by Iliffe, Glyn
Odysseus shook his head. ‘Neither would have entered Troy in the belly of a wooden horse. They hated trickery and would only have walked through the gates on a carpet of fallen enemies. But the fact you’re here, Neoptolemus, shows you’ve already surpassed your father’s qualities. Unlike him, you know a war like this can’t be won by strength and honour alone. Now, Epeius, open the door and let’s set about our task.’
Epeius’s cowardly instincts had brought him out in a glistening sweat now the long wait was over, but while the two dozen warriors about him removed the sacking from their armour and made ready for battle, he wiped his brow and probed the wooden floor with his fingers. There was a click and the trap door swung downward on its hinges, flooding the interior of the horse with a red glow from the dying fire below. Eperitus picked up his grandfather’s shield and, swinging it over his back, was first at the hatch. He stared down and saw Omeros looking back up at him.
‘The way’s clear,’ his squire called in a low voice.
Eperitus kicked the rolled-up rope ladder down through the hole and began his descent, jumping the last part and landing beside Omeros. He looked around at the still-sleeping Trojans, draped over or around the feasting tables, then up at the cloudy sky, pressing closely down on the walls and towers of Pergamos further up the slope. His limbs and back were stiff and the soles of his feet tingled as the blood struggled to return to them, but he drove the discomfort from his mind and drew his sword from its scabbard.
A moment later, Odysseus was with them, followed rapidly by Neoptolemus, Menelaus and Diomedes.
‘Is the signal in place?’ Odysseus asked.
‘And can you be sure the fleet saw it?’ Menelaus added.
‘The torch is on the walls, my lords, just as you ordered,’ Omeros replied, ‘but it was too dark to see if there were any ships in the harbour. If they’re there, though, they’ll have seen the signal.’
‘What about guards?’ asked Eperitus. ‘Did you see any patrols?’
‘None. Not a single man – they’re all in a drunken sleep, completely convinced we’ve given up and gone.’
‘You did well,’ Odysseus said, patting Omeros’s shoulder. ‘I couldn’t have done any better myself.’
Eperitus gave his squire a wink and Omeros bowed his head to hide the broad grin on his face.
‘Everybody’s out,’ Diomedes announced. ‘Now it’s time we went about our business. All it needs is one Trojan to wake and give the alarm –’
‘We’ll do everything as I explained before,’ Odysseus said. ‘Diomedes: you, Little Ajax and Idomeneus take half our number down to the Scaean Gate to let the army in. Menelaus, Neoptolemus and I will take the rest and secure the gates to the citadel.’
‘And what about these?’ Little Ajax demanded, sweeping his sword in a menacing arc over the sleeping Trojans. ‘Do you plan to just let them go on sleeping, ready to wake and bear arms against us? I say we cut their throats and rid ourselves of the bastards here and now.’
Eperitus looked at his king, who twice before had cut the throats of groups of sleeping warriors, preferring the opportunity of a defenceless enemy over notions of honour. On one of those occasions, the fate of Ithaca had depended on his actions; on the other he had murdered his victims for the sake of a team of prize horses. This time, though – to Eperitus’s approval – Odysseus shook his head.
‘We only kill those who resist us – the night’s going to be vicious enough without cold-blooded murder. Besides, we haven’t the time to waste. We need to go now.’
Diomedes gave a nod and signalled for Little Ajax, Teucer and the others in his party to follow him. They set off at a trot down the main street, their accoutrements jangling lightly as they headed for the dim outline of the city walls and the tower that guarded the Scaean Gate. Odysseus signalled to Omeros.
‘Go with them, lad, and find Eurybates. Remind him to keep a firm grip on my Ithacans. They’ve had a hard war and even the best of them will be tempted to excess, but I want them to stay disciplined. Now go.’
Omeros set off and Eperitus laid a hand on Odysseus’s shoulder.
‘We need to go, too,’ he urged.
Menelaus was already running up towards Pergamos, closely followed by the others. Only Neoptolemus remained, beckoning with his drawn sword for the two Ithacans to follow. They weaved a path towards him through the sleeping Trojans, then all three ran to catch up with the rest of the party. It was not long before they were approaching the sloping walls of the citadel and the imposing tower that guarded the gates. Menelaus slowed to a halt and crouched in the shadows of a nearby house, signalling for the rest to do the same. Neoptolemus, Odysseus and Eperitus joined him.
‘I’d forgotten how ugly their gods are,’ Menelaus whispered, pointing to the six crude statuettes that stood on plinths before the tower. He turned to Odysseus. ‘You know the city better than the rest of us. Isn’t the gate in the shadows, to the right of the tower?’
Odysseus nodded and looked up at the battlements. There were no figures pacing the walls or faces peering down at them over the parapets. All was silent.
‘They won’t have left it unguarded, not even tonight, but the last thing they’ll be expecting is a dozen fully armed Greeks. I suggest we sling our shields on our backs, sheath our swords and walk into Pergamos.’
Before they could question him, he was moving out of the shadows towards the tower. Not wanting to let his king take the risk alone, Eperitus was the first to follow, with Menelaus, Neoptolemus and the others close behind. Just as Odysseus had predicted, the gates were not unguarded: two men sat on stools to the left of the archway, their spears sloped against their shoulders, while two others stood opposite them, leaning against the wall with their heads bowed sleepily. The wooden gates were held open by two large blocks of stone, and all four guards were quiet, half asleep, only stirring to life as they saw the band of warriors approach.
‘No entry after midnight, brothers. You know that,’ said one of the soldiers, levering himself away from the wall with his elbow. ‘Curfew still applies, even in peacetime.’
He laughed quietly at his own humour, though his laughter quickly died away when he saw the men were not slowing down.
‘I said –’
As one, Odysseus and Eperitus drew their swords, closely followed by Menelaus and Neoptolemus. Eperitus sprang forward, pushing the point of his blade into the first guard’s chest. It sliced through his heart and passed out of his back, causing his legs to buckle and his body to fall backwards, almost pulling Eperitus with him. He placed his weight on his front foot and held on to the hilt, so that the momentum of the dead man’s torso pulled it free of the blade. Scuffles and grunts indicated the demise of the other guards and when Eperitus turned it was to see their bodies lying in pools of their own blood.
‘Menestheus, check the guardroom,’ Odysseus said, pointing through the archway.
The Athenian king nodded and led a group of warriors into the shadows. Eperitus’s hearing picked up the sound of blades drawn and muffled grunts, but the lack of any other noise indicated the Trojans within the guardroom had barely had the chance to wake before their souls were released from their bodies.
‘Now what?’ Neoptolemus asked.
‘We wait here and hold the gates until the rest of the army arrive,’ Odysseus replied.
‘Not me. I’m going to find my wife.’
Menelaus finished wiping his blade on the cloak of the guard he had killed, then stood and peered into the shadowy archway that led into the citadel. Odysseus side-stepped into his path, shaking his head.
‘You can’t go to the palace alone. It’s too dangerous. Wait for your brother to arrive.’
‘I mean to find her, Odysseus, and you aren’t going to stop me. I’ve waited too long for this.’
‘Then be patient a little longer –’
Menelaus was not interested. He shouldered his way past Odysseus and then through Menestheus and the other Greeks as they
emerged from the archway.
‘You’ll get yourself killed and then this whole war will have been for nothing,’ Odysseus called after him.
‘The gods will protect me,’ Menelaus replied with a growl.
Eperitus laid a hand on Odysseus’s shoulder. ‘We have to go with him.’
‘I promised Agamemnon I’d wait here until he arrived.’
‘Neoptolemus can hold the gates,’ Eperitus urged. He looked at Achilles’s son, who replied with a curt nod. ‘We need to keep Menelaus safe.’
Odysseus hesitated a moment longer before agreeing.
‘You’re right, of course. But it’s not Menelaus’s safety we should be worried about – it’s Helen’s when he finds her. Come on, then, let’s go after him.’
‘Look at all these throats, just waiting to be cut. And we’re tiptoeing around them as if they were mere babies.’
‘Keep your voice down, Ajax,’ Diomedes whispered, staring over his shoulder at the Locrian. ‘Once the gates are open you can spill as much blood as you like, but not before.’
They were picking their way through scores of Trojan warriors, who had made their beds on the main thoroughfare around a large, makeshift fire. The flames had died away but the red glow of the embers lit up the huddled shapes of the nearest, revealing bearded faces that had put behind them the horrors of war and were at peace. Some shared their blankets with wives, slaves or prostitutes, whose smooth faces were framed by tumbles of dark hair. These were the people who had resisted the Greeks so valiantly and for so long, Diomedes thought, and soon their ten-year struggle would be over. As he had climbed out of the belly of the horse, his sword arm had been eager to go to work – more so because Helen’s mocking words had filled him with an urgent, paranoid desire to get home and reassure himself of his wife’s fidelity while he had been away. But as he saw his sleeping enemies and considered the ignoble end that was approaching them, he was moved to an unusual pity. Though he hated them with a passion for prolonging the siege with their bitter resistance, he had also learned to respect them. They did not deserve to die in their sleep or just startled into wakefulness, fooled by the ruse of a clever trickster. To Diomedes’s mind, slaughter in the darkness lacked the glory of a battle under the blazing sun, in which Troy’s walls were scaled or her gates forced by an army of proud victors. But that army had died with Achilles and Great Ajax. The survivors would do anything to see Troy fall – Diomedes included – even if their own honour fell with it.
Diomedes stepped on an outstretched hand, unable to prevent his weight crushing the Trojan’s knuckles against the hard stone beneath. The man groaned and pulled his arm away. Diomedes’s sword was at his throat in an instant, waiting for the eyes to flicker open and see the dozen armed men standing about him. Instead, the man turned over and draped his arm across the woman at his side.
‘Come on,’ Diomedes hissed to the others.
They navigated their way free of the remaining bodies and looked at the dark mass of the walls, just a short way off now. The dense ceiling of cloud acted like a shroud, choking the city streets in blackness and making it impossible to see whether there were any soldiers on the Scaean Gate or the tower above. Even after a night of drunken victory celebrations it was unlikely there would be no guards at all, so Diomedes decided to approach with caution. He signalled for Philoctetes and Teucer to join him, then, telling the others to wait, led the two archers down to the gates. They crept from doorway to doorway until they reached the corner of a mud hovel, from which they could see the tall wooden portals and the guard tower that had repulsed every attack that had ever been thrown at them. The battlements above the gates had been removed stone by stone – just as Odysseus had said they would be if the horse was to be dragged into the city – leaving a wide, ugly gap in the walls. The gates were firmly shut and barred, though, and in the shadows beneath the tower stood four guards armed with helmets, shields and spears.
‘You see them?’ Diomedes asked.
His companions nodded.
‘We have to take them quietly. If just one of them raises the alarm, the rest of the guard will empty out of the tower and prevent us taking the gates. And if they wake the rest of the city, we’ll never be able to cut our way out again.’
‘We understand,’ said Philoctetes, sliding an arrow from his quiver and fitting it to Heracles’s horn bow. ‘We shoot a man each, then draw another arrow, aim and shoot again before the remaining guards realise what’s happening.’
‘And if we miss with either shot,’ Teucer added, ‘we alert the Trojans, get ourselves massacred and lose the war.’
Diomedes nodded and gave an apologetic shrug. Teucer grinned at him, then knelt, drew two arrows and pushed one into the ground. The other he fitted to his bow, pulling it back to his cheek and aiming along its long black shaft.
‘Back right,’ he whispered.
‘Back left,’ Philoctetes answered, ‘then front left. Now!’
The bowstrings hummed and Diomedes saw the two men closest to the gate jerk and fall. His heart beat fast and his throat thickened as he watched the remaining guards turn in surprise, then run towards their comrades. The bows hummed in unison a second time and the last two Trojans fell on top of the two who had died only moments before them.
‘Shots worthy of Apollo himself,’ Diomedes commented with relief, patting Philoctetes and Teucer on their shoulders. ‘Now stay here while I fetch the others. And shoot anyone who approaches the gates.’
He stood to leave, but a hissed warning from Philoctetes brought him back into the shadows. Once again, both bows sounded. Diomedes stared about in confusion, then caught sight of a body falling from the summit of the tower. It turned once in midair before hitting the ground with a crunch where the other corpses already lay. The Argive king scanned the tower and the broad parapets for more guards, but could see none. Then, with a quick nod of gratitude to the watchful archers, he turned again and headed back to where Little Ajax and the others were waiting. They saw him coming and went to meet him. Together they ran down to the gates, passing the humped shapes of many sleeping Trojans who would never now see the light of dawn. They passed Philoctetes and Teucer, still poised with arrows fitted, and sprinted the final stretch to the gates, as if afraid a company of warriors might leap out at the last moment and block their way. But no-one saw them as they jumped the pile of bodies and reached the wooden doors; no-one heard as they lifted away the bar and let it fall with a crash onto the cobblestones; and no-one cried out as they hauled the heavy portals back on their hinges to reveal the dark landscape beyond. And as they peered out into the gloom, no-one was there to meet them.
‘Where are they?’ Omeros asked. ‘Perhaps they didn’t see the signal. By all the gods, they must still be in the ships!’
Diomedes stared out at the land between the walls and the River Scamander, where the only feature was the sacred oak beneath which Achilles had fought and killed Hector. Had that really only happened in the spring, he thought, momentarily distracted. Was it now only the eighth month of the year? And where was the army, now that victory was so close? Had they missed the signal and, believing the occupants of the horse lost, set their sails towards Greece?
‘Agamemnon! Where are you?’ Little Ajax called. ‘The gates are open – what are you waiting for?’
There was desperation in the short, brutal warrior’s voice that made it carry out into the void. It filled Diomedes with the sudden fear he would rouse any nearby Trojans, and quickly he raised the point of his sword to Ajax’s throat.
‘Quiet, damn you!’ he hissed. ‘Are you trying to wake every soldier in Troy?’
In a deft move, Little Ajax twisted away from Diomedes’s blade and brought his own weapon up to meet it with a ringing clash. Then, all around them, the darkness began to shift. Black figures rose up from the ground, first in their scores, then in their hundreds, as if the souls of the dead were rising from the pits of Hades. Diomedes and Little Ajax forgot their quarrel and s
tepped back as the army of wraiths closed about them from the plain. Slowly, their pale faces and limbs became clearer, and one by one they slipped the black cloths from their shields and breastplates so that the metal and leather shone with a dull lustre in the darkness. Last of all they raised the points of their spears or drew their swords with a metallic slither, forming a wall of bronze about the open gates. The Greek army had arrived, and the sleeping city lay exposed before them.
Two figures approached from the massed ranks, the plumes on their helmets waving gently in the soft night breeze.
‘It worked! It actually worked,’ declared Agamemnon, with muted triumph. ‘Zeus be praised!’
‘And Odysseus, too,’ Diomedes reminded him. ‘His brains have succeeded where the might of Achilles and Great Ajax failed.’
‘We haven’t succeeded yet,’ said Nestor, standing at the King of Men’s side. ‘There’ll be much bloodshed before this battle’s over.’
‘But it’s the last battle,’ said Agamemnon. He turned towards the thousands of waiting soldiers and raised his spear above his head. ‘Troy is ours! Victory is ours! But it shall not be an empty one. I’ll not have the city sacked and its population scattered, so they can return and rebuild it when we’ve gone. I’ll not see the shadow of its towers fall across the Aegean again, to be a thorn in the side of future generations of Greeks. No, it must be destroyed. Put it to the torch. Throw down its walls and gates. Don’t suffer even one stone to remain on another. Destroy its flesh and blood, too. Kill every man, boy and infant you come across. And when you have shown them no mercy, do whatever you like with their women. Those are my only commands; now see that you carry them out to the full.’
His words were met with a shout and the clashing of weapons against shields. He turned on his heel and strode into the city, his blood-red cloak billowing out behind him. As he passed between the gates, a dozen sleepy Trojans ran out of a door in the side of the tower, only to be slaughtered and trampled over by the swarm of invaders following on the heels of the king of Mycenae. The Scaean Gate had fallen. The annihilation of Troy had begun.