The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus) (42 page)

‘Go and prepare the wine, Omeros,’ Odysseus said. ‘They’ll be here soon.’

The squire nodded and went to the galley’s stern, where skins of wine and water hung from the twin steering oars. A short while later, they heard the sound they had been expecting – heavy footsteps on the gangplank leading up from the beach. Agamemnon stepped down onto the deck, his breastplate spattered with gore and the pure white tunic beneath filthy with dust. His red cloak was ripped and one of the cheek guards of his helmet had been torn away to reveal a fresh cut across his jaw. Behind him came Menelaus, Nestor and Diomedes, all similarly begrimed. Further footsteps announced the arrival of Idomeneus of Crete, Menestheus of Athens and Little Ajax. Last of all came Neoptolemus, whose divine armour gleamed as if newly made, though his face and limbs were smeared with blood and dirt. His eyes stared out from the unnatural mask, angered by the reversal but not dispirited.

‘You sent us knowingly to defeat,’ Agamemnon said, pulling the helmet from his head and throwing it onto the deck at Odysseus’s feet. His blue eyes were fierce with suppressed rage.

‘I said I would not oppose any who chose to go. Not that my opinion for or against would have made any difference.’

Odysseus nodded to Omeros, who took kraters of wine to each of the battle-weary warriors.

‘You underestimate yourself, Odysseus,’ Nestor said, taking his cup and easing his old body down onto one of the benches. ‘Your intelligence is widely respected, from the lowest levy to the highest king. An opinion from you carries as much weight as a command from Agamemnon himself.’

‘Nestor’s right,’ Menelaus growled. ‘If you’d spoken up when Diomedes did, perhaps we wouldn’t have ran headlong into another reverse – especially one so costly to what was left of the army’s morale. When warriors have been promised victory by the gods themselves, defeat is twice as crushing. On my way back I heard men openly talking about returning to Greece, not caring that I was within earshot of them.’

‘Then tell them that’s what we’re going to do.’

The others looked questioningly at Odysseus, as if they had misheard him. The momentary silence was broken by a sneering grunt from Little Ajax.

‘Is that why you let us march off in the first place? To snap the army’s will to fight? To end the war, just so you can skulk off home to your precious family?’

‘You’re not listening,’ Odysseus replied. ‘I said
tell
the army we’re going to leave for Greece, not
do
it.’

‘And what’s the point in that?’ Idomeneus asked, sitting beside Nestor and removing his helmet. ‘Give them hope, only to order them back into battle again?’

Odysseus shook his head. ‘Of course not. I’ve an idea for conquering Troy, but we have to convince the Trojans we’ve given up and gone home. And to do that our own men have to believe that’s what we intend to do.’

Neoptolemus spat on the deck. ‘Another of your famous tricks, Odysseus? Just like the theft of the Palladium? Devoid of glory and doomed to failure.’

‘Perhaps you’d have us attack the walls again?’ Eperitus said. ‘That idea didn’t exactly cover you in honour or bring about a famous victory, did it!’

Neoptolemus stepped forward, his face reddening with fury and his fingertips unconsciously touching the hilt of his sword. Diomedes quickly slapped a hand on his armoured shoulder and forced him down to one of the benches.

‘If Odysseus has an idea, I suppose we’d better hear it.’

‘I agree,’ Nestor said. ‘It doesn’t take the wisdom of my great years to realise the walls of Troy aren’t going to fall to force alone. But that doesn’t mean the oracles were wrong or the gods were deceiving us. What
is
this plan of yours?’

Odysseus looked at Agamemnon, who gave a small nod.

‘I sent messengers asking you to come here so that we wouldn’t be overheard, and if you agree to my plan then you must take an oath not to share it with anyone – even your most trusted captains. I’ve had the inklings of a strategy for some time now, but until I went to Pelops’s tomb and saw his sarcophagus I didn’t know how to carry it out. That’s why the gods sent me there – not to obtain a simple bone, but to reveal the one way in which my plan could succeed.’

‘You’re talking in riddles,’ Little Ajax interrupted. ‘How can a tomb help us take Troy?’

‘Eperitus, do you remember what was placed on top of the sarcophagus?’

Eperitus nodded, smiling as he saw the link with the idea Odysseus had already outlined to him.

‘It was a horse.’

‘A horse,’ Odysseus repeated. ‘Because Pelops’s people were renowned horse-lovers, just like the Trojans. That gave me the inspiration to build a great wooden horse, taller than the Scaean Gate, which we will dedicate to Athena in atonement for desecrating her temple, and in the hope she will then give us a safe journey back to Greece. The Trojans won’t be able to resist taking it into their city as a token of their victory.’

‘Victory!’ Menelaus sputtered. ‘
Victory
?’

The others shared doubtful looks, but remained silent. Agamemnon’s fixed gaze grew colder than ever, but Odysseus just smiled.

‘Naturally. The defeat we’ve just suffered was the final stone on the mound. Didn’t you say the men are openly talking about ending the war and returning to Greece? Now all we need is a good westerly wind and we can strike this camp and board our galleys for home. Or at least, that’s what the Trojans will think when they find it abandoned.’

‘Should we get the men to start the preparations now?’ Nestor asked. He looked bemused – doubtful as to the reason for abandoning their camp after so long, but intrigued at how such a move would bring about the end of the war. ‘After all, there’s hardly been a puff of air over the Aegean for days now – we can’t sail until the winds pick up again.’

‘No,’ Odysseus replied. ‘When we go, it has to look like we’ve left in a hurry – leave the tents and everything that’ll slow us down. In fact, we should burn them. What we
can
do is get the ships seaworthy and begin the construction of the horse. For that we’ll need Epeius, a man who can work wood better than any of us.’

Agamemnon had had enough. He stood and folded his arms across his breastplate.

‘You seem to assume I’m going to agree to your plan, but nothing I’ve heard so far has shown me how it will bring us victory. Why should we sail home empty handed, after so much strife and bloodshed? And why should we build the Trojans a trophy with which to celebrate our supposed defeat?’

‘It’s as I said: first we must convince our enemies they’ve won. Then, out of apparent defeat will come the victory we have sought for so long. The horse is the key, and if you’ll all sit down I’ll tell you what I have in mind.’

‘And what about him?’ Little Ajax asked, indicating Omeros. ‘If we’re forbidden from saying anything to our own men, why’s this lad allowed to overhear this fabulous scheme of yours?’

Odysseus stared at Eperitus’s squire and gave a self-satisfied grin.

‘Because Omeros is essential to the plan. You see, after Agamemnon has announced we’re returning to Greece, Calchas is going to prophesy that the gods will deny us even a breath of wind unless we offer them a human sacrifice. And since I’ve discovered that Omeros has been plotting against me, I’ve decided
he
will be that sacrifice.’

T
HE
W
OODEN
H
ORSE

H
elen awoke with a feeling of expectancy. The dawn light was barely filtering through the curtains when she threw aside her blankets and called for her maids. Sitting at the edge of her bed, she wondered what it was that felt so different. There were no new sounds drifting in through the window, nor could she smell anything out of the ordinary that might be warning her senses. If something had altered in the world, then she had sensed it from within: a gut feeling that told her the day was going to be unlike any other.

She yawned and ran her toes through the thick fur. Where were her maids? For as long as she had lived in Troy, her maids had slept at the threshold to her room ready to answer the mere sound of her voice. Suddenly, she clutched a hand to her chest and wondered whether they had been taken. It was a fear that had stalked her ever since she had sent them to drug the guards at the temple of Athena, the night the Palladium had been stolen. In using them so recklessly to help Odysseus she had risked implicating herself in the theft, a treacherous act punishable by execution – and an outcome which even her beauty and status could not have saved her from. Instead the temple guards had paid that price, slaughtered without hesitation on Deiphobus’s orders for failing in their duty. Their quick deaths meant they had not had time to consider their wine might have been drugged, or add to this the fact the wine had been brought to them by Helen’s maids. And yet Helen still lived in dread, not that her maids would betray her but that other eyes may have seen them visiting the guards.

She stood and quickly dressed herself. Glancing back across the room, she saw that Deiphobus’s half of the large bed – the same bed she had once shared with his brother, and which held such sweet memories for her – had not been slept in. This was not unusual, as the prince would often sleep in his old quarters after a late night discussing the war with his father and the other commanders. He also knew Helen did not love him, though the knowledge did not prevent him coming to her when his lust urged. The thought deepened the frown already on her brow, and throwing her cloak around her shoulders she hurried out of the room.

She found all four of her maids on the walls of the citadel, pressed against the battlements and talking excitedly as they looked southwards.

‘So, here you are!’ Helen snapped, climbing the stone steps. ‘I have to dress
myself
because
you
’d rather be on the walls gossiping among yourselves.’

‘But my lady,’ one of the maids began.

‘My lady nothing. Get back inside, at once!’

The girls exchanged guilty looks, then after a last glance over the ramparts fled down the steps and in the direction of the palace.

Helen waited until they were out of sight, then her curiosity gaining the better of her she ran up the last few steps to see for herself what had dragged her maids away from their duties. Reaching the parapet, she looked first to the large bay lying a bowshot from the city walls. Empty, as was the sea beyond the jaws of its entrance. But she had already glimpsed the thing that had brought the four girls to the walls, and as she turned her head south she realised this was the source of the strange feeling that had woken her from her dreams. On top of the ridge that frowned over the weaving line of the Scamander, a short distance west of the temple of Thymbrean Apollo, was the gigantic figure of a horse. It stood higher than the plane trees that formed the temple – much higher – and as the light of the rising sun fell on its motionless flanks, she could see that it was made entirely of wood. Each of its long limbs was as tall as two men, and together they supported a barrel-like torso that had been skilfully crafted to follow the lines and curves of a horse’s body. From its hind quarters a shower of leather strips cascaded down to the ground in mimicry of a tail, while rising up from its shoulders was a broad neck crested by a dense mane of leather bands that twisted in the wind. The head was large with a wide forehead that tapered down to its flared nostrils and bared teeth. Its chin rested on its chest and its stern eyes glowered at the walls of Troy, as if willing them to crumble and fall. The whole impressive edifice stood upon a broad platform with four solid wheels on either side, each wheel twice as big as those of a chariot or farmer’s cart.

Helen leaned against the cold stone parapet and stared in disbelief. In the distance behind the horse, columns of black smoke spiralled up into the skies over the Greek camp, forming scars against the blue firmament that spoke of change and a doom yet to be revealed. As she watched, wondering what the appearance of the horse might mean and where it had come from, she saw a troop of cavalry moving out from the city and galloping across the plain. Perhaps twenty men in all, they trotted over the fords of the Scamander and dashed up the slope towards the great structure above. At last, Helen began to hear shouts from the city, spreading with rapid inevitability towards Pergamos. More people – slaves and soldiers, artisans and nobles – were running up to the walls to look out at the strange new monument. At that moment Helen knew she had to see the horse for herself, not from the battlements but where it stood on the ridge.

She ran down the steps and back to the open space before the palace. As she had expected, horses and chariots were being prepared for the journey to the ridge. Priam’s golden chariot was standing ready with Idaeus at the rail, his whip in his hand as he waited for the king to arrive. There, too, was Deiphobus’s chariot. The prince stood in front of the horses, patting their necks and talking to them.

‘Take me with you,’ Helen said, running across the trampled dirt of the courtyard and laying her arms around her husband’s neck. ‘I want to see this magnificent horse.’

Deiphobus looked at her a moment, then shook his head.

‘It could be dangerous.’

She smiled playfully, surprising him. ‘Do you think it’ll
bite
me?’

‘I mean it could be a lure – the bait to draw us into a trap.’

‘Am I any more important than Priam? If the king is going, then surely it’s safe enough for me to go too? Besides, there’s already a troop of cavalry up there – they would have spotted any immediate danger.’ Seeing the doubt in his eyes, she leaned across and kissed him. ‘I promise I’ll stay close to you.’

His gaze wandered over her again. Although she had not received the usual attentions of her maids that morning, her natural beauty was more than powerful enough to break down his resistance. He nodded and helped her up into the chariot.