Yet to have got the thing so far only to give up at the last push . . .
He was still trying to make up his mind when he became aware of a stir beyond the horse and a muttering among the crowd. When he stood up he saw the priest Laocoon approaching at the head of a small band of Dardanians who were pushing and shoving a prisoner along the road. Since the sacrilegious murder of Achilles at the shrine there had been only hostility between Deiphobus and the priest who stood before him now, stony- faced. That tension was still palpable as Laocoon said, ‘This Argive was found skulking near Apollo’s shrine.’
The man was pulled forward in front of Deiphobus, where he stood, staring at the ground. His wrists were bound, he was dirty and dishevelled, and clearly in fear for his life. Under question, he said his name was Sinon, that he was an Ithacan, and that he had fled from the Argive camp the previous night.
‘Why would you do that?’ Deiphobus demanded.
‘Because they were going to offer me up in sacrifice to the Winds. They’ve been wanting to sail home for weeks but the weather was against them. Calchas said they should offer a blood sacrifice to the Winds, and Odysseus made sure that the lot fell on me.’
‘A fellow Ithacan? That seems surprising. Did he have a grudge against you?’
Sinon looked up, narrow-eyed. ‘He was afraid of me. I was the only one left who knew how he’d set up Palamedes to look like a traitor. He was looking for a way to get rid of me before we went back home.’
‘Yet here you are,’ said Deiphobus.
‘Only because I was lucky. They were preparing the altar last night when the wind changed and there was a mad rush for the ships. I managed to get away in the confusion.’
Deiphobus wrinkled his lips, still unconvinced. ‘If what you say is true why didn’t you just tell Agamemnon what you know about Odysseus and throw yourself on his mercy?’
With the air of a man who has seen enough of the world and its corruption, Sinon shrugged. ‘Because he didn’t want to know. None of them wanted to know. They all took part in the stoning, didn’t they? They weren’t about to encourage talk of Palamedes’ innocence. The only person who cares about it any more is Palamedes’ father, King Nauplius, back in Euboea. He’s already suspicious about what happened, and if he gets certain proof he’ll come looking for his vengeance. Odysseus knows that -- which is why he wanted to keep me quiet.’
Impressed by the way Sinon’s story squared with what he already knew of Odysseus’s devious mind, Deiphobus conferred in whispers with his brothers.
Capys turned to Sinon and said, ‘So what were you doing out at Thymbra?’
‘It seemed the best place to find sanctuary until the ships were gone. I was hoping to get back to Argos overland and make the crossing to Euboea. Once Nauplius knows what I know, he’ll take good care of me -- and of Odysseus!’
At that point Antenor spoke up from the walls where he stood beside the frail figure of King Priam. ‘Tell us more about this horse.’
Sinon looked up at him and then back at Deiphobus. ‘That’s all down to Calchas again. When everything started going wrong in the past few weeks, he took the omens and told us that Athena had turned her face away from us. Achilles had always been her favourite, he said, and any chance we had of taking Troy had died with him. Calchas said that things were now so bad that if we even wanted to get home safely, we were going to have to propitiate the goddess with a major sacrifice.’
‘But why offer her a horse?’ Capys demanded.
‘That was Odysseus’s idea. He said it came to him in a dream. This whole war started with the offering of a horse to Poseidon at Sparta. Odysseus said we should end it by offering a horse to Athena at Troy.’
Antenor said, ‘Why not a real horse then, such as was offered to Poseidon?’
Sinon gave him a contemptuous glance. ‘After so many have been killed here already? Dead horseflesh is cheap on the plain of Troy, or hadn’t you noticed?’
Misliking the man’s tone, Deiphobus smacked him across the face. Sinon put a hand to his cheek and stared down at the ground. ‘Say more,’ Deiphobus demanded.
‘I don’t know what else to say. I think that Calchas took the omens again. He must have done because he said that Athena wanted an idol raised to her.’ Sinon shrugged again. ‘We had only wood to make it with.’
‘But why did you make it so big?’ Capys asked.
‘So that you couldn’t get it into the city, of course.’
‘Explain.’
‘Calchas said that you Trojans might try to win Athena’s favour by consecrating the horse at her temple. If you succeeded, then the tables might be turned, and it might not be long before Troy was invading Argos.’
The crowd had been listening attentively to the prisoner’s story. Now they began to talk among themselves. But they fell silent again when Laocoon raised his voice. ‘Why should we believe a word this man says? These sound like lies concocted by Odysseus. The Argives have never impressed me with their piety. I have no trust in them, least of all when they leave us gifts.’
A woman’s voice called down from the walls. ‘The priest speaks truly.’
Deiphobus looked up and saw Cassandra standing at the parapet with the strands of her black hair blowing about her face. ‘That horse will bring destruction on us. It carries death in its belly. Believe me, brother, I see Menelaus standing over you. I see you lying in a bed of blood.’
‘Take her inside,’ Deiphobus shouted. Impatiently he muttered to his brothers that Cassandra saw destruction everywhere. Convinced now that Laocoon was out to spoil his triumph, he turned to confront the priest. ‘And you,’ he said, ‘-- it’s no secret that you have no love for me. Nor have you shown much stomach for this war. Not until now when all the fighting’s done. You would have done well to demonstrate your hostility to the Argives sooner.’
Laocoon turned his face away from him. ‘I speak as the god bids me speak.’
‘Then go and pray for more auspicious omens on this happy day.’
Antenor made plain his displeasure at the way Deiphobus was treating his son. He turned to the king and said, loudly enough for all to hear him. ‘Laocoon is speaking wisely. It would be foolish to ignore him.’
‘But I think that my own son has more courage,’ Priam answered testily.
At that moment another voice -- that of Aeneas -- joined the discussion. ‘Nevertheless,’ he said, ‘my father Anchises and I share the feelings of Antenor.’
Worried that these dissenting opinions might turn the day against him, Deiphobus moved to a higher place on the ramp from where he could address the uncertain crowd of men gathered about the wooden horse. ‘You all heard what this Argive had to say,’ he said. ‘Clearly he has no cause to love Odysseus or any of the Argive lords. Nor did he seek us out to beguile us with this story. He had to be brought before us in tethers from the place where he was hiding. And let my cousin Aeneas think what he will -- we Trojans know well enough that the Dardanians wanted no part in this war and came to our aid only when Achilles flushed them out. If they don’t wish to share in our celebrations, so be it. Let them go home. As for my sister, she is weak in the head and sees only darkness in the world. But this is our hour of triumph, Trojans. Let the Argives learn that we are stronger than they thought. One last effort brings the horse inside our city, and then Divine Athena will smile on Troy for ever.’ He turned his head and looked up at the parapet. ‘Am I not right, father?’
King Priam said, ‘My son speaks truly. Divine Athena has denied the Argives the victory they sought and we must honour her.’ But he was saddened to find that even in their hour of triumph his people were disunited. Turning to Aeneas, he said, ‘You Dardanians have fought bravely at our side. Will you not share in this victory with us?’
‘My father is old,’ Aeneas answered, ‘and neither he nor I see much cause for celebration in a war that was neither won nor lost, and where a great price has been paid in suffering. We will be glad enough to go back to our mo
untains and leave Troy to triumph as it pleases.’
‘As you wish.’ Priam turned abruptly away and looked down on his son from the parapet. Lacking the nobility of Hector and the glamour of Paris, Deiphobus had never been a favourite among his many sons, but a strong fate had given it to him to lead the Trojans through to the end of this bitter war and Priam was not about to deny him his hour of glory now. ‘Break down the rampart of the Scaean Gate,’ he commanded. ‘Bring Athena’s horse into the citadel.’
The sound of this debate had travelled through the ears and nostrils of the horse, which had been hollowed out to allow a flow of air inside its stuffy chamber. Twenty three Argive warriors strapped to the wooden benches in there had listened to the exchanges with bated breath as they sat in the gloom, wearing nothing but breech-clouts, wondering whether at any moment the Trojans might set fire to the woodwork or bring it crashing to the ground.
Next to Odysseus, on the bench immediately above the hidden trap door, sat Epeius, a plump Phocian, who for many years had held the sinecure of water-bearer to the House of Atreus. His true trade was that of a master craftsman, and it was he who had designed the horse and supervised its construction. If he had not, like all the other men around him, emptied his bowels before climbing inside the horse he had built, he would have been fouling his breeches with terror right now. Epeius had begged to be left out of the invasion force, but practice had revealed that only he could work the clever hinges he had devised to lock the trap door in place and conceal it from view: so he had been forced, at sword-point, to go along. As the last man to enter the belly of the horse, he would be the first out, and the thought frightened him so much that there had been times during the course of the day when Odysseus had clapped a hand across his mouth to silence his whimpers.
Amazingly, however, things were going well. Odysseus and Menelaus had exchanged a grim smile of relief when Sinon turned up just in time to prevent what they were beginning to dread would be a disastrous end to the mission. And chancy though the strategy of double-bluff had been, Odysseus had taken particular satisfaction in the way Laocoon, Antenor and Aeneas had manoeuvred Deiphobus into taking the decision they wanted simply by telling the truth.
Now they could hear the sound of Aeneas and his Dardanians leaving the city, and when the long file had passed and the ramp was clear again, they heard shouting and the din of hammers and crowbars as the Trojans worked to demolish the gate which had kept the Argives at bay for ten long years. The noise gave the men inside the horse some respite from their own protracted silence. They could stretch cramped limbs and take a sip or two at the ration of water they were allowed, knowing that it could only be a question of time before the horse was on the move again.
Around an hour later they heard a warning shout followed by a sudden collapse of masonry as the stone lintel over the gate came down. A cloud of lime-dust blew in through the ears and nostrils, whitening the faces of Neoptolemus and Acamas who sat nearest to the head. Moments later came the sound of men clambering over the neck and cruppers of the horse as more ropes were slung round it. They heard the screech of pulleys and the creak of a winch. Someone counted out the heaves by threes, and slowly, with the rollers groaning beneath the platform, the horse began to slide, jerk by jerk, up the gradient of the ramp.
Only the buckled leather straps that held them tightly in place kept the warriors from being jolted off the benches when the belly of the horse collided with the wall as it passed through the gateway. Then they were stuck in that narrow space, scarcely breathing for a time, as men debated how best to widen the gap through the barbican. But having struggled this far to get his trophy into the city, Deiphobus no longer seemed to care how much damage was done to the walls. More masonry tumbled and was cleared away. With some difficulty a jammed roller was freed. Then the horse was through into Troy.
Night had fallen by the time King Priam completed the rites of dedication to Athena outside her temple in the citadel of Ilium.
Apart from the voice of the king and that of Theano, the wife of Antenor, who was priestess to Athena, the ritual had been performed in reverential silence as the exhausted Trojans meditated on the long years of a war in which they had suffered so much. There had been a lowing from the sacrificial animals and a baby cried somewhere, but otherwise the densely packed crowd gathered around the horse made barely a sound.
Meanwhile, it was pitch-black inside the horse s belly. Forbidden speech, and no longer able to encourage one another with nods and smiles, each man was locked alone with his discomfort and trepidation. Then the sound of music struck up and the crowd were singing the hymn of praise to Athena. Odysseus mouthed the words to himself, reflecting on the number of times the Argive host had sung this very same hymn to the grey-eyed goddess who watches over the people when they go out to war, presides over the shouts of battle and the destruction of cities, and then watches over those who return.
The Trojans raised their voices in the final chords -- ‘Farewell, goddess, grant us good fortune and happiness; in another song we will remember you’ -- oblivious that they had worked hard and long all day merely to bring death into their city. And then the night became a time of celebration. The solemn strains of the hymn gave way to wilder music. Cheering and loud applause echoed from the walls of the citadel. Men clambered across the horses back to hang garlands where the ropes had strained. Children jumped and played around its hooves.
Confined inside the hot darkness of their den, the Argives could hear feet stamping in the dance outside. The smell of cooked fish and roasting meat mingled with that of their own sweat until their stomachs quivered at the thought of the food and wine being consumed out there. After years of fear and want the whole city, from princes and priests to prostitutes and slaves, was letting its hair down in a banquet of excess. All the long effort of struggle and hardship was behind them now Peace had come home and prosperity would soon follow. In the meantime, men, women and children were going to eat, drink, dance, sing, kiss, embrace and make frantic love till they dropped from sheer exhaustion.
For hour after hour the noise of revelry rang loud around the squares. Then, gradually, the laughter grew quieter and people began to wander home or fall asleep in a stupor where they lay.
Inside the horse the air grew tense with anticipation, but a drunken gang of men were still carousing across the far side of the square from where the horse stood. They were singing a bawdy rant that had been popular among the Trojan host for the scurrilous insults it heaped on each of the Argive leaders, verse by verse. Odysseus, Menelaus, Diomedes and Idomeneus had never heard the words so clearly as they did that night. They sat chafing grimly in the belly of the horse.
And then they grew tenser still as they became aware of someone climbing onto the platform beneath them and they caught the sound of a woman’s voice.
‘Have you come to carry me home?’ she whispered. ‘Isn’t that why you’re here -- to carry me away again?’ And for a moment each of the men thought that the question had been put to him; then they realized that the woman was drunk and that she was talking to the horse. ‘There was a day,’ she was saying, ‘when all the great princes of Argos swore on the limbs of a horse that they would protect and honour me. But look at me now. Look what’s become of me. It’s no wonder they don’t care what happens to me any more -- my gentle Menelaus, my clever friend Odysseus, Diomedes who used to sigh with love for me in the old days -- they’re all sailing home now, and they’ve left us here, you and me, in this dreary city. So now there’s only you to carry me away.’
Each of the princes of Argos inside the horse had felt his heart jump to his throat, and Menelaus had been so disturbed by the first sound of Helen’s voice that Diomedes and Idomeneus, who were sitting at either side of him, had to restrain him from leaping up. Only moments later, at the sound of his name on Helen’s lips, Diomedes himself had almost lost control. Now all of them jumped again as a voice called across the square. ‘Helen, where are you? What are you doi
ng over there?’ And they recognized the voice of Deiphobus. ‘Come on. Let’s go back. It’s late.’
A coarse burst of laughter came from the drunks who had been singing across the square.
‘Sleep if you want to,’ said Helen.
‘Come on, we’re going home.’
‘I want to stay here with the horse.’
One of the men across the square called out, ‘Deiphobus’ll give you a livelier ride, darling!’ And the others laughed loudly before making off into the night. Then there came a sound of scuffling close outside the horse, and Helen’s voice saying, ‘Leave me alone. I don’t want to go. I want to stay here.’ But Deiphobus dragged her away. And then, inside the horse, there was only silence.
Almost another hour passed before they heard the voice of Antenor directly beneath them. ‘It’s time,’ he said. ‘The city’s quiet. You can come out.’
Odysseus ordered Epeius to open the trap door while the men loosened the straps and began to unpack their weapons and armour. Epeius was still so frightened that his fingers were trembling and it took some time for him to work the lock and hinges. But finally the trap swung open and a gust of night air blew into that stuffy cabin as Epeius dropped the rope-ladder from its cleats. Pushed from the back by Odysseus, he climbed down to stand shaking inside Troy.
Swinging swiftly down after him, Odysseus took Antenor firmly by the hand, and turned to look out across the plain where a beacon lit by Sinon blazed through the darkness from the top of Achilles’ funeral mound. Reassured that Agamemnon’s fleet must now be on its way back from Tenedos, Odysseus smiled at Antenor again, and began buckling on his armour. ‘You remembered to paint the sign of the horse on your doors?’ Grave-faced in the moonlight, Antenor nodded. ‘Then stay inside with your family,’ Odysseus said. ‘By this time tomorrow you’ll be king in Troy.’
One by one the others descended from the horse, stretched their cramped limbs and took great gulps of fresh air. Odysseus put a finger to his lips and gestured towards the drunks who were lying asleep around the square. Then he drew another finger across his throat. Neoptolemus and three other men hurried to despatch them, while Idomeneus led another party down towards the Scaean Gate. They found that the Trojans had done a makeshift job of closing the gate against the broken bastions, but the sentinels had drunk as much as everybody else and were fast asleep.
The War At Troy Page 43