A woman with raven curls and a sea-green mask stepped out from the heart of the crowd. ‘I know what you want, and you cannot have him!’
Danae presumed this must be Deidamia.
Lycomedes’ mouth curled. ‘I too have heard of you, King of Ithaca. Do not insult me with silver-tongued talk. Tell me why you are really here.’
The guards who had before shadowed the walls edged forward, their bronze armour gleaming in the sunlight.
Odysseus inclined his head. ‘I should have known you would see through my ruse, wise Lycomedes.’
The king’s eyes narrowed. ‘I believe Achilles made it clear to you and your master in Aulis that he will not be a part of your war over another man’s wife. Nor will I. Skyros has no quarrel with Troy.’
Odysseus’ expression remained placid. ‘As is your prerogative, my lord. I would, however, think to the future. Once the allied army has vanquished Troy, Agamemnon, the King of Men, will remember those who fought at his side.’
Lycomedes bristled. ‘If you are so sure you will win, then why travel all this way to entreat my new son-in-law?’
Odysseus smiled. ‘He is the best of the Greeks.’ He looked about. ‘Speaking of your son-in-law, where is Achilles?’
Lycomedes sat back and folded his arms.
‘I see,’ said Odysseus.
There was a long pause. Then Odysseus drew a dagger from his belt and threw it at Deidamia. It all happened so fast, the princess did not even have time to scream. But before the blade pierced her flesh the figure Danae had spotted in the blue dress and golden ram mask threw herself forward, herbody cascading like liquid sunlight as she rolled effortlessly across the dusty ground.
A cacophony of gasps echoed around the courtyard as the woman straightened up, the blade clenched in her fist, Deidamia unharmed.
In two heartbeats the guards had ruptured the crowd, surrounding Odysseus with a ring of bronze spears. They looked to their king for further instruction, who seemed frozen in shock, his hand clutched at his chest, the colour drained from his face.
‘Greetings, Achilles,’ said Odysseus to the person in blue.
Danae gaped. She had been mistaken.
Achilles ripped the golden mask from his face. She was stunned at how young he was – no older than sixteen. He was as beautiful and slender as a maiden, yet powerful as a bull.
‘How dare you.’ The youth’s voice was light and soft, like a hazy summer morning, but his pale-blue eyes were cold with fury.
‘You had only to reveal yourself …’ Odysseus opened his palms. He winked at the raven-haired girl, who glared at him in return. ‘I meant you no harm, princess. It was merely a test.’
‘Go back to that pig, Agamemnon,’ Achilles spat, ‘and tell him there is nothing in this world or the next that could ever convince me to rejoin his rabble.’
Telamon emerged from the crowd. He removed his mask and bowed to Lycomedes before turning to Achilles with a winning smile. ‘It is I, your uncle Telamon. I sail with Odysseus and his companions.’
Achilles stared at him blankly.
Telamon’s grin faltered. ‘Your father’s brother.’
‘Oh.’ Achilles twisted a strand of copper hair between hisfingers. ‘I don’t remember you. And I think little of the company you keep.’ He glowered at Odysseus.
‘Told you,’ hissed Telamon to the king.
Odysseus sighed. He looked to Lycomedes. ‘It seems I have journeyed here in vain. I shall sail for Troy tomorrow, but tonight I beg beds, a meal and safe passage for me and my men.’
As he spoke, the raven-haired girl wrapped her hand around Achilles’ arm. He did not push her away, but his body tensed as though he did not welcome the touch.
Lycomedes regained his senses, trembling as he pointed at Odysseus. ‘You dare come here and threaten my daughter on her wedding day! Guards, take him away!’
Danae readied herself to move to Odysseus’ defence as the guards closed in, but he raised a hand. ‘Please, let me speak.’ The guards looked to Lycomedes. The king nodded.
‘I meant no ill-will. I knew, with Achilles nearby, your fair daughter was never in any real danger. As I reminded your gatekeeper, the King of Heaven teaches us to look kindly on strangers seeking respite. I ask you, in Zeus’ name, to grant myself and my menxenia.’
