The Song of Troy

I waited passively while he came from his bed, gazed at him calmly when he appeared. He thanked the gate guards courteously enough and gave them a gift; when they had finished bowing themselves out he threw the curtain to his bedroom wide.

‘Do come in,’ he said.

I didn’t move.

‘You wanted to go to your husband. Well, here I am.’

‘We’re not married, and you already have a wife.’

‘What does that have to do with it?’

‘No marriage for six moons, Priam said.’

‘But, my dear, that was before you tried to escape to the Greeks and Menelaos. When Father hears about that, he won’t stand in my way. Especially after I inform him I’ve already consummated the union.’

‘You wouldn’t dare!’ I snarled.

For answer, he grabbed my ear in one hand and my nose in the other, wrestling me into the bedroom. Dizzy with pain, unable to break his hold, I collapsed on the bed. The only violation worse was death. The last thing I thought before I put my mind in the care of the Mother was that one day I would violate Deiphobos in that worst way of all: I would kill him.

31

NARRATED BY

Diomedes

Shortly after the unsuccessful Trojan raid Agamemnon called a council, though Neoptolemos hadn’t yet arrived. A general air of optimism pervaded the beach; all that stopped us were the walls, and perhaps with Odysseus thinking on that subject, we would even conquer them. We laughed and joked among ourselves as Agamemnon dallied with Nestor, amused at something Nestor said to him low-voiced. Then he lifted his sceptre and rapped its staff on the floor.

‘Odysseus, I believe you have news for us.’

‘I do, sire. First of all, I believe I’ve worked out how to breach the Trojan walls, though I’m not ready to speak about it yet. But in other areas, interesting news.’

He looked at Menelaos, then walked across to put his hand on Menelaos’s shoulder, rubbing it. ‘I’ve heard a snippet of Citadel gossip concerning a difference of opinion between Priam, Helenos and Deiphobos. Over a woman. Helen, to be precise. Poor thing! After Paris died she asked to be allowed to dedicate herself to the service of Mother Kubaba, but Deiphobos and Helenos both demanded to marry her. Priam decided in favour of Deiphobos, who then married her forcibly. It set the Court on its ears, but Priam refused to nullify the union. Apparently Helen was caught in the act of escaping to join you, Menelaos.’

Menelaos said something beneath his breath and bowed his head into his hands. While I thought of beautiful, imperious Helen come down to the level of a common house woman.

‘The whole business so disgusted Helenos, the priest-son,’ Odysseus continued, ‘that he elected to go into voluntary exile. I intercepted him outside the city, hoping that his disillusionment was great enough to permit of his telling me about the Oracles of Troy. When I found him he was at the altar dedicated to Thymbraian Apollo, who, he informed me, had instructed him to tell me whatever I wanted to know. I asked for the Oracles of Troy in their entirety – a wearisome affair. Helenos recited thousands! However, I got what I needed.’

‘A great piece of luck,’ said Agamemnon.

Odysseus lifted his lip. ‘Luck, sire,’ he said evenly, ‘is an overrated commodity. It’s not luck leads to success, it’s hard work. Luck is what happens in the moment when the dice land. Hard work is what happens when a prize falls into a man’s hands because he’s worked for it.’

‘Yes, yes, yes!’ said the High King, rueing his choice of a phrase. ‘I apologise, Odysseus! Hard work, always hard work! I know it, I admit it. Now what of the Oracles?’

‘As far as we’re concerned, only three of the thousands have any relevance. Luckily none of them presents an insurmountable obstacle. They go something like this: Troy will fall this year if the Greek leaders possess the shoulder blade of Pelops, if Neoptolemos takes the field, and if Troy should lose the Palladion of Pallas Athene.’

I jumped up excitedly. ‘Odysseus, I have the shoulder blade of Pelops! King Pittheus gave it to me after Hippolytos died. The old man was fond of me, and it was his most treasured relic. He said he’d rather I had it than Theseus. I brought it to Troy with me for good – er – luck.’

Odysseus gri

‘I’m getting a

‘Ah – where was I? The Palladion. Well, we have to have that ancient image. It’s revered above anything else in the city, and its loss would hit Priam hard. As far as I know, the image is located somewhere in the Citadel crypt. A closely guarded secret. But I’m sure I can penetrate the secret. The most difficult part of the exercise will be moving it – they say it’s very bulky and heavy. Diomedes, will you come with me to Troy?’

‘Gladly!’

As there was nothing else of importance to discuss, the council broke up. Menelaos caught Odysseus at the door and took him by the arm.

‘Will you see her?’ he asked wistfully.

‘Yes, probably,’ said Odysseus gently.

‘Tell her I wish she’d succeeded in reaching me.’

‘I will.’ But, as we walked back to his house, he added to me: ‘I will not! Helen is for the Axe, not for her old spot in Menelaos’s bed.’

I began to laugh. ‘Care to bet on it?’ I asked.

‘Will we go up through the conduit?’ was my first question when we settled to work out a plan.

‘You will, but I can’t. I have to be able to gain access to Helen without suspicion. Therefore I can’t look like Odysseus.’

He went from the room but was back in a moment, carrying a short, cruel whip divided into four thongs, each tipped with a ragged bronze knob. I stared at him and it, bewildered, until he turned his back on me and began to strip off his blouse.

‘Flog me, Diomedes.’

I leaped up, horrified. ‘Are you out of your mind? Flog you, of all men? I couldn’t!’

His mouth thi

I put my arm around his bare shoulders. ‘Ask whatever you like of me, but not that. Flog you – a king! – as if you were a rebellious slave?’

Laughing softly, he laid his cheek on my arm. ‘Oh, what are a few scars more on my scraggy carcase? I must look like a rebellious slave, Diomedes. What better than to see a bloody back on an escaped Greek slave? Use the whip.’

I shook my head. ‘No.’

He grew grim. ‘Use it, Diomedes!’

Unwillingly I picked it up; he bent over. I curled the four thongs about my hand, gathered in my courage and brought them down on his skin. Purple welts rose under them; I watched the things swell in fascinated revulsion.

‘Put a little bite into it!’ he said impatiently. ‘You drew no blood!’

I closed my eyes and did as I was told. Ten strokes in all I gave him with that vile implement; each time it fell I drew blood and scarred him for life like any rebellious slave.

Afterwards he kissed me. ‘Don’t grieve so, Diomedes. What use is a fair skin to me?’ He winced. ‘It feels good. Does it look good too?’

I nodded wordlessly.

He dropped his kilt and moved about the room, wrapping a piece of filthy linen around his loins, tousling his hair and darkening it with soot from the fire tripod. I swear his eyes flashed in sheer enjoyment. Then he held out a set of manacles. ‘Chain me, you Argive tyrant!’

I did as I was told a second time, aware that I hurt from the flogging in ways he never would. To Odysseus, it was no more than a means to an end. As I knelt to snap the bronze cuffs about his ankles, he talked.

‘Once I’m within the city I have to get into the Citadel. We’ll travel together in Ajax’s car – it’s strong, stable and quiet – until we reach the grove of trees near the small watchtower at our end of the Western Curtain. From there we’ll go separately. I’ll bluff my way through the little door in the Skaian Gate, and do the same at the Citadel gates – my story will be that I have to see Polydamas urgently. I find his name works best.’