The Gates Of Troy

by Iliffe, Glyn

  Although Menelaus scoffed at the idea that Helen might not be a prisoner in the city – and Eperitus had been quietly doubtful – both men were quickly forced to agree that her presence was at least a closely guarded secret. Antenor and his eleven sons certainly seemed ignorant of the fact: they had even enquired about their guests’ families – a bold question to ask, had they known the true reason for their visit.

  Though normally suspicious of non-Greeks, Eperitus had quickly grown to like his hosts. Their household shrine was well maintained and treated with reverence by the entire family, even if the depictions of the gods were strange to Eperitus’s eyes. He was also pleased with the honourable way they treated their guests, which was especially surprising for foreigners. However, it soon became clear that Antenor was an admirer of the Greeks and had passed this love down to his sons. As a buyer and seller of pottery and silver and gold artefacts, he had had dealings over many years with merchants from Mycenae, Sparta, Athens, Crete and other Greek kingdoms. This had led to an understanding of their language and an appreciation of their culture, for which reason Priam had sent him to Salamis to request the return of Hesione. Despite the poor reception he had received there, Antenor stayed long enough to intensify his fondness for all things Greek and become fluent in the language. This, as far as Eperitus was concerned, explained Antenor’s excellence as a host.

  ‘Does Priam speak any Greek?’ Odysseus had asked, as they said goodbye to Theano and Antenor’s sons at the threshold of the house that morning, before leaving for their audience with the Trojan king.

  ‘He speaks several languages, but Greek only passably,’ Antenor replied. ‘I’ve been teaching him myself, at his insistence. But he will probably only speak in our native tongue when you come before him. He likes foreigners to think he can’t understand them, then listens in on their private conversations. I shouldn’t have told you that, of course.’

  ‘Of course. What about his sons?’

  ‘Hector speaks your language with a fluency equal to my own. He’s thirsty for knowledge of all things Greek and has his own tutor – a man from Pylos – who instructs him daily in Greek language, culture, politics, warfare . . .’

  ‘Warfare?’ Eperitus interrupted.

  ‘Yes. Hector has always loved anything to do with war, and you’ll not find a more formidable fighter anywhere.’

  By then they had reached the tower they had seen the evening before. Its soaring walls sloped to the height of two tall men, then continued vertically, up and up until they reached the crenellated battlements, from which the helmeted head of a guard was peering down at them. In the broad light of morning they could see the walls were constructed from massive limestone blocks, so finely fitted together that they did not need mortar. At the foot of the tower, facing south, were the six statuettes they had noticed the night before, deliberately placed so that all newcomers to the citadel would see them. Whether they were intended as a sign of welcome, or simply to warn visitors that the place they were entering was holy, was unclear, but their crude features and roughly formed bodies were unrecognizable as any gods the Greeks knew, and their lifeless eyes seemed only to offer the visitors hostility.

  The great bastion jutted out from the walls and it was not until the party had passed the strange gods that they saw the gateway to the citadel, hidden in the shadow of the tower. Its carved wooden doors were already open and the two guardsmen stepped aside at a word from Antenor.

  ‘And Paris?’ asked Menelaus sternly, eyeing the black, rectangular mouth of the gateway. ‘Is he a fighter like his brother, or a womanizer like his father?’

  ‘Paris is a warrior, too,’ Antenor said, choosing not to defend Priam or Paris against the Spartan’s insults. His voice echoed slightly as they walked beneath the thick walls, where the air was cool and smelled of damp. ‘Not of Hector’s calibre, but he is known for his ferocity in battle and his strong sense of duty. And to further answer your question, Odysseus, Paris also speaks Greek, though he and Hector are unique in this among Priam’s fifty sons.’

  They emerged into the sunlight again and for the first time set their eyes upon the might and glory of Pergamos. On their left the walls fed out in a line to the west, while on their right they curved up and back to the north-east. Their thickness had already been made clear as they walked through the gate into the citadel, but now the visitors were able to see the wide parapets on top – where four fully-armed men could walk abreast – and the steep flights of steps leading up to them. At the foot of the walls were long wooden huts, where scores of heavily armed guards stared with hostile curiosity at the newcomers.

  Beyond the gates, the citadel rose up in three distinct levels. Each new tier was separated from its predecessor by a sloping wall and the only way up was via a succession of stone ramps. Although the entrance to Pergamos was barely wide enough for one wagon to squeeze through at a time, the road beyond it was broad and well paved with flat cobbles. Indeed, as Antenor led the Greeks up the busy road, they could see two wool-laden wagons climbing the hill ahead of them, drawn easily abreast of each other so that the drivers could chat freely.

  Lines of poplar trees stood on either side of the road, providing shade for the numerous townsfolk as they went about their daily business. By their dress, a quarter of them were wealthy nobles and probably lived or worked in the many tall, well-built and highly decorated buildings of the citadel. The rest were merchants, tradesmen, warriors and slaves, an even mixture of men and women from every craft and profession imaginable. From farmers to washerwomen and priests to prostitutes, the many different roles and trades flowed together to form a great stream of humanity that swirled and eddied through the wide, teeming streets of Pergamos, as powerful a demonstration of Troy’s wealth as the great buildings that filled the citadel.

  Eperitus had never imagined such greatness could exist and stared open-mouthed at the two-and even three-storeyed structures that rose up all around him. The others shared his awe, particularly Palamedes, who gazed about himself with a look of wonder and joy on his face. Even Menelaus – who had seen the most powerful cities in Greece – looked with reluctant admiration at the dozens of mansions and temples crowded together on either side of the road. Antenor, who had seen them almost every day of his life, pointed out each building with pride, eager for his guests to appreciate the glory that made Troy famous throughout Asia and the Aegean.

  ‘This mansion,’ he said as they mounted the ramp to the first tier, indicating a palatial building over their left shoulders, ‘is home to some of Priam’s sons, where they live with their wives, children and slaves. There are many houses like it in on the lower tiers of the citadel, where other members of the royal family and high-born nobles live. Those buildings ahead of us are the temples of Athena and Zeus.’

  Eperitus looked to the second tier, where on either side of the lines of poplars were two of the largest constructions he had ever seen. Both were fronted with marble columns and had wide, dark entrances reached by narrow flights of steps. The one to the right was tall and long, and on the plinth before it stood a large wooden statue of a male god, scaled to twice the size of a man. It had been painted with bright colours – though the once vivid hues had been faded by years of sunshine and rain – and its clothing was picked out with flashes of gold. A beard was visible on its chin and its right arm was raised in readiness to strike, though its hand was empty. By these tokens, Eperitus guessed the statue was meant to represent Zeus, though it did not clutch the customary thunderbolt.

  On the opposite side of the ramp, which the party was now mounting, stood the temple of Athena. Though not as high as the temple of Zeus, it was wider and more square in shape. On a plinth before it was an oversized figure of Athena, dressed in a chiton though not sporting her usual helmet, spear and aegis. The wood had been recently repainted and now the purple clothing with its gold hem gleamed in the early morning sun, while the goddess’s brown eyes looked down her long nose at the passers-by. Unlike the tem
ple of Zeus, a dozen armoured warriors stood or sat on the bottom steps, their spearheads and helmets flashing viciously in the sunlight.

  ‘I’d like to pay my respects to the goddess on our way back, if I may,’ Odysseus said.

  Antenor smiled. ‘Of course. No visitor to Pergamos should leave without seeing the temple of Athena. Along with the temples of Zeus and Apollo – which lies in the western corner of the citadel – there are no more sacred or awe-inspiring sights in the whole of Ilium. It also holds the famous Palladium, on which the fate of Troy depends.’

  ‘The Palladium?’ Eperitus enquired, trying to make his interest sound purely casual. ‘What’s that?’

  Antenor looked at him with genuine surprise. ‘You mean to say you haven’t heard of our precious Palladium?’

  Eperitus shook his head.

  ‘Me neither,’ said Odysseus. ‘What manner of thing can carry the fate of a city with it? No, let me guess. It holds Priam’s treasure and funds his armies?’

  ‘Oh, no,’ said Antenor, shaking his head dismissively. ‘It has no value. In fact, it’s nothing more than a small wooden effigy, about . . . so big, and with no legs.’

  Eperitus caught Odysseus’s eye and gave him a questioning glance.

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Menelaus said, gruffly. ‘How can Troy’s safety depend on a lump of wood?’

  ‘Because it’s no mere lump of wood, my lord. They say that it fell from heaven when the city was first built. The temple was nearing completion when the Palladium came down through an unfinished gap in the roof and landed before the altar, where it sits to this day. Ilus, the founder of the city, was told in a dream that the image had been made by Athena herself, in memory of her dead friend Pallas, and as long as the image was preserved then Troy would be preserved with it. Some say it’s just a legend – the same voices that say the walls were not built by Poseidon and Apollo – but most believe the story to be the truth. That’s why Priam keeps guards there day and night.’

  They had reached the ramp to the final and highest tier of the city, where a dozen warriors stood in a line with their shields and spears at the ready. They eyed the approach of the Greeks with suspicion and, unlike the other guards they had met, did not move aside at the sight of Antenor. Instead, their officer stepped forward and questioned the old man in a hushed voice, before ordering his men back and waving the visitors brusquely up the ramp.

  And so, they had finally reached the palace of King Priam. As Eperitus sat in the cool, high-ceilinged antechamber to the throne room, waiting to be summoned into the king’s presence, he pondered the size and magnificence of the palace as he had first seen it from the top of the ramp. Odysseus’s home in Ithaca could not compare; neither could the palace in Alybas, where he had spent his youth. Although Menelaus’s palace was similar in size, even that lacked the sheer beauty of the building that crowned the highest tier of Troy. The tall marble colonnades soared up to the heavens and left the visitor feeling daunted, whilst the many alcoves and stone plinths with their painted idols made certain that no one could doubt the reverence in which Troy held the gods. But most magnificent of all were the limestone walls and their large, richly decorated murals. These depicted many scenes from Trojan life: warriors fighting shield to shield; ships floating on seas full of dolphins; forests alive with bears, lions and all manner of creatures; but above all, the murals were filled with images of horses. Some were with riders and others without; many ran free, while more were being trained or were tethered to chariots. Antenor, when asked, explained all Trojans had a passion for horses, and Eperitus – who had loved horses since his childhood and had always rued the lack of them on Ithaca – was beginning to regret that war might be necessary against such an accomplished civilization.

  At that point, the doors to the throne room swung open with a heavy wooden creaking to reveal a short, grey-bearded man in a long robe. In his right hand he carried a staff, which he beat importantly on the stone floor three times.

  ‘His magnificence, King Priam, ruler of Troy, emperor of Ilium and all its protectorates and vassal states, guardian of the east and favourite of Zeus, bids you welcome. Those who wish to be humbled by his presence will please follow me.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  THE HOUSE OF KING PRIAM

  Leaving Antiphus, Polites and Arceisius in the antechamber, the others followed the herald through the doors into a long, high-ceilinged chamber that echoed their footsteps as they entered. A rectangular hearth stretched before them, filled with purple flames that shivered on a bed of grey coals. Six black columns stood on either side of it; on a low dais at the far end was an empty stone seat with a high back, partially obscured by the haze of smoke and heat that trailed up from the fire.

  The Greeks approached the four chairs that had been provided for them, while Antenor went to one of the many seats that lined each of the long sides of the hearth. Other than the throne and a single stool at the foot of the dais, every chair was now occupied and there was a large commotion of unintelligible voices as the Greeks took their places. The seats were of carved wood with a thin covering of silver plate and, despite the cushions, were uncomfortable. This and the scores of foreign faces that were now staring at them gave them a feeling of being criminals brought to trial, rather than honoured guests.

  Eperitus sat on the far left next to Menelaus, whose eyes were scanning the crowd for sight of the hated Paris. Odysseus, sensing the Spartan king’s growing anxiety, took the seat next to him and placed a large, reassuring hand on his shoulder. Palamedes, on the far right, lowered the palms of his hands towards the fire, enjoying the sensation of the heat on his skin. As soon as they were seated a dozen slaves rushed to pile food on the tables of Greeks and Trojans alike – baskets of bread, selections of nuts, cheeses, olives, grapes and fruit, platters of mutton or skewered fish – and pour wine into silver goblets for the assembled nobles.

  Menelaus, stiff-backed, refused to either eat or drink. Palamedes also refrained, whilst Odysseus – after washing his hands in one of the bowls provided – helped himself to bread and mutton. Eperitus poured a small libation onto the flagstones at his feet, before raising the wine to his lips. It was the best he had ever tasted, and after a mouthful of the sweet, heady drink he felt refreshed and light-limbed. He looked about at Priam’s throne room. It was unusually light, compared with the great halls of the Greek kings, with a broad column of blue daylight coming in through the lozenge-shaped vent in the ceiling, as well as several other shafts of light from openings high up on the walls. This was an innovation Eperitus had never seen before, and he could only guess that ducts had been built to pipe daylight from the roof into the hall. There were also numerous large torches fastened to the walls, which ensured that the magnificent murals that lined the room were not lost in shadow.

  As with the architecture, dress and customs, the Trojan murals were very different from those of the Greeks. One whole wall was filled with a religious procession, featuring lines of priests, nobles and sacrificial animals. Another was painted sky blue and filled with depictions of men fighting bulls and other animals. The next wall showed fishing boats on a sea of wavy blue lines that teemed with fish, while on the hills behind (with Mount Ida in the distance) were flocks of sheep and herds of wild horses. On the fourth side a golden-skinned shepherd played a lyre as another golden-skinned man was fitting great blocks of stone into a high wall. Beyond the unfinished battlements were scenes of everyday life: people spinning wool, smiths working glowing bronze rods over an anvil, a potter removing vases from a kiln. Both men and women were depicted, distinguishable by the way they wore their hair or the colour of their skin: the men were brown because they led active, outdoor lives, the women were white, reflecting the ideal of a life spent indoors.

  Around the walls were a number of guards wearing the strange, scaled armour of the Trojans. The spears at their sides and the swords that hung in scabbards over their shoulders reminded Eperitus of his vulnerability, and he prayed s
ilently for Athena’s protection and a safe return to the ship. As he finished his prayer, a door opened quietly in a dark corner of the chamber and a stooping figure entered. His black cloak made him inconspicuous amidst the activity that filled the room, and as he moved along the southern wall below the mural of the religious procession only Eperitus’s watchful eye seemed to notice him. He walked with a faltering hop, his left hand hanging limply at his side while his right dangled before his chest, like a child riding a pretend horse. Then, as he drew level with Eperitus, he turned and his pale skin and dark, sunken eyes became visible under the shadow of his hood. Eperitus recognized him at once as the man who had pushed his way through the crowds the night before.

  ‘We must speak, Eperitus,’ he said in perfect Greek, whispering so that only Eperitus’s supernaturally sharp hearing could distinguish the words. ‘Come to me.’

  Eperitus felt as if his legs had been kicked from under him. How could this stranger have discovered his name? More disturbingly, how could he know that he would be able to hear a whisper across a crowded room? Eperitus turned and stared into the hearth, as if hoping the hiss of the flames would drown out his confusion.

  ‘Priam will be here soon,’ came the same whisper in his ear. ‘We don’t have long. Leave your friends and come to me. Now.’

  Eperitus backed his chair away from the table and stood.