The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus) (43 page)

By the time Priam’s chariot trundled out of the Scaean Gate, followed by two dozen cavalrymen and a collection of other chariots bearing his eldest sons and the commanders of his army, ropes had already been lashed around the hind legs of the wooden horse and hundreds of men were easing it carefully down the slope towards the flat plain before the ford. Here, scores of logs were being laid across the river bed so that the great beast could be pulled across as quickly and safely as possible. The royal procession passed either side of the wooden carpet, sending up sprays of water that shone in the morning sunlight. Helen, who was so rarely permitted beyond the city walls, was revelling in the feel of the unfettered wind on her face and the sense of openness all about her. It was a hint of the freedom she would enjoy if the war ended, and in her heart she called out to Aphrodite to lead one side or the other to victory soon. She cared little whether it was the Greeks or the Trojans, so long as it allowed her to escape the claustrophobia of city life and gain the liberty she had been denied for ten years.

As they crossed the wide meadows that were still bruised and trampled from the battles of the early summer, a series of commands echoed over the plain and the men on the ropes eased the great horse to a halt. It had reached level ground and would need to be pulled the rest of the way to the ford, but the officer in charge had seen the approaching chariots and ordered his teams to rest and regain their strength. As they came closer, Helen saw that the mounted officer was Apheidas.

‘My lord,’ he said, dipping his head a little as Priam’s chariot pulled up.

The king stepped down and walked past Apheidas towards the wooden horse, stopping a few paces short of the towering structure. The other chariots clattered to a halt and the cavalry formed a crescent behind them, while the assortment of princes and nobles dismounted and gathered behind Priam, their mouths open and eyes staring up in bewilderment and wonder. Deiphobus took Helen’s hand and shouldered his way through the others to stand at his father’s side.

‘What in Zeus’s name is it?’ Priam asked.

Apheidas nodded towards the opposite flank of the horse.

‘There’s an inscription.’

Priam moved in a wide circle to the other side of the structure, as if afraid to come too close to it. At the same time he held the palm of his hand up to the others, forbidding them to follow. Helen watched him as he fell beneath the long shadow of the horse on the western side, his old eyes narrowing as they searched for the inscription, found it and struggled to read what it said.

‘It’s in Greek,’ he announced with a hint of frustration. ‘I can speak the damned language, to a degree, but it’s a long time since I’ve read it. Helen, come here girl and decipher it for me.’

‘Go on,’ Deiphobus urged, sensing her reluctance. He released her hand and nudged her in the back. ‘It won’t
bite
you.’

Helen passed under the high head of the horse, not daring to take her eyes from it as she crossed to stand beside Priam. The inscription was carved in sizeable letters from the front shoulder to the hind leg. Silently, she mouthed the words to herself as she read the once-familiar characters of her mother tongue. Then their meaning became clear and she felt a cold chill brush down her spine. She glanced at Apheidas, the only other person present who had read the words and understood them. His expression was inscrutable.

‘What does it
say
?’ Priam urged. ‘Read it out.’

Helen read it in Greek first, then translated into the Trojan tongue.

‘A gift from the Greeks to the goddess Athena, dedicated in grateful anticipation of a safe journey home.’

She felt Priam’s hand take her elbow, his bony fingers gripping the flesh tightly for support. Reacting quickly, she put her arm about his waist and bore his weight as he slumped against her. Nobody seemed to notice. Eyes that had been staring in awe at the wooden horse were now frozen with doubt, understanding the words of the inscription but unable to accept what they implied.

‘Then is it over?’ Priam asked in a frail voice.

Helen took his hand in hers and squeezed it.

‘I don’t know.’

Deiphobus wiped his palm over his face and staggered across the grass to stand beside his wife. He looked at the carved words, reassured himself that Helen had not lied, and allowed a smile to touch the corners of his mouth.

‘They’ve gone home. The Greeks have given up.’ Turning to the teams of men sitting by their ropes, he raised his arms in the air and lifted his face to the heavens. ‘Praise the gods, we’ve
won
!’

Slowly, the lines of soldiers climbed to their feet and stared at the horse. A single voice cheered. Others joined it, then more, until the morning air was filled with their shouting. The crowd of princes and nobles followed with wild cries of jubilation, forgetting the differences in their ranks and openly embracing each other. A handful of cavalrymen defied discipline and galloped off in the direction of the Scaean Gate, yelling with joy as they went to spread the news to the city. Helen laid her hand on her chest, which was rising and falling rapidly. She could hardly believe it. A feeling of elation flooded through her body and again she felt the shock of what it meant chilling her flesh and bringing her skin out in goosebumps. Then her gaze fell on Deiphobus and the knowledge that she would be his forever checked her excitement, darkening her thoughts and turning her limbs to stone. Now it was Priam’s turn to catch her as the sudden heaviness in her muscles threatened to pull her to the ground.

‘Deiphobus, look to your wife,’ he commanded. Then, as his son passed his arm beneath Helen’s shoulder, the king turned to Apheidas and lowered his voice. ‘Send a patrol to the Greek camp, at once.’

‘Aeneas is already there, my lord. We rode out to inspect this thing at dawn and as soon as we read the inscription he insisted on taking a troop of cavalry to see for himself. He should be returning at any moment.’

‘What about our spies in their camp? Have we heard anything from them?’

‘Nothing for several days, which is strange in itself. They’re mostly slaves, though; if the Greeks really have left, they might have taken our spies with them.’

Priam nodded and turned back to Helen.

‘Can you stand? I’ll have Idaeus take you back to the city in my chariot.’

‘No, thank you Father. I was just … taken aback.’

Helen forced herself upright and stepped free of Deiphobus’s arms. The prince gave her a questioning look, as if guessing her thoughts, but she turned her eyes away and stared up at the horse. At that angle, its blank eyes seemed mocking and its bared teeth appeared to be smiling, laughing even.

‘Father, the war’s over,’ Deiphobus declared. ‘We should parade the horse through the streets of the city, show the people the siege has ended and Troy has won.’

‘We don’t know the siege has ended,’ Apheidas countered. ‘Besides, Deiphobus, how do you plan on getting it through the gates when the damned thing is taller than the city walls?’

‘We’ll knock them down if we have to!’

‘Silence!’ Priam ordered. ‘As long as I’m still king,
I
will decide what we do with the horse. And we won’t do anything until I know what’s happened to the Greeks.’

Apheidas commanded his soldiers to sit down again and the snap in his tone brought a sudden end to the euphoric atmosphere. Priam’s sons and the commanders of Troy’s army moved round the horse to see its inscription for themselves, discussing it in quiet tones while Priam, Apheidas and Deiphobus strolled out of earshot to carry on their debate. Helen walked over to the horse and laid a hand on one of its forelegs. The wood had been carefully crafted to a smooth finish and was strangely warm to the touch. She pulled her hand back in surprise, then turned in response to a clamour rising up from the city. The Scaean Gate had swung open and hundreds of people were issuing out of it. But unlike the exoduses of the past ten years, this was not an army going forth to battle but a crowd of ordinary citizens. Word had reached the men, women and children of the city and now, with triumphant songs and shouts of delight, they were coming to see the wooden horse for themselves.

Before the vanguard had crossed the ford, though, Idaeus gave a shout and pointed in the opposite direction. Approaching across the plain, pursued by a small cloud of dust, were two horsemen, galloping as fast as their mounts could carry them.

‘How many men did Aeneas take with him?’ Helen heard Priam’s voice asking behind her, his tone urgent.

‘At least twenty,’ Apheidas answered.

Then the Greeks are still here, Helen thought. The patrol was massacred and these riders are all that remain of them!

The two horses reached them within moments, drawing up sharply in the shadow of the great wooden horse. Both men leapt from the saddle and ran towards Apheidas. Then, seeing Priam standing beside their commander, they knelt and lowered their heads before the king.

‘What news?’ Priam demanded. ‘Were you ambushed? Did that fool Aeneas lead you into a trap?’

The riders exchanged glances.

‘No, my lord. Aeneas sent us back to tell you the Greek camp has been abandoned. Their ships have all gone and they’ve burned their huts. Aeneas has remained with the rest of the patrol to carry out a search of what’s left.’

Priam trembled and Helen stepped forward, fearing he would faint again. To her surprise, he waved her back and reached down to the rider who had spoken, pulling him to his feet and embracing him. He kissed the surprised cavalryman on both cheeks, then held him at arm’s length and looked into his eyes.

‘What’s your name, man?’

‘Peteos, my lord.’

‘Peteos, I declare you a messenger of the gods. And for bringing me this news I promote you here and now to the royal guard. Long may you serve me and my successors.’

The astonished soldier bowed low and backed away to rejoin his envious comrade, while the king turned to look up at the horse.

‘Apheidas,’ he shouted, cheerfully, ‘get your men back on those ropes and tell them to drag this monstrosity to the walls. Deiphobus, take some horsemen and ride to the city. I want the battlements over the Scaean Gate knocked down so we can bring it inside. We’ll honour the inscription and dedicate it to Athena, as a replacement for the Palladium that was stolen. It will stand forever as a monument to the brave men of Ilium, and above all to the courage of Hector, the stalwart of Troy!’

And what of Paris? Helen thought. Had he given his life for nothing? Worse still, would the people of Troy forget his bravery, remembering him only for bringing the curse of war down upon them? Such a legacy had been his greatest fear, and the sadness of it was deepened by the fact that victory had come so soon after his death. If he had survived a little longer – been less reckless in his desire to overcome his guilt – they would have been free to spend the rest of their days together, their love unfettered by the ambitions of power-hungry men. But the jealous gods had preferred to deny them their happiness, condemning Paris to the forgetfulness of Hades and leaving Helen with little more than a fading memory of the man for whom she had sacrificed everything.

Deiphobus mounted a horse and led a handful of riders in the direction of the ford, keen to carry out his father’s instructions. As Helen watched him leave, Priam called to her from his chariot.

‘Helen, come up here with me. I’m going to announce our victory to my people and I want you at my side. Let them see what they’ve been fighting for, and let them know that you were worth every sacrifice.’

His moment of elation had passed and she knew he was being earnest. And if she, like the wooden horse, was to be paraded as a trophy of war, then so be it. She walked over and accepted his outstretched hand, stepping up beside him. With a flick of his whip, Idaeus sent the horses forward at a gentle trot. Behind them they could hear the grunts of the men at the ropes as they took the strain once more and began to pull the giant horse towards the ford.

The chariot had only travelled a short distance across the meadows before it slowed to a halt in front of the crowd coming up from the city. As one, they fell to their knees and bowed low before their king. Only one figure remained standing in their midst, a girl dressed all in black. Priam stared at Cassandra for a moment, but chose to ignore her impertinence and signalled for the rest to stand.

‘Behold the symbol of your victory!’ he declared. ‘At last, my people, the day has come. The Greeks have gone! The war is over! We have won!’

His words were met with cheers and ecstatic screams, which did not die down until the wooden horse had been brought so close that the rapturous crowd were forced into silence by its grim presence. Then, as they stared at it in awe, a shriek of despair rang out and Cassandra pushed her way through the mass until she stood alone before her father.

‘Fools! The gods have left you blind, stumbling towards your doom with shouts of joy on your lips.’

With tears rolling down her white cheeks and her eyes wide with terror, she seized hold of her robe and pulled at the material until it tore, revealing her pale breasts. Apheidas unclasped his cloak and threw it about the girl’s shoulders, hiding her nakedness.

‘Control yourself,’ the king ordered his daughter. ‘If your gloom must drive you to hysterics, then do it in private and don’t dampen everyone else’s happiness on this great day.’

‘Great day?’ Cassandra echoed. ‘For whom? Not for Troy. Not for
your
house, Father! This symbol of victory you boast about is a harbinger of
death
. It carries with it the doom of Troy. Burn it! Burn it now, while you still can!’

C
ASSANDRA’S
W
OE

A
stynome looked up at the wooden horse, still reeling from the news that the Greeks had left – that Eperitus had abandoned her. Why would they suddenly strike their camp and head home? Had they given up, or did they intend to return in greater numbers, perhaps to pursue a different strategy? Either way, surely Eperitus would have found some means to let her know? If they were returning to Greece, would he not have smuggled her a message, imploring her to sail with him? Or had his anger at her betrayal turned him against her again? As doubts clouded her mind, she looked again at the horse and recalled Odysseus’s words to her, spoken in confidence on the night he, Diomedes and Eperitus had stolen the Palladium.