The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

by Iliffe, Glyn

And what of Paris? Helen thought. Had he given his life for nothing? Worse still, would the people of Troy forget his bravery, remembering him only for bringing the curse of war down upon them? Such a legacy had been his greatest fear, and the sadness of it was deepened by the fact that victory had come so soon after his death. If he had survived a little longer – been less reckless in his desire to overcome his guilt – they would have been free to spend the rest of their days together, their love unfettered by the ambitions of power-hungry men. But the jealous gods had preferred to deny them their happiness, condemning Paris to the forgetfulness of Hades and leaving Helen with little more than a fading memory of the man for whom she had sacrificed everything.

  Deiphobus mounted a horse and led a handful of riders in the direction of the ford, keen to carry out his father’s instructions. As Helen watched him leave, Priam called to her from his chariot.

  ‘Helen, come up here with me. I’m going to announce our victory to my people and I want you at my side. Let them see what they’ve been fighting for, and let them know that you were worth every sacrifice.’

  His moment of elation had passed and she knew he was being earnest. And if she, like the wooden horse, was to be paraded as a trophy of war, then so be it. She walked over and accepted his outstretched hand, stepping up beside him. With a flick of his whip, Idaeus sent the horses forward at a gentle trot. Behind them they could hear the grunts of the men at the ropes as they took the strain once more and began to pull the giant horse towards the ford.

  The chariot had only travelled a short distance across the meadows before it slowed to a halt in front of the crowd coming up from the city. As one, they fell to their knees and bowed low before their king. Only one figure remained standing in their midst, a girl dressed all in black. Priam stared at Cassandra for a moment, but chose to ignore her impertinence and signalled for the rest to stand.

  ‘Behold the symbol of your victory!’ he declared. ‘At last, my people, the day has come. The Greeks have gone! The war is over! We have won!’

  His words were met with cheers and ecstatic screams, which did not die down until the wooden horse had been brought so close that the rapturous crowd were forced into silence by its grim presence. Then, as they stared at it in awe, a shriek of despair rang out and Cassandra pushed her way through the mass until she stood alone before her father.

  ‘Fools! The gods have left you blind, stumbling towards your doom with shouts of joy on your lips.’

  With tears rolling down her white cheeks and her eyes wide with terror, she seized hold of her robe and pulled at the material until it tore, revealing her pale breasts. Apheidas unclasped his cloak and threw it about the girl’s shoulders, hiding her nakedness.

  ‘Control yourself,’ the king ordered his daughter. ‘If your gloom must drive you to hysterics, then do it in private and don’t dampen everyone else’s happiness on this great day.’

  ‘Great day?’ Cassandra echoed. ‘For whom? Not for Troy. Not for your house, Father! This symbol of victory you boast about is a harbinger of death. It carries with it the doom of Troy. Burn it! Burn it now, while you still can!’

  Chapter Thirty-five

  CASSANDRA’S WOE

  Astynome looked up at the wooden horse, still reeling from the news that the Greeks had left – that Eperitus had abandoned her. Why would they suddenly strike their camp and head home? Had they given up, or did they intend to return in greater numbers, perhaps to pursue a different strategy? Either way, surely Eperitus would have found some means to let her know? If they were returning to Greece, would he not have smuggled her a message, imploring her to sail with him? Or had his anger at her betrayal turned him against her again? As doubts clouded her mind, she looked again at the horse and recalled Odysseus’s words to her, spoken in confidence on the night he, Diomedes and Eperitus had stolen the Palladium.

  ‘One day soon,’ he had warned, ‘a wooden horse will appear within clear sight of the city walls. Some will welcome it, but others will call for its destruction. Don’t let them succeed, Astynome! By whatever means you can, make sure the horse is preserved. If it’s brought inside the city walls, the war will end and you will be reunited with Eperitus; if it’s destroyed, you will never see him again.’

  She had not understood the meaning of his words at the time, only their urgency. And as she pondered them again they did not seem to suggest an ignominious defeat and a return to Greece, and that gave her heart. But one thing was now clear: as she heard Cassandra’s call for the horse to be burned she knew what Odysseus had wanted her to do, and that both he and Eperitus were relying on her. Leaving the crowd she had followed from the city, she walked up to the horse and laid a hand on one of its oversized wheels.

  ‘Cassandra lies. This is no herald of doom, but a gift from the Greeks acknowledging our victory. It should stand forever as a monument to the glory of those who fought for Troy, so that generations to come can look at it and speak their names with pride. Burn it and you will diminish their honour! Indeed, burn it and you will bring a curse down on the city.’

  Hundreds of voices were raised in agreement, but Cassandra cut them short with an angry scream.

  ‘This is madness! Will you invite your own deaths? I tell you, this horse will not become a monument to the sacrifices of the fallen – rather, it will render their sacrifices worthless!’

  Her words were met with jeers and calls for her to be silent.

  ‘Why should we listen to you?’ Astynome countered. ‘You’re nothing but a storm crow, Cassandra, always wailing about the destruction of Troy and the death of its people. But we’re still here, aren’t we? The walls of Troy still stand and its warriors still man the battlements, don’t they? Why should anyone believe you?’

  ‘Because you have to!’ Cassandra pleaded. ‘Father, listen to me, I implore you! This thing reeks of death. If its shadow falls within the walls of Troy, then your city and everything in it will be destroyed.’

  Priam looked at her with uncertainty in his eyes, but the taunts and insults from the crowd behind her grew louder. Cassandra turned on them in frustration, and seeing a soldier among her mockers ran at him and wrenched the spear from his surprised hands. The crowd fell back, shouting now with fear as they saw the dangerous rage in her dark eyes.

  ‘Damn you all!’ she cried, then turned on her heel and hurled the spear at the horse’s side.

  It struck with a hollow thud, and in that instant it seemed to many that they heard a second sound, a movement from within the body of the horse itself. The clamour of the crowd fell away and in the silence that followed everyone looked up at the spear, still quivering from the impact of the blow. Astynome looked up, too, wondering whether she had indeed heard a metallic clang from inside the wooden effigy, or whether she had simply imagined it. Then the stillness was broken by a series of shouts. All eyes looked to the south, where a group of horsemen were racing across the plain towards them. Their distinctive armour marked them out as Trojans, and at their head was the unmistakeable figure of Aeneas. Moments later they drew to a halt amid a cloud of brown dust that billowed forward to float around the hocks of the wooden horse. Aeneas leapt lightly from the back of his mount and, walking to the nearest of his riders, seized the bound and gagged man who had shared his horse and pulled him to the ground. The prisoner fell with a muffled grunt, but Aeneas dragged him back to his feet and pushed him towards Priam and Apheidas.

  ‘My lord,’ Aeneas began, acknowledging Priam with a low bow. ‘Congratulations on your great victory. The Greek fleet has sailed and we found their camp completely deserted. All except for this man.’

  Priam stared at the dishevelled figure. His face was half hidden behind the filthy rag that had been tied about his mouth, but the blood and bruises on his dirt-stained cheeks and forehead were clear to see. The man fixed his eyes firmly on the grass at Priam’s feet, either too fearful or too stubborn to look at the old king.

  ‘Who is he?’

  ‘He refused to
say, my lord.’

  A flicker of impatience crossed Priam’s face. ‘Then did you and your men give him this beating?’

  ‘No. He’s exactly as when we found him, hiding in the ruins of one of the huts. Though we had to bind him so he wouldn’t try to escape.’

  Priam flicked his hand at the gag, which Aeneas hastily removed. As the strip of cloth fell to the ground, Astynome almost cried out in shock. The prisoner was the young Ithacan, Omeros.

  ‘What’s your name, lad?’ Priam asked, addressing him in Greek.

  Omeros did not respond.

  ‘Answer the king!’ Apheidas snapped, impatiently.

  Omeros lifted his gaze to Priam’s knees and opened his cracked and blooded lips.

  ‘Omeros,’ he rasped. ‘An Ithacan.’

  ‘One of Odysseus’s men,’ Apheidas said, leaning in towards Priam.

  Priam ignored the obvious comment and told Idaeus to give the prisoner water. The herald did as he was commanded and Omeros drank the cooling liquid greedily.

  ‘Where is the Greek fleet?’ Priam demanded.

  Again Omeros was reluctant to answer, provoking Apheidas to strike him across the face with the back of his hand. The blow reopened one of his cuts and left a fresh smear of bright red on his dirt-stained cheek.

  ‘They’ve had enough. Gone home.’

  ‘Just like that? After ten years of war?’ Apheidas sneered. ‘I’m sure that’s what you’d like us to believe.’

  Omeros merely shrugged and continued to stare at the ground.

  ‘Why would they leave after all this time?’ Priam asked. ‘They stole the Palladium, the very thing that protected Troy for all these years – so why go now?’

  Omeros shot an uncertain glance at Apheidas, then looked at Priam.

  ‘Stealing the Palladium was the very thing that condemned them. They thought it’d bring them victory, but all it did was earn them Athena’s wrath. They realised that when they tried to storm the walls and were repulsed again, just like in every previous attack over the past ten years. And if that wasn’t evidence enough, the Palladium burst into flames three times – you don’t have to be a seer to know that’s a bad omen!’

  ‘So where’s the Palladium now?’

  Omeros looked up at the horse.

  ‘Up there. Inside the horse’s head. Once they’d accepted they could no longer win the war, they built this thing to appease Athena and seek her blessing for the voyage home. No-one dared take the Palladium back to Greece with them, and they didn’t want you to find it; so they hid it.’

  Apheidas’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  ‘Why would you tell us that? In fact, why would Odysseus sail home to Ithaca leaving one of his men to be taken prisoner?’

  ‘Because I’m no longer one of his men!’ Omeros answered, angrily. He pulled at the rope that bound his hands behind his back, but to no avail. ‘Damn it, if you’re going to question me all day, at least take these bonds from my wrists.’

  Priam nodded at Aeneas, who drew his dagger and slit the flax cord. Omeros shook his hands then rubbed them together, trying to encourage the blood to return to his veins. After a moment, he looked up at his Trojan interrogators and there was an embittered look in his eye.

  ‘A while ago, I found out Odysseus had planted gold in Palamedes’s tent, to implicate him as a traitor. They killed Palamedes for it, and ever since Odysseus has been afraid I might give away his dirty secret. So when the winds refused to blow and Calchas declared the fleet couldn’t sail until the gods had been appeased with human blood, Odysseus saw his opportunity. He asked Calchas who had to die, and the old drunkard pointed at me – doubtless bribed beforehand by Odysseus. The Greeks dragged the horse at night to the top of the ridge where you found it this morning, then prepared to sacrifice me at dawn. They had to subdue me first – that’s how I got these,’ he indicated the cuts and bruises on his face, ‘but before the sacrifice could begin, a gale sprang up and everyone ran for the ships. I escaped in the chaos as they torched the tents and huts and pushed the galleys out into the sea. Then I watched them sail away by the first light of dawn, following the coastline southward with the wind behind them.’

  ‘What do you say now, Daughter?’ Priam asked, turning to the sombre figure of Cassandra.

  ‘He’s a liar!’ she hissed. ‘The Palladium isn’t inside the horse. Only death is in there – a plague of bronze that will wipe out the race of Troy. Burn it while you still can.’

  Voices in the crowd cried out in protest, calling for Cassandra to be silent. The king returned his gaze to Omeros.

  ‘My daughter is against you, though that would encourage most to decide in your favour. I sense Apheidas and others also remain sceptical, and their opinions are less easily dismissed. As for myself, I’m inclined to believe you, Omeros.’

  ‘Thank you, my lord,’ Omeros replied, kneeling.

  ‘I only said I’m inclined to believe you,’ Priam warned. ‘There are still things about this horse that sit uneasily. Perhaps you can explain why the Greeks went to the effort of dragging it to the top of the ridge? And if they meant for us to accept it as a gift to be taken into the city, why did they make it too large for the gates?’

  ‘Because Odysseus is a cunning man. He can anticipate how others think and creates his schemes to meet their expectations. The horse was brought here so that every person in Troy could see it, so that there would be a public debate about what to do with it.’

  ‘What’s it matter to the Greeks what we do with it?’ Apheidas interrupted.

  ‘Because this isn’t just a gift to you or an offering to the gods – its head contains the Palladium, the key to Troy’s safety, and the Greeks put it in there for a reason. They daren’t destroy it, for fear of increasing Athena’s wrath and making it impossible to ever return and resume the siege – which Agamemnon still has a mind to do. And the last thing the King of Men wants is for you to take the Palladium back inside the city walls and ensure Troy’s invulnerability once more. That’s why the horse was built too big for the gates. But if the Trojans destroy the Palladium, you’ll bring a curse down on your own heads and guarantee a Greek victory if they come back. You see, Odysseus had calculated you would burn the wooden horse and the Palladium with it. He just hadn’t accounted for me in his plans.’

  As he spoke, a loud crash echoed across the valley. Every head turned towards the Scaean Gate, which was shrouded in dust. As the brown mist blew away in the wind, they could see that the large wooden portals had been removed from their hinges. Above the exposed archway, teams of men were standing around a hole in the parapet. On the ground below was an immense block of stone, the fall of which had caused the booming sound they had heard. Deiphobus had not delayed in carrying out his father’s orders and was already dismantling the walls so that the horse could be taken inside the city.

  ‘In the name of Apollo, stop them!’ Cassandra wailed. ‘Father, please believe me. There are men inside the horse. I have seen it!’

  Astynome heard the words and turned to look up at the horse. Now she understood: Odysseus had hidden warriors inside the large wooden body, and among them was Eperitus. She looked at the faces all around her, staring up at the great effigy as it towered over them and pondering Cassandra’s desperate warning. Surely they would see that they were being tricked, that Omeros and his story were just another part of Odysseus’s scheme to smuggle armed men into the city – to have the Trojans themselves carry out his plan. Within moments they would be calling for firewood and torches from the city; the horse would be transformed into a blazing pyre, consuming the hopes of the Greeks – and her beloved Eperitus – with it. And Astynome was powerless to stop them.

  Then the silence was broken – not by angry shouts, but a long, low laugh. Priam was staring at his daughter, with her wide eyes and torn black robes, and laughing. With his shoulders shaking, he laid his head back and laughed out loud. Idaeus joined him, then Omeros. The crowd followed, slowly at first but with growin
g mirth as the absurd idea of a horse full of soldiers took hold of them. Even Apheidas was infected by it, his amused smile broadening until he broke into billows of laughter, holding his hands to his sides.

  ‘Take the horse into the city,’ Priam ordered, still smiling.

  Knowing Apollo’s curse had defeated her again, Cassandra threw her hands over her ears and ran as fast as she could to the ford.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  VOICES FROM HOME

  Eperitus was woken by a hand gently shaking his shoulder.

  ‘Won’t be long now,’ he heard Odysseus’s voice say in a dry-throated whisper.

  He opened his eyes to see the king’s face leaning close, a blurred grey oval in the almost complete blackness of the horse’s belly. Many others were with them, invisible in the darkness but filling Eperitus’s senses with the sound of their breathing and the sour odour of their sweat. There was the ever-present smell of smoke, too, which still clung to their clothing from the fires of the day before when they had put the Greek camp to the torch. Odysseus patted his shoulder and leaned back against the fir-planked wall, smiling reassuringly as if he were back in the comfort of his own palace on Ithaca. But if he had meant to encourage his captain, all he succeeded in doing was reminding him that they were shut up inside the wooden horse and surrounded by their enemies, awaiting the moment when they would enact the most daring gamble of the whole war. Eperitus strained his senses, but the city outside was silent and still, the celebrations finally over as its people enjoyed the deep, wine-induced sleep of a nation at peace – a treacherous, ephemeral peace that would soon be ripped apart by the clamour of returning war.

  Eperitus’s stomach shifted nervously at the thought. He sat up and stretched the stiffness out of his limbs. The hard wooden bench had numbed his backside and his efforts to rub some life into each buttock earned grumbled complaints from Sthenelaus on his left and Little Ajax on his right. Looking around, he could just make out the faces of the others who had been chosen for the mission. There were only twenty-four of them – all that could fit in the cramped interior of the horse – but they were the best warriors in the Greek army, hand-picked by Odysseus and Menelaus for their courage and fighting skill. They were also the most high-ranking – every one a king, prince or commander – and if their mission failed and they were killed or captured it would mean total defeat for the Greeks. And yet victory could not be obtained without such risks. The grim-faced men inside the horse understood that; they also understood that victory would earn them immortal glory and a name that would live on long after their bodies had perished and their souls had gone down to Hades. It was this desire – the appeal of glory to every warrior – that Odysseus had used to ensure they would agree to his bold, reckless scheme.