The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

by Iliffe, Glyn

  ‘You seem to assume I’m going to agree to your plan, but nothing I’ve heard so far has shown me how it will bring us victory. Why should we sail home empty handed, after so much strife and bloodshed? And why should we build the Trojans a trophy with which to celebrate our supposed defeat?’

  ‘It’s as I said: first we must convince our enemies they’ve won. Then, out of apparent defeat will come the victory we have sought for so long. The horse is the key, and if you’ll all sit down I’ll tell you what I have in mind.’

  ‘And what about him?’ Little Ajax asked, indicating Omeros. ‘If we’re forbidden from saying anything to our own men, why’s this lad allowed to overhear this fabulous scheme of yours?’

  Odysseus stared at Eperitus’s squire and gave a self-satisfied grin.

  ‘Because Omeros is essential to the plan. You see, after Agamemnon has announced we’re returning to Greece, Calchas is going to prophesy that the gods will deny us even a breath of wind unless we offer them a human sacrifice. And since I’ve discovered that Omeros has been plotting against me, I’ve decided he will be that sacrifice.’

  BOOK

  FOUR

  Chapter Thirty-four

  THE WOODEN HORSE

  Helen awoke with a feeling of expectancy. The dawn light was barely filtering through the curtains when she threw aside her blankets and called for her maids. Sitting at the edge of her bed, she wondered what it was that felt so different. There were no new sounds drifting in through the window, nor could she smell anything out of the ordinary that might be warning her senses. If something had altered in the world, then she had sensed it from within: a gut feeling that told her the day was going to be unlike any other.

  She yawned and ran her toes through the thick fur. Where were her maids? For as long as she had lived in Troy, her maids had slept at the threshold to her room ready to answer the mere sound of her voice. Suddenly, she clutched a hand to her chest and wondered whether they had been taken. It was a fear that had stalked her ever since she had sent them to drug the guards at the temple of Athena, the night the Palladium had been stolen. In using them so recklessly to help Odysseus she had risked implicating herself in the theft, a treacherous act punishable by execution – and an outcome which even her beauty and status could not have saved her from. Instead the temple guards had paid that price, slaughtered without hesitation on Deiphobus’s orders for failing in their duty. Their quick deaths meant they had not had time to consider their wine might have been drugged, or add to this the fact the wine had been brought to them by Helen’s maids. And yet Helen still lived in dread, not that her maids would betray her but that other eyes may have seen them visiting the guards.

  She stood and quickly dressed herself. Glancing back across the room, she saw that Deiphobus’s half of the large bed – the same bed she had once shared with his brother, and which held such sweet memories for her – had not been slept in. This was not unusual, as the prince would often sleep in his old quarters after a late night discussing the war with his father and the other commanders. He also knew Helen did not love him, though the knowledge did not prevent him coming to her when his lust urged. The thought deepened the frown already on her brow, and throwing her cloak around her shoulders she hurried out of the room.

  She found all four of her maids on the walls of the citadel, pressed against the battlements and talking excitedly as they looked southwards.

  ‘So, here you are!’ Helen snapped, climbing the stone steps. ‘I have to dress myself because you’d rather be on the walls gossiping among yourselves.’

  ‘But my lady,’ one of the maids began.

  ‘My lady nothing. Get back inside, at once!’

  The girls exchanged guilty looks, then after a last glance over the ramparts fled down the steps and in the direction of the palace.

  Helen waited until they were out of sight, then her curiosity gaining the better of her she ran up the last few steps to see for herself what had dragged her maids away from their duties. Reaching the parapet, she looked first to the large bay lying a bowshot from the city walls. Empty, as was the sea beyond the jaws of its entrance. But she had already glimpsed the thing that had brought the four girls to the walls, and as she turned her head south she realised this was the source of the strange feeling that had woken her from her dreams. On top of the ridge that frowned over the weaving line of the Scamander, a short distance west of the temple of Thymbrean Apollo, was the gigantic figure of a horse. It stood higher than the plane trees that formed the temple – much higher – and as the light of the rising sun fell on its motionless flanks, she could see that it was made entirely of wood. Each of its long limbs was as tall as two men, and together they supported a barrel-like torso that had been skilfully crafted to follow the lines and curves of a horse’s body. From its hind quarters a shower of leather strips cascaded down to the ground in mimicry of a tail, while rising up from its shoulders was a broad neck crested by a dense mane of leather bands that twisted in the wind. The head was large with a wide forehead that tapered down to its flared nostrils and bared teeth. Its chin rested on its chest and its stern eyes glowered at the walls of Troy, as if willing them to crumble and fall. The whole impressive edifice stood upon a broad platform with four solid wheels on either side, each wheel twice as big as those of a chariot or farmer’s cart.

  Helen leaned against the cold stone parapet and stared in disbelief. In the distance behind the horse, columns of black smoke spiralled up into the skies over the Greek camp, forming scars against the blue firmament that spoke of change and a doom yet to be revealed. As she watched, wondering what the appearance of the horse might mean and where it had come from, she saw a troop of cavalry moving out from the city and galloping across the plain. Perhaps twenty men in all, they trotted over the fords of the Scamander and dashed up the slope towards the great structure above. At last, Helen began to hear shouts from the city, spreading with rapid inevitability towards Pergamos. More people – slaves and soldiers, artisans and nobles – were running up to the walls to look out at the strange new monument. At that moment Helen knew she had to see the horse for herself, not from the battlements but where it stood on the ridge.

  She ran down the steps and back to the open space before the palace. As she had expected, horses and chariots were being prepared for the journey to the ridge. Priam’s golden chariot was standing ready with Idaeus at the rail, his whip in his hand as he waited for the king to arrive. There, too, was Deiphobus’s chariot. The prince stood in front of the horses, patting their necks and talking to them.

  ‘Take me with you,’ Helen said, running across the trampled dirt of the courtyard and laying her arms around her husband’s neck. ‘I want to see this magnificent horse.’

  Deiphobus looked at her a moment, then shook his head.

  ‘It could be dangerous.’

  She smiled playfully, surprising him. ‘Do you think it’ll bite me?’

  ‘I mean it could be a lure – the bait to draw us into a trap.’

  ‘Am I any more important than Priam? If the king is going, then surely it’s safe enough for me to go too? Besides, there’s already a troop of cavalry up there – they would have spotted any immediate danger.’ Seeing the doubt in his eyes, she leaned across and kissed him. ‘I promise I’ll stay close to you.’

  His gaze wandered over her again. Although she had not received the usual attentions of her maids that morning, her natural beauty was more than powerful enough to break down his resistance. He nodded and helped her up into the chariot.

  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 po
ssible. 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!’