The Gates Of Troy (24 page)

‘Won’t be long now,’ Odysseus said as the low, broad bulk of Tenedos drew nearer. ‘The merchant we spoke to last night said the bay is crawling with Trojan warships, but we should be able to find ourselves a mooring before last light. Then we can set off to the city and seek an audience with Priam.’

‘And if they attack us?’ Eperitus asked sceptically.

‘We’re not at war yet, Eperitus. They won’t harm us.’

‘I wish I shared your confidence about that.’

Odysseus gave a relaxed shrug. ‘Trojans are said to treat visitors the same as we do in Greece. If nothing else, they’ll welcome us as guests and protect us while we’re within the borders of Ilium.’

‘But you heard what happened to Menelaus,’ Eperitus said, lowering his voice and indicating the Spartan with a jerk of his thumb. ‘Paris is no respecter of
xenia
, so why should any of the rest of them be? They’re foreigners and barbarians, after all.’

Odysseus gave him a knowing look. ‘I suspect Paris clapped eyes on Helen and all his notions of honour turned to dust. You can hardly blame the man for that, can you?’

‘You know I can. A man without honour is worthless.’

Odysseus laughed at the uncompromising look on his friend’s face. ‘You’re a warrior in the old-fashioned style, Eperitus – principled, dependable and as hard as iron. There aren’t many of your kind around any more.’

‘Some warrior I’d have been if Agamemnon’s sail hadn’t appeared that day on Hermes’s Mount,’ Eperitus sniffed, arching his eyebrows. ‘I’d have left you in search of glory and missed the greatest war in history!’

Odysseus shook his head. ‘You’d still have got there, just under another king’s banner.’

‘Then you think it’ll be war?’

‘I can’t say,’ Odysseus replied. ‘Not until I’ve spoken to Priam. But he’s old enough to have seen three or four generations, so he won’t be as hot-blooded as men of our age. He also has a kingdom to think of – will he want to sacrifice everything he’s built for the sake of a woman? I hope not. I hope he’ll give up Helen so that we can go back to our homes and families.’

‘And more years of peace,’ Eperitus sighed despondently.

‘Peace is the most precious thing we have!’ Odysseus said, his face serious. ‘I used to dream of adventure and fame, too, but nowadays all I care about is persuading the Trojans to release Helen without a blow being struck. If men are still honoured for success in debate as well as battle, then I’d rather win renown that way than in a war that could last for months – or years.’

‘I hope you’ll get your wish,’ Eperitus said, sincerely. ‘It would make me happy to know you were safely back on Ithaca with Penelope and Telemachus. I’d be pleased for Menelaus, too – did you see his face a few moments back, when Eurybates spotted Tenedos? I’ve never seen such a melancholy look in a man. But my heart tells me our mission
won’t
succeed, and that Agamemnon will have to resort to war to get Helen back.’

‘Agamemnon doesn’t give a damn about Helen,’ Odysseus said, shaking his head and looking towards Tenedos. The eastern side of the island was already in shadow, though the detail of olive groves and small farmsteads could now be seen as the galley sailed closer to its shores. ‘All he wants is to conquer Troy, and Helen is just a convenient excuse to unite the Greeks under his banner. I doubt his ambitions have changed since the failed council of war in Sparta ten years ago.’

‘Maybe,’ Eperitus replied. ‘But he also says that if we don’t teach the Trojans a lesson now, they’ll think the Greeks are afraid of them. Before long they’ll be sailing across to steal our women whenever they feel like it. Then it’ll be our homes and our land. What if he’s right about that, Odysseus, and this embassy of yours is just putting off the day when we have to fight them anyway?’

‘Then at least you’ll have your chance of glory!’ the king snapped. A moment later he dropped his gaze to the deck and wiped the sweat from his brow. ‘I’m sorry, Eperitus. The truth is, I don’t know what Priam or his sons have in mind, but I
do
suspect what Agamemnon wants. He wants to make Troy a Mycenaean colony.’

‘That’s ridiculous!’

‘No it’s not. You know Agamemnon: he’s ruthless and ambitious, and won’t stop at anything to have his way. You remember what he did to Clytaemnestra?’

‘Of course I do,’ Eperitus replied, his mind suddenly filled with the memory of Clytaemnestra’s naked body, thin and hard as he made love to her on a Spartan mountainside. That was ten years ago and he had not seen her since, but he could still recall her pale skin glowing like bronze in the firelight, the sweat glistening on her ribs and small breasts. She had given herself to him that night because of her hatred for Agamemnon, who had murdered her first husband and infant child so that he could make her his wife. Yes, Eperitus thought, he knew how ruthless Agamemnon could be.

‘Think about it,’ Odysseus continued. ‘If Agamemnon could eliminate Priam and make Troy into a Greek stronghold, the whole of the Aegean would be his. That would mean control of the trade in gold, silver, copper, timber, oil, cinnabar, linen, hemp and Zeus knows what other goods. He’d have the wealth to subdue the whole of Greece to his will, and maybe even oppose Egypt and the other great powers before long. If he defeats the Trojans it’ll lead to one war after another, until even you’ll be sick of the glory. The age of heroes has gone, Eperitus; we’re entering a time of kings, men ruling empires that cross oceans and who have power over hundreds of thousands of lives. I’ve been thinking about this ever since that night on Malea, and I don’t like it. I don’t want Ithaca to be part of a single Greece ruled by Agamemnon, or part of an empire that stretches into Asia. I want it to remain peaceful and free, its own domain at the edge of the world. That as much as anything else – Penelope and Telemachus included – is why I want peace.’

Eperitus wanted to reply, but did not know what to say. He had always been a simple warrior with little understanding of politics, and yet the truth of Odysseus’s words was inescapable. Perhaps the world
was
changing: the era of heroes, monsters and gods was fading, to be replaced by the cold, hard reality of power. Was his personal search for glory and a name that could cheat the totality of death already a thing of the past, like the bones of Heracles, Perseus and Jason? Would this war he so desired actually bring an end to the very values for which he was fighting?

As he struggled to comprehend the things that Odysseus had seen almost from the first appearance of Agamemnon’s sail nearly four weeks before, the galley slipped slowly into the straits of Tenedos. To their right was a large bay that had been scooped from the gentle, wooded hills of the mainland, and on their left were the low humps of the island, behind which the sun was now sinking. Though Tenedos was an insignificant-looking rock – about the same size as the southern half of Ithaca – it was the last marker in their long journey to Troy. Eperitus felt a thrill of anticipation course through him as the strong coastal wind filled the sail overhead and pushed the ship forward against the prevailing current. The straits were soon left behind and new, much larger islands became visible. Odysseus, standing at the bow rail beside him, pointed at each one in turn and named them – distant Lemnos to the west; Imbros ahead of them to the north; and rising out of the blue haze beyond it, the high peaks of Samothrace. Then the reclining cliffs to their right fell away to reveal a wide, northeasterly gulf, into which Eurybates steered the ship.

Almost immediately, the coastline to their right opened out into a large bay that penetrated the plain beyond like the head of a spear. It was fed by two rivers – the greater emerging from an area of green marshland to the south and the lesser running down from sloping pastureland to the northeast – and the calm waters in between were crowded with fishing vessels, merchant galleys and an ominously large number of powerful-looking warships. Standing back from the plain, on a high plateau between the two rivers, was the city of Troy. Its sloping walls caught the last light of the setting sun, staining the great blocks of dressed stone a vivid pink and striking awe, wonder and fear into the hearts of the Greeks. The crenellated ramparts were lined with guards, who stood with their tall spears and flashing armour, staring down at the foreign ship that had come creeping into their waters. Rising above the level of the battlements were numerous tall, broad structures that were clearly the palaces and temples of the Trojans. Knots of people were gathered on the flat roofs, causing Eperitus to wonder whether Paris and Helen were among them. If Menelaus’s wife
was
watching their arrival, he thought, she would surely recognize the shape of a Greek warship and know they had come for her.

The galley slipped through the assortment of different craft, the majority of which were warships – over fifty of them, with their spars removed and stowed to leave the masts naked. Without their crews they were but peaceful shells, drifting at anchor on the quiet surface of the bay; and yet the power of such an armada, when armed with a full complement of warriors, was easy to imagine. The Ithacans looked in awe at the Trojan fleet, discussing in hushed voices the curiously curved bows and sterns, the double-banked oars and the second decks that ran the length of each ship to provide raised fighting platforms. The long, sleek form of their own craft fell into shadow as it glided between them, giving the crew a sense of how puny their vessel was in comparison.

On the yellow sands between the two rivers were the unfinished hulks of a dozen more ships. These were propped up on wooden platforms that kept them above the waves, and were hung about on all sides with spars and ropes where teams of workmen had been busily finishing hulls, fitting benches, adding masts and fastening rigging. They were abandoned and lonely now – the workmen having returned to their homes for the evening – but still seemed to echo with the noise and activity of the day just ended.

Beyond the rolling beaches, between the city and the mouth of the smaller river, a multitude of tents flapped noisily in the gale. A strong smell of smoke and roast meat drifted across the water from them, and large numbers of men – many of them armed – had left the cooking of the evening meal to watch the arrival of the newcomers.

The Ithacans stared back, curious and eager to see their first Trojans. None of them could look upon the fleet that was being created, or the army camped beside the bay, and not realize that Troy was preparing for war. But were they simply getting ready to defend Paris and Helen from the possibility of pursuit, or had they already heard of the planned gathering at Aulis? Whichever it was, the Greeks felt their stomachs sink at the sight of the organized and capable enemy before them, and as their eyes stretched eastward across the plain towards the well-built city of Troy their enthusiasm for war diminished even further.

‘Is it true Troy’s walls were made by Poseidon and Apollo?’ Eperitus asked, glancing across at Odysseus.

‘I’m sure of it,’ the king answered. ‘How could mere mortals build walls like those? When I saw them in my dream I knew they were strong, but now I see them with my own eyes they make the defences back on Ithaca look like a child’s sand palace. Even Sparta’s walls look weak in comparison.’

Eperitus stared at the city and could not help but be filled with admiration for its grandeur, might and sheer beauty. The north-west circuit of the walls stretched in an unbroken line that followed the contours of the steep-sided plateau. No gate or tower punctuated their smooth, reclining flanks. Then, where the hill dropped away to the south, the citadel ended and the city began. Here, flooding out across the plain, were the homes of the ordinary Trojans. Few structures could be seen beyond the high walls, which continued down from the citadel to surround the lower town in a vast loop, but the innumerable trails of grey smoke drifting over the towering battlements testified to the size of the population within.

As his eyes feasted on the vastness of the city, Eperitus was already probing the fortifications for weaknesses. The walls of the citadel benefited from the additional height of the plateau and were insurmountable. Even the walls of the lower city stood as tall as three men above the plain, and the western circuit that faced the bay was protected by three strong towers that could pour archery down on attackers from all sides. With his sharp eyes, Eperitus could see that the battlements were well made and in good repair, which meant the only vulnerable spot would be the single gate that opened onto the plain at the southernmost point of the walls. This was reached through a narrow defile that was protected by the tallest and broadest of the towers. In the event of an attack, the surrounding parapets would be crammed with archers who would send down a hail of arrows on any assailants as they squeezed into the gap that led to the gate.

‘We’d better succeed, Odysseus, or we’ll be a long time knocking
those
walls down.’

Odysseus and Eperitus turned to see Menelaus standing behind them, with Palamedes at his side. Both men had donned their breastplates, greaves and helmets and had slung their shields across their backs. Their swords were ready in the scabbards that hung from their shoulders, and naked daggers had been tucked into their belts.

‘A very long time, if we manage it at all,’ Odysseus replied. ‘But if you
do
want us to succeed, Menelaus, then I suggest we don’t start by marching into the city dressed like conquerors. You will have to leave your armour and weapons here.’

‘But that’s lunacy,’ Menelaus snorted, tightening his grip on the ivory handle of his sword. ‘I’m not going to walk up to Paris and demand my wife back armed with nothing more than my fists. If anything goes wrong up there, they’ll slaughter us like lambs.’

‘We’ll be their guests,’ Odysseus insisted. ‘They won’t dare harm us, not unless they want to bring the wrath of Zeus down on themselves.’

‘Those foreign dogs have no respect for
xenia
or the gods –
if
they worship the gods at all,’ Menelaus retorted, his face reddening with anger. ‘Paris broke his oath when he was a guest in my house! What’ll stop him from killing us all in cold blood?’