14. Odette

14

Odette

“ O dette, I will not leave you with one of the other men. I will return.”

Those were the last words he had said to me when he left the tent last night, wearing a threadbare wool cloak he had probably travelled to these shores with all those years ago. It looked like a beggar’s cloak, grey and moth-eaten. It had likely been sitting in the trunk since he got here. I couldn’t shake the idea that it was a metaphor for him – worn, frayed, still carrying the weight of his past.

I spent the whole night tossing and turning, warring between the woman who craved his return, who wanted to feel his warmth beside me again, and the one who could not forget the hurt he’d caused.

I woke to find him slumped against the tent’s centre pole, his focus fixed on something far beyond me, lost in a realm not of this world.

“Odysseus?”

“It holds such power. You can feel it, when you hold it. You can feel it take your life force and turn it into something … other,” he muttered.

“Odysseus?” I tried again.

“It’s like you are touched by the gods when you hold it. Like you can see as they see. No wonder we could not beat the Trojans while they still housed it. Their soothsayers could hold it and see. Do you see?”

This time, his eyes found me.

I crouched down beside him. “Yes, I see.”

No, I did not. I hadn’t any clue what he was rambling on about. Instead, I tentatively reached out and touched his arm, trying to form some kind of physical tie that would tether him back to this world.

“What happened? Did you find the Palladium? Where is it?”

Odysseus’ eyes turned glassy. “When you look into the statue’s eyes, if you are chosen, Athena looks back at you. The eyes, they turn silver like hers, like liquid metal, and she shows you what to do. She showed me how to kill Diomedes.”

I reeled at the confession. “You didn’t …?”

“I was slow, foolish. I disappointed her. I was so enraptured with being in her true presence that I—I let her down.” His eyes turned to me, pleading. “What do I do?”

I did not recognise this Odysseus. I knew two. There was the general everyone was afraid of, the suave shrewd man who made calculating decisions. The one who could make a moment last for eternity just by grounding you in his presence. Then, there was the one I was sure only I had seen these past few years. The one who could be brash, unthinking, wild. No one would ever believe me. But, I had never seen this one – pleading, scared, uncertain. And I’d be lying to myself if I said it didn’t unnerve me.

“Show it to me.” I put every ounce of command I could muster into my voice, trying desperately not to acknowledge that it reminded me of scolding a toddler, of telling off Lykas when he had displeased me.

“What makes you think you can handle its power?” Odysseus murmured at me, his gaze swimming in and out of focus.

“Perhaps, it only drives men mad.”

I made the remark flippantly, but when Odysseus pointed in the direction of the trunk, I saw that the cloak I thought he had let crumple to the floor was actually strategically swaddled around the small statue of Athena, as if the Palladium were a treasured child. Something tingled at the back of my neck at the thought.

Walking over, I bent to scoop it up.

“Don’t touch it,” I heard Odysseus growl in the background.

But it was too late. Suddenly, the eyes that had been pale orbs snapped open to reveal liquid silver, and I was falling into a pool of thought …

The room was cold, even though I could hear a fire crackling. Three high-back chairs faced the warm glow, where I assumed the fire was.

“You come to see us again, Athena.”

I tried to speak, to tell them I was not Athena but Odette, when the goddess herself, far taller than I, walked straight through me.

“You knew I was coming, Lachesis.”

“You speak to one of us, you speak to all,” three voices bellowed in unison. It was harmony and symphony, screams and agony, death and life all rolled into one voice. It made me want to cover my ears to stop them bleeding, yet I was desperate to hear it again.

“My apologies, Moirai, but I do not wish to play games today.”

“Your hero is in a spot of bother, isn’t he?”

“My brother, Ares, seeks to kill Diomedes for striking him with his spear in the latest skirmish on the Troy borders, but you already knew this.”

“Seeks to kill. Not yet killed,” one of them reminded her.

“Yes, Atropos, but Moirai, to have it done through my image, with one of my other heroes, was an insult.”

“We do not control how it happens, only that it happens. It is not like you, Goddess of Wisdom, to lay such a burden at our feet. Take your quarrel to Ares.”

“Taking my quarrel to Ares would result in tempers flaring and brute force exerted. It would gain no actual ground.”

“Yes,” they all cackled. “That is the problem with men, no? This is why we told you to find the girl.”

Athena turned, and suddenly she was looking directly at me. “You found me, mortal.”

“L-Lady A-Athena,” I stuttered.

She looked behind me, though when I turned, there was nothing there but stone.

“You found me through the Palladium,” she muttered, more to herself than to me. “I see I drove Odysseus quite mad.”

Her owl-like stare focused back on me, and I realised she was waiting for an answer.

“Oh, yes, my lady.”

She sighed. “The Moirai are right – that is the problem with men. War demands rationality, but at the cost of humanity. And men are always so brash with their decisions, are they not?”

“I—I …”

“I did not take you for a blithering idiot.”

I took a deep breath and steadied myself. “No, I suppose you are right, Lady Athena. Apologies, I am not used to being in the presence of a goddess.”

She smiled at that. “You’re doing much better than others, I confess.”

“Can I ask a question of you?”

“You may ask.”

The tone was clear. I might not get an answer in return.

“Why, if men are always so brash, do you choose them to be your heroes?”

“Well, they did not question me.”

I clamped my mouth shut at that.

“But, every mortal has their uses. Their strengths and weaknesses. Do you know where my Palladium used to reside, mortal?”

“Pallas Athena?”

“Correct,” she nodded. “And do you know who used to guard Pallas Athena before the war?”

I thought for a moment. “Your priestesses?”

“Correct again. Why do you think I put them in charge of protecting such an important artifact? One that ties the sculptor’s work directly to me? Why not men? Why not heroes?”

I looked back behind me, as if searching for Odysseus in our tent, but he was not there. I turned back to Lady Athena. “Because it drove the men mad?”

Athena smiled. “Indeed. The heroes took the action I instructed them to, and that was recorded in the history books. But, they did not hear their instructions from me directly. Do you know who they heard them from?”

I shook my head.

“From women like you.”

“Women like me?”

“The men who go down in history books are those who know when to take wise counsel from the women at their sides. It is why Achilles listened to his mother, why Diomedes does not sleep with Τ?ιλορ?α, why Odysseus listens to you.”

“What about his wife, Penelope?”

“She is not in this war. She battles her own and must provide wise counsel to another.”

I hesitated to ask my next question, but Athena missed nothing. “Speak, mortal.”

“What happens to women like me? After the war? When we are no longer needed?”

“You will always be needed, child.” Her tone was almost scolding, yet sad, as if I knew nothing. “But if you wish to become indispensable to the man you currently aid, then you will need more than words.”

Another piercing look, and I realised this goddess knew. She knew the vow I had made, and yet she did not seek to strike me down. Why, when my words would have one of her heroes dead?

“Would you?” Athena cocked a tawny eyebrow at me.

“No,” I whispered, knowing what she asked of me. “But I made a vow. I cannot … to reconcile …” Words failed me.

“Would be an act of impiety. You are wise not to perform such a reckless act; your rational thoughts serve you well. If you were lucky, you would find yourself at the River of Lethe if the Judges of the Dead could be persuaded.”

Despair, never-ending despair, free-fell through my stomach. There was no getting out of this nightmare. Either I was to suffer at the hands of Athena’s wrath for her hero now, or I was to suffer divine retribution at the hands of Hera, who had heard my vow.

“But you did not wish my hero dead, child. You willed that he shall never return home, as you might never. I should say that leaves what you mortals might call a loophole.”

“Odette. Odette!”

Someone was shaking my shoulders, but it took me what felt like a lifetime to gather my bearings. Eventually, my senses returned. My knees were steadfast in the dirt, my body limp with shaking, and whoever was holding me had rough calluses on their skin. Then Odysseus’ voice, gravelly, like those mountains on Ithaca he had told me about, echoed through my ears.

“What in the gods’ names were you thinking?”

Blinking my eyes open, I saw Odysseus leaning over me, a worried look painted across his face.

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I grumbled, shaking his hands off, while his touch lingered on my skin like a brand. I went to stand, missed my footing slightly, and felt his strong hand encircle my waist. His eyes narrowed as he held me, and my pulse quickened at the proximity of our bodies.

“You were unconscious for many minutes. You are not fine,” he frowned at me.

I glared at him, pushing away as I steadied myself. “I … am fine.”

Odysseus allowed me to step away, but the space between us remained charged. I stared at him, taking in the way the light caught the rugged contours of his face, the intensity in his look that seemed to search for something within me. As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, his eyes dragged down my body, assessing me. For injuries, I told myself, though that did not stop my thighs from clenching. To break the tension, I softly cleared my voice.

“Last night, before you left, you told me that you needed the Palladium. That it was the last thing you needed in order to win this war once and for all. Why?”

Odyssus scratched his jaw, and I could practically hear the rough bristles of his beard against his palm, though we still stood apart. “Well, seeing as you gave me the idea, I suppose I can share with you.”

“Gave you the idea for what?”

“We are going to build them a horse.”

“A horse?”

“A dead horse.”

It took my mind a minute to remember the words I said to him weeks ago. “I don’t understand …”

“It will be the largest wooden statue ever built. We will fill it with men and then hide our boats further along the coastline with the rest of our soldiers. The Trojans will think it is a peace offering to the gods, and when they take it into the city of Troy for themselves, we will be behind the citadel walls. We can take Troy for our own – all thanks to a dead horse. Do you see?”

He’d moved towards me during his impassioned speech until his palms brushed my elbows. Even the lightest touch sent a wave of warmth through me.

I did see. It was ingenious, as Odysseus’ plans tended to be. I just didn’t understand what it had to do with the Palladium, and there was just one small wrinkle in his plan. “How do you know the Trojans will take it in? How do you know they won’t just burn it where it stands?”

“The Palladium will hang around its neck to convince them it is a gift from Athena.”

“Athena’s Palladium? The Trojans will know it is missing by now. You really think they are going to be grateful to get back what you stole?”

“Mmm,” he replied, his cheek now resting against the top of my head as he pulled me in for a hug. His embrace was warm, solid, and for a moment, I allowed myself to sink into it, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest against mine. I succumbed to his touch, while Athena’s words echoed relentlessly in my mind.

I did not want this man dead, and I was tied to my vow.

For as long as I couldn’t return home, he could not either.

The words of wisdom Lady Athena had offered were spoken through the mouths of women; women her heroes trusted with their every confidence.

“Every minute you waste over the Palladium is just that – a wasted minute,” I told Odysseus. “You have six days before the Trojans will expect war to resume, following Achilles’ funeral games. I suggest you start building that horse.”