The Gates Of Troy Read online

  Contents

  BOOK ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  BOOK TWO

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  BOOK THREE

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  BOOK FOUR

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  book

  ONE

  Chapter One

  UNWELCOME VISITORS

  Odysseus, king of Ithaca, lay on his stomach amongst a clump of fern. Leaves and twigs were tangled in his thick, red-brown beard, and his face and hands were smeared with earth so that only the whites of his eyes were visible in the undergrowth. He remained perfectly still and silent as he looked down the slope towards a clearing in the dense woodland, where two dozen men sat around a large fire and ate stew from wooden bowls. Their features were grey and blurred in the twilight, but it was clear from their armaments and the sound of their heavily accented voices that they were not Ithacans.

  ‘That’s them, Eperitus,’ Odysseus whispered, nodding decisively. ‘They’re not a hunting party or a group of woodsmen – they’re the bandits we’re looking for. Can you hear what they’re saying?’

  Eperitus, captain of Odysseus’s guard, lay shoulder to shoulder with the king. ‘Most of it,’ he replied, turning an ear towards the circle of men. Despite the distance, his acute hearing – which, like the rest of his god-gifted senses, was unnaturally sharp – could easily pick out the words of their conversation. ‘Something about a troop of dancing girls and . . . well, you can probably guess the rest.’ A roar of harsh laughter broke out below them. ‘They met the girls in Pylos, but from their accents it sounds like they’re Thessalians.’

  ‘Then they’ve a long journey back home,’ Odysseus said, watching the men thoughtfully and tapping at his teeth with a nail-bitten forefinger.

  Eperitus scratched at his closely cropped black beard. ‘The problem is that we were told there were six of them, not four times that amount. And we’ve only brought twenty men with us.’

  Odysseus leaned his large, muscular torso to one side and looked at his old friend, a glimmer of playful mockery in his green eyes. ‘When we landed on Samos yesterday morning you told me you were itching for a fight. In fact, hardly a month’s gone by in the past ten years when you haven’t reminisced about the old days or longed for a proper battle to come along. Now the opportunity’s arrived, all you can do is complain.’

  Eperitus screwed his lips to one side and fixed his eyes on the camp below. Even though he knew Odysseus was poking fun at him, the king’s words still stung. No other man on Ithaca – not even Odysseus himself – desired glory in battle as much as he did. The islanders were simple folk whose happiness was found in their homes and families, but Eperitus was an exile from a distant city who had never lost the unsettling need to prove himself. It drove everything he did, and though he had long since earned his place amongst the Ithacans he struggled to share their contentment. The handful of skirmishes he had fought in the past few years had left him hungry for a real chance of glory, and it was not until the news that a large group of bandits were terrorizing Samos – the neighbouring island to Ithaca – that he had realized how deep that hunger had eaten into him.

  ‘I’m not complaining,’ he replied. ‘I’m a warrior, and a warrior wants nothing more than to kill his enemies. It’s just that you’re the king, Odysseus, and I’m sworn to protect you. Zeus’s beard, if we take these lads on as we are there’s a good chance they’ll win and you’ll be killed. And just look at them: I thought brigands were supposed to be armed with daggers and rusty swords, not breastplates, shields and spears!’

  He pointed to the weapons piled against the mouth of a cave at the back of the clearing, and then at the armour worn by each man and the long swords hanging from their belts. Both he and Odysseus knew that the men who had been robbing the people of Samos were not a band of disorganized thugs, stealing at need and fleeing back into the woods; they were soldiers, turned to common robbery for survival in a country where peace had reigned for a decade. They had arrived from the Peloponnese by ship several days before, and if they were allowed to establish themselves on Samos they would not only continue to threaten the welfare of the islanders, they would soon pose a challenge to Odysseus’s own power and authority.

  ‘Well, we need to deal with them,’ the king said, resolutely. ‘And I can’t wait for more of the guard to be fetched from Ithaca – we have to defeat them here and now, with the men we’ve got.’

  ‘What about Penelope?’ Eperitus responded, noticing the look in Odysseus’s eye at the mention of his beloved wife. ‘She’s three weeks away from giving birth to your first child, the child you’ve been trying for ever since you were married. This isn’t the time to go risking your life.’

  ‘I love my wife,’ Odysseus said, simply but seriously. ‘And no pack of outlaws is going to prevent me from returning home to her. But a king who isn’t prepared to risk his life for his people isn’t worthy of the title, and for the sake of my unborn son I have to live up to who I am.’

  Eperitus looked at his friend and knew he had spoken truly. ‘Well, evening’s not far away,’ he sighed, glancing up at the azure sky through the canopy of budding branches overhead. ‘And there’ll only be a faint moon tonight. We could bring the rest of the guard up here after dark and . . .’

  ‘And kill them in cold blood? We won’t need to resort to that.’

  ‘Why not? You slit the throats of a dozen sleeping Taphians once, so what’s the difference?’

  ‘I had to do that,’ Odysseus answered. ‘They were invaders, whereas these poor swine,’ he pointed a thumb towards the men below, ‘are just soldiers fallen on hard times – warriors, like you and me. I won’t kill them without giving them the chance to leave peacefully first.’

  Eperitus shook his head resignedly. It was not that Odysseus was too proud to accept advice, it was just that he always thought he knew better. And he invariably did: if anyone could think of a way to defeat the bandits, it was Odysseus, the most clever, devious and resourceful man Eperitus knew.

  ‘I assume you’ve got a plan,’ he said.

  ‘Of course I have,’ the king replied with a grin. ‘Now, let’s get back to the others and tell them what we’ve seen.’

  He raised himself on all fours and backed away from the screen of ferns, followed by Eperitus. Once they were sure they would not be spotted by any of the men around the campfire, they stood and quietly made their way back through the wood, picking a route between the silvery-grey trunks in the darkness. Soon they found the path they were looking for – a rutted cart track that crossed from one side of the forest to the other – and began the trek east towards their own camp.

  ‘I dreamed about her again last night,’ Odysseus said after a while. He was looking up at the early evening stars, which could be seen pricking the sky through the fissure in the canopy overhead.

/>   ‘Athena?’ Eperitus asked, pausing to look at the king, who avoided his eye and carried on walking. Eperitus ran to catch up with him. ‘What did she say? Was it about Penelope again?’

  He knew Odysseus had long enjoyed the blessing of the goddess. As a child he had often seen her in his waking dreams, sitting on his bed at night and comforting him when he was lonely. She had once saved him from a wild boar, and when he became a man he had repaid her by making her his patron goddess. Ten years ago she had appeared before him and Eperitus on Mount Parnassus – where they had gone to seek the advice of the oracle – and then at Messene. A few months later she had brought Eperitus back to life after he had died saving Odysseus from the knife of an assassin. But since then the king had seen or heard nothing of her – until she had come to him in a dream two nights ago, telling him Penelope would shortly give him a son.

  ‘She didn’t speak this time,’ Odysseus said. ‘We were standing on a plain under the moonlight, with the sound of the sea behind me and the smell of brine in my nostrils. Before me was a great city built on a hill. Its walls and towers were gleaming like silver, and it was both beautiful and terrible at the same time. Even though Athena was beside me the sight of that city struck me with fear and sadness, as if it were a symbol of the end of my happiness. Of all happiness.’

  ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps nothing, but I don’t think so – it left me with a feeling that doom is approaching. You remember the words of the oracle, of course: I will be king over my people for ten years, and then I will have to choose between my home and Troy. This is the tenth year of my reign, Eperitus.’

  Eperitus recalled the meeting in the caverns beneath Mount Parnassus, where the priestess had spoken the prophecy that had haunted the king for so long. It was there, also, that she had told Eperitus his fate was bound up with Odysseus’s, for good or bad.

  ‘I haven’t forgotten the words of the Pythoness,’ Eperitus replied. ‘Yet I can’t see what will happen to force such a choice on you, or, if it comes, why you can’t just remain on Ithaca.’

  But Odysseus did not reply. Before long they saw the orange light of a fire through the trees. As they approached, a man stepped out from the shadows and levelled his spear at them.

  ‘Not a step closer,’ he ordered, brandishing the weapon threateningly in an attempt to disguise his own nervousness. ‘Who are you and what do you want here?’

  ‘Apollo and Ares, come to bring death and destruction to all who stand in our way,’ Eperitus replied, pushing the point of the spear away from his chest.

  The man was similar in height to Eperitus, but had short, hairy legs and a large stomach that hung down over his belt. He squinted at Eperitus through his small, pig-like eyes, then with a half-sneer of recognition raised his weapon and stepped back.

  ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said with badly disguised contempt. Then, turning to Odysseus, he gave a quick bow before offering his hand. ‘Welcome back, cousin. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you in this darkness.’

  Odysseus gripped the other man’s wrist and smiled. ‘Who let you stand guard, Eurylochus? Everyone knows you’ve got the eyesight of a mole.’

  Without waiting for an answer, the king clapped his cousin on the shoulder and strode off towards the welcoming light of the campfire with Eperitus at his side. They could see the figures of several men eating and drinking around the vivid orange flames, and the rich aroma of roasted meat made their mouths water in anticipation.

  ‘I don’t know what you’ve got in mind for dealing with those bandits,’ Eperitus said, ‘but I pray to the gods you’ll leave Eurylochus here. He should never have been allowed to come with us, Odysseus – he’s a clumsy, self-important idiot with no idea about fighting. If we’re not careful he’ll put us all in danger.’

  ‘Laertes insisted he come,’ Odysseus replied with an indifferent shrug, ‘and I wasn’t going to argue with my own father about the matter. Besides, if you’re lucky Eurylochus’ll get his head chopped off and you’ll never have to put up with him again.’

  Eperitus ignored the comment. Eurylochus had shown him nothing but disdain since he had been made captain of the royal guard ten years ago, a position that Eurylochus, as Odysseus’s cousin and a lesser member of the royal family, felt should have been given to him by right. The fact he had skulked out of the greatest battle in Ithaca’s history – against a rebellion supported by a Taphian invasion force – did not stop him from despising Eperitus’s good fortune. Nevertheless, Eperitus did not want to see the fat fool slain needlessly.

  ‘And how do you intend to defeat two-dozen heavily armed warriors, assuming they refuse your invitation to return peacefully to the mainland?’ he asked as they paused at the edge of the broad clearing.

  ‘That’s easy,’ Odysseus answered blithely. ‘You’ve been itching for a chance of glory, Eperitus, so I’m going to send you to fight them.’

  Chapter Two

  THE QUEEN OF SPARTA

  Alone wolf stood on the empty road and sniffed the cold air. The sable heavens were filled with stars, whilst a thin crescent of moon was rising over the dark peaks of the Taygetus Mountains in the west. Its light shivered on the surface of the fast-flowing river that ran alongside the road, the noise of which almost drowned out the gentle bleating of sheep that had drawn the hungry wolf down from the hills.

  Seeing the low wall of a sheep pen not far from the road, she knew from experience that a man would be sleeping across the single entrance, his crook close to hand. But the animal had not eaten in two days and was desperate. She trotted across the field towards the enclosure, drawn by the sound and the smell of the fat sheep within, instinctively readying herself to jump the sleeping shepherd and snatch a lamb. Saliva was already dripping from her pink gums as she anticipated the taste of warm flesh running with blood, when another sound stopped her in her tracks.

  Turning her head to the south, where the smell of the sea was carried strongly on the night breeze, the wolf saw a line of torches moving up the road, carried by tall men in armour that glinted in the moonlight. Skulking low to the ground, her grey fur indistinguishable amongst the rocks and scrub, she watched the procession coming closer and closer until it was no longer safe for her to remain. She raised herself and was about to run back towards the hills when a low whistle stopped her. Looking back at the men, she saw one of them hand his armaments to a comrade and leave the road. He strolled directly across the field towards the waiting animal.

  Curiously, the wolf realized she did not feel afraid. She watched the man pull something out of a bag that hung from his shoulder, dangle it from his fingertips and give another low whistle. The smell of dried meat caught the wolf’s nostrils. Against her instincts, which seemed unable to function naturally in the man’s presence, she began to edge closer towards the strip of flesh that hung from his hand. Then, her caution forgotten, she lifted herself to her full height and trotted straight up to the proffered meat.

  ‘I knew you were hungry,’ the man said, feeding the length of beef into the animal’s jaws and stroking her mane of coarse hair. ‘And you don’t want to go risking those sheep. You leave them alone and go find yourself a rabbit or two instead.’

  He stood and pointed to the hills. The wolf looked up at him, her yellow eyes shining, then turned and ran off into the darkness. Paris watched her go with a smile on his lips, before returning to the road where his men awaited him.

  There were a dozen of them, all grinning with pleasure at their leader’s mastery of the wild animal. A handsome young warrior stepped forward and handed Paris his spear and tall, rectangular shield.

  ‘Let’s hope you can have Menelaus feeding out of your hand, too,’ he said.

  ‘The king of Sparta’s no animal, Aeneas,’ Paris replied, slinging the wooden-framed shield over his shoulder; it had clearly seen many battles, the layers of ox-hide slashed and pierced by numerous weapons. ‘And I’m only a simple warrior, not a diplomat.’


  ‘Nonsense,’ declared a tall warrior stepping out of the file of soldiers to join them. At fifty years he was the oldest in the party by more than a decade, though his hardened face retained the good looks of his youth and his black hair and beard were untouched by grey. Beneath his dusty cloak he wore a cuirass of bronze scales. ‘You’re one of the best negotiators Troy has, Paris. Don’t forget, I was there when you persuaded the northern tribes to swear an oath of fealty to your father. Can you imagine it, Aeneas – this “simple warrior” turning King Priam’s bitterest enemies into his newest allies? And yet,’ he added, turning back to Paris with a serious look in his eyes, ‘I don’t think even you’ll succeed this time. These Greeks aren’t savage tribesmen, and in their pride they think themselves second only to the gods.’

  ‘But we have to try, Apheidas,’ the prince answered, scratching the tip of a pink scar on his right temple. It ran across the bridge of his flat nose to the left corner of his mouth, where it ended in a narrow salient through his thick beard. ‘We have to. First with Menelaus here in Sparta, then north to Mycenae to speak with his brother. If anyone has the power to return Hesione to us, it’ll be Agamemnon.’

  Hesione was King Priam’s sister, who had been brought to Greece by Telamon thirty years before, after he and Heracles had sacked Troy and taken their choice of the spoils. Priam, though, still regarded her abduction as a stain on his country’s pride and longed to bring his sister home. All previous envoys had failed, with some nearly being killed, but now he was sending his second-oldest son to negotiate for Hesione’s return. And Paris was determined not to disappoint his father’s trust in him.

  Apheidas spat on the road. ‘It doesn’t matter who you speak to, they’ll never give her back,’ he said, his dark eyes glistening angrily in the moonlight. ‘Don’t forget I was brought up in northern Greece, though my father was a Trojan. I lived among these people for most of my life until they exiled me, and I know them better than anyone in Ilium does. No matter what old Priam says – may the gods protect him – I tell you the best way to deal with the Greeks is to kill the bastards. Every last man, woman and child of them.’