13. Οdysseus
13
Οdysseus
T he air went out of the soldiers after the death of Achilles. They knew what it was like to fight a war without him. Still, they continued at our insistence. Most of the men didn’t understand why we insisted; they hadn’t been privy to the conversation we’d had with the seer after Achilles’ death.
Calchas had reappeared in his priestly garbs, to the remainder of us lords still in the medical tent, the hem of his robe dusted with sand and blood. Nestor, Ajax, Meleamus, Agamemnon, and myself joined him while the other wounded soldiers were moved out of the tent to give us privacy.
“Calchas,” Diomedes started, ever the brash one. Brasher still, it turned out, when he was bedridden. “You promised us victory and yet it has been nine long years, and now victory appears further away than ever before.”
“Certain items must be collected if you are to see the end of this war,” Calchas replied.
“Didn’t fancy telling us that before?” Diomedes muttered. I, along with a few others, grunted in agreement, but Calchas did not rise to the bait.
Instead, his milky eyes clouded over and he continued. “Achilles has an unknown son. He must be found and brought here. Philoctetes possesses a bow of immense power, and it is vital to our success. Lastly, Athena’s Palladium, the sacred statue, lies hidden behind the city walls of Troy. With it, the city cannot fall.”
A murmur ran through the gathered lords. I exchanged a glance with Diomedes, seeing my own exhaustion reflected in his eyes. The weight of nine years of warfare pressed down on us all.
Agamemnon was first to break the silence. “And how are we to accomplish these tasks?” he demanded.
“These are not ordinary tasks, but they are the keys to your victory. You must divide your forces wisely. Seek out Achilles’ son, persuade Philoctetes to join your cause, and retrieve the Palladium with the cunning that only Odysseus can muster.”
All eyes turned to me then, and I felt the familiar weight of expectation settle on my shoulders. The details were discussed, the remaining tasks divided out between the men, and a timeline put in place for when we would be able to act, subject to the medics’ discharge.
Nine long weeks I had lain in this infernal medical tent, confined to the pallet as my body slowly knitted itself back together. It would be another three before I would be discharged, I was told. That was not necessarily a bad thing, considering the wound in my side still throbbed relentlessly, a constant reminder of how close I had been, in truth, to travelling down to the Underworld.
That nightmare still haunted me.
Odette came every day, her touch as gentle as the breeze, applying salve to my wound and following the medics’ instructions with meticulous care. Yet she remained distant, her interactions with me minimal and perfunctory, as if she didn’t trust herself around me after our last encounter. It drove me wild, until all I could do was dream of her.
She came to dress my wound with salve as she always did. But this time, when I captured her wrist, she let me. And when my arms tightened around her chest and pulled her to me, she finally relaxed into me, allowing my hands to stroke her hair.
“Why?”
She knew what I was asking.
“You’ll be going home to your precious Penelope soon. Perhaps you should focus on that.”
I continued stroking her hair. “You sound jealous.”
“No, I am realistic.”
“I thought we agreed not to lie to one another.”
“We agreed to no more games. Besides, it is not a lie. You will leave this war, and I will remain a slave. This is my homeland. This,” – she pushed away from me and gestured to the space between us – “will cease to be anything more. And that will be that. The war will end soon. Nine years by your own declaration. It is almost over.”
I crushed her back into me. “You sound disappointed at the thought of my going home.”
“I am disappointed in myself.”
“For?”
She sucked in a breath and I could feel the raggedness of her heart beating against my stomach, throbbing at the same pace as my wound – two wounded creatures, making one another whole.
Eventually, she answered. “For believing that I mean more to you than I do. For all your precious words about not treating me like a spear-wife, your actions do not match, Odysseus. You use me, just in a different way than the others.”
She spun a colourful string of curses then, spitting each one out at me, calling me every heinous name she could think of, until suddenly I was barrelling towards her in our tent until her back hit the centre mast pole and I could crowd her with my body.
“You are right. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to get home to my wife.”
My eyes roamed over her face before landing on her lips, as the words I had been so desperate to hear fell from my own mouth first.
“But that is not to say I do not care for you, too. I cannot think, Odette, I cannot breathe around you. Not without smelling the scent of you, those herbs you crush into the oil. No matter how hard I try to wrack my brain, I cannot remember what my wife smells like. All I can think of is YOU. It infuriates me. Morning, noon, and night – you hound me. You were right, I probably wouldn’t have had Thersites beaten if I could think straight. If this blood roaring in my ears would stop. If I could think calmly, if I could come back to this tent and ignore you, ignore that gods damn scent ? —”
“You could send me away,” she offered.
“And have another man know you?” I chuckled, the sound dark, even to my own ears.
“You don’t know me.”
A pause, heavy with expectation – as if this moment would be the one to change the very course of our fates.
“I would like to, Odette.”
I looked at her expectantly and when she nodded, my hands cupped the backs of her thighs. As I lifted her, her legs hooked around me. I snaked one arm around her waist and carried her back towards my pallet, our eyes never leaving the other’s. Her eyes were dark, pupils dilated, her breath coming in ragged gasps, as was my own. Her body trembled against mine, and then we were meeting in a desperate kiss, once again.
She tasted of salt and fire.
I stumbled towards the pallet, my movements frantic and uncoordinated, but even as I lifted her onto the bed, her legs did not fall from my waist. My hands moved with a mind of their own, pushing up her chiton to reveal the smooth skin beneath. The friction of the fabric was coarse, matching the roughness of my movements. It caused tiny goosebumps to break out all over her skin. Her back arched and she bucked against me, pressing the length of her body against mine, demanding more friction, again and again. Over and over.
I complied until she made a needy little sound and I could take it no longer. I pulled away, to strip myself of my tunic, so my bare chest could press against her. I bunched her chiton around her thighs, and watched as my cock pressed against her entrance before sliding all the way home.
Home.
I kept one hand on the curve of her hip, the other landing in the palm of hers above her head in a holy palmers’ kiss as I moved over her, in her, through her. She met each thrust with a roll of her hips until I, too, moaned at the pleasure that uncoiled with her every movement, her walls clasped around me. There was no greater pleasure on this earth than where we were right now, even if it was just frantic desperation coupled with such heat in my body that I was certain she would burn me from the inside out.
We were no longer Odysseus and Odette, but just two bodies, moving against each other in a rhythm that needed no words. Words were useless to describe this feeling, this overwhelming sense that everything I was about to become was on the brink of falling apart.
Odette clawed at my back, desperate for some sort of release. Instead, I sat back, looking down at her, spreading her legs wider. My mouth watered at the sight, as if she were some feast gifted by the gods, so I slowed my movements – savouring.
She stilled, and I could practically feel her thinking, so I gave her a short, sharp thrust in warning. I did not want to go back to the roles we had to play in this war. Not yet.
Let the dream last a little longer … please.
Then I thrusted, again and again, until we were both panting and I couldn’t tell if it was in pleasure or pain, until the groan ripped through me and I was spilling my seed over her belly.
I woke with a start, my body slick with sweat, cum across my own torso, my breath shallow and unsteady. The tent was dark, the only sound the distant murmurs of the camp.
It was a dream. I knew it was a dream, but it felt so real. Every touch, every kiss, every thrust. But, Odette wasn’t there in the tent with me – only the lingering ache of the dream as the vivid reminder of everything I now craved.
I buckled the last strap of my armour. I had finally been discharged from the medical tent with its uniquely clinical smell. I feared the combined scent of herbs and salves, leathers and linens, and the infection-burning fire would never truly leave me.
So here I was, back in my tent, with all the luxuries a man could have in war.
Tonight I would seek out the Palladium, as requested by Calchas. The sacred statue of Athena we supposedly needed to secure our victory.
I secured my xiphos? 1 to my belt and then wrapped an old hooded cloak over both that and my armour. The only way to get into Troy under the cover of darkness was if I disguised myself as a beggar. A lot rested on tonight. Without Achilles, without these relics, the war would drag on and on, the cost unimaginable. I had to succeed, for the sake of every man who had endured this endless nightmare.
Of course, it wasn’t only the men who had been suffering, I reminded myself as I watched Odette angrily storm about the tent, tidying what need not be tidied. Her movements betrayed her silence, but all I could think of was the way her hair brushed her shoulders, the way her hips swayed as she moved, the way she huffed every time she completed a task unsatisfactorily.
“Will you not wish me well before I go?”
She turned to me, a flash of anger in her eyes. “To what end? Hector and Paris may be gone, but the Trojans still have reinforcements coming, and city walls that will never fall. How can you ask your men to keep fighting for a cause that might as well be a dead horse, while you do something based on the words of a soothsayer whose prophecies have yet to come true?!”
I took three large strides towards her. “Is this about what I asked of you when I was injured? Do you really despise me so much that you still hope the Trojans defeat us? Would you see me harmed again, is that it?”
“I spent twelve weeks, day and night, in that horror of a tent with you. And now you would waste that work once again.”
“Ah, so now you’re angry at me for jeopardising myself?”
“What does it matter why I am angry?”
“Because I cannot assuage your anger before I go if I do not know the root of it, Odette.” I said the last part quietly, conscious of how close our fingers were, mere inches from one another though they remained by our sides.
She did not speak for the longest time, her jaw tight. “I am angry at you for all of that, and yet even I do not understand the depths of my anger.”
Her words stung, but I understood them. I had forced her hands in such ways, just as her husband had. “This is bigger than what is between you and I. It’s about the end of this war. Do you not want to see the end of it?”
She sent me a seething look. “Stop manipulating my words. I am not one of your Greek men to be swayed by a crafty tongue and a smart message.”
“I must do this. But when I return, Odette, we will unravel that anger of yours.”
With that, I left the tent and went to meet Diomedes, who was once again waiting for me at the edge of camp. Given that we had already staked out the places closest to Troy, it made sense for us to partner once again for this mission. We knew the routes to take through the long grass, along the river, until we would come to the western walls of Troy and begin the hike up to the temple of Athena, which overshadowed even Troy’s tall walls from where it sat on the mountainside.
We met with no more than a nod to each other before Diomedes and I moved through the shadows, our steps muffled by the soft leather of our sandals. We passed by the remains of what had once been a bustling marketplace, one of the first we’d ransacked on arrival all those years ago. The empty stalls were not much more than scattered debris now and the scent of spices and baked bread had long been replaced by the reminders of war. I could almost imagine the echoes of traders haggling and children laughing, now replaced by the mournful silence of a city under siege.
The high walls of Troy loomed over us as we got closer, until with practised stealth we slipped into the shadows, pressing ourselves against the cool stone surfaces as we regained control of our breathing and listened for the footfalls of patrolling guards.
Together we edged closer towards the temple, until eventually it rose before us, its columns stark and white against the night sky. The entrance was guarded by two Trojan sentries, their armour glinting under the light of the moon. The scent of oil from the burning lamps either side of the entrance mixed with the fragrant scent of laurels and what I thought might be violets.
It reminded me of Odette. Everything did now, her presence woven into the fabric of my thoughts.
The faint rustle of leaves in a nearby tree immediately had me tensing, and Diomedes went deathly still beside me. The night bird gave two craws and then flew off, each flap of its wings amplified in the stillness.
A sign from Athena.
I looked at Diomedes’ silhouette, nodded, and received one in return. In a swift, silent motion, he incapacitated the first guard, his blade catching the man’s throat before the guard could utter a cry. I dispatched of the second, feeling the warmth of his blood splutter over my hands as my blade sliced his jugular. Together, we dragged their bodies into the shadows and wiped our blades clean on their tunics.
After that, there was no one to stop us. No one thought we would steal from one of Troy’s sacred temples after all this time.
The burning scent of laurels and violets was stronger inside, though the air was cooler. The inside walls were carved with an elaborate olive tree, its branches curling around the circular architecture of the room. The creatures most often associated with our Lady Athena – the owl, the snake, the birds – seemed to watch us as Diomedes and I walked to the centre, where a marble altar sat.
The Palladium stood on a pedestal on the central altar. A pure circle opening overhead showed just a sliver of moonlight that perfectly bounced off the statue, as if Artemis herself was saying, ‘Go on, take it.’
So I reached out to grasp the statue of Athena in all her glory. She held a spear in her right hand and a shield in her left, her helmet pulling back her hair, her body clad in a tunic that seemed to flow along her sculpted limbs, all the while protected by the Aegis. Each detail was intricate, right down to the stern expression on her face as her eyes watched me.
This, the Palladium, was heavier than it looked. At only three feet tall and made of pure white stone, its weight was solid and reassuring in my hands.
But, when I looked into its eyes …
The stone turned to liquid silver, running over my hands and onto the floor. My eyes followed the pool of liquid until I turned and saw Diomedes standing in the doorway, not keeping watch as I’d thought, but watching me.
“Diomedes, why aren’t you keeping watch?”
He stepped closer. “You should hand me the Palladium,” he said.
“Why?” My hands instinctively clenched around it, but it wasn’t there – it was liquid silver running through my fingers. Then, I saw that the liquid was pooled around Diomedes’ feet, too. He stood in Athena’s presence. It enraged me.
“Because the glory should be mine.” The words were quiet, so quiet, but they bounced off the floor, now stained silver, with crystalline clarity. I stepped closer, too, my hand sliding to the hilt of my concealed dagger. “Yours? When has Athena ever come to you with her plans of war?”
“The war has taken much from me. I deserve this victory.” He circled me, our movements reflected in one another and the mirror now beneath our feet.
“So, you would claim glory in her name as you plunge a knife into my chest? Me, the one she has spoken to and guided throughout this war? Do you think Athena will really side with you?”
“There’s only one way to know.”
Then, there was no more talk other than the clashing of our blades. The fight was fast, fierce, intense, silent other than the ringing of steel meeting steel. But we knew each other too well, and had fought side by side for too long. For every lunge I offered, Diomedes gave a swift and clever sidestep. Every time he went to slash across my torso and have my intestines spill from my abdomen, I deftly avoided the blow. When the fatal blow did come, it was not through strength, but an opportunity. The moon shone through the temple roof and reflected off the silver floor, momentarily blinding Diomedes. I struck low, my dagger finding its mark in his side.
He fell with a gasp, clutching at the wound. I stood over him, my breath ragged as the reality of my betrayal sunk in.
“Forgive me, Diomedes.”
“Whatever for?”
Diomedes was standing upright, no blood pouring from him, staring straight at me.
The unnaturalness of it was jarring. I looked down at my hand, expecting to see fresh blood mixed with liquid silver. Instead, I saw the stone statue of Athena in my hand. I shook my head clear until I realised this was reality.
“For taking a moment to say a prayer to Lady Athena.” I gave my voice a moment to steady itself. “We should focus on getting out of here.”
He let out a low chuckle in response. “Yes, there’s plenty of time for prayers. For now, we must return.”
I nodded in agreement, yet when Diomedes held out his hand for the statue, I refused. A look of surprise flashed across his face, but then the moment passed and he shrugged, and we both left the cool air of the temple for the warmth of the night. As we made our way back to camp, the weight of the statue seemed to get heavier, the knowledge it had given me – what it had told me I was capable of – weighing on my conscience.
“We did it! Troy’s fate is sealed,” Diomedes finally declared as we crossed back into Grecian territory.
I offered him a tight smile. “That it is.”
The men might see this as a sign of hope, the promise of an end to this endless war. But I knew the gods would demand retribution, and their wrath would find me soon enough.
1 ? A double-edged, single-handed sword, typically with a blade around 18 to 24 inches long.