'No, Odysseus. I've got to go to her.'

'Iphigenia is dead, Eperitus. There's nothing more we can do for her now.'

The king beckoned to Antiphus, who ran over and took Eperitus's other arm. Together they forced him against his will from the clearing, and though he struggled at first, twisting to look over his shoulder at the body on the altar, his limbs were too weary and eventually he allowed them to take him into the shadow of the wood. The last thing he saw was Polites lifting Galatea's body in his arms and, accompanied by Eurylochus and Arceisius, walking into the trees on the opposite side of the glade.

Long staves of yellow light penetrated the gloom of the wood and birds were singing in the blue skies overhead, but the three men were silent as they crunched through the debris of fallen twigs and leaves. Eperitus, now walking unsupported, was too desolated by the loss of his daughter to talk. It seemed to him that a dream of hope and joy had opened up before him, only to be s.n.a.t.c.hed away again with terrible brutality; and in the wake of that brief dream the world to which he had returned now seemed more forlorn and colourless than ever. It was as if a great light had entered his life, and its snuffing out had left a darkness so deep it devoured all the purpose and beauty from living.

As they walked down the slope towards the eaves of the wood beyond which they could see the tents of the Greek camp gleaming white in the sunshine they heard a loud call and turned to see Achilles, sword in hand, striding through the undergrowth towards them.

'Welcome back, Odysseus,' he said, shaking the Ithacan's hand and slapping him on the arm. 'And you, Eperitus. I wasn't expecting to see either of you up there.'

'We've only just returned from Mycenae,' Odysseus explained. 'We headed to the clearing as soon as we heard the sacrifice was underway, but by the time we got there it was almost over. The first thing we saw was the G.o.ddess and in his excitement Eperitus ran straight out . . .'

'Save your imagination for the more gullible,' Achilles said, holding up a hand and smiling. 'I expect you were watching from the edge of the clearing all along. And I'll wager my armour it was you who sent that girl out to fool Agamemnon it has all the marks of one of your tricks. I'd only just reached the clearing myself, determined to stop the sacrifice, when she came striding out with her arrogant swagger, just like a real G.o.ddess. Who knows, she might have even walked away with the child if Artemis hadn't appeared in person.'

Odysseus, knowing it was pointless to continue with his attempted deception, shrugged his shoulders and glanced at Eperitus for the first time since they had left the clearing. 'It was a forlorn hope at best, but I admit I hadn't accounted for the possibility of divine intervention.'

'You did the best any man could do,' Eperitus said. His eyes were pained with deep sadness, but a glimmer of his normal, resolute spirit had returned.

'Then you were trying to save the girl,' said Achilles. 'But why?'

'We could ask the same question of you,' Eperitus replied.

Achilles smiled. 'Then come to my tent and eat with me we can ask each other all the questions we want there. You're welcome, too, friend,' he added, nodding to Antiphus. 'Now, by your leave, I'll run ahead and get some meat over the coals. And don't delay; I'm as hungry as a boar, so I won't wait too long.'

With that, he ran off through the trees, leaping a fallen trunk and several thickets of fern that were in his path. As he reached the edge of the wood, Odysseus called his name and the young warrior turned.

'What about your sword?' Odysseus shouted.

'Light as a feather,' Achilles replied, waving it over his head, before running out of sight beyond the brow of the hill.

The sun was bright and hot as they reached the army's encampment. The only blemish on the blue sky was a pall of black smoke from Iphigenia's funeral pyre, floating up from the woods and drifting towards the east. The tents of the main camp seemed untouched by the gales that had raged through the wood, though the amount of rain they had absorbed was shown by the steam that curled up from the sea of canvas. Achilles's own tent wide and s.p.a.cious with a high ceiling seemed hardly to have been affected by the endless days of storm. The dirt floor was covered with long gra.s.ses that his Myrmidons had cut and dried over their cooking fires, while the early afternoon sun on the white canvas made the interior bright and warm.

The Ithacans took the chairs that were offered to them. Kraters of wine were brought shortly afterwards, followed by low tables loaded with platters of bread and freshly cooked lamb. Patroclus and Peisandros joined the small feast and the men satisfied their hunger in busy silence, but for Eperitus who sat morosely and neither ate nor drank. Odysseus watched him with concern as Achilles leaned back in his fur-draped chair, folded his hands across his stomach, and looked at his guests.

'You wanted to know why I tried to save Iphigenia,' he began. 'Well, it's a simple matter of honour. Agamemnon sent you to fetch the girl under the pretence that she was to marry me, did he not?'

'As far as we were aware, that was the reason we were sent to Mycenae,' Odysseus explained.

'I don't doubt it, but when I found out Agamemnon had used my name to deceive his wife and daughter I wanted to teach him a lesson. He can call himself King of Men and lord it over the Greeks as much as he likes, but I won't allow him to drag my name into his deceptions. And if it hadn't been for the intervention of Artemis, I'd have stopped this vile sacrifice and sent the girl alive and well back to her mother.'

'Even if it meant the fleet wouldn't sail to Troy?' Odysseus asked. 'I thought you wanted glory, not a quiet life at home?'

Achilles merely shrugged. 'Of course I do, but not at the price of my honour. After all, a man's name is the only thing that will outlive him, and when I'm dead I want the name of Achilles to mean something worthwhile. But I've made my point to Agamemnon and now it's time to look ahead. There's a greater will than Artemis's at work here, and you can mark my words: this war will take place and nothing we do is going to prevent it.'

'I'm beginning to agree,' Odysseus said. 'Though for a while I'd thought the storms would put a stop to Agamemnon's plans.'

'There are too many prophecies and oracles around for everything to stop because of an offended G.o.ddess, and you can be sure our glorious King of Men is no less a puppet than we are. This war is like a boulder rolling down a mountainside no force on earth can stand in its way.'

He held up his krater and Mnemon, his lean and gangly servant, refilled it.

'Now,' Achilles continued, 'tell me what was so important about Agamemnon's daughter that you risked her father's wrath to save her?'

Odysseus looked at Eperitus and indicated with a nod that he should answer the question. For a moment, Eperitus was tempted to confess the truth about Iphigenia and why he had tried to stop the sacrifice. After all, Achilles was a father; he would understand. But had he not given up his own child for the promise of glory in Troy? And what of Odysseus's advice, that the secret of his relationship with Iphigenia should remain between them, for the sake of Clytaemnestra's safety and his own? He glanced down at the cut gra.s.s and the many fleeces spread across the tent floor, his mind suddenly filled with the memory of his daughter lying frightened and alone on the stone altar, then raised his head and looked at Achilles.

'Honour,' he lied. 'I promised Clytaemnestra that I would try to save her daughter. I was trying to keep my word.'

Achilles gave an approving nod, but it was Odysseus who spoke next.

'And I helped him, because Eperitus is my friend and because I didn't want the storms to end. You mentioned prophecies and oracles, Achilles, so here's another: the Pythoness told me that if I go to Troy I won't see my home or family for twenty years, so I'd hoped the storms would spare me from my doom. But they haven't, it seems, and now I have another question for you. We could have said all this up in the wood why bring us back to your tent?'

At this, Achilles laughed out loud and leaned across to Patroclus. 'What did I tell you? There isn't a more astute man in the whole Greek army not even Palamedes.'

'Oh, I remember Odysseus's cleverness from Sparta,' Patroclus replied in his cold, clipped voice. 'After all, it's thanks to his idea for the oath that we're all here now.'

'He could hardly have foreseen Helen being kidnapped by a Trojan, Patroclus,' Achilles continued. 'But you're right, Odysseus, there is another reason for asking you here. Your own protection.'

'Protection from what?'

'Agamemnon, of course. I'm not the only one who'll be linking the appearance of that girl with your special kind of cunning, Odysseus. Why would she have impersonated a G.o.ddess and tried to coax Agamemnon into releasing his daughter if she wasn't put up to it? Clytaemnestra could have been behind it, you might say, but with Eperitus running out into the glade like that in front of every king and prince in the army you'll have a hard task convincing Agamemnon you weren't trying to prevent his sacrifice. And sooner or later, when he has recovered from what he's done, he'll want you to answer for it.'

'And how will you protect us?' Eperitus asked.

'We're guilty of the same crime,' Achilles replied with a knowing grin. 'By openly inviting you to my tent I'm letting Agamemnon know that he takes his vengeance out on all of us, or none of us. But whereas he can afford to punish you, Odysseus, because your men only form a small part of his force, he won't dare to question me. He needs me.'

'The Myrmidons are renowned fighters and their leader's reputation as a warrior is second to none,' Eperitus responded, restraining his anger at Achilles's arrogance. 'But Agamemnon has enough ships and soldiers to conquer Troy without the contributions of either Ithaca or Phthia. How can you be certain he won't expel you from the expedition, too?'

'Because Troy can't fall without Achilles,' Peisandros said, leaning his huge bulk forward and taking a handful of meat and bread from the platters before him. He crammed them into his mouth before continuing. 'Weren't you there when Calchas made his prophecy before the council of Greek leaders? Either way, Agamemnon believes everything the priest says: he killed his own daughter at Calchas's suggestion, so he's not going to risk sending Achilles and his Myrmidons home, is he?'

'I remember the prophecy,' Odysseus said, 'and what you say is right, Achilles, so we're grateful for your protection.'

Achilles gave a small nod. 'It's the best thing for the expedition, whether Agamemnon knows it or not. His insistence on this sacrifice has already lost him a lot of support, and if he starts singling out his best men for defying him with good reason then the alliance against Troy will fall apart. Besides, I like you both. Even though I prefer openness to guile, this war is going to need your intelligence, Odysseus; and as for you, Eperitus, you share my sense of honour and that's admirable in any man. And what's more, I'm going to give you some advice for the attack on Troy.' He leaned forward confidentially and lowered his voice. 'Other than Patroclus and Peisandros here, no one else knows what I'm about to tell, so you must keep it to yourselves. My mother has the power to see the future, and before we left Phthia she told me that the first Greek to land within sight of Troy would die. She knew I would want that honour for myself, so maybe she's just trying to keep me alive a little longer. But I've never known her foresight to be wrong so when the attack comes I'm going to hold back. I suggest you do the same.'

He sat back up and stretched his legs out in front of him. Odysseus drained his krater and signalled to Mnemon for more wine.

'I've never known a man so bound up by divination and augury,' he said as the servant filled his cup. 'How can you tolerate it?'

Achilles smiled broadly and held his hands up nonchalantly. 'It runs in the family. My mother was chosen by Zeus to be his bride, until the Fates prophesied that her son would become more powerful than his father. So he married her to Peleus instead. But one takes whatever precautions are practical. Take Mnemon here. My mother once had a dream that if ever I killed a son of Apollo, Apollo would kill me out of vengeance, so she gave me Mnemon as a slave to remind me of the fact. He can't cook and he always mixes the wine too weak; and when it comes to putting on my armour, he can hardly lift my sword, let alone my spear or shield. But he knows every son of Apollo by rote, including where they live and who their sons are, just in case. If ever I face one in a fight and Apollo has a few b.a.s.t.a.r.ds in Ilium it's Mnemon's duty to let me know.'

The Ithacans looked at the tall, ungainly slave and did not envy him the task of restraining Achilles in the heat of battle.

As Achilles had predicted, no mention was made of the incidents in the glade, either by Agamemnon or any of the other n.o.bles who had been present. Instead, the King of Men remained ensconced in his tent, doling out orders for the fleet to sail the following morning. Perhaps, Eperitus thought, he was keen not to highlight the snubs to his authority and risk widening the cracks that were already appearing in his tenuous alliance of states. And perhaps it would have too much of an irony to punish the acts of men who were seemingly trying to save his daughter from death at his own hands.

By the time Odysseus, Eperitus and Antiphus returned to the Ithacan camp a messenger was already waiting for them, bringing Agamemnon's orders to prepare for an immediate departure. By the end of the day, Eperitus had worked harder than he had done in months to help get the Ithacan force ready to sail. Though he no longer had any heart for the expedition against Troy, especially under the command of the man who had murdered his daughter, he was glad of the distraction from his dark thoughts, which had been ranging between despair and vengeful anger since leaving the glade.

Men had to be organized back into their correct companies, weapons and equipment had to be stowed as efficiently as possible, and provisions for a long journey needed to be obtained. As there was no centralized supply system for the army, most of the essentials had to be squabbled over with the other factions, and items such as fruit, livestock and salt could only be extracted from the local populace at many times their normal worth. Eventually, though, everything was ready, and as the Ithacans began to settle down for the evening Eperitus slipped out of the camp and wandered into the trees.

While the sun set to leave a clear blue sky, tinged with pink in the west, he climbed the hill to the encampment of the main army. This was still in chaos, with soldiers running in all directions and captains barking orders in a dozen different accents and dialects, so he strolled under the sycamore trees and found his way to the standing stones guarding the entrance to the amphitheatre overlooking the Euboean Straits. The benches on the rocky slopes of the arena, where the Greek leaders had sat during their debates about the impending war, had been removed and the place was again a natural, three-sided bowl looking out to the east.

Eperitus moved to the eastern ledge and sat with his legs dangling over the cliff top, looking down at the vast armada of ships in the bay below. Scores of tiny black figures were still working on the galleys, some fitting spars and adjusting rigging while others knelt on the decks in teams, mending the sails that had been stowed for many weeks. Innumerable small boats crept up and down between the rows of ships, ferrying an endless traffic of crew and supplies to and from the sh.o.r.e. And above the hubbub of voices and the constant sound of hammering was the rushing of the westerly wind, which in the morning would drive the fleet to Troy.

But Eperitus's mind was not on the activity below, or the looming shadow of Troy. Slowly, his thoughts and emotions were learning to accept that Iphigenia beautiful, clever, compelling Iphigenia was gone. He had failed to protect her from Agamemnon's black ambition, and though he felt frequent surges of anger towards the King of Men, these were quickly quenched by the knowledge he could do nothing to exact his desire for revenge. Clytaemnestra had tricked him into promising not to harm her husband, robbing him of any solace for the cold emptiness of his grief, and for the second time in his life a great evil had been carried out before his eyes that he was powerless to prevent.

And yet he was no longer compelled to follow Odysseus to Troy and serve under the overall command of Agamemnon. As the final preparations of the small Ithacan fleet were being completed, Odysseus had turned to Eperitus and released him from his oath of service.

'We've tried our hardest to stop this war, Eperitus,' he had said, 'but Achilles is right: there's a greater force at play here than we can hope to defeat. Zeus himself wants it, meaning our pathetic efforts were d.a.m.ned from the start. But whether that means I won't see my home for twenty years, or whether I can still cheat my doom, remains to be seen. However, that's my fate, not yours, so I've decided to grant your request.'

'Request?' Eperitus had asked, though knowing in his heart what his friend was about to say.

Odysseus turned his sombre green eyes on him, and it was as if the last shred of his hope had gone. The king seemed to have accepted, at last, that he could not escape the war; that he would not see the woman he loved, or the child he barely knew, for many long and unbearable years to come if he ever saw them again at all. And Eperitus knew that, in his sadness, Odysseus did not want both of them to be sucked into the inescapable, all-consuming whirlpool of Troy. If his friend was free, then part of him would be free also.

'On the day Telemachus was dedicated to the G.o.ds you asked me to release you from your oath of service,' he said. 'I'm giving you the chance to go, if you still want it. I know how hard it will be for you at Troy, to see Agamemnon every day and yet be powerless to take the revenge that your honour requires. I'd rather you go back to Ithaca and protect my family and my home, until I return or Telemachus is old enough to rule in my stead. But I won't order you, Eperitus: the choice is yours to make.'

Eperitus had not responded, but the possibility of turning his back on the war and leaving Odysseus had haunted his already dark thoughts ever since. It would be a betrayal; maybe not of his honour, but at least of his friendship with the king of Ithaca. He would fade into obscurity, a failed warrior fleeing the ghosts of his past. The alternative was the torment of facing Agamemnon every day at Ilium, sworn not only to permit him to carry on existing, but also to prevent others from taking his detestable life. Odysseus, in his wisdom, had known both options were difficult, and would not insist he choose one or the other.

Eperitus lay down on the soft, springy turf-the gra.s.s lush and green from the unseasonable rain and looked up at the azure sky, already p.r.i.c.ked by one or two stars. Suddenly a deep exhaustion came over him and his whole body felt leaden and drained of energy. He closed his eyes and listened to the preparations going on above and below him, as if he were in a bubble protected at least for a short while from the clamouring of war. Then, with the sound of the west wind filling his ears, he fell asleep.

He was woken by a long, low howling from the trees nearby. He sat up and looked about himself, but everything was dark and still under a moonless night sky. The westerly breeze sighed in the topmost branches of the sycamores, but there was no sound from the camp now. Below him, the fleet bobbed gently on the oily black surface of the bay, the shapes of the galleys only faintly distinguishable in the starlight. Then another lonely, mournful cry stretched out into the night air, closer now than before, and he stood and pulled his sword from its scabbard.

As the blade sc.r.a.ped out to shine with a dull gleam, Eperitus saw a shadowy figure enter the amphitheatre from between the two standing stones and come towards him. It was tall and slim, cloaked from head to foot in black, but as Eperitus turned the point of his sword towards it the hood was pulled back to reveal a woman.

'Clytaemnestra!' he exclaimed, shocked to see her pale, pretty face staring back at him. 'What are you doing here? When did you arrive?'

The queen ignored his questions and, covering the small distance between them, threw her arms around his chest and laid her head against his shoulder. Even in his shock at seeing her he had felt a surge of guilt and expected her anger; so the feel of her body pressed against his and her long hands on his back brought a strange sensation of relief. He put his arms around her and stroked her hair.

'I failed,' he said softly. 'I couldn't stop him.'

'You tried,' she answered, her voice small and hoa.r.s.e. 'Don't blame yourself. Our daughter is gone. I sensed her soul leaving this world as I stood in the courtyard before the great hall this morning, looking down across the plains.'

'But Mycenae is three or four days away on horseback, and even by ship you couldn't have reached Aulis this quickly.'

She nuzzled closer into his arms, so that her voice was slightly m.u.f.fled by the thick cloak. 'I have powers you can't imagine, Eperitus, powers that go beyond visions and inner knowledge. I used them to come to you. To remind you of your oath.'

'How could I forget?' Eperitus replied bitterly, thinking again of Iphigenia's ordeal in the glade and the sight of her blood trickling from the altar. 'It was a cruel deception, Clytaemnestra. Cruel and hard to bear.'

'Yes, but necessary. You may be Iphigenia's father, but it was through the pain of my body that she was brought into the world. My patience taught her and my love cared for her, long before you even knew she existed. Would you deny my right to take vengeance on my husband?'

'Of course not but why wait for the war to end? Can't you use these powers you boast of to destroy Agamemnon?'

'No,' she replied. 'I want to kill him with my own hands. But for that I will have to wait until he returns to Mycenae. That's why I want you to keep him alive until the war is over, if you can.'

Eperitus pulled away.

'You ask too much! If you'd seen what he did, Nestra if you'd seen the look of relish in his eye when he brought that blade down . . .'

'Enough!' she shouted, and the echo of her voice rang off the sides of the amphitheatre. 'Enough. I understand how hard it is for you to stay your hand, and that's why I had to rely on the only force I knew could possibly restrain you your own sense of honour. But I promise you, the time will come when you can take your revenge on Agamemnon the G.o.ds have revealed it to me. His downfall will begin at Troy, by your hand.'

Eperitus smiled derisively.

'Then haven't your G.o.ds also told you Odysseus has given me leave to go home? He, at least, understands how difficult it will be for me to live in the shadow of Agamemnon after what he did to our daughter.'

'But you must go,' Clytaemnestra exclaimed. 'And not because I want you to protect Agamemnon.'

'Oh? Then for what? To be pulled apart by my sense of honour and my desire for revenge?'

'You're speaking like a fool, Eperitus. Don't you realize your destiny is with Odysseus? Gaea has revealed to me that Troy will not fall unless both you and he are there. I knew it long before I asked you to run away with Iphigenia and me, but I chose to ignore what the G.o.ddess was telling me, just as Odysseus has been trying to ignore his own fate.'

Eperitus turned and walked further along the ledge, looking out over the vast Greek fleet. He kicked a stone and watched it disappear into the darkness below.

'Don't worry,' he said caustically. 'Your precious Agamemnon and the doom of Troy are safe. I've decided not to accept Odysseus's offer: my place has always been at his side, so I've decided to go with him to Ilium. What else is there left for me to do? At least I can seek some form of vengeance in Trojan blood, even if you've ensured I can't look for it in the death of your husband.'

Clytaemnestra approached and took his hand. 'Don't resent me, Eperitus. I did what I had to do. But another fate awaits you at Troy, a fate that has already been hinted at by Calchas. Have you forgotten the second secret he spoke of?'

Eperitus looked at Clytaemnestra, her face beautiful but cold under the starlight.

'I'm tired of prophecies and secrets, Nestra. Let the cruel G.o.ds do as they please with me; after Iphigenia's death, I don't much care about anything any more.'

Clytaemnestra put her arms around him again and rested her head on his shoulder. 'You'll care about this, my dear,' she whispered. 'You'll care about this.'

Chapter Twenty-nine.

TENEDOS.

Helen stood on the battlements of Pergamos, looking out across the plains and the glittering sea to where the sun was setting in the west. But for the guards at the angles of the walls, she was alone, leaning her elbows on the parapet and thinking about the events of the previous few days. Since arriving in Troy she had been treated with reverence and even love by its citizens. Paris had made a deliberate point of wandering the streets of Pergamos and the lower city with her at his side, and wherever they went they were greeted with an uproar of delighted voices. People rushed from their houses to press around the couple, their faces bright with joy for the prince's happiness, and yet awed at the sight of the mysterious woman he had brought back with him from Greece. Some of the older Trojans might have shaken their heads in disapproval as she pa.s.sed, guessing that such beauty would only bring grief to Ilium, but after Priam had welcomed Helen no one would dare voice their opposition to her. And the whole city had come out to cheer the wedding procession that morning, dressed in their finest clothing and with baskets of flowers on their arms, ready to cast on the road before the feet of the newly married couple.

Helen smiled to herself at the memory. She still wore her wedding dress a long white garment in the Trojan style and as she ran her hands down it the light material felt smooth and rich beneath her fingertips. The delicate blooms that Andromache and Leothoe had woven into her hair remained fresh and bright, and she almost regretted the knowledge that they would be removed before she and Paris were alone later. But she also knew that Andromache and Leothoe had prepared something special for her wedding night: a dress made from layers of gossamer that could be removed one at a time to tease out Paris's pa.s.sions; and a blend of perfumes that they promised would keep her husband attentive until dawn. Trojan women, it seemed, had a gift for lovemaking. Their knowledge of how to please a man in bed stunned Helen, and her new friends were not timid when giving her their advice. All day long, even during the solemn religious ceremony that had formalized her union with Paris, her thoughts had returned repeatedly to the night ahead and the new ways in which she would stimulate Paris's pa.s.sion.

Though the quietly spoken Leothoe had shown nothing but kindness and love to Helen, she also had duties within the palace and was a wife to the king, so was often away performing her various tasks. Andromache, on the other hand, was a visitor and a newcomer to Troy, and she and Helen were able to spend most of every day together, quickly becoming good friends as they explored the city or ventured out on to the plain and the surrounding countryside. Andromache helped Helen improve her use of the Trojan tongue something that little Pleisthenes was picking up rapidly in the company of Priam's many grandchildren and their nurses and together the two women would talk about their lives, past and present, and their hopes for the future.

Helen's hopes were already being translated into reality. She could not recall a happier time. When Paris was with her, mostly in the evenings, she felt the joy of a love she had never experienced before; and when he was busy with affairs of state in a city now preparing for siege, Helen enjoyed a freedom she had not known since childhood. She was no longer constrained by the strict palace life of Sparta, and while she missed her three other children there was much to distract her from her unresolved grief. There was the much talked about threat of war looming over Ilium, yet Helen was hopeful it would never happen. Even if Menelaus and his brother could muster a strong enough force to attack Troy, they would be too afraid to leave their own cities unprotected in a divided Greece. And, if against all her expectations they did come, Paris had given her his word on Tenedos that his fighting days were over. There were more than enough fighting men to deal with any Spartan and Mycenaean armies that dared set foot on Trojan soil, and Paris had already done more than his fair share of fighting in the service of his country.

As for Andromache, she had but one hope to marry Hector. They had known each other for many years through Hector's close friendship with her brother, Podes, but Hector's mind was always too bent on the advancement of Troy to be concerned with matters of love. Even though Andromache had finally persuaded her brother to take her to Troy, Hector had been so busy with matters of war that she had not even set eyes on him before Paris and Helen's wedding, and then only briefly. But Helen could not tolerate the thought that her friend should not share in her happiness at being in love, so promised Andromache her help. She had already persuaded Paris that Hector needed children, and that Andromache would prove an ideal mother, and to that end Paris agreed to invite Hector to eat with him and his new wife the next night. Helen, of course, had already invited Andromache, and with a touch of her own blend of perfumes who knew what the result might be?

With such satisfying thoughts drifting through her mind, Helen had hardly noticed the sun sink below the horizon. A few fishing vessels bobbed up and down on the gentle waves in the wide bay into which the Scamander and the Simoeis flowed, but the ma.s.s of high-sided galleys that were there the first morning she had looked out from Troy's walls were gone. Hector had stopped the building of further ships to concentrate instead on bolstering the city's defences; the vessels that had already been built had been sent further up the coast to fetch the armies of some of Troy's va.s.sal cities, bringing them back to join the force that was being ama.s.sed under Hector's command. The vast camp that had filled the northern quarter of the plain below had now moved to the eastern side of the city walls opposite the Dardanian Gate, where it was swelled every day by a constant stream of Troy's allies. When Andromache's countrymen, the Cilicians, had reached the city walls a few days before, Helen had joined her friend to cheer their arrival. The fact they were coming to fight Greeks and might die in a war brought about by her arrival concerned her a little, but she found the splendour of the military display and the equal attention her own presence received exhilarating.

A familiar squeal of laughter and the clacking of wood made her turn and look down into the palace gardens behind her. There was Pleisthenes, holding a wooden stick in his good hand and fighting against the combined forces of Aeneas and Deiphobus, who were similarly armed. Helen smiled, despite the fact that her son should have been with Antenor, who because of his ability to speak Greek had been asked to tutor the boy in the ways of his new homeland. Instead, Pleisthenes was driving the two young Trojans back before him, pursuing them around the rectangular pond and through several neatly pruned bushes before dispatching each of them with neatly placed thrusts of his sword.

'At least he won't have to worry about fighting when the war comes,' said a voice, speaking in Greek.

Helen turned and the smile fell from her face. 'Oh, it's you, Apheidas,' she said, taking a step backwards. 'What are you doing up here?'

'I'm here to inspect the guards,' he answered, glancing at the men on the walls, whose eyes were no longer s.n.a.t.c.hing sly glimpses of Helen but were fixed firmly on the darkening ocean beyond the mouth of the harbour. 'I want them alert and watchful for the arrival of the Greek fleet.'