonight,' Peisandros said, grinning as he watched Achilles joint a goat he had slain only moments earlier in dedication to Ares. 'Just the thing we need to see us off to war.'

Peisandros was a thickset man with a large stomach and a wiry black beard, shot through with grey. Despite his fierce eyes and bushy black eyebrows, he had a carefree cheerfulness that had appealed to Eperitus from their very first meeting a decade ago. Their friendship had been renewed at the gathering of the Myrmidon army in Phthia, shortly after Achilles had sailed from Scyros with Odysseus, Nestor and Ajax, and since then they had spent much time together, training and retraining the troops under their command until they could teach them nothing more.

'Make the most of it, Peisandros,' Eperitus replied. 'It's a long voyage to Ilium and we'll be lucky to get anything more than bread and a few smoked fish on the way.'

'Ah, but when we've sacked Troy,' Peisandros said, wagging his finger, 'we can eat our fill in the ruins of Priam's palace. That's a thought that can tide over any man, even one with an appet.i.te like mine.'

'Be careful you don't starve to death then, if that's what you're waiting for.'

'Come now, Eperitus, you need to be more optimistic. There's a fine army in the camp down there a match for anything Ilium can produce. Besides, you haven't seen Achilles fight yet.'

'And you haven't seen the walls of Troy,' Eperitus responded, leaning against the bole of a tree and watching Odysseus sacrifice a lamb to Athena.

'It'll take more than stone to stop us Myrmidons,' Peisandros insisted, thumping his armoured chest proudly. Then his ardent expression faded and he cast a sidelong glance at the gathered kings. 'Still, there is one thing that could rob us of victory.'

'Agamemnon?' Eperitus asked. Peisandros had never hidden his low opinion of the king of Mycenae.

'Who else?' Peisandros confirmed with a sigh. 'The more I see of him, the more I'm convinced he's losing his grip. For one thing, he's becoming a ghost of his former self: pasty-faced, sunken-eyed, thinner; and if it's because he's losing sleep or his appet.i.te, what does that say about his state of mind?'

'Perhaps he's working too hard. Making preparations for an army this big has to make its demands,' Eperitus said unconvincingly, watching as Agamemnon signalled for his priests to bring him a white heifer.

Peisandros dismissed Eperitus's argument with a flick of his hand. 'That doesn't explain his change of att.i.tude though, does it?' he contended, his naturally booming voice uncomfortably loud amidst the muttered prayers and the whimpering of animals. 'I know he's always been more pompous than most, even for a n.o.ble, but look at him now! Who does he think he is with that lion's skin hanging off his back Heracles? And I don't like this new t.i.tle he's awarded himself, "King of Men". The Trojans might enjoy grovelling before their kings like G.o.ds, but we're Greeks, Eperitus. We're free men!'

'Odysseus says it's a fitting t.i.tle for the elected leader of the Greek nations,' Eperitus said, though without enthusiasm. He felt as uncomfortable as Peisandros did about Agamemnon's new t.i.tle, but if it was good enough for Odysseus then it was good enough for him, too.

'Odysseus is just being clever,' Peisandros said. 'He knows the best way to influence Agamemnon is to make a show of his loyalty the voice heard clearest is the voice that's nearest, as we say back home. I just hope for all our sakes that he can keep his strange moods in check. You told me yourself how he hit his own brother in front of the whole a.s.sembly of kings.'

'Well, I'll be happier if he loses his altar-stone coldness altogether,' Eperitus responded. 'I can't read a man who doesn't show his emotions.'

'Nevertheless, it makes me feel uneasy,' Peisandros growled. 'Normally I'm like you I'd rather have a man yell at me, punch me, or even throw his arms about my neck and kiss me. Achilles is like that: as proud and moody as a little child, but pa.s.sionate and generous, too. But when I see what's going on inside Agamemnon, it tells me something's wrong. I'd have trusted the old him, but not this one.'

As they watched, the King of Men seized the white heifer by its gold-covered horns, pulled its head back and held his b.l.o.o.d.y dagger to its neck.

'Father Zeus,' he called aloft, his voice dry and cracking from the inhaled smoke of the fires. 'G.o.d of G.o.ds, I offer you the life of this unblemished beast and ask that you send us a sign of your support for us. Give us encouragement let us know that victory will be ours.'

Calchas hobbled forward and scattered the sacrificial grain. Agamemnon had not allowed the priest to leave his side since he had been proven right about the whereabouts of Achilles, and even insisted on his presence at the nightly councils of war. The king's own seer had been sent back to Mycenae and all his privileges given to the Trojan instead, whom Agamemnon plagued with questions about Troy, Priam, Hector and Paris. The fact that Calchas would not reveal more than Apollo had already allowed him to know only increased his credibility in the eyes of the king.

The heifer gave an impulsive nod of its head, which Agamemnon read as a good sign and immediately slit its throat. The strength left the animal's legs and it fell heavily to the ground, its dark blood gushing over the trampled gra.s.s. Suddenly a loud hissing shivered through the groans and prayers. Calchas turned and gave a shout of fear as he stumbled away from the altar of Zeus. The other priests also fell back in shock, whilst Agamemnon stared at the base of the plinth with wide, disbelieving eyes. Within moments, all the kings and princes had fallen quiet, their exhortations dying on their lips as they turned to look at the altar to the king of the G.o.ds, where a huge serpent had coiled itself several times around the gore-splashed marble.

It raised its triangular head and hissed at the ma.s.s of men, before unwinding its long, blue and red body from around the plinth. Eperitus looked at it and gave an instinctive shudder, his phobia of snakes gripping him even though the vile creature was some way off. Then, as the snake began slithering through the gra.s.s towards the plane tree, Diomedes drew his sword and moved towards it.

'Don't touch it!' Calchas screamed, rushing forward with his palms held out. 'Not unless you want to bring the wrath of Zeus down on you. Can't you see the beast has been sent by the G.o.ds?'

As he spoke the serpent coiled about the bole of the tree and moved up towards the topmost branches where, though barely noticed before in the noise of the sacrifices, every man could now see a nest of sparrows. The helpless chicks were calling loudly for their mother, unaware of the death that was creeping ever closer from below. Then the broad, flat head of the monster rose slowly over the edge of the nest, waving slightly from left to right as it eyed the unfortunate birds. A moment later it struck, s.n.a.t.c.hing one of the screeching brood and devouring it whole so that the struggling shape was briefly visible as it slid down the neck of the snake. The kings and princes below left their sacrificing and formed a circle about the tree, watching awestruck as one by one the chicks were eaten, until the last one remained, chirping fearfully in its loneliness. In that moment its mother arrived, squawking with panic as she saw the violation of her family, but the snake lashed out and took her by the wing as she hovered above the nest, swallowing her whole as it had done the others. Finally, it closed its jaws over the head of the last remaining bird and plucked it from its moss-filled bed, silencing its cries with a single gulp.

Its divinely appointed task performed, the snake now began to return down the trunk of the plane, hissing at the crowd of men. The sight of its pink, forked tongue flickering out at them in warning was enough to make each man take an instinctive backward step, but as the circle widened something happened that rooted them to the ground where they stood.

'How can it be?' said Menelaus in a low voice.

'Calchas! Calchas, tell us what it means.'

Agamemnon turned to the seer and pointed at the bole of the tree, where the serpent now stared at them with dull, lifeless eyes.

Calchas stepped forward and looked up at the dead snake, whose soft flesh had turned to rigid stone before the eyes of the watching men.

'I . . . I don't know,' he stuttered. 'It's beyond me.'

As he spoke his whole body was seized by a strong convulsion that arched his spine and threw his head back, causing the hood to fall away and reveal his bald scalp. His arms shot out from his sides and his hands began to shake. Odysseus moved towards him, but Agamemnon waved him back. Then, as they watched, a silver light suffused the seer's dark eyes and the look of terror on his upturned face was transformed by a smile that seemed to mock the heavens above. Slowly the trembling stopped and Calchas, still smiling, let his head fall forward so that his chin was resting on his chest. Streaks of spittle covered his lips and cheeks, and as he turned his eyes on the watching crowd few could tolerate the look that was in them.

'This sign comes from Zeus himself,' he said, his voice suddenly rich and smooth. 'For each of the eight chicks, you will spend a year besieging Troy. The mother represents a ninth. But in the tenth year, if the prophecies that will be given are fulfilled, victory over Priam's city will be granted to you.'

The words reverberated around the clearing, dousing the confidence that had filled the hearts of the Greeks and replacing it with gloom. Menelaus thought of his wife, held in the lofty towers of Troy for ten long years, where her affections would inevitably turn to Paris. Agamemnon, who had made the commanders swear not to return home until the siege was over, now realized his boy, Orestes, would be left under the twisted influence of Clytaemnestra until he became a man. Odysseus and Eperitus both pondered the oracle that had condemned the king of Ithaca to be away from his home for twenty years, rather than the ten stated by Calchas. But of all the kings who now considered the long war they had committed to, only Achilles, whose death had been prophesied by his mother, took heart; whereas he had expected to live but a few months longer, he now had the prospect of enjoying life for years to come a life spent in war, reaping souls and the glory that came with them.

For a while, Calchas turned his shining eyes on each of them, whether great or lowly. Then the brightness faded and a moment later he collapsed to the ground. The spell broken, Odysseus and Philoctetes, the archer, rushed to help the priest of Apollo as he lay panting in the gra.s.s, while all about them scores of voices rushed to discuss the prophecy that had been uttered.

'Come on,' said Eperitus, slapping Peisandros on the arm.

Together they ran to where Calchas was sitting, rubbing his head and drinking from a cup that Philoctetes had given him. But as they knelt down beside him, a new voice was added to the cacophony about them.

'My lord! My lord Agamemnon!'

'What is it, Talthybius?' Agamemnon snapped, shaking off the stupor brought on by Calchas's words.

The Mycenaean herald burst through the crowd of royalty, his breathing heavy and his face red from running in the hot weather.

'My lord, it's been seen again. Here in the woods. The white hart.'

Many of the voices stopped immediately, and the remainder soon followed.

'The white hart?' Menelaus repeated.

'Yes, my lord. One of the herdsmen saw it just now. I thought you'd want to know.'

'Is this the creature that was seen while I was away in Phthia?' Ajax asked, turning to the other kings. 'Then, by Ares's sword, what are we waiting for? Let's hunt it down before it disappears again. Teucer! Teucer, where are you, d.a.m.n it! Bring me my spear, and don't forget your bow and arrows.'

Suddenly there was uproar as the kings and princes rushed this way and that, hollering the names of their squires or calling aloud for their various weapons.

'Peisandros!' said a tall, sinewy man with a long, pointed nose. His voice was high and pinched, which suited his arrogant face. 'Fetch my hunting hounds at once. They're tethered on the southern side of the wood.'

'Yes, sir,' the Myrmidon replied, and after a farewell nod to Eperitus ran off through the trees.

The arrogant-looking man remained for a moment, staring down his nose at the three men kneeling beside Calchas, then with a curt nod to Odysseus turned on his heel and walked away.

'What's up, Patroclus?' Philoctetes called after the commander of the Myrmidon army. 'Think you're too important to acknowledge your fellow commoners? Or does sharing Achilles's bed again make you somehow high-born?'

Patroclus wheeled about in an instant and drew his sword, but Odysseus was already on his feet and walking towards him. Seizing the Myrmidon gently but firmly by the wrists, Odysseus leaned forward and spoke quietly in his ear. After a moment, Patroclus shot Philoctetes an ugly glance, then turned and marched over to where Achilles was throwing a quiver of arrows over his shoulder.

'That was foolish,' Eperitus said, turning to the young archer with an angry look in his eye. 'Whether the rumour's true or not, if Achilles had heard you you'd be a dead man now.'

'I'm not afraid of Patroclus or Achilles,' Philoctetes hissed back. 'These arrows of mine would kill them both before they could so much as raise a spear against me.'

'Your weapons won't make you great, even though Heracles himself gave them to you they're just a continuation of his greatness. If you want my advice, Philoctetes, prove your own worth before you think you can challenge a warrior like Achilles.'

'Looks like it's each man for himself,' said Odysseus, returning with a smile on his face as if nothing had happened.

Philoctetes paused to lift Calchas's hood back over his head, before helping the priest back to his feet. 'Then don't be too slow if you want a chance at the beast,' he warned, mirroring the Ithacan's cheerfulness. 'I've seen it myself and it's magnificent pure white with antlers of gold but as soon as I fire one of my arrows at it it's running days'll be over.'

He patted the quiver at his side, and with a last glance at Eperitus bounded off into the rapidly dispersing crowd.

'Take my spear, Odysseus,' Eperitus said. 'Yours are still down by the boats, and we'd better hurry if we're going to hunt this animal.'

Odysseus shook his head. 'Let the others run about as much as they like only Talthybius knows where the animal was spotted, and he's over with the Atreides brothers. If we want a throw at this fabled hart, all we need to do is follow Agamemnon.'

Eperitus looked over his shoulder and saw the King of Men slip the lion's pelt from his back as he picked up a horn bow and a leather quiver full of arrows. Menelaus stood beside him with two spears in his hand, looking about surrept.i.tiously to note the different directions in which the leaders were disappearing. He only saw Odysseus and Eperitus running towards him at the last moment.

'You do realize,' Odysseus called, 'that this white hart may belong to one of the G.o.ds. It could cost us dear if we kill it; all your carefully staged sacrifices could be wasted, Agamemnon.'

'Nonsense,' Agamemnon sniffed, throwing the quiver over his back and tightening the golden buckle. He circled his shoulders to test the fit. 'If it belongs to a G.o.d, then they shouldn't let their pets loose around so many skilled hunters. Besides, once you see the animal, Odysseus, you'll know why everyone's leaving in such a hurry.'

'Then we'll accompany you, if you have no objections,' Odysseus said, taking the spear Eperitus held towards him and moving into the undergrowth before the Atreides brothers could have a chance to refuse him. 'Lead the way, Talthybius.'

They set off at a rapid pace through the humid wood, leaping over fallen branches and crashing through knee-high forests of fern, all the time looking left and right through the columns of dusty light that penetrated the canopy of leaves above. Eperitus, whose supernatural senses far outstripped those of his fellow hunters, sniffed the languorous air, sifting out the different smells of damp earth, distant blossom and the sharp odour of human sweat until he could detect though still faintly the powerful musk of male deer.

'It was seen not far from here, in a glade to the east,' Talthybius informed them.

'No. It's moving north,' Eperitus announced, after a moment's consideration. 'That way.'

Agamemnon looked doubtful. 'Are you sure? This might be the only chance we get we can't afford to follow whims.'

'He's sure,' Odysseus a.s.sured him. 'I'd trust Eperitus's senses above my own hunting dog's.'

Without any further hesitation, the five men set off in a northeasterly direction. The ground began to slope away before them and the trees grew denser, stifling the gauzy yellow light that had managed to penetrate the thinner woodland they were leaving behind.

'Look!' Eperitus said after they had been running for a while.

He pointed to a branch hanging from a tree. The shards of the broken stem were still fresh and white, indicating it was recently broken. There was no sound or sign of the other hunters, and with a flush of excitement they realized it could only have been snapped by a tall animal pa.s.sing that way a short while before.

They increased their pace, moving deeper into the wood until they reached a narrow stream. They splashed across and followed its winding course for a while before Eperitus veered suddenly to the left. They followed in his wake, crashing on into the dense heart of the wood until Talthybius could hold the pace no longer and began to slow, gasping for breath.

'Shhh!' Eperitus hissed, suddenly slowing to a crouching walk and pressing his finger to his lips. 'It's close.'

Menelaus and Odysseus instinctively raised their spears, holding the shafts lightly in their cupped palms. Agamemnon slipped an arrow from the quiver and fitted it to his bow, drawing it to half-readiness as his eyes scanned the gloom. Eperitus sniffed the thick air, his eyes narrowing as he judged the different smells captured in his nostrils.

'It's here,' he whispered.

The hunters halted and slowly lowered themselves into the cover of the crowded ferns, so that their eyes were just above the curling fronds. For a breathless moment they heard nothing, not even a bird in the closely packed branches above, then a twig snapped and they turned to see a magnificent, pure-white deer trot into a small clearing ahead of them. It stood beside the upturned roots of a fallen tree, bathed in a single shaft of golden light that penetrated a gap in the canopy above. It looked about itself, completely unaware of the men only a stone's throw away, then bowed its antlered head to chew at the rich undergrowth.

'He's mine,' Agamemnon whispered, drawing the bowstring back to his cheek and preparing to stand.

But before he could move, his brother stood and launched the long spear from his hand. It spun through the air, its imperfect shaft twirling behind the bronze tip as it flew towards its target. A moment later it skimmed the shoulders of the hart and buried its point in the mud-caked roots of the tree.

The hart raised its head, saw Menelaus and bolted in the opposite direction. Odysseus stood and cast his own spear, aiming at the flashing white of the animal's hindquarters as they disappeared through the undergrowth. It fell short.

Agamemnon also stood, but unlike the two spearmen knew he had a few moments more to take aim and release his shot. Closing his left eye, he squinted down the shaft of the arrow and focused on the triple-barbed point, aiming it slightly ahead of the fleeing deer. s.n.a.t.c.hing a half-breath and holding it so that the movement of his lungs would not disturb his aim, he released the shaft.

The bow hummed and Agamemnon leaned his head to the left, hoping to see the white form stumble and fall, but the animal had already disappeared among the trees.

'Missed it,' Menelaus announced, almost gleefully.

'Thanks to you, you buffoon. I told you to leave it for me.'

'What? And let you take all the glory, as usual, King of Men?'

'Quiet,' Eperitus ordered, momentarily forgetting he was talking to the two most powerful men in Greece. 'I can't hear its footfalls any more. It's stopped running.'

'No man could hear that well,' said Talthybius.

'Come on,' Odysseus said. 'Let's see if you've hit your mark, Agamemnon.'

They dashed into the undergrowth; twigs snapped loudly beneath their sandals and brittle stems whipped against their shins. They ran past the spears of Menelaus and Odysseus and forged on to the place where they had last seen the hart's white flanks. The trees were thinner here, allowing more sunlight to illuminate the woodland floor, but they could see nothing.

'You were wrong, Eperitus,' Agamemnon said, with clear disappointment in his voice. He stopped and looked about himself. 'It's gone. The glory will go to no man now.'