Chapter 41 Love and Duty
Danae stood before a stone altar overlooking the sea. The sky was a ripening bruise, the bright carcass of the sun half sunk beneath the waves. Behind her, the wedding guests were silent as the dusk chorus of Skyros serenaded the dying day.
In one hand, Danae raised a knife; the other held firm to the rope collar of a bound goat. She brought down the blade. As the animal’s blood trickled into the rivets carved into the altar stone, her mind ran with it, sinking deep into the soil.
She recalled a chamber in the depths of the earth, another’s blood spilt by her hand. In Danae’s memory, Persephone’s lips parted, rasping her last, guttering breath.
Take its threads, hissed the voice, dragging her back to the world of the living.
Her limbs ached as the goat’s life-threads seeped away into the ground, but she held firm. She would be ruled by the voice no longer.
Filling her lungs, she lifted her bloody hands to the sky.
‘Goddess of Love, Aphrodite, hear my prayer. Bless the union of Achilles and Deidamia, hold them forever in your grace. May their love endure, like the deathless gods of Olympus.’
She turned to the young couple kneeling behind her. Deidamia’s eyes shimmered as she clutched her new husband’s hand. Achilles stared out over the waves, as though he wished he were somewhere far away.
‘Go with the blessing of the Twelve,’ Danae murmured, daubing a fingerprint of blood on each of their foreheads.
Once the ceremony was complete, the guests removed their masks and gathered in the feast hall.
Despite Lycomedes’ previous hostility, as was fitting, he respected Odysseus’ rank by inviting his fellow king, Danae, Telamon, Atalanta and Hylas to join him and his family at the head table, while the Ithacan soldiers sat with his courtiers at long wooden tables spread across the rest of the hall.
Despite the pomp of the wedding festivities, there was a shabbiness to the palace at Skyros Danae found comforting.
The painted frescos along the walls depicting harmonious scenes of farming and hunting were peeling in places, their rich colours faded.
Several of the stone pillars were chipped around their joins, and a few wooden joists were in need of replacing.
Another reason, perhaps, why Lycomedes was reluctant to lend his support to the allied Greek army. War was an expensive endeavour.
The king eased himself to his feet and lifted his cup to the ceiling.
‘The first drink I give to Zeus, King of the Heavens and Lord of Hospitality. I honour these guests with all my home has to offer in your name.’ He flicked his wrist, and a splash of wine splattered the stone floor.
Around the room, the people of Skyros raised their fingers to their foreheads. Danae swiftly followed the gesture.
‘Now,’ proclaimed Lycomedes, ‘eat!’
They fell upon the food. Danae licked her fingers clean of honey, fruit juice and boar grease, each bite more delicious than the last. She was halfway through a mouthful of bread soaked in olive oil when Atalanta abandoned her seat to slip in beside the woman she’d danced with earlier.
A pretty girl, one of Lycomedes’ daughters, her silken hair plaited like ears of sun-ripened wheat.
The warrior had been making her way through Lycomedes’ wine store since they arrived and was now loose-limbed and heavy-lidded.
She leant towards the blonde woman, whispering something Danae could not hear.
In response the woman laughed, peering at the warrior from beneath her lashes.
Danae swiftly lost her appetite. She signalled to a servant hovering behind their table with an amphora and, once her cup was brimming with wine, drained the vessel. At the prickle of eyes on her, she turned to Hylas, who sat beside her.
He glanced away.
‘What?’
Hylas toyed with a bunch of indigo grapes. ‘It is strange, for someone who so skilfully hid their truth while aboard the Argo, you wear your desire for all to see.’
Her lips parted. She stole another look at Atalanta then scowled at Hylas. ‘Whatever you’re thinking, it’s wrong.’
Her gaze flicked once more to the warrior. Atalanta was now feeding the Princess of Skyros a honey cake. Her stomach twisted.
‘It is no easy thing,’ Hylas murmured, ‘caring for someone who carries the fate of humanity on their shoulders.’
Danae’s head snapped towards him. ‘If she cared for me, she would not …’ She fell silent at the anguish writ plain on Hylas’ face. In a heartbeat it vanished, like smoke, leaving her questioning if it had really been there at all.
‘Achilles,’ called Odysseus from across the table. ‘Tell me, how did you come to settle on Skyros?’
The youth picked languidly at his plate.
When he did not reply, King Lycomedes answered for him, ‘Achilles’ mother, Thetis, sent her son on a prolonged visit to my kingdom.
I was delighted, of course, to entertain such a renowned warrior, but when my daughter expressed a fondness for our guest and the opportunity to unite the kingdoms of Phthia and Skyros presented itself …
well, how could I not bless such a marriage? ’
At her father’s words, Deidamia beamed at Achilles.
At the same time, the Myrmidon beside him stiffened.
The soldier looked not much older than his captain, perhaps only sixteen or seventeen.
He was similarly tall and lithe, with tawny-brown skin and dark, tightly curled hair.
Achilles never looked at him, but moved his hand ever so slightly, so his little finger brushed against the Myrmidon’s clenched fist.
‘What a happy arrangement,’ said Odysseus, his eyes drinking in the exchange. Danae was sure he had missed none of what just passed between the three young people. ‘But surely your Myrmidons must be growing bored with only serving girls and goats to entertain them.’
Telamon laughed. Lycomedes’ lips pursed, and Achilles’ spine straightened, like a snake jabbed with a stick.
‘My men go where I go. If I am happy, they are happy.’
The Myrmidon next to Achilles glared at Odysseus.
The King of Ithaca laughed easily. ‘You are blessed, Achilles, best of the Greeks. I wish I could say the same for my men.’
Achilles did not return his warmth. ‘I meant what I said. I will not come with you to Troy.’
Odysseus nodded. ‘Remind me again what it is exactly you took offence to in Aulis?’
Achilles’ cheeks flushed. ‘You know damned well – he used my name! He lured that poor girl to her death with my name as bait.’
‘It was a tragedy the girl had to die, but it was the will of the gods.’ Odysseus’ voice rang out for all to hear. ‘Surely you do not mean to criticize the Twelve?’
The colour in Achilles’ face deepened. ‘Never. It is not the sacrifice that angers me, but the use of my name. I am Achilles, the greatest mortal soldier Greece has ever seen. My name is worth more than gold, and I will not have it used by a duplicitous king for his own ends.’
Danae stared at him: this boy who was so sure of himself.
The youth who commanded his own army. The man who cared not for the life taken, but only his reputation.
She was flooded with the desire to fling him to the floor and watch that beautiful face twist in pain as she buried her fists in his ribs.
But she knew the hollowing in her chest had been carved before this night, by another hero who valued his name above all else.
‘I see,’ said Odysseus, ‘thank you for indulging my curiosity. I shall speak no more upon this matter.’
When the platters had been picked clean and the wine jugs drained, Lycomedes proclaimed the feasting at an end and retired to his bedchamber.
The courtiers drifted back to their homes, and Odysseus’ men were shown to rooms in the servants’ quarters.
Telamon had already retired to his chamber, and Atalanta disappeared with the blonde princess.
Danae tried not to think about it. Imagining them together felt like swallowing hot ashes.
Finally Danae, Odysseus and Hylas were left alone with two of the Ithacan soldiers and several Skyros guards. As they rose from the feast table, Odysseus said to Hylas, ‘You should get some rest. We leave at first light.’
Hylas’ gaze flicked between the king and Danae, and for a moment it seemed like he would dissent. Then he turned, leaning on his crutch, and walked away across the stone floor.
‘What’s your plan?’ Danae whispered, both sets of guards following them as they stepped out into the pillared corridor. ‘Achilles is married – surely it will now be impossible to persuade him to leave.’
‘It is not I but you who must convince him,’ Odysseus murmured.
‘Me?’
‘Remember, you are a seer, Dione. As we learned at dinner, Achilles is both proud and pious. So,’ he glanced behind them, ‘you will go to his chamber tonight, and tell him that the gods demand his presence in Troy. You will say that if he does not fight for the Greek allied army, the Twelve will be incandescent with rage.’
‘You want me to lie?’
Odysseus regarded her for a moment. ‘I know you do not trust me. I don’t blame you – we’ve only known each other a short while.
But we are on the same side. Everything I do is in your service, to clear a path for you to fulfil your destiny.
’ He paused. ‘I can see it is a burden for you to deceive –’
‘You do not know me.’
‘No, but Hylas does. I admit, I took him with me when I left the Doliones’ shore because he knew you, and I have been searching for you ever since you destroyed the oracle at Delphi.
’ Danae opened her mouth to ask how he knew, but Odysseus continued, his voice a fervent whisper, ‘Since then, Hylas has become a most valued advisor, and a friend. I hope in time you can learn to trust me as he does.’