Greek Warriors (6 page)

“Run!” Isis shouted.

Cleo sprang away towards the far side of the square. Tom and Isis followed, hurdling drunken Trojans and dodging Greek arrows meant for the startled city guards.

Pretty soon they found themselves sprinting down dingy, narrow alleys, lit only by the glow of the full moon.

Tom peered up at crumbling buildings. The narrow windows seemed to be watching him. Ragged, grotty clothes hung from the window ledges.

Cleo slowed down. She padded past battered-looking doors and rubbish-strewn steps. A deep gutter carried stinky black liquid down the length of the alley.

Isis wrinkled her nose in the moonlight. “It's kind of grotty round here,” she said.

“What do you expect, Princess?” Tom said. “They've been under siege for the past ten years!” He stopped and stood still. “Listen!”

Isis held her hand to one ear. The only sound was the distant crashing of the sea against the shore. “I don't hear anything,” she said, frowning.

“Exactly!” Tom exclaimed. “No fighting!”

Isis grinned at her pet in the silvery moonlight. “Clever Cleo brought us to a safe part of the city.”

Walking a little further, they came across a deep hole set into the thick city wall.

“I'm pretty sure this is some kind of alcove,” Tom said, looking at the hiding place. “If you're tired, we can sit here and rest a minute.”

“Tired? Pah! Not a chance!” Isis said, still panting after their sprint. “Don't blame
me
if you need to rest your wimpy boy bones. I'm going to keep going and find King Priam.”

Tom ignored her and removed his helmet. “If we're going to survive, we'd better start looking like Trojans. Take off your helmet.”

“All right! Stop bossing me around, Professor Smartypants.”

As Isis tugged her plaits free of her plumed Greek army helmet, Tom heard footsteps approaching. He pulled Isis and Cleo into the shadows of the alcove. A boy tottered into view. He was carrying a huge pile of logs that looked far too heavy for him. Despite that, he was whistling a merry tune.

“Do you think he's dangerous?” Isis asked. “Could he be a spy?”

“Don't be ridiculous! He's just a kid,” Tom whispered to Isis. “Maybe he can help us.”

Tom jumped out of the alcove so suddenly that the boy dropped some of his logs with a clatter.

“Hello there!” Tom said in a friendly voice. He tried to think of the sort of thing his dad would say to a stranger he'd just met. “Nice evening, isn't it!”

The boy looked at Tom and frowned. Then he glanced up at the moon and shrugged. “Yes, I suppose it is,” he said. “I'm Hermon. I haven't seen you round here before. Who are you?”

Tom stooped to gather up the fallen wood. “I'm Tom. This is Isis,” he said, pointing to Isis, who was stroking Cleo. “We were out for a walk and got lost. Where are you heading with this heavy load?”

Hermon wedged the tall pile of wood underneath his chin. “I'm just taking some firewood to the palace,” he said. “That near where you want to go?”

Tom looked over at Isis, who suddenly sat bolt upright. “Priam's palace?” Tom asked.

Hermon chuckled. “The one and only.”

Isis bounded over to them. She grabbed some of Hermon's logs. “Let us help carry these. We'll walk with you to the palace,” Isis said, looking sideways at Tom and winking.

Hermon shovelled a pile of logs into her arms until Isis started to buckle at the knees.

“Hang on! I said I'd help!” she grumbled. “I didn't say I'd take
all
of them.”

Tom stuffed a pile of wood under his arm. “Thanks, Hermon. I think Priam's palace might be just the direction we need to head towards!”

Together, Tom, Isis, Cleo and Hermon trudged through the moonlit warren of alleys and silent squares. Isis told Hermon a story about having travelled from Egypt to visit her uncle, a trader who had sailed across the sea, selling exotic goods, until he met a Trojan woman and settled down. The story was so convincing, even Tom started to believe it!

Finally they ambled down an olive tree-lined road that led to the back of the palace.

“If you don't mind helping me into the servants' quarters with these,” Hermon said, “I can probably sort you out with some goat's milk and bread for your trouble.”

Tom couldn't believe their luck. He nodded vigorously. “You bet,” he said. “Let's go.”

Hermon led them into the hustle and bustle of the palace kitchens. Even at that late hour, servants darted to and fro, preparing food by the light of flaming torches. But just as Tom and Isis piled their logs next to the fire in the centre of the room, the sound of angry men's voices started to bounce off the stone walls. Tom strained to hear where the sound was coming from.

“I'm going to burn this palace down, and everyone in it!” one of the men bellowed.

Were they Greek soldiers?
Tom wondered in alarm. Oh no! How would they ever find the amulet if the palace was under attack?

“Let's run away before we get burned to a crisp!” Tom yelped.

Isis snatched up Cleo. “Quick! Where can we hide?” she asked Hermon.

Hermon chuckled and shrugged. “Hide? You're kidding, aren't you? They always argue like that.”

Tom frowned. He breathed deeply, willing his heartbeat to slow down. “What? Who?”

“King Priam and his son, Paris,” Hermon said. “The king blames Paris for starting the war with the Greeks because he stole Helen from Menelaus of Sparta. Don't worry. Nobody's going to burn the palace down.” Hermon wiped his hands on his tunic.

“Imagine that! King Priam's just down that corridor!” Tom said, blinking hard as he stared into the gloom beyond the kitchen.

Hermon nodded. “Yes. That's right. It's not that exciting, though.” He pointed to a stool by the wall. “Sit there out of the way. I'll get you something to eat.”

Isis dashed over to the stool and sat down. Tom pinned himself to the wall, keeping out of the way of the servants who scurried past, carrying platters of food and jugs of wine.

“No one here knows about the attack yet, do they?” he whispered to Isis.

“No,” she said. “This could be our only chance to get close to Priam. We just need a plan…”

As they waited for Hermon to return with their bread and milk, Tom looked about the kitchen, racking his brain for a bright idea that would get them into the royal quarters.

“I'm hungry!” Isis complained. “Where's Hermon with my snack?”

“Shh. I'm trying to think,” Tom said. But the smell of food was distracting.

In the centre of the room, lamb was turning on a spit and roasting over the open fire. The greasy smoke wafted straight up through a hole in the ceiling. Tom sniffed the air and breathed in the smell of stewing vegetables. Women were straining watery white cheese through muslin cloths. A male servant was arranging figs, olives and grapes on a large silver platter.

“Oh, it's no use!” Tom said, sighing. “It's hours and hours since we ate anything. I just can't concentrate.” His mouth started to water.

All the while, a grumpy-looking young man was barking instructions at the many servants. Those who didn't do as he said quickly enough were hit on the head with a wooden spoon.

“What a monster!” Isis said.

Hermon returned with four pieces of flatbread, some white, crumbly goat's cheese that smelled like socks, and a jug of goat's milk. “Oh, talking about Phineus, are you?” he asked, setting a bowl of milk on the floor for Cleo. “He's the boss here. Don't let him catch you hanging about. Or you'll get The Spoon!”

Tom and Isis both bit hungrily into their breads. They watched as Phineus prodded the meat on the spit with a fork.

Suddenly a mouse darted across the kitchen floor. Cleo's ears immediately flattened against the side of her furry head. With a hungry yowl, she streaked after the mouse as it scurried between Phineus's feet.

“Aargh!” Phineus cried.

He jumped, dropping the spit from the sticks that held it up over the fire. The hot, greasy lamb hissed as it hit the flaming logs below. Tom watched in horror as the lamb then fell on to Phineus's thigh. There was a nasty sizzling noise.

“Aaaaargh! Get it off me!” Phineus screamed.

Hermon rushed over to Phineus. With a cloth wrapped round his hand, he tossed the lamb to one side. Tom winced as he looked at Phineus's leg. The skin was bright red and shiny.

“You need to put ice on that,” Tom suggested.

“Ice?” Hermon asked. “What on earth is ice? What this needs is a wet rag.”

Hermon soaked a length of cloth in a bucket of water and wound it tightly round Phineus's burn. Phineus slapped him away.

“Get off! You're hurting me!” he shrieked.

Just as Hermon was knotting the end of the bandage, a voice boomed round the kitchen. It sounded like it was coming from the same corridor that King Priam and Paris had been arguing in.

“Bring us wine! Bring it now, boy!”

Phineus's face paled.

“You can't go in there with a burn like that,” Hermon said.

“But it's Prince Paris!” Phineus gasped. He clutched at his burned thigh and swallowed hard. A sweat had broken out on his forehead. “I'm his servant. He'll have me flogged if I don't take in the tray.”

Feeling excitement prickle his skin, Tom grabbed a wine jug and two shallow bowls. “Is this what you were going to take them?” he asked.

Phineus nodded.

Isis snatched up a silver platter and held it out so that Tom could load the jug and bowls on to it.

“We'll take it for you,” she said.

Hermon pointed into the shadows. “Thanks! The throne room is the third door on the right. Hurry!”

Tom and Isis rushed along the dimly lit stone corridor, with Cleo scampering at their side. Tom was feeling nervous at the thought of meeting Paris and the king.

“Right,” Tom said, thinking fast. “The riddle said that the amulet is in King Priam's ring. Maybe if we get close enough, we can cause a distraction and slip it off?”