Eperitus could still remember the wonder he had felt during his first visit to the city a decade before, though he no longer looked on the achievements of the Trojans with the same reverence. Now he saw Troy as nothing more than a hateful bastion that had to be conquered – razed to the ground, if necessary – so that he and his comrades could return to Greece. In that desire he had grown very similar to Odysseus, wanting only to see his homeland again. And now, having forgiven her treachery, he was determined to take Astynome with him. The thought of sharing a house on Ithaca with her pleased him greatly, and he had to force himself to stop smiling at his restored dreams and concentrate on the difficulties that lay ahead.
They turned a corner onto a wide stone road. At the eastern end a walled ramp climbed gradually up to the second tier of the citadel. It was flanked by tall poplar trees that were silhouetted black against the dark blue of the night sky, their branches sighing with the faint breeze.
‘Quiet now,’ Odysseus warned, turning and placing his finger against his lips. ‘The temple should be to the left at the top of the ramp.’
He slid his sword from his belt and advanced at a crouch, followed by the others. Reaching the corner of the last building before the ramp, he peered cautiously around the edge. Eperitus and Diomedes joined him. There were no guards on the ramp, and at Odysseus’s signal they dashed up to the second level and hid behind the wall at the top. A short way off was a stone plinth topped by a larger-than-life statue of Athena. By day, its brightly painted wood would catch the sunlight, impressing passers-by with a sense of the goddess’s divine glory; but in the tarry blackness of the night it was a dull, unimpressive grey, its only authority lying in the stern features of its face. Beyond the statue was a tall, square building, footed by broad steps that led up to a pillared portico. This was the imposing entrance to the goddess’s temple, and in the shadows before its high doors were the huddled figures of a dozen men.
‘Eperitus!’ Odysseus hissed. ‘Can you see if they’re moving?’
Eperitus strained his eyes against the darkness. The guards were lying in a variety of strange poses, like a collection of toy dolls that had been abandoned halfway through play. Some had managed to pull their cloaks about their shoulders before succumbing to sleep, while others just lay where they had fallen. Their spears and shields were still propped against the marble pillars of the portico and the only sound was the chorus of their mingled snores.
‘They’re asleep,’ he announced.
As if to prove the point, he rose to his full height and strolled boldly towards the temple. Taking the steps two at a time as the others watched, he walked through the circle of slumbering soldiers and turned to face his companions. It was then he noticed another detaiclass="underline" each guard held a cup, or had let one fall from his fingertips, and there were small stains of dark liquid where the wine had spilled on the flagged floor.
‘They’ve been drugged,’ he informed Odysseus and Diomedes as they climbed the steps to join him.
‘Of course they have,’ Odysseus said, glancing nonchalantly at the scattered men. ‘Helen’s maids did their work well. Perhaps too well – I only hope they don’t draw suspicion down on their mistress. Now, let’s do what we came here for.’
They pushed one of the doors open and slipped inside. The smell of dank stone and incense was laced with the reek of burning fat from a single torch that hung on a nearby pillar. It gave off a sinister hiss that was magnified by the enclosed space, but its failing light was little more than a ball of orange in the thick gloom and did nothing to illuminate the features of the temple, which remained lost among the shadows. Seeing two unused torches lying at the base of the pillar – ready for the priestess to light when she returned at dawn – Diomedes picked them up and held them to the dying flame. They caught quickly and he handed one to Eperitus.
The twin circles of pulsing light grew in strength, pushing the darkness back to reveal high, muralled walls – the pictures too faded and smoke-stained to be discernible among the shadows – and an inner square formed by twelve stone columns. Stepping between two of the pillars, the Greeks entered a broad, flagstoned space in the centre of the temple. From here the light of their torches fell on a gigantic but illusive silhouette against the rear wall, a figure half lost in shadow as it soared up to the ceiling. They stepped closer and saw it was another statue of Athena, but larger and more impressive than any they had ever seen before. Odysseus fell to his knees and bowed his head, while the others looked on in astonished silence. Like the one on the plinth before the temple, the figure was depicted wearing only a simple chiton; her familiar spear, helmet and aegis were absent, giving her a distinctly foreign, Trojan feel. Unlike the other figure, though, this one was seated on an equally oversized throne, and set between her feet was a dull black shape that seemed more like a shadow, somehow absorbing and deadening the effect of the torchlight.
‘Is that it?’ asked Diomedes.
Odysseus raised his head and fixed his eyes on the Palladium.
‘It must be.’
Diomedes advanced towards it with his torch raised at an angle before him. Odysseus followed, but Eperitus gripped his spear and stole a glance at the rear of the temple. His hackles were up and he had a sense of foreboding, but he could see or hear nothing in the darkness. Reluctantly, he turned and joined the others.
Eperitus had first heard a description of the Palladium from Antenor, the Trojan elder whose wife was the chief priestess of the temple. He had been their host before the war, when Eperitus had accompanied Odysseus and Menelaus on a peace embassy to seek the return of Helen. But even Antenor’s matter-of-fact account had overstated the dull ordinariness of the object they had come to steal. Had it not been placed on the plinth that supported the statue of Athena, it would have reached no higher than Eperitus’s thigh. As for form, as far as Eperitus could see it barely had any: there were two uneven bumps in the black wood that might have been breasts, while the lopsided knob on top could have optimistically passed as a head – devoid of neck and with nothing more than a misshapen nose for a facial feature. Two stumps on either side qualified as arms, and with no legs whatsoever its only support was the metal cradle on which it was sat.
‘It’s even less impressive than I’d expected,’ he commented.
‘And the Trojans think this came from the gods?’ Diomedes added. ‘Such fools deserve to lose the war.’
Odysseus undid the green cloak Helen had given him.
‘We’ll be the fools if they catch us talking here. Let’s take the thing and get back to the walls – this place is making me feel uneasy.’
He threw the cloak around the Palladium, as if afraid to touch it with his bare hands, and lifted it from its stand. With deft movements, he knotted the corners of the garment together and slung the parcel under his arm. Just then, Eperitus’s senses reacted to a presence. Whether a small sound or a new smell, he was not aware of the trigger that told him they were no longer alone, but he spun round with his spear held rigidly before him. The others turned in alarm, knowing Eperitus’s instincts were never wrong, and snatched out their swords.
‘How dare you desecrate this temple?’
It was a woman’s voice, speaking in the Trojan tongue, that broke the silence. Eperitus’s eyes picked out the diminutive figure of its owner in a corner of the vast chamber, dressed in the white robes of a priestess. She must have been sleeping in the temple, as many priestesses did, and been woken by their voices. Now she was approaching the three warriors with short, fearless steps that quickly brought her into the circle of light from their torches.