All my joy evaporated, my rage in smoking ashes at the back of my mind, I returned to my cave. There was no way out of the task. Peleus was High King of Thessalia; I was his subject and had to obey him. So I looked about my large and airy retreat dreading the days and years to come. My lyre lay on a table at the back of the main chamber, its strings coated with dust from long disuse. I regarded it sullenly, reluctantly, then I picked it up and blew away the evidence of my neglect. Every string was flaccid, I had to tighten each one to the proper pitch; only after that could I play.

Oh, and my voice! Gone, gone. While Phoibos rode his sun car from east to west I played and sang, coaxing my stiffened fingers into suppleness, stretching my hands and my wrists, la-la-la-ing up and down the scale. Since it was a very bad thing to have to get into practice in front of my pupils, I would have to be proficient before they arrived. Thus only when my cave was a gloom and the black silent shadows of bats flittered through it to their haven somewhere deeper inside the mountain did I cease, weary beyond expression, cold and hungry and ill-tempered.

Peleus and Telamon came at noon, travelling together in the royal chariot, followed by another chariot and a lumbering ox cart. I went down the road to meet them and stood with bent head. It was years since I had seen the High King, but longer by far since I had seen Telamon. My temper improving, I watched them approach. Yes, they were Kings, those two men who radiated strength and power. Peleus as big as ever, Telamon as lithe as ever. Both had seen their troubles melt away, but only after long periods of strife, war, worry. And those forgers of the metal in the souls of men had left their indelible mark. The gold was dying out of their hair before silver’s invasion, but I saw no signs of decay in their sturdy bodies, their hard stern faces.

Peleus got down first and came up to me before I could back away; my flesh crawled when he embraced me affectionately, then I found my revulsion tempered by his warmth.

‘Sooner or later, Chiron, I suspect it is impossible to look any older. Are you well?’

‘All considered, sire, very well.’

We strolled a little way from the cars. I gave Peleus a mutinous look.

‘How can you ask me to teach again, sire? Haven’t I done enough? Is there no one else capable of dealing with your sons?’

‘Chiron, you have no peer.’ Gazing down at me from his great height, Peleus gripped my arm. ‘You must surely know how much Achilles means to me. He is my only son, there will be no others. When I die he must take both thrones, so he must be educated. I can do much myself, but not without a proper basis. Only you can instil the rudiments, Chiron, and you know it. Hereditary Kings are precariously positioned in Greece. There are always contenders waiting to pounce.’ He sighed. ‘Besides, I love Achilles more than life itself. How can I deny him the education I had?’

‘That sounds as if you spoil the boy.’

‘No, I think he is incorruptible.’

‘I do not want this task, Peleus.’

His head went to one side, he frowned. ‘It’s foolish to flog a dead horse, but will you at least see the boys? You might change your mind.’

‘Not even for another Herakles or Peleus, sire. But I will see them if you wish it.’

Peleus turned and beckoned to two lads who stood by the second chariot. They approached slowly and one behind the other; I could not see the boy who brought up the rear. Scant wonder. The boy in the lead was certainly eye-catching. Yet a true disappointment. Was this Achilles, the cherished only son? No, definitely not. This one had to be Ajax; he was too old to be Achilles. Fourteen? Thirteen? Already as tall as a man, his great arms and shoulders rippled with muscle. Not an ill-looking lad, but not distinguished either. Just a big adolescent with a slightly snub nose and stolid grey eyes which lacked the light of real intellect.

‘This is Ajax,’ said Telamon proudly. ‘He’s only ten, though he appears much older.’

I waved Ajax aside.

‘This is Achilles?’ My voice sounded constricted.

‘Yes,’ said Peleus, trying to sound detached. ‘He’s big for his age too. He turned six last birthday.’

My throat felt dry. I swallowed. Even at that age he owned some personal magic, some spell he used unknowing which bound men to him and made them love him. Not so heavily built as his first cousin Ajax, but a tall, strongly formed child nonetheless. For so young a boy he stood in a very relaxed manner, his weight distributed on one leg, the other gracefully forward a little, his arms loose by his sides but not awkward looking. Composed and unconsciously regal, he seemed made of gold. Hair like Helios’s rays, winged brows gleaming like yellow crystal, polished gold skin. Very beautiful, save for the lipless mouth – straight, slitlike – heartbreakingly sad yet so determined that I quailed for him. He looked at me gravely out of eyes the colour of the late dawn, yellow and cloudy; eyes filled with curiosity, pain, grief, bewilderment and intelligence.

I signed away seven of my dwindling store of years when I heard myself say, ‘I will teach them.’

Peleus beamed and Telamon hugged me; they had not been sure.

‘We won’t stay,’ said Peleus. ‘The cart holds all the boys will need, and I’ve brought servants to look after you. Is the old house still standing?’

I nodded.

‘Then the servants can use it as their lodging. They have orders to obey your least command. You speak in my name.’

Shortly afterwards they drove away.

Leaving the slaves busy unloading the cart, I went to the boys. Ajax stood like the mountain itself, impassive and docile, his eyes unshadowed; that thick skull would have to be pounded before the mind within became aware of its rightful function. Achilles was still looking down the road after his father, his big eyes bright with unshed tears. This was a parting of great importance to him.

‘Come with me, young men. I will show you your new home.’

They followed silently as I led them to my cave and showed them how comfortable such an odd dwelling place could be. I pointed out the soft furry skins upon which they would sleep, the area in the main chamber where they would sit with me and learn. Then I took them to the edge of the precipice and sat down in my chair with one of them on either side.

‘Are you looking forward to your schooling?’ I asked, more to Achilles than to Ajax.

‘Yes, my lord,’ said Achilles courteously; his father had at least given him lessons in good manners.

‘My name is Chiron. You will call me that.’

‘Yes, Chiron. Father says I must look forward to this.’

I turned to Ajax. ‘On a table in the cave you will find a lyre. Bring it to me – and make sure you do not drop it.’

The hulking lad regarded me without rancour. ‘I never drop anything,’ he said, quite matter-of-fact.

My brows rose; I felt a slight twinkle of amusement, but it kindled no answering spark in the grey eyes of Telamon’s son. Instead he went to do as I had asked, the good soldier obeying his orders without question. That was the best I could do for Ajax, I reflected. Mould him into a soldier of perfect strength and resource. Whereas the eyes of Achilles mirrored my own mirth.

‘Ajax always takes you at your exact word,’ he said in the firm and measured, pleasing voice I already liked to hear. He stretched out a hand to indicate the city far below. ‘Iolkos?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then that must be the palace up there on the hill. How small it looks! I always thought it dwarfed Pelion, yet from Pelion it is just another house.’

‘All palaces are, if you can get far enough away from them.’

‘Yes, I see that.’

‘You miss your father already.’

‘I thought I might cry, but it has passed.’