Part 30 (2/2)

'This will do,' Odysseus announced, catching a glimpse of a rocky sh.o.r.eline to his right. 'Throw out the anchor stones and make the boat ready.'

Two loud splashes followed, while on the benches an argument broke out between the oarsmen about who should fetch the boat. Clearly, no one wanted the job of rowing Philoctetes to sh.o.r.e.

'Stop that bickering at once,' Eperitus snapped. 'Arceisius and Eurybates, get the boat ready; Eurylochus and Polites, bring Philoctetes and be gentle with him. And you can fetch his bow and arrows, Antiphus.'

The boat was lowered into the water and the two oarsmen took their places with a distinct lack of enthusiasm. Eurylochus shot a hateful glance at Eperitus as he moved with deliberate slowness to the prow, then stood by as the huge arms of Polites scooped Philoctetes up from the deck and carried him to the side. The rest of the crew turned away in disgust as he pa.s.sed, pressing their damp face-cloths closer to their noses. Only Antiphus showed any enthusiasm, running to fetch the magnificent weapons that had once belonged to Heracles and handling them with reverence and admiration.

Once Polites had tenderly lowered the unhappy figure of Philoctetes into the small boat and clambered out again seemingly ignorant of the string of curses that were directed at him Odysseus and Eperitus stepped into the small, unsteady vessel and sat down. Antiphus begged to be allowed to join them, and it was with great relief and pleasure that Eurybates surrendered his place at the oars to him. Once Antiphus was aboard, they pushed off into the mist and rowed slowly towards the sh.o.r.e. All about them sharp black rocks poked out of the water and more than once they felt the bottom of the boat sc.r.a.ping across stone. Then they reached a low, flat shelf of rock pitted with little pools of water and criss-crossed with weathered cracks.

'This will have to do,' Odysseus said, moving to the front of the boat and leaping ash.o.r.e.

Arceisius threw him a rope, which the king wound several times about a finger of stone before tying a knot in it. The others carried Philoctetes ash.o.r.e and set him down, where he lay on his back and looked about at the cold, lonely surroundings.

'You can't leave me here,' he protested. He winced against the attack of a fresh wave of pain, but mastered himself again and reached out to seize Odysseus's ankle. 'You'd have been better letting Achilles kill me in cold blood than leaving me to die on this inhospitable rock.'

But Odysseus stared down at the archer with impa.s.sive eyes. 'I'm sorry Philoctetes,' he said. 'I'm simply carrying out the will of the council.'

'But he's right,' Antiphus said, stepping out of the boat with the bow and quiver of arrows cradled in his arms. 'We can't just abandon him to his fate.'

'May the G.o.ds bless you, friend,' Philoctetes sighed, looking up at Antiphus.

'We'll come back for you when the war is over,' Odysseus replied coldly.

'But what about Philoctetes's bow and arrows, my lord,' Antiphus continued. 'Troy won't fall as easily as everybody seems to think, and before the end we might have need of these weapons.'

'We have our orders,' Odysseus insisted, reaching across and sliding one of the black-feathered arrows from the quiver. 'But that doesn't mean the bow of Heracles should remain idle.'

'What do you mean?' asked Antiphus.

Odysseus twirled the arrow's shaft between his fingers. 'Can you imagine your natural skill combined with the magical accuracy of these arrows? If you took the weapons, Antiphus, you could become a great warrior in your own right. What do you think?'

'No,' Philoctetes objected. 'Heracles gave them to me! You've no right to them, and I'll need them to hunt food here even if it's just scrawny seagulls. You can't take them from me.'

But Antiphus did not seem to be listening. He had slung the quiver over his shoulder and was testing how the bow felt in his skilled hands, drawing the string back to his cheek and aiming an imaginary arrow into the billowing fog. A distant look was in his eyes, as if he was seeing himself shoot down Priam and his sons in the midst of battle, single-handedly bringing victory over Troy and being rewarded with the lion's share of the plunder. Then he sighed and lowered the bow.

'I've never handled such a fine weapon,' he said sadly. 'It's even better than the bow Iphitus gave you, my lord. But it's not mine, and Philoctetes is right without this to hunt food, he'll starve. No, I can't take it.'

He handed the weapons down to Philoctetes, who s.n.a.t.c.hed them to himself greedily. Odysseus placed a hand on Antiphus's shoulder and patted him gently.

'I knew you wouldn't take it,' he said. 'You're honourable, just like Eperitus. And I'm sorry I tempted you, but now we must go.'

The Ithacans took the supplies from the small boat and laid them down next to the Malian archer, who watched every movement with spiteful eyes. Then another wave of pain swept through his body and he threw his head back in an anguished howl before collapsing on his side. The last man settled himself in the boat and the oars were thrust against the rock shelf, pus.h.i.+ng the little vessel out into the dark waters.

'd.a.m.n you all,' Philoctetes whimpered, straining himself to speak through gritted teeth. 'I pray to all the G.o.ds and the spirit of Heracles that you'll need me before the end. You'll be begging me to help you, and then I'll laugh in your faces. Curse you, Odysseus! Curse all you Ithacans!'

Chapter Thirty-one.

THE BEACHES OF ILIUM.

Helen and Paris walked hand in hand along the sh.o.r.e, listening to the sound of the waves and the cry of the gulls overhead. A warm breeze blew in from the sea, though the morning sun was only a watery blur in the eastern sky, hidden behind the thin ceiling of cloud that stretched from horizon to horizon. To their right was the Trojan plain, ending in the high plateau from which the walls of Troy frowned towards the west. Ahead of them the sh.o.r.eline was broken by the mouth of the Simoeis, while to their left a low, pale fog was seeping into the bay from the ocean, twisting its spectral fronds about the high-sided hulls of the Trojan fleet. Only yesterday the bay had been filled with activity as the sixty galleys disembarked the armies of several of Troy's allies, but now the s.h.i.+ps were almost deserted and their sails and spars had been lowered and stowed away.

Despite the warm breath of the sea, the foamy water was cool as it washed over Helen's toes and soaked the hem of her long dress. It was a pleasant feeling, she thought; it made her feel alive and free, just as Paris's hot, rough hand in hers made her feel safe and loved. She turned her head slightly to look at him from the corner of her eye, only to find him doing the same.

He smiled. 'What is it? Having regrets about marrying such an ugly man?'

'Of course not,' she replied with a slight frown. 'Anyway, you aren't ugly.'

'Oh no? Since when have flat noses and livid pink scars been considered handsome?'

Helen raised an eyebrow and her mouth twitched sideways into a little grin.

'I like your face isn't that enough?' she asked, touching the bridge of his nose where the scar crossed it. 'It has character. Those young men who gaze at me in the streets of Troy may be good-looking, but they're just boys. These lines and scars you bear show you're a man.'

'Menelaus was no mere boy,' Paris countered.

'Ah, but you forget I was awarded to Menelaus like a prize. He didn't steal me from a heavily guarded palace as you did. You risked everything for me, Paris, and no woman could want more than that.'

Paris smiled at her praise, which he knew was heartfelt, but he had not finished teasing her yet. 'And how will you feel about him when he brings an army of Greeks to Ilium, just to rescue you?'

'Don't joke about such things,' Helen said, facing her new husband with a troubled look in her eye. After a moment she looked away. 'Fortunately for us, I doubt the Greeks will bother these sh.o.r.es for my sake. I hope they'll have forgotten all about me in a year or two.'

'Hector will be disappointed,' Paris said. 'He was starting to think a Greek attack might be the answer to his prayers expend the might of Sparta and possibly Mycenae against our impenetrable walls, then send a Trojan army across the Aegean to claim the Atreides brothers' kingdoms for himself.'

'Your brother,' Helen sighed, putting her arms about Paris's waist and pulling his firm body against hers. 'He reminds me so much of Agamemnon. Take last night, for example: a head full of your most potent wine, seated next to Andromache in that beautiful dress . . .'

'With that perfume,' Paris added.

Helen nodded enthusiastically. 'And all he can talk about is the threat of Greek expansion across the Aegean, bringing their foreign G.o.ds and don't be offended, sister their uncouth ways to our sh.o.r.es.'

Paris laughed at her impersonation of his brother's gravelly voice. Her ability to mimic others was one of the many hidden delights of his princess: her imitations of Apheidas and Aeneas were hilarious, while her talent for sounding like Hecabe and Leothoe was uncanny, so much so that Paris had nicknamed her Echo after the chattering nymph who could only repeat the words of others. Still smiling, Paris lowered his lips to hers in a soft kiss.

'I know my brother better than you do, my dear,' he said, pulling away and looking into her large eyes. 'And I can tell he likes Andromache. No, don't laugh, he does.'

'But he barely looked at her all evening, and the only thing he could talk about was Troy this and Troy that.'

'That's natural Troy is his first love. But when Andromache spoke he listened, and on two occasions he even asked her opinion.'

'So what?' said Helen, shrugging her shoulders dismissively. 'Isn't that just being polite?'

'Not for Hector! He's rarely interested in what others think, and I can't even remember the last time he asked someone for their opinion. But we shouldn't mock him; if the Greeks do come, Hector is the best defence we have. He is worth more to Troy than all our allies put together.'

As Paris spoke a horn sounded on one of the towers behind him, followed by a second and then a third. He turned to look in consternation at the city walls, from which the deep, low notes were still reverberating. Several small figures were running along the battlements, and as he watched them more calls followed.

'What is it?' asked Helen.

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