Glyn Iliffe - The Oracles of Troy (The Adventures of Odysseus)

‘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 growing 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

V OICES FROM H OME

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.

Eperitus looked at the king’s face – eyes closed, head back – and recalled the debate aboard the beached ship, when the full extent of his plans had been laid before the key members of the Council of Kings. All understood immediately that it would bring about the end of the conflict at a stroke: either Troy would fall in a single night, or the cream of the Greek army would be caught and wiped out. But when many baulked at so high a risk – most significantly Agamemnon – Odysseus had played on their weariness with the seemingly endless war and spiced his appeal with the promise of undying fame. His smooth, persuasive voice reminded them how they had set out from their homes expecting a quick victory bathed in the blood of Trojans and rewarded with a rich bounty of gold and slaves. Instead, they had endured ten years of siege warfare, deprived of the comforts of home and the love of their families. And though at first they had tried to ignore the omen from Zeus that the war would last a decade, he warned them not to forget it again now that the prophecy had come to the end of its course. Now , Odysseus said, was not the time to shy away from risks, but to seize them and gamble everything.