The Way Home

Chapter 6

Chapter 5The door to the shrine flew open, Greek sandals tracking blood across the tiles. The pallid king of Epiros swaggered into the shrine, red cape fluttering behind him. The edge of his battle axe was wet. Warriors flanked him on either side.

Aeneas raised his sword, steeled himself.

And then something happened.

Everything was slowing down. The candles flickered, their gilded light dancing on the spear-heads. The Greek warlord’s eyes seemed to look through Aeneas.

There was something in the chamber. Aeneas couldn’t say how, but he knew it as surely as he knew his name. It had nothing to do with the Greeks. Of that, he was sure. An invisible weight settled on his shoulders. It was a presence, something bigger than himself. He could almost smell it, a hint of myrtle … But no, that was impossible. It was like something from a dream.

Drowsiness fell on him. His eyelids slid shut, just for a moment.

Next thing Aeneas knew, he was on the pedestal, hidden behind the statue of Zeus. He struggled, found himself bound as though by some spell. Aeneas wanted to scream, to shout. Yet he found no voice to command. He’d been picked up like a baby, somehow secreted away here in a blur. He raised his eyes, just able to see over the statue’s shoulder.

The Epirote king still stalked with a predator’s confidence toward Priam and Hekuba. It was as if no time at all had passed.

Priam’s hands did not waver from the altar. His chanting only grew louder.

Hekuba rose and turned. ‘Pyrrhos.’

‘I’m so glad you remember me.’

‘You think I’d forget my boy’s murderer, son of Akhilles? The man who kidnapped my daughter?’ Hekuba spat at Pyrrhos’s feet.

‘Justice is painful, old woman. Your Great King is going to die,’ he sneered. ‘That is my right, after all your family has done. But first, I’ll make him watch.’ Pyrrhos’s features twisted, mocking. He plunged his dagger into the queen’s side.

Hekuba’s last prayer died upon her breath, and she crumpled to the floor.

With an anguished wail, Priam let go of the altar. The king’s wattled skin hung limp from his arm as he hurled the spear.

Pyrrhos did not even bother to raise his shield. The king’s spear pinged against his breastplate.

Aeneas strained against the presence, to no avail.

Still on his knees, Priam held his face in his hands.

Pyrrhos stooped over him, whispered almost tenderly in Priam’s ear. ‘There is still one escape for you.’

The Epirote pulled a dagger from his belt, pressed the handle into Priam’s palm.

Aeneas cursed whatever it was that held him in its grip.

Priam raised his red-rimmed eyes, wiped his nose on his forearm. His manicured fingers curled over the knife. He hesitated, looked over his shoulder.

Aeneas shuddered as the king stared into his eyes, somehow able to perceive him. Pyrrhos looked around, brow furrowed in confusion. Aeneas realised that whatever this invisible presence was, it had the power to shield him from hostile eyes.

A curious smile played upon Priam’s features. Aeneas recognised that look, for he had seen it on Julos’s face when he had done something cheeky. What did Priam know that Aeneas didn’t?

Utter calm settled upon the king. He turned back, cast a longing look over the shell of Hekuba’s body. ‘See you soon, beloved.’

Priam pointed the blade at his breast.

And drove the knife home.

Pyrrhos inched toward the body. He prodded the royal corpse with a toe, checking for any sign of life. There was none. With a feral grin Pyrrhos lifted the great battle axe over his head.

Aeneas looked away. A final sickening crunch echoed through the shrine, like something he had once heard from an abattoir.

‘So it’s ended,’ Pyrrhos said. ‘Troy is no more.’

Through the doorway came the echoes of whoops and cheers. ‘Hands off!’ someone yelled. ‘That’s mine.’

Pyrrhos’s companion tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Odysseus has already gotten into the treasury.’

‘That swine! If he’s touched one ingot of my mistress’s spoils, I’ll make him wish he’d never been born.’ Pyrrhos scanned the shrine one last time, shrugged, and moved on. He and his men turned on their heels and exited.

Whatever power held Aeneas released him at last. He fell from the pedestal, crouched with his hands on his knees and gulped air. Still, he could not shake the sense that he was being watched. The presence had not left his side.

‘What are you?’ he croaked.

Silence. The candles flickered once again, and Aeneas now sensed that he was alone.

He straightened, stumbled out of the alcove, and checked Hekuba’s body. It was a formality, of course. She had already started to cool. He closed her eyes. There was nothing to be done, nothing.

Aeneas saw himself in the dark pool that had gathered around Priam’s headless corpse, saw the fright reflected in his eyes. His gaze flicked to his toes. The king had been murdered, his corpse desecrated. And Aeneas had been powerless to prevent it.

He rounded upon the sculpture of Zeus. ‘You’re supposed to be our guardian. Where are we to go now?’

The king of the gods simply smiled with maddening serenity upon the dead.

Fatigue filled Aeneas like liquid lead.

Home. He needed to go home.