Greek Warriors

by Chris Blake

  “Bring us wine! Bring it now, boy!”

  Phineus’s face paled.

  “You can’t go in there with a burn like that,” Hermon said.

  “But it’s Prince Paris!” Phineus gasped. He clutched at his burned thigh and swallowed hard. A sweat had broken out on his forehead. “I’m his servant. He’ll have me flogged if I don’t take in the tray.”

  Feeling excitement prickle his skin, Tom grabbed a wine jug and two shallow bowls. “Is this what you were going to take them?” he asked.

  Phineus nodded.

  Isis snatched up a silver platter and held it out so that Tom could load the jug and bowls on to it.

  “We’ll take it for you,” she said.

  Hermon pointed into the shadows. “Thanks! The throne room is the third door on the right. Hurry!”

  Tom and Isis rushed along the dimly lit stone corridor, with Cleo scampering at their side. Tom was feeling nervous at the thought of meeting Paris and the king.

  “Right,” Tom said, thinking fast. “The riddle said that the amulet is in King Priam’s ring. Maybe if we get close enough, we can cause a distraction and slip it off?”

  Isis nodded. “Leave it to me,” she said.

  They reached large, carved double doors that had gold symbols painted all over them. Two guards with stern faces stood on either side, holding spears in their hands.

  As Tom offered the tray for them to inspect, angry voices erupted from the room beyond.

  “You are past it, Father!” a young man shouted. “That’s your trouble. The kingdom would be better off without you.”

  Tom pushed open the door, wondering what to expect. His heart thumped hard against his chest. Nobody seemed to noticed him and Isis enter.

  As they glimpsed the terrible scene, Tom almost dropped the tray. An old man – King Priam, Tom assumed – was standing by the window. Behind him stood a tall young man. Tom guessed he was Prince Paris.

  Paris’s face was twisted in rage. He gripped the old man around the neck with two strong hands. The king started to sink to his knees with wide, terrified eyes. He suddenly noticed Tom and held out his hand.

  “Help me!” he gasped.

  “Noooo!” Tom shouted. “Let the king go!”

  Noticing the two children, Paris quickly let go of his father. The old king rubbed at his throat.

  “You were strangling your own father!” Tom said, pointing an accusing finger at Paris.

  Paris suddenly wore the same expression that Tom’s dad had when Mum found him rummaging in the biscuit tin.

  “Strangling the king?” he said, his eyes darting about. “I was doing nothing of the sort!” He looked round the throne room, as though he was searching for a suitable excuse. Then he clapped his hands and laughed. “I was hugging him!” Paris gave his startled father a hug, a fake smile plastered on his face. “See!”

  “Liar!” Isis shouted.

  “Silence, servant!” Paris barked, his cheeks red with anger. He sprinted over to her with his hand raised. “I’m going to flog you, you cheeky little rat!” he shouted.

  Isis’s fists were balled. Cleo stuck out her claws and hissed.

  “Call yourself royal, do you?” Isis shouted to Paris. “Well, come on, then! I’ll show you how we deal with liars in Egypt!”

  Tom couldn’t work out who looked the more dangerous of the two. What Isis lacked in height, she more than made up for in pluck. But Paris was tall and bulging with muscles.

  “Enough!” the king croaked. “Paris! Be still, boy! Your quarrel is with me, not with this strange little servant.” He looked at Isis and patted her head. He gave her a kindly smile. “Where do we find them these days? Egypt indeed! Most peculiar!”

  The king shuffled over to his golden throne and grunted as he lowered himself on to it. Clutching his embroidered cloak round his stooped shoulders, he looked at the prince with tired, sad eyes.

  “Come over here and sit by me, Paris,” the king croaked, patting the chair at his right side with a wrinkled hand.

  Tom thought he seemed neither angry at, nor scared of, his son.

  Paris strode over to the throne. He sat stiffly next to his father. When the king reached out to take his hand, Paris snatched it away.

  “Come, son,” the king said. “We should be united. For the good of Troy. This fighting serves no useful purpose. Let’s drink to peace.”

  Priam turned to Tom and Isis. “Bring the drink here, now!”

  Tom approached the throne slowly. The jug and two wine bowls rattled on the tray that he was carrying. He set them on to the low table that Isis had placed in front of Priam and Paris.

  Suddenly, Tom’s eye caught sight of the huge golden ring that Priam was wearing on his right hand. In the centre of the ring was a glittering, yellow jewel, like a shiny egg. The amulet!

  Isis jabbed her finger towards it and cleared her throat. Tom nodded. This was it! But how could they get it off without Priam noticing?

  Priam held out his bowl. “Pour! Pour!” he ordered Isis.

  Isis held up the jug. She winked at Tom. Then she started to pour as much wine over King Priam’s hand as she did in the bowl.

  “You fool!” he shouted, flicking the drops of wine off his fingers and on to the floor.

  Isis tore a strip from the hem of her tunic and began wiping the king’s hand.

  “Oooh, so sorry, Your Royal Highness. Dear, oh dear! I’m so clumsy!” she said.

  Tom watched Isis slide the ring quickly off Priam’s hand. She shoved it into her pocket.

  “There, there!” she said. “All dry now.”

  She bowed low and grabbed Tom by the elbow.

  “Quick!” she said out of the corner of her mouth.

  Together, they edged backwards, towards the corridor where Cleo was waiting.

  The heavy doors swung shut behind them.

  “We’ve done it!” Isis whispered. She reached down and gave Cleo a cuddle.

  Now all Tom, Isis and Cleo had to do was touch the amulet, and they’d be whisked back to where they had come from. But Cleo had her own ideas. She sniffed the air and started to pad back towards the bright lights of the kitchen, following the scent of roasted meat.

  “Come back here, you silly cat,” Tom hissed after Cleo.

  Isis glared at Tom. “That’s no way to talk to a royal cat! She’s hungry.”

  “Pardon me for wanting to get out of here alive,” Tom said. “How long do you think it will take Priam to notice that you’ve taken the amulet?”

  Isis didn’t need to reply. Just then an almighty roar echoed down the corridor. “That servant has stolen my ring!” shouted the king.

  “Uh oh,” said Tom. “Now we’re in trouble.”

  “Let’s get out of here, fast!” said Isis. “Run, Fluffpot!”

  Tom and Isis ran down the corridor after the cat. They were chased by two royal guards carrying sharp spears. Behind them, Tom heard the heavy footsteps of a third man. He glanced behind. It was Paris! And he was gaining on them.

  Cleo meowed and shot into the kitchen.

  Tom glanced over his shoulder. The guards would be on them any moment.

  “Let’s just go!” he urged Isis. “Cleo will be happy here, hunting for mice.”

  “We can’t go without Cleo!” Isis cried, as they ran into the kitchen.

  Before Isis could scoop up her cat, the stones beneath their feet started to tremble. Tom and Isis slammed into one another, as crumbling rock spurted out of the ground in front of them.

  Looking terrified, Cleo yowled and jumped out of a small window.

  “Let me guess,” Isis groaned. “Anubis!”

  Sure enough, up popped the towering form of the Egyptian god of the Underworld himself. He stood between them and the window, blocking their way out. In his hand he held a huge jug.

  “You’re a slippery little pair, aren’t you?” Anubis said, his deep voice rumbling round the kitchen. His red eyes shone with menace. “Let’s see if you can get to gr
ips with this!”

  Anubis poured the contents of the jug on the floor. He threw back his head in a fit of nasty laughter, so that his fangs shone dangerously in the candlelight. In a flash of lightening, he disappeared.

  A thick liquid now covered their path to the window. Tom guessed from the smell that it was olive oil.

  “To the window! Hurry!” Tom said. “But be careful!”

  He sprinted forward and felt his foot slide on the oil. “Whoa!” Tom cried as his legs skated across the floor.

  “I’ve got great balance,” Isis boasted. “I’ll be fine. You can lean on meeeeee—”

  Her left foot slipped and flew out in the opposite direction to her right. Suddenly Isis was doing the splits. Tom tried to pull her up, but slipped again himself. With flailing arms, they skidded round the kitchen on the olive oil.

  Just then the two burly guards burst into the kitchen. Catching sight of Tom and Isis, they ran towards the children, not noticing the oil spill. The first guard slipped and fell on his back, the second guard fell and went sliding across the room.

  “Aaarrrghhh!” the guard screamed. Then with a loud thump he hit the kitchen wall.

  Tom felt a strong hand grab the back of his tunic, hauling him out of the slippery mush. He looked round and stared straight into the furious face of Prince Paris himself.

  “Where do you think you’re going, thieves?!” he said. “You stole my father’s ring!”

  The prince’s teeth were set in a grim snarl. Tom was reminded of next door’s horrible German shepherd dog.

  “Nonsense! What are you talking about?” Isis asked, taking a step towards him.

  Tom couldn’t help but look directly at the pocket of her tunic, where he was certain she had put the ring. Hopefully Prince Paris wouldn’t see it.

  “I know you’ve stolen it, you little dunghill rat!”

  Isis tensed beside Tom. “How DARE you?” she said.

  For a second, Paris seemed confused. “Er, I’m the Prince of Troy. So… er… I dare quite easily, actually, SERVANT!”

  Isis poked the prince in his tummy. “Go on, then, if you think you’re so clever. Search us!”

  “Search us?” Tom asked. He stared at Isis, baffled. What on earth was she saying? She was going to get them thrown from the walls of Troy! “No, I really don’t think Prince Paris needs to search us,” he said.

  Isis flicked her plaits over her shoulder. “Oh, yes,” she said, sticking her nose in the air, “he really does!”

  She’s gone mad, Tom thought.

  If Paris found the amulet, they’d never be able to give it to Anubis. Isis would never get to the Afterlife… and Tom would be stuck in ancient Troy forever!

  Prince Paris shoved Tom’s shoulder. “I’ll search you first,” he said.

  “Fine!” Tom said. He held out his arms at the sides as Paris patted him down.

  The prince frowned. “Hmm. It seems you’re in the clear.” He turned to Isis with a nasty grin. “Next!”

  Tom watched in horrified silence as the prince yanked Isis’s arms roughly in the air.

  “You won’t find anything,” Isis said in a sing-song voice.

  “We’ll see about that,” Paris said. He patted her tunic. “Oh, what have we here? A secret pocket?”

  Tom held his breath. His heart galloped. Will Paris fling us into a pit with wild, hungry dogs? How about flogging? Tom was fairly certain a lot of flogging went on in Troy.

  But Paris’s grin vanished from his face as he finished searching Isis’s pockets.

  “Nothing? I don’t believe it,” he said.

  He shook his head and stared down at his sandals. “Father must be losing his marbles,” he muttered. He looked at Isis in disgust. “Get out of my sight,” he said. Then he stormed out of the kitchen.

  “Are you OK?” a voice asked.

  Tom glanced over to the fire, where Hermon was still tending to Phineus’s burn. “Sorry about the mess,” Tom said sheepishly, looking down at the oily floor.

  “Don’t worry about it,” Hermon said. “Watching everyone slip and slide was pretty funny.”

  Isis grabbed Tom’s hand. “Ready to go?” she asked.

  Tom allowed her to drag him towards the back door.

  “But the ring…” he whispered. “We can’t leave without the ring!”

  Isis tapped the side of her nose. “Don’t you worry,” she said. “Isis Amun-Ra has got everything under control.”

  Tom crossed his fingers and hoped that she was right.

  Waving goodbye to Hermon, they slipped out of the palace through the kitchen door, into the moonlight.

  “There she is!” Isis said. She pointed to Cleo, who stood in the middle of a large courtyard. Grand buildings and neat lines of olive trees towered above her on every side. Her meows echoed off the stone. Tom bent over and took a deep breath. “How lucky was that?” he asked. “We got away with it! How did Paris miss the ring in your pocket?”

  Isis snorted and started to walk towards Cleo. “Luck?! Luck didn’t come into it,” Isis said, flicking her hair. “He didn’t find it, because it wasn’t there!”

  Cleo padded forward. Her shadow stretched out behind her on the ground. Her tail pointed straight up at the moon.

  “Fluffpot!” Isis said gleefully.

  “If it wasn’t there, where is it—”

  But a thunderous noise interrupted Tom’s question.

  Just then, the Greek army marched smartly into the courtyard. Their armour glinted in the moonlight. Their feet drummed on the flagstones like hard rain. “Oh no! The battle has finally caught up with us. Take cover!” Tom told Isis.

  He looked round for a good hiding place and spotted a giant stone fountain in the middle of the square. In the centre of the fountain, a bronze sculpture of a Trojan warrior stood with a sword in one hand and a shield in another. He was tall and forbidding. Water spurted from his mouth.

  “Follow me!” Tom said.

  “But what about Cleo?” Isis wailed.

  “She’ll be fine,” Tom said.

  Sure enough, as Tom and Isis scurried over to hide in the shadows of the fountain, Cleo scrabbled up a nearby olive tree, out of harm’s way.

  Harsh battle cries rang out through the square. Priam’s soldiers streamed out of the palace, waving their swords and spears at the advancing Greeks.

  “Charge!” came a familiar, whiny voice above the din.

  Tom and Isis peeked over the rim of the fountain.

  “Odysseus!” Isis whispered.

  Arrows whizzed through the air, thudding as they met their targets, or clattering uselessly to the ground.

  As the Greeks barrelled into the Trojan soldiers with all their might, Odysseus himself made straight for the fountain. He jumped up on to the wide, marble rim.

  “Get down!” Tom hissed to Isis. “He’ll see us.” Sneaking a peek, he saw Odysseus brandishing his sword at the bronze Trojan that loomed above them in the gloom.

  “Take that, you Trojan rat!” Odysseus shouted. He lost his balance and toppled into the water with a splash. Then, unaware of the two children that were watching him, he stood tall again. He struck the statue then got squirted right in the eye by the water that spewed from the statue’s mouth. “How dare you spit at me!” he shouted. “I am Commander of the Greek army!”

  Isis found this so funny that she started to laugh.

  Odysseus spun round and pointed his sword straight at both of them.

  “You! I recognise you two,” he said. “On your feet!”

  Tom and Isis stood with their hands raised. Nearby, a Greek warrior and a Trojan warrior battled, their weapons clashing against each other. Dripping wet, Odysseus poked the tip of his sword against Tom’s chest.

  “You’re the Spartan cubs,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “You cowardly little deserters! I saw you hiding down there, trying to avoid fighting.”

  Tom stared open-mouthed at the chief commander. “You’re calling us cowardly?” he said, trying
to sound braver than he actually felt. “And here you are, picking a fight with a statue and two children, when you should be fighting big, tough Trojan soldiers?”

  Odysseus swung his blade so that it was resting on Tom’s shoulder. Tom felt the colour draining from his cheeks as he stared into the Greek hero’s face.

  “Do you know what I do to deserters?” Odysseus asked.

  The glow of the flames that burned in the surrounding buildings made his bronze helmet and armour look as though it was on fire too. The smell of smoke hung thickly in the air, making it hard for Tom to breathe.

  He shook his head in silence.

  “I chop off their heads!” Odysseus said.

  Suddenly Tom heard a furious yowl. It seemed to come from the night sky. He looked up and saw Cleo leaping down from the top branch of an olive tree. She landed with a thwack on Odysseus’s helmet.

  “Aaarrrggghhhh!” wailed Odysseus, trying to pry off the cat. “Get this furry thing away from me! ARRRGHHH… CHOOOOOOO!” Odysseus was knocked backwards by his giant sneeze and fell with an almighty splash into the fountain.

  “Quickly! We’ve not a moment to lose!” Isis said, fishing out her cat as Odysseus splashed about in the water. She held Cleo tight and said, “Such a brave, brave Fluffpot.”

  Tom had to agree with her. Cleo hated water, and was terrified of heights – but none of that had mattered when it had come to saving them.

  Isis looked up at Tom. “You were really brave too,” she said.

  “Er, thanks,” Tom said, surprised.

  “But don’t go getting a big head,” Isis said, grinning. Then she turned back to Cleo. “Have you got anything for me?”

  Tom gasped as Cleo opened her mouth and dropped the ring into Isis’s hand.

  “Clever girl!” Isis cooed. The amulet glowed in the moonlight. “I slipped it to Cleo when we were leaving the throne room,” she explained to Tom. “I told you we couldn’t leave without her.”

  Tom, Isis and Cleo joined hands and paws. They all touched the amulet in King Priam’s ring. Then a strong wind started to whip round them like a tornado, sucking them out of Troy. The fires that burned in Priam’s palace flickered out of view and Tom felt a strange, tugging feeling, as he left the world of the Ancient Greeks and flew through the twisting tunnels of time.