‘Who are you?’
‘The Twelve see you and know you. I am Odysseus, King of Ithaca. We were beset by ill winds on our journey, but I am relieved that, by the sounds of it, I have not missed the celebration.’ He flashed the man a winning smile.
The guard’s eyes narrowed. ‘You are not one of the invited guests.’
Odysseus did not miss a beat. ‘Of course I am, why else would I be here?’ When the guard did not answer,Odysseus’ brow darkened. ‘I’m sure King Lycomedes would be aggrieved to hear that one of his men floutedxenia, Zeus’ sacred rule of hospitality. Especially when he learns the offended is the King of Men’s most trusted general.’
Danae scoured Odysseus’ face. She could not tell if this was information he had previously withheld or a honeyed lie.
The guard paled. A moment later the door was heaved open.
‘Gifts for the royal couple can be left in the southern chamber,’ said the guard, ushering them through.
‘Must be one of the king’s daughters getting married,’ whispered Telamon.
Their group stepped into a pillared entrance hall bustling with people. Women in brightly dyed dresses wafted past, jewels glinting at their necks and wrists, goblets of wine clasped in their hands. Many of the men were just as richly clothed, but Danae noticed there were several dressed in fortified leather armour. Guards too were stationed at the doorways, bronze-tipped spears clutched in their fists. All the guests wore elegant masks over the upper half of their faces. Some were fashioned in the likeness of animals, some adorned with a rainbow of feathers, and some sported twisted horns like the mask worn by the Hades-priestess at the Thesmophoria on Naxos.
‘Please choose a mask.’ The guard gestured to a basket piled high with various face-coverings. ‘It is customary.’
Atalanta chose one woven with threads so bright they resembled flames. Odysseus chose an eagle, Telamon a boar, Hylas one painted with leaves, and Danae a mask of plain black leather.
‘This way.’ Their guard ushered them out into a large, sun-drenched courtyard.
A vast wooden pergola wound with vines dominated the space. Streams of cloth dyed indigo, crimson and saffron billowed above the heads of a sea of revellers, dancing to the music plucked by a clutch of musicians stationed under an awning. Beyond the pergola, at the end of the courtyard, was a dais flanked by potted olive trees. Cushion-strewn couches sat upon it, and reclining on them was an elderly man with a lacquered grey beard surrounded by several sumptuously dressed young women. The man nodded his head in time to the music, a contented smile about his wizened lips.
As the rest of them took in the scene, Atalanta slunk towards a table in the shadow of the pergola and swiftly filled a cup with mixed wine from a bronze dish.
‘I take itthatis King Lycomedes?’ whispered Hylas, staring at the older man upon the dais.
‘It appears so,’ said Odysseus, scanning the crowd.
‘Where is Achilles?’ asked Telamon.
Odysseus’ lips tightened. ‘I cannot tell.’ As Atalanta returned to their side, wine in hand, he continued, ‘But we will find him. Those leather-clad soldiers are his elite warriors, the Myrmidons. He can’t be far. Mingle with the guests, discover what you can.’
With that, Odysseus slipped into the swirl of dancing bodies flowing in time to the music. Atalanta and Telamon followed him.
Hylas looked at Danae. ‘I’ve got a wooden leg, what’s your excuse?’
‘I dance like a bear.’
The corners of his mouth twitched, and her heart lifted. For a beat, it was as easy as it used to be between them.
She looked back at the crowd. Her eyes settled on a woman towards the centre of the revellers. The girl’s longcopper hair streamed in molten waves over the back of her sky-blue dress, the bracelets at her wrists and ankles jangling as she twisted like a ribbon blown by the breeze. Her limbs were long, lithe and strong. She moved as though the music were her heartbeat. Danae was reminded of a mountain brook, a wild deer and the undulating might of the sea. The little she could see of the woman’s face was delicate and angular, her skin as pale as the moon. The mask she wore was that of a golden ram, horns twisting to the sky.
Danae’s focus was snared by the sight of Atalanta twirling a pretty blonde woman, the skirt of her dawn-bright dress sweeping around the warrior’s scarred legs. Danae’s chest tightened.
A moment later, as she weaved into the dancing crowd, Telamon brushed past her, whispering, ‘One of the guests just told me, it’s Achilles’ wedding! Looks like he got to marry a princess after all …’
As the flame-haired man made his way towards Odysseus, she stared about, but beneath all the masks it was not clear which of these people were the married couple.
A man turned into her path, his limbs stiffening at the sight of her black clothing. He touched his finger to his forehead. Meanwhile, Telamon had located Odysseus and whispered his news in the king’s ear. Odysseus detached himself from the crowd and sank to one knee before the dais. King Lycomedes gazed down at him, brow furrowing.
‘May the Twelve see you and know you.’ Odysseus slipped off his mask as he stood. ‘I am Odysseus, King of Ithaca.’
The music halted abruptly. All heads turned to the dais.
‘I have come to humbly pay my respects to your radiant daughter, Deidamia, and her new husband, Achilles.’ He glanced about the guests. ‘I am glad for you, Achilles, thatin the year since we parted at Aulis you have found yourself another bride.’
