The Gates Of Troy (56 page)

With such satisfying thoughts drifting through her mind, Helen had hardly noticed the sun sink below the horizon. A few fishing vessels bobbed up and down on the gentle waves in the wide bay into which the Scamander and the Simo¨eis flowed, but the mass of high-sided galleys that were there the first morning she had looked out from Troy’s walls were gone. Hector had stopped the building of further ships to concentrate instead on bolstering the city’s defences; the vessels that had already been built had been sent further up the coast to fetch the armies of some of Troy’s vassal cities, bringing them back to join the force that was being amassed under Hector’s command. The vast camp that had filled the northern quarter of the plain below had now moved to the eastern side of the city walls opposite the Dardanian Gate, where it was swelled every day by a constant stream of Troy’s allies. When Andromache’s countrymen, the Cilicians, had reached the city walls a few days before, Helen had joined her friend to cheer their arrival. The fact they were coming to fight Greeks and might die in a war brought about by her arrival concerned her a little, but she found the splendour of the military display – and the equal attention her own presence received – exhilarating.

A familiar squeal of laughter and the clacking of wood made her turn and look down into the palace gardens behind her. There was Pleisthenes, holding a wooden stick in his good hand and fighting against the combined forces of Aeneas and Deiphobus, who were similarly armed. Helen smiled, despite the fact that her son should have been with Antenor, who because of his ability to speak Greek had been asked to tutor the boy in the ways of his new homeland. Instead, Pleisthenes was driving the two young Trojans back before him, pursuing them around the rectangular pond and through several neatly pruned bushes before dispatching each of them with neatly placed thrusts of his sword.

‘At least
he
won’t have to worry about fighting when the war comes,’ said a voice, speaking in Greek.

Helen turned and the smile fell from her face. ‘Oh, it’s you, Apheidas,’ she said, taking a step backwards. ‘What are you doing up here?’

‘I’m here to inspect the guards,’ he answered, glancing at the men on the walls, whose eyes were no longer snatching sly glimpses of Helen but were fixed firmly on the darkening ocean beyond the mouth of the harbour. ‘I want them alert and watchful for the arrival of the Greek fleet.’

‘They’ll not come here,’ Helen said, trying to sound assured of the fact. ‘If you lived in Greece as you say, you’ll know that no king would dare send an army abroad and leave his home unprotected. Not with so many old grudges and scores to settle among the different states. If he did, he’d return home to find his kingdom lost and his family murdered.’

‘You shouldn’t overlook the power of your own beauty, Helen,’ Apheidas responded. ‘With a prize like you at stake, I’m only surprised they’ve not arrived already.’

She gave the Trojan captain a haughty look. ‘And if the war comes you’ll blame me for it, no doubt.’

‘
Blame
you? Not at all – I’ll be
thanking
you. Nothing would give me more pleasure than to kill Greeks and send them fleeing back to their rotten little country with their noses bloodied.’

Helen’s large eyes narrowed angrily. ‘And what about all the Trojans who will die? What of the widows and the orphans they will leave behind? Or do you think this phantom army of Greeks will just blow away like dandelion seeds in the wind? But I suppose you don’t have as much to lose as the rest of your countrymen, do you, Apheidas? You’ve no concept of what it means to lose your children.’

‘Oh, but you’re wrong there, my dear,’ Apheidas said, arching his eyebrows and smiling. He turned and leaned on the wall, looking out towards the faint blue humps of Tenedos in the distance. ‘I had three lads, all of them killed in battle.’

Helen took a step towards him, shocked by the revelation.

‘But that’s terrible!’

‘Even more terrible because I drove them to it,’ Apheidas added, staring into her perfect face. ‘When a man reaches my age, Helen, he can look back over his life, consider his mistakes and regret them. And I wish to Zeus I hadn’t encouraged their fighting spirit – especially the youngest one – but I did and now I must live with that.’

Helen looked at the tall, dark-haired warrior with his reputation for ruthlessness and aggression, and for a fleeting moment saw the remorse and sorrow that weighed heavily on his shoulders. He seemed to lean against the crenellated battlements for support, and his eyes were old and tired. Then he drew himself up to his full height again and the image was gone. He was Apheidas once more: stern and authoritative; a captain feared by his men and his superiors alike.

‘The Greeks will come, Helen,’ he told her. ‘Don’t deceive yourself about that. And don’t believe Paris if he says he will not fight again. He’s hinted as much to the rest of us, but when war threatens he’ll be out there in the front rank alongside myself and Hector.’

‘He promised me,’ Helen said defiantly. ‘On Tenedos.’

‘When he was next to you in bed, no doubt,’ Apheidas laughed as he turned to continue his inspection. ‘But I know him better than you do. You’ve come here expecting to find love and freedom, Helen, but the reality will be war and death. Enjoy your wedding night.’

The Greek fleet lifted its anchor stones before the first light of dawn crept into the sky. The sprawling camp that had dominated the landscape for weeks was gone, leaving behind a vast swathe of crushed yellow grass sprinkled with broken pottery, animal bones and other waste of no further use. The thousands of warriors who had occupied it now manned the oars that sent twelve hundred ships gliding slowly towards the freedom of the open seas. For a while the only sounds were the gentle creaking of leather and the swish of oars, punctuated by occasional shouts of command. Then, from a bank of dark cloud that lingered over the mainland like a bad memory of the storm just gone, a single fork of lightning seared down to strike the distant mountaintops. A deep rumble of thunder followed, and for an awful moment the Greeks feared the storm was returning. But when there were no more flashes of lightning, one by one the ships’ crews began to cheer, until the whole strait was filled with the echo of their voices. Every man knew that lightning striking to the right was a good omen from Zeus. The king of the gods had spoken, and told them they were sailing to victory.

As each galley passed through the narrow bottleneck between Euboea and the mainland, into the wide triangle of water beyond, the cheering fell away and was replaced by a flurry of activity as sails were unfurled and rigging adjusted to catch the strong westerly breeze. From there the ships rounded the southern tip of Euboea and headed directly east.

In debating the best route, many of the Greek leaders had advised following the southerly line of the Cyclades to the coast of Asia, then heading north to Ilium – the same way by which Odysseus’s ship had returned from Troy. Though it would be slow, the many bays and coves along the way would provide shelter for the fragile galleys if the weather turned rough. Agamemnon, however, had decided they should head directly east to Chios, then turn north to Lesbos and on to Tenedos, where the fleet would reassemble before the attack. It was a more dangerous route but it was quicker by several days, and Agamemnon was desperate not to waste any more time in reaching Troy.

Another problem was the cohesion of the vast fleet. From the moment they left the Euboean Straits, passing one by one into the Aegean, they would become strung out. Rather than a broad armada, they would inevitably stretch out into a long line where the difference between the first and the last ship could be a matter of days. Anticipating the possibility that some ships, or even whole divisions, could get lost as they navigated the unfamiliar seas between Greece and Ilium, Agamemnon had made certain that the chief pilots of each nation were well versed in the correct route. But he was more concerned that a sizeable portion of the fleet should be ready to attack Troy as quickly as possible, and offered prizes to the first four kings to bring their ships to Tenedos. The winner would receive three large, newly made cauldrons with their bronze tripods, as well as a dozen talents of copper; to the second would be given a pair of unbroken five-year-old mares; the third would have a single large cauldron with its tripod and five talents of copper; the fourth-placed king would receive a small, two-handled bowl made of gold traced with skilful designs. And, of course, there would be the glory of victory.

Agamemnon’s ploy worked. The natural competitiveness of the Greeks had been ignited and every morning the ships’ crews would rise early, ready to sail as soon as there was light enough to see by. Then they would forge across the white-tipped waves of the Aegean in a series of individual races. Like charioteers with teams of horses, each king drove his ships to gain on the king before him and shake off the one behind, taking perilous chances as the fleets passed through each other in order to gain the edge that might lead to victory. Eventually, after several days, the forerunners passed Lesbos and picked up the line of the Asian seaboard, with the low, humped form of Tenedos on the horizon ahead of them.

Achilles’s lust for glory had pushed his fifty ships into a narrow lead ahead of the nine ships of the Malians, under Philoctetes; behind them were the dozen vessels from Ithaca. No other ships were yet in sight, but as the skilled sailors under Odysseus’s command began to gain on the leaders, the king gave instructions for a slackening of speed.

‘But we can catch them,’ Eurybates protested from the nearest bench. ‘Achilles’s ships are getting in each others’ way, and hindering Philoctetes too. We can slip past them on their seaward side and be the first to arrive.’

‘But I don’t want to be the first to Tenedos,’ Odysseus replied as he held on to the twin rudders and watched the fierce race between Achilles and Philoctetes. Those within earshot turned to look at him in astonishment.

‘What about the prize?’ asked Eperitus. ‘You can’t just give up on a dozen talents of copper and three cauldrons, and we’ll have shown everyone we’re the best sailors in Greece.’

There were murmurs of agreement from the benches, but Odysseus held up his hand for silence. ‘Prizes and glory are one thing,’ he said, ‘but they’re no good if we’re not alive to enjoy them. Don’t forget Tenedos is a vassal state of Troy and the first to arrive will probably be greeted with a shower of arrows – or worse. And I wouldn’t want to steal Achilles’s laurels, either. Philoctetes can be the first to Tenedos if he wants, but if he incurs the wrath of Achilles then he’ll only have himself to blame.’

The benches fell silent again as the sailors looked beyond the white-capped waves to the jumble of sails that marked the battle between Achilles and Philoctetes. They knew they could overhaul the mingled ships ahead of them, and despite the wisdom of Odysseus’s words they could not help but feel disappointed.

‘I don’t see why we should hang back,’ said Eurybates, crouching beside Eperitus and looking up at the wind filling the sail. ‘If there’s a battle waiting for us on Tenedos, we should be the first into the fight. The sooner we start the killing, the fewer of those Trojan vermin there’ll be in the world.’

Eperitus grunted and turned to watch the race between Achilles and Philoctetes, in which the Malians were already beginning to squeeze through the widely spread ranks of the Myrmidons. Tenedos was soon close enough for the individual trees and buildings to be seen on its steep green sides. They were heading for the western edge of the island where the fleet was to reassemble out of sight of the mainland, but whereas on his previous journey past the eastern flanks there had been nothing more than a few farms and vineyards, now Eperitus could see a wide, natural harbour opening before them. A handful of colourful fishing boats were pulled up on the crescent-shaped beach, while part-way up the hillside was a collection of stone dwellings gathered around a single-storey palace. The small town was reached by a ramp that wound its way up the steep cliff face from the harbour.

All around him now the Ithacans were standing on the benches or leaning perilously far over the sides of the galley, cheering loudly as the race between the ships of Achilles and Philoctetes rushed to its climax beneath the cliffs of Tenedos. Clearly, the Malian archer did not have Odysseus’s foresight: by a miracle of seamanship his galleys had driven through the Myrmidons to gain a clear lead. Only Achilles’s own ship lay ahead of Philoctetes now, as the two men vied to be the first to reach the rapidly approaching harbour. Then they were lost from sight behind the mass of pursuing craft and it was impossible to tell who had won the race.

The cheers died away and the Ithacans returned to their places, where they debated noisily about whether Achilles or Philoctetes had gained the victory. Before long, though, they were under the shadow of the island and approaching the lines of Malian and Myrmidon ships in the mouth of the harbour. Most had already lowered their sails and dropped their anchor stones overboard, and their grinning crews met the Ithacan latecomers with a mixed chorus of cheers and heckling. Odysseus signalled to the others to throw out their anchor stones, then steered his own vessel through the mass of warships towards the harbour.