Finally, the day came when they saw the high, rugged hills overlooking the wide harbour of Scyros. The noon sun caught the copper gates of the palace halfway up the highest hill, which flashed to them like a beacon. As they slipped towards the calm, sheltered waters of the harbour, Sthenelaus called for the sail to be furled and the anchor stones to be made ready. At first, Eperitus was surprised to see the numerous fishing boats drawn up on the shingle beach and the handful of merchant vessels at anchor. A throng of people left their homes or their chores to watch the approach of the fighting galley, showing no signs of fear, only curiosity. Then he understood: Scyros had survived the depravations of the rest of Greece because its king had not been one of the oath-takers and thus had refused to send his army to the war against Troy. Scyros had remained safe and prosperous because Lycomedes had stayed at home.
Small boats came out to meet the warship, manned by fishermen or boys offering to take the crew ashore. Soon, Odysseus, Diomedes and Eperitus were leading half a dozen Argives up the cobbled road to the palace gates, while the remainder were ordered to stay on board. Odysseus knew King Lycomedes could not be trusted and had told Sthenelaus to stay alert while they were gone, ready to come to their aid if necessary. From his lofty viewpoint, Lycomedes would have known of the galley’s approach long before its anchor stones were cast overboard. There was no telling what sort of reception he might give them.
The copper gates swung open to reveal two dozen well-armed soldiers and a short, officious looking herald who insisted they leave their weapons with the guards. They had expected nothing less and gave up their spears and swords with little more than a show of reluctance. They were ushered into the great hall, sombre and shadowy despite the column of dusty light that shone down through the smoke hole in the ceiling to touch on the low flames of the hearth. Eperitus remembered the chamber well from his first visit to Scyros ten years before, though then it had been evening and the hall had been filled with nobles and lit by numerous torches. Now it was empty but for an old man and a woman. The man was seated in a wooden throne draped in furs. His hair and beard were white and his skin was ashen grey. His thin nose seemed to twitch slightly as they entered, while his small, closely set eyes watched them keenly from beneath heavy eyebrows. The woman had a chair next to his, but chose to stand as the newcomers entered, placing her hand on the back of the throne. Like him she was tall, though she was many years younger. Her hair was long and dark and her natural beauty was made more aloof and alluring by the stern gaze that she fixed on the men.
Eperitus did not recognise King Lycomedes at first, so old and gaunt had he become, but he could see by the clear eyes and hawklike stare that he had lost none of his wits. The woman he knew immediately was Deidameia, Achilles’s widow – though she would not know that yet – and the mother of Neoptolemus. Of Achilles’s son there was no sign.
‘Welcome to Scyros, my lords,’ she said. ‘Step forward into the light and tell us who you are and what it is that King Lycomedes can do for you.’
‘I am King Diomedes of Argos, son of Tydeus. This is King Odysseus of Ithaca, son of Laertes, and these are Eperitus, captain of the Ithacan royal guard, and our companions. We have brought a message for the wife and son of the great Achilles.’
At the mention of Odysseus’s name, both Lycomedes and his daughter turned to stare at the broad figure in the shadows behind Diomedes. Lycomedes’s eyes were filled with sudden suspicion, remembering how Odysseus had tricked him before; but Deidameia’s face had lost its austere self-assurance and turned pale, as if already guessing the news the men had brought.
‘I am Deidameia, daughter of King Lycomedes and wife of the great Achilles. What is your message?’
Odysseus stepped forward and touched Diomedes’s elbow, indicating he would reply.
‘Our message is for Neoptolemus also,’ he said. ‘Where is your son?’
‘I will not allow you to speak to my grandson, Odysseus,’ Lycomedes answered. ‘The last time you were here you fooled Achilles into joining Agamemnon’s army, and we have not seen him since. What’s to say you won’t try to take Neoptolemus back with you this time?’
Deidameia lifted her hand to silence her father, a gesture that raised eyebrows among their guests.
‘Give your message to me, Odysseus, and I shall tell my son. He can hear it just as well from my lips as yours.’
‘Very well, my lady. Your husband is dead. He fell storming the gates of Troy, where he was struck down by the arrows of Prince Paris.’
The statement was spoken evenly, but the silence that followed seemed to fix the words in the air about them. Deidameia shrank a little, as if something had gone out of her. Eperitus saw her grip on Lycomedes’s chair tighten slightly. Then she drew on her inner strength and pulled herself back up to her full height. Her lips became thin and pale, her eyes stony and hard.
‘Achilles died ten years ago, when he left this island in your ship, Odysseus. Thank you, my lords, for coming all this way to bring me your news. I will sacrifice to Poseidon and pray that you have a safe journey back to Ilium.’
‘And Neoptolemus?’ Odysseus asked, showing no signs of moving. ‘He will have questions. He’ll want to know how his father died.’
‘You’ve already said he was shot by Paris,’ Deidameia replied. ‘I will let him know.’
‘It won’t be enough,’ Diomedes said. ‘If he has anything of his father in him, he’ll want to know every detail. And not just about Achilles’s death, but also about the things he achieved while alive: the men he killed, the cities he conquered –’
‘That is my fear, King Diomedes. He has too much of his father in him, and to hear of Achilles’s deeds will turn his mind towards Troy at a time when his thoughts should be of home. Lycomedes is right: you have not come here to tell me of my husband’s death, but to take my son away to replace Achilles on the battlefield! Part of me feared it as soon as your sail was spotted, even though I didn’t know who you were. And yet he is my son, not yours. I won’t stand by and allow you to take him away like you did my husband.’
‘Neoptolemus is nearly a man, my lady,’ Odysseus countered. ‘Such decisions can only be made by him. What’s more, if you send us away without giving him the chance to question us about his father – to question the men who knew Achilles best in life, and who witnessed his death – you are denying him something every man has an elementary right to: a knowledge of his sires and an understanding of his roots. Do that, Deidameia, and his love for you may turn to hatred.’
‘We will take that risk,’ Lycomedes said, struggling to his feet and pointing to the doors they had entered through. ‘Neoptolemus will never be yours. Now, leave my island and return to Troy.’
But as Eperitus was expecting the king to have them thrown out and put an end to their hopes of ever fulfilling the oracle, Deidameia laid a hand on the old man’s shoulder and gently eased him back into his throne.
‘You will excuse my father. Neoptolemus is the sole heir to the kingdom and he doesn’t want to see him go off to a war that has nothing to do with Scyros. But what you say is true, Odysseus. Neoptolemus deserves to hear about his father and it’s not my place to deny him that. I’ll allow you to speak with him tonight, if you still wish it, at a feast we will hold in your honour.’
‘We do wish it,’ Diomedes answered, glancing uncertainly at Odysseus beside him.
Deidameia smiled at him, something of her earlier authority and self-assurance returning.