He raises his head. 

He has set aside thoughts of that night from his memory. 

(He knows, he knows more and more, what this means, what it all means - those are not the actions of a meddling god -)

But he holds to some hope-

"My quarrel with you is ended, Ithacan; it is not meet for wrath to linger too long. A fool indeed would I be to trust you, who would sell his friends without a moment of thought otherwise; but for the sake of all the Achaeans I shall tell you: a god interferes in the affairs of Troy, and what sits in that hut is not Ophellios, indeed; for he died, when you brought down the wrath of Apollo upon us all. If the gods seek to slay me here, so be it, and I shall die fighting as a goodly warrior; but I charge you instead, to see that the King of Pylos is god-touched or mad."

“God-touched, yes. Mad, perhaps. But that man did not die as you say he did.”

It’s like a shock of cold water, the decisive clarity in the King of Ithaca’s words.

“Do not think you can evade me, Lord Aetos. It will save us both much time if you were to answer my questions directly, for I will not leave, and I will be as a plague, a shadow to you to the very end, until I have the knowledge I seek. This matter concerns all of us. The entire camp, your warriors as much as mine; and I have every intention of seeing each one of my six-hundred men to the end of this siege, such that I may honour my oath and return them to their families.”

He treads forward, crossing the territory between them.

“But this practice of secret-keeping damns us all. So I ask you again. What happened?”

He sways a little at that, but he does rally. 

"I envy your confidence, but not your judgement. He has not been the same since it happened. Does it truly make sense to you that he should return so? And indeed I do not like to hear you speak to me in threatening tones. I saw nothing more out of the ordinary in the Pylian, when I came there, than I have seen in all the days since his return."

“I charge you, comrade, tell me. What did you see? What was done between the two of you?”

He sighs. 

"Very well. The truth, then. I fear that you will not like to hear it; I would have spoken out long since, had I thought I would be believed. In truth - I followed him, that night. I saw him stealthily enter Ilium itself: he set out over the Trojan plains alone, without even his retinue, and entered the city by a secret gate. I did not enter, for alone I was as well. He stayed long in counsel with our enemy, and returned far later - where I awaited him. I confronted him, and he could not deny it, not at all. He was the traitor all along, Ambrosios; I know not how he defeated your plan with the false rumour of a raid, but there are any number of ways he could have done it. It is why I appeared to soften my heart and spare old Calchas: it is probable that the old man was framed. He was the traitor, all along. It... Came to violence, in the end. That is why, friend, he is so afraid; that is why he seeks my death; that is why he has already prepared himself for when the Achaeans fall upon him in vengeance. Why else indeed would he surround his own person with so much of his entire army, if not to hold off our own forces in a massed assault? He knows that I know, and now his last and desperate hope is that the Achaeans will not believe me, for the feud between us; I fear lest he be correct."

“This is staggering news.”

Why would Ophellios venture alone to Ilium? What business would he have there?

It is Lord Aetos’ word only that stands as evidence to this information, but Ambrosios can sense it: the man is not lying.

But there is something else, there. Some kind of falsehood is present, far subtler than any conscious deception. The King of Crete weaves a narrative here, but not to trick any who might listen to his testimony. That is not his style.

Every warrior in this place has killed another man. Many of them construct stories to keep themselves sane after the fact – he was coming at me first; it was only self defence; I thought him another.

All of those stories follow the same pattern.

First: they are innocent, and the other party is at fault; indeed, the other party made the first move.

Second: left with no choice, they were cornered into action.

Third: justified violence ensued (for the greater good).

In the case of Ophellios and Aetos, it is clear that something happened beyond the parameters of the Cretan’s tale. It is times like this that Ambrosios wishes he had Sight.

What he does know is this: kind-hearted young Ophellios could not have been the traitor. He must have journeyed to Ilium for some other purpose.

“What did he say in his defence?”

"He did not deny it. He said he could explain, and then did not; I called him to account, commanded him to explain, then - and that was when he drew his sword."

Something is missing.

“That… does not sound like him.”

"No. No, it does not. This is because, as I have counselled constantly, it is not him. I implore you, Ambrosios, I know you wish it were not so - as do I - I know you wish to believe he is back - as do I - but it is not him."

…

Fine.

He will meet the madman at his level. Too many times has Ambrosios himself been in that position and been right all along. Perhaps the stars will speak, and Aetos’ outlandish beliefs will prove to be the truth.

“Let us sit, then. Tell me. What evidence do you have to suggest this?”

He sighs, and sits, and has a measure of wine poured. 

"I am not chosen of Pallas, nor do I have your letters and learning, Ambrosios. But let me explain as best I can. I saw the true Ophellios offer himself as sacrifice to Apollo, and be consumed. No mortal survives such a fate. The plague was lifted: clearly Apollo accepted a sacrifice, and was sated. Ophellios is dead." The words are harsh, grinding, absolute. "Something that looked like Ophellios came to us a month later, after any mortal would surely have starved. But not only is he not half-starved and dying, if you look closely, he is stronger than before, muscled and well-built. Because he is a god or some such thing pretending to be one of the Achaeans and not perfect in the pretence. Indeed, examine him, and you will find he lacks the scars the true Ophellios had. Is he not changed from what he was before?"

He sits back, drains his cup. 

He remembers an empty vial of glass, and promptly stops remembering it. 

He remembers the boy who fought beside him, and gave his life for the Achaeans - for him - without a moment's thought. 

The least he deserves is honour, and his memory not to be tarnished, even if it is Zeus himself who takes his guise. 

"And if you truly refuse to see - there is the matter of the girl, Diameda."

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? That would be the Trojan woman he keeps, am I correct?”

"Indeed."

He pours Ambrosios another cup. 

"I paid her little attention at first. She came to me, when Ophellios died; to him she was cherished, as a close counsellor as well as a prize. It was strange, but... well. He was a strange b- a strange man. He had ordered that I should see to it that she lived well, if anything befell him. I noticed at first - she had loved him, but did not seem happy when he returned, quite the opposite. I thought little of it: women have their fancies. But also -" he glances behind himself for a moment. "She used to wander freely, albeit under guard; she would visit people, gather things, for him. She was mistress over his other prizes, even an overseer. She has not been seen since, and you must remember how unusual that is. I suspect- she knew her master well, perhaps better than any in the camp, and she must have noticed the change. I believe she was kept quiet, somehow; and now that he is all but found out, killed. How else do you explain her disappearance?"

Watching the movement of Aetos’ shadow on the ground, he concentrates on every word.

He taps at his knee. There are inconsistencies to this; glaring gaps in this narrative. It seems unlikely that Ophellios of all people would murder a prized slave. Then again, if Aetos’ mad theory is to be humoured, this may not be Ophellios at all.

The only way to fill these gaps is to speak to the young king himself, who is very much not accepting visitors. 

Or…

“Perhaps the woman is the key to understanding this. If she is alive, she will not be so difficult to find.”

He looks up, eyes lingering on the man in front of him. The great King Aetos. He… doesn’t seem well. 

“Could you tell me more about the nature of this… violent altercation you had?”

"Perhaps indeed. Find her, and question her without showing your hand, and I am sure she will concur."

He looks down. 

"In truth I do not remember terribly well. It was after a long journey, and he was... animated. In the end I left."

“Animated?”

He stares at Aetos.

What? What does that even mean?

The King of Crete is hiding something, and he is not even doing it particularly well.

“…I see.”

He leans back; takes a sip from his goblet. He does not usually care for the heavier drink, but if it gets people talking…

“I have listened to you now; will you perhaps consider another perspective? Tell me if you think this to be plausible. Young King Ophellios gave himself to Apollo. You said yourself that you did not witness the crucial moment: the taking of life. You stepped forward to rescue him, and Phoebus was quicker, and you were knocked out – and then you woke up, and he was not there. You did not actually see him die, only saw him missing.

“Consider this also. Ophellios revealed to us all at the Council that he is the child of Phoebus. Old King Hyranon kept the knowledge private here to protect the boy, but this I have known for a long time, longer than even this war. He is no mere mortal, Lord Aetos; you cannot regard him as you would an ordinary man. I have… understanding, that Ophellios was taken to Olympus; deceased souls are typically brought down to Hades, to the Underworld – are you beginning to see what I am saying?

“The Olympian blood in the boy kept him alive. Phoebus will have intervened somehow, taken His son into His arms – and perhaps for some pursuit of prophecy He returned Ophellios to Earth. As the god of medicine, He could even have healed the boy’s old wounds – I know not this part, but what happened next was simple. The young king fought his way back home.

“Do you not remember the way he looked when he returned to us? How wretched and thin he seemed? He is like us; greater than most men. It is not the most unusual thing in the world that he regained his health; grew stronger. Aetos – the boy that he was grew up, and the frame that you saw now is only what Ophellios was destined to be by pure virtue of growing older.

“I know not why he would have gone to Troy, but I have the sense that he sought answers for all this. I questioned him about his disappearance and he did not know, and I still regard this to be true. I have a way with people, you see. The Prophetess Cassandra… with her great power, she might be the only person who could illuminate this mystery.

“As for the matter of why his behaviour was different: he went through a terrible ordeal, one that no young man should need to bear. That would change anybody.”

Ambrosios pauses.

“Do you see, friend, what I am trying to say? Do you see how many tales could be the case?”

"I know that you have wisdom from Pallas; and indeed perhaps she has passed on some insight to you, and you are saying less than you know. I did not fail to notice you speak of Cassandra; perhaps you think to anger me, and so distract me? It shall not be so: I imagine you have some other reason to suspect the girl's involvement, or else you retain your foolish obsession, that ended in ruin for all of this. I will say only this, Ambrosios: any one of those excuses of yours, I could believe; all together, and I would have to be credulous indeed, not to see that what sits in that hut is not Ophellios himself. But the testimony of the girl Diameda should tell us for a certain proof."

He sighs.

“Very well. I will attempt to find the woman – but Aetos, you must make amends with the King of Pylos, whoever he is. The fate of this war is at stake.”

"I am not so certain. It does not seem to me the honourable thing, to lie and make amends, not even for the sake of this war; I should rather go down to Hades with my dignity intact. Go and find Diameda: and perhaps we shall ravel this matter for once and for all."

“Aetos, I am not dying for this. The other kings concur. You know that we need Pylian strength. Whatever it is, it cannot be more important than condemning the last eight years of effort to nothing. Think of all those who gave their lives – would you look them in the eye and tell them what happened, when you go down to Hades?”

He stands, preparing to exit.

“I advise you strongly, friend. Send the King of Pylos a messenger. Some gifts would not hurt. And I will do as you suggest in turn, and find this Diameda. Do we have a deal?”

"I hope you do not die for this; but die you will before I give my word falsely for you, for any of you: sooner would I have you all kill me. But perhaps there is wisdom in your counsel. A messenger indeed I will send. We have a deal."

His messenger to the king of Pylos will bear an offer to talk. 

Aetos receives a diplomatic gift from the King of Pylos later that evening. It comes in an ornate chest, carved of the finest wood and gilded in gold – a commodity here now.

He stares at it for a long time. 

Eventually he dons armour, raises his shield, and lifts the lid with the end of a long spear.