‘Oh, yes. I was there, sire. I heard and saw everything.’

A great sigh went up; the atmosphere lightened in an instant. Where before gloom and apathy reigned, now smiles broke out. Hands clasped hands, a murmur of delight swelled. Only I mourned. It seemed we were fated never to meet on the field, Achilles and me.

Paris strutted up to the throne. ‘Dear Father, when I was in Greece I heard that the mother of Achilles – a Goddess – dipped all her sons in the waters of the River Styx to make them immortal. But as she held Achilles by the right heel something startled her – she forgot to change her grip to his left heel. That’s why Achilles is a mortal man. But fancy his right heel being a woman! Brise. I remember her. Stunning.’

The King glared. ‘I’ve said that’s enough! When I rebuke one son, Paris, the rebuke extends to all of you! This isn’t a matter for jest. It’s of paramount importance.’

Paris looked crestfallen. I watched him and pitied him. During the last two years he had aged; the coarseness of the forties was creeping inexorably into his skin, blighting its youthful bloom. Whereas once he had fascinated Helen, he bored her now. The whole Court knew it. And knew that she was in the midst of an affair with Aineas. Well, she’d get little satisfaction there. Aineas loved Aineas best.

But it was never possible to read her. After Father’s sharp words to Paris she did no more than shake Paris’s hand off and move a small distance away. Not a flicker of emotion showed in eyes or face. Then I realised she was not quite enigmatic; a touch of smugness had settled about her lips. Why? She knew them, those Greek Kings. So why?

I knelt before the throne. ‘Father,’ I said strongly, ‘if we are ever fated to drive the Greeks from our shores, the time is now. If it was genuinely Achilles and the Myrmidons held you back when I asked before, then the reason for your reluctance has vanished. They are besides ten thousand men less from plague. Not even with Penthesileia and Memnon would we stand the chance we do right at this moment. Sire, give me the battle orders!’

Antenor stepped forward. Oh, Antenor! Always Antenor!

‘Before you commit us, King Priam, grant me one favour, I beg. Let me send one of my own men to the Greek camp to verify what this man of Polydamas’s says.’

Polydamas nodded vigorously. ‘A good idea, sire,’ he said. ‘We ought to confirm it.’

‘Then, Hektor,’ King Priam said to me, ‘you’ll have to wait a little longer for my answer. Antenor, find your man and send him at once. I’ll call another assembly tonight.’

While we waited I took Andromache up onto the ramparts at the top of the great northwestern tower which looked directly at the Greek beach. The minute speck of banner still fluttered above the Myrmidon compound, but in the tiny progress of men about the camp, it was significant that there was no traffic between the Myrmidon compound and its neighbours. Unable to think about eating, we watched all afternoon; that visible proof of disunity within the Greek camp was all the sustenance we needed.

At nightfall we returned to the Citadel, more hopeful now that Antenor’s man would confirm the story. He came before we had time to grow restless, and in a few rapid sentences repeated what Polydamas’s man had told us. There had been a terrible quarrel, Agamemnon and Achilles could not be reconciled.

Helen stood by the far wall well away from Paris, openly beckoning to Aineas, her smiling mask secure in the knowledge that for the time being all rumours about herself and the Dardanian were eclipsed by news of the quarrel. When Aineas came up to her she put her hand on his arm, her long eyes slanting up at him in naked invitation. But I was right about him. He ignored her. Poor Helen. If it came to a choice between her charms and those of Troy, I knew what Aineas would decide. An admirable man, yes, but one who held himself just a little too high.

She did not, however, seem disconcerted by his abrupt departure. I fell again to wondering what she thought of her countrymen. She knew Agamemnon very well indeed. For a moment I debated as to whether I should question her, but Andromache was with me, and Andromache loathed Helen. What little I might get from her, I decided, would not be worth the verbal drubbing I’d get from Andromache if she learned about it.

‘Hektor!’

I went to the throne and knelt before my father.

‘Receive the battle command of our armies, my son. Send out the heralds to order mobilisation for battle at dawn two days hence. Tell the Skaian gatekeeper to oil the boulder in its tracks and hitch up the oxen. For ten years we’ve been incarcerated, but now we go forth to drive the Greeks from Troy!’

As I kissed his hand the room erupted into deafening cheers, though I did not smile. Achilles wouldn’t be on the field, and what kind of victory was that?

The two days passed with the swiftness of a cloud shadow on a mountainside, my time filled by interviews with men and orders to armourers, engineers, charioteers and infantry officers, among many others. Until everything was in train I couldn’t think of rest, which meant I didn’t see Andromache until the night before we were to do battle.

‘What I fear is upon us,’ she said harshly when I came into our room.

‘Andromache, you know better than to say that.’

She brushed at her tears impatiently. ‘It’s still tomorrow?’

‘At dawn.’

‘Couldn’t you find a little time for me?’

‘I’m finding time now.’

‘One sleep, then you’ll be gone.’ Her fingers plucked at my blouse restlessly. ‘I can’t like it, Hektor. Something’s very wrong.’

‘Wrong?’ I forced up her chin. ‘What’s wrong with fighting the Greeks at last?’

‘Everything. It’s just too convenient.’ She held up her right hand, clenched into a fist save for the little and forefingers, stuck up in the sign to ward off evil. Then she said, shivering, ‘Kassandra’s been at it day and night since Polydamas’s man came with the news of the quarrel.’

I laughed. ‘Oh, Kassandra! In the name of Apollo, wife, what ails you? My sister Kassandra is mad. No one listens to her croaks of doom.’

‘She may be mad,’ Andromache said, determined to be heard, ‘but haven’t you ever noticed how uncannily accurate her predictions are? I tell you, Hektor, she’s been raving without let that the Greeks have laid a trap for us – she insists Odysseus has put them up to it, that they’re simply luring us out!’

‘You’re beginning to annoy me,’ I said, and actually shook her – a first. ‘I’m not here to discuss war or Kassandra. I’m here to be with you, my wife.’

Wounded, her dark eyes went to the bed; she shrugged. Then she turned the covers down and slipped off her robe, went about snuffing lamps, her tall body as firm and lovely as it had been on our wedding night. Motherhood had left her unmarked; her warm skin glowed in the last lonely light. I lay down and held out my arms, and for a while forgot the morrow. After which I dozed, sliding into sleep, my body content, my mind relaxed. But in the final giddy moments before the veil of unconsciousness is drawn tight, I heard Andromache weep.

‘What is it now?’ I demanded, up on one elbow. ‘Are you still thinking about Kassandra?’

‘No, I’m thinking of our son. I’m praying that after tomorrow he still knows the joy of a living father.’

How do women manage to do that? How do they always seem to be able to find the one thing a man doesn’t want or need to hear?

‘Stop snivelling and go to sleep!’ I barked.

She stroked my brow, sensing that she’d gone too far. ‘Well, perhaps that was too pessimistic. Achilles won’t be on the field, so you ought to be safe.’

I wrenched myself away, pounded my fist on the pillow. ‘Hold your tongue, woman! I don’t need to be reminded that the man I itch to fight won’t be there to face me!’