The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus) by Glyn Iliffe Page B

us ! I love you, Paris. Did you drag me halfway across the world and fight a war for ten years just to gamble everything we’ve built for this ? For an accusation of cowardice, when you know you’re the bravest man in Troy. In Aphrodite’s name, won’t you think about what you’re doing?’
    Paris looked into her blue eyes for a moment, then turned to his brother.
    ‘You decide, Helenus. If I fight this man, will I win or lose?’
    Helenus frowned. ‘I don’t understand –’
    ‘You have the gift of prophecy, don’t you? You foresaw Penthesilea’s death, and the fall of Achilles. The priests talk of you with awe; they say Apollo has blessed you greatly. So tell me, will I be victorious or not? If you say yes, I will fight; if no then I will remain here with Helen and let the wind blow this straw man back to the Greek camp.’
    Helenus looked at his sister-in-law and she saw his eyes fall briefly to her breasts, doubtless savouring the impression of her nipples beneath the thin white cloth. She could sense his strong desire for her in that moment, a desire she knew he had felt ever since he was a boy, before he could have understood the nature of his feelings for her. And it was then she noticed something darker than lust enter his expression, a realisation of the power that had just been given to him. With a nod to Paris, he closed his eyes and bowed his head in concentration. He stayed like that for a while, with all eyes upon him, then clapped his hand to his forehead and grimaced. Stifling a cry, he fell forward into Paris’s arms.
    ‘What did you see?’ Paris urged, gently shaking Helenus’s shoulder. ‘Did you see me shoot Philoctetes? Is that it?’
    ‘No,’ Helenus groaned, looking groggily up at his brother. ‘But I did see you holding the bow of Heracles above your head, with the straw man lying at your feet.’
    ‘Then I will be victorious!’ Paris smiled, triumphantly. ‘Guard! Go fetch my bow and arrows.’
    ‘And your armour, my lord?’
    ‘Just my weapons.’
    Helen watched the soldier run down the stone steps and up the main road towards the citadel of Pergamos. She did not trust Helenus or his vision and it was with a quickening heart that she turned to Paris. The light of the morning sun was resting fully on the city now, drawing the people out of their houses and casting long shadows behind the soldiers on the battlements. Paris was looking at her, but as their eyes met his gaze wavered guiltily for a moment before he could force himself to resist her accusative stare. Then his rugged face with its familiar scar broke into a smile.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ he reassured her. ‘Helenus has foreseen my victory. This will be over in moments.’
    ‘Helenus is just a boy whose ambitions outstrip his abilities,’ she countered. ‘But you are a warrior, and the last hope of Troy rests on your shoulders. You don’t have to fight this man, Paris.’
    ‘I do, and the reason I have to fight him is precisely because the hopes of Troy rest on me. There are enough witnesses here to let the whole army know I backed down from an open challenge, even after Helenus predicted my victory. I would lose my authority, and in an army authority is everything.’
    He placed his arms about Helen and drew her into an embrace. The muscles of his chest and stomach were firm beneath his tunic and yielded little to her touch, making her feel like a child.
    ‘What about us?’ she asked. ‘This whole war has been about us, our love for each other. Thousands dead and maimed, thousands more widowed and orphaned. If you die it will all have been for nothing.’
    Paris gave a half-laugh and stroked her hair as she lay her head on his chest.
    ‘The war was never about us, Helen. It was about power and greed and honour and hate. We’re just symbols for all the rest of them to hide behind. We’re unimportant, really.’
    ‘But you’re everything to me , Paris. If you die, I don’t want to live. I love you.’
    She