by Chris Blake
“You lot!” Isis shouted, hands on hips. “You’ve done the horse’s legs far too short. And what’s with the wheels? Horses don’t have wheels! Can’t you see that the head makes it look like a giant cow?”
The workmen turned round to face Isis with confused faces. They looked as though they hadn’t understood her. But Tom knew that, thanks to Anubis’s magic, everyone could understand them wherever they went.
One of the men stooped down and stared at Isis.
“A cow?!” he said. “It looks nothing like a cow! There must be something wrong with your eyes if you can’t see that it’s a horse. You got a fever, son?” He slapped a rough hand on to Isis’s forehead.
Isis batted the man away. “Ugh! Leave me alone! What is this… thing?”
The man looked proudly up at the wooden horse. “This is an offering to the gods, of course!” he said. “The siege is going so badly, we thought we’d make something to tip things in our favour.”
Suddenly, the squabbling soldiers rounded on Tom, Isis, Cleo and the workmen. Their daggers were drawn and pointing right at them.
The ringleader picked out Isis. “The boy with the stupid hair is right,” he growled. “If you lot had made the horse better, we might have broken down those walls by now!”
“I’m not a bo—” Isis began to protest.
Tom nudged her. “Shh! Don’t let them know you’re a girl,” he whispered in Isis’s ear. “We might need to pass ourselves off as soldiers.”
Isis nodded and held her tongue.
Another angry soldier poked one of the workmen in the chest. He had a sweaty face and fierce, dark eyes. “It’s your fault we’re losing the war,” he snarled.
The band of soldiers waved their fists in the air at the carpenters.
“We blame you!” they yelled.
“Get them, boys!” shouted the ringleader.
There was a swoosh by Tom’s ear as a sword cut through the air. Then a deafening clang as it clashed against a carpenter’s saw.
“You have displeased the gods!” the sword-wielding soldier cried. “Your wooden cow is terrible.”
“It’s not a cow. It’s a horse, you idiot!” the workman shouted, waving his saw. “We’re going to win the war with that!”
The group of soldiers and workmen were locked in a tussle that would have had Ares, the Greek god of war, in a spin.
No wonder they’re losing the war, thought Tom. They’re too busy fighting each other.
Tom looked for Isis and Cleo in the fray. Cleo was darting through the men’s legs and digging her claws into their shins. But where was Isis?
“Let me through, you big, sweaty brutes!” Tom heard her cry.
Finally he caught sight of her, kicking out at the men as they rained punches down on each other.
“Isis!” Tom shouted, elbowing a soldier in the belly. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
He held out his hand towards her. Isis was just about to take it when Tom spotted a tall, muscly carpenter holding a hammer above his head.
“Out of my way, Spartan child soldier!”
Tom squeezed his eyes shut and waited for the hammer to attack him. But the blow didn’t come.
“Stop this fighting at once, you mules!” a commanding voice bellowed.
Tom opened his eyes to see his attacker being pushed to the ground by an older man. He wore a fine breastplate and a helmet topped with a red plume.
“Commanders! Come to my aid!” the man shouted.
As Tom and Isis finally managed to prise themselves free, three important-looking men ran out of a large red tent pitched nearby.
Tom could see the outside was decorated with the upside-down V symbol.
“Cool! These Spartan soldiers were really famous!” he whispered to Isis excitedly.
“What do you mean, ‘cool’?” Isis asked. “Getting roped into a fight the minute we arrive is hardly a great start.” She picked up Cleo and held her close to her chest. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
“No!” Tom said. “Let’s just see what happens. We might get some clues that will help us find the amulet. The riddle mentioned the wooden horse…”
Tom, Isis and Cleo watched as the commanders dragged the soldiers away from the angry workmen.
The older commander took off his helmet and held it under his arm. His hair was short and grey. “You lot are making the Greek army look like fools,” he said.
“What does it matter?” one of the soldiers said, holding his hand over what Tom could see was already turning into a whopping black eye. “The Trojans have been laughing at us behind their unbreakable walls for years. We’ve tried everything we can think of to get inside that city. This siege is a joke!”
The commander pushed the soldier roughly towards the entrance of the tent. He turned to the rest of the bruised and sorry-looking rabble.
“You think that’s an excuse to start fighting amongst yourselves?” he shouted. “Well! You idiots can explain yourselves to the Chief Commander Odysseus himself.”
The commander held a flap to one side. Tom stood on his tiptoes to get a look inside the tent.
“Can you believe it?” he asked Isis. “We’re going to meet Odysseus! He was an amazing warrior. He commanded all the different Greek armies, including the Spartans.”
Isis sniffed and examined her fingernails. “If they haven’t been able to break into Troy in ten years, he can’t be that amazing.”
One by one, the soldiers entered the tent to speak to Odysseus. Soon it was Tom and Isis’s turn.
“Get in there!” the grey-haired commander said.
He pushed them both inside the tent, which was now crowded with burly soldiers, who looked like they had just been given a telling-off.
With a pounding heart, Tom scanned the tent. In the middle a young, dark-haired man was sitting in a chair that was far too big for him. He was wearing a gold breastplate clearly meant for someone with rippling biceps and a broad chest. That’s the legendary Odysseus? thought Tom. He looks like a kid wearing his dad’s armour!
Odysseus crossed his skinny legs and swished a tasselled fly swatter in Tom’s and Isis’s direction but accidentally swatted himself on the nose. He blushed.
“You two children! Come forward!” he said in a whiny voice that reminded Tom of his teacher, Mr Braintree, when he had a cold. “Which army are you from?” demanded Odysseus.
Tom and Isis shuffled towards the chair.
“Please, Mr Odysseus,” Tom said. “We’ve only just got here. We never meant to get roped into a fight.”
Odysseus looked them up and down. “You’re too young to be Agamemnon’s soldiers,” he said. “And I know all of Achilles’s warriors.” He stood, stepped forward and grasped Tom’s face in his hands. “You must be Spartans sent by Menelaus! Only Spartans force cubs to fight like bears.”
“Yes,” Isis said, smiling. “That’s exactly what we are! Deadly bear cubs. Grrrr!”
Odysseus strode to the back of the tent. As he passed a small table stacked with drinks, he knocked the edge of the tabletop with his enormous breastplate. The table wobbled from side to side.
“Er, Odysseus, sir,” the grey-haired commander said, slapping his hand to his forehead. “Watch the—”
But it was too late. The table fell sideways and the cups rolled on to the floor with a clatter. Odysseus seemed not to have noticed. He simply snatched up two helmets from a pile and tossed them to Tom and Isis. His throw was so bad that Tom had to leap to the side to catch his. Isis’s helmet landed in the sand a metre away from her.
“You Spartan shrimps must get yourselves kitted out with some armour.” He turned to the crowd of soldiers that stood in glum silence, staring down at their sandals. “Now listen up, you lot! We’re about to begin a new attack on the walls of Troy. And as punishment for being troublemakers, you’ll be leading the charge.”
Odysseus rubbed his hands together and grinned. The soldiers started to complain loudly.
“But that means we’ll be the first to get killed!” one soldier said.
“Well, you should have thought of that before you attacked the carpenters!” Odysseus replied.
The grey-haired commander, who was much taller than Odysseus, stepped forward and bowed.
“Yes, Commander Leandros. Speak!” Odysseus said, sounding annoyed.
“What is your plan of attack, sir? Shall these men prepare to fight immediately?” he asked.
Tom looked at Isis and gulped. On our other adventures, we’ve had time to get to know a few people and work out a plan, Tom thought. But we’re just going to get thrown in the deep end here! He was sure Isis was thinking the same thing as she chewed nervously on her bottom lip.
Odysseus strode back to his chair and promptly tripped over his own feet. He sat down heavily and tapped his head. “I’m still perfecting the plan. It’s all up here.”
Isis snorted loudly.
Tom nudged her. “He hasn’t got a clue, has he?” he whispered. “But he needs to get us inside that city and I know exactly how he should do it!”
Tom knew that someone would come up with the plan eventually, but he and Isis didn’t have any time to lose. He decided to give history a helping hand.
As the soldiers filed out of the tent, Tom took a deep breath and approached Odysseus.
“Er, excuse me, Mr Odysseus,” he said, hoping the disappointing legend would not smack him in the face with his fly swatter. “I’ve got an idea.”
Odysseus leaned forward. “What is it, boy?” he asked impatiently.
“Well, you know that brilliant wooden horse outside?” Tom said.
Odysseus nodded. “My idea!” he said.
“Um… have you thought about offering it to the Trojans as a gift?” Tom asked. He remembered all the details from books he’d read about the Trojan War.
“A gift?!” Odysseus threw back his head and wheezed with laughter. “What a ridiculous idea. Why would I waste such a splendid thing on our enemies?”
Tom sighed. “I mean, you could fill the horse with soldiers, leave it outside the gates, move all your ships out of sight, as though you’ve given up and set sail for Greece… Who knows? Maybe they’ll wheel it inside, and then, bam! You can spring a surprise attack and take the city.”
Odysseus stopped chuckling. Tom was sure he could hear the cogs creaking as they turned inside his head, working through the details of Tom’s suggestion with painful slowness.
“If it works, you’d be a hero,” Tom said.
“Hmm,” Odysseus said, scratching his cheek with his fly swatter.
He suddenly sprang out of his chair.
“Listen up!” he shouted to his commanders. “I have had the most amazing idea!”
Tom was climbing a rope attached to a fir tree branch. He looked down at the sandy ground and saw a sea of faces frowning up at him as the group of soldiers waited to take their turn.
As he gripped the scratchy rope, Tom’s hands stung. He took a deep breath and pulled himself up as hard as he could. One of the soldiers approached the foot of the tree.
“Get on with it, little Spartan!” he shouted. “Odysseus wants us all to be perfect at getting in and out of that horse by sunset. But you’re hogging the practice tree!”
“I’m doing my best, OK?” Tom called down. Then he muttered to himself, “Come on, Tom, one hand over the other, like in gym.”
Finally, he reached the top and hauled himself on to the branch.
Glancing down, Tom could see the carpenters working hard to rebuild the wooden horse. A pile of wood shavings had grown under the horse’s massive belly. It looked like a giant heap of grated cheese. Tom smiled. Odysseus had ordered the carpenters to prepare the hiding place inside the horse as though it had been his idea and not Tom’s. Who’d have thought I would give history a nudge in the right direction? Tom thought. That’s the most amazing thing ever!
“Er… HELLO!” Isis shouted up at him. “You have to come down, once you’ve reached the top!”
Tom chuckled and carefully slid down the rope to the ground.
“Easy!” he said, breathing out deeply when his feet hit the sand.
Isis snorted. “Easy? I’ll show you easy! Watch this!” she said.
The princess started to shin up the tree, but she was clearly struggling as much as Tom had.
“Easy-peasy, isn’t it?” Tom said, grinning.
“Ugh!” Isis grunted. “This rope is too slippery!”
“One hand over the other!” Tom called up helpfully.
Only Cleo had no problem with the climb. She mewed loudly and scampered up after her mistress, digging her sharp claws into the fat rope. But once she got to the top she yowled with fright. Tom could see her little furry body shaking with fear as she clung to the branch.
Grey-haired Commander Leandros marched to the foot of the tree and looked up at Cleo. His hawk-like features had bunched up into a scowl. Tom could tell he was not amused.
“Get that fleabag out of here!” he shouted at Isis. “NOW!”
Rolling her eyes, Isis slid down, holding Cleo. She cuddled the quivering cat close to her chest. “Take no notice of the nasty man, my little furry love,” she said to her cat.
Tom pulled Isis to one side. “Look,” he said. “You’re not going to be able to take Cleo in the horse. There’s no way that Commander Leandros will allow it.”
Isis gasped. “I am NOT going anywhere without my FLUFFPOT!” she said, poking Tom in the shoulder. Her eyes flashed and her fists were balled tight. “If you think for one minute—”
Tom shook his head. He could feel frustration bubbling away inside him. “Isis! Think about it! This horse is our first-class ticket into Troy. Once we’re inside, all we have to do is find King Priam and get the amulet!” He tried to choose his words carefully. “It’s like when we were in Ancient Rome and Cleo stayed with the other animals while we were training to be gladiators… if you can find a safe hiding place for her—”
Isis stamped her foot in the sand. “No, no, NO!”
Clasping his hands to his head, Tom groaned. Then, as he watched a carpenter bagging wood shavings into a rough, grey sack, a thought struck him.
“We’ll put her in a sack!” he said. “You can carry it slung over your shoulder. Hopefully, nobody will notice.”
Cleo purred and twitched her whiskers. She offered Tom a velvety paw.
“Even Cleo thinks that’s a good idea,” he said.
Isis nodded curtly. “Oh, all right then. Better than leaving her behind, I suppose.”
Suddenly they were interrupted by somebody clapping.
“Gather round, men!”
Tom turned to see Odysseus standing at the foot of the fir tree. He was holding the rope and looking very pleased with himself.
The soldiers drew closer.
“Now we need to be quick and confident in our ambush of Troy,” he told the soldiers. “That’s why I came up with the excellent idea of practising climbing up and down this rope.”
Tom saw that the soldiers were looking at Odysseus with glazed eyes. Some were sniggering behind their hands. Odysseus seemed not to notice.
“As your leader, I’m going to give you a demonstration of how it should be done!”
Odysseus grabbed the rope and tugged on it. The soldiers were nudging each other and winking now. The legendary commander climbed up about three metres, then he yelped and slid down, landing in the sand on his bottom! His cheeks were flame red.
“Anyway,” Odysseus said, dusting himself off and kicking the trunk, “the wooden horse is ready now. Prepare to hide yourselves inside. We will put my plan of great cunning into operation tonight!”
Under the hot afternoon sun, the Greek army packed away its camp. Everything they had brought, including the giant trebuchet, was carried back on to the fleet of ships, which were moored some way off the beach.
Tom stared at the hundreds of vessels, bobbing on the glittering sea. “I love those Greek ships,�
�� he said to Isis. “Have you seen the eyes on each side of the front? Mega cool!”
“Those little tubs aren’t as impressive as my father’s barges,” Isis scoffed. She pulled out a sack from under her tunic. “Look! I swiped one of these. Let’s get Cleo inside.”
Cleo started to hiss and scratch as Tom gripped her wriggling body. He lifted her towards the sack that Isis held open.
“MEOW! YEOUW! WOOOW!” Cleo drew her claws across his arm, making red stripes.
“Ow!” Tom cried.
“Get in the sack, Cleo! It’s either that or you get left behind with the rest of the Greek soldiers. They’re all setting sail for the next bay along. Do you fancy getting wet?”
“I think Fluffpot had more than enough of sailing when we went to sea with the Vikings,” Isis said, laughing.
Yowling and flailing her paws around, Cleo finally allowed herself to be put inside the sack. Isis arranged it carefully across her body.
Odysseus called the squad of soldiers to take their places. One by one, the men clambered up the rope that dangled from underneath the huge wooden horse and climbed inside.
“It’s time,” Isis said, running towards the rope. She hoisted herself up and through the trapdoor.
Only Tom was left. He looked up into the darkness of the horse’s belly. It was like a giant wooden cave. Isis, peering out of the hiding place, shouted, “Come on!”
Commander Leandros leaned out of the hatch and called down. “Are you coming, Spartan?” he asked, holding out his hand. “Or shall we leave you to take on the might of the Trojans by yourself?”
Tom grabbed the rope and started to climb. As he dangled in the air, he took one last look at the beach. It was sparkling white. There was no trace that the Greek army had had so much as a picnic, let alone camped there for ten years. His heart hammered inside his chest. The moment of truth was upon them. Would the Trojans really fall for the wooden-horse trick?
“Move up, you big buffoon!” Isis said to one of the men crouching next to her. “You’re standing on my toes.”