Helen of Troy (64 page)

“Clever indeed,” muttered Priam.

“Oh, in camp they imitate Achilles throwing off his veil and mantle and ripping the brooch from his shoulder, and it never fails to win a laugh.”

“Yes, so I imagine,” said Hector. “Alas, Helen, he is not deranged. So we face a well-trained adversary, one eager to be here. And as for Odysseus, I hope he does not turn his cleverness on us.”

“This Achilles . . .” Deiphobus now turned back to gripping the sides of the wagon. “Why is everyone in such a state about him? He’s only one man. Hardly a man at all, more a boy.”

Hyllus shrugged. “I don’t know, I only know he was the focus of much talk. Perhaps they needed to create a Heracles for this venture, and it is always easiest to create a wonder out of someone unknown.”

Gelanor laughed. “Very astute, lad,” he said, observing him closely. “You seem to know a great deal.” His laughter died away.

“We are already familiar with the abilities of the rest,” said Hector. “Agamemnon is a fierce fighter but lacks the courage that inspires loyalty in followers. Diomedes is a good junior soldier but cannot lead. The large Ajax of Salamis fights well hand to hand but cannot think; furthermore, his great bulk makes him immobile. The small Ajax of Locria is small in every way—a mean-spirited and brutal man who likes to torment his victims. His only virtue as a warrior is his swift running, so he can pursue a foe. Idomeneus is a famous spear man and fights well enough, but his age means he cannot run fast; he has to take a stand wherever he is. And Menelaus is not a fighter of the first rank. He is too softhearted.” He turned and looked at me. “Begging your pardon, Helen,” he said.

“Why do you apologize? I do not make claims for his skills on the battle-field.” Nor for anything else, I thought.

“You are trembling.” Paris sat down beside me, pried one of my hands loose, and took it in his. “Please, do not fear what is coming. We will be safe.”

“I am not afraid,” I said. But I was.

The great Dardanian Gate, already shut for the night, groaned open for us and we arrived safe behind the walls. Nothing had happened that day; no sign of any enemy movement or attack. The besieging tents were still fixed in their half circle, but their ineffective positions did not threaten Troy. Hecuba welcomed Priam back and I saw a near-smile on her face, for the first time in a great while. We would, perhaps, be safe. This would pass; the Greeks would fold their tents after the summer, hoist their sails, declare some sort of victory to please their vanity, and be gone. Paris would never get to wear his new armor, and the rations horded in Troy would furnish many a fine banquet. We would drain the amphoras and sing rounds of song to celebrate our freedom, so easily won. Only the young warriors, so eager to try themselves on the field, would be disappointed.

Many days passed in this fashion, with Priam holding council with his old fellow warriors, sitting out in the sunshine of the portico and chattering like birds, spending more time reliving the battles of their youth than planning the pending one. In their midst, Priam seemed to shed his wrinkles, and even his hair was less gray; he nuzzled his pack of pet dogs who crowded around in hopes of scraps, wagging their tails wildly.

So far people could come and go freely to the springs and to Mount Ida, and Troilus was able to water his horses at the springhouse near the Temple of Thymbraean Apollo. Everything to the north was cut off, of course, making the lower branches of the Scamander out of bounds. This ended the tidy profits the Trojans customarily made from stranded ships in need of water, but it could not be helped. Hector decided to send a party east toward Dardanos and Abydos to see if there were any Greek incursions there. He selected a small band of men and they plotted a way through the foothills and forests, using pathways known only to hunters. In the meantime, the prostitute spies were providing us with amusing, if not strategic, information about the Greeks in camp.

It seemed that Agamemnon had already built himself a wooden hut and packed it with women. He spent most of his time inside with them, only emerging with shaking knees and dazed face to review his troops or eat. A foulmouthed common soldier, Thersites, led the ranks in reviling him behind his back. Everyone laughed at this, but it made my heart burn to think of him indulging himself while Clytemnestra waited back in Mycenae, grieving for their daughter. The dog-faced swine!

Menelaus stalked around the camp scowling and muttering; none of the ladies had ever seen him smile. Odysseus, on the other hand, was full of cheer and compliments for everyone, and eager to give the ladies a good turn in the bed. But somehow he was always missing his goods when it came time to pay. And Idomeneus kept an elaborate table with entertainment and wine aplenty, as gracious as if he had been holding court back in Crete. His lovemaking was equally refined, if a trifle slow due to his age. He always paid extravagantly. The Ajaxes—great and little—were not recommended. One was too large, the other too small, and both were stingy. Diomedes was probably the best of the lot in terms of skill and gusto, they all agreed.

Gelanor busied himself studying how our “plant and animal friends,” as he had styled them, might help in the war effort. Always knowledgeable about poisons in Greece, he bent his efforts to learn about local ones he could use for arrows and smoke. There were certain types of plants so poisonous that honey made from their blossoms and smoke from their branches was fatal. Of course, the problem in using smoke was that it could waft back and hurt the people directing it. The use of poisons required the utmost care. It was important to construct quivers with lids to protect the archer from poison tips, or perhaps to make a pouch to hold the poison and dip the arrows into it at the last possible moment. The same went for attack animals—bombs of scorpions or wasps that could be lobbed into enemy camps, or mad dogs let loose: these were all weapons of last resort, as they were so hard to control. The only exception to this was a mixture of soils and ground rocks that ignited when the sun heated them. Very useful in smearing on the enemy’s tents or wagons, but that meant one first had to be near enough to do it, and that was unlikely.

“And to think a simple bow is considered to be cheating a bit,” I said to Gelanor. “That seems heroic compared to these things—smoke that clouds the air, scorpions raining from the sky, plague garments.”

“Please! Let us call them ‘the arrows of Apollo.’ I believe that is the polite name for plague.”

“As you like,” I said. “So Apollo’s temples hoard the diseases of war, and Athena’s the weaponry of war?”

“Yes. Each god has his own arsenal. And Ares is somewhere in between—his war is not disciplined like Athena’s but accompanied by panic and fear, such as plague spreads.”

My smile faded. “Oh, Gelanor, I hope we never have to use any of these things.”

“As do I. Still, it is comforting to have them on hand.”

Our men set out eastward on a sun-filled, perfect day. It was a day to go galloping across the fields, had these days been normal. The men slipped away through the east gate, gliding through its complicated, mazelike exit, waving back at us as we stood on the walls, and making their way across the fields, vanishing into the woods.

“I am worried about Aeneas and Creusa in Dardania,” said Hecuba, watching from the walls. “I cannot help wishing that they had remained in Troy.”

“Mother, you know well enough that Aeneas is king of Dardania. He needs to be with his people,” said Hector. His voice was reassuring. Masterful and strong, there was something innately steadying about the way he spoke. “I do not think any Greeks have ventured beyond their beachhead here. But we are sending a party to ascertain this.”

“The Greeks are too quiet,” said Priam suddenly, on Hector’s other side. “I don’t like it.”

Hector laughed, a hearty roar. “That is because you and your old comrades want to get out there and fight.”

Priam turned and looked at him. “No. I am not an old fool, Hector. Do not take me for one. I meant what I said. The Greeks are too quiet. They did not come all this way to sit in idleness before their tents and amuse themselves with prostitutes.”

“Perhaps the battle looked more inviting back in rocky Greece,” said Hector. “The thing one sees in the mind is never the same as the thing one actually beholds.”

“I do not like it,” repeated Priam.

Days passed. The men should have returned. The glorious summer days continued, mocking us by letting us gaze down on the empty, inviting Plain of Troy. The trade fair should open soon, but now it could not. More income for Troy suddenly vanished. And this was much more substantial than the loss from the water rights. The very presence of the Greeks, with no fighting at all, was beginning to take a toll.

After fifteen days, Hector finally said he would send a scouting party to see what had happened. Before they could be equipped, a survivor of the first party crawled out of the woods and collapsed on the field nearest Troy. We saw him lying there, and sent a wagon to rescue him.

Grim-faced, litter-bearers bore him through the streets of Troy to his home. The physicians worked frantically to save his life. He had been beaten and stabbed; one leg was broken and its bone protruded through his ankle. As one doctor left the house, he shook his head. The leg was already turning black with rot. Just as the man lapsed into delirium, Hector questioned him. Tossing and feverish, barely able to form words, he said their party had been ambushed.

“It was as if they knew exactly where we would be,” he whispered. “They were waiting for us.”

“Who? Who?”

“Greeks,” he said. “That was their language, the special Greek they use over there. Not our Greek.” He winced, grabbing at his painful ankle. “They took delight in slaying us. Oeax—they cut him down first. Before Hileus could move, they speared him from behind. They were all over. Everywhere.”

“How many?” asked Hector.

The man’s head lolled.

“Try. Try. We need to know!” said Paris.

“Many. Ten. Twenty. I don’t know!” His voice rose to a scream, then ceased. His mouth fell open.

The physician bent down and put his ear to the man’s chest. “Dead,” he finally said. “So. The massacre was complete.”

Hector was distraught. Somehow the enemy had known of our movements. Now the ventures out to Mount Ida and the springs did not seem so inviting.

“How can we win, if the Greeks know our movements?”

“Perhaps they just stumbled upon our party,” said Troilus.

“No, the survivor said they were waiting, ready for them,” said Deiphobus.

“Perhaps one of their seers told them,” said another man. “That Calchas, for example!”

“No, my father cannot discern things like that!” The thin voice of Hyllus rose from a back corner where he had been standing. “He can only interpret omens, bird flights and entrails and such.”

“They are bottling us up in here,” Hector muttered, when we had gathered in his megaron with his friends. This was not a regular council; no elders were present, and Priam was not included. This was talk only amongst the younger warriors. He did not sit in the chair of honor but paced back and forth, his square jaw set. His normally smooth voice was edged with anger and something else. “Slowly they will strangle us.”

“We can no longer send out unarmed parties,” Deiphobus said. “There must be protection at all times.”

A murmur rose as everyone discussed this. Young Troilus spoke up and said he thought the nearby springhouse, being so close to the Temple of Thymbraean Apollo—which the Greeks were bound to honor as neutral territory—should still be safe, and he intended to continue using it to water his horses. He did not want to place demands on the water supply within the walls when there was such plentiful water just beyond them. Several men lamented the loss of the trade fair, saying that merchants were all cowards and this proved it. They turned tail and ran at the slightest hint of trouble.

“Hint?” said Helenus, brushing his thick hair back from his forehead. “I would say this is much more than a hint. Why, there’s not even anywhere for the ships to beach; the Greeks have taken the entire shoreline.” As usual, he was soft-spoken, but his words carried great thought. He never seemed to speak without having thoroughly weighed his ideas.

“Then they’ll go elsewhere,” lamented Hector. “Farther to the south. And we’ll lose everything.”

“Yes, that could happen, if the war is not over by this time next year,” said Helenus.

It was growing late, and through the open doors of the megaron we could see the light failing. The wives and women joined us; as I have said, I was present at many gatherings where women ordinarily were excluded. Now Andromache entered, followed by her sisters-in-law Laodice and Cassandra, and the wives of the other men. Musicians streamed after them, and torchbearers.

“You have let it get dark around you,” said Andromache, sounding as lighthearted as she could. “Men!” She slid up beside Hector. “Now leave your talk of war, and let us enjoy wine and song.”

XLV