‘I heard your window open. When I discovered you gone, I followed.’ Odysseus pointed the knife at the guard. ‘I slipped this from his belt while he threatened you.’ He glanced about the shadowy street. ‘What did that woman want?’
Danae drew a breath, her pulse still thundering. ‘That was Cassandra, a princess of Troy. She told me that Helen has slipped Paris a sleeping draught to keep him away from the peace talks tomorrow. Helen wishes to return to Menelaus to avoid war.’
Odysseus digested her news, looking again to the slain guard. Then his head snapped up, his gaze sharp and bright as starlight.
‘The guard attacked you in your chamber while you slept. I heard the commotion then pushed him out onto the street, where we fought. Before I killed him, he confessed he was sent by Paris to slay us in our beds. You will tell Antenor that, to avoid the wrath of Zeus, he must see us safely out of the city tonight.’
‘What of Nestor?’
‘Even he must agree that war is the only response to an attack on a chosen mouthpiece of the gods.’ He paused, eyeing her. ‘We will need to present them with signs of a struggle.’
After a breath of hesitation, she nodded. ‘Do what you must.’
Everything seemed sharper in the moonlight. A city of cut-glass edges.
Antenor had been horrified at Paris’ betrayal and agreed to lead the Greek envoy out through the city’s old tombs to safety, the gates being watched night and day by sentries. Danae’s torn dress and the guard’s blood artfully smeared on her limbs by Odysseus had sealed the old councillor’s decision. Nestor had been unable to hide his disappointment, but even he accepted that peace could no longer be salvaged.
Danae tugged her cloak tight around her as the chill of night chased Antenor and the Greek envoy through Troy’s deserted streets. Her limbs thrummed with a hollow exhilaration born of danger and lack of sleep.
She could not banish the image of Odysseus slaying the guard from her mind. He had cut the man down as easily as scything wheat.
At a sharp hiss of breath, she turned to see Hylas grimacing as he strode beside her, leaning heavily on his crutch.
‘Are you all right?’
‘At night I wrap my leg in an ointment made from bitter root. It helps with the chafing. Didn’t have time to before we left.’
‘We can stop while you –’
‘No.’ Hylas set his jaw and quickened his pace.
The shadows seemed to stretch towards them with each turn, every new square crossed and alley traversed. Danae’seyes darted about so swiftly, the moon-brightened stones and their dark counterparts seemed to blur into monstrous shapes. She was not the only one whose nerves lay exposed. At one point a black cat leapt across their path, and Palamedes cried out then aimed a kick at the animal as it fled into the darkness.
She was acutely aware of how exposed they were without their weapons, and she was forbidden from revealing her power, Odysseus’ order another collar about her neck.
Finally, they reached a building unmistakeable as a temple of Athena, given the bronze statue of the goddess presiding outside its columned entrance. Antenor ushered them into the shadow of a side wall and heaved open a plain oak door.
‘This passage leads out through the old tombs. When the tunnel branches, take a right turn, then right again, and you will emerge onto a hill overlooking the Trojan Plain. My slaves will meet you there with your horses.’
Danae’s pulse quickened. Tunnel. Underground. But she had no time to dwell on her fear as Odysseus, Hylas and Palamedes vanished into the passage.
‘Thank you,’ said Nestor, clasping Antenor’s hand. ‘I pray the gods look kindly on you. I’m sorry it has come to this.’
Antenor laid his fingers over Nestor’s. ‘I am too. I may well face punishment for helping you, but I will not stand by and see everything I hold dear torn down. Most of us Trojans are honourable people, we love the gods – remember that.’
Nestor nodded and disappeared into the passage.
Danae followed him, forcing herself to edge closer to her companions for fear of losing them in the gloom. Then the door shut behind them, and darkness reigned.
It was like being swallowed by the sea, yet instead of muffling sound, the blackness amplified all: the scrape of theirsandals on the rough stone floor, the rasp of their breath, the blood pulsing in Danae’s ears.
She tried to concentrate on the movement of her feet and the texture of the stone beneath her fingertips. Dry, crumbling. Not damp, like the Underworld. She held on to that difference, all the while her heart stammering with ever-increasing speed.
‘Are we all still here?’ Odysseus called after a while.
‘Yes,’ replied Palamedes and Hylas.
‘Here,’ said Nestor.
